Wen Zhuo recognized the man at a glance.
His real name was Zhang Deyuan. He had been the only son of a country gentleman from Bo Prefecture. Relying on the few coins his family possessed, he had been an uneducated wastrel and good-for-nothing in his youth—drinking, whoring, gambling, and indulging in every vice under the sun. Everyone in the neighborhood gave him a wide berth, earning him the nickname “Slippery Snake.”
Just how outrageous was he?
One day, after drinking too much, he forcibly took a respectable young woman. Her family reported the matter to the county office, but he paid no heed. Instead, he brazenly declared that he would take her as a concubine, hoping to settle the matter once and for all.
The girl’s family was hardly virtuous either. When they heard this, they stopped caring about their daughter’s reputation and began dreaming of using the opportunity to marry into the household of a country gentleman. They immediately demanded that she be made a wife, not a concubine, along with ten taels of betrothal silver. If he agreed, they would let the matter go.
Zhang Deyuan was enraged that they dared push their luck, but his father was eager to put an end to the affair. He slapped his son and ordered him to marry her at once.
The girl’s family took the silver and went home delighted. Zhang Deyuan, meanwhile, reluctantly donned the wedding robes and was forced to perform the marriage rites.
One might have thought he was the one getting the short end of the stick. Yet no one could have expected that the girl, fierce by nature and unwilling to endure such humiliation, would find a length of white silk and hang herself on the very day she entered the Zhang family home.
The incident dealt Zhang Deyuan a heavy blow. He had been on the verge of enjoying the life of a young master’s wife—so why had she chosen death?
Was he truly so unbearable that marrying him was worse than dying?
The matter caused an enormous stir and soon reached the authorities of the prefecture. The county magistrate, who had colluded with the Zhang family, was dismissed and investigated, while the Zhang family’s fortunes plummeted.
Old Master Zhang could not withstand the blow. He fell gravely ill and passed away not long afterward.
Zhang Deyuan had always been a wastrel. Without his father’s protection, he squandered the family fortune in no time and became a street thug with nowhere to go.
Though he was ignorant and could barely read or write, he had been born with a silver tongue. He mixed easily with people from all walks of life, formed gangs, and made a living by pretending to possess supernatural abilities. Somehow, he took to it as naturally as a fish takes to water.
During those years, while mooching food and drink wherever he went, he picked up a few tricks from the unorthodox arts and began making a living through fraud and deception.
Eventually, he put up a banner, shook a bell, donned a Daoist robe bleached white with washing, and painted his face in gaudy colors. He began passing himself off as a “master” who could communicate with ghosts and gods, offering fortune-telling and feng shui consultations.
With his shallow knowledge, he naturally could not understand the classics of the “Three Mysteries.” But he possessed an exceptionally good memory and had memorized a great many impressive-sounding phrases. When the moment came, he would let his words flow like a river, leaving gullible men and women utterly dazzled and bewildered.
Whenever his tricks were exposed, he would bundle up his belongings and flee through the night, change locations, and resume his old trade, shaking his bell as he went.
After traveling far and wide for decades, swindling people wherever he went, his methods had grown increasingly polished. And as the years passed and streaks of white appeared in his beard and hair, he even began to acquire an air of transcendence.
Feeling that his skill had finally reached maturity, he stuffed his head full of every sort of sinister trick and made straight for the capital. He intended to seize the opportunity presented by the Dragon River Fire Rite and win fame overnight.
On the day he entered the capital, he gave himself a new title: Daoist Sweeping Images.
The name “Sweeping Images” came from a famous allusion in the study of the Changes, referring to Wang Bi’s interpretation of images in the Book of Changes.
At that moment, on the banks of the Dragon River, the gathered spectators knew nothing of his true background. All they saw was a man surrounded by several layers of onlookers, standing barefoot on the cold flagstones.
He suddenly raised a hand and pointed straight at the stars above. Muttering incantations, he began to tremble violently from head to toe, as if possessed by a ghost or deity. The crowd was so frightened that everyone took a step back, their faces filled with alarm.
Then, with his eyes bulging wide, he let out a low shout and abruptly opened his mouth, spraying out a ball of flame!
The fire landed squarely on a large white canopy hanging beside the riverbank.
The flames flickered, casting wavering shadows across the canopy. To everyone’s astonishment, the vague outline of a human figure appeared upon it.
Zhang Deyuan glared at the silhouette and shouted sternly, “I ask you—what is your name?”
The figure on the canopy swayed faintly. As the flames gradually dimmed, it seemed on the verge of vanishing.
Zhang Deyuan hurriedly summoned his “divine powers” again. He drew the breath from his dantian and spat out another mouthful of flame.
This time, the fire burned even more fiercely. Its light shot more than a zhang into the air, illuminating the canopy until it was as bright as day.
