Wu Dingyuan opened his eyes to find himself trapped in a bizarre cage. The structure was irregular, formed by dozens of thick brown wooden beams arranged like ribs. These massive wooden ribs lay crossed and interlaced like a bamboo forest, creating only a narrow space in the center.
The violent impact from earlier still left his head buzzing. Fighting off the dizziness, he attempted to shake one of the wooden beams, but it wouldn’t budge an inch. Looking down, he noticed another body lying across from him: Su Jingxi lay unconscious, a thin stream of blood trickling down from her forehead, leaving a shocking red trail against her pale cheek.
It took Wu Dingyuan quite a while to piece together what had happened.
After the canal boat had leaped from the dam into the waterway, its momentum had driven it like a chopstick into the nearby temporary shipyard. The bow had smashed through the lock gates, floating docks, and hoisting mechanisms before plowing straight into the craftsmen’s workshop at the end of the yard. The workshop had been filled with half-processed elm rudder poles, cedar masts, and hull ribs, which had all come crashing down in the collision.
As he and Su Jingxi fell from the bow, they had the misfortune of being buried under these collapsing timber pieces. Fortunately, the large wooden beams were thick and long, crossing and colliding with each other rather than crushing directly onto them. However, the ship’s timber was far too heavy to move by human strength alone, effectively turning into a wooden cage like those used to keep crickets.
Outside the wooden cage, all was silent. There was no way to know what had become of Liang Xingfu. For now, Wu Dingyuan couldn’t spare thoughts for that fierce character. He first bent down to check Su Jingxi’s breathing, which was faint. Having served as a constable, he knew some basic first aid. He cradled her neck in his arm and began pressing her philtrum.
After about a dozen presses, a weak voice drifted from Su Jingxi’s lips: “This is acute shock and dizziness, not breath stoppage. Pressing the philtrum won’t help. Do as I say…”
Even in such dire circumstances, Su Jingxi maintained her composure. With eyes still closed, she gave intermittent instructions, each one clear and precise. Wu Dingyuan followed her directions, though some of the techniques inevitably involved physical contact, brushing against proper etiquette. However, with the speaker so weak and the listener so focused, plus the cold and cramped conditions of their cage, neither harbored any inappropriate thoughts.
Thanks to Su Jingxi’s excellent methods and Wu Dingyuan’s careful execution, she gradually regained some strength. Wu Dingyuan then found a bag of hemostatic powder at her waist, originally prepared for the Crown Prince. He took a handful to apply to her forehead, then tore off half his sleeve to bind it.
Su Jingxi had suffered quite severe head trauma, but given their limited circumstances, this makeshift treatment would have to suffice.
“It’s too cold here. It needs to be warmer,” Su Jingxi said breathlessly, half-leaning against his shoulder. When Wu Dingyuan moved to take off his outer robe to cover her, she said, “The human body is like fire. Come hold me tight.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, like a physician prescribing treatment. Wu Dingyuan hesitated briefly before opening his arms to embrace her, pressing her head against his chest.
Though he frequented the Fule brothel and was well-versed in matters of intimacy, he had never been this close to a woman himself. Su Jingxi showed no embarrassment, instead concentrating on listening to his chest sounds: “Your heart is beating rather fast… that’s good, faster blood flow means more warmth.” She nestled closer, eliminating any remaining space between them.
In the darkness, a faint medicinal fragrance entered Wu Dingyuan’s nostrils, causing him to freeze completely, not daring to move a single muscle. Since they’d met, Su Jingxi had been cursed at, kicked, and bound by this violent Nanjing constable, yet seeing him now shrinking like a kitten, she couldn’t help but find it amusing. Worried his muscles were too tense, she deliberately changed the subject: “I wonder if the Crown Prince managed to escape.”
“I kicked him off before the boat fell. That’s still better than falling into Liang Xingfu’s hands. Hopefully, Little Xingren found him,” Wu Dingyuan said, finally relaxing slightly.
“Come to think of it, this Crown Prince doesn’t seem at all like someone of noble birth. He’s impetuous, quick-tempered, with mood swings more dramatic than the tides.”
“That fellow? He’s like powder in a coffin—all about saving face,” Wu Dingyuan added acidly.
Since they couldn’t go anywhere, they maintained their embrace while trading observations about the Crown Prince’s deplorable character traits. Talking about a third person’s faults is always the best seasoning for conversation between two people, and gradually the atmosphere relaxes, and their postures become more natural.
“Have you noticed how the Crown Prince reacts especially strongly whenever someone says he’s unfit to be emperor? I suspect his aggressive behavior is just covering up fear and disappointment, probably due to a general lack of confidence,” Su Jingxi unconsciously fell into her professional habits. “It’s strange—as the Crown Prince of the Great Ming, that should be the last thing he lacks.”
“If he cares so much about others’ opinions, he must still value something,” Wu Dingyuan commented briefly.
“It sounds like you’re not just talking about the Crown Prince.”
The air in the cage seemed to grow stagnant, and Wu Dingyuan felt a wave of regret. This woman was too skilled at glimpsing true meaning in words; any crack would expose his thoughts.
“I’m different from him…”
“How so? Can you tell me?” Su Jingxi asked. She felt Wu Dingyuan’s body stiffen and laughed. “No need to be nervous, it’s just casual conversation. We can’t move anyway, and talking helps maintain mental alertness. Besides, didn’t you already share your thoughts with the Crown Prince in the Guazhou water prison?”
Wu Dingyuan nodded, though he doubted the Crown Prince would remember such trivial matters.
“Do you remember how it felt to speak up then? Wasn’t it like removing a small burden, making your bones feel lighter?” Su Jingxi’s tone was like a climbing vine, seemingly weak and soft, yet imperceptibly entwining until Wu Dingyuan found it hard to refuse by the time he noticed.
“But…”
“Being honest lifts the spirit’s burden. Many troubles are self-inflicted by ordinary people bottling things up. In any case, it’s better than trying to escape through alcohol.” Su Jingxi looked around and suddenly smiled. “Oh my, remember what I said? That if we encountered another situation like the Wang family water prison, we might become more honest with each other? I didn’t expect it to come true so quickly.”
It was pitch black here and they couldn’t move—except for the absence of water, it was indeed quite similar to the water prison. Seeing Wu Dingyuan still tense, Su Jingxi said, “It must be fate. How about this: you tell me yours, and I’ll tell you mine. Neither of us loses out.”
This answer greatly surprised Wu Dingyuan. That day by the Guazhou waterfront, when he had asked about Miss Wang, Su Jingxi had avoided answering. Now she was volunteering to speak.
Wu Dingyuan hesitated for a moment, then sighed softly: “All right…”
Just as he was about to speak, Su Jingxi said to wait, then adjusted her position to place her ear against his right ribcage: “Bones can also conduct sound. The right chest, away from the heartbeat, allows for the clearest hearing.”
Wu Dingyuan hesitantly half-opened his arms, resting his hands lightly on her shoulders in an embrace, and once again began telling the story of how he became a “despised boatman” years ago.
His low voice turned to smoke, winding through the broken shipyard, drifting past bamboo frames, sweeping over the mouths of tung oil vats, threading between awnings and planks, and finally settling with the dust. This telling flowed smoothly from start to finish, with Su Jingxi listening intently throughout. Even after he finished, she maintained her listening posture, deep in thought. Only when Wu Dingyuan coughed did she raise her face and ask, “How do you feel?”
Wu Dingyuan exhaled a long breath from his chest, indeed feeling his shoulders somewhat lighter. Su Jingxi laughed softly: “You are a stubborn person, tormenting yourself to such an extent just over your origins.”
“Perhaps,” Wu Dingyuan smiled bitterly while rubbing his neck. “My mother always said I had a stiff neck, that once I set my mind on something, not even several oxen could pull me away. This temperament of mine—maybe I got it from that unknown father of mine.”
Su Jingxi seemed to gain some insight: “No wonder I always felt something was off about you. Look, since Nanjing, everything you’ve done has been passive, all at others’ requests. You’ve never had anything you actively wanted for yourself. We have a saying in Suzhou: ‘A boat without a compass faces headwinds in all directions.’ Because you don’t know who you are, you don’t know what you truly want to do, so you can’t shake off this sense of bewilderment.”
“You think I don’t want to know?” Wu Dingyuan’s emotions suddenly flared. “But what can I do as an epileptic?”
“Your condition seems quite peculiar…” As soon as the topic turned to medical matters, Su Jingxi grew serious. “Pain disorders are categorized into wind, fright, phlegm, food, deficiency, and parasitic types. Your attacks being triggered by firelight suggest it’s an epilepsy of fright, likely rooted in some terrifying experience that left its mark.”
“But I didn’t have attacks before learning about my origins.”
Su Jingxi shook her head: “That’s not necessarily true. The roots of fright epilepsy can be complex and multiple. I once saw a case where a patient fainted after encountering a snake in a rice paddy during a thunderstorm in childhood, with no memory of it upon waking. Afterward, the patient functioned normally, showing no reaction to either thunder or snakes alone. But at age forty, when they happened to see a snake on a roof beam during a thunderstorm, they immediately had an epileptic attack. From then on, either thunder or snakes alone would trigger episodes.”
“Are you saying my epilepsy only manifests when firelight and the mystery of my origins combine? And it’s also from a childhood root?”
“I don’t know that, but I can sense you harbor a deep fear inside, one you haven’t even noticed yourself. Everything you do—the drinking, the epilepsy—it’s all to avoid this fear.”
“Nonsense. How can someone fear something they don’t even remember?” Wu Dingyuan rubbed his chin uncomfortably.
“You might forget the details of the fear, but you never forget the feeling. Think carefully—when you drink, is it really because you enjoy it? Or is it to achieve one night of numbness?”
