Several bright Scholar’s Lamps hung on either side of the main entrance to the Wang family villa. Steward Wang waited anxiously outside the gate, craning his neck as he looked into the distance.
Suddenly, the sound of carriage bells rang out from afar. His spirits lifted as he raised his hand and called out, “Light the lamps!” The servants around him hurriedly lit the kindling and inserted it into the lamps. Soon, eight orbs of emerald light illuminated the scene, casting their glow over four vermillion gate pillars and a plaque that read “Flower-Encircled Pool.”
These lamps were made with extremely thin bamboo skin shells, their candlelight elegant and subdued, reminiscent of Zigong’s praise of Confucius in the Analects’ first Fifteen Days Between Two Capitals – Chapter “Learning”: “temperate, kind, respectful, frugal, and modest.” Hence their name “Scholar’s Lamps.” To ensure the bamboo skin would transmit light, craftsmen had to select newly grown tender bamboo and carefully pare down the outer skin—neither too thick nor broken—each lamp requiring countless hours of labor.
A two-shaft carriage slowly arrived at the manor gates. Steward Wang hurriedly descended the steps, his knees slightly bent as he bowed to the ground, saying, “I kowtow to Master Heshan.” The carriage curtain lifted, and an elderly man in a scholar’s blue robe stepped out. He was in his seventies, holding a walking stick made of green rattan, his long white beard complementing his Dongpo-style headwear, giving him somewhat of an immortal’s bearing.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. There were some delays on the road,” the old man explained.
“No matter, no matter. The journey from Taizhou must have been tiring enough. The master has prepared a feast and awaits you,” Steward Wang said with a broad smile, ready to escort him inside.
The elderly man’s expression was somewhat gloomy as he responded with a mere “mm,” but didn’t move. Soon after, a young woman descended from the carriage, with a broad forehead and simple dress and ornaments. Behind her followed a hunchbacked servant wearing a wide-brimmed gauze hat that obscured his face.
Both stood respectfully behind Master Heshan. Steward Wang was surprised—he hadn’t known Master Heshan would bring two attendants. The hunchback was one thing, but this woman’s bearing didn’t seem like that of a servant or concubine, which was rather strange. However, he didn’t dare to inquire further and hurriedly ordered the central gate to open to welcome the distinguished guests inside.
Though unremarkable from the outside, the villa’s interior was extremely luxurious. Past the entrance stood several magnificent halls connected by multiple galleries and walkways. The wooden structures were all built with nanmu wood, painted with gold, and covered with carved vermillion plaster. The red coloring came from finely ground cinnabar, while the black was painted with the finest ink powder.
Between the halls, the ground sloped downward in a series of gentle inclines. Viewed from above during daylight, one would see that the entire villa’s terrain gradually sank from the periphery to the center, forming a residential basin. Within this basin were concentric circles of garden plots filled with lush exotic flowers and plants. One could spot precious varieties like Buddhist mulberry flowers from Fujian, Siamese red hydrangeas, and South Seas sala trees. Due to the climate, these prized specimens often withered after just one season, further highlighting the owner’s extravagance.
It was now nearly June when pomegranates first bloomed and jasmine flowers were fragrant. Melons hung from the trellises, while hollyhocks stood tall and hibiscus gleamed, cleverly concealing the sunken terrain. As guests descended deeper into the basin, they became immersed in the rich fragrances, forgetting all worldly concerns—this design concept was called “Flower-Encircled Pool.”
“Beautiful indeed, but too extravagant,” Master Heshan commented absent-mindedly.
“It’s not as complicated as you might think,” Steward Wang smiled and explained. “See, there are channels beside each flower bed that draw water directly from the Hanjiang River for irrigation. In case of heavy rain, the bottom also has drainage to divert water elsewhere. It requires hardly any manual labor.” He wanted to explain more, but noticing Master Heshan’s poor mood, he tactfully fell silent. He led the three visitors to the bottom of the flower-enclosed basin, where stood a single spacious bamboo pavilion. Compared to the exterior’s grandeur, the pavilion was remarkably simple—its beams, windows, chairs, and shelves were all made of bamboo, with several white cranes kept by the entrance. Standing at the pavilion’s threshold and looking around, one saw tier upon tier of elevated slopes like terraced fields, covered in overlapping flowers and plants, resembling a series of floral vessels that enclosed visitors like stamens in their center.
Only then could guests understand why it was called “Flower-Encircled Pool.” It wasn’t about hiding a pool among flowers, but rather about flowers concealing people within their pistils.
A tall middle-aged man emerged from the bamboo pavilion to welcome them. He first bowed deeply, then warmly took the other’s hand: “Brother Heshan, it’s been too long! Knowing your preference for simplicity, I specially chose this Bamboo and Crane Pavilion and prepared a simple mountain feast, so you won’t be troubled by worldly thoughts.”
Master Heshan managed a forced smile: “Jifu is thoughtful.”
This man was naturally Wang Ji, or Wang Jifu, whose wealth was legendary in Yangzhou.
Wang Ji entered the pavilion shoulder to shoulder-with Master Heshan. The hunchbacked servant remained outside to stand guard, but the woman followed them in. Wang Ji felt slightly puzzled. Master Heshan explained, “The other day, I obtained a unique flower tea from Mount Wuyi that requires no roasting and has a novel taste. I brought it specially for Jifu to sample—however, this tea must be prepared fresh, so I brought my tea servant along.”
Wang Ji was delighted and repeatedly expressed his approval, noting that the pavilion had tea implements ready. He instructed Steward Wang to hold off on serving the meal and sat down with Master Heshan for casual conversation. The tea servant needed no instruction, going to the bamboo shelves to retrieve the tea set, then taking various flower petals and root stems from a small pouch at her waist to carefully prepare the blend.
Steward Wang knew his master didn’t like to be disturbed at such times, so he quickly withdrew from the pavilion. Seeing the hunchback still standing nearby, he kindly approached and asked if he’d like to go to the kitchen for some late-night food. The hunchback lowered his head and grunted an assent without even a word of thanks. Steward Wang thought to himself how strange it was that the scholarly Guo family would have such an ill-mannered servant, but he simply pointed out the direction to the kitchen and walked away.
After the two left, silence returned to the pavilion’s vicinity. In the time it takes to burn a stick of incense, the tea servant had prepared the tea powder. The iron kettle’s water had just reached a boil, and she carefully poured the powder into the cups, added the boiling water, and then gently struck and brushed with the tea whisk.
At that time, from the imperial court to common households, brewing loose-leaf tea was popular, but refined individuals still occasionally yearned for the Song Dynasty method of whisked powder tea. Wang Ji observed how the tea servant’s movements flowed like clouds and running water—preparing the cup, mixing the paste, pouring and whisking—without the slightest awkwardness, and couldn’t help but express his admiration.
Soon the tea servant presented two cups of tea respectfully before them. Wang Ji lifted his cup and was first struck by a fragrant aroma, then noticed the tea’s blue-white color, slightly inferior to the pure white of the finest grade.
However, Master Heshan had already mentioned this flower tea was merely for sampling something novel, not necessarily anything exceptional. Wang Ji brought the cup to his lips and took a small sip.
To be honest, the tea’s taste wasn’t as good as its appearance suggested. It was fishy and astringent, with a hint of bitterness lingering in the throat. Wang Ji had expected a sweet aftertaste, but upon reflection, the bitterness only intensified, nearly causing him to spit it out. He frowned and was about to set down the cup, but seeing Master Heshan nod at him, he had no choice but to raise it again and drink the remaining tea as if taking medicine.
“Master Heshan, this tea is… unique. What is it called?” Wang Ji forced a smile, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
Master Heshan said flatly: “It’s called the Tea of Lost Sons.”
“That name is rather…” Wang Ji stopped mid-sentence, his eyes suddenly widening as he felt something wrong with his body. He tried to struggle to his feet but found his limbs paralyzed, his vision blurring, and his head beginning to spin. The expression of Master Heshan before him seemed to turn savage. That damned tea servant walked over from the side and took his arm to check his pulse.
