Chapter 96#

The retainers in the residence had once warned Shen Ting that the Sweeping Dust Daoist might be deceitful, but Shen Ting was an extremely arrogant man. If he had not yet formed his own opinion, he could still listen to his retainers’ advice to some extent. However, once he had a preconceived notion in his mind, not even the Jade Emperor himself could talk sense into him.

He had personally witnessed the Sweeping Dust Daoist summon a spirit, and his heart was filled with the hope of using this to win Emperor Shunyuan’s favor. Thus, in his eyes, the objections of others were merely signs of hesitation and cowardice, insufficient for great deeds.

It was not until this moment, when an outsider unrelated to the matter hit the nail on the head, that he felt as if struck by lightning, suddenly jolted awake.

Shen Ting’s eyes flickered with a nearly manic, murderous gleam. He barked an order at the two young eunuchs beside him: “Search the Daoist’s person! Find that glass piece!”

Zhang Deyuan, having traveled far and wide for many years, was no ordinary man either. When he saw the stunningly beautiful censor exchange a few words with Shen Ting, and Shen Ting’s expression turned extremely ugly, he immediately realized something was terribly wrong.

But now he was within the imperial palace’s forbidden grounds, with no chance to escape. He could only force himself to remain calm.

The two young eunuchs, having received their orders, immediately stepped forward and reached out toward him.

Zhang Deyuan hastily stepped back, putting on a dignified air, and said in a deep voice, “What do you think you’re doing! This humble Daoist is a distinguished guest invited by His Highness the Third Prince! How dare you behave so insolently!”

Shen Ting walked over with his hands behind his back, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. His eyes gleamed, his pupils contracted into tiny points, making him look exactly like a venomous snake flicking its tongue.

“Do not be alarmed, Daoist. It’s just that someone suspects your soul-summoning trick is nothing but a street charlatan’s ruse. To prove your innocence and without delaying the audience with His Majesty, I ask that you cooperate a little. Do not make things difficult for me.”

Zhang Deyuan had no choice but to cooperate. When the convex piece of glass was discovered by the young eunuch in the lining of his Daoist robe, the color instantly drained from his face.

All that talk of celestial bearing and commanding ghosts and spirits—it was nothing but a paper tiger, easily punctured.

Zhang Deyuan trembled like a leaf, fell to his knees with a thud before Shen Ting, and knocked his head repeatedly against the blue bricks: “Spare me, Your Highness! Spare me, Your Highness!”

Shen Ting let out a low laugh. He tilted his head back and took a deep breath, as if greedily inhaling the very essence of heaven and earth. But in his mind, he was frantically thinking of how he would flay every inch of skin from Zhang Deyuan’s body to vent the hatred in his heart.

“Spare you?” Shen Ting’s fingers lightly brushed across Zhang Deyuan’s cheek, but then his nails dug in fiercely, leaving several bloody scratches. “Rest assured, Daoist. I will make you regret ever being born within the borders of Great Qian.”

“Hold on.”

Wen Zhuo walked over unhurriedly, stopping Shen Ting’s fury in time. His gaze swept over Zhang Deyuan, whose face was ashen, and his tone carried a hint of thought-provoking depth: “This trick works among the common people because most of them are uneducated and already superstitious about ghosts and gods. But I, the Chief Censor, am curious: how exactly did a common swindler manage to deceive Your Highness?”

Shen Ting turned his head to look at Wen Zhuo. He tried to restrain himself but couldn’t. The murderous intent in his eyes was like a blade, as if he wanted to carve Zhang Deyuan into minced meat. He said through gritted teeth, “He publicly demonstrated his technique of communicating with the spirits and conversed fluently with the summoned soul. If not for that, how could I have been so easily duped!”

“How strange,” Wen Zhuo said, bending slightly. His gaze seemed to casually scan Zhang Deyuan, his tone leisurely but each word piercing. “How could a common swindler converse so fluently with the spirit Your Highness wished to summon? Unless… he knew in advance. But an ordinary person would at most browse a few folk pamphlets and fantasize about life in the palace. How could he know those secrets?”

