The sky was overcast, sealed by leaden clouds.
The heat of the Grain in Ear season in the fifth month, unable to disperse, transformed into steamy vapors that haunted the length of the Grand Canal. These vapors condensed into sticky, warm rain that fell continuously for days. Rather than feeling refreshed, travelers along the way experienced a suffocating dread, as if they would never see the sun again.
The vast region between Huai’an and Yanzhou seemed trapped under an immense gray-black steamer lid that refused to lift. It perfectly embodied those eight characters from “Records of Yueyang Tower”: “Endless dreary rain, months without clearing.”
Since leaving Huai’an, the imperial fresh-produce vessel had encountered nothing but this dreary weather. Traveling day and night, it passed through Fuli, then Chacheng, through Feng and Teng, crossing straight through the four lakes of Weishan, Zhaoyang, Dushan, and Nanyang. It reached Yanzhou Prefecture territory on the twenty-fifth day of the fifth month—remarkable speed indeed. Unfortunately, upon entering Yanzhou’s waters, the vessel’s pace slowed dramatically. This section of the canal was dotted with dams and locks; every few dozen li, they had to stop to pass through them. Adding to the delay, they were traveling against the current, requiring towmen on both banks to pull the boat. If not for the imperial banner flying at the bow granting them priority passage, they might have been stuck for days.
“When will we no longer need towmen?” Prince Zhu Zhanji stood at the ship’s side, hands behind his back, watching the locks slowly recede behind them. His expression was marginally darker than the sky above. The towmen on both banks called out their rhythmic work songs as they strained at the ropes, and each time the Crown Prince’s gaze swept over them, his lips would twitch slightly.
Yu Qian tried to comfort him: “Your Highness, please be patient. This section of the Tonghui Canal is slow going due to the terrain. Once we pass Wenshang County ahead, the waterway becomes much smoother.”
Zhu Zhanji cast him a sidelong glance. “Didn’t you previously tell me the waterway was smooth with barely any obstacles, capable of covering one hundred and eighty li in a day and night? How did you fail to mention this exceptional section?”
Yu Qian fell silent before bowing in apology, admitting his oversight. Since leaving Huai’an, he had sensed a change in the Crown Prince’s attitude toward him. The change was subtle, difficult to describe, without any concrete evidence, yet something felt distinctly off. Su Jingxi, holding an oil-paper umbrella behind the Crown Prince, gave a light cough. The Prince, realizing his tone had been sharp, pointed toward the riverbank to change the subject: “You mentioned terrain constraints, but I see the canal banks are quite flat and broad. There are neither mountains nor valleys—so what exactly are these constraints?”
When it came to professional matters, Yu Qian’s spirit revived. The Crown Prince’s interest in river administration and geography was certainly preferable to his fascination with cricket fighting. He said softly, “Your Highness, please wait a moment…” He quickly returned to his cabin, retrieved an oilskin-wrapped distance map, and spread it before Zhu Zhanji. As light rain still fell, Su Jingxi moved the umbrella forward slightly to shield the map.
“Your Highness should know that originally this north-south canal didn’t pass through Shandong at all, but rather went west against the Huai River, first turning to Fengqiu in Henan, then switching to land transport to Qimen, before following the Wei River and Zhigu to reach Dadu.”
As Yu Qian spoke, he drew with a charcoal pen on the map, quickly marking out a thick black curved line. “This route was winding and circuitous, requiring both water and land transport, making it extremely troublesome. In the twenty-sixth year of Zhiyuan, Yuan Emperor Shizu excavated a canal section within Shandong’s borders, from Dongping to Linqing Junction, hence named the Tonghui Canal. From then on, grain transport boats no longer needed to detour through Henan. After our Great Ming established its rule, the Tonghui Canal was extended further, south to Xuzhou Garrison and north to Linqing, connecting with the Lake Transport, Wei Transport, and Bai Transport routes, finally achieving a straight north-south passage. However…”
“However what?” The Crown Prince listened with intense focus.
“In the twenty-fourth year of Hongwu, the Yellow River breached its banks near Yuanwu, destroying the Tonghui Canal and halting grain transport. It wasn’t until the ninth year of Yongle that the Emperor, planning to move the capital to Beijing, commissioned Minister of Works Song Li to reopen the Tonghui Canal and restore grain transport.”
The Crown Prince made a sound of acknowledgment; he had heard of this name—the man had passed away just a few years ago.
“Opening the Tonghui Canal presented an enormous challenge. Your Highness, please look here.” Yu Qian placed a small dry ink pad under the oilskin map, right in Wenshang County. The previously flat map now showed a prominent bump. He pointed to the raised area and continued: “The terrain of the Tonghui Canal is like a massive arch bridge. The highest point of this arch is at Wenshang County in Yanzhou’s middle section, known as the River Ridge. From this ridge, the northern end descends ninety chi over three hundred li to Linqing, while the southern end drops one hundred and sixteen chi over two hundred and ninety li to Chacheng. Your Highness can imagine how water might flow across such a dramatically uneven terrain?”
Zhu Zhanji carefully studied the raised map, thinking this was indeed a thorny problem. “Water naturally flows downward. With such a ridge in the middle, it’s impossible to draw water from the lower points at Linqing and Xuzhou. The only solution would be to somehow channel water to the highest point at Wenshang County, then let it flow down both sides to feed the canal.”
Yu Qian praised him: “Exactly right! Minister Song was so preoccupied with finding a water source that he could barely eat or sleep. He searched everywhere for experienced water engineers until he found a local elder named Bai Ying. Bai Ying proposed an ingenious solution called ‘Borrowing Water for Navigation, Using the Wen River to Aid the Canal.'”
The Prince mulled over these words, brow furrowed, not quite grasping their meaning.
“Elder Bai explained that while the Tonghui Canal’s highest point was in Wenshang County, and Wenshang’s highest point was in Nanwang Town, the highest point in Nanwang was a small village to the north called Dai Village. Beside Dai Village ran the Wen River, whose riverbed was three hundred chi higher than Nanwang—a natural gift from heaven.”
“Wait, don’t tell me more, let me guess.” The Prince stared at the map for a long while, took the charcoal pen from Yu Qian, and hesitantly drew a black line from the river channel near Dai Village: “If a large dam were built at Dai Village, it could divert the Wen River to flow toward Nanwang. Then, building a distribution dam at Nanwang could split Wen’s water, feeding it into both the northern and southern canal sections. Following the natural slope down to Xuzhou and Linqing would ensure adequate water supply throughout the canal.”
“Precisely!”
Yu Qian, seeing the Crown Prince’s keen interest in canal administration, immediately forgot his earlier discomfort: “Minister Song’s solution was virtually identical to Your Highness’s insight. He built the Dai Village Dam, dredged the Little Wen River, and let the Wen River flow into the canal through Nanwang’s lock. At the inlet, a fish-mouth distributor splits the Wen’s flow—seven parts flowing north, three parts south. Local folk have a saying: ‘Seven parts to the Son of Heaven, three parts to Jiangnan’—we’ll pass the fish mouth shortly, and Your Highness can observe it.”
