During the Qingming season, incessant rain fell in fine drizzles.

Old Inner Servant Liu Jiarong knelt beside Zhang Jing’s tombstone, continuously repeating the motion of throwing paper money into the basin. Whenever someone came to offer incense, he would rise and step aside, light the incense, and hand it to the visitor.

He Tong stood guard nearby, instructing the household servants he brought to prepare the incense and candles. He had forgotten to shave his beard, his entire person revealing a melancholy exhaustion.

When Meng Yunxian and Pei Zhiyuan approached, they saw someone bowing and offering incense before the tombstone. He Tong heard footsteps, looked up to see Meng Yunxian, and immediately bowed: “Minister Meng.”

Straightening, he looked toward Pei Zhiyuan beside Meng Yunxian, nodding and calling out: “Lord Pei.”

The person offering incense turned back at the appropriate moment. Pei Zhiyuan saw he wore an ink-green brocade straight robe and headwrap. His proper features had weathered wind and frost, no longer young, with half-long black whiskers beneath his chin.

Tears now filled his eyes.

“Commissioner Pan.”

Pei Zhiyuan restrained his surprise and bowed respectfully.

“Minxing, no need for such formality.” Pan Youfang wiped his face, then looked toward Meng Yunxian. “Minister Meng, when you returned to court, I was not in the capital. Over ten years—only now do I finally see you.”

“I was puzzled when I returned.”

Meng Yunxian pointed to Pei Zhiyuan beside him. “I even asked Minxing—I said, how come I don’t see Commissioner Pan? He told me your father passed away and you returned home for the mourning period.”

“Yes, three years of mourning.”

Pan Youfang turned back to glance at the tombstone, sighing deeply. “On my journey back to the capital, I heard of Minister Zhang’s matter. I rushed desperately but didn’t make it to the funeral. But at least—today is Qingming.”

Old Inner Servant Liu Jiarong promptly lit incense, bowing as he presented it. Meng Yunxian was first to receive it. Pei Zhiyuan, standing several steps behind the two of them, also accepted incense and bowed respectfully.

After offering incense, Meng Yunxian stared at the character inscriptions on the tombstone for quite a while before turning his face to fix his gaze on He Tong. “Your eyes are badly swollen. Hasn’t your wife applied hot compresses for you?”

“In a few days it will be fine.”

He Tong’s voice was somewhat hoarse, his nasal tone heavy.

“Academician He, my condolences.”

Pan Youfang looked over upon hearing this, also offering comfort.

He Tong lowered his head in acknowledgment.

Meng Yunxian originally intended to stay a while longer, but Pei Zhiyuan reminded him there were still unfinished matters at the Council Chamber. He had no choice but to turn toward the carriage stopped not far away. Many people arrived one after another—those who recognized him all bowed to him.

“Is Commissioner Pan also entering the palace?”

Meng Yunxian stopped, turning back to look at Pan Youfang approaching.

“Yes, just returned to the capital today, haven’t yet seen His Majesty.” Pan Youfang nodded, his eyes still somewhat red. “Why don’t Minister Meng and I go together?”

But Meng Yunxian said, “If His Majesty learns you came to pay respects to Chongzhi upon barely returning to the capital, I fear he will be angry with you.”

“So many court officials have already come. If I didn’t come because of this, wouldn’t that be too callous? Minister Zhang was the chief examiner when I took the imperial examinations. When I passed with honors, he personally reviewed my work—he showed me recognition and kindness.”

Pan Youfang was clear-eyed and forthright, utterly frank. “Even if His Majesty asks, I will answer exactly this.”

“Then come with me, Minister Meng. Do you truly have nothing you wish to ask me?”

He said.

Meng Yunxian paused. “What should I ask you?”

“The matter of Yongzhou. The incident at Mushen Mountain.”

Rainwater pattered ceaselessly on the umbrella eaves. Pan Youfang clasped his hands within his sleeves. “Back then Jiang Xianming was Yongzhou Prefect, and I was the military supervisor His Majesty dispatched to the frontier.”

