Chapter 314: Hello Chang'an
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Chapter 314: Farewell (求月票)
Minister Zhan proceeded to the Zheng estate, bearing the Holy Emperor’s imperial edict.
Given the pressures from all sides, the Holy Emperor’s handling of the Zheng clan could, in her own estimation, already be called merciful.
All who had directly conspired with Zheng Ji were sentenced to death.
Those who had known but not reported the crime—together with Zheng Ji’s immediate lineage—were to be exiled.
As for the innocents proven to have no part in the affair, and the children under fourteen, they would not be punished but would still be banished from Xingyang, scattered across different regions, stripped of their noble status. From this day forth, the illustrious Zhengs of Xingyang were no more.
Their family properties, lands, libraries, and servants were all confiscated.
The Zheng clan’s wealth and population were immense; the matter of confiscation was no easy task. Even though Li Xian had previously cataloged and divided most of their holdings, for Minister Zhan and his fellow imperial envoys, the work ahead still remained a massive undertaking.
Over the next two days, the clan members destined for exile departed the estate one group after another.
Among them, a young man turned back to gaze at the ancestral gate, now stripped of its plaque—the grand inscription “Residence of Zheng” removed, its traces faintly visible against the weathered wood.
At that moment, he saw a tall figure in a dark-gray robe emerge from within.
The young man’s eyes—sunken from hunger and despair—flared with hatred. He shouted the man’s name aloud: “...Zheng Chao!”
Unlike them, who were to be banished from Xingyang, Zheng Chao—the man who had slain the family patriarch—had suffered no punishment at all.
The court, and that so-called Empress, had not only absolved him, citing his meritorious service in controlling the floods and praying for the people’s deliverance, but had even commended him.
They had even heard that the Empress intended to summon him into the court!
The notion was beyond absurd—utterly disgraceful!
Around the furious youth, other clan members turned as well, eyes burning with loathing.
Meanwhile, the women clutching or leading small children had no tears left to shed. Their faces were gray with exhaustion, their eyes dull and hollow. They had wept until they could weep no more; now, only confusion remained for the road ahead.
“Traitor to your kin! You’ll be cursed by Heaven itself!” someone spat.
With a cry of rage, the young man hurled a worn cloth shoe straight at Zheng Chao.
It struck his shoulder. The officials overseeing the deportation barked an order for silence, and a woman tugged the youth’s sleeve, shaking her head with pleading eyes, urging him not to invite more suffering.
“What, are you all afraid of him now?” the youth shouted hoarsely. “Afraid just because he’s about to climb the ladder of power? Not I! Why should I fear a despicable coward!”
He glared straight into Zheng Chao’s face. “You’ve stepped over the bones of our clan, Zheng Chao! Tell me—can you walk this road of glory with a clear heart?”
Zheng Chao bent to pick up the shoe. He approached the young man, offering it back to him with calm courtesy, speaking as though to a junior:
“The road ahead is long. Your feet must not stop, nor should your shoes be lost.”
The youth slapped it away, his voice trembling with fury. “Enough of your righteous pretence! Spare us your false virtue!”
Zheng Chao only smiled faintly, unoffended, hands clasped behind his back as he turned away. “Then go barefoot, if you wish.”
As Zheng Chao—both as himself and as an elder—he had already done all that could be done.
“Zheng Guancang! How can you face the ancestors of the Zhengs?!” the young man screamed behind him, voice raw with fury.
Zheng Chao did not turn his head. “Of course I can. What I’ve done brings great merit—so much that the ancestors themselves should thank me. They ought to bless me with a long life... perhaps to ninety-nine.”
“You—Zheng Chao—you’re shameless beyond compare!”
But Zheng Chao did not care. His steps were light, his expression serene.
Explanations were useless to those unwilling to listen. Every member of the Zheng clan was an educated scholar; they needed no lessons in reason. Those willing to see would understand on their own. Those who refused—he could hardly split their skulls open to untie the knots within.
For them, the road ahead would be hard. No longer the revered sons of an Aristocratic clan, they would don coarse cloth and till the soil like commoners. To descend from luxury to poverty—some would find it unbearable. A few might break completely, ending their lives to preserve the so-called dignity of their class.
To Zheng Chao, even that would be a kind of grace—
for being able to choose one’s own death was, in its way, a form of freedom.
Those who chose to live—who learned to survive, to work, to endure—they would be the true inheritors of the Zheng ancestors’ strength and spirit.
