Chapter 50: Treading on Grass (Part 1)
Hearing his words, Ni Su knew he truly missed his teacher, so much so that even he, usually so reserved, couldn’t hide his emotions.
“If you miss him, go see him,” she said, sitting up in bed. “Even if you don’t speak, even if he doesn’t know you’re there, just seeing him from afar would be enough.”
“I saw him the day you arrived in Yun Jing,” Xu He Xue said.
A brief glimpse on the bridge.
“That’s enough,” he said, smoothing the wrinkles on his robe. “I can miss him, but I can’t allow myself to see him. Being summoned back to the mortal realm is already a blessing. I shouldn’t ask for more.”
If he indulged his desires too much, how could he bear to return to Youdu?
A dead man shouldn’t have such attachments.
“Why do you think that way, Xu Zi Ling?” Ni Su asked, taking his sleeve. “I think you deserve more. You returned to fulfill your regrets.”
Xu He Xue looked down at her slender fingers gently holding his sleeve. He shook his head. “My teacher isn’t a regret.”
“Then what is?” she asked.
The melting snow dripped from the eaves. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating Xu He Xue, making him seem like a figure carved from frost and snow.
“What I’m doing now… is fulfilling my regret,” he said.
Was it Du Cong? The ledger? Or the unnamed officials in the ledger? Ni Su glanced at the open book on the table by the window.
Her stomach rumbled.
They both looked at each other, and Ni Su blushed slightly.
“There’s porridge in the kitchen,” Xu He Xue said, understanding her embarrassment. He looked away, stood up slowly, leaning on the bedframe, and turned to leave. He paused, seeing her still holding his sleeve.
Ni Su quickly released his sleeve as if burned.
He left the room. Ni Su pulled the blanket closer, resting her cheek against the pillow, her gaze downcast.
Although he was gone, the faint breeze from his passing still stirred the curtain.
Ever since Xu He Xue had given Jiang Xian Ming the information, rumors had been circulating in Yun Jing about a lost tribute from the early years of the Emperor’s reign. Chief Censor Jiang Xian Ming had submitted a memorial, reopening the case from fifteen years ago, suggesting the treasure hadn’t been stolen by bandits, but embezzled.
This seemed absurd. Which official would dare embezzle from the Emperor?
But Jiang Xian Ming was known for his integrity, lending credibility to his claim.
The missing treasure was a five-foot-long white jade statue of a galloping horse treading on a flying swallow, said to be carved from a single piece of jade.
Its disappearance had been a source of frustration for the Emperor, especially now, with his focus on finances. Jiang Xian Ming’s memorial was timely, and the Emperor wouldn’t miss this opportunity to investigate his officials and replenish the treasury.
“This past month has been chaotic,” Pei Zhi Yuan said, entering the Hall of State Affairs, peeling peanuts. He wore his crimson robes and official hat. “Minister Meng, I think the officials are no longer as resentful towards you as they used to be. Their hatred is now directed at Chief Censor Jiang.”
Meng Yun Xian chuckled. “They’ve always hated him. Chong Zhi and I haven’t been in the capital for over a decade. Jiang Xian Ming must have made many enemies. You know that best, don’t you?”
“What do you mean? I’ve just been muddling along, not paying attention to such matters,” Pei Zhi Yuan said, waving his hand dismissively.
Meng Yun Xian raised an eyebrow. “You’re too modest, Min Xing. You’re shrewd.”
“Minister Meng, you flatter me!” Pei Zhi Yuan chuckled, bowing playfully, then glanced up and saw a couple standing by the red palace gate in the distance.
They didn’t stay long, only glancing towards the Hall of State Affairs before being escorted away by eunuchs and palace maids.
Pei Zhi Yuan straightened up and saw He Tong helping Zhang Jing, who wasn’t using his cane, towards the Hall of State Affairs.
“Minister Meng, was it really Minister Zhang who sent the letter to Prince Jia? If so, why hasn’t he met with the Prince since his return?” Pei Zhi Yuan asked, puzzled.
Prince Jia’s return hadn’t been accidental. It had been part of Meng Yun Xian’s plan. Whether Physician Nie Xiang had spoken the truth about the Emperor’s health while drunk or intentionally didn’t matter. What mattered was that the Emperor could no longer ignore the truth.
He had to face the fact that he couldn’t have any more children.
Only then would he remember his adopted son, Prince Jia.
“If it weren’t for Chong Zhi, why would Prince Jia send that letter?” Meng Yun Xian said, glancing at Zhang Jing’s retreating figure. “The Emperor was almost forty when he ascended the throne, and he suffers from chronic headaches, relying on medicine for relief. Back then, there were many outspoken officials in the court. Only a year after his ascension, they began urging him to appoint a crown prince. But he had no sons. They wouldn’t relent, finally forcing him to adopt his brother’s son, Zhao Yi, as his heir, but only bestowing upon him the title of Prince Jia, not Crown Prince, to appease them.”
“That was the year you submitted the ‘Qing Qu Shu’ and were appointed to the Grand Council,” Pei Zhi Yuan said.
“Indeed,” Meng Yun Xian said as they walked. “Looking back, the Emperor must have resented those officials who forced him to adopt an heir. Chong Zhi was one of them.”
