Chapter 308: I Do Not Agree to This! (Five-Thousand-Word Chapter — Please Vote)

The matter of becoming a disciple to study medicine was something Qiao Yumian herself had proposed.

Physician Sun had locked himself in his room and deliberated for five whole days before finally nodding in assent.

He agreed to take her as his disciple for two reasons. First, he feared that his lifetime of medical knowledge would die with him. Marriage was out of the question; the very thought of sharing a bed with another person made him sweat with mortified panic, his soul nearly leaping from his body.

As for dying childless and leaving his lineage without descendants—that did not trouble him much personally. Yet he could not help but consider how he would face his long-deceased parents in the underworld a hundred years hence. If they were to learn that their only son had both left no heir and allowed the family’s medical art to die out, the guilt would crush him.

Now, since having no descendants was inevitable, the only way to lighten this burden of guilt was to ensure the continuation of the family’s medical craft.

Moreover, deep in his heart, Physician Sun harbored an old regret.

More than ten years ago, back in his native Shu, he had once encountered a young officer from the Xuanzhe Army while walking the marketplace. That young man had earnestly followed him for several days, trying to recruit him into the army as a military physician, offering excellent terms. But Sun had explained his “condition” and feigned mediocrity in his skills, declining the offer.

The young officer had not pressed the matter, nor taken offense. He merely said that if Physician Sun ever faced hardship, he could go to the Xuanzhe Army and seek out the His Highness the Crown Prince, who was ever eager for talent.

Not two years later, soon after the late emperor’s passing, Sun heard that very Crown Prince had died in the capital of illness and wounds. Northern Di forces were eyeing the borders then; he still remembered how unsettled the people’s hearts had been.

In the cold of winter nights, huddled beneath his quilt, he could not help but wonder—had he accepted that invitation, had he somehow been able to treat the Crown Prince’s ailment… would things have been different?

But this world knows no ifs. Perhaps his skill would not have saved the man anyway—but never having tried left him with a regret that lingered all these years, growing heavier with each similar loss he encountered.

He loathed his own helplessness, yet he was born unable to handle human company; his body’s reaction was far more honest than his will. His ailment had no cure.

So, when Qiao Yumian expressed her wish to study medicine under him, it was as if he had finally found a perfect solution—to pass on his craft without violating his nature.

After some days of teaching, he found her temperament to be as gentle as water, calm and unobtrusive. She spoke little and never made him feel ill at ease—unlike that troublesome Sixth Young Master Cui.

If she could truly master his art and use it to heal the world, he would owe her gratitude, not the other way around.

Qiao Yumian did not know that the introverted Physician Sun had already knelt and bowed countless times to her in silent gratitude within his heart.

Once they settled the matter of apprenticeship, Qiao Yumian finally asked politely, “I have yet to learn Master’s full name.”

Such unfamiliarity between master and disciple was rare indeed.

Even rarer was the stiff way Physician Sun forced a twitch of a smile and replied: “Sun Nao.”

His name was Sun Nao, childhood name Nao Nao.

Qiao Yumian gently nodded and fell silent for a long while.

Then her master, in his courteous and reserved manner, made but one request—his sole condition as a teacher.

“After I die,” he said, “have someone quietly collect my body. Remember, quietly—no funeral, no ceremony, no gathering of mourners. Find a hidden spot, bury me by night, cover the ground with wild grass, and set no tombstone. Let no one know a man lies there.”

“Then… should I offer sacrifices or burn paper money during festivals?” Qiao Yumian asked with her usual precision.

Physician Sun thought long and hard, finally gritting his teeth and saying that sacrifices were unnecessary—but she could burn extra paper money at once, enough for three years.

In short, burn money discreetly; all formal visits and rites could be omitted.

Qiao Yumian agreed with utmost seriousness. She even had Xiao Qiu fetch brush and paper to note every detail carefully, promising that if her master ever thought of anything else, she would add it. Her sincerity and respect moved Physician Sun to tears; never had he felt more at peace about his final arrangements. Truly, coming to the capital had been the right decision.

Besides, this disciple did possess a touch of natural talent.

In addition to direct instruction, Physician Sun also relied on written lessons, copying down his teachings by hand to minimize awkward face-to-face explanations.

Qiao Yumian was mild and accommodating, always yielding to her master’s preferences. Though their relationship remained somewhat distant, it was, in a strange way, harmonious.

And though she appeared delicate, her diligence and focus were remarkable. To make things convenient, she stayed mostly at the Chang residence during this period, returning to the Imperial Academy only once every few days.

Just as the Imperial Academy’s Head Master Qiao always kept a room for Chang Suining, the Chang residence also maintained a small courtyard beside Suining’s for Qiao Yumian.

That afternoon, Qiao Yumian returned to her courtyard for a short rest.

Perhaps because she had been asking Xiao Qiu daily for news of Ning Ning, hearing so much of it that her thoughts turned restless—so her dreams followed.

In her dream, she found herself back in the days when Ning Ning had lived with her at the Imperial Academy. She sat under the veranda, watching Ning Ning practice swordsmanship.

Ning Ning’s movements were swift and graceful; when she finished, sweat glistened on her brow. Then, smiling, she pointed her sword toward Qiao Yumian—and upon its shining tip perched a brilliant, many-colored butterfly.

Joy bloomed on her face. The butterfly was dazzlingly beautiful, its wings shimmering with iridescent light she had not seen for years.

She instinctively reached out to touch it, but suddenly it fluttered forward, its wings scattering a dust of golden light, flying straight toward her eyes. She raised a hand to shield herself—

—and awoke.

Before her eyes, a living butterfly rested quietly on the jade hook of her bed curtain.

She blinked, slowly sat up, and stared at it in stunned silence.

After a long moment, she tentatively extended her hand.

Sensing her nearness, the butterfly fluttered its wings and flew away. Qiao Yumian froze, caught between dream and waking, unable to tell which was real.

She sat there unmoving until a maid entered. “My lady, you’re awake?”

Hearing the familiar voice, Qiao Yumian turned her head and murmured, “...Xiao Qiu?”

“Your servant is here,” the maid answered instinctively. But as her eyes met her mistress’s bright, crystalline gaze, she stopped short and stammered, “M-my lady…?”

When her mistress suddenly smiled through tear-bright eyes, Xiao Qiu dropped her embroidery and rushed to her side, clutching her trembling hand. “My lady—can you see me? Truly see me?”

Qiao Yumian nodded, tears trembling in her soft voice. “Xiao Qiu… you look different than before.”

“Of course! My lady hasn’t seen me for years!” Xiao Qiu broke into sobs, embracing her mistress. “I knew it—such a kind heart as yours—Heaven would open its eyes one day!”

She cried and cried, until she realized she was the only one weeping. Her mistress, instead, was softly comforting her.

When she finally lifted her tear-streaked face, Qiao Yumian was smiling through her own tears, dabbing at Xiao Qiu’s cheeks with a handkerchief.

“I’ve only just regained my sight,” she said gently. “Let’s not cry so much—I don’t want to go blind again.”

Xiao Qiu nodded at once. “Yes, my lady mustn’t cry again! If you wish to cry, just tell me—I’ll do it for you!”

As for this matter—perhaps she could not see far into the future, but for the next three to five years, there would be no shortage of tears to shed!

Xiao Qiu snapped out of her daze, hastily wiped her tears on her sleeve, and hurriedly said, “My lady, please stay seated, don’t move—I shall fetch Physician Sun right away!”

Ordinarily, it was she who accompanied her lady to visit Physician Sun. But today’s situation was different—what if her lady was not fit to walk just yet?

She took two steps toward the door, then suddenly turned back, grabbing the outer robe draped over the flower-and-bird screen to help her mistress dress properly first.

“Give it to me.” Qiao Yumian smiled and reached out her hand. “I want to try doing it myself.”

Xiao Qiu froze for a moment—of course! Her lady could dress herself now!

That realization made her tears well up again. She burst into sobs once more, crying and laughing all at once as she ran toward Physician Sun’s quarters. To anyone watching, her expression of joy amid tears would seem positively unhinged.

Awakened by her loud knocking and crying, Physician Sun instinctively pulled his quilt tighter around himself. In the past few days, living in the unoccupied Chang residence, he had grown more relaxed and had fallen back into certain private habits.

He hurriedly rose from bed and dressed.

Meanwhile, Qiao Yumian, though still a bit clumsy, managed to put on her outer robe and embroidered shoes, then walked to the mirror.

It felt strange and wondrous to see herself again.

Years had passed—was this truly how she had grown to look?

Like a spirit newly transformed into human form, she found delight in everything she saw. She tried stepping outside, into the courtyard. The blue sky and white clouds, the banana leaves and peach trees, the lush greenery and blooming flowers—

—all of it rushed toward her at once, silent yet deafening, dazzling in color and motion. The flood of sensation left her dizzy and overwhelmed, her heart trembling as if the world were spinning around her.

