It is better to relocate early for peace, than to be restless.
Broken eaves and crumbling walls, twilight deepens, and crows perch on dry branches.
The once towering Huabiao is gone, leaving only the lonely base, the square stones pried apart in disarray, and mud pits filled with water everywhere.
Wild weeds grow as high as half a person, among them lie broken stone carvings, originally standing on both sides of the spirit road at the tomb’s entrance. Among them, a stone elephant is broken in half, and a stone lion is missing its head, yet the exquisite carvings remain clear.
Since this place was once intended as an imperial mausoleum, it was of grand scale.
Aside from the Minglou and stone archway that symbolize status, yet to be erected, everything else was in place.
But now, it presents such a desolate sight, Mo Li presses his lips together, speechless for a long time.
——The Chu dynasty fell just sixteen years ago, how has this place become so derelict?
That earlier dock, it could be said that its disuse was inevitable, but as they proceeded further, something was amiss. From the remaining stone carvings and traces on the stone slabs, it was clear there was deliberate destruction.
The stone carvings placed on either side of the spirit road are very heavy, and their bases are solid; enduring centuries of wind and rain would not be a problem unless someone intentionally used ropes to pull them down, creating this fragmented scene.
Lu Min feels a chill down his spine, sweat on his forehead.
Although he does not know what happened here, his intuition tells him it is related to a change of dynasties, and Lu Min stiffens his neck, not daring to look at Meng Qi’s expression.
The road is bumpy, the carriage can no longer proceed.
Mr. Jinshui snaps back to reality, taking in the desolate surroundings, his heart suddenly tightens.
“What happened here?” Mr. Jinshui incredulously sticks his head out to look around.
The Zhu Hou Temple is famous, often appearing in teahouse storybooks; this was the burial place of Zhu Yan, Zhu Yunming, a great sage of the late Chen dynasty. Count three hundred years forward, or perhaps several hundred years back, such a brilliant and outspoken figure could only be Zhu Yan.
Zhu Yan was famous for his talent from a young age, and by the time he came of age, the whole world knew his name.
He authored seventy-two works of poetry and prose and six volumes of annotations on classics and history, including two on military strategy. A scholar deeply versed in knowledge, Zhu Yan was a minister known for his extraordinary talent, his writing divinely inspired, and his conversations striking to the heart. Had he lived during the chaotic end of the Chen dynasty, his scholarly abilities could have pioneered a new school of thought, influencing not just his generation but also future ones. Unfortunately, Zhu Yan died too soon.
Zhu Yan died of illness at thirty-six, after spending a decade planning for Li Yuanze’s conquest of the empire.
If it weren’t for his poor health preventing him from joining the military campaigns, the Chen dynasty might have fallen several years earlier.
Such a legendary figure, aside from his role as a minister of Chu, also held high esteem among the common people. Mr. Jinshui had expected to see a place where scholars and poets frequently visited to compose poems and reflect on the past, but instead, he found this ruin.
“It shouldn’t be like this…”
Mr. Jinshui mutters to himself.
Mo Li also thinks, it shouldn’t be this way.
Qi Emperor Lu Zhang, known for his vanity, logically wouldn’t allow anyone to demolish this unfinished mausoleum or deliberately destroy Zhu Hou Temple.
On the contrary, to prove the ruthless and unrighteous nature of the Chu dynasty’s Li family, Lu Zhang would likely link the early cancellation of the mausoleum with a premeditated intent to harm his ministers, then extensively publicize it, hypocritically ordering repairs to the burial site, conferring or promoting titles to relatives of the Marquis of Leyang, making sure to cover all bases in saving face.
Mo Li feels puzzled and can’t help but look at Meng Qi.
——He shouldn’t have done this.
To others, this place is just a desolate and ruined site, but for Meng Qi, it represents a part of the past, still burying his friend.
When a friend’s grave is desecrated, anyone would be enraged.
Unexpectedly, Meng Qi appears very calm, showing no signs of fury.
“What happened here?” Mo Li decides to ask directly.
“…It’s about geomancy.”
Meng Qi half-closes his eyes, his expression stern, his tone full of irony: “Years ago, someone pointed to Qing River as a dragon, claiming this was a so-called auspicious but actually ominous dragon’s den, with an external green dragon coveting it, any prosperous fate touching it would vanish immediately. Coupled with the fact that relatives of the Marquis of Leyang dwindled, many dying in wars, and survivors being of mediocre ability, rumors intensified.”
“Wait, how come I have never heard of this rumor?” Mr. Jinshui asked instinctively.
“This rumor originated forty years ago…”
Before Meng Qi could finish, Mr. Jinshui felt his face heat up.