“Guo Chunzhi, you…” Wang Ji realized this was intentional. No wonder he had let his guard down—who could have imagined that Guo Chunzhi, the renowned scholar of Huaizuo, would poison his host?
Su Jingxi finished checking his pulse and looked at Guo Chunzhi, saying, “It’s taking effect. Within half an hour, his limbs will be paralyzed and immobile.” Wang Ji tried to move, finding it exactly as she said, and was about to cry out when Su Jingxi extended her finger to press his lips: “If you shout and excite your blood flow, the poison will go straight to your heart, and even immortals won’t be able to save you.”
In his haste, Wang Ji dared not test whether this was true, and could only growl lowly, “I invited you as a guest with complete courtesy. Why have you plotted to harm me?”
“You wrong Uncle Guo. Until we reached the big locust tree intersection, he truly only intended to attend your feast,” Su Jingxi explained with a smile, picking up his empty teacup. “With villas clustered here and every household maintaining nurseries and flower beds, I gathered materials locally, just wandering through a few gardens to collect azalea petals, oleander root stems, wisteria seeds, and ground up some larkspur—that’s why we were a bit late. The blend was hastily prepared and not quite perfect, please forgive me.”
“Why, why…” Wang Ji stared at Guo Chunzhi.
Guo Chunzhi pointed his walking stick at Wang Ji’s chest: “The ancients said: only through feeling can one truly understand. Now that you’ve experienced it, Jifu, you should be able to comprehend my pain of losing a son. You—why did you kill my son Guo Zhimin?” Wang Ji stiffened at these words, and the bamboo pavilion suddenly fell into deathly silence.
Just then, several hundred paces away from the pavilion in the water prison, there came a “splash.”
Zhu Zhanji’s body suddenly sank, startling all four people around him. Hearing bubbles gurgling at the water’s surface, Wu Dingyuan hurriedly stepped forward and tried to hook him with his foot. Fortunately, the prince had rested for a while and recovered some strength, managing to struggle back to his feet. Only then did they realize that in a moment of agitation, he had collapsed the protruding brick he was sitting on.
The three boatmen’s expressions turned sour—they had kindly let him rest for a while, and he had broken their seat. How were they supposed to rest now?
Wu Dingyuan didn’t have time to comfort either the prince or the three men. He keenly sensed something was wrong with the sound. The water prison had been deadly quiet before, but now there was a gurgling sound. After listening carefully, he noticed that the water level, which had originally been below chest height, was quietly rising. Using his ribs as a reference, Wu Dingyuan realized this was no illusion.
He moved to the wall with the protruding brick, pressing his body close as he shifted along it. The gurgling stopped. When Wu Dingyuan moved his body slightly away from the wall, he immediately felt water pressure against his backside. A curse slipped from his lips.
The prince’s fall hadn’t just broken the brick—it had created a hole in the water prison wall. This water prison was built right next to the Hanjiang River, with river water on the other side. In other words, if the hole wasn’t plugged quickly, the prison would soon fill with river water, and they would all be visiting the Dragon King’s palace.
Wu Dingyuan’s expression grew serious. He backed against the wall and crouched down, using his bound hands to shake the bricks around the hole. This wall hadn’t been built with sticky rice mortar, only simple lime grouting between the bricks—while it prevented water seepage, its strength was much lower. After just a few gentle movements, he felt another brick becoming loose.
Wu Dingyuan dared not shake anymore and stood back up, telling the other four, “Good news, we have a way to escape.” The three boatmen looked at each other, unsure what Wu Dingyuan had in mind. Wu Dingyuan explained, “There’s now a hole in this wall, and water from the Hanjiang River is steadily flowing in. The hole isn’t big, and I can temporarily block it with my body, but as the river water impacts it, the surrounding bricks will gradually loosen and collapse. The prison will eventually flood.”
Zheng Xianlun angrily said, “How is that good news!”
Wu Dingyuan replied, “Without a tiger chasing you, you won’t jump across a deep ravine. If we actively remove the bricks, couldn’t we swim out through the wall hole?”
Silence fell around them. This was a “breaking the cauldrons and sinking the boats” plan—though only Zhu Zhanji understood this idiom—actively digging open the wall hole meant there was no turning back. They would either escape in time or drown. But at this point, they had no choice. After some discussion, the three boatmen reluctantly agreed to Wu Dingyuan’s plan.
All five of them had their hands bound, so they could only take turns crouching in the water, backs against the wall, using their bound hands to shake the bricks loose. This method was inefficient but was currently their only option.
Fortunately, the wall hole wasn’t too solid, and under the persistent efforts of all five men, it expanded to more than twice its original size. The river water flowing in also increased. The water level now reached Wu Dingyuan’s third rib, and the slightly shorter Zhu Zhanji had to lift his chin and stand on tiptoe.
After another while, the gap in the wall was as large as a dog hole, barely big enough to crawl through. The three boatmen had been imprisoned in the water prison for too long and were exhausted, all panting heavily. Seeing they had no strength to swim, Wu Dingyuan pushed Zhu Zhanji, saying, “Your big bottom broke the brick, so you should go first and scout the way.”
Zhu Zhanji snorted coldly. He knew Wu Dingyuan wanted him to go first for safety, but did he have to put it so crudely…
The prince held his anger and wordlessly dove under the water. He crawled through the hole in the wall, only to find the underwater visibility murky and the path ahead unclear. Zhu Zhanji pushed forward forcefully, but his head suddenly crashed into another wall. Seeing stars, he quickly felt behind him with his bound hands, and his heart turned ice-cold.
It turned out this water prison had double walls. The inner wall was brick, the outer wall stone, with a gap between them. This way, even if prisoners dug through the inner wall, they would hit the outer wall—a crude method of preventing escape. Zhu Zhanji quickly swam back, surfaced, and reported this discovery to everyone. The boatmen’s faces turned ashen, and Zheng Xianlun began cursing at Wu Dingyuan but was stopped by his brother Zheng Xianti.
Zheng Xianti tried to calm his brother while asking Zhu Zhanji: “Is there water between the brick and stone walls?”
“Of course there is, it’s filled—otherwise it wouldn’t be flowing into the prison.”
Zheng Xianti said: “If there’s water, it means the outer stone wall isn’t completely sealed. There might be a gap somewhere. I can go check.”
Zheng Xianlun cursed: “Don’t be foolish, are you trying to get yourself killed?” Xie Sanfa joined in trying to dissuade him.
At this critical moment, Zheng Xianti’s voice suddenly rose: “Brother, Uncle Xie, what time do you think it is? How can you still be so calculating!”
Wu Dingyuan observed coldly from the side. Though Zheng Xianti was the youngest of the three, his mind was much clearer than the other two. Earlier when discussing canal politics, they had only worried about boat rental fees, while only Zheng Xianti had seen that smuggling salt was the real issue.
However, now wasn’t the time for praise. Wu Dingyuan pushed past Xie and Zheng, letting Zheng Xianti do his best. Zheng Xianti took a deep breath, dove down, and soon surfaced again, his face pale. He said there was indeed a gap at the base of the outer wall—if they could push aside a few stones, it might be wide enough. This task couldn’t be done by one person; it would take all of them.
The water level was rising rapidly, and though Xie Sanfa and Zheng Xianlun were extremely reluctant, they had no choice but to follow the plan. The five of them took deep breaths and filed through the hole one by one. Upon entering the space between the walls, they immediately kicked their legs, sinking to the gap near the outer wall, using their bound hands to dig at the stones.
They couldn’t see anything in the darkness, but fortunately, this stone wall was built even more carelessly than the brick wall, with stones merely stacked by shape, not even bothered with mortar. After some struggle, they managed to remove several stones from the foundation. Everyone’s spirits lifted, and their movements quickened, soon expanding the gap into a narrow passage.