Physician Sun soon arrived with Xiao Qiu in tow.

After examining Qiao Yumian’s eyes, he said that they had largely recovered. There might still be brief periods of blurred vision, but as long as she continued taking her medicine and resting properly, the symptoms would fade away with time.

Xiao Qiu was overjoyed. So it was true—her lady had truly recovered! Heaven had returned her sight!

“My deepest thanks, Master, for journeying all the way to the capital to cure my eyes. Your great kindness—I shall remember it for life.”

Qiao Yumian was full of gratitude and moved to kneel in thanks, but Physician Sun hastily backed away several steps, waving his hands. “No, no, please—no need for that…”

He stammered awkwardly, “I was merely hired to perform a duty… If anyone deserves thanks, it is Young Miss Chang.”

He disliked receiving gratitude—it weighed too heavily on him, and responding to such earnest feeling filled him with unbearable pressure.

Speaking of being hired, however, the thought troubled him now. “Since your eyes are healed… then I…”

Was it time for him to pack his belongings and leave?

He had heard that the outside world was in chaos these days, plagued by wars and uprisings. If he were to wander off now, with the heavy payment Young Miss Chang had given him still in his keeping, he truly did not know where he could go.

To be honest, the tall walls of this Grand General’s residence gave him a deep sense of safety. And with the masters of the house all away at war, the peace and solitude he enjoyed here had become almost addictive—he was like a caged bird content in its gilded confinement.

“Since Master still intends to continue teaching me medicine,” Qiao Yumian said, “would you be willing to stay a while longer? I shall write to Ning Ning to explain.”

Physician Sun fidgeted and rubbed his hands together in hesitation. After a pause, he flushed and nodded. “Very well…”

Seeing him agree, Qiao Yumian finally relaxed.

Ning Ning had written to her several times, urging her to find ways to keep Physician Sun in the capital.

So long as her eyes remained unhealed, the man would not leave—but that was never a lasting plan. To prevent him from departing once her vision improved, she had thought carefully and decided to become his disciple.

Indeed—her true intention in seeking apprenticeship had not merely been to study medicine, but to help Ning Ning keep Physician Sun by her side.

At this moment, both master and disciple silently breathed a sigh of relief.

Xiao Qiu, still giddy with joy, turned to her lady and said, “My lady, I shall return to the Imperial Academy at once to tell Master and Madam the good news of your recovery!”

“There’s no need for you to go alone,” Qiao Yumian said with a gentle smile. “Wouldn’t it be better if I went myself to see Father, Mother, and Brother?”

Though they had never truly been apart, she had not seen her parents and elder brother for many years.

This spring day was blessed with fair weather—the perfect time for reunion.

Qiao Yumian lifted the hem of her skirt and stepped lightly into the carriage.

The late-spring breeze lifted the curtain as the carriage rolled through the lively streets. The bustling sights filled her vision, stirring childhood memories long buried in her mind.

Her heart brimmed with joy beyond words—it felt like being reborn.

Her sight had returned. From now on, she would use it well—to see those she longed to see, to do all the things she wished to do.

As she thought of those she missed, countless familiar faces rose in her mind—Father, Mother, Brother, Ning Ning, Brother Suian, Uncle Chang, and…

When it came to him, she had no image—only the memory of his voice.

But soon, she would see his face at last.

He must be at the Imperial Academy too, right?

When he heard the news, would he come with Brother to see her?

Was he still dressed in that pale-red robe today?

When they met for the first time, what should she say to him?

Sitting inside the carriage, her heart fluttered with anticipation. The warm breeze of late spring carried both comfort and heat, beading her palms with faint sweat. She wished only that the carriage could move faster—faster still.

The carriage soon halted by the side gate of the Imperial Academy. Qiao Yumian alighted and hurried toward her family’s residence within the academy grounds, her steps growing lighter until she began to run in the warm wind.

Xiao Qiu followed close behind, laughing as she clutched a small bundle in her arms.

At that same moment, outside the academy’s main gate, a young man in a pale-red robe stepped into a carriage with his servant, urging the coachman to drive swiftly home.

It was already close to the end of classes at the Imperial Academy. Before long, the bell rang, and Qiao Yubai and his classmates came out chatting and laughing together.

As soon as they began talking, the words “General Ningyuan” filled the air. One lively youth brandished a rolled-up book as though it were a sword, mimicking a warrior’s stance—clearly, he had been reading too many popular storybooks lately.

Speaking of storybooks, Hu Yi was still nursing a grievance. Five days ago, he had spent a hefty sum to secretly purchase a wildly popular tale. Though the protagonist’s name was disguised and many feats exaggerated, anyone could tell it was based on General Ningyuan.

Hu Yi had loved it dearly, sneaking it out during class to read—only to be caught by his teacher. He had been struck three times with the ruler and had his precious book confiscated, to be returned only after the upcoming exam.

Yesterday, the exam ended, and Hu Yi eagerly went to retrieve his storybook. The teacher scolded him with a stern face, saying “wait,” and turned back into the study.

That study was spacious and filled with other scholars and teachers who were resting or grading essays.

Sensing something amiss, Hu Yi quietly crept to the window and listened.

“You there—let me finish reading first!”

“Release it, the student has come for it!”

“What harm is there in making him wait a little longer?”

“Stop being unreasonable…”

Hu Yi was dumbfounded. When the teacher finally emerged, he scrambled back to his spot, pretending nothing had happened.

The teacher too appeared perfectly composed, wearing the same severe expression—but to Hu Yi, that familiar face now looked strangely… guilty.

With a cold, disapproving tone, the teacher tossed the storybook back at him. “Take it, and do not circulate it privately in the academy again! If I catch you spreading such nonsense a second time, the punishment will be severe!”

“…” Hu Yi took the book pitifully, glancing down at its worn, almost shiny cover—

It was well-read, to say the least.

Now, clutching his beloved storybook, Hu Yi caught up with Qiao Yubai and his group.

As they crossed a wooden bridge, a Qiao family servant came running up with joy all over his face. He whispered something into Qiao Yubai’s ear.

Qiao Yubai’s expression lit up. “Really?!”

The servant nodded repeatedly. “Yes, my young master—please come home quickly!”

“Excellent!” Overjoyed, Qiao Yubai broke into a run, hardly remembering to bid his classmates farewell. After a few steps, though, he suddenly stopped and turned back.

Hu Yi caught up, breathless, just in time to hear him ask, “Where is Sixth Young Master Cui? Have you seen him?”

Cui Lang had also worried greatly over Sister Mianmian’s eyes, visiting often these past days. Watching him, Qiao Yubai had felt as though the young master were becoming half a brother to her. Surely, this good news ought to be shared with him first.

“Sixth Young Master Cui just went home,” Hu Yi replied in a lower voice. “A servant from the Cui residence came looking for him—he seemed to leave in quite a hurry. Perhaps something’s happened at home.”

Ever since the Zheng family’s downfall, the Cui family had become a target of concern—the lips gone, the teeth grow cold, as people said.

Cui Lang had urged the coachman again and again, his carriage flying down the streets. Before it had even come to a full stop at the gate, he leapt down and nearly stumbled.

He strode straight into the main hall—where the atmosphere was heavy and tense, filled with the leading elders of the Cui clan.

Like a brightly plumed bird bursting into a dark cage, Cui Lang ignored the solemn air and cried out loudly,

“I do not agree to this!”

 Chapter 307: Your Days Are Numbered (End of Month—Please Vote for Monthly Tickets)

That “vicious” young man had an even more vicious proposal—he actually invited him to sit down and talk at a teahouse.

“There’s no need. I have other pressing matters.” Grand Tutor Zhu refused without mercy. “Whatever you wish to say, say it here.”

Even though he was turned down, Wei Shuyi’s smile didn’t fade. He responded politely, “Yes, sir. It’s nothing of great importance—I’ve merely heard many stories about the late Crown Prince recently and found myself curious. I wished to ask you… what sort of person was His Highness?”

Grand Tutor Zhu’s eyelid twitched. “Oh, her? Nothing much.”

Such a perfunctory answer left Wei Shuyi silent for a moment, before hearing the Grand Tutor add: “Just so-so.”

Having said that, before Wei Shuyi could ask further, the old man waved his hand impatiently and turned toward his official sedan. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be on my way.”

With nothing gained, Wei Shuyi could only bow and respectfully send him off.

Watching the Grand Tutor’s sedan disappear into the distance, a trace of confusion appeared in Wei Shuyi’s eyes. Was it his imagination, or did the old man seem to… dislike him?

Then again, to be disliked by Grand Tutor Zhu was nothing unusual—for the man despised foolishness, and all those he disdained were the dull-witted or those he deemed mediocre. Yet, in fairness, Wei Shuyi thought, I’m not exactly known for being stupid.

He truly couldn’t understand—how had he offended that old immortal?

“Another petty schemer from the Wei clan…”

Inside the sedan, Grand Tutor Zhu’s brows furrowed tightly.

