Chapter 161 – Someone Comes from the North

The night wind brushed past the eaves of the corridor, and the chill of late night slipped through the cracks of the window, bringing a trace of coolness to the emperor, whose body was drenched in sweat.

He pushed aside the silk handkerchief that had reached out to wipe his brow. Steadying his breath, he lifted the yellow silk quilt from the dragon bed, slipped on his shoes, and sat at the edge, once again falling into a daze, blankly gazing at the flickering lamp flame swaying upon the bronze pillar at his side.

The bed curtains were gently drawn aside. Zhang Lihua draped a robe over him, knelt gracefully at his side, leaned closer, and softly massaged his temple.

“Your Majesty, this is but what is pondered by day surfacing in dreams at night. In truth, none of it exists.”

Only after a long while did Chen Shubao finally blink. His fingers, resting upon his knees, curled into a fist.

“No. Zhen can feel it—Lord Shuhua paces outside the hall every night… Zhen is somewhat… somewhat afraid.”

The only one who could hear such words from the emperor’s lips was Noble Consort Zhang Lihua. She could feel the emperor pressed close to her, trembling ever so slightly.

“Your Majesty, is this regret?”

Perhaps realizing he had misspoken, Chen Shubao raised his hand and brushed away his beloved concubine’s fingers. Forcing composure, he clasped his hands behind his back and walked toward the crisscrossing glow of the lamps.

“Regret what?! Zhen does not regret!”

He turned, gazing at the delicate silhouette of the woman within the gauzy curtain, and with a wave of his hand declared:

“That old man showed Zhen no respect at all, berating Zhen before the court, even spitting in Zhen’s face. If Zhen did not punish him, would not Zhen’s countless subjects think Zhen is weak and easily bullied, a ruler without dignity?!”

Speaking in anger, he clenched his teeth and squeezed out further words:

“…And that student of his, Lu Liangsheng—so arrogant! Who does he think he is?! Just because he has a bit of wit, he dares to denounce Zhen before the assembled civil and military officials. Does he not know that he bears only a scholar’s degree, yet holds no office? Zhen teased him with but a single jest, and he dared to storm out in anger. Relying on his command of spells, he even dared to strike against Zhen’s treasured palace! Within this grand hall, within Southern Chen, Zhen is the highest. Zhen speaks a few words to him, and he should accept them in silence! Outrageous—”

“Outrageous!”

As he repeated the words, Zhang Lihua, sitting on the edge of the bed, knit her graceful brows slightly. “But, Your Majesty, why that day did you fix upon Lu Liangsheng alone, unwilling to let him go? Had you brushed it aside with a smile, perhaps matters would not have turned out as they have.”

At this, the emperor paused, his face turning aside, unable to tear away the veil of shame before the woman he loved.

Soon after, he waved his hand dismissively.

“Beloved Consort, matters such as these… you do not understand. But you need not trouble yourself over them either. That day, it was only because the Venerable Master was not within the palace that he was able to succeed. When some time has passed and the Venerable Master emerges from seclusion, Zhen shall have him reside in the palace. Zhen does not believe that Wang Shuhua’s ghost is truly haunting here. And if Lu Liangsheng dares to come, he shall be dealt with as well!”

His words were filled with unrestrained boldness.

Not long after, holding fast to this self-assurance, he returned to slumber. Above the vast city, the faint glow of dawn slowly appeared, the golden morning sun swiftly pushing away the edge of darkness, bathing every street and alley in radiance.

The bustling avenues gradually grew noisy with human voices. Sturdy young men bearing shoulder poles began their day’s work, stopping at the stalls along the street where steamers were being uncovered, buying one or two fragrant soft cakes before sitting down at the roadside. Behind them, a teahouse boy yawned as he took down the planks from the door. Upon seeing familiar patrons arrive, he stepped out with a smile, calling out loudly in greeting.

There were always idle folk within the city, who most delighted in sitting within teahouses listening to storytellers recounting strange tales of the Three Mountains and Five Peaks. Even the small teahouses were filled to the brim.

The storyteller, standing behind a long table draped in blue cloth, spoke fluently and unceasingly, while the listeners exchanged recent anecdotes with acquaintances.

A scholar of about forty years old blew away the foam from his tea, took a noisy sip, and sighed in contentment.

“What a pity—Lord Shuhua shall never again taste this steaming hot tea.” “Ai, indeed. For Lord Shuhua to die for the sake of a muddle-headed ruler—far too unworthy.”

The teahouse boy carrying a pot of tea heard their words, bent down, and hushed them with a “shhh.”

“Do not speak recklessly.”

The two were startled, then hastily thanked the servant. At that moment, a man at a neighboring table set down his cup and could not help but interject.

“Brothers, that is not right. For Lord Shuhua, it was worth it indeed! Who else ever had the chance to spit in the face of the reigning Son of Heaven?”

The moment he spoke, all the surrounding patrons turned their gaze over. Most were well aware of Lord Shuhua’s reputation, and many had even been present at the execution ground that day. At once, voices rose in a flurry of discussion.

“I was there! When the sack was drawn over him, the elder shouted, ‘How could we scholars fear death?’ Even now, my blood still surges at the memory! That is the mark of a great scholar, grieving for the realm and its people!”

