After being trapped in the manor and forced to eat like a pauper for several days, I finally received word from Wei Qingming. It arrived on a decorated stationery slip. This was the first time I had seen her handwriting, and I held it in my hands, studying it intently. The content was simple enough—she was merely inviting me out to meet the day after tomorrow—but her calligraphy was truly marvelous. The balance of dry and wet ink was perfect, the spacing elegant and deliberate. It possessed bone, sinew, skin, and flesh, brimming with both luster and spirit; it perfectly captured her character—inner refinement hidden beneath an unconstrained exterior.
Because my master’s own handwriting was excellent, calligraphy was a mandatory fundamental in our sect. I knew enough of the craft to appreciate her skill, and I beamed with delight. Upon closer inspection, her style closely resembled that of Fu Yannian, the foremost of the five great masters currently in vogue. Because Fu was the teacher of Feng Zhen, the Emperor’s Seal-Holding Eunuch, Feng Zhen’s own calligraphic achievements were extraordinary. Sycophants had added Feng Zhen’s name to the original four masters, creating the "Fu, Su, Dong, Shao, and Feng" group. Though this was mocked by the literati, the "Five Masters" label had stuck and could no longer be erased.
After I finished admiring those few words, I realized that the background pattern of the stationery was half-printed and half-sketched. It depicted a chubby white cat walking down a street with its head held high, a golden bell hanging from its neck. Fluttering behind it was a tiny little person—who else could it be but Yangyang!
I fumed and cursed, but Wei Qingming’s drawing was too accurate. Whether it was Yangyang or me, she had captured our expressions perfectly. It left me caught between laughter and tears, unable to even deny it.
Yangyang, that little nuisance, decided I wasn't annoyed enough and popped out, pointing at her likeness on the paper and giggling incessantly.
I waited in a fever of impatience until the appointed day. I didn't even sleep in; I leapt out of my blankets at dawn to wait for Wei Qingming to fetch me. Finally, after lunch, a servant came to report her arrival. I sprinted to the eastern side gate, only to find Hong Lu waiting at the foot of the steps, holding the reins of a snow-white heavenly horse.
I craned my neck, looking left and right. "Where is my cousin?"
"Don't be anxious, Miss. My master is busy at the government office and sent me to fetch you so you may meet there," Hong Lu replied with a smile, gesturing for me to mount.
This horse, of the breed known as the "Snow-Winged Cloud Kirin," was the very one I had wanted to ride during my first outing with Wei Qingming but hadn't. I was instantly enamored and spent a moment stroking the horse's wings. Hong Lu had already knelt on one knee, extending his arms with hands stacked to serve as a mounting block.
I hurriedly waved him off, but Hong Lu smiled cleverly. "Quickly now, Miss. Let us not keep the Young Master waiting and worrying."
I had no choice but to step lightly onto Hong Lu’s palms. With a steady lift, he hoisted me onto the horse's back.
Hong Lu mentioned that this young heavenly horse was playful and temperamental. Not trusting me with the reins, he kept a firm grip on them himself, leading the horse on foot at a slow pace. The warm spring sun and the balmy breeze made me feel drowsy. Having woken up so early, I was naturally tired by the afternoon. Seeing how docile and lovely the horse was, and remembering that I hadn't had a chance to practice since learning to ride, I suggested that I hold the reins myself.
Hong Lu looked up and laughed. "I wouldn't dare agree to that. If you were to fall, the Young Master would skin me alive. Besides, if you were to gallop off, these two short legs of mine could never catch up!"
I teased him back, "You should eat more then. Otherwise, you're just a few ounces of bone and a bit of skin. Forget being skinned alive—you wouldn't even taste good in a hot pot!"
We both burst into laughter. Over the past few days, I had come to know Hong Lu as a cheerful and likable youth. I intended to learn more about Wei Qingming’s situation and tried to coax information out of him. However, Hong Lu proved himself worthy of being Wei Qingming’s sole confidant; he was open about trivial matters but kept a tight lip on anything important, his every answer being perfectly guarded.