This sly little fox had already maneuvered him into the Ministry of Rites earlier, and now what—was he scheming against his student too?

And what sort of student was his student?

There was no question about that—his student, aside from one minor flaw, was the finest under Heaven!

The old tutor’s expression relaxed. He lifted his tea cup, took a slow sip, and felt utterly content.

Wei Shuyi, leaving the Six Ministries, also took his sedan back to his residence.

When the carriage stopped before the Marquis of Zheng’s mansion, his attendant Chang Ji followed closely behind. As they passed a fork in the road, Chang Ji instinctively turned toward the Buddha Hall—yet his master chose another path.

Chang Ji paused in surprise. Not going to offer incense first thing after returning home? Has his new faith collapsed already?

Wei Shuyi returned to his study after changing out of his official robes, locking the door behind him. He began reading the documents his men had secretly gathered about the late Crown Prince’s life and deeds.

The reports had been carefully screened—what reached his hands were all verified accounts.

One volume in particular recorded the Crown Prince’s many military achievements. Wei Shuyi flipped through it page by page, feeling the weight and brilliance of history.

From those lines of glory, a vague image formed—a face that gradually overlapped with Chang Suining’s.

Setting down the yellowed record, Wei Shuyi’s emotions were mixed as he looked toward a scroll rolled up beside him.

After a long hesitation, he finally unrolled it—to face the true visage of the person who had once existed in this world.

The painting depicted a young heir apparent in crown prince robes, sword at his waist, brows cold and noble, features exquisitely refined.

What a handsome youth…

And yet—there was something slightly feminine in that face.

Indeed, it was said that the late Crown Prince and Princess Chongyue were twins of identical appearance. If so, it was only natural the prince would bear an androgynous beauty.

As he gazed upon that extraordinary figure, Wei Shuyi’s thoughts grew increasingly chaotic. So this is the person I… unwittingly fell for?

He knew his own heart well—rarely did it stir for anyone. To have fallen this time was sheer misfortune; but he had never imagined that such “misfortune” would prove so utterly irreversible.

The longer he looked, the more his mind burned, as though he had drunk a jug of fiery wine scorching through his chest. He exhaled sharply, grabbed a folded fan from his desk, and stepped out into the courtyard to clear his thoughts.

He tried to distract himself—admiring the flowers, yet recalling her sitting alone at the garden pavilion that day during the flower banquet.

He turned away quickly, walking to the pond—only to remember her drunken fall into the water, scattering all the koi.

He averted his gaze again and looked up at the rising moon—only to think, absurdly, that the moon looked like her.

Truly, I’ve gone mad.

Wei Shuyi shut his eyes, tapping his forehead with the fan as he paced back and forth.

Not far away, Chang Ji watched in confusion. Why does my master look as if he’s eaten rat poison?

Wei Shuyi tried thinking of official matters—no use. He tried laughing at his sister’s foolishness—still useless. In the end, a savior came to mind—Cui Ling’an.

Cui Ling’an’s miserable situation could calm any turmoil; recalling him was enough to soothe Wei Shuyi’s mind.

At present, nearly every aristocratic clansman was gossiping behind Cui Jing’s back, and even poets were composing verses mocking him. Former rivals in court were privately gloating.

Cui Jing might have “merit” before the throne—but he had “transgressed” in the eyes of kin and custom. The former earned imperial praise; the latter awaited the Cui clan’s judgment.

“In this vast world, none understand Cui Ling’an’s good intentions but me,” Wei Shuyi sighed faintly, then smiled. “Fortunately, at least I do.”

Tracing their friendship backward, he thought of himself as Cui’s unacknowledged confidant—and realized Cui’s entire life had been one long misunderstanding.

Yet Cui Ling’an never sought to be understood. His path was his own; to walk it was to remain true to himself, not to the eyes of the world.

Men had their interests and biases, their blurred sense of right and wrong. To be understood by them—was it really so important?

Still, Wei Shuyi thought, even a rebel like Cui Ling’an must care about her gaze.

Speaking of her—what truly happened at Zheng family’s Xinyang estate? Could it really have been just a “prayer”?

Wei Shuyi’s composure collapsed once more. He pressed his fingers to his brow.

Seeing his turmoil, Chang Ji approached cautiously. “Master, forgive me for speaking out of turn, but if you truly cannot calm your mind, perhaps you should go burn some incense.”

People accustomed to praying felt uneasy when they missed a day—or so the saying went.

Wei Shuyi sighed. “…Very well.”

——

Deep within Yishan Ward stood the residence of Yu Zeng, the palace’s official.

That night, a man in his thirties returned from outside, humming a tune, slightly drunk, with a servant holding a lantern beside him.

Upon entering, he was told some news and looked surprised. “Elder Brother has returned?”

He hurried toward Yu Zeng’s courtyard, where a stately woman with greying hair sat beneath the corridor—his mother, elegant in silk and jade.

Hearing her words, he was even more astonished. “Elder Brother… is brewing wine himself?”

His brother hadn’t brewed wine for years.

Curious, he asked, “Who’s the wine for?”

His brother seldom drank at all.

As he was about to step inside, his mother stopped him with a low rebuke. “What are you doing barging in like that? You reek of wine! You’ll ruin your brother’s brew.”

“…It’s all wine! Mine stinks and his smells good?” he muttered.

But he didn’t think his mother was biased—if anything, she feared his brother. He could tell from how she behaved.

“Mother,” he sighed, “we’re family. Why are you so afraid of Brother?”

She gave him a sharp look. “Afraid? Hardly.”

“Yes, yes—you’re not afraid, only guilty,” he said softly. “You still feel guilty over the past, don’t you? You think Brother blames you for what happened back then.”

The woman’s lips tightened; she didn’t deny it.

“I’ve told you before, you must let it go. If he truly resented you, would he have found us and brought us to the capital? Without him, we’d have starved.”

He had been too young then to remember, but he knew it all from his mother’s stories. Over the years, his elder brother had treated them well; his own success owed everything to him.

“Enough—stop talking about this. And stop coming home drunk! You know how your brother hates filth. Go back before you annoy him.”

“But he’s finally home from the palace, and I haven’t even greeted him yet!”

His mother pushed him away regardless.

When all fell quiet again, Yu Zeng emerged from the wine room.

His attendant eunuch closed the door behind him and instructed two servants to guard it strictly—no one was to enter.

The wine was being brewed under the Holy Emperor’s orders; not a drop could go wrong.

Leaving the wine room, Yu Zeng entered his study. Pulling a lever beside a bookshelf, he revealed a narrow secret chamber.

Inside stood a spirit tablet draped in black cloth.

Lighting a stick of incense, Yu Zeng bowed deeply and remained there for a long while before straightening.

He watched the incense burn halfway down, then murmured softly, “I do not know why… but that child now acts more and more like you.”

The shrouded tablet gave no reply.

He smiled bitterly at his own cowardice—ten years had passed, and he still dared not lift that cloth.

He was unworthy to offer incense to that soul—unworthy even to speak of it.

So he fell silent again, until the incense burned out. Then he closed the mechanism and stepped outside.

Lifting his gaze, he saw clouds brushing across the moon—cold, tranquil, endless.

At that same moment, in Dayun Temple, Wu Jue also looked up at the sky.

“The star of Central plains has not fallen. The calamity is over…” Standing atop the stargazing terrace, he watched for a long while before chuckling and tugging at his wide monk’s sleeve. “Good, good. Seems I may live a few more years after all.”

“Abbot,” said a monk approaching with hands clasped, “the Heavenly Mirror Master has arrived and wishes to see you.”

“Heavenly Mirror?” Wu Jue frowned. “What’s that old fraud doing here? A Daoist walking into a Buddhist temple—he’s not afraid the heavens will strike him dead?”

The monk recited a silent prayer, pretending not to hear.

Since the guest had come, he could hardly refuse. Wu Jue ordered him brought in.

Soon, an elderly Daoist in flowing robes and carrying a horsetail whisk appeared—serene, ethereal, the very image of a sage.

Wu Jue sneered inwardly. That façade! No wonder His Highness was so taken by him.

His tone was curt. “To what do we owe the honor, Master Guoshi?”

The Heavenly Mirror Master didn’t answer at once. Gazing at the heavens, he said quietly, “The star of Central plains was fated to perish, yet it has not. It merely dimmed and scattered…”

Wu Jue’s heart thudded, though he masked it with feigned surprise. “Is that so? Remarkable indeed.”

The Daoist stroked his beard and smiled faintly.

“To alter such a destiny is no feat of ordinary mortals,” he said. “More likely—it was done by one not of this world.”

Wu Jue grew wary, glancing sideways at him.

The Daoist turned his gaze upon him, eyes fathomless. “Her Majesty knows all.”

Wu Jue maintained his act of confusion.

The Daoist went on calmly, “You concealed this truth. That is deception before the throne.”

All pretense fell away. Wu Jue crossed his arms and laughed. “Then punish me if you must!”

