Chapter 54: Treading on Grass (Part 5)
Leaving Manyu Bank, a soft spring rain fell, dusting Ni Su’s hair with tiny droplets. “Xu Zi Ling, look at yourself. You’re in this state. Must you go to Chief Censor Jiang’s residence now?”
They stood there, facing each other, no umbrella to shield them from the rain. Blood stained Xu He Xue’s sleeve, his face pale, his lips colorless. Raindrops washed away the blood trickling down his arm. “Did you hear what the manager said? Manager Hu Li took something with him when he left on the Lantern Festival.”
“…A book?” Ni Su recalled.
“Mmm,” Xu He Xue said. “I overlooked something. Although Du Cong’s ledger recorded his transactions, the officials involved, both high and low-ranking, were unnamed.”
“But the money flowed through Manyu Bank. They must have a secret ledger.”
“So, the book Hu Li took with him was likely the secret ledger?” Ni Su asked, the rain falling steadily, remembering the events of the Lantern Festival. “But who was he meeting at the entertainment district?”
Whoever it was, they must be connected to the names in the ledger.
“If Wu Dai deliberately inflicted his illness, he must have feared that although the Emperor spared his life, someone else might kill him. So he set a trap, leading the Yin Ye Si to Manyu Bank.”
The lantern flame died, plunging Xu He Xue into darkness. He paused, then continued, “But what at Manyu Bank would be worth investigating? Only the secret ledger.”
“Hu Li’s body was found at the entertainment district and taken by the Yin Ye Si. Although we didn’t have a chance to examine it, their reaction suggests they didn’t find anything. And they didn’t find what Wu Dai wanted them to find at Manyu Bank either.”
Xu He Xue, hearing only the rain, his eyes lifeless, called out softly, “Ni Su?”
“So you think Chief Censor Jiang has the secret ledger?” she asked.
“I’m only guessing. Jiang Xian Ming didn’t tell me the truth that night. And the Yin Ye Si releasing the Manyu Bank manager tonight is a message to those involved that they haven’t found the ledger.”
But who did have the ledger? Xu He Xue believed those involved must be anxious, searching for it.
“I must confirm this quickly. Delays are dangerous.”
Xu He Xue couldn’t see her expression in the rain-filled night. He straightened up and bowed towards her. “Ni Su, please… help me.”
“In this life…” he started to say, then stopped, realizing he was no longer alive.
He lowered his eyes. “As you said, I returned with the intention of finding an old friend, but the paths of the living and the dead are different. I thought, what good would it do? It would only bring more pain. But I have something more important to do, my only reason for returning.”
“Ni Su, you summoning me back is the most precious opportunity I’ve had in a century. I can’t delay. I’m afraid that a delay would be another fifteen years in the mortal realm.”
Fifteen years in the mortal realm was nearly a century in Youdu.
“And I don’t know if I’ll have another chance to meet you.”
Would anyone still remember the thirty thousand souls trapped in the pagoda after so long? This was his only chance, his reason for existing.
Ni Su watched him bow, his movements elegant and refined, yet his back straighter than any scholar she had ever met, a certain sharpness in his posture.
“But your eyes…” Ni Su said, her throat tightening. She felt a pang of sympathy for him. The time they had spent together had painted a clear picture of him in her mind, but she had deliberately avoided the details.
She would wait. He would tell her eventually.
“You’ll guide me, won’t you?” Xu He Xue asked, raising his hand, the bloodstains on his wrist stark against his pale skin.
Ni Su looked at his hand.
The rain blurred the flickering lantern light in the distance. She bit her lip and took his hand.
Cold and warm skin touched.
Raindrops mingled.
“Thank you, Ni Su,” Xu He Xue said, remembering her gently blowing on his wound in the storeroom at Manyu Bank.
The intense pain had lessened in that moment.
“Don’t be angry with me. I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said, unable to ignore the warmth of her hand as she led him through the rain.
“I know,” Ni Su said, wiping the rain from her face. “I’m not angry. I just…”
How could she explain the ache in her heart?
