The household retainers had once warned Shen Ting that Daoist Sweeping Images might be up to something. But Shen Ting was an exceedingly arrogant man. If he had yet to make up his mind, he could still heed his retainers’ advice to some extent. Once he had formed a preconceived notion, however, not even the Jade Emperor himself could have persuaded him otherwise.
He had personally witnessed Daoist Sweeping Images summon the dead, and had eagerly anticipated winning Emperor Shunyuan’s favor through the feat. Thus, in his eyes, everyone who tried to stop him was merely timid and lacking the courage to accomplish great things.
It was not until this moment, when an outsider with no connection to the matter pointed out the trick behind it in a single sentence, that Shen Ting was struck as if by lightning and finally came to his senses.
A near-mad, murderous gleam flickered in Shen Ting’s eyes. He barked an order at the two young eunuchs beside him. “Search the Daoist’s person. See if he has that blasted glass disc!”
Zhang Deyuan had traveled far and wide for many years and was no ordinary man. When he saw the astonishingly handsome censor whisper a few words to Shen Ting, followed by the drastic change in Shen Ting’s expression, he immediately realized that something was terribly wrong.
But they were already within the forbidden grounds of the imperial city. Even if he had wings, he could not escape. All he could do was force himself to remain calm.
The two young eunuchs received their orders and immediately advanced on him, reaching out their hands.
Zhang Deyuan hurriedly retreated a step. Putting on an air of authority, he said sternly, “What do you think you’re doing? I am the honored guest invited by the Third Highness. How dare you behave so insolently!”
Shen Ting approached with his hands clasped behind his back, smiling without warmth. His eyes gleamed coldly, his pupils narrowed to pinpoints; he looked just like a venomous snake flicking its tongue.
“Daoist, there is no need to panic. Someone merely suspects that your spirit-summoning trick is nothing more than a common con. To prove your innocence—and so as not to delay the time of your audience with His Majesty—I ask that you cooperate. Do not make things difficult for me.”
Zhang Deyuan had no choice but to comply. When the raised glass disk was discovered in the lining of his Daoist robe, all color instantly drained from his face.
What immortal bearing? What vengeful ghosts bowing to his command? It was all nothing more than a paper tiger, exposed with a single poke.
Shaking like a leaf, Zhang Deyuan dropped to his knees before Shen Ting with a thud and began banging his head against the blue bricks. “Third Highness, spare me! Third Highness, please spare me!”
Shen Ting began to laugh softly. He tipped his head back and drew in a deep breath, as though greedily inhaling the air of heaven and earth. Yet in his mind, he was frantically considering how to strip Zhang Deyuan of every last shred of dignity and vent the hatred in his heart.
“Spare you?” Shen Ting’s fingers brushed lightly over Zhang Deyuan’s cheek, but his nails suddenly dug in, scratching several bloody marks into the skin. “Rest assured, Daoist. I will certainly make you regret ever being born on Great Qian’s soil.”
“Wait.”
Wen Zhuo approached at an unhurried pace, stopping Shen Ting’s madness in time. His gaze swept over Zhang Deyuan’s ashen face, and his tone held a thought-provoking undertone.
“This trick works among the common people only because most of them have never received much education and are naturally superstitious about ghosts and gods. But I, as the Academy Head, am curious: how exactly did a charlatan like him manage to deceive the Third Highness?”
Shen Ting shot Wen Zhuo a sidelong glance. He had intended to rein himself in, but found it impossible. The killing intent in his eyes was as sharp as a blade, as though he wanted to carve Zhang Deyuan into minced meat. Gritting his teeth, he said, “He displayed spirit-communing techniques in public and answered the deceased’s spirit with ease. If not for that, how could I, Your Highness, have been deceived so easily?”
“That is indeed strange.” Wen Zhuo leaned forward slightly, his gaze sweeping over Zhang Deyuan almost imperceptibly. His tone was leisurely, yet every word struck at the heart of the matter. “How could a mere charlatan answer the spirit summoned by His Highness the Third with such ease? Unless… he knew in advance. But an ordinary commoner could at most leaf through a few folk pamphlets and indulge in fantasies about life within the imperial palace. How, then, could he know such secrets?”
When Zhang Deyuan looked at Wen Zhuo again, he felt as though the man were a demon who had taken human form. He wore a face as lovely as peach blossoms and plum blossoms, yet a bone-chilling aura of murderous intent clung to him.