But the Daoist only shook his head.

“Her Majesty has no wish to punish you.”

As the monks withdrew, the Heavenly Mirror Master looked toward the Celestial Tower. “Her Majesty bears no grudge against anyone—not even the one she yearns for.”

Wu Jue raised a brow, understanding now.

So the Daoist wanted him to act as messenger—to convey the Holy Emperor’s mercy.

Having delivered his message, the Heavenly Mirror Master said no more, gazing silently at the shifting stars.

Wu Jue, unwilling to linger, waved lazily. “Well then, enjoy your stargazing, Daoist. I’m off to bed.”

He had taken only two steps when the Daoist’s voice came behind him:

“Since the array is formed, your days are numbered.”

Wu Jue froze.

“Is there… a way to break it?” The Daoist’s tone softened. “If there is, I would gladly lend aid.”

Though they had long been at odds, the Daoist felt kinship toward this rare peer in enlightenment.

Wu Jue only laughed. “Keep your kindness. My life’s still holding on just fine.”

He swept his sleeve and walked away.

The Heavenly Mirror Master watched him go and sighed softly.

——

The next day, Deputy Minister Zhan of the Ministry of Revenue departed the capital as Imperial Envoy for disaster relief—dragging along his twelve scholars.

In the mansion of the Grand General of Cavalry, in Xingning Courtyard, Qiao Yumian sat beneath the corridor, identifying herbs by scent.

“This one is Angelica dahurica. Its root is used medicinally—to dispel dampness, invigorate blood, and heal wounds…”

After a moment with no response from Physician Sun, she reached for the next herb.

Sun, rarely speaking, would stay silent when she was right—and cough awkwardly when she was wrong.

Watching the gifted young girl, he often found himself dazed.

Yes—he had taken a disciple.

He had actually taken a disciple! A thought that once seemed terrifying, almost unbearable to him.

(End of Chapter)

 Chapter 306: Seeking Guidance from the Grand Tutor

This matter made the Holy Emperor ponder repeatedly in her heart.

Perhaps Ah Shang was still the same Ah Shang as before. Perhaps three years among the Northern Di had not changed her—was that so?

If that were indeed the case, then it only proved how firm and steadfast Ah Shang’s nature was, beyond comparison to ordinary people.

Thus, if Ah Shang had not changed, and now refused to acknowledge her, could it merely be the petulance of a child in anger?

From childhood to adulthood, Ah Shang had seldom had the chance to truly be a child. If she was merely sulking with her, then the Holy Emperor was willing to give all her patience—to wait until her child’s anger faded, and she returned to her side.

They were mother and daughter—each the other’s only blood kin in this world. They were never meant to be opposed, but to stand united against the world.

In Ganlu Hall, a soft voice of announcement drew the Holy Emperor back from her thoughts as she held her vermilion brush within the imperial study.

Yu Zeng entered with two palace attendants and bowed before her.

The Holy Emperor gently set her brush down. The irrelevant attendants on both sides bowed silently and withdrew.

The Directorate of the Inner Palace always served only the Emperor. Matters great and small—from the inner courtyards of officials’ mansions to the rumors among the common folk—all passed through its network of eyes and ears, layer by layer, until they reached the throne.

One of the attendants accompanying Yu Zeng presented a report on recent news circulating among the officials and nobility of the capital, focusing on the unrest and shifting sentiment caused by the turmoil among the aristocratic clans of the Central Plains.

The Holy Emperor lowered her gaze as she read. Her expression remained calm and unmoved.

The upheaval was inevitable—this was a battle that wounded a thousand enemies but harmed herself by eight hundred.

Even so, she was still the one who had won.

What mattered now was to suppress the range of this turbulence as much as possible.

The attendant continued, “...and there is one more matter of note. Now that all the aristocratic clans are restless, many have joined hands with the Wang and Lu families to condemn the Cui clan for failing to properly discipline their younger generation. They are pressing the Cui clan for an explanation.”

The “son” in question, of course, referred to Cui Jing.

News of Cui Jing personally leading troops to breach the gates of the Zheng clan’s mansion in Xingyang had long spread far and wide, drawing furious denunciation from countless clans.

Previously, though the aristocratic clans had harbored discontent toward this scion of the Cui family who commanded the Xuanzhe Army, that discontent was half feigned and half genuine.

Outwardly, they scorned him as a claw of the female sovereign—but privately, they never ceased their efforts to win him over.

They all understood that Cui Jing was a sharp blade. If that blade could serve them, though it might not sound honorable, it would at least be a good blade to wield.

But the affair of the Zheng clan made them see clearly that this blade not only refused to fight for them—it had turned against them!

The Zheng family was his maternal kin, and even against them he could raise his hand. Such a person truly cast away both conscience and honor!

In other words, if he could be ruthless even toward his own blood, how could he possibly show mercy to them in the future?

“What of the law of the state?” they cried. “Family ethics come first! Such a man’s actions are a disgrace to the world!”

Their fury turned toward the Cui clan, demanding that the family give an accounting.

“In their eyes,” said the Holy Emperor with a faint smile, “Cui Jing should have led the Xuanzhe Army in rebellion at Xingyang and slain Li Xian. Only then would he not have shamed the aristocratic clans. Alas, Cui Jing is not as foolish as they.”

No—perhaps not foolish, merely differently placed.

Each man cared only for his own survival and interest. Faced with life and death, they had no choice. But Cui Jing did have a choice.

Regrettably, he did not choose to stand with them—at least, not on the surface. And the world, by and large, judges only what it can see.

“This is the private affair of the aristocratic clans, and also the domestic matter of the Cui family,” said the Holy Emperor. “I shall not intervene for now.”

How it would unfold later, she would watch and decide based on the Cui clan’s response.

The second attendant then reported on the current sentiments among the people.

Among all the talk, the most popular tale was that of Chang Suining and Zheng Chao praying for blessings that miraculously came true.

Yu Zeng stood silently to the side, listening to the many embellished versions of the story without showing expression.

He dared not look directly at the Holy Emperor’s face, but inwardly pondered her reaction.

At last, the attendant concluded, “Many say that General Ningyuan is the reincarnation of a heavenly war star—an auspicious omen for the Da Sheng Dynasty.”

Yu Zeng waited quietly for her response.

The Holy Emperor smiled faintly. “An auspicious sign,” she said. “Indeed, I think so as well.”

If others were called “the reincarnation of a war star,” it might merely be hollow praise.

But for Ah Shang—it was truth.

Her child was born under a martial star, destined to aid her in securing and stabilizing the empire.

The Holy Emperor raised a hand, signaling the attendants to withdraw.

Yu Zeng then reported on the movements of certain court officials the Emperor had previously instructed him to watch.

“Continue to observe,” she ordered. “If there is any unusual behavior or secret dealings, report to me at once.”

He obeyed.

As the turmoil grew, suspicion had spread everywhere in the Emperor’s heart.

After reading a secret memorial, her weary voice softened slightly. “I recall, Ah Shang was fond of wine, was she not?”

The question came suddenly. Yu Zeng hesitated briefly before answering respectfully, “Yes, Your Majesty. Her Highness most loved the ‘Wind’s Delight Brew.’”

The Holy Emperor smiled. “You remember her preferences well.”

That was proof he had kept his former master in mind for all these years.

Yu Zeng lowered his gaze. “This slave once received Her Highness’s praise for brewing that wine, so the memory stayed clear.”

“So it was your own brew,” she said thoughtfully. “Do you still make it?”

“Your Majesty, it has been many years since I last brewed it.”

“When you have leisure, make a few jars for me,” said the Holy Emperor softly, her gaze drifting toward the glass Boshan incense burner. “A hundred days to ferment new wine—by summer, it should be ready to taste.”

Yu Zeng bowed deeply, not daring to hesitate.

She gave no reason for the order—an Emperor never needed to explain herself, least of all for such a trivial matter.

When Yu Zeng departed, the Holy Emperor’s eyes followed the flash of purple robes disappearing beyond the red-lacquered threshold.

He was cautious, capable, and discreet—never forming factions, a man of rare reliability.

Moreover, she favored him because of his unwavering loyalty to Ah Shang. Though outwardly cold, he was deeply attached to old ties—such men were rarely swayed by profit or fear.

She had raised him to the highest rank a eunuch could attain. No matter what rewards others promised, he could not easily be tempted.

And if profit could not move him, then there was his weakness.

He was not alone in the world. In his youth, his family had fallen into poverty and famine; his sisters died of hunger, leaving only him and his younger brother. Their parents, in despair, had sold him into the palace.

Later, Ah Shang, learning of this, had found his surviving kin and brought them to the capital for care.

His father was dead, but his mother and younger brother remained.

Years had passed. His brother had since married and now served in the Capital Patrol Office under the Ministry of War—merely a seventh-rank commander, not high in position, but content with his lot. Yu Zeng, too, was not greedy for more.

