We had agreed that I would "interrogate" Wei Tian once we returned, but the interrogation somehow ended with me in tears and her in smiles. An afternoon nap stretched from lunch until dinner, while a mountain of scrolls piled up across three large tables in the front hall. Fortunately, before leaving Fulu Restaurant, Excellency Wei had sent out signal talismans to several chiliarchs, ordering them to investigate certain matters. Otherwise, I truly would have felt guilty for delaying the future of the nation.
In the evening, while Wei Qingming worked in her study, I picked up the novel by Thousand-Year Sorrow again. After she had been writing for an hour, I took the opportunity to brew tea and serve her snacks. Seeing the book in my hand, Excellency Wei remarked indifferently, "Since this book has made my Zhenzhen so captivated that she cannot bear to put it down, I must see what kind of story it is."
Though her tone was light, it was laced with dissatisfaction that my attention wasn't entirely on her. I quickly smiled and said, "I just forgot to put it down. It’s gone, it’s gone."
I had just let go of the book to toss it aside when she caught it in her hand. She flipped it open and actually began reading seriously from the very first page.
The story was set in the era before the Great War of Extinction, a fictional tale of the joys and sorrows of a noble clan. It was filled with affected lyricism, sentimental mourning, and tedious domestic drama. I felt quite embarrassed and reached out to snatch it back, but she wouldn't let me succeed. With a casual lift of her hand and a flick of her sleeve, she kept it completely out of my reach. I even ended up falling for her trap, firmly pressed into her embrace by her other hand.
With one palm, she held several of my vital points along my back, rendering me unable to move. I huddled within her fragrant, warm arms, obediently burying my face in her chest. The night was quiet and peaceful. Outside the window, the freshly accumulated fluffy snow skittered across the lattice, driven by the wind. Feeling the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her breath, it felt as if there were no other place left in the world except her embrace. My entire heart and soul were suddenly filled with joy and happiness.
"Thousand-Year Sorrow..." she murmured, closing the cover. It took her less than half a day to comprehend a five-hundred-page advanced formation manual; reading nearly a hundred pages at a glance took her less than the time it took to finish half a cup of tea. The snacks hadn't even gone cold.
After reading the name printed on the cover, she actually fell silent for a moment. Only then did she set the book aside and pick up a small piece of Golden Milk Pastry to feed me. This pastry was homemade; Muyu had improved upon the clunky, oversized versions sold outside, making them into delicate, exquisite treats. To suit Wei Tian’s palate, she had intentionally used less sugar, and the milky flavor was fresh and light rather than cloying.
I chewed the pastry while nestled in her arms, her chin resting loosely against my temple. I heard her say, "Let me tell A-Zhi a story."
"Mm," I responded softly, hugging her tightly. I looked up at her for a moment before she pressed me back into her embrace.
I sensitively perceived a profound change in her emotions. In that one sentence, there was a deep, soaking sorrow, as well as an inexplicable tremor—as if she had suddenly glimpsed an unbelievable truth and dared not trust it.
"On Mount Daoling in the Southwest, there was a family of white apes. They listened to the Dao at the feet of a Great Ancestor for thousands of years, finally attaining spiritual wisdom," she began slowly, as if reminiscing. "The younger monkey of this family was exceptionally bright, yet mischievous and unruly, refusing to be bound by discipline. His parents eventually sent him to the Great Ancestor for training, keeping only the elder monkey by their side. But the elder monkey missed his younger brother dearly. He was willing to defy his parents to study alongside the younger monkey, yet he was dull-witted and lacked talent. Not only was he ridiculed by the Great Ancestor’s disciples, but his parents were also disappointed in him. By the time the younger monkey’s cultivation had begun to take shape, the elder monkey had been lazy and decadent for years, wishing only to descend the mountain and travel to escape the disdainful looks. Who could have known that shortly after he left the mountain, a conflict between good and evil broke out? The sect of Mount Daoling suffered heavy casualties. His parents, his brother..."
