Meng Yunxian, Huang Zongyu, and others waited outside Qinghe Hall until nightfall. The Noble Consort wanted to enter the hall to attend to the illness, but was blocked by Huang Zongyu leading a group of officials. The Noble Consort was furious. Liang Shenfu was serving His Majesty inside the hall and hadn’t emerged. Having no recourse, she could only return to her palace first.
Huang Zongyu was several years older than Meng Yunxian, his hair already nearly all white. Having stood in the snowy weather for so long, he could no longer walk and was coughing badly. Many officials hurriedly sent him back to his estate.
Meng Yunxian’s legs were also terribly stiff with cold, and he truly couldn’t walk. Pei Zhiyuan sent him back to the Meng estate, where Meng Yunxian’s wife Jiang Shao kept him to eat stewed mutton.
“Early this morning, someone delivered something, saying it was for you.”
Jiang Shao brought over a blue cloth package.
“What person?”
While receiving it, Meng Yunxian asked.
“They didn’t say.”
Jiang Shao shook her head, then went to arrange the evening meal.
Pei Zhiyuan sat before the charcoal brazier warming himself, holding hot tea in his hands, watching as Meng Yunxian opened the package. Inside, apart from a rolled booklet and a letter, there was nothing else.
Meng Yunxian casually flipped through the booklet. His complexion changed slightly. “Minxing, take a look at this.”
Pei Zhiyuan set down his tea bowl and reached out to receive the booklet. After flipping just a few pages, he raised his head in shock. “Minister Meng, these are the secret accounts of Manyu Bank!”
Meng Yunxian opened the envelope, took out the letter inside and unfolded it. He read line by line. “This was sent by Jiang Xianming. He says these are the secret accounts of the former Manyu Bank in the capital.”
“No wonder the Yinye Bureau didn’t find them before—they ended up in his hands…” Pei Zhiyuan examined them carefully. He discovered Jiang Xianming had made quite extensive annotations on the pages. “He’s been investigating who else besides Wu Dai was involved in these accounts.”
Pei Zhiyuan’s feelings were complex.
This account book—they also had one. Because Cao Dong was in their hands, they had more easily learned from Cao Dong’s mouth that besides Wu Dai, those supported by that group of Daizhou officials also included Pan Youfang and Prince Nankang and his son.
“He says in the letter that all of Liu Tingzhi’s family members are imprisoned, except his youngest son is missing.”
“No wonder Jiang Xianming couldn’t extract much from interrogating him—it must be that his youngest son was seized by someone.” Who had seized Liu Tingzhi’s youngest son was not difficult to guess.
Besides Pan Youfang, who else could it be?
“Why didn’t he present the account book today…” As Pei Zhiyuan spoke, he suddenly fell silent. Sparks crackled and scattered in the charcoal brazier. After a long while: “Minister Meng, he truly seeks death with all his heart.”
Even knowing that Tan Guangwen’s confession would very likely push him into a situation of irredeemable disaster, Jiang Xianming still only presented that confession, while giving the account book to Meng Yunxian.
By presenting Tan Guangwen’s confession before His Majesty, he wanted to make himself see clearly His Majesty’s attitude toward this old case from sixteen years ago.
He still held a measure of hope regarding His Majesty.
Yet he also left room, unwilling to rashly hand over the account book.
Jiang Xianming had set his heart on atoning with his life to General Yujie Xu Hexue.
The mutton bubbled and boiled in the pot, steam rising warmly, but neither Meng Yunxian nor Pei Zhiyuan could swallow their food.
After eating just a few bites, neither moved their chopsticks again.
“Minister Meng, Minxing knows you’re suffering inside.” Pei Zhiyuan held a bowl of hot wine in his hands. “Minxing will drink with you.”
Meng Yunxian said nothing. He lifted his wine bowl. The two of them sat close to the charcoal fire beneath the pot, their legs beneath their robes warmed thoroughly. He took a sip of hot wine, but felt that heat slide down his throat, reach his chest cavity, reach his stomach—and then turned cold.
“Minxing, Liu Tingzhi won’t survive. We can’t pry open his mouth, and even if we did, it would be useless. Pan Youfang isn’t someone so greedy for wealth. The reason he got involved with Manyu Bank, apart from currying favor with Prince Nankang and his son, I suspect he also wanted revenge on Wu Dai.”
Meng Yunxian still remembered that rainy night when Pan Youfang spoke of Wu Dai—the hatred in his eyes was almost impossible to conceal. “I’ve already investigated clearly. The money those Daizhou officials sent to Pan Youfang was actually all used by him to fill the deficit from His Majesty’s construction of the Daoist palace.”
