As the test at Qujiang Pool ended, news of yet another divine weapon spread through the capital like wildfire.
“They said with a loud boom, clouds of smoke rose into the air, and everything in its path was left in ruins – blood and flesh everywhere!”
“Are you talking about a demon’s rampage?”
“Almost – it’s a weapon crafted by a disciple of the immortals!”
“You’re wrong, you’re wrong – this time it wasn’t them. It was made by the Li family, the fireworks makers.”
The taverns and teahouses were abuzz with talk. Overnight, the Li family’s fireworks business became even more famous, their shop packed inside and out.
“…Is that the one that looks like a stone shot?”
“…That one over there?”
“…Let me see that one–”
The shop was filled with clamorous voices, fingers pointing, everyone shouting at once until the fireworks and firecrackers on the counter were nearly sold out. The clerks were so busy their feet barely touched the floor.
Watching the scene, not a single member of the Li family complained of exhaustion – all of them were beaming with joy.
“When Mao’er was born, there was a glow of rosy light in the sky. A monk came and did a divination, said he was the reincarnation of the Martial Star Lord!” an old woman declared proudly, surrounded by a crowd in the courtyard.
Those nearby smiled along, though a few smirked with open disdain.
“Didn’t someone say just last night that his birth nearly killed his mother, and that he was almost thrown into a chamber pot to be drowned?” someone whispered to her neighbor, hand half-covering her mouth.
The neighbor quickly reached out and patted her arm in warning.
Just then, another woman entered, also surrounded by onlookers.
“Come, come, Li Mao’s wife!” the old woman called out, her smile blooming like a chrysanthemum.
“He’s become a treasure now.”
“Indeed – she’ll be a titled lady soon enough. Who could compare?”
The crowd murmured with mingled envy and admiration, all pressing closer to surround her.
Compared to the bustle in the streets and the excitement at the Li household, the front of Cheng Jiao-niang’s house by Yudai Bridge remained as quiet as ever.
“Not writing today either?”
A few people approached in small groups, calling out to the man standing by the street.
“There’s no notice saying she’s not writing today,” the man replied, glancing toward the Cheng residence. “Only…”
The newcomers followed his gaze – and their expressions turned to surprise.
“Who’s that?” they asked.
Standing before the Cheng residence was a man.
“That one,” the man by the street said, tucking his hands into his sleeves. “That’s the ungrateful, treacherous ‘Ghost Judge’ himself.”
Ban Qin, standing under the veranda, spat toward the courtyard – then quickly glanced around, a bit nervous. Luckily, no one had seen her, so she turned back at once.
“Now he knows he was wrong? It’s too late for that,” she said.
“You’re the one who’s wrong,” the maid replied, swaying slightly as she walked past and patted Ban Qin on the shoulder. “He doesn’t know he was wrong – he just wants to ease his own conscience.”
Ban Qin looked puzzled, watching as the maid stepped into the main hall, then hurried to follow.
“If he asks to see the lady, will she see him?” Ban Qin couldn’t help but ask.
“Ban Qin, you’ve said it wrong again,” the maid said with a smile. “Whether she sees him or not doesn’t depend on her – it depends on whether he dares to ask.”
Ban Qin gave a small “oh,” and sure enough, before long the servant outside reported that after bowing three times, Feng Lin had left.
There was nothing more to be said, and nothing more to be seen.
As the gate opened and a familiar maid stepped out, the people waiting by the street immediately surged forward.
“Lady Cheng is going to write today!”
“Can we only watch, not ask questions?”
“You can ask – as long as you can ‘see and comprehend’ like Li Mao did. Who knows, maybe Lady Cheng will take you as an official disciple too!”
“Then I’ll show her my calligraphy later – maybe she’ll give me a few pointers.”
Laughter and chatter rippled through the crowd, but soon quieted as Cheng Jiao-niang picked up her brush.
“Go on, wash your clothes while you can,” one of the women by the street called out. “By the time she’s done writing, the water will be black!”
