When Li Ying spoke these words, her expression was very serious. She didn’t say this merely to comfort Cui Xun; she truly believed it.
Duke Ai of Lu once asked Confucius: “Between humans and the Way, which is greater?”
Confucius replied: “Politics is greater.”
Perhaps this was Cui Songqing’s guiding principle. For the sake of his ideals, he was willing to sacrifice everything. He wouldn’t disregard the bigger picture and spend his entire life pursuing the truth for the sake of bones whose authenticity was difficult to determine. It’s hard to say his approach was wrong. In future history books, he would likely be recorded as someone whose “achievements were as great as mountains, with fame passing down through generations.” Yet when he reproached Cui Xun for refusing to die, Li Ying couldn’t help but recall how Cui Xun had bent down at Sheng Yunting’s grave to pick up the dirty copper coins one by one.
Li Ying felt her eyes stinging. She pursed her lips and said, “Cui Xun, the path is your own. As long as you believe it’s right, keep walking it. Don’t mind what others say, even if that person is someone you respect the most.”
Sitting at the writing desk, her eyes seemed to contain countless stars. Cui Xun quietly gazed at her clear eyes, his expression somewhat dazed. After a moment, he suddenly said: “I was indeed a bit saddened just now.”
He had grown accustomed to people insulting, mocking, dismissing, and despising him. But when the elder he had most respected since childhood treated him this way, he truly couldn’t remain indifferent.
Li Ying’s voice was gentle: “I know.”
The corner of Cui Xun’s mouth formed a bitter smile: “But my sadness isn’t just because the elder I’ve always respected detests me like filth. I’m more saddened that Yunting’s death seems to weigh as little as a feather.”
“Yunting had over a hundred deep knife wounds on his body, yet the Ministry of Justice took only two days to hastily conclude that he encountered mountain bandits and was robbed and killed. The entire court feigned deafness and blindness, with not a single person raising questions.”
“They want their names recorded in history, remembered for centuries, and the Tianwei Army is a great national disgrace they cannot be associated with. No one… not a single person is willing to clear Yunting’s name…”
Even when he summoned the courage to tentatively mention Sheng Yunting’s death to the elder he respected most, he only received the response: “So what?”
In that instant, Cui Xun felt as if he had fallen into an abyss.
Surrounded by darkness so complete he couldn’t see his hand, no matter how he walked, he couldn’t find a way out.
Suddenly, he heard Li Ying’s gentle voice: “No, Cui Xun. It’s not that no one is willing to clear Sheng Yunting’s name. You have been clearing it all along, haven’t you?”
She continued: “You’ve been searching for Sheng Yunting’s remains; you never gave up. You went to great lengths to capture Wang Ranxi—wasn’t that also for Sheng Yunting’s remains? You found him, you ensured he didn’t have to remain buried under the imperial road. You are, as he said, a good son of the Tianwei Army.”
Cui Xun felt a warmth in his chest, his eyes gradually moistening. He clenched his jaw, desperately suppressing his emotions: “No, I’m not. Six years—it’s been six full years, and their remains are still at Luoyan Ridge, unable even to be collected for burial. I have failed them…”
His fingers on the writing desk gradually tightened, the blue veins on the back of his pale hand visible. Li Ying’s gaze moved to his emaciated wrist. She pursed her lips and suddenly asked: “Cui Xun, was there an injustice in the annihilation of the Tianwei Army? Isn’t that right?”
Cui Xun suddenly looked up.
“Why did Shen Que and Wang Ranxi kill Sheng Yunting? Why did they prevent him from going to Daming Palace to seek reinforcements? And why are you pressuring Pei Guanyue step by step? Is all of this related to the Tianwei Army?” Li Ying spoke softly: “Cui Xun, I want to know. Tell me.”
Cui Xun looked at her, his eyes as black as ink, but he remained silent for a long time. A trace of bitterness gradually emerged in Li Ying’s heart. He was still the same as before, preferring to keep everything to himself rather than sharing with others. He wouldn’t speak of his pain or his hardships. But he was just one person with one heart. Could his heart truly contain the blood and tears of fifty thousand people?
She slowly lowered her head, inexplicably feeling increasingly sad. But Cui Xun suddenly spoke, his voice distant: “I don’t know… I don’t know why the Turks knew our marching route… I don’t know why Pei Guanyue, knowing we were surrounded, didn’t come to our rescue. I especially don’t know why Commander Guo dispatched troops after receiving an imperial edict, yet Pei Guanyue claimed there was no such edict…”
As Cui Xun continued, his fingertips began to tremble uncontrollably, his face as pale as paper, his entire being on the verge of collapse. Those young, bright faces seemed to appear before his eyes, approaching on horseback. They pulled their reins, stopping, but blood began to seep from their ears and noses. They blamed him: “Seventeenth Brother, why haven’t you cleared our names yet?”
Cui Xun’s eyes reddened, his knuckles turning white from clenching: “I’ve failed them… I’ve failed them…”
Despair, guilt, and pain mingled in his heart, various emotions intertwining. His chest felt as if crushed by a great stone, so heavy he could barely breathe. His fingernails had already dug deep into his palms. If this continued, he would draw blood again. Li Ying watched his whitened knuckles. She pursed her lips and gently placed her palm over his hand. Cui Xun’s body trembled slightly, and his tightly clenched fingers slowly relaxed. Li Ying spoke softly: “Cui Xun, you’ve done your best. I believe there will surely be a day when the truth comes to light.”