Pan Youfang truly cherished his life. Allying himself with Prince Nankang and his son, he couldn’t not be corrupt, but he also feared that one day the Manyu Bank affair would be exposed. At that time, the Duke of Lu was imperial clan—His Majesty would certainly not severely punish him—but he and Wu Dai would have no good end.
He took all the money embezzled through Manyu Bank from those Daizhou officials and used it to fill His Majesty’s deficit. Thus, even if one day this matter could not be avoided and finally had to be exposed, His Majesty would certainly spare him and his entire family’s lives.
This person was truly versatile in all directions, his scheming unfathomably deep.
Hearing this, Pei Zhiyuan’s heart ached terribly. He simply poured himself a large bowl of wine in one gulp.
Wine wetted the stubble on Pei Zhiyuan’s chin. He set down the bowl. Hot steam from the mutton soup rose toward his face. “I don’t believe he can truly remain completely untainted!”
“Naturally he cannot.”
Meng Yunxian looked at the boiling mutton soup in the pot. “He’s not a clean person to begin with—how could his actions be seamless everywhere? In the case of Princess Wenduan’s estate, it wasn’t just Dong Yao’s birth father Lu Heng who died—there was also Dou Yingzhang.”
“Dou Yingzhang…”
Pei Zhiyuan had no impression of this name.
“Back when Pan Youfang served as military supervisor at Juhan Pass, Dou Yingzhang was his personal military commander. This person followed him back to the capital. When His Majesty ordered an inventory of Princess Wenduan’s estate property, Dou Yingzhang was the person who led the imperial guards stationed at the princess’s estate. The reason Lu Heng bore the crime of privately stealing property from the princess’s estate was because of this Dou Yingzhang.”
“Later, Dou Yingzhang suddenly died. His family didn’t come to the capital to retrieve the coffin.” Meng Yunxian stood up. “The person I sent to Dou Yingzhang’s hometown reported back that one or two months before Dou Yingzhang passed away, he sent a letter home. The next day, neighbors never saw his wife and children again.”
After hearing this, Pei Zhiyuan said: “From this it seems Dou Yingzhang’s death should be inseparably connected to Pan Youfang.”
Night had deepened. The stove fire warming the mutton soup had burned out.
Pei Zhiyuan rose to take his leave. But when he reached the door, he turned his head and saw Meng Yunxian sitting in that dim yellow candlelight, huddled in his chair, without any of his usual spirit.
His throat felt rough. “Minister Meng, as long as we find Dou Yingzhang’s wife and children, the Princess Wenduan estate case will certainly pin down Pan Youfang. We should… set aside General Yujie’s case for now.”
“Now we’ve already had Lord Ge Rang replace Liu Tingzhi in the position of Vice Commissioner of Military Affairs. Grand Commandant Miao also already knows the true cause of his younger brother Miao Tianning’s death. Didn’t you also say? Prince Jia is now very different too. When we people are together, that day will surely come. You… don’t grieve.”
“But how much time will that take, Minxing?”
Perhaps because he’d drunk somewhat too much wine, the recent matters piling one after another pressed on Meng Yunxian’s heart and lungs with pain. “I can wait, you can wait, but Jiang Xianming and those sixty-some people imprisoned in the Yinye Bureau can’t wait any longer…”
“And there’s He Tong.”
Meng Yunxian’s breathing felt difficult. “He struck the person interrogating him at the Censorate. He wouldn’t allow himself to speak ill of his teacher, nor allow others to open their mouths to insult his teacher. A perfectly good Hanlin Academician—now he’s also thrown into the Censorate’s prison.”
“That’s Chongzhi’s student.”
“You must wait.”
Sourness rose in Pei Zhiyuan’s eyes. “Minxing will also wait with you.”
But Meng Yunxian pulled at his lips. “Minxing, still use your old methods. Before His Majesty, you must preserve yourself wisely. Don’t stand too close to me.”
“Minister Meng!”
Pei Zhiyuan gripped the doorframe with one hand. His chest heaved. He suppressed the surging emotions again and again. “I conducted myself that way before in order to wait for your return. Now that you’ve returned, even if I must forfeit this official position, I will stand together with you.”
“Minister Meng, let’s live well—for them, for the new policies. I’m begging you, Minxing is begging you.”
Night snow fell heavily.
After Pei Zhiyuan left, Meng Yunxian sat alone in the study. No lamps were lit in the room. He didn’t have the steward come light them either. He just sat in this darkness.
Wind and snow beat against the windows, howling ceaselessly.
Suddenly,
Very light footsteps sounded outside. Warm yellow light spread in a thin layer across the latticed window. Only belatedly did Meng Yunxian raise his head.
Strangely, outside the window was only lamplight—no human shadow.
