Little Loach had been living here alone since he was nine years old.

Living alone brought both freedom and ease. When thirsty, he would draw water from the ancient well in the back yard. When hungry, he would go fishing at the lakeside a mile away. When darkness fell and drowsiness came, he would slip into his mother’s bed to sleep.

His mother’s room had no roof or walls, only an empty bed remaining. Yet Little Loach never felt lonely. In summer nights, mosquitoes and insects danced about; in autumn evenings, fallen leaves rustled softly. Lying on his back gazing at the horizon, sometimes he saw the moon illuminating a silver sea dotted with countless stars, sometimes blue skies with white clouds and soaring birds that would occasionally descend to perch on Little Loach’s nose.

Though living such a carefree life, Little Loach still worried about one thing. Whether he was fishing, drawing water, reading, or writing, his eyes always kept watch from the corner—watching that large wardrobe in his mother’s room.

The huge, broken wardrobe connected hell and the human world. Little Loach in the ruined house had been waiting desperately all along, waiting for that wardrobe to open again so he could once more see the evil spirits from hell.

The first time he recited the Dao De Jing, that day remained vivid in his memory.

“Come! Thirty-five! Hold the Great Image!” Grandfather called out the chapter number while holding the old book. The recitation came with little feet keeping time: “Show not to people the sharp weapons of the state, profound in escape, can not fish.” He swayed his head back and forth reciting: “Strong hard defeats weak soft, bright subtle is called this.”

Speaking strange words throughout. Though the Dao De Jing was famous for being difficult to understand, it wasn’t completely incomprehensible. Uncle nearby furrowed his brow and whispered to Grandfather: “Seems like he recited it wrong, doesn’t it?”

Grandfather looked worried and distressed, comparing with the ancient text—indeed it was completely off. He pulled Little Loach forward and sighed while instructing: “Come, let’s recite it again together. What is to be shrunk must first be stretched; what is to be weakened must first be strengthened. This is called subtle enlightenment. The soft and weak overcome the hard and strong. Fish cannot be separated from the deep; the state’s sharp weapons cannot be shown to people.”

Suddenly Grandfather exclaimed in surprise. “The state’s sharp weapons cannot be shown to people” reversed becomes “Show not to people the sharp weapons of the state.” Discovering this mystery, Grandfather stared speechless at the small child before him, murmuring to himself: “Little Loach, you… you…”

“Grandpa seems really surprised!” Four-year-old Little Loach giggled: “Didn’t you say so? Only when recited backwards does it flow smoothly!” Little Loach, who could recite backwards fluently, was happy about everything.

After moving to this big house, Little Loach became even happier. The house was so very large. From mother’s bedroom, one could see the mirror-like lake water. Outside the window, flowering trees spread green fragrance, blue skies and verdant earth like a carpet. Little Loach truly felt his family had become wealthy.

That day, after Little Loach finished reciting the entire Dao De Jing, he followed Grandfather into his mother’s boudoir. He looked around here and there, and before he could ask what kind of tree was outside the window, Grandfather pulled him down to kneel.

“Good boy, Little Loach.” Grandfather brought Little Loach to face the wardrobe, smiling thus: “Remember to recite the scripture in a moment.”

The wardrobe before them was huge and new, looking like the grand entrance to a mansion. Little Loach gazed at the wardrobe and couldn’t help exclaiming in surprise, blinking his eyes. He heard Uncle laugh and interject: “Little fellow, recite if you must, but remember never to recite backwards!”

Amid hearty laughter, Little Loach stared at the large wardrobe, not knowing what mysteries lay within. He became even more amazed, scratching his head. Before he could ask questions, he heard Grandmother say: “Alright, alright, you father and son go out. Men cannot stay here.”

Grandfather and Uncle exchanged glances and smiled. The father and son each rose from the ground and left shoulder to shoulder. Little Loach, being most obedient, heard that men cannot stay and was about to follow Grandfather and Uncle’s footsteps when Grandmother held him back.

“Don’t go.” Grandmother smiled and embraced Little Loach, stroking his clever little head. “You must stay.”

“No!” Little Loach pouted his small mouth, indignant: “Grandma said men cannot stay. Isn’t Little Loach a man?”

“You’re different, you’re different.” Grandmother took the little man’s small arm and smiled warmly: “You are indeed a man, but you are our Yang family’s precious treasure.”

Oh, the Yang family’s precious treasure! Hearing such a title for the first time in his life, Little Loach was truly delighted and couldn’t help dancing with joy. Grandfather and Uncle slipped out like cats. Since he was the precious treasure, Little Loach was no longer eager to leave. Just as he was about to nestle into Grandmother’s embrace to act spoiled, suddenly a fragrance reached his nose, making Little Loach’s heart beat faster.

What was this scent? Had rose flowers grown legs and walked over? Little Loach squinted and sniffed, turning his head to look, and exclaimed in amazement: “Mother, you… you look so strange!”

His mother emerged from behind the screen, wearing strange clothing.

What peculiar garments—two red strings supporting a piece of red cloth, having even less fabric than a beggar’s torn and tattered clothes. Even so, Little Loach still gazed dumbly at his mother’s soft, lustrous shoulders. Her smooth skin was like polished white jade, her flushed oval face appeared more radiant than the evening sunset. So beautiful, so beautiful.

Little Loach’s face reddened. He lowered his small face to avoid looking at his mother’s countenance, but accidentally caught sight of his mother’s pair of white legs.

His mother, not wearing a phoenix skirt, exposed her legs before Little Loach. This was also the first time in his life he had seen a woman’s white legs. Little Loach became frightened. Not knowing what to do, he could only recite loudly: “What is to be shrunk must first be stretched; what is to be weakened must first be strengthened. This is called subtle enlightenment. The soft and weak overcome the hard and strong. Fish cannot be separated from the deep; the state’s sharp weapons cannot be shown to people.”

Amid Grandmother’s laughter, Mother pulled Little Loach to kneel down together. Little Loach continued reciting while Mother and Grandmother flanked Little Loach, the three facing that large wardrobe in what looked like a grand worship ceremony. Little Loach was full of confusion and could only multitask—reciting books while guessing.

Why must they kneel? The black stove has a stove god, ancient trees have tree spirits—could it be the wardrobe also has a wardrobe deity? Just as he was pondering, a “click” sound came from within the wardrobe, interrupting Little Loach’s recitation. He dumbly raised his head while Mother and Grandmother simultaneously lowered theirs, foreheads touching the floor.

There was movement in the wardrobe, as if something was about to crawl out. Little Loach involuntarily stood up, about to step forward for a closer look when Grandmother pulled him down with one tug. She pressed Little Loach down, making him lie prone on the ground. The three people in the room knelt motionless. Little Loach didn’t learn from his mother to touch his forehead to the ground; he only pressed his chin against the cool floor. Though opening his mouth was quite difficult, he still couldn’t help opening it wide, just like the wardrobe before him.

The wardrobe opened its big mouth and spat out a person—a man.

That day Little Loach was truly terrified. Living to age four, this was the first time he’d seen a wardrobe spit out a living person. Perhaps because he was too astonished, he couldn’t remember what the man looked like, only knowing he had a fat belly and was golden and gleaming all over, like a big winner.

The big winner walked out from the wardrobe. He laughed heartily, laughing quite happily and proudly, as if afraid others wouldn’t know how pleased he was. He walked before Mother and laughed: “Darling, do you still like this new house?”

Mother lowered her face. She embraced Little Loach and murmured softly: “Whatever His Majesty bestows, this subject wife likes it all.” Mother’s voice seemed choked, both soft and coquettish. The man laughed even more heartily. He bent down and patted Little Loach’s head, laughing: “Well said! Well said! This is the dragon seed I bestowed upon you!”

The man’s large hand slapped Little Loach hard, hurting him quite a bit. He became somewhat unhappy and was about to scold him when Grandmother beside him urgently pushed his back and whispered: “Quick, the Dao De Jing, recite it quickly.” Little Loach made an “oh” sound and began: “The Way that can be spoken is not the eternal Way.”

