“I’m not drinking that, give me some wine.” Xi Ping pushed away the mind-calming decoction a page was offering him. When the paper money had come to knock at the door, he’d thought of nothing but splashing it with lamp oil and engaging in a desperate struggle. It was only afterwards that the reaction hit him. He broke out in a cold sweat.

He had only heard of Wang Baochang’s death at the pleasure boat ferry crossing, not seen it with his own eyes. But the sight of several living people being wrapped in paper money and turning into rotting flesh was one he had well and truly beheld. However relaxed he might be, he still couldn’t avoid being shaken.

Now that both his body and mind had calmed down, Xi Ping was also puzzled—why him again?

Last night at the pleasure boat ferry crossing, you could have called it coincidence. After all, the Flower Viewing Festival attracted attention; the pleasant and the repulsive had all come to play.

But now, what about this Young Master Dong, son of the head of the Office of Protocol?”

That corpse could have walked at any time, but instead it had chosen to cry out just after meeting him in Dangui Lane… Surely it couldn’t be that Mr. Yu Gan’s good name had spread down to the Nine Springs of the Underworld and even the walking corpses were lining up so he could judge their singing?

Just then, a page came in to report in a flurry: “Lord Marquis, the Assistant Commander of the Right of Heaven's Design Pavilion is at the door with his people!”

The Marquis of Yongning froze. After a slight hesitation, he said, “Ask them in.”

Then he reached out to give Xi Ping’s shoulder a shove. “Go in and see your mother and the old lady.”

Before Xi Ping could react, the page continued: “The Exalted said in particular that he… wants to see our young master.”

Mentioned by name by a walker in the mortal world twice in one day. Xi Ping thought someone must have buried a signal flare in his ancestral tomb. If not, where else would all this smoke be coming from?¹

It smelled a little off to have Heaven's Design Pavilion at the door for a second time.

Zhao Yu, whose manner had been quite cordial in the morning, acted like he didn’t know him. Strictly businesslike, he questioned him about where he had been, whom he had seen and spoken to, and ordered an imperial guard standing by to note all of it down regardless of importance, intending to find someone to corroborate all of it.

The silver-belted Commander Pang looked him over with eyes like knives, as if he wanted to cut open his organs and give them a close look.

Young Master Xi was a donkey; if he felt uncomfortable, he was sure to kick. This Pang character in particular had knocked him off the wall earlier—so he returned Commander Pang’s look, starting provocatively into his eyes.

But when he glared, Pang Jian smiled.

After all this man who looked like wasn’t to be trifled with had a pair of smiling eyes. He asked genially, “Were you well acquainted with the two victims?”

Xi Ping said, “I couldn’t get away from Wang Sidu, but I wasn’t very familiar with Dong Zirui.”

“Lord Dong’s son was elegant and refined, and studied at the Imperial College. He never had anything to do with this unworthy thing,” the Marquis of Yongning put in a timely word. Then, pointing at Xi Ping, he added, “I was always saying that if this devil could have a part of that young man’s talents, I would happily die a few years earlier, but now… What a shock… what a shock that the Dong family should meet with such a calamity! Everyone’s been saying that their oldest son was almost certain to enter the immortal sect this year… Alas, isn’t this a disaster for his parents?”

The devil Xi Ping lowered his eyelids and rolled his eyes under their cover.

The Dong family was upright and honest, and Eldest Young Master Dong was a pinnacle of righteousness who had never fooled around… he had only kept a “beautiful confidante” outside the city.

Come to think of it, by coincidence, with the Grand Selection coming up, this confidante of his had taken a chill from a passing wind at the start of the year and thoughtfully passed away.

It was said that Young Master Dong had been inconsolable on her account. He had worn a white jade hairpin in mourning for three full days.

Apart from the Marquis with his affectations, Xi Ping had never known another proper hothouse flower. At any rate, he couldn’t understand how a grown person could catch a chill from a passing wind—Jinping’s winters weren’t cold, anyway.

In his opinion, another version sounded more credible: it was said that the confidante had been sent on her way by a bowl of abortifacient drugs.

