The Grand Tutor in He Xingzhi's words was the emperor's teacher back when he was still a crown prince. Now in his fifties, the man sported a graying mustache and had a particular fondness for drinking at Jinxi Tower, carrying himself without a trace of arrogance.
Were it not for the luxurious fabric of his robes—something far beyond what commoners could afford—one might easily mistake him for just another ordinary old man.
Hongdou scratched her forehead as she watched her employer, who seemed interested in nothing but money.
"Boss, Lord Song is famously known as the most handsome man among the court officials, the youngest of the high-ranking ministers in the court. Not just the capital—the entire Zhao Dynasty knows of him."
Compared to He Xingzhi's mild face-blindness, Hongdou had an exceptional memory for people. A single glance at a portrait was enough for her to recognize someone.
"Oh, really? That impressive, huh?" He Xingzhi replied half-heartedly.
No sooner had she spoken than a system panel, visible only to her, suddenly displayed a new notification—a personal profile of Song Huaijing.
Unlike the previous day's sparse introduction, which had only listed his name and official position, this time the attributes panel was slightly more detailed, now including his portrait, age, and place of origin.
Only now did He Xingzhi get a proper look at his features. His face truly fit the image of a refined scholar—jade-like complexion, sharp brows, starry eyes, lips red as cinnabar and teeth white as snow. His dark pupils were as deep as ink that refused to dissolve in an inkstone.
The deep blue round-collared official robe lent him an air of solemn dignity, while the white jade belt accentuated his slender waist. A silver dagger hung at his side.
Yet, beside his portrait, aside from the brief introduction, there was also a glaring line of text: NPC for this storyline.
Seriously, are the designers this competitive? Even NPC character models have to be this good-looking? He Xingzhi couldn't help but grumble inwardly.
"Boss, what are you thinking about?" Hongdou waved a hand in front of He Xingzhi's face, puzzled by her sudden distraction.
"Nothing, nothing. I'm tired—I need a nap."
He Xingzhi didn't pay much attention to this stunningly handsome high-ranking official. At most, she might praise his looks.
After all, he was just an NPC. To He Xingzhi, Song Huaijing was nothing more than a clump of data maintaining the basic order of the game world.
......
After barely mustering the energy to complete a few system-assigned tasks over the past few days, He Xingzhi was back to lounging around Jinxi Tower, flipping through account books, eating at her own shop, and listening to music.
She had completely forgotten that her original purpose here was to fall in love.
Leaning against the railing on the second floor, He Xingzhi rested her chin on her hand as she gazed down at the bustling first floor, her fingers tapping idly against the wooden banister.
Tilting her head, she watched the storyteller's animated expressions, his features twisting into exaggerated contortions.
The air was filled with noise.
Jinxi Tower often hired troupes or storytellers to perform on the central stage on the first floor—storytelling during the day, theatrical plays at night.
"A-Zhi." A warm touch grazed her shoulder as someone affectionately embraced her from behind. A silk handkerchief, held between delicate fingers, brushed against her cheek like a feather.
Recognizing the familiar fragrance and tickled by the handkerchief, He Xingzhi shivered slightly. "Zhenzhen?"
She turned in surprise, grasping the other woman's wrist. "You're back in the capital?"
Cui Xizhen nodded with a smile, her joy evident even behind the veil covering her face.
Cui Xizhen was the daughter of an aristocratic family—the second daughter of the current head of the Qinghe Cui Clan and his principal wife, Madam Lu. By all logic, she and He Xingzhi, who had lived in Jiangnan, should have had no connection.
But as a child, Cui Xizhen had been frail. A fortune-teller had claimed that only the southern regions could nurture her health. Coincidentally, her maternal grandmother was from Jiangnan, so she had been sent there as a child and only returned to the capital at sixteen.
She and He Xingzhi had grown up together, becoming the closest of friends.
When He Xingzhi first arrived in the capital, Cui Xizhen had coincidentally been away, traveling to Jiangnan with her husband to visit family. They had only just returned two days prior, so this was their first reunion since.
A sharp bang from the stage snapped He Xingzhi's attention back. The storyteller had struck his wooden block.
