“A’Zhi, have you noticed how much you care about Haoyue?”
Hua Zhi looked up at Yan Xi. The man met her gaze, and surprisingly he looked a little aggrieved. “An extraordinary amount of caring — more than you care about me.”
“……” The anger filling Hua Zhi’s chest was extinguished with a soft puff before she had even prepared herself, and for a moment she didn’t know whether to be angry or to laugh. She did care about Haoyue, but where had that caring come from? Was not most of it because of him?
Perhaps her eyes still carried a flicker of irritation, because Gu Yan Xi dared not speak further. He lowered his head and ate his meal, looking — surprisingly — rather well-behaved, which left Hua Zhi with nowhere to direct her temper.
Taking another deep breath to press down that inexplicable emotion, Hua Zhi spoke through slightly gritted teeth. “Aren’t you directing your jealousy at the wrong person? Haoyue came for you — don’t tell me you didn’t notice. If anyone should be jealous, shouldn’t it be me?”
“But you’re not jealous at all.” Gu Yan Xi truly did feel aggrieved. It was as though he had forgotten he was a Shizi of distinguished standing and the powerful leader of the Seven Lodges Bureau. Completely without pretense, he leveled his accusation: “You’re not the least bit worried that she might lure me away.”
“If a man I’ve set my eyes on can be so easily lured away by someone else, what would be the point of me being here?”
The words “a man I’ve set my eyes on” soothed his ruffled feathers at once. The smile in his eyes could no longer be contained, and he turned to smooth A’Zhi’s ruffled feathers in return. “I know you care about Haoyue because of that talent she has for prophecy. However, I don’t truly believe she can prophesy. From the very beginning I’ve considered her an unstable element — the only way to be safe with someone like her is to silence her completely. After squeezing out every last bit of her usefulness, of course.”
Hua Zhi had always known what attitude Yan Xi held toward Haoyue, so there was truly not a trace of jealousy in her. Her tone eased now. “Judging by what she said about the Xiangyang embankment breach, her existence is not without value. The other things she mentioned were only off in timing — the events themselves were not wrong. So what if we guide her into saying something? For instance, we could tell her that Wu Yong was never poisoned at all. That would be as good as breaking her prophecy. Since she trades on the reputation of her prophecies, she values her credibility above all else. Once that credibility is broken she will grow anxious, and an anxious person is prone to reckless moves — in that kind of moment, drawing information out of her won’t be difficult.”
Gu Yan Xi understood what A’Zhi meant. There is a world of difference between a person speaking willingly and being forced to speak. If someone is truly pushed to desperation, they will spew out a torrent of truths and falsehoods all mixed together, and for those things that have yet to come to pass, one would not necessarily be able to distinguish the real from the false. It was precisely on this basis that he had held back from using forceful methods, letting only Chen Qing wear her down gradually.
“I have already instructed Chen Qing to share certain things that can be disclosed with her, and to satisfy her curiosity on select matters as the situation permits. When there is any news, it will all be compiled and brought to you — I’ll have to trouble you to look through it and see whether anything can be gleaned.”
Hua Zhi gave him a sideways glance and didn’t even want to speak to him anymore. The words came out dripping with sarcasm, yet what needed to be done had not been left undone in the slightest, had it?
Gu Yan Xi fawningly picked up a pair of chopsticks, lifted a piece of mushroom, and held it to her lips. Hua Zhi let him wait for a moment, then opened her mouth and ate it — as though she hadn’t noticed the man using those same chopsticks to pick up some food and put it into his own mouth.
“The date for the Autumn Examinations has been set — half a month from now.”
Because of the disaster in the south, the Autumn Examinations had been pushed back somewhat. But as this had nothing to do with the Hua Family, she merely let it pass through one ear, not taking it to heart.
