The people of Huozhou were devout believers in the divine. They held that all things possessed a spiritual essence—that one must give in order to take, for only through this cycle of respiration and renewal could harmony endure.
If one took without giving, retribution would eventually follow.
When news of Zou Sifang’s grave illness leaked from the Huichun Clinic, this was exactly what the people whispered.
Fortune was a wheel that never stopped turning; how could one family monopolize all the luck in the world? If one enjoyed benefits for too long, there would always be a price to pay.
This was especially true for the Zou family, whose wealth was built on "bloody silver." The substance known as "Lingqian Blood" was so rare that a hundred deer might not yield even a few ounces. No matter how vast the marshes were, it was impossible to find it every year.
Shepherds had seen it with their own eyes: the retainers of the Xiong family and the herbalists of the Zou family, mounted on horseback and cracking whips, driving herds of deer into the depths of the quagmire. The deer trapped in the mud would wail through the night; travelers passing the edge of the marsh could hear those cries, sounding like the weeping of small children, for three days straight. Eventually, everything would vanish into the perennial mists, leaving behind only a deathly silence.
This was the source of wealth for the Zou and Xiong families—a path paved with blood.
And now, the toll for that path was the life of the Master of the Zou House.
To facilitate round-the-clock care by servants, Zou Sifang’s bedroom had been moved from the main house to the west wing. Charcoal braziers burned throughout the room to ward off dampness, and heavy curtains hung in layers, shielding the occupant from the slightest draft.
Madam Zhao pulled back the final layer of gauze, finally revealing the man lying on the bed.
Zou Sifang’s face was a sickly shade of green, his eyes tightly shut. His parched lips were half-parted, making him look like a dehydrated fish tossed onto the shore. The air was thick with a foul, musky odor—the unmistakable scent of a long-bedridden person suffering from incontinence.
Even though she saw him every day, a look of uncontrollable revulsion flickered across Madam Zhao’s face. She had spent a great deal of money hiring tight-lipped attendants to care for him, precisely because she did not want to be trapped in this room full of the stench of death.
Despite his youth, Hao Bai possessed a certain degree of courage. No trace of disgust showed on his face as he instructed, "Madam, you must ventilate this room more often. Keeping it sealed like this is not necessarily a good thing."
Madam Zhao covered her nose and mouth with a handkerchief, merely waving her hand to signal him to proceed with the examination.
Hao Bai sighed and began to take Zou Sifang’s pulse.
For a time, no one spoke. Only the sound of breathing grated against Madam Zhao’s nerves.
This young physician seemed to take longer to check a pulse than all the previous doctors combined. Zou Sifang’s withered wrist was pressed and prodded under his fingers, leaving behind several faint indentations.
Just as Madam Zhao was about to lose her patience, Hao Bai suddenly turned to a nearby maidservant and asked, "Is there a candle?"
The maid glanced at Madam Zhao’s expression before nodding and retrieving one from a corner cabinet. Hao Bai lit the candle and brought it close to Master Zou’s face, using his other hand to gently peel back the man’s eyelid.
Zou Sifang’s eyes were cloudy, yet one could still see that his pupils, which should have been round, had turned into horizontal slits. They contracted imperceptibly upon meeting the light.
Understanding dawned on Hao Bai. He blew out the candle and used three fingers to feel and probe the man’s face, neck, shoulders, and arms.
Watching anxiously from the side, Madam Zhao finally couldn't help but ask, "Sir, what are you doing? Haven't you already taken his pulse?"
Hao Bai did not answer immediately. His hand finally stopped when it reached the index finger of Zou Sifang’s right hand. He then took out a small mirror he carried with him to examine it closely.
At the very tip of the index finger was an inconspicuous black dot, looking like a mark left by a needle prick. Upon closer inspection, the dot appeared to be a splinter driven vertically into the flesh, yet the skin above it felt smooth and normal to the touch.
He tucked Zou Sifang’s hand back under the covers and spoke respectfully to Madam Zhao. "To answer the Madam: the Master is not suffering from an illness. He has been poisoned."