Meng Qi did not give him another glance, continuing, “Moreover, the rumor was deliberately spread by interested parties, mainly circulating within the inner city of Taijing. Once their goal was achieved, they ceased.”
The goal, of course, was to prevent the Chu dynasty’s imperial tombs from being established here.
Mo Li understood and then asked, “Was it Li Yuanze?”
Meng Qi slowly shook his head, and after a long pause, said, “I don’t know.”
This response clearly surprised Dr. Mo, as with Meng Qi’s abilities, plus the ability to transform into a sand rat and gather information at night, if he were determined to trace the source of the rumor, it should be easy.
Spreading false geomancy in front of a dragon vein, disrupting the burial plans of Chu dynasty’s senior ministers, spreading rumors recklessly in Taijing… any of these could infuriate the Imperial Teacher Meng, let alone all combined.
“…Was it them?”
Mo Li’s voice was very soft, so soft that even Lu Min, who was nearest, barely heard it.
Meng Qi was silent for a long while, then repeated, “I don’t know.”
—I don’t know, because there were too many who added fuel to the flames.
—I don’t know, because everyone had their own agendas.
In his youth, he had made his mark, thinking of supporting the world, feeling that after death he should be buried in a place that could encompass all these sentiments, but as he grew older, he had other plans. Not just because some wanted to return to their roots for burial, but also because building such a grand mausoleum was too costly. Compared to the stories of glory, money weighed heavier.
There was indeed camaraderie during their lifetimes, but by then, the Marquis of Leyang had been dead for over a decade, he had no descendants, and their affection naturally faded, why should unrelated people insist on being buried together?
Some believed their tombs wouldn’t meet the standards of princes, disdaining the outer graves, while others, though prominent and accomplished, were only high in rank; throughout history, it is the enduring works that capture hearts, and a hundred years later, people would still revere the Marquis of Leyang more. With death, why bother being compared and pointed at by others?
There were also those who guessed the Chu Emperor’s intentions, knowing that the emperor had second thoughts, and after weighing the pros and cons, decided to agree. After all, the emperor is the emperor, why oppose him over something trivial?
Meng Qi could take a stand on any issue, but he couldn’t on this one.
He wouldn’t die, and the tomb prepared for him was destined to remain empty.
Everyone considers their own afterlife, and Meng Qi could refute these thoughts, but he didn’t have the confidence.
Even if no one knew this secret, this melancholy persisted.
Establishing a new dynasty, saving the people, after decades of aligned goals, Meng Qi suddenly realized that dragon veins and people were ultimately different, unchangeable, and the things his friends cared about, he found hard to understand and couldn’t interfere.
In the end, he withdrew, no longer pursuing the investigation.
Matters of the afterlife could never outweigh current issues, and since most opposed, then for the sake of maintaining the governance and avoiding discord between the monarch and his ministers, why bother with burial?
Can a person not choose where they rest eternally if they can’t choose how they are born into this world?
Thus, this “minor disturbance” quickly subsided, as if it had never happened, and the Chu dynasty continued to flourish, soon welcoming a golden age of peace.
“Oh, geomancy… actually, it’s not about fooling people with geomancy, but what people think in their hearts. Even the most absurd nonsense can become truth if it strikes the right chord.”
Lu Min spoke and realized everyone was staring at him; he shrank his neck, asking nervously, “Did I say something wrong?”
“No.”
Meng Qi looked at him steadily for a while before turning away.
Lu Min wiped his sweat, and Mr. Jinshui felt increasingly strange by his side. In his view, Meng Qi was just discussing geomancy, then Mo Li asked if the rumor was started by the Chu Emperor, to which Meng Qi said he didn’t know.
Of course, he didn’t know, how could one be clear about something from forty years ago? Mr. Jinshui thought this when Mo Li suddenly spoke a few words too softly for Mr. Jinshui to hear clearly, but Meng Qi’s response he did hear.
Still three words, “I don’t know.”
Based on such reasoning, could it be that the doctor suggested a suspect’s name?
Observing the expressions and postures of the two, and the tone of their conversation, it seemed as though Meng Qi had witnessed this upheaval with his own eyes, and Mo Li was deeply convinced of this too. Although Meng Qi verbally claimed ignorance, his demeanor suggested otherwise. He knew the inside story but couldn’t disclose it—
Mr. Jinshui shivered, suddenly snapping back to his senses. He thought, how did such absurd ideas come to mind? Those who knew the old stories must be at least in their sixties by now. Although the backgrounds of these two were mysterious, their ages were evident.
No, wait.
Mr. Jinshui suddenly remembered how they had publicly referred to him by his alias and specifically explained that they could make their spoken words audible only to selected individuals. This was a secretive method often mentioned by storytellers, a skill only those with exceptional martial prowess possessed.