The Emperor resented being forced to adopt a son so early in his reign. And when he saw Meng Yun Xian’s “Qing Qu Shu,” he had begun plotting his revenge.
The Emperor’s methods were subtle and far-reaching.
Meng Yun Xian and Zhang Jing had unknowingly become his tools, creating the current situation where imperial decrees were absolute.
“Prince Jia was forced upon the Emperor. How could he not resent him? Prince Jia’s childhood in the palace wasn’t pleasant. Then the Empress became pregnant and gave birth to Prince An. How could an adopted son compare to a biological son? Prince Jia’s position became even more awkward. Even after Prince An’s untimely death, the rift between him and the Emperor remained deep…”
Pei Zhi Yuan continued Meng Yun Xian’s thought. “Prince Jia wanted to be as far away from Yun Jing as possible. Why would he suddenly send a letter expressing his filial piety? The timing was too perfect.”
Even Pei Zhi Yuan and Meng Yun Xian weren’t certain they could persuade Prince Jia to return. They had intended to take their time, but the Prince’s unexpected letter had changed their plans.
“Therefore, Chong Zhi is the reason for Prince Jia’s return,” Meng Yun Xian said.
“Prince Jia only returned to see his teacher. I don’t know whether to be happy or worried…” Pei Zhi Yuan said, his expression complex.
Prince Jia’s return was a good thing, but he seemed unwilling to cooperate.
“We can’t rush this, Min Xing,” Meng Yun Xian said, patting his shoulder. “But I have another question for you. You’re usually so slippery. Why are you siding with Chong Zhi and Jiang Xian Ming today?”
“…Isn’t that what the Emperor wants? It’s Chief Censor Jiang who’s interrogating the officials and searching for the jade statue, not me. I’m just offering some empty praise now that the situation seems slightly more favorable,” Pei Zhi Yuan whispered, leaning closer. “The Censorate owes you a favor. I don’t believe you haven’t heard that after a month of searching, Chief Censor Jiang found the jade statue among Wu Dai’s confiscated belongings…”
Wu Dai, now a commoner, had amassed a vast fortune, which the officials were still cataloging after the New Year celebrations.
Meng Yun Xian didn’t comment. “Even so, the Emperor didn’t sentence Wu Dai to death.”
After all, the Emperor still remembered Wu Dai’s past service.
The day the statue was removed from the Wu residence, Wu Dai sat slumped in his chair, his face ashen, silent. The guards, carrying the confiscated belongings, left, leaving only an old servant in the vast, empty residence.
Jiang Xian Ming had questioned Wu Dai under imperial decree, but he was unresponsive, his mind seemingly addled, unable to answer any questions. He sat there, staring blankly at the doorway, then began to whimper.
The old servant, brewing medicine in the back courtyard, wiped the sweat from his forehead, unaware that two figures had entered the main hall.
“He truly seems to be suffering from dementia,” Ni Su said, seeing Wu Dai laughing and crying, tears and snot streaming down his face, mumbling incoherently. She took his pulse and examined him carefully. “Kidney deficiency, liver qi stagnation, and phlegm accumulation. If there’s also unresolved blood stasis, it could indeed lead to such symptoms. Memory loss, inability to recognize loved ones, confusion between right and wrong,” she said, looking at Xu He Xue, who was wearing a veiled hat.
Xu He Xue observed Wu Dai, his white hair unkempt, his head tilted as he stared at him.
“Come here,” Xu He Xue said to Ni Su.
As she approached, he drew his sword and pressed the cold blade against Wu Dai’s neck. Wu Dai seemed startled by the chill, but he didn’t flinch, reaching out towards Xu He Xue’s veiled hat.
Xu He Xue turned his wrist, the blade now pointing at Wu Dai’s eye, making his wrinkled face contort in fear. He trembled, his dry lips moving. “Ji Kang… my son, Ji Kang…”
The blade hovered inches from his eye.
Xu He Xue calmly observed his expression, then lowered his gaze. A dark stain had appeared on Wu Dai’s dirty robe.
He sheathed his sword and turned to see Ni Su, her face covered with a handkerchief, her hands covering her eyes.
“A-Xi,” he said softly, despite suspecting Wu Dai’s dementia was genuine, careful not to use her name in front of him.
Ni Su, hearing her rarely used childhood name, paused, her heart skipping a beat. The way he said it made it sound beautiful.
“Are you… done?” she asked, not daring to turn around, afraid of seeing a bloody wound.
“Turn around.”
“…No.”
“Then let’s go.”
Go?
Ni Su turned and saw that Wu Dai’s eyes were unharmed, but a dark stain had appeared on the floor before him. Xu He Xue stepped in front of her, blocking the sight. “It seems we can’t learn anything from him.”
“Then what do we do?” Ni Su asked, looking up at him.
The embroidered lotus flower on her handkerchief brushed against her cheek, shimmering in the sunlight. As the wind threatened to lift the handkerchief, Xu He Xue reached out and gently held it in place, covering her face.
Ni Su’s gaze moved from his pale fingers to his eyes, hidden behind the veiled hat.
“Ha ha ha ha…” Wu Dai suddenly burst into laughter. They both turned to see him clapping his hands, then pointing at Ni Su, mumbling, “Ji Kang, you should get married…”
He then pointed at Xu He Xue. “There’s a bride under the veil!”
Ni Su was speechless.
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