Chapter 162 – A Visit

The evening breeze swept across the riverbank, reeds swaying gently under the fading crimson glow of the setting sun.

With a splashing sound, ripples spread as a small boat pushed through the water and drifted to the ferry crossing. Lu Liangsheng led the old donkey ashore, turned around, and cupped his hands in farewell to the boatman.

“Safe travels, honored guests!”

The old boatman spoke no more than that. He stowed away his pole, walked toward the bank, glanced around, and, as always, muttered to himself: “Can’t always be drinking the village head’s wine without giving something back… aye, I’ll catch him some fish.”

Muttering, he returned to his boat. Meanwhile, the departing Lu Liangsheng and the Daoist walked along the riverside. In the distance, the Wang Family’s village could already be seen. At that moment, the villagers were just finishing a day’s farm work, washing their hands and feet in the stream at the edge of the fields, their hoes slung over their shoulders as they walked home together in the dusky glow.

“Sometimes I think this sort of life is rather good too—working at sunrise, resting at sunset.”

Hearing the scholar’s sigh, the Daoist chewed a stalk of foxtail grass, shook his head, then spat it out with a ptui.

“That’s because you’ve lived through much. Were it them, they would envy the likes of you and me instead.”

Lu Liangsheng smiled faintly, drew back his gaze, and patted the donkey’s head as it tried to chew on a reed stalk, urging it forward. With his hands clasped behind his back, he walked side by side with the Daoist.

“…Perhaps so.”

The evening breeze flowed gently; several chirping birds fluttered overhead.

Quick of hand and eye, the Daoist picked up a few pebbles and flicked them with sharp swishes, striking down the birds mid-flight. He wiped his hands on his Daoist robe, ran forward to snatch them up, and raised them toward the scholar with a grin.

“Dinner’s settled.”

A few li past the Wang Family’s village, the two lit a campfire by the roadside and cooked a pot of meat porridge. The Toad Daoist came out of a small partitioned space carrying a bowl of frozen cheese curd, glanced at the pot, tossed aside his bowl, and sat cross-legged by the fire. Seeing his disciple remain silent all the while, he more or less guessed what was on his mind.

“Once we reach the Chen Dynasty’s capital, you’re thinking of avenging your honored mentor?”

This question made the other Daoist, who was plucking feathers and gutting a bird by the fire, also glance over.

Lu Liangsheng poked at the flames with a dry branch, watching sparks drift upward. After a long silence, he thought for a moment in the firelight, then tossed the branch into the blaze.

His voice was utterly calm, as though speaking of the simplest of matters.

“No rush. First, I must find my master’s remains and bury him according to his last wish in Mount Qixia. Only then will I speak of the Emperor of Southern Chen.”

The Toad Daoist licked a cherry, smacked his lips, and tossed the pit into a small bowl. Folding his webbed hands over his chest, his expression suddenly grew solemn and dignified as he gave a nod.

“Mm. Within the imperial palace, there is still a centipede demon that cultivates by relying on dragon qi. Though Liangsheng has already stepped into the Golden Core Realm, to deal with it, one must first possess a treasure or ability that can restrain its soul-seizing Brahma Sound.”

He rose, clasped his webbed hands behind his back, swayed a few steps forward, and gazed at the star-filled sky.

“Had this been during my peak, why would I fear such a petty fiend…”

Seeing that no one answered him, he quickly turned back. The Daoist and Lu Liangsheng were already raising their bowls, noisily gulping down their meal, even Honglian was sipping her rice essence. With a sudden glare of his bulging toad-eyes, he rushed over, snatched up his own bowl, and held it high over his head.

“Liangsheng, quickly serve your master another bowl!”

Clack clack clack—the chopsticks struck the bottom of the pot. The Toad Daoist stuffed his mouth full of rice and bird meat, chewed a few times, swallowed it all down, then leaned back with satisfaction, revealing his round, pale belly.

Hiccup!

With a long sigh he said, “Comfortable…”

After resting for a while, they packed away bowls, chopsticks, and the pot, then the two, along with their donkey, set off again. Night had fully fallen, and in the distance, at the end of the official road, the city’s myriad lights spilled over the walls.

Ding ding ding…

The sound of bells drifted in the night wind. The gate guards yawned, when suddenly a chill swept across the back of their necks, making them all shiver at once. Their vision seemed to blur for a moment, as though shadowy figures had slipped in through the tightly shut city gates. Yet aside from a few comrades nearby and the sound of footsteps patrolling the walls, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

“Strange, could we all have been seeing things?”

“Don’t tell me it was a ghost… bah, nonsense, nonsense.”

“You’ve already got two children, and you’re still talking about childish nonsense!”

The wind swept down the street, stirring fallen leaves across the ground. A faint jingling of bells echoed through the long street, mingling with the wooden clappers of the night watch.

“The weather is dry, beware of fire…”

Amid the thin mist, the night watchman suddenly broke off mid-sentence. His gaze fixed on the middle of the street, where the hazy outlines of two men and a donkey slowly took shape. Terrified, he darted into a nearby alley, thinking they were ghosts. Clamping a hand over his mouth, he held his breath, not daring to make a sound. Wide-eyed, he watched as the figures flickered forward—two or three zhang in an instant—and vanished at the street’s end within just a couple of breaths.

Lu Liangsheng remained unaware that he had frightened a watchman half to death. Passing through several street crossings, he arrived at the broad avenue of the Hundred Officials’ Residences. On either side of this thoroughfare stood the grand estates of the capital’s high officials, with large red lanterns hanging under the eaves. Before the gate of a mansion bearing the character Min (閔), the two men and their donkey halted.

