After a full day of exertion, everyone was both physically and mentally exhausted. They quickly finished their evening meal in the dining hall, and He Sishan and Qi Mu guided the guests to the student dormitories to rest.
The student dormitories of Sanhe Academy were arranged symmetrically along the central axis of the academy grounds, divided into East Court and West Court, each with twenty rooms, a half-quarter-hour’s walk from the Book Collection Courtyard — convenient in distance, with a degree of privacy as well.
East Court and West Court each had a small courtyard, with pines and cypresses standing tall, stone tables and pavilions throughout, quiet in their surroundings and full of the feel of daily life.
To receive the Imperial Book team, Sanhe Academy had cleared out the East Court entirely, swept it clean, and respectfully invited all guests to take up residence there.
Each dormitory room had a name — chosen personally by the student living there, from the titles of song-poem forms. This gave a glimpse into the varying personalities of the different students. For instance, the room assigned to Lin Sui’an was named “Washing Sands” — no doubt a student with a heart as wide and open as the sea. The one next to it, where Hua Yitang was staying, was named “Drunk in the Flower Shade” — definitely a student who loved beautiful things. Fangke had chosen the northernmost room, cold and dim, in keeping with the physician’s tastes — it was named “Pure Joy,” which was also rather refined.
Hua Yifeng was in “Drunk in Great Peace” at the far south end; Bai Ruyi had chosen “As If in a Dream,” right beside the courtyard.
Lin Sui’an put down Qian Jing, took off her outer robe, sat on the edge of the bed, and kneaded her shoulders. She was just about to remove her cotton boots when a shadow flashed past the window, followed by a knock at the door.
Lin Sui’an was puzzled. She put her outer robe back on and opened the door — and her eyes went wide.
Hua Yitang was draped in a robe of gleaming silver fox fur. Atop his head sat a crystal-clear jade hairpin. His skin was smooth as condensed cream, his lips like a dot of cherry-blossom red — like a peony in full spring bloom, blossoming in the snow.
“The moonlight tonight is lovely. Would Lin Niangzi care to join Hua here for a walk in the wind and snow, composing verses and rhymes?”
Lin Sui’an was momentarily dazzled. “At this hour?”
Hua Yitang’s long lashes fluttered. “Such a fine night — the wind and moon are just right.”
Lin Sui’an: “……”
The middle of the night — what mischief was this fellow cooking up now?!
“No. Too cold.” Lin Sui’an made as if to shut the door, but Hua Yitang suddenly leapt forward and slapped a hand against the door frame in one swift move, holding it open with a dashingly posed lean — and Mu Xia materialized out of nowhere, presenting a black fox-fur cloak with both hands. “Lin Niangzi, please.”
The cloak’s black fur shimmered with a faint glow and was exquisite to the touch. Having worked alongside Hua Yitang all this time, Lin Sui’an had developed some eye for these things. One look was enough to tell that this cloak was worth no less than five hundred gold on the open market.
To accept a gift is to be indebted!
Lin Sui’an quietly accepted the cloak. “Where are we going?”
Hua Yitang raised his chin to a perfect forty-five-degree angle. “The night is deep and still, a single branch blossoms alone — the heart speaks to no one, a thousand thoughts wind and coil!”
Lin Sui’an gritted her teeth. “Speak plainly!”
Hua Yitang instantly snapped to attention, his little expression brimming with grievance. “I have one very great worry, and I can’t sleep.”
Lin Sui’an raised an eyebrow, glanced at Mu Xia. Mu Xia’s expression was one of deep suffering, and he gave a heavy nod.
Lin Sui’an understood: Hua Yitang, worrying so much about Hua Yifeng’s marriage affairs, had come down with insomnia.
No wonder — Lin Sui’an thought back over the spectacle she’d witnessed at the Cloud Sea Sunset — Hua Yifeng, He Sishan, Qi Mu, and then Bai Ruyi on top of it all: a thoroughgoing four-way entanglement straight out of a drama about complicated love, a battlefield of jealousy and heartache. If she were Hua Yitang, she’d have been too wound up to sleep too.
Well — she and Hua Yitang had been through quite a bit together. She’d see him through this one.
That said, Lin Sui’an genuinely had no idea how to comfort people. She thought through several opening lines and found them all unsuitable, so she settled on the silent approach — just being present.
Hua Yitang, so usually verbose, now held himself straight and walked at a brisk pace, moving fast. The winter mountain wind was piercingly cold. The fox-fur cloak billowed and snapped — like a flag that refused to be bent, flickering with steady, resolute light in the dark night.
Lin Sui’an’s heart grew a little taut: had things with Hua Yifeng’s marriage really come to such a pressing pass?