“Of course I remember you were the military supervisor. Originally, it was Chongzhi who recommended you.” Meng Yunxian extended his hand, having the household servant beside him raise the umbrella higher. “The military reports from Yongzhou, so many people’s testimonies—I already questioned you and Jiang Xianming back then. What more is there to ask now?”

“But I don’t understand why Minister Zhang…”

Pan Youfang wanted to speak but hesitated. His throat moved, his voice somewhat rough. “I also heard about his dying words before execution.”

“Who knows.”

Meng Yunxian shook his head. “Parting ways in former years, separated by death today—Chongzhi and I, since fifteen years ago, have had nothing to say to each other.”

“Let’s go. We’ll enter the palace together.”

Meng Yunxian said.

Pan Youfang silently nodded. With someone holding an umbrella, he walked shoulder to shoulder with Meng Yunxian. After only a few steps, they encountered Jiang Xianming being supported by household servants as he came.

Since Zhang Jing’s execution, Jiang Xianming had fallen gravely ill, claiming sickness and remaining bedridden at home for many days. Only today could he barely summon the strength to come here for respects.

Seeing Pan Youfang walking together with Meng Yunxian, Jiang Xianming’s face showed astonishment. He then bowed to both: “Minister Meng, Commissioner Pan.”

“Is Censor Jiang ill?” Pan Youfang looked at him.

“Just a minor illness. I didn’t make it to Minister Zhang’s funeral. Today being Qingming, no matter what, I had to come.” As Jiang Xianming spoke, he erupted in violent coughing.

“Then you go on. Minister Meng and I will enter the palace first.” Pan Youfang said.

From beginning to end, Meng Yunxian did not speak with Jiang Xianming. Jiang Xianming struggled to straighten his body, watching the two dignitaries brush past him. He couldn’t help but turn back: “Minister Meng.”

Meng Yunxian stopped, turning his face.

Through misty rain, Jiang Xianming pulled a paper umbrella from the person beside him. “I have some words I wish to ask Minister Meng.”

Meng Yunxian’s face showed no expression. He said nothing, merely glanced at Pei Zhiyuan, then said to Pan Youfang: “Commissioner Pan, it seems you and I cannot travel together after all.”

“Why don’t I walk with Commissioner Pan?” Pei Zhiyuan said at the appropriate moment.

“If that’s the case, Minister Meng, I will leave first with Minxing.”

Pan Youfang nodded.

Pei Zhiyuan and Pan Youfang took one carriage. Meng Yunxian watched the carriage roll through the mud and depart before taking the paper umbrella from his household servant’s hands. The servant promptly stepped back.

Mountain grass colors were deep green and moist. Jiang Xianming and Meng Yunxian each held umbrellas, facing each other in silence.

“Is Censor Jiang sleeping poorly?”

Meng Yunxian finally spoke. He stared at the weary blue beneath this person’s eyes. “Because you heard Chongzhi’s dying words?”

Jiang Xianming did not refute. “Minister Meng and Minister Zhang were also friends for many years. Therefore, I wish to hear how Minister Meng views those words Minister Zhang spoke before his execution?”

“Right now, who at court dares speak truthfully before you, Censor Jiang?” Meng Yunxian pulled at the corner of his mouth, implying mockery.

Jiang Xianming held the power to submit memorials based on hearsay. Anyone speaking before him must be extremely careful.

“What is said today, only Minister Meng and I will know. Jiang will absolutely not use this to threaten you.”

“But I have nothing good to tell Censor Jiang. Back then you were in Yongzhou, you personally ordered the execution of General Yujie. I was thousands of li away—how could I know the reasons more clearly than you?”

“Yes, exactly so.”

Jiang Xianming simply threw away his umbrella, letting himself sober up from this fever-addled brain. “I am also investigating the Daizhou grain supplies case. Qian Weiyin first found me, not Minister Zhang. If at that time I hadn’t had a moment’s hesitation, if I could have moved faster than Minister Zhang and submitted the memorial first, perhaps Minister Zhang would not have died…

“He is someone I, Jiang Xianming, respect in my heart. I also know the so-called private acceptance of fertile land and factional collusion must be deliberate framing by those behind the criminal officials in Daizhou. But I cannot understand why Minister Zhang would say such words before dying. I was in Yongzhou back then. What I saw, what I investigated—all told me that the person I executed was a minister guilty of crimes against the nation, a traitor whose crimes were unpardonable!”