Before reaching “The name that can be named is not the eternal name,” that man had already lifted Mother and dragged her behind the screen. A delicate cry rang out. The man kept laughing heartily while Mother made strange sounds. Little Loach exclaimed in surprise, and before he could turn to look, Grandmother pulled him away. Little Loach’s steps were hurried, but his heart was full of bewilderment. He looked back at the silhouettes behind the screen while continuing to recite loudly: “The name that can be named is not the eternal name. The nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth; the named is the mother of all things.”

Therefore…

What is to be shrunk must first be stretched; what is to be weakened must first be strengthened; what is to be abolished must first be promoted. This is called subtle enlightenment.

The second time reciting this passage, Little Loach was five years old.

This afternoon, Little Loach again carried his books to his mother’s bedroom. Beside him were the same Grandfather, Grandmother, and Uncle, but different from last time, there was also a beautiful girl in the room whom Little Loach called “Aunt.”

This day brought some new entertainment. While reciting books, Little Loach poured several jars of dye into tea bowls. The colors mixed and blended, rippling on the water surface, gradually blooming into a purple flower.

“Good! Good! So clever! He actually found the secret formula!” Grandfather laughed until tears seeped out. Uncle also praised desperately: “Purple dye! Our Yang family has been nitrating sheepskin for decades without achieving this color, but our Little Loach, at merely five years old, has succeeded!”

Many adults surrounded Little Loach, cheering in unison. Little Loach stared dumbly at the adults around him. He didn’t understand what everyone was so happy about, but he knew everyone loved him, so he resumed reciting to continue pleasing Grandfather and Uncle: “Fish cannot be separated from the deep; the state’s sharp weapons cannot be shown to people.” While reciting, he heard Uncle laugh again: “This child is truly a prodigy. Not only can Shuntian Prefecture’s Yang Village not produce another like him, I think even all of North Zhili couldn’t find a child more clever than him.”

“Isn’t that so?” Grandfather’s eyes showed loving kindness. He gently stroked Little Loach’s small head and sighed: “If such a prodigy could become Crown Prince, it would be a blessing for all people.” Little Loach blinked, feeling somewhat strange. He knew Grandfather was called “Yang Xin” and Uncle was called “Yang Qi” with the nickname “Dacheng,” but who was “Crown Prince”? Amid the chatter, he seemed to hear “Empress Dowager,” “Empress,” and such, along with some sighing sounds. Afterward, Grandfather and Uncle withdrew from the room, taking Aunt with them.

The room was left with Grandmother, Mother, and Little Loach again. Little Loach gazed at Aunt’s retreating figure and asked in bewilderment: “Grandmother, is Aunt also a man?” Grandmother’s face reddened as she spat: “Don’t talk nonsense. You’re so clever, how can you ask such a foolish question? Aunt is naturally a woman.” Little Loach was surprised: “But didn’t Grandmother say women can stay in the room? Why must Aunt leave too?”

This time it was Mother’s turn to blush. He heard her spit: “Don’t talk nonsense. Your aunt is our Yang family’s daughter-in-law. How can she stay in the room?”

“How so, how so?” While speaking, suddenly the wardrobe clicked open once again. A person was heard laughing heartily: “Yang Dacheng took a wife? You didn’t show her to me? Quick, call her over!” Grandmother giggled several times while Mother knelt down. Having the previous example, this time Little Loach took the initiative to stand up. He held that tea bowl and shouted: “Daddy! Daddy! They want you to see this purple flower!”

Forgotten—Little Loach truly forgot. He couldn’t remember how he fell down. It seemed Daddy kicked him, or perhaps he crashed into the wardrobe himself. In any case, when Little Loach woke up, Uncle and Aunt kept crying, Grandfather kept comforting, and Mother was sullen for a very, very long time. As for Little Loach, he spent another five days finding a new method to wash away the purple stains covering his body.

Later events held nothing fresh. Daddy in the wardrobe had no time to see him. Every time he crawled out of the cabinet, Little Loach had to leave with Grandfather and Uncle. As for Aunt, that beautiful girl, every time the wardrobe opened, she would escape to another wardrobe, then ask Grandmother to report to the fat man that she had returned to her maiden home.

This was the family secret. The man living in the wardrobe was his own daddy. Every ten or so days when he got bored, he would slip out to sleep on Mother’s bed. After sleeping, he would slip back into the wardrobe to rest.

Was the wardrobe really that fun? Little Loach was very puzzled. He often opened his own wardrobe and shouted loudly inside: “Fat pig Father Emperor! Are you eating rice bran in there?” While shouting, he would always drill through the cabinet door, looking around here and there. After several attempts, he saw nothing.

Clever as he was, he naturally knew Mother’s wardrobe was somewhat different. Little Loach was intensely curious, not knowing how many times he wanted to open the wardrobe to see just how big it was inside and what Fat Pig Father Emperor was doing in there. But Mother always refused. When pressed urgently, she would cry out: “When you become a dragon in the future, you can enter!”

Little Loach wasn’t a dragon; he was a loach. But he wasn’t an ordinary loach either. Since Mother wouldn’t let him see, he still had a method. His method wasn’t stealing or breaking in, but using a ruler. He used a ruler to measure Mother’s boudoir and calculated the entire courtyard. Thus he discovered the brick wall behind the wardrobe was very thick—compared to other room walls, it was at least six feet thicker. When water was splashed on the ground, all the water in the room flowed toward the bottom of the wardrobe.

There was something under the wardrobe, so he asked a little black mouse to slip through the brick cracks to see how far it could drag the red thread.

The little black mouse disappeared. Ten zhang of red silk thread was also completely dragged away. Thus, eight-year-old Little Loach concluded that behind the wardrobe led to hell, and Little Loach was the son of a demon. Only demons wouldn’t like their sons.

Five days before his ninth birthday, around midnight, the bell by his bedside rang. Sleeping Little Loach was awakened. He understood in his heart that Daddy had emerged from the wardrobe again. The little bell connected to a red silk thread, and at the other end of the red thread was a footplate. Little Loach had long asked the groundhogs to tamper with the underground passage. As long as Daddy stepped on the footplate, the bell would ring. This way Little Loach wouldn’t encounter Daddy pressing on Mother’s body, and if he knew to avoid them, he wouldn’t be scolded by Grandmother and Grandfather.

The red silk thread extended fifteen zhang into the underground passage. Little Loach only needed to silently count to fifty, and the wardrobe in Mother’s room would open. He was too lazy to bother with adult affairs, yawning and wrapping himself in his little cotton quilt to sleep soundly. Suddenly—ring! Ring! The bell rang a second time.

Strange? Little Loach opened his eyes wide. Why did the bell ring a second time? Had Daddy returned?

Impossible. Demons were most impatient. Every time he emerged from the wardrobe, he was always extremely urgent, as if thirsty and hungry, desperately seeking Mother.

Amid his drowsy confusion, ring! Ring! Ring! The bell rang a third time. Little Loach exclaimed in surprise. He jumped up from his bed and ran to the bell to carefully examine his silk thread arrangement, wanting to find out why such strange events occurred.

Little Loach was too clever. Grandfather and Grandmother both said he was a “comet of vast wisdom,” Zhuge Liang reincarnated. Clever as he was, he naturally knew the bell wouldn’t ring randomly. This was made according to ancient books—that section of silk thread was wound with spider silk and silkworm thread, extremely tough. It had been soaked in camphor oil beforehand, so no insects or birds would come to cause trouble. Then why did the bell keep ringing? Was Daddy repeatedly jumping on the footplate? Playing “jump official”?

He didn’t know. In any case, the bell kept ringing. Ring! Ring! The bell sound urged Little Loach to investigate. He exclaimed several times and quickly ran to the courtyard, slipping to Mother’s bedroom to look. He quietly pushed open the door and squinted through his small eye slit. He was truly afraid of encountering that oily black Daddy pressing on white lamb Mother’s body—as ugly as could be.

No abnormalities. The room was pitch black. Mother was still sleeping soundly, also wearing her usual plain and substantial clothing. Looking back toward the courtyard, Uncle, Grandfather, and Grandmother were all asleep. As for Aunt, she had truly returned to her maiden home today. Little Loach looked at Mother, wanting to sleep with her, but thinking of that annoying demon, he didn’t want to go over.

Little Loach sighed and was about to turn around when suddenly the wardrobe opened again!

Someone walked out—not the fat Daddy, but a golden person. He was so tall, so large, much taller than Daddy.