Faced with this sharp questioning, Wu Dingyuan remained silent. Su Jingxi stared into his eyes: “Avoiding treatment out of fear only makes things worse. This condition of yours can only be cured by facing that fear again and defeating it… so what exactly are you afraid of? Is it that Buddha’s Enemy out there?”
Wu Dingyuan’s expression changed: “How could that be! I may not be able to beat him, but that doesn’t mean I fear him!”
“The relationship between your Wu family and the Buddha’s Enemy must be more complicated than simple enmity, right?”
She had noticed earlier on the embankment that when Liang Xingfu was about to kill Wu Dingyuan, his face showed not the satisfaction of revenge, but a subtle mix of contentment and gratitude. These two contradictory actions and emotions appearing simultaneously in the Buddha’s Enemy piqued Su Jingxi’s curiosity. She had heard the Crown Prince mention earlier that Wu Dingyuan had called Liang Xingfu “ungrateful,” suggesting there must be deeper ties between them.
Wu Dingyuan shook his head helplessly; Su Jingxi was trying to get him to pour out all his secrets at once. Still, in this cramped space with death potentially looming, he found the courage to speak: “In the winter of the eighteenth year of Yongle, Liang Xingfu forced his way into Jinling City. First, he devastated the Southern City Military Command, then infiltrated the city causing havoc everywhere, earning the name Buddha’s Enemy. The Yingtian Prefecture Chief was beside himself and forced my father to make a military pledge to capture him within half a month. My father deployed many constables and even hired numerous skilled martial artists from the jianghu, but to no avail.
“At the time, I was unconvinced and conducted my secret investigation, though differently from the official approach. I carefully examined every location where Liang Xingfu had struck, marking them all on a map to find patterns. Their feet leave prints on the ground, breath leaves traces in the air—as long as he was human, he must have left something behind. I finally discovered that near every crime scene, there was always a well. Jinling had experienced frequent warfare in the past, and many wells were connected by secret passages to ensure water supply during sieges. After so many years, almost everyone had forgotten about this, but he remembered, using these good passages to move around. No wonder the official troops couldn’t catch him.”
“I immediately reported this discovery to my father and designed a trap. My father was overjoyed and quickly arranged the manpower. Three days later, they indeed cornered him on Yecheng Mountain. My father led from the front and managed to slash his face. Just as the dangerous criminal was about to meet his end, the gunpowder warehouse by Baichuan Bridge exploded, startling the entire city. Liang Xingfu took advantage of the chaos to escape, though gravely wounded.
“I initially thought it was just his luck, but upon investigation, the explosion seemed highly suspicious, with many clues leading back to my father. Following him, I discovered he was hiding Liang Xingfu in a temple below Qingliang Mountain to recover. I was shocked and confronted my father about his actions. He claimed that during his days in the jianghu, he had a history with Liang Xingfu, and thus took the great risk of sparing his life. After recovering from his injuries, Liang Xingfu left on his own.”
“Your father wasn’t telling the whole truth,” Su Jingxi commented.
“I knew that, of course. But since he didn’t want to tell, I couldn’t be bothered to ask—I just asked him for more money to drink,” Wu Dingyuan let out a deep sigh. “When Liang Xingfu left, he said he would repay our family’s life-saving kindness. Who would have thought he would now repay kindness with enmity, determined to kill his benefactor’s entire family.”
“Perhaps… he’s not being ungrateful. Maybe he truly believes that helping your family transcend to heaven is the best way to repay the debt.”
“That’s absurd!”
“I’ve known patients similar to Liang Xingfu. They have their logic and become completely consumed by it, so obsessed that they appear mad to others.”
“Enough, enough, let’s not talk about him anymore. It’s unlucky!” Wu Dingyuan shook his head. “It’s your turn now.”
Su Jingxi tilted her head, still pressing her forehead against his chest. Her voice was different from her usual calm or gentle tone as if a silk veil had been lifted from a lake, revealing its true texture: “My dear friend was named Wang Jinhu, from Changzhou in Suzhou, an incredibly intelligent girl. We studied medicine under the same teacher, which is how we met and became as close as sisters. Jinhu’s medical talent far surpassed mine—given time, she would have become someone like Yi Shao, Bao Gu, or Zhang Xiaoniang. We often lamented society’s prejudices, and how few women became physicians. Bound by propriety, too many women couldn’t seek treatment from male doctors, leading to tragic deaths. During the Qixi Festival of our first year of study, we made a vow under the bright moon that once we completed our studies, we would open a women’s clinic in the Suzhou-Hangzhou area. We would both be resident physicians, taking on disciples while treating patients, ensuring that women in Jiangnan would never suffer from illness again.
“Unfortunately, her family believed medicine was merely a subsidiary skill for women, that serving one’s husband and raising children was the proper path. In the twentieth year of Yongle, they married her off to a noble family in the capital. If that were all, it might have been bearable. With the canal connecting Suzhou and the capital, we exchanged letters frequently to ease our longing. Jinhu even encouraged me in her letters to open the women’s clinic alone, to live the life she had dreamed of but could no longer reach. Through her words, I could sense her misery in the capital, but I was helpless, only able to write more letters, hoping to provide some comfort and ease her longing across the distance.”
“‘Yunshi thoughts’? What does that mean?” Wu Dingyuan interjected.
“It’s from Du Fu’s ‘Spring Day Remembering Li Bai’: Trees north of the Wei in spring, clouds east of the Yangtze at dusk.”
Knowing Wu Dingyuan’s limited literacy, Su Jingxi added with a smile: “It describes missing a distant friend.” Wu Dingyuan made a sound of acknowledgment, though it wasn’t clear if he truly understood.
“But a year ago, I was shocked to discover these letters had vanished into thin air, with no response. She had completely disappeared. I was terrified and personally went to inquire about the Wang family, but received no response. When I sent someone to the capital to investigate, there was still no news. So I decided to investigate myself, only to discover she had died in the twenty-second year of Yongle, died under her husband’s family’s most magnificent yet cruel methods, passing away with resentment and terror. Can you imagine how I felt then? It was like having my heart split open and filled with arsenic and aconite, poisoning every meridian in my body.”
At this point, Su Jingxi’s voice grew hoarse, her delicate frame curling slightly as if the poison still coursed through her. Wu Dingyuan had to hold her tighter to suppress her trembling. “Many people were involved in this murder, and I know all their names. Some are dead, some still live. But what can I, a woman far away in Suzhou, do? All I could do was build a cenotaph for Jinhu by Lake Dushu, making offerings in all four seasons, hoping she would be reborn into a good family.
“Just when I thought I was slowly moving past the pain, I heard news that one of Jinhu’s killers, Zhu Buhua, had brazenly gone to Nanjing… That night, I dreamed of Jinhu. She was floating in a narrow, pitch-black netherworld, suspended by a thin thread. Her face was ashen, her eye sockets showing only whites, her ten fingers dripping with filthy blood. She told me that every soul is tethered to the mortal world by the thoughts of the living, preventing them from falling into the endless hell. And in the entire world, only I still thought of her, cared for her—only one thin thread still held her soul. As she said this, Jinhu’s body began to sway, simultaneously weeping, cursing, screaming, and shrieking, recreating her terrifying final moments. This dream repeated before my eyes again and again, each time piercing my heart, letting the boiling poison seep through my entire body. I knew I had to avenge her, or she would fall eternally into the deep hell.”
At this point, Su Jingxi suddenly laughed self-mockingly: “Don’t look at me like that. As a physician myself, I know none of this has anything to do with Jinhu. It’s just that my daily thoughts became nightly dreams, an inner rage with no outlet transformed into dream-Jinhu, giving myself an excuse. It’s a disease of the heart, but it doesn’t need heart medicine—a heart poison is enough. The rest, you already know.”
Wu Dingyuan worked his lips, his throat somewhat dry. He had guessed it was revenge but hadn’t expected such burning determination.
“I decided to kill every one of Jinhu’s murderers until death takes me. That’s why I voluntarily accompanied the Crown Prince north to the capital—not out of loyalty to the throne, nor for the country, but for an insignificant reason, for a woman insignificant in the world’s eyes.” Su Jingxi spoke wearily as if the story had drained her completely, collapsing into Wu Dingyuan’s embrace.
“To go to such lengths for a friend… your relationship must have been truly special.”
“In this life, I had only one true friend, our souls connected. I would do anything for her. Ah, you wouldn’t understand.”
“How could I not understand? It’s a friendship worth dying for.”
Wu Dingyuan’s gaze toward Su Jingxi changed slightly, filled with admiration, pity, awe, and even a touch of envy. For such a frail woman to go to such lengths for a friend truly puts most men to shame.
“You’re truly a heroine among men,” he recalled a phrase from the theater district describing Mu Guiying.
“It’s a heroine matching any hero,'” Su Jingxi burst out laughing, easing the atmosphere considerably. After exchanging secrets, their relationship had finally become less strained.
Shortly after, there was suddenly a “crash” from across the way, as if something had been pulled down. Soon after came another “crash,” clanging and resonating, as if some beast was gradually approaching in the darkness. Both of them trembled.
There could hardly be any other possibility.
They didn’t know why Liang Xingfu had taken so long to come, but now they were trapped in the cage, unable to escape or fight, just waiting for him to catch them like fish in a jar. Wu Dingyuan reached out to shake the wooden beams again—they didn’t budge at all. They were truly at the end of the road. This time, he wouldn’t have the luck he had in the household registry archive.
Wu Dingyuan sighed and looked at Su Jingxi, still lying against his chest, when he suddenly froze.
It turned out Su Jingxi wasn’t just injured on her forehead—her right leg was also firmly pinned under a broken water beam. Though not completely crushed, she couldn’t move it. Earlier, when Su Jingxi had been guiding him in first aid, she hadn’t mentioned this severe leg injury at all. She had even deliberately thrown herself into Wu Dingyuan’s embrace to divert his attention, preventing him from noticing.