Shen Ting suddenly saw the light. His snake-like eyes cleared at once, and he slowly turned his head to ask in a sinister tone, “Who sent you to approach me?”
“It was His Highness the Fifth! His Highness the Fifth!” Zhang Deyuan had always been a spineless man. With his life hanging by a thread, how could he still care about keeping secrets? He immediately sold Shen Chen out completely.
Wen Zhuo raised his brows in surprise upon hearing this.
No wonder that brute Shen Chen had dared to copy his scheme word for word. So he had intended to shift the blame onto Shen Zheng.
Yuxi
To have made it this far, he could at least be considered a promising pupil. Unfortunately, the higher the path rose, the more formidable the demon became.
Shen Ting murmured, repeating the name, “Shen Zheng… It was actually Shen Zheng?”
The moment he heard that name, immense fear surged through his heart.
Shen Zheng had already seized the upper hand. Could it be that he still had no intention of sparing his brothers? If that were truly the case, then even if Shen Ting did not die now, he would never meet a good end once Shen Zheng ascended the throne!
In an instant, his fear transformed into hysterical fury, almost burning away the last of his reason.
If things had come to this, he might as well stake everything on one final gamble and fight Shen Zheng to the death!
The spirit that had long since been extinguished was stirred back to life by this fury. Shen Ting gripped his cane so tightly that his fingers turned white, and even his knuckles trembled faintly.
“Did you see His Highness the Fifth with your own eyes?” Wen Zhuo asked at just the right moment.
Zhang Deyuan abruptly fell silent, a trace of hesitation appearing on his face.
That brief hesitation was enough for Shen Ting to sense that something was amiss.
That was right! If Shen Zheng had wanted to find a wandering fraud to frame him, why would he have shown himself in person? If the Emperor ordered a thorough interrogation, wouldn’t Daoist Sweeping Images have exposed him without difficulty?
Even Zhang Deyuan belatedly began to wonder: Had that really been His Highness the Fifth? His Highness the Fifth was a man of such exalted status—why would he reveal his identity to an insignificant nobody like him?
And yet, the golden serpent pattern on the clothing was real, and the jade pendant at his waist did not seem to be a fake either.
Wen Zhuo chuckled softly. “Third Highness, there is no need to worry. With a minor stratagem, I can determine exactly who is behind all this.”
“Then I beg the Director to enlighten me!” Shen Ting pressed anxiously.
Wen Zhuo stroked the folded fan at his waist and said slowly, “Your Highness, think about it. If this man truly meant to harm you, he would expose Daoist Sweeping Images’ deception before His Majesty, leaving you charged with the crime of deceiving your imperial father—a charge you would never be able to refute. Why not turn his scheme against him? Introduce Zhang Deyuan to His Majesty as planned, but remember: do not say that he can summon the dead. Say only that he has brought a shadow-play trick from Bozhou.
“As for the reason, tell His Majesty that the common people are grateful that he bestowed the flame-mouth ritual and pacified the wrath of the Dragon River. They wished to perform this popular folk illusion for him, hoping to please His Majesty and wish him good health, long life, and endless blessings. Say that you were moved by their sentiments and therefore decided to present their offering to His Majesty.”
Shen Ting immediately understood Wen Zhuo’s intentions. When the time came, whoever was the first to leap out and challenge the performance would be exposed as the mastermind behind the plot.
After all, the Emperor already knew from the outset that the trick was fake. Not only would he not blame Shen Ting, he would instead suspect that person of harboring malicious intentions and deliberately sowing discord.
“What a brilliant plan! Truly brilliant!” Shen Ting felt as though he had narrowly escaped death. The look he gave Wen Zhuo now held genuine respect. He set his crutch aside and bowed deeply to him. “Thank you, Director Wen, for your righteous assistance today. I will remember this kindness. One day, I will repay you handsomely!”
Wen Zhuo smiled modestly. “I merely happened to come across the matter and asked a few more questions. There is no need for Your Highness to take it to heart.”
Emperor Shunyuan had just lain down on the soft couch in the Hall of Mental Cultivation when Liu Quan began gently patting his chest to ease his breathing.
He had shed so many tears over the past few days that his eyesight had deteriorated considerably. Even the candlelight before him appeared as nothing more than a blurry mass; he could no longer make out the shape of the flames.
