The small boat with its black canopy glided silently across the water as the bamboo pole dipped in and out rhythmically.
The vessel was heading west along the Inner Qinhuai River, through an area known as the “Ten-Li Qinhuai.” This district was renowned for its courtesans and entertainment, lined with ornate buildings and riverside establishments. Usually, when night fell, countless lanterns would reflect upon the water’s surface, creating a dazzling river of stars. Tonight, however, with the city in turmoil, most establishments had extinguished their lights early and locked away their pleasure boats, leaving the river surface dim as if covered by a layer of gray dust.
Wu Dingyuan worked the pole outside while Su Jingxi examined the Crown Prince’s shoulder wound inside the cabin. The earlier ordeals at Zhengyang Gate and Fule House had caused it to bleed again. Taking advantage of this moment, Yu Qian crouched nearby, dipping his finger in river water while explaining their escape route to the Crown Prince.
“Once we reach the West Water Gate, we can enter the Outer Qinhuai River and head west, passing Shitoucheng and through Qingliang Mountain. As soon as we reach the Longjiang checkpoint, we’ll enter the Yangtze River. Then we’ll be as free as fish in the vast sea—Zhu Buhua won’t be able to do anything about it. If Your Highness is in the mood, you could even enjoy the night rain at Longjiang, one of the capital’s most beautiful scenes.”
Yu Qian deliberately kept his tone light, but Zhu Zhanji worried, “But aren’t there guards at both West Water Gate and Longjiang checkpoint? Can we pass through?” Yu Qian glanced at the thin figure outside: “If Wu Dingyuan chose this route, he must have his reasons.”
“You seem to have a lot of faith in him now.”
“Even thieves and rogues have their uses. I’m merely following Lord Mengsun’s example,” Yu Qian said modestly, then after some thought, solemnly reminded the Crown Prince, “Wang Jinggong once commented that ‘because Lord Mengsun associated with thieves and rogues, true gentlemen stayed away.’ Therefore, Your Highness must not indulge in these lesser paths but should cultivate virtue to attract worthy men.”
“Enough, enough, you’re monopolizing both the praise and criticism,” Zhu Zhanji rolled his eyes, somewhat regretting bringing him into the Eastern Palace. Though reliable, his constant lecturing was quite tiresome.
By now, Su Jingxi had finished tending to the wound and asked Yu Qian, “I need to know how long we’ll be on the water and where our next stop will be. I need to purchase medicines and decocting equipment.”
Yu Qian replied, “Once we enter the Yangtze, we’ll head straight for Yangzhou. It’s as prosperous as Nanjing, so medicines won’t be scarce there.” His confident tone suggested he had already thoroughly planned the entire route.
“That’s good,” Su Jingxi nodded, shaking her clothes with slight disgust. “I need to change into fresh clothes anyway.”
Zhu Zhanji looked back and forth between Yu Qian and Su Jingxi, unable to contain himself any longer: “Aren’t either of you curious? Is Wu Dingyuan her biological son? And what’s his relationship with that Madam Hong?”
He had caught fragments of conversation at Zhengyang Gate earlier but, mindful of his status, hadn’t felt it appropriate to inquire further. Unfortunately, neither of his companions had brought up the topic, and he couldn’t hold back anymore. Yu Qian found the topic frivolous and remained silent with a stern face. Su Jingxi, however, smiled slightly: “More than their relationship, I’m curious about Your Highness’s connection to Wu Dingyuan.”
“Didn’t we already establish that we don’t know each other?”
“A Crown Prince of the Great Ming and a lazy constable living in the capital should have no connection whatsoever. Yet he gets severe headaches just from seeing you—there must be a reason. As physicians, we’re always intrigued by mysterious ailments.”
“Maybe it’s because he drinks too much and has a weak constitution,” Zhu Zhanji muttered sullenly. Su Jingxi replied, “That’s certainly possible. The head is the body’s command center, where the clear yang qi of the six fu organs and the essential blood of the five zang organs converge. Even slight mental stimulation can trigger sudden headaches.”
“Like seeing a bow’s reflection and mistaking it for a snake?”
Su Jingxi said, “Exactly! If we could understand his past and find that ‘bow,’ the illusion of the snake would naturally disappear…” At this point, she seemed to realize something and tapped her forehead in surprise, “Could this be why Your Highness was inquiring earlier?” Zhu Zhanji hadn’t expected his casual attempt to pry into private matters would be interpreted as such thoughtful consideration and hastily agreed.
Yu Qian, observing Su Jingxi’s animated conversation with the Crown Prince, felt as unsettled as the small boat beneath them.
He had witnessed this woman’s capabilities—in decisiveness, none of the three men aboard could match her; in adaptability, she was leagues ahead. She possessed an almost frightening calmness, every action carrying a clear purpose. Though she claimed to follow the Crown Prince to seek revenge against Zhu Buhua, Yu Qian suspected this wasn’t the complete truth.
Whatever the reason, having such an unsheathed blade of unclear motives near the Crown Prince was concerning. Yu Qian’s hand clenched briefly inside his sleeve before relaxing:
“Miss Su, I have a question, if you don’t mind answering.”
“Please ask, Director Yu.”
“You mentioned earlier having a betrothed in Nanjing. When you went to the East Water Gate dock earlier, it was to look for him—might he be an official?”
Su Jingxi had mentioned this in her statement, but Wu Dingyuan had glossed over it at the time, not pursuing the matter further. Yu Qian’s excellent memory had recalled this detail. Su Jingxi replied, “Yes, he’s a censor at the Nanjing Censorate, named Guo Zhimin.”
“Shortly after you left the East Water Gate, you heard the treasure ship explosion, yet you went straight home. Isn’t that unusual?”
“Oh? How so?”
Su Jingxi seemed puzzled, not understanding his meaning. Yu Qian faltered, remembering this woman couldn’t be judged by normal standards: “Uh… with such a major incident, shouldn’t you have gone back to check on your betrothed’s safety?”