But he could tell that his father was trying to get him out of this, so he held his tongue and didn’t rashly undercut him.

Zhao Yu calmly sighed and chimed in with the Marquis of Yongning: “In fact, it’s a pity.”

But Pang Jian, as if he hadn’t heard at all, was still staring at Xi Ping. He asked, “May I check your pulse, Viscount?”

As you like, Xi Ping thought, extending his arm. Do you want to check whether I’m pregnant?

Two heavily calloused fingers lightly touched his pulse. Next, a faint warm current flowed up his veins and throughout his body. Xi Ping gave a start.

The laughter lines at the corners of the Marquis of Yongning’s eyes smoothed at once. He said grimly, “Exalted, is there something wrong with my son?”

“Nothing.” Pang Jian casually drew back his hand. “I suppose the young man likes to play around and often stays out late? His blood and breath are a little depressed.”

The Marquis’s expression relaxed slightly, but he heard Pang Jian continue: “But I’m only an amateur. After all, the Viscount brushed shoulders with a carriage full of corpse poison today. For safety’s sake, I’d like to invite him to spend the night at Heaven's Design Pavilion for a thorough inspection as insurance.”

What was the meaning of this?

Was it an examination or an investigation? Was he being invited or arrested?

The Marquis’s face expression iced over. “Last night at the pleasure boat ferry crossing, quite a few people encountered the corpse. As far as I can see, they’re all right. My son is willful and mischievous, the honor is too…”

Xi Ping spoke almost at the same time: “All right, then, when are we going? Should I bring a page?”

The Marquis: “…”

Several gazes fell on Xi Ping, sheltered behind the Marquis of Yongning. Xi Ping, like an idiot who didn’t know good from bad, had no idea what “going to Heaven's Design Pavilion” meant; he casually said to the Marquis, “Dad, just let me go, I’ve never been to Heaven's Design Pavilion.”

“Troublemaker!” the Marquis scolded, rounding on him. “Heaven's Design Pavilion is no place to fool around!”

“Why shouldn’t I stay the night? It’s not like I’ll wet the bed.”

The Marquis was so angry his mustache curled.

Then Xi Ping said, “If I close my eyes now, I can still see that dead… still see Dong-xiong batting his eyelashes at me, and I get goosebumps all over. I’ll certainly have nightmares tonight. So let the Exalteds take me to Heaven's Design Pavilion to pick up some of the immortal aura and build up my courage. I’ll take Haozhong with me. I promise I won’t make trouble for the Exalteds… Should I take my own bedroll, Exalted?”

Pang Jian smiled. “The head office has guest rooms.”

Hearing this, Xi Ping didn’t wait for the Marquis to speak. Without getting permission, he agreed at once: “All right, I’ll go send someone to pack my things!”

This was the sole scion of the Yongning Marquis Manor: from childhood, he had been impervious to any kind of persuasion or coercion.

Normally when the Marquis chased him with a discipline rod, he was willing to run around a little out of respect for his father and to give the old fellow some exercise. When he really took some idea into his head, he didn’t listen to anyone.

After he had agreed, Xi Ping didn’t even look at the Marquis’s face, which was black as the bottom of a pot. Swift as lightning, he sent someone to pack his things, then joyfully got into Heaven's Design Pavilion’s carriage. Before leaving, he even heartlessly stuck his head out of the carriage and waved at the Marquis. “Dad, I’ll be home to eat in the afternoon tomorrow, leave me something good! His Third Highness has nothing but soup and porridge, I haven’t eaten my fill all day!”

If there hadn’t been outsiders present, the Marquis of Yongning’s curses would probably have reverberated off the Lingyang River.

Hearing him mention Prince Zhuang, Pang Jian’s gaze flickered. He said, smiling, “Not to worry, we won’t starve you.”

The walkers in the mortal world had come bearing fire, and they went like the wind, leaving behind only a group of armored imperial guardsmen tightly surrounding Dangui Lane in case of further mishap.