"What?!" Madam Zhao gasped, her face turning pale with shock.
A myriad of possibilities flashed through her mind as she began to suspect everyone around her. Finally, she gritted her teeth and said, "I have given out no small amount of favors within this manor. Those people surrounded the Master, calling him brother, yet all the while they were eyeing our family's wealth? To use such means to harm him..."
Hao Bai clearly did not share her view. "The poison the Master has been given is very ancient; it is likely not something easily found today. Furthermore, it does not take a life immediately. If someone intended to kill for wealth, they would have finished the job. Leaving him with a single breath remaining is quite strange."
Madam Zhao gradually calmed down, though her hands still shook uncontrollably. "Are you saying... he won't die just yet?"
"The origins of this poison go back at least a hundred years. Legend has it that it was once used on cattle and sheep during sacrifices. The purpose was to ensure the sacrificial victims would not struggle on the altar but would remain alive for the gods to consume. The sacrificial process often required forty-nine days, and thus the poison’s effect lasts for forty-nine days. After forty-nine days, no medicine can help, and even the gods cannot save him."
Madam Zhao listened, but all she heard was the word "death." Her face turned white. "Can you neutralize this poison, Sir?"
Hao Bai lowered his gaze, his expression becoming somewhat unnatural. "This... to be honest, I do know the secret recipe for the antidote, but one of the medicinal primers is exceptionally difficult to find. I fear..."
Hearing there was still hope, Madam Zhao immediately declared, "Sir, please write the prescription. Even if it is a rare item like a thousand-year-old lingzhi mushroom, the Zou family will not begrudge the silver."
Knowing that further talk was useless, Hao Bai picked up a brush from the table and wrote a few characters on a sheet of Xuan paper.
Madam Zhao picked it up, and her entire being froze.
***
In the old northern city, across from the Zou estate, an unremarkable carriage came to a slow halt in front of an old tea house. The driver, who wore a prominent long saber at his waist, was sizing up the tea shop’s door curtain.
The storefront had long since lost its original appearance to the elements. The plaque above the lintel was gone, leaving only two lines of poetry carved into the pillars:
*Clear winds by the stone tripod, where flower-froth floats;*
*Night rains over the spring tray, where green silk chills.*
Calling it a tea house was a bit of a stretch, as there wasn't even a proprietor to sell tea. There were only impoverished patrons coming and going.
Legend had it that this was once the finest tea house in Huozhou. The owner had not only been a master of tea brewing but also a reclusive scholar of great standing. Hermits and Daoist cultivators would often visit, drawn by his reputation. Over time, the fame and the aroma of the tea spread for a thousand miles, making it renowned for an era.
Unexpectedly, the owner fell ill and died, and the place gradually fell into ruin. Today’s tea house no longer had a master brewer in residence, but the scholars and literati of old who loved tea as much as life itself still gathered here. They spent their days and nights in heated debate, criticizing current affairs or seeking the Dao. The participants took turns bringing their own tea and preparing their own bowls. One day they might drink Xiangjun Lanxue, the next Lüquan Guapian. Though the environment was dilapidated and the patrons destitute, there was a certain worldly joy in their detachment.
"Master, this should be the place."
The person inside the carriage gave a low response. A hand wearing a string of prayer beads gently lifted the curtain, revealing half of a weary face. Those narrow eyes, currently tinged with a hint of blurred exhaustion, glanced at the tea house’s facade before he said flatly, "Then let us go in."
As dusk fell, oil lamps were placed on the broken tables of the tea house. The dim light made every whispering patron seem somewhat mysterious.
There was a stir at the entrance as two people walked in.
Not many people came to a tea house at this hour. The tea house was liveliest in the morning; right now, the wine shops should be doing the best business.
Yet, not a single person in the tea house looked up at the two new guests. Everyone was immersed in the small world before their tea tables, using the last thin rays of light before sunset to dream their dreams of forgetting the mortal world.