In short, all of Yu Zeng’s weaknesses lay under imperial watch.

That was why she could trust him with her affairs. She had doubted many—but rarely him. Yet today’s times were not as before...

Behind the screen, two shadowed figures appeared and knelt, awaiting orders.

“From now on, watch his every move closely. Let there be no negligence.”

The shadows vanished. Palace attendants reentered to serve.

Several were new faces—the frequent replacement of attendants in Ganlu Hall over recent months had left everyone in constant tension, terrified of making even the slightest mistake that might spark the Emperor’s suspicion.

The Holy Emperor sensed their unease.

Yes—she was a suspicious ruler. But anyone sitting on this throne would become the same.

At times, she mocked herself for being “without anyone to use.”

But truthfully, in the beginning, she had capable people—until, after several years on the throne, she purged them all.

Those who had great power or armies had disdained her—some openly defiant, others harboring secret treachery.

She had to eliminate them.

And so she did—again and again, even now.

She had killed both the deserving and the undeserving. Her lack of people to rely on stemmed from her lack of people she could trust.

She had tried to elevate her kin. They were mostly mediocre, but unlike the powerful who might turn against her, they at least shared her interests and would obey.

She never regretted any of the killings. Without them, she would never have remained on the throne.

If life were a game of leaves, then from the beginning, she had been dealt the worst hand of all. Yet despite that, she had ruled for more than ten years—proof that she was a true sovereign, one chosen by Heaven’s will.

In recent years, when the world grew unstable, she had asked the Heavenly Mirror Master whether her imperial destiny was nearing its end.

The master had replied that he dared not speak of such a heavenly secret.

So she stopped asking.

Since her enthronement, she had worked tirelessly, never once slackened. Though crises had come again and again, she remained the ruler of Da Sheng.

This unrest too—she would quell it.

Once she pacified the aristocratic clans and gathered all power under her grasp, she would finally usher in her true era of prosperity.

Thin smoke drifted from the Boshan incense burner as a palace maid entered with the Emperor’s scheduled medicine.

——

The matter of the aristocratic clans was soon settled.

Relief efforts for the disaster were arranged. The Holy Emperor appointed the Deputy Minister of Revenue as Imperial Envoy—both to distribute aid and to oversee the confiscation of the Zheng clan’s property with Li Xian.

Leaving Ganlu Hall, Wei Shuyi quietly sighed in relief.

His recent diligence and self-assigned tasks had given him ample reason to remain in the capital, sparing him from this “honor” that so many sought in vain.

Disaster relief involved vast sums of grain and silver; in such times, only a trustworthy official could be sent. The Deputy Minister, surnamed Zhan, once a Censor, was upright and frugal—stingy even—and a disciple of Grand Tutor Zhu. None could be more suitable.

Moreover, the Emperor assigned eunuch attendants to accompany them for supervision.

After consulting with Prime Minister Ma Xingzhou, the Holy Emperor further selected over ten clerks from the Ministries of Revenue, Rites, and Personnel—all of them newly appointed jinshi from this year’s examinations.

Though they had just been placed in the ministries, they were now ordered to accompany the envoy for practical experience.

It was a rare move, but the Holy Emperor considered it the most direct way to temper them. She needed not mere scholars of elegant prose, but capable men who could fill the vacancies in her administration.

Among them were the new top scholar Song Xian and Tan Li.

Relief was as urgent as fire—there was no time to delay. They were to depart the next morning.

Wei Shuyi, tasked with conveying the orders, returned with Deputy Minister Zhan to the Six Ministries.

After all arrangements were made, Deputy Minister Zhan went to bid farewell to Grand Tutor Zhu, who was preparing to return home for the day.

Song Xian and the others also lined up to pay respects to the old tutor. As the chief examiner of their imperial examinations, he was half their mentor—though Grand Tutor Zhu himself never liked to admit it, often frowning in distaste at the mention.

“Go,” he said, gazing at these fresh green shoots before him. “Be cautious in all things. Do not be careless. And above all, do not be foolish.”

It was blunt advice, but honest. The young officials bowed solemnly, thinking wryly that the old tutor had indeed spent his entire life at war with the word “fool.”

Grand Tutor Zhu squinted his dim eyes and counted heads.

“Twelve...” he muttered, then turned to Deputy Minister Zhan. “Remember, no matter what, bring all twelve of them back—whole and unbroken.”

Their talent might be mediocre, but they were his chosen seedlings—he would not have them all die on their first outing.

The journey would not be peaceful.

They would face refugees, local powers, and remnants of aristocratic clans still seeking revenge in secret.

Ordinarily, such novices would not be dragged into this. But alas, they were the first batch—the first crop always bore the hardest fate.

Grand Tutor Zhu sighed inwardly, while the eager “seedlings” looked full of zeal.

They knew nothing of how perilous the world was—Deputy Minister Zhan fretted to himself.

He had served as Imperial Envoy before, but never had he been burdened with twelve toddling “infants.”

Ah, leading twelve fledglings... anyone would despair.

Sensing his distress, Wei Shuyi felt both sympathy and deeper relief that he had escaped the task.

It wasn’t that he didn’t wish to see her—he simply hadn’t yet decided how to face the strange truth, and the “she” hidden behind it.

Deputy Minister Zhan went to brief his little flock, while Wei Shuyi followed Grand Tutor Zhu out of the Ministry of Rites.

After a while, Grand Tutor Zhu glanced at the handsome youth beside him. “Does the Deputy Minister have something to say?”

“Indeed,” Wei Shuyi smiled faintly. “As expected, nothing escapes Grand Tutor’s eyes.”

The old tutor was curt. “If you have business, speak. My sedan chair is waiting ahead.”

He had finally managed to leave on time for once—he would not waste the chance.

Not a moment longer than necessary did he wish to give to that cursed Ministry of Rites.

“Yes,” said Wei Shuyi respectfully. “There are a few matters I wish to seek the Grand Tutor’s guidance on.”

A few?

Not just one?

Grand Tutor Zhu’s eyes twitched.

Such greed—to rob an old man of his rare hour of freedom—was it not an act of cruelty?

(End of Chapter 306)

 Chapter 305: She Would Become the Embodiment of Legend

The punishment and slaughter of the Aristocratic clans had stirred a commotion among the noble families and the court, a turmoil no less intense than the floods ravaging the land.

Yet among the common folk, what spread most widely was not the tragedy of the Aristocratic clans, but the tale of General Ningyuan and Master Zheng of the Zheng family praying for rain in Xingyang and receiving Heaven’s response.

First, such stories of divine manifestation possessed an innate allure — mysterious and miraculous. From eighty-year-old elders to five-year-old children, from secluded noblewomen to beggars knocking bowls along the streets, everyone could gossip about it. There was no threshold to enter such talk.

Furthermore, compared to the perilous topic of the Aristocratic clans’ political struggles — which might bring disaster upon one’s head — stories of divine blessing were far safer. In these turbulent times, when rebellions and wars spread everywhere, the court had dispatched ruthless enforcers to suppress rumors harmful to the Holy Emperor. A careless word could bring catastrophe.

Those great clans were far removed from the lives of commoners; their affairs were merely thrilling tales to hear and forget. If people truly wished to speak their fill, better to gossip about a miracle that could be discussed with their heads still safely upon their shoulders.

And a successful prayer meant divine approval — those who brought about such miracles were often seen as embodiments of auspicious omens.

Turning calamity into blessing was like a holy totem of hope emerging from mud. Thus, the Xingyang miracle quickly became the hottest topic across the land, the favorite tale of storytellers in every teahouse.

“...The culprit was sacrificed before the people. General Ningyuan and Master Zheng knelt on the altar for three days and nights without taking a single grain of rice…”

“By the third day, as the floodwaters of the Huang River were about to overflow, the cries in and outside Xingyang filled the heavens—how tragic it was…”

“General Ningyuan wished to evacuate the people, but the townsfolk of Xingyang refused to leave. They swore to live and die with the two of them!”

“Moved to tears, the townsfolk sewed two ‘Umbrellas of Ten Thousand People’ and offered them as gifts… And guess what happened next?”

Meeting the crowd’s eager eyes, the storyteller struck the wooden clapper with flair and raised his voice:

“The moment the Umbrellas of Ten Thousand People were opened, the dark clouds scattered! Golden light streamed from the heavens, and the rain ceased at once!”

The audience gasped in astonishment, murmurs of awe rippling through the hall.

Then the storyteller struck the clapper again, leaping to his feet, voice even louder:

“But that was not the most wondrous part!”

“It’s said that at the banks of the overflowing Huang River, a mighty dragon appeared. With a roar that split the sky, it opened its jaws wide and swallowed the raging floodwaters whole—then soared into the clouds!”

The teahouse erupted. Faces lit with disbelief, wonder, or scorn — some rolled their eyes outright, muttering that the storyteller was full of nonsense. A dragon? Who could believe such drivel?

But the round of applause and cheers answered the question — apparently, everyone but them did!

