Yunbao Zhai had quite a reputation in Yuzhou City. Many high-ranking officials and wealthy merchants sent their children here to study calligraphy.

Long before Li Chi had any connection to Yuzhou City, Yunbao Zhai had already been deeply intertwined with many of the city’s most powerful figures.

The force behind Yunbao Zhai was none other than the once-feared Jishi Bureau.

If you stopped anyone on the street and asked which government office had been the most terrifying in all of history, the answer would always be the same — the Jishi Bureau. Never before in Dachu’s history had a single eunuch held such absolute dominion over all power, and the Jishi Bureau was the instrument through which that eunuch controlled everything.

Long, long ago, when Li Chi was only seven or eight years old, he had once asked his master, the Daoren Changmei, a question.

He asked his master: Dachu had always had powerful offices like this before — there was the Mingfa Bureau, which had once been greatly feared, and before that, the Jinwu Guard, which had also inspired dread.

Yet neither the Mingfa Bureau nor the Jinwu Guard had ever reached the level of terror that the Jishi Bureau achieved.

His master had thought for a moment before telling young Li Chi: it was probably because those eunuchs had swallowed so much humiliation inside the palace that once they gained power, they began taking it out on everyone outside. And the more they vented, the more vicious they became — the more they vented, the more depraved they grew.

Li Chi had thought there was some truth to that at the time, though certainly not the whole truth.

Yunbao Zhai employed quite a few staff — it was a large establishment, after all — and even now, nearly two hundred students still studied in its rear courtyard.

In truth, Yunbao Zhai was composed of two parts, and “Yunbao Zhai” was only the name of the front-facing shop.

The space behind was called Mingwu Hall, and for a long stretch of time in Yuzhou City, it had been considered the equal of Yaxu Academy.

Yaxu Academy had been founded by the Cao Family. Over the past few decades, many of the Central Plains’ most celebrated scholars had emerged from its halls.

The Cao Family’s greatest rule for running Yaxu Academy was that no tuition was charged. Anyone who had business dealings with the Cao Family could send their children to study there.

Not only was tuition free — all expenses were waived — and naturally, everything provided was of the finest quality.

But of course, “business dealings” came with conditions. If you had merely conducted a few hundred taels of trade with a shop under Cao Family control, they would never place you on the list of those considered friends.

Mingwu Hall had been established considerably later than Yaxu Academy. It came into being after Liu Chongxin grew concerned that the Cao Family might be harboring ambitions against the Emperor. He had personally issued orders to Yanbei Cheng to build an academy in Yuzhou City — one that could draw in and make contact with the city’s major clans, and thus be used to keep watch over the Cao Family.

At the time, Yanbei Cheng had suggested to Liu Chongxin that opening an academy outright would surely arouse the Cao Family’s suspicions.

It would be better to first open a bookshop, and to proceed gradually — using three to five years to let the people of Yuzhou grow accustomed to it, and only then establish an academy.

And so Liu Chongxin issued orders for a great many of Daxing City’s prominent literary figures to be rounded up. Whoever had the finest calligraphy was sent to Yuzhou; those who refused were killed.

With so many celebrated masters gathered together, the Yunbao Bookshop quickly made a name for itself throughout Yuzhou City.

Especially among those families that held no significant official standing but were wealthy beyond measure — for them, being able to mention in public that their children were being taught by master calligraphers at Yunbao Zhai was a matter of tremendous face.

And the greatest draw of Yunbao Zhai was the grand master Han Huamei.

It was common knowledge throughout the land that the most celebrated literary figure of the past several hundred years was Master Songming.

Even while Master Songming was still alive, a single piece of his calligraphy was worth ten thousand taels of gold — and even that price could rarely secure one.

The sole disciple of Master Songming’s lineage recognized by all the great masters was Han Huamei.

Han Huamei was the sixth-generation inheritor of Master Songming’s tradition. His calligraphy was said to carry eight-tenths of Master Songming’s divine spirit.

Beyond that, Han Huamei held another distinction: he was a supreme authenticator. No matter whose calligraphy it was — if Han Huamei declared it genuine, that verdict was final and absolute, and no one could ever again raise a doubt.

Yet even such a great master could not overcome his fear of death, and had no choice but to follow Liu Chongxin’s arrangements and make his way to Yuzhou City.

