Chapter 22: Frost Fills the Courtyard (Part 3)
Xu He Xue couldn’t taste the blood, only the warmth and wetness. He clenched his jaw, lost in a nightmare of drums, knives, and blood.
“If you knew this would happen, General, why bother fighting on the battlefield? You should have stayed in the elegant capital, composing poetry!”
Dust and smoke choked the air. Bloodstained armor wouldn’t dry. Men on horseback, their weapons falling uselessly. A towering figure, riddled with arrows, stood atop a mound of bodies, lamenting.
The figure collapsed, a mountain crumbling into the mud.
Countless bodies fell, blood flowing freely.
A river of blood snaked through the dry desert sand.
Xu He Xue was submerged in crimson, his body mangled, a grotesque, bloody husk.
No clothes covered his broken form. He drifted in the river of blood, drowning, dissolving.
“Xu He Xue.”
At the nightmare’s end, a scorching summer day. Willow branches swayed by the lake. His teacher stood in the Xie Chun Pavilion, hair white, body frail.
Xu He Xue was naked, a bloody mist. Yet, he knelt before his teacher as he had in life.
“Do you regret it?” his teacher asked.
Did he regret abandoning his promising future as a scholar for the battlefield, the bloodshed?
He was a mist, not human, but he bowed his head respectfully. “I have no regrets,” he replied.
He knew this would disappoint his teacher. He looked up, and the dream shattered.
Only the mist remained, drifting in darkness.
“Xu Zi Ling.”
A voice called his name, repeatedly.
Xu He Xue’s eyelids fluttered. He was about to open his eyes when she spoke. “Don’t open your eyes yet. Let me clean you up.”
He didn’t know blood was seeping from his eyes. Hearing her voice, he obeyed, letting her wipe his face with a warm cloth.
Ni Su cleaned the dried blood from his eyelashes. “You can open them now.”
She left to empty the basin.
Xu He Xue opened his eyes. His vision was blurred with blood.
She returned.
He saw her shadow.
“Let me help you wash your face,” she said, placing warm water beside the bed.
The pain had lessened, but he was numb. He leaned on her for support as he sat up.
“No need…” he murmured, instinctively recoiling as she reached out. His voice was weak.
“But how can you wash yourself like this?” she said gently. “Let me help you.”
Moonlight could cleanse him, but it was morning, and rain and mist filled the air. The dried blood, solidified shimmering dust, wouldn’t wash away with water alone.
The beast bead emitted a faint light, guiding her to Yong’an Lake. She returned with willow branches. Water boiled with willow leaves worked.
Ni Su, giving him no time to protest, gently washed his face. The blood on his left eyelashes dissolved, and he blinked. His vision cleared, and he saw the bite mark on her neck, red and deep.
Fragmented memories returned.
The snowy night, the dim room, the falling candlestick…
The warmth on his lips… her blood.
The realization hit him hard. He stiffened, then his resistance crumbled, replaced by helplessness.
He became docile, letting her clean his face and eyelashes.
The bloodstains disappeared, his eyes clear as glass.
His damp eyelashes fluttered open as he heard her stand. “Ni Su,” he said.
Ni Su turned, her earrings swaying.
She saw anxiety in his pale face. He seemed unsure how to face her.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Ni Su put down the basin and sat. “Why did you do that last night?”
Like a trapped animal, lashing out.
The bite had been painful, his cold lips against the wound.
Until he had released her, leaning against her shoulder, motionless.
“I forgot about the You Shi period,” he said. His wounds were gone.
“The You Shi period?”
“There’s a pagoda in Youdu. Its soul fire imprisons resentful spirits. Every year, they’re released to cross the River of Resentment. Only those without resentment can roam freely, awaiting rebirth.”
“When they’re released, their resentment is strong,” he paused. “I’m affected.”
“If this happens again,” he looked at her, “stay away. Don’t come near. Don’t worry about me.”
Why was he affected? Did he harbor resentment? Ni Su couldn’t ask. “If you hadn’t helped me, I wouldn’t worry about you. You showed me kindness, and I reciprocate.”