The fall of the Aristocratic clans was inevitable. If not in this dynasty, then in the next. And Zheng Ji, reckless and arrogant, had hastened that fall—just as the Holy Emperor, determined to uproot the clans entirely, had driven it to completion. In Zheng Chao’s eyes, this outcome was the best “balance” possible between two doomed forces.
The clan would scatter like starlight at noonday—seemingly vanished, yet still shining unseen, preserving the thousand-year legacy of the Central Plains region in hidden corners.
And that, Zheng Chao thought, was enough.
His heart felt strangely light—brighter and freer than it had been in years. The years of gloom and decay seemed to lift away, leaving his spirit fresh and full. When he turned his head and saw a filthy, matted long-haired dog crouching by the wall, his fingers itched to grab it and scrub it clean, to wash it until its fur gleamed anew.
He was a man of abundant vitality—reborn once, and now yearning to cleanse the world around him as well.
Just as he bent to pick up the dog, footsteps sounded behind him.
“Master Zheng!”
Zheng Chao turned. A young man in an official’s robe was hurrying toward him.
Zheng Chao raised his hand in greeting. “Is there some further instruction, my lord?”
The young man shook his head, bowing respectfully in return. “This humble official, Song Xian, came only to bid you farewell.”
At the name, Zheng Chao’s eyes lit with recognition. “Ah—so it is the new top scholar, Master Song!”
A scholar of humble birth who rose to first place in the imperial examinations—no small feat indeed.
Zheng Chao clasped his hands again in gratitude. “Then I must thank you, Master Song, for speaking on my behalf in the capital.”
“Song once received your guidance at the Thatched Hall,” said Song Xian earnestly, his gaze steady upon the middle-aged man before him. “I have long admired your character, sir. This visit is but an act from the heart—there is no need for thanks. It was you who showed me that not all members of the Aristocratic clans look down upon the common people, and that the world cannot be judged through a narrow lens. Though you now bear infamy among your peers, your deed shall be remembered for generations to come.”
Looking at the broad-minded young scholar, Zheng Chao smiled modestly. “I merely sought survival, Lord Song—you overpraise me.”
After some further conversation, Song Xian inquired about his future plans.
When he learned that Zheng Chao had no intention of entering the capital to seek office, Song Xian looked momentarily surprised and regretful.
But Zheng Chao saw no reason for regret. In his mind, the Holy Emperor’s offer of appointment had been mere courtesy—spoken only for propriety’s sake, given his brief renown among the common folk.
Had he truly gone to the capital, who could say what fate might await him?
Moreover, though he had slain his own kin for the greater good, to leverage that act for a post at court would feel disgraceful. Should he quarrel with a colleague one day, that man need only allude to “the one who killed his clan” with a mocking tone, and he would have no defense left.
He had no wish to invite such humiliation upon himself.
He did, after all, wish to live to the age of ninety-nine.
Zheng Chao smiled faintly. “I have no wish for a post at court. I intend instead to travel across the land, teaching and lecturing wherever I go.”
Though Song Xian still found it a pity, he knew such decisions could not be swayed. After offering a few words of advice, he bowed deeply once more. “May there come a day when we meet again, sir.”
Zheng Chao nodded, his tone calm yet firm. “The four seas surge with turmoil, and the court itself is no calmer. Let us each take care of ourselves.”
Song Xian agreed and stood watching that unrestrained figure disappear down the long street.
Zheng Chao walked for some time before he finally left behind the vast Zheng estate—its sprawling compounds filling the entire lane.
He scratched his ear; at last, there was peace and quiet. No more curses ringing in his ears.
He too had been confined within the Zheng residence these past days, bombarded daily by vicious scolding.
Their insults were creative and relentless—each person taking turns, one tiring and another picking up, shouting outside his door without pause day or night.
The mouths that cursed him were many, but alas, he had but two ears. Each day he stuffed them with cotton just to endure it until now.
Pulling out the last bits of cotton, Zheng Chao looked ahead. Before leaving Xingyang to travel and teach, there was one place he needed to visit first.
“How is your injury healing?”
That day, Chang Sui'an followed his sister Chang Suining to visit Cui Jing, only to be greeted first by the Grand General’s question.
“After half a year’s rest, it’s all healed!” Chang Sui'an replied cheerfully before asking in turn, “Grand General, how are your wounds? Are they serious?”
Cui Jing shook his head. “It is nothing serious. A few more days of rest will suffice.”
“That is because your body is strong, Grand General. Were it anyone else, they’d be bedridden still!” said Physician Cao opportunistically.
Cui Jing was speechless at this well-timed flattery.