Very soon, Lin Sui’an realized she did not recognize the path Hua Yitang was taking. The general direction aligned with the stargazing platform, yet at a narrow fork it turned downward. The deeper they went, the denser the pine woods and the narrower the path. Gradually the terrain rose on both sides, forming a deep, longitudinal ravine. The wind suddenly strengthened. Hua Yitang’s cloak billowed up in one great sweep, then settled back — and Lin Sui’an’s heart gave an inward “wow” of awe: between two mountain peaks, as if conjured into being, arched a naturally formed stone bridge.
Beneath the bridge yawned a bottomless chasm. Night mist swirled and drifted. On all sides, cliff faces were thick with ancient pines heavy with leftover snow. Over the body of the bridge hung dense tangles of vine, and the frozen remnants of melting ice encased the twisted dried branches and yellowed leaves, each reflecting a glimmer of silver light — as if sculpted from crystal.
A full bright moon hung suspended between the two peaks, casting its gentle glow over the stone bridge. Because of the unique geography of the location, the moonlight seemed to concentrate like a spotlight.
Brilliant moon. Ink-dark trees. White snow. And Hua Yitang, breathtaking as a vision — together they composed a staggering ink-wash painting. This was the craft of nature, the art of miracles.
An icy wind brushed past her temple, ruffling her hair. Lin Sui’an gave a start and came back to herself. Only then did she realize she had, without noticing, followed Hua Yitang step by step onto the stone bridge. The moonlight drifted in the wind, wisps of mountain mist coiling around them. Underfoot there was a floating weightlessness — even the illusion of riding the wind through the air.
Lin Sui’an drew a long breath and said with wholehearted sincerity: “What a magnificent sight!”
Hua Yitang stood shoulder to shoulder with her. Their fox-fur cloaks, one black, one white, pressed close together. He raised his left hand into the moonlight, letting the liquid moonlight flow along his fingertips — beautiful as jade.
It had to be said, Hua Yitang was blessed with truly fine looks. Even just a hand alone held the power to bewitch.
Then that hand lowered, hesitated and reached through the folds of his cloak several times, crossed from the white cloak into the black, and gently took hold of Lin Sui’an’s hand.
Lin Sui’an was stunned. She turned her head and stared at Hua Yitang.
Hua Yitang looked steadily at the moon, his throat working in a rapid swallow. Then, in one sudden motion, he gripped Lin Sui’an’s hand tightly and raised it high. The liquid moonlight bathed both their intertwined hands — pale, warm, scorching hot.
Lin Sui’an felt Hua Yitang’s fingers trembling faintly. The palm of his hand had broken into a sweat against her palm — hot and damp.
Lin Sui’an sensed something was wrong. “This gesture — could it have some special meaning?”
Like “summoning a guardian spirit”? Or “do you believe in light?”…
Hua Yitang’s earlobes had turned as red as two agates. He let out a sigh: “As I suspected — it’s all a trick!”
Lin Sui’an: “Hm?”
Hua Yitang slowly lowered his arm, yet did not release her hand — as though afraid of the cold, he tucked both their hands into the folds of his cloak. “This is one of Sanhe Mountain’s Seven Wonders — Stone Bridge Moon Night. Legend has it that when the moon comes out, standing on this bridge allows a pair of lovers to see the red thread of fate from the Old Man Under the Moon bound tightly around their wrists.”
Lin Sui’an’s eyes went round.
Hua Yitang looked over directly, his gaze as deep as the sea, with tides surging beneath. “I don’t believe it, of course — and yet I couldn’t help wanting to come and try…”
Hua Yitang’s gaze seemed to carry some kind of enchantment. Held in that look, Lin Sui’an felt as if she had been struck by a paralysis curse — her limbs froze, she couldn’t move at all. Her heart beat faster and faster, sending the blood surging through her entire body to pool in her right hand. That hand was pressed against Hua Yitang’s, and through his palm she felt another heartbeat — faster than hers, louder — thump, thump thump, thump thump thump—
She had to say something. She absolutely had to say something!
Lin Sui’an’s mind was a chaos of noise, only this one thought still clear.
“F-feudal superstitions are not to be—” Lin Sui’an’s words were not yet finished when Hua Yitang suddenly stepped half a pace forward. His arm curved gently back, drawing Lin Sui’an half a step closer — his white cloak enveloped her black one.
Lin Sui’an’s scalp went numb. She gulped down two mouthfuls. Hua Yitang’s lashes were faintly lowered, his eyes shimmering, his throat rising and falling, scorching breath and a warm fruity fragrance drifting into Lin Sui’an’s ear: “The silver radiance drifts, the water flows in silence — in silence the longing—”
“Drip” — a drop of bright red blood fell onto Hua Yitang’s forehead.
