The monks huddled in the side rooms, their eyes shadowed with the green-black tint of sleeplessness.
They were terrified, listening intently for noises outside.
“Knock, knock.”
The temple door was forcefully knocked on, startling the more timid monks into diving under their beds.
“Wait, it’s not the government soldiers,” an elderly monk said.
Government soldiers wouldn’t bother knocking slowly. They’d kick the door down after a symbolic knock.
Speaking of which, this door had just been repaired overnight by the monks. Yesterday evening, the Imperial Guards had barged in, citing some illness of a noble in the palace, and forcibly took away the temple’s abbot, Master Mingbian. The monks had planned to call craftsmen today to repair the door, but in the dead of night, a few elderly monks, unable to sleep out of concern for Master Mingbian’s safety, saw a fire in the direction of the royal palace.
The great fire illuminated half the night sky, and the thick smoke even drifted outside the city.
In the distance, the thunderous sound of horses’ hooves could be heard from the eastern and inner cities, seemingly lasting the entire night.
Children wailed desperately in the neighborhoods, cats and dogs, cows, and horses were in disarray. Every household tightly shut their doors and windows, and some even dug holes in their yards overnight to bury their valuables.
Under such circumstances, how could the monks of Golden Drum Temple sleep soundly, leaving the door wide open with just two novice monks standing guard? Of course, they had to get up. They hastily propped up the door and shoved supply tables, bed cabinets, and other furniture behind it to reinforce it.
The scholars lodging in the temple were of no help. They could only endlessly speculate about what might have happened.
Some said King Ning had died, sparking a power struggle among noble families. Others speculated that King Wu had sent assassins to completely disrupt Ningtai City.
—Either way, it was troublesome. Ordinary people didn’t care who became emperor; they feared turmoil.
Even if government soldiers didn’t storm in, local thugs and ruffians might scale the walls to loot, violate women, and kill indiscriminately.
When the chaos subsided, they would transform themselves, pretending nothing had happened. It would be difficult for the authorities to investigate who committed atrocities during those days, for once chaos began, no one could tell whether it was soldiers or thugs who harmed the common people.
Both the monks and the scholars staying at the temple were on edge, their nerves taut with every cry of a baby in the nearby streets.
They dared not venture out to check the situation.
The fire was extinguished before dawn, and the thick smoke gradually dissipated. Things seemed to be heading in a positive direction, but this was also the most dangerous time—it was when the thugs felt there was no longer a life-threatening risk and could act recklessly.
Now, suddenly, someone knocked on the main gate. The sound of knocking echoed into the side rooms, and everyone’s hearts leapt into their throats.
What they feared most seemed to be coming true.
“I…I’ll fight them!” A young novice grabbed a bamboo pole used for propping windows and shouted fiercely, though his courage was clearly lacking.
The other monks quickly intervened. The bamboo pole was so thin that it might snap if used with too much force; it was of no use at all!
“Everyone, calm down. It doesn’t seem like soldiers or those ruffians,” the elderly monk said steadily.
If it were thugs, they would have climbed over the walls long ago.
Just as he finished speaking, the novice who had gone out earlier cried out in panic, “Who are you?”
Mo Li had just landed and saw a young novice, about ten years old, staring at him with wide eyes, trembling all over, as if prepared to fight him to the death.
Fortunately, he had brought Master Mingbian back with him.
“Zhihui, what are you doing?”
Master Mingbian stood on the ground, still somewhat afraid. After decades of life, suddenly “flying” was a startling experience. Moments ago, he had been knocking on the temple gate, and in the blink of an eye, he found himself inside.
Seeing the barricaded door and the novice who seemed about to cry from fright, he had to feign sternness and scold, “Put down the bamboo pole.”
The other monks who had come out to intervene were overwhelmed with emotion upon seeing the abbot, as were the scholars lodging at the temple.
“Master Mingbian is back!”
A crowd of people surged out of the side rooms, surrounding the elderly monk.
Everyone wanted to know what had happened in the palace and how Master Mingbian had returned safely.
Only the novice monk, who was pushed aside, saw Mo Li leap into the air, floating effortlessly over the courtyard wall.
The novice monk gaped, then walked to the wall and compared its height to himself.
“So, it’s an immortal,” the child blurted out in shock. If he hadn’t read so many scriptures, he might have said it was an Arhat or Bodhisattva.
Not far away, Mo Li thought, “…”
There was no helping it. In Master Mingbian’s mind, his appearance was that of an old man, so Mo Li had to maintain this facade to rescue him.
The royal palace was still in chaos. By the time someone remembered the civilian doctors forcibly brought into the palace the previous night, who knew how many days would have passed? Hence, before leaving the palace, Mo Li deliberately split up with Meng Qi and went through the palace grounds to ensure that Lady Zhu, who had suffered a stroke, was no longer in mortal danger. Then, he casually brought the doctors out as well.
Among them were Master Mingbian and Doctor Hu, who had helped Mo Li treat Lady Zhu.
Doctor Hu was the resident doctor at a pharmacy in Jixian Lane, while Master Mingbian was the abbot of Golden Drum Temple.
Mo Li escorted the latter, while Meng Qi headed toward Jixian Lane.
On the way, Mo Li broke the arms and legs of seven or eight thugs, leaving them writhing and wailing in the alleys.
In the larger markets and streets, troops and constables were gradually arriving. Although the commoners didn’t dare to open their shops, the situation was relatively stable. In more remote areas, people suspected to be from Fengxing Pavilion were already active. When Mo Li subdued a thief attempting to pry open a door, he even encountered some of these people.
They scrutinized Mo Li suspiciously and then saluted him.
“May I ask the senior’s name…?”
Mo Li said nothing and walked away.