“Chief Eunuch, do you think Xingluo was in pain?” he asked hoarsely, his withered fingers reaching toward the empty air. “Do you think he was afraid? He must have been desperate to find me, but he couldn’t call out, and I couldn’t hear him…”
Emperor Shunyuan’s chest heaved violently, and his eyes gradually grew vacant, as though he had been dragged back into that terrible night—the nightmare that had consumed everything in flames.
“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!” Liu Quan hurriedly increased the pressure of his hands, calling out to him repeatedly in an effort to calm him. “Consort Chen passed away in her sleep. She knew nothing and felt no pain. She has gone to the Western Paradise to enjoy a life of ease—it is far more peaceful there than in this mortal world.”
“Is that so… Is that so?” Emperor Shunyuan murmured. He sounded as though he believed it, yet also as though he were merely deceiving himself.
Just then, a palace attendant announced from outside the hall that the Third Prince, Shen Ting, had arrived with a Daoist priest and requested an audience.
At that moment, Zhang Deyuan was no different from a man being roasted over a fire. He knew that only by winning the Emperor’s favor could he secure a chance of survival. Otherwise, neither the furious Shen Ting nor the ‘Shen Zheng’ who stood behind him would ever let him off.
Emperor Shunyuan had no desire to do anything at all. Over the past few days, he had even sent his most favored Consort Zhen back to her palace, forbidding anyone from disturbing him.
Yet when he heard that this was a gift from the common people, he could not refuse outright. Thus, he forced himself to summon what little energy he had left and permitted Zhang Deyuan to perform the so-called shadow-play trick in the imperial garden.
But in the end, he still wore a cold expression as he reminded Shen Ting, “I know the people mean well, but in the future, there is no need to report such folk tricks to the palace.”
After dinner, night had fallen completely. News that a ritualist had come to the palace had already spread throughout the inner court.
Emperor Shunyuan thought it was nothing more than a petty trick and did not stop anyone from coming to watch. Thus, by the beginning of the Hour of the Dog, the Imperial Garden was already packed so tightly that not even a drop of water could pass through.
Among the spectators were consorts from various palaces, as well as several princes who were still residing in the palace.
Though it was night, the heat of summer still lingered. Emperor Shunyuan reclined in the imperial chair, his eyes half closed and his expression weary. Two palace maids sat beside him, waving palm-leaf fans again and again to drive away the mosquitoes.
Apart from the masters and mistresses standing in the best positions, plenty of palace maids and eunuchs were also hiding behind the artificial hills, beneath the old trees, and inside the covered walkways, all there to join in the excitement.
They whispered among themselves in hushed voices—
“What is that tent for?”
“Who knows? I only heard that the Third Prince invited a ritualist from the Dragon River. He must have some kind of supernatural ability.”
“Hey, aren’t you from Consort Zhen’s palace? How can you not have found out anything about this?”
“Please, have mercy on me! His Majesty hasn’t visited Consort Zhen’s palace in seven days. Where would I have heard anything?”
…
Shen Chen stood among the crowd, sweeping his eyes over the surroundings.
Tonight’s scene was almost exactly the same as it had been in his previous life. Even the sky was identical—vast and empty, without a trace of the moon.
The only differences were the presence of the irritating Shen Zheng among the princes and the fact that Emperor Shunyuan seemed excessively tired, appearing to lack much anticipation.
But none of that mattered. As long as Consort Chen’s phantom appeared on the curtain in a moment, the plan would be a success!
For the sake of watching this spectacle, Shen Zheng had deliberately changed into a new moon-white robe. The night breeze brushed past him, lifting the hem and revealing the outline of his long, straight legs beneath.
With his arms folded, he stood beside Shen Chen, tall and straight, his features deep and striking. He had the air of a crane standing among chickens.
“Sixth Brother.” Shen Zheng turned his head, his tone friendly, though his eyes held a hint of mockery. “What are you looking around so shiftily for?”
Shen Chen raised his eyes to meet his gaze and forced out a smile that seemed to say he was enduring a great humiliation. “Fifth Brother, stop making fun of me. I wasn’t looking at anything.”
