Letting out a sigh, Tao Hua turned back to the other two. They were in the midst of a quarrel, something along the lines of boundaries; however, Tao Hua barely paid attention. His mind was inundated with a slew of unrelenting thoughts, all screaming for his attention and leading him to react before he could make sense of them.
"Master Weng," he firmly interjected.
Both stopped and turned their heads toward Tao Hua, surprised by Tao Hua's stern complexion.
Weng Jing responded, "Daoist Master Zhuan."
"What if there was more to the Fall of Jianlai than what's publicly available?"
"This Master fails to understand. If His Highness isn't responsible, why take credit for such a devastation?" He straightened himself, and a wry smile crossed his lips. "Let's be realistic—there are accounts of what happened. Has Master become so bewitched by His Highness that she cannot separate the truth from dreams?"
"I just…"
Tao Hua's shoulders deflated. He knew that there were two possibilities he was fighting against, but he didn't want to believe Shan Si would do something so egregious as a supposed genocide.
"You just?" Weng Jing held up his hand, prompting Tao Hua to continue. Meanwhile, Fang Jian kept a careful watch on him, her eyes filled with bereaved sympathy.
To watch someone desperately search the sand for a trinket swallowed by the ocean—it was painful.
"I just fail to understand a few things." Swallowing, Tao Hua continued to push through, even though all he wanted to do was hide away and cover his ears; truths would always impact all senses. "Who's account are we trusting here?"
"…" Weng Jing's brows furrowed, but he didn't answer. Instead, Fang Jian was the first to speak up.
"If I recall, it would be Lord Shan Si and Uncle Mie. All other witnesses died that day."
Gritting his teeth, Tao Hua clenched his hands around the fabric of the blanket, practically soaking it. Two of the most reputable sources, and one claiming responsibility. So why did he still struggle with the fact?
"And how did the curse befall all of those in the palace?" he asked in a low and exasperated tone. "Why wasn't it just Shan Si who dealt with the curse?"
"Huahua…t-that may be a bit out of my league," Fang Jian admitted. She looked over to Weng Jing and asked, "Does Brother Jing know, maybe?"
But there was no reply; he had his head dipped, mouthing a few things. His forehead wrinkled, and it seemed he was in the middle of a rather complicated thought, one that had him pinching his own chin in the process.
"Brother Jing?" Fang Jian repeated, and still no reply. He was truly ignoring her, and just as he brought his thumb up to his bottom lip, the other hand twirling symbols in the air, Fang Jian groaned agitatedly.
She picked up the empty bowl of her finished tea and threw it toward Weng Jing. It missed him by just a hair, smashing into the wall behind him.
Shifting his head up, he angrily shouted, "What?!"
"We asked you a question—"
But Tao Hua just placed his hand on Fang Jian's arm, only offering her a small, desperate smile. She pursed her lips slightly at him before resigning with a whine.
"What is Master Weng thinking?"
"This Master…" Weng Jing mumbled, his head tipping toward his shoulder. "For some reason, I feel Master Zhuan brings up some important points."
A hopeful burst of energy coursed through Tao Hua. He tightly gripped the blanket, and leaned forward, just as Weng Jing continued to speak.
"Perhaps this Master isn't as aware of things as he once thought," Weng Jing admitted. "As it's said, during the Fall of Jianlai, I was left in the Ancestral Hall. Why? I cannot remember. My memories are muddled of that time, but I do know from that point onward I had a premonition that I mustn't open my eyes under any circumstances."
Earlier, Weng Jing mentioned not being under the Curse of Shendi, but another. Tao Hua wasn't sure which it was, and he was certain that Weng Jing remained uncertain as well.
But if his memories were to return, then could he?
"Do you know the cure?"
Weng Jing laughed darkly. "I don't even know the name. I just know that if I were to open them, there could be a great deal of consequence. Why do I know that?"
Tao Hua struggled to comprehend, and he knew this was all way over his head. However, he still tried his best—although that effort had never once been for himself.
Staring down at the desk, his eyes shifted amid his thoughts.
Who cursed him…and who cursed the palace? Why doesn't any of this add up? Could it have been the work of a god, a demon, or a cultivator?
The issue, however, was that Tao Hua hadn't known anything on the matter of cultivation, the heavens, or the underworld. All he knew were stories and how to craft one.
But that's when it hit him—stories mimicked real life. If he just treated this entire situation like a story, then would that work? Wasn't it he who tried to convince Shan Si back in The Bookstore of Siyue Town that fairytales might have the answer?
"Do you know anything about Shendi?"
"The old, wiped-out country?" asked Weng Jing. "Naturally. Most of my teachings originate from Shendi—it was a devout land, who put their god before themselves. Some of the strongest teachings come from that land."
"Your teachings?" asked Tao Hua. "Are you from Shendi?"
"I am not, but Master Zhuan and her subordinate were. What all do you know of Shendi?"
Daoist Master Zhuan was from Shendi… Tao Hua's brows pinched. Could she have been the cause of this curse? Why, if she loved most people here?!
Tao Hua felt as though his head was ready to burst. It can't be that she was a spy of some sort, sent by Shendi? To frame Shan Si?
It was a desperate grasp at straws, but he was willing to take the few he could find if it meant changing the outcome. So he chose to keep his investigation of her a secret. There were far too many in the palace that adored this Zhuan; he couldn't risk pissing them off.
Answering Weng Jing, he said, "I, uh, I know little. Basically, all you've stated about it being devout, but that's as far as it goes."
"…" Weng Jing was still, facing Tao Hua. It took him a good few minutes before replying, "Do you know what happened during the Xingcai era to lead to their destruction?"
