[The historical records state: Although Emperor Ming’s reign was brief, the realm enjoyed good governance. When he died, neither gold nor jade was buried with him. There was only an old garment, and no one knew who had left it.]
…
Gongsun E did not live a particularly long life.
All he remembered was lying on the dragon bed as the sky beyond the hall darkened inch by inch. The night wind drifted down the long palace corridors, so gentle it sounded like someone sighing under their breath. Hundreds of officials knelt at the bedside, bowing and weeping as they bade him farewell. And with that, his life came to an end.
When he next opened his eyes, a ruined Buddha statue stood before him.
Cold moonlight spilled through broken roof tiles, dimly illuminating the towering figure. Its gold paint had long since flaked away, revealing the mottled clay beneath. The once-compassionate face was now decayed and ashen.
The Buddha held a flower delicately in its left hand, but a strange, sinister serpent coiled around its right. The serpent had broken in the middle, and one half lay in the cracks of the lotus pedestal beneath a thick layer of dust.
The mountain winds were always uncanny here. They made the temple’s weathered window lattice creak and groan, lending the place an even more unsettling air.
Gongsun E lay on the ground atop a bed of dry straw. Upon waking, he felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder. Looking down, he saw that his pale clothes had been soaked red with blood. A broken arrow was lodged in the wound. Someone had hacked off the shaft, leaving an ugly, jagged stub exposed.
Pale-faced, he covered the wound with one hand and slowly sat up. He gazed blankly at the Buddha for a long time before finally remembering where he was.
When he first entered the court at twenty-five, he had been hunted for investigating the massacre of an entire household. While fleeing, he had hidden in a dilapidated temple called Wuxiang Temple. The strange, malevolent-looking Buddha inside had left such a deep impression that he remembered it clearly.
Had he… been reborn?
The thought left Gongsun E stunned for a long time.
Wind poured through the broken window, carrying the chill of the mountains. He lowered his gaze to his hand. When he clenched it, his nails dug into his palm, bringing a sharp stab of pain that reminded him this was no dream.
Gongsun E had never believed in Buddhism throughout his life.
Bodhisattvas and Buddhas were nothing more than clay figures covered in gold. He had seen too many people with nowhere to take their grievances kneel and knock their heads bloody before such statues, only for those destined to die still to die and the wronged to remain wronged.
And yet here he was, living again.
Gongsun E lifted his head toward the broken Buddha and suddenly wanted to laugh. Weathered by time, the statue’s features had long since blurred. Moonlight spilled silently over it, as though washing away its mottled dust, or perhaps merely shining down on an empty shell.
“Why don’t you tell me,”
Gongsun E said slowly, his voice deep,
“what have I done to deserve your special regard?”
Naturally, the Buddha did not answer.
He chuckled to himself once more.
Several worn prayer cushions lay scattered beneath the lotus pedestal, their corners frayed. Countless worshippers must once have knelt there, bowing in earnest and pouring out every grievance in the human world. Now the incense offerings had ceased, the temple lay in ruins, and before the empty altar stood only a man who did not believe in Buddha.
Gongsun E lifted the hem of his robe and slowly knelt.
His eyes, usually so gentle and detached, gazed up at the divine figure. For reasons he could not explain, a trace of genuine reverence rose within them.
Buddha, oh Buddha.
If only you had let me be reborn a few years earlier.
If I had returned five years earlier, I would not have let him suffer in the depths of the palace for so long.
If I had returned ten years earlier, I would not have let him wander from place to place in such misery.
Then again, Gongsun E felt he should not be too greedy. Being granted a second life was a blessing most people could never hope to receive. He had no right to ask for more.
He had brought no incense sticks. Instead, he took an old sachet embroidered with a mother-and-child gourd design from inside his robe, pinched out a little Biji incense, and sprinkled it into the burner before the Buddha.
The fine incense powder fell, and thin white smoke began curling into the air.
Gods and Buddhas above,
let this offering be one I make on behalf of that young eunuch.
Please bless me in this life, so I may find him soon.
And please bless him in this life, so he may live in peace and safety.
…
Dawn had not yet broken. All was still in the mountain wilderness.
Gongsun E rose from the prayer cushion, intending to return to the capital. Yet just before leaving, something occurred to him. He hid a bloodstained bundle inside the base behind the Buddha statue.
It was a small bundle, seemingly wrapped in an outer garment without much care. Inside were a fragment of charred bone from a right hand, several secret letters, and a ring set with a gemstone.
The objects appeared insignificant. But if they were investigated, who knew how many people at court would lose sleep over them?
In his previous life, he had carried this evidence while fleeing pursuit, only to be outmaneuvered and robbed by a group of unidentified men in black. The case had eventually been dropped without resolution. Better to leave the evidence concealed here for now.