But why go to such lengths?
Amid his shock and doubt, Wu Dingyuan quickly reviewed their conversation in his mind and suddenly understood.
Su Jingxi’s talk about collecting medical cases was just a pretext. She had taken such a roundabout way not to hear Wu Dingyuan’s story, but to find an excuse to imperceptibly tell him about her revenge plan.
From the moment her right leg was pinned, this woman knew she couldn’t leave the shipyard alive. But Wu Dingyuan still had a chance to escape and return to the Crown Prince’s side. He would surely tell this story to the Crown Prince, and after the Crown Prince ascended the throne, he wouldn’t spare Jinhu’s husband’s family—this way, even if she died, the revenge could continue. What an ingeniously calculated plan!
She had endured extreme pain and managed such complex scheming in such a short time, it was simply too… Wu Dingyuan couldn’t find the right words to describe Su Jingxi.
Su Jingxi noticed him staring at her right leg and smiled weakly: “I knew I couldn’t hide it from you… but I didn’t lie to you about anything. Everything I said was true. If I can achieve revenge, what does life or death matter…” She struggled to push herself up from his chest, leaving his embrace, and slowly sliding down to the ground.
Wu Dingyuan smiled bitterly: “Sometimes I quite envy you. Facing enemies, you just need to hold onto your anger and kill them. Now my enemy is right before my eyes, and I don’t even know what I should do.”
As he spoke, Wu Dingyuan took off his robe and gently covered Su Jingxi’s body. Then he reached through gaps in the cage to gather more scattered ship timber debris, spreading it over her. Even with Su Jingxi’s keen intelligence, his actions confused her, so she just lay on the ground trying not to move.
The distant crashing sounds gradually drew closer, and Wu Dingyuan’s movements became faster. Soon Su Jingxi was covered with wooden debris of various sizes, impossible to discover without bringing a light close by.
“I said earlier that I’m different from the Crown Prince. He cares about others’ opinions because he still values something. But now I don’t care about anything, including myself,” Wu Dingyuan stood up in the cage, straightening his chest. “If you get the chance to see the Crown Prince again, tell him to hurry back to the capital and forget about me.”
Su Jingxi was somewhat dazed, but instinctively remained motionless on the ground.
Soon after, a large figure emerged from the darkness outside the cage. Liang Xingfu’s shoulders, back, and massive arm muscles were studded with wooden splinters and bamboo debris, half his head was covered in brown lacquer, and several iron chains hung diagonally across his body, clanking as he moved.
It seemed that during the collision, he had been thrown into an even more troublesome place and only just managed to break free.
But it was all worth it. The target Liang Xingfu had been persistently pursuing was now trapped in such a small space by ship timber, waiting quietly for him to claim. This must be the blessing of the Buddha Mother.
Liang Xingfu walked to the cage and silently stared at Wu Dingyuan, wanting to savor this wonderful moment. Only when Wu Dingyuan’s spittle flew through the cage and landed on his forehead did he reach out and grip one of the planks.
The large timber that Wu Dingyuan couldn’t budge was easily lifted by Liang Xingfu’s enormous strength. With the balance lost, the cage collapsed with a crash, and Liang Xingfu’s hand grabbed Wu Dingyuan’s arm, forcibly dragging him out. Wu Dingyuan offered no resistance, as it would have been meaningless. All he could do was keep glaring at Liang Xingfu with hateful eyes, drawing his attention to himself, ensuring Liang Xingfu wouldn’t look into the cage again.
Since escape from the cage was impossible, the only way to protect Su Jingxi was to hide her deeper. This strategy was simple—it just required someone willing to sacrifice themselves.
Liang Xingfu unwound the iron chains from his body and bound Wu Dingyuan tightly, then hoisted him onto his shoulder and walked toward the shipyard exit. Wu Dingyuan knew he had no chance of survival. He managed to lift his neck for one last glance behind him.
“Let that thread of hope remain for those who still care about something…” he said, then closed his eyes, waiting for the final moment of fate to arrive.
At this time, across the canal from Li Character Dam, the chaos was drawing to a close. Under the forceful suppression of the Yong’an Battalion, over three hundred boatmen sat obediently on the ground, hands clasped behind their heads. The officials who had been beaten black and blue were dragged under trees to receive basic treatment.
“Tingyi, I owe you a great debt this time! Later at Song Feng Tower, I’ll treat you to the most authentic Song’s Fish Soup!”
Fang Du bowed deeply to Yu Qian, his tone half grateful, half fearful. He hadn’t expected these White Lotus remnants to be so brazen as to target the Five Dams. If Yu Qian hadn’t insisted on deploying troops, the canal transport might have been interrupted, and he, as the duty official, would have been in serious trouble.
Yu Qian quickly helped Fang Du up, speaking politely about their shared examination year while inwardly smiling bitterly. His original intention had been to use the White Lotus name to frighten Fang Du into deploying the Yong’an Battalion against Liang Xingfu. Who would have thought the ruse would become reality, with the White Lotus inciting riots at Li Character Dam? Fang Du’s trouble was solved, but none of Yu Qian’s objectives had been achieved.
He scanned the riverbank, now black with the naked bodies of boatmen. There was no sign of the Crown Prince, Wu Dingyuan and Su Jingxi’s whereabouts were unknown, and their great enemy Liang Xingfu had vanished. No matter how he looked at it, this wasn’t a good omen… Yu Qian suppressed his unease and said to Fang Du, “The White Lotus followers are cunning. We can’t let our guard down—the dam area needs to be thoroughly searched.”
Fang Du nodded: “Tingyi’s thinking is thorough. I’ll send men to the other side of the canal right away. Not one criminal will escape!”
Yu Qian hesitated before adding, “If you find any suspicious characters, please let me know—it would set my mind at ease.” He couldn’t reveal the Crown Prince’s identity to Fang Du, yet needed the Yong’an Battalion’s help to search, making every word exhaustingly calculated. Fang Du readily agreed, but as he turned away, his expression suddenly darkened.
It turned out that Supervisor Xue had been revived and came stumbling to the old locust tree to beg forgiveness. Without a word, Fang Du kicked him hard, knocking him to the ground. This scholar had spent too long on the canal and had absorbed some of the jianghu’s brutish ways.
“You greedy worm! You dare to skim fifty percent off the boatmen’s food allowance? Do you not respect Commander Chen at all?” Fang Du berated him.
He knew his subordinates weren’t clean, but hadn’t expected such stupid greed. Among laborers, boatmen had the hardest work, and dam hauling was the most exhausting of all. Every bit of oil and meat meant strength, so boatmen’s rations were always supposed to be adequate. To dare intercept fifty percent was deliberately sabotaging the canal transport.
Supervisor Xue quickly defended himself, saying the rations hadn’t been skimmed, just that the ingredients hadn’t arrived in time, and he was willing to advance money to make up for it, sparing Commander Chen any worry. As for the capsized transport boat, it wasn’t a management oversight but deliberate sabotage by White Lotus remnants.
Fang Du knew these minor officials had been entrenched in the canal administration for generations, their roots deep and tangled, and he as a temporary official didn’t dare punish them too severely. Since Supervisor Xue was willing to pay to redeem his mistake and blamed the dam incident on White Lotus followers, cleanly absolving his superiors of trouble, Fang Du decided not to press the matter.
After all, no one had died, the city wasn’t affected, and suppression was timely—Fang Du felt the balance was just right, with no need to escalate further.
Fang Du spoke: “Now I’ll give you a chance to make up for your crimes. Pick out the White Lotus members who infiltrated the boatmen and send them all to the Ministry of Justice’s branch prison. Remember, don’t falsely arrest any innocent people, and don’t let any guilty ones escape.” His special reminder was telling Supervisor Xue to arrest a few examples, not everyone—after all, who would do the work if everyone was arrested?
Supervisor Xue was overjoyed at these words. What had been corrupt officials forcing citizens to rebel, potentially a capital offense for him, was now officially designated as White Lotus remnants causing trouble, making his crime much less severe.
After giving his instructions, Fang Du continued talking with Yu Qian. Supervisor Xue picked up a lantern with a twisted smile and walked among the mass of crouching boatmen, examining them one by one. Soon he came to Kong Eighteen: “Old man, how about it? Where’s that arrogance now? Swallowed it back into your dog’s belly?” Kong Eighteen spat at him, but Supervisor Xue dodged and delivered a heavy punch to his stomach. The old man curled up in pain, vomiting up the steamed bun he’d just eaten.
“This one’s a ringleader!” Supervisor Xue shouted, and Yong’an Battalion soldiers immediately dragged Kong Eighteen away. He then glanced at Zhu Zhanji beside him, who had also been among the first to charge forward, and pointed: “This one too!”
Supervisor Xue picked out eight more boatmen, all troublemakers he’d disliked. The Yong’an soldiers tied their hands behind their backs in a line and escorted them to the Ministry of Justice branch.
The string of prisoners walked past the big locust tree dejectedly, stumbling toward the new city. Yu Qian stood under the locust tree and unconsciously glanced their way. He deeply despised the White Lotus, so catching more was always good, but suddenly he noticed one figure in the line seemed somewhat familiar. Unfortunately, the night was dark and there were too many people around—after a few swaying steps, he could no longer see clearly.
Yu Qian meant to walk over for a closer look, but suddenly heard Fang Du’s voice: “Tingyi, they seem to have found someone on the other side of the canal.” Yu Qian immediately turned his attention back. The line of prisoners continued walking forward, soon disappearing into the darkness.
According to reports from the Yong’an Battalion ahead, they had entered the shipyard destroyed by the canal boat and found a civilian woman. She had been trapped under a pile of timber, with injuries to her forehead and left foot.
“Doctor Su?!” Upon hearing the report, Yu Qian couldn’t help crying out. Fang Du looked at him curiously: “You know her?” Yu Qian said, “She’s a friend who came with me to Huai’an.”