Lin Sui’an’s mind rang with a clear chime, and all five senses and rational thought snapped back into place in an instant. She snatched her hand back and stepped away. In that same moment came a sharp rush of wind from overhead. A dark shape plummeted straight down. Lin Sui’an’s color changed drastically. Her toes pressed off the ground and she leapt upward, caught the falling figure, then spun in midair — a full eight rotations — before barely managing to absorb the massive force of the fall. Her right shoulder gave a crack, and it was dislocated.
“Lin Sui’an!” Hua Yitang scrambled to his feet and came flying over, dropping to Lin Sui’an’s side.
Lin Sui’an went down on one knee, brow tightly furrowed. She looked at what she had just caught — a person, covered in blood from head to toe, strongly built, square-faced with thick brows, limbs hanging soft and limp, no longer drawing breath.
Hua Yitang turned pale with shock: “He Sishan?!”
Fangke was a little vexed. He had slept so much during the day that he now lay in bed with not a trace of drowsiness, tossing and turning through five or six positions — and still felt perfectly bright and alert.
Fangke gave up and got out of bed. He pulled on his clothes, lit the lamp, opened his large portable chest, and took out the most recently revised “Eighteen Blades of Corpse Examination,” wiping them carefully with a strip of cotton cloth.
This set of new-model blades totaled eighteen in all, designed by him through dictated specifications and personally drafted into schematics by Hua Yitang. Mu Xia had then sought out the finest craftsmen in Yidu to have them custom-made — a singular set in all the world, deeply precious. Unfortunately, since the finished set had been ready, they had left Yidu and not encountered a single murder case, nor any bodies. Truly a pity.
“A hero without a battlefield to prove his worth!” Fangke sighed.
Just then, Fangke heard footsteps — light, swift, and steady, with another set of footsteps behind them, fast but stumbling. Fangke recognized them well: the footsteps of Lin Sui’an and Hua Yitang.
The footsteps were closing in fast. Fangke’s eyes lit up. He crossed to the door in two and a half strides and pulled it open. Outside, Lin Sui’an’s left hand was raised, just about to knock. Behind her stood Hua Yitang, still catching his breath.
Fangke’s eyes locked straight onto Lin Sui’an’s back — draped across it was a blood-soaked figure, motionless and without breath, who appeared to be… He Sishan?
“You two are truly not failing anyone’s expectations,” Fangke said. “Come in.”
Lin Sui’an carried He Sishan inside. Fangke and Hua Yitang worked together to lower He Sishan onto the sleeping platform. Hua Yitang looked at the table full of corpse-examination blades and went pale. “Physician Fang, your foresight is truly uncanny — you even had the examination blades prepared.”
“Out of the way — you’re in the way!” Fangke pushed Hua Yitang aside, his fingers rapidly probing He Sishan’s carotid artery. He flipped open the eyelids to check the pupils, frowned, then pressed his ear to his chest and listened. “Too soon for the blades — he’s not dead yet!”
Hua Yitang and Lin Sui’an were overjoyed: “He can still be saved?!”
“Whether he lives depends on his own fortune.” Fangke pulled out his silver needle case, unfurled it with a snap — hundreds of silver needles glittered in the candlelight. First, six needles went in at the crown of the head, into the life-sustaining pressure points. “Help — strip the clothes!”
Hua Yitang didn’t hesitate, reaching in right away to tear. He Sishan’s robes were already reduced to tatters, soaked through with blood and caked with dead leaves, mud, gravel, bark, and debris. One pull and they fell apart. Lin Sui’an couldn’t very well do it herself and could only stand to the side in helpless anxiety. Hua Yitang stripped away the robes with three quick moves and two sharp pulls, then sucked in a sharp breath.
He Sishan’s body was covered in wounds large and small — bruises, bleeding gashes, torn flesh exposed — utterly gruesome.
“These are injuries from falling, impact, scraping, and cuts.” Fangke’s eyes swept over them in an instant. “Where did you two find him?”
“We didn’t find him exactly — he fell from the sky,” Lin Sui’an said. “The two of us happened to be passing, and I caught him.”
The hand driving the needle paused. Fangke glanced at both of them. “You two are really something!”
Within a few lines of exchange, all thirty-six major pressure points on He Sishan’s body had received their needles. Fangke drew a deep breath, pressed his ear to He Sishan’s chest again and listened for a moment. His body tilted, and he sat down on the sleeping platform. He cupped his right hand into an empty fist, raised it half a chi, and struck twice in rapid succession onto He Sishan’s sternum in a side-hand blow. He Sishan’s throat gave an involuntary sharp intake of air, and his eyelids flew open.
Hua Yitang and Lin Sui’an both leaned in urgently, calling out: “Headmaster He!” He Sishan’s gaze drifted slowly to Lin Sui’an’s face. His pupils contracted sharply, and tears streamed from his eyes.
