Chapter 8 — Riding on the Wind

For these past few years, I have forged the handwriting of the courier, continuously feeding you false intelligence, yet you never once discovered the truth.

Had you truly cared, you would have realized that many details in those letters completely contradicted the events of our past lives.

It is simply a pity that most of the time, you could not even be bothered to read letters from your hometown.

What were you afraid of?

Were you afraid your mother would burden you with trivial household gossip, or were you afraid she would open her mouth to ask you for money?

It is truly regrettable, given how hard she paved the road for your success. In our past life, terrified of hindering your prospects, she remained trapped in the countryside her entire existence, never tasting a single day of the blessings you attained.

Ah, that reminds me. Your mother, together with Xie Guang and Ge Hongquan, was beheaded several years ago for gathering to commit debauchery.

Your mother’s dying wish from her past life was for me to descend into the netherworld and continue serving her.

I am afraid I can no longer serve her.

Since you are her flesh and blood, you must simply descend below and serve her yourself.

With those words, I swung my blade downward. The head of Xie Yuan rolled right against my feet. In the direction of the Grand Princess, she was already seated upon the dragon throne. The emperor lay sprawled prostrate at her feet, his breath long since gone. Seeing this, I instantly raised my voice and shouted:

Long live the Emperor! Ten thousand years to the Emperor! Ten thousand years, and ten thousand times ten thousand years!

Long live the Emperor! Ten thousand years to the Emperor! Ten thousand years, and ten thousand times ten thousand years!

When one person shouted, a hundred responded. All the civil and military officials dropped to their knees in unison.

Another three years slipped by, and the results of the palace examination were finally announced. Her Majesty hosted the Qionglin Banquet to celebrate the newly minted imperial scholars. Crown Princess Zhao Heqiao suddenly took a fancy to poetry, commanding the scholars to present their verses so she might take this opportunity to appreciate the talent of the realm's brightest minds. Her Majesty smiled and offered her praise:

Very well, let it be done according to the Crown Princess's wishes.

Afterward, she turned her gaze toward me.

Shiyun possesses extraordinary talent, so please ascend the floral tower and critique these poems.

I gave a slight nod.

As you command.

The floral tower rose to a height of nine zhang. Its vermilion railings were wrapped in ribbons of pale yellow silk, freshly cut and shimmering. Whenever a breeze swept past, the silk ribbons fluttered like drifting clouds. The eunuchs delivered the scholars' poems into my hands. Standing upon the lofty tower, I gazed into the distance. The distant mountains at the edge of the horizon dipped low and soft, their grandeur unable to surpass my own elevation. Below the tower, scholars gathered in a dense, swarming mass. They wore azure robes and black shoes, their hair bound in scholarly caps. When they raised their heads, the golden radiance of the floral tower was reflected in the depths of their eyes—a reflection of ambition and yearning for supreme power. My fingertips brushed across strokes of ink that had not yet fully dried. At times, with just a gentle tap, a sheet of poetry fluttered down like a white butterfly, landing right before the suddenly dimming eyes of some unlucky soul. At other times, I would muse for a brief moment, using a vermilion brush to draw a tiny circle beside a poem. Down below, someone’s legs would instantly turn to jelly as they collapsed to the ground, their forehead striking the green bricks, their shoulders trembling violently, unable to tell whether they were weeping or laughing. The great literary masters of the world were nothing more than sheets of paper resting within the palm of my hand. After reading through them all, I kept two poems. I recited them in a clear, resonant voice. As for the rest, I gave a gentle wave of my hand, letting them scatter to the four winds. Another gust of wind blew across. In that fleeting moment, my gaze met the smiling eyes of Zhao Heqiao upon the high terrace. In this lifetime, it is still the wind that aids me. Borrowing the strength of favorable gales, it carries me straight up into the azure clouds.