Cui Xizhen blinked, then chuckled as she observed the crowd gathered around the stage and He Xingzhi's curious expression. "This story is ancient. Why is everyone still so obsessed with it?"
"Ancient? I've never heard it before." He Xingzhi had little patience for classical literature, and even operas or storytellers' tales laden with archaic phrases rarely held her interest.
This was genuinely the first time she had paid attention to a storyteller's performance here. Though she hadn't listened closely, she had caught about half of it.
"You're new to the capital, so of course you haven't. This story is called The Ghost Wife, and it's a romance."
He Xingzhi could tell it was a love story—one about a pair of sworn siblings who relied on each other. The male protagonist studied diligently, eventually entering officialdom, while the female protagonist excelled in business, gradually amassing wealth.
Just as the two, having grown close over time, were about to marry, the woman met an untimely death.
Heartbroken, the man, consumed by grief, spent a fortune hiring a sorcerer to conduct a ghost marriage. Unbeknownst to him, the woman's spirit lingered, and thus began a bond between the living and the dead. The man never remarried, spending his life with her ghostly presence until his peaceful end.
A love story between a human and a ghost.
"Sounds like a pretty ordinary tale. Why is it so popular?" He Xingzhi's gaze lingered on the storyteller, watching his vivid expressions and the enraptured audience surrounding him.
Cui Xizhen clutched her handkerchief and leaned in, lowering her voice. "A-Zhi, you wouldn't know this, but this story is actually about the current Vice Grand Councilor."
He Xingzhi jolted, turning to her in shock. "A high-ranking official like the Vice Grand Councilor—wouldn't he be furious about commoners making up stories about him?"
"Not just the Vice Grand Councilor—even the one holding the highest authority has stories written about him. As long as they're not slandered, they turn a blind eye," Cui Xizhen said with a laugh.
"I see..." He Xingzhi nodded in understanding. Human nature's love for gossip truly knew no bounds, past or present.
But now, He Xingzhi was even more curious. "Still, this is a ghost love story. How does it relate to the Vice Grand Councilor?"
"Let me explain in detail."
He Xingzhi's curiosity burned like wildfire. She quickly pulled Cui Xizhen into an empty private room to sit down.
......
The current Vice Grand Councilor's surname was Song, given name Huaijing, born in the second year of Jinghe. Orphaned at a young age, he had no parents but possessed exceptional intelligence. At eighteen, he placed first in the provincial examinations, and at nineteen, he entered officialdom through the imperial exams. His brilliance shone during his probation in the Ministry of Personnel, earning him an unprecedented promotion to the eighth-rank position of Left Reminder—thus beginning his political career.
Despite his humble origins, he rose to the highest echelons of power, his talent and virtue praised throughout the court.
In his youth, Song Huaijing had a childhood sweetheart—a sworn sister, Madam He, who was also orphaned early. The two had been neighbors, distantly related, and as close as real siblings.
Madam He made a living selling tofu, and the two supported each other. Song Huaijing copied books by day to save money, and by night, he helped Madam He grind beans and do heavy labor to prepare for her stall the next morning.
Madam He possessed a remarkable talent for business. Though merely a teenage girl, she went from pushing a cart through the streets hawking goods to renting a shopfront and opening a dessert store within just a year.
In the twentieth year of Jinghe, Song Huaijing passed the provincial examinations to become a recommended scholar. By then, Madam He's eatery in the prefecture was already thriving.
The following February marked the metropolitan examinations. Upon learning of his provincial success, the two packed their belongings and hurried to the capital together—Song Huaijing to take the exams, Madam He to scout for a shopfront and expand her business.
Madam He’s commercial ventures flourished first, and in the years Song Huaijing spent pursuing his scholarly honors, she supported him generously, contributing no small sum of money.
Song Huaijing did not disappoint her. He placed third in the palace examinations, earning the title of Advanced Scholar.
By the twenty-third year of Jinghe, Song Huaijing was appointed as the magistrate of Hezhou County, while Madam He’s business continued to prosper.
Both were no longer young, and over time, affection grew between them. They became engaged.
With neither parents nor family to rely on, Song Huaijing handled everything himself—arranging a matchmaker, preparing the betrothal documents, and providing the betrothal gifts. He even personally wrote both the groom’s letter of proposal and the bride’s letter of acceptance.