What did the big golden person want to do? Why did he walk out from the wardrobe? What did he want to do? Little Loach stared dumbly, hearing in his ears: “Thump!” “Thump!” “Thump thump!” Many golden-armored people walked out from the wardrobe—one, two, three, four, five, six—so many, countless. Each wore golden helmets and armor, carrying large silver sabers.

Little Loach became frightened. He didn’t know what these people wanted to do, but he knew that every time the wardrobe opened, he had to quickly avoid them. So he ran desperately, ran with all his might. He escaped into the ancient well, covered it with the stone slab, and recited in a low voice:

Therefore,

What is to be shrunk must first be stretched; what is to be weakened must first be strengthened; what is to be abolished must first be promoted. This is called subtle enlightenment.

It was raining. Water drops once again slid down his cheeks like tears from the firmament. In the dark night, drenched Little Loach wore long hair covering his face. He picked up a tree branch to stir the fire, once again raising his face to gaze at that large wardrobe before him.

There had originally been a large table in front of the wardrobe, along with a mandarin duck bed. Outside the small round window were flowering trees, fragrant grass, and a courtyard. Now nothing remained, only a patch of black ash. Little Loach said quietly: “Grandfather, our home is ruined, isn’t it?” Grandfather didn’t speak. Little Loach also shook his head. He grilled fragrant fish skewers—real little loaches burned crispy and fragrant—and passed them over, not forgetting to remind: “Grandfather, be careful of the bones.”

The aroma filled the air. Grandfather held the fish bamboo skewer in his mouth as if chuckling. Little Loach leaned over to patch up Grandfather’s mud face with yellow paint. The rain was too heavy and inevitably melted Grandfather’s mud face.

In the ruined wasteland, Grandfather lay on that fire-scorched ground, wordless and silent. The heavy rain pattered down. Little Loach picked up oilcloth to dress Grandfather, Grandmother, and Uncle. After being busy for a very long time, he returned to the fireside, drenched, and lowered his eyes to gaze at the brilliant light in the fire.

Fifteen years had passed. From weak childhood to coming of age, transforming into today’s handsome youth, Little Loach had grown into a dragon lurking in the nine dark depths, alone passing through spring, summer, autumn, and winter. The burned manor became his home, the mirror lake behind the courtyard his fishing pond, while that never-opened large wardrobe became the memorial hall in his heart. Because his entire family was dead.

Mother was dead. Grandfather was dead. Grandmother was dead. All had died fifteen years ago. Twenty-four-year-old Little Loach rose in the darkness, his long hair covering his face, rain water sliding down both cheeks. At this moment, the grown man was handsome as a hell demon.

For many years, Little Loach remained very obedient. He always listened to Mother’s words and never opened the wardrobe to look. Whenever he woke startled in the night and saw the giant-like black wardrobe, he would quickly escape to the ancient well in the back yard to sleep peacefully there. Whenever lonely and solitary, he would find the book collection Grandfather left—Qimen Dunjia, Yin-Yang Five Elements, Song-Yuan mathematics, Zhang Heng’s chronology—memorizing each character, reciting each character backwards to them, hoping Grandfather and Uncle would praise Little Loach again, just like in those days.

Grandfather didn’t wake up. Uncle didn’t speak either. No matter how many books he recited, they remained silent as before. But Little Loach still worked hard at reciting books, because Little Loach unexpectedly discovered that whenever he recited scriptures during the day, at night someone would appear to accompany him in conversation and dispel his boredom.

The first night came Medicine King Sun Simiao. The second night came Master Craftsman Song Yingxing. The third day came military strategist Sun Wu. The fourth night came divine calculator Guiguzi. Each night an ancient person descended, earnestly teaching and diligently instructing. Some taught him to identify acupoints and recognize pulses; others passed on supernatural craftsmanship, transmitting their lifelong wisdom to him.

Little Loach observed stars at night and examined heavenly mysteries by day, neither crying nor afraid. His military strategy inherited from Sun Wu, his tactics learned from Guiguzi. Every ancient person was his teaching master; every pearl of wisdom was his guiding light. At age nine, he surrounded the lake with barriers, no longer needing to fish personally. At ten, he built water wheels along the fields for effortless irrigation. Year by year, Little Loach grew cleverer—firing glazed tiles, crafting windlasses by the well, creating one exquisite device after another. Passing merchants, shocked beyond measure, competed to purchase at high prices. The reputation of the heavenly prodigy spread without effort, also earning him more scriptures and classics.

One night, Little Loach had finished reading ten thousand volumes and learned all Daoist collections. Having read every book, he felt lonely for the first time. He held his head crying, bewildered and helpless. This night another master descended. Unlike before, this master didn’t understand shipbuilding, couldn’t heal diseases, didn’t even know military strategy. Yet he was stronger than every previous master because he had the power to slay dragons.

Grand Historian Sima Qian descended. Right there by the quiet lakeside, he embraced the weeping Little Loach and told him many stories—Jing Ke, Zhuan Zhu, First Emperor, Emperor Wu. Thus Little Loach finally understood. He knew when he could leave this great manor.

“Big winner, big winner.” From then on, Grand Historian’s beloved disciple knelt before the large wardrobe every night, softly weeping: “Please, I beg you, please quickly open the wardrobe and meet with me again.”

Because then Little Loach would laugh heartily. He would personally dig out his bloody heart, chop off his head, and drink wine while holding his skull. Only by following the book’s example of Maodun Chanyu killing his own father could he leave this home that had long become a graveyard!

Ha ha! Ha ha! Ha ha! Little Loach covered his face and cried aloud toward the sky.

The rain grew heavier. Tonight, the twenty-four-year-old youth, following custom, still sat alone in the rainy night, meditating.

In the midsummer night’s darkness with torrential rain, Little Loach, like before, sat drenched in rain, silently awaiting the arrival of another dawn.

Dusk makes one fearless; rain can disguise loneliness. Frogs croaked in the lake, crickets chirped by the fields. Raindrops pattered on the mirror lake like the sound of eaves rain he’d heard as a child, each sound entering his ears. In the lonely night of reminiscing about the past, suddenly he again heard that familiar call:

Ding-a-ling, ding-a-ling.

Ah, finally! Tears slid down his cheeks. Little Loach clenched his fists and trembled. This wasn’t sadness, nor fear, but extreme joy. Five thousand four hundred and seventy-five days had passed. From age nine to twenty-four, the bell finally rang again.

The heavens opened their eyes! There was finally someone in the underground passage! Roar roar roar, roar roar roar—Little Loach howled with joy. But no matter how delighted he was, he never became impatient, because he had already made perfect preparations.

Little Loach had grown up. Little Loach had become formidable. Little Loach was already a “dragon.” The muddy ground before the wardrobe door was a deep pit, buried with about a hundred sharp spikes. If one stumbled and fell, they would be in such pain they’d leap up. But once they jumped upward, the knife strings above the wardrobe would swing down like swings. If one tried to turn their head to dodge, it would trigger the poisonous thorns from the great trees to chase and pounce. These schemes were all personally arranged by Little Loach. Only this way could he be considered to have personally slain the sovereign father!

The world’s number one was now dancing with joy. He invited Grandfather, Grandmother, and Uncle out, making them line up one by one to turn around. He wanted everyone to witness with their own eyes the large wardrobe, to see that pig lying fallen in a pool of blood. In a moment, Little Loach would cut him into fine pieces. He wanted to remember this beautiful moment forever.

One, two, three, four, five, six—Little Loach silently counted. Fifteen years of bitter waiting, how very long it had been! Now in less than ten counts it would all end. Seven, eight, nine—his heart thumped wildly. A soft click came through; the wardrobe door was about to open!

Little Loach suppressed his screams, desperately widening his eyes, the corners of his mouth curving with joy.

In the pitch-black rainy night, from the dark wardrobe door walked out a black pig. The black pig was quite stupid, indeed stepping on the mechanism, causing bright light to flash and muffled groans to emerge. The pig fell into the trap—stab! Pierce! Kill! The pig leaped up and fell back down. Inside the trap was complete chaos. Ha ha! Ha ha! The clanging sounds filled the ground. Little Loach was truly delighted. He crawled to the edge of the pit, ready to look at the corpse’s miserable state.

“Hello,” said the pig in the pit, raising its head to greet him.