Zhang Deyuan now looked at Wen Zhuo and felt that this man was like a spirit transformed into a human—an evil spirit. He wore a face as beautiful as peach blossoms, but a corrosive aura of death swirled around him.

Shen Ting, as if waking from a dream, suddenly saw things clearly. His snake-like eyes turned cold and sharp. He slowly turned his head and asked in a sinister tone, “Who sent you to approach me?”

“It was the Fifth Prince! The Fifth Prince!” Zhang Deyuan was a spineless coward at heart. With his life hanging in the balance, he no longer cared about keeping any secrets and immediately sold out Shen Chen.

Hearing this, Wen Zhuo raised an eyebrow in surprise.

No wonder that beast Shen Chen had dared to copy his scheme without modification—he had intended to shift the blame onto Shen Zheng.

Yuxi

To have come this far, it could be said that ’the student has proven teachable.’ But alas, a foot taller than the man is the devil.

Shen Ting muttered repeatedly under his breath: “Shen Zheng… it was Shen Zheng?”

Hearing that name, a great fear suddenly surged in his heart.

Shen Zheng had already taken the lead. Would he still not let his brothers off? If that were true, even if he didn’t die now, once Shen Zheng ascended the throne, he would have no good end!

Fear quickly turned into hysterical rage, almost burning away his sanity.

In that case, he might as well gamble everything and fight to the bitter end!

The spirit that had long been extinguished flared up violently fueled by this fury. Shen Ting’s fingers gripping his crutch turned white, his knuckles trembling slightly.

“Did you actually see the Fifth Prince’s face?” Wen Zhuo seized the moment to press further.

Zhang Deyuan suddenly paused, a flicker of hesitation appearing on his face.

That pause made Shen Ting sense something fishy.

Right! If Shen Zheng wanted to hire a street magician to frame him, why would he show his face in person? What if the Emperor ordered a strict interrogation—wouldn’t the Sweeping Dust Daoist easily implicate him as well?

Even Zhang Deyuan, slow as he was, began to think: Was that really the Fifth Prince? The Fifth Prince was of exalted status—what need did he have to reveal his identity to a nobody like me, a street performer?

But the golden dragon pattern on the clothes was not fake, and the jade pendant at his waist did not seem fake either.

Wen Zhuo chuckled lightly: “Your Highness need not worry. I have a small trick that will reveal who the mastermind behind this really is.”

“Please, Chief Censor, enlighten me!” Shen Ting pressed urgently.

Wen Zhuo stroked the folded fan at his waist and said slowly, “Consider this, Your Highness: If this person wanted to harm you, he would have exposed the Sweeping Dust Daoist’s tricks in front of His Majesty, making you bear the crime of mocking your sovereign father—a crime from which you’d have no chance to defend yourself. Why not turn the tables? Still present Zhang Deyuan to His Majesty, but on no account mention summoning spirits. Instead, say it’s a shadow-play technique brought from Bozhou. The reason: the people, grateful for His Majesty’s granting of the yan kou rituals, which quelled the Dragon River’s wrath, wish to perform this recently popular folk play for His Majesty, hoping it brings him joy, good health, and longevity. Touched by their sentiment, you took it upon yourself to present the people’s goodwill to the throne.”

Shen Ting instantly understood Wen Zhuo’s meaning. At the critical moment, the one who first jumped out to attack would be the one behind the whole plot!

And the Emperor, having known all along that the play was fake, would not blame him, but instead suspect that person of malicious intent and sowing discord.

“Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!” Shen Ting felt a survival after a disaster. His gaze toward Wen Zhuo now held genuine respect. He set his crutch aside and made a deep bow to Wen Zhuo. “Thank you, Chief Censor, for your timely help today. I will remember this kindness and repay you handsomely in the future!”

Wen Zhuo smiled modestly: “I merely happened upon the scene and asked a few extra questions. Your Highness need not dwell on it.”

Emperor Shunyuan had just lain down on the soft couch in the Hall of Mental Cultivation when Liu Quan began gently patting his chest to soothe him.