I already fully understood the direction of her story. This was exactly the plot summary of the first half of Thousand-Year Sorrow’s book, *Chronicles of the Mortal Quest*! Although there were many subplots, the white ape family corresponded to the Yuan family, a prominent official clan in Yuzhou within the book. The elder monkey was the protagonist, Yuan Jueling! As for the younger monkey, it was his peerlessly talented younger brother, Yuan Wumi, who survived the battle that destroyed the sect, found his brother, and together they sought revenge and exorcised demons, their fame spreading throughout the world...
The weak and despondent eldest son, the genius younger brother...
"This story..." I also began to make a terrifying connection, my voice trembling. "Who told it to you?"
She smiled and answered, "My brother, Wei Qingshan."
"Let's... let's stay calm..." I instead patted her back to comfort her. "Such tropes aren't uncommon in novels. This book by Thousand-Year Sorrow... because the supporting character Wumi’s brilliance far outshines the protagonist, it received quite a bit of criticism, saying the younger brother should have been the lead..."
"Yes." She raised a hand to cover her eyes and laughed. "Between the lines, toward this arrogant, egoistic, and eccentric younger brother, he... instead showed much doting and love, without a hint of jealousy."
Her words were filled with grief and gratitude. I could no longer tell if the "he" she referred to was Yuan Jueling, the author Thousand-Year Sorrow, or her brother Wei Qingshan...
"He doesn't know... I hope he doesn't know... Heh..." She actually let out a clear laugh, yet it sounded like a heart-wrenching sob. "The people I have killed, the families I have destroyed—they are far more numerous than the commoners Yuan Wumi saved in that story."
My heart throbbed with a piercing pain. I held her and wept, constantly stroking her shoulders and neck, saying repeatedly, "No, it’s not like that. None of that is your fault. You are doing great things, saving even more people..."
"Perhaps such stories aren't rare," she said. "But 'Jueling' comes from the poem he loved most when we first learned to write: 'I must ascend the highest peak, to see all other mountains dwarfed below.' And 'Wumi' was from the first piece of calligraphy I ever framed, which he begged to hang in his room: 'Coming like a spring dream for a brief while, going like morning clouds, nowhere to be found.' Both are embedded... with our names..."
"A lifespan reaches not a hundred years, yet it harbors a thousand years of sorrow." No wonder Thousand-Year Sorrow’s writing was so gentle and elegant; it was her brother. Even I could no longer offer any rebuttal. For it to be a coincidence to this extent, no other explanation could be found. I made up my mind and called for Lanrao: "Go to the Fifth Sister’s room and bring the letter she received from Yin Shuhong."
Zhu Yixin naturally understood as soon as she heard. Lanrao quickly brought back the handwritten letter from Thousand-Year Sorrow. I took it first, holding the envelope face-down against my chest, and asked Wei Qingming, "Do you really want to see it?"
She had already regained her usual calm and gave a faint smile. "I do."
In truth, I had caught a glimpse of Thousand-Year Sorrow’s handwriting that day. It did indeed bear a heavy influence of Fu Yannian. But since Fu was the head of the Five Great Families and his copybooks were circulated throughout the world, sixty to seventy percent of noble families would hire his disciples to teach calligraphy. Even common children used the *Collection of a Thousand Tang Poems* he wrote at age fifty for tracing and recitation. It wasn't particularly strange. Only now did I realize that Wei Qingming and her brother had been personally taught by the centenarian Fu Yannian himself...
Wei Qingming took the letter. She stared at the signature on the envelope for a long time before slowly pulling out the letter. After reading it, tears shimmered in the corners of her eyes. She smiled and pointed at the character for "No" (毋). "He took so many hits from Master Fu’s ruler as a child, his palms beaten raw, yet he could never change this one backward stroke."
"Good, good!" I clapped and laughed. "This is a wonderful thing! Finding Thousand-Year Sorrow won't be hard at all. Tomorrow I’ll send a message for Yin Shuhong to come!"
Wei Qingming stroked the letter and the novel, asking with a smile, "Since many people criticized it, it means even more people are reading it. Is Thousand-Year Sorrow very famous?"
