Chapter 155

After leaving, Su Huaijing did not return directly to the Censorate. Instead, he made a detour to Wentian Tower.

Wentian Tower was a seven-storey pagoda built by Emperor Renshou just outside the palace walls. Since Huimian’s arrival, he had taken up residence there, chanting sutras and offering prayers for the realm. From time to time, he would be summoned into the palace to lecture on the scriptures.

The carriage came to a halt outside the pagoda. Su Huaijing alighted. At the entrance, a young novice monk was keeping watch. Upon seeing him, the novice turned and went inside to announce his arrival, before returning to lead Su Huaijing up the steps, ascending one floor after another.

Inside, the pagoda gleamed with gold and splendour. So much so that even the most revered temples in the land would struggle to match its grandeur.

Three floors were dedicated to golden Buddha statues, three more to sacred scriptures. The topmost floor was kept locked, closed to all but a select few.

Huimian was seated on the fifth floor, copying sutras. The novice led Su Huaijing to the doorway and knocked respectfully. “Shishu, Excellency Su has arrived.”

At Tuolan Temple, all who came were addressed as devotees. Here, in Wentian Tower, those who came and went were princes and dukes, high-ranking officials and nobles of wealth and prestige.

A clear voice came from within. The novice opened the door and gestured for Su Huaijing to enter.

The room was steeped in sandalwood incense. Scrolls and sutras were piled high on ornate shelves. Huimian sat behind a desk, posture poised and elegant. With a brush in hand, every stroke of his script revealed inner strength and discipline. He did not resemble an enlightened ascetic so much as a cultivated young nobleman, gentle and refined.

It was the first time Su Huaijing had formally met him. His gaze paused momentarily on Huimian’s silver hair before moving on, composed and unhurried, as he stepped across the room and settled on a cushion opposite the desk.

A cup of tea had already been poured for him. Steam drifted gently upwards from its rim.

Huimian said, “This poor monk was transcribing scriptures in prayer for His Majesty and did not come to receive you personally. I beg your pardon.”

Su Huaijing replied, “It was presumptuous of me to arrive unannounced, without so much as a calling card. If there is fault, it lies with me. I hope Master will not take offence.”

Huimian smiled faintly and said nothing further. With a light gesture towards the cup, Su Huaijing silently picked it up and began to drink.

The capital was ever noisy. Flowers in riotous bloom within the palace walls, a cacophony of voices competing for attention. The government offices were no different, filled with endless coming and going, lawsuits and stratagems day after day. Su Huaijing had come directly from the market district, and now, seated atop this high tower, he watched the late autumn sunlight stream through the carved lattice windows. Dust motes floated idly in the air. Aside from the soft rustle of brush against paper, all was still. It was a silence untouched by the secular world, as though this were truly a sanctified space of Buddhist peace, removed from mortal concerns.

He drank half his tea. Huimian finished copying a volume, set down his brush and paper, and went to cleanse his hands. When he returned, he looked over at Su Huaijing and asked gently, “And what brings devotee here today?”

Su Huaijing caught the change in address. He paused briefly, set down his cup, rose and bowed with hands clasped. “I came to thank Master for your intervention.”

But Huimian said, “Devotee is a person of compassion. That was his own good karma, not my doing. You are too kind.”

Su Huaijing resumed his seat. “Then, by Master’s reasoning, cause and effect, fate and retribution. Are they all predetermined?”

Huimian did not answer directly. “Does devotee not believe in destiny?”

Su Huaijing shook his head. “If all things were bound by fate, how would there be talk of man triumphing over Heaven?”

Huimian chuckled softly. “Devotee has a mind and will unlike most. It is not surprising that destiny does not bind you.”

Su Huaijing frowned slightly, unsure what he meant. Yet looking at the white-haired monk, it was clear he did not intend to elaborate. And since Su Huaijing had not come merely to argue metaphysics, he did not press the matter.

Instead, he asked, “Master bears both the heart and the ability to bring aid to the people. Surely one such as yourself ought to be travelling the land, offering alms and salvation. Why remain here, day after day, confined to this tower within sight of the palace gates?”