These past few days, he had shed too many tears; his eyesight had greatly deteriorated. He could barely make out the candle lamp before him—only a blur, unable even to distinguish the shape of the flame.

“Grand Companion,” he said, his voice hoarse, his withered fingers reaching into the air. “Do you think Xingluo was in pain then? Was he very scared? He must have been desperate to find me, but he couldn’t call out, and I couldn’t hear him…”

The Emperor’s chest heaved violently, his eyes gradually going vacant, as if he were being dragged back into that deep night, that nightmare where everything burned away.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!” Liu Quan increased the force of his patting, calling out repeatedly, hoping to calm him down. “Consort Chen passed in her sleep—she knew nothing, felt no pain at all. She has gone to enjoy bliss in the Western Paradise, much freer than in the mortal world.”

“Is that so… is that so?” the Emperor murmured, as if he believed it, or as if he was merely deceiving himself.

Just then, a eunuch announced outside the hall that the Third Prince, Shen Ting, had come with a Taoist, requesting an audience.

At this moment, Zhang Deyuan felt as if he were being roasted over a fire. He knew that only by winning the Emperor’s joy would he have a chance to survive. Otherwise, neither the furious Shen Ting nor ‘Shen Zheng’ behind the scenes would let him live!

Emperor Shunyuan had no interest in anything at present. In recent days, he had even sent his most favored Consort Zhen back to her own palace, forbidding anyone from appearing before him to annoy him.

But when he heard it was about the people’s goodwill, he found it hard to refuse outright. So he forced himself to rally and allowed Zhang Deyuan to perform the so-called shadow play in the Imperial Garden.

Still, he coldly reminded Shen Ting: “I understand the people’s intentions. But from now on, do not report such folk entertainments to the palace again.”

After the evening meal, the sky had turned pitch black. News of the Taoist in the palace had already spread throughout the harem.

Since the Emperor thought it was just a simple play, he did not forbid people from watching. Thus, by the time of xu in the first quarter, the Imperial Garden was packed with people.

Among them were consorts from various palaces and a few princes who still remained in the palace.

The summer heat still lingered at night. Emperor Shunyuan leaned back in his dragon throne, his eyes half-closed, his expression weary. Two palace maids stood beside him, slowly waving palm-leaf fans to drive away the mosquitoes.

Apart from these masters occupying the best viewing spots, many palace maids and eunuchs were hidden behind rockeries, under old trees, and along the corridor, eager to catch a glimpse of the excitement.

They whispered among themselves:

“What’s that tent for?”

“Who knows! All I heard was that the Third Prince invited a Taoist from the Dragon Riverbank. Probably some kind of supernatural trick.”

“Hey, aren’t you from Consort Zhen’s palace? Can’t you find out even this little thing?”

“Cut me some slack! His Majesty hasn’t visited our palace for seven days now. Where am I supposed to get my information?”

…

Shen Chen stood among the crowd, scanning his surroundings.

The scene today was almost identical to his previous life, even the sky was the same—a vast expanse without a moon.

The only difference was that among the princes, there was that eyesore Shen Zheng, and Emperor Shunyuan seemed too tired, lacking the expected excitement.

But all that was inconsequential. As long as Consort Chen’s shadow appeared on the screen a little later, the plan would succeed!

Shen Zheng had changed into a brand-new moon-white robe especially for this good show. The night wind swept by, lifting the hem of his robe and revealing the outline of his long, straight legs.

He stood with his arms crossed beside Shen Chen, tall and straight, his features deep and striking, like a crane among chickens.

“Sixth Brother.” Shen Zheng turned his head, his tone friendly but his eyes holding a hint of mockery. “What are you skulking about looking at?”

Shen Chen looked up and met his gaze, forcing out a smile of swallowed humiliation: “Fifth Brother, don’t tease me. I wasn’t looking at anything.”