“How did your friend end up there?” Fang Du was somewhat surprised. No one was allowed on the boats during dam hauling—how had a woman gotten on board in the middle of the night? Yu Qian shook his head, saying he didn’t know either, but they’d find out when she arrived. Not being good at lying, he simply pushed the trouble to Su Jingxi, knowing she could instantly come up with a reasonable story.
Soon after, Yong’an soldiers brought Su Jingxi to the big locust tree. Yu Qian hurried forward, questioning her urgently in a low voice. Though Su Jingxi looked exhausted, her mind was still clear, and she recounted their previous experiences. When she spoke of Wu Dingyuan being taken by Liang Xingfu, Yu Qian noticed for the first time a slight wavering in her voice, as if some emotion had escaped through a crack in her shell.
However, he had no time to consider other feelings now, and asked: “So the Crown Prince fell off the boat earlier?”
“Yes.”
“Exact location?”
“When the canal boat was pulled to the top of Li Character Dam, he fell off in the opposite direction.” Su Jingxi raised her arm to point.
Without another word, Yu Qian lifted his robes and ran. He sprinted to the canal’s edge and searched along the towpath by the dam. The ground was covered in footprints and garbage, when suddenly Yu Qian saw a figure lying on the ground in the distance, making his heart race. When he reached the figure, he found it was just a boatman’s corpse, the withered body covered with stinking canvas.
Yu Qian felt both relief and disappointment. He looked up—Li Character Dam was right beside him, and if the Crown Prince had fallen, it should have been around here. He got down on the muddy ground and searched inch by inch in the lantern light. The area was full of boatmen’s footprints, most deeper in front and shallower behind because they had to lean forward to pull the towropes. Among them were a few flat, shallow footprints that weren’t from boatmen.
Following this strange trail of footprints, he made his way to a nearby drainage ditch. Yu Qian saw a human-shaped depression in the ditch’s mud as if something had fallen from above. His spirits lifted, and after searching the ditch further, he finally found robes and gray boots rolled up together—undoubtedly belonging to the Crown Prince.
But why would he strip himself naked before leaving?
An absurd thought flashed through his mind like a white colt, and Yu Qian suddenly straightened up, looking in astonishment toward the mass of naked boatmen in the distance.
“Bang!” The prison cell door slammed shut heavily.
Those just pushed into the jail were the ten boatmen identified as White Lotus remnants. After being escorted to the Ministry of Justice branch by the Yong’an Battalion, they were first thrown into this subsidiary prison. The authorities’ primary task tonight was restoring the dam operation—dealing with these prisoners would wait until after the canal was flowing smoothly again.
The cell wasn’t too small, measuring over twenty paces in length and width, and not at all cramped for ten or so people. The floor was covered with broken reed mats, the corners stained with urine, and the cell dark and damp, but overall the smell wasn’t too bad. A heavy iron wing-shaped lock hung on the cell door, its head black and gleaming, impossible to break even with an iron hammer.
As soon as the jailer left, the boatmen gathered around Kong Eighteen. The beating from Supervisor Xue had left the old man weak and dispirited—he had almost been carried to the cell and now slumped against the wall corner, severely injured.
“Remember this, all of you…” Kong Eighteen’s voice was weak, but his authority remained, “When the magistrate questions you later, just push all the blame onto me, say you were deceived by me, expose how I forced you to do evil. If they ask about the altar matters, say you never burned incense, never worshipped the Buddha Mother, that you were all deceived by me, the altar priest.”
“But wouldn’t the Buddha Mother be displeased if we say that…” one boatman hesitated.
“We’re just poor people trying to survive. The Buddha Mother is merciful and won’t trouble us. Just say what I told you!”
But the others looked at each other uncertainly, all somewhat reluctant. Throwing dirt on a companion at the first opportunity didn’t sit well with their consciences… Moreover, if they testified this way, Kong Eighteen would certainly be sentenced to death…
Kong Eighteen’s eyes flashed as he shouted, “What’s there to be reluctant about? We agreed before taking action—if anyone got into trouble, the survivors would support their family together. I’m just a lonely old man, my death would be clean, and you don’t need to feel any burden. It’s a fair deal!”
Zhu Zhanji had been watching coldly from the side. Perhaps as Kong Eighteen said, their riot’s purpose was just to stop Supervisor Xue from embezzling and ensure most boatmen could eat. Now, at the cost of ten people imprisoned, they had achieved their goal—even if Kong Eighteen was executed for it, it was still a “fair deal.”
He couldn’t help thinking of the White Dragon Pendant group. Those people sent several members to be arrested by officials each year in exchange for tacit permission to steal grain, feeding the thousand-plus refugees at Yang Family Tomb. Their methods were quite similar to Kong Eighteen’s. The only thing these bottom-rung commoners had to trade was human life, and they saw it as a “fair deal.”
Just then, Kong Eighteen’s voice rang out again: “Brother Hong Wang, come here, I have something to tell you.” Zhu Zhanji was startled—what could he want with me? But he still hurried over.
Strangely, though Zhu Zhanji harbored a deep hatred for the White Lotus, he couldn’t bring himself to hate this old believer who had caused his imprisonment. He went over and crouched down, and Kong Eighteen studied him for a while: “You’re not from an ordinary farming family.”
Zhu Zhanji instantly tensed up, unsure how to respond. Kong Eighteen smiled then, saying, “Don’t be nervous. Behind closed doors, every family has their secrets. I’m not investigating your background, just asking you one thing: can you take over my incense altar?”
“What?” The Crown Prince was bewildered.
“I certainly won’t be getting out, but the incense altar I established outside needs someone to look after it.” Kong Eighteen glanced around at their fellow inmates, “These villagers are good people, but they’ve never left their villages more than ten li except for labor service, let alone having any real knowledge—they can’t manage an incense altar. I can see from your speech that you’re different, you must have read many books and been to many places. I’d feel at ease with you as the altar priest.”
Zhu Zhanji thought this was absurd: Do you know what you’re doing? Inviting the Crown Prince of the Great Ming to join the White Lotus as an altar priest?
“You don’t even know my background, yet you’re willing to entrust the altar to me?” he found an excuse to decline politely.
Kong Eighteen smiled and said, “This isn’t some family fortune or temple property—what’s there to worry about? Those who come to burn incense are all poor folk from nearby villages, especially old women. They’re chattery and stubborn, but most sincere—they’d rather skip a meal themselves than not donate to the altar. Then there are the children, who don’t come to chant sutras but just want to steal some offering cakes to eat. Their parents are digging in the fields all day with no one watching them—if the altar didn’t help look after them, who knows when they might drown in the river, get poisoned eating wild fruits, or fall into a well and die? Those little monkeys are like demon stars descended to earth…”
As Kong Eighteen spoke, his words began to flow more freely, his manner becoming increasingly relaxed, no longer trying to persuade but rather seeming to reminisce. He was clearly intimately familiar with his incense altar, recounting incident after incident, person after person with relish. Among the surrounding boatmen, the younger ones began to sob, while the older ones wore grave expressions.
They all realized he was entrusting his legacy to them.
“Truth be told, I’ve never personally witnessed the Buddha Mother’s supernatural powers. But having this incense altar brings the villagers together, letting them look after each other. When bad years come, at least they can hold on. So my death doesn’t matter—my only concern is passing the altar priest position to someone capable, ensuring the incense burns don’t go out… I’ll surely die this time, but you all must continue living by this dam, right?”
Kong Eighteen’s voice gradually fell, this speech leaving him exhausted. The surrounding boatmen all dropped to their knees, breaking into tears. They had received many kindnesses from the altar priest and willingly followed him—hearing such words now, how could they contain themselves?
Seeing this scene, Zhu Zhanji’s emotions surged violently. He suddenly felt a powerful urge to reveal his true identity. Just one word from the Crown Prince, and Kong Eighteen would surely live, all these people would certainly be pardoned. They hadn’t done anything wrong, only struggling to survive—why should they bear such suffering?
But the words caught in his throat, unable to pass his lips. Reason, taking Yu Qian’s form, repeatedly advised in his mind that it wasn’t safe, it was too dangerous… Zhu Zhanji finally suppressed the impulse and stamped his foot, shouting, “If I were emperor, I’d stop this damned canal transport, and the common people wouldn’t have to suffer this dam hauling anymore!”
The boatmen in the cell all nodded in agreement when they heard this. They thought Zhu Zhanji was just letting off steam, but found it satisfying. Without canal transport, local officials wouldn’t need to conscript laborers, and everyone could focus on farming at home. Only Kong Eighteen didn’t voice agreement, his gaze toward Zhu Zhanji growing increasingly sharp.
“All of you go rest elsewhere, I need to speak privately with Brother Hong Wang,” he suddenly said.
The boatmen thought the two were beginning to transfer altar affairs and scattered to various parts of the cell. Kong Eighteen took a cloth from his waist, dipped it in a nearby earthen basin, and told Zhu Zhanji to wipe his face first.
The mud and water on Zhu Zhanji’s face had long dried into an uncomfortable thin crust. Taking the cloth, he wiped his face while saying, “I appreciate your kindness, but I really can’t take over the altar. You should choose someone more worthy.”
Kong Eighteen stared at him but changed to a different topic: “Do you know what this old man used to do?”
“A soldier?”
“Ha, eyes sharper than a falcon’s.” Kong Eighteen praised him. “I was born to a military household near Huai’an. In my youth, I was drafted to serve the Yan Prince, then stayed in the Xinghe Garrison as a night scout.”
Zhu Zhanji’s pupils contracted. “Night scouts” were Ming army reconnaissance cavalry, and the Xinghe Garrison was located on the border between the Great Ming and the Tatars. Emperor Yongle’s northern campaigns had all departed from there. Anyone capable of serving as a night scout in Xinghe was elite among the elite. No wonder his riot tactics were so brilliant—border troops who didn’t fear Tatar cavalry would hardly be intimidated by a mere river dam in the Central Plains.
