After tangling together in the cabin until they were both thoroughly disheveled, Wen Zhuo’s entire body had gone limp, and his underclothes were damp. Resentful, he left a string of vengeful bite marks on Shen Zheng’s shoulder.
The two of them did not leave Long River by sedan until just before the palace gates were locked for the night.
At that hour, the banks of Long River were at the height of their festivities. Countless paper boats drifted downstream, their candle flames wavering as they merged into a river of stars beneath the night sky, as though they could truly illuminate the road to the Yellow Springs and guide the souls of the dead.
Outside the Wen residence, Shen Zheng still held Wen Zhuo close and lingered with him for a while. Wen Zhuo’s stamina was truly nothing to praise; after the exertion in the boat cabin alone, he was so sleepy that his eyelids felt as though they might stick together.
Once Shen Zheng had left, he stepped into the house and immediately ordered someone to bring him a basin of cold water. He washed his face vigorously.
The icy water jolted his muddled mind back to clarity.
The sharp alertness returned to his eyes as he instructed, “For the next two days, assign more people to keep watch on the Third Prince’s residence. The moment a bell-ringing ritualist is received there, report to me at once.”
He still found it somewhat difficult to believe that Xie Langyang and Shen Chen truly intended to repeat their old trick.
But then he thought it over. Perhaps, in their eyes, once Shen Ting died, the He Lian family’s influence at court would be divided among the various factions. That would benefit everyone, and he had no reason to intervene.
Shen Chen really did think that way.
He had “invited” Zhang Deyuan to the East Tower without revealing his true identity, instead claiming that he was the Fifth Prince, Shen Zheng.
That was where his cunning lay. If the scheme succeeded, Zhang Deyuan would meet the same fate as in his previous life—beheaded by Emperor Shunyuan—and might not even know what he had done wrong before he died.
If something unexpected happened along the way, such as Wen Zhuo discovering their plot and obstructing it by every means available, Zhang Deyuan could simply expose the man who had claimed to be “Shen Zheng.”
When he had “invited” Zhang Deyuan, Shen Chen had already confirmed that Shen Zheng was not in the palace. So long as the guards at the palace gates could testify that Shen Zheng had left during that period, he would be suspected of having dealings with Zhang Deyuan and would be unable to clear his name no matter how he protested.
Shen Chen spoke with Zhang Deyuan through a thin curtain. At an apparently careless moment, he deliberately revealed a jade pendant bestowed by the emperor, along with the golden-serpent pattern embroidered into his clothing.
In Great Qian, only imperial princes and princely lords were permitted to wear golden-serpent and dragon patterns. For anyone else, doing so constituted an act of grave disrespect.
Zhang Deyuan had traveled far and wide for many years and had seen plenty of the world. His eyes were as keen as an eagle’s. With only one glance, he immediately knew that he had not been deceived.
To encounter such a nobleman of the imperial house so suddenly should have left him nervous, yet instead, his heart filled with wild delight.
This was precisely the opportunity he had been waiting for—the chance to rise to the heavens in a single step!
Although he lived far from the imperial court, Zhang Deyuan had cultivated an extensive network of contacts and possessed a basic understanding of the current political situation.
Everyone knew that the Fifth Prince, Shen Zheng, was at the height of his power. His political achievements were outstanding, and he was greatly favored by Emperor Shunyuan. More importantly, among all the princes, he was the only one who currently possessed the right to participate in state deliberations.
The moment this “Fifth Highness” had seen through his ruse, proving himself far more perceptive and astute than ordinary men, his reputation had been confirmed in Zhang Deyuan’s eyes. This only deepened his trust.
Barring unforeseen circumstances, the Fifth Prince would become the future Son of Heaven. If Zhang Deyuan could serve him, how could he possibly fail to rise smoothly through the ranks in the future?
Thus, when Shen Chen laid out the entire plan, Zhang Deyuan did not hesitate in the slightest. He immediately thumped his chest and agreed.
“This humble one came to the capital precisely to serve a wise ruler. Even if Your Highness had not sought me out, I would likely have taken the initiative to pledge myself to you sooner or later. One day, Your Highness will surely be the wise ruler of Great Qian. If I can make even the slightest contribution along your bright and boundless road, I shall consider my life well spent!”
Shen Chen hated him so much that his teeth nearly cracked from clenching them, yet he still had to force a gentle smile onto his face. “And once the matter is accomplished, what reward would you like?”