Shen Zheng deliberately leaned closer to get a better look at his fake smile, then couldn’t help clicking his tongue: “I see your complexion is dark around the forehead, Brother. It seems you have an unlucky fate. It so happens that the Dragon River’s fire sacrifice is underway—you’d better be careful. Don’t let a river ghost drag you down.”

“Don’t trouble yourself with worrying about me, Fifth Brother,” Shen Chen forced out through gritted teeth.

No sooner had he spoken than the screen in the center of the Imperial Garden was finally erected.

Zhang Deyuan, one had to admit, had incredible psychological fortitude. Though his head was practically on the chopping block, he still managed to look unflappable, putting on the airs of a descendant of Iron Crutch Li.

What had originally been a fake séance had now become a real shadow play, and Zhang Deyuan dared not slack off in the slightest. He performed with all his might.

He took off his shoes and socks, standing barefoot on the cold blue bricks of the Imperial Garden. He began to dance and gyrate before the white screen, shaking a string of bells that produced a series of crisp sounds.

“Old ancestor Iron Crutch Li, born with the power to communicate with spirits. When the screen hangs high and candles are lit, a myriad of souls all come to pay their respects…”

He muttered incantations, and even Emperor Shunyuan was drawn to look up, his gaze falling upon the screen.

As the screen began to tremble lightly, Zhang Deyuan danced with increasing abandon, his white hair whipping in the air, the bells in his hand shaking so fast they became a blur. Shen Chen’s heart rose to his throat, uncontrollably.

Almost there… just a little more!

Unable to contain himself, his two dimples sank deeply, and Shen Ting, not far away, saw it clearly.

A solitary wild goose happened to step on a crooked branch, shaking the leaves on the city walls’ roots, causing them to rustle.

By this time, the sky was already dark. Inside the Grand Secretariat’s duty room, Wen Zhuo was gradually left alone.

Gong Zhiyuan had been inexplicably irritated by Gu Weizhi’s nagging during the day, so as soon as the sun set, he hurried home.

Gu Weizhi had arranged to discuss water transport funding with Mo Shu, so he also rushed to the Marquis of Yongning’s mansion before the sky was completely dark.

Wen Zhuo, wanting some peace, pushed the memorials on the table aside, casually took out paper and brush, and began practicing calligraphy.

A soft sound came from the threshold. Someone stepped into the duty room. At that moment, Wen Zhuo just finished the last stroke with his purple-haired brush, sweeping out a bold ending.

“Wanshan?” Xie Langyang was genuinely surprised to see Wen Zhuo here at this hour.

In his memory, Wen Zhuo was someone who hated working. With that frail body of his, a little exertion would make him ache all over and keep him awake all night.

So in the past life, in order to scheme for Shen Chen, Wen Zhuo had endured no small amount of pain and suffering. Whenever there was a moment of leisure, he would lie in his room, neither seeing the sun nor going out.

“Why are you here?” Xie Langyang stood by the door, not daring to barge in. He looked at Wen Zhuo with a complex expression.

He still held old feelings for Wen Zhuo, yet he could not let go of his resentment toward Shen Zheng.

He always felt that the Wen Zhuo who sat on Shen Zheng’s shoulders to paste wax flowers, who shared a birthday with Shen Zheng, who was held in Shen Zheng’s arms and smiled—was no longer the unsullied, fairy-like camellia flower in his heart.

Beauty that is unsullied, once it falls into the mundane world, is both regrettable and infuriating.

But even though he thought this way, he could not bring himself to accuse Wen Zhuo with a clear conscience. Because he himself had also married—he was no longer the pure aristocratic youth he once was.

But unlike Wen Zhuo, he had been forced into it.

Wen Zhuo did not look up at him, but instead focused on admiring the character he had just written. Hearing this, he gave an almost imperceptible twitch of his lips: “I haven’t asked you, Minister Xie, what brings you to the duty room at this hour?”

Xie Langyang was silent.

He had come here to wait.

Once the plan succeeded and Shen Ting was put to death, he would be the first to get the news.

