Chapter 11: Riverside Immortal (Part 5)
Yun Jing, a city where the prosperity of the world converged, with its magnificent imperial palace and fragrant osmanthus smoke.
The sky was overcast today. Music drifted faintly from the entertainment district. The Rainbow Bridge over the Yunxiang River was wide, and the vendors on either side, ignoring their usual calls, craned their necks to look towards the Imperial Street in the distance.
Boatmen on the river were also distracted, all vying for a better view.
“Is that the one in purple robes Minister Meng?” someone asked, pointing to the prominent figure in purple amidst the sea of green, red, and blue officials.
“Who else could it be?” A bare-chested man wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Minister Meng was officially appointed after returning from Wen County. Now, favored by the Emperor, he still remembers to personally welcome his old friend back to the capital.”
“Hardly an ‘old friend’,” a white-bearded old man in scholar’s robes said on the bridge. “Back then, one was demoted, and the other exiled. They severed ties right at the city gate. Many people witnessed it. Besides, Minister Meng is now the Tong Ping Zhang Shi, a true Grand Councilor, while that Minister Zhang? Exiled for fourteen years. I heard his son died on the way to exile, and his wife passed away from illness two years ago. Now he returns alone, subordinate to the former friend he cut ties with, appointed as Can Zhi Zheng Shi, the Vice Minister. Their relationship must be strained.”
As they spoke, a carriage, old and cramped, covered in mud, appeared at the end of the clean, well-maintained Imperial Street.
The old coachman urged the horses forward. The wind lifted the torn curtain, revealing a figure sitting inside.
“Minister Zhang has arrived,” a green-robed official said with a smile, seeing the carriage.
The purple-robed minister standing at the front of the group of officials was about fifty years old, his temples streaked with gray. A jade hairpin held his hair in place. His eyes were clear and bright.
He silently watched as the carriage came to a stop. Only when the coachman helped a white-haired old man out of the carriage did a look of surprise cross his face.
Among the officials sent to welcome Vice Minister Zhang Jing back to the capital were several of his former students. Seeing their teacher after fourteen years, they were stunned, their eyes reddening.
Zhang Jing looked much older than they remembered, his back slightly hunched, his hair completely white, his face thin and wrinkled. He leaned on a cane as he walked towards them.
He was only five years older than Minister Meng Yun Xian, but now he was frail and walked with difficulty.
“Brother Chong Zhi…” The purple-robed minister’s voice was filled with complex emotions as Zhang Jing approached.
“Thank you, Minister Meng, and all of you, for coming to welcome me,” Zhang Jing said, averting his gaze and giving a slight nod. His distant demeanor cooled the atmosphere.
He continued forward, his steps unsteady. The assembled officials parted to make way for him. His former students cried out, “Teacher!”, but Zhang Jing ignored them.
“Minister Zhang.” A crimson-robed official, having been ignored after his greeting, straightened up.
Zhang Jing stopped and turned, scrutinizing the official’s face. His gaze settled on a dark mole near the official’s temple. “It’s you.”
“Your humble servant, Jiang Xian Ming. I’m honored that Minister Zhang still remembers me,” Jiang Xian Ming said. He was middle-aged, with a neatly trimmed dark beard and a proper demeanor.
“How could I forget? When I left Yun Jing, you, Minister Jiang, were at the height of your career. Fourteen years have passed. I hear you’re now the Yu Shi Zhong Cheng, the Chief Censor?” Zhang Jing leaned heavily on his cane.
Jiang Xian Ming met the old minister’s gaze. “Minister Zhang, are you still angry about what happened in Yongzhou…”
“Don’t mention him to me,” Zhang Jing interrupted, his expression darkening.
The atmosphere became tense. There were no commoners on the Imperial Street. He Tong, a scholar from the Hanlin Academy, said indignantly, “Minister Jiang, my teacher has just returned to the capital. Why bring up that traitor? The Emperor has allowed my teacher to rejoin the Grand Council. What is the meaning of this public confrontation?”
