The blood staining his palm seemed to carry some ominous quality—inexplicably poignant.
He hadn’t had this symptom before. Was it because of the pill Feng Ke gave him? Within one month of taking the pill, he had to return to the capital. He still had over twenty days.
Just coughing blood—no unbearable pain for now.
Lian Shenwei didn’t take this matter too seriously. He set down the bowl, felt under his pillow for a handkerchief, wiped it clean, and disposed of the blood traces.
Before long, Lian Shenwei felt fatigue and fell into deep sleep.
When he woke again, it was already evening.
A lamp was lit in the room. A pile of offerings was stacked by the table—probably bought by Qiu Che. However, the person wasn’t in the room—gone somewhere unknown.
Ming Zhu said, “Master, the matter you instructed has been handled.”
“Good.”
Lian Shenwei put the thumb ring Ming Zhu returned back on properly. He turned it—the ring moved flexibly. A few months ago when wearing it, it had clearly fit perfectly. Now it was slightly loose.
“Master, after you woke, you only had half a bowl of clear congee. Do you want to eat something?”
“Don’t really want to eat.”
“I ordered dishes, just waiting for you to wake,” Qiu Che came in carrying a tray with four small dishes, two wine pots, and two bowls of sweet soup. He arranged them on the table. “Won’t you eat a bit?”
Lian Shenwei’s lips curved. “Keeping you company wouldn’t hurt.”
Though he hadn’t eaten much, Lian Shenwei felt somewhat better than when he’d first woken—at least he had strength to get out of bed.
The clothes were newly prepared—his usual black style, with thicker fabric and red-gold dark patterns embroidered at the edges and corners.
Hair unbound, waist sash untied, Lian Shenwei casually sat across from Qiu Che and instructed, “Ming Zhu, open the window.”
Ming Zhu acknowledged. After the window was pushed open, the evening breeze of June blew in, bringing into view the river lanterns rippling on the sparkling water surface, the curved arched bridges, high building eaves and corners, and the lively bustle of crowds like woven fabric.
Prosperity like a dream—precisely Jinling.
Ming Zhu still remembered Master saying he was cold earlier, so she took a cloak to drape over Lian Shenwei.
Lian Shenwei picked up the wine pot and smelled it. “Wine from Phoenix Terrace?”
Qiu Che replied, “Yes, a new wine released recently—Osmanthus Late Frost.”
“Osmanthus picked under the moon for three years, taking white frost from deep northern autumn, brewed then buried deeply for five years—yields one jar.”
“What an elegant name.” Lian Shenwei had loved fine wine in his youth. Interest piqued, he raised his hand to pour a cup. The wine’s fragrance was sweet and crisp—osmanthus scent wrapped in cold air, perfect for drinking in this season.
“Phoenix Terrace’s wines suit my taste best.”
Just after pouring, the wine cup along with the pot beside his hand were both taken away by Qiu Che. The cold-faced swordsman moved the wine and dishes before himself.
The sweet soup, however, was placed in front of Lian Shenwei—clearly separated.
Qiu Che said, “I didn’t let you drink. This is yours.”
Lian Shenwei: “…”
Now he wanted it even more.
“Qiu Che,” he considered how to phrase it.
Qiu Che’s eyes were indifferent. He glanced at him, then picked up an unused chopstick, dipped it in the wine cup, and placed it on Lian Shenwei’s sweet soup bowl.
Confusion showed in Lian Shenwei’s eyes.
Qiu Che said concisely, “You can lick it.”
Lian Shenwei: “………..”
He was quiet for a moment, then smiled politely. “Many thanks, Brother Qiu. The sweet soup is quite good.”
Qiu Che didn’t mind, eating slowly while enjoying the breeze. “You’re truly not going tomorrow?”
Lian Shenwei replied, “Mm.”
“Jingjue will go. If he runs into me, it wouldn’t be easy to explain. He doesn’t know what happened before, but ultimately Lian family blood flows in his body. No matter what, he should go see Elder Sister. Moreover, his going is far more proper and justified than my going.”
Qiu Che said, “Outsiders can only pay respects at the outer manor.”
Lian Shenwei continued, “So I want you to help by taking him to the inner manor. In front of Snow Light Pavilion in the inner manor is the ancestral hall. Besides the ancestral hall, underground north of the pavilion is a Cold Hall. I want…”
“Didn’t you say you wanted to forget Fudu Manor?” Qiu Che said indifferently. “Haven’t gone in ten years, yet you know the layout inside clearly.”
Lian Shenwei paused, speechless for a moment, then smiled and shook his head.
“Since when did you start quibbling about these things?”
