Chapter 336: A Hundred Faces (3)

Back at the palace, Xiang Zheng bathed and washed his hands, yet he could not shake off the lingering stench of decay that clung to him from the depths of the prison.

A stifling gloom weighed on his chest, leaving him in no mood for state affairs. He set aside the memorials and headed to the harem instead.

He first visited Consort Hu, mother of the Fifth Prince, to relay the news that Xiang Zhiyun was doing well and everything was proceeding smoothly on his official business in Yunnan. He made a few casual inquiries about palace matters, and seeing that she responded properly and with full decorum—as dull as countless other women of the harem—he rose and went straight to Qingxi Palace.

Little did he know that the moment he left, Consort Hu shed her dignified facade, lounged onto an elegant daybed, and relaxed as she read the letter the Fifth Prince had sent from Yunnan.

Her maid A Zhi whispered, "My Lady, why not keep the Emperor a while longer?"

Consort Hu replied without looking up, "He didn't come for me. Why keep him?"

And her swift dismissal of the Emperor had another reason she could not speak of.

Some time ago, when the Emperor had fallen ill and the consorts took turns attending him, Consort Xi had been as eager as ever to curry favor. But ever since she returned from Shouren Hall, she had been sullen. When she spoke privately with Consort Hu, she said that aside from his usual ambergris scent, the Emperor carried a strange, heavy, greasy, musty smell.

How could an illness change how a person smells?

After listening to her describe it for a while, Consort Hu realized the girl was saying the Emperor had that old-person smell.

She was alarmed and quickly urged Xi Ying to stop talking about it, forbidding her to mention it to anyone else, and carefully explained where the smell came from.

After hearing her explanation, Xi Ying simply said, "Oh," and shrugged it off: "People get old. It's only natural."

Consort Hu was even more alarmed and warned her over and over never to say the word "old" in front of the Emperor.

Ever since the Emperor had truly aged, whenever he came to her, she wouldn't even dare serve things like fermented rice wine or milk custard—anything with a word that sounded like "old."

Better safe than sorry.

Xi Ying, not realizing how serious it was, giggled and linked her arm through Consort Hu's: "I know, I know! Sister, you're such a nag, just like my mother."

Consort Hu was levelheaded and detail-oriented, and the other women in the palace all liked being around her.

She patted Xi Ying's hand with a helpless smile: "You, you."

As they chatted, Xi Ying turned unusually wistful: "I never knew this. ...When I left home, the older folks in my family had already passed away. My mother always smelled like azaleas—warm and sweet... I wonder if she has that same smell now, like the Emperor."

"...Even if she does, I wouldn't care."

She buried her face in the crook of Consort Hu's arm.

Consort Hu pitied her and slowly patted her back, but in her heart she thought that a body giving off that decaying smell meant the organs inside were failing.

The Emperor really was getting old.

She wondered if Xiao Wu might have a shot at the throne...

She quickly shut down that fleeting, baseless thought and made herself think about something more practical instead: "I hear the sun in Yunnan is brutal. I wonder how dark that boy's gotten."

...

So Consort Hu was afraid that if she stayed around the Emperor too long, she'd remember what Xi Ying said, smell him, and accidentally crack up.

The Emperor didn't like her, with her stiff, proper ways, but he wouldn't like someone who was too free-spirited either.

Xiang Zheng didn't remember, but Consort Hu did: once, a palace woman heard the Emperor had once loved Zhuang Lantai's spark and blunt talk, so she deliberately copied her old ways, hoping to win a little of his favor.

But the Emperor hated nothing more than people trying to win his affection.

One time, no one knew what that girl said or did, but Xiang Zheng flew into a rage, demoted her, and stormed out.

From then on, a flower was cast aside in a corner of the deep palace, silently fading until all its color was gone.

Until a palace attendant reported she'd died of illness—she'd stayed quiet the whole time, never daring to make a peep.

Their fates were always tied to that man's whims.

So better to play it safe than to push for more.

...

Leaving Consort Hu, Xiang Zheng went straight to Qingxi Palace.