I tried a roundabout approach. "Isn't your master a student at the Wujing Sect? She’s been on leave for a month or two now. When is she going back?"
"Hard to say," Hong Lu said. "The Young Master holds a transcendent status within the sect. Her movements have always been unrestricted."
I wanted to ask exactly what kind of "transcendent status" she held, but Hong Lu just laughed it off and refused to say. I then asked about the Wujing Sect itself and who Wei Qingming’s teacher was. Hong Lu answered eloquently, a hint of pride creeping into his voice. "The Young Master has no specific master. However, she has cultivated great skills under several of the sect's First Seats. I’ve served her since we were children, and I’ve truly never seen anything she couldn't master!"
"Oh?" I asked casually. "How old are you, Hong Lu? You look about the same age as Wei Qingming."
"I’ll be nineteen this autumn," Hong Lu said.
I hummed in response, calculating silently. On average, disciples of great sects enter the Path as children. By around fifteen, they can reach the perfection of the Smoke-Birthing Realm and begin preparing to ascend to the Cloud-Swallowing Realm. For someone of average talent, this process takes over ten years; those with poor talent might remain stuck there for life. The elites of the world's number one sect I saw in the tomb that night were all between fifteen and twenty, which is why they were able to break through to the Cloud-Swallowing Realm before twenty. Geniuses like Wei Qingming and Feng Baili had even reached the mid-stage. One must understand that cultivation is like human growth—the younger you are, the faster you progress. After twenty, progress slows day by day. For Qiu Zhengshan to reach the late-stage of the Cloud-Swallowing Realm, he had to be seven or eight years older than Wei Qingming and the others. Hong Lu was not yet nineteen and had already ascended to the Cloud-Swallowing Realm; while Wei Qingming surely helped him significantly, it also proved he was no mediocre talent.
Then again, comparing them made me realize how impressive my own senior brothers and sisters were. Despite their lazy cultivation, they had all reached the Cloud-Swallowing Realm, and my Eldest Senior Brother was a powerhouse who had reached the Mist-Feasting Realm by thirty...
"The people of the capital fear your master. Is it because they know she’s a disciple of the Wujing Sect, or because they dread her status as an envoy of the Yingzhao Temple?"
Hong Lu gave a mysterious smile. "How could that be? It’s simply that everyone who has crossed her has met with terrible luck. Those with eyes can see that clearly enough."
I urged Hong Lu to give me an example. He thought for a moment and picked a harmless one to tell. "Take the matter during the external inspections last year. Even now, thinking of it makes me double over with laughter. Since His Majesty ascended the throne, there has been an inspection every three years. This was the third. There was a fifth-rank Prefect from Yuezhou named Zhu. They say his political record was decent, but unfortunately, he didn't raise a good son..."
The story was straightforward. Prefect Zhu’s son, Zhu Zhengqing, happened to encounter Wei Qingming on this very Chongming Street, which leads to the ministries. It was a case of love at first sight—or rather, lust. Having just arrived in the capital and sampled the charms of the local catamites the night before, he was eager for more. He hurried forward to strike up a conversation. Wei Qingming glanced at him and gave a smile (in Hong Lu’s words: "Don't fear the Young Master’s anger; fear her smile!"). One can imagine how that smile appeared to Brother Zhu—full of dashing charm and tender sentiment. It left him weak in the knees and breathless with excitement.
Seeing Wei Qingming about to leave, Brother Zhu lunged forward to embrace her. But with Wei Qingming’s movement technique, how could he even touch a corner of her robe? Brother Zhu only felt his vision blur and a sharp pain in his chest. He cried out "Worthy Younger Brother!" and collapsed to the ground.
Hong Lu commented, "Bah! The Young Master was only sixteen then. That fellow was at least forty—old enough to be her uncle—and he had the gall to call her 'Worthy Younger Brother'!"
I laughed so hard I kicked my legs, leaning over the horse's back. "That lovesickness struck him down right on the spot? That’s remarkably fast."
"You call it lovesickness too, Miss?" Hong Lu laughed. "The Zhu family only said that because they didn't want to make a scene. In truth, after they carried him back, his internal organs were shredded. It was only through desperate medical attention that he kept his dog's life. He was wounded by the Blade Haze surrounding the Young Master’s body. And that was considered a light punishment!"
