The deer cry “yoo, yoo,” grazing on the wild duckweed. I have honored guests; strike the zither, blow the reed pipes… People who favor me will show me the proper path… (from the “Deer Cry” in the Book of Songs, Minor Odes.)
A stag grazed on grass in the mountain stream. The young herder, glancing around and seeing no one to supervise him, quietly slipped off his shoes and began splashing barefoot in the water—not noticing that the grazing deer had wandered farther and farther away…
At a scenic cliffside on Mount Baiquan, some forty or fifty refined, elegant scholars in flowing wide-sleeved robes sat gathered around a low table, watching a match with pleased expressions.
A lovely young Daoist nun, her hands delicate, her hair black as ink, her brows and eyes exquisite, extended a slender scallion-white finger and picked up a Go stone, setting it down on the board with a crisp click—shattering, along with the sound, the hearts of the men “watching the match.”
Whether they loved the game itself, or had simply come to love her, was hard to say.
Everyone watched intently, but just then, from down at the foot of the mountain came an extremely crude, boisterous shout:
“Any there?”
“There’s one!”
“Then get up there!”
“Right on!”
Green hills, clear waters, poetry, painting, wine, and tea—this fine game of Go was thoroughly ruined by the racket.
The Daoist nun didn’t seem angry at all. She merely smiled, lifted her teacup for a small sip, breathed in the fresh air around her, her manner remaining relaxed and elegant—enough to send the group of smitten men into another wave of quiet swooning.
The scholar sitting across from her had been absorbed in the game, scratching his head over his next move, when he too heard that irritating noise drifting over from the other side of the mountain.
“Great luck, what a big one! Quick, come on, we’ve got it cornered, we’ve got it cornered…!”
Unable to bear it any longer, this scholar leapt to his feet, standing right on the low table, and shouted furiously toward the mountain, “Who dares make such a racket here!”
Mount Baiquan carried the sound in a series of booming echoes. It seemed the people on the mountain heard the accusation, because a voice immediately shouted back: “Is this your mountain?!”
Mountain… mountain… mountain…! the echo repeated.
No one had expected that response. Everyone froze for a moment, then burst into laughter.
This was an elegant literary gathering centered on a game of Go, hosted by Zhang Guanneng, a renowned scholar of the former dynasty who lived at the foot of the mountain on Quanqian Street. He had recently built a thatched cottage on Mount Baiquan and given himself a new name: Yujian, “Master of the Mirror.”
Everyone thus also called him Elder Yujian.
“Yujian,” meaning “jade mirror,” was another word for a mirror, and the name Zhang Guanneng had chosen for himself made his desire to serve the Great Liang dynasty fairly transparent. And yet the court had never summoned him—which was rather disappointing.
Just as someone in the martial world hoping to build a reputation must first perform some chivalrous deeds before people take notice of them, Elder Yujian operated the same way. Living up on this hillside, he relied on his old connections to hold these refined literary gatherings every so often, showing off his remaining influence and connections to the new dynasty.
Within literary circles, he still carried considerable clout—whenever he called, plenty of famous scholars and literati would show up. Over time, his renewed reputation spread, and people began saying that the court ought to invite back all the old scholars, the way they’d invited Master Gong to lecture—that would truly be the right thing to do.
Unfortunately, His Majesty feigned deafness on the matter, and the court was already packed with a crowd of practical, results-driven officials, so it seemed unlikely the old scholars would get their wish anytime soon.
Though it pained him, Elder Yujian gritted his teeth and kept spending his family fortune to host these gatherings. As they grew more frequent, even the genuine power brokers of the Great Liang dynasty began quietly showing up out of curiosity.
Amid the laughter, Elder Yujian, seated in the place of honor, waved his fan and said with a smile, “Indeed—this mountain belongs to no one, it’s the mountain god’s territory. If you can come here, then why shouldn’t a hunter, just trying to feed his family, be allowed to come too? Come, come, sit down…”
Seeing everyone laugh again, Elder Yujian felt a complicated pang inside. He’d originally built this thatched cottage hoping to use his connections with the officials living below on Quanhou Street to get word passed along to the court, to express his sentiments—what if someone in power took notice?