Yu Qian continued: “Due to this special terrain and water flow pattern of the Tonghui Canal, about forty locks were built along the way, storing water level by level to ensure navigation, known as lock transport.”
“What are these circles?” The Prince’s finger pointed to another spot on the map. North of Nanwang Lock, five small circles were strung along the thick line representing the canal, close together like candied haws on a stick.
Yu Qian bent to look, then smiled: “Your Highness has keen eyes. This was another of Minister Song’s innovations. These five circles represent five artificial lakes: Anshan Lake, Nanwang Lake, Shushan Lake, Mata Lake, and Machang Lake. During heavy rains and floods, excess canal water can be diverted into these lakes; during droughts, water from the five lakes can be released into the canal to regulate water levels. Minister Song called these five lakes ‘water cabinets’—quite an apt name.”
The Prince nodded while carefully reading the waterway details on the map, greatly pleasing Yu Qian. Though he didn’t quite understand why the Prince had suddenly developed such interest in this section’s geography, such attention to matters of public welfare from the heir apparent could only bode well for the realm!
“What’s this thin line extending northeast?” Zhu Zhanji suddenly asked.
This question stumped Yu Qian. He was familiar only with the grain transport canal, not other waterways. Yu Qian’s face reddened slightly as he quietly asked for a moment, then ran to the stern to fetch the pilot. Having become quite familiar with these additional passengers over the past few days, the pilot was happy to help explain when asked about the waterway. He looked at the map and smiled: “That thin line is the Little Qing River, used for draining the five lakes. While our transport canal goes northwest to Linqing, this line goes northeast, first draining into the Great Qing River, then on to Jinan.”
“So this waterway is also navigable?”
“Indeed it is. Many official and private vessels use the Little Qing River to reach Jinan. I remember the year the White Lotus rebels caused trouble, General Jin Rong intercepted several grain ships from Jiangnan at Nanwang and diverted them along the Little and Great Qing Rivers to reach Jinan city.”
“I see…” The Prince nodded and returned his attention to the canal scenery. Only Su Jingxi noticed the flash of light in his eyes that quickly disappeared.
The imperial vessel traveled for another hour before the channel suddenly narrowed and the current grew swift. Following the pilot’s direction, passengers could see in the distance a grayish-yellow stone embankment on the left bank, standing out starkly against the lush greenery. This stone embankment, reinforced with bamboo cages filled with rocks and piled earth, formed a long fish-mouth projection, with a temple to the Golden Dragon Fourth King standing on the hillside nearby.
This was the famous Nanwang Lock’s fish-mouth distributor, the true midpoint of the thousand-li canal.
The massive white waters roared down from the upper Wen River, crashing against the stone embankment at tremendous speed, shattering into spray before being split in two by the sharp fish mouth, feeding into the southern and northern channels. The sound of water striking stone thundered like ten thousand soldiers charging into battle, only to be checked by mighty fortress walls. This eternal dance of assault and defense, motion and stillness, created a mysterious tableau rich with philosophical meaning. Those watching from the ship’s rail couldn’t help but be awed by its heavenly majesty.
Yu Qian couldn’t help but sigh: “Without seeing it firsthand, it’s impossible to imagine the immense difficulty Minister Song faced in building this fish mouth.”
Several nearby sailors laughed: “Sir, you might not know, but locals have another name for this fish-mouth distributor—they call it the Prison of Ten Thousand Souls.”
The Prince asked curiously: “Why such a name?” An old sailor lowered his voice: “They say when Minister Song was building the fish mouth, it kept collapsing no matter how many times they rebuilt it. Later, an old Daoist said the place had too much yang energy and needed yin energy to balance it. Minister Song didn’t dare decide alone and asked the Emperor, who issued an imperial edict sending Imperial Guards to kill ten thousand laborers working on the embankment, burying their bodies beneath the dam to harness ten thousand wronged souls as guardians. See that Golden Dragon Fourth King Temple over there? It was built to appease these wronged spirits…”
“Silence!”
Yu Qian shouted angrily. “What nonsense! You’re slandering the Yongle Emperor—that’s a capital offense!” The sailors, feeling the mood sour, scattered quickly. He then turned to Zhu Zhanji: “You mustn’t believe these absurd folk tales. Ten thousand wronged souls—pure nonsense! Yes, there were difficulties and repeated collapses during construction, but if ten thousand people had died at once, all of Shandong would have been in chaos.”
Zhu Zhanji gave him an exasperated look: “I have enough judgment to figure that out without your guidance.” He turned his gaze back to the fish mouth, then suddenly sighed softly: “Still, for common people to create such stories shows considerable resentment toward Grandfather. The court paid a heavy price indeed to build this canal.”
“The current Emperor’s desire to move the capital back to Jinling shows his benevolent heart and consideration for the people’s welfare,” Yu Qian added timely.
“But is Father right to do this? Was Grandfather right to do what he did?” Zhu Zhanji murmured, hand resting on the ship’s rail. Ordinarily, this wouldn’t have been a question, but since meeting Kong Eighteen, doubt had crept into his heart. He now realized the essential nature of this question was choosing sides between the Yongle and Hongxi emperors.
Moving south to reduce burdens, moving north to guard the borders—there was no right or wrong, only what the Emperor wanted, what the Great Ming needed.
“What did you say?” Yu Qian called out loudly—the rushing water had been too loud for him to hear clearly. Zhu Zhanji shook his head, deciding to hold his tongue for now, fearing it might prompt one of Yu Qian’s lengthy lectures. To avoid further discussion, the Prince casually turned his head away and happened to notice Su Jingxi standing nearby. She leaned slightly over the rail, her slender neck like that of a beautiful white crane. Zhu Zhanji wondered what had captured her attention so completely, and following her gaze into the distance, he discovered she was staring intently at the Golden Dragon Fourth King Temple atop the fish mouth.
Is she still worried about Wu Dingyuan? Zhu Zhanji wondered silently, though he dared not ask directly. Su Jingxi was gentle and refined, with impeccable manners, yet he could never quite figure her out—as if there was always a silk curtain between them. He had the persistent feeling that if he were to pull away that curtain, the person behind it would vanish.
He didn’t approach her, just stood there gazing at her profile for a while before suddenly announcing, “I’m tired. I’ll go rest for a bit.” Without waiting for the others to react, he turned and ducked into his cabin.
As Yu Qian had said, once past the fish mouth, the boat’s speed increased. Since Nanwang was the canal’s high point, heading north meant sailing with the current, and with seven-tenths of the water flowing north, the current was quite strong. The lightly loaded imperial vessel skimmed swiftly across the water’s surface, passing through several lakes before reaching Anshan Lake by evening.