While quiet reigned on one side, where Cheng Jiao-niang was writing, on the other the market women passed by, laughing and chatting. Han Yuanchao drew back his gaze and let out a soft sigh.
“Young Master, shall we go over there?” his servant couldn’t help but ask.
Han Yuanchao shook his head. Even Feng Lin had only bowed three times before leaving – what reason did he have to go and see her? They’d already said it: their paths were different; they had nothing more to do with each other.
The words exchanged in court had already spread, and news traveled fast at the posthouse – vivid in detail, dramatic in tone. Listeners gasped in shock one moment, then nodded in agreement the next.
“So it proves – evil can never triumph over righteousness! A ghost is still a ghost. Just entered the capital and already wanted to make a name – but didn’t stop to think who he was challenging. That was an immortal!”
Han Yuanchao did not agree with such talk. How could Feng Lin be the kind of man who sought fame?
Only now the tide had turned – the winner was king, the loser a rebel, that was all.
The story itself sounded familiar – just like the one his father had told, about the girl who dealt with that evil monk: if she did not strike, fine; but once she did, it was to kill – swift, precise, ruthless, leaving no room for mercy.
What kind of person was she, truly?
One moment repaying kindness like a bodhisattva, and the next, raising her hand to kill without a second’s hesitation, caring nothing for good or evil.
“…The fool from Jiang-zhou,” Han Yuanchao murmured under his breath, then turned and said, “Let’s go.”
He mounted his horse and rode a few paces, but at last could not help glancing back.
The girl in the midst of the gathered crowd sat quietly, practicing her calligraphy. Only the maid standing by the door met his gaze – and then looked away the next moment.
No longer the wild joy of their first meeting, nor the sorrow of parting ways – merely the indifference of strangers.
Han Yuanchao lowered his eyes, spurred his horse, and rode through the crowd down the street.
Because of his father’s position, Han Yuanchao was staying at the posthouse this time. When he returned, one of the post officers immediately came forward with a smile.
“Scholar Han, someone’s here to see you,” he said.
Ever since his father had been granted three imperial audiences in a single day, many people had come calling – old acquaintances wishing to reconnect, former classmates seeking favor, and even strangers looking to make friends. It was troublesome, but it did widen their circle of contacts.
Thinking about it, all of this, in a way, still came down to that lady’s influence.
“Is my father not here?” Han Yuanchao asked as he dismounted.
“Master Han is here,” the post officer replied with a flattering smile, “but this visitor specifically asked to see you, Young Master Han.” He gestured toward the main hall as he spoke.
Han Yuanchao looked up – and saw a man stepping out at the sound. His clothing was neat and well-kept; not luxurious, but by no means shabby either.
His face, however, was unfamiliar.
Who could this be?
“Benefactor Han.”
Li Dashao stepped forward and bowed deeply.
That word – benefactor – stirred something in Han Yuanchao. Looking at the man bowing before him, he felt a tangle of emotions.
Benefactor…
Who was whose benefactor, really?
Once they were seated inside, the atmosphere grew slightly awkward. Li Dashao said nothing at first, only leaned forward and slid a flying money bank draft across the table.
“What are you doing?”
Han Yuanchao frowned at once – he recognized it as the dividend he had returned to Tai Ping Residence that day.
“Please, hear me out first, Benefactor,” Li Dashao interrupted with a mild smile.
Han Yuanchao looked at him silently.
“I only recently learned about the past between you and the lady,” Li Dashao said. “You are her benefactor–”
“No,” Han Yuanchao cut him off, firmly. “She is mine.”
Li Dashao nodded in agreement.
“That is between the lady and yourself,” he said. “But this money – this concerns you and me. It has nothing to do with her.”
Han Yuanchao froze again.
This…
“Miss repaid your kindness, Benefactor, out of righteousness – she was helping one who once helped her, standing up for justice,” Li Dashao continued. “By hiring me as her cook, the lady had already repaid the debt she owed you. These profits were originally mine – it is I who wish to give them to you.”
“Even if they’re yours, I can’t accept them. It’s too much,” Han Yuanchao said, pushing the money back toward him.