By now, everyone had nearly exhausted the air in their lungs and planned to return for breath. But suddenly, the stone wall standing in the water began to tremble—perhaps they had weakened the foundation too much, and under the enormous pressure of the Hanjiang River outside, the stones began to separate and the wall was about to collapse.
If it fell, they would all likely be trapped in the space between walls and drown. Without a word, Zheng Xianlun and Xie Sanfa turned and swam back desperately. Zheng Xianti bumped Wu Dingyuan’s shoulder as a warning and also rushed back. Just as Wu Dingyuan was about to turn, he suddenly felt a leg kicking him forcefully.
Wu Dingyuan quickly swam over to investigate and found the prince stuck in the narrow passage through the stone wall, unable to move. Wu Dingyuan tried pulling once but found it wouldn’t work. Without a moment’s hesitation, he immediately kicked hard with his foot, forcing the prince halfway through the narrow passage. Then he turned his body around and rammed it with his shoulder.
This impact forced the prince through the passage and into the river water beyond the outer wall.
But this also caused the already fragile stone wall to collapse faster, instantly blocking the narrow passage. Wu Dingyuan could only quickly turn back, making it back to the water prison through the space between walls before the outer wall completely collapsed.
As soon as he surfaced, his first action was to press his back tightly against the hole to temporarily slow the water flow. Muffled impact sounds kept coming from outside, clearly, the stone wall collapsing inward under water pressure, with debris completely blocking the space between walls. The Hanjiang River water continued to pour in furiously, but there was now absolutely no chance of anyone crawling out.
This time, they were truly trapped in a desperate situation.
“I knew it! Trust your crazy plan! Now we’re all done for!” Zheng Xianlun cried out in despair. Xie Sanfa shook his head silently, his face ashen, mumbling “Amitabha” and “Infinite Heavenly Lord.” Only Zheng Xianti gathered the courage to ask Wu Dingyuan: “What about your companion?” Wu Dingyuan said he had kicked him through, but didn’t know what happened after. Zheng Xianti’s spirits lifted slightly, but then he worried: “He… was close to you, right?”
This question carried deep meaning.
Their only hope for survival now lay in waiting for Zhu Zhanji to surface, sneak back into the villa, and open the iron grate. But there were too many variables—how would he get back into the villa? How would he avoid the guards’ notice to return to the water prison? How would he get the key to open the grate? More importantly, would he choose to simply leave? That’s why Zheng Xianti asked this question.
Wu Dingyuan was stunned, unsure how to answer.
The other was the crown prince, while he was just a commoner—from any angle, he neither would nor should return to save them. When Wu Dingyuan kicked Zhu Zhanji out, he didn’t expect any repayment. But now with Zheng Xianti’s question, Wu Dingyuan realized that in his heart, he had a tiny bit of hope.
“What exactly is your relationship?” Zheng Xianti anxiously pressed.
“Friends,” Wu Dingyuan mumbled vaguely.
Just one wall away in the Hanjiang River, Zhu Zhanji had no time to consider these matters. He was tossed about by the current, dizzy and disoriented, tumbling over and over in the water. The prince felt he truly had bad luck with rivers—first being blown off a boat, then shot with an arrow in the Imperial City River, then jumping into the rear lake, and now tangling with the Hanjiang River. In the turbulent flow, he suddenly noticed the cotton rope binding his hands had loosened slightly. This must have happened when Wu Dingyuan kicked him through the narrow passage, where the rope was cut almost halfway through by sharp stone edges. Zhu Zhanji gritted his teeth and pulled his arms apart, forcefully breaking the rope.
With his arms free, Zhu Zhanji quickly moved his body, seeking the main flow of the river. He knew that when physically exhausted, one should never fight against the current but instead go with it. The prince was originally a good swimmer, and these past few days had given him more experience. After a few ups and downs, he followed the current to the surface and quickly made his way toward the shore.
As luck would have it, he came ashore exactly at the small dock where they had arrived by sampan that evening. Zhu Zhanji grabbed the mooring post and climbed onto shore, his whole body dripping wet. Looking up, he saw eight dimly glowing Scholar’s Lamps hanging at the villa’s main entrance, and a two-shaft carriage tethered nearby—apparently Wang Ji’s distinguished guest had arrived.
In the candlelight, he could vaguely make out a wide dirt road leading outside beside the villa, unguarded—following it would lead to freedom. But Zhu Zhanji only glanced at it once before running toward another side of the villa. He didn’t know the current situation in the water prison, but those four people definitely couldn’t hold out much longer—there was no time to waste.
Zhu Zhanji arrived at the side door they had entered earlier and pushed it—the door was ajar. He crept in quietly and saw only one guard standing with his back turned, talking to a hunchback across from him.
Zhu Zhanji scanned the area and saw the wine-heating rod still sitting in its pot. He wrapped his wet sleeve around his hand, grabbed the scalding rod, and smashed it hard against the back of the guard’s head. The wine rod was pure copper and cylindrical, essentially a short club—one hit, and the guard immediately collapsed to the ground. Zhu Zhanji didn’t stop, viciously swinging at the hunchback next. The hunchback hurriedly waved his hands, saying: “Your Highness, it’s me! It’s me!”
The copper rod stopped just inches from his nose: “Yu Qian?”
The hunchback lifted his wide-brimmed gauze hat, revealing a square face full of joy—it was indeed Yu Qian.
“Your Highness, why are you in such a state?”
“Why are you in such a state?”
The ruler and minister asked simultaneously. Yu Qian cleared his throat, about to explain, but Zhu Zhanji grabbed his hand and urgently said: “Quick! We must save the people in the water prison!” Yu Qian was bewildered, but seeing Wu Dingyuan wasn’t present, he guessed something must have happened. They quickly stripped the short jacket from the guard and had Zhu Zhanji put it on, then both rushed toward the water prison. Fortunately, Zhu Zhanji vaguely remembered the route from when he was dragged away earlier, and after circling past several slopes, they quickly arrived at the side courtyard where the water prison was located.
Only two guards were posted here, enthusiastically throwing dice and gambling, with a jar of wine given by Steward Wang beside them. The iron grate covering the water prison was pressed down under the wine jar.
Yu Qian pretended to be lost and stepped up to ask for directions to the kitchen. Having never been to the villa before, no one except Steward Wang recognized his face. Hearing he was a distinguished guest’s servant, the two guards didn’t dare slight him. One of them put down his dice to show him the way. Yu Qian led him to the corner of the side courtyard, where Zhu Zhanji was hiding—he darted out and struck with the wine rod, taking down another one on the spot. Worried the people in the water prison couldn’t hold out, the prince didn’t bother with subterfuge anymore and strode boldly into the courtyard.
The side courtyard had only one weak candle. Seeing someone wearing the same short jacket enter, the guard’s first reaction was to call him to continue gambling. Only when Zhu Zhanji came within ten paces did the guard realize the face wasn’t his companion’s. He scrambled to his feet, reaching for his sword, but Zhu Zhanji had already thrown the wine rod, smashing his nose bridge and sending blood spraying. The guard cried out in pain, instinctively covering his face with both hands. Yu Qian seized the moment to rush forward, striking his head with the side door bolt he had removed earlier. Even the most bookish scholar knows how to hit someone with a stick. One, two, three, four—by the fifth strike, the guard was finally knocked unconscious. Seeing his limbs twitching uncontrollably, Yu Qian threw away the door bolt in fright—this was the first time in his life he had ever acted violently.
Zhu Zhanji had no time to worry about his minister’s feelings. He rushed to the iron grate cover, kicked away the wine jar, and found the water inside had almost reached the top. The prince searched the guard’s body and found a string of keys, trying them one by one. But worried about the rising water level in the prison entrance, his fingers kept shaking, forcing him to shout: “Yu Qian, I can’t do it, you try!”