Anshan Lake, the northernmost of the five water reservoirs, wasn’t particularly large but connected to various tributaries and had a small shipping dock. The imperial fresh-produce vessel, prioritizing speed, would resupply at Anshan Lake to save time rather than stopping at the crowded hub of Linqing.
After the boat docked, the pilot took several crew members to purchase supplies. Yu Qian was in his room calculating travel times, figuring they could reach Linqing by noon on the twenty-fifth day of the fifth month, hoping Zhang Quan would be waiting there. As he pondered the specific meeting arrangements, there was a knock at the door, and Su Jingxi entered.
“Master Yu, His Highness has summoned us to his room.”
“What for?” Yu Qian found it rather abrupt. Su Jingxi shook her head, indicating she didn’t know either.
They quickly arrived at Zhu Zhanji’s cabin door. It was a small room adjacent to the right side of the ship, with windows overlooking the canal. The door was ajar, and the sound of zither strings drifted through the gap.
According to the pilot, the instrument belonged to a previous passenger who, unable to pay the full fare, had left this Xiangquan zither as collateral and never returned to redeem it. The Prince had borrowed it and would occasionally play during the journey. Yu Qian welcomed this development—such refined interests were far preferable to cricket fighting.
Yu Qian stepped into the cabin and felt an inexplicable heaviness in his heart. Unlike Old Dragon Head of the White Dragon Guild, he wasn’t well-versed in music and couldn’t identify what the Prince was playing. But the melody wasn’t serene or elegant at all; instead, it carried notes of severity and killing intent—the player’s mind must be troubled. What was wrong with the Prince?
As he and Su Jingxi entered, the Prince finally stopped playing, though the strings’ vibrations still lingered in the air.
“How is Your Highness’s arrow wound?” Yu Qian decided to ease the atmosphere first.
“Thanks to Physician Su’s skilled hands, I expect the arrowhead will work itself out in a few days.” The Prince rotated his shoulder as he spoke, showing much more mobility than before.
It was nearly dusk, with only a short, shielded candle providing unstable light in the cabin. Yu Qian noticed something odd about Zhu Zhanji’s expression as if he had something difficult to say.
“I have calculated our water route to Linqing, where we can meet Lord Zhang at—”
“Master Yu.”
“—at the tax station by the canal in Linqing, where all passing vessels must—”
“Yu Tingyi!” The Prince’s voice grew louder. Yu Qian finally closed his mouth: “Your servant is here.”
“I have decided not to go to Linqing.”
These words came with a long exhale, suggesting they had been held back for some time. Yu Qian seemed not to have heard clearly, so the Prince repeated himself, pushing away the Xiangquan zither. Yu Qian’s jaw tightened, his eyebrows quickly drawing together: “If Your Highness isn’t going to Linqing, then where?”
Zhu Zhanji said, “I’ve studied the water map carefully. There’s a prefectural river on the east side of Anshan Lake that flows into the Great and Little Qing Rivers. If we change boats now, we can still make it.”
“The Great and Little Qing Rivers? What would you do there?”
“Take the Little Qing River to Shenkou Town, which is right next to Jinan City.”
Yu Qian was dumbfounded. Jinan? Though there were main roads from Jinan to the capital, they couldn’t compare to the canal’s speed. Why take the longer route? Had Physician Su given the Prince the wrong medicine? He cast a questioning look at Su Jingxi, but she just shook her head slightly, indicating she didn’t know either.
Having said this much, Zhu Zhanji decided to be completely honest: “Remember the White Lotus temple manager in Huai’an? He borrowed money from me because two protectors had come from Nanjing seeking donations. I gave him some money and inquired about these protectors—one was a woman called Zuo Yehe, and the other’s name is unknown but he was extremely large with scars and burn marks, matching the description of Sick Buddha’s Enemy. Besides them, there was a third person whose face couldn’t be seen, but he was tall and thin. This person was kept bound, apparently a prisoner.”
Yu Qian’s eyes focused sharply: “Could it be… Wu Dingyuan? He’s not dead?”
He had assumed Wu Dingyuan couldn’t have survived after being taken by Liang Xingfu. Yu Qian had even mentally composed a eulogy for him. But hearing the Prince’s words, something seemed strange.
“Doesn’t Sick Buddha’s Enemy have a deep blood feud with the Wu family?” Su Jingxi’s expression changed slightly.
“I don’t know about that, but Wu Dingyuan is alive.” The Prince’s tone lightened somewhat. “The temple manager learned that the protector called Zuo Yehe mentioned needing horses that could run to Jinan in one go when buying mounts.”
Yu Qian was suddenly startled, looking at the Prince in disbelief: “You… you’re not going to Jinan to rescue Wu Dingyuan, are you?”
“Yes!” Zhu Zhanji seemed to have made a great determination. “That fellow saved my life several times from Nanjing to Huai’an. It’s my turn to save him now.”
“Your Highness, don’t be foolish!”
Yu Qian was both shocked and angry. The situation in the capital was precarious—how could they spare time to detour to Jinan for a rescue?
“If Wu Dingyuan were dead, I could wait until after my coronation to hunt down his killers. But now he’s in enemy hands, his fate unknown. If I ignore this, what kind of man would I be? What kind of ruler would I be?” By the end, Zhu Zhanji’s voice had risen to nearly a shout.
“Wu Dingyuan is my friend too, and I am extremely worried about his capture. But you can’t act on impulse and lightly say—”
“This isn’t an impulse.” Zhu Zhanji raised his hand to cut off Yu Qian’s words. “I made this decision when I heard in Huai’an that he’d gone to Jinan. I’ve been questioning whether this decision is right throughout our journey. I’ll be honest—I even secretly cast coins for divination, hoping for some heavenly guidance.”
As he spoke, he pulled a Yongle Tongbao coin from his sleeve: “Heads meant to go to Jinan, tails meant to go to Linqing. I tossed it three times, and got tails each time.”
“Then… isn’t Heaven telling Your Highness to go to Linqing?”
“Wrong. Each time I saw the result, I wanted to toss it again. After three times, I truly understood which path my heart was pointing toward.” He flicked the coin with his thumb, sending it spinning through the air before it fell with a “clang” onto the blood-stained incense burner on the table, showing its blank reverse side.
Yu Qian stared at the coin, his beard trembling slightly. No wonder the Prince had suddenly asked such detailed questions about river administration when passing Nanwang Lock—his true interest lay elsewhere. He picked up the incense burner, his voice somewhat shaky: “Has Your Highness forgotten? You swore on this incense burner to return to the capital. This is for the Emperor, for the royal family, for the realm—you cannot act willfully! This is your responsibility as heir to the throne.”
“The people are precious, the state comes second, and the ruler is least important—aren’t these your teachings, Yu Tingyi? Is Wu Dingyuan not one of the people? Is Kong Eighteen not one of the people? Aren’t White Dragon Hook and the Zheng brothers among the people? Are you suggesting I should keep walking away from them time and again?”