Shen Zheng deliberately leaned closer and carefully examined that false smile on his face. Unable to resist, he clicked his tongue and shook his head. “It seems to me that Sixth Brother has a dark aura between his brows. Your fate is probably inauspicious. And now, with the Dragon River fire sacrifice approaching, you’d better be careful. Don’t let a river ghost drag you down into the water.”
“There’s no need for Fifth Brother to trouble himself over me.” Shen Chen forced the words out through clenched teeth.
The moment he finished speaking, the curtain in the center of the Imperial Garden was finally raised.
Zhang Deyuan truly possessed nerves of steel. His head was plainly already on the chopping block, yet he could still maintain an impassive expression and put on the airs of a descendant of Iron-Crutch Li.
Though this supposed spirit-summoning ritual had become a genuine magical performance, Zhang Deyuan did not dare slacken for even a moment. He carried on with his act conscientiously.
He removed his shoes and socks, then stood barefoot on the cool green bricks of the Imperial Garden. Facing the white curtain, he swayed his head and hips in an exaggerated dance, while the bell in his hand rang out in a string of crisp, clear notes.
“This humble Daoist is the venerable ancestor Iron-Crutch Li,
Born with divine powers beyond mortal skill.
Hang the curtains high and light the candles bright—
Ten thousand wandering souls shall come and bow before my might…”
He chanted on, and even Emperor Shunyuan was drawn in, lifting his eyes toward the curtains.
The curtains trembled ever so slightly. Zhang Deyuan grew more and more absorbed in his dance, his head of white hair flying as he moved. The bell in one hand swung so quickly that it was almost reduced to a blur. Shen Chen’s heart rose uncontrollably into his throat.
It was almost time… almost!
Unable to contain himself, he grinned until his two dimples sank deeply into his cheeks—a sight Shen Ting, standing not far away, saw clearly.
Just then, a wild goose landed on a crooked branch, shaking the leaves at the foot of the imperial city walls into a soft, rustling cascade.
By now, night had fallen, and only Wen Zhuo remained in the Cabinet duty office.
Gong Zhiyuan had been inexplicably irritated after Gu Weizhi had nagged him throughout the day. Thus, as soon as the sun set, he hurried home.
Gu Weizhi, meanwhile, had arranged to discuss funding for the grain transport system with Mo Shu. Taking advantage of the fading light, he had made his way to the Yongning Marquis’s residence.
Wen Zhuo preferred the quiet. He pushed the memorials on his desk aside, picked up paper and brush, and began practicing his calligraphy.
A soft sound came from the threshold. Someone stepped into the office just as Wen Zhuo’s purple-haired brush completed its final stroke, sweeping grandly to a finish.
“Wanshan?” Xie Langyang had never expected to see Wen Zhuo here at this hour.
In his recollection, Wen Zhuo had always been someone who loathed work. With that frail constitution of his, even the slightest exertion left his whole body aching, keeping him awake night after night.
In his previous life, Wen Zhuo had endured no small amount of pain while plotting on Shen Chen’s behalf. Whenever he had the chance to rest, he would lie in his room, refusing to go outside or even see the sun.
“Why are you here?” Xie Langyang stood by the door without venturing farther inside, gazing at Wen Zhuo with a complicated expression.
He still harbored feelings for Wen Zhuo, yet he also found it impossible to let go of Shen Zheng.
He always felt that the Wen Zhuo who had sat on Shen Zheng’s shoulders to paste wax flowers, celebrated Shen Zheng’s birthday alongside him, and laughed in his arms was no longer the same person as the flawless camellia in his heart.
Beauty untouched by dust was a thing to cherish. Once it fell into the mortal world, it inspired both regret and resentment.
Yet though Xie Langyang thought this way, he could not condemn Wen Zhuo with any real justification—for he himself was already married and was no longer the same untainted young nobleman he had once been.
The difference between them, however, was that he had been forced into it.
Wen Zhuo did not look up. He merely studied the characters he had written and, at Xie Langyang’s question, gave the faintest curl of his lips.
“I have yet to ask, Minister Xie—what brings you to the duty office at this hour?”
Xie Langyang said nothing.
He had come to wait.
Once the scheme succeeded and Shen Ting was sentenced to death, he would be able to receive the news at the earliest possible moment.
