Ni Su heard him speak just this one sentence and knew his longing was genuine—so deep that even someone as calm and restrained as he couldn’t help but reveal these feelings to her.
“If you miss him, then go see him.”
Ni Su propped one hand on the edge of the bed and sat up. “Even if you don’t speak, even if he doesn’t know you’ve returned, just seeing him from afar would be good.”
“On the day I came to the capital with you, I already saw him once.”
On the bridge—it had indeed been just one distant glance.
“That was already enough.”
Xu Hexue smoothed the wrinkles in the fabric on his lap inch by inch. “I can miss him, but I cannot indulge myself in seeing him. Being summoned back to the mortal world by you is already my good fortune—I shouldn’t consume any more than that.”
If he desired too much, then when the day came to return to the Netherworld, how would he bear to let go?
A dead person’s foolish thoughts should be fewer.
“Why must you think this way, Xu Ziling?”
Ni Su reached out to grasp his sleeve. “I believe you can desire more. Your return here should fulfill all the regrets of your youth left incomplete.”
Xu Hexue lowered his eyes to look at her fair, slender fingers, lightly tugging at the edge of his sleeve. He gently shook his head. “Teacher is not my regret.”
“Then what is?”
Ni Su pressed.
The melted snow tapped lightly on the dark tiles. The pale golden light streaming through the latticed window softly enveloped the person before Ni Su, as if wrapping a handful of clean frost and snow.
Ni Su heard him say: “What I do now is fulfilling my regret.”
Was it Du Cong? Was it that ledger? Or was it the unnamed high officials in that ledger? Ni Su’s gaze moved toward beyond the curtain, where on the table by the window lay an open scroll.
A gurgling sound suddenly arose.
Their eyes met. Ni Su felt a bit embarrassed.
“There’s porridge simmering in the kitchen.”
Xu Hexue perceived her discomfort. He averted his eyes and slowly stood, supporting himself on the bed’s edge. Turning to leave, he paused and looked back to see that her fingers grasping his sleeve had not yet relaxed.
Only then did Ni Su release her grip as if her hand had been licked by flames.
He lifted the curtain and went out. Ni Su wrapped herself back in the quilt, her cheek pressed against the soft pillow, her gaze downcast.
Though the person had clearly left the room, the breeze stirred by his robes still swayed gently at the curtain’s hem.
She thought to herself.
Ever since Xu Hexue had enlightened Jiang Xianming in the dead of night, gradually throughout the capital city of Yun Jing rumors resurfaced about how, when Emperor Zhengyuan first ascended the throne, the Military Governor of Hexi had intended to present treasures from an ancient Western Region kingdom to the new emperor but lost them halfway—all because Censor-in-Chief Jiang Xianming had submitted a memorial, raising anew this missing treasure case from the first year of Zhengyuan, suggesting that the treasure had not been seized by bandits but rather embezzled by someone with ulterior motives.
This matter sounded truly absurd. What minister would have such rebellious audacity to dare embezzle from his sovereign father?
But Jiang Xianming had always had a reputation for uprightness and integrity. When he stirred up such controversy, it made quite a few people half-believe it.
The treasure from the ancient Western Region kingdom was a jade white horse trampling on a flying swallow. It was said to be five feet long, carved over many years from a piece of white jade as large as a small mountain, with exquisite detail so lifelike it seemed real.
Its disappearance was the first unpleasant matter after Emperor Zhengyuan’s ascension. Moreover, Emperor Zhengyuan was currently extremely sensitive to the word “money.” Jiang Xianming’s mention of this jade white horse trampling on a flying swallow undoubtedly hit exactly what Emperor Zhengyuan wanted. He naturally would not pass up this opportunity to investigate all officials and fill the national treasury.
“Look at the chaos this past month has caused—nothing but utter turmoil.”
Today Emperor Zhengyuan had rarely attended court. Pei Zhiyuan, wearing his vermilion official robes and long-winged cap, lifted his hem while descending the white jade steps. “Minister Meng, I think the court officials can hardly spare the energy to hate you as they used to. Their greatest hatred now should be directed at Censor Jiang.”
Meng Yunxian laughed. “They haven’t just started hating Censor Jiang now. During the decade or more when Chongzhi and I were away from the capital, I’m afraid Censor Jiang was already being hated like this. You know this best, don’t you?”
“How can you say such a thing? Minister Meng, while you were away, I merely muddled through these dozen years at court, not concerning myself with many matters.” Pei Zhiyuan waved his hand.
Meng Yunxian raised an eyebrow. “Minxing is being modest—you’re quite the shrewd one.”
“Ah, Minister Meng, you flatter me too much!”