On the south end of the street, all the houses sent brave servants to clean up the filth at their doorsteps. Quite a few people saw Heaven's Design Pavilion take Xi Ping away. But servants of great houses all know when to pretend to be deaf and mute. Everyone took one glance, then immediately looked down, saying nothing.

An unremarkable middle-aged man swept the steps of his house, scattered the ashes of a burned talisman, and went with a colleague to take his reward from the steward. He reported that he would courageously stay back to watch the gate.

Later that night, the south end of the street was still. When occasionally an imperial guardsman’s weapon made contact with his armor, the clank could be heard far off, startling many people out of sleep.

The middle-aged man waited until the house was completely silent before taking out a wooden protection amulet.

He dipped a needle in water and wrote on the wooden amulet: Horn Tower heard mourning wail, arrived in a blink, six people. Xi has been taken.

His writing was crooked, like a child just beginning to learn. The water sat on the wooden amulet without soaking into it. When he had written the last stroke, he bit through his index finger and pressed a drop of blood to the wood. Instantly, both the water writing and the blood were absorbed, and the surface of the amulet was left as bright and clean as before.

After a moment, the wooden amulet warmed slightly, and three words written in water appeared on it out of nowhere. These were in exquisite regular script, evidently penned by another hand. This hand wrote: According to plan.

The unremarkable protection amulet in the servant’s hand was actually an immortal tool that conveyed messages!

The middle-aged man closed his eyes and gently let out a breath. Then he wiped away the water droplets on the wooden amulet and wrote once more: Brother 32 died for the cause as he wished.

He paused, then used his blood to send the message. Then, struggling to keep his finger from shaking, he wrote on the wooden amulet, stroke by stroke: The conflagration burns on, the cry of the cicada is without end.

The wooden amulet was silent for a moment. Then the person on the other end responded: Better to die in frost than forsake one's convictions.

Meanwhile, Xi Ping, taken by Heaven's Design Pavilion, was quite at his ease.

He was at his ease everywhere, as though he had been born without the concept of reserve. In the carriage, he impudently sized up Pang Jian—it was said that Heaven's Design Pavilion’s chief was in seclusion, and this Assistant Commander of the Right currently commanded the defense of the capital city and environs. He was a grand personage. There was normally no opportunity to get a look at him. Since he was here now, it would be a waste not to look.

Sitting upright, Pang Jian’s back was as straight as a spear. The hands laying on his knees had prominent knuckles. The veins wrapped around his wrists coiled silently. His fingertips and palms were covered in calluses, and quite a few old scars unevenly pitted the backs of his hands. Next to him, Zhao Yu sat keeping himself to himself. His manner towards Assistant Commander Pang was very respectful. When Xi Ping remembered the true nature of this youthful-faced “Grandfather Zhao,” he couldn’t resist wondering: So how old is Assistant Commander Pang?

Pang Jian said, “Do you have something to ask?”

Xi Ping grinned familiarly at him. “I was thinking about how you threw that little flag and stuck it right into the south street flagstones. But you only look a few years older than me. How did you learn to do that?”

Pang Jian answered, “By being a few years older than you.”

“How many years?” said Xi Ping.

Pang Jian unhurriedly answered, “Not many. Just another turn of the sixty-year cycle.”

Xi Ping: “…”

Excuse me, Grandfather Pang!

“But I’m curious—normally, when a person gets taken away by Heaven's Design Pavilion in the middle of the night, he’ll be a little nervous.” Pang Jian looked Xi Ping over. “Even the Marquis was troubled. Have you really not taken it to heart at all, Viscount?”

“That’s just our Marquis taking everything too hard. Don’t take offense, Exalted.” Xi Ping crossed one leg over the other casually. “Two days in a row, I ran into someone who went and turned into a walking corpse. Can that be a coincidence? What happens if I really have picked up something unclean?” 

Pang Jian hadn’t expected him to lay it out directly. His eyebrows lifted slightly. 

Xi Ping continued: “It’s one thing if I could just quietly pop off like Big… like Wang Sidu. At worst I’d become a ghost the next day and go get revenge. But what if I end up like Dong-xiong today and drag other people in before I die? Our Marquis may still be nimble, but there’s also my old grandmother, who’s in her seventies. For safety’s sake, I’d rather squat in prison at Heaven's Design Pavilion.” 

