Wei Xun’s breathing became rapid, his fists clenched tight, veins bulging on the backs of his hands as waves of shock crashed through his heart.
He refused to believe Zhou Qingyang’s words, struggling desperately like a cornered beast to find flaws in her statement: “This doesn’t make sense! If this serial killing scheme was my master’s lifelong obsession, how could he have died without explaining it clearly, leaving everything vague and unclear? If I hadn’t come to Xiangzhou to find you, wouldn’t I have just died of illness in Guanzhong, never knowing about the killing and pill-making business?”
Zhou Qingyang sighed: “Your master’s greatest flaw throughout his life was his arrogance—thinking himself supremely clever and that his schemes were foolproof. In his final years, he was too gravely ill, with little time left to live, and had already lost the ability to prove his dao or seek revenge. So he painstakingly gathered a group of madmen as disciples—people with no family ties or attachments—thinking they were perfect material for rebellion.
Before dying, he deliberately spread rumors throughout the martial world about ‘overthrowing the Tang Dynasty.’ This way, the Remnant Sun Academy would inevitably become a target for all of court and countryside, forced into rebellion. With the eldest leading the way, the others would follow your command and rise up in revolt.
But as long as people have food to eat and skills to rely on, who would want to rebel? Isn’t living peacefully much better? You disciples are all stubborn individualists who couldn’t even be bothered to listen to his dying words—how could you obediently follow his wishes? Once you learned your skills and the master died, the disciples scattered. His supposedly interlocking poisonous scheme died in the womb before it could even begin.
You’re absolutely right—if not for this twist of fate, with the Phoenix Embryo formula rotting in my hands, your fate would have been to die of illness in Guanzhong. But you happened to promise to help someone find their family, passing through Xiangzhou on your way—this is destiny. Perhaps when the emperor made that insane deal of ‘land and people go to Tang, children and wealth go to the Uighurs,’ the Tang Dynasty’s fate was already sealed.”
“Then why must it be people surnamed Li as ingredients, and not those surnamed Liu or Zhao? What makes them different from ordinary people?!” Wei Xun was almost incoherent, unable to help but turn back to gaze at Bao Zhu’s distant figure, trying to draw some comfort from her presence.
Zhou Qingyang shook her head, her eyes full of bewilderment: “This riddle has tormented me for many years, yet I still have no answer. Xuanying couldn’t see through human nature, but he was indeed clever and sufficiently mad, making him hard to fathom. After you took the Phoenix Embryo, I observed your condition throughout the journey—the medicine’s effects were indeed immediate, but it cannot provide a complete cure.”
Wei Xun glared at Zhou Qingyang with cold, harsh eyes: “Then why did you help him, testing human pills and joining his madness? You told me the truth about the Phoenix Embryo—once I begin to act, chaos will inevitably engulf the world. The art of saving lives versus the technique of killing—your dao is completely opposite to Chen Shigu’s. When the Four Heroes descended the mountain, three failed, but as long as you persisted in the way of saving lives, you would forever remain undefeated. Why abandon your paradise now and choose retreat into hiding?”
Faced with her junior’s pressing interrogation, Zhou Qingyang lowered her eyes and fell into a long silence.
After a long while, she slowly spoke, her voice becoming low and hoarse: “I could persist for so long in this chaotic world because I still had attachments in the mortal realm. Unlike my fellow disciples who were orphans, I had family. The Zhou clan has practiced medicine for hundreds of years—though not a prestigious noble family without any distinguished status, we have a scholarly medical tradition with everyone dedicating themselves to healing and saving lives.
After joining the Daoist sect, I cultivated spirit and nurtured qi, achieving an ageless, immortal body, gradually growing distant from my family. But even so, knowing that blood relatives still existed in this world, having that bond, was different from being completely alone.