But who could have expected that with so many friends around, their words and behavior would sometimes grow a bit wild—dozens of them getting drunk and singing loudly together on the mountain wasn’t unheard of. Unfortunately, the households living below the mountain had no appreciation for such refined singing, and had grown rather resentful about it.
These reclusive scholars had sent their servants down to Quanhou Street to buy water, only to be told, upon learning they were from the mountain, that no water would be sold to them—sometimes they’d even be scolded on top of it.
This wasn’t like the old dynasty, when the court had valued them, when they’d had students scattered across the realm, when no one would have dared say a word against them—they’d been treated with the utmost respect back then. Ah, how the mighty had fallen, bullied even by dogs once the tiger left the plains…
Hearing Elder Yujian’s teasing remark, everyone naturally chimed in agreement, adding a few more jabs at the scholar who’d just lost—rattled by all this, he quickly conceded the game.
He stood up, wincing, straightening his robes, about to offer some polite closing remarks, when another burst of commotion reached them.
Startled, everyone turned to look, and saw a group of men in rough cloth clothing, coarse and crude in manner, laughing and joking as they carried a massive, sturdy elk down the mountain.
The scholar who’d just lost the game had been standing on the platform with a clear view, and he immediately recognized it—that was Vice Minister Liu’s beloved elk, now bloodied and being carried by a burly, bearded man, as though it were mere game.
Shocked, the man cried out, “This is terrible! Elder Yujian, look, Master Yujiao, your, your deer has been killed by someone…”
To display their air of transcendent, otherworldly elegance, the literati of Yanjing had lately taken up the fashion of riding elk. Unfortunately, elk were naturally wild creatures, not easily tamed, and though the trend was popular, only one man in all of Yanjing actually owned a truly magnificent male elk—Liu Zhenzhi, a Vice Director in the Ministry of Personnel.
This man loved his elk to the point of obsession, practically wanting to sleep beside it, raising it as though it were his own child. And because the elk’s antlers were as beautiful and lustrous as jade, with exquisitely elegant branches, someone had bestowed upon Liu Zhenzhi the elegant nickname “Master Yujiao”—Master of the Jade Antlers.
Liu Zhenzhi, being easygoing by nature and not one to fuss over trifles, had simply accepted the nickname when people called him by it.
Hearing that Master Yujiao’s beloved elk had been killed, everyone naturally flew into a rage, jumping to their feet—some didn’t even stop to put their shoes on before rushing over, shouting and clamoring, refusing to let the matter rest…
The hunters were outsiders from a nearby village, with no local land of their own. With autumn tax season approaching and no other options, they’d banded together to head into the mountains to find some way to make ends meet. Who could have known that the one piece of game they managed to catch would turn out to belong to some noble household?
But if it truly belonged to someone as a pet, then why was it running wild through the fields? There wasn’t a single mark on it—how were they supposed to know it belonged to some noble family?
Knowing full well they couldn’t possibly afford to compensate for this, the hunters refused to admit fault even under threat of death, and before long, a scuffle broke out…
That day, Chen Dasheng was lounging lazily on the heated brick bed at home. Beside his ear was the crisp clatter of his young wife working her abacus beads, the old lady’s endless grumbling about that gang of shameless old men up on the mountain, and his two sons tussling and giggling brightly on either side of his belly.
Xi Que and Lanting Ge’er hadn’t done their reading today either—both had gone with A’Nai to play at their cousin’s house.
The two of them were plenty busy over there too. The little nephew kept tossing things down off the brick bed, and Lanting Ge’er patiently picked them up again and again.
Qiqian’er thought it looked improper and scolded them a few times, but Xi Que, even more anxious than A’Nai, kept insisting it was fine, not wanting her nephew scolded.
Having finally become an elder in the family and an aunt herself, she was naturally endlessly patient with every nephew and niece.
