Chapter 94#

Wen Zhuo recognized this man at a glance.

His real name was Zhang Deyuan, originally the only son of a country gentleman in Bozhou. Relying on his family’s money, he grew up to be a worthless rogue, skilled in all vices—drinking, gambling, and womanizing—a “slippery snake” that neighbors avoided at all costs.

How outrageous was he?

One day, after drinking too much, he assaulted a respectable woman. Her family reported it to the county magistrate, but Zhang Deyuan didn’t care. He brazenly offered to take her as a concubine, thinking that would settle the matter.

To be fair, the woman’s family wasn’t exactly upright either. Upon hearing this, they stopped caring about their daughter’s honor and instead fantasized about marrying into the gentry. They demanded that she become his primary wife, not a concubine, and that he pay ten taels of silver as a betrothal gift. If he complied, the matter would be dropped.

Zhang Deyuan was disgusted by their audacity, but his father, eager to put the matter to rest, slapped him and ordered him to marry the woman immediately.

The woman’s family took the silver with joy, and Zhang Deyuan reluctantly put on a groom’s robe, forced into the wedding ceremony.

He thought he had the short end of the stick, but then the woman, fierce and unwilling to bear such humiliation, hanged herself with a white silk ribbon on the very day she entered the Zhang family home.

This event dealt a heavy blow to Zhang Deyuan. Here was a woman about to live the life of a young mistress—why would she rather die than marry him?

Was he truly so despicable that death was preferable?

The scandal spread far and wide, soon reaching the prefectural government. The county magistrate, who had been in cahoots with the Zhang family, was dismissed and prosecuted, and the Zhang family fell from grace.

Old Master Zhang couldn’t withstand the blow and fell ill, passing away shortly after.

Zhang Deyuan, already a prodigal son, squandered the family fortune quickly without his father’s backing, becoming a street vagrant.

Though he was utterly illiterate and ignorant, he had a glib tongue and a natural talent for dealing with people from all walks of life. He formed gangs, played tricks, and pretended to be supernatural—all self-taught and effortless.

In those years, while scraping by, he picked up some shady skills and started a career of swindling and cheating.

Eventually, he set up a stall, shook a bell, donned a faded Daoist robe, and painted his face with gaudy colors, posing as a “master” who could communicate with ghosts and gods. He specialized in fortune-telling, divination, and fengshui.

Given his shallow knowledge, he naturally couldn’t understand the classics of the “Three Mysteries,” but he had an excellent memory. He memorized a bunch of intimidating phrases and, when performing, would talk endlessly, managing to fool the gullible into confusion.

Whenever his trick was exposed, he’d pack up overnight and flee to another place, shaking his bell and resuming his old trade.

After decades of wandering the country, cheating and swindling, his skills became increasingly refined. As he aged and his hair turned gray, he even developed a slightly immortal air about him.

Feeling his “time had come,” he packed his bag of tricks and headed straight for the capital, hoping to make a name for himself during the Dragon River Fire Festival.

On the day he entered the capital, he adopted a new title: “Sweeping Images Daoist.”

The term “Sweeping Images” came from the Yi Jing, alluding to Wang Bi’s method of sweeping away images in the commentary.

At this moment, by the Dragon River shore, the gathered crowd knew nothing of his background. They saw him surrounded by layers of onlookers, barefoot on the cold bluestone pavement.

Suddenly, he raised his hand, pointing at the stars in the sky, muttering incantations. His entire body began to tremble violently, as if possessed by a spirit, causing the crowd to step back in unison, their faces filled with terror.

Then, his eyes bulged, and with a low shout from his throat, he opened his mouth and spat out a burst of flame!

The flame landed precisely on a white cloth curtain hanging high by the riverbank.

The fire flickered, casting shadows on the curtain, and a blurry human silhouette gradually appeared.

Zhang Deyuan’s eyes widened as he shouted sternly, “I ask you, what is your name?!”

The shadow on the curtain swayed gently. As the flame dimmed, it seemed about to fade away.

Seeing this, Zhang Deyuan quickly activated his “divine power,” took a deep breath, and spat out another burst of flame!