And if something went awry—if the scheme failed and Zhang Deyuan identified Shen Zheng—he would immediately gather the Imperial Guards who had been stationed at the city gates a few days earlier and have them testify that Shen Zheng had indeed left the palace. Before Emperor Shunyuan had time to consider the matter carefully, they would nail Shen Zheng’s guilt firmly in place.
In excellent spirits, Wen Zhuo dipped his brush once more and wrote his name at the end of the calligraphy scroll.
“If you won’t say it, then I’ll say it for you. You’re waiting for word from the palace. Whether it succeeds or fails, either outcome is good for you.”
“Wanshan!” Xie Langyang’s breathing suddenly quickened, his eyes filled with shock.
Wen Zhuo suddenly laughed. His shoulders trembled lightly, and at last he turned to face Xie Langyang directly. Those eyes, clear as rippling water, held a mocking derision so unfamiliar that it sent a chill through him.
“Xie Langyang, I truly don’t understand. How did you dare use my scheme again?”
He was smiling so brightly, yet Xie Langyang felt cold all over, as if winter had descended without warning.
“What did you do? What else have you done?” Xie Langyang demanded, his voice laced with undisguisable panic.
Wen Zhuo’s smile vanished at once. He set down his brush and rose unhurriedly.
“Schemes are prized for their variation, not repetition. Used once, they are ingenious; used twice, ordinary; used a third time, disaster lies in wait. Let me guess—whom did you choose to expose Zhang Deyuan’s charade? It couldn’t have been Shen Chen himself, could it?”
Terror clutched at Xie Langyang’s heart. He cried out hoarsely, “Wanshan, this has nothing to do with you! Why must you interfere?”
“Who says it has nothing to do with me?” Wen Zhuo sneered. “Didn’t you also intend to pin the blame on His Highness the Fifth Prince?”
Xie Langyang was utterly stunned, the color draining from his face.
With Wen Zhuo’s intelligence, he would never allow Shen Zheng to suffer a loss in this matter. And if Shen Zheng did not suffer, then the one who would pay the price could only be Shen Chen!
Xie Langyang could no longer spare a thought for anything else. He turned and rushed out of the office, sprinting toward the Forbidden City.
He kept telling himself to remain calm, yet he could not stop himself from quickening his pace.
He had to stop Shen Chen in time. He absolutely could not let him fall into Wen Zhuo’s trap!
“Lord Xie, may I ask whether you have His Majesty’s edict?” The imperial guards at the gates of the Forbidden City stopped him in time.
Xie Langyang was panting heavily. His hair crown had shifted askew, and sweat ran down his cheeks, soaking the front of his robe. He shouted urgently, “Let me in! It’s an emergency!”
“Lord Xie, please wait! We must announce your arrival and receive orders before we dare let you enter,” the guards said courteously.
“There’s no time! I have to go in now!” Frantic with anxiety, Xie Langyang actually tried to force his way inside, but the guards seized him by both arms and ruthlessly carried him outside the gates.
“Let go! Let go of me! How dare you!” Xie Langyang raged, kicking helplessly, yet he could only watch as the guards carried him farther and farther from the gate.
In the Imperial Garden, Shen Chen remained completely unaware of the developments outside the city walls, still basking in the smug certainty that success was within reach.
Zhang Deyuan carefully placed a red candle on the ground. Then he began to move slowly, shouting in a low voice, “Reveal yourself! Show yourself!”
Zhang Deyuan suddenly took a step back. The bronze bell in his hand rang faster and faster. Upon the hanging curtain, a blurred human silhouette abruptly appeared—hazy and indistinct, sometimes near, sometimes far.
The consorts watching from the sidelines hurriedly took a step back. The eunuchs and palace maids hiding behind the ornamental rocks to watch also covered their mouths, crying out in alarm.
“What is that?”
“A shadow—a woman’s shadow!”
“Heavens! It’s the Dragon River Fire Rite. Could it have summoned a vengeful spirit?”
“Stop talking nonsense. How would a ghost dare enter the palace? Be careful, or you’ll be charged with rebellion!”
“Look! That woman is floating!”
“Amitabha, Amitabha…”
Shen Chen’s heart nearly leapt out of his throat. His gaze was fixed desperately on Emperor Shunyuan’s face, and he did not even dare blink, waiting only for the emperor to fly into a rage.
Yet Emperor Shunyuan merely rested his cheek against one hand and calmly watched the figure projected onto the canopy, as though he truly believed it.