Pei Zhiyuan smiled helplessly, bowing to Meng Yunxian in surrender. Then, casually glancing up, he saw at the vermilion palace gate to the left a couple standing together, supporting each other.
They did not linger long at the palace gate. After glancing in this direction from afar, they turned and were escorted away by a crowd of eunuchs and palace maids.
Pei Zhiyuan straightened up and turned to see ahead, where Hanlin Academician He Tong was supporting Zhang Jing, who wasn’t using his cane, heading toward the Council of State in the other direction.
“Minister Meng, tell me—was it really Minister Zhang who sent the letter to Prince Jia? If so, why hasn’t he met with Prince Jia since the prince returned to the capital?” Pei Zhiyuan was quite puzzled.
Prince Jia’s return to the capital was no coincidence. This was something Meng Yunxian had planned early on. Whether that Imperial Physician Nie Xiang, whom Emperor Zhengyuan had beaten to death at the New Year, had drunkenly blurted out the truth or deliberately spoken it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Emperor Zhengyuan could no longer immerse himself in the Imperial Medical Bureau’s lies.
He had to face the fact that he could no longer have offspring.
Only then would he realize he still had an adopted son, Prince Jia, who had been adopted from his own younger brother.
“If not for Chongzhi, how would Prince Jia have submitted that memorial of greetings?”
Meng Yunxian glanced at Zhang Jing’s back, about to disappear at the palace gate. “His Majesty remained crown prince until nearly forty before finally ascending the throne. He has always suffered from chronic headaches, requiring constant medicinal pills to ease the pain. At that time, there were still many upright officials at court. Only one year after His Majesty’s ascension, people raised the matter of establishing a crown prince. But His Majesty had no sons—where would a crown prince come from? The court officials created such an uproar that they finally forced His Majesty to adopt his younger brother Prince Gong’s son Zhao Yi as an adopted son. Yet he only conferred the title Prince Jia, not establishing him as crown prince, which at least silenced the court officials.”
“That was the year you submitted the Memorial on Clear Channels and were appointed Vice Administrator of Affairs.”
Pei Zhiyuan sighed.
“Indeed,” Meng Yunxian said as he walked forward. “Thinking back now, His Majesty must have begun to resent those upright officials who forced him to establish a crown prince. Chongzhi was one of them.”
Emperor Zhengyuan deeply minded that upon first ascending the throne, he had been pressured by remonstrance to adopt a son. This swallowed anger had been secretly brewing in Emperor Zhengyuan since he saw Meng Yunxian’s Memorial on Clear Channels, considering how to make these remonstrating officials pay.
The emperor’s methods could not be called anything but profound.
So much so that both Meng Yunxian and Zhang Jing unknowingly became sharp blades in their sovereign father’s hand, ultimately creating the current situation where imperial edicts were as weighty as heaven itself, with none daring to disobey.
“Prince Jia is an adopted son forced upon His Majesty by remonstrating officials. How could His Majesty not harbor resentment toward Prince Jia? Prince Jia’s childhood days in the palace were already difficult. Later, when the late empress suddenly became pregnant and gave birth to Prince An, how could an adopted son compare to one’s own flesh and blood? Prince Jia’s position in the palace naturally became even more awkward. Even after Prince An’s unfortunate early death, the deep discord between Prince Jia and His Majesty could no longer be explained in just a few words…”
Pei Zhiyuan continued following Meng Yunxian’s words. “Prince Jia wished nothing more than to be as far from Yun Jing as possible. How could he possibly submit a memorial of greetings at just that moment? The timing was too perfect.”
Even Pei Zhiyuan and Meng Yunxian didn’t have the confidence to persuade Prince Jia to return to Yun Jing. This wasn’t a good time for persuasion either. They had originally planned to proceed gradually, but unexpectedly Prince Jia submitted a memorial of greetings.
“So Chongzhi is the reason Prince Jia returned to the capital.”
Meng Yunxian said.
“Prince Jia only returned to see his teacher. I don’t know whether to be happy or worried…”
Pei Zhiyuan’s expression was complex.
Prince Jia’s return to the capital was originally a good thing, but now it appeared that even if they were willing, Prince Jia was not.
“This matter cannot be rushed, Minxing.”
Meng Yunxian smiled and patted his shoulder twice. “But now I have another matter to ask you. You usually slip around like a loach—why did you stand with Jiang Xianming today, just like Chongzhi?”
“…The way you put it—am I not just trying to please His Majesty? After all, it’s Censor Jiang, not me, who’s questioning officials at the Censorate and investigating the jade white horse trampling on a flying swallow. I just saw the situation become slightly clearer and rushed to say some pleasant words.”