The pig could actually speak? And smile at people? Little Loach gaped, and before he could dodge backward, a black shadow shot out from the pit. The figure that pounced skyward moved with swift momentum. He landed before Little Loach, arms crossed over his chest, smiling with complete confidence.

Little Loach was too astonished. His trap could capture all the world’s powerful enemies. As long as they were human, not one could survive his mechanisms. But what was happening here? Hadn’t this person come out alive?

Fresh blood seeped from the pig’s shoulder, deadly poison seeped into his body, but regardless of his injuries, the black shadow never fell.

“Ai ya ya!” Little Loach was shocked and angry. He suddenly picked up a short knife and stabbed forcefully at the enemy—this was the last chance.

The blade pierced the enemy’s shoulder. He didn’t block it, just let Little Loach drill and stab with force, as if it didn’t hurt at all. Suddenly Little Loach exclaimed in surprise. He realized something: the person before him actually didn’t resemble Daddy at all. He didn’t look like a pig but was instead solemn, silent, imposing, and dignified. Wasn’t that the appearance of a hero?

Hero and Little Loach met. The two stood face to face, rain water sprinkling on both their bodies. Little Loach seemed to cry; the hero also shed tears. He heard him say in a low voice: “Three years! Heaven have mercy, the legend is true.”

“Who are you!” Little Loach pulled out the knife and screamed wildly like slaughtering a pig. Before Little Loach, the hero bent down, knelt on both knees, and kowtowed: “Subject Qin Baxian pays respects to Imperial Brother Prince, Your Highness the Crown Prince, may you live a thousand years, a thousand thousand years.”

Qin Baxian—a somewhat familiar name, seeming like a famous great personage. Little Loach was stunned. He watched somewhat frantically as “Qin Baxian” took out an imperial proclamation from his bosom, held it high toward the sky, and said softly: “Prince of Jingjiang, kneel and receive the imperial edict.”

Like thunder and lightning, Little Loach fell with a thud, both knees touching the ground, listening dumbly to the Beijing imperial decree: “By the Mandate of Heaven, the Emperor proclaims: I hereby command the Grand Commander of the Western Expedition, Marquis of Wude Qin Baxian, to support the royal house and escort Imperial Brother Prince of Jingjiang back to the Eastern Palace, bestowing the golden册 and adding the Crown Prince title to inherit the great succession. Heaven pities his orphaned state and graciously comforts with imperial favor. By this imperial command.”

“Crown Prince?” Little Loach’s eyes reddened as he screamed miserably: “Who is the Crown Prince?”

“You are the Crown Prince.” Qin Baxian folded the imperial edict and gazed at the now grown-up Little Loach, saying: “I received a secret imperial edict from the current sage, commanding me to search for the prince’s whereabouts and escort him back to the Eastern Palace to be the heir apparent of our Spring and Autumn Sacred Dynasty.” Little Loach gaped and murmured: “Lying, lying, you came to deceive me.” Qin Baxian didn’t explain, only slightly bowed and handed him the imperial edict.

In the fifteenth year of Wuying, August—besides Zhu Yan and Lord Jin, Emperor Longqing’s third son finally appeared. Three years ago, Imperial Physician Yuan secretly reported to the sage that the sacred sovereign would have no male heirs in this lifetime. Thus Zhu Yan issued a secret edict: he wanted the Grand Commander of the Western Expedition to find that never-before-met illegitimate younger brother and have him return to the royal family to inherit the Eastern Palace position.

Imperial Brother Prince, Your Highness the Crown Prince—for the first time in fifteen years, someone treated Little Loach as a precious treasure. Little Loach stared dumbly at the sky, suddenly threw himself into Qin Baxian’s embrace, and burst into loud tears.

The court’s most tragic injustice received vindication. The magnanimous eldest son Zhu Yan found his pitiful half-brother of the same father but different mother, settling this case of injustice in one stroke. On this unforgettable day, Little Loach was granted the title “Prince of Jingjiang.” Because his father was evil as a pig and his mother gentle as a sheep, he also determined his own name: “Zhu Yang.”

“Prince of Jingjiang Zhu Yang”—from then on, this “hidden dragon” crouching in the dark night also became the royal family’s nightmare, still cursing every person in the imperial house to this day.

“What happened afterward, no one knows.”

Summer’s end to autumn’s arrival, autumn’s departure to winter’s coming—the autumn of Wuying’s fifteenth year passed. Before them, heavy snow flew, blowing from outside the window. A woman’s voice was heard saying softly: “Since that day, no one knows where Little Loach went, no one knows whether he married and had children, whether he stayed in the capital.”

A small hummingbird flew over, stopping outside the small round window, hearing the woman’s melancholy voice from within: “People only know one thing—Little Loach never came back. How many years have passed since then, people are still searching for him.” The voice gradually dimmed. A pair of slender, pale hands reached out, gently pushing open the window. With a chirp, the startled hummingbird flapped its wings and flew high. The snow in the sky also blew into the window.

Inside the window sat a beautiful woman. She sat leaning against the window, gazing at the horizon. The firelight in the room reflected on her long hair, which showed flowing golden dark light—quiet, gentle, deep black, making people feel a hidden sense of awe.

This morning was cloudless for ten thousand li, the sky a blue tinged with mysterious depths that was frightening. But after noon came wild wind and heavy snow, a scene of gloom. The woman in the window was even more still as a Buddha, gazing out at the world and nation.

This windowsill was extremely high—so high that when looking out, the mountain colors were hazy and snow clouds misty, as if all the rivers and mountains were in one’s embrace. Looking again at the mountains and forests, hidden was a Buddhist temple, the famous “Hongluo Temple.” As for this windowsill high enough to reach heaven, it was located on the highest level of “Hongluo Pagoda.”

Not fearing floating clouds covering one’s eyes, only because one stands at the highest level—legend said “Hongluo Pagoda” enshrined the Jade Emperor’s daughter. Unexpectedly this legend was true. Here truly lived a heavenly maiden. She sat upright, gazing at distant mountains, saying softly: “Prince of Jingjiang Yang—this is a story I heard from the Empress Dowager. Do you still like it?”

The heavenly maiden’s starry eyes turned back, her beautiful hair flowing from her shoulders, bringing out hidden flowing light. She smiled and said: “Lord Yang?”

There was more than one person in the room. Near the wall sat a man with an abacus at hand, the table covered with memorials—this was the “Lord Yang” from the heavenly maiden’s words.

This “Lord Yang” was thirty-five or thirty-six years old, in his prime years of vigor and strength. Looking at the heavenly maiden, she was dignified and solemn, her bright beauty containing inner radiance, truly like a heavenly maiden descended from Mount Sumeru whom none dared regard with improper thoughts.

One was a refined and elegant gentleman, the other a graceful and lovely beauty like a crabapple blossom. This pair of man and woman were both one in ten thousand in bearing and appearance, exactly like a pair of imperial nobility. Unfortunately, they weren’t familiar with each other. The two sat far apart—the heavenly maiden leaning by the window, that “Lord Yang” with head lowered working at his desk, neither speaking.

The small room’s furnishings were simple. Besides the round window and low table, there was only one bed. Though the heavenly maiden lived in a humble room, she didn’t change her aspirations. Seeing the man across from her remain silent for a long time, she lit the incense burner before her, then curled up her legs onto the couch, saying: “Lord Yang, you haven’t answered my question yet. Do you like this story?”

Light smoke curled, the room filled with exotic fragrance. The story just told was called “Prince of Jingjiang Yang,” but now it seemed like “Dong Yong Meets the Immortal.” Watching the heavenly maiden’s earnest care while the man across sat with eyes closed, unmoving, not speaking, not answering, the heavenly maiden stood up and smiled: “Lord Yang doesn’t want to speak? Or should I call you…” She walked a few steps toward the writing desk: “Head Shopkeeper?”

According to elder tradition, Dong Yong sold himself to bury his father, moving the Jade Emperor’s daughter, so she descended to the mortal world to pledge herself to him, even weaving three hundred bolts of cloth to pay his debts—truly a great profit. Watching the heavenly maiden approach, that man remained unmoved. He sat behind the desk, left hand holding a string of prayer beads, right hand with an abacus, like a monk operating an abacus, achieving instant enlightenment.