“Yes, what a pity for the old master. Yet the emperor could truly bring himself to kill him!” “…And who knows where he was buried? At the very least, we ought to be allowed to offer a sacrifice. Alas…”

“Right, right, I heard Lord Shuhua had a student—the very tribute scholar who angrily smashed the Golden Luan Hall. I wonder where he is now?”

“He must have fled to Northern Zhou, else the emperor would long ago have seized him.” “Not necessarily. That scholar knows sorcery. He can come and go from the palace at will. Surely his arts are profound.”

These words drew a chorus of agreement from all the tea-goers.

Otherwise, why would the wanted notices still be pasted up even now?

At this moment, another person spoke up: “I have a bold guess, gentlemen. Do you suppose Lord Shuhua’s student might have defected to Northern Zhou? Perhaps, upon hearing of his teacher’s death, he has begged Northern Zhou to send troops against our Chen dynasty?”

Hiss—

The sound of intakes of breath and low murmurs of pondering rose one after another. The remark left everyone unable to respond, and only after a long silence did a voice reluctantly break forth.

“…With our emperor in such a state… I fear… he will…”

The fragrance of tea curled upward. The man speaking glanced out of the corner of his eye toward the street beyond the teahouse. A few patrol officers passed by, and at once he cut off his words, raised his cup, and gestured to the surrounding patrons.

“Drink tea, drink tea.”

The matter of the great scholar Wang Shuhua being executed by beheading had once caused a great uproar, not only in the capital but throughout much of Southern Chen’s scholarly circles. Hot-tempered students gathered their companions and went to sit in protest at their local yamen; some, upon hearing the news, broke into bitter wailing. The classics once annotated by Lord Shuhua had, for a time, been revered as authoritative texts.

It was said that Lord Shuhua stormed into the Golden Hall and railed against the emperor in defense of his student. Others, citing news spread from the capital, claimed the elder could no longer endure the current emperor’s handling of the Heliang Prefecture affair. Combined with his favored disciple being humiliated and hunted down, all these threads entwined together, giving rise to that fateful entry into the throne hall.

After the elder’s death, even more talk shifted toward his student, Lu Liangsheng. Some said he had already been slain on the spot by troops hunting him. Yet more believed he had fled beyond Chen’s borders, seeking refuge in Northern Zhou.

To defect to Northern Zhou in itself was not much; what truly struck fear into people was his possession of sorcery—his ability to summon wind and rain.

Two months had passed. The fervor of such discussions had subsided, yet that same scholar, leading the Qilin beast that had reverted into the form of an old donkey, walked once more through Heliang Prefecture.

Where he passed, the earth that had been barren and yellow at last showed signs of fertile substance. Though the populace was sparse, one could still see farmers laboring in the reclaimed fields. The stretching mountain ranges, though scattered with sparse greenery, were already far better than the former desolate mounds that resembled grave heaps.

“At last, it was not in vain…”

Walking across this land, Lu Liangsheng smiled and nodded in greeting to every person he met. When resting at newly rebuilt villages, he sometimes overheard tales of the White-Robed Immortal who brought down rain—stories that had become the most oft-repeated marvel upon this land.

The people here knew well how hard-won their present lives were. In nearly every household’s main hall, a spirit tablet was enshrined, engraved with the three characters: White-Robed Immortal.

Leaving Heliang Prefecture behind, he arrived the next afternoon at Wang Family Village.

Zhi… zhi zhi zhi…

From the forests came the ceaseless, irksome droning of cicadas. The old donkey lolled out its tongue, swinging it at its lips, hot breath rising in great waves.

Sun Yingxian gazed at a familiar grove of trees ahead. Remembering a past thrashing he could hardly bear to recall, he shivered and quickly turned to flee. Beyond the shelves, Honglian hummed a little tune, sometimes donning her painted skin mask and performing a newly woven opera piece not far away.

Within the creaking, swaying partitions of the bookshelves, a small door stood ajar. The Toad Daoist sat bare-chested in a short vest, his stubby legs stretched out, fanning himself with a palm-sized leaf. The breeze he raised carried only hot air. His toad’s mouth gaped open as he cried out in the heat.

“Liangsheng! Conjure for your master a cup of iced water—make it the kind with milk curds, and add two cherries!”

“Bear with it a little longer, Master. Just ahead, we must cross the river.”

Walking at the fore, the scholar in a rain cloak and a bamboo hat looked toward the broad river opposite, smiling as he spoke. At the desolate ferry crossing, a small boat was slowly drawing near.

The glow of dusk fell across his refined profile. Lu Liangsheng looked toward the figure upon the boat whose face could not be seen, and with cupped hands offered a salute.

“Boatman, might you ferry us across the river?”

“Haha! This old man’s boat is famed for its swiftness upon these waters!”

The boatman’s hearty laughter rang out, echoing beneath the setting sun.

“Honored guests, please come aboard.”

The little boat rocked gently, then was soon pushed off from the ferry by the pole. Lu Liangsheng removed his bamboo hat, stood at the prow, and gazed eastward, as though he could see the faint outline of a great city.

Master, Liangsheng has returned.

A gentle breeze blew; his hair was lightly stirred.