This was intolerable. Zhao Yu wanted to protect him on Prince Zhuang’s account, but hearing this, he couldn’t resist giving a cough.

Pang Jian, smiling, said, “It won’t come to that.”

Xi Ping looked around. Now that he was done babbling, he showed off his cleverness: “I know. On His Third Highness’s account, you Exalteds won’t put me in an awkward position.”

Pang Jian really did feel a trace of increased respect for him.

On first sight, he had thought the Viscount of Yongning was an idiot wrapped in gold and silver. When he had dragged Prince Zhuang in as insurance before leaving, he had seemed like a pampered rich boy getting up to little tricks. Having inspired a bit of disgust, he then plopped down and openly displayed his shamelessness, erasing his previous foolish act and his little schemes in one fell stroke.

“Bold, unbridled, and clear-headed,” Pang Jian inwardly appraised Xi Ping. “A naturally gifted hooligan.”

Heaven's Design Pavilion was quite polite to Xi Ping. They led him to a guest room and indeed did not starve him. They gave him a midnight snack and some mind-calming decoction.

The blue-rober who had led him in kindly told him, “As cultivators, our residence is a little plain compared to the Marquis Manor, but sleeping a night here can calm the mind and cure a hundred illnesses. There’s no need to worry about having nightmares.”

Xi Ping lined up his small white teeth and gave this Exalted a stupid smile. He thought, So if anything happens to me, then I am the “hundred illnesses.”

But his conscience was clear. Even if he really did have some “illness,” it had been brought on him by someone else. Why should a victim feel guilty? Therefore he magnanimously called over the page Haozhong, and the two strapping young fellows polished off a midnight snack that could have fed three or four people.

Master and servant were both untroubled. After eating and drinking their fill, they were soon both quiet, one in the inner room and one in the outer room.

The glazed gas lamps hanging from the ceiling seemed to know that they were asleep. They dimmed on their own.

Dozing off, Xi Ping felt that there seemed to be something around him, watching him. But his eyelids were too heavy. He really couldn’t force them open. He simply rolled over, letting those gazes enjoy the view.

The walls emitted a faint light, like a twilight glow. Then a strange “mural” seeped out of the wall—the drawing was of several monsters with enormous eyes, and the eyes of the monsters in the “mural” could actually move. As their big eyes turned, their gazes fell together on Xi Ping.

Next, not only did their eyes move, the monsters’ bodies also began to scurry over the walls, turning circles around Xi Ping.

All of a sudden, one of them seemed to catch a scent. It leapt from the wall onto the bed curtain, changing from a “mural” to “embroidery” on the curtain.

The sinister “embroidery” quickly climbed down the bed curtain to the quilt and onto Xi Ping’s chest!

Just then, by chance, Xi Ping rolled over. Something dropped from him and chafed him. He dug around impatiently and pushed the thing aside, then curled back up under the quilt, coming right under the monster’s fangs, as if trying to catch the monster’s drool with his face.

The big-eyed monster, nose to nose with him, was almost embarrassed. It backed up a little and shyly sniffed around for a while, the anger on its face gradually changing to doubt. It gathered up its friends and crawled from the quilt onto the mattress. The monsters it had called over split up and searched inside the bed curtains. After a moment, one of the big-eyed monsters found the little silk brocade bag that Xi Ping had pushed to the edge of the bed.

The monster went over and sniffed, then recoiled as though it had smelled a pile of excrement; it tossed its head violently a few times and scoffed toward Xi Ping, suspecting him of having dumped it.

The monsters with eyes as big as dippers approached and surrounded the little silk brocade bag. They communicated silently for a moment, then finally decided that while the stench was unbearable, this thing seemed to be harmless.

After examining Xi Ping from head to foot for half a shichen, the beasts’ bodies at last faded from the walls, quilt, and mattress. The strange murals and embroidery disappeared, and the faint light dimmed. Quiet was restored in the room.