“I’m going to see Minister Min. You and the old donkey wait outside.”

Pressing down the brim of his bamboo hat, Lu Liangsheng spoke softly. He then mounted the stone steps and walked to the vermilion-painted gate, knocking the copper ring. After a moment, footsteps sounded from within; the gatekeeper opened a narrow crack and asked, “Who’s there?”

Through the slit, his clouded eyes saw the figure outside slightly lift his head. Under the lantern’s glow, a familiar face was revealed.

“Lu… Young Master Lu?!”

Lu Liangsheng gave a slight nod. “I wish to see Minister Min.”

“Young Master Lu, please come in at once.”

The gatekeeper hurriedly opened the door, ushered the scholar inside. Peering out furtively, he saw nothing beyond a Daoist and a donkey, then gently shut the door.

“Young Master Lu, why return at this time? You mustn’t linger out on the streets—soldiers are everywhere, searching for you.”

“I know.”

“It’s good you know, it’s good you know.” The gatekeeper hadn’t forgotten Lu Liangsheng’s purpose in coming. Pointing toward the side courtyard, he whispered, “The master is in the small courtyard where Lord Shuhua once lived. Go there directly, but don’t let others see you—there are too many eyes in this household. Ah, and there’s someone else present as well, I think his surname is Zuo.”

With that, he shuffled slowly back to his gatehouse.

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In the small courtyard, a wine pot lay toppled on the stone table, its spilled contents dripping onto the ground. An old phoenix tree swayed lightly in the wind, its leaves rustling.

From one of the row houses at the side, two silhouettes were cast against the lattice window.

“Commandant Zuo came to my residence tonight only to speak of these matters?”

“How not? With Lord Shuhua gone, I fear that if you, Minister, continue to speak so bluntly, you will only anger His Majesty further and be demoted again.”

“Hmph! Even so—then I, this Minister, shall not sit in this office!!”

Inside, the lamplight glowed warm and yellow—when suddenly crash! A wine cup shattered against the wall, fragments scattering into the corner. Min Changwen glared, his eyes wide with fury. He paced back and forth across the room, sleeves flaring, fists clenched tight.

“I have known Lord Shuhua for many years. Now he lies beyond the divide of yin and yang. If His Majesty still feels unsatisfied, then he may as well kill me too and be done with it! If he spares me, then I will speak in his ear every day!!”

Across the round table sat Zuo Zhengyang, with a slender saber at his waist. He set down his wine cup.

“Then Minister, you are bent on seeking death.”

“As bosom friends—if we can share hardship, then naturally we can share death. Should I, before dying, awaken His Majesty, I will be worthy of Lord Shuhua.”

With a thud, he slammed a fist into the wall. Though he spoke with grit between his teeth, lips pressed tight, in his heart he knew such hope was but a faint dream.

Just as he was about to speak further, Zuo Zhengyang’s face suddenly tightened. At the flicker of the oil lamp upon the table, he rose sharply from his seat and looked outside.

“Minister, do not speak—someone is out there!”

No sooner had the words fallen—

From beyond the door came a familiar voice:

“Minister Min, a rustic of the mountains, Lu Liangsheng, requests an audience.”

Lu Liangsheng…

Min Changwen’s face froze, then slowly broke into a smile. Turning, he pulled open the door. Beneath the old phoenix tree stood a figure in a straw raincoat and bamboo hat, cupping his hands in salute.

Inside, Zuo Zhengyang also strode out, hand instinctively going to his saber hilt. His gaze fell upon the scholar across from him. Inwardly, he wavered—He is a man under grave charges, and I am a newly appointed palace Commandant, sworn to arrest him. Yet if I do not seize him, I neglect my duty… how should I act?

On the other side, Min Changwen, who had grasped the scholar’s hands, gave no thought to such matters. He studied Lu Liangsheng closely for a long while, then sighed in relief.

“Seeing Liangsheng unharmed, my heart is at ease. Come!”

He clasped Lu Liangsheng’s wrist and drew him quickly into the room. On the central wall stood a spirit shrine; within it was the memorial tablet of Lord Wang Shuhua.

“Liangsheng, offer incense to your honored master.” Min Changwen handed him three sticks of incense.

“Mm.”

Lu Liangsheng received them. With a flick of his fingers, sparks lit the tips. As smoke curled upward, the scholar removed his bamboo hat. His right hand pressed over his left, middle and index fingers holding the incense, thumbs braced at the tail. Facing the tablet inscribed with his master’s name, he bowed with solemn reverence, then placed the incense into the burner.

He then stood silent before the shrine for a long time before finally speaking.

“Minister Min, I wish to ask you—where was my master buried?”

“This…”

Min Changwen faltered, unprepared for such a question at once. Yet he did not conceal the truth.

“On the mound at the northern bridgehead outside the city… all who are executed by law are buried there.”

Lu Liangsheng fixed his gaze upon the memorial tablet, forcing out his words, each one heavy.

“The mass grave?!”

At the doorway, Zuo Zhengyang more or less guessed what the scholar intended. He reached forward, grasping at the shoulder before him.

“Liangsheng, you must not act recklessly. There is an imperial edict—Lord Shuhua’s grave must not be moved without sanction!”

Suddenly, the lamplight toppled sideways, nearly extinguished. In that instant of flickering light and shadow, Zuo Zhengyang was struck as if by some unseen force, stumbling back until he slammed against the wall.

Within the shifting glow, Lu Liangsheng’s expression flickered between light and dark. At his side, Min Changwen hesitated for a moment, then lowered his voice.

“I will take you there.”