Chapter 118
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“…Sigh, I wonder if a time of chaos is truly approaching. Just a few days ago, something strange happened in the capital. A demonic cultivator stirred up trouble—he broke through the Jianchun Gate, scattered the garrison troops, and charged straight into the imperial palace, even smashing apart the Golden Luan Hall where His Majesty holds court.”
It was near the third month of the year, and along the road leading from the southeastern Fulin Prefecture to the capital, night had already fallen. At a roadside inn frequented by travelers too late to find proper lodging within the city, wayfarers had gathered to rest.
Huddled around a bonfire for warmth, talk naturally turned to tales from across the land. A figure sitting slightly apart from the group drained the last of the yellow wine from his bowl and turned his face slightly to the side. The speaker near the fire was still gesturing animatedly, clearly absorbed in his storytelling.
Nearby, someone voiced his doubts.
“Jianchun Gate? I visited the capital just last year and caught a distant glimpse of it. That wall is as tall as a mountain—how could it possibly be broken down? Sounds like you’re just spinning tales.”
The speaker—dressed like one from the Jianghu, with a blade resting beside his foot—didn’t grow angry at the challenge. Instead, he tossed a dry branch into the flames and glanced around.
“I knew you wouldn’t believe me. But I swear on my life, it’s the truth. I just came from Tianzhi. Jianchun Gate is still under repair. Once you head that way, you’ll see it with your own eyes.”
Off to the side, the man with his back to the others set down his wine bowl, his brow furrowing.
“You saw this with your own eyes? A demonic cultivator casting spells and creating chaos?”
Around him, others chimed in, rousing a bit of commotion. “Yeah, did you actually see it yourself?”
“Attacking the imperial city is a grave crime!” “What happened after that? Did the Emperor die?”
The man beside the fire quickly raised a hand, motioning for silence. He looked toward the drinking man and the long blade resting at the edge of his table, then cupped his fists in a respectful salute.
“So you’re a fellow man of the martial path—my apologies, I meant no offense.”
Only then did he respond.
“I happened to be drinking at a tavern when it all began. Suddenly there was a thunderous crash. In the blink of an eye, a giant appeared, carrying a wine jar, striding down the street. I even followed him for a bit. That giant kicked down Jianchun Gate with a single step. As for what happened afterward, I can’t say. But I later heard that the one casting spells was a scholar.”
“A scholar?!”
The travelers and drifters gathered around the fire—mostly merchants and vagrants passing through—burst into uproar at the mention of the word “scholar.”
In their minds, scholars were all weak and frail, courteous and gentle—easy to bully, really. Hearing such a tale now felt like something out of a strange and fantastical story.
The brows of the man drinking on the other side furrowed even deeper.
“Could it be… Lu Liangsheng…”
He stopped his muttering, turned his gaze once more to the wanderer by the fire, and asked again: “And what became of that scholar?”
“No idea. He likely hasn’t been caught. Otherwise, why would they still be posting warrants everywhere?”
The wanderer shook his head, then revealed a look of admiration on his face.
“To dare something like that—this scholar’s courage puts even us who live licking the edge of the blade in shame. To smash the Golden Luan Hall itself… tsk, tsk. I heard that because of this, even the Emperor was so frightened he took to his bed with illness and has been unable to govern.”
The merchants and travelers around the fire, all resting from their journeys, were now fully drawn in, their curiosity thoroughly piqued.
“A scholar who dared to smash the Golden Luan Hall—just what could’ve happened behind this?”
“Who knows? Maybe he suffered some grave injustice?”
“But a scholar who can wield spells… I’ve only read about such figures in strange tales and legends. I’d love to see a real master of the arcane just once.”
“Enough, all of you—don’t speak carelessly. Best not to invite misfortune.”
“Right, right, everyone hush. I heard there’s a place in the capital called Luan Tower. The girls there—each one prettier than the last, supple as water. Just three touches and they’re ready to flow…”
As the night wind picked up, the man at the wine table rose to his feet and fastened his cloak. He grabbed the weapon resting at the table’s edge, strapped it to his waist, and strode out of the roadside inn. Behind the building, he led out his horse, mounted in one smooth motion, and rode off into the dark.
Neigh—
As the horse let out a long whinny, the four long-handled sabers strapped to its flanks clanged and rattled with each stride.
The rider was none other than Zuo Zhengyang.
He had come to the capital from He Valley Prefecture on official business. He also knew that Lu Liangsheng was in the capital, and had thought to share some wine with him. If he could also bring along Minister Min and Mr. Shuhua, all the better.
Yet after hearing that piece of news just now, Zuo Zhengyang found it hard to believe. He understood that scholar’s temperament well. Besides, hadn’t Lu Liangsheng spent the past four years buried in study, all for the sake of one day stepping into court? Why would he ever do something that would destroy his own future?
“I’ll pay a visit to Minister Min in the capital—perhaps he’ll know more.”
The noisy voices behind him still carried on in the night. Zuo Zhengyang flicked his reins under the dim moonlight.
“Hyah!”
Under the moon, his horse sped down the road, galloping toward the capital.
The moon hid behind drifting clouds. At Chengxiang Hall within the imperial city, tall lamps burned steadily, casting a soft golden glow.
A palace maid carried a bowl of medicinal decoction through a side door. Within gauzy silk curtains, Zhang Lihua lifted one corner and took the bowl, signaling for the maid to withdraw. She sat softly at the edge of the emperor’s couch, scooped up a spoonful, and gently blew on it.