Yu Qian didn’t know the situation in the water prison, so he was much calmer than the prince. He quickly picked out the correct key, inserted it into the lock, turned it, and flipped open the iron grate. Just as Yu Qian was about to stand and ask questions, Zhu Zhanji had already jumped into the water with a splash, startling him—what was he trying to do?
Shortly after, Zhu Zhanji surfaced gasping for breath, supporting an unconscious, soaking wet person. Yu Qian looked and saw it was Wu Dingyuan. He quickly took him into his arms, but turning his head, he saw the prince had jumped in again.
Making four trips back and forth, the prince brought up four people from the water, including Wu Dingyuan and three others he didn’t recognize. These four people lay scattered on the ground, their condition unclear. The prince leaned against a wooden stool, panting heavily, feeling like his lungs would burst.
“What… what happened?” Yu Qian was thoroughly confused.
Zhu Zhanji collapsed on the ground, too exhausted to speak, only gesturing to Yu Qian to bring back some food. This was a side courtyard where almost no one came, so Yu Qian felt safe leaving them to rest while he went to find the kitchen.
Steward Wang had already spoken to the kitchen staff, so Yu Qian boldly asked for food. Under the disdainful looks of the cook and kitchen women, he left with five sesame flatbreads, a large bowl of stewed meat, and several baked sweet potatoes, returning to the side courtyard. The others had all regained consciousness but were still not fully recovered from being in the water for so long. Yu Qian crouched beside the prince, tearing the flatbread into strips, dipping them in meat broth, and handing them to him, quietly asking who the three men were.
The prince swallowed a strip of bread in a few bites, then answered: “Boatmen from Yizhen County.”
“Eh?” Yu Qian was shocked. The ones the prince had risked his life to save were three broken-down boatmen—this was quite… quite strange.
The prince shot him a half-mocking glance and said: “The ruler is light, the people are precious—isn’t that what you taught me yesterday? What? Now you think it’s inappropriate?”
Yu Qian was quite embarrassed: “Uh, Your High—no, young master’s love for the people is indeed a sign of virtuous governance, it’s just too risky.”
The prince looked at them lying on the ground and suddenly sighed softly: “Before I never really understood what hardships common people face… saving them like this, I suppose I just wanted peace of mind.” Then, Zhu Zhanji told Yu Qian what had happened in the water prison, leaving Yu Qian covered in cold sweat. So the situation had been that urgent—no wonder the prince couldn’t hold the keys steady.
“And what about you?” the prince asked.
Yu Qian first repeated Su Jingxi’s suspicions about Steward Wang, and Zhu Zhanji repeatedly praised her: “Wu Dingyuan truly didn’t misjudge her—it all depends on her now.” Yu Qian continued: “We had planned to reach the villa and act according to circumstances. Unexpectedly, at the big locust tree intersection, we met her fiancé Guo Zhimin’s father, the great Huaizuo scholar Guo Chunzhi. He was coming from Taizhou to Guazhou to attend Wang Ji’s feast tonight.”
Zhu Zhanji frowned—could there be such a coincidence?
But thinking carefully, it wasn’t a coincidence. Without Guo Zhimin’s earlier comment “Never seen ten thousand, now I see it,” Wang Ji couldn’t have sent out that powder-filled treasure ship. Since there was collusion between the Guo and Wang families, it wasn’t surprising that Guo’s father would be Wang Ji’s honored guest.
“Guo Chunzhi never expected to meet his son’s unbetrothed daughter-in-law here. He asked Physician Su what she was doing here, and she told him his son Guo Zhimin had died violently in Nanjing, and the killer was Wang Ji.”
“…Will he believe it?”
“At first he didn’t believe it. But Physician Su told him a story. She said she had gone to Nanjing looking for her husband, only to find Guo Zhimin mysteriously murdered in his home. While investigating to avenge her husband, she discovered connections to the crown prince’s treasure ship incident. Her pursuit led her to Yangzhou, where she found the true killer was Wang Ji, who had silenced Guo to cover up evidence of the plot against the crown prince—quite a tale, worthy of a drama about a righteous wife avenging her husband.”
Even with his heavy concerns, Zhu Zhanji couldn’t help but smile at this.
“When Guo Chunzhi heard his son was involved in an assassination attempt on the crown prince, he was utterly shocked. He questioned her repeatedly in the carriage, but every detail Physician Su provided was true, and with me—a Right Editorial Director of the Hall of Literary Profundity—vouching for her, the old man finally believed without doubt. So Master Heshan disguised me and Su Jingxi as his servant and maid to confront Wang Ji at his manor.”
“But how could just the three of you contend with Wang Ji?”
“Aren’t there many scholars’ villas around here? Physician Su gathered several poisonous flowers and herbs from their gardens along the way and made them into flower tea. Though hastily prepared, Master Heshan’s reputation was enough to cover to deceive Wang Ji.”
“Has it worked?”
Yu Qian glanced toward the bamboo pavilion: “It should have. We planned that upon entering Wang’s manor, Physician Su and Guo Chunzhi would deal with Wang Ji, while I would pose as a servant and search for your whereabouts. When you came in earlier, I was just trying to get information from that guard.” The prince said softly: “A loyal subject, truly loyal.” Yu Qian’s face reddened, about to be modest, but the prince continued: “Physician Su is truly loyal—she had no personal grudge against Wang Ji, risking herself purely for my sake…”
Yu Qian silently turned away to give food to the others. The three boatmen wolfed down the flatbread, while Wu Dingyuan leaned dejectedly nearby, digging water out of his ears. Noticing the prince’s gaze, he immediately turned his head away. Without the darkness of the water prison for cover, Wu Dingyuan had to find other ways to avoid eye contact with the prince. Zhu Zhanji knew why but still felt slightly disappointed. He suddenly called out: “Wu Dingyuan.”
“Here,” Wu Dingyuan still looked elsewhere.
“Thank you…”
Hearing the prince’s thanks, Wu Dingyuan continued eating his flatbread expressionlessly. Instead, it was the three boatmen who, having finished eating, came over to bow and thank Zhu Zhanji. The prince had no patience for their formalities and simply waved his hand, saying they should just work diligently in the future and not let a few corrupt gentry make them forget the dynasty’s grace.
The three were slightly surprised—why did this young master speak so officially? Xie Sanfa smiled bitterly: “We’ve offended Wang Ji. Even if we escape for now, we can’t stay at home anymore. We’ll have to gather our belongings and relatives and drift at sea.”
Zhu Zhanji frowned. As fugitives fleeing to the sea, they would almost certainly become pirates. How absurd would it be if the commoners the Ming crown prince had risked his life to save and ended up becoming pirates harming the Ming? Unless he revealed his identity, he could neither say nor do anything to help. Looking at their weather-beaten faces, Zhu Zhanji felt at a loss.
Just then, Wu Dingyuan, who had been hanging his head, suddenly shifted his gaze as if seeing something. He grabbed Yu Qian and asked: “Little Almond, when you and the… young master came in just now, did you go up or down the steps?”
Yu Qian was confused but instinctively answered: “From the entrance to here, there were three or four sets of steps to climb, but each set only had five or six steps, easy to mount.”
Wu Dingyuan crouched down, pressing his palm against the floor, his eyes flickering. After a while, he raised his head again, his eyes showing a hint of ruthlessness: “Since you’ve entered Wang’s manor, surely you won’t be content just getting a letter of recommendation and leaving?”
“Of course not! I wish I could eat that traitor Wang’s flesh and sleep on his skin!” Zhu Zhanji said hatefully.
“And you three, surely you don’t want to flee to sea and become pirates?”
The three looked at each other, mumbling a few words. Finally, Zheng Xianti clasped his hands and said: “If Wang Ji wouldn’t pursue us, we naturally wouldn’t need to suffer that fate, but how is that possible?”
“Wang’s steward swallowed my bag of Hepu pearls and hasn’t returned them,” Wu Dingyuan said slowly. “For the murderer, the thief, the exploiter—I have a way to make us all satisfied!”
Saying this, he slapped the iron grate cover, his wet face revealing a fierce expression.