“I was wounded in one campaign and could no longer fight. The army wanted to keep me as an instructor, but I was getting old and homesick, so I transferred out of military service and returned to Huai’an Prefecture.”
Kong Eighteen didn’t tell what happened next. But Zhu Zhanji could guess—things probably hadn’t gone well, or he wouldn’t have been conscripted for dam hauling. The Crown Prince wondered why he suddenly brought this up.
Kong Eighteen said, “This old man spent many years at the border and saw many things. These things can’t be explained to the villagers—they wouldn’t understand even if told. But I believe you’ll understand. What you said earlier was wrong. The problems with canal transport are indeed more numerous than mosquitoes on the water, but abandoning north-south water transport because of this? As the saying goes: afraid of choking, so stop eating?”
For a moment, Zhu Zhanji felt transported back to a court debate. One of Emperor Hongxi’s main reasons for planning to move the capital was that Beijing relied entirely on Jiangnan for supplies, with enormous annual transport costs. Moving back to Nanjing would eliminate most canal expenses. Wang Ji opposed the move because his interests in canal transport were too substantial. How could this old soldier, nearly killed by canal affairs, take the same position?
“Why?” the Crown Prince asked.
“I spent many years at the border, watching steppe powers rise and fall like wild grass. After the Great Khan of the Northern Yuan was gone, there were still the Tatars, the Oirats, and the Urianhai. Defeat one Arughtai and a Mahmud appears; defeat Mahmud, and Arughtai rebels again. From beginning to end, the northern frontier threat never ceased. They’re like wolves on the steppe—they keep their distance when you’re strong, but when you weaken, they pounce, biting off your flesh piece by piece.”
Kong Eighteen’s tone when speaking of these matters was utterly different from before, sharp as the northern wind.
“I’m just a common soldier, don’t understand all those twists and turns of court politics. I just know one thing: today’s northern frontier has Beijing—the emperor—right behind it, so provisions, weapons, armor, supplies, whatever’s needed is provided, and the border walls are built solid enough to intimidate those Tatars. What happens if the emperor returns to Nanjing?”
Zhu Zhanji answered, “Even if the emperor moves south, a general or prince would be left here, maintaining everything according to the old system.”
Kong Eighteen shook his head: “Useless, even if you brought back Xu Da and Chang Yuchun, it would be useless. Why did Emperor Yongle abandon the rich Jiangnan to put the capital in Beijing, not far from the steppe? Because he knew only with the capital there would border soldiers have a backbone; only with the emperor personally guarding the nation’s gate would canal transport be maintained, delivering resources to the northern frontier.”
Zhu Zhanji’s heart shook—he had never considered the issue from this angle before.
“The empire’s strength always flows toward the emperor and capital. Move the capital, and canal transport must stop; stop canal transport, and border affairs lose support, inevitably falling into neglect. The court might enjoy prosperity in Nanjing, but the northern wolves would come hunting in packs, and the frontier would never know peace again—did Emperor Yongle ever tell you his intentions?”
“Grandfather naturally explained, but Father also has his consid—” The Crown Prince’s tongue and teeth suddenly froze mid-word. An icy chill instantly surged from his heart, flowing through his meridians to his four limbs, freezing him in place.
“Hehe, indeed.”
Kong Eighteen’s gaze focused as he bent his arms in a military salute to Zhu Zhanji: “With so many eyes around, this servant cannot perform the full ceremony. I beg Your Highness’s forgiveness.”
The Crown Prince’s hands and feet grew cold. No wonder Kong Eighteen had so abruptly brought up state policy—he was testing his identity. The Crown Prince was too familiar with the topic and had let his guard down, revealing himself. “How did you…”
“When Your Highness accompanied Emperor Yongle’s northern campaign, the Xinghe Garrison dispatched a group of cavalry to guard your camp from afar—I was one of them,” Kong Eighteen said rather proudly. “Night scouts have eyes sharp as bee stings. The Crown Prince’s features and bearing are branded in our hearts, never to be forgotten. Earlier, your face and movements seemed familiar, so I tested you slightly. I beg your pardon.”
So that’s why he offered the cloth to wipe my face—to confirm my appearance. Zhu Zhanji stood frozen, realizing that before a night scout—even a retired one—nothing could be hidden. Kong Eighteen said, “This servant was confused, even thinking of drawing you into the incense altar. My head must have been too full of mare’s milk wine.”
Zhu Zhanji laughed awkwardly. Kong Eighteen, showing his perception, lowered his voice: “Your Highness travels in disguise for your own reasons, no need to explain to this servant. But there is one question if Your Highness would answer.”
“Speak.” The Crown Prince squeezed out a word through clenched teeth.
“Your Highness mixing among us and being arrested was an accident, correct?”
“Yes.” Zhu Zhanji scratched his head.
“This servant can help Your Highness leave this prison, asking only one thing… I know the court doesn’t tolerate the White Lotus, but I beg that considering these altar followers have committed no crimes, their offenses might be pardoned. They only want to survive.”
Even at this point, he wasn’t asking for his pardon but protecting his followers. Zhu Zhanji still felt somewhat defiant: “I only need to reveal my identity to walk out of prison, why would I need your help?”
“If Your Highness could reveal yourself, you would have done so already. Why wait until now?”
The Crown Prince was speechless—before this old soldier, he had nowhere to hide. Kong Eighteen took out a copper lotus flower from his chest, with eight petals in three layers, quite exquisite: “This is the token, every altar has one. Your Highness can use it to get their help when you leave.” Zhu Zhanji silently accepted the lotus, feeling somewhat aggrieved. Just walking into Chen Jin’s office would solve everything. But Yu Qian had insisted he not reveal his identity, leading to this situation.
Kong Eighteen smiled and shifted his weight, lifting a corner of the reed mat. Beneath it was an earth tunnel, just large enough for one person to crawl through. Zhu Zhanji was shocked—this was the Ministry of Justice’s branch prison, how could there be such a weakness? And how did these boatmen know about it?
Kong Eighteen explained: “Since coming to Huai’an, I arranged for people to take turns committing offenses to be confined here for punishment. Everyone who came in secretly dug a bit, and bit by bit, it became this tunnel.”
“You planned this from the beginning?”
“Officials are cunning—better to be prepared.”
Zhu Zhanji was momentarily speechless. This old “night scout” was truly terrifying—fortunately, he only cared about the villagers at his altar. If he had truly harbored rebellious thoughts, Huai’an City would likely have been turned upside down. He asked suspiciously: “With a ready-made tunnel, why haven’t you escaped?”
“People with families, where could they run to? Let Your Highness know—common people won’t cause trouble as long as they have even half a hope… This tunnel is for those who haven’t yet reached complete desperation.”
The Crown Prince felt Kong Eighteen seemed to have hidden meaning in his words, but now wasn’t the time to pursue it. He took the copper lotus and raised his right hand: “I, Zhu Zhanji, swear to heaven—” Before he could finish, Kong Eighteen pressed his hand down.
“Your Highness’s status is noble—no need to swear specifically for us. I’m an old soldier, you’re the Crown Prince. If everyone knew their place and understood what they should do, the world would be at peace.”
“But…”
Zhu Zhanji grew excited, but Kong Eighteen quickly said: “Earlier when beating Supervisor Xue, you could have slipped away in the chaos. Why did you charge forward with us?”
“Because I couldn’t stand him—that scoundrel deserved it!”
Kong Eighteen threw back his head and laughed, moving away from the tunnel entrance: “To be honest, this servant helps you not because of your status as Crown Prince, but because of that satisfying blow you struck.”
Zhu Zhanji gave him a look and then jumped into the tunnel without hesitation.
The other boatmen gathered around, blocking the view from outside the cell. Remarkably, not one showed envy or expressed a desire to escape.
This Kong Eighteen truly had a way with troops—if such a man held a position in the capital garrison, who knows what kind of soldiers he could train? The Crown Prince sighed inwardly at this thought as he ducked down and crawled into the tunnel.
Kong Eighteen quickly covered the reed mat and called several men to sit beside it, stretching their legs to press the mat’s edges. Only when there was no more movement below did he let out a long breath. His weather-beaten face showed a mix of emotion and amazement. He had experienced many strange things in the northern territories, but none as extraordinary as this.
Shortly after, sudden hurried footsteps came from outside the cell. Kong Eighteen frowned—even if the Ministry of Justice was in a hurry, they wouldn’t start interrogations until after cockcrow. Who would come at this hour?
Leading the group was Magistrate Fang Du of the branch office, accompanied by a man with square features who wore scholar’s robes but carried himself like an official. The man took the lead, walking up to the prison bars and trying to peer inside. At Fang Du’s gesture, several lanterns were raised, illuminating the entire cell as bright as day.
“Tingyi, are any of the people you’re looking for here?” Fang Du asked.
Yu Qian’s gaze swept across each prisoner’s face before he finally sighed in disappointment. Having realized earlier that the Crown Prince might be hiding among the boatmen, he had immediately sought out Fang Du and inspected several hundred riverbank laborers, but to no avail. Knowing that the Yong’an garrison had arrested ten ringleaders, Yu Qian had requested to check the branch office prison as well.
Fang Du was somewhat reluctant, but owing Yu Qian a great favor, he had no choice but to accompany this seeming wild goose chase. Seeing that Yu Qian hadn’t found his quarry, he suggested, “Since they’re not here, we should leave. I’ll ask the Deputy Magistrate of Huai’an to issue a notice to help search the city.”
Though unsatisfied, Yu Qian had no choice but to agree. Just as he turned to leave, Officer Xue, who had accompanied them, suddenly exclaimed “Eh?” He rushed forward, counted, and shouted in alarm, “How are there only nine people now?”