The Xie Chun Pavilion would have to wait.
Ni Su lit candles to nourish his spirit. Rain fell on the porch, forcing her to move the herbs.
The rain continued, but the snow was gone. She realized that whenever his spirit weakened, it snowed.
Many in Yun Jing discussed the strange snow. Even though brief, it was a topic of conversation everywhere.
“Minister Meng, how’s your leg?” Pei Zhi Yuan asked, entering the Hall of State Affairs, peeling peanuts. “That snow last night was cold.”
“It only snowed in the south of the city. I didn’t see any,” Meng Yun Xian said. He’d heard about it before court.
“Hey, Minister Zhang,” Pei Zhi Yuan, seeing Zhang Jing enter, bowed. “Your residence is in the south. Did you see the snow?”
“I was asleep,” Zhang Jing said dismissively.
“But I heard you were drinking with Scholar He Tong last night,” Meng Yun Xian said, amused.
He Tong, entering, met his teacher’s glare, embarrassed he’d spoken to Meng Yun Xian.
Zhang Jing sat down silently.
Meng Yun Xian, ignored again, chuckled and snatched Pei Zhi Yuan’s peanuts.
Pei Zhi Yuan sat down, defeated.
The officials arrived, and discussions began. Only during official business did Zhang Jing engage with Meng Yun Xian, putting aside their differences.
The other officials relaxed during these discussions. They’d been enjoying the ministers’ treats while witnessing their verbal sparring, which made them nervous. But on policy matters, the two were serious.
The meeting ended early. The officials bowed and left.
Meng Yun Xian ate walnuts. Zhang Jing, about to leave, stopped and turned.
He Tong excused himself.
“Inviting me for drinks? I’m free,” Meng Yun Xian said, approaching.
“When did I say that?” Zhang Jing scowled.
“Then why are you waiting?”
“You know why,” Zhang Jing said, leaning on his cane. “Did you know about Jiang Xian Ming’s report on the winter examination case?”
“What do you mean?” Meng Yun Xian parroted Pei Zhi Yuan.
“If you didn’t, why were you silent?” Zhang Jing sneered. “You, Meng Zhuo, wouldn’t be silent on a matter related to your new policies unless you had a plan.”
“The Emperor is busy. The Yin Ye Si lacks evidence and is hesitant. Censor Jiang, being in favor, linked the case to the new policies, thus gaining the Emperor’s attention.”
“Wouldn’t it be best if I stayed silent?” Meng Yun Xian said calmly. “Even the Censorate was enthusiastic today, which means my salary increase proposal is to their liking.”
“But I heard Ni Qinglan’s sister made absurd claims.” Zhang Jing had heard about the “dream.” Even torture hadn’t changed her story.
“Absurd?” Meng Yun Xian chuckled. “How absurd? Like the snow you saw last night?”
It had rained everywhere, but snowed only in the south. For as long as Zhang Jing had sat outside with He Tong. The chill lingered.
“Tell me, what were you thinking as you watched the snow?” Meng Yun Xian asked quietly.
“Meng Zhuo!” Zhang Jing glared.
“I want to know if he…”
“Don’t you know enough?!” Zhang Jing interrupted furiously. “Ask Jiang Xian Ming how he tortured that traitor fifteen years ago today!”
The realization hit Meng Yun Xian. Today was the anniversary of Xu He Xue’s execution.
They were alone.
“Meng Zhuo, remember you’re here for the new policies,” Zhang Jing said coldly, leaving. They shouldn’t mention him.
As soon as Jiang Xian Ming reported, the Emperor empowered the Yin Ye Si and ordered Han Qing to investigate.
The Yin Ye Si searched the Imperial College and interrogated officials involved in the winter examination.
Han Qing, covered in blood after interrogations, took tea from Zhou Ting and looked at the trembling He Zhong Ping.
“Do you recognize any of these names, or any that Ni Qinglan might have known?”