“Ten years ago you disappeared from jianghu. Seven years ago you became an official at court. Where did you go during those three years in between?”
Qiu Che took a sip of wine. “I keep feeling you’re hiding something from me.”
“What else could I be hiding from you? To become an official, I needed to prepare for those three years. As for the rest, you’ve probably inquired clearly about it all outside.”
Lian Shenwei had a few spoonfuls of sweet soup, then felt his lungs itching. He suppressed his voice and coughed lowly a few times, not wanting to eat anymore.
He rose and went to the window, drawing the cloak closer. His eyes reflected brilliant lights. “So lively.”
Peaceful and prosperous liveliness.
“Isn’t the capital also lively?”
“It’s different.”
The capital’s streets and alleys held many curses against him. Tea houses and wine shops didn’t only tell tales of grudges and vendettas—many powerful nobility came and went, adding layers of constraint and force. He always preferred not to go out.
“How is it different?”
“When you go to the capital one day, you’ll understand.”
Lian Shenwei smiled and added, “There are similarities too.”
Qiu Che looked up.
Lian Shenwei said, “Whether the capital or Jinling, both are the clamorous human world.”
Hearing this, Qiu Che stroked the Infinite Sword beside him. “Pity that you can’t drink when competing with me now.”
He lowered his eyes and filled himself a cup.
Lian Shenwei asked, “What do you mean?”
Qiu Che drank it all in one gulp. With a clap, he set the empty wine cup on the table and laughed lowly.
“Otherwise, I’d definitely fight you heartily and thoroughly—at Jinling’s tallest ancient temple pagoda, listening to the old monks’ angry scolding from below while drinking wine with you, overlooking the clamorous human world you speak of.”
The youth standing by the window was slightly stunned. His cool fingers unconsciously tightened on the windowsill. Then he no longer looked at the cold-faced swordsman who rarely showed such expression, gazing out the window instead.
His voice was very light, as if speaking to someone else, also as if to himself.
“Mm. When I’m better, that day will come.”
–
The next day.
Qiu Che went to Fudu Manor early in the morning.
Lian Shenwei woke very late.
Though he’d slept a long time yesterday, thinking he wouldn’t be tired, once he lay down he still felt fatigued.
After taking medicine, he didn’t wait for Qiu Che to return as agreed yesterday. Instead, he instructed Ming Zhu to pack up and planned to leave directly.
“Master, the fabric you requested.”
“Mm. Go outside and stand guard first.”
Ming Zhu bowed her head and withdrew.
Lian Shenwei lifted his inner robe, wrapping the fabric Ming Zhu brought around and around his waist and abdomen. He measured with his fingers—two more wraps than before.
After wrapping, a thin layer of sweat appeared on his temples. When he reached for his middle robe, the wrapped fabric tightened somewhat with his movement. The bottom of his ribs was compressed. Lian Shenwei’s chest itched—a series of low coughs couldn’t be suppressed.
The teacup beside his hand accidentally shattered on the floor.
Ming Zhu immediately knocked on the door. “Master?”
Two or three seconds later, the youth’s slightly hoarse voice came from within. “…It’s nothing.”
“I accidentally dropped a cup. No need to come in.”
Ming Zhu felt relieved. “Yes.”
Inside the room.
Lian Shenwei frowned briefly, wiping away the scattered blood color he’d coughed into his palm.
The second time. Was it aftereffects from Feng Ke’s medicine, or hidden internal injuries left from fighting Falling Moon Stream’s assassins before?
He didn’t understand medicine. His internal force couldn’t circulate either—he couldn’t detect his current condition.
Unable to figure it out through thinking, Lian Shenwei stopped pondering. After dressing properly and leaving a letter for Qiu Che, he departed.
Ming Zhu bought a carriage. The Cangshan Sword was packed in a newly purchased sword case, sealed tightly. Lian Shenwei lowered the bamboo hat he wore and boarded the carriage. The inconspicuous carriage quickly disappeared into the bustling streets and alleys.
–
Fudu Manor.
Since it was for paying respects, one shouldn’t dress too conspicuously—black and white were best.
When Ying Jingjue selected clothes, he subconsciously thought of Ximian and, as if possessed, changed into pale white garments.
The imperial guards were all hidden in the shadows. He didn’t have anyone follow him and went to Fudu Manor alone. No one had lived here for ten years. Even though people often came to pay respects, they wouldn’t deliberately clean such a large place.
Climbing vines penetrated wall cracks. Moss covered the ground everywhere. At the archway were many flowering trees withered for who knows how long.