“Scholar He, there’s no need for this. I was merely curious why Minister Zhang ignored his former students who were present,” Jiang Xian Ming said, taking two steps forward and lowering his voice. “Or is it that in Minister Zhang’s eyes, there are more important students than you?”
“What do you mean by that, Minister Jiang?” Meng Yun Xian suddenly interjected. Seeing Jiang Xian Ming lower his head, he smiled. “Minister Zhang dislikes crying and wailing. It’s not surprising that he ignored his students’ undignified display in public.”
Jiang Xian Ming looked at Zhang Jing, surrounded by his former students. Despite his age and frailty, he still exuded an air of aloofness and pride.
After a moment, Jiang Xian Ming bowed deeply again, his demeanor softening, now respectful. “I apologize if I offended you, Minister Zhang. I haven’t forgotten your harsh words at the city gate before you left Yun Jing. I came today sincerely to welcome you back, not to cause trouble. Fifteen years have passed. I admit that when I was the governor of Yongzhou, my decision to execute the traitor Xu He Xue by slow slicing was fueled by public outrage, and my own anger, and was indeed driven by personal motives. There is no such punishment as slow slicing in the laws of Great Qi. I carried out the punishment before reporting to the Emperor. I am indeed guilty.”
“Hasn’t the Emperor already pardoned you, Minister Jiang?” another official said cautiously. “What you did was in accordance with the will of the people. There’s no need to dwell on it. That traitor betrayed the country. If not by slow slicing, he should have been beheaded.”
“But I want to ask Minister Zhang,” Jiang Xian Ming continued, still bowing, “what are your thoughts on this now?”
What thoughts?
The smile in Meng Yun Xian’s eyes faded, but he remained silent. Zhang Jing’s students were about to speak up for their teacher when he raised his hand, silencing them.
The sky was overcast and gray. Willow trees lined the banks of the Yunxiang River. The music from the entertainment district was faint. Zhang Jing leaned on his cane, the familiar Yun Jing breeze rustling his sleeves. “That traitor ceased to be my student fourteen years ago.”
Zhang Jing’s students, led by He Tong, breathed a collective sigh of relief.
The official most feared in the court was the Chief Censor, Jiang Xian Ming, known for his uprightness and severity. He held the power of impeachment and was authorized by the Emperor to investigate rumors, even without concrete evidence. Even a single word could become grounds for impeachment.
Moreover, who could guarantee that his questioning today wasn’t at the Emperor’s behest?
“Your humble servant, Jiang Xian Ming, welcomes Minister Zhang back to the capital.” Jiang Xian Ming bowed again, his expression now truly respectful.
The officials on the Imperial Street came and went, escorting the two Grand Councilors towards the Forbidden Palace. The guards stationed along the street also dispersed.
“Xu Zi Ling?” Ni Su, having watched the spectacle from the bridge, turned around and saw that the spirit beside her seemed even more translucent. The sky was overcast, the sunlight weak. He stared blankly at something in the distance.
“Who did you see?” Ni Su looked back, but the Imperial Street was now empty.
The breeze rustled the willow branches, and the river shimmered. This was a place Xu He Xue had left many years ago, a place he had almost forgotten. But standing here now, the past seemed as clear as yesterday.
“My teacher,” he said.
The teacher who, fourteen years ago, in the Xie Chun Pavilion by Yong’an Lake, had told him, “If you dare to go, don’t ever come back to see me again.”
“Do you want to see him?” Ni Su asked.
Xu He Xue didn’t answer, his gaze returning to her face. After a while, he said, “I still have your brother’s soul fire. If I release it, I can find his whereabouts.”
The fact that the soul fire hadn’t changed along their journey meant Ni Qinglan hadn’t left Yun Jing.
As soon as he finished speaking, Ni Su saw him raise his hand. With a gesture she couldn’t understand, tiny sparks, smaller than fireflies, flew from his sleeve. Ni Su followed their trajectory as they floated over Yun Jing City, disappearing behind the towering buildings and rooftops.