After the Tianbao Rebellion, the Zhou family moved to Guanzhong to escape the warfare. They still didn’t change professions—most continued practicing medicine among the common people. However, one young man among them was unconventional, unwilling to follow his ancestors’ path. Instead, he passed the examination to enter the Imperial Medical Academy as a medical student. He wanted to enter the imperial court and become a ranked, prestigious imperial physician.
The young man studied hard for seven years. Monthly exams, quarterly exams, yearly exams—he passed every hurdle, advancing from student to physician. In my view, someone in their early twenties was still a novice who shouldn’t practice independently but should accumulate more experience and see more of the world.
But one day, this newly graduated novice suddenly received notice from his superior, ordering him to immediately enter the palace to diagnose a princess who had suddenly fallen gravely ill. He went, and never returned. By generation, that child was roughly my great-great-grandson. His name was Zhou Mingzhi.”
Wei Xun felt his entire body turn ice-cold, as if plunging into an ice cave. He remembered this unremarkable name—it was written on the prescription for the last medicine Bao Zhu had taken before her “death.” Zhou Mingzhi was indeed one of the three imperial physicians the emperor had ordered executed.
Daoist Qingyang sighed extremely softly. With this exhale, her previously straight back became somewhat hunched, her spirited features grew slack with loose muscles, and her entire being seemed to age decades in that instant.
“When I received the news three months ago, the Zhou family had already been exiled as a whole to Qianzhong. Probably less than half survived.”
Zhou Qingyang looked at Wei Xun, tears glimmering in her wrinkled eye sockets: “Your master-uncle couldn’t save you, couldn’t save your master, and was powerless to salvage this crumbling Tang empire. Finding no paradise in practicing medicine, my dao-heart is shattered. Thus, the last person has also completely failed.”
Having said this, she slightly closed her eyes, circulated her qi through the meridians, slowly breathing in and out, trying to calm the turmoil in her heart. After a moment, her aged appearance gradually recovered somewhat. When she opened her eyes again, the white-haired Daoist nun’s gaze held an additional trace of cold determination.
“I’ve decided to comply with heaven’s will and revive Xuanying’s stillborn plan. You’ve taken half of that Phoenix Embryo, which can temporarily preserve your life. But as your condition progresses to later stages, you’ll still experience complete body coldness and stiffness, making movement extremely difficult. By the time you finish your escort mission and make the long journey back to Chang’an, you’ll probably lack the strength to penetrate the layers of palace barriers to catch mice.
Coincidentally, last year a prince from Chang’an was dispatched to Youzhou—precisely your destination on this journey. This is truly heavenly mandate.”
Zhou Qingyang drew a pill formula written on yellow paper from her sleeve and handed it to Wei Xun: “Aside from this sovereign medicine, the Phoenix Embryo, all other supporting herbs are common medicinal materials available in the market. Whether to become this ‘instrument of overthrowing the Tang and bringing chaos to the world’ depends on you. If you choose to continue living, capture that prince and deliver him to alchemists to be refined into a human pill for consumption.”
A dream of Huaxu, white clouds and grey dogs—all things change. Having delivered her final medical instructions, Zhou Qingyang never looked back again. Riding her green donkey, she disappeared into the misty clouds, vanishing forever among the vast mountains.
Bao Zhu waited and waited in place. Growing impatient, she was just about to send Shisan Lang to check the situation when she finally saw Wei Xun’s figure returning from escorting someone.
She hurriedly rushed forward to ask: “Did you get the pill formula?”
Wei Xun’s mouth curved upward as he waved the yellow paper in his hand, smiling and nodding: “Got it.”
A great weight lifted from Bao Zhu’s heart. She breathed a huge sigh of relief, her face instantly blooming with a brilliant smile: “Wonderful! I was worried something might go wrong, but it went so smoothly.”
Yang Xingjian, however, sighed repeatedly with regret: “Such a divine physician is rare in this world. It’s truly unfortunate we couldn’t persuade her to accompany us to Youzhou. Perhaps I should have revealed the Prince’s true identity?”
Wei Xun firmly refused: “Better not to say.”