At that moment, Shen Chen felt that executing Zhang Deyuan on the spot would not be enough to dispel the hatred in his heart. What did he mean by saying that the next wise ruler of Great Qian could only be Shen Zheng? The next emperor of Great Qian would obviously be Shen Chen!
Zhang Deyuan had long since perfected the art of reading people’s expressions and advancing by appearing to retreat.
He knew that when working for the imperial family, one had to display absolute loyalty and discretion, yet could not appear entirely without desire, as though one had transcended all worldly concerns.
Only then could one inspire trust without provoking fear. Finding that balance was exceedingly difficult, but Zhang Deyuan had spent decades in the martial world and understood it deeply.
His face was covered in an honest, guileless smile as he respectfully replied, “This humble one asks for nothing else. I only hope that once the matter is accomplished, Your Highness will permit me to become the abbot of Songhe Temple in my hometown of Bozhou. The current abbot and I have long been at odds, for our theories and principles differ. I truly cannot bear to see him remain at the temple and continue misleading his disciples.”
Songhe Temple was a renowned temple on Mount Songhe with a long history and profound foundations. Even the prefect, surveillance commissioner, and military commander of Bozhou had to treat its abbot with respect. After all, the abbot represented the authority of the religious world. Even those who did not believe in gods or spirits would never dare offend him lightly.
Zhang Deyuan had made a fine calculation. With such an identity to serve as his backing, it would be far easier to obtain benefits in the future.
As time revealed a person’s true nature, he could wait until he had fully secured the Fifth Prince’s trust, then look for an opportunity to make his way from Bozhou to the capital and rise steadily through the ranks.
After listening, Shen Chen nodded with an ambiguous smile. “That should be easy enough. The fact that you have such ambitions puts me at ease. However, there are a few things I must tell you about how to win the trust of my third brother.”
He then repeated, almost word for word, what Wen Zhuo had instructed Zhang Deyuan in his previous life. Since those words had enabled Zhang Deyuan to pass through the ordeal smoothly in the previous life, they would certainly prove effective again in this one.
After a long and detailed discussion, Zhang Deyuan was courteously escorted back to the inn.
Once Zhang Deyuan had left, Xie Langyang emerged from the inner room, walking around the screen. There were now only the two of them in the chess room.
Shen Chen lifted his teacup languidly and took a sip, his expression somewhat smug.
Xie Langyang rolled up his sleeves and refilled Shen Chen’s tea. In a low voice, he said, “Your Highness has decided to use Wanshan’s method after all.”
This time, Xie Langyang no longer knitted his brows or looked at Shen Chen with an expression of worry, as though the plan violated the teachings of the sages.
After personally participating in these sordid affairs, he seemed to have grown numb to them. In particular, after learning that Shen Zheng was not in the palace and that Wen Zhuo was not at the residence, the anger and resentment in his heart had burned ever more fiercely, like a wildfire. His compassion, reason, and virtue seemed almost entirely consumed by those flames.
He desperately wanted to tell Shen Chen what he had overheard outside the Wen residence on New Year’s Eve, but he felt that doing so would amount to humiliating himself. The words lodged in his throat, impossible to utter.
He hated them for turning him into what he was now—for forcing him, step by step, to become a deranged monster sunk in schemes and madness.
A dimple appeared on Shen Chen’s face as he smiled, evidently quite pleased by Xie Langyang’s willing cooperation this time. “There’s no denying it—Master Wen’s strategy is truly remarkably useful.”
Xie Langyang nodded in agreement. “A perfect stratagem makes no distinction between righteousness and wickedness. However circumstances change, every variation benefits oneself. To achieve that, success is not far away. Back then, Wanshan personally taught Your Highness this principle. Now it has been turned against him. Once this matter is settled, I wonder what he will think.”
Shen Chen’s smile deepened, his brows and eyes filled with smug satisfaction. “After all, I studied under Master Wen for three whole years. I can’t disappoint him every single time, can I?”
News that a Daoist Sweeping Images had appeared by the Long River soon reached the ears of the Third Prince.
“He can summon the souls of the dead? Even the abbot of Tanzhe Temple wouldn’t dare make such a boast.” Shen Ting reclined halfway in a cushioned chair, doubtful, and could not even be bothered to shift his backside.
“Your Highness may not know this, but Daoists and Buddhist monks were never of the same path.” The steward leaned forward, his face wreathed in ingratiating smiles as he explained. “Buddhist monks commune with the Buddha of the Western Paradise. The Buddha’s radiance shines upon all things, so naturally he would not stoop to performing this sort of shady ritual to summon souls and draw in spirits for ordinary people. But Daoists commune with the gods and ghosts of the netherworld. Ghosts and gods aren’t bound by quite so many rules. As long as one offers enough ‘sincerity,’ they are willing to lend a hand.”
