Chapter 57:
King Wuwen of Jiang:
But He Became a Ghost, Grotesque, Yet…
Chen Henian slept well, waking only once.
The ghost had licked his neck. He had opened his eyes to find the ghost’s hand covering them, a gentle touch. He should have been startled awake, but he wasn’t.
He had once feared the ghost, but now, its presence was a comfort, its scent filling the room, calming his nerves.
The ghost hadn’t spoken, just a single lick, its cold, wet tongue brushing against his skin, then retracting. Ghosts didn’t need sleep. It had watched him, its eyes open, then its lips had brushed against his neck, a ghostly kiss, a strange intimacy, the spot unmarked, just a small, red mole, nothing special.
Perhaps it liked the color red. He didn’t dwell on it. He needed to rest. If it wanted to kiss him, it could kiss him all it wanted. He closed his eyes, his long hair obscuring his face, his eyelashes fluttering, then stilling, until he woke again at nine in the morning.
He opened his eyes to the ghost’s dark, empty gaze.
It waited for him to wake, then retreated into his body.
He got out of bed, washed up, and went downstairs, finding Jiang Wan playing with the white snake.
“Morning, did you sleep well?” she asked, looking up at him. “Zuo He left early. He made noodles, with greens and a fried egg. There’s soup in the pot, help yourself.”
Chen Henian, water still dripping from his face, paused, then went to the kitchen, a strange feeling settling over him, something he couldn’t quite place. He sat down and ate the noodles.
Jiang Wan had something to say, her gaze fixed on him. He looked around, then asked, “Where’s Zhou Xianzhi?”
“Speaking of which, your master left early this morning, went on a trip, left a note for you,” she said, handing him a piece of paper with Zhou Xianzhi’s familiar scrawled handwriting.
She had expected a stronger reaction, but he simply took the note, his expression unchanged, inhaling slowly.
His master had run off again.
Yes, again.
He read the note.
Zhou Xianzhi wrote: Take good care of that white snake, don’t let its cultivation decline. White jade nourishes white snakes. I found a place with treasures, an ancient tomb in Kunnan Mountain, strong yin energy, very old. The old geezers are interested, they’ll be there on August 15th. To prevent the tomb owner from turning into a jiangshi. You can tag along, gain some experience, maybe find some treasures. Antiques are valuable! Don’t be afraid, just mention my name, and someone will take care of you.
An ancient tomb?
Treasures?
But all the Daoist practitioners would be there. Wouldn’t that be walking into a trap? And mentioning his name? He scoffed. They would be waiting for him, ready to pounce.
“Are you going?” Jiang Wan asked. “It’s quite far from here, but it’s close to the Southern Daoist mountains. We can ask Zuo He to contact his sect.”
The white snake, sensing his hesitation, nudged his hand with its head.
Chen Henian glared at it. “Stop your pathetic act,” he pushed its head down. “I’m tolerating you because of Zhao Cuicui. Don’t think you can freeload off me.”
The snake didn’t move. “You should consider it, Boss,” Jiang Wan said. “I saw your master rummaging through your suitcase before he left. He must have taken something.”
“Took my things? Took my things?” Chen Henian jumped up, rushing to check his suitcase.
The mirror was gone. His precious mirror, stolen by that old fool.
No wonder the mirror ghost hadn’t appeared. It usually floated around the shop. He had been careless, distracted, and that old fox had taken advantage of it, using information as bait, lowering his guard, that’s why he hadn’t taken his suitcase upstairs.
That damned old man, he kept his money in the mirror!
“Snakes can swallow and regurgitate things, like gold,” Jiang Wan said. “With enough effort, it can transform into a python, swallowing even larger objects. Xiao Bai, isn’t that right?”
The white snake nodded, flicking its tongue.
“We’re going to Kunnan Mountain. The bold one comes with me now.” Chen Henian, his storage space reduced, turned to the snake, his tone changing. “You need to recover your strength. My Tai Yin essence can nourish you.”
He placed his hand on the table, and the white snake coiled around his wrist, its smooth, shimmering scales cool against his skin, its body like warm jade.
“Smaller, thinner, you’re too heavy,” he said.
The snake shrunk, becoming a thin, white bracelet around his wrist, a delicate ornament, not hindering his movements.
But his mood wasn’t good. He opened his suitcase, threading a red string through a silver needle, wishing he had a voodoo doll to curse.
Zuo He returned around noon, just in time for lunch, a savior of sorts, carrying a bag of fresh groceries and a large backpack with his sword inside.
“Haven’t eaten yet, have you? I’ll cook,” he said, heading to the kitchen.
“Where did you get the money for groceries?” Chen Henian asked after they had finished eating.
Zuo He, clearing the table, replied, “I reported my progress to my sect. I’ve resolved three cases so far, the Great Shaman being the most significant. They rewarded me with 3,000 yuan. I bought groceries, 