According to Fudu Manor’s rules, the ancestral hall in the inner manor was the master’s place. Except for direct descendants, no one was qualified to enter. Unfortunately, the manor had no descendants—the ancestral hall had been sealed for many years.
People like them could only go from the outer manor to the burial ground.
Looking at every brick and tile, every blade of grass and tree in the outer manor, Ying Jingjue became somewhat absorbed. He always felt inexplicably familiar, but thinking carefully, couldn’t recall where he’d seen it.
Many people came here today—all jianghu knights, coming and going in a hurry, taciturn and reticent.
This was Ying Jingjue’s first visit. Not clear about the customs here or how to pay respects, he followed people to the burial ground behind the manor.
So many graves silent through the years—at a glance, only desolation.
Ying Jingjue went before the graves of Fudu Manor’s master and mistress, following everyone in offering incense and burning considerable paper money.
The ash-white fluff from burning paper money was always very light. Even without wind, it would be blown far by heat waves, sticking to the sleeves and hair of those paying respects—like the lingering attachment of departed souls.
The choking smell made eyes sting.
Ying Jingjue’s shoulder was suddenly patted. He startled.
“Come with me.”
After the two of them walked together to a place with no one around, Ying Jingjue spoke. “Mr. Qiu?”
Qiu Che nodded.
He looked the little nephew of Ximian up and down. That day by the river, he hadn’t looked carefully. Today, the little nephew had changed into white clothes—more resembling Ximian of the past.
By generation, he should be this child’s second uncle.
Ying Jingjue asked, “Why are you here?”
“Same as you—paying respects.”
“How is Mr. Qiu so certain I came to pay respects?”
Qiu Che replied, “Ximian told me you came at his request. He has deep friendship with Fudu Manor. Since you’re replacing him, you shouldn’t pay respects at the outer manor.”
Ying Jingjue understood, then hesitated. “Then…”
“I’ll take you to the inner manor.”
Qiu Che grabbed his wrist. With several quick movements, he shook off the following imperial guards and disappeared into the inner manor.
This was also his first time here. Yesterday, Lian Shenwei had drawn him a diagram, but his sense of direction wasn’t very good—he searched for quite a while.
Ying Jingjue asked, “What are you looking for?”
“The ancestral hall.”
“It should be over there. When we came earlier, we seemed to pass by it.” Ying Jingjue pointed in a direction based on intuition.
Qiu Che followed where he pointed, turned a few corners, and saw the ancestral hall before Snow Light Pavilion.
He glanced at Ying Jingjue.
Just now he clearly hadn’t passed through here, yet this child could find the direction at once. Was it truly as Ximian said—he’d completely forgotten the past?
He said nothing and pushed open the ancestral hall door. Instantly, smoke and dust filled the air.
Ying Jingjue coughed a few times and waved his sleeves.
An ancestral hall related to his life-saving benefactor—they should at least clean it up.
The two of them spent considerable time cleaning it once through. Ying Jingjue made a sound of surprise, discovering several flattened dried lotus leaves under worn prayer cushions.
“Why are there lotus leaves here?”
Qiu Che arranged the offerings. “Don’t know.”
Ying Jingjue searched more and found many things in nooks and crannies—several small bottles of carefully hidden wine, plus pinwheels, wooden swords, nine-ring puzzles, Luban locks, storybooks popular ten years ago… and so on.
He even discovered thickened soft padding in the prayer cushion’s interlayer. When unfolded, cute little yellow ducks were embroidered on the padding with dense needlework—after all these years, the colors hadn’t faded.
As if someone often knelt in the ancestral hall, so they hid padding inside to kneel more comfortably.
The ancestral hall didn’t look large, but with so many things stuffed into hidden places, without careful examination, one couldn’t detect them.
Ying Jingjue organized and categorized them, sighing. “Who knows who it was—still so playful in the ancestral hall… truly…”
His gaze fell on the memorial tablets enshrined above. The last generation, besides the manor master and mistress, included a young manor master named Lian Youwei and a second young master named Lian Yubai.
Qiu Che also noticed.
However, he could probably guess whose things these were. Back then at Fudu Manor, besides Ximian, probably no one else would be playful enough to often kneel in the ancestral hall.
Moreover, in this world, the only one who’d prepare his own memorial tablet was probably him.
Qiu Che’s gaze fell on the tablet bearing Lian Yubai’s name.
As expected.
He could probably guess three or four parts of what Ximian wanted to do now. Getting involved with the court meant Fudu Manor’s people could only be completely dead—otherwise waves would rise again.
A moment later, he handed incense to Ying Jingjue. “Go.”
Ying Jingjue took it and respectfully bowed three times. When he moved forward to insert the incense, Qiu Che frowned slightly and blocked him with his sword hilt. “Wait.”