Yet Gu Yan Xi continued: “The Hua Family holds an extraordinary place in the hearts of scholars. To my knowledge, the number of visitors to the Hua Family in past years was very great — many students would come bearing letters of introduction, and those who wrote those letters of recommendation all had at least a teacher-student relationship with the Elder Master Hua. Before the Autumn Examinations, the Old Master would, out of propriety, refrain from receiving any of them. But between the conclusion of the examinations and the announcement of results, he would set a date and hold an open scholarly forum that lasted an entire day — once every three years, and very well known among the students.”
Hua Zhi was naturally aware of this scholarly forum, she simply could not understand why Yan Xi would bring it up now. “This year it’s certainly impossible — surely they know the situation the Hua Family is in.”
“To my knowledge, someone intends to hold this scholarly forum in the Hua Family’s place.”
Hua Zhi raised an eyebrow, the smile curling at her lips thick with mockery. “Which family is in such a hurry?”
“The Wei Family.”
Well, that was truly something. Hua Zhi let out a cold laugh. “Before, Maternal Grandfather warned me to keep an eye on the Feng and Wei families, saying those two families had quarrels with Grandfather. Now it seems he was right — one family makes a move and the other stirs as well. Though I wonder whether those scholars will actually buy into it.”
Gu Yan Xi looked at A’Zhi with her sharp edges on full display and found himself growing fonder of her with every glance. “It’s not that there’s no way. Of the Elder Master Hua’s three students, that Chen Dayi is actually quite commendable. If he were to take the lead and host the scholarly forum, he would have more standing than the Wei Family, and the scholars would surely find him more credible.”
Hua Zhi considered for a moment, then shook her head. “There’s no need. The Hua Family is not suited for this right now. Before, I only assumed that Grandfather was sent away because of involvement in factional strife. Only later did I come to see that the Emperor had long since grown wary of the Hua Family. That being the case, the Hua Family cannot afford to stand out any further — that scholarly forum carries too great a reputation, and it must especially be kept away from.”
Hua Zhi knew this scholarly forum quite well — she had even disguised herself as a page attending her Grandfather and accompanied him there once. Although there were many posturing, sour-faced scholars there seeking to show off, there were also those of genuine insight and learning. These men were, in effect, the future of Daqing, and at the time she had thought Daqing’s future looked promising — at the very least she could muddle through for the rest of her lifetime. Yet for all her calculations, she had never imagined that the first thing to rot would be the biggest root of all.
“Some things cannot be taken away. The Wei Family is welcome to try.”
Three years from now, at the next scholarly forum, it would return to the Hua Family — Hua Zhi steeled herself inwardly, mentally turned over the cards she had accumulated, and like a miser counting her coins, thought: she needed to add more. It still wasn’t enough.
She didn’t know whether it was from thinking too much that night, but Hua Zhi dreamed of her Grandmother for the first time. The old woman still had the prosperous, well-fed look she’d worn before the Hua Family’s misfortune, smiling warmly as she looked at her. In truth, Hua Zhi had not been especially close to her Grandmother during that time, yet seeing her now she felt only a burning sensation in her nose, and tears fell one after another, drop by drop.
Her Grandmother walked over and gently touched her face, heaving a long sigh: “My dear child, you have suffered so.”
Hua Zhi threw herself into her arms and wept silently and inconsolably. She wanted to say she hadn’t felt tired, that she had lived through harder times than this, that this kind of hardship was something she could endure — yet the weight of the entire family rested on her shoulders, and she could not allow herself a single moment of slack. Now, seeing a trusted elder, it was as though she finally no longer had to be that iron-forged Hua Zhi. She could be herself for a little while, and she could not stop herself from wanting to cry until she was spent.
She even knew this was a dream, and it was precisely because it was a dream where no one could see that she allowed her tears to flow freely. Yet even in the dream she did not dare cry aloud — she feared that if she truly made a sound, she would wake the maids keeping night watch.
When she woke from the dream, she would once again be that all-capable Hua Zhi, still the Hua Zhi who was the pillar holding up the sky for the Hua Family, still the Hua Zhi upon whom her family depended and relied.