But Li Dashao pushed it forward again, still smiling.
“Now that’s being petty, Benefactor. You accepted it before, didn’t you?”
Han Yuanchao’s expression grew a little awkward.
“I didn’t come here to reproach you,” Li Dashao quickly added. “I understand you returned the money because of the lady. But I came only to tell you – this money has nothing to do with her. Please, accept it.”
Han Yuanchao shook his head, just about to speak, when Li Dashao bent forward in a respectful bow.
“Please don’t worry, Benefactor. I came to return the money because of a misunderstanding, not to force you into anything. I understand your feelings, and I respect your intentions. What I’m returning is only the money from before. From today on, you no longer hold any share of Tai Ping Residence’s profits. Please be at ease.”
“From this day forth,” he said, “the accounts are settled. The kindness remains in our hearts, but money and gratitude shall no longer be entangled.”
Han Yuanchao looked at Li Dashao for a moment, then nodded.
“Very well. Since that’s the case, let’s leave the past unspoken and end it here,” he said with a faint smile.
Li Dashao bowed once more.
“Thank you, Benefactor,” he said, then rose to his feet. “I’ll take my leave.”
Not a word more, not a hint of anything beyond the matter at hand.
Han Yuanchao watched him.
“Take care,” he said.
Li Dashao turned to go, but when he reached the doorway, he couldn’t help stopping.
“Benefactor Han,” he said, “I just want to say – my lady is a good person.”
Han Yuanchao smiled.
“Someone told you not to say that before you came, didn’t they?” he asked with amusement.
Li Dashao looked as if he’d been caught.
“Yes,” he admitted. “Ban Qin said I shouldn’t say anything more than necessary, just stick to the matter itself.” He gave a small laugh, then sighed. “But I still couldn’t help saying it – my lady is a good person.”
Han Yuanchao smiled and nodded.
“Yes,” he said softly. “She is a good person.”
Li Dashao glanced at him once, then turned to go – but stopped again at the doorway.
“I forgot something.” He hurried back, extending his hand. “Ban Qin asked me to tell you that the matter of gratitude between you two should also be settled. She said your paths differ, and you should no longer be entangled. So please return the Analects she gave you.”
Han Yuanchao was stunned for a moment, then couldn’t help but smile wryly.
These women…
…
“With this, for a while at least, no one will dare accuse you again of ‘bewitching others with heretical talk’ and the like,” Qin Shi’san-lang said with a smile, sitting cross-legged in Cheng Jiao-niang’s hall on a winter afternoon.
“I never did such a thing to begin with,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
Qin Shi’san-lang only smiled without answering, lifting his tea bowl and draining it in one gulp.
“What if Li Mao hadn’t made that stone shot?” he asked after a pause.
This time, their ability to turn the tables on Feng Lin’s accusations had depended almost entirely on the invention of that stone-projecting weapon – and on the fact that Li Mao had been inspired to create it after watching Cheng Jiao-niang’s fireworks.
It seemed unrelated, and yet it was perfectly connected – just as that saying went: the speaker has no intent, the listener finds meaning; the doer acts without design, the watcher finds purpose.
No wonder Feng Lin had insisted it was too much of a coincidence – it really was too coincidental.
What if the stone shot hadn’t been finished in time?
Or what if Li Mao hadn’t mentioned that he was inspired by the fireworks?
Either absence, and everything would have fallen apart.
Cheng Jiao-niang looked at him.
“There are no ifs in this world,” she said. “So there’s no need to think about them.”
There are no ifs in this world.
If I hadn’t asked you to heal my leg – would you have agreed to marry me?
Qin Shi’san-lang gazed at the girl before him.
“If you had known my rules, would you still have let me treat your leg?”
“That’s why,” she said, “one shouldn’t sigh over what-ifs and maybes. There are no ifs in this world – things are simply as they are.”
No if, therefore no possibility.
Qin Shi’san-lang smiled faintly, lowered his head, and poured himself another cup of tea, hiding a quiet sigh.
This girl…