Not far north of Huai’an city stood Boqi Mountain, whose winding, concave shape resembled an alms bowl, hence its name. Legend held that this was where Prince Ziqiao had refined his elixirs, earning it a place among Taoism’s seventy-two blessed lands. However, the only remaining Taoist presence on Boqi Mountain now was the obscure Qianyuan Taoist Temple, while the neighboring Jinghui Temple had become a famous Buddhist monastery in Eastern Huai, drawing countless worshippers.
The Qianyuan Taoist Temple and Jinghui Temple stood on opposite sides of Boqi Mountain, with two serpentine ridges descending to meet at the southern foot. The terrain there rose abruptly into a steep slope covered in dense peach trees. Local Huai’an residents called this place Wangjiang Head, as the canal transport route lay not far below.
Wu Dingyuan was bound spread-eagle to a pine frame, like a dead fish on a cutting board. Liang Xingfu carefully checked each rope knot before stepping back, as if admiring a painting. Wu Dingyuan kept his eyes closed in silence, having nothing left to say and only awaiting death.
Liang Xingfu planted three sticks of sandalwood incense in the ground, chanted some scriptures, and then slowly raised his head to look at Wu Dingyuan. His horrifically burned face had somehow taken on an almost benevolent appearance, like that of a repentant Vajra guardian.
“Dingyuan, your Wu family showed me great kindness, and now is finally the time to repay it.”
Seeing Wu Dingyuan’s lack of response, Liang Xingfu showed no anger. He took out a flat razor used for tonsuring from his waist, honed to extreme sharpness and gleaming coldly in the moonlight.
“With this blade of liberation, I will slowly scrape away your mortal flesh. The human body is steeped in worldly toxins, disturbing the Five Aggregates, and is the cause of all dharmic afflictions and the source of life and death suffering. By helping you shed your physical form, you can achieve great liberation and cross over to the Pure Land. This is the supreme Śīta Secret Method.”
Liang Xingfu muttered these semi-comprehensible doctrines as he pressed the razor firmly against the back of Wu Dingyuan’s right hand, making him shudder at the icy touch.
“What follows will be extremely painful, and you will utterly despise me – as you should. The essence of the Śīta Secret Method is to force out the poisons of anger, hatred, sorrow, and resentment through extreme suffering, cutting them away along with flesh and blood, allowing unencumbered ascension to the Dharma Realm. Why do ordinary people suffer the cycle of rebirth? Precisely because they cannot let go of their physical form and have not purged their toxic hatred. Unfortunately, your father Iron Lion died before this method could be performed on him. I will bear this karmic responsibility and repay this debt of gratitude to his son. You will understand this earnest intention when you are reborn in the Pure Land.”
As Liang Xingfu spoke these words, his expression showed not a trace of ferocity but rather utmost sincerity, clearly speaking from his heart. Even though Wu Dingyuan’s heart had turned to ash, his mouth couldn’t help but twitch. It seemed Su Jingxi’s guess was correct – this “Enemy of the Sick Buddha” was insane.
“In the past, my mind was clouded and I missed auspicious opportunities. Fortunately, I witnessed the Venerable Elder achieve enlightenment through bodily sacrifice using the Śīta Secret Method, finally attaining enlightenment. When you see the Venerable Elder, remember to convey my respectful greetings.” Liang Xingfu rambled on, while Wu Dingyuan didn’t bother asking who this Venerable Elder was, closing his eyes to await death. Only his involuntarily chattering teeth betrayed his inner fear.
Liang Xingfu chanted another passage from the “Essential Sutra of Sacrificing the Body” and pressed the razor blade against Wu Dingyuan’s hand, about to apply force. Just then, a woman’s voice came from the nearby peach grove: “Guardian Liang, hold on!”
The razor trembled slightly as both Liang Xingfu and Wu Dingyuan looked over to see a tall woman pushing aside peach branches as she approached. In her hand, she held half an oil peach she had just picked, munching away with obvious enjoyment. Wu Dingyuan didn’t recognize her, but Liang Xingfu said coldly, “Zuo Yehe, you’ve arrived quickly.”
“Oh my, I rushed as fast as I could and barely made it in time.” Zuo Yehe took another bite of the peach before tossing it aside and wiping her hands with a silk handkerchief. “You cannot kill this man yet.”
“Hmm?” Liang Xingfu had expected her to first ask about the Crown Prince’s whereabouts, not show concern for Wu Dingyuan.
“I made some inquiries around Jinling city and learned something interesting…” Zuo Yehe walked up to Wu Dingyuan with a smile, studied him carefully, and then curiously reached out to touch his nose. “I need to take him to Jinan.”
Wu Dingyuan, who had resigned himself to death, suddenly opened his eyes. What had this woman discovered in Jinling? Why would she not only spare him but take him to Jinan?
Liang Xingfu held the razor, expressionless: “I am performing the Śīta Secret Method, which cannot be interrupted.”
Zuo Yehe, long accustomed to his religious ramblings, sniffed: “Hmph, whether you like it or not, you’ll have to wait. I’m taking this man to the Buddhist Mother. He might be the key to turning things around for her.”
Zuo Yehe didn’t elaborate on what this opportunity might be. Liang Xingfu’s brow furrowed slightly – after all, it was the White Lotus Buddhist Mother herself who had taught him the Śīta Secret Method. He couldn’t very well interfere with her opportunities.
“Then we’ll hold him for now. After I capture the Crown Prince in Huai’an, we can go to Jinan together,” Liang Xingfu said flatly.
Zuo Yehe’s expression suddenly turned rather strange: “Uh… about that, we don’t need to worry about the Crown Prince anymore.”
“He’s been caught?”
“No, someone else has taken over.”
Following Zuo Yehe’s gaze toward the peach grove, Liang Xingfu saw a fat man strolling out. He had a dark complexion with a ring of stiff beard below his chin, and his corpulent form nearly burst out of his green silk pleated robe, barely contained by a jade-inlaid waist sash.
The fat man was somewhat winded from climbing the mountain. He first pulled out a gold-flecked fan and loosened his collar, panting as he fanned himself. Zuo Yehe pointed to him: “This is the emissary of that noble person from the north, known as the Suanni Young Master.” As she said this name, she couldn’t help but smile slightly. Among the nine sons of the dragon, the fifth was called Suanni. The contrast between this fat man and his code name “Suanni” was truly too great. Upon hearing “that noble person from the north” while strapped to the wooden frame, Wu Dingyuan’s ears perked up.
All along, it had been the White Lotus Sect and pawns like Zhu Buhua fighting on the front lines, while the chess player orchestrating everything remained hidden behind a black curtain. Now, as a corner of that curtain lifted, this chess player finally revealed a hint of their identity.
Though the Suanni Young Master’s attire was ordinary, the jade belt at his waist was a privilege reserved for the imperial clan. That such a member of the imperial family would serve as his agent suggested this noble person’s identity was becoming clear, just as Yu Qian had deduced.
The Suanni Young Master glanced at Wu Dingyuan before quickly looking away. He snapped his gold-flecked fan shut with a “pa!” and said with a smile: “Originally, my noble master and your Buddhist Mother had agreed to act simultaneously from north and south. We in the north have more or less settled things, but you managed to let the Crown Prince escape from such careful arrangements in Nanjing, and even lost Zhu Buhua – it seems the White Lotus Sect’s reputation exceeds its actual capabilities.”
Though this criticism seemed casual, Zuo Yehe heard its gravity. This major failure had put the alliance between the noble person and the White Lotus Sect in jeopardy. If they lost the noble person’s trust, the White Lotus Sect would face… one might say a life-or-death crisis.
Zuo Yehe raised her willow-leaf eyebrows, about to defend herself, when the Suanni Young Master turned his fan around and gently lifted her chin: “However, this is also my noble master’s fault. How could outsiders be truly devoted to one’s personal affairs? You need not concern yourself further – this young master will personally take charge, and the young lady can rest easy.”
His oily face drew close to Zuo Yehe, nostrils flaring as if smelling her perfume. Zuo Yehe calmly plucked another peach from a nearby tree and forcefully stuffed it into his mouth. The gesture seemed intimate but successfully prevented his advance: “Don’t be careless. The Crown Prince has advisors by his side – they may already be sailing north.”
The Suanni Young Master chuckled, holding the peach as he strolled to the edge of Wangjiang Head, looking down at the winding man-made river below: “Though both born of water, how can a snake compare to a dragon? Your rat’s eyes cannot fathom a true dragon’s thoughts. The canal north passes through Xuzhou, Jining, Linqing, and Cangzhou – as long as the Crown Prince remains anywhere along the thousand-li canal, he cannot escape my grasp.”
His pudgy hand turned palm-down, his five radish-thick fingers forming a cage of flesh.
Zuo Yehe knew the Suanni Young Master wasn’t merely boasting. That noble person’s status was unfathomably high – even Zhu Buhua had willingly submitted to them, showing their tremendous influence among officials. If he chose to exert power along the canal, the Crown Prince who had slipped through Wu Dingyuan’s grasp would likely find escape impossible.
“But the Central Plains are vast – what if he doesn’t take the canal?” Zuo Yehe raised her beautiful eyes questioningly.
The Suanni Young Master laughed heartily, lightly waving his golden fan: “Life spans less than a hundred years, yet always brings a lifetime of worry. Days are short and nights too long, why not light a candle and wander? The immortal Prince Ziqiao is hard to meet at an appointed time— This very spot is Prince Ziqiao’s old alchemy site. Standing in an immortal’s dwelling, why burden yourselves with such mundane concerns?”
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
The fat man grinned: “Then he can while away his time on the road. As long as he doesn’t reach the capital by early next month, our grand plan is secured. How about it? Want to come along and witness a defeated dog’s fate?”