The young shop assistant standing at the entrance to greet guests at that moment was none other than the very same one whom Qu Nanhuai had previously arranged to make contact with the leader of the Sacred Blade Sect. His real name was Liu Yangong.

“Young shop assistant” was perhaps misleading — he had already been at Yunbao Zhai for thirteen years, having first arrived when he was only sixteen.

He was in fact quite worried. The Sect Leader had been killed, Yanbei Cheng had been captured, and Qu Nanhuai’s whereabouts were unknown. If Yanbei Cheng confessed to anything, Yunbao Zhai would almost certainly be wiped out entirely.

Yet they did not dare flee. Prince Ning had issued an order forbidding anyone from leaving Yuzhou for the time being. The Ning Army soldiers at the gates only admitted people into the city — they did not let anyone out.

And so they had no choice but to carry on and tough it out, placing their hopes on the possibility that neither Yanbei Cheng nor Qu Nanhuai would implicate them.

The fact that Qu Nanhuai had arranged for him to make contact with the Sect Leader was itself a coincidence — one that had originated with Liu Yangong himself.

Moving through Yuzhou City in the guise of a humble shop assistant, he naturally did not attract any suspicious attention.

And so the task of keeping watch on Prince Ning’s activities had always fallen to him and a small group of men, who took turns surveilling the prefectural government office.

On the very day the Sect Leader appeared outside the prefectural office, Liu Yangong had concluded that this individual must be someone of great significance.

After Qu Nanhuai arrived, he had reported the matter in full detail — and he had also known that the Sect Leader was staying at an inn not far from the prefectural office.

Qu Nanhuai’s thinking at the time had not been complicated: anyone who might take action against Prince Ning was someone worth bringing into the fold.

How the hell could Qu Nanhuai have known that on the day he swaggered into that inn to meet the Sect Leader — putting on airs and feeling very pleased with himself — he very nearly got squeezed to death like an insect between someone’s fingers?

It was precisely because of that encounter that Qu Nanhuai had determined the Sect Leader was someone who could be put to enormous use.

Just as Liu Yangong was turning all of this over in his mind, he suddenly heard someone softly clear their throat in front of him.

He quickly looked up and found himself facing a young gentleman of remarkably handsome features.

The face seemed faintly familiar, yet for the life of him, he could not recall where he had seen it before.

He immediately bowed courteously and greeted the visitor: “Good day, young master. How may Yunbao Zhai be of service?”

The young gentleman pointed to what his attendant was carrying behind him and said: “I’ve come from out of town. Upon arriving in Yuzhou, I tried to leave but couldn’t — Prince Ning has issued a decree sealing the city. I have no choice but to remain here a while longer. The thing is… my funds are running low, so I thought to bring a few pieces of calligraphy and painting I cherish to show the masters at Yunbao Zhai. I also wanted to ask whether they might be interested in purchasing them.”

Liu Yangong immediately replied: “We are certainly interested. Please come right in, young master.”

The young gentleman stepped through the door, with a young page boy following behind him. The gentleman himself was already strikingly handsome, but the little page boy was even more beautiful — with crimson lips, white teeth, and eyes full of captivating expression. Had this page been a young woman, it would have been impossible to say how many hearts she might have set ablaze.

Yunbao Zhai had over thirty masters on staff, eighteen of whom took turns presiding over business in the front main hall.

All of them were renowned figures, and their authority in authenticating calligraphy and paintings was beyond question.

If any of the masters here declared a piece of calligraphy to be a forgery, no one would ever pay money for it again.

The master on duty in the main hall that day was named Zheng Songren, a man of great renown.

Liu Yangong guided the young gentleman inside and led him to Zheng Songren, bowing and saying: “Master Zheng, this young gentleman says he has some fine pieces he wishes to sell, and requests that you take a look.”

Zheng Songren raised his head to examine the visitor — a young man who appeared to be around twenty years of age, dressed in well-made clothes of expensive fabric, with a jade pendant hanging from his waistband that was itself of considerable value.

He had no reason to treat the visitor with any disrespect, and promptly invited the young gentleman into the inner hall.

After arranging for tea to be served, Zheng Songren asked: “May I ask your honorable surname, young master? And where are you from?”

The young gentleman replied: “My surname is Li, given name Duixin. I was originally from Jizhou, but after war broke out our whole family relocated to Fengzhou, and then the war forced us to flee here to Yuzhou.”

