Chapter 61#
As water met rapids, the boat swayed slightly.
Pearl curtains hanging from the cabin roof swayed together, tinkling. The delicate sounds mingled with the qin music, seeming to flow into hearts.
Xue Jingci, pulled back to sitting, his disappointment vanished entirely. He lifted his head with a smile: “Does saying this mean I’ve already passed my probation period?”
Pei Huang immediately released his hand: “Don’t try to renege on the deal. That’s not what I meant.”
Even as he said this, his raised lips couldn’t be pressed down.
Xue Jingci stared at him for a moment, then suddenly raised his hand and gently flicked his forehead.
He finally understood—Pei Huang was deliberately teasing him, but not excessively, not enough to make him truly angry. So he had no choice but to let it be.
Thus Xue Jingci quietly began tasting the boat’s food. Only after disembarking did he think to ask: “We’re just leaving like this?”
Pei Huang asked naturally: “What else? Or did you want to stay here?”
Seeing Pei Huang would leave, Xue Jingci reassured himself and said nothing more, turning to walk back.
Pei Huang, seeing him silent, rushed to catch up: “Won’t you ask me more questions?”
Xue Jingci didn’t even look back: “Since you’ve found your answers and want to leave, it doesn’t matter to me what you say or don’t say. Why ask so much?”
Pei Huang completely surrendered. He quickened his pace and grasped Xue Jingci’s hand.
“I give up. I wanted to tell you. Will you listen?”
Xue Jingci finally turned, his eyes full of laughter: “Then speak quickly.”
His words had barely left when a large group of children came running, shouting chaotically, rushing toward the east alley’s theatrical troupe.
The two dodged this group of wild foals, getting squeezed toward a street vendor selling sugar-coated fruits.
Xue Jingci’s eyes stuck to them. Pei Huang dutifully paid, handed him one, and slowly led him back to the inn, explaining as they walked.
“The bodyguard serving the Third Prince is named Duan Cheng. Years ago, I once saved his daughter. That’s how we became acquainted. Duan Cheng is straightforward—a truly good person. Now that he’s come out with the Third Prince, trouble has arisen. If this matter isn’t resolved, I fear he’ll have no way to return alive.”
“So I agreed to help him investigate here. I can identify palace people; others naturally can too. They can’t come investigate discreetly, so entrusting it to me is most appropriate.”
Xue Jingci, eyes watering from the sour fruit, handed it to Pei Huang to finish, then asked: “So what did you discover?”
Pei Huang, unbothered by the half-eaten fruit, took a bite and was immediately puckered by sourness. After a long moment of recovery, he answered: “Didn’t you hear her miss several notes?”
Xue Jingci nodded: “I did notice, but it’s not a problem. The overall performance was quite smooth.”
Pei Huang shook his head: “That’s the problem. Someone who relies on qin skills—if they missed notes, wouldn’t they panic and be afraid? Yet none of those around her said anything.”
Xue Jingci understood.
Clearly, both the qin player and the others on that pleasure boat hadn’t been carefully listening to any music.
“You think these people are related to the prince’s matter?”
Pei Huang neither nodded nor denied, simply saying calmly: “I’ve already done my part. I just need to tell Duan Cheng, and I’m sure they’ll find their answers.”
Xue Jingci was somewhat surprised: “And next? You won’t pursue it further?”
Pei Huang finally finished that sour-as-could-be sugar fruit. He stood and looked seriously at Xue Jingci: “Next, I’ll take care of your health.”
Xue Jingci was stunned. Then Pei Huang led him back to the inn, where he quietly recuperated for several days.
Pei Huang negotiated with the innkeeper for a small stove in the courtyard. Each day, he carefully prepared herbal medicines, adding many strange ingredients that left observers bewildered.
He cooked a large bowl of oddly-colored medicinal liquid. Xue Jingci was so disgusted he wanted to flee, yet he was watched until he drank it daily.
If it were anyone else, they’d suspect poisoning.
But this medicine—lacking in color, aroma, or taste—had surprisingly good effects. Xue Jingci finally felt warmth return.
Perhaps because Pei Huang spent each day decocting medicines, looking like Xue Jingci suffered from chronic illness, the innkeeper couldn’t help approaching him with a suggestion.
“Your young master’s illness won’t heal with regular treatment. Why not try praying to Lady Tianlu? She’s very effective. Any difficult illness improves after praying to her.”
Xue Jingci happened to come to the courtyard to find Pei Huang. Hearing this, he shook his head: “Thank you, innkeeper, but we don’t believe in such things.”
Yet Pei Huang grew thoughtful, recalling that when they first arrived in Nanzhou and sheltered in a Daoist temple from rain, he’d seen a man praying to Lady Tianlu to heal his child.
While tending the medicinal stove, he casually asked: “Speaking of which, I traveled through Nanzhou many years ago but never heard of this goddess. Is she really so miraculous?”
The innkeeper leaned close, lowering his voice mysteriously: “This goes back five years. Suddenly, a strange illness spread through Nanzhou. The afflicted became like soulless puppets—unmoving all day, unable even to swallow food.”
The innkeeper’s face paled recalling those tragic days: “The city’s physicians were overwhelmed. Many could only wait outside to die. As more died, people were forced to dig herbs in the mountains to save others.”
“One day, an old man gathering herbs actually unearthed white jade from Tianlu Mountain. Uncarved, it naturally formed the image of a kind-eyed woman.”
