Chapter 305: Hello Chang'an
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.
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