For a very long time, this “Head Shopkeeper” sat motionless. Hearing his deep breathing, he had apparently gone to dream of Buddha. The heavenly maiden didn’t disturb him, quietly examining his desk. She saw the abacus before him with uneven beads arranged in a numerical sequence. Looking in order, she saw “1, 2, 9, 3, 8, 7, 7, 1.”

Heavenly maidens probably couldn’t operate abacuses. They lived in heaven, some not eating mortal food, usually satisfied with morning dew, flying around, turning stone to gold—life’s pleasures reaching this point, why need to keep accounts and work? Fortunately, heavenly maidens were mostly clever and naturally knew abacuses used decimal notation—upper row worth five, lower row worth one. Looking at this rosewood abacus with as many as fifteen rows, calculations must reach hundreds of millions.

Hundreds of hundreds make ten thousand; ten thousands of ten thousands make yi; yi of ten thousands make zhao. The stars in heaven are endless, requiring calculations in hundreds of millions. But what in the mortal world could amount to hundreds of millions? The heavenly maiden blinked, looking down at the desk, seeing beside the abacus lay a memorial with ink still fresh—perhaps hiding some secret. Since “Lord Yang” was asleep, she seized the opportunity to read.

“In the thirty-third year of Jingtai, autumn, national survey of official and civilian fields totaled 4,228,000 qing. Summer taxes of rice and wheat: 5,850,000 shi. Autumn grain rice: 24,000,000 shi.”

There it was! The largest numbers in the mortal world were these grain harvests. But the heavenly maiden, being of noble status, had never touched money in her lifetime. Suddenly seeing such a large string of numbers inevitably made her somewhat dizzy. She steadied herself and looked down at the next section, this time seeing a familiar reign title: the two characters “Zhengtong.”

“In the sixth year of Zhengtong, autumn, nationwide second comprehensive survey to be completed within three years. National official and civilian fields total 7,013,976 qing. Summer taxes of rice and wheat: 3,850,000 shi. Autumn grain rice: 12,930,000 shi.”

The princess frowned tightly, murmuring as she read. Though she didn’t understand arithmetic, she could certainly compare sizes. Looking at what this memorial recorded, the cultivated land during Zhengtong years seemed twice as much as during Jingtai times, but somehow the harvest was half as much. Full of doubt, she asked herself quietly: “More cultivated land but less harvest—what’s the reasoning here?” Just as she was puzzled, she suddenly heard someone say: “Drought.”

The heavenly maiden raised her head, seeing the “Head Shopkeeper” smiling at her—apparently awake. She heard him explain: “During the Zhengtong dynasty, there was great drought throughout the realm, so land fertility sharply decreased and crops struggled to survive. Though cultivated land doubled, harvest was halved.” Seeing the heavenly maiden approach the desk, he brought over a pot of hot tea and poured her a cup.

The weather was cold and windy. Hot tea came to the cup. The heavenly maiden held it warmly, feeling her whole body also warming up. She couldn’t help raising her head to carefully observe the master of the writing desk.

This person before her was the “Head Shopkeeper”? He was the highest master of the “Nation-Stabilizing Iron Guards” and also the great personage who unified the court’s three major factions. Though this person was the villain in everyone’s mouth, he was more polite than imagined. Especially his fair complexion and pair of peach blossom almond eyes—once he stared at someone, they seemed able to speak, making one’s anger completely dissipate.

The two faced each other. The Head Shopkeeper said: “These past days have been hard on Your Highness. Are you comfortable living in Hongluo Pagoda?” The heavenly maiden lowered her head, saying softly: “If I said I wasn’t comfortable, would you let me go?” The Head Shopkeeper smiled sideways: “If I said I would, would you believe it?” He put the teapot back on the stove, reached forward with his left hand to grasp the heavenly maiden’s jade hand, then stood up.

The heavenly maiden’s hand felt a chill, but she sensed something more in her palm. Looking down, her hand held something crystal bright—a red ruby, clear and deep, large as a goose egg. This was the world-famous “Tamerlane Ruby.”

The heavenly maiden’s expression remained unchanged: “This is for me?” The Head Shopkeeper said: “Returning property to its original owner.” This gem was a token, symbolizing the supreme authority of the Western Region’s greatest nation, the Khan of Tamerlane. This revealed the heavenly maiden came from the Western Heaven—she could summon the West’s million-strong army at any time. Of course, the Head Shopkeeper also made some response. Now the “Tamerlane Ruby” returned to its former owner’s hands, indicating the two had already exchanged one move.

The heavenly maiden nodded and took back the gem, storing it in her bosom. The Head Shopkeeper said no more, just turned back to his seat.

In the silence, suddenly the room door knocked. “Head Shopkeeper, urgent report from the palace.” That “Head Shopkeeper” didn’t speak, just nodded. Strangely, though no sound was made, the door opened by itself. A black-clothed person quietly slipped in, looking like a cat, crouching by his master’s leg to speak quietly.

The Head Shopkeeper listened for a while and nodded: “Who sent it in?” The black-clothed person said quietly: “This isn’t known yet, but His Majesty has moved troops up the mountain.” The Head Shopkeeper nodded: “I see. You may go.” The black-clothed person quickly said: “Head Shopkeeper, you… aren’t you going to look?” The Head Shopkeeper coughed, and the black-clothed person dared not speak further, quietly turning to slip out the door.

The heavenly maiden watched and suddenly said: “Something big happened in the palace?” The Head Shopkeeper said: “Yes.” The heavenly maiden said: “You don’t seem very urgent about it?” The Head Shopkeeper poured water into the inkstone and leisurely ground ink: “What about Your Highness? Are you urgent?” The heavenly maiden smiled: “If you’re not urgent, why should I be?”

Strangely, these two people somehow looked somewhat similar. Though the heavenly maiden wore simple cloth robes, she already radiated noble bearing throughout her body. The “Head Shopkeeper” was the same—though without official prestige and ceremony, he had the bearing of a king.

The two sat facing each other in silence for a while. The heavenly maiden pulled the warm quilt over herself and said softly: “Lord Yang, do you know why I returned to the country this time?” The Head Shopkeeper didn’t raise his head, working the abacus while saying: “Your Highness came to find someone.” The heavenly maiden slightly nodded: “Lord Yang’s guess is correct. Do you know what person this palace seeks?”

“Your Highness,” amid the clicking of abacus beads, the Head Shopkeeper said calmly: “This subject can guarantee two things. First, no matter what person you’re looking for, I can find their whereabouts for you.” He bent over his desk and wrote a few strokes on thin paper—the three characters “Zhejiang Province”—then continued: “Second, when Your Highness finds the person, I can arrange a house in Jiangnan for Your Highness to live in peaceful seclusion.”

The heavenly maiden said calmly: “So Lord Yang already knows who I’ve come to find?” The Head Shopkeeper said: “Though not exactly right, not far off either.” The heavenly maiden said: “You’re so confident?” The Head Shopkeeper said: “If Your Highness doesn’t believe it, please turn around and push open the window.”

The heavenly maiden made an “oh” sound: “Why should I do that?” The Head Shopkeeper said: “Opening the window will find the person you’re looking for.”

The heavenly maiden was silent, lowering her head, not planning to obey. The “Head Shopkeeper” didn’t urge either. He picked up a telescope, personally rose to place it in the heavenly maiden’s hands, then returned to his seat to continue working.

The heavenly maiden glanced at the “Head Shopkeeper” several times, then quietly turned to examine the small round window behind her. She was somewhat curious—what had actually come outside the window that was the person she wanted to find?

Full of hesitation, she finally pushed it open. Outside the window was a patch of cold mist with white snow dotting the greenery—nothing at all. The heavenly maiden looked for a while, just feeling bewildered, when suddenly a great roar came from outside the window.

“Your Highness!” A desolate, powerful voice broke through layers of snow and mist. The heavenly maiden gaped, quickly raising the telescope in her hand to observe intently. Suddenly her hands shook, the telescope slipped and fell from the pagoda.

He came! That was a man in brown cloth robes who leaped down from a tall tree and ran toward the pagoda. Suddenly his steps faltered and he fell to the ground, seemingly entangled by something—layer upon layer, like tree demons blocking the road and vines wrapping around him, making him struggle bitterly.