Zhu Zhanji glared at Yu Qian disapprovingly, feeling the question was inappropriate. Yu Qian straightened his neck and met the Crown Prince’s gaze: “The journey to the capital will be treacherous. I must ensure everyone’s loyalty is undivided, without private concerns.” Su Jingxi glanced at Zhu Zhanji, smiling, “Your Highness need not be angry. Director Yu’s concerns are reasonable, and I should explain clearly.”
She brushed aside her bangs casually and explained, “Guo Zhimin’s father, Guo Chunzhi, has long-standing ties with my family, and this marriage was arranged early on, though I’ve never met him. I came to Nanjing hoping to use my status as his betrothed to get close to Zhu Buhua, but he was away on business in Yangzhou. Yesterday, when Your Highness arrived, I thought he would surely return for the reception, so I went to the East Water Gate to find him. When I didn’t see him at the dock, I went straight home.”
Yu Qian’s doubts lingered. While Su Jingxi’s explanation had no obvious flaws, the details were impossible to verify. Suddenly, Zhu Zhanji spoke up: “This Guo Zhimin, is he the son of Guo Chunzhi, the great scholar of Huaiyou? That Guangdong Circuit Investigating Censor of Nanjing?”
Yu Qian and Su Jingxi were both startled—how did the Crown Prince know such a minor official?
Zhu Zhanji recalled, “When I was in Yangzhou, a major salt merchant named Wang Ji hosted a banquet, and this Guo Zhimin was present. One of my Eastern Palace tutors knew his father Guo Chunzhi and introduced him to me.”
This matched Su Jingxi’s account. Her composed expression finally showed a slight change: “What did he say to Your Highness?”
“Just the usual courtesies about admiring my virtue and being honored by my presence…” Zhu Zhanji’s speech gradually slowed as he tried to capture the memory, “He didn’t say much else directly to me, but when he and that salt merchant Wang Ji came to toast me, Guo Zhimin was quite drunk and made a jest about Wang Ji, saying something about ‘He Ceng’s feast of ten thousand, now I see it—'”
Yu Qian and Su Jingxi exchanged glances, their expressions changing. Guo Zhimin had referenced a Western Jin Dynasty anecdote about He Ceng, a court elder known for his extravagant dining habits, spending over ten thousand coins daily on food, even surpassing the imperial family. Once, when Emperor Wu of Jin invited him to dine at the palace, He Ceng refused to eat the imperial kitchen’s dishes, considering them too crude, forcing the emperor to allow him to bring his food.
Using this allusion in front of the Crown Prince was quite malicious: while superficially praising the banquet as comparable to He Ceng’s feasts, it implied that Wang Ji’s extravagance exceeded that of the royal family.
Yu Qian couldn’t help but ask, “Then what? What did the salt merchant say?”
“Everyone burst out laughing, and Wang Ji could only laugh awkwardly along,” Zhu Zhanji said with understanding. “Later, when he offered me the treasure ship, it was probably because he feared I might take that comment to heart?”
“What?” The other two sat up straight, Su Jingxi maintaining composure while Yu Qian’s head hit the canopy with a thud. “The treasure ship was offered by Wang Ji?”
“Hey, you didn’t think I brought the treasure ship from the capital, did you? The canal is too narrow for such vessels!” Zhu Zhanji, realizing they had been under a misapprehension, explained:
“We took canal boats south. In Yangzhou, Wang Ji arranged a banquet through the prefect, held on his large pleasure boat moored on the Hanshui River. Though styled after a treasure ship, it was a river vessel unsuitable for sea travel, meant purely for entertainment. After the banquet, Wang Ji announced he was offering the boat to the royal family. The next day, I took that boat to Nan—”
At this point, Zhu Zhanji realized something was amiss.
The biggest mystery about yesterday noon’s ship explosion was the source of the gunpowder. As Wu Dingyuan had analyzed earlier, creating such an explosion would require at least a thousand jin of refined tiger sulfur powder. But who could have been powerful enough to transport such a large quantity of gunpowder onto the ship under the Eastern Palace guards’ watch?
If the treasure ship had been offered by Salt Merchant Wang at the banquet site, the gunpowder’s origin became clear.
Before the banquet, it was Wang’s private vessel, and anything could have been loaded without arousing suspicion. When Wang Ji publicly offered the ship at the banquet, the crew naturally came with it. After the banquet dispersed, the Crown Prince departed immediately, leaving the Eastern Palace guards no time for a thorough inspection. This Wang Ji had calculated perfectly, creating an ingenious time gap that placed the entire Eastern Palace court above a powder keg without their knowledge.
This suggested that Wang Ji was likely in league with Zhu Buhua, both part of this grand conspiracy spanning the two capitals. As for Guo Zhimin, he had probably rushed to Yangzhou specifically to make that “He Ceng’s feast” reference, providing Wang Ji with a suitable pretext for gifting the ship to the Crown Prince.
None of the three on the boat had imagined that their scattered pieces of information would combine to reveal a corner of the truth. Su Jingxi hadn’t expected her future husband to be involved in this unprecedented rebellion, and her expression showed considerable unease.
Zhu Zhanji noticed her concern and waved dismissively: “What are you worried about, Doctor Su? He is he, and you are you—since you haven’t married yet, the Su family won’t be implicated.” Su Jingxi managed a weak “mm” in response.
“No wonder Guo Zhimin wasn’t at the East Water Gate dock, he must have known about the explosion…” Yu Qian muttered, then turned to Su Jingxi: “Doctor Su, do you know where he usually spends his time?” Before Su Jingxi could answer, a voice came from outside the cabin: “Looking for Guo Zhimin? I know where.” All three turned to see Wu Dingyuan removing his bamboo hat and poking his head in.
Yu Qian frowned: “You know him too?”
Wu Dingyuan said, “He lives in the Imperial Gift Gallery inside Taiping Gate, right?” Su Jingxi nodded. Wu Dingyuan clicked his tongue: “He’s already dead. Yesterday morning, my father received news that a censor had been crushed to death in the Imperial Gift Gallery. I went to the scene—he was killed first, then placed on the bed, and during the earthquake, his skull was crushed by falling beams.”
Yu Qian secretly glanced at Su Jingxi, seeing her shoulders tremble just slightly, but nothing more.