Zhu Zhanji’s “twisted logic” left Yu Qian momentarily speechless, but he refused to back down. The matter was too important—even if it meant being disrespectful or overstepping his bounds, he couldn’t allow any deviation. Yu Qian stiffened his neck and spread his arms to block the cabin door.
“You dare disobey Our command?!” Zhu Zhanji emphasized the royal “We,” trying to channel the authority of his grandfather and father.
“You’re not Emperor yet!” Yu Qian had thrown caution to the wind. “Even when Your Highness ascends the throne, you should know that an emperor must act with the realm in mind, not follow personal whims!”
Zhu Zhanji retorted: “Didn’t you just say I’m not Emperor yet? Then perfect—I’m not bound by that title!”
Yu Qian was struck speechless, feeling he’d been caught in his logic. Unable to think of a counter-argument, he simply thrust out his chest: “I serve as Right Assistant Director of the Eastern Palace, and I precisely must remonstrate with and correct the Crown Prince. When the heir shows misguided behavior, I must advise! If gentle advice fails, then forceful advice! If forceful advice fails, then advice unto death!”
Though the realm is vast, loyal ministers are rare! Yu Qian’s expression had transformed into a notice declaring “You’ll reach Jinan only over my dead body.” The two men glared at each other with bulging eyes, pushing against one another, neither willing to yield, seeming about to come to blows.
Yu Qian turned his head toward Su Jingxi, gesturing for her to say something. But Su Jingxi stood silently in place, appearing deep in thought. Yu Qian called out: “Didn’t you say in Huai’an that he was seeking death and we shouldn’t interfere? Tell His Highness again.”
Zhu Zhanji’s face darkened: “I’ve made my decision, and no one can change it—not even you, Physician Su.”
Su Jingxi kept her head down for a long while before slowly raising it: “Your Highness heard that three White Lotus members were heading to Jinan?”
The Prince was startled—why was she bringing this up? He quickly replied: “Yes! Two protectors, one called Zuo Yehe, the other surely Liang Xingfu.”
Su Jingxi extended one pale finger, lightly stroking the zither strings, letting her words carry a subtle melody: “That’s strange. In this plot spanning two capitals, eliminating the Crown Prince was of utmost importance. So why would the White Lotus abandon their assassination attempt and send these two protectors to Jinan?”
This question caught the attention of the other two, especially the Prince.
He had been so focused on Wu Dingyuan’s capture that he hadn’t considered the bigger picture. The White Lotus had pursued them like a bone-deep plague from Nanjing to Huai’an. Yet after Huai’an, everything suddenly went quiet—what reason could they have for abandoning the assassination?
The Prince and Yu Qian temporarily set aside their dispute, both looking thoughtful. Shortly after, their eyes lit up simultaneously as they exclaimed: “They’ve been replaced!” Su Jingxi’s eyes widened slightly, seeming both to confirm their answer and be shocked by it.
Zhu Zhanji quickly declared: “The White Lotus withdrew only because that usurping traitor plans to act personally!” Yu Qian’s eyelid twitched, words catching in his throat.
He strongly agreed with the Prince’s assessment—the pursuers hadn’t disappeared, they’d been replaced. But following this logic led to an awkward conclusion: the usurper’s available resources far exceeded those of the White Lotus, Zhu Buhua, or Wang Ji. Since he knew the Crown Prince was heading north along the canal, he would surely have set up an inescapable net at Linqing. No, the entire northern half of the canal was probably riddled with the usurper’s spies.
This… didn’t this just give the Crown Prince a perfect excuse?
Su Jingxi spoke again: “Though I’ve read little on military strategy, I know the principle of achieving victory through the unexpected. If the enemy expects to meet us at Linqing, then…”
Yu Qian erupted in anger: “Su Jingxi, where do your loyalties lie? In Huai’an, you advised against rescuing him, and now you’re encouraging His Highness to go to Jinan!”
Su Jingxi replied coolly: “I only want His Highness to reach the capital as soon as possible. Before, when His Highness hadn’t mentioned the White Lotus’s movements, heading north posed no concern. Now that circumstances have changed, we should adjust accordingly.”
The Prince said displeasedly: “Yu Tingyi if you’re angry, direct it at me, don’t snap at Physician Su. You must admit Linqing is extremely dangerous now. Going straight to Jinan and bypassing the canal helps us avoid the enemy’s blade, doesn’t it? As for rescuing Wu Dingyuan, that’s merely a convenient addition!”
Yu Qian ignored the Prince’s last transparent attempt at justification, saying: “Going to Jinan might help us avoid the ambush, but it will cost us time. What if we can’t reach the capital in time? Wouldn’t that jeopardize everything?”
Zhu Zhanji lifted the zither and retrieved a water route map covered in numbers from beneath it: “I’ve calculated the journey times. If we leave from Anshan Lake now, we can reach Jinan by the twenty-sixth, rescue Wu Dingyuan, then ride north from Jinan on the twenty-seventh—two hundred and ten li—reaching Dezhou by the twenty-ninth. That’s also on the canal route. From there through Cangzhou to Tianjin Guard, then switching to the Bai Transport route to Tongzhou, we can still reach the capital before the third day of the sixth month. We’ll just have to endure a slightly more strenuous journey.”
Yu Qian’s expression darkened further—clearly, the Prince had planned this already, probably making secret calculations throughout the journey. A faint sadness at not being trusted welled up in his heart.
“This schedule leaves no margin for error. Any delay or mishap along the way will make us miss the final deadline.”
“As if going through Linqing wouldn’t cause delays?” the Prince countered.
This suddenly reminded Yu Qian. “Lord Zhang—that’s right, Lord Zhang is waiting for us in Linqing! Your Highness, are you not going to meet your uncle?”
“I’ve already considered this,” the Prince said calmly, waving his hand. “We’ll split up. I’ll head to Jinan shortly, while you, Master Yu, will stay on this boat and go directly to Linqing to meet my uncle. We’ll reunite in Dezhou.”
Yu Qian could hardly believe it—what did this mean? The Prince wouldn’t let him follow?
“Someone needs to meet my uncle in Linqing, and you’re the most suitable, Master Yu. Don’t worry, the enemy is looking for me, not you. Their net in Linqing won’t catch you.” Zhu Zhanji’s tone softened slightly.
“But… Your Highness, how can you go to Jinan alone? That’s impossible!”
The Prince impatiently waved his sleeve: “I won’t be alone—Physician Su will accompany me. You know her abilities and wisdom; there won’t be major problems.”
“But if you encounter danger, how could she, being a mere woman—”
Before Yu Qian could finish, the Prince cut him off sharply: “If we encounter danger, how would your presence make any difference?” Yu Qian was speechless but struggled to continue: “Physician Su may excel in medicine, but she’s unfamiliar with official matters. Jinan Prefecture is Shandong’s administrative center—dealing with officials requires someone experienced.”