Zhuang Lantai was rarely seen not chanting sutras, and she wasn't wearing those loose, boxy Daoist robes.

Seeing him come in during the day, she was surprised but still told the maid Dan Qiong, "Pour some tea."

Maybe because over the past ten-plus years, all he'd gotten from Zhuang Lantai was a cold seat and big lectures—not even a cup of plain tea—Xiang Zheng actually felt a little flattered and surprised.

But despite feeling flattered, before the tea touched his lips, his personal eunuch tested it for poison.

Xiang Zheng took a sip and smiled: "This is a new flavor, I've never tasted anything like it. Where did this come from?"

Zhuang Lantai took a sip: "It's not tribute tea or imperial tea, so of course you've never tried it. The Sixth Prince found it at a Daoist temple in Jinzhou. He said the tea tree grows behind Sanqing Temple, soaked day and night in incense and offerings, so it has a flavor all its own."

Xiang Zhijie always brought something back from his trips—tea, incense—all picked to suit her tastes.

"Xiaoliu is thoughtful," Xiang Zheng said. "But you're always so hard on him."

Zhuang Lantai spoke plainly: "I don't like children."

Especially kids like Xiang Zhijie.

He looked well-behaved enough, but did he ever talk like a normal person?

Every time he brought gifts, he also brought a pile of crazy talk.

And that man could actually stand him?

Xiang Zheng, not knowing what Zhuang Lantai was thinking, teased her: "My kids—you don't like them either?"

Zhuang Lantai: "..."

Over the past ten-plus years, alone with a dim lamp and statues, she'd had her lonely moments.

But now, she was deeply grateful she'd kept her doors shut all these years, never playing along with this old fool.

That remark shocked her so much she almost broke character.

Luckily, she kept her cool expression, raised her eyes, and shot him a sideways look: "No. Your Majesty, please take them back now."

Xiang Zheng was especially fond of this playful side of her: "The kids are grown now—not so easy to take back. You'll just have to put up with it."

Zhuang Lantai lowered her head, took a sip of tea, fixed her expression, and calmed herself down, so she wouldn't be tempted to throw the teacup at his head.

Xiang Zheng put the lid back on his cup and changed his tone: "You really do believe in all this."

"Then I shall test you. Do you know which deity Maning Tianmu is?"

Zhuang Lantai furrowed her brows and glanced at him.

Oh, so here was the meat of it.

She nodded. "I've heard a bit. But Your Majesty, I'm a devout Taoist..."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why are you quizzing me about a foreign deity?"

Xiang Zheng remained impassive. "The Consort is so learned—you even know of foreign deities?"

Zhuang Lantai paused. "Back then, my heart was full of anxiety, and I could only pour my heart into gods and Buddhas. Under such circumstances, I had to pick one I could rely on."

"Which book did you read this from, Consort?"

Zhuang Lantai replied frankly, "That was over ten years ago—how could I remember? Maybe it was passed around by word of mouth among the palace maids."

Xiang Zheng asked, "You at least remember which tribe, right?"

Zhuang Lantai thought for a moment and answered, "The Jing tribe."

Xiang Zheng's hand, holding the cup, paused.

...The Jing tribe.

Le Wuya was of the Jing tribe, and Wen Ren was likely Jing as well.

Could it be a coincidence?

Xiang Zheng, just recovered from a serious illness and low on energy, couldn't very well hop into Zhuang Lantai's bed. He chatted for another half hour before finally tearing himself away.

The moment he left, Zhuang Lantai ordered A Ming to take away his cushion and soak it in pomelo leaf water three times to wash away the bad luck.

But that's a story for later—we'll set it aside for now.

The moment he got back to Shouren Hall, Xiang Zheng had Xue Jie dig through the old archives, and found that over ten years ago, there had indeed been a Jing tribe maid serving in Qingxi Palace. She'd later been let out of the palace and disappeared without a trace, probably going back home.

It made perfect sense that Zhuang Lantai had heard the name of this obscure deity from her.