The problem was, it was said that when martial arts were perfected, one could maintain youthful appearance or unchanging features.
Mr. Jinshui’s face changed colors as he wondered whether he should now earnestly seek the help of these “masters” to uncover a scandal in the capital.
At that moment, Lu Min jumped off the carriage, ready to push it across the ravine.
In fact, there was no need for him to exert himself; Mo Li simply shooed him to the side, and once everyone had alighted, he and Meng Qi effortlessly lifted the carriage across by themselves.
Lu Min stood there, holding the reins of two horses, dumbfounded. He rubbed his eyes, only then confirming that the carriage was already several meters away.
In the blink of an eye, it was even further.
Mr. Jinshui: “……”
The scholar’s heart sank suddenly, dismissing any chaotic speculation as unnecessary—the men were indeed the legendary martial artists capable of incredible feats.
“I thought tales of martial arts masters were just made up,” Mr. Jinshui said weakly. He had thought that those like bodyguards or strongmen were the ones skilled in martial arts, or perhaps just physically strong. Previously, when Meng Qi single-handedly lifted the carriage and effortlessly took down a group of people, he thought it was just quick reflexes.
People in Taijing had seen all sorts of performances from all over, including tricks like fire-breathing, sword-swallowing, magically producing a basket of peaches, turning a pot of water into blood, and making words appear on a cloth over fire. All these tricks had explanations. Thus, the people of Taijing were not as easily fooled as country folks who revered any mystic as a deity, but they were also not quick to recognize a true master.
“Didn’t you realize that at the dock?” Lu Min responded, perplexed.
“No, I thought martial arts masters were just… very capable in combat…”
Mr. Jinshui thought, that didn’t include instantly gliding several meters away! In this desolate and dilapidated tomb area, he would have screamed ghost if it were someone he didn’t know.
Lu Min was still confused, saying, “Right, martial arts masters are indeed very capable in combat, able to fight hundreds or even thousands single-handedly.” They could even storm the imperial palace and beat the emperor into a pulp!
Mr. Jinshui was speechless, his eyes wide: “Can’t they fly with swords and behead someone from a hundred miles away?”
“Are you talking about storybooks?” Lu Min was astonished.
Mr. Jinshui breathed a sigh of relief. Good, good, there weren’t any adventurers in this world who could shrink to three inches tall, fly through the skies, leave their bodies to control swords and kill.
—Actually, three inches might not be possible, but five inches might be—newborns are about four to five inches. As for flying through the skies or spirit leaving the body, for a dragon vein, transforming its spirit into a dragon for a stroll isn’t hard; it’s just the sword-flying part that’s a bit fantastical. Dragons can fly by themselves; they don’t need a sword.
Would it make sense for a dragon to fly on a sword?
That sword would have to be as large as a door!
Fortunately, Mr. Jinshui kept these thoughts to himself, avoiding any awkwardness for the keen-eared Mo Li.
Meng Qi was lost in his memories, not noticing the situation behind him.
“…After Chu Emperor Yuan died and Chu Emperor Ling succeeded him, he seemed to deeply believe the old geomancy rumors. Thus, in the last years of the Chu dynasty, this place was neglected. When the Chu dynasty fell, the ominous geomancy rumors resurfaced, and Lu Zhang, having heard these tales when he was a minister of Chu, feared they would continue to affect Taijing’s fortunes. So, he ordered the stone carvings on either side of the spirit path to be completely toppled.”
Meng Qi spoke with a tone of sarcasm, his expression weary, “Yet he also feared the Marquis of Leyang’s widespread popularity, daring only to send men under cover of night to act. Today, although Zhu Hou Temple still maintains some integrity, this outer area has completely changed its appearance. It’s been many years since I last visited here.”
Mo Li’s mind stirred, sensing that Meng Qi was merely lamenting, without any sorrow. He couldn’t help but ask, “So, the coffin of Marquis Zhu isn’t here anymore?”
Meng Qi paused, then gripped Mo Li’s hand, smiling, “The doctor knows me well.”
“But observing words and expressions, Brother Meng has no intention of hiding anything; I could deduce as much,” Mo Li looked down at his grasped hand, finding it held very skillfully, his fingers completely wrapped and barely able to move.
“Marquis Zhu’s coffin was moved away when?” asked Mo Li.
“Quite early, forty years ago. As soon as the royal tomb was relocated, I… found a deep valley on Shangyun Mountain.”
Meng Qi paused there, because, after all, running off in the dead of night to dig up the grave of an old friend who had been buried for years and then hiding the coffin was considered scandalous by any standard.
Fortunately, the dragon veins shared his way of thinking.
