Chapter 61: Heavy Snow (Part One)

In the Spring Fragrance Pavilion of the Eastern Market, after several rounds of drinking games, the inebriated Chen Liexi pushed a strikingly beautiful woman onto the bed. His eyes glinted with lust as he prepared to pounce, but before he could commit any indecent act, the locked door crashed open with a thunderous bang.

The wooden door fell to the ground, and a fat woman’s furious curses rang out as she stormed in, swinging a stick furiously at the bed. She paid no heed to the woman's cries for help or to Chen Liexi’s desperate pleas for mercy as he covered his head—the fat woman simply kept beating them. Finally, she shoved her stick at her husband’s backside as he tried to hide under the bed.

After venting her anger, the courtesan on the bed lay unconscious, her head bloodied. Chen Liexi, who had been cowering under the bed, was dragged out by his hefty wife. Slinging Chen Liexi over her shoulder, the fat woman strode out, the flesh of her face quivering with each step.

Madam Zhao of the Spring Fragrance Pavilion, seeing the towering woman approach, hurriedly ordered her brutish servants aside and tactfully stepped out of the way herself. Only after the fat woman had left did she rush to check on the wounded girl, her heart pounding with fear at the sight—an arm broken, blood everywhere.

That Chen Liexi—honestly! He’d sworn his wife knew nothing and paid several gold pieces as assurance before daring to sneak in, and yet trouble had still found him! What kind of Censor-in-Chief is he, unable even to handle his own wife—a spineless wretch! Madam Zhao cursed him inwardly. In this world, which man doesn’t visit brothels? Those who don’t either can’t perform or are rare creatures indeed. Oh, my poor little Yin...

Night fell. The wind howled through the trees, making a mournful, whimpering sound.

In the woods along the outer wall of the Princess’s Residence, a young man waited for the wind to pass, then imitated the cry of a fox—three long, two short. Sure enough, from the other side of the wall came a cat’s meow in response—two long, one short.

The youth pulled a note from his robe, wrapped it around a stone, and tossed it over the wall. This was the monthly routine communication. He was a disciple raised by the Manichaean cult, with no memory of parents or a home to return to—his life belonged to the cult, and all his martial skills were taught by its leader.

He sighed, listening as the wind moaned like sobbing. Suddenly, as he slipped down from the tree, a shadowy figure loomed ahead. Without hesitation, he drew a deep breath and hurled his fist at the shadow, sending out a surging force.

The shadow was no less skilled, meeting his strike with a punch of their own. The two clashed in midair before landing on their feet and exchanging another blow. Both staggered back several paces from the impact.

Steadying himself, the boy felt a jolt of panic—had he been discovered? Who was this person? Cold sweat beaded his brow. Could it be that dangerous woman, Hua Chuer? No, impossible—she was far too formidable; if it were her, he wouldn’t last more than a few moves.

He caught his breath, tensed his muscles, and launched another attack. Taking advantage of a lapse in the shadow’s defense, he landed a punch squarely on their chest. To his surprise, it felt as soft as a pillow—was his opponent a woman?

Before he could question further, the shadow had leaped into the treetops and vanished.

Recalling the sensation of that soft blow, he felt certain his opponent was female.

Elsewhere in the orphan’s quarters at the back of the residence, a shadow slipped inside, burrowing quietly under the covers. Soon after, a young girl in plain clothes sat up in meditation, clutching her chest, a trace of blood still at the corner of her mouth.

This room was spacious, and the bed unusual—a bunk bed, ingeniously designed, the likes of which she’d never seen or slept in before. She’d never known such warmth in her quilt, never lived days free of worry, never had so many friends. Here in the Princess’s Residence, she felt a sense of fulfillment, though she did not know this feeling was called happiness.

But the multiplication tables and Arabic numerals the Princess taught were utterly baffling. Each time she encountered such things, her head ached—unlike little Ai, her roommate, who always helped solve her friends’ puzzles.

Then there was the newcomer, Yao Cailing, who always had an older brother to protect her. Once, when a boy bullied her, her brother appeared out of nowhere and hoisted the culprit up by his leg for a lesson. Remembering this, Ling Feiyu glanced at her sleeping friend beside her and smiled, but the pain in her chest forced her to stifle her laughter with a gentle cough.