He had initially wanted to replace the physician, but Yuan Xiang had looked into the matter and found that, while talkative, Cao was the best trauma healer in all of Xingyang.
“Your health matters most, my lord,” Yuan Xiang had advised. “Endure his chatter—it’s merely part of his fee.”
Physician Cao’s loquacity extended far beyond speech—it was a true state of being.
Yes, he admitted, he liked to curry favor. Yet every word of praise he spoke for the Grand General came from the heart!
Each time he dressed Cui Jing’s wounds, he could not help but admire and envy him—thinking, if only I had such stature and such a face, I’d hardly dare imagine how self-satisfied I’d be.
If Cao was a chatterbox, Chang Sui'an was the echo that wouldn’t end.
He hovered around Cui Jing asking about countless matters, and just when Cui Jing thought he had run out of breath, the young man shifted topics with renewed vigor—to his sister. Everything before had only been an appetizer; this was the true feast.
And, as far as Cui Jing could tell, all those words could be condensed into three main points:
So, Ning Ning is a prodigy in warfare.
So, Ning Ning is also a prodigy in prayer and blessing.
So, Ning Ning is a prodigy among prodigies!
At first, when Chang Sui'an had heard of his sister’s great victory at the Battle of Bian River, he had felt only lingering fear. He had even written home to ask his father why he let his sister take command in an ambush against Xu Zhengye while he himself stayed behind pretending to chase the enemy.
Wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around?
His sister had only fought a few battles—what experience could she possibly have?
Father had been fighting all his life, yet this time he’d let her lead?
He’d written a whole page of questions. The reply had come swiftly, bearing only four large characters:
“You know nothing!”
Though only a letter, Sui'an could practically feel his father’s spit flying off the page and onto his face.
Along the journey to find his sister, hearing all the “legends” told about her along the way, he gradually accepted the truth—and finally shed his anxiety, replacing it with a deep, almost blissful pride.
If there was one thing that still gnawed at him, it was the thought of Qiao Yubai back in the capital—the imposter smugly enjoying a seat that was not his. The mere image of that face in his dreams was enough to infuriate him.
So now, every chance he got, he would heap praises upon his sister—determined to defend the honor of the rightful elder brother.
Cui Jing, curiously, did not seem annoyed by his endless chatter. One could boast, the other could listen; together they were perfectly matched.
It was Yuan Xiang who finally broke the cycle when he came to announce a visitor.
Before long, Zheng Chao was led inside.
Chang Suining turned her gaze toward him. His robe was plain and old, and the scar on his forehead from the prayer ceremony had yet to fade completely—but the air of despondence that once clung to him was gone.
Zheng Chao had come to see his nephew. He had been shunned by the Zhengs, while his nephew had been expelled from the Cui clan—two outcasts, abandoned by their own blood. Together, perhaps, they might find some comfort in each other.
Yet as he entered the chamber, seeing his nephew still surrounded by guards, formidable and commanding, the very image of power—Zheng Chao realized that misfortune, too, had its degrees.
Clearly, his nephew was doing far better than he was.
Still, Zheng Chao forced a few words of comfort, asking after Cui Jing’s wounds with concern, and spoke at length about his plan to travel and lecture, with just the right shade of reluctant farewell in his tone.
Cui Jing understood, and instructed Yuan Xiang to prepare banknotes to support his uncle’s journey.
When Zheng Chao saw the thick stack placed before him, he could not help but sigh inwardly. To think that even after being disowned, his nephew still sat on such wealth—it truly showed the importance of having a profitable side venture.
Flushing, he tried to decline, calling it improper, but Yuan Xiang insisted and tucked the notes firmly into his robe.
Looking down, Zheng Chao saw his midsection bulging so roundly that he looked six months pregnant. With some alarm, he muttered that carrying such a fortune might attract thieves.
Cui Jing replied simply, “I have already assigned guards to follow you in secret, Uncle. You need not worry.”
Hearing this, Zheng Chao felt deeply reassured.
Cui Jing invited him to stay for the noon meal, but Zheng Chao declined. Everything was now prepared, and it was time for him to spread his wings. He could not bear to linger a moment longer.
“Ling’an, take care of your injuries. The road ahead will be long and full of hardship… Once I am on my way, I shall often write to share what I see and hear along my travels.”
Cui Jing did not press him to stay, still unable to move freely, and instructed Yuan Xiang to escort him instead.
But Zheng Chao turned and smiled at Chang Suining.
Chang Suining nodded in understanding. “I’ll see Master Zheng off.”
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