These down-and-out men didn’t know that their target was currently in a state of shock in the bamboo pavilion.
“Inspector Guo… is dead?”
Guo Chunzhi’s walking stick pointed straight at Wang Ji’s chest: “Stop pretending! Jingxi, tell him!”
Su Jingxi stepped forward and said: “On May 17th, when the crown prince stopped in Yangzhou, you hosted a feast on a pleasure boat. Because of my husband’s jest, you gave the boat to the crown prince. Is this true or not?”
Wang Ji nodded—this had happened in front of everyone, no point in denying it.
“On the morning of May 18th, a building collapsed in the Imperial Gift Gallery inside Taiping Gate, and the victim was my husband. The Yingtian Prefecture’s investigation found him dead on his couch, wearing his official robes, showing he was killed before being crushed by the beams. At noon on May 18th, the crown prince’s treasure ship mysteriously exploded at the East Water Gate, with almost no survivors among the Eastern Palace staff and Nanjing officials.”
Wang Ji’s expression showed no change, either due to the drug’s effects or deep thought.
“Without your arrangement, how could the crown prince’s ship have contained gunpowder? Without my husband’s jest, how could you have legitimately given the boat to the crown prince? Did you kill him to silence him?”
Everything Su Jingxi said was true, she had just deliberately connected Guo Zhimin’s death to Wang Ji. Hearing this accusation, Wang Ji’s eyelids flickered: “Inspector Guo was in Jinling—how could I have killed him?”
To Guo Chunzhi, this response confirmed their conspiracy, angering him so much he could barely hold his walking stick: “You truly have no loyalty to ruler or father! Heaven-defying audacity! Disregarding the generations of friendship between the Guo and Wang families, you dragged my son into a plot to assassinate the crown prince—this is a crime worthy of executing nine generations!”
Wang Ji smiled ambiguously, slowly speaking: “Master Heshan, I didn’t drag Inspector Guo into this. He came to me first.”
“Nonsense! He was such a careful and diligent child, how could he commit such treasonous acts!”
“Heh, I admire your scholarship, but I dare not compliment your family education. Let alone other things, do you know how many times a month Inspector Guo came to Yangzhou? How many courtesans he secretly kept?” At this point, Wang Ji glanced at Su Jingxi.
Su Jingxi feigned shock, though her eyes weren’t so surprised.
Guo Chunzhi raged: “Absurd! His monthly salary was how much? How could he afford that?”
“A son runs wild outside while his poor parents think he’s a gentleman.” Wang Ji sneered, “If he couldn’t afford it, naturally a patron was supporting his debauchery. To be frank, this time it was that patron behind him who had him seek me out, to join in this grand endeavor. If anyone silenced Inspector Guo, it should have been that patron—how would it fall to me?”
“Who was his patron?!”
Wang Ji said sinisterly: “Master Heshan, you’ve read so many history books, can’t you guess? Those who dare move against the crown prince aren’t after mere positions or silver, and would they only target the crown prince?” The wrinkles around Guo Chunzhi’s eyes suddenly stretched wide, hardly believing what he was hearing. Wang Ji’s smile became more savage.
“The crown prince is now dead. Within ten days, news of the emperor’s death should arrive. When a new ruler must be established, you must carefully consider whether you want to be Fang Xiaoru or Xie Jin.”
“You!!”
Fang Xiaoru and Xie Jin were both great contemporary scholars. Fang Xiaoru opposed the Yongle Emperor’s usurpation and had his entire clan executed, while Xie Jin was originally an Editorial Director for the Jianwen Emperor but later submitted to the Yongle Emperor, eventually becoming Grand Secretary. By invoking these two names, Wang Ji was making a naked threat.
Guo Chunzhi was furious but couldn’t push his walking stick in even half an inch. Wang Ji’s words hit his concerns directly—losing his beloved son was heartbreaking, but as the Guo family patriarch, he had to consider the consequences of his actions.
“Killing me would be simple enough. But think about the future image of your Guo family’s men being executed by waist-cutting, think about the days your Guo family’s women would spend in the brothels, think about it, think…”
Though Wang Ji couldn’t move his limbs, his mouth was full of satisfaction. He watched as the old man retreated step by step under the blow, his spine curving inch by inch. The sight was beautiful—after decades of maneuvering in business, what he enjoyed most wasn’t luxury or beauty, but this feeling of crushing opponents, better than any aphrodisiac.
How could an old scholar match him in manipulating people?
With a clang, the walking stick fell from Guo Chunzhi’s hand as the old man clutched his chest and slowly collapsed to the ground. Su Jingxi’s expression changed as she hurried to support him. The extreme pressure had triggered Guo Chunzhi’s chest pain. Without medication, she could only lift his right arm and repeatedly massage the Neiguan and Dumen acupoints, trying to relieve the pain.
Wang Ji laughed heartily, and still not satisfied, added fuel to the fire: “Actually, when I arranged this feast, I was planning to be frank with you, elder. You have no choice now: if you join the new ruler, your son dies as a loyal subject serving the prince; if you still want to be Hongxi’s loyal subject, heh, how dare you! It was your son who blew the crown prince to pieces…”
Halfway through speaking, his voice suddenly stopped.
Three people pushed open the door and entered from outside the bamboo pavilion. The leader wore a guard’s short jacket, his bald head covered with water weeds, looking extremely disheveled. That familiar face full of hatred made Wang Ji feel as if he’d fallen into an ice pit.
“C-Crown Prince?!”
Someone who should have become a wandering ghost in the Qinhuai River’s depths suddenly appeared before him. If Wang Ji’s limbs weren’t paralyzed, he might have jumped from his chair.
“Who did you say was blown to pieces?” Zhu Zhanji looked at this merchant who had bowed and scraped to him just two days ago, his expression ice-cold.
Yu Qian quickly went over to help Su Jingxi support Guo Chunzhi. Their eyes met, and she shook her head slightly, indicating nothing could be done—the great scholar had been angered to death. Yu Qian couldn’t help but sigh in regret; Guo Chunzhi was Huaizuo’s great scholar with profound academic achievements, and this was truly a great loss.
The prince had no time to look at the old scholar now, walking straight to Wang Ji with a mocking smile: “They say salt merchants are wealthy, but I didn’t believe it. Today I’ve seen that this villa is far grander than the imperial gardens.”
Wang Ji’s face twitched violently—all his confidence had been built on the crown prince’s death. Now with the prince alive before him, this merchant who had seen all sorts of ups and downs couldn’t even control his facial expressions.
“How is this possible, how…” he rasped. Unable to understand how an entire ship of gunpowder had failed to kill the crown prince.
Zhu Zhanji sneered: “The one who should have died didn’t die—scared now? I was chased by Zhu Buhua through Nanjing city for an entire night before barely escaping. Such a major event—didn’t your accomplices have time to inform you? Or perhaps you’re just not that important to them?”
His hatred for Wang Ji had reached its peak, wanting not to torture him physically but to strip away everything from this traitor word by word.
Unexpectedly, hearing this, Wang Ji became calm instead: “Does Your Highness think we’re all sworn brothers who trust each other completely?”
Zhu Zhanji raised an eyebrow, vaguely feeling he had made a mistake.
“There has never been any trust between us. Every person, every faction involved in this affair knows they are just a chess piece that can be discarded at any time. Such naive provocation—no wonder others say Your Highness doesn’t look fit to be a ruler.”
Wang Ji noticed his last words had stung the prince. A calculation formed in his mind: “You’ve listened to too many imperial lectures, truly believing those musty scholars can explain any principle? Let me tell you, worldly affairs have never depended on intangible loyalty and righteousness, but on tangible interests to unite people’s hearts! Why fear hidden agendas, why fear superficial unity? As long as interests align, things will move forward.” As he spoke, the fear in Wang Ji’s eyes receded, replaced by a kind of frank fanaticism.