A mocking smile slowly curved Zhu Zhanji’s lips: “Master Yu, weren’t you the one who advised me not to reveal my identity to local officials? Why worry about this now?”
Yu Qian’s shoulders trembled as if struck by lightning. He finally understood the source of the Prince’s strange attitude toward him since Huai’an.
So His Highness had been harboring resentment about the “don’t reveal your identity” rule… Indeed, since leaving Jinling, their small fugitive group had faced numerous hardships, many of which could have been resolved simply by the Prince revealing his identity, yet they were repeatedly prevented from doing so. Anyone would build up frustration after enduring trial after trial, restraint after restraint. Why should Brocade travel by night? Why carry a precious sword that cannot be drawn?
Though the reasoning was clear, the emotions were hard to dispel.
In the end, I failed to understand my lord’s feelings and failed in my duty as an advisor. Upon this realization, Yu Qian closed his eyes dejectedly and fell to his knees: “Your servant… humbly accepts the Prince’s command.”
Seeing his dejected state, the Prince felt a twinge of guilt, but though his lips moved, he ultimately said nothing.
Endless darkness, ceaseless jolting, and shock.
Wu Dingyuan felt these recent experiences perfectly reflected his life. He had given up counting time, as he could sense nothing except the hard biscuits periodically delivered to his mouth, roughly marking the passage of three or four days. During this time, he remained blindfolded, unable to see, only able to lie sprawled across a horse’s back, constantly jolting. Liang Xingfu had sprained Wu Dingyuan’s wrists and ankles, leaving him just enough strength to balance on horseback but not enough to escape.
Liang Xingfu’s worry was unnecessary—Wu Dingyuan couldn’t summon any thought of escape. Life held no appeal now, death no regret; he might as well listlessly ride on horseback to the horizon’s edge.
After drifting in this haze for an unknown time, Wu Dingyuan felt his mount’s pace begin to slow. He shifted his thighs and waist to adjust his position on the pointed saddle until the horse came to a complete stop. A large hand pulled him down from the horse; Wu Dingyuan’s legs were so sore he could barely stand.
With a “whoosh,” his head covering was removed. Dazzling sunlight stabbed into his eyes like daggers, making Wu Dingyuan clench his eyelids in pain, daring only to peer through a narrow slit at his surroundings.
Before him appeared to be a modest gate tower. As his eyes gradually adjusted to the light, he noticed more details. This temple gate was about twenty chi high and over ten chi wide, appearing rather tall and thin. It had a stone foundation, brick walls, and a barrel-vaulted roof covered with gray mountain-style tiles. In the center was an arched doorway with decorated frames, and above the gate were written three characters: “White Robe Nunnery.”
However, this nunnery wasn’t situated in any scenic mountain forest. Its gate tower was tightly squeezed between two rammed earth walls, making it appear extremely cramped. At the ends of these walls were two somewhat dilapidated residential courtyards. Beyond them, more buildings of similar style connected. They crowded together densely, arranged as precisely as a chessboard. Rows of shallow white ridges with hanging mountain-style roofs encroached upon each other’s space, so dense that air could barely pass through.
This White Robe Nunnery stood among these residential houses like a sleeping brick in a horse-head wall—impossible to find without careful observation.
“Let Master Wu know, we’ve entered Jinan city. This is called Chessboard Street. Legend has it there are four Guan Di temples at the four corners, and because these four Lord Guans enjoyed playing chess, the houses were built so dense and orderly—quite imaginative of them.”
Zuo Yehe smiled as she introduced the place, popping a small rolled pastry into her mouth. Halfway through chewing, she glanced at Wu Dingyuan and took another roll from a small basket nearby: “This is called a Nazhan Roll, unique to Shandong. It’s made with ground apricot and peach meat mixed with sugar, spread on small flatbread, and rolled with green onions—something you can’t get in Nanjing.”
With his arms still weak, Wu Dingyuan couldn’t resist as she stuffed the roll directly into his mouth. Truthfully, the Nazhan Roll tasted quite good, with a burst of fruit fragrance and sweet flour, but he pressed his tongue against his throat, refusing to chew or swallow. When Zuo Yehe released her hand, the pastry fell straight to the ground.
Zuo Yehe’s expression cooled slightly: “As expected of the son of Yingtian Prefecture’s Chief Constable—too good for commoner food. I’ve failed to show proper hospitality.” She bent down to pick up the small pastry, wiped it on her skirt, and put it back in the basket. “Life is unpredictable—each meal could be your last. If you don’t cherish it, you’ll have no chance once you fall into the realm of hungry ghosts.”
“What day is it?” Wu Dingyuan asked.
“Still keeping track of days?” Zuo Yehe sneered. “Today is the twenty-sixth day of the fifth month. By my calculation, they should have reached Linqing by now.”
From her subtle tone, Wu Dingyuan knew there must be more to the situation in Linqing. However, he couldn’t concern himself with that now and didn’t pursue the matter. At this point, Liang Xingfu had finished securing the horses and returned to the gate tower. Zuo Yehe brushed the crumbs from her hands: “Well then, let’s go see the Buddha Mother.”
“Buddha Mother?”
Wu Dingyuan was startled—they had brought him to Jinan to see the Buddha Mother.
White Lotus Buddha Mother Tang Sai’er was a legendary figure, with countless followers across the north and south, and temples worshipping her everywhere. In the eighteenth year of Yongle, she single-handedly ignited great chaos in Shandong, disrupting the canal and shocking the realm. Though government forces eventually suppressed the uprising, she vanished without a trace. The court searched for her; the Yongle Emperor even had all Buddhist nuns and female Daoists throughout the realm investigated, but to no avail.
Unexpectedly, she had been hiding in plain sight, brazenly residing in Jinan city within this unremarkable White Robe Nunnery—no wonder she had evaded multiple searches.
Liang Xingfu and Zuo Yehe flanked Wu Dingyuan as they passed through the gate tower. There were no guards inside, only piles of firewood, a spinning wheel, and some incense and paper against the wall. Beyond lay a small beamless brick hall with dilapidated wings on either side. In the small courtyard before the hall, two plots of land were divided for farming, filled with thin stems crowned with clusters of small white flowers like umbrellas—probably carrots.
From any angle, it appeared to be just an ordinary, impoverished small temple—no one would imagine it harbored the Great Ming’s most dangerous enemy. As they crossed the courtyard heading toward the hall, suddenly a light, uncertain call came from the left wing: “Brother?”
Wu Dingyuan’s shoulders tensed at the voice, and he turned toward it in shock. Through the window lattice appeared a wan yet beautiful face.
“Yulu?!”
“Elder Brother!” The voice from the room suddenly became excited.