Shen Ting found some logic in that, but remained thoroughly uninterested. His fingers tapped absently against the armrest. “He’s nothing but a wandering Daoist. What does he have to do with me?”
Ever since he realized that his hopes of contending for the throne were slim, his spirit had been sinking by the day. Perhaps he was simply exhausted from fighting the Crown Prince and the Worthy Prince, or perhaps he had lost all hope altogether.
Emperor Shunyuan had seven sons. Shen Ting was neither the first nor the second, and he had no chance of becoming the third. What meaning was there in continuing to force the matter?
The steward continued smiling obsequiously. “That is true, Your Highness. It is merely something interesting to listen to. But the Daoist Sweeping Images is the talk of the capital these days. You can walk across any street outside our residence and hear the common people discussing his name. Over the past two days, all the wealthy merchants and powerful magnates in the capital have been scrambling to seek his help in summoning the dead. Yet he certainly knows how to put on airs. He will only perform the ritual twice a day, claiming that doing more would expose him to retaliation from the gods and spirits.”
“Hah. A fraud from the martial world has learned how to act all high and mighty.” Shen Ting let out a derisive laugh, his tone full of contempt.
“I heard that yesterday, Earl Liang’an personally invited him into his residence. He summoned the soul of Princess Yonghe. When Earl Liang’an saw the princess’s ethereal image, he wept so bitterly that he could barely walk afterward!” The steward lowered his voice and spoke with feigned mystery.
He was saying all this nonsense purely to cheer Shen Ting up.
Shen Ting was moody and unpredictable. Whenever he lost his temper, everyone in the residence suffered. Thus, the servants racked their brains to placate him, hoping only that he might remain emotionally stable for a few more days.
“Oh?”
This time, Shen Ting straightened, his thoughts stirred.
If even someone of Earl Liang’an’s stature believed in the man, perhaps this Daoist truly did possess some ability.
The miraculous skill seemed to have been delivered right to his doorstep, and Shen Ting could not help thinking of the woman whom his imperial father had pined for all his life—the moonlight of his heart.
Although Shen Ting had already lost heart, striving had long since become a habit. The moment he found an opportunity to exploit, his ambition inevitably began to stir once more.
What if the Daoist Sweeping Images could summon Consort Chen’s soul, allowing her to meet his imperial father and exchange a few words with him? What then?
The more Shen Ting thought about it, the faster his heart pounded. The blood in his chest seemed to boil anew.
He immediately braced himself against the armrest and rose, limping slightly. “Go and invite this Daoist Sweeping Images to the residence!”
The moment Zhang Deyuan stepped through the gates of the Third Prince’s residence, Wen Zhuo received the news.
He was eating the date rice cakes Shen Zheng had brought him, a cold smile curling at the corners of his lips.
Shen Chen actually thought that because this affair would benefit Wen Zhuo, he would tacitly allow the scheme to proceed smoothly. He had no idea that Wen Zhuo found it far more satisfying to trip up Shen Chen and Xie Langyang!
He had been fretting over how cautious Shen Chen and Xie Langyang had been lately, making it impossible for him to catch them in any wrongdoing. He had not expected that only a few months later, the two would begin performing like a pair of buffoons.
Fools would always be fools. One lesson had not been enough; they were actually daring to leap into the pit again and again!
Wen Zhuo gently waved his folding fan and licked the frosting from the corner of his mouth. His voice carried a trace of lazy amusement. “Since they’re so impatient, I suppose I’ll go and ‘help’ them along.”
Shen Zheng naturally had no idea what Wen Zhuo had experienced in his previous life. He merely raised a hand with a smile, hooked a loose strand of dark hair beside Wen Zhuo’s neck, and wound it around his finger. “What sort of scheme is Teacher plotting now?”
Wen Zhuo looked wickedly alluring. He casually tossed aside the crumpled oil-paper wrapper, a sly glint flashing in his eyes. “On the nineteenth day of the lunar month, remember to watch the show in the palace, Your Highness.”
The nineteenth day of the lunar month was the anniversary of Consort Chen’s death.
During this period, Emperor Shunyuan had completely suspended the morning court. He had sunk into a state of profound dejection and grief.
Despite his extreme physical weakness, he had secretly left the palace twice in the span of seven days.
Although his movements had remained strictly concealed, the old palace servants could all guess that he had most likely gone to a small monastery and detached residence near the former estate of Prince Jing.