“You examined the body?” Su Jingxi’s voice was slightly low. Wu Dingyuan detailed his observations from the autopsy, and Su Jingxi nodded slightly: “Your judgment is very accurate—he was indeed killed first, then the beam fell on his corpse.” She said nothing more, her eyes showing some trepidation and dejection, but little sorrow.
This Censor Guo was likely just a small piece in the larger scheme—once his role was complete, he was mercilessly swept from the board. Zhu Zhanji slapped the boat’s side, saying irritably: “Nanjing censors, Yangzhou salt merchants, imperial guard insiders… how is everyone turning against the court? What benefits did the mastermind offer them?”
“Perhaps… this isn’t about benefits,” Su Jingxi raised her head. “Your Highness may not know, but when I treated several officials, they all expressed deep anxiety about the capital relocation.”
“Why? With Jinling becoming the capital again, wouldn’t they all properly become capital…” Zhu Zhanji paused, suddenly realizing. The Great Ming originally had two separate administrative systems, north and south. If the capital returned to Jinling, merging these systems would mean cutting half the positions. Thus, the capital relocation caused even greater waves in Nanjing’s officialdom than in Beijing.
“Is that so?”
Zhu Zhanji looked at Yu Qian, who, as part of Nanjing’s bureaucracy, would know best. Yu Qian puffed out his chest: “I am certainly not one to cling to my position!” implying that others were naturally uncertain and anxious about their futures.
Zhu Zhanji fell into contemplation. He knew the capital relocation would affect certain interests but hadn’t expected such strong opposition. This was the root of Nanjing’s unrest. Without the officials’ growing fears, the shadowy mastermind likely wouldn’t have found such an easy opening.
However, Wu Dingyuan didn’t let them continue the discussion, slapping the canopy: “Enough talk, we’re getting off here.”
Yu Qian perked up: “We’ve reached Longjiang mouth already?” He peered out at the dark silhouettes of low rooftops, seeing nothing of Longjiang’s famous night rain atmosphere. Wu Dingyuan glanced at him: “You’re thinking too far ahead—we haven’t even passed West Water Gate yet.”
“Then why disembark?”
“Zhu Buhua isn’t stupid, how could he not anticipate us taking the water route? West Water Gate borders Longjiang and would be the first place guarded. I never planned to go that way.”
Yu Qian felt his face flush, embarrassed that his earlier detailed route explanation had been completely wrong.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get you all out safely, then go rescue Yu Lu.”
Unusually, Wu Dingyuan refrained from any sarcasm, just urging them to disembark quickly. They stumbled out of the cabin to find the boat moored at a riverside landing. It was less a proper dock than an eroded riverbank corner, where locals had made do with what they had, coming to wash clothes and vegetables until it formed a low platform near the water.
They had left the prosperous “Ten-Li Qinhuai” district and were approaching the northwest part of the city. A muddy path extended from the landing, pocked with human and animal footprints. The numerous puddles held murky water covered with insects, while a complex mix of stale odors lingered in the air.
Su Jingxi instinctively raised her hand to cover her nose. Wu Dingyuan noticed this small gesture and smirked: “You three are all nobles used to silk and jade. A phoenix wouldn’t land on a filthy branch—you’ll need to watch your step on the path ahead.”
Yu Qian said: “This is nothing, I once disguised myself as a sewage worker…” Before he could finish, his left foot splashed into the mud, instantly spraying his black boots with yellow spots. Zhu Zhanji couldn’t help laughing—having lived in northern military camps, he adapted more quickly to such conditions than Yu Qian. After laughing at Yu Qian, the Crown Prince turned to help Su Jingxi cross safely.
They left the small landing and walked along the dirt path for a while until they could make out what appeared to be a small mountain in the darkness, crouching like a tiger. Yu Qian squinted for a moment: “Qingliang Mountain? Is this Stone City Gate?”
“Yes, continuing northwest from here will take us out of the prefecture city into the outer city. You’ll be able to get out then.”
“So that’s your plan.” Yu Qian muttered.
Having lived in Nanjing for several years, he somewhat understood the city’s layout. The entire southern capital was divided into four uneven layers. The innermost was the Palace City, where the emperor resided; next was the Imperial City, where officials worked; beyond that was the Yingtian Prefecture City, with Stone City Gate on its western edge.
When the Hongwu Emperor finished this ring of walls, he realized that Yuhua Tai, Bell Mountain, and Mufu Mountain were all outside the walls. If enemies set up artillery there, they could easily threaten the city from above. So he built another ring of outer city walls, extending north to Yanzi Ji, east to Bell Mountain’s eastern foot, and south to include Yuhua Tai. This massive enclosure had a circumference of 180 li, encompassing all the strategic heights around the prefecture city.
Such a long perimeter couldn’t be built entirely with the same brick walls as the prefecture city; most sections were rammed earth. The northwest area especially, being close to the Yangtze River, suffered severe flooding. North of Shangyuan Gate near the river was a gap leading directly to the riverbank—the best escape route for fugitives leaving the southern capital.
The problem was, that they were still within the prefecture city walls, unable to pass through the gates.
Yu Qian noticed Wu Dingyuan’s confident expression and wondered if their means of escape had something to do with the qin he carried. But what use could such a refined instrument have in this decrepit place?
As he walked, he looked around. This area near the western outer city was far less prosperous than the east. Instead of elegant buildings and courtyards, the roads were lined with cramped shacks and earthen walls. These simple dwellings were scattered haphazardly, separated only by crooked thorn fences.
This place was called Yang Family Tomb, presumably once the ancestral burial ground of a Yang family. When Nanjing expanded, this area was incorporated into the city. Though technically part of Nanjing, Yu Qian had never set foot here. It felt like a completely different world from the East, as if separated by an invisible barrier, even the air felt different.
After walking for about two watermarks, Wu Dingyuan finally stopped. Overhead came several hoarse cries as a dozen crows flew out from an old locust tree, passing over them and disappearing into the night. Only then did the other three notice a small temple standing in the gloomy grove ahead. From its layout, it appeared to be a City God temple, though quite small.