In a deep voice, he said, “Do not be afraid. I am a descendant of Iron-Crutch Li, endowed with the power to ascend to the Celestial Palace above and descend into the Netherworld below. Tell me—what grievance do you carry?”
Strangely enough, the figure seemed to understand him. Its form grew increasingly clear.
Zhang Deyuan stopped breathing fire. Instead, he reached into his sleeve, took out a white candle, lit it himself, and placed it upright on the ground.
“If you are still angry, you may blow out the candle and depart. If you are willing to speak with me, then leave the flame burning.”
The figure on the canopy truly remained, steady and unmoving, without fading away.
Only then did Zhang Deyuan turn around and let his gaze fall upon a woman in the crowd. She wore a thin gray cloth jacket. Her figure was frail, and her face was haggard; she looked every inch a woman who had suffered all her life.
Putting on an air of profound mystery, he slowly said, “Madam, your husband’s spirit is here. Ask him whatever you wish.”
The woman could no longer hold back her tears. They spilled from her eyes as she hurriedly pulled out a handkerchief to cover her mouth and nose. Choking with sobs, she asked, “How have you been over there?”
Zhang Deyuan closed his eyes and appeared to listen intently for a moment. Then he suddenly knitted his brows, his expression turning grave.
“He says that even on the road to the Yellow Springs, life is bitter. Madam, have you been neglecting to burn paper money for him?”
At those words, the woman’s weeping became heart-rending. Between sobs, she cried, “It wasn’t that I forgot you! It’s only that our home was utterly destitute, and I had no choice but to remarry. My second husband… he wouldn’t allow me to burn offerings or mourn you. You mustn’t blame me. When I return, I’ll find a way to burn you some paper money. Please, don’t follow the river ghosts and cause trouble…”
Zhang Deyuan closed his eyes again. Only after a long while did he slowly open them and say in a solemn voice, “Madam, you must not break your word. He died in battle on the southern frontier ten years ago, his remains never recovered. The only things he cannot let go of in this world are you and the child you share.”
The woman nodded repeatedly, sobbing as she replied, “I will certainly raise our child to adulthood, find him a wife, and carry on the incense of the Xu family!”
The instant her words fell, the figure swaying quietly on the canopy suddenly vanished without a trace.
A gust of wind swept across the river, lifting the white canopy into the air. When the crowd looked closely, there was no one inside.
The spectators were already dumbstruck. After recovering from their shock, they could not help cheering again and again. Cries of “Immortal!” rose one after another, making Zhang Deyuan feel as though he were floating among the clouds.
Several impatient onlookers immediately pulled out the loose silver and copper coins in their pockets. They pushed desperately through the crowd, stuffing the money into Zhang Deyuan’s arms while begging and pleading for him to perform his magic so that they, too, might see their departed loved ones.
To everyone’s surprise, Zhang Deyuan merely flicked back his sleeve and refused. With a solemn expression, he declared that his divine power had been exhausted and he was already at the end of his strength. Anyone who wished to see a dead relative would have to return tomorrow.
His apparent indifference to wealth, treating money as dirt, made him seem all the more transcendent and saintly. The common people were filled with admiration.
Following Wen Zhuo’s gaze, Shen Zheng watched the entire soul-summoning ritual unfold with perfect clarity. He could not help letting out a soft laugh. “That’s rather interesting.”
“It’s fake.” Wen Zhuo spoke indifferently, giving a faint snort. “The Book of Han recorded this long ago. When the Western Han fangshi Li Shaoweng summoned the soul of Lady Li for Emperor Wu of Han, he used a paper cutout of a person as a trick of the eye. This is nothing more than the same old trick in a different guise.”
“I know soul-summoning is fake, but his exchange with that woman was flawless. He’s quite a character.” Shen Zheng could not help praising him.
In the modern world, there were many people who claimed to possess spiritual powers, and most of them were frauds. When fortune-tellers seemed uncannily accurate, they were either con artists who had secretly investigated their clients and learned all about them, or they relied on sharp eyes that could read people’s expressions and casual conversation to seize upon their weaknesses.
Regardless of which method they used, it required extraordinary powers of observation and a meticulous mind. In other words, they needed an abundance of social experience—in modern terms, they were elite salespeople.
Wen Zhuo shot Shen Zheng a sidelong glance and thought to himself that it was because the woman was in league with him. The performance was merely meant to build momentum, so they could cast a long line and land a big fish.
Zhang Deyuan had no interest in the meager offerings of ordinary folk. Since he had dared to come to the capital, he was aiming at the vast fortunes of princes and nobles. What he wanted was to make a name for himself in one stroke and obtain wealth and glory beyond imagination.
Wen Zhuo knew all this only because Zhang Deyuan had been terribly unlucky in his previous life and happened to run into him.