Looking at his dazed eyes, she paused, then spoke words that had lingered in her heart for a long time: “Let me help you, all right?”
Cui Xun merely stared blankly at her jade-white hand. After a long while, he gently withdrew his hand from her palm.
He only said: “The Ghost Market is about to open. Let’s go.”
The Ghost Market of Chang’an was another world within the city.
Cui Xun led Li Ying along the bluestone path in Wuben Ward. Moonlight filtered through the clouds, causing the bluestone path to emit a faint glow. An eerily quiet surrounded them. Li Ying felt somewhat afraid and unconsciously stopped, moving closer to Cui Xun. But when her peripheral vision caught sight of his black crane-feather cloak, she halted again, shifting slightly away, imperceptibly distancing herself from him.
The two walked in silence for several steps before Cui Xun suddenly asked: “Are you angry with me?”
Li Ying was startled. She didn’t answer but shook her head.
Cui Xun was silent for a moment, then said: “This is my burden alone. There’s no need to involve others.”
So in his heart, she was still just “others.”
Li Ying felt increasingly disappointed. She pressed her lips tightly together, saying nothing. Cui Xun also remained silent. Suddenly, they heard a harsh fluttering sound. Li Ying looked up to see a flock of black crows flying overhead. These crows seemed to be fleeing from something terrifying, all flapping their wings frantically and screeching as they escaped. Some crows, in their panic, flew directly toward Li Ying.
Cui Xun was quick, pulling her aside to avoid the crows. One crow fell to the ground. Cui Xun looked down at it, slightly furrowing his brows. Li Ying had already freed herself from his grasp and stepped back several paces. Cui Xun raised his head and said tersely: “Come here.”
Li Ying was taken aback. Cui Xun repeated: “Come here.”
Li Ying came to her senses and reluctantly took two steps forward toward Cui Xun. He opened the crane-feather cloak he was wearing and raised his arms, sheltering her securely.
More countless crows continued to fly toward them, flapping their wings, but Li Ying’s head was protected by the cloak, and she could no longer see them. She was considerably shorter than Cui Xun and had to look up to see his face. In the dim moonlight, they were extremely close. She could see Cui Xun’s sea-deep eyes, his straight, high nose, his pale, thin lips, and could smell the herbal fragrance from the bandages covering his wounds. Li Ying suddenly felt awkward and averted her gaze, no longer looking at him. She wanted to step back, to move away from him, further away.
But as soon as she moved her feet, Cui Xun said, “Don’t move.”
Li Ying didn’t look at him and said quietly, “I’m a ghost. These crows are living things; they can’t hit me.”
Cui Xun simply said: “If you don’t want to die a second time, don’t move.”
Li Ying was stunned. She stopped retreating and quietly remained under the protection of Cui Xun’s cloak. However, she no longer looked up at his beautiful face. With her head lowered, she inadvertently noticed the gilded incense ball hanging from Cui Xun’s walking belt. It was the incense ball she had given him. He had truly kept it on his waist, never parting with it.
Li Ying stood like this, watching the gilded incense ball with its silver chain swaying slightly. She didn’t know how much time had passed, but eventually she no longer heard the sound of crows flapping their wings. Only then did Cui Xun lower his arms that had been holding up the cloak. As soon as he released her, Li Ying immediately moved away from him, stepping back twice. Feeling somewhat embarrassed, she scratched her earlobe, thought for a moment, and then asked: “You just said, ‘don’t want to die a second time’? What does that mean?”
Cui Xun used his toe to nudge the dead crow that had fallen to the ground earlier: “Look.”
Li Ying glanced at it, curious yet fearful. This glance caused her to cry out in alarm.
The crow’s eyes had been forcibly gouged out, leaving only two bloody sockets. Besides the eyes, there was also a bloody hole in its chest, but no heart inside.
How could a crow without a heart fly?
Cui Xun looked up toward the direction of scattered lights: “Perhaps the answer lies ahead in the Ghost Market.”
The Ghost Market was located in a secluded, wild grove in Wuben Ward. The grove was pitch black, with even the moon hidden behind clouds. The market had no light; Li Ying could barely make out the stalls by the dim lanterns carried by passersby or the fire stones they held. The stalls at the Ghost Market were spaced far apart, selling unusual items. The stall nearest to Li Ying was selling several damaged gold-threaded jade burial suits, which were funeral garments for Han Dynasty nobles.
At a glance, these were items stolen by grave robbers.
Another stall wasn’t selling inanimate objects but large black rats caged in cages.
The further Li Ying walked, the more terrified she became. But no matter how frightened she was, she still didn’t want to get closer to Cui Xun.
Cui Xun sensed this and asked: “Still angry?”
“I’m not angry,” Li Ying said. “I just don’t want you to bear everything alone, so I wanted to help you. But if you don’t want my help, there’s nothing I can do.”
Cui Xun remained silent. He didn’t speak, and Li Ying also said nothing more, just walking silently. She didn’t notice that on a withered tree, a pair of eerie green eyes continuously followed her figure.