“How long will it take?” Ni Su asked, gazing at the rooftops.
The silvery sparks disappeared from Xu He Xue’s fingertips. His face grew paler, and the countless wounds hidden beneath his sleeves cracked open, crimson blood trickling down his wrist and into his palm, turning into shimmering dust as it dripped onto the bridge. He suppressed a grimace of pain, his voice calm. “The soul fire is weak. It might take some time.”
As Ni Su turned back, he lowered his sleeve, the dark cloak hiding the bloodstains.
“The Yanzhou scholar who’s friends with my brother mentioned the inn they stayed at in Yun Jing in his letter. Why don’t we go there first?”
“Alright,” Xu He Xue nodded.
As soon as they arrived at the Qing Fu Inn, Ni Su, as usual, asked for two rooms. After leaving her bag in her room, she went downstairs to speak with the innkeeper.
“Miss, the winter examination this time was a special imperial examination ordered by the Emperor. There’s no precedent for it. It was because the Emperor wanted to welcome Ministers Meng and Zhang back to the capital and implement new policies that this examination was held to select new talent. During that time, not only our inn, but all the inns in the city were full of scholars. With so many people, how can I remember the specific person you’re asking about?” The innkeeper, exasperated, waved his hands. “If you ask me about the top three candidates in the palace examination, I might be able to tell you their names. But none of the scholars staying here passed.”
Ni Su didn’t get any useful information, nor did she know which room her brother had stayed in.
As dusk settled, Yun Jing’s night market came alive, a different kind of bustle than during the day. The sound of music from the entertainment district drifted through the window, but Ni Su was in no mood to appreciate the city’s unique charm. After a few bites of food, she put down her chopsticks and went to the door next door, knocking softly.
Xu He Xue, lying on the bed, opened his eyes. He struggled to sit up, his voice hoarse. “Come in.”
Hearing his voice, Ni Su pushed the door open. The several candles burning on the table were the ones she had lit for him earlier. She approached and saw Xu He Xue sitting on the bed, wrapped in his cloak.
“You look unwell,” she said, looking at him.
“It’s nothing,” Xu He Xue said, smoothing his sleeves to hide his wrists.
Ni Su sat down on the folding chair opposite him. Picking up a candle, she lit another one. “I wanted to ask, what’s your old friend’s name? And how old is he?”
Hearing the word “age,” Xu He Xue looked up at her.
“Ni Su, I never said my old friend was a woman.”
“Not a woman?” Ni Su looked at him, the bright candlelight revealing the embroidery on his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I saw the delicate embroidery on your sleeve, so…”
She had naturally assumed that the person who had prepared the winter clothes for him was a woman. After all, men didn’t usually embroider names on clothes.
“He had a childhood sweetheart. The embroidery must be her work,” Xu He Xue explained.
“I misunderstood.” Ni Su blushed, looking at the young man sitting on the bed. He was pale and frail, his lips bloodless, yet his clothes were immaculate, and he possessed an air of elegance.
Xu He Xue was about to speak when he saw silvery threads of light swirling outside the window, but they weren’t the soul fire he had released earlier.
His expression changed, and he instinctively stood up, but a wave of dizziness washed over him.
Ni Su saw him stumble and quickly rushed to support him. As she touched him, his wrist felt like ice, sending a shiver down her spine.
But she didn’t let go, helping him back onto the bed. “What’s wrong…”
Her fingers brushed against something cold and wet. She trailed off, her gaze falling on his white sleeve, stained crimson with blood beneath his cloak. Blood trickled down his arm, staining his pale hand. His long fingers curled, the veins on the back of his hand standing out.
A silent testament to the pain he was enduring.
Ni Su released his hand, watching as the blood on her palm, his blood, turned into shimmering dust and vanished in the candlelight. Realization dawned on her. She looked up sharply.
“Helping me find my brother… is it hurting you?”
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