Zuo Yehe pretended not to hear him, crossing her arms: “Since the Young Master is so confident, I wish you victory in your campaign.”
“The item?”
The Suanni Young Master held out his hand. Zuo Yehe sighed – this fat man wasn’t foolish after all – and took out the jade pendant the Crown Prince had left behind in Nanjing, placing it in his hand.
After the handover, Zuo Yehe turned to Liang Xingfu: “At dawn, I’ll have the local altar arrange some swift horses. We’ll leave immediately to report back to the Buddhist Mother in Jinan.”
Liang Xingfu untied Wu Dingyuan from the pine frame and hoisted him onto his shoulder, heading down the mountain.
The Suanni Young Master continued playing with the jade pendant, clearly only interested in Zhu Zhanji’s whereabouts and completely indifferent to the fate of this minor constable.
Watching Zuo Yehe’s graceful figure disappear at the end of the mountain path, the Suanni Young Master clicked his tongue with lingering interest: “I should tell the Buddhist Mother to send this young lady over to practice the dual cultivation method with me. Since the White Lotus Sect has been ineffective this time, some compensation would be appropriate.”
He tucked his fan behind his neck and once again gazed down at the canal stretching like a white ribbon below. Near Li Gate Dam, lights blazed as throngs of laborers worked like ants. They were working full force to clear the barge accident, striving to restore navigation by dawn. The waiting barges had formed a long queue on the river, like an impatient dark serpent.
“Brother, oh brother, why couldn’t you learn from Zhu Yunwen and accept your fate earlier?” The Suanni Young Master heaved a long sigh, clutching tightly the Crown Prince’s jade pendant that Zuo Yehe had given him.
“Found it!”
Dozens of Yong’an garrison soldiers quickly converged on a tunnel opening discovered at the base of an earthen wall near a well. The entrance was concealed by vines and masonry, nearly impossible to spot without careful inspection.
Fang Du stared at the tunnel, veins bulging on his forehead in anger. These prisoners were too brazen, somehow digging an escape tunnel from their cell without anyone noticing. What did they take the Ministry of Justice branch office for? Some brothel to come and go as they pleased? More infuriating was that the jailers had been completely unaware – if Officer Xue hadn’t noticed a prisoner was missing, who knows when this would have been discovered.
The tunnel’s edges showed clear hands and footprints; the prisoner had crawled out and vanished. What puzzled Fang Du was why only one of the ten prisoners had escaped – why hadn’t they all fled together? The remaining nine prisoners unanimously claimed they respected the law too much to leave, leaving him at a loss.
Fang Du ordered soldiers to fill in the tunnel and cover it with a slate stone, then said irritably to Yu Qian beside him: “If Tingyi still wants to search anywhere in Huai’an, I can write an official letter asking them to accommodate you.” He finished with a slight yawn, implying he couldn’t waste any more time on this wild chase.
Yu Qian felt even more dejected. He had checked all the boatmen, only to have the last possibility of escape. Whether that prisoner was the Crown Prince or not, there was no way to know now. If the Yong’an garrison couldn’t find him, what chance did Yu Qian have?
“Should I just tell Fang Du the truth?” The thought crossed Yu Qian’s mind. “From his manner and behavior, he’s almost certainly not involved in the rebellion. Telling him the truth shouldn’t be a problem…” But he bit down hard, forcefully suppressing the idea. Never revealing the Crown Prince’s true identity was his principle – how could he go back on it? While Fang Du was ninety percent likely uninvolved in the rebellion, what about that remaining ten percent? With the Crown Prince bearing the weight of the realm, they couldn’t take any risks, not even slightly.
Since Fang Du had politely asked them to leave, Yu Qian couldn’t stay longer. After bidding farewell, he went to find Su Jingxi. That woman was resourceful – perhaps she would have some good ideas.
The Ministry of Justice branch had finished taking Su Jingxi’s statement. She hadn’t disappointed Yu Qian, crafting a reasonable story explaining her presence on the barge that raised no suspicions. Yu Qian explained the current situation to her, and after pondering briefly, she shook her head helplessly: “We have no options now – we can only trust in the Crown Prince’s fortune… however…”
“However what?”
“You said there was such a large escape tunnel, yet only one of ten prisoners fled – that’s very strange. Could it be that the escapee had special status and received protection from the others? Could it be the Crown Prince…”
“That’s impossible!” Yu Qian firmly rejected the idea. “The cell was full of White Lotus believers planning rebellion – how could they protect the Crown Prince?”
The White Lotus Sect, as executors and accomplices in the plot against both capitals, could be said to be mortal enemies with the Crown Prince’s faction. Suggesting they would protect him was more absurd than a weasel paying New Year’s respect to chickens.
Su Jingxi sighed softly: “If Wu Dingyuan were here, he’d surely have a way.”
Yu Qian’s jaw tensed – he’d been so focused on finding the Crown Prince last night that he hadn’t properly mourned the fate of “Mie Gao Zi.” Now that they were at their wits’ end, they found themselves missing that minor constable’s abilities.
That fellow may have had a sharp tongue and cold face, but he always found a way to create hope in desperate situations. If it were him, what would he do?
Yu Qian calmed himself and tried to emulate “Mie Gao Zi’s” thinking, throwing out conventional wisdom and letting his mind wander down the most unorthodox and outrageous paths. When Yu Qian himself felt compelled to object, that was probably close to Wu Dingyuan’s style. After long contemplation, Yu Qian opened his eyes and reluctantly said: “If we can’t find the Crown Prince, then we’ll have to make the Crown Prince find us.”
Then he explained his plan. Even someone as composed and reserved as Su Jingxi couldn’t help but show an expression that seemed to say, “Can we do that?”
It was now early morning on May 22nd (Xinmao), with thick leaden clouds blanketing the sky, not allowing even a breath of wind through. Yet both the new and old cities of Huai’an were bustling with activity, especially at West Lake Mouth where the canal intersected with Hexia Main Street, which was particularly lively. This spot connected the docks, warehouses, and both cities’ interior and exterior, and had been crowded with traffic since before sunrise. The travelers kicked up a layer of dust that perpetually hung in the air of West Lake Mouth, never settling.
Beside the busiest memorial arch at West Lake Mouth, a scholarly-looking man sat at a small square table with a maidservant standing nearby. The table held the four treasures of the study, though all were of poor quality. Beside him stood a large banner reading: “Scholar Hong Wang’s Personal Instruction in Essential Composition Techniques – On-site Guidance, Guaranteed Success in the Capital, Continuous Achievement in Imperial Examinations.” The ink looked freshly written, not yet dry.
Passing travelers who could read couldn’t help but stop for a second look. Who was this Hong Wang? Such grand claims – if his guidance could produce top scholars, why wasn’t he taking the examinations himself? Looking at the scholar, though his features were proper and his demeanor rather shy, he didn’t appear to be a braggart.
The more outlandish the gimmick, the more it sparked discussion. Since the Ming Dynasty began imperial examinations, who had ever sold literary techniques on the street? Several scholars went to test him and found this self-proclaimed Hong Wang had some skill – though not as miraculous as the banner claimed, his citations and explanations were quite thorough. Of course, some berated him face-to-face for degrading scholarly dignity, but the scholar just blushed and stayed put.
Word spread quickly, and even many illiterate peddlers gathered to see this supposed miracle worker of composition. In just half a morning, Yu Qian found he had earned quite a bit of silver. He handed it to Su Jingxi with a bitter smile, lamenting internally that this was like burning a zither to cook a crane, but since it was his idea, he had to see it through, even through tears.
Since the Crown Prince’s alias was Hong Wang, if he heard that a “Hong Wang” was setting up shop in Huai’an city and “guaranteeing success in the capital,” he would surely guess who it was.
By nearly noon, Yu Qian had served over a dozen customers, speaking until his mouth was dry and his head covered in sweat, yet not daring to leave. He was just about to ask Su Jingxi to fetch some well water when he felt a tug on his sleeve.
Yu Qian looked down to see a seven or eight-year-old child pulling at him. He had no interest in playing and was about to take out a copper coin to send the child away. But the child shook their head, saying someone wanted to invite him to give a lecture at their hall. Yu Qian patted their head: “I can’t leave – tell your elder to come here instead.” The child replied: “My elder says it must be Master Hong Wang himself, and there will be freshly ground small apricot kernels to eat.”
Upon hearing “small apricot kernels,” Yu Qian’s head buzzed. Amid the spectators’ sighs, the two followed the child away from West Lake Mouth.
The child led them through streets and alleys, quickly arriving near a cluster of low shanties. This was a product of Huai’an’s new city’s westward expansion – though planned, the city walls hadn’t yet been extended here. So while nominally within the city, it was no different from the villages outside. Most residents were craftsmen from the Qingjiang Factory and tenant farmers from around Huai’an.
Yu Qian and Su Jingxi were led by the child to a simple dwelling among the shanties. As soon as he stepped inside, Yu Qian knew something was wrong – in the center of the hall sat a Maitreya Buddha statue with a white lotus flower beneath it. Around it flickered more than ten eternal lamps, three incense sticks burned in a censer, and several old women knelt below, mumbling some kind of chant.
“White Lotus Sect?!”
Yu Qian realized it was a trap and couldn’t help but cry out. Su Jingxi quickly drew the copper hairpin from her bun and grabbed the child. Frightened, the child burst into tears. The old women heard and hurriedly stood up, but were frozen by Yu Qian’s intense stare.
The ambush surely wasn’t limited to these old women – what was their true intention? Questions flashed through Yu Qian’s mind when suddenly someone emerged from the back hall wearing hemp short clothes that seemed to be embroidered with the White Lotus symbol. But when he saw the face – who else could it be but the Crown Prince?
Yu Qian let out a gasp, overwhelmed with emotion, and ignoring the Crown Prince’s strange attire, stepped forward to bow. But Zhu Zhanji glared at him, signaling not to make a scene. Yu Qian was too excited to notice and was still about to prostrate himself when Su Jingxi released the child and jabbed Yu Qian’s arm with her hairpin, finally bringing him to his senses.
