For several days, Xia Rongrong had been avoiding Lu Tong. Previously, during the day when Lu Tong was at the medical clinic, Xia Rongrong and her servants would follow behind to help, but these past few days, they had been hiding in the courtyard, unwilling to come out, even taking detours to avoid encounters when they happened to meet. This behavior was so obvious that Du Changqing had asked about it several times, both directly and indirectly, but Xia Rongrong brushed it off, making him think the two had quarreled in private.

Outside, dark clouds were rolling in. Yinzheng helped Lu Tong move a white porcelain Buddha statue into the small Buddhist shrine inside the room.

The Guanyin statue was brought back by Lu Tong from an incense and candle shop on West Street. The shop owner claimed it was a sacred object blessed by the Great Master of Wan’en Temple. Lu Tong saw that the small Guanyin statue was carved lifelike, and remembering there was an empty Buddhist shrine in her bedroom that could perfectly fit this statue, she spent five taels of silver to bring the porcelain Guanyin home.

With the white-robed Guanyin placed in the small shrine, it no longer seemed as empty as before.

Yinzheng looked around and smiled: “The size is just perfect, it just needs a cabinet screen. We can look for a suitable one when we have time.”

Lu Tong responded with a “mm,” glanced at the courtyard outside, and said, “Let’s go.”

It was afternoon, the air was unusually stuffy, and the sky was dark with clouds, as if mountain rains were approaching.

Du Changqing, dozing on the shop table, lazily raised his head when he saw the two leaving: “Don’t forget to take an umbrella.”

“We know.”

After their silhouettes disappeared outside the clinic, Xia Rongrong lifted the felt curtain and came out from inside, looked outward as well, and asked Du Changqing: “It’s about to rain, where is Doctor Lu going?”

“The mother of Scholar Wu from the Fresh Fish Market has died,” Du Changqing wiped his face.

“They’re going to offer condolence money.”

…

The fierce wind was brutal, making the white paper lanterns under the eaves rattle noisily.

In the courtyard, layers of mourning drapes and banners hung everywhere, with paper horses and combs piled high. In the flickering shadows of the eternal lamp, a heavy black lacquered coffin rested in the memorial hall.

Wu Youcai, wearing coarse hemp mourning clothes, was kneeling beside the wooden basin in front of the coffin, feeding paper money into the fire.

Madam Wu had passed away a few days ago. The blind fortune teller had calculated the auspicious time for burial and left. Wu Youcai had no other relatives in Shenjing. After neighbors from West Street helped with the funeral arrangements and kept vigil for two days, offering words of condolence, they gradually dispersed in twos and threes—everyone had their own lives to live.

He kept vigil alone in this place.

His mother’s clothes and bedding had all been folded and set aside, waiting to be buried together during the interment. Wu Youcai’s gaze fell on the folded bedding.

On the bedding was embroidered a cluster of golden flowers, six petals each, like smiling faces.

They were daylilies.

As Wu Youcai stared, his eyes gradually reddened.

Madam Wu was frugal, rarely buying new clothes, and wearing a hemp garment for over ten years. Sometimes when the elbows or knees wore through, worried that patches would look unseemly, she would collect discarded thread to embroider flowers over the patches.

Daylilies grow by the hall steps, while the wandering son roams far away; the loving mother leans against the door but sees no daylily flowers.

Daylilies are the mother’s flower.

Mother…

The scholar’s tears fell.

Of all the sorrows in the world, none compare to death’s parting and life’s separation. Although he had long known his mother’s time was limited, when that day arrived, Wu Youcai still felt it was sudden.

Just the evening before, she had told him that her appetite had been poor lately, and tomorrow she wanted to eat cold mung bean soup over white rice to stimulate her appetite. But by night, when he went to wipe her body, his mother’s body was already cold.

The neighbors who came to offer condolences all tried to comfort him, saying his mother passed without awareness or suffering, it was a blessed death, telling him not to grieve. But after so many days, Wu Youcai still couldn’t let go.

He had not yet achieved success in the imperial examinations, had not yet earned his mother an imperial title, had not even let his mother enjoy a single day of prosperity or praise—how could his mother be gone already?

There would be no more chances.

The yellow paper in his hands was crumpled from his grip, the man choked with sobs, his figure as lonely as a homeless dog, his tears falling into the fire basin, turning to ashes along with the paper money.

Outside, the wind grew stronger.