A few skeptics’ eye-rolls were not enough to quell the feverish excitement.

“No wonder my wife says General Ningyuan is the reincarnation of a heavenly star! I didn’t believe her before, but now—!”

The speaker slapped his thigh with conviction, reflecting with sudden seriousness.

Who could blame him? A girl of merely sixteen or seventeen years — one who could defeat bandits and settle a region, then pray for rain and halt a flood — how could she be an ordinary mortal?

Another listener eagerly asked the storyteller what the dragon had looked like. The storyteller described it vividly, as though he himself had crouched in the river mud and seen it with his own eyes.

Stories were half truth, half embellishment; exaggeration was the lifeblood of performance.

Besides, the script had been delivered to him the previous day by a young lady through her maid — and she claimed to have reliable sources.

“Well said! A reward!”

From the second floor came the clear voice of a young woman. Several silver ingots were soon carried down and placed on the storyteller’s table.

He bowed repeatedly in thanks as more copper coins and bits of silver followed.

“Sister Wu’s script is marvelous!”

In a refined private booth by the railing, Yao Xia whispered excitedly, her eyes bright.

The other young ladies nodded in agreement, still flushed with the lingering thrill of the performance.

Wu Chunbai looked down at the crowd and smiled faintly.

“It is not that my script is good. This affair itself was destined to cause such a stir.”

“Both are splendid — the story and the script alike!”

“By the way, Ah Xia, tell us again — what else did your distant cousin write about Young Miss Chang in her letter?”

The girls chattered merrily among themselves.

Not far away, in another booth, sat Yao Yi in plain robes. Before him were a pot of tea, two plates of pastries, and a dish of pine nuts.

The Commandant leisurely peeled a nut between his fingers, occasionally glancing at his niece.

This niece of his could never hide her doings. He already knew that the popular stories spreading through the capital these days all came from that young lady of the Wu family.

Did these girls truly understand what they were doing?

Books were not available to everyone; if one wished to reach the common people, only dramas, songs, or folktales — things easy to recite and remember — could spread widely and deeply.

And her deeds, one after another, under the eager pens of these girls, were transforming from events… into legends.

Once deeds became legend, she would cease to be a mere mortal — she would become the embodiment of a myth itself.

Did these girls understand what that meant?

And did she understand?

How could she not? She had once claimed to have been guided by a celestial immortal who came to save the world!

Recalling their parting at Dayun Temple last year — and that astonishing word “Uncle” that had nearly stopped his heart — Yao Yi felt as though sitting on pins and needles. An uneasy, perilous thought crept through his mind.

Listening to the voices below, all speaking of her, he felt alternating chills and heat sweep through his body. Every pore seemed to open and close in turn, as though something vast were breathing through him.

A voice in his mind whispered—

Could there truly be such a thing as Heaven’s will?

He murmured the words aloud without realizing.

“What did you say, Master?” asked his attendant, bending close amid the noise.

“Settle the bill.” Yao Yi slapped the pile of pine nuts on the table and rose with an unsettled mind. “We’re going home.”

The servant answered promptly, dropped a few bits of silver on the table, and seeing that his master had peeled a whole pile of pine nuts without eating a single one, stuffed them all into his own mouth with satisfaction before following along.

The tale told in the teahouse quickly spread.

The common folk passed it on by word of mouth, while the other storytellers across the city’s teahouses felt a growing sense of crisis—only one day had passed, and now even a dragon had appeared!

All right then, if that’s how it is, let’s play!

Someone immediately began scribbling furiously:

“…Just as the Ten Thousand People Umbrella opened, flocks of birds circled above the altar. The dark clouds suddenly transformed into colorful auspicious clouds, and faintly—those clouds even took the shape of an immortal…”

Driven by competition, the storytelling trade of the capital city suddenly exploded with countless bizarre yet captivating versions of the tale.

And speaking of crisis—lately, Wei Miaoqing was feeling some as well.

A month ago, Yao Xia suddenly produced a “distant cousin” who claimed to serve under General Ningyuan. This supposed relative would often send her letters describing Chang Suining’s latest news.

At first, Wei Miaoqing had doubted the authenticity of it. But after several letters, it did seem that such a person truly existed.

Because of this, Yao Xia’s standing among them had risen sharply—she was now adored and sought after. For someone like Wei Miaoqing, who had been accustomed to being the center of attention since childhood, this stirred up a deep jealousy.

She began to recall fondly those days when her elder brother, acting under imperial command, went south to pacify Li Yi’s rebellion—how all their sisters had gathered around her in admiration back then.

Driven by vanity, Wei Miaoqing, who had long relied on her brother’s status, once again turned her gaze upon him.

“…This time, the Central Plains has suffered such severe flooding. Surely the Holy Emperor will dispatch an Imperial Envoy to provide relief and comfort the victims, will she not? Why doesn’t Elder Brother volunteer to go?”

These past few days, seeing her brother offer incense twice daily, praying for the safety of Young Miss Chang, Wei Miaoqing was certain her brother had long fallen hopelessly in love. She lowered her voice and added, “That way, Brother could take the chance to see Young Miss Chang in person.”

“……” Wei Shuyi suddenly felt uneasy.

As she looked at her exceedingly handsome brother, a thought flashed through Wei Miaoqing’s mind: “Young Miss Chang has been battling, rescuing flood victims, and praying for rain to cease—how exhausting! If she could just see my brother’s beautiful face, it would surely be a pleasant relief…”

“……” Wei Shuyi smiled faintly, though his tone was dry. “There’s no need to tell me everything that crosses your mind.”

Wei Miaoqing hastily covered her mouth. She wasn’t stupid—she hadn’t meant to speak so bluntly. Who knew how it had slipped out?

Looking at his sister—so much like their mother in both face and temperament—Wei Shuyi could only feel a deeper melancholy about her future as the possible Crown Princess.

Just then, the troublesome sister furrowed her brow and said, “But wait—the Grand General Cui is still in Xingyang. With him there, how could Brother’s looks possibly stand out?”

Wei Shuyi felt an invisible arrow pierce straight into his chest. Keeping a perfectly composed and gentle smile, he rose, untied the embroidered pouch at his waist, and handed it to her. “Matters of court are not your plaything. You need not concern yourself.”

Instinctively, Wei Miaoqing took it and opened it—inside were dozens of glittering gold beans. She asked in surprise, “Why are you giving me this, Brother?”

Wei Shuyi was already turning to leave. Without looking back, he said mildly, “When you have time, go to the Huichun Hall and get a few prescriptions suited to your condition.”

“……!” Wei Miaoqing stomped her foot, teeth clenched in frustration.

——

Just as Wei Shuyi had said, disaster relief was no trifling matter. And since this flood coincided with the punishment of the aristocratic clans, the matter allowed not the slightest misstep.

The next morning in court, when reports about the flood damage and the proposed sums for relief funds were read aloud, many officials felt as though a great stone had dropped into their chests.

The Central Plains had always been the empire’s grain storehouse, but with the harvest ruined by floods this year, the summer yield was lost. Moreover, the court would have to divert additional funds for disaster relief—a double loss, and a massive one.

With wars erupting across the land and armies requiring vast supplies, the national treasury was nearly empty. It was impossible to produce such a large sum for relief.

Yet to forgo disaster relief was out of the question. The Central Plains and Luoyang were unlike other regions; the court could not afford to let famine lead to riots or rebellion.

Fortunately—or so some thought—there was still one “source” to fill the coffers: the confiscated estates of the Central Plains’ aristocratic clans, a fat piece of meat, especially that of the Zheng family.

At this point, the court hall appeared markedly emptier. Many seats once held by officials of aristocratic birth stood vacant. When the nests of the Central Plains clans were purged, their members in government had also been cleansed. Most now awaited their final judgment in prison.

Now that “the evidence was conclusive” and all seemed settled on the surface, it was time for the sovereign to deliver the final verdict.

Though none spoke openly, most courtiers knew that the severity of the punishment would surely change due to the Zheng clan’s “extraordinary response.”

As the leading aristocratic clan of the Central Plains, the Zhengs had slain their own family head, Zheng Ji, the source of all calamity, and voluntarily surrendered all property and collected books, showing not the slightest resistance—all to preserve the lives of the innocent members of their clan. Such humility was unlike anything expected of the aristocracy.

Furthermore, the former clan head Zheng Chao, who had slain Zheng Ji, had now earned merit through his prayers and flood relief at Xingyang—and had even received from the people a “Umbrella of the People.”

Answered prayers symbolized Heaven’s will; the Umbrella of the People represented the hearts of the people. With both Heaven and the people behind him, the court had to tread carefully in deciding Zheng Chao’s fate—and that of his family.

Moreover, several scholars from the Central Plains who held official titles jointly submitted a memorial to the throne, attesting to Zheng Chao’s virtue and fairness, imploring the Holy Emperor for mercy.

The man who presented the petition was Song Xian, the newly appointed Zhuangyuan (top scholar) personally chosen by the sovereign.