Just as this warm, comfortable scene was unfolding, a burst of commotion drifted down faintly from Mount Baiquan, and everyone in the room, whose moods had been good until then, frowned in unison, thoroughly annoyed.
A’Nai had once held scholars in reverence and awe. But ever since that group living in the thatched huts had arrived, they’d thoroughly ruined the old lady’s lifelong respect for educated men.
Life on Quanhou Street had become nearly unbearable. Except during winter, when they were too cold to come out, for the other three seasons, every few days, before dawn, the racket from up there would start, leaving the old ladies of the street all feeling exhausted, suffering in silence.
Today, once again, before even the monk on the early bell-ringing shift had left, people up on the mountain were already singing long, drawn-out songs—dozens of them gathered together, roaring loud enough that the whole lane couldn’t sleep in peace.
“Every one of them’s old enough to be someone’s grandfather by now, dignified-looking old gentlemen on the surface, and yet so shameless. Auntie Lü told me the other day, she and some others saw it was raining and wanted to go up the mountain to pick some fresh greens, and tsk, it was a sight not fit to be seen—every one of them shriveled up like withered date pits, dried up old worthless things…”
Chen Dasheng, hearing the old lady about to launch into more of her scolding, quickly coughed and sat up, pointing at Gennu and the old lady. “A’Nai, let’s not use those coarse expressions, alright? The children are starting to pick up speech now, we don’t want them running around repeating vulgar things tomorrow…”
Qiqian’er let out a snort of laughter, looking at the old lady who was trying to hold back her words. “Don’t listen to him. So what if they learn it? You’re old enough now to say whatever you please, why worry about what others think of a bit of nonsense talk! Those old men are cunning enough themselves—if the children pick it up and say it, they’ll be embarrassed a few times and stop bringing it up, don’t you think that’s right?”
Hearing this, Chen Dasheng put on a wronged expression and complained, “Hey! Look at what our Fourth Household’s madam is saying—sounds to me like this isn’t really about the children, this is about me, isn’t it?”
Qiqian’er laughed at that, then set the account book aside and complained to the old lady, “That’s exactly who I mean. A’Nai, please do something about him—even the monks have their daily chores to do, and I’ve told this grandson of yours to go check on Jiang Zhu’s matter for three days straight now, and he still hasn’t gone…”
Before she could finish complaining, a servant woman came running in from outside, shouting as she ran, “Something terrible’s happened, something terrible! Fourth Master, come quick and look, it looks like there’s been a murder up on the mountain…”
Qiqian’er, quick-witted, immediately scooped up her two sons and pressed their ears against her, holding them close.
By the time she looked up again, Chen Dasheng was already nowhere to be seen.
The Lao Dao brothers, all of whom had been at home, on hearing there’d been a killing up on the mountain, all grabbed their weapons and ran toward it—their noses were sharp, and they’d caught the scent of fresh blood from a distance.
Several scholars, faces ashen with terror, some having lost their shoes entirely, came fleeing down from the mountain. Seeing them, they cried out for help, and by the time they reached the area near the thatched cottage, bodies already lay scattered haphazardly across the ground.
This disaster had claimed six lives and injured more than twenty. Most troubling of all: Noble Consort Liu from the palace, maternal uncle of Fifth Prince Yang Ying, and Vice Director of the Ministry of Personnel Liu Zhenzhi, had been struck through the heart with a single blade and died on the spot.
Among the dead was also a female Daoist nun, whose background was the stuff of legend—she’d been born into the former dynasty’s imperial family, once granted the title of Commandery Princess. Having become so devoted to the game of Go, she’d left the mortal world early to become a nun, and among common people she was known as the Recluse of Qixia. Having already left worldly life so long ago, it was because of this that she’d survived the fall of the previous dynasty and the change of rule.
In truth, had she not died today, most people would have entirely forgotten her origins by now.
Outside Elder Yujian’s thatched cottage, six bodies lay in a row. The hunters knelt in a huddled group, trembling like leaves in the wind.