“Y-yes, I’ve marked them,” He Zhong Ping stammered, presenting the list. “I only knew two, and we weren’t close.” He added, “But Brother Ni might have known others.”
Zhou Ting handed the list to Han Qing.
“Mark those from influential families eligible for positions through imperial grace,” Han Qing said.
Zhou Ting marked several names. Nine of them were on the list of missing papers.
“They included papers from less qualified candidates to create confusion,” Han Qing sneered.
This winter examination was different. The Emperor had reinstated a law reducing positions granted through imperial grace. Eligible candidates had to be Juren and were assigned positions by lottery.
“Director, could the murderer be someone holding a position through grace but not approved by their superiors?” Zhou Ting asked.
“Mark them.”
“It’s the same nine,” Zhou Ting said.
“Useless,” Han Qing said, scanning the names. None matched He Zhong Ping’s marks. “Look again. Are you sure you don’t recognize any? Even a nodding acquaintance?”
He Zhong Ping, terrified by the screams from the torture chambers, carefully reviewed the names. “My family is poor. I wouldn’t have met influential figures. I don’t recognize any of them.”
“You know Ni Qinglan’s family is wealthy?” Han Qing’s sudden question made He Zhong Ping panic. “Director Han! I would never harm Brother Ni!”
“Calm yourself. I don’t intend to torture you yet. But write down every interaction you and Ni Qinglan had in Yun Jing. Every detail.”
Han Qing didn’t believe this scholar had the means to quickly learn of the events and hire an assassin.
“Yes, yes!” He Zhong Ping agreed.
Zhou Ting, watching him prepare to write, whispered, “Director, if he leaves too soon, he’ll be killed.”
The murderer had acted quickly after Ni Su’s discovery, likely fearing she would go public. The Emperor wasn’t as involved as he had been, and unless a case was critical, it didn’t reach him. He Zhong Ping hadn’t been targeted before, likely because the murderer assumed he knew little. But if he left, they might suspect he’d revealed something.
“Keep him here,” Han Qing nodded.
Then he looked up. “He Zhong Ping, did you or Ni Qinglan know anyone not on this list who’s acquainted with any of these officials’ sons?”
He Zhong Ping thought. “Ye Shan Lin! Brother Ni wasn’t sociable. But I know Ye Shan Lin. He’s from Yun Jing, passed the winter exam, but failed the palace exam…”
“Which official’s son does he know?”
“His family owns a small bookstore, mostly ghost stories. But he mentioned one… a young master surnamed Miao… the Grand Commandant’s second son! He said Second Young Master collects old ghost stories!”
Zhou Ting was stunned.
“Miao Yi Yang.” Han Qing found the name on the complete list of candidates, but not on the list of missing papers. Miao Yi Yang, having failed the winter exam, had been assigned to the Ministry of Justice and recently promoted.
The rain stopped at dusk.
In Yun Jing, waiters advertised menus on the streets. Ni Su ordered food.
A waiter arrived with a food box. Ni Su, organizing books, called out, “The money’s on the table.”
The waiter set out the food, took the money, and left.
Ni Su carried the food to Xu He Xue’s room.
“Will you eat with me?” she asked.
Xu He Xue, no longer physical, didn’t need to eat. He couldn’t taste.
He wanted to refuse, but saw the bite mark on her neck. Guilt gnawed at him.
He sat obediently, picking up his chopsticks.
“I ordered Yun Jing cuisine. You must be familiar with it,” she said.
“It’s been too long.”
“Try it. You might remember.”
He ate, but tasted nothing.
“It’s good,” he said, under her gaze.
A knock startled them. Ni Su stood.
Before she reached the door, Xu He Xue, sensing something, turned to mist, then reappeared beside her.
“Ni Su,” he said, offering her a white silk handkerchief.
“What’s this for?” she asked, confused.
Hearing Zhou Ting call her name, he wrapped the handkerchief around her neck, covering the bite.
“Even as a broken spirit, I wouldn’t dare tarnish your reputation.”
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