Song Xian, himself a native of the Central Plains, claimed he had once, by chance, received scholarly instruction from Zheng Chao, who had lived in the Thatched Hall. Thus, he considered Zheng Chao half a teacher to him. A student could not remain silent when his teacher was in peril; his petition was both plea and tribute.

That a Zhuangyuan born of humble origins, together with other common-born scholars, would plead for a man of aristocratic descent—this was rare indeed, a gesture that transcended the ancient divide between noble and commoner.

As officials in the hall spoke of the matter, Grand Tutor Zhu listened in silence, feeling an unexpected sense of satisfaction. Perhaps this was the very sign of a new age for the realm’s literary and moral traditions—one in which all scholars, regardless of birth, would stand as equals.

Moreover, he could not help but think that Zheng Chao’s many wise actions at Xingyang… bore the hand of his most vexing student.

Meanwhile, several memorials were submitted impeaching Li Xian. Zheng Chao’s actions had triggered a chain of ripples—many now decried Li Xian’s brutal purge of the aristocratic clans in Luoyang, accusing him of executions, torture, and even using innocent scholars as sacrifices to Heaven.

The Holy Emperor listened to the impassioned accusations, and finally said, “Li Xian’s actions indeed went too far.”

Had all the aristocratic clans been slaughtered in one sweep, so be it—but Zheng Chao’s case had changed the tide of public opinion. With pressure mounting, the Holy Emperor’s stance had to shift as well. She already had a plan for what to do next.

Her goal, however, had been achieved. This change merely turned the fate of the Central Plains clans from total destruction to decline—saving a few lives. Their books were confiscated, estates seized, and they were reduced to commoners. From now on, the Central Plains would have no aristocratic clans left.

Thus, her grand design remained unbroken.

She thought, the one who had fanned the wind behind Zheng Chao must have understood this too—clever and clear-minded enough to know where her boundaries lay.

She meant her Ah Shang.

Ah Shang was still too soft-hearted.

 Chapter 304: Heaven Does Not Abandon Heluo

Chang Suining descended from the altar and stood upon the stone steps below. Though she stood alone, her silent presence seemed to shield Zheng Chao, who was still upon the altar behind her. Facing Li Xian, she spoke in her usual calm tone:

“I have been engaged in disaster relief near Xingyang these past days. Hasn’t that subordinate of yours, the one called Guo Fu, ever mentioned it to you, General Li?”

The “Guo Fu” in her words was the unlucky fellow she had encountered during the pursuit of Yuan Miao—she had once inspected his waist token herself.

Li Xian replied evenly, his expression unreadable, though courteous:

“I have heard some mention of it, yet I did not expect to meet the General of Ningyuan here in Xingyang City.”

Chang Suining’s voice was unruffled as well:

“I heard that the elder of the Zheng family was holding a grain donation and prayer ceremony in the city, so I came to join in the bustle.”

Li Xian smiled faintly and met her gaze:

“Then it truly is quite the coincidence. May I ask, General of Ningyuan—do you intend to hinder me in carrying out my duty?”

The matter of her men intercepting his and taking away the prisoners of war had yet to be settled.

Chang Suining replied:

“Of course not. I merely wish to remind General Li that according to the rites and laws of the Da Sheng Dynasty, any official or government-sanctioned ceremony of offering and prayer must not be disturbed. To do so is considered an act that disrupts the nation’s fortune—and if the offense is grave, it is punishable by death.”

Li Xian’s brows twitched slightly, and he gave a short laugh, glancing at the bloodstained altar:

“This—counts as a prayer ceremony?”

Chang Suining turned her head, unperturbed:

“And why not? Has there not been a precedent for it in Luoyang City?”

The mocking smile on Li Xian’s lips froze a little.

“I was unaware that this prayer was one initiated by the Xingyang authorities—”

Just then, the magistrate of Xingyang and other officials, having heard of the commotion, hurried to the scene. Li Xian turned to the magistrate for confirmation.

The Xingyang magistrate verified that the ceremony had indeed been permitted under his authority, stamped with the seal of the Prefectural Office.

It was true—he had approved it. Yet he had never imagined that the Zheng family would slaughter their own atop the altar!

By law, a murderer ought to be arrested. Yet in Xingyang, the Zheng clan’s ancestral code outweighed the law—such matters were to be handled first within the clan.

But now the Zheng family had been branded as collaborators of the rebel Xu, and the slain head of the Zheng clan was deemed the main conspirator. That, of course, put it beyond his jurisdiction entirely.

And to make matters worse—this General Li Xian had arrived suddenly, unannounced, intending to strike the Zheng clan by surprise. Had he informed the magistrate beforehand, the man would never have approved the ceremony…

Then again—perhaps he still might have. After all, one could not easily refuse a donation of ten thousand shi of grain.

The magistrate of Xingyang possessed a certain courage born of greed.

The bellies of the starving could not wait. A single day’s delay could spark riots. He dared not hope that, once the Zheng estate was confiscated, this General Li Xian would promptly distribute the seized grain to the famished. The man’s ruthless conduct these past days was well known—slaughtering clans, seizing wealth under the guise of justice.

Whereas the General of Ningyuan—she had spent these days in the vicinity of Xingyang rescuing victims and soothing the displaced. At the very onset of the floods, it was she, together with Hu Lin of Bian Prefecture, who had warned them to make preparations in advance.

The magistrate’s heart weighed its own scales. At last he spoke:

“Since the prayer ceremony has begun, to interrupt it midway would be deemed an offense of irreverence toward the spirits…”

The rites were called rites because ceremony came before all else—especially now, in times of calamity.

Li Xian had no wish to invite ill fortune. He only asked,

“Then when, may I ask, will this prayer ceremony conclude?”

The magistrate looked troubled.

“Master Zheng is most sincere in his devotion. He intends to continue praying until the rain ceases…”

Do not ask further—Luoyang City had set this precedent.

Li Xian sneered inwardly.

Meanwhile, among the people gathered around the altar, a ripple of unrest began to stir. They could not hear what Li Xian and the others were discussing—only that the soldiers he brought had drawn their blades and surrounded the altar, intent on seizing Zheng Chao.

Among the front ranks stood many scholars. When they had first heard of the fate of the aristocrats in Luoyang, they had felt a surge of vindication—it seemed justice at last, that poor scholars might finally rise.

Yet as the court’s slaughter of noble clans widened, fear and unease began to grow among them. They started to question themselves: was such mass killing of Aristocratic families truly a cause for rejoicing?

Many of those slain were innocent—scholars unknowing of politics, even women and children of the noble clans.

Now, in this moment, that vague unease took form before their eyes. The truth stood stark—the elder of the Zheng family, the revered Thatched Hall Master himself, was no villain.

To kill the innocent—was wrong!

Not all men of the clans were greedy or corrupt; not all deserved to be wiped out!

Master Zheng must not be taken away like this—to be humiliated and butchered as those Luoyang scholars had been!

From within the crowd, someone’s voice rang out first:

“Master Zheng has acted with righteousness, punishing his kin for treachery! His virtue and loyalty are known to all of Xingyang. He could never be a conspirator of the Xu rebels! We beg the Imperial Commissioner to investigate according to the law!”

The scholar bit hard upon the words “investigate according to the law.”

At once, countless voices joined in chorus.

“Not only that! Master Zheng rendered great merit in the flood prevention of the Huang River! Were it not for him, the waters would have drowned all of Xingyang long ago!”

The speaker was Ah Che, hidden among the crowd—his voice alone carried.

The townsfolk of Xingyang were astonished.

Many scholars’ eyes reddened in shock.

So—Master Zheng had not only taught them his knowledge in secret, but had also risked his life to tame the floodwaters!

How many deeds of kindness had he done that they had never known?

Master Zheng was a great rock they were but the fledglings he had fed with selfless care—only now did they realize the depth of his benevolence.

Emotion surged through the masses. They looked upon the soldiers’ drawn blades with growing defiance.

Some scholars began to think—if the aristocrats’ existence was unjust, what of these men now wielding such cruelty? If men like these were to replace the noble clans entirely, would justice truly be restored?

If the very foundation of scholarship and ritual were to be wiped from the world, where then would the integrity of scholars survive?

The noble clans had their sins—but they did not deserve annihilation!

Perceiving the shift in mood, Li Xian sneered inwardly twice.

These ignorant fools—so easily roused by a few words. They were born to crawl beneath others’ feet, like ants.

And there was no need to clash with such ants. Zheng Chao—merely a man desperate to save his own skin—could not escape him forever.

Li Xian gave no further orders to seize Zheng Chao. Instead, he commanded his men to guard the altar until the prayer ended:

“The rest of you, come with me—to the Zheng estate!”

The magistrate and his subordinates hastily stepped aside, hearts filled with dread. They knew—today, Xingyang was destined to become the next Luoyang.