The temple was long neglected—the ridge beasts on the roof were broken, tiles had fallen off, and the door and window boards had been removed, leaving three black holes that exhaled cold air in the night. Compared to the magnificent City God Temple in front of Yingtian Prefecture, it was worlds apart, more resembling a shrine to the kings of hell.
Wu Dingyuan found a flat spot in the grove near the temple, removed the crimson qin cover, carefully set down the instrument with a few stones as support, and gestured to Zhu Zhanji: “Big Radish, you play.”
Zhu Zhanji started: “What did you call me?” He could hardly believe it—this insolent fellow giving Yu Qian a nickname was one thing, but now he dared to disrespect him as well.
“Stop wasting time, play, Big Radish!”
“Here?”
“Here.”
Play here, for ghosts to hear? Zhu Zhanji barely suppressed his surprise: “What should I play?” Wu Dingyuan thought for a moment: “Anything, just make it loud.”
“…” Zhu Zhanji had never heard such an unreasonable request. He reluctantly sat cross-legged, first adjusted the tuning pegs, and strummed a few notes. Immediately he felt the exceptional quality of the instrument. The strings produced a clear, crisp sound with a lingering resonance that harmonized with the body—even compared to the palace collection, it was hard to say which was superior.
Since Wu Dingyuan said to play anything, Zhu Zhanji thought briefly, then positioned his right hand like a spring oriole emerging from a valley and his left like an autumn hawk riding the wind. His ten fingers took their positions, and he began playing “Crow’s Night Cry.”
The origin of “Crow’s Night Cry” came from the Later Han Dynasty, when He Yan was imprisoned. His daughter heard cold crows crying at night and took it as an auspicious sign of her father’s release, thus composing this piece. Seeing the crows fly earlier had reminded Zhu Zhanji of this tune, and he hoped it might bring him good fortune in his current predicament.
The piece mimicked cold crows, so the melody emphasized angular notes over rounded ones, depicting feeding young, nest fighting, wing flapping, and night crying. Zhu Zhanji had learned his qin artistry from his uncle Zhang Quan, who emphasized the unity of heart and rhythm. As he played, his mind was completely immersed in the music. Thinking of his ailing father in Beijing, his mother of uncertain fate, his brothers of unclear loyalty, and his attendant now turned to ash, his fingers plucked and strummed with intense emotion, person, song, and instrument becoming one. At some point, tears glistened in the musician’s eyes.
Though Wu Dingyuan couldn’t appreciate the subtleties, he deemed the sound adequately loud and returned his attention to the desolate temple.
As Zhu Zhanji was about to finish the piece, something stirred in the temple, like a ghost flitting past. Yu Qian jumped in fright and was about to warn the Crown Prince, but Wu Dingyuan stopped him.
“Raise your hands and don’t move,” Wu Dingyuan ordered sternly. “The master here is quite paranoid.”
Yu Qian and Su Jingxi had no choice but to follow his example, raising their arms high. Soon, rustling sounds came from above as something climbed to the tops of the locust trees.
As Zhu Zhanji finished his piece, his right hand habitually stroked from the first position to the seventh, then gently pressed the strings, exhaling. Suddenly, four white pythons emerged from the locust trees on both sides, their forms visible in the darkness. Su Jingxi gasped but was pulled back by Wu Dingyuan.
Looking more carefully, Su Jingxi realized these weren’t pythons but four thick white cloth strips hanging straight down the tree trunks. The strips suddenly twisted, and dozens of figures slid down from the treetops along them. Their movements were coordinated and clean, quickly landing and surrounding the group.
“White Dragon Hang?!”
Yu Qian’s shout echoed through the locust grove, startling the crows back into flight.
Almost simultaneously with Yu Qian’s cry, an even louder voice exploded in Fule House’s Three Songs quarter. The sound was thunderous, making the Daozhou orchids in the hall tremble.
“Tell me quickly, where is your lover Wu Dingyuan?!”
Zhu Buhua demanded viciously. His terrifying swollen face resembled a hell demon from the “Mulian Saves His Mother” precious scroll. Hong Yu, her collar grabbed by his large hand, was forced to face this ghostly visage at close range and shook her head frantically.
Zhu Buhua had no time to waste. He spread his fingers and slapped Hong Yu’s face hard, then kicked her to the ground.
Mother Tong stood by with an ashen face. She had thought these people were just suspicious thieves, never imagining they were fleeing imperial criminals who had attracted a military commander. Seeing this Tartar acting like a mad dog, Mother Tong worried that forget about the reward money, she might be implicated by Hong Yu—household confiscation didn’t distinguish between fake mothers and real ones.
Zhu Buhua raised his right leg, pressing his high felt boot against Hong Yu’s cheek and grinding slightly: “Filthy whore, will you talk or not?”
Mother Tong couldn’t help but plead: “My lord… please be gentle, if she dies, it will be hard to explain to the Imperial Entertainment Bureau.” These criminal officials’ family members were all registered with the bureau’s director—if there was a death, the authorities would investigate. Hearing this, Zhu Buhua ground his heel even harder, nearly drawing blood from her cheek.
Hong Yu, a mere Three Songs quarter musician, couldn’t withstand such torture. Her fingers clawed desperately at the air. Zhu Buhua lifted his boot slightly: “Ready to talk now?” Hong Yu lay crumpled on the ground, curled up and gasping. When Zhu Buhua pressed her again, she finally spoke haltingly: “They… Dingyuan said they needed to leave the city quickly, taking a night boat from here to West Water Gate.”
Zhu Buhua sneered: “Don’t take me for a fool. West Water Gate is heavily guarded—why would they walk into a trap?” Hong Yu glanced timidly at Mother Tong, too afraid to speak.
Zhu Buhua caught this small gesture and glared at Mother Tong: “Get out!” Two Brave Army soldiers immediately dragged her from the hall. Only then did Hong Yu, rubbing her face, continue: “Mother has an old lover who works as a gate clerk at West Water Gate. Wu Dingyuan promised 150 taels of silver, and I begged her to do this favor. Mother finally agreed but forbade me from telling…”
Hearing this, Zhu Buhua ordered a search of Mother Tong’s room, where they indeed found a silver case. Opening it revealed the silver ingots Wu Dingyuan had taken from the Embroidered Uniform Guard yesterday. Zhu Buhua flew into a rage: “This unkillable old hag, still pretending to be innocent while trying to mediate!” He immediately ordered her brought back.