“…Who?”
Meng Yunxian looked toward that window. The lamplight didn’t move.
His heart felt strange. Just as he was about to rise, he heard a “creak”—the room door was blown open by a gust of bitter wind. With it came warm yellow light spreading in, illuminating the goose-feather snowflakes swept through the door by the wind.
Outside the door stood a person.
Pale blue robe hem, pure white and neat lapels. Cold wind blew the silk sash at his waist swinging back and forth. His form was like pines and cypresses born in bitter cold—upright and proper.
Faint cold mist coiled around him.
Meng Yunxian’s eyes opened wide, staring fixedly at that face.
Pale, refined and handsome.
“Minister Meng.”
Xu Hexue looked at him. Sixteen years in the mortal world had made this Minister Meng, who at just over forty had achieved the rank of vice minister, age considerably.
This one call nearly made Meng Yunxian’s entire body shake.
He recognized this person.
Even though sixteen years had passed.
Even though this person had left the capital at fourteen, and after that, they never saw each other again.
That year, by Yong’an River, in Xiechun Pavilion—that was his last meeting with this youth.
He still recognized his appearance.
Still a youth.
Taller than at fourteen, having shed that earlier childishness, his bearing upright. Not gripping a sword, he looked like a gentle scholar.
“Ziling…”
Meng Yunxian’s lips trembled, teeth chattering. Even his voice shook.
He suddenly stood up. Before he could circle around the desk, he saw Xu Hexue walk in. The wind sweeping in from outside the door felt even more eerily cold.
Xu Hexue held a glass lantern in his hand. Just as in his youth, he stood before Meng Yunxian, bowed low in formal salute, using the complete propriety of when he was human to respect this elder.
“Is it truly Ziling?”
Meng Yunxian’s hands pressed on the desk. He felt he must be dreaming.
“Yes.”
Xu Hexue straightened. “Back then when you persuaded my teacher to let me leave the capital, I haven’t yet thanked you.”
The fingers Meng Yunxian braced on the desk curled. He kept shaking his head. “No, Ziling, I regretted it countless times. I shouldn’t have persuaded Chongzhi. I shouldn’t have let him send you to the frontier…”
“You must not grieve for me.”
Xu Hexue had returned to the yang world unwilling to see old friends and acquaintances—apart from the laws of the Netherworld, it was also because he feared he would make people who had almost walked out of that matter from sixteen years ago grieve and suffer again because of him. “I don’t regret my decision back then.”
“Just as you and my teacher never regretted promoting new policies together.”
“I came to see you today because I want to give you someone’s confession.”
Xu Hexue stepped forward several paces and placed something from his sleeve on the desk. Meng Yunxian discovered his form was somewhat faint—faint like mist, as if another gust of wind from outside could blow him apart.
With great difficulty, Meng Yunxian moved his gaze to the desk. “…Ding Jin?”
This was actually Ding Jin’s confession?!
“He’s Pan Youfang’s man. He deliberately planted someone among Dong Yao’s group. The reason my teacher’s collected works spread so widely in such a short time was also because of him.”
The sharp roots of the Netherworld Dark Wood branch attached to his wrist had already pierced into the spaces between his bones. But it was also thanks to it that Xu Hexue could temporarily not rely on Ni Su the summoner and not be affected by prohibitions. At this moment his clothing was clean, not a single wound on his body bleeding.
But the price he paid was the depletion of his spirit soul.
“You can use this person to push the crime of seeking to overturn my case onto him.”
If humans interrogated Ding Jin, he might not speak truthfully. Moreover, people like Meng Yunxian who served as officials in court couldn’t interrogate their colleague Ding Jin without evidence. But as a ghost, Xu Hexue could precisely grasp his fears and use extraordinary methods to make him submit.
“What do you mean…”
Meng Yunxian’s voice trembled. “How do you know these things? What else do you know? Do you know that your teacher he…”
“I know.”
He said.
Meng Yunxian’s heart jolted.
He nearly couldn’t stand. “I couldn’t protect you. I also couldn’t protect your teacher… But now, do you want me to use this confession to insult you again?”
“Among the people imprisoned in the Yinye Bureau is someone named Chen Xing. Vice Commander Zhou should have already informed you that he’s Ding Jin’s man.” Xu Hexue continued. “The reason he’s willing to die for Ding Jin, for this matter, is because Ding Jin seized his family members. But Ding Jin has already killed them. You can use this to pry open Chen Xing’s mouth, let him know his family is already dead at Ding Jin’s hands. Thus he becomes a witness, and you can use this to save those sixty-some people in the Yinye Bureau.”