The place had originally been converted from an old ancestral shrine. Its walls had always been high, and few people ever visited. When Consort Chen had been driven out of Prince Jing’s residence all those years ago, she had lived in that detached compound.
Now, however, it had long since become a ruin. Along with the emptied-out residence of Prince Jing, it had been abandoned and forgotten.
Like many officials at court, Wen Zhuo knew very little about Consort Chen, who had died more than twenty years ago.
He could not even understand why Emperor Shunyuan had driven her from Prince Jing’s residence and confined her in that remote compound in the first place, or why he had later become so devoted to her, unable to forget her.
All he knew was that Consort Chen had died in a great fire.
According to the rumors, it had been a dry winter night. The charcoal brazier in Consort Chen’s room had accidentally set the bed curtains alight, and the flames had spread with terrifying speed, becoming a raging inferno. By the time it was discovered, it was already too late. When the servants of Prince Jing’s residence arrived carrying water to put out the fire, nothing could be done.
The detached compound had collapsed completely in the blaze, reduced to a patch of scorched earth. Consort Chen’s remains had turned to ash amid the flames, leaving not even a lingering trace of her soul for Emperor Shunyuan.
Less than ten days after the incident, Emperor Kangzhen died, and Emperor Shunyuan ascended the throne.
Poor girl. This short-lived commoner had received the title of Consort Chen after her death, yet had never enjoyed a single day of life in the imperial palace. She had endured every hardship in that detached compound, only to meet an early death in the end.
Given Emperor Shunyuan’s cold and fickle nature, Wen Zhuo could not help but speculate that perhaps the horrific manner of Consort Chen’s death was what made her impossible for him to forget. Had she lived safely until the present day, perhaps Emperor Shunyuan would have grown tired of her long ago and cast her aside like a discarded shoe.
But none of these conjectures held the slightest significance for him. All he needed to know was that the anniversary of Consort Chen’s death would be the day Shen Ting took action.
On the nineteenth day of the lunar month, Emperor Shunyuan did not return from outside the imperial city until dusk. A strong scent of incense clung to him, as though he had spent a long time performing rites for Consort Chen.
In a rare departure from his usual dress, he had put on the clothes he had worn back when he was still Prince Jing. But as his body had grown increasingly thin and frail, the garments that had once fit him perfectly now hung loosely from his frame, far too large and incapable of supporting even a trace of his former heroic bearing.
The long avenue before the imperial halls was so quiet that one could hear a pin drop. The eunuchs and palace maids coming and going all kept their heads bowed and walked on tiptoe.
No one dared provoke Emperor Shunyuan at a time like this. They all knew that, in his current state, he truly might kill someone to vent his anger.
That day, Wen Zhuo lingered in the Cabinet duty office far longer than usual.
Gong Zhiyuan and Gu Weizhi were there as well. The three of them were reviewing, one by one, the performance reports submitted for the various officials responsible for grain transport in Songzhou.
Gu Weizhi had always been fond of talking. Even when reading memorials alone, he could not help reciting the words aloud, much to Gong Zhiyuan’s annoyance.
The office was dreary enough already, permeated by the heavy stench of ink. With someone buzzing incessantly in his ear like a fly, Gong Zhiyuan could not take in a single word.
He was holding back a bellyful of anger and just about to make a few sarcastic remarks at Gu Weizhi when Wen Zhuo suddenly set down his brush and rose to leave.
Gong Zhiyuan’s brows knit together in confusion, but he could hardly ask about it.
Shen Chen and Xie Langyang naturally had not told him everything about their dealings. After all, the events of their previous lives were truly difficult to explain.
Wen Zhuo left the office and walked slowly along the palace wall. He seemed to be merely taking a stroll, yet it was as though he had calculated exactly whom he would encounter.
Sure enough, just as the last streak of crimson sunset vanished completely behind the mountain ridge, he came face-to-face with Shen Ting, who was brimming with confidence.
Shen Ting had just stepped down from his sedan chair. Following behind him was Zhang Deyuan, dressed up anew.
The Zhang Deyuan of this moment no longer carried any of the roguish air he had possessed by the Long River. His Daoist robe was neat and stiff, the long beard beneath his chin combed immaculately. As he walked, his wide sleeves swayed and bells jingled.
Upon seeing Wen Zhuo, he merely inclined his head slightly, one hand stroking his long beard. He seemed entirely unafraid, despite having entered the forbidden grounds of the imperial palace.