Wu Dingyuan hadn’t expected to find his sister here. Since Wu Yulu’s kidnapping at noon on the eighteenth day of the fifth month, there had been no word of her—and now she was here in Jinan Prefecture.
Wu Dingyuan’s eyes instantly reddened. He struggled to rush to the wing room but was firmly held back by Liang Xingfu’s strong hand. Zuo Yehe smiled beside them: “You siblings have only been apart for eight or nine days, yet miss each other so deeply—truly enviable. After meeting the Buddha Mother, there will be time for a family reunion.”
Wu Dingyuan snorted coldly—the White Lotus’s intention was obvious, planning to use Yulu to coerce him just as they had used her to coerce Wu Buping.
But on second thought, something seemed off. If they wanted to coerce him, why go through the trouble of coming to Jinan? Wu Dingyuan couldn’t figure out what the Buddha Mother’s true intentions were. He could only call out loudly: “Yulu, wait for me!” before following them into the main hall.
Though called a “hall,” it was just a tall, narrow-tiled building. In the center sat a clay statue of Maitreya on a lotus throne, with an incense table before it holding three colors of fruit offerings, clearly made of wax. An elderly woman in a monk’s robe with silver hair stood with her back to them, sweeping incense ash from between the bricks with a twiggy broom.
Zuo Yehe and Liang Xingfu simultaneously knelt on one knee with cupped hands, respectfully saying: “Buddha Mother, we’ve completed the imperial command.”
The old woman seemed not to hear, continuing to sweep while bent over. Only after a good while did she turn around.
When Wu Dingyuan’s eyes met hers, he was stunned.
This “Buddha Mother” Tang Sai’er, who had stirred up trouble across two capitals and five provinces, looked incredibly ordinary. She had a squash-shaped face with upward-slanting eyes, cheeks as wrinkled as chicken skin, and a large black mole below her nose—just like any old village woman you might see anywhere. With such a face, even if she stood in front of the Jinan Prefecture office, no one would recognize her. Yet even someone like “Buddha’s Enemy” Liang Xingfu subdued his voice and became as docile as a cat in her presence.
The old woman patted the meditation cushion before the incense table with her short broom, saying cheerfully: “Tired from the journey? Come, come, sit and talk.” Her heavy Shandong accent carried a familiar, homey warmth. As she spoke, she waved her hand, and Zuo Yehe understood, tugging at Liang Xingfu’s sleeve to pull him from the small hall, leaving Wu Dingyuan alone.
Wu Dingyuan’s legs were already exhausted, so he simply dropped onto the meditation cushion, appearing resigned to his fate. Tang Sai’er sat cross-legged opposite him, first looking him over before suddenly sighing: “A three-inch ditch can trip a donkey. For all my careful planning in Nanjing, I never expected it would be ruined by such an insignificant little fellow as you.”
Wu Dingyuan hadn’t expected the old woman to be so direct. He snorted coldly: “No need for courtesy—I did what I had to do.”
“Sparrow’s beak—careful you don’t end up in the tongue-pulling hell!” Tang Sai’er glared at him reproachfully, like a grandmother scolding her grandson. “Enough, I won’t preach Buddhism to you today. Let’s talk plainly—I’m curious about something. What rewards did the Crown Prince promise you to make you protect him so desperately all this way?”
The Buddha Mother didn’t know the complicated relationship between him, Zhu Zhanji, and Yu Qian, assuming he had been a loyal protector from the start. Wu Dingyuan couldn’t be bothered to explain, saying dismissively: “How novel. As a constable of Yingtian Prefecture, should I, an imperial officer, help bandits instead of the Crown Prince?”
The old woman laughed: “Oh? I heard that when Liang Xingfu caused chaos in Nanjing in the eighteenth year of Yongle, your father secretly protected him—wasn’t that an officer helping bandits?”
Since Liang Xingfu was a White Lotus protector, this couldn’t be hidden from the Buddha Mother. Wu Dingyuan could only brazenly reply: “Who hasn’t had a few days of poor judgment!”
“Don’t get angry, little fellow. This old woman isn’t just making idle chat. Haven’t you wondered why your father would risk losing his head to protect a violent criminal?”
“No! Not interested!”
Tang Sai’er slapped her thigh, her smile unchanged: “You’re more stubborn than a donkey on a millstone. Let me tell you—your father saving Liang Xingfu was fundamentally related to you; Liang Xingfu going to Nanjing was fundamentally because of you; the reason I haven’t killed you for ruining our holy sect’s grand plan, and instead brought you to Jinan, is related to this root cause; and my question about why you protected the Crown Prince is also connected to this same root.”
“What nonsense are you spouting?!” Wu Dingyuan stared at that old face, wanting to reach out and strangle this murderer of his father. Yet he couldn’t suppress his curiosity about her words.
Tang Sai’er’s expression grew increasingly benevolent: “People are like trees—they all have roots. These roots are buried in the soil, invisible to all, yet they guide you your whole life. What root grows what branch, what branch bears what flower, what flower yields what fruit—these things no one can change.”
Wu Dingyuan’s expression froze. He never expected this old woman’s roundabout talk would lead to his origins.
I’m just a bastard of unknown origin, stealing the identity of Iron Lion’s son, merely surviving in this world—what heritage is there to discuss… This intense self-deprecation had settled in Wu Dingyuan’s heart for years, hardening into an immovable stone. Now this heavy hammer struck that stone’s surface, somehow creating a deep crack.
Wu Dingyuan suddenly remembered Iron Lion’s last words before death: “What I wanted to say wasn’t this”—what had he wanted to say? Why did Red Aunt refuse to reveal his origins even unto death, saying it reminded her of past events—what did she mean? And why did he, a Nanjing native, get splitting headaches just from seeing the Crown Prince’s face? Su Jingxi had said his heart harbored fears he hadn’t even noticed—what were they?
“One often doesn’t know whether tea is hot or cold,” Su Jingxi’s voice echoed in his mind.
Countless questions crawled like insects from that crack, covering his entire consciousness. Wu Dingyuan suddenly realized he might not be so simple after all. His throat went dry as his body unconsciously leaned forward, eager to hear an answer. His past confusion and uncertainty had stemmed from not knowing who he was. How could someone know what to do when they didn’t even know their own identity?
Yet Tang Sai’er stopped speaking, just smiling at him. At that moment, the hall door creaked as Zuo Yehe poked her head in, bringing a wooden tray with two stacks of freshly made Zichuan vegetable pancakes, alongside cut green onions and bean paste. The pancakes were cooked in goose fat, their aroma rich and enticing.
“You must be exhausted from your journey. Come, come, eat something first—all homegrown simple food.” Tang Sai’er pushed the tray toward him.
“…Tell me!” Wu Dingyuan clenched his fists, growling softly. The corners of his eyes were so strained they nearly bled. Tang Sai’er acted as if she hadn’t heard, picking up a vegetable pancake and rolling it with green onions and sauce. The old woman had good teeth, biting down with onion juice spraying, the taste delightful.