At the time, the entire Jun family had been imprisoned in the imperial dungeon. Wen Zhuo had racked his brains but could not find the slightest way to rescue them, while Shen Ting had already revealed his true colors and was pressing him at every turn. Troubled and restless, Wen Zhuo had gone alone to wander aimlessly along the banks of the Dragon River.
By chance, he had come upon Zhang Deyuan pretending to possess supernatural powers, so he had stood among the crowd to watch.
While everyone else was staring at the wondrous appearance of the soul, Wen Zhuo had been searching for flaws in Zhang Deyuan’s act. It had been pitch-black that night, with neither stars nor moonlight, yet he had still noticed that Zhang Deyuan seemed to be standing on top of something.
Later, when the wind lifted the curtain, Wen Zhuo had immediately seen that a palm-sized glass disk was lying on the bluestone pavement behind it.
It happened to be the time of the Dragon River fire ritual, and it was also the death anniversary of Consort Chen. An idea had taken root in Wen Zhuo’s mind.
That very night, he had ordered his men to ambush Zhang Deyuan along the road to his lodgings. They had blindfolded and bound him, then brought him back to the Wen residence.
Wen Zhuo had exposed Zhang Deyuan’s trick without mercy.
“You polished that glass disk into a convex lens, then attached a paper cutout of a person to it. You also tied the disk with silk thread so you could secretly control its angle. The convex glass magnified the tiny paper cutout several times and projected it onto the curtain. When you wanted the figure to appear, you turned the glass toward the candlelight; when you wanted it to vanish, you turned it away. When the wind lifted the curtain, everyone’s eyes were fixed on the air above them. No one would notice the inconspicuous glass disk on the ground.”
Zhang Deyuan had never imagined that on his very first day in the capital, the act he had painstakingly arranged would be exposed. Terrified out of his wits, he had collapsed to the ground and repeatedly kowtowed, crying that he had resorted to such measures only because he had been driven to desperation. All he wanted was for Wen Zhuo to spare his life.
Watching him in such a wretched state, Wen Zhuo had suddenly smiled. “It wouldn’t be difficult for me to let you go. You need only help me accomplish one thing. Not only will I spare your life, I’ll also guarantee that you’ll have food and clothing without worry and become famous from then on.”
What Wen Zhuo wanted Zhang Deyuan to do was lure Shen Ting into his trap.
Shen Ting was disabled and had a sensitive, self-abasing nature. Over the years, he had gone to extraordinary lengths to curry favor with Emperor Shunyuan.
Wen Zhuo had Zhang Deyuan continue performing his “communion with the gods” act by the Dragon River. He had also ordered Shen Chen to find several clever young servants and spread rumors outside Shen Ting’s residence every day.
News of anything novel always traveled quickly. Within a few days, Shen Ting learned that a living immortal had come to the Dragon River—one who could summon the dead and resolve the living’s lingering regrets.
Emperor Shunyuan had been unable to let go of Consort Chen’s death for more than twenty years. How could Shen Ting not be thrilled when he heard this news?
He immediately sent people to invite Zhang Deyuan into his residence and ordered him to demonstrate his divine abilities before an audience.
The more than ten retainers Shen Ting kept at his residence were no fools. Among them were men who felt uneasy and urged Shen Ting not to place his faith in the nonsense of some charlatan from the martial world.
But Wen Zhuo had already told Zhang Deyuan everything about Shen Ting’s life, including some obscure secrets of the imperial court. As a result, Zhang Deyuan’s performance was flawless, and Shen Ting was completely taken in.
Impatient, Shen Ting introduced Zhang Deyuan to Emperor Shunyuan.
In truth, Wen Zhuo had never intended to spare Zhang Deyuan from the beginning. His plan was to have Ge Wei expose the trick on the spot when Zhang Deyuan performed the act of summoning Consort Chen’s soul.
That way, Zhang Deyuan would be guilty of deceiving the emperor and doomed to die, while Shen Ting would also be unable to escape punishment for recommending a sorcerer and making a fool of the emperor.
Emperor Shunyuan could never tolerate anyone using Consort Chen’s departed soul as a prop for deception. Once this plan succeeded, Shen Ting would have no possibility of recovering.
That was also why Xie Langyang later said outright that the Third Prince’s death could not be separated from him.
On that day, Emperor Shunyuan had been so furious that he completely disregarded the bond between father and son. He ordered Shen Ting to be strangled to death in the palace, while publicly announcing only that the Third Prince had contracted a serious illness and died despite treatment.
The Crown Prince and Prince Xian were greedy and cruel to the people, yet their crimes had not been deemed worthy of death. Shen Ting, by contrast, had merely fawned upon the emperor in the wrong way, only to end up losing his life.
Xie Langyang had found Shen Ting’s fate difficult to accept.
He always felt that, regardless of Shen Ting’s faults, he was ultimately the emperor’s own flesh and blood. Why kill him when lifelong imprisonment would have sufficed?