He then called in officials from the Court of Diplomatic Reception and subtly probed them about Maning Tianmu's origins, but the officials below looked totally baffled and kept apologizing.

The Court of Diplomatic Reception was set up to win over distant peoples and show off the nation's might, and they really had no interest in studying these foreign tribes' cultures in depth.

Moreover, Dayu had been at war with the Jing tribe for years, and only recently had relations been patched up, so they didn't have a complete handle on Jing culture.

Xiang Zheng thought it over repeatedly and decided to send men to the Jing tribe in person to investigate.

Right now, Le Wuya was busy looking into the Changmen Guard under Wang Su's command, and Qiu Sinian couldn't go—he was needed to keep things steady.

He'd have to carefully pick a few capable Changmen Guard members to help share the load.

...

While the emperor was busy picking his men, inside the Wen Ren estate, a tall figure was huddled miserably before Le Wuya, his head bloody.

—That was from Yang Zheng's slingshot.

This guy was remarkably skilled in both combat and disguise. He'd posed as a hired hand fixing the roof, snuck in, and used a trip to the outhouse to quietly slip toward Le Wuya's quarters.

But his luck was terrible—he was caught red-handed by Yang Zheng and He Qingsong, who were patrolling.

Given that the Wen Ren estate had been under frequent surveillance lately and had even seen an assassination attempt on Wen Ren himself, the whole household was on edge. It wouldn't have been overkill to strike down anyone who seemed even slightly suspicious.

Seeing Yang Zheng knock the man down with a casual flick of his hand, He Qingsong immediately rushed over, hand on his waist knife, ready to finish him off with a couple more strikes if things went south.

But when he saw the back of his head still bleeding heavily, he couldn't help but pause.

Come to think of it, this guy's build and silhouette were a lot like that... big dummy.

The one from the Nanting days who held back the master's stone materials, the one with the surname "Da"...

He Qingsong went "that, that" in his head for a while, unable to recall the guy's full name, and flipped the guy on the ground over.

...Not him.

But by the look of him, he was definitely Jing tribe.

Yang Zheng wanted to toss the guy straight out of the estate, but He Qingsong had second thoughts: "Why not report this to the master and let him decide?"

Sure enough, Le Wuya sent word to bring the man in.

The man had a high nose and deep-set eyes, with a stern, striking handsomeness about his brow. Even trussed up hand and foot, he stayed stone-faced and showed no sign of panic.

When Le Wuya saw this man, he thought of that other man, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

He knew his big brother couldn't bear to be apart from him.

His brother had told him he had a body double.

As soon as he heard Le Wuya had been attacked by the Changmen Guard, he'd even sent this man—because he worried that if he sent anyone else, Le Wuya wouldn't trust their identity and wouldn't let them get close.

If this man were carefully disguised, he could truly swap identities with He Lianche and pass as the real deal.

Le Wuya sprawled in the Grand Tutor's chair lined with fiery red fox fur, chin propped on his hand as he studied him: "Who are you?"

The man glanced at the fox fur robe spread out beneath him.

...If he wasn't mistaken, half of that fox fur had been hunted by his own hands alongside the Sire.

Seeing he didn't answer, Le Wuya said softly, "Whoever you are, pass along a message for me."

"First, I'm fine. Full of energy, eating and sleeping well—tell him not to worry."

"Second, I hear that Lord He~ Lian~ is a master of painting..."

Le Wuya curled up in the chair like a cat, feet on the edge of the seat, looking down at the man below: "The Jing tribe has a deity called Maning Tianmu, who ferries the souls of the dead, aids the departed, and is also quite skilled in alchemy and medicine. She's been worshipped among the Jing tribe for over a hundred years, but most people don't know of her—you have to ask around carefully to learn who she is. Ask him to paint her portrait and write her story."

The man thought for a moment, then sat up straight: "But... sir, the Jing tribe has no such deity."

Le Wuya's smiling eyes blinked with cunning, a glint of mischief shimmering in them:

"From today on, there will be."

Author's note:

Yaya: Big bro, I'm commissioning you—text design.