“Woo woo woo woo woo woo!” The man roared desperately like a wounded wild beast, his voice carrying far. The heavenly maiden tightly gripped her snow-white fists, watching intensely, when she heard the “Head Shopkeeper” say: “Your Highness, please trouble yourself to close the window. I’m still doing accounts.”

The noise outside was terrible. No matter how strong the “Head Shopkeeper’s” calculating mind or how deep his concentration, he couldn’t avoid ear irritation and eye confusion, hard to guarantee not writing wrong characters. Seeing the heavenly maiden reluctant to close the window, suddenly the door clicked open again. A black-clothed person carefully entered, closed the window, bowed to the Head Shopkeeper, then quietly left.

“Wait,” the Head Shopkeeper called to that person: “Bring scissors and paste.” The black-clothed person agreed, spoke a few words outside the door, and all sorts of household items were brought—all blank account books from the Ministry of Revenue.

Boom—another sound, another—thunder seemed to rise in the forest. Lord Yang didn’t know what he was doing. The heavenly maiden took a deep breath, her hands slightly trembling: “Lord Yang, you…” Just about to speak, the “Head Shopkeeper” before her had already lowered his head, saying softly: “Your Highness, please wait a moment,” working the abacus: “I’ll be right with you.”

Crack crack crack, crack crack crack—the “Head Shopkeeper” took out scissors, cut a piece of paper from blank account books, wrote a few characters, then took out a small knife to cut a piece from old accounts. He pasted the newly cut piece on—seamlessly perfect.

“Done.” The Head Shopkeeper wiped sweat in his busyness: “What are Your Highness’s orders?” As soon as he spoke, the angry howling outside suddenly stopped, as if that man had died of exhaustion. The heavenly maiden was slightly startled, about to open the window to look, when she heard the Head Shopkeeper say: “Your Highness needn’t worry. His martial arts are extremely strong—he won’t fall.”

The teapot made clicking sounds—the water was about to boil. The room filled with water vapor, warm and humid, like arriving at the South Heaven Gate or Mount Sumeru. The heavenly maiden’s delicate body trembled slightly, her cheeks faintly flushed with red, whether from worry or anger unknown—she never spoke.

The Head Shopkeeper smiled: “Your Highness, though the world is vast, there’s nothing this subject cannot accomplish. Tell me—who are you looking for? I’ll immediately bring him before your eyes.” Speaking thus, he picked up the official seal, dipped it in ink pad, but at this moment heard the heavenly maiden say softly: “Thank you for Lord Yang’s kind intention. However, this palace has already found the person.”

The Head Shopkeeper was still waiting to stamp the seal. Hearing these words, he couldn’t help stopping, his eyes showing questioning color. The heavenly maiden said softly: “I returned to the country this time for only one person. This person is named…” While speaking, she took the official seal from the Head Shopkeeper’s hand and stamped it on the memorial. With a bang, a large carved seal appeared on the memorial:

“Orthodox Civil Official, Lecturer of the Classic Mat, Grand Secretary of Zhongji Hall, concurrently Managing Left Vice Minister of the Ministry of Revenue”

After a long, redundant string of red titles finally came three clear characters—the Head Shopkeeper’s name, which read: “Yang Suguan.”

The room quieted. No one spoke. The “Head Shopkeeper” saw the official seal stamped and sat down to sip hot tea. The heavenly maiden also returned to the couch to sit silently.

“Left Sun, Right Moon, Mighty Wu, Literary Yang”—the Zhengtong dynasty’s greatest general was Wu Dingyuan; the youngest and most capable Grand Secretary was Yang Suguan. This person was a “Classic Mat Lecturer,” meaning he often lectured before the emperor. “Orthodox Civil Official” meant he had participated in the restoration coup and had extremely great merit.

The two faced each other. Yang Suguan nodded and just picked up the abacus to busy himself again. The heavenly maiden said softly: “Lord Yang, you still haven’t told me—do you like the story I just told?” Yang Suguan didn’t raise his head, saying directly: “Little Loach?”

“Yes.” The heavenly maiden sat nobly, eyes observing nose, nose observing heart: “Lord Yang, I wonder if you like this story?”

“Ten thousand evils, adultery first; hundred virtues, filial piety foremost.” Amid clicking abacus sounds, Yang Suguan said calmly: “As long as it’s a story of good rewarded with good, evil rewarded with evil, I like them all.” The heavenly maiden lowered her phoenix eyes: “According to this, Little Loach later received good rewards?”

“Those who do good will surely receive good rewards. The ending is naturally bright.” Yang Suguan picked up the rosewood abacus—with a whoosh, the beads returned to order—then said: “Conversely, evildoers meet evil—wicked people still get ground by evil spirits. Their fate is destined to be dark.”

Watching Yang Suguan speak endless nonsense completely irrelevant to the topic, the heavenly maiden heard his words miss the point and could only lower her head to drink tea: “Lord Yang, how about asking this way—do you think Little Loach is a good person?” The heavenly maiden got to the bottom of things, but Yang Suguan buried himself in account books again: “Your Highness, only those who can return to the City of Light must be good people.” The heavenly maiden made an “oh” sound: “According to what you say, Little Loach went to the City of Light?”

“You started this story.” Yang Suguan looked down at account books, saying calmly: “You should be the one to ask.”

Deflecting, stalling, talking about everything except the point—the man before her always had ways to make excuses and not answer. The heavenly maiden sighed slightly, exactly like a little woman encountering official harassment, saying softly: “Lord Yang, no wonder you hold such high office—you’re truly skilled at deflection.”

“This subject is guilty of failing imperial grace.” Yang Suguan straightened his official robes, about to stand for punishment, but the heavenly maiden smiled: “Lord Yang, please sit. Your respectful and reverent manner makes it seem you’re the prisoner and I’m the jailer.”

“Thank Your Highness for granting a seat.” Yang Suguan sat down again, bent to open a wooden box, took out more account books—apparently about to work again.

Click-click, crack-crack—the abacus beads rang again. Yang Suguan checked the account books, pondered deeply for a while, and was about to copy the numbers into the ledger. Suddenly his long eyebrows lifted, and he drew out an account book from the wooden chest labeled “Annual Expenditure Records of Western Sichuan Native Officials,” comparing and cross-referencing, then falling into deep contemplation.

The heavenly maiden suddenly said: “Lord Yang, are these books very urgent?” Yang Suguan said: “They must be submitted this afternoon.” While speaking, he set down the “Western Sichuan Native Officials” book and drew out the “Chengdu Prefecture” accounts for careful comparison. In less than half the time, he had pulled out “Northern Sichuan Circuit” and “Upper and Lower Eastern Sichuan Circuit”—the desk piled higher and higher until his body was nearly hidden.

All around was solitary cold and gloom, with only stack after stack of memorials accompanying this “Head Shopkeeper.” Looking at his jade-like bearing and outstanding handsomeness, by rights he should be accomplished in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. Who knew this person didn’t play the qin, didn’t blow the flute—abandoning all gentlemanly pursuits to hide behind memorials and account books, wasting away his prime youth.

Watching Yang Suguan busy himself again, the heavenly maiden also fell silent, only taking arhat beans from the table to eat delicately.

Arhat beans, also called “hu beans,” were brought back to the Central Plains from the Western Regions by Zhang Qian and had a thousand-year history. Because they resembled silkworm cocoons, the Central Plains people called them “broad beans.” After oil-frying and soaking until crispy, they were fragrant and delicious. Unexpectedly, even such a noble person as the heavenly maiden loved eating these snacks.

One side worked the abacus, the other ate beans—both sides clicking and crackling in alternating rhythm like a duet. The heavenly maiden pulled the warm quilt to spread warmly over her legs, found a book, left hand holding it to read while her right hand cracked beans. Reading to an amusing passage, she couldn’t help giggling.

Hearing the laughter, Yang Suguan slightly raised his head, looking out from behind the memorials. He saw the book in the heavenly maiden’s hands printed with a line of text reading “Fortune-telling Without Asking Others,” with another small line on the back: “Master Wu of Mount Hua’s Divine Technique for Destiny Calculation Secrets Revealed—Five Wen Per Copy.”

Seeing Lord Yang looking at her, the heavenly maiden smiled charmingly: “Lord Yang, would you like some broad beans?” Yang Suguan hid back behind the memorials, head down, working the abacus again without looking up.