The long wind swept up the white soul-calling banners hanging in the courtyard, the sky as dark as dusk, with lightning occasionally threading through the black clouds.

In this whistling wind, there came the faint sound of someone knocking at the wooden gate. Wu Youcai was startled.

At this hour, who could still be coming?

The neighbors who had helped had all gone home, and even Shopkeeper Hu, who cared for him most, had his own family to look after. The neighbors from West Street who had some connection had already sent their condolence money, and the Wu family had no other relatives.

As he was thinking this, the knocking outside stopped, followed immediately by a “creeak—” sound.

The door was pushed open, and someone walked in.

Wu Youcai looked up.

The dark clouds pressed the sky into gloomy darkness, the memorial hall was desolate and dim, paper money fluttered like snow in the courtyard, and someone’s footsteps slowly approached, unhurried.

The woman was wrapped entirely in a plain white dress, the wind blowing her hem billowing, yet the frost-colored silk flower in her hair remained pure as sheep-fat jade. In the flickering candlelight of the unstable memorial hall, amidst the flying paper money throughout the courtyard, her features gradually appeared, like a fleeting dream, seeming both false and real.

Wu Youcai gazed blankly at the woman before him, wondering: Why is she also wearing mourning clothes?

The woman stopped before him, looking down: “Young Master Wu.”

Wu Youcai suddenly came to his senses.

“Doctor Lu?”

The visitor was Lu Tong, the resident physician of Renxin Medical Clinic.

He shuddered and quickly stood up: “Why has Doctor Lu come?”

Since his mother’s passing, he had been in a daze, and only now did he realize it had been some time since he’d seen Lu Tong.

Wu Youcai was extremely grateful to Doctor Lu. Previously, Doctor Lu had made house calls for his mother, saving her from death’s door once, and afterward regularly had Miss Yinzheng deliver medicinal materials for his mother.

Wu Youcai knew that the small amount of medicine money he had paid was far from enough for what Lu Tong had sent him. Unable to repay her, he could only keep this gratitude in his heart.

Lu Tong placed the condolence money wrapped in white cloth in Wu Youcai’s hands.

Wu Youcai hesitated: “Doctor Lu, I cannot…”

But Lu Tong had already walked into the memorial hall, crouched down before the burning fire basin, and began feeding yellow paper into it.

Wu Youcai was stunned.

The daylight was gloomy, the memorial hall brightly lit with lamps, and she was in pure white clothing, the flower in her hair like snow, On this dim overcast day, she looked like a ghost bride crawling from a grave, young and beautiful, thin and cold.

Wu Youcai inexplicably felt a chill.

Lu Tong asked: “Will you take the autumn imperial examinations at the beginning of next month?”

Wu Youcai was slightly stunned, then answered: “Yes.”

He crouched down by the fire basin as well, joining Lu Tong in burning paper money. The living doesn’t know if the dead can receive this money, but there needs to be some form of remembrance.

Wu Youcai said: “It’s a pity mother won’t see it…”

In past years, every time he returned from the examination hall, his mother would wait for him at home. But this year he was alone. When he returns after the examination, no light will shine through the windows of the house, and when he pushes open the door, he will no longer see his mother’s figure sewing by lamplight.

As he was immersed in grief, he suddenly heard Lu Tong say: “Actually, this is a good thing.”

Wu Youcai looked up, not understanding what she meant.

“Even if you take the examination this year, you won’t pass. Rather than letting her be disappointed once again, isn’t it better to let her depart with hope? Isn’t this a good thing for her?”

The woman’s tone was as melodious as ever, but her words were markedly different from usual, cruel.

Wu Youcai was stunned for a good while before he understood the sarcasm in her words. He looked at Lu Tong angrily, his face suddenly flushing red.

“You!”

“Angry?” Lu Tong smiled slightly, putting another piece of paper money into the fire basin, “Do you know? Your mother’s illness was not terminal. If treated a few years earlier, she would have lived more than just these few years.”

“What a pity, it was delayed.”

Wu Youcai’s face suddenly turned deathly pale.

Of course, he knew.

When his mother first began feeling unwell, she hadn’t told him. At that time, she was wholly focused on the Fresh Fish Market, thinking only of selling a few more fish each day to save money for his writing supplies and books, unwilling to let illness interfere with the fish stall’s business.

Later, as she gradually became more uncomfortable, she visited a doctor without telling Wu Youcai. The doctor told Madam Wu that this illness required proper rest and expensive medicinal materials for treatment. Madam Wu couldn’t bear the expense and worried about the fish stall’s business, so she gritted her teeth and endured.