“Interests? What benefit could you gain from this?” Zhu Zhanji demanded. He’d long wondered about this—Wang Ji was already the wealthiest man in Jianghuai, what benefit could make him join such a high-risk conspiracy.
“Benefit? Heh, naturally it’s the abolition of the capital relocation proposal.”
This answer surprised Zhu Zhanji. But after a moment’s thought, he understood the connection. If the capital moved back to Nanjing, north-south canal transport would sharply decrease, and Wang Ji’s carefully built black-and-white enterprises—like boat rentals and private salt trafficking—would come to nothing.
Zhu Zhanji couldn’t help but rebuke loudly: “Your enterprises either violate national law or exploit the common people—they deserve to be eliminated. What grievance could you possibly have?”
Wang Ji showed a cold sneer: “If this is the extent of your insight, you’d better not ascend the throne—you’d just be another mediocre ruler for the Ming.”
Zhu Zhanji’s anger exploded as he violently slapped Wang Ji’s face, so hard it made his whole body jerk backward.
Blood trickled from Wang Ji’s mouth, but his mockery only grew stronger as he continued: “Your Highness, do you know how much grain is officially transported annually through the north-south canals? Five million shi! To transport these five million shi from the south to the capital, how many canal boats must be built, and how many workers hired? How many porters, lock workers, and tow-men must water management maintain? How many granaries must be built along the way? How much corvée labor must local authorities mobilize for transport and delivery? How much must the court allocate annually for dredging, Yellow River management, and miscellaneous expenses?”
Zhu Zhanji shook his stinging hand, not understanding why this salt merchant was still discussing numbers at this point.
“Every link of the canal system flows with gold and silver, with countless people clinging to it for survival. After your Zhu family moves back to Jinling, canal transport will surely end—how do you think these people will feel?” Wang Ji grew increasingly excited, “Your Highness, do you truly think only I harbored murderous thoughts toward you? Cutting off someone’s livelihood is like killing their parents—without me, there would be Li Ji, Wang Ji… whoever dares speak of moving the capital becomes an enemy of the entire canal system!”
Zhu Zhanji couldn’t help but slap him hard again, saying: “Nonsense! Canal transport costs are enormous, the people can barely bear the burden. Moving south and ending canal transport benefits both court and commoners—the ministers have analyzed the pros and cons, which is why Father Emperor made his decision. How dare a fool like you comment on imperial matters?”
“Hehe, righteousness is righteousness, interests are interests. Your Highness always confuses the two, no wonder you’re incompetent.” Wang Ji laughed heartily, “National expenses, people’s welfare—what do they matter to a salt merchant like me? Whoever touches my bread, be they the Emperor himself, must be dealt with. Not just me—the entire canal system is now a huge dragon and anyone who tries to touch it will get bitten hard, only ending in death—this is the supreme principle of the world! Can you, a pampered crown prince, understand this?”
Zhu Zhanji’s face grew slightly pale. He recalled Su Jingxi mentioning how officials in Nanjing were anxious about the capital relocation, indirectly leading to Zhu Buhua’s power grab. Now he realized the canal system also harbored dangerous undercurrents.
The explosion at the East Water Gate wasn’t just the malice of a few villains or a usurper’s ambition, but the inevitable result of countless undercurrents stirred up by the capital relocation proposal. That shadowy mastermind had used the Father Emperor’s relocation plan to bind all opponents together on the same boat.
“Your father is just a naive fool! What nonsense about moving the capital and ending canal transport to relieve the people’s burden—utterly ridiculous! Does he think money can be saved like that? Even a village peddler knows money is like water, only alive when flowing. Once the canal system ends, north and south will be cut off, the realm will become stagnant water—does that poor fat man understand the consequences?”
Wang Ji grew increasingly excited, even directly criticizing the emperor.
Yu Qian noticed the prince’s emotions wavering and quickly went over to quietly remind him: “Your Highness, don’t be deceived by this traitor’s words! He’s doing this deliberately.” Seeing Zhu Zhanji still dazed, he stepped forward and loudly rebuked: “You’re at the end of your rope—quickly reveal who’s behind this, and you might still receive clemency!”
Wang Ji suddenly looked up with a fierce grin: “Why should a dying man like you know so much, Crown Prince?”
As soon as he finished speaking, he suddenly leaned back, person and chair falling backward, followed by a “crack” in the bamboo pavilion as a black square hole appeared in the floor. Wu Dingyuan sensed something wrong and lunged forward, but was ultimately too late. Wang Ji fell directly into the hole, followed by an iron grate springing up to firmly cover the opening.
Wu Dingyuan bent down to pull, finding the grate’s inner side was blocked by a large iron door. Unless they tore up the entire floor, there was no way to open it from the outside.
This was called a secret chamber, or “life-keeper” by commoners, quite popular among wealthy households in Jiangnan. If bandits or thugs invaded and there was no time to alert authorities, the owner would take family and valuables into the secret chamber, which had mechanical locks inside and warning bells connected outside. Ordinary weapons couldn’t pry it open, making attackers retreat.
As a Yangzhou salt merchant, it was normal for Wang Ji to have several life-keepers hidden in his home. Having been poisoned by Su Jingxi and his limbs paralyzed, he deliberately provoked Guo Chunzhi and the prince to anger. Once they started beating him, forcing his body backward, he could barely reach the hidden mechanism beside him to open the secret chamber under the floor.
Zhu Zhanji hadn’t expected this man to turn the tables even at death’s door. He rushed to the iron grate, kicking and stomping, but it didn’t budge.
Wang Ji’s voice came through the grate’s wide gaps: “It’s useless, Your Highness, this secret chamber is cast in iron and bronze—you few can’t break it open!”
“But you can’t leave this turtle shell either!” Zhu Zhanji shouted.
“I don’t need to wait long.” Wang Ji said proudly, “When the iron door closes, it rings the bronze bells in the main hall. Once my guards arrive, you’ll all die! Zhu Buhua couldn’t kill you in Nanjing, I’ll complete the task for him in Yangzhou!”
Wang Ji deliberately paused but didn’t hear the expected terror and despair. Through the grate, he noticed that thin tall man called Wu Dingyuan looking at him with pity. From years of reading people, Wang Ji felt it was the kind of pity one shows to the dead.
“Next life, when plotting schemes, remember to check the imperial calendar first,” Wu Dingyuan wagged a finger. “Today is not suitable for burial.”
As soon as he finished speaking, a strange sound came from outside the bamboo pavilion, deep and rumbling, like distant ceremonial drums or a beast gathering strength to roar. The sound was continuous and everywhere. Hearing it, the white cranes outside let out clear cries, flapping their wings to fly away, as if sensing some crisis. Meanwhile, everyone else in the pavilion seemed to leave in an instant.
Soon, Wang Ji heard more clearly. It was the sound of water, specifically rushing river water. This sound was too familiar—countless times he had stood on the Hanjiang River bank at dawn overlooking canal transport, the louder the water, the more abundant the flow; the more abundant the flow, the more silver accumulated in his coffers.
Now this beautiful sound had transformed into the footsteps of death, approaching from afar.
Within a few breaths, a ring of white river water rushed to the basin’s edge. Water follows the low ground, and seeing the sunken basin of the “Flower-Encircled Pool,” the river water went wild like a fierce tiger, roaring as it pounced down. The massive water flow became the most brutal bandit, trampling all flowers and plants in its path, destroying the bamboo pavilion, and then frantically pouring into the secret chamber below.
Wang Ji desperately tried to move his arms to open the iron grate above, but his limbs remained heavy and stiff. This impregnable secret chamber had become his death coffin. Before Wang Ji could utter a final desperate cry, the entire space was filled with river water.
By then, Zhu Zhanji, Wu Dingyuan, and the others had climbed to the high ground at the edge of the sunken garden. They watched as the river water backflowed in, quickly filling the entire garden to form a small circular lake. The surface was covered with scattered flower petals, and the two white cranes that had fled earlier circled in the sky before slowly descending to the lake’s surface, like ritual banner-bearers.