Bound to a tree trunk, right at the feet of the corpses, was a wild-eyed, ferocious-looking man, his mouth gagged, his face twisted in a manic rage so intense his eyes seemed ready to burst from their sockets.
This was the very murderer, the one responsible for the killings and injuries.
By the time Chen Dasheng and the others arrived, this man was still swinging an iron blade wildly in every direction. It took Chen Dasheng and his group only a couple of moves to subdue and capture him.
A case of this magnitude, with a member of the imperial family—practically equivalent to the Emperor’s own brother-in-law—among the dead, was no small matter. Unfortunately, Minister of Justice Wei Jitai had been suffering from hemorrhoids these past few days and was laid up at home. On hearing of such a major case, he naturally went straight into the palace first, then gathered his best men from the Ministry of Justice and hurried up Mount Baiquan in a great rush.
With so many dead, the local residents, always eager for a spectacle, had gathered too, and by the time the officials arrived, the foot of the mountain was already packed with people.
Poor Minister Wei was already getting on in years, and after such a jolting journey, once he got out of his sedan chair, he had to be carried up the mountain on someone’s back. As they approached the scene, not far off, he spotted Chen Dasheng and the others there too, and was taken aback.
Chen Dasheng approached respectfully and bowed to the elderly minister first. “Esteemed Minister, you’ve gone to such trouble—what brought you out here in person?”
Even for the younger brother of a Noble Consort, this wasn’t the sort of case that would normally warrant this minister’s personal attention.
Supported by attendants as he steadied himself, Minister Wei looked at Chen Dasheng and asked, “Marquis Chen? What are you doing here?”
Chen Dasheng gestured toward the foot of the mountain. “Esteemed Minister, just below here is Quanhou Street—my household lives right there. When we heard the commotion, we came at once… but, alas, we arrived too late.”
What a coincidence it all was, the minister thought, nodding. Then, hearing the Qingfeng prefect arrive and praise them, saying that if Marquis Chen and his men hadn’t arrived so promptly, even more lives would have been lost, the minister sighed, “This—what kind of affair is this!”
He reached out a hand, and Chen Dasheng supported him as they walked further in.
The elderly minister spoke as he walked. “This case shouldn’t really have required my personal attention, only… ah, our two families go back generations. The Liu family, three generations now, and this generation it all rested on Zhenzhi. He had literary talent and renown from a young age, and I thought to myself, what if it wasn’t as bad as reported? Given our long friendship, I felt I had to come see for myself…”
As he reached the entrance of the thatched cottage and saw the bodies from a distance, he confirmed the identity, and knowing there was no undoing it now, he stamped his foot and said to Chen Dasheng, “How—how did it come to this?”
Chen Dasheng, at a loss, could only shake his head helplessly in response.
But the old minister truly wept. “What a waste, what a waste… ah, when the lady in the palace heard, she fainted on the spot…”
Someone brought over the old minister’s crimson cloak for handling official investigations. Only after putting it on did the old minister manage to compose himself enough to stop his tears. He was about to call for questioning to begin when Chen Dasheng pulled him aside, straight into the courtyard, right up to where the culprit was bound.
Chen Dasheng reached out and grasped the criminal’s chin, saying to the old minister, “My lord, this matter is rather complicated. Perhaps you should have the Qingfeng prefecture and the other idle onlookers step back for now.”
A faint spark lit up in the old minister’s eyes, and the grief left his voice as he asked, “Oh? Does the Marquis perhaps know something about this?”
Chen Dasheng nodded. “That day, when the Emotionless One made an attempt on His Majesty’s life, her symptoms were nearly identical to this. Except her internal cultivation was deep enough that she still retained some clarity of mind—this man has lost that entirely.”
Minister Wei’s brow furrowed sharply. He looked at Chen Dasheng and asked, “The Soul-Collecting Broth of White Stone Mountain? The Meridian-Sealing Finger technique? Marquis, are you certain you haven’t misjudged?”