Only one day had passed since the Liang Dynasty’s autumn imperial examinations, yet news of the death in the examination hall had already spread through every street and alley.
The story told of a poor scholar who had lost his father early in life and lived alone with his mother. His mother made a living cleaning fish at the Fish Market to support her son’s pursuit of scholarly honors. The son had a photographic memory and wrote with natural grace – he was truly potential top-scholar material. Yet after over ten years of examinations, he still hadn’t passed. Until his mother’s passing, he somehow discovered that for years, the capital’s imperial examinations had been corrupted by conspiring Ministry of Rites officials and wealthy families, robbing him of the scholarly honors that should have been his!
The impoverished scholar, filled with grief and indignation, took poison in his examination cell. Before dying, he caused enough commotion to prompt an investigation from above, allowing outsiders to learn of this scandal.
Yet even after the scholar’s death, he was not left in peace. Officials from the Bureau of Punishments went to search his home, where they encountered neighbors who had come to help with funeral arrangements. The two groups clashed on sight. A fellow candidate who had seen the scholar’s final examination composition somehow had it copied onto paper and scattered throughout the streets—
“Alas for the scholar’s life, studying tirelessly with might. Eyes dim from endless reading, hands calloused from constant writing… After ten attempts for one success, fame always comes too late. Even those who find success, find their temples turned to gray…”
“Pitiful youth and vigor, spent in poverty and shame. When a man grows old and ill, what use is wealth and fame… In those deep vermillion gates, pampered children dwell within. Feminine in countenance, their skin gleams with privilege…”
“Never held a book in hand, never donned a soldier’s gear. Yet at twenty inherit rank, born to noble ancestry clear… Daily venture out in spring, in finest silks they preen, morning gambling with their friends, evening at brothels seen…”
“Settle gambling debts with rank, pile gold to choose beauty’s face. Beyond pleasure, wine, and steeds, nothing else fills their mental space… Mountain sapling and valley pine, their fates tied to high and low. Since ancient times this way has been, not you alone bear such woe…”
Mountain sapling and valley pine, their fates tied to high and low!
In one night, this composition spread from the Hanlin Academy to Rouge Alley. In the brothels and teahouses along both banks of Falling Moon Bridge, the story and verses were turned into opera acts and sung everywhere.
The Bureau of Punishments officials wanted to make arrests, but with so many people involved, they couldn’t enforce the law – everyone was spreading it, everyone was talking about it, and they couldn’t possibly arrest everyone in the capital—the prison cells wouldn’t be enough to hold them all.
The verses even reached the palace.
The scholars’ anger might seem insignificant individually, but when united it blazed like an unstoppable inferno. Poor scholars from various academies gathered to block the Imperial Censor’s sedan chair in the street, and memorials flew like snowflakes onto the Emperor’s desk.
The Emperor had already heard rumors about examination fraud. Now with such a major scandal in the imperial examinations bringing such shame, he felt deceived and toyed with by his officials. In his great fury, he ordered a thorough investigation at all levels. The Vice Minister of Rites was immediately stripped of his position and arrested. As the investigation continued, it reached Fan Zhenglian, the Chief Judge of the Bureau of Punishments—
In the Fan residence, chaos reigned everywhere as servants wept together. Madam Zhao clutched Fan Zhenglian’s arm, asking anxiously, “My lord, what is happening?”
The search party had reached their gates. Prince Ning personally carried out the imperial order. The guests who had been dining at Fan Zhenglian’s residence scattered like birds and beasts at the sight.
Guards blocked both the front and back doors. Just a day ago, Fan Zhenglian had ordered his men to ransack Scholar Wu’s home at the temple entrance, hoping to suppress the matter. Yet in this brief time, positions had completely reversed.
Trembling, he approached Prince Ning, who was executing the imperial order, and pleaded softly, “Your Highness, Your Highness, His Majesty is…”
Things hadn’t reached the point of complete confiscation yet; there was still room to turn the situation around. Prince Ning, who usually maintained a kindly demeanor, merely responded soothingly: “Lord Fan need not worry. His Majesty only sent me to examine your household assets.” While directing his men to search and inventory, he told Fan Zhenglian: “You’ll need to come with me to the Bureau of Punishments, but don’t worry – it’s just for questioning. You’ve always been known for your integrity. Once everything is cleared up, your innocence will surely be proven.”
“Oh, right,” Prince Ning remembered something else, “The Vice Minister of Rites has already confessed and is currently imprisoned. You’re just being detained temporarily, so there’s no need to worry too much.”
His voice was gentle and his tone carried a smile, yet it struck Fan Zhenglian like a thunderbolt from a clear sky, leaving him stunned.
The Vice Minister of Rites had already confessed!
How could it happen so quickly?