“As long as Ding Jin is still alive, he can refuse to acknowledge this confession at any time.” As Meng Yunxian spoke, he suddenly stared at Xu Hexue. “Could it be you…”
“Minister Meng, I don’t need you to protect me.”
Xu Hexue looked at him calmly. “My posthumous reputation doesn’t matter, but I truly want to seek it for my Jing’an Army officers and soldiers. I don’t want their relatives to be treated coldly by this world. They only bear the infamy of treason because they followed me. Yet I no longer have time to fight for a clean posthumous reputation for them.”
He stepped back several paces and lowered his head. “Minister Meng, I can only place my hopes in you.”
“Whatever you do is not insulting me.”
Candlelight fell through the glass lantern shade onto Xu Hexue’s robes. “Harsh winter is here, spring will not come, but Ziling believes in you, respects you. Please first cherish yourself. When spring comes, then clear the name of the Jing’an Army.”
If harsh winter remained, the Jing’an Army could not possibly be vindicated.
What Meng Yunxian faced—the greatest obstacle to vindicating the Jing’an Army—wasn’t Pan Youfang at all, nor was it the Duke of Lu.
Today at Tai’an Hall, Meng Yunxian had already seen this point more clearly than ever.
His throat choked. “It’s we who are alive… who have wronged you.”
“Ziling has one more matter I wish to entrust to you.”
Xu Hexue raised his eyelids.
“What is it?”
“Please in the future, care for Ni Su on my behalf.”
Hearing the name “Ni Su” suddenly, Meng Yunxian froze for a moment. “She…”
Xu Hexue said: “In life and death, my every action has been without shame in my heart—except toward my wife.”
“You…”
The tears in Meng Yunxian’s eyes could no longer be suppressed. “She is your wife, then who are you?”
“Xu Hexue—” A roaring filled his mind, his voice trembling. “Are you… Xu Jing’an?”
Jing’an, Jing’an Army.
——
Ni Su sat dazedly under the eaves corridor for a long time. Snow kept falling, covering her shoulders completely, until Qingqiong collapsed in the corridor gallery with a “thud.”
She hurriedly helped Qingqiong back to his room, selected charcoal, started a fire. She wrung out a cloth in hot water and wiped away the frost particles on Qingqiong’s face.
“Miss Ni.”
Qingqiong opened his eyes.
He still clutched that wood-chopping knife tightly in his arms. Looking at her face frozen pale, he said chokingly: “If I could use soul fire like my mother, I would definitely go burn those people to death.”
“But I’m very useless.”
“Everyone has their own purpose.” Ni Su sat on the bed’s edge. “If you listen to Xu Ziling’s words and live well, you’ll know what your purpose is.”
Qingqiong caught a chill and quickly fell into unconscious sleep.
Ni Su made his room warm and toasty before tiptoeing out. She returned to the room across from his. During the day, to wash Xu Hexue’s hair, she had used a bamboo couch that still sat in the room.
There was no charcoal fire in the room. Her entire body was stiff with cold. She only felt the candles in the room weren’t bright enough, so she took out some more candles and lit them one by one.
The candlelight was bright as daylight.
She stood in the room, her mind blank, not knowing what she should do.
Her gaze moved inch by inch.
On the plain gauze screen was still pasted that red double-happiness character Qingqiong had cut. Draped over the wooden rack was the garment she had personally changed Xu Hexue out of today.
The books arranged neatly on the desk were ones he often read.
Without opening the cabinet, she remembered what clothes of his were placed inside.
She discovered he had so few possessions.
At the other end of the desk was that paper kite he had made with his own hands for her, but which she had never had time to take out and fly.
A booklet was pressed beneath the paper kite.
Ni Su moved her steps, walking to the desk.
Clean blue cover, the calligraphy on it sharp and elegant—”A’Xi’s Recipe Collection.”
She reached out her hand and picked it up.
“What are you writing?”
“When I finish writing it, you’ll know.”
A scene from early morning flashed through Ni Su’s mind. She lifted the bed curtain and rose to see him sitting here, brush in hand, eyes lowered, earnest and careful.
Her fingers trembled as she opened the booklet.
The flyleaf was snow-white, making the ink marks upon it appear intensely dark:
*Song of Youth*
*The curtain draws back, dawn light enters the jade chamber, rain washes the inkstone sand.*
*Drinking horses at Star River, barbarian flutes blow and answer, chasing invaders through broken cloud cliffs.*
*No place to seek homeland ahead, this fortune to meet spring blossoms.*
*If in youth’s time, golden wind and jade dew, hand in hand we trimmed red candles.*
In an instant, tears tumbled from her eyes in clusters, soaking the flyleaf. Ni Su clutched it tightly to her chest, crouched down, and wept bitterly without restraint.