The joint trial of the military supplies counterfeit medicine case proceeded unusually smoothly today.
News of the Emperor’s recovery had clearly spread.
Gu Zhao scanned those in attendance: the Eldest Grand Princess had apparently caught wind of it and hadn’t come, while Lord Du arrived but didn’t even need to exert himself today.
Those who had hoped to curry favor with the Tan family for a shot at rising with a new regime, sensing the shift in the wind, switched sides at the last moment, eager to pledge their loyalty to the Emperor.
Witnesses and evidence that had been absent the day before suddenly appeared—most critically, the ledger recording each time the Liu family delivered silver to the Tan Grand Secretary, as well as the correspondence between him and Administrator Liu.
In every letter, the Tan Grand Secretary had instructed Administrator Liu to burn it after reading, but evidently Administrator Liu had covered his bases and kept them all.
Whether Shopkeeper Liu confessed or not had become irrelevant; he was merely brought back as a formality and then remanded into custody.
Gu Zhao had come to this trial solely for Shopkeeper Liu’s sake, and once the Brocade Guard led him away, Gu Zhao promptly left his seat.
As long as the Emperor was safe, the Tan family’s guilt was ironclad. The crucial factor in their sentencing lay not in today’s proceedings but in the Emperor’s will.
Inside the Brocade Guard prison, even in broad daylight, it was still a grim and eerie place.
Shopkeeper Liu had been tortured the day before, his body covered in wounds, the pain unbearable, nearly killing him. When he saw the ledgers in court today, he knew he was doomed. Utterly despairing, he lay on a pile of damp, nearly rotting straw in the prison, groaning miserably.
It’s over, he thought. Finished for sure this time.
I never should have stolen that Bodhisattva’s prescription—it’s all divine retribution.
Just as he was wailing and sobbing, a voice suddenly sounded beside him:
“Shopkeeper Liu, do you want to live?”
Of course! Who wants to die?
Hearing a chance at survival, Shopkeeper Liu scrambled up, only to crash heavily onto the filthy prison floor because of his severe injuries, pain piercing him like a knife.
He screamed like a pig being slaughtered, his cries almost reaching the heavens. Through a flood of tears, he looked up at the figure beyond the bars and howled:
“Yes, yes, yes! Please, kind sir, show me a way out!”
In the dark prison, it was hard to make out the person’s face—only a tall silhouette. Anyone who could enter the Brocade Guard prison at such a time was no ordinary person.
Whatever his motives, seeing a final chance to survive, Shopkeeper Liu wanted to seize it.
The visitor pushed open the cell door, stepping through the filth until he stood before Shopkeeper Liu. He nudged Shopkeeper Liu’s face with his boot and asked from above:
“I’ll ask only once, and I’ll hear only one answer. You get one chance—take it if you can. Tell me: why did you call her a Bodhisattva?”
At this question, Shopkeeper Liu hesitated, stammering, his wails growing weaker.
Administrator Liu had just suffered divine punishment for offending the Bodhisattva. If he spoke and revealed her secrets, would he face the same fate?
The visitor said he’d only ask once, and he meant it. Seeing Shopkeeper Liu’s hesitation, he gave a cold laugh, not bothering to press further. Without another word, he turned and walked away.
By the time the man had left the cell and was about to vanish into the dreary corridor, Shopkeeper Liu thought: death either way. Even if the Bodhisattva took offense, he had no choice but to gamble for a chance at survival. He screamed frantically:
“Because she’s a Bodhisattva from Heaven! I saw it! I saw it myself!”
Gu Zhao had slipped into the shadows of the prison, which were as dark as an abyss. He had only pretended to leave—a classic feint—and hadn’t truly gone.
Even before coming, Gu Zhao had suspected the truth, turning it over in his mind countless times, bracing himself to face it.
But hearing Shopkeeper Liu’s words—“I saw it myself”—and the worst of his fears confirmed, Gu Zhao felt as if he were being swallowed by a true abyss. His whole being plummeted, his heart tearing in pain, as if devoured by some creature of the depths.
So it was true. Why had she come? And when would she leave?
Would it be like in the folk tales—where someone steals a fairy’s magic artifact or robes, and she’s stranded because she loses her magic?
Or had she come with a mission?
If so, once that mission was complete, she would truly leave.
From then on, no matter what he did—whether searching the heavens or the earth—he would never find her again.
Seeing that Gu Zhao stood still, neither turning nor speaking—seeming unmoved, or perhaps incredulous—Shopkeeper Liu feared the man would walk away disbelieving. Such an absurd story, he knew, would sound like ravings to anyone sane.
Desperate not to be ignored, Shopkeeper Liu yelled maniacally:
“It’s true! It’s true! Administrator Liu and I saw it with our own eyes. I remember it clearly. Four years ago, in Bianzhou City, it snowed heavily on the day of Winter’s Start. There was a plague sweeping through, and no one could cure it—even the doctors were dying off. As Administrator Liu and I were walking down the street, a door suddenly appeared out of nowhere at the end of the road, and she walked out of it.”
The man finally broke his silence from the sinister darkness, his tone indifferent, as if the tale held no interest for him. He pressed on:
“Is that so? That’s quite an amusing story you’ve concocted. If she appeared out of thin air, why think she’s a Bodhisattva? How do you know she’s not a demon?”
Afraid the man wouldn’t believe him, Shopkeeper Liu added frantically:
“It’s true! It’s true! I’m not lying to you! The next day, she was distributing medicine right next door, and everyone who drank it recovered instantly! Many people know about her giving away medicine—you can ask around! It’s true! A demon wouldn’t dispense medicine, so she must be a Bodhisattva! A Bodhisattva who came down to save the suffering, to cure the plague! Don’t go! Don’t leave me! Everything I said is real!”
GU Zhao emerged from the prison gates into the blazing daylight.
Coming out of that gloomy place, his eyes struggled to adjust to the brightness. Stung by the light, tears filled his eyes.
He wept as he looked up at the sky, feeling as if the entire world had been transformed.
Was there truly a heaven beyond heaven?
Was that where she came from—the world she spoke of?
Was that where the Azure Cloud Street lay, the place she lived?
No wonder she showed no reverence—not for imperial power, nor for Bodhisattvas.
Four years ago, when he had taken refuge in Buddhism, praying for the Medicine Buddha to descend and save the people from the plague—had she heard his prayers? And so she had come.
Zhu Qingyu, you came for me!
My fairy, my Medicine Buddha!