“Then continue believing your evidence!” Meng Yunxian stared at him from beneath the umbrella. “For sixteen years, haven’t you, Jiang Xianming, never doubted? Just because of Chongzhi’s final words, you come to ask me? Then whom should I go ask?!”

Rainwater soaked Jiang Xianming’s headwrap. He fell momentarily silent.

“You are a close minister to the emperor. If you had submitted this grain supplies case, your fate would only be worse than Chongzhi’s. I understand your momentary hesitation and know that you, Censor Jiang, are upright and straightforward, not someone who fears trouble.” Rain sounds masked various noises. Meng Yunxian walked closer to him. “But today I want to ask you—why do you think His Majesty regards you as a close minister?”

Jiang Xianming was an upright minister. Zhang Jing was also an upright minister. But Jiang Xianming was His Majesty’s upright minister.

If Jiang Xianming raised the grain supplies case again, even holding the ironclad evidence of Qian Weiyin, he would certainly meet no good end, because in this situation where edicts were as Heaven’s commands, he was Emperor Zhengyuan’s smokescreen left for the world.

Emperor Zhengyuan used him to tell the world: Look, I also have upright ministers at my side—I am not autocratic.

Merely decoration. After diligently serving over ten years, wholeheartedly devoting himself to the sovereign father unto death—did he truly believe himself to be His Majesty’s ears and eyes for listening to the people’s opinions, the voice for petitioning on the people’s behalf?

When His Majesty did not wish to hear him speak, he was equally nothing.

Jiang Xianming gripped the umbrella handle tightly, stunned for a long moment, forgetting to open his mouth.

“Censor Jiang, seeing your own circumstances clearly is more important than anything.”

Meng Yunxian stopped there, unwilling to say more. He turned and stepped through the muddy mountain path, walking forward.

Meng Yunxian’s carriage departed. Only then did Night Office Director Han Qing emerge from another mountain path. Looking at Censor Jiang Xianming standing dazed in the distant rain curtain, he said to the young man beside him: “After you and I pay respects to Minister Zhang, immediately depart for Zezhou. Don’t expect to dig any different testimony from those criminal officials’ mouths.”

“Minister Zhang’s front foot brought Qian Weiyin into the palace, Hanlin Scholarly Attendant Zheng Jian’s back foot submitted a memorial slandering him. These days have been enough for them to solidify Minister Zhang’s crimes of privately accepting fertile land and factional collusion in Zezhou. You need not meddle too much. I’m sending you there also wanting you to avoid the troubles your father brought upon you. How many assassination attempts have you survived recently? Covered in wounds—go to Zezhou and recuperate.”

Han Qing sighed. “The Night Office is His Majesty’s Night Office. Right now, only by solidifying Minister Zhang’s crimes can we suppress the people’s anger below. As for overturning Minister Zhang’s case—the Night Office cannot touch this.”

Han Qing also had unspeakable bitterness in his heart. Minister Meng could not interfere with Minister Zhang’s case at court, and he also could not let the sovereign father detect anything, nor could he easily associate with Meng Yunxian.

When the sovereign father ordered the Night Office to send people to Zezhou to supervise local investigation and disposal of implicated officials, the Night Office absolutely could not contradict the sovereign father on this matter.

“Director, rest assured. Zhou Ting understands.”

Zhou Ting nodded in acknowledgment.

During the Qingming period, rain was plentiful. After Zhou Ting accompanied Han Qing to pay respects before Zhang Jing’s grave, he rode a fast horse into the city. He only returned to the estate to briefly pack his traveling gear before departing with Chao Yisong and others toward Zezhou.

Riding past South Huai Street, Zhou Ting pulled the reins, lowering his eyes for a moment before still dismounting and walking toward that medical clinic.