“Little fellow, why aren’t you eating?”
Wu Dingyuan knew this was the Buddha Mother’s technique, dangling a copper hook to make him follow her lead. He kept his face dark, not moving, refusing to be controlled by her words.
“You stubborn child,” the Buddha Mother scolded, putting down her half-eaten pancake. “I’m not deliberately creating suspense—this matter is truly significant, and we’re still missing one crucial piece of verification. Once that’s confirmed tomorrow and everything falls into place, I’ll tell you everything. We needn’t rush.”
Wu Dingyuan felt he had no choice and picked up a pancake to eat. The onion juice was rich, soaking into the wheat pancake, its sharp flavor mixing with the wheat’s fragrance—truly excellent. But Wu Dingyuan’s mind was so preoccupied that eating it felt like chewing the white candles from the City God Temple.
The old woman finished one pancake and wiped her mouth: “I’m usually surrounded by believers, talking Buddhism all day—sometimes I need a break. It’s rare to have someone who cares about nothing to chat with. Today, instead of talking about your roots, let’s talk about mine.”
Wu Dingyuan couldn’t fathom what game the Buddha Mother was playing, so he took a huge bite of pancake to fill his mouth, avoiding the need to respond. But he bit too hard and began choking awkwardly. Tang Sai’er shook her head and handed him a bowl of well water. Wu Dingyuan drank half to clear his throat.
“Do you know how I became the Buddha Mother?”
Tang Sai’er put the dishes back on the wooden tray and began rambling: “I was born to a farming family in Putai County, Binzhou. I knew a few characters—wasn’t completely illiterate. My husband’s surname was Lin, the third in his family, everyone called him Lin San. His family had long been White Lotus believers, their ancestors had burned incense in the same temple as Master Han Shantong. Later, when Master Han’s uprising failed in Yingzhou, their ancestors didn’t follow Liu Futong but secretly fled to Binzhou to live in seclusion.
“Because his family’s ancestors had followed Master Han, believers from all around respected them and came to the Lin family temple to burn incense. Those times were chaotic—one day it was Mongol barbarians, the next Red Turban troops, then Lord Hongwu’s army, and just when things settled, the Jingnan Campaign began. When the people of Binzhou faced disasters and hardships, they all ran to the Lin family temple. Officials said the White Lotus bewitched people’s hearts and caused harm, but we truly had no intention of causing trouble then—we just wanted to protect ourselves, have hope, and help each other.
“In the seventeenth year of Yongle, Binzhou officials issued labor notices, saying Emperor Yongle planned to move from Jinling to Beiping and needed to reopen the Tonghui Canal, recruiting workers throughout Shandong to dig channels. This was a major recruitment—each household had to provide two able-bodied men. Lin San said since we couldn’t avoid it, we might as well send more believers to the worksite so they could look after each other. Then he led many temple members to Nanwang for labor service.
“That year Shandong suffered a great drought, and with all the able-bodied men working on the canal, many believers’ families had no one to farm and could barely survive. As a mere woman, I had to step up reluctantly and take charge of temple affairs, organizing the believers’ wives to take turns helping each family plant wheat, carry water, and dig ditches. Unexpectedly, news suddenly came from the canal that the Nanwang fish mouth had collapsed, and an entire embankment of people had been swept away…”
Tang Sai’er had been speaking as if recounting everyday matters, only pausing slightly at this point.
“I kowtowed to Buddha until my forehead bled. I just wanted to ask—we had burned incense sincerely all our lives, chanting sutras and praying daily, diligently doing good for others, so why did we have to endure such tribulation? Was it truly karmic retribution for not cultivating virtue in our previous lives? The precious scrolls all said not to be hasty or resentful, that the next life would bring blessings. But we don’t remember our previous lives, and naturally won’t remember this life in the next. So a person living in this world should only cherish this present life, right?
“I kowtowed for a long time and thought for a long time. Buddha gave me no answer—it couldn’t, it was just a clay statue. Everything I had firmly believed for decades crumbled, like the Nanwang fish-mouth embankment, completely shattered. Early the next morning, I forced myself to rally, calling everyone to prepare coffins and burial clothes, and waiting for their bodies to be returned from the canal for proper burial. But after waiting a long time, what came wasn’t bodies but the Deputy Magistrate of Putai County.
“The Deputy Magistrate came aggressively with a large group, intending to confiscate our property. I later learned that families of laborers who died working on the canal were supposed to receive compensation. When the money reached Binzhou, someone wanted to embezzle it, so they made up an excuse that Lin San and the others were White Lotus cultists plotting rebellion at the canal. This way, they wouldn’t have to pay compensation and could confiscate dozens of households’ property for additional profit.
“Those yamen runners trapped us in the temple, saying they would arrest everyone. I was furious and went out to argue with the Deputy Magistrate. Unexpectedly, when I casually asked if he wasn’t afraid of divine retribution for such evil deeds, he suddenly had a heart attack and collapsed before me. It was just a coincidence, but someone shouted: ‘Buddha has shown divine power!’ This scared the other officials into scattering. Oh my, this was terrible—one told ten, ten told a hundred, and by the time it reached the county, the story had become that the White Lotus Buddha Mother had descended to strike down corrupt officials with lightning. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I knew what had happened, but there was no way to explain—even if I did, no one would believe me. They’d think it was a divine mystery that couldn’t be revealed, and even more, people believed.
“The county was terrified after losing a Deputy Magistrate and quickly reported to the prefecture. To cover up their corruption, the County Magistrate embellished wildly, claiming I called myself Buddha Mother, bewitched believers, and said I’d found a sword and military manual in a stone box, intending rebellion. The greater my alleged crimes, the lesser their responsibility. As this distorted tale spread, the higher officials believed it and sent troops to suppress us; unexpectedly, the common people believed it too, and believers from near and far came seeking my protection, gathering in growing numbers until there were several thousand.
“Forced to this point, even an old woman like me had no choice but to rebel. Since Putai had no defensible position, I led these people to Qingzhou, starting our uprising at a place called Xieshi Shelter in the Yidu Mountains. Having managed temple affairs for my husband’s family for many years, I knew the doctrine well. I modified the nonsense the officials had attributed to me and used it directly—unexpectedly attracting tens of times more followers than before. So at its root, this Buddha Mother was created by Binzhou’s officials—isn’t that funny? From then on, I understood one principle, a truly profound truth of the human world.”
The old woman opened her withered lips in an eerie smile. Wu Dingyuan felt a strange pressure, unable to meet her gaze.