She didn’t realize that, here, she was smiling more with each passing day.

Still, who was that person tonight?

The one who had chased her wasn’t the same as the one who forced her to flee. Lying beneath the covers, she reasoned that the pursuer had simply driven her toward the other person, leading to that brawl. The one she fought—who knew which side had sent them? Next time, she must report to the Chief of the Underworld.

To be precise, she was an undercover agent placed here by the Underworld, responsible for relaying news from the Princess’s Residence each month.

Tonight’s encounter had been orchestrated by Wu Yueling and Hua Chuer.

On the rooftop of a pavilion in the Princess’s Residence, Wu Yueling huddled like a rice dumpling, braving the winter wind. She took a few sips of rice wine, then shared it with Hua Chuer to warm up.

“These two little ones are quite amusing,” she said, sitting on the eaves, gazing into the darkness, pulling her hat down to shield her face. The wind was bitter—if not for wanting to observe the two young spies, she wouldn’t be out here freezing.

Hua Chuer wiped her lips after draining her cup, her tone sinister. “The Manichaean messenger was killed as a warning. As for the Underworld’s agent, I let her go. After all, she’s a Marquis of War—who knows, we may need her cooperation someday.”

“That’s not a bad approach. I’ve heard Manichaeans traffic in children—who knows how true that is. If it turns out to be real, I’ll see to their extermination myself!” Wu Yueling yawned.

“You’re such a villain, little lady!” Hua Chuer teased, then asked in confusion, “But why do you teach those brats yourself? I really don’t get it!”

“Well... First, let’s be clear—I’m not a brat! As for teaching them, it’s because when the youth prosper, the nation prospers; when the youth are wise, the nation is wise; when the youth are strong, the nation is strong. It is a history that must never be forgotten.”

“Uh, I don’t understand. If it weren’t for all the amazing things you come up with, I’d definitely think you were just a kid. But the more I see, the less I understand—you’re like a mountain full of hidden treasures, the deeper I dig, the more I find...”

“Out with it—what have you pilfered this time?” Wu Yueling cut her off at once.

“Hehe!” Hua Chuer produced a glittering pendant, waving it before returning it. “Little lady, is this one of those special products from your ‘outer space’?”

“Yes, it is—unique to us in outer space.”

“When will you take me to outer space then? This thing must be valuable—it glitters both day and night!”

Wu Yueling laughed, pointing toward the night sky.

Hua Chuer looked up at the pitch-black heavens. A cold wind slipped down her collar, making her shiver. She noticed Wu Yueling had already darted off toward their quarters and hurried after her, puzzled by the gesture—did ‘outer space’ really mean up in the sky?

Later, one afternoon, heavy, dark clouds blanketed the land, pressing down on the wild-haired old man Zhang Xu as he rode his donkey.

Letting the cold wind batter him, his hair flying wild, the old man pressed on, swigging from his gourd. Barrels of wine hung from either side of the donkey. So what if life had disappointed him? If Heaven weighed down on him, he’d curse the sky; if the wind assailed him... he’d just wrap his coat tighter—so long as there was wine and ink, life was carefree.

Several figures with drawn blades sprang out from the roadside, blocking the old man’s path.

“Hand over your donkey, wine, and money, old man, and we might spare you!” barked the stubbled leader, brandishing a broadsword.

Unruffled, the old man took out his inkstone, paper, and brush. Half-drunk, he spread a sheet of paper on the donkey’s head and scrawled a wild flourish, then tossed it carelessly at the bandit.

The wind carried the sheet, which landed on the leader’s blade. Glancing at the page, the bandit started in surprise—the characters seemed to leap and dance before his eyes. Amazed, he quickly ordered his men to escort the old man, his donkey, and the wine back to their stronghold.

Feathery snowflakes began to fall quietly from the thick, black sky, soon blanketing the world.

That winter, the old man remained in the bandit’s lair, drinking and composing wild calligraphy, emptying every last jar of wine and leaving behind countless bold, wild strokes.