“Your Majesty, it’s time for your medicine.”
The figure lying on the bed opened his eyes and brushed away the offered spoon. He propped himself up and leaned against the headboard.
“Zhen thought… Lu Liangsheng had already been captured… Take the medicine away. Zhen won’t drink it.”
Zhang Lihua sighed and set the bowl down. Her hand reached out to gently caress his now slightly gaunt face, and she gave a soft smile.
“Your Majesty, you’re making things difficult for your consort.”
Across from her, the emperor raised his hand and grasped that soft, slender hand against his cheek. “It’s fine… Zhen merely hasn’t gotten past the shock. Even if Zhen drank the medicine, Zhen doubts it would help.”
“Your Majesty, I know that you and Mr. Lu surely had some misundersta—”
Suddenly, the lamplight flickered within the hall, and Zhang Lihua abruptly stopped mid-sentence. Footsteps echoed from outside. A palace maid appeared at the doorway, bowed low, and announced:
“Your Majesty, Your Highness the Consort—the Protector of the Nation, Venerable Master, has arrived.”
The emperor, who had been resting on the bed, suddenly sat up straight. Excited, he dropped his shoes to the floor and strode out barefoot to meet him. Zhang Lihua hurried behind, helping him tidy his robes and crown as she whispered:
“Your Majesty, you should be resting properly. It would be more fitting to have the Venerable Master enter and pay his respects.”
“No, no—Zhen must greet him in person.”
Nearing the palace doors, they looked down the steps at the plaza below. On either side stood a silent formation of guards. In the center stood a ceremonial palanquin carved with crane heads and lotus blossoms. The curtain was drawn aside—within sat an emaciated old monk clad in golden robes of the Dao, his expression serene as he bowed in a Buddhist salute.
“Venerable Master, why have you come only now?”
“I was in seclusion.”
“Then does the Venerable Master know what has happened in the palace? That Lu Liangsheng—he shows no regard for Zhen, the Son of Heaven. What does he take this imperial palace for? Comes and goes as he pleases, even used his sorcery to destroy Zhen’s Chengyun Hall—!”
The flickering lamps cast the shadow of an enraged figure against the walls. Chen Shubao sat upon the dragon throne, gnashing his teeth as he spoke. Yet the old monk seated below, hands clasped in a gesture of prayer, remained utterly unmoved.
“Shanzai! Shanzai! Such worldly entanglements and selfish desires ought not trouble Your Majesty’s heart.”
Chen Shubao had no patience for such words. He rose, hands clasped behind his back, pacing several times before turning sharply to face Pudu Cihang.
“Venerable Master, help Zhen capture that Lu Liangsheng!”
The hall fell into silence. Only after a long pause did Pudu Cihang turn his face, the wavering light of the lamps making his expression unreadable. His voice, when it came, was serene and chillingly calm—almost feminine in its clarity.
“Killing will stain Your Majesty’s virtuous name. Best to let this matter go.”
Chen Shubao stared, stunned.
“Venerable Master—why?”
“Heaven’s will must not be spoken lightly.”
Outside, night winds swept through the imperial city. In the vast metropolis lit by countless lanterns, Wang Shuhua stood beneath an old parasol tree. Min Changwen stood beside him. After a long silence, the elder—gazing at the tree’s thick branches and lush leaves—finally spoke in a hoarse voice:
“He’s suffered enough.”
“I don’t know why His Majesty has taken a dislike to Liangsheng,” Min Changwen said, recalling the events in the Grand Hall that day. Even now, he could make no sense of it.
He took a sip of wine, sighed, and set down his cup.
“At least His Majesty has not lost all sense—he hasn’t laid hands on Liangsheng’s family.”
The old man turned, sat down beside him, and downed a full cup of wine. Amid his snow-white beard and hair, a glint of fury shone in his eyes. With a loud clang, he slammed the empty cup down hard upon the table.
“Hmph! If they dare go that far, I’ll march up to the Golden Hall and dash my head upon the steps!”
“Lu Liangsheng, this Daoist has returned!”
As the words fell, the old parasol tree beside them rustled with a sudden flurry. Its branches and leaves swayed noisily, and a figure leapt down from the courtyard wall. Brushing a few leaves from his head, he raised his face, his gaze meeting that of the two men seated on the stone bench.
“Oh? Minister Min and Mr. Shuhua, is it? Take your time with your wine. This Daoist came looking for Lu Liangsheng. He’s inside, isn’t he?”
With a cheeky laugh, Sun Yingxian raised his hand in a casual salute, then strolled toward the nearby house.
“Lu Liangsheng! Come out and welcome this Daoist!”
“Liangsheng is gone.”
Wang Shuhua poured a cup of wine and pushed it to the edge of the table. “Little Daoist, come have a drink.”
“Gone? Where could he have gone?”
The Daoist froze mid-step, glancing at the dark window lattice, then at the two men with sorrow written across their faces. He walked over, sat down, and downed the cup in a single gulp.
“What happened?”
Not long after—
With a pair of Divine Movement Talismans slapped to his knees, the Daoist streaked across the street in a blur, his afterimage flickering in the night. He was headed toward Mount Qixia of He Valley County, vanishing into the darkness in the blink of an eye.
And as for the scholar so many spoke of—
At that very moment, he was tugging along an old donkey—with a toad perched on its head—seeking shelter from the rain somewhere in Heliang Prefecture.