He turned to Bao Zhu: “Once I escort you to Youzhou, I’ll go collect the medicinal materials. There’s one ingredient in the formula that’s extremely rare—I’m afraid I’ll be away for a very long time.”
Upon hearing this, Bao Zhu quickly said: “I’ll send others to search for it. You should stay with me.”
Wei Xun gently shook his head, smiling as he explained: “The Phoenix Embryo is a type of orchid that grows on thousand-foot cliffs in deep mountain forests, places even monkeys can’t reach, let alone ordinary people.”
Bao Zhu had anticipated this in her heart—anything capable of treating terminal illness would certainly be no ordinary substance. But hearing with her own ears that he would leave her in the future to gather medicine still filled her with dejection.
“Have you rested enough? We should get back on the road.”
At Wei Xun’s urging, everyone rallied their spirits, hitched up the ox cart, mounted their donkeys, and continued their journey.
Wei Xun led his donkey, chatting with Bao Zhu as usual: “I heard an interesting story that I’d like to tell you.”
“Go ahead.”
“Once upon a time, there were four masters with exceptional skills who wanted to use their own power to create a harmonious and prosperous paradise in the human world. However, their philosophies were all different—none could convince the others, so they went their separate ways.”
Bao Zhu immediately understood the story’s origin, her mind conjuring the four human statues in that dilapidated shrine.
“Oh, those four…”
Wei Xun continued: “The eldest focused on medical arts, thinking that if he could heal the sick and save lives, each person’s happiness would be a small paradise; the second firmly believed that only national military strength could suppress evil and ensure eternal peace; the third thought material abundance and prosperous people were the true paradise; as for the youngest, he was determined to enter officialdom, governing through literature and bringing peace to the nation.”
Bao Zhu was secretly somewhat surprised: “So those four people had such lofty aspirations?”
Wei Xun smiled desolately: “But later, all four failed one after another, ending in complete defeat with none surviving.”
He turned back, his gaze burning as he asked Bao Zhu: “Where do you think they went wrong?”
Bao Zhu lowered her eyes, contemplating quietly for a long while, then spoke carefully: “I believe each of them was correct.”
“How so?”
“Literary governance and martial strategy, universal salvation of all beings—these people were all extremely outstanding talents. It’s just that they shouldn’t have separated to fight alone. ‘Spring is qingyang, summer is zhuming, autumn is baicang, winter is xuanying.’ These four lines actually have a continuation: ‘When the four seasons harmonize, they become jade candles.’ Spring, summer, autumn, and winter proceeding in order with harmonious climate—only then can there be favorable weather and abundant harvests. None of the seasons can be missing.
Like warm jade, like bright candlelight—jade candles symbolize the virtuous governance of an emperor. If a ruler doesn’t cultivate virtue, evil governance prevails and seasonal order becomes chaotic. How can the four seasons be at fault? ‘The myriad domains bear guilt, but the fault lies with me alone.'”
Hearing this, Wei Xun seemed to half-understand, likewise lowering his head in contemplation for a long time.
Suddenly, he showed his usual mischievous expression, smiling teasingly: “Jade candle—is that the ‘zhu’ in Bao Zhu?”
Bao Zhu helplessly rolled her eyes at him: “How many more times are you going to make puns?”
Wei Xun slightly restrained his smile and asked: “I don’t understand such profound principles. But there’s something I want to ask. If you have the chance in the future, would you and your brother try to bring back those imperial physicians’ families who were exiled to Qianzhong?”
Upon hearing this, Bao Zhu responded earnestly: “Of course. It was a baseless case to begin with, and certainly shouldn’t have implicated their relatives. Moreover, the prescription that student wrote for me was generally appropriate. What a pity—he should have had a good future.”
Wei Xun nodded, his face showing a relieved expression as he said: “Then I can rest easy.”
The group continued walking and talking, their warm laughter echoing through the mountains. Above the Taihang Mountains, mist surged and clouds billowed. New people come, old people go—all past events have vanished within.