If the plan went wrong and the scheme failed, Zhang Deyuan might implicate Shen Zheng. Then he would need to quickly gather the imperial guards who had been on duty at the city gate a few days ago, have them testify that Shen Zheng had indeed left the palace, and nail down Shen Zheng’s crime before Emperor Shunyuan could think it through.

Wen Zhuo was in a good mood. He dipped his brush and wrote his name at the end of the scroll.

“You don’t want to say? Then let me say it for you. You’re waiting for news from the palace. Whether it succeeds or fails, it’s good for you either way.”

“Wanshan!” Xie Langyang’s breath suddenly quickened, shock evident in his eyes.

Wen Zhuo suddenly laughed out loud, his shoulders trembling slightly. Finally, he turned his face squarely to Xie Langyang, those watery eyes now carrying a mocking edge that was unfamiliar.

“Xie Langyang, I really don’t understand. How dare you still use my schemes?”

He was smiling so happily, yet Xie Langyang felt a chill spread through him, as if winter had descended without warning.

“What have you done? What have you done now!” Xie Langyang suddenly demanded, his voice laced with undisguised panic.

Wen Zhuo’s smile vanished abruptly. He put down his brush and stood up slowly: “A strategy values change, not repetition. Used once, it’s brilliant; used twice, it’s ordinary; used thrice, disaster lurks. Let me guess—who did you choose to expose Zhang Deyuan’s trick? Don’t tell me it was Shen Chen himself.”

A wave of terror seized Xie Langyang’s heart. He shouted hoarsely: “Wanshan, this has nothing to do with you! Why did you have to meddle!”

“Who says it has nothing to do with me?” Wen Zhuo sneered. “You also intended to frame the Fifth Prince, didn’t you?”

Xie Langyang was completely stunned now, the color draining from his face entirely.

With Wen Zhuo’s cunning, he would never let Shen Zheng suffer in this affair. If Shen Zheng didn’t suffer, then it was Shen Chen who would!

Xie Langyang could no longer care about anything else. He turned and rushed out of the duty room, running madly toward the Forbidden City.

In his heart, he told himself to calm down, but his steps only grew faster.

He had to stop Shen Chen in time, make sure he didn’t fall into Wen Zhuo’s trap!

“Minister Xie, do you have His Majesty’s edict?” The imperial guards at the Forbidden City gate stopped Xie Langyang in time.

Xie Langyang was out of breath, his hair crown askew, sweat streaming down his cheeks and soaking his collar. He cried out urgently: “Let me in! I have urgent business!”

“Minister Xie, please wait! We must first report, and only with orders can we allow you entry,” the guard said politely.

“There’s no time! I need to go in now!” Xie Langyang was frantic and tried to force his way through, only to be grabbed by the imperial guards, who lifted him by his arms and carried him outside the gate.

“Let go! Let me go! How dare you!” Xie Langyang was furious and desperate, kicking his legs helplessly as he watched himself being carried farther and farther from the gate.

In the Imperial Garden, Shen Chen was completely unaware of what was happening outside the city. He was still immersed in the smug satisfaction of his impending success.

Zhang Deyuan carefully placed a red candle on the ground. He began to move slowly, chanting in a low voice: “Appear! Appear!”

Zhang Deyuan suddenly stepped back, shaking his copper bell even more urgently. On the screen, a blurry human figure suddenly took shape—hazy, sometimes near, sometimes far.

The consorts watching hastily stepped back. The eunuchs and maids hiding behind the rockeries also covered their mouths, letting out gasps.

“What is that?”

“A person—a woman’s silhouette!”

“Heavens! The Dragon River fire sacrifice is happening right now. Has it summoned a spirit?”

“Pah, don’t talk nonsense. How would a spirit dare to come into the palace? Careful—you’ll be charged with spreading chaos!”

“Look! That woman can float!”

“Amituofo, Amituofo…”

Shen Chen’s heart nearly jumped out of his throat. His gaze was glued to Emperor Shunyuan’s face, not daring to blink, waiting only for the moment when his imperial father would erupt in fury.

But the Emperor only leaned his face on his hand, calmly watching the figure on the screen, as if he actually believed it.