This time, the fire burned brighter, shooting up over ten feet, illuminating the curtain like daylight.

He said in a deep voice, “Do not be afraid. I am a descendant of Iron Crutch Li, with the power to ascend to the heavens and descend to the underworld. Speak your grievances to me!”

Strangely enough, the shadow seemed to understand and became clearer.

Zhang Deyuan stopped spitting fire, instead pulling a white candle from his sleeve, lighting it with his own hands, and placing it squarely on the ground.

“If you are still angry, you may blow out the candle and leave. If you are willing to talk to me, keep the candle burning.”

The shadow on the curtain remained steady, no longer dispersing.

Zhang Deyuan then turned his gaze to a woman in the crowd. She wore a thin gray cloth garment, thin and haggard, clearly a miserable soul.

He spoke slowly, with a mysterious air: “Lady, your husband’s soul is here. Ask him whatever you wish.”

Upon hearing this, the woman could no longer hold back her tears. She quickly pulled out a handkerchief to cover her mouth and nose, sobbing, “How are you faring over there?”

Zhang Deyuan closed his eyes, pretending to listen intently for a moment. Then, furrowing his brows, he said solemnly, “He says the road to the Yellow Springs is also very bitter. Lady, have you been burning too little spirit money for him?”

At this, the woman’s sobs turned into heart-wrenching cries. She spoke between sobs, “It’s not that I forgot you! I was so poor I had to remarry, and my new husband… forbids me from burning paper for you. Please don’t blame me. When I go back, I will find a way to burn some for you. Just don’t follow the river ghosts and cause trouble…”

Zhang Deyuan closed his eyes again, waited a moment, then opened them slowly, saying deeply, “Madam, do not break your word! He died in battle on the southern border ten years ago, and his body was lost. The only thing he cannot let go of in this world is you and your child.”

The woman nodded repeatedly, weeping as she promised, “I will raise our child to adulthood, find him a wife, and continue the Xu family line!”

As soon as she finished speaking, the shadow on the curtain, which had been swaying softly, suddenly vanished.

A wind rose sharply over the river, lifting the white curtain. The crowd stared intently—there was no one inside.

The onlookers were stunned, overwhelmed by awe, and couldn’t help but cheer, shouting “Immortal!” as they showered Zhang Deyuan with praise.

Some impatient souls immediately pulled out copper coins and silver bits from their pockets, pushing through the crowd to stuff them into Zhang Deyuan’s arms, begging him to perform a ritual so they could see their departed loved ones.

But Zhang Deyuan waved them off, his face solemn, saying that his divine power was too depleted today and he was at the end of his strength. If they wished to see their relatives, they would have to come back tomorrow.

His attitude of treating money like dirt only emphasized his immortal demeanor, earning even greater admiration from the people.

Shen Zheng followed Wen Zhuo’s gaze, watching the entire soul-summoning process, and couldn’t help but chuckle lightly: “Quite interesting.”

“It’s fake,” Wen Zhuo said flatly with a snort. “The Book of Han recorded that the Western Han magician Li Shaoweng summoned the spirit of Lady Li for Emperor Wu using a paper-cut human figure sleight of hand. This trick is just the same old routine.”

“I know the soul-summoning is fake, but the way he answered the woman’s questions without any flaw shows he’s something of a talent.” Shen Zheng couldn’t help but praise.

In the modern world, there are many who claim to be psychics, but most are fakes. The so-called accurate fortune-telling either relies on the swindler secretly investigating the client’s background or on a sharp eye and clever conversation to hit their weak points.

But either way, it requires exceptional observation and meticulous thinking—in other words, vast social experience and top-notch sales skills.

Wen Zhuo cast a sideways glance at Shen Zheng, thinking to himself that the woman was in on it too. This entire act was designed to build hype and set the stage for a bigger game.

Zhang Deyuan wasn’t interested in the small change the commoners offered. Since he dared to come to the capital, he had his eyes set on the vast wealth of the nobility, aiming for fame and fortune.

