That a monk who had once commanded all of Daxing City should have fled so abruptly when Yang Jing ascended to the throne — on the surface, this seemed reasonable enough.

Yang Jing was nothing like his father. Every single thing his father had loved, Yang Jing disdained — and that included the all-powerful eunuch Liu Chongxin, and naturally the storytelling monk his father had so favored.

Wuming’s status in Daxing had been entirely tied to the old Emperor’s favor.

Everyone knew that Yang Jing had no use for him. When he fled the capital, many people in the city had felt it was a pity — especially the noble ladies of the palace, who genuinely felt that Wuming was not only elegant and entertaining but a man of real skill.

At the very least, his medicines had worked. More than a few ladies had found themselves looking noticeably younger after using them.

Later there was speculation: since this Wuming had come to Daxing from Shu, perhaps he had connections to Pei Qi, and so had fled back to Shu once Yang Jing took power.

Gui Yuanshu had held that suspicion himself.

But Li Chi did not.

After listening to Gui Yuanshu, he shook his head slightly.

“If Wuming had been Pei Qi’s man placed in Daxing, he should have gone straight to Pei Qi after returning to Shu — not sought out some quiet place to live in seclusion. And Pei Qi never sent anyone to make contact with him.”

Li Chi continued: “Pei Qi maintained a private camp — a war camp filled with martial arts experts, many of whom practiced heterodox disciplines. If Wuming’s mastery of medicine truly had no equal, how could Pei Qi possibly not have drawn him into his service? Knowing Pei Qi’s nature — someone that useful who refused to serve would have been eliminated long ago.”

Gui Yuanshu listened, then nodded. His Majesty’s reasoning was sound. From that angle, one could be fairly certain that Wuming had not gone to Daxing City on Pei Qi’s orders.

Li Chi fell into thought. He felt increasingly certain that this monk concealed a far more mysterious identity.

“Mister Ye.”

He looked at Mister Ye. “Last night in Xu Ji’s residence — you are certain you saw a black-robed monk?”

“Your Majesty, I looked carefully. The room was brightly lit and I was not so far away. I am certain I did not mistake it.”

Li Chi shook his head. “Then something is off.”

“The way Xu Ji has been conducting himself is not the behavior of a man trying to hide a monk in his house.”

Mister Ye bowed. “I thought the same. There was no reason for Xu Ji to change his habits. By coming home every night, however late — he was already telling anyone watching that there was something amiss.”

Gui Yuanshu added: “If he truly did not want anyone to know, he would have hidden Wuming far more deeply. Surely even Xu Ji’s intellect would tell him that, these past days, some skilled agent would enter his home to have a look.”

“He sent that servant to fetch the item the moment he arrived home,” Mister Ye said. “It didn’t feel like fetching something. It felt like leading me somewhere.”

Xu Ji had brought back a monk from Shu and then acted anxious, as if trying to conceal it?

That was impossible. Xu Ji, whatever his faults, was not that shallow or foolish.

“Then he simply wants me to know,” Li Chi said. “To know quickly — his unusual behavior is precisely because he’s afraid I *won’t* notice.”

Mister Ye said: “It was far too easy for me to enter Xu Ji’s residence. A man of his position should have true experts guarding his home.”

“So he’s practically begging me to see that monk in his house,” Li Chi said. “Practically begging me to know that the monk has some remarkable skill.”

He paused briefly, then turned to Mister Ye: “Since Xu Ji is so eager for me to know — let’s oblige him. Find a way to bring that Wuming back here.”

Mister Ye bowed. “Understood.”

—

At the same time, in the Weiyang Palace.

The man disguised as Xu Ji’s servant — the monk Cangjie — exited the palace and was stopped at the gate by the Imperial Guards.

The guard took the identity document Cangjie presented and scrutinized it carefully. “Where are the two men who usually attend the Chancellor?”

Cangjie replied evenly: “One of them has fallen ill. I’m filling in for him temporarily. The other is still with the Chancellor.”

The guard checked everything thoroughly and found nothing irregular — the papers had been issued by Xu Ji himself, so of course they were genuine.

Cangjie walked out of the palace without incident.

No one could have imagined that he would have such audacity.

Using Xu Ji’s credentials, he had carefully observed every part of the Weiyang Palace he was permitted to see.

He needed to know the layout of this palace — because what he intended to do was not as simple as poisoning the Empress and the Imperial Prince once.

His explanations to Xu Ji were one thing. What he truly intended was another.

From the very beginning, his approach to Xu Ji, his use of Xu Ji, had never been for his own sake.

To Xu Ji, he had spoken of wishing to recapture the life he once had in Daxing City — to establish a temple in this new capital of the Central Plains. But even as he said it, he knew it was a thin excuse, and he could not be bothered to construct a more convincing one. He no longer felt he had much time left.

From that day forward, he had been waiting for an opportunity. And since the moment that opportunity arrived, he had been waiting for death.

In truth, from the day he left Daxing City and returned to Shu, he had been waiting for his own end. He had simply never expected to feel this helpless in it.

Yet just when he had truly lost all hope — when he had concluded there was nothing left to be done — Xu Ji had arrived in Shu.

This chance, he would not let go of again.