“All those Lords of the Way and Buddhas, Jade Emperors and Immortals, are just clay figures meant to fool people, just like my Buddha Mother title—probably created by someone through coincidence. Once I understood this, I finally found the answer I’d spent decades seeking before Buddha’s statue—those who truly believe in the White Lotus doctrine can never achieve real liberation. To accomplish great things, you must first understand in your heart that these are all illusions, treat them as lies, then you can truly use them to control people’s hearts. Han Shantong, Liu Futong, and their like understood this principle, which is why they could raise such storms. They were the best religious leaders, but not the most devout believers. If you truly believe in these things, your mind becomes foolish—how could you then oversee everything? Throughout history, those who could cause upheaval all had to pretend ignorance while knowing the truth—the truly ignorant could never succeed.”
Wu Dingyuan was truly stunned that the White Lotus leader would be so brutally honest. Thinking carefully, her logic was flawless. But… why would she tell the truth to an outsider like him?
The old woman tapped her shoes with her broom, expression unchanged, continuing her story without caring whether Wu Dingyuan could process it all.
“Afterward, the court sent several waves of troops to suppress us, but these people didn’t understand one crucial thing—what the White Lotus truly relied upon. It wasn’t supposed military manuals and precious swords, overwhelming numbers, or even miraculous Buddhist powers, but the imperial army itself. Those soldiers, you don’t know, were like locusts, devastating every county they passed through. When common people couldn’t survive, of course, they came to me. Why did people buy into my teachings? Because they lived such painful lives, they needed something to believe in, even if it was false. So the more troops the government sent, the more White Lotus followers we gained. You see, once I understood that truth, I didn’t need to obsess over Buddhist doctrine, just focus on management. After several suppression campaigns, I had tens of thousands of followers, from Qing, Lai, Ju, and Jiao to Zhucheng and Jimo—all bowed to my name as Buddha Mother.
“You probably know what happened next. The court’s power was ultimately greater and scattered our forces. I had believers break into smaller groups, spreading to different areas to preach and establish temples, while I went into hiding. Hehe, this angered the Yongle Emperor—he searched for me throughout the realm and executed many Shandong officials. But he finally understood something: the more the court interfered, the more our White Lotus prospered, so he quickly exempted this area from grain taxes, giving my hometown people some means to survive.
“These past years, I’ve been coordinating from Jinan city, relying on several loyal protectors to work outside, secretly building our strength. Since understanding that principle, spreading the doctrine has become as natural as a fish in water. Whatever teachings best bewitch people’s hearts, I add to the doctrine; whatever stories best stir emotions, I tell repeatedly. Some find sutra recitation troublesome. No problem, I tell them that just chanting ‘Namo Amitabha Buddha’ brings liberation. Some find temples too far. No problem, I tell them Buddha Mother has ten million divine eyes, seeing sincere prayers from anywhere—I was originally just a village woman who sewed by the kang, look what this world has forced me to become?”
At this point, Tang Sai’er cheerfully picked up her bowl and drained it in one go.
Wu Dingyuan listened, forgetting to chew, amazed at the true origin of the Buddha Mother—so different from the popular tales. But this made him more wary; Tang Sai’er was being too honest, casually revealing White Lotus’s deepest secrets as if chatting about household matters. Even with his experience solving bizarre cases in Nanjing, he couldn’t fathom the Buddha Mother’s true intentions.
Could this also be related to his “roots”? Wu Dingyuan felt his mind in turmoil.
“Well, you must be tired of listening to this old woman ramble. Go see your sister.” Tang Sai’er waved her hand. She didn’t even warn him not to tell others, seemingly completely trusting him.
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll kill you to avenge my father?”
Tang Sai’er turned away cheerfully: “If you were a reckless man, you might have had a chance by attacking as soon as you entered the hall without a word. But unfortunately, you’re a clever one, and clever people’s problem is they think too much. Can you bring yourself to do it now? Don’t you want to know your roots?”
Wu Dingyuan stood up, mind full of questions, and stumbled out of the beamless hall. Zuo Yehe waited at the door, tilting her chin to indicate she wouldn’t stop him. Ignoring her, he hurriedly pushed open the door to the left wing. As soon as he did, Wu Yulu threw herself into his arms, sobbing loudly. Wu Dingyuan stroked his sister’s hair bun, heart full of mixed emotions, as he looked around the room.
The wing room was extremely plain, containing only a narrow elm wood couch and a small straight-backed table, on which sat a bronze mirror, a Buddha statue on a lotus throne, and a small incense burner. Surprisingly, the incense burner was identical to the one they had at home in Nanjing. Though sparse, the furnishings suggested a living space, not a prison cell.
With so much happening these past few days, Wu Dingyuan hesitated, wondering how to explain everything to his sister. His eyes suddenly focused—she was wearing pure white mourning clothes.
“Uh… you know already?”
Wu Yulu raised her tear-stained face: “Yes… Buddha’s Mother told me everything. This is karmic retribution from our previous life manifesting in this one. These past days I’ve been reciting the Maitreya’s Descent Sutra daily, hoping our father won’t fall into reincarnation but reach the Pure Land soon, and that you, brother, will be safe.”
Hearing these words, Wu Dingyuan froze. The Buddha Mother had struck first, bewitching Wu Yulu. How could a simple girl resist the old woman’s brainwashing techniques? He angrily gripped Wu Yulu’s shoulders and shouted: “No! That’s not right! The one who killed Father was—”
He stopped mid-sentence. Tang Sai’er’s words echoed in his mind: “Why do people buy into my teachings? Because they live such painful lives, they need something to believe in, even if it’s false.”
What good would telling Yulu the truth do? Right now, the siblings were like fish on a cutting board, at the White Lotus’s mercy. Would it be better to let her know the truth and share his helpless rage, or let her continue living in devout ignorance?
“Brother, you’re hurting me.” Wu Yulu frowned, squirming in discomfort. Wu Dingyuan quickly released her and stepped back.
“Have they… mistreated you?”
“No, Buddha Mother has been very kind to me, even personally guiding my spiritual practice—Brother, have you burned incense too?”
Wu Dingyuan closed his eyes in despair, knowing that even if he revealed the truth now, his sister probably wouldn’t believe it. She had completely accepted the Buddha Mother’s teachings—this wasn’t imprisonment, but something more terrifying. The Buddha Mother neither feared escape nor worried about leaked secrets, openly displaying her strategy, seemingly certain that Wu Dingyuan would ultimately have to submit.
“I came… looking for you,” Wu Dingyuan said vaguely.
Wu Yulu’s eyes lit up with joy: “Since arriving in Jinan, I’ve thought of you day and night, hoping you’d be safe. Buddha Mother truly has divine power—she said if I recited the sutras a hundred times, you would surely come!”
Wu Dingyuan had no desire to correct his sister’s misunderstanding. After giving her a few words of advice, he returned to the beamless hall and called out to Tang Sai’er, who was still sweeping: “When can I learn about my roots?”
The old woman, as if expecting his return, turned around cheerfully with her broom: “Tomorrow, accompany me to the shores of Daming Lake to enjoy the scenery.”