“What is it?”
Qiu Che said coldly, “Paying respects at an ancestral hall, Ximian should perform kneeling rites. You’re replacing him—you should do the same.”
Ying Jingjue: “?”
He said displeased, “Mr. Qiu also knows my identity. The Great Sheng Dynasty’s heir apparent only kneels before His Majesty alone. Though Young Master Ximian has deep ties with Fudu Manor, even for life-saving grace, Fudu Manor cannot bear kneeling rites from the current heir apparent.”
The Infinite Sword’s hilt thrust forward, pressing firmly against Ying Jingjue’s neck side. Qiu Che said indifferently, “This isn’t the capital—only jianghu rules apply here. Having agreed to Ximian, you must do it perfectly. Never mind you—even if the emperor came today, the tablets enshrined here could bear his kneeling.”
“…I’ll do it then.”
Ying Jingjue took a deep breath and pushed aside the Infinite Sword. He knew Qiu Che made sense, but being pressured like this—having always been accustomed to a superior position—he still felt stifled inside.
He inserted the original incense, swept his robe aside, knelt on the prayer cushion, kowtowed three times with audible thuds, and offered incense again.
The cold expression on Qiu Che’s face eased slightly. The way he looked at Ying Jingjue now carried a bit of looking at a junior. “Go to one more place.” He pulled up the young heir apparent who’d just finished paying respects, closed the ancestral hall, and went to the underground Cold Hall not far to the north.
That was a place of ice, snow, and glass—very small.
The Cold Hall’s location was built on a cold spring. The water emerging wasn’t much, so Fudu Manor simply made it into a natural underground ice house.
The ground was covered in ice, cold air swirling—not easy to walk on. There was another memorial tablet here.
Still for young manor master Lian Youwei.
Cold air swirled around, filled with jade sandalwood plum trees. Some were still blooming, some had withered and died, and there were also some artificial fake plum blossoms.
Many jade sandalwood plums were also planted in the palace. Father Emperor cherished this variety and personally tended them each year. Ying Jingjue recognized them.
“Why is there another tablet here?”
Qiu Che said, “Kneel.”
This time Ying Jingjue didn’t wait for him to force it with his sword. He knelt and kowtowed three times. “There’s no incense burner here.”
Qiu Che replied, “Not needed here. The young manor master doesn’t like those things.”
Ying Jingjue stood up and dusted off his robe, curiously glancing around. “Why place another tablet here when there’s one in the ancestral hall?”
Qiu Che recalled what Ximian had told him. After a quiet moment, he explained, “The young manor master loved winter ice and snow but died in early summer of June, unable to see plum blossoms bloom. So someone transplanted plum blossoms here. Worried they wouldn’t survive, they even made some fake ones.”
“Was that person Young Master Ximian?”
“Yes, but also no.”
Ying Jingjue laughed. “How can there be such an answer? Yes is yes, no is no. Do jianghu people all speak like this?”
Qiu Che shook his head, not knowing what to say.
Ying Jingjue continued, “Since Mr. Qiu knows about Young Master Ximian entrusting me with this matter, you must have met him after leaving that day. How is Young Master Ximian’s hand injury? Did he find the Feng family heir?”
Hand injury?
Qiu Che thought back briefly. When he and Ming Zhu first met, there was a misunderstanding. Besides bruises on Ximian’s hand from his own bumping, he hadn’t noticed any other injuries on his hand.
He keenly sensed something and followed Ying Jingjue’s words calmly. “Regardless, finding the Feng family heir is key. However, the capital has many famous physicians—are there any masters among them?”
Ying Jingjue sighed. “The capital does have famous physicians, but even if Hua Tuo were reborn, Young Master Ximian’s right hand tendons that were once severed probably can’t return to their original perfect condition.”
“A friend of mine’s master knows a physician with an eccentric temperament…”
What he said after that, Qiu Che could barely hear clearly.
His mind went completely blank. His thoughts froze—as if seized by the pervasive cold here—the moment he heard “severed right hand tendons.”
[Qiu Che.]
[I’m no longer a swordsman.]
Yesterday, Ximian leaning palely against the bedside, smiling as he said these words that Qiu Che had taken as a joke, clearly resurfaced in his ears.
The sword he’d passed over—Ximian’s right hand hadn’t caught it steadily. It fell on the quilt, and he’d explained nonchalantly.
[…Sorry.]
[Just woke up. No strength.]
Qiu Che suddenly didn’t dare think deeper. With what state of mind had Ximian smiled and said those words to him?
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wannaberecluse On SRTT Chapter 50.1