Men were like this—once busy, they most hated women chattering nearby, but once they noticed women had other focuses, they wanted to interfere. Hearing the abacus sounds slow down, the heavenly maiden knew she could speak. She stretched out her hand directly, brushed off the bean crumbs, and said calmly: “Lord Yang, have you ever been to my father emperor’s inner study?”

“Never.” Yang Suguan set down the abacus, found a string of prayer beads from the scrolls, then said: “In my former years, my official rank was insufficient—I had no authority to walk in Qianqing Palace.” Qianqing Palace was the emperor’s imperial study, but also a boundary line of the Forbidden City. Past Qianqing Gate northward was the rear palace. In the court, unless one was a first-rank cabinet member, no one could be summoned to the inner study, let alone receive the emperor’s heavenly favor.

The heavenly maiden nodded: “So if I hadn’t returned to the country, you and I would never have met?” Yang Suguan picked up the teapot, added water again, and placed it on the charcoal stove: “Not necessarily. Though I cannot enter Qianqing Gate, I have connections to enter Jingfu Palace.” The heavenly maiden said: “Right, Liu Angtian once led you into the palace to pay respects to the Empress Dowager, correct?”

“Your Highness has keen insight.” Yang Suguan slightly nodded: “Though Marquis Liu was valued by the Empress Dowager, his rigid and martial nature sometimes caused friction. When encountering major national affairs, he would always command me to accompany him for audiences to facilitate persuasion.” The heavenly maiden said: “The Empress Dowager is very fond of you, isn’t she?”

Yang Suguan bowed: “Imperial grace is vast as the ocean—even if I repaid with grass in my mouth and rings around my neck, I could never repay it.” The heavenly maiden smiled: “Lord Yang, do you know why the Empress Dowager is fond of you?” Yang Suguan respectfully said: “The Empress Dowager’s misplaced affection leaves me in constant trepidation, still thinking of it day and night.”

The heavenly maiden said: “The Empress Dowager once said you looked very familiar. She seemed to have seen you somewhere but couldn’t remember where.” Yang Suguan coughed once: “In countenance think of mildness, in appearance think of respect, in speech think of reverence—thus those who maintain loyalty, trustworthiness, and propriety must have kind faces.” The heavenly maiden smiled: “But ritual is the thinning of loyalty and trust, the beginning of disorder. What does Lord Yang think?”

This passage was excerpted from the “Dao De Jing,” meaning excessive ritual loses authenticity and ruins simple virtue. It meant Lord Yang’s meaningless words could be spared. The two were silent for a while, then the heavenly maiden said: “Lord Yang, the Empress Dowager also once said something about your father. Would you like to know?”

Yang Suguan said: “As children, how dare we hear of our parents’ faults?” The heavenly maiden smiled: “Lord Yang, that’s not right. How do you know whether the Empress Dowager’s words were praise or criticism?” Yang Suguan said: “Criticism.” The heavenly maiden made an “oh” sound: “Why?” Yang Suguan said: “The Empress Dowager once said that in the Jingtai court, the most loyal was Jiang Chong, the most courageous was Liu Jing. She knew clearly in her heart the loyalty, treachery, virtue, and foolishness of all civil and military officials. But only regarding my late father alone could she never see clearly.”

The heavenly maiden smiled: “Right, you’ve already inquired about this. So according to Lord Yang’s guess, why did the Empress Dowager say this?” Yang Suguan said: “My late father was deeply versed in Laozi and Zhuangzi’s Way. As an official, he didn’t seek merit but only to avoid fault, thus instead arousing imperial suspicion.”

The heavenly maiden smiled: “Well said—’Favor and disgrace both cause alarm; honor great trouble as you honor the body.’ So according to you, if your father lived a life without merit or fault, was that clever or foolish?” Yang Suguan said: “It was both supreme cleverness and incomparable foolishness.”

The heavenly maiden said: “How so?” Yang Suguan said: “In the career of officialdom, even one as cunning as Jiang Chong or shrewd as Liu Jing could not escape unscathed. My late father hoped not to attract attention or stand out, but after decades of this approach, suffering no harm actually made him too conspicuous, too prominent.”

The heavenly maiden smiled: “Right—when everyone else was showing off, only your father didn’t. His whole life seemed spent worrying about something. Isn’t that right, Lord Yang?” Yang Suguan said: “Who in life doesn’t have worries? Even if not anxious for wealth and honor, one can’t avoid anxiety about life and death. This is universal—how could my father alone be different?”

The heavenly maiden heard the hidden Buddhist reasoning in his words and couldn’t help smiling: “Lord Yang, I heard you were once a monk?”

Yang Suguan bent over his desk writing, not raising his head: “Yes. In my youth I took the tonsure to become a monk. At eighteen, my training complete, I was allowed to return to secular life and return to the capital.” The heavenly maiden said: “No wonder your demeanor is so quiet—nothing like the romantic reputation in the rumors.”

Yang Suguan raised his head to glance at the heavenly maiden, then lowered it again to write, making no comment.

Small romance is playful and grinning; great romance is deeply passionate. The “Head Shopkeeper” seemed above both. Looking at his Buddhist air, when he lowered his brows and restrained his gaze, he quite had the bearing of an eminent monk, surely able to completely disarm women’s vigilance.

The heavenly maiden said: “Lord Yang, where is your wife? Didn’t you promise to bring her to meet me?” The Head Shopkeeper said: “My wife is at home. This morning there were also guests, so she couldn’t come pay respects to Your Highness. If there’s opportunity, she can be seen at tonight’s rain prayer ceremony.” The heavenly maiden said: “That’s good. When I meet her, I’ll definitely have her shave off your beard.”

The clicking sounds continued without cease. Yang Suguan’s right hand worked the abacus while his left hand unconsciously stroked his short whiskers, frowning: “What’s wrong with this beard?” The heavenly maiden said: “Your beard looks terrible and doesn’t match your features at all. If I were your wife, I’d definitely make you shave it all off.”

The Yang Suguan before her actually didn’t look like a bad person, just a bad man. Looking at him, called the “romantic judicial secretary,” his appearance was naturally handsome and his complexion quite fair. Though thirty-five or thirty-six years old, he looked similar to a youth. Unfortunately, his lips bore a touch of short whiskers like a conspicuous mark, making him suddenly look ten years older.

Rarely did the heavenly maiden tease and joke. Yang Suguan couldn’t help laughing too. He picked up his brush, lowered his head to copy, saying: “Your Highness mocks me. This bit of beard has been with me for a long time—it was already on my lips six years before marriage.” Yinchuan made an “oh” sound: “Six years before marriage? When was that?”

“The thirty-third year of Jingtai.” Yang Suguan stopped working the abacus, only sipped clear tea: “The year I was defeated at Shaolin.”

Hearing it was an old matter from ten years ago, Yinchuan couldn’t help making an “oh” sound: “The year of defeat at Shaolin? Was that also when you were expelled from court?” Yang Suguan said: “Your Highness speaks correctly. That year I suffered repeated misfortunes, from then bidding farewell to frivolity and entering middle age.”

Ten years ago, Yang Suguan acted as Deputy Grand Commander of Northern Expedition, ordered to campaign but fought a great defeat at Shaolin Temple. Afterward he suffered the emperor’s dismissal and demotion to commoner status. This affair must have struck him extremely heavily. Yinchuan nodded: “Lord Yang, do you hate my father emperor?”

Yang Suguan said: “In answer to Your Highness, my departure from court was inevitable. Whether the former emperor dismissed me need not concern me.” Yinchuan lowered her phoenix eyes: “If you don’t hate my father emperor, yet the blow was so deep? Could it be you encountered other matters that year?”

“Yes.” Yang Suguan lowered his head to grind ink, saying leisurely: “That year I parted life and death with my teacher. When he was gravely wounded and dying, my youth also expired with him.” The thirty-third year of Jingtai was the dynasty’s final days. Afterward the world was turbulent—not only was Yang Suguan dismissed and Liu Angtian killed, even the Jingtai Dynasty ended. From then the Liu faction fell apart, and everyone entered middle age.

Ten years had passed. The Jingtai court would never return. Now it was the Zhengtong Dynasty, and the former “defeated general” had transformed into the current “Grand Secretary of Zhongji Hall,” Yang Suguan.