Pei Zhiyuan leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Officials at the Censorate owe you a favor now. I don’t believe you didn’t get word yesterday. After Censor Jiang busied himself investigating for a whole month, that jade white horse trampling on a flying swallow was found among Wu Dai’s confiscated property that hadn’t yet been sorted and reported…”
Wu Dai was no longer Inspector Grand Preceptor but a genuine commoner. The magnitude of his confiscated family wealth was so vast that, having encountered the New Year, the officials in charge hadn’t finished cataloging everything.
Meng Yunxian neither confirmed nor denied. “Even so, didn’t His Majesty spare Wu Dai the death penalty?”
In the end, His Majesty still remembered some of the loyalty Wu Dai had shown in risking his life to save him years ago.
On the day the horse trampling on a flying swallow was carried out of the Wu residence, Wu Dai looked utterly dejected, collapsed in a folding chair without saying a word. The guards who had been stationed at the Wu residence these past months took all the property recorded in the registry and quickly departed, leaving only one old servant in the vast estate.
Jiang Xianming had questioned Wu Dai by imperial decree, but he showed signs of dementia, his whole person dazed and confused, unable to answer anything. Even now he remained in a stupor, only staring at the bright doorway, before soon beginning to whimper.
The old servant in the back corridor boiled medicine while wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, completely unaware that two figures had brazenly entered the main hall.
“He does indeed appear to have dementia.”
As soon as Ni Su entered, she saw Wu Dai crying and laughing, unable to wipe his tears or snot, muttering something incomprehensible. She stepped forward and checked Wu Dai’s pulse, then carefully examined him. After a moment, she looked toward the veiled Xu Hexue. “Insufficient kidney water, stagnant liver qi with phlegm turbidity—if there’s also unresolved blood stasis in the body, it’s indeed possible to contract this illness. Those afflicted with this condition lose their memories, cannot recognize relatives or friends, and cannot distinguish right from wrong.”
Xu Hexue scrutinized Wu Dai through his veil, while Wu Dai, his white hair hanging loose instead of tied in a topknot, tilted his head and looked Xu Hexue over and over.
“Come here.”
Xu Hexue said to Ni Su.
Ni Su walked back to his side, but then saw him step forward in two or three strides, his sword blade unsheathed, the icy edge pressed against Wu Dai’s throat. Wu Dai seemed startled by this extreme coldness, his whole body trembling, but he foolishly didn’t know to dodge and even reached out to explore Xu Hexue’s veil.
Xu Hexue turned his wrist, the sword edge pointing directly at Wu Dai’s eyes, frightening Wu Dai until his wrinkled face contorted. His cracked lips trembling, he cried and called out, “Jikang, my son Jikang…”
The sword edge hovered half an inch from Wu Dai’s right eye.
Xu Hexue calmly observed every trace of expression on Wu Dai’s face. He lowered his eyes—beneath Wu Dai’s filthy robes was a puddle of water.
Xu Hexue sheathed his sword. As he turned, he saw the young woman with the embroidered handkerchief covering her face had turned her back to him, both hands tightly covering her eyes.
“A’Xi.”
Even though he knew Wu Dai’s dementia was very likely genuine, Xu Hexue proceeded cautiously, not mentioning her name in front of Wu Dai.
Ni Su heard him suddenly call her by the childhood name few people knew. She froze for an instant, and somehow her heart skipped a beat. She actually felt this clear, cool voice made her childhood name sound rather pleasant.
“Are you… finished yet?”
But she didn’t dare turn around, afraid of seeing Wu Dai’s eyes turned into bloody holes.
“Turn around.”
“…I won’t.”
“Then let’s go.”
Go?
Ni Su gathered her courage and turned around, only to see Wu Dai’s eyes were perfectly fine. There was just a puddle in front of him. Xu Hexue walked before her, blocking that filthy sight. “Investigating further from him will be impossible.”
“Then what should we do?”
Ni Su looked up at him.
The lotus flower embroidered on the silk handkerchief happened to be by her cheek, every thread gleaming with a soft luster in the daylight. Seeing the wind about to lift the handkerchief, Xu Hexue immediately reached out to pinch its edge, timely covering her face.
Ni Su paused, her gaze moving up from his pale finger joints, meeting his eyes through the veil.
“Hahahaha…”
Wu Dai suddenly burst into loud laughter. Xu Hexue and Ni Su turned around almost simultaneously to see him sitting in the chair clapping his hands, then looking at Ni Su and muttering: “Jikang, you should take a wife…”
He pointed at the veiled Xu Hexue. “There’s a bride beneath the bridal veil!”
Ni Su: “…”