Wen Zhuo pretended that their meeting was a coincidence and stepped forward to offer his greeting. “Third Highness.”
Shen Ting narrowed his eyes. When he saw that it was Wen Zhuo, he, too, had no choice but to adopt a measure of courtesy. “So it is Director Wen.”
Wen Zhuo’s gaze fell on Zhang Deyuan. Feigning curiosity, he asked, “What sort of person have you brought into the palace, Third Highness? From his attire, might he be a Daoist priest?”
As a rule, outsiders were not permitted to enter the imperial palace freely. Even ministers of the highest rank required the emperor’s personal permission. Thus, Wen Zhuo’s question was perfectly reasonable.
“This is a master I invited from the banks of the Long River. He possesses the extraordinary ability to commune with the divine.” Shen Ting had wanted to show off before the court officials, so he explained without hesitation. “I was just about to introduce him to Father Emperor, so that he might set His Majesty’s mind at ease and help him preserve his health.”
At this, Wen Zhuo’s brows drew together slightly, a hint of concern in his expression. “I hope this does not involve alchemy and the pursuit of immortality. The late Emperor Zhaoxi was once obsessed with refining pills in the hope of achieving eternal life. As a result, his health deteriorated day by day. It was only later that the imperial physicians discovered those pills shortened one’s lifespan. Your Highness must not resort to desperate measures simply because you are anxious.”
“Director Wen, you misunderstand.” Shen Ting gave a derisive laugh. “The Elephant-Sweeper Immortal’s art has nothing to do with alchemy. He summons the souls of the dead and speaks with them.”
Wen Zhuo raised his brows slightly. “There is truly such a marvel? I have never heard of it. When the Immortal summons a soul, does it appear dressed in the clothes it wore at the moment of death, or in its burial garments? Does its face retain the liveliness of its former life, smiling and conversing as before, or is it ashen and devoid of vitality? Must it walk like an ordinary person, or can it fly through the heavens and burrow into the earth, capable of anything?”
Zhang Deyuan was about to explain, but Shen Ting raised a hand to stop him.
“Not quite so miraculous.” Shen Ting waved his hand. “The soul appears only as the outline of a human figure upon a hanging curtain. The Immortal must listen to the words of the departed, then relay them to the living so they can communicate. I witnessed it with my own eyes. It is true beyond a doubt.”
Zhang Deyuan smiled and stroked his long beard again, looking as composed and self-assured as an old immortal.
Wen Zhuo, however, showed not the slightest trace of astonishment. Instead, he fell silent for a moment.
He lifted his eyes to Shen Ting and said calmly, “Please come with me, Third Highness.”
Shen Ting was puzzled, but he still followed Wen Zhuo with the aid of his cane until they reached a covered corridor nearby.
Growing impatient, he urged, “If Director Wen has something to say, please speak plainly. I still have to take the Immortal to see Father Emperor. We cannot afford any delay.”
Wen Zhuo shook out his sleeves, his figure straight and solemn as a pine. With an air of effortless calm, he asked, “When this man summons a soul, does he stand barefoot, at first remaining perfectly still, then begin quietly shifting his feet just as the soul is about to appear?”
Shen Ting froze, a flicker of suspicion flashing through his eyes.
Wen Zhuo’s description was accurate down to the smallest detail. But that did not necessarily mean anything; perhaps Wen Zhuo had visited the banks of the Long River and witnessed Daoist Sweeping Images perform his art.
Before Shen Ting could answer, Wen Zhuo continued, “And after the soul disappears, does he refuse to let anyone else help, insisting on collecting the hanging curtain himself?”
This time, Shen Ting’s brows drew together completely. He stared at Wen Zhuo and asked in a low voice, “What is wrong with that?”
Wen Zhuo suddenly let out a soft laugh. “Do you believe me when I say that I, too, can summon a soul?”
Shen Ting’s brows furrowed even deeper. An inexplicable unease seized him, and a foreboding sense of dread rose within his heart.
“What exactly are you trying to say, Director Wen?”
“Third Highness, you have been deceived.” Wen Zhuo’s gaze was cold and clear as he spoke each word distinctly. “This is merely a street trick from Bozhou, a cheap gimmick used by charlatans of all sorts to make a living. I saw it often enough in the past. If Your Highness does not believe me, search his person at once. You will find a raised glass disc and a nearly invisible silken thread!”
Before Wen Zhuo had even finished speaking, the savage aura surrounding Shen Ting burst forth uncontrollably. His eyes glowed with a poisonous, vicious light as he fixed his stare on Zhang Deyuan in the distance.