It wasn’t until she could no longer hide it that Madam Wu told Wu Youcai about her condition. By the time he took her to see a doctor again, it was too late. It was no longer something that could be cured with just nourishing treatments.

The person before him continued speaking, each word seeming to stab at his heart: “Her illness, if discovered at the beginning, could have been cured with nourishing medicines and rest. But because she wanted you to study without worry, not wanting to interfere with your chance at fame in the examinations, she missed the crucial timing.”

“It was you who delayed her treatment.”

A “boom” of thunder suddenly rolled in the distance.

Wu Youcai covered his face, a painful moan escaping from his throat.

He mumbled: “It was me, it was my fault… it was my incompetence, my lack of ability…”

If not for him, if not for his sake, how could his mother have sacrificed so much? His whole life pursued fame and success, thinking of himself as an unrecognized talent, when in reality he just couldn’t admit his mediocrity, achieving nothing!

He had killed his mother!

The scholar buried his face in his hands, tears falling through his fingers, the remorse in his crying voice moving even the person beside him.

Lu Tong raised her head, looking at the distant sky.

Common people were always like this—when something happened, they blamed themselves, regretted their actions, always looking for reasons within themselves, wanting to take responsibility for all the world’s wrongs.

Were her father and mother the same?

When they received the terrible news of Lu Rou’s death and Lu Qian’s imprisonment, did they also blame themselves for failing to protect their children? Did they find it as hard to accept as Wu Youcai? Did they weep in heartache? Did they cry?

The flames licked at the yellow paper, illuminating the dim memorial hall.

Lu Tong lowered her gaze to look at the weeping man, and after a while, she said: “Wu Youcai, you first took the examinations at eighteen, and now twelve years have passed.”

“Twelve years—have you never wondered why you haven’t passed even once?”

The crying suddenly stopped.

The scholar raised his head, face streaked with tears, and bewilderedly, instinctively asked: “What?”

“If you were truly mediocre in learning, why persist in taking the examinations for twelve whole years? Isn’t it because you believe in your writing, that you’re destined for the golden list, to become famous throughout the land?”

She pulled out a folded paper from her sleeve and placed it before Scholar Wu.

The scholar stared at the paper before him, mumbling: “What is this?”

“Since your first examination, this is the list of successful candidates from Shenjing’s autumn examinations. The circled names are Shenjing’s notorious privileged sons,” Lu Tong said. “These people—with just a little inquiry, you’d know how shallow their learning is. Why can they pass while you cannot?”

Wu Youcai stared at her, unconsciously repeating: “Why?”

“Because of luck,” she curved her eyes in a smile. “Do you believe that?”

As if a flash of light crossed his mind, Wu Youcai vaguely guessed something but dared not speak it, only staring at the person before him.

“There are many possibilities,” she began speaking, her tone still calm. “For instance, they might have bribed the Ministry of Rites’ grading officials to manipulate the rankings. Or they might have bribed the chief examiner to have someone take the test in their place. Or perhaps your examination paper was switched with someone else’s, so your ranking naturally became another’s.”

“You only have paper, brush, and learning, but no silver or connections. Young Master Wu, with just these things, how can you compete fairly with others?”

“BOOM—”

Another thunderclap exploded, and the cold whistling wind howled in from outside as if trying to pierce his heart.

Wu Youcai shook his head: “Impossible… this is impossible…”

“Why impossible?” Lu Tong smiled. “Think carefully, were the examination essays you wrote all these years truly so terrible?”

Like a thunderbolt to the face, Wu Youcai couldn’t speak a word.

If he didn’t have confidence in himself, why would he persist for twelve years? He wasn’t an inflexibly stubborn person; if he truly felt hopeless, he would have sought another path—there are many ways to live in this world, and he didn’t have to persist down one road to the end.

He just couldn’t accept it.

His scholar friends all said his essays were brilliant, beyond others’ reach, and he believed the same. Who knew that after twelve years, he would change from a spirited young man to a mediocre middle-aged one, year after year, with the golden lotus still far out of reach?

The neighbors’ gazes changed from admiration to mockery and ridicule, perhaps even pity. He couldn’t avoid those expectations, asking himself every night: did he truly have talent? Would there ever come a day when he would succeed?

Yet today, someone told him that his many years of unfulfilled wishes were because others had taken away “fairness.”