Li Xian cast a sidelong glance at Chang Suining, who stood watching the “spectacle,” and said with a faint smile:

“Will the General of Ningyuan accompany me?”

He suspected that this whole affair—the prayer, the timing—had something to do with her. His words were a probe.

But Chang Suining simply shook her head with mild indifference.

“I would not dare to disturb General Li in his duty.”

Li Xian smiled faintly and nodded, then turned his horse as though to depart.

In truth, while he had been negotiating here, he had already dispatched three thousand troops along another route to the Zheng estate—opening the way for today’s operation.

He had never intended for a single member of the Zheng clan to escape from Xingyang alive.

The previous night, he had personally sharpened his sword. The Zheng clan—foremost among the Central Plains’ noble families, the maternal kin of Cui Jing—was indeed lofty enough to merit his special attention.

Yet just as Li Xian led his men around the altar, the crowd ahead suddenly parted. From the opposite direction came a disciplined and imposing troop, cutting off his path.

Li Xian pulled his reins tight, frowning swiftly—Cui Jing?

The troop drew near. The young man at its head spoke calmly from horseback:

“Yesterday, upon receiving Zheng Chao’s report accusing the Zheng family head of colluding with Xu Zhengye, and upon confirming it with solid proof, I have now placed the entire Zheng household under control. All who resisted have been executed.”

“What?”

Li Xian thought he had misheard.

So—it was Cui Jing himself who had taken troops to suppress and seize the Zheng family?

On his way to Xingyang, he had already learned that Cui Jing was nearby. He had assumed the man would avoid involvement, lest he be accused of favoritism—perhaps even stand against the court for the Zheng clan’s sake. If that had happened, Li Xian would have found it rather interesting.

But instead—this man had preempted him, taking control of the Zheng family before he could act.

He understood now. The offering of grain, the prayers for rain, the public execution of Zheng Ji to stir the people’s hearts… and the Zheng clan’s supposed act of suicidal resistance that never came—

Ha! So that was the truth.

Cui Jing’s expression remained calm.

“In addition, the Zheng clan has voluntarily offered up all the books in their secret archives, pleading that the Holy Emperor be informed of their repentance and show mercy—not to absolve their crimes, but only to spare the innocent among them.”

Li Xian’s eyes swept toward three soldiers of the Xuanzhe Army beside Cui Jing. Each held a chest in his arms—inside lay the keys to the Zheng family’s three great secret libraries.

Countless scholars among the crowd turned to look. Those three chests contained treasures beyond measure—the greatest cultural trove in all Heluo.

Li Xian slowly drew back his gaze, fixing it on Cui Jing.

“With Grand General Cui personally demonstrating loyalty above kinship, this case has progressed with remarkable speed.”

Cui Jing replied evenly:

“I act under Imperial decree. Having received a report, I could not ignore it for the sake of private ties. Should any within the Zheng clan bear suspicion of conspiracy, General Li may, of course, take them for questioning in accordance with the law.”

Li Xian sneered inwardly.

Now that the entire Zheng clan was under Cui Jing’s control, anyone he wished to seize would still have to pass under Cui Jing’s watchful eyes. He did not doubt that Cui Jing would not dare to protect the guilty—but to kill only those whose deaths were inevitable—what meaning was there in that?

His sword had been honed for the destruction of the entire Zheng clan.

This trip, truly, had ended in disappointment.

Suppressing the irritation within his chest, Li Xian raised his hand on the reins and said with false admiration:

“For Grand General Cui to act with such impartiality—Li shall surely report to the Holy Emperor the noble act of a man who sacrifices righteousness over kinship.”

Every word he uttered revolved around those four characters—“righteousness above kinship.”

It was, perhaps, the only interesting event of the day.

He knew perfectly well that Cui Jing’s act, though outwardly a suppression, was in truth a rescue of the Zheng clan. A benevolent deception, perhaps—but the world would not see it that way. Least of all the noble clans.

Soon, all would hear that it was Cui Jing who had personally led his troops to break the gates of the Zheng estate and offer up the family’s hidden archives to the court.

Thinking this, Li Xian laughed softly again, saluted Cui Jing with clasped hands, and ordered Zheng Ji’s corpse to be taken away. Then he spurred his horse and led his men toward the Zheng estate.

Around them, the townsfolk’s gazes turned to the striking young commander, whispering among themselves, their expressions mixed and uneasy.

Cui Jing sat astride his horse, fingers still faintly stained with blood—proof, it seemed, of his “righteousness above kinship.”

His gaze passed over the fearful and confused stares, looking only toward the altar above.

Chang Suining smiled at him.

The tension in Cui Jing’s brow quietly loosened.

As Chang Suining prepared to step down from the altar, a bloodstained hand suddenly caught at the hem of her robe.

She turned—and saw Zheng Chao, limp and trembling, his face twisted between tears and a bitter smile.

“Please, General of Ningyuan… stay and pray with me.”

Who could understand the turmoil in his heart? He had taken a life for the first time—his own cousin’s—and now the great Zheng clan would crumble and vanish. Heaven itself seemed to have collapsed upon him, yet he must still remain to pray for forgiveness.

He was now both sinner and traitor of his clan. What if, while he prayed, someone tried to assassinate him? Surely it was best to have a warrior at his side—a protector like the famed General of Ningyuan, said to be born beneath a star of command.

And perhaps Heaven, for her sake, might even stop the rain sooner.

Zheng Chao’s thoughts swirled wildly between grief and absurd hope. He wanted to cry, yet also to laugh. He felt a strange release, as though the chains of fate had broken—though sorrow still lingered for the fall of his family. Still, he knew—amid this ruin, they had at least won the smallest mercy Heaven could grant.

Moved by his earnest plea, Chang Suining could not refuse. She remained with him upon the altar to continue the prayers.

The ceremonial altar was draped with a canopy embroidered with scriptures. Those praying for blessings could sit cross-legged beneath it and recite sutras—but when the rain grew heavy, the canopy was useless, unable to keep much of it out.

Zheng Chao, wholly intent on atoning for the sins of the Zheng clan, did not sit cross-legged like a monk. Instead, he knelt upon the altar, confessing the clan’s wrongs before both mortals and gods.

Several scholars who had once received his guidance at the Thatched Hall, and thus attained their scholarly titles, gathered around the altar and refused to leave, praying together with him.

Li Xian’s trusted army came and went through the Zheng household, which was tightly guarded by Xuanzhe’s soldiers, taking away those clan members who were far from innocent. The questioning and punishment of the Zheng clan of Xingyang thus proceeded—neither calm nor chaotic, but eerily tranquil.

After Li Xian departed for Xingyang, the supervision of detained aristocratic clans in and around Luoyang was handed over to Cui Jing’s men. From then on, no more wrongful killings occurred.

The rain hastened the fall of night. Ah Dian took the umbrella from Cui Jing’s hand, climbed the altar, and held it over the nearly soaked-through Chang Suining.

When Chang Suining looked up at her, Ah Dian said with aggrieved yet resolute eyes, “If the Buddha must blame someone, let Him blame me. I insisted on holding the umbrella for you!”

Chang Suining smiled. “Don’t worry. The Buddha wouldn’t fuss over a child.”

She turned her head and gazed through the rain curtain toward the direction of the Huang River.

Zheng Chao, too, had been looking that way all along. He was counting the days—or rather, the hours.

In the darkness, cries of the townspeople began to rise.

Listening to those cries, Ah Dian, still sitting cross-legged like Chang Suining, held the umbrella with one hand and wiped her tears with the other.

That night, the people of Xingyang stayed up sewing two “Umbrellas of the People.” One was for the Thatched Hall Master who had gone to the Huang River to offer grain and prayers; the other was for General Ningyuan, who had slain the rebel Xu and spent days aiding the flood victims at Xingyang.

At dawn, a child of five or six climbed the altar carrying the two umbrellas. Handing one to Ah Dian, the little boy then went to the side of Zheng Chao, whose hair had come undone and whose face was pale with exhaustion.

“Master Zheng, I’ll hold the umbrella for you! Everyone says the Buddha won’t blame a child!”

The boy’s tender voice rang out as he clumsily opened the umbrella.

At that very moment, as the umbrella opened, Chang Suining looked up through the colorful tassels hanging from its edge toward the horizon.

She didn’t know if she was seeing things—but the dark clouds were scattering, and soon, a dazzling beam of light broke through from the east.

“…The sun!”

“This umbrella’s amazing—it made the sun come out!” Ah Dian cried out in delight, jumping with excitement.

Soon, countless voices of joy surged from all directions.

Chang Suining blinked; her pupils were brightened by the light.

So it wasn’t an illusion.

Zheng Chao, his lips pale, collapsed backward, all strength leaving his body. Tears welled at the corners of his reddened eyes. Staring up at the ever-brightening sky, he murmured, “Heaven has not abandoned He Luo… Heaven has not abandoned He Luo…”

…

The skies cleared across the Central Plains, and messages from all regions soon reached the capital.

(End of this chapter)