After years of secret collaboration with the Vice Minister of Rites, how could he alone escape once the Vice Minister was imprisoned? Moreover, why the Bureau of Punishments instead of the Bureau of Investigations? Prince Ning claimed it was just detention, but the implications were clear – Fan Zhenglian’s good days were over!
He looked up and vaguely saw that golden ladder to heaven in the void gradually crumbling to dust, falling like a heavy coffin lid, crashing down upon his head.
“My lord, my lord—”
Madam Zhao’s frightened cries came from behind.
Fan Zhenglian’s eyes rolled back, and he fainted.
…
After the examination candidate’s suicide in the examination hall, new revelations kept coming one after another.
First, it was discovered that the Vice Minister of Rites had conspired with wealthy examination candidates’ families, openly allowing examination substitutes, leading to his imprisonment. Later, even the famous “Judge Fan the Righteous” of the capital was implicated.
It was said that this “Judge Fan the Righteous” of the Bureau of Investigations was the one who had conspired with the Vice Minister of Rites, using the imperial examinations to line his own pockets.
Fan Zhenglian had a good reputation in the capital, and many people refused to believe this news.
In the medical hall, Du Changqing was bringing the wooden signboard in from outside. The sky was gloomy, and rain was coming.
He said, “That Judge Fan, managing prisons, yet reached his hands into the examination hall – quite capable indeed.” Then he asked Lu Tong, “Didn’t you previously visit his home to deliver medicine to his wife? How did you not notice he was such a beast?”
Lu Tong replied, “The truly honest need no reputation for honesty; those who establish such reputations do so out of greed.”
Du Changqing rolled his eyes: “I don’t understand.”
He placed the wooden sign on the counter, glanced at the inner room’s felt curtain, and moved closer to Lu Tong: “Tell me, what’s going on between you and Rongrong?”
Lu Tong followed his gaze to where the felt curtain hung motionless between the courtyard and the inner room. She pressed her lips together without speaking.
Xia Rongrong had been avoiding Lu Tong these days.
Previously, when the medical hall had no patients, Xia Rongrong would do her embroidery in the shop and chat with Lu Tong. Lately, when Lu Tong was attending the clinic, Xia Rongrong and her servant would often go out, returning only when it was late, barely speaking with Lu Tong.
Anyone could see she was avoiding Lu Tong – even Du Changqing had noticed.
“Did you two quarrel?” Du Changqing looked at her suspiciously, “Though that doesn’t seem right – you don’t seem like someone who would quarrel with others.”
Yinzheng passed between them, pushing Du Changqing aside, saying with a smile: “Master Du shouldn’t pry into young women’s thoughts – you wouldn’t understand anyway.”
Du Changqing snorted, “I couldn’t care less.” He called Acheng to return home, but before leaving, he reminded Lu Tong: “It’s likely to rain tonight – close the doors and windows well, and be careful not to let the medicines get wet.”
Lu Tong acknowledged this. After Du Changqing left, she closed the main door and returned to the courtyard.
It was time to light the lamps. Autumn days grew dark early, and a yellow glow filtered through the window cracks of Xia Rongrong’s quarters onto the courtyard’s stone floor.
Lu Tong returned to her room.
Yinzheng was searching through the chest for clothes for Lu Tong to wear out tonight. Autumn had come too early to the capital, seeming to turn cold overnight. The autumn clothes hadn’t been made yet, and all the old clothes in the chest seemed too thin.
Lu Tong stood before the small Buddhist shrine, lit incense before the white porcelain Guanyin statue.
In the darkness, the burning incense flickered like ghost eyes in a graveyard. She placed the incense in the holder.
Yinzheng finally found a light-colored cloak, shook it out under the lamp, then looked at the dark sky outside and sighed: “It’s about to rain again.”
Lu Tong stared at the Guanyin statue before her, speaking softly, whether to herself or others unclear: “Isn’t rain good? Third watch rain on parasol leaves… I love rainy days the most.”
Yinzheng was startled, but Lu Tong had already turned around and taken the cloak from her hands.
“Let’s go.”
…
The autumn rain fell desolately that night.
The misty mountain rain wove itself into a dense net between heaven and earth, heavily shrouding the entire mountain from top to bottom.
At the foot of Mount Wangchun, someone in a straw rain cape trudged through the muddy mountain path, stepping unevenly.
The cold wind cut against his face like knives. Liu Kun tightened his rain cape, his lips white from the mountain cold.
He didn’t understand how things had come to this.
His whole family had been dreaming of “two scholars in one family,” yet overnight, their lives had been turned upside down.
During the final session of the autumn examinations, a student’s suicide in the examination hall caused such an uproar it caught the court’s attention, eventually exposing the scandal of examination fraud between the Ministry of Rites and candidates. All involved parties were arrested for questioning, even those high-ranking officials were not spared.