Wen Zhuo knew all this because in his past life, Zhang Deyuan had been unlucky enough to cross him.

At that time, the entire Jun family had been locked in the imperial prison. He had racked his brains but found no way to save them, while Shen Ting had already revealed his fangs and was pressing closer. In his frustration, he had wandered alone to the Dragon River, walking aimlessly.

It was then that he had stumbled upon Zhang Deyuan performing his tricks, so he had stopped to watch among the crowd.

While others had focused on the mysterious appearance of the spirit, he had looked for Zhang Deyuan’s flaws. That night had been pitch black, with no moon or stars, yet he had still noticed that Zhang Deyuan seemed to be stepping on something.

Later, when the wind had blown up the curtain, he had seen clearly: on the bluestone behind the curtain lay a palm-sized round piece of glass.

Just then, the Dragon River Fire Festival and the anniversary of Consort Chen’s death had given him an idea.

That very night, he had ordered an ambush on the road to Zhang Deyuan’s lodging, blindfolding him and bringing him back to the Wen residence.

He had ruthlessly exposed Zhang Deyuan’s trick:

“You ground that glass piece into a convex lens, pasted a paper-cut figure on it, and controlled the angle with a silk thread. The convex glass magnified the small cutout and projected it onto the curtain. To make the figure appear, you turned the glass toward the candle; to make it disappear, you turned it away. When the wind lifted the curtain, everyone’s eyes were on the sky, so no one noticed the small glass piece on the ground.”

Zhang Deyuan had never imagined that on his first day in the capital, his carefully crafted trick would be seen through. Terrified, he had collapsed, kowtowing repeatedly and sobbing that he had no other choice, begging Wen Zhuo to spare his life.

Seeing his pathetic state, Wen Zhuo had suddenly smiled: “Letting you go is not difficult. Just help me with one thing, and I will not only spare your life but also ensure you live comfortably and become famous.”

What he wanted Zhang Deyuan to do was to bait Shen Ting.

Shen Ting had a disability, was sensitive and insecure, and had spent years currying favor with Emperor Shunyuan at all costs.

Wen Zhuo had instructed Zhang Deyuan to continue his “spiritual communication” act by the Dragon River. Meanwhile, he had Shen Chen send a few clever servants to spread news outside Shen Ting’s mansion every day.

Novelty always traveled fast. Within two days, Shen Ting learned that a living immortal had appeared by the Dragon River, capable of summoning the dead and resolving the living’s obsessions.

Emperor Shunyuan had been haunted by Consort Chen’s death for over twenty years. How could Shen Ting not be excited?

He immediately sent someone to invite Zhang Deyuan to his mansion and demanded a public demonstration of his powers.

Shen Ting kept over ten retainers, and some were uneasy, advising him not to believe in the charlatan’s nonsense.

But Wen Zhuo had already given Zhang Deyuan a comprehensive account of Shen Ting’s life, including some little-known court secrets. As a result, Zhang Deyuan’s performance was flawless, fooling Shen Ting completely.

Shen Ting eagerly introduced Zhang Deyuan to Emperor Shunyuan.

In truth, Wen Zhuo had never intended to let Zhang Deyuan off. His plan was that when Zhang Deyuan performed the summoning of Consort Chen’s spirit, Ge Wei would expose his trick on the spot.

Thus, Zhang Deyuan would be guilty of deceiving the emperor, punishable by death, and Shen Ting would also be at fault for recommending a fraud and mocking the sovereign.

Emperor Shunyuan could never tolerate anyone making a mockery of Consort Chen’s soul. Once this succeeded, Shen Ting would have no chance of recovering.

This was also why Xie Langyang later claimed that the third prince’s death was connected to Wen Zhuo.

On that day, in his fury, Emperor Shunyuan disregarded all father-son ties, ordering Shen Ting to be strangled to death in the palace, announcing only that the third prince had died of a sudden illness.

The crown prince and Prince Xian were greedy and cruel to the people, yet they didn’t deserve death. But Shen Ting, merely for flattering the wrong person, ended up losing his head.

Watching Shen Ting’s fate, Xie Langyang found it hard to accept.