Huimian replied, “Is the imperial city not also part of the world?”

Their eyes met. Su Huaijing could see no trace of excess emotion in the monk’s gaze… only a calm, abiding smile, like still waters in a deep well. It was the same look he gave everyone who came seeking help.

Su Huaijing said, “Then Master’s involvement at the heart of power. Is it truly for the sake of all living beings?”

“No,” Huimian shook his head. “There are too many in this world. This poor monk alone cannot save them all.”

He added, “I came here simply because I followed where my heart led.”

Su Huaijing’s brows drew together. His voice turned sharp. “And persuading His Majesty to refine elixirs… is that also following your heart?”

Huimian smiled mildly. “In what capacity does devotee question me? You’re not in court dress. Am I to understand you are not speaking as the Deputy Censor-in-Chief?”

“What difference does it make?” Su Huaijing asked.

Huimian replied, “If a court official were questioning me, I would say that His Majesty acts out of sincere devotion and reverence for Heaven. But if you are merely passing by and seeking a cup of tea and conversation, then I would tell you this: there are myriad paths in this world. Buddhism has its own way. To end evil through destruction… such too can be born of compassion.”

Su Huaijing’s frown deepened. “Do you not realise? Throughout history, monks and Daoists who coaxed emperors into seeking immortality have always ended up branded as charlatans and heretics. Centuries from now, the histories will name you a wicked monk.”

Huimian smiled with quiet ease. “I cultivate the mind in this life, not reputation in the next. Why chase the praise or blame of future generations?”

Su Huaijing stared at him for a long time, saying nothing.

After a pause, Huimian gestured at the cup and said softly, “The tea has gone cold.”

Su Huaijing came back to himself and rose, once again bowing. “Master, your insight commands my respect.”

Huimian looked up and smiled gently. He was just about to bid him farewell when Su Huaijing changed tack.

“It’s just,” he said, “if you end up giving your life for someone who’s not worth it, that would be a real shame. Even if you attained enlightenment and ascended, I doubt the Buddha would approve.”

Huimian froze for a moment. His expression, until now so composed and all-knowing, finally faltered ever so slightly. A flicker of surprise, followed by faint understanding, crossed his face. “Was it devotee Rong who asked you to advise me?”

Su Huaijing shook his head. “Tangtang doesn’t know what Master is doing these days.”

That trace of understanding vanished entirely. Huimian studied Su Huaijing closely for a long time. Then he lowered his gaze and chuckled softly.

He rose from behind the desk, put his palms together, and gave a Buddhist salute, reciting a quiet invocation. “Devotee has changed a great deal.”

Su Huaijing did not respond. He had no idea what comparison Huimian was drawing, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Some things were better left unasked.

Huimian said, “Since devotee has said as much, this poor monk shall take care.”

Only then did Su Huaijing feel reassured. He turned to leave, not intending to linger.

But as he reached the door, he heard Huimian sigh quietly behind him. “Then you must work hard. And quickly.”

Su Huaijing paused briefly and turned his head. A white-haired monk stood by the window, gazing up at the autumn sun. That line had sounded like the murmur of a dream. Or perhaps it had never been spoken at all, no more than a trick of the ear.

He gathered himself and turned away, stepping out of the pagoda.

The main street bustled noisily with each passing day. Only the pagoda, with its distant view of the imperial palace and the capital, remained still and serene.

—

As winter set in, Rong Tang’s body grew increasingly sluggish, but after years of careful tending, his health had not deteriorated too badly.

The system came to him every month. It no longer fell into the same despair it had when it first realised it could not break past the boundaries of this world. Now, it chattered away each time it appeared, nattering like a little trumpet, sharing all the sights and stories it had seen along its route.

Every detail brought it joy.

Rong Tang noticed its visits were lasting longer. What had started as two quarter-hours had stretched to a full hour by the time the twelfth month rolled around.