Zhu Zhanji comforted the child and then led the two to the back hall. After closing the doors and windows tightly, he explained what had happened.
After escaping through the tunnel, Zhu Zhanji followed Kong Eighteen’s instructions to the altar he managed. When the Crown Prince showed the copper lotus, the people at the altar immediately treated him as an honored guest.
The White Lotus Sect’s altars were very loosely managed – anyone who worshipped Maitreya and could gather around ten followers could establish an altar. This particular altar knew nothing of the White Lotus Sect’s grand scheme in Nanjing; they simply practiced vegetarianism and Buddhist worship, harboring no suspicions about the Crown Prince. Zhu Zhanji had enjoyed a good bath here and had gotten some food.
Eager to reconnect with Yu Qian and the others, he had asked the altar workers to gather information. When they heard about Master Hong Wang’s street-side promises of success in the capital, he sent a child to deliver the message.
Yu Qian rubbed his hands together, overcome with joy: “Being able to find Your Highness is heaven’s blessing. I’ll speak with Fang Du about preparing a fast boat to cross the dam, and we can depart as soon as possible.”
“Where’s Wu Dingyuan?” The Crown Prince looked behind them.
The room’s atmosphere suddenly grew heavy. Su Jingxi recounted how he had been taken away by Liang Xingfu, and the Crown Prince stood up abruptly: “Where did the Enemy of the Sick Buddha take him?” Su Jingxi shook her head. Zhu Zhanji frowned deeply and turned to Yu Qian: “Don’t you know that Magistrate Fang? Can’t you have him search the city for this criminal Liang Xingfu?”
Yu Qian also shook his head: “If we have the Ministry of Justice branch search the city, it would inevitably reveal Your Highness’s true identity – too risky.”
“Bang!” The Crown Prince’s palm slammed heavily on the table: “You’re abandoning him to death! Liang Xingfu and Wu Dingyuan’s family are mortal enemies – what chance of survival does he have in his hands? Huh?!”
Yu Qian lowered his head but insisted: “Wu Dingyuan’s plight pains me to my core. However, time is pressing, and Your Highness’s secret journey to the capital is paramount. If traitors usurp the throne, bringing suffering to all under heaven, how can that compare to the suffering of one family or one person?”
Yu Qian’s words were entirely correct, but a fire had been building in Zhu Zhanji’s chest that suddenly erupted. He kicked over a round stool: “Hide! Hide! Hide! Why do you always make me hide my identity? Are all officials along the canal route traitors, with only you, Yu Qian, being loyal?”
“Your Highness, haven’t I explained? We can’t risk it. If even one person…” Yu Qian tried to continue his patient persuasion, but Su Jingxi stopped him.
She knew the Crown Prince was impulsive, and lecturing him now would only add fuel to the fire. While restraining Yu Qian, she spoke softly to Zhu Zhanji: “Please calm your anger, Your Highness. Before Wu Dingyuan was taken, he specifically instructed me to tell Your Highness not to worry about him and to return to the capital quickly…”
Zhu Zhanji raged: “Not worry about him? By the time I reach the capital, his bones will have rotted away!”
Su Jingxi sighed softly and told them both about Wu Dingyuan’s background and the grudge between his family and the Enemy of the Sick Buddha. The Crown Prince had heard the first half in the water prison, while this was all new to Yu Qian. After hearing it, both were greatly shocked. They had no idea that “Mie Gao Zi” harbored such a complex past.
“Everything he did, the life he lived, was quietly destroying himself – self-destruction. I suspect he has long harbored a death wish,” Su Jingxi spoke with emotion, though her tone remained controlled. “But this time is different. He says he has no one to care about, that death means nothing, sounding as self-destructive as always. But in my years of medical practice, I know that’s just a facade. He made this choice because he still has something he cares about – please understand this, Your Highness.”
With a clang, the small incense burner fell from Yu Qian’s robes and rolled to the Crown Prince’s feet. Zhu Zhanji bent to pick it up, rubbing the bloodstains on its surface. His shoulders slumped as he barely contained his anger: “Then, when do we leave?”
Yu Qian looked up hopefully, then quickly lowered his head: “I’ll go arrange things with Fang Du right away.” He then practically fled from the altar.
Zhu Zhanji sat back in his chair, somewhat dejected, the guilt of abandoning someone to death weighing on his heart like a stone lock. Su Jingxi took this opportunity to treat his arrow wound. Though the Crown Prince had been through much these past few days, the wound was healing well, with the cursed arrowhead about to work its way out – they couldn’t be careless now.
Halfway through the treatment, there came a sudden banging on the door outside. The altar’s manager came in, smiling apologetically: “Could our honored guest spare some silver notes? There’s an urgent need.” The Crown Prince knew Kong Eighteen’s altar had no property and relied on mutual support among the poor. An urgent need usually meant someone had died or fallen ill. He generously waved his hand, sending over the dozen or so strings of treasure notes and loose silver that Yu Qian had earned that morning. The manager expressed profuse thanks: “We’ll repay it when the public funds allow.”
The Crown Prince said no repayment was necessary and casually asked what the urgent need was. The manager explained: “It’s for merit donations. When guardians from upper altars travel on business, the Buddhist Mother issues a near-dharma decree asking local altars to assist, either with people or money. These contributions accumulate merit, hence they’re called merit donations.”
“Has a guardian recently come to Huai’an?” Zhu Zhanji’s eyes narrowed, sensing something amiss.
“They arrived yesterday and issued a decree for believers from all altars in Huai’an to go to the Four Kings Rest Temple. However, they wanted able-bodied men, and our altar only has the elderly and infirm, so we didn’t send anyone. Today they came asking for merit donations, which we couldn’t refuse.”
Zhu Zhanji’s eyes flickered, and he said to the manager: “Please ask the altar elder to find out what great deed the guardian is undertaking that requires merit donations. If it’s truly an auspicious opportunity, I wouldn’t mind providing more support.” The manager was overjoyed and hurried off with the money to inquire.
Only two people remained in the room. Su Jingxi had been carefully massaging the wound area, completely silent throughout, but Zhu Zhanji knew this clever girl must have understood something from the conversation. However, he wasn’t worried about Su Jingxi revealing anything, as she always seemed to understand his thoughts best.
Thinking of this, warmth returned to Zhu Zhanji’s heart. When her delicate fingers pressed against his shoulder wound again, the Crown Prince couldn’t help but raise his hand to grasp hers, their fingertips touching smoothly, making his heart flutter. But Su Jingxi’s hand didn’t pause at all, gently circling the wound before quickly withdrawing. Zhu Zhanji’s hand hung awkwardly in the air, and he could only raise it in imitation of Wu Dingyuan’s gesture of shaking a clenched fist.
Less than half an hour later, Yu Qian returned, saying: “The boat is all arranged – it’s an excellent fresh-delivery speedboat, departing at noon directly for the capital.” His flushed face suggested that Fang Du had probably been annoyed into reluctantly providing a letter of recommendation.
So the Crown Prince and Su Jingxi quickly gathered their things and hurriedly left with Yu Qian. Just before they left the altar, the manager came running back, panting and whispered something in the Crown Prince’s ear. Zhu Zhanji made a sound of acknowledgment without any other reaction, only asking Yu Qian to give the manager more treasure notes.
Amid the mumbling chants of the old women, they returned to West Lake Mouth, crossed the canal along Huai’an’s riverside road, and arrived at Qingjiang Mouth.
Qingjiang Mouth was Huai’an’s canal hub, with almost no vegetation; the riverbanks were filled with rows of shops, workshops, and docks of all sizes. Ships arriving here had to unload and reload, whether crossing the dam or taking the Qingjiang Pu new river, before entering the Huai River. Last night’s accident seemed to have had little impact. Mule and ox carts of various sizes converged from all directions, forming small whirlpools. Short-jacketed porters swarmed forward, carrying away or hoisting up their cargo amid the shouts of boat owners. Deckhands ran back and forth, enduring the scolding of canal officials while operating the boats and lowering gangplanks, not forgetting to throw curses at neighboring vessels.
Before yesterday, Zhu Zhanji would have seen only chaos. But now, amid this messy clamor, he seemed to understand a hint of the order hidden within the chaos. This pattern, though seemingly ephemeral, truly drove things forward, like the river before them – carrying both silt and sand, rough and turbid, yet always flowing proudly eastward.
They quickly found their fresh-delivery boat at the end of the foremost pier, its bow flying a golden-yellow flag declaring “Imperial Household Fresh Delivery – Make Way,” indicating the highest right of passage on the canal.
Yu Qian handed Fang Du’s letter to the boatman, wiping sweat from his brow as he asked worriedly: “Will this weather delay our departure?” The boatman thumped his chest confidently: “There’ll definitely be a big rain soon, but water is usually scarce in May – more rain is good, it’ll only make the boat go faster.” Yu Qian was delighted, but when he looked up, he saw the Crown Prince had already entered the cabin with Su Jingxi’s assistance.
At noon on May 22nd, the fresh-delivery boat departed Qingjiang Mouth right on schedule. Soon it slipped through the final Huaiyin lock into the broad main channel of the Huai River, raising its sail to head west.
As the boatman had predicted, just as the fresh-delivery boat entered the Huai River, the sky darkened completely. Dark clouds quickly condensed into ink-black masses, and huge raindrops began striking the bow, spreading into circular ripples. Soon the droplets merged into sheets, and the sheets combined into curtains, countless veils descending simultaneously from the heavenly dome, enveloping both the boat and its occupants in a misty waterscape.
Most people had retreated into the cabin, but one figure remained standing long at the bow, seemingly trapped by the rain and mist, lost in unfathomable contemplation.