"Haze" refers to the protective aura surrounding a martial artist. Those who cultivate the path of the blade or sword spend their lives tempering three things: Qi, Momentum, and Haze. Most martial cultivators in the Cloud-Swallowing Realm wouldn't dare take Wei Qingming’s Blade Qi head-on; her Blade Haze was naturally just as formidable.
I stuck out my tongue. "That’s it?"
"Of course not. Next, Prefect Zhu failed his evaluation and was stripped of his office. Old Zhu didn't have many years left anyway. He had spent decades in local posts and had finally completed his twelve-year term in Yuezhou. By regulation, he should have been promoted to a Vice Minister in the Southern Capital of Anjing. Who would have thought that his youngest son’s one hug would embrace the entire family’s career into oblivion? Old Zhu fell into a coma from illness and kicked the bucket before his debriefing even ended. Young Zhu was left permanently disabled. As he was carried out of the capital in a carriage, he looked back toward the north with tears streaming down his face, still murmuring 'Worthy Younger Brother'..."
Yuezhou, a Prefect named Zhu... I suddenly remembered something. "Was this Old Zhu named Zhu Cang?"
"The very same."
I was shocked. I remembered that last autumn, Master had sent Eldest Senior Brother to Yuezhou to buy a collection of furniture. It had come from the Zhu family. There had been much lamenting among the common folk, saying that Zhu Cang was a good official who had unfortunately been ruined by a villain. I never imagined that "villain" was my "cousin"...
Hong Lu naturally saw what I was thinking and said disdainfully, "That man named Zhu was good at crafting a reputation, but he was no 'good official'! Is there anyone wearing an official's robe whose hands are clean? When the Young Master investigated him, she looked into the matter of the Yuezhou Weaving Bureau making the dragon robes for His Majesty’s coronation. Zhu Cang pocketed no small amount of silver from that. Since the weaving bureaus in various regions are under the supervision of the Inner Palace, the Young Master took the opportunity to help Old Eunuch Feng purge the palace as well. Who knows how much filth they swept out!"
I pulled my neck in and could only agree. How could a person of the *jianghu* like me understand the twists and turns of officialdom? I only vaguely realized that Wei Qingming was ruthless and possessed immense influence. She often achieved multiple goals with a single move, and her methods were always upright and legitimate rather than relying on underhanded schemes. The Zhu family matter was like this, and the Prince Xuan case was likely the same. The fact that Prince Xuan was still free today suggested there was more to the story, or perhaps it simply wasn't time for her to close the net...
I was about to coax Hong Lu into telling more stories when we entered Chongming Street. It was less than an hour before the officials would finish their shifts. Many carriages were waiting nearby, with servants leaning against the shafts, chatting and laughing. Occasionally, officials on urgent business would gallop past, shouting for people to make way. Seeing a woman being jostled by the passing horses and carriages, I felt a pang of pity. I hopped off the horse and ran over to give her a hand.
Hong Lu didn't have time to help me down and hurriedly pulled the reins to catch up.
"Thank you, thank you..." the woman murmured, not looking back. She remained staring fixedly at the government office ahead. I looked up; it was the Ministry of Justice, where Wen Shu and I had been before. And this woman looked so familiar—she was the mother of the deceased Tang Xinghuai.
She looked soul-shattered and hadn't even registered my appearance. I knew seeing me would only bring her more grief, so I let go and stepped back a few paces, saying softly, "Madam, please do not stand in the middle of the street. Be careful of the passing carriages."
For my sake, Hong Lu offered her some advice. "It’s useless for you to stand here. If you have a petition, go to the eastern gatehouse to submit it. It’s past two in the afternoon; the presiding official won't accept cases now. You’d be better off coming back tomorrow."
She murmured her assent and moved to the side, but she remained dazed, staring blankly. I shook my head, feeling a wave of sadness. I lost the heart to ride the horse and instead walked slowly forward, led by Hong Lu.
***
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