Their birth charts were matched, and a wedding date was chosen. As the day approached, Madam He remained busy with her business affairs.
The Zhao Dynasty was an era of open customs, where women engaging in commerce or pursuing education and official careers was hardly unusual.
Song Huaijing fully supported Madam He, so he took charge of all wedding preparations.
Madam He was a bright and generous woman, unbothered by minor details, while Song Huaijing attended to every meticulous arrangement.
Everything seemed as smooth and blissful as a storybook tale.
Until two months before the wedding, when Madam He traveled to the Western Regions to negotiate a spice trade deal and met with disaster—vanishing without a trace. Though most of her caravan returned safely, she alone was lost, her body never recovered.
At first, Song Huaijing refused to believe she was truly gone. He searched relentlessly, but year after year passed, and he rose from a minor county magistrate to a Secretariat Drafter in the capital.
At times, he resigned or requested reassignment to the borderlands, retracing Madam He’s trade route westward—yet found nothing.
Rumors spread that the usually rational Song Huaijing, desperate, consulted a mystic, who confirmed Madam He no longer walked among the living. Overcome with grief, he even arranged a posthumous marriage—a ghost wedding—to honor her.
Later, as the empire descended into chaos, border conflicts intensified, and the ailing emperor’s court became a battleground for rival princes, Song Huaijing aligned with the Third Prince, nearly losing his life in the process.
When the Third Prince ascended the throne, Song Huaijing was promoted three ranks in an unprecedented leap, becoming the youngest high-ranking official of the new regime.
"Though Scholar Song was not from an aristocratic family, his upright character, integrity, and talent made him highly sought after. Matchmakers nearly wore out his doorstep, yet he remained unmoved. Even the Emperor tried to arrange a marriage for him, but each time it was mentioned, Song Huaijing would either resign or feign illness to avoid court. Eventually, the Emperor stopped pressing the matter."
"Perhaps to win his favor, the Emperor even posthumously granted Madam He an honorary title and rank."
With a gulp, Cui Xizhen took a large sip of warm tea. "And that’s the real-life story behind the folktale The Ghost Wife—the tale of Scholar Song."
He Xingzhi’s lips parted slightly in astonishment. Some people lived twenty-eight years packed with more drama than others saw in a lifetime.
"But this has nothing to do with a love that transcends death. In reality, their story ended with Madam He’s passing, didn’t it?"
"Of course! There’s no such thing as ghosts and spirits. The later parts of The Ghost Wife are pure fiction. Reality isn’t like folktales—the dead don’t return, just as spilled water can’t be gathered back. Scholar Song, now twenty-eight, remains unmarried and alone."
Cui Xizhen, still thirsty, gulped more tea and stuffed a few pastries into her mouth.
He Xingzhi absently snatched a pastry too, then casually asked, "What was Madam He’s full name?"
What a coincidence—they shared the same surname.
Cui Xizhen shuddered, as if unnerved, and shook her head. "No one recorded her personal name. We only know she was surnamed He."
"But it hasn’t even been ten years since her death. How could her name be lost?"
He Xingzhi paused, then added, "Usually, missing names are due to ancient records, war damage, or lack of family preserving their history… but Councilor Song is still alive, isn’t he?"
As she listened, an indescribable, hazy unease settled in He Xingzhi’s chest.
Learning that Madam He’s name hadn’t survived deepened that feeling.
From her modern perspective, if Song Huaijing had truly loved his fiancée so deeply, he would have ensured her name endured.
Cui Xizhen exhaled. "That’s the strange part. No one knows her name—not even the Emperor, perhaps."
"Why…?"
Dusk deepened, the last sliver of sunset slicing through the window to gild half of He Xingzhi’s face.
The newly lit candle on the table flickered wildly in a sudden draft, its shadow on the screen twisting grotesquely.
A sharp pop from the wick made Cui Xizhen’s eyes dart nervously. She gulped, instinctively grabbing He Xingzhi’s hand.
Though she knew they were alone in a private room, she leaned in conspiratorially, her lips nearly brushing He Xingzhi’s ear as she whispered:
"Because there may never have been a Madam He at all."