Once, Su Huaijing pushed open the door at the usual time and found, to his surprise, the glowing orb. It was meant to have vanished, yet it was curled up in the crook of Rong Tang’s neck, whispering animatedly into his ear. It rubbed affectionately against him as it spoke, and Rong Tang now and then reached up to stroke it, both host and guest evidently delighted with one another’s company.

Only the main villain’s expression turned cold at once. He bit down lightly on his molars.

And then the system noticed him too. It immediately abandoned its conversation with Rong Tang and launched into a verbal onslaught against Su Huaijing… a rapid-fire barrage like a hail of bullets. The words came so quickly and forcefully that it left him no room to fight back. It scolded him thoroughly, and before he could even open his mouth to respond, it vanished in a swirl of light, leaving the two of them alone in the room, staring at each other. One awkward, the other aggrieved.

Troublesome pair, Rong Tang thought. Both of them.

It was clearly the system that had provoked him, but in the end, Rong Tang was the one left to do the placating. He honestly couldn’t tell if his system was a daft little thing or secretly quite clever.

Either way, the main villain was definitely a gloomy mushroom.

And a rather large one at that.

Day by day, time wore on. Su Huaijing grew busier than ever. Sometimes Rong Tang would wake in the dead of night to find no one beside him.

A number of unfamiliar servants had moved into a neighbouring courtyard, and the study there was often lit until dawn.

Guards had been quietly increased around his residence. Rong Tang would occasionally open his door at night and, if he was lucky, glimpse the tail end of a green robe vanishing across a rooftop or tree branch.

If Su Huaijing was away, he would always send Liuyun to watch over him. Even without direct contact, after all these years, Rong Tang had long since grown used to the presence of one or two hidden guards shadowing him in the dark.

He didn’t disturb Su Huaijing. He’d watch the moonlight a while before returning to bed. Some nights someone would slip beneath the covers; some nights, no one came. Rong Tang never asked. He simply counted the days in silence.

The weather turned bitterly cold. Yu capital lay blanketed in silver snow. Rong Tang’s condition was steadily improving, but the man in the palace had begun skipping court every few days.

Word had it that, at the start of winter, Duke Ningxuan had helped the Emperor recruit a fresh batch of maidens from among the common folk—each one radiant and beautiful.

Su Huaijing had once attended a palace banquet and glimpsed them from afar. Upon returning, he remarked to Rong Tang, smiling faintly, “Those newly favoured consorts… they each bear some resemblance to His Highness the Fifth Prince.”

In that moment, Rong Tang knew exactly who they resembled.

When she had lived, they had worn her down until she died. Now that she was dead, they were out searching for replacements who shared her looks.

It was revolting. Utterly absurd. Rong Tang gave a cold laugh and said nothing more.

The eleventh year of Qingzheng passed into the twelfth in the blink of an eye. Come the end of the year, while the Tangjing Residence was preparing for the New Year’s celebrations, Rong Tang quietly instructed them to purchase extra supplies. Shuang Fu was puzzled, but when Su Huaijing saw the stores—enough to last half a year—a flicker of understanding passed over his face.

Then, one day in the twelfth month, shocking news came from the palace: His Majesty had fallen into a coma after accidentally ingesting metallic substances used in alchemy.

Panic spread through the capital. People feared that even the New Year might not pass peacefully.

And as fate would have it, their worst fears came to pass.

On the twenty-eighth of the twelfth month, which is traditionally the year’s most idle and relaxed day, the Third Prince, Sheng Chengxing, entered the palace under the pretext of attending to His Majesty’s illness. Not long after, Marshal Xia Jingyi arrived on the excuse of visiting his daughter. Neither man emerged again.

The main army was already stationed outside the city walls. Unaware of what was unfolding, the common folk sensed something amiss in the air. Before the sun had even set, they hurried home and bolted their doors and windows.

That night, a signal flare lit up above the palace walls, and cavalry thundered into the imperial city.

The tranquil night was instantly shattered by the shrill cries of warhorses. This was reminiscent of years past, when flames of war and rebel banners had once again marched upon the capital.

The author has something to say:

Susu did not directly use this rebellion to seize the throne, there’s still a plot twist.