She didn’t know. She paused, then said, “I told you to be kind to yourself, but it seems what you seek can only be achieved through your own suffering.”
He walked this path alone.
Just as he only accepted her help with lighting candles and guiding him, refusing to let her risk herself, he wouldn’t want his friends or his teacher to be involved.
A dead man, trying to protect the living.
“Have you ever considered giving up on medicine?” he suddenly asked.
Ni Su shook her head. “Never.”
The rain couldn’t dispel the coldness emanating from him. “I’m the same,” he said, raindrops clinging to his face.
The path was arduous, but they walked it willingly.
In the spring rain, the night market hadn’t opened yet, and the streets were deserted. The carriage rattled over the uneven pavement, splashing through puddles.
Jiang Xian Ming sat inside, his hands on his knees, his expression serious.
As the carriage entered a quieter street, the lights dimmed. Lost in thought, he was startled by the horse’s sudden neigh and the violent jolt of the carriage. “What’s happening?”
“Master!” the coachman cried, then a thud, the sound of a blade piercing flesh, and a figure collapsed onto the carriage curtain.
Jiang Xian Ming saw the young coachman, his eyes wide open, his chest bloodied, lying half inside the carriage, motionless. He looked up and saw several figures emerge from the rain, their shadows looming over him.
A flash of cold steel. Jiang Xian Ming grabbed the reins and whipped the horse, which bolted, galloping wildly.
The assassins pursued them, a blade piercing the carriage wall. Jiang Xian Ming dodged, whipping the horse again, heading towards the city patrol’s post.
The assassins, their movements swift and silent, pursued him across the rooftops, their footsteps mingling with the rain. Jiang Xian Ming, his heart pounding, heard a thud on the carriage roof.
He immediately released the reins and rolled off the carriage, landing hard on the ground. As he tried to stand, a blade pressed against his throat.
“Who are you?! How dare you attack a court official!” he shouted.
The assassins’ faces were hidden behind black masks. One of them gestured, and the blade was about to slice his throat when a sword pierced the rainy darkness, striking the assassin’s wrist. He cried out in pain, dropping his sword.
The assassins turned and saw a figure in bloodstained white robes, holding a lantern, their veiled hat drenched. Several assassins attacked, while their leader kicked the fallen sword towards Jiang Xian Ming, striking his leg.
Jiang Xian Ming fell into a puddle, the dirty water almost reaching his chin. He turned and saw the assassin raise his sword.
He instinctively raised his hands to shield his face, then heard a clang, a sharp, metallic sound. He looked up through his fingers and saw the descending blade blocked by a sword.
He saw the hand holding the sword, a red mole on its pale back, then his gaze moved upwards, but the figure’s face was hidden by the veiled hat.
His movements were swift and precise, his swordsmanship ruthless. Within a few moves, the assassin was forced to retreat, calling out to his men, “Attack!”
The assassins swarmed the figure.
Jiang Xian Ming’s heart sank. “Be careful, Young Master!” he shouted.
Xu He Xue’s sword pierced one assassin’s chest. He parried the other blades, the rain washing away the blood from his sword. As their blades pressed against his, he released his sword, letting it spin, then, retrieving it, sliced another assassin’s throat.
The rain couldn’t wash away the stench of blood. Jiang Xian Ming, initially worried, now watched in awe as the figure moved with effortless grace, calm and composed.
Bodies lay scattered in the alley, blood mingling with the rainwater. Only the rain could be heard now, the fighting over.
Xu He Xue’s lantern, made of glazed porcelain, remained dry. He loosened his grip on the sword, a wave of pain washing over him.
“Who… who are you?” Jiang Xian Ming asked, looking at his back.
Xu He Xue turned slightly.
Blood stained his sleeve and his usually pristine robe. He stepped over the bodies and slowly walked towards Jiang Xian Ming, his voice muffled by the wet veiled hat. “You don’t recognize me, Chief Censor, but do you remember the ‘Galloping Horse’ statue? You lied to me that night.”
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