"Ah…no."
"Hm. Then this Daoist Master shall prepare a few things to assist your research." Weng Jing held up his hand, ordering a servant over. Peering up at him, Tao Hua watched as he instructed them to prepare a few papers, an inkstone, and brushes.
Hastily, the servants bowed and immediately took to adhering to their master's words.
"Why can't you tell me?" asked Tao Hua.
"My memory is all but resourceful, and if Master Zhuan couldn't already tell, this Daoist Master struggles to differentiate between reality and dreams. Otherwise, this old Daoist Master would bend over backwards for her every whim and wish."
"…" Tao Hua frowned. Was this all the work of Shan Si's father, Emperor Xingcai? And his manipulation. Knitting his brows, Tao Hua also questioned if his father perhaps had anything to do with the destruction of Jianlai.
So, he asked just that.
"How does Master Zhuan not know any of this?" Weng Jing probed, raising an eyebrow. "His Highness is with you day in and day out, yet he can't explain the basics of our history to you?"
"Brother Jing is right, Huahua," Fang Jian began, gentle yet serious. "Even I'm aware of what happened between the two countries during that time. Emperor Xingcai died at Lord Shan Si's hand two or three years before the Fall of Jianlai. But…I don't think anyone hates him for that reason."
Tao Hua frowned. It was true; barely anything was discussed about the history, but it was becoming increasingly clear that all of it was by design. But even so, Tao Hua understood that it couldn't continue on that way.
"I'll have to talk to him about it," Tao Hua mumbled, and just as he did, the supplies were placed on the table by the servants.
"His Highness owes you that much; it would be unfair if we took that privilege from him." Reaching for the brush, Weng Jing dabbed it onto the inkstone a few times. "To hide such important details…This Daoist Master cannot comprehend His Highness's ways, fearing one's own past isn't an excuse to mask truths."
Tao Hua observed as Weng Jing neatly began to swipe a few neat strokes on the sheet of paper, shaking his head.
"Although, assuming that Old Guard Dog and Consort Mi know of Sister Jing and Master Zhuan's adventures, I'm sure he'll be the one to prompt such conversations. All Master Zhuan needs to do is sit and look pretty."
Pushing the paper toward Tao Hua, Weng Jing placed the brush aside and sat back. Tao Hua grabbed the paper, glancing down at it. On it were the terms "Jingyi," "Emperor Xingcai; Shan Du," and "Tianming Guan."
"Um, are any of these potentially associated with the temple north of the palace?"
It was a stretch, but if Tao Hua could rule out one thing, it would ease his conscience.
Weng Jing raised an eyebrow. "The Temple of Luoxue? Of course not. That temple wasn't established until after the Fall of Jianlai and is used to worship the late Empress, Wan Kai. Mind you, she did not ascend, nor was she proficient in cultivation to attain immortality. Not sure exactly why Her Majesty was His Highness's choice of worship, but we all have our grievances despite its awful premonitions."
Tao Hua's eyes narrowed. Wan? Does that mean Wan Mie is her brother…?
Something uncomfortable rustled within Tao Hua, but all he could do was crinkle the paper. Was he going insane, or could the others not really see it?
"Oh…even I didn't know that," Fang Jian said. "I just know Empress Kai was one of the many casualties during the Fall of Jianlai. To go as far as to build a temple in her name and worship her like a god…ah, it makes you pity Lord Shan Si a bit."
"Delusions, most likely," Weng Jing said plainly, his hands pressed to the table. Pushing himself up and swiping off his robe, he ordered the servants to come forth.
"It takes a lot of gall to kill someone you love, only to establish a temple in their name," Tao Hua exasperatedly whispered, unable to believe the full intent.
"You're right—something only beasts can attain." Weng Jing ruffled his sleeves, flailing out the wrinkles. Tao Hua's fingers nearly pierced the paper; however he controlled himself. Why the anger? Even he couldn't fully comprehend it, but the longer people spoke lowly of Shan Si, the more it aggravated him.
Was it only he who could see through this situation, or was he crazy?
"For now, do your research," Weng Jing said, grabbing Tao Hua's attention. "Should Master have anything more to ask this disciple, then the Ancestral Hall shall await your return."
Weng Jing held out his arms, allowing the servants to dress him in a clean, white outer robe.
"Perhaps it's in Master Zhuan's best interest to return often," Weng Jing patted down the front. "But I do leave you with this: 'He who knows other men is discerning; he who knows himself is intelligent.'"
Nodding, Tao Hua agreed to this setup among the three seated individuals. If he could probe Weng Jing's memory, and potentially pull something out of him, then maybe—just maybe—he could find out more about this Zhuan character.
Weng Jing led the two outside the Ancestral Hall, and they parted their ways with a bow. In his hand, Tao Hua held the paper, and a frown overcame him. He came to the temple to receive answers and ended up finding himself in something much larger and more complicated.
At least he now had a lead, and that lead was someone who originated from Shandi, leaving him with only two culprits.
Folding it up, he placed the paper in his sleeve. The snow was falling at a much swifter rate, clouding the evening skies—Tao Hua knew that if he didn't get back sooner than later, he'd be caught in the nightly storm.
So, he lifted his head; however, when he did, the already fallen temperature felt a lot more frigid than ordinary, and Tao Hua couldn't explain what it was in that moment that ignited his fight or flight.
Slightly frozen, Fang Jian quietly mouthed, "Yikes."
Ahead of her stood a tall man, glass monocle, his arms crossed, and perhaps a more amused than annoyed smile on his lips.
"Consort Fang. Rabbit's Foot…and here I gave the two of you the benefit of the doubt."
Chapter end.