“Eh? Miss Ni doesn’t seem to be here?”

Chao Yisong knocked several times on the door but heard no sound from inside.

Zhou Ting glanced at the tightly closed clinic gate, said nothing, turned and walked to the pharmacy across the street. A’Fang was dozing. Hearing footsteps, she turned back and met those pitch-black, cold eyes. She startled: “Who are you looking for?”

She felt this person looked somewhat familiar.

“Miss Ni from the clinic across—do you know where she went?” Zhou Ting asked.

Similar circumstances—A’Fang immediately remembered him. Seeing the blade at his waist, somewhat afraid in her heart, she answered honestly: “She only said she was going on a long trip. I don’t know where she went either.”

“Could it be she went back to her hometown in Que County? Never to return?”

Chao Yisong said from behind.

“Seems not…”

A’Fang said timidly. “From what she said, it seemed she would still come back.”

“When did she leave?”

Zhou Ting fell silent for a moment before asking.

“It’s been several days already.”

“Thank you.”

Zhou Ting turned and exited the pharmacy. Chao Yisong moved closer to him. “Lord Zhou…”

“Depart. To Zezhou.”

Zhou Ting mounted his horse, cutting him off.

From Yun Jing to Yongzhou was an extremely long journey. Ni Su and Qingqiong traveled together. After only a few days, a sudden rainstorm forced them to take shelter at an inn in Cang County.

Ni Su asked the server to buy back a basket of incense and candles. Before the sky fully darkened, she lit several lamps and candles in the room, then sat before the table to eat.

She had no appetite, eating very little. But Qingqiong’s appetite was excellent—he devoured everything like the wind sweeping clouds.

That night after Ni Su bathed and washed, she clutched the medicine basket, lifted the covers and lay on the bed. Bright light flickered in the room. Her cheek pressed against the soft pillow as she looked at the luminous white light in the medicine basket. It had a fluffy tail. As long as she extended her hand, it would press close, its tail also moving.

She covered the basket with the quilt, watching it float inside.

Outside the lattice window, rain sounds were chaotic. Ni Su clutched the medicine basket and closed her eyes. Occasionally she would hear the faint sound of luminous dust flickering. These past days, she had grown accustomed to such sounds.

And accompanying these sounds, she had a dream.

In the dream was a silhouette. He wore that garment she personally made—cinnabar-red collar, frost-white lustrous outer robe, the deep red silk sash at his waist swaying in the wind.

Ni Su wanted to call to him but could never open her mouth.

She saw those clothes fall to the ground and dissipate. He transformed into a mass of blood mist, unclear in density, floating alone within a lush, flourishing reed flower grove.

As if crazed, he swept through that reed flower grove. Soul fires flickered among them, sporadically flying in the fine rain. They transformed into semi-transparent human forms. Every wandering soul passing by his side had unfamiliar faces.

Only he was a mass of blood mist, never taking form.

“Stop searching.”

Ni Su heard such a voice. In that reed flower grove stood someone she hadn’t noticed before. He possessed a beast’s face yet had grizzled, curling whiskers.

He stood before that mass of blood mist, lightly lifting his chin, facing the wind and rain as he looked toward the blue-black firmament. “Your teacher is not in the Nether Capital. He has already gone to the place you were once unwilling to go.”

Thunder rumbled. Ni Su suddenly awoke.

She sat up at once, her head and back covered in cold sweat. The details of her dream were not so clear, but she remembered that mass of blood mist, remembered that elder with a human body and beast face.

Recalling that beast face.

Ni Su immediately searched from within her collar for that beast pearl. Under the lamplight, the wood-carved beast pearl overlapped with that beast face in her dream.

She looked to her side, only then discovering no light beneath the quilt corner. She threw back the covers. The medicine basket lay quietly beside her. Yet within it—that ball of luminous white light had vanished.

“Xu Ziling…”

Ni Su held up the medicine basket. She stepped barefoot from the bed, desperately trying to find his figure in the room. “Xu Ziling, where are you?”