When Mother Tong entered the room, Zhu Buhua kicked her chest twice without a word. As she rolled on the ground in pain, he asked if she had a lover at West Water Gate—she said yes. Asked if she had received 150 taels of silver from Wu Dingyuan, she claimed it was held for her girl. Seeing her admit this, Zhu Buhua wouldn’t listen to explanations and beat her viciously until she could barely breathe.
Just then, someone rushed in to report that a patrol had spotted a black-canopied boat drifting near West Water Gate. Hearing this, Zhu Buhua urgently kicked the old woman once more before hurrying away with his men.
Seeing her mother lying motionless on the ground, Hong Yu felt secret relief. Before leaving, Wu Dingyuan had privately instructed her, saying Mother Tong’s shifty eyes suggested ulterior motives. If she respected their mother-daughter bond and didn’t report them, that would be fine; but if she went to the authorities, Hong Yu could pin everything on her.
Mother Tong indeed had a lover at West Water Gate, and the 150 taels were real. But through Wu Dingyuan’s manipulation, these became iron-clad evidence of helping imperial fugitives escape. Hong Yu had always known this youth’s careful thinking and exceptional methods, but only tonight did she truly experience them.
The commotion had drawn quite a crowd—servants, pimps, and courtesans all came to watch. Hong Yu ordered some servants to carry Mother Tong to her room and took out a tael of silver to send for a physician, earning praise from onlookers for her filial piety. After arranging everything, she was about to return to her room when she heard the two doorkeepers howl as they were suddenly lifted and thrown ten paces away.
As Hong Yu stood startled, a large man walked in slowly. Unlike Zhu Buhua’s massive bulk, this man was densely built, with rock-hard muscles visible under his thin shirt, moving like a shifting mountain range. A scar crossed his forehead as if someone had lifted his skull cap, and strangest of all, fresh blood stained this scar.
Hong Yu’s lips trembled at the sight of him: “Liang Xingfu?”
Liang Xingfu gave her an indifferent look: “Where’s Wu Dingyuan?” Hong Yu swallowed and said they’d gone to West Water Gate, with Zhu Buhua already in pursuit. After hearing this, Liang Xingfu didn’t leave immediately but kept staring at her. Hong Yu felt as if a mountain hung over her head, making it difficult to breathe.
Liang Xingfu pointed to the blood on his forehead, his tone distant: “Pity these mortals, as if in a fire pit. The Iron Lion has shed his mortal coil through my enlightenment, but he wouldn’t ascend to nirvana alone. He sent me to find Wu Dingyuan, to guide him west together—where is he?” Hong Yu knew of his grudge against the Wu family and that his mind was somewhat unstable. Fighting her fear, she repeated the West Water Gate lie and closed her eyes.
His presence was overwhelmingly intimidating. She didn’t expect to fool him and only waited for his angry response, hoping for a quick death. But Liang Xingfu didn’t strike. Instead, he looked around and suddenly asked: “For a qin courtesan, where is your qin?”
“Sent… sent for repairs,” Hong Yu squeezed out a mosquito-like voice, not believing it herself.
Liang Xingfu seemed not to hear, pacing the hall with his hands behind his back. Several scroll paintings hung on the walls, gifts from patrons. He stopped before an ink painting. It was Wang Wei’s “Bamboo Lodge,” inspired by the lines “Sitting alone in dense bamboo, playing qin and giving long whistles.” Though signed by a famous Jiangnan artist, a silk strip beside it bore a different name.
“The White Dragon Hang’s Great Dragon Head? His taste in qin music rivals his grain-stealing skills.” Liang Xingfu casually pulled down the silk strip, wrapping it around his finger, his tone indifferent.
Hong Yu collapsed to the ground, all hope lost. Under Liang Xingfu’s penetrating gaze, she felt stripped bare, with no secrets left to hide. But after waiting a long time, she saw no movement from him. Looking up, she found Liang Xingfu had already left. Hong Yu lay on the floor, her limbs ice-cold, with only one thought echoing in her mind: “Dingyuan, run quickly, run…”
But this cry would never reach Wu Dingyuan.
He now stood in the locust grove, facing the derelict temple’s main door. The dozen or so muscular men who had slid down the white cloth strips had sealed off all escape routes, standing at a distance, staring intently at them.
Soon, an old, hoarse voice drifted out from the black temple doorway: “Miss Hong Yu’s Washing Moon qin is truly a superior instrument. That rendition of ‘Crow’s Night Cry’ just now perfectly captured its essential spirit. On such a trembling long night, hearing such qin music is enough to calm one’s soul.”
Wu Dingyuan ignored the artistic appreciation entirely, stating simply: “Old Dragon Head, we need passage out of the city.” The voice showed resignation at his lack of refinement: “I owe Miss Hong Yu a favor, but I never expected she’d use it on you.”
Wu Dingyuan strode toward the dilapidated temple, his figure quickly swallowed by the darkness within. The other three remained in the locust grove, waiting under the watchful eyes surrounding them.
Zhu Zhanji shifted uncomfortably and whispered to Yu Qian: “You mentioned White Dragon Hang earlier—what is that?” Yu Qian glanced warily around before speaking in what he thought was a low voice: “Your Highness, the White Dragon Hang is a notorious thieves’ guild in northwest Nanjing.”
“Thieves’ guild? Thieves can form associations now?” Zhu Zhanji found it absurd. Yu Qian explained: “Nanjing’s various forces are intertwined, far from the peaceful appearance it maintains officially. Some areas, like this Yang Family Tomb where we are now, fall exactly between the Western and Northern Military Commands’ jurisdictions. Neither side manages it, allowing evil to flourish.”
“Why are they called White Dragon Hang?”
“These thieves excel at using white cloth as ropes, scaling walls and eaves to raid the capital’s granaries, hence the name White Dragon Hang.”