Liu Kun couldn’t understand how the death of one poor scholar could cause such a commotion, how it could bring down so many people at once.
The family’s entire savings—one thousand six hundred silver taels—had been wasted, and worse still, Liu Zixian and Liu Zide had been taken away by the authorities.
The case kept pulling up more people like pulling radishes with their greens. Not only was Liu Zide arrested for examination fraud, but Liu Zixian’s previous autumn examination results were also investigated. They say account books were found in the Vice Minister’s residence, implicating countless households.
Liu Kun didn’t care about others’ misfortune; he just wanted to save his sons.
He had planned to seek help from Fan Zhenglian of the Bureau of Investigations since Fan had been the one arranging the examination substitutions, but this afternoon news came that Fan Zhenglian had also been taken away.
His wife Wang Chunzhi, seeing the situation deteriorate and worried about their two sons, rushed to the government office to plead, only to be detained herself for causing a disturbance.
Those who used to flatter them immediately changed their attitude, eager to distance themselves. Liu Kun couldn’t find anyone to help, but just when he was at his wit’s end, he received a letter.
The letter had been wedged in their courtyard gate by an unknown sender. It was simple, saying there was a way to save his two sons, but he needed to come to the foot of Mount Wangchun at midnight, where someone would give him something.
Liu Kun didn’t know who had written the letter. Everyone was avoiding his family now, and they had no other relatives in the capital. Liu Kun didn’t suspect ill intent – his whole family was imprisoned, poor, and destitute; there was nothing left to take.
He guessed the letter might be part of Fan Zhenglian’s contingency plan. How could such a high official submit so easily? He must have prepared other escape routes. After all, between them, they had an implicit, never-revealed patron—the Grand Tutor’s residence.
Thinking of this, some color returned to Liu Kun’s face.
It must be so, he repeated in his mind several times, unsure whether he was trying to convince others or himself.
Lost in these thoughts, the mountain path grew increasingly muddy, and he found himself in a clearing among dense undergrowth and thorny bushes.
No, calling it a clearing wasn’t quite right. Among the wild grass were countless mounds, like numerous silent figures in the darkness, watching him coldly and eerily.
The rain fell on his face, and Liu Kun suddenly shuddered, coming to his senses.
This was a wild burial ground.
Like a blow to the head, Liu Kun fully awakened.
How had he ended up in a burial ground?
Looking at the cold graves around him, he suddenly felt afraid and was about to leave when footsteps sounded behind him.
Liu Kun jumped, spinning around to see a snow-white figure gradually emerging from behind a raised grave mound in the distance.
The figure appeared thin and light, blurry in the night rain, like an unreal painting floating toward him. Liu Kun felt his legs wobbling, his entire scalp beginning to tingle.
The white figure stopped before him.
The mountain rain drizzled steadily, and a cold wind blew through the wild grass, occasionally mixed with unknown animal cries in the distance, while the burial ground’s mixture of soil and corpse stench was particularly nauseating.
He lacked the courage to look up at whatever monster or ghost stood before him, only staring at his own feet, until gradually something seemed wrong.
In the weak light of the fire stick, a long, eerie shadow stretched out.
Shadow?
Do ghosts have shadows?
As he pondered this, he heard rustling sounds from in front of him, and so gathered his courage to look up.
Closer now, he could see clearly that the white figure wasn’t some floating painting, but a person wearing a light-colored cloak. Now this person lifted their hood, revealing a beautiful face.
Eyebrows like spring mountains, eyes like autumn waters, with a frost-white silk flower at her temple adding to her melancholy, a melancholy tinged with pitiful vulnerability.
It was a young woman.
Liu Kun was startled, but before he could speak, she had already said: “You came.”
He was taken aback, suddenly understanding, and joy flickered across his brow: “Are you the one who wrote me the letter?”
He had wondered why someone would suddenly appear in these remote mountains – so it was someone arranged by Fan Zhenglian. It made sense; with officials arresting people throughout the city, the mountain was safer for discussion.
The woman nodded, then looked at him and called out: “Cousin Uncle.”
Cousin Uncle?
Liu Kun was bewildered – what did this mean?
Mount Wangchun’s peaks were drenched in autumn rain, coating the burial ground in a layer of cold silence.
The woman sighed softly: “It seems Cousin Uncle doesn’t remember.”
“When you left Changwu County that year, the fifty taels of silver you borrowed from my father – I was the one who brought it to you.”
Like a thunderbolt, instantly illuminating the fog churning in Liu Kun’s mind.
He suddenly stared at the person before him, his eyes filled with inexplicable horror.
“You’re little Tong?”