The room quieted. One man and one woman sat facing each other. The heavenly maiden rested her cheek on her hand, stroking her soft long hair while observing the man before her. Suddenly she said: “Lord Yang, do you know someone called ‘Yang Xingguang’?”

Yang Suguan set down his teacup, his gaze like lightning sweeping over the heavenly maiden’s face: “What does Your Highness wish to ask?” The two were quiet for a while. The heavenly maiden fixed her gaze, nodded slightly, and smiled: “Nothing. I just wanted to ask if Lord Yang believes in heavenly principle and karmic retribution?” Yang Suguan said: “Your Highness, I’ve already said—as long as it’s a story of good rewarded with good, evil with evil, I like them all.”

The heavenly maiden smiled: “So Lord Yang believes in retribution.”

Yang Suguan said: “This life’s karma is received in this life—this is present-world retribution. Since I study Buddhism, I won’t doubt the doctrine of karmic consequences.”

The heavenly maiden smiled: “It’s not that there’s no retribution—the time just hasn’t come yet, right?” Yang Suguan smiled: “It should be so.” The heavenly maiden smiled: “If so, then according to Lord Yang, will you receive good or evil retribution in the future?” Yang Suguan was silent for a while, then suddenly said: “Your Highness, stop always asking me—what about yourself? Is Princess Yinchuan currently receiving good or evil retribution?”

The heavenly maiden was actually called “Yinchuan.” Hearing these words, she actually collapsed onto the couch, her expression stunned. After a long while she said: “What do you think? Am I receiving good or evil retribution?” Yang Suguan said: “Your Highness, the Empress Dowager once had comments about you. I wonder if Your Highness wants to hear them?” Yinchuan lowered her head, peeling arhat beans, saying softly: “What did the Empress Dowager say about me?”

Yang Suguan said: “The Empress Dowager once said Yinchuan was her most beloved granddaughter, with a heart as kind as Guanyin Bodhisattva. Unfortunately, this granddaughter was just too clever, so no one could save her.”

This Princess Yinchuan sat dignified and beautiful on the couch in white robes, truly like a living bodhisattva. Hearing these words, she slowly raised her head and said softly: “Lord Yang, I don’t understand your words. Since this palace is a clever person, why would I need saving by anyone?”

Yang Suguan said: “The Empress Dowager said precisely because Princess Yinchuan was too clever, read too many books, and thought too much, from birth she felt herself guilty. Therefore she was destined to be stripped of woman’s most precious thing and suffer heavenly punishment.”

Princess Yinchuan sat upright as usual, still looking like that bodhisattva, but two streams of tears slid down her face.

Yang Suguan bent forward and said softly: “Your Highness, good is rewarded with good, evil with evil—it’s not that there’s no retribution, the time just hasn’t come. I’m not a talkative person and rarely make promises in life, but once I speak, I will certainly fulfill it. Your karmic retribution is in your own hands.”

The past cannot be admonished; the future can still be pursued. Earlier the “Head Shopkeeper” had made two promises: first, to help Yinchuan find someone; second, to guarantee her future safety. As long as the princess was willing, north and south of the Yangtze, the sea and sky were vast for her to roam freely. Even if the emperor of “Mount Sumeru” sent envoys to punish, there was no need to worry, because behind the princess also stood someone—the Asura King of “Maha Bodhisattva Palace.”

After a very long time, Yinchuan was heard saying: “Lord Yang, do you know the story of the Hongluo Heavenly Maiden?” Yang Suguan said: “I’ve heard of it.” Yinchuan said softly: “Then tell this palace—where did the heavenly maiden go in the end?”

Yang Suguan said: “She returned to heaven, right?” Yinchuan said quietly: “You’re right. Where the heavenly maiden came from, there she should return—this is her destiny.” Yang Suguan listened silently, then suddenly said: “Your Highness, do you know how I see you?” Yinchuan said softly: “Please speak, Lord Yang.”

Yang Suguan said: “You are a great benefactor among Buddha’s six realms, giving your physical body to universally help all the poor and suffering.”

Yinchuan sighed and said quietly: “What about you? Are you also a great benefactor?” Yang Suguan said: “Your Highness, you may not know—when I first read Buddhist scriptures, I greatly admired one deity. Do you know who?” The heavenly maiden said calmly: “I don’t know.”

“Asura.” With a whoosh, the Head Shopkeeper picked up the abacus to arrange it, then bent forward to gaze into her eyes, saying quietly: “Because among the six realms, only he dares question Buddha.”

Hearing such rebellious words, Yinchuan’s delicate body trembled slightly—whether from fear or shock, she didn’t know. Yang Suguan said nothing more, only quietly gazing at her. The two were separated by mere inches, their breathing audible. After a while, Yinchuan suddenly reached out to cup Yang Suguan’s handsome face, saying softly: “Lord Yang, do you know where I first saw you?”

Heavenly maidens were always thus—their actions invariably unexpected. Yang Suguan broke free from her hand without answering, but heard Yinchuan say: “It was in the Western Regions.” Yang Suguan’s eyes showed astonishment. Yinchuan smiled: “Lord Yang, you’ve never been to the Western Regions, have you?”

Yang Suguan listened silently, then suddenly raised his hand to knock on the table: “Sixth Boss.” As soon as he spoke, footsteps were heard. A bald head entered from outside the door, smiling obsequiously: “Your subordinate is here.” Yang Suguan rose from his seat, put on his outer robe: “Send the memorials to Grandmaster Hall, bring the rest back to the residence.”

That Sixth Boss busied himself, sorting the account books by category. “Upper and Lower Eastern Sichuan Circuit,” “Western Sichuan Circuit,” “Northern Sichuan Circuit”—layer upon layer, all the work the “Head Shopkeeper” had just been busy with.

Yang Suguan stood up without saying anything. Yinchuan didn’t pursue further questions. She sat quietly, seeing that “Sixth Boss” constantly avoiding her gaze—presumably he also recognized her. After observing for a while, she suddenly said: “You’re Luo Moshi, aren’t you?” The bald head was startled: “Your Highness, Your Highness has mistaken someone. I am indeed Luo Moshi, but also not Luo Moshi.” Yinchuan didn’t understand: “What do you mean?” The bald head coughed: “The former Luo Moshi is already dead. The current one is new.”

Hearing Luo Moshi’s nonsensical words, Yinchuan couldn’t help laughing: “National Teacher Luo, being a bad person isn’t easy either, is it?” Luo Moshi was silent for a while, then suddenly sighed: “Your Highness, living itself isn’t easy.”

The visitor was indeed Luo Moshi. In former years he commanded tens of thousands of troops with infallible strategy, even planning to burn the princess alive—what imposing presence and stature! Now aged, he had become this pitiful appearance. Seeing Luo Moshi lower his head silently, Yinchuan said: “Have you finished all your accounts?”

Luo Moshi came to his senses and quickly laughed obsequiously: “The outer accounts are finished.” Yinchuan’s beautiful brows slightly furrowed: “What do you mean?” Luo Moshi mumbled and dared not speak freely. Yang Suguan then said: “Accounts shown to the emperor are called outer accounts.”

Yinchuan pondered: “What about inner accounts?” Yang Suguan pointed with his hand. Seeing Luo Moshi sort the Sichuan mess of accounts, he then took more account books from the desk—Shanxi, Shandong, Henan, Hubei, countless numbers—putting them one by one into wooden chests, shouldering them like a laborer and leaving. Yinchuan said: “Don’t these account books need to be shown to the emperor?” Yang Suguan said: “No need. This kind of thing, I can look at alone.”

Rotten accounts in piles, confused accounts in groups. Below provinces were prefectures; below prefectures were departments and counties. As long as one provincial administrator’s accounts were wrong, the national grain and salary totals would follow suit. Looking at these “Western Sichuan Native Officials” accounts, eighty percent had errors, causing Yang Suguan to be frazzled, calculating for most of the day before finally finding the mistakes and cutting and pasting there. As for the remaining large pile of rotten accounts, there was probably still much editing to do.

Yinchuan watched quietly, then suddenly understood. If there was retribution in this world, these people were already personally experiencing it. Just as she was lost in thought, her left hand was grasped by the “Head Shopkeeper.” She heard him say softly: “Your Highness, we should go.” Yinchuan lowered her brows: “Where to?”

Yang Suguan said: “To meet the next emperor.”