“If it’s true,” the scholar’s lips trembled, his gaze burning like fierce fire, “I will report them. Such examination fraud is a heinous crime, the Ministry of Rites will thoroughly investigate—”

“Who would believe you?”

“The authorities will investigate!”

“The authorities themselves are involved, do you expect them to investigate themselves?” Lu Tong spoke with sarcasm. “I fear that as soon as you report this to the authorities, you won’t even make it out of their doors.”

Her voice was soft, yet it made Wu Youcai’s heart sink completely.

What Lu Tong said was very possible.

Over the years, he had harbored suspicions, but whenever his doubts reached this point, it became like a taboo, and he dared not think further. It felt as if continuing to think would lead to a bottomless abyss, yet today someone had recklessly torn away the veiled illusion for him to see—this unbearable, naked reality.

With thoughts in chaos, Wu Youcai looked at Lu Tong and hoarsely asked: “Why tell me all this?”

Why tell him these things?

Tell him the truth in his dazed state, then after revealing the truth, force him to acknowledge a reality that cannot be changed, making him recognize his powerlessness.

“Because,” she said, “I want to help you.”

“Help me?”

Lu Tong smiled slightly.

The coffin was black, the mourning banners white, and the boundaries between cold and warm blurred. Her features were incredibly beautiful in the lamplight, the silk flower at her temple blooming intensely. Like those evil spirits wearing human skin from strange tales, emerging from books on a rainy day to make deals with people.

You know she has ill intentions, but you cannot refuse.

She said: “Now the entire examination system has been bought, the Ministry of Rites people have been corrupted, countless chief examiners have changed over twelve years, you’ve failed every time, and people who shouldn’t pass have passed—do you know what this means?”

“It means every year’s chief examiner has been bought,” Wu Youcai answered woodenly.

“Yes, if the examination fraud isn’t dealt with, then after you finish mourning, burn paper money, and buy land to bury your mother, your future will be like before—struggling all your life, relegated to mediocrity. This is your fate.”

These words were terrifying; Wu Youcai couldn’t help but shudder.

He looked at Lu Tong as if gazing at a divine woman descending from hell, his gaze even carrying a hint of devotion, hoping she could point out a bright path in this bottomless abyss.

“Doctor Lu, what should I do?”

Lu Tong asked: “Wu Youcai, do you want fairness?”

“Yes.”

“If the Ministry of Rites people have truly been bought, and your repeated failures these years are actually due to examination fraud, are you willing to expose it, regardless of the cost, even if it means your life?”

“I am.”

“Good. I’ll tell you what to do.”

Wu Youcai looked at her in confusion.

“Reporting before the examination would be useless—without evidence, the authorities would likely arrest you, perhaps even silence you. Unless it’s after the examination.”

“After the examination?”

“Yes, after the examination, when all candidates are in their rooms. If there are impersonators, both people and papers can be caught red-handed. However…”

“However what?”

“However, you’re powerless and insignificant. The corrupt officials work together—they might find an excuse to arrest you, release you after the autumn examinations, and then the evidence would be gone.”

“Then isn’t there no way?”

“There is a way—just make it a bigger incident.”

Wu Youcai started: “Make it bigger?”

“Yes,” Lu Tong said lightly, “if someone dies in the examination compound, if one or two people die, then it’s not something the Ministry of Rites alone can suppress. The Criminal Court, the Justice Bureau, and even the Military Command will get involved. The more people involved, the harder it is to minimize, and when various interests intersect, what was originally simple becomes complex.”

Wu Youcai caught the key point in her words: “What do you mean by someone dying?”

Lu Tong smiled but didn’t answer.

The sky grew darker, the wild wind howled in the courtyard, and lightning flickered in and out of the clouds—a storm was coming.

Wu Youcai looked at Lu Tong.

The woman’s thin silhouette was wrapped in plain white clothes, and in her delicate palm, somehow there appeared a paper package wrapped in oiled paper.

Her voice was also gentle, containing a subtle, unobtrusive bewitchment.

“Those chief examiners are no better than dogs, disrupting officialdom, causing the talented to be suppressed by the talentless. If it were me…”

Wu Youcai mumbled: “If it were you, what would you do?”

She smiled slightly, placed the package from her palm into Wu Youcai’s hand, leaned close to his ear, and spoke word by word.

“Of course, kill him.”

“BOOM—”

Thunder rolled, and a flash of lightning illuminated the dark memorial hall, also illuminating her indifferent eyes.

In the courtyard, heavy rain began to fall.