The further one went into the tea room, the darker it became. After dozens of paces, they seemed to have reached the end. Zhongli Jing’s footsteps stopped.
"Weixiang, here."
Not far away, an old man with a half-white beard was competing in calligraphy under an oil lamp. Catching sight of the two in his peripheral vision, he suddenly spoke up, "Young man, that area is sealed. You cannot enter."
Zhongli Jing turned slowly, a faint smile on his face. However, the smile remained only at the corners of his mouth, giving him a somewhat strange appearance. "Thank you for the reminder, Elder. We shall be careful."
Having said that, he signaled his companion to move quickly.
Ding Weixiang took a step forward, his left hand gently gripping the hilt of his saber.
A flash of white light streaked through the tea room with incredible speed.
Before the patrons could react to what had happened, the wooden seal nailed to the back wall of the tea room shattered, revealing a narrow door leading to the backyard.
It was impossible to tell how the man had struck; he had severed the seal perfectly without leaving a single mark on the door panel behind it.
The young gentleman from before no longer looked at the room full of startled faces. He pushed open the wooden door and stepped through the narrow entrance covered in cobwebs and dust. His attendant followed closely behind, casually blocking the door panel again.
Silence returned to the tea room. If not for the scattered wooden fragments on the floor, one might have doubted whether two people had truly just passed through. The onlookers exchanged glances before diving back into their new round of debate, quickly putting the strange men and their strange actions out of mind.
Zhongli Jing walked over a patch of gravel, heading straight through the desolate backyard of the tea house.
The yard had originally been planted with bamboo, but due to long neglect, it was now overgrown with weeds and littered with withered branches. At the end of the gravel path was a small stone hut. Its door stood wide open, revealing a cluttered floor that looked exactly as it had when the owner had left in a hurry.
Ding Weixiang placed their simple luggage on a dust-covered table and couldn't help but frown. "This place is truly dilapidated. Is Master certain he wishes to stay here?"
"It matters not; convenience is best." Zhongli Jing walked toward the only bed in the room. It could hardly be called a bed; the decorative posts at the head and foot were gone, leaving only two bedboards fitted tightly in place. "It is not as if I haven't stayed in worse places. Why be concerned?"
With that, he reached out and lightly tapped the bedboard. It gave off a hollow echo that reverberated through the stone house.
Ding Weixiang understood. He stepped forward and carefully moved one of the bedboards aside, revealing a bottomless black hole. A faint draft of stale air surged from within.
Zhongli Jing did not seem surprised. Draped in a fur cloak, he sat by the opening. His eyes were half-closed, lost in thought, as his fingers rubbed the string of beads on his wrist.
Upon closer inspection, the beads were not as rounded as typical prayer beads, and each one was unique in shape—some long, some short, some round, some flat. Their colors ranged from cinnabar to deep brown. Twenty-one beads were linked by a slender gold thread, each one possessing a texture as warm and smooth as jade, clearly having been worn close to the body for many years.
After a long while, he finally opened his eyes and extended his left wrist toward Ding Weixiang.
"Take one off."
Ding Weixiang did not immediately comply. He rarely questioned orders, but now he couldn't help but speak. "Zou Sifang’s illness might just be a rumor, and that Hao Bai might not truly be able to cure him. Why must Master take such a risk?"
"If he is connected to the matter of the Secret Seal, then he is unavoidable. We must eventually take this step."
"But..."
"It is only one. It is no great matter."
Ding Weixiang’s tone betrayed deep anxiety. "Perhaps we are only one short."
The man finally looked at Ding Weixiang, his tone remaining calm. "Weixiang, by following me, have you become afraid of death?"
His voice was lower than before, and his tone was no longer clear but carried a hint of raspiness. The previous sense of detached loftiness vanished instantly, replaced by the authority of a ruler.
Ding Weixiang was startled, realizing he had spoken too much today. He dropped to his knees with a thud and said urgently, "This subordinate would die ten thousand deaths for Master; how could I fear death? I only feel it is not worth it for Master. What if that man is of no use..."