A generation’s great salt merchant, thus died in his fate. Though these people harbored a deep hatred for Wang Ji, imagining the horrible scene in the submerged pavilion below, they couldn’t help but feel somewhat emotional.
After filling the sunken garden, the river water continued to spread. Wang’s villa instantly became a wetland. Even the earthen slope where Wu Dingyuan and the others stood was left with only the peak above water, which looked about to submerge as well.
A sampan sped over from the distance, with Xie Sanfa and the Zheng brothers pushing hard with their poles. Though physically weak, they were experienced boatmen, handling the sampan like a water flea, quickly reaching the slope’s peak.
“Why so late? Even a turtle could have crawled here by now,” Wu Dingyuan said dissatisfied.
The three boatmen repeatedly bowed in apology, though unable to hide their excitement. With their great enemy gone, they wouldn’t have to become fugitives—a few harsh words meant nothing. Xie Sanfa quickly called everyone aboard. Zhu Zhanji lifted his robes and stepped on first, turning back to laugh loudly at Wu Dingyuan: “Well done, Wu Dingyuan, you’ve become like Guan Yunchang flooding the Seven Armies!”
Wu Dingyuan hadn’t heard many operas and didn’t know if the prince was praising or mocking him, so he simply turned away, pretending to observe the water’s flow. This bizarre flood was indeed thanks to Wu Dingyuan.
After being rescued from the water prison by Zhu Zhanji, he noticed something strange: when the kicked-over wine jar spilled, the wine flowed toward the villa. This was too odd—water prisons were usually built in the low-lying areas of residences, the wine should have flowed that way, but the flow was the opposite.
Wu Dingyuan had also asked Yu Qian and discovered that from the villa to the water prison, one had to climb several sets of stairs. In other words, the villa’s terrain was lower than the water prison, and since the water prison was level with the Hanjiang River, the villa must be lower than the river’s surface.
Yu Qian had a good memory and repeated Steward Wang’s introduction of the “Flower-Encircled Pool” word for word to Wu Dingyuan. Only then did Wu Dingyuan understand that the villa’s strange layout was to accommodate the basin format of the “Flower-Encircled Pool.” With the villa’s low position, water could be drawn directly from the Hanjiang River through channels to irrigate the exotic flowers and plants in the “Flower-Encircled Pool.”
Of course, to prevent river overflow, a dyke had been built along the river by the villa. But for someone intent on destruction, this wasn’t a difficult obstacle.
While Wu Dingyuan led Zhu Zhanji and Yu Qian to the bamboo pavilion, the three boatmen completely dismantled that double-layer brick and stone wall. This allowed the Hanjiang River water, held back by the dyke, to rush furiously into the entire villa. The boatmen then ran to the dock, untied the small sampan, and rowed over to pick them up.
Everyone boarded one by one as the sampan struggled toward higher ground. Along the way, they could see most of the villa had been swallowed by the Hanjiang River, with only a few tall halls showing half their roofs, looking like isolated islands from afar. Human figures occasionally bobbed in the water, their clothing identifying them as guards.
Those dozen or so elite guards of the Wang family had rushed to the bamboo pavilion after hearing the bronze bells, but halfway there they met the first wave head-on and were scattered. Those who surfaced were lucky—several unfortunate ones were dragged straight to the bottom of the Flower-Encircled Pool, joining their master in death.
“Look there!” Yu Qian suddenly called out.
Several zhang ahead of the bow, someone was struggling in the water, clinging to half a corridor pillar. Zhu Zhanji looked and saw—what a coincidence—it was Steward Wang. He ordered the Zheng brothers to steer the sampan over, then crouched at the bow, smiling at him: “Steward Wang, are you catching water bugs?”
Steward Wang was in no state to think of anything else, repeatedly crying for help. Zhu Zhanji pointed to his chest, then to himself. Steward Wang immediately understood, managing to raise one hand and take out the bag of Hepu pearls from his chest to hand to Wu Dingyuan. Fortunately, he’d been at the shop all evening and hadn’t returned to his room, keeping the pearls on his person. After a full circle, the property returned to its original owner.
Seeing his pathetic state, snot, and tears streaming, Zhu Zhanji suddenly lost all interest in revenge. He let Steward Wang hold onto the boat’s edge but wouldn’t allow him aboard—a bit of suffering would suffice. The prince straightened up and tossed the pearls to Wu Dingyuan: “Count them, see if any are missing. One short, and I’ll kick him back in.”
Wu Dingyuan caught them, counted carefully, and then tucked them away.
Meanwhile, Su Jingxi was crouching down, carefully arranging Guo Chunzhi’s clothes. The great Huaizuo scholar lay lifeless at the boat’s bow. Yu Qian was deeply regretful, lamenting the nation’s loss of a literary master. Seeing Su Jingxi silent beside the corpse, he wanted to offer comfort. But she quickly stood up, her expression calm: “For Uncle Guo, this might not be such a bad thing.”
Yu Qian was immediately speechless.
She wasn’t wrong at all—Guo Zhimin had participated in the crown prince assassination plot, and after the prince’s ascension, the Guo family would have faced terrible times. Guo Chunzhi’s death essentially atoned for his son’s crimes, at least sparing the entire Guo clan from involvement. But… her reaction was too cold. She was still technically the Guo family’s unbetrothed daughter-in-law—her fiancé and future father-in-law had died within three days of each other, yet she spoke as if discussing mere strangers.
As Yu Qian was about to ask further, Wu Dingyuan tossed the pearl bag in front of his mouth, saying: “Go count if any pearls are missing, stop meddling in others’ affairs.” Yu Qian reluctantly opened the bag, turning away to count one by one. Wu Dingyuan bent down to move Guo Chunzhi’s body to the stern, then walked away.
As Yu Qian finished recounting the pearls and looked up, he saw Su Jingxi extending her hand with an unopened letter.
“What’s this?”
“I found it in Uncle Guo’s clothes, apparently just arrived from the capital.”
Yu Qian hesitated: “A private letter should go to his family—why give it to me?”
Su Jingxi said: “Court and scholarly matters are beyond a common woman’s place to comment. However, why did Uncle Guo bring this capital letter to the feast? Was he planning to show it to Wang Ji? Director Yu knows official circles well, perhaps it could provide guidance for the journey ahead.”
For the prince’s party, the capital had remained shrouded in mystery. What had happened at court? Apart from Empress Zhang’s secret letter, there had been no hint. Since Guo Chunzhi had brought this letter to meet Wang Ji, it might be connected to events in the capital.
Yu Qian gave Su Jingxi a deep look and took the envelope. The cover bore two lines of ink characters: “To Master Heshan, from Zhang Quan of Qiaojun,” written in a vigorous cursive style reminiscent of Yan Lugong’s calligraphy.
Just as he was wondering who Zhang Quan of Qiaojun was, the sampan shuddered slightly—they had hit a bank and stopped. Yu Qian tucked the letter into his sleeve and followed the others off the boat. The letter’s contents could wait; there was a more pressing matter: “Young master, how will we find a boat now?”
Killing Wang Ji might have been satisfying, but it had eliminated their chance of a recommendation letter. With only an hour before the fresh produce boat’s departure, in the middle of the night, which wealthy household could they approach for another recommendation?
Zhu Zhanji frowned, glancing at Steward Wang clinging to the stern, suggesting maybe he could help them board. But Wu Dingyuan immediately rejected this idea. News of the Wang family villa’s destruction would spread throughout Guazhou before dawn. Having Steward Wang escort people aboard now would surely raise the garrison’s suspicions, making things more dangerous.
“But if we miss this boat, we’ll be too late,” Yu Qian anxiously paced in circles, feeling his head swell.
Then, an unexpected voice spoke up: “Are you trying to reach the capital?”
Everyone looked up to find it was Zheng Xianti speaking. Zheng Xianlun tugged his brother’s sleeve, saying: “Why are you butting into their conversation!”