Zhu Zhanji listened in astonishment, now understanding why these men moved so nimbly—their skills were honed through raiding granaries: “So openly? Doesn’t the Yingtian Prefecture do anything about it?” Yu Qian smiled bitterly and shook his head: “The authorities try, but it’s like wildfire in spring wind—impossible to extinguish completely. At least the Dragon Head has never been caught. Your Highness must be very careful…” He glanced toward the temple.
The speaker earlier must have been the White Dragon Hang’s Dragon Head. That Wu Dingyuan could seek their help suggested long-standing connections between the Yingtian Prefecture and White Dragon Hang. Zhu Zhanji was furious: “Right under the capital’s nose, these thieves are so brazen—how can the common people respect imperial authority? When I return to Beijing, I must thoroughly clean this up!”
As they whispered, Wu Dingyuan emerged from the temple, followed by an old man. The old man wore white hemp clothing as if in mourning, his graying hair tied in a small bun, and his narrow eyes almost lost in wrinkles, making his emotions impossible to read.
“These are the ones who need to leave the city,” Wu Dingyuan pointed to the three. The Old Dragon Head squinted, examining each of them, and smiled: “Interesting. A monk who’s not a monk, an official who is indeed an official, but this woman… I can’t quite place her. Could she be a physician?”
Everyone was startled by the old man’s sharp insight. Having demonstrated his perceptiveness, the Old Dragon Head turned to Wu Dingyuan: “I won’t ask about these three’s backgrounds. But the city is unsettled tonight—Miss Hong Yu’s favor alone isn’t enough to get them out.”
“I’ve heard it said that White Dragon Hang’s word is their bond, never broken.”
“Indeed, our word is our bond, which is why we must be clear upfront,” the Old Dragon Head lifted his eyelids. “If I lacked integrity, I could lead you halfway and then demand an exorbitant price. At that point, you’d have no choice in the matter.”
Wu Dingyuan remained composed: “What else do you want? Money or favors?” The Old Dragon Head pointed at Zhu Zhanji: “Let this young man play another piece for me.”
It was well known throughout the Jiangnan underworld that the White Dragon Hang’s Old Dragon Head was obsessed with qin music. His request wasn’t surprising. Zhu Zhanji couldn’t help but curl his lip—mere grain thieves putting on airs of refinement, wanting the Crown Prince to play for them? How absurd.
But circumstances demanded compliance, and the prince wasn’t foolish enough to refuse outright. His mind raced as he laid the Washing Moon qin across his knees and played “Forgetting Schemes.”
This piece was based on a story from Liezi, about a man who played daily with seagulls, attracting them because he harbored no ulterior motives. Later, when his father suggested catching some birds to keep, the gulls no longer approached him because he now had schemes in his heart.
After Zhu Zhanji finished, the Old Dragon Head stroked his beard, his tone meaningful: “The essence of ‘Forgetting Schemes’ should be contentment with simplicity, forsaking schemes, and avoiding conflict. Yet your rendition emphasized the palace notes over the feather notes, revealing contempt and resentment through the strings—perhaps you deliberately chose this piece to mock me?”
Zhu Zhanji started—this old thief truly knew his craft, detecting the subtle trick in the music. Wu Dingyuan hadn’t noticed anything and impatiently pulled at the prince: “He’s finished playing, can we go now?”
The Old Dragon Head gave him a meaningful look and snapped his fingers: “Let’s go.”
He selected three men from his followers, gave them some instructions, and sent them ahead. Then he led Wu Dingyuan’s group of four back through the locust grove into the maze-like area of thatched huts and earthen walls.
Despite his age, the Old Dragon Head moved nimbly, maintaining a steady pace regardless of hills or ditches. Those behind had to concentrate fully to keep up. Watching the old man head north, Yu Qian grew increasingly puzzled. This direction would take them neither to Zhongfu Gate nor Jinchuan Gate. It seemed to lead toward Shence Gate, but that was too far east, even further from their planned escape route through Longjiang.
Yu Qian kept his doubts to himself, as the Old Dragon Head’s pace left him too breathless to speak.
Zhu Zhanji had no such troubles—his physical condition was good enough to handle the pace easily, leaving him free to look around. The dark scenes surrounding them secretly alarmed him. The Crown Prince had never known that a corner of the magnificent Nanjing contained such destitution. Crumbling rammed earth walls, sparse thatched roofs, with threads of putrid odors rising. He even saw rats scattering from a ditch, leaving behind a small, incomplete mass of flesh that looked like a dead infant.
“Ugh…” Zhu Zhanji’s stomach began to churn, involuntarily slowing his pace. Wu Dingyuan paused briefly to steady him: “I told you to watch your step on the path ahead, don’t look around. This place never enters the sight of nobles.” Zhu Zhanji snorted coldly, forcefully suppressing his nausea.
After walking for about half an hour, they finally passed through the vast area of ruins and reached a tall city wall. The wall stood six zhang high, with neat courses of gray bricks sealed with mortar so firm a fingernail couldn’t scratch it—the prefecture city wall.
The darkness made it difficult to determine which section of the wall it was. Yu Qian could only confirm that they weren’t near any city gate, leaving him uncertain about their next move. The Old Dragon Head looked up and gave a soft whistle. A white cloth strip, like a dragon, dropped down from the wall top. The length had been carefully calculated, reaching exactly to the wall’s base.
The three men who had left earlier had somehow climbed the wall with the white cloth, preparing for their ascent. The Old Dragon Head tugged the cloth to ensure it was secure, then turned aside with an inviting gesture, his smile looking somewhat mischievous in the darkness.
Surprisingly, Su Jingxi stepped forward first. Far from fearful of what was to come, she seemed eager to try. The Old Dragon Head wrapped the cloth around her waist, tied a knot, and grinned: “What a brave heroine. If I were thirty years younger, I’d certainly consider marrying you.” Su Jingxi grabbed the cloth, wrapping it several times around her wrist: “Aren’t you afraid I’d poison you, take your wealth, and remarry?”
The Old Dragon Head was stunned as Su Jingxi began rising smoothly. Three White Dragon Hang strongmen stood atop the wall, the other end of the cloth tied around their waists in parallel. True to their name, they anchored themselves firmly with their core strength, pulling together to quickly hoist Su Jingxi to the top.
