Chapter 307: Hello Chang'an
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)