The corner of Zhongli Jing’s mouth quirked into a self-mocking smile. "Then consider it a daily act of kindness. If the Buddha knows, perhaps he will record a bit of merit for me."
Ding Weixiang knew further argument was futile. He could only fix his gaze on the prayer beads.
"Yes."
***
Meanwhile, in a side room in the backyard of Wangchen Tower, Xiao Nanhui was lighting an oil lamp. The room had been vacant for a long time and smelled of mildew; even the wick soaking in the lamp oil was somewhat degraded. It took her a while to get it right.
Outside the window, it was pitch black. Faint sounds of silk and bamboo instruments and the clamor of voices drifted from the front courtyard.
Bolao pulled a bamboo tube from their luggage and carefully extracted a map, spreading it out on the table.
"It got wet when we crossed the river. I don't know if it's still usable."
Xiao Nanhui didn't speak. She picked up the oil lamp and brought it over carefully, the bean-sized flame illuminating a small area.
It appeared to be the blueprints for a manor. In the center of the main courtyard was a faded red seal, faintly showing the archaic character for "Hu." Because river water had seeped into the tube, the bottom-left third of the map was stained, the ink blurred so that the original structure was illegible.
She frowned.
She had gone to great lengths to have Yao Yi borrow this, just in case plans changed and she needed to infiltrate the Zou estate. Now that Zou Sifang was staying behind closed doors, it was fortunate she had kept this card in her hand.
The Zou manor was a famous ancient residence in Huozhou. Not only was its location prime, but the courtyards were also exquisitely designed. However, the land was extremely expensive; she had heard the house had been empty for at least thirty or forty years before the Zou family moved in.
In such an old manor, one would inevitably get lost in the dark without a map.
Bolao tilted their head to look, pointing a finger at the ink-stained area in the bottom-left corner. "What a pity, what a pity. I remember seeing a secret passage here before, but now it's been blurred by the water."
Xiao Nanhui thought for a moment and decided it wasn't that bad. "Even if the passage were still there, it would be useless to us if we didn't know where it led." She paused, pointing to several large courtyards in the center of the map. "Zou Sifang didn't buy such a massive estate just to live in some remote corner. If we focus our search on these few courtyards, we'll likely find him."
Bolao picked up a plate of dried peanuts that had been sitting there for years and began to shell them. "Trespassing so soon? How exciting."
Xiao Nanhui smiled. Though she was also itching to move, the teachings of Xiao Zhun made her somewhat hesitant about scaling someone's walls in the middle of the night. She tried to sugarcoat it: "We are just going in to take a look. Don't make it sound so unpleasant."
Bolao curled their lip. "I'm making it sound unpleasant? If you actually find that Jade Seal, aren't you going to steal it..."
She immediately covered the other's mouth. "Keep your voice down. Be careful of eavesdroppers."
Bolao swatted her hand away. "Don't be so jumpy. If you ask me, half the outsiders in Mulher right now are here for that thing."
"The more that is true, the more careful we must be."
Xiao Nanhui studied the map closely once more before putting it away. She rummaged through her luggage for a while before belatedly remembering something.
"Bolao, is there anywhere in Mulher that sells night-traveling clothes?"
***
| Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation |
| :--- | :--- | :--- |
| 陵前血 | Lingqian Blood | A rare and expensive medicinal substance harvested from deer in marshes. |
| 晴风石鼎浮花乳，夜雨春盘冷碧丝 | Clear winds by the stone tripod, where flower-froth floats; Night rains over the spring tray, where green silk chills. | A couplet describing the refined atmosphere of tea brewing and fresh herbs. |
| 湘君兰雪 | Xiangjun Lanxue | A variety of fine tea (Xiang Lord’s Orchid Snow). |
| 绿泉瓜片 | Lüquan Guapian | A variety of fine tea (Green Spring Melon Seed). |
| 秘玺 | Secret Seal | Refers to the hidden or secret Imperial/Jade Seal. |
| 夜行衣 | Night-traveling clothes | Traditional black stealth attire used for covert operations at night. |