Then Wu Dingyuan, Zhu Zhanji, and Yu Qian were successively attached to the cloth and slowly raised to the wall top. Zhu Zhanji, slightly afraid of heights, was pale after being hoisted up; Yu Qian wasn’t afraid, but he worried about such a serious breach in city defenses—what if enemy forces used such methods to invade?
After everyone had climbed onto the stone walkway atop the wall, Yu Qian looked over the outer edge. Directly below the wall stretched a vast expanse of misty water. The crimson clouds that had gathered for half the night had slightly dispersed, allowing a shaft of moonlight to pierce the darkness. The silver light reflected off the water’s surface, creating an otherworldly glow like a giant mirror laid at the city’s feet. Several islands dotted the mirror’s surface, scattered like stars in the heavens.
At that moment, he understood Wu Dingyuan’s true escape plan.
“Rear Lake… so this was your intention all along,” Yu Qian muttered.
Northeast of the southern capital lay a great lake, officially called Rear Lake but known to commoners as Black Warrior Lake. The lake’s southern shore pressed against the prefecture wall between Shence Gate and Taiping Gate, practically adjoining the city proper. The lake was vast, with only five small islands at its center containing over a dozen pavilion archives storing imperial registers and records. Thus, the court kept the lake locked year-round, forbidding civilian residence, making it deeply secluded and quiet.
It seemed that from the moment they left Zhengyang Gate, Wu Dingyuan had already calculated this escape route—truly a brilliant move. Yu Qian exhaled in relief. Now, they only needed the White Dragon Hang to lower them down the outer wall, then they could cross the uninhabited lake and completely escape the prefecture city’s bounds.
The Old Dragon Head gazed down at the lake with interest, then looked up at the moonlight with his hands behind his back, sighing: “Bright moon overhead, lake surface like a mirror. Had I known, we should have played ‘Autumn Moon over Thatched Pavilion’ here on the wall with the Washing Moon qin.”
Hearing another music request, Zhu Zhanji couldn’t help but complain under his breath: “Mere thieves and burglars, what right have you to discuss refinement? Will it never end?”
Unexpectedly, the Old Dragon Head’s sharp ears caught this. He turned with an ambiguous smile and suddenly shot out his arm, gripping the prince’s left hand like an iron vise. Zhu Zhanji was startled, finding he couldn’t break free. The Old Dragon Head raised his wrist: “Look here, a tattered monk’s robe can’t hide noble flesh. Such soft, delicate skin, not even a callus on the thumb—surely raised in silk and jade, weren’t you?” As he spoke, he rubbed his fingers, causing Zhu Zhanji to cry out in pain from the knife-like sensation of the old man’s thick, hard calluses.
“Pardon me, these calluses of mine were earned slowly climbing the white dragon, nothing like your noble tenderness.”
Seeing this, Wu Dingyuan and Yu Qian rushed forward but were blocked by the three strongmen holding the white cloth. Wu Dingyuan said: “Old Dragon Head, we had an agreement—just lower them down the wall.”
The Old Dragon Head smiled: “Earlier this young master played ‘Forgetting Schemes’—the qin speaks the heart’s voice, clearly showing his thoughts about me.” His tone turned cold, “I love seeking truth. As for who is worthy to discuss refinement, I’d like to hear your thoughts.”
Seeing it was out in the open, Zhu Zhanji straightened his chest and rebuked: “You lot scale walls and dig holes to steal transport grain. For personal gain, you disrupt court order above and harm common people’s sustenance below, tyrannizing the northern city—you’re mere bandits, yet you dare pose as refined guests? Utterly laughable!”
Seeing his passionate speech, the Old Dragon Head threw back his head and laughed: “Young master, did you just step out of some deep mansion? Been watching too many plays?” Zhu Zhanji raged: “You grain-stealing rats, are you claiming innocence?”
“Don’t think we country folk don’t read the Book of Songs. ‘Large rat, large rat, don’t eat our millet’—that large rat refers not to us, but to nobles like you.” The Old Dragon Head gripped Zhu Zhanji’s hand tighter, his smile vanishing as his wrinkles churned like waves, seeming ready to devour. Zhu Zhanji instinctively retreated until his back met a merlon with nowhere left to go.
“The capital’s soldiers and civilians rely on this grain to survive. For every stone you steal, ten more people go hungry. You’re not stealing grain—you’re stealing lives!” Zhu Zhanji’s anger flared. As the Great Ming’s Crown Prince, the empire was his family estate—how dare they steal from his house and forbid him to speak of it?
Hearing this rebuke, the Old Dragon Head said coldly: “Young master truly understands. Then do you know how much grain White Dragon Hang takes each month, and how much grain Jinling reports as lost?”
Zhu Zhanji froze, instinctively looking at Yu Qian and Wu Dingyuan. Yu Qian never dealt with finances and looked confused, but Wu Dingyuan sighed: “The reported losses exceed actual theft tenfold—it’s all a matter of using small excuses to cover large accounts.”
“Using small excuses?!”
Zhu Zhanji wasn’t completely ignorant of civil affairs, and this hint made him realize it immediately. Using a small pretext to take a large sum—meant certain high officials in Nanjing were secretly withholding stored grain, embezzling from warehouses, and then allowing White Dragon Hang to steal so they could blame all accounting discrepancies on them as “losses.”
No wonder White Dragon Hang could remain in the city so long—they were deliberately kept as scapegoats. “Corrupt officials and thieves working together! I… the court should punish you all!” Zhu Zhanji grew even angrier.
The Old Dragon Head sneered: “Punishment does come. Do you know how many people we must send to Yingtian Prefecture each year? Five! Just to give the officials their due. Lives to pay for lost grain—once the officials have their explanation, the accounts are wiped clean.”
Zhu Zhanji listened in shock, never imagining such schemes. He’d heard his Eastern Palace tutors speak of local clerks secretly stealing grain, then burning warehouses during audits to destroy evidence. He’d thought that was already too brazen, but this was even more sophisticated. Burning warehouses could only hide temporary theft; using small excuses to cover large thefts allowed year after year of profit, costing merely a few lives.