Just as he finished hiding it, faint footsteps sounded outside the door. The men were moving stealthily, but he heard them nonetheless.
His gaze sharpened. Without hesitation, he snuffed out the oil lamp before the Buddha and slipped silently behind the door to see what was happening.
Several men in black stood on the steps outside the temple, armed with blades and advancing cautiously. They were the same people who had pursued him earlier.
The half-closed wooden door was pushed inward, and the tip of a blade appeared first.
The leader had barely stepped inside when a hand shot from the darkness like a phantom and seized his sword arm. With a violent twist, the attacker wrenched the wrist sharply, turned the blade around, and dragged its edge across his throat.
“Shrrk!”
Blood sprayed. The man fell straight to the ground without so much as a groan.
The faces of the others outside changed abruptly. They drew their weapons together and rushed in.
Gongsun E darted aside to avoid the blade hacking toward him, then slashed backhanded across the second man’s throat. A jet of blood burst out, spattering his cheek.
A third man attacked from behind. Without turning his head, Gongsun E pulled the dagger from his waist with his left hand and stabbed backward, burying the blade to the hilt in the attacker’s belly. With a muffled cry of agony, the man convulsed and fell.
The fourth.
The fifth.
As he swung his blade to parry the sixth man’s attack, the arrow wound in Gongsun E’s shoulder finally tore open again. Blood dripped down the sleeve of his pale robe, soaking his entire arm within moments.
Gongsun E grunted and stumbled half a step.
The last man in black lunged, seizing his chance. Gongsun E had nowhere to dodge, so he advanced instead of retreating. He twisted the man’s sword wrist and smashed it hard against a corridor pillar. With his other hand, he drew his dagger and thrust it into the man’s abdomen with every ounce of strength he had left.
The man’s expression changed. His mouth fell open, and he collapsed crookedly to the ground.
“Whoosh!”
At that critical instant, an arrow suddenly tore out of the darkness beyond the door. It skimmed past the tip of Gongsun E’s nose and buried itself in the wooden pillar behind him. The shaft quivered and hummed. If he had not turned his head at precisely that instant, it would have pierced him between the brows.
Gongsun E did not move.
He stood motionless among the bodies, still in the position he had adopted to dodge the arrow. Only after the corpse before him slid down the pillar and fell did he slowly raise his eyes and turn toward the doorway.
The night stretched on. At some point, another group of black-clad men had appeared outside.
Their leader wore a bamboo hat and carried a longbow. His face was hidden. The mountain wind lifted the edge of his robe, exposing a pair of iron eagle claws at his waist.
Black Hawk, the Eastern Depot’s Judicial Thousand-Household Commander.
He raised his head slowly, fixing Gongsun E with eyes as dead and chilling as the depths of a cold pool. Yet when he glanced at the arrow that had gone wide, an almost imperceptible emotion flashed through them. Surprise, perhaps, or lingering fear.
It disappeared almost immediately. As though recalling something, he spoke in a deep, rough voice and issued a cold command.
“Hand over the secret letters, and I will spare your life.”
The household massacre Gongsun E was investigating implicated a wide array of people, including Wei Xiao’s faction of corrupt courtiers. The unidentified attackers had wanted to seize the evidence.
Naturally, Wei Xiao wanted it too.
Gongsun E said nothing.
His mind raced backward through another memory.
In his former life, it was at this very moment that the evidence had been taken from him. He had consequently concluded that Wei Xiao was the mastermind, and that Black Hawk had been sent deliberately to assassinate him. That was why the two of them later became irreconcilable enemies at court, confronting each other at every turn.
But after everything he had experienced in his previous life, he was certain Wei Xiao would never take his life.
That left only one possibility…
Recalling the flicker of fear in Black Hawk’s eyes when he had first seen him, Gongsun E began to guess what had happened.
Black Hawk was not working with the first group of men in black.
Perhaps Black Hawk had fired that arrow deliberately to save him, only to misjudge the timing and cause Gongsun E to misunderstand his intentions.
Gongsun E braced himself on the tip of his blade and slowly straightened, clutching his right shoulder. Blood leaked between his fingers, staining his clothes a shocking red. The corner of his mouth moved as he asked an ambiguous question.
“And if I refuse, what will you do?”
The Eastern Depot agents behind Black Hawk had already drawn their sabers halfway, but he stopped them with a single look. They stared at Gongsun E with grim faces, none daring to step forward and hurt him. All they could do was watch as he turned and staggered toward the door.
But after only a few steps, Gongsun E stopped. Without looking back, he spoke hoarsely.
“You can have the evidence.”
Black Hawk’s gaze sharpened. He abruptly raised his head, and Gongsun E continued in the same rough voice:
“Take me to see your Chief Eunuch.”
Once the words left his mouth, Gongsun E seemed to exhaust his last remaining strength.