Mo Li knew that there were no spirits in this world; people died and became mere bones, and since the coffin was not opened, there was no such thing as disturbing the deceased.
“You took precautions too early,” Mo Li reflected. If it had been him, he probably wouldn’t have anticipated today’s scene, yet Meng Qi had been prepared so early, which he found admirable.
Indeed, when it came to understanding the world and human nature, the Taijing dragon vein was a step above.
Meng Qi looked like he wanted to say more, recognizing Mo Li’s thoughts. He could have gone along with it, but he feared Mo Li might misunderstand upon thinking it over.
“Doctor, my relationship with the Marquis of Leyang was just that of old friends and comrades-in-arms.”
Mo Li nodded, somewhat puzzled. What else?
“…So it wasn’t just about stealthily moving his coffin to Shangyun Mountain.”
Meng Qi held his forehead, struggling to explain, “When I was investigating the rumors, I was both angry and annoyed, until Deng Shusheng persuaded me. He said not building this massive tomb complex was a good thing. Besides the expense and hassle, no reign lasts forever. Someday there will be a change of dynasty and chaos; if everyone’s buried together with numerous grave goods, wouldn’t that bring bad luck?”
Throughout history, armies were often funded by plundering ancient tombs; imperial tombs were no exception unless it was unclear where the tomb was, like Chen Emperor Li’s. Even if a tomb was fortified with numerous mechanisms, a few tens of thousands of people could breach it by carving through the mountain and blowing up the tomb, rendering all defenses useless.
Meng Qi continued, “Although I knew this, hearing Deng Shusheng speak so bluntly still infuriated me.” At the height of the Chu dynasty’s prosperity, not just the emperor but every founding hero hoped the dynasty would last forever, providing a peaceful and prosperous life for the people. Suddenly someone saying that in the future, everyone’s coffins wouldn’t even protect their bones, which would likely be trampled into dust—it’s a good thing that Imperial Teacher Meng wouldn’t die and could keep his wits about him, or else others might have already been fighting with Prime Minister Deng.
“So after getting angry, you thought it over and it made sense, so you went to dig up the grave?” Mo Li figured he’d probably do the same.
“Yes,” Meng Qi responded weakly. “Deng Shusheng meant that everyone being buried together was too conspicuous. If it were only the Marquis of Leyang, given his reputation among the people, his gravesite might remain well-attended. Deng Shusheng is a scholar; he thinks the world respects Zhu Yan, I don’t think so, it’s just the scholars who respect him, and scholars aren’t everyone. Zhu Yan had no descendants, and we were all saddened by his death, especially Li Yuanze. Although Zhu Yan was posthumously named Marquis of Leyang, his grave goods were equivalent to those of a prince. The funeral was grand, the whole of Taijing knew about it, and history books won’t omit it—inevitably, some might covet what’s buried there…”
“That makes sense,” Mo Li nodded.
Meng Qi breathed a sigh of relief and whispered, “I only took the coffin, just that once. As for others… everyone else was buried hastily at the time, mostly transported back to their hometowns. There were few grave goods, nothing eye-catching, and they wouldn’t attract the ire of later Chu emperors due to the geomancy issue, so I didn’t bother.”
Mo Li, realizing belatedly, saw that Meng Qi was worried he might misunderstand because he had only moved Zhu Yan’s coffin. After all, they were dragon veins; others might bury coffins in the mountains uncontrollably, but digging up and moving a coffin was quite an irregular act.
However, this could not be said aloud.
Elder Qin had once said, those with virtue deserve respect in life and death.
Thus, Mo Li tacitly skipped over this matter, not mentioning that he hadn’t thought of it before. Now that he understood, he felt that even mentioning it directly would be disrespectful to the Marquis of Leyang.
“So that’s it, let’s go then.”
Mo Li initially thought of suggesting a visit to Marquis Zhu’s shrine for Meng Qi to pay respects, but now it seemed unnecessary.
At that moment, Lu Min came over leading the two horses.
Mr. Jinshui, in the meantime, accidentally stepped into a mud pit, twisting an already injured foot. Along with several falls he had on the boat earlier, he now couldn’t stand up at all.
As Mo Li went over to attend to him, eerie, intermittent wailing sounds came from the depths of the ruined and secluded tomb.
Like the cry of a ghost.
The group exchanged glances, and Mr. Jinshui silently corrected himself in his mind, noting it was the standard ghostly wail, just like those overly theatrical ones from the stage, utterly fake.
Author’s note:
Though dilapidated, why hasn’t the famous Marquis Zhu’s site become a pilgrimage spot or tourist attraction?
Of course, because it’s haunted!
Ghost: The tomb is neglected, rituals ceased, the Marquis of Leyang is dissatisfied, has become a fierce ghost.