Wu Dingyuan’s gaze swept over, saying calmly: “Your brother has more insight than you—let him speak.” After the small flood, Zheng Xianlun was quite wary of Wu Dingyuan and immediately shrank back.
Wu Dingyuan looked at him: “How did you know we’re rushing to the capital?”
“At this hour, only the fresh produce boats heading directly to the capital can leave port,” Zheng Xianti answered honestly.
Wu Dingyuan nodded slightly. He had noticed in the water prison that this young man was interesting, unlike the other two dull fellows. Yu Qian quickly asked: “Then, can you help us board the boat?”
“No…”
“Could you take us to the capital?”
Zheng Xianti scratched his head somewhat embarrassedly: “The capital’s too far, we can’t manage that, but we could take you to Huai’an. Our family makes several trips there yearly, we’re very familiar with the route. From there, you could find another boat north.”
Yu Qian’s eyes lit up—this wasn’t a bad plan. But they quickly dimmed again: “How do poor boatmen like you have boats?”
Zheng Xianti said: “We don’t have five-hundred-liang canal boats, but we do have a few small mud loach boats with black awnings, enough for four people.”
“But can private boats use the canal?” Yu Qian raised another concern. With canal water low and even official boats limited, how would the canal administration allow private boats?
Zheng Xianti chuckled: “You don’t know—the canal section from Guazhou to Huai’an Qingkou is called the Lake Canal. Along the way are Shaobo Lake in Jiangdu, Zhangliang, and Bishe Lakes in Taizhou, and further north are Jieshou, Siguang, and Baoying Lakes. The lake surfaces are vast with crisscrossing waterways—official patrols can’t cover it all. We’re not carrying cargo, just people, so we don’t need deep water and can cross the lakes through the shallows. Using the salt smugglers’ routes, we can reach Huai’an within two days.”
He spoke confidently, clearly very familiar with it. Yu Qian was delighted hearing this but felt vaguely that he shouldn’t be happy about such illegal activities. Zhu Zhanji didn’t think so much, clapping his hands: “Very good, very good!”
Zheng Xianti knelt on one knee, clasping his hands: “You saved our lives and spared us from becoming fugitives—that’s a great kindness. Boat families believe in repaying debts of gratitude, and the Dragon King of the Four Seas won’t punish us.”
At the mention of this canal god, Xie Sanfa and Zheng Xianlun also had to kneel in thanks. Zhu Zhanji repeatedly said it wasn’t necessary, but couldn’t hide the slight pride on his face. This would make another tale of virtuous rulers and loyal subjects for the history books.
Seeing this scene, Wu Dingyuan gave a light snort. He knew Zheng Xianti must have sensed something, hence his enthusiasm. But for the sake of leaving quickly, he’d let these small calculations slide.
Speaking of calculations, Wu Dingyuan glanced at the grounded sampan. Su Jingxi stood silently by Guo Chunzhi’s body. He walked over to the boat’s edge and said: “Need help moving the body?”
“No need, better to leave it on the sampan. Before we leave, I’ll ask someone to send word to the Guo family to collect it,” Su Jingxi said flatly.
“You’re not sad at all?”
Su Jingxi gave him a sharp look: “You just criticized Yu Qian for meddling, yet here you are doing the same? Each person knows their own tea’s temperature. Why are you so interested in others’ feelings?”
These were the exact words Wu Dingyuan had used to counter her at Zongbo Lane, now thrown back unchanged. Wu Dingyuan awkwardly rubbed his nose—he’d never gained the upper hand talking with this woman.
They stood silently by the water for a long time. A night breeze quietly passed, dispersing the thin clouds. Above the Hanjiang River, a magnificent Milky Way revealed itself. Countless stars hung in the night sky, glittering brilliantly, their light is as perfect as Buddhist dharma, as pure as Daoist scriptures, creating an inexplicably honest atmosphere covering the earth.
Wu Dingyuan gazed at the starry sky and suddenly spoke: “I remember you said before that my hidden troubles couldn’t be solved by drinking, that raising a cup to drown sorrows doesn’t work…”
“It’s ‘raising a cup to drown sorrows only brings more sorrow,’ by Li Bai.” Su Jingxi couldn’t help covering her mouth and laughing as she corrected him.
“Fine… being honest with others leaves the heart unburdened. I told the prince everything in the water prison today—just letting you know.”
“Oh? That was certainly a good place for honesty—do you feel better?”
Wu Dingyuan smiled bitterly: “With everything that happened after, who had time to think about it?” He paused briefly, then added: “But yes, it does feel a bit better.”
Su Jingxi encouragingly patted his shoulder: “The first step is always the hardest. Just having the willingness to share your feelings is a good start.”
“What about you?”
Su Jingxi suddenly froze. She turned her face, her profile softened in the moonlight, and said: “What about me?”
Wu Dingyuan sighed, deciding to be direct: “Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You’ve been trying to control us all along—what exactly do you want?”
Throughout their escape, Su Jingxi maintained a very low profile. Looking back, Wu Dingyuan realized this was just an illusion she had deliberately created. She would always make a crucial comment at key moments, subtly guiding the other three, then hide herself away like an uninvolved outsider. Zhu Zhanji and Yu Qian had barely noticed. Even Wu Dingyuan, had he not been deliberately watchful, would have struggled to detect that faint string of manipulation.
“As expected of someone who’s solved many strange cases in Jinling—truly sharp-eyed.”
“Don’t change the subject!” Wu Dingyuan said coldly.
“Have I harmed any of you so far?” Su Jingxi countered.
“No, but that doesn’t mean you won’t in the future.”
“Then, should I also swear an oath before the incense burner?”
“We have a saying in Jinling: ‘A sincere heart worships the divine image, a divided heart worships mud.’ If your heart isn’t sincere, everything you worship is mud—what use is an oath?” Wu Dingyuan paused briefly. “You barely reacted to your fiancé’s death or your future father-in-law’s passing, but at Strategy Gate, just mentioning that Miss Wang completely changed your demeanor. Someone like you who’s so good at controlling their emotions—how could you lose composure like that? Who exactly is this Miss Wang?”
Sure enough, Su Jingxi’s face wavered for an instant, that composed expression cracking slightly to reveal a glimpse of the hatred she’d shown before Zhu Buhua. She slowly stood up from the sampan, raising her head to the night sky. Starlight entered her eyes like light penetrating a cold lake bottom, drawing out two deep gazes.
Wu Dingyuan cautiously put his hand on his waist, ready to defend against another outburst. But Su Jingxi took a deep breath and asked a strange question instead: “Tell me, why do you protect the prince?”
“To avenge my father and save my sister. Haven’t you known this all along?” Wu Dingyuan was puzzled.
Su Jingxi said: “Like you, I’m also heading north to the capital to avenge someone.”
Su Jingxi deliberately stood at a distance, her gaze lowering slightly from the sky to the dim northern horizon. Her eyes held sharpness, sorrow, and the resilience born from that sorrow. Somehow, Wu Dingyuan felt moved, sensing in that gaze a kind of strength—one he had long yearned for but hesitated to touch.
His shoulders unexpectedly relaxed; there was no deception in Su Jingxi’s eyes, she was telling the truth.
“You’re right to suspect I have ulterior motives. Even if you report me to the prince and Director Yu, I won’t complain,” Su Jingxi said firmly. “However, I believe you’ll understand me, and only you can understand what revenge means when someone has lost everything. We’re walking the same path.”
These words hit Wu Dingyuan’s chest like a heavy hammer. Su Jingxi smiled slightly, though the smile was tired. “Perhaps, in another situation like the Wang family’s water prison, we might become more honest with each other, but not now.”
As she spoke, her gaze remained fixed northward. The distant night was ink-black, and the landscape blurred. Wu Dingyuan didn’t know what she could see in that direction, or rather, what she wanted to see, but he didn’t ask.
“I’ll keep watching you,” he said seriously.