"Of course!" Seeing her willing to joke, I also beamed. "Only Muchanzi is more famous than him, but he’s an old senior. When he started writing novels, we weren't even born yet."
"That’s good," she said. "Since he was a child, he never wanted to study the so-called 'Orthodox Path.' He hated memorizing the Four Books, and practicing martial arts was even more painful. He loved daydreaming, telling stories of wandering heroes and flying immortals. When he was eight, he quietly wrote half a novel, and a book merchant said they wanted to buy it. The stories he actually told us as bedtime stories were hundreds, if not thousands, more than what he wrote down. If Thousand-Year Sorrow truly is him, then his current success means his wishes have been fulfilled, and he should have no more regrets."
She smiled, then added an ambiguous, slightly cold sentence: "And no one will tear up his life's work or scold him for bringing shame to the family name anymore."
We chatted and joked for a while longer before Wei Qingming said, "Miss Yin is quite clever and sharp. After returning home from Xixi Tower and hearing of the disturbance, she submitted an item to this Bureau. It was a box containing over forty sketches, all quick drawings of the situation in the tower on the seventeenth and eighteenth, to serve as aid for solving the case."
I gave a thumbs-up. "Little Yin is truly perceptive; that really is important evidence. If needed, the memories of Fifth Sister, Fourth Brother, and myself can all be extracted for your use."
"Alright." She nodded with a smile. "We don't need that step just yet." As she spoke, she pulled a parchment-wrapped bundle from the mountain of case files. Unwrapping it revealed Yin Shuhong’s drawings. Before going to Xixi Tower today, Excellency Wei had already examined every drawing in detail and circled several important ones. I looked at the first few scenes and nodded in affirmation. "Though the ink work is rough, it is simple without being crude. Everyone’s position and expression are captured accurately, with almost no deviation."
Wei Qingming pulled out one sheet—it was the scene of the snow-viewing. Yin Shuhong should have been with Yu Niannian, standing under the eaves inside the tower looking out at the garden; the two of them were not in the frame. Wen Gan and Wen Qi were on the left side of the image, facing west, spreading paper and wetting their brushes to prepare for painting. About twenty or thirty other young masters and ladies from wealthy families stood overlapping throughout the garden.
Excellency Wei pointed at Wen Qi. I stared for a long time, confused. She gave a slight smile, her tone inexplicably cold. "Master Wen the Fourth was already a famous painting fanatic in his youth. Wen Qi could paint as soon as she could write. The ochre-brown pigment she holds, produced by Jingfang Studio, is the best of its kind. Its uniqueness lies in the use of a gelatin found inside the horns of a rare beast instead of common alum to mix the paint. The coloring is more transparent and elegant, but it is the least resistant to cold. In this winter outdoors, it would naturally freeze like a stone. Her lifting the lid to melt it with her breath is indeed a method used for general pigments, but it is absolutely forbidden for this specific one. The gelatin becomes unstable when it meets the moisture from a person's breath. The correct method is what the Twelfth Sister is doing—holding the container, lid and all, between her palms to slowly melt it with body heat. This is common knowledge for a painter; she shouldn't be ignorant of it."
I felt my skin crawl. It was one thing when I had used an illusion to impersonate Wen Qi, but this person had nothing to do with illusions. Who exactly was she...
Wei Qingming pulled out another sketch, this one of the Deer-Carving Banquet on the night the demonic zither caused trouble. Yin Shuhong and the Wen sisters were at the same table, accompanied by Duan Qimo and others. Wen Qi sat beside Wen Jiang, serving her a dish of roasted camel hump.
Wei Tian said, "I ordered Chiliarch Zhou to take statements from Lingqing and Chaoyun. Lingqing said Wen Jiang fell seriously ill after the banquet. When the Xixi Tower physician gave a rough diagnosis, he looked displeased and inexplicably scolded, 'You must not give her any more sobriety pills.' Lingqing didn't understand and even felt a bit resentful; she naturally knew that given Wen Jiang’s physical condition, she could no longer take sobriety pills and wouldn't have given her any. The main ingredient of such pills is camel hump. As for Chaoyun, when asked if she noticed anything strange, she mentioned that Wen Qi brought an entire chest of common medicines to Xixi Tower. Chaoyun thought it was too much, but Wen Qi only said it was better to be prepared. Naturally, sobriety medicine was among them."