The innkeeper spoke vividly.
Finding this miraculous, the old man immediately cleaned the jade statue and placed it in an already-abandoned small temple. Unexpectedly, not long after, his own daughter’s strange illness recovered without treatment.
From then on, Nanzhou gradually thrived with worshipping this earth-born deity. Many temples were renovated to supply the Lady Tianlu.
This tale sounded too mysterious. Xue Jingci and Pei Huang exchanged glances, both feeling something was off.
That day in the temple, the child in the man’s basket was deeply unconscious, indeed resembling those afflicted with the strange illness. But Lady Tianlu appearing so suddenly seemed too coincidental.
The innkeeper, seeing doubt in their expressions, seemed hesitant to speak further.
If only this one miracle sufficed, it wouldn’t convince so many to worship Lady Tianlu.
But these five years, all who devoutly revered Lady Tianlu saw improvement—either their own illness or their loved ones’. The innkeeper had personally witnessed several instances, far more convincing than words.
These outsiders wouldn’t know the significance involved.
Thinking, the innkeeper sidestepped to warn: “These years, those disrespecting the deity have all died from their illnesses.”
Pei Huang’s expression turned serious: “My young master is frail. If she’s truly so miraculous, I’d like to request a statue to worship night and day.”
He looked at the innkeeper: “Please point us the way. Where can we obtain a genuine deity statue?”
The innkeeper, seeing them persuaded, brightened: “If you want a deity statue, you might visit the theatrical troupe in the east alley.”
Pei Huang was puzzled: “A theatrical troupe?”
“Right, that one in the east alley,” the innkeeper said quietly: “They have an old dame who couldn’t sing anymore—her voice was completely ruined. But one day when she prayed to Lady Tianlu, she suddenly communed with the goddess. The next day, she was full of life and vitality, still performing on stage now!”
“Statues obtained from her are especially miraculous. Whether the goddess grants them depends on your sincerity.”
Pei Huang thanked the innkeeper. The medicine in the stove had finished decocting. He tugged Xue Jingci’s sleeve, signaling him to sit and drink the medicine.
Xue Jingci, smelling the medicine, couldn’t help but frown. He was about to speak when Pei Huang held the bowl to his lips, coaxing: “After you finish the medicine, I’ll take you to see the theatrical troupe. We can buy another sugar-fruit on the way. I’ve tried one from that vendor—not sour.”
Really going?
Xue Jingci stared at the black medicinal liquid before him, understanding Pei Huang’s meaning. He sipped with Pei Huang’s help.
The bitter, acrid taste was truly hard to swallow. Only then did he raise his hands to hold the bowl, take a deep breath, and nearly plunge his whole face into it.
When he lifted his head again, the black liquid in the bowl had completely vanished, without a single drop remaining.
Pei Huang’s heart softened. These days, Xue Jingci always drank reluctantly, yet never wasted the medicine he’d decocted.
After finishing the medicine, Pei Huang kept his promise and really bought Xue Jingci another sugar-fruit.
The vendor held a rice straw rod with sugar-coated fruits bristling from it—red and shiny, quite attractive.
Any child passing by was drawn to it, insisting their parent buy one before they’d move. Some even sat down and tantrumed.
“I want it! I want it!”
The adult lacked patience, lifting the child to scold: “If you delay our prayer to the goddess, see if I don’t beat you when we get home.”
Xue Jingci bit his sugar-fruit, watching that man. He suddenly realized many people sought the goddess, and the theatrical troupe the innkeeper mentioned was just past the next alley.
He finished his fruit and followed the crowd toward the troupe.
Upon entering, the stage stood empty, but tables on both sides were packed with spectators. Even the stairs were crammed with people, with barely a foothold.
Pei Huang found the ticket collector, quietly slipped him some silver, and asked if they could visit backstage to meet the legendary old dame who could commune with Lady Tianlu.
The man weighed the heavy silver, smiled enigmatically: “You seem unfamiliar, young master. First visit and already wanting to meet her? Your heart seems insincere.”
He shook his head affectedly: “These things depend on fate. If not today, come tomorrow. Visit several times, and with sincere devotion, she might agree to see you.”
Pei Huang wanted to say more, but people behind him grew impatient, shouting they were blocking the way.
“No interest in the show? Get out!”
The two had to enter the troupe. The silver naturally couldn’t be recovered.
Xue Jingci lowered his eyes, watching the queue. He noticed many others had similarly slipped silver coins, yet none succeeded in meeting the old dame.
For these people, such silver was impossible to spare—it represented half a year of labor.
This troupe, using Lady Tianlu’s name, had secretly earned considerable ill-gotten gains.
As for the performance, it probably wasn’t worth much.
Two performers quickly climbed the high stage.
Their voices were harsh, clearly not trained in some time. Not only was there no singing technique, but the emotion felt flat—recited like scripture.
Yet all the spectators around acted as if nothing was wrong, applauding and cheering.
Xue Jingci looked around, then down at the porcelain tea bowl before him. As their cheers shook the table, the liquid trembled, reflecting the twisted images of surrounding people—features indistinct, surreal as if not of this mortal world.
On stage, the performance droned: “In this sweltering summer heat with blazing sun, how could it possibly snow?”
Suddenly, the blue June sky transformed. Rain began to fall.