He always felt that even if Shen Ting was wrong, he was still the emperor’s own flesh and blood. Life imprisonment would have been sufficient—why go to the extreme of killing him?

But he dared not question the emperor. He could only blame Wen Zhuo for devising such a venomous plan, exploiting the emperor’s deepest obsession, and showing no mercy to Zhang Deyuan.

In reality, although the plan achieved its goal, it didn’t unfold exactly as Wen Zhuo had expected.

Ge Wei’s prepared speech never came into play. The moment Zhang Deyuan summoned a blurry figure, before he could even speak, Emperor Shunyuan flew into a rage, shouting that Zhang Deyuan was a fraud and ordered him to be executed immediately.

Even Wen Zhuo hadn’t seen that coming.

This meant that the emperor had detected the flaw right at the start of the spiritual communication.

But Wen Zhuo could never figure out what flaw the emperor had noticed.

Back then, he had only discovered the glass piece because a gust of wind lifted the curtain, and he had never believed in the supernatural, so he had been on full alert, finally catching the trick.

But he was certain that Emperor Shunyuan had initially believed it, so something must have gone wrong at the moment the figure appeared.

While lost in these memories of his past life, Wen Zhuo suddenly heard Shen Zheng whisper in his ear, “Someone’s coming.”

He snapped back to reality and looked up. Four burly men in coarse gray clothes, their hair tied with cloth strips and most of their faces hidden by scarves, were quietly moving toward Zhang Deyuan.

They were too far away to hear what they said, but Wen Zhuo saw them push through the crowd, surround Zhang Deyuan, and show him something. Zhang Deyuan’s face flickered with surprise, and he quickly gathered his props, following them obediently.

Their movements were strange, half protective, half surveillance, as they led Zhang Deyuan to a sedan chair waiting by the river, then quickly disappeared into a lane.

Shen Zheng’s lips curled into a playful smile. “It seems his performance was good enough to attract someone special.”

Wen Zhuo’s heart stirred. In his past life, Zhang Deyuan would have been kidnapped by his men halfway through. Now, he had been “invited” away by four burly men.

Who besides him knew that Zhang Deyuan’s trick could be put to such use? Only Shen Chen and Xie Langyang, who also carried memories of the previous life.

Those two bastards—were they planning to repeat the same old trick?

Just as Wen Zhuo thought to send a servant to follow discreetly and see where Zhang Deyuan was taken, he shifted slightly, and a familiar sensation touched his rear.

“…”

His distracted attention snapped back as heat spread, burning him red. He twisted around to look at Shen Zheng. “Your Highness, why won’t you take your hand out?”

Shen Zheng looked innocent, but his fingers kept moving gently. “Why should I? We’re here for a date, not overtime. Besides, not everything in this world needs your worry, Teacher. He can’t cause trouble, and even if he could, you’re not alone.”

With a squeeze and a knead, Wen Zhuo felt a numbness throughout his body, and his breathing became disordered.

“Your Highness is utterly shameless!” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Shen Zheng’s hand treated him like dough, pressing into all the sensitive spots with varying pressure, making him weak and damp.

“Teacher hasn’t answered yet. Do you like eating fingers?” Shen Zheng asked with a smile that seemed polite but carried a sly danger. “Don’t lie.”

Wen Zhuo trembled, and the small boat rocked on the water. With nothing to hold onto, he could only lean on Shen Zheng’s chest. “If I tell you, will Your Highness let me go?”

“Mm.” Shen Zheng answered readily.

“…I like it.” Wen Zhuo closed his eyes.

“Louder.” Shen Zheng pressed his advantage.

Wen Zhuo’s voice carried a hint of shame. “Your teacher… does have a little liking for it.”

He honestly confessed his desire, hoping Shen Zheng would withdraw his hand and straighten his clothes, so he could return to being the dignified Chancellor Wen, no one the wiser about the palm-shaped red marks under his robes.

“Since you like it, let me feed Teacher another bite.” Instead of retreating, his fingers pushed in a little deeper.

Wen Zhuo: “???”