"And Wen Qi was sitting right next to her, perfectly positioned..." My heart shook violently, and I murmured, "Then, this person... is extremely proficient in medicine and toxicology..." It turned out Wen Jiang’s serious illness that night was entirely caused by Wen Qi... She had poisoned Wen Jiang right under the noses of Fifth Sister and me...
"Correct," Wei Qingming said. "As for Li Zizhuo’s death, perhaps Wen Qi also indirectly provided the poison and handed it to someone else to carry out."
The third sketch was of Xie Bin playing the demonic zither. Wen Qi was walking down from the stage, while Li Zizhuo was on stage with a beaming smile, still holding the handkerchief he had prepared to stop her bleeding.
"When Xie Bin first played the zither, it made no sound. It only produced sound at the end of the first movement. The person who touched the demonic zither before him was also Wen Qi." Wei Qingming sneered. "Coincidentally, she cut her hand. Only the group that sent the demonic zither into the capital would know that it was actually sealed, and only they would know how to break the seal with a blood sacrifice and how long the interval would be before the zither could make a sound after waking up."
"Furthermore, let's talk about the zither itself. Remember when we were eavesdropping on the secret conversation of Prince Xuan and the other two at the Qingshang Pavilion? Intermittent zither music kept coming from the room next to them. A-Zhi once asked me why I was following Zhang Zhuyi. In fact, I heard a certain pattern in her music; it was very much like a method of encrypted communication."
As Wei Qingming spoke, she casually brought over a zither, her fingers hovering over it to demonstrate. "Seven strings and thirteen studs make ninety-one points. Combined with eight types of fingering and varying lengths of pauses, it can derive infinite meanings. Zhang Zhuyi likely used the zither music to instruct Wu Ziming during his talk with the two princes. When Wen Qi went on stage that night and plucked a few notes as if she were an amateur, she was very likely exchanging messages with a co-conspirator in the audience. That co-conspirator was most likely the daughter of Minister Zhang."
"She... she absolutely cannot be Wen Qi..." I felt a chill spread from the soles of my feet to my hair. "Zhang Zhuyi is likely not herself either... and yet it isn't an illusion..."
"Possession," Wei Qingming curled her lips. "Just like Xu Fugui, who occupied Pan Yi’s body in the Xu Xingze case."
***
| Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation |
| :--- | :--- | :--- |
| 绝凌 | Jueling | Character name (Yuan Jueling); means "surpassing the peaks." |
| 无觅 | Wumi | Character name (Yuan Wumi); means "nowhere to be found." |
| 魏晴山 | Wei Qingshan | Wei Qingming's brother. |
| 千岁忧 | Thousand-Year Sorrow | Pen name of the author (likely Wei Qingshan). |
| 《红尘漫索记》 | Chronicles of the Mortal Quest | Title of the novel within the story. |
| 金乳酥 | Golden Milk Pastry | A type of delicate snack. |
| 傅延年 | Fu Yannian | A famous calligrapher and head of one of the Five Great Families. |
| 《唐诗千句集》 | Collection of a Thousand Tang Poems | A calligraphy copybook. |
| 暮蝉子 | Muchanzi | A famous senior author of novels. |
| 镜芳斋 | Jingfang Studio | A high-end shop for painting/calligraphy supplies. |
| 赭褐 | Ochre-brown | A specific pigment color. |
| 割鹿宴 | Deer-Carving Banquet | The name of the banquet at Xixi Tower. |
| 宣王 | Prince Xuan | A royal figure mentioned in the conspiracy. |
| 张竹猗 | Zhang Zhuyi | Daughter of Minister Zhang. |
| 吴子明 | Wu Ziming | A character involved in the secret meetings. |
| 夺舍 | Possession | The act of a soul seizing another person's body (Duoshe). |