Since he couldn’t discern whether they belonged to Qiu Si or Qiu Jing’s faction, it was better to reveal his presence slightly and let Qiu Jing come to find him.
It remained uncertain whether Pavilion Master Qiu could return to Ningtai City in time.
The Fengxing Pavilion members exchanged glances but didn’t pursue him. They simply noted his presence, and the information would undoubtedly be reported up the chain.
Mo Li wandered through several markets and neighborhoods nearby, observing city patrol troops everywhere. Doors and windows were tightly shut in every household, including those of noble families and wealthy merchants.
Mo Li tried hiding in the shadows to eavesdrop on conversations among Fengxing Pavilion members. As it turned out, most of them were unaware of the specifics of the situation. Their presence was simply because they didn’t want Ningtai City to descend into chaos. Fengxing Pavilion had numerous properties in the city. These people weren’t just gathering intelligence for the pavilion; their wives, children, and relatives might also be tied to these businesses.
Fengxing Pavilion resembled a massive web, intricately weaving together major merchant houses within the city. While these people hailed from various parts of the country, their homes were now in Ningtai. They would not tolerate disorder here.
Qiu Si didn’t even need to issue orders; Fengxing Pavilion’s members acted of their own accord.
Mo Li shook his head, realizing that Qiu Si’s subordinates fell into two categories. One included martial figures like Yuan Ting, the Outlawed Tiger, who, despite their high status and apparent trust from Qiu, knew very little. The other comprised officials like Cheng Jingchuan, embedded within the bureaucracy.
Currently, the latter group held control over the city.
“What is the doctor looking at?”
A familiar and intimate voice came from behind. Mo Li didn’t turn around but pointed at the patrolling troops.
Meng Qi now appeared to be in his forties, dressed in a finely embroidered robe. It was unclear which prince or noble’s garment it had originally been. When Meng Qi casually searched a lavish palace room, he found many new outfits in a sandalwood cabinet.
Southern fabrics often featured intricate embroidery and diverse patterns. The descendants of King Ning wouldn’t wear dragon-patterned clothing all the time, like in operas, fearing others wouldn’t recognize their noble status. As long as the materials were expensive, comfortable, and exquisitely embroidered, any style was acceptable.
For instance, this particular robe matched Meng Qi’s tastes well.
Its color resembled the fabric Mo Li had once picked for him in a cloth shop, and it felt soft and light to the touch.
Since the original had been lost on Mount Feihe, having a substitute wasn’t bad. After all, clothes are things that wear out over time (…).
From a distance, Meng Qi spotted Mo Li.
Beyond their prearranged meeting spot in this area, Meng Qi had grown increasingly familiar with Mo Li’s habits. He knew that Mo Li disliked attracting attention and preferred specific types of locations. This rooftop was ideal—it was shielded by surrounding buildings, making it difficult to spot anyone here unless someone looked closely. The best part? There was a pharmacy below.
In the summer, pharmacies often prepared sachets and herbal pouches for pest control, particularly in southern regions.
Different pharmacies varied in their approach, and local differences added unique touches. For instance, areas with more snakes might use extra realgar, while places prone to ant infestations might add angelica root.
This was akin to a master chess player discerning strategy from the sound of a piece placed on the board or a chef catching the aroma of another’s signature dish. It was hard not to pause mid-step, compelled to identify and savor.
Thus, Meng Qi never missed when looking for Mo Li.
But this time, beside Mo Li’s familiar rattan chest sat a lacquered food box.
“What’s this?” Meng Qi ignored the patrolling soldiers and instead picked up the box.
Such boxes were common, typically used to store meals—keeping them warm and dust-free.
Mo Li reached out and lifted the lid, his hand brushing against Meng Qi’s in the process.
Meng Qi took the chance to give Mo Li’s hand a light squeeze, earning an exasperated glare from the latter.
“Huh?”
Inside was a glistening bowl of meat, coated in a sugary glaze and enhanced with vinegar, emitting an irresistible aroma.
Meng Qi couldn’t resist picking up a pair of chopsticks, only to have Mo Li stop him.
“Drink the porridge first.”
The box had two layers: one for the meat and braised cabbage, and another for rice porridge and sesame sponge cakes.
The sponge cakes were beautifully crafted. A glance was enough to reveal the skill of the chef—a top-tier artisan, as Meng Qi instinctively recognized, being a connoisseur of southern pastries.
“You haven’t had a proper meal in two days. Snacks may be tasty, but they can’t replace a proper diet,” Mo Li said, frowning. Seeing Meng Qi’s unabashed delight instead of any hint of guilt, Mo Li couldn’t help but snort. “If you don’t like hearing this, let me tell you—if it were my master, Old Mr. Qin, you’d be drinking porridge for three days straight and eating nothing but mushy cabbage. There wouldn’t even be a hint of meat.”
—That’s because the doctor cares about me, Meng Qi thought smugly.
He picked up the bowl of porridge, sipping contentedly. He couldn’t resist praising it: “Which chef’s handiwork is this? It tastes so soft and sweet, as though it’s seeping into my very soul.”
Mo Li didn’t humor his flattery, replying calmly, “It’s from a restaurant two streets over, which seems to be a Fengxing Pavilion establishment. Many shops are closed today, so most of the Jianghu people are gathering there. I paid double to intercept the meal that a bodyguard had ordered. For the sake of money, they were willing to wait a little longer. So what you’re tasting, Meng, might just be the flavor of money.”
Meng Qi: “…”
Clothed and fed, yet feeling particularly uneasy.
Perhaps it was because he was broke and couldn’t afford to keep his doctor.
Author’s Note:
Sand Rat: …
I dare not speak.jpg
Money is at home, and home cannot be taken with me—the plight of a dragon vein.