“…General of the Seventh… you’ve come to take me…”
His words unfinished, the light in his eyes extinguished. In Lin Sui’an’s ears rose a sharp, piercing wail. Before her eyes surged a dense white fog — and within it a shadow, blurry, like the picture quality of a very old recording: she could just barely make out a figure seated on horseback, wielding a great blade six chi long.
Lin Sui’an gave a startled gasp, her whole body jolting backward. Her vision cleared of the image. Hua Yitang caught her around the waist in a fluster. “What’s wrong?!”
Lin Sui’an was drenched in cold sweat, her heart going cold. Just now, that image — her golden ability had activated. In other words…
“Is he… dead?” Lin Sui’an asked.
“Not dead yet!” Fangke flipped himself over and knelt upright on the sleeping platform. He placed both hands one over the other, and drove straight down, pressing hard on He Sishan’s chest — with such force that the platform cracked and creaked beneath him. He pressed several times, then pinched open He Sishan’s jaw, swept the mouth clear of any obstruction with his hand, tilted back the chin, pinched the nostrils, and gave two breaths mouth to mouth, then resumed the chest compressions.
Lin Sui’an was stunned. Physician Fang’s entire sequence of actions was the standard procedure of cardiac resuscitation. Was Physician Fang genuinely not a fellow traveler from a later era?
Yet Hua Yitang remained even calmer than she was. Seeing Lin Sui’an’s surprise, he even provided an explanation on Fangke’s behalf: “This method of saving a person, Hua here once saw used at the Yangdu docks. Foreign sailors use it to revive the drowned — it can restore a heartbeat and breathing to one on the verge of death. Physician Fang must have learned it before as well.”
Lin Sui’an: so it was she, the modern person, who had the narrower perspective!
But wait — on the verge of death?
Could it be that what her golden ability had shown was only a dying vision from He Sishan’s last moments, not a complete activation? Was that why the image quality had been so poor?
This was something Lin Sui’an had never experienced before. Previously, her ability only ever triggered upon dead people’s final attachments. This was the first time she’d caught a glimpse of a living person’s memory — what kind of attachment, bone-deep and seared into the soul, could transcend the boundary between life and death and force her golden ability to activate against its will?
Could it be — the “General of the Seventh” He Sishan had just murmured?
Fangke had now completed three full rounds of resuscitation. The toll on his strength was enormous — beads of sweat the size of soybeans slid down his temples, his neck flushed red, the veins standing out starkly. This was the first time Lin Sui’an had ever seen Fangke fight this desperately to save a person. In her memory, Fangke was forever calm and expressionless, holding his heartless examination blades, splitting open the chest of a corpse with cool, clinical precision and examining the organs within with cold detachment and scientific excitement…
Hua Yitang’s hands clenched tight, his breathing growing heavier and heavier, sweat soaking through his hair until it clung to his forehead. Lin Sui’an wanted to remind him to remove his fox-fur cloak, but when she moved her arm, a searing pain shot through her — and she hazily remembered her right arm was dislocated and could not be raised at all.
The veins in Fangke’s eyes had burst into red threads. Each press was harder than the last.
Hua Yitang’s eyes had gone bloodshot. He threw out a great shout: “He Sishan — if you die, Hua Yifeng will marry Bai Ruyi!”
Fangke slammed down with one fierce press. A crack — a rib snapped under his palm. And in that same instant, He Sishan’s eyelid gave a twitch, and his lips parted with a faint, frail thread of breath.
Fangke immediately ceased. He slumped to the side and sat on the platform. He pressed his ear to He Sishan’s chest and listened for a moment. His body leaned back. He sat up, and said: “He’s alive.”
Hua Yitang’s throat made a choked sound. Lin Sui’an’s legs gave out — she nearly fell to her knees before Fangke. “Good heavens — I nearly lost my own heartbeat too!”
Fangke braced both hands on the platform and climbed down from the sleeping board. More silver needles were inserted into nine more pressure points. He picked up a cloth from the table and wiped the sweat from his face, let out one long, slow breath, and once again restored that impassive coffin-face expression. He turned — one hand gripped Lin Sui’an’s right shoulder, the other gripped her elbow. He gave a light, rocking motion, then thrust sharply upward. The dislocated arm clicked back into socket.
Lin Sui’an’s eyes shone. “A true miracle of medicine!”
“I’m a coroner,” Fangke said flatly. “But before I became a coroner, I was first and foremost a physician.”
In that single instant, the countless great physicians of all ages past and present manifested in golden form behind Fangke and raised their thumbs in unison.
Side Story
Mu Xia sat in the room, clawing at his heart with anxiety: Has Fourth Young Master succeeded in his confession this time?