But of course, Xie Langyang had not dared to criticize the emperor. He could only accuse Wen Zhuo of using a scheme that was too sinister—of exploiting Emperor Shunyuan’s most fragile fixation and showing no mercy whatsoever to Zhang Deyuan.
In fact, although the plan had achieved its purpose, events had not unfolded entirely as Wen Zhuo had expected.
The speech Ge Wei had prepared in advance had never been needed. Zhang Deyuan had only just summoned a blurry human figure and had not even had time to speak when Emperor Shunyuan suddenly flew into a rage. He angrily denounced Zhang Deyuan as a charlatan and sorcerer, then ordered his men to drag Zhang Deyuan away and execute him immediately.
Even Wen Zhuo had been caught completely off guard.
This meant that Emperor Shunyuan had noticed something wrong from the very start of the spirit-summoning ritual.
Yet Wen Zhuo had never been able to figure out what flaw Emperor Shunyuan had detected.
Back then, Wen Zhuo had discovered the glass disk only because a gust of wind had lifted the curtain, and because he had never believed in ghosts or gods from the outset and had remained fully alert throughout, watching for the crucial detail.
But he was certain that Emperor Shunyuan had initially believed what he saw. Therefore, something must have gone wrong at the very moment the human figure appeared.
Wen Zhuo was still lost in memories of his previous life when Shen Zheng suddenly murmured beside his ear, “Someone’s here.”
He snapped back to reality and looked up. Four burly men dressed in coarse gray clothes were silently moving toward Zhang Deyuan. Their hair was tied back with strips of cloth, and scarves covered most of their faces.
They were too far away for anyone to hear what they were saying. Wen Zhuo could only see the four men push through the surrounding crowd and encircle Zhang Deyuan. He had no idea what token they showed him, but a flash of astonishment crossed Zhang Deyuan’s face. He hurriedly gathered up his collection of implements for fooling people with magic tricks, then obediently followed the four men away.
The four men wore strange expressions. They seemed to be guarding Zhang Deyuan, yet also keeping watch over him. They ushered him into a sedan chair waiting by the river and hurried away, vanishing into the depths of the alley.
A playful smile curled at the corner of Shen Zheng’s lips. “Looks like he played his part rather well. He really did lure out someone with a special identity.”
Wen Zhuo’s heart stirred faintly. In his previous life, Zhang Deyuan should have been abducted halfway there by men he had sent. But now, he had been “invited” away from the Long River by four burly men.
The only people who knew what use Zhang Deyuan’s little trick could be put to—apart from him—were Shen Chen and Xie Langyang, who carried memories of their previous lives.
Those two beasts. Could they really be planning to use the same trick again?
Wen Zhuo’s thoughts turned rapidly, and he was just about to call for a servant from the residence to follow them in secret and find out where Zhang Deyuan was being taken.
But the moment he shifted his body, a familiar sensation came from his buttocks.
“…”
The attention Wen Zhuo had managed to pull away was instantly dragged back. Heat began spreading like wildfire, burning his entire body until he was flushed red. He twisted around to look, then turned back and fixed his gaze on Shen Zheng.
“Why has Your Highness still not taken your hand out?”
Shen Zheng wore an innocent expression, but his fingertips continued to stroke him lightly. “Why should I take it out? We’re here on a date today, not to work overtime. Besides, not everything in this world requires the teacher’s attention. He can’t stir up any trouble—and even if he could, you’re not alone.”
His palm kneaded and squeezed. Wen Zhuo felt a shiver run through his entire body, throwing even his breathing into disarray.
“Your Highness is truly… shameless!” he hissed through clenched teeth.
Shen Zheng’s hand treated him like a ball of dough, prodding him in all the most sensitive places. The pressure shifted from light to heavy, leaving Wen Zhuo weak all over as dampness gradually gathered.
“The teacher still hasn’t answered me. Do you like eating fingers?” Shen Zheng asked with a smile. His tone was refined and insistent, yet somehow carried a sly, dangerous edge. “Don’t lie.”
Wen Zhuo trembled, and the covered boat rocked gently on the waves. With nothing to brace himself against, he could only press his hands against Shen Zheng’s chest.
“If I answer, will Your Highness let me go?”
“Mhm.” Shen Zheng answered without hesitation.
“…I like it.” Wen Zhuo closed his eyes.
“Louder.”
Wen Zhuo’s voice held both embarrassment and irritation. “I… do like it a little.”
He honestly confessed his desire, hoping only that Shen Zheng would withdraw his hand and straighten his robes for him. That way, he could remain the impeccably dressed Director Wen, and no one would notice the red handprints left beneath his clothing.
“Since you like it, then let the teacher have another taste.”
Instead of retreating, his fingers shamelessly pushed in a little farther.
Wen Zhuo: “???”