Her cries alarmed Qingqiong next door. He immediately pushed through the door. Seeing Ni Su in thin robes, black hair loose, searching for something in the room while calling a name.

“Miss Ni, what happened?”

As soon as Qingqiong closed the door, he looked up to see Ni Su turn back toward him, eyes red all around, clutching that small medicine basket. “Qingqiong, he’s gone…”

“What?”

Qingqiong approached, indeed seeing the medicine basket empty. He froze for a moment, reaching to touch his cloth-wrapped head. “How could this be? Did you do something? Or…”

“I did nothing.”

Ni Su shook her head. “I only had a dream. When I woke, he was gone.”

“A dream? What dream?”

Qingqiong keenly seized on this point.

“I dreamed of a place—there was a vast expanse of reed flowers. I dreamed he transformed into a mass of blood mist. An old man with a beast face told him his teacher had already gone to a place he was unwilling to go.”

Qingqiong’s expression had already turned somewhat strange when he heard about the reed flower grove. Hearing her mention the old man with a beast face, he immediately said: “The place you dreamed of is the Nether Capital’s Hatred Water riverside.”

Nether Capital’s Hatred Water.

Ni Su startled. She remembered she seemed to have heard Xu Hexue mention it before.

Among reed flower groves, beside Hatred Water—the place where all living souls collected paper money and winter clothes from mortal relatives.

“I differ from ordinary people. In childhood I often dreamed of one place—the Nether Capital. That old man with a beast face is the Nether Capital’s Earth Lord. I suspect General Xu returned to the Nether Capital to find his teacher, Minister Zhang.”

Qingqiong carefully thought over what she had just said. The questions hidden in his heart these past days finally found answers. He looked toward Ni Su, seriously saying: “Living souls have only soul fire. My mother is exactly so. Previously I couldn’t quite understand why General Xu’s soul fire was a luminous white mass, like a shapeless mountain spirit. But hearing what the Earth Lord said in your dream just now… Miss Ni, I suspect General Xu is no longer a Nether Capital living soul.”

“This—what does it mean?”

Ni Su raised her eyes to him.

“Didn’t I tell you? Sometimes my father can hear Mother speak. I remember one day he heard Mother mention that not everyone who dies has their living soul enter the Nether Capital.” Qingqiong walked to the window, pushing open the lattice. Outside, the lanterns had been extinguished by rainwater. He pointed at that pitch-black firmament. “Some people after death—their living souls go there.”

Ni Su walked to the window, following the direction Qingqiong pointed.

“I’ll say it—even if everyone in this world considers General Xu a traitorous minister who betrayed the nation, the Heavenly Way can see his innocence. Such a good general—after death, he should go to Heaven to become a star.”

Qingqiong said.

“A star?”

Ni Su murmured aloud.

“My mother said there are no immortals in Heaven. Below, the Earth Lord has nine contracts; above, tigers and leopards have nine gates. Look at how many stars there are on clear nights—they are all transformed from living souls with great merit and accomplishments. Nether Capital’s living souls reincarnate once every hundred years, while Heaven’s stars change once every three hundred years. My mother said they possess power that Nether Capital living souls don’t have.”

Scattered rain sounds struck Ni Su’s ears.

“I was only wondering why, when you transformed into a ghost and gained such abilities beyond human capability, the Nether Capital would punish you for using them.”

“Because these are not abilities that should be used here.”

On Lantern Festival night, in the back alley behind the entertainment district, Xu Hexue had once answered her this way.

Mortal water cannot wash away his dust.

Aside from the willow leaf water she boiled, only clear moonlight could remove the dust and filth staining him. He was not a Nether Capital ghost—he truly was a star in Heaven.

“Miss Ni? Miss Ni, what are you thinking?” Qingqiong called several times before she moved her eyes and reacted.

Night wind brushed her face. The wisps of hair at Ni Su’s temples stirred slightly. She stood before the window, tightly clutching that empty medicine basket in her arms, gazing toward the deep, damp rain curtain. The Nether Capital in her dream was also raining:

“I hope this rain stops quickly.”

Otherwise, what will the fastidious Xu Ziling do?