“For a bit of grain, you treat human lives as nothing…”
“Silence!”
The Old Dragon Head roared, suddenly dragging him to the inner side of the wall, pointing to the dark mass below: “Let me tell you, young master—this Yang Family Tomb area in the north city houses thousands of refugees and starving people who’ve fled here from Southern Zhili over the years. The officials ignore them completely. If not for White Dragon Hang stealing grain to distribute, they’d all starve. Those five lives each year are White Dragon Hang members who volunteer by drawing lots, just to earn survival for their families.”
Zhu Zhanji looked to Wu Dingyuan for confirmation, and he nodded expressionlessly. The prince was rendered speechless, discovering so many complexities within a grain-stealing gang. These people seemed to completely disregard Great Ming law, but thinking carefully, when had Great Ming law ever protected them? The righteous indignation in the prince’s chest began to waver slightly.
“We struggle to survive, sacrificing our lives for just a few stones of grain each time—compared to what those great officials embezzle, it’s a drop in the ocean. Calling White Dragon Hang large rats shows utter heartlessness!” The Old Dragon Head finished, grabbing Zhu Zhanji and grinning: “I love teaching. Since this young master doesn’t know life’s hardships, he should experience Yang Family Tomb to understand the world and truly refine his qin artistry.”
Yu Qian was shocked at the old man’s audacity in making such an outrageous demand. Wu Dingyuan blocked his protest, frowning: “This isn’t proper.”
The Old Dragon Head spread his hands: “If you don’t wish to stay, I won’t force you. But do be careful going down.” The threat was clear. Without White Dragon Hang’s white cloth, they couldn’t descend or even return the way they came—they’d be trapped on the wall, waiting for soldiers to capture them like turtles in a jar.
“So this is how you repay favors?” Wu Dingyuan’s tone turned hostile as he moved to grab his iron ruler. The Old Dragon Head snapped his fingers, and three strongmen instantly surrounded him.
“You nobles all act righteous in public while doing despicable things in private. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have a young master raised on blood-stained dirty grain play qin for us common folk. Don’t worry, I won’t harm him—keeping him a few days before letting him leave the city doesn’t break my promise.”
Yu Qian grew desperate, never expecting their escape to be blocked by an old dragon head’s pride, deeply regretting the prince’s loose tongue. They couldn’t delay returning to the capital for even a moment—why debate White Dragon Hang’s rights and wrongs now?
With only Wu Dingyuan able to fight, they were hopelessly outnumbered. Moreover, one shout from White Dragon Hang would alert Shence Gate’s guards. As Yu Qian struggled for ideas, he desperately turned his head and noticed Su Jingxi had moved from her original position.
She had shifted four or five steps closer to the strongmen. They were all focused on Wu Dingyuan, ignoring the seemingly timid woman. Though Yu Qian didn’t know her plan, he knew underestimating this woman would be a grave mistake.
She casually moved beside one strongman, lifted her horse-face skirt slightly, and gently stepped on the white cloth at his feet. The cloth used for climbing was incredibly long, one end tied to the three men’s waists, the other coiled on the ground like a python. Su Jingxi released her skirt, perfectly hiding her foot’s movement. Nonchalantly, she used her foot to drag the cloth back toward Yu Qian.
“Director Yu, how much do you weigh?” Su Jingxi suddenly asked. Yu Qian was startled—he wasn’t a butcher, so why would he care about that? He looked down at his belly, hesitating: “Perhaps 130 jin?” Su Jingxi closed her eyes to calculate briefly, then smiled: “That should be enough.”
“Enough for what?”
Su Jingxi lifted the end of the white cloth from the ground, quickly wrapped it twice around Yu Qian’s waist, and tied a firm knot: “Jump over the outer wall.”
Yu Qian looked at her in shock—what was she planning?
“No time to explain, if you want to save the Crown Prince, this is the only way. Jump.” Su Jingxi urged.
Yu Qian understood the situation could change in an instant—having chosen to assist the Crown Prince, becoming a Lu Xiufu was his duty. Gritting his teeth, he climbed over the wall, closed his eyes, and leaped outward, suddenly feeling weightless…
As he fell, the white cloth plunged with him. The three strongmen hadn’t untied their waists, and the sudden pulling force made them stumble. Though they far outweighed Yu Qian, the force still sent them staggering. Their six legs planted in horse stances barely held firm. Yu Qian fell only halfway down the wall before hanging suspended, swinging back and forth. A delicate balance formed between the three men and one.
Su Jingxi suddenly called out: “Wu Dingyuan!”
Wu Dingyuan understood instantly, diving forward without hesitation. The three men were constrained by their horse stances, moving slowly. He slipped through their gap, his iron ruler flashing like a falling star, striking the Old Dragon Head’s wrist hard. The old man cried out in pain, forced to release Zhu Zhanji. Wu Dingyuan shouted: “Back kick!”
Zhu Zhanji needed only to kick backward to knock the old man down and escape. But for some reason, as he raised his foot, he suddenly recalled the Old Dragon Head’s accusations and hesitated. How would history record this kick? As a tyrant who abused his people? A ruler who ignored corruption? Was this his way of ruling?
Since Yu Qian’s rebuke, these thoughts have become almost an obsession, constantly surfacing. Zhu Zhanji knew this crucial moment wasn’t the time for such thoughts, but he couldn’t control his mind, causing his foot to slow by a beat.
The Old Dragon Head seized this opportunity, his arms encircling to grip the prince’s throat again. Though old and frail, his hands, practiced in climbing the white dragon, were firmer than iron shackles. Wu Dingyuan couldn’t strike again as the three men had regained their stance, blocking the Old Dragon Head once more.
Their single chance to turn the tables vanished instantly due to the prince’s moment of hesitation. This time, neither Wu Dingyuan nor Su Jingxi had any options. And Yu Qian, hanging in mid-air, could barely help himself.
As the Old Dragon Head was about to speak, he suddenly felt an intense pressure behind him. Looking back, his pupils contracted. A muscular black figure stood steady in the middle of the walkway, his moonlit form as massive as a pagoda, with a streak of fresh blood on his forehead lending a fierce aspect:
“Hand over the Crown Prince to me.”