Zheng Songren said: “A young master of your bearing must come from a very comfortable background. How is it that you find yourself needing to part with calligraphy you hold dear?”

He glanced at the jade pendant on the young gentleman’s belt: “If it is ready money you need, that jade pendant alone is worth a considerable sum. You could pawn it for quite a bit of silver.”

The young gentleman replied: “The jade pendant? What is jade compared to calligraphy? Since I’ve decided to sell, I might as well sell something worth a proper price.”

Zheng Songren found this person rather boastful, exchanged a few more polite pleasantries, and then asked: “Would the young master permit me to take a look at the calligraphy?”

The young gentleman turned toward the strikingly attractive little page: “Li’er, bring out the calligraphy for Master Zheng’s inspection.”

The little page seemed to shoot him a glance that bordered on a glare, then set the scroll cases down on the table.

There were seven scroll cases in total, each marked with a character — from one to seven.

Zheng Songren asked with curiosity: “And what is the meaning of this?”

The young gentleman smiled and said: “Ah — you mean the numbers? Number one is an original work by Master Songming himself. Number two is an original work by Master Songming’s first-generation disciple. And so it continues in sequence — up to number seven, which is an original work by Master Songming’s sixth-generation disciple.”

Zheng Songren’s expression shifted dramatically for an instant, but he quickly composed himself — indeed, something close to disdain crept onto his face.

There was no one in the world who could have gathered originals from seven successive masters.

And besides — the sixth-generation inheritor, Grand Master Han Huamei, was at this very moment resting in the rear courtyard. To claim to have his authentic work… the man had apparently come to run a con on the very subject of that forgery.

“Well now, how truly remarkable.”

Zheng Songren said with a hint of mockery in his voice: “If the young master’s pieces are all genuine originals, then the young master is without a doubt the first such person in all of history.”

The young gentleman nodded: “That I would grant. I do happen to be the first person in history capable of assembling authentic originals from all seven of these masters.”

Zheng Songren smiled, his contempt growing more unguarded: “The young master must have gone to tremendous lengths to bring together seven such authentic works.”

The young gentleman thought for a moment, then replied: “Not particularly.”

Zheng Songren’s smile became even more dismissive, and he made very little effort to conceal it.

He said to the young gentleman: “Are you aware, young master, that Master Songming’s sixth-generation inheritor — Grand Master Han Huamei — is currently here at our Yunbao Zhai?”

The young gentleman nodded: “I know — which is precisely why I came. It is said throughout the land that the only person in the world capable of authenticating Master Songming’s surviving works is Grand Master Han.”

Upon hearing these words, Zheng Songren had no choice but to put away his earlier contempt.

The man was aware that Han Huamei was here. What sort of swindler would actually dare to bring a forged piece to be authenticated by the very person who wrote it?

And so he also became serious: “I will ask Grand Master Han to come and examine them personally.”

He immediately instructed Liu Yangong: “Go at once and invite Grand Master Han!”

Liu Yangong was curious himself, and for a moment even forgot all his fears and worries. He turned and hurried off to the rear courtyard.

Before long, Han Huamei arrived in haste — even a master of his stature had been shaken by the news of seven authentic works.

Seven masters across seven successive generations, seven authentic originals — it was enough to make his heart race with overwhelming excitement.

Han Huamei appeared to be somewhere in his mid-forties, dressed in a long robe. Upon entering, he offered no greeting to the young gentleman — instead, he asked urgently: “Where are the pieces?”

The young gentleman smiled, stood up, and cupped his hands in a bow, then gestured toward the table: “All right here.”

Han Huamei did not dare look at Master Songming’s work first, nor those of the successive inheritors. He decided to begin with his own.

If even his own piece turned out to be a forgery, there was little point looking at the rest.

He also could not bring himself to believe that anyone could have gathered together seven such supreme treasures.

Han Huamei drew a deep breath to suppress his excitement, opened the scroll case, and removed the piece with the utmost care. He had only looked at it for a single moment when his expression shifted entirely.

He bent close to examine it — studying it with meticulous, painstaking care.

In that moment, only one thing existed in this grand master’s mind: a question mark the size of an elephant’s trunk.

The calligraphy was absolutely genuine.

He had absolutely no memory of having written it.

He had written many pieces, composed many verses, but this particular line left him with no impression whatsoever.

This writing was…

*At the mountain peak, a temple, a jug of wine — your joy is my suffering.*

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