His long blade clattered to the floor. He swayed twice and collapsed, his consciousness sinking into darkness.
…
That night, all was quiet.
Only half of a dim candle burned in the study of the Chief Eunuch’s residence.
Black Hawk knelt in the shadows, his forehead pressed against the icy floor tiles. Maintaining the position for so long had made his back stiff and numb. Yet the man above the shadows had remained silent for an age, saying nothing. That silence chilled him more deeply than any torture ever could.
“You say he wishes to see me?”
Wei Xiao had just finished bathing. His long black hair hung loose over his shoulders, still damp with moisture. He sat cross-legged on a chaise longue, a languid silk outer robe thrown over his white undergarment. It was a red so dark it was almost black, putting one inexplicably in mind of congealed blood.
He looked down at Black Hawk, his right hand resting on his bent knee. His knuckles were lean and coldly pale; his fingers rubbed slowly against one another, conveying a pressure that needed no anger to command fear.
Kneeling on one knee, Black Hawk recounted everything that had happened in the ruined temple, omitting nothing. Finally he said:
“Those men in black were all killed by Lord Gongsun. Their identities have not yet been established. But before he lost consciousness, he did indeed say… that if we wanted the evidence, we should bring him to see you.”
Hearing those words from Black Hawk was like having an exceptionally fine poisoned needle driven into Wei Xiao’s ear. The idea was so ironic it was almost laughable.
See him?
Gongsun E hated him enough already. Why would he ever wish to see him?
The corner of Wei Xiao’s mouth twitched, the movement so slight that not even the kneeling Black Hawk noticed. His subordinate only sensed that the Chief Eunuch remained silent a little longer than usual.
At length, Wei Xiao finally spoke.
“Withdraw.”
Black Hawk felt as though he had been granted a reprieve. He kowtowed and retreated. But just as he reached the doorway, Wei Xiao spoke again without warning.
“How serious are his injuries?”
Black Hawk stopped. “A physician has examined him. The broken arrow has been removed, but his high fever has not subsided.”
Wei Xiao did not respond. Black Hawk did not dare say any more and bowed his way out of the study.
The air stirred by the door curtain set the candle flame trembling. The already weak light flickered uncertainly.
Wei Xiao was blind in his right eye, and he hated such glaring candlelight more than anything.
Without turning his head, he stared expressionlessly into empty space ahead. Then he covered the burning red candle beside him with his palm and tightened his fingers with a calm, merciless determination.
“Hiss…”
The flame died in his hand. Wisps of blue-green smoke drifted upward, and melted wax congealed against his palm, as vividly red as blood.
He did not release the candle immediately. Only after delayed pain spread through his palm did he slowly open his fingers in the darkness. With lowered eyes, he rubbed the bright red wax mark again and again, his gaze unreadable.
He was wondering why Gongsun E wanted to see him.
A scheme? A trap? Or a deliberately misleading move?
He did not know, and he did not want to think about it.
In the past, their meetings at court had mostly involved mutual calculation and cold looks. They were not particularly pleasant memories for Wei Xiao.
Yet even as he thought this, he rose from the study and walked toward the room where Gongsun E was recuperating.
It was late at night. Most of the servants had retired, leaving the residence so quiet that only insects could be heard.
Wei Xiao dismissed the guards and entered the inner room. Through the gloom, he could just make out someone lying on the bed. A faint smell of medicine and blood lingered in the air, overpowering even the burning incense.
Wei Xiao frowned almost imperceptibly.
He had intended to take one look and leave, but for some reason his feet refused to move.
After a few breaths of silence, he could no longer restrain himself. He stepped forward and slowly lifted the bed curtain.
Gongsun E was still unconscious. He had been changed into clean clothes, and a thick bandage encircled his shoulder. Blood loss had left his face pale, but his handsome features were almost unchanged from years ago, though he seemed to possess a little less vitality than when awake.
Remembering Black Hawk’s warning about the fever, Wei Xiao slowly reached out to test his forehead. Yet for some reason, his hand hung in midair and would not descend.
It seemed that he wanted to touch Gongsun E’s brows and eyes.
But his fingers merely stirred in the air. At last they traced an empty path downward without touching anything, as though an invisible barrier separated the two men.
Wei Xiao lowered his eyes toward Gongsun E’s exposed shoulder. In the end, all he did was pull the fallen brocade quilt a little higher.
Having done that, he was about to leave, when a hand suddenly emerged from the darkness and caught his wrist with unerring precision.
Wei Xiao’s heart jolted.
The man’s grip was not heavy, but it was firm. It tightened slowly in the darkness, concealing a tenderness impossible to interpret. Without opening his eyes, Gongsun E spoke from within the bed curtains, his low voice hoarse and marked by the weakness of illness, like a murmur from a lifetime long past.
“Since you have come, why leave?”