—

In Chang’an, Cangjie had one more hiding place — unknown to Xu Ji, unknown to any of the underworld men Xu Ji had brought from Shu.

He had deliberately kept those men trapped in the underground cellar near the Imperial Garden precisely because he had no wish to be watched too closely.

He knew Xu Ji didn’t trust him — merely found him useful enough to endure. But Xu Ji had underestimated him badly. The idea of using those simple-minded outlaws from the greenwood to keep an eye on him was almost laughable.

He had a thousand ways to run rings around men whose heads held nothing but muscle.

His poisoning of the Empress and the Imperial Prince in the Imperial Garden had drawn the Forbidden Army into a full search — after which those underworld men had no choice but to crouch in their cellar and stay hidden.

Once back in Chang’an, Cangjie found his shadow-free footing again, and could go about setting himself up in a safe haven without concern.

—

Since first attaching himself to Xu Ji, Cangjie had traveled with a single willow-wood chest. Not large — barely enough to hold a few sets of clothes and some gold and silver, by the look of it.

No one was permitted to touch this chest. Xu Ji had asked about it twice. Cangjie had only said it held the means of his survival, and refused to say more.

His hiding place in Chang’an was in the southern quarter of the city, a modest house he had carefully chosen himself.

Chang’an was vast, but much of the city was still sparsely settled. The south quarter especially — farther from the prosperous districts — was home mostly to ordinary people. The same-sized courtyard cost three times as much near the East and West Markets as it did here.

He had paid almost nothing for this small compound, and money was not a concern. During his time in Daxing City he had accumulated a fortune that would make any man envious — even the most seasoned merchants might not match what he had set aside. The people who had dealt with him in those days were all nobles, and nobles spent freely, without counting.

Once, the old Chu Emperor had given him three treasures in a single visit; palace objects, placed on the black market, would fetch extraordinary prices without effort. Liu Chongxin had once given him an entire box of pearls, each one worth a hundred *jin* in gold.

He had no want for money. His martial arts were formidable. Though he was no longer young, he remained distinguished and refined in bearing.

A man like him, living in quiet seclusion in Shu, might have enjoyed a comfortable and carefree existence.

There was absolutely no reason for him to wade through this dangerous mire with Xu Ji. With his intelligence, surely he could see that Xu Ji would sooner or later be destroyed by the Emperor of Da Ning?

—

After leaving the Weiyang Palace, Cangjie walked without apparent direction, watching his surroundings constantly.

Once certain that all his shadows had been shaken loose, he took a roundabout route back to his place in the south quarter — a process that took nearly two hours.

He was not afraid of spending the time. He knew his remaining days were few, and so it was necessary to protect himself from accidents. Protecting himself now, even at the cost of apparent inefficiency, was the truest respect for the limited time he had left.

The small compound was plain and bare. The courtyard at least was clean — not a weed in sight. But it was empty. In the main room there was nothing but a chair, a table, and a bed.

He had added nothing. There was no reason to.

*Death is the last poem I have written for myself.* He had thought carefully about every word of its ending.

The willow chest sat on the bed. Out of arrogance, he had made no effort to conceal it — he was certain no one would find this place, so there was no point.

Back in the room, he exhaled heavily and, as if by instinct, looked at the chest.

Then he pulled the chair to the side of the bed and sat down. He opened the chest.

Inside there were indeed a few sets of clothes. But no gold or silver. And beneath the clothes — a spirit tablet.

Cangjie took out the tablet and drew a handkerchief from his sleeve, then wiped the tablet with slow, meticulous care. It was already spotless, but he wiped it anyway, unhurriedly.

“You trusted me so completely back then,” he said quietly. “You entrusted something so vital to me — and I failed you.”

His fingers moved gently across the face of the tablet.

“I know that in those final days, there was probably not a single person left near you that you could trust.”

“That is why, at such risk — one might say without regard for anything — you came to Shu. I was probably the last person you wanted to see, and the only person you could have seen. And in the end, we never did meet.”

He set the tablet on the bed, stepped back a few paces, and bowed deeply before it.

“This time I will not fail you again. Even though I never saw you — I know what you risked death to come to Shu to tell me.”

“There must have been so many who misunderstood you. Who thought that going to Shu at that moment was the most foolish choice you could have made.”

“There must have been so many who cursed you in their hearts — who believed you were throwing yourself at the mercy of an enemy for the sake of some impossible dream.”

“But you were never going to throw yourself at his mercy. Were you?”

He paused.

“…Your Majesty.”

The monk Cangjie looked at the tablet, and his eyes had grown wet.

“Truly we barely met — and yet I am probably the person in this world who knows you best.”

“So when, after you ascended to the throne, you came to find me, and said you hoped I would return to Shu to help you destroy Pei Qi — I agreed without hesitation.”

“Your Majesty probably knew me as well as any person ever has. Everyone thought I was nothing but a swindler and a trickster. You alone could see — that inside me, there lived a soul loyal to Chu.”

He breathed slowly, then walked back to the bed and placed the tablet back inside the chest.

“I swear on my life… Your Majesty, watch over me. Watch me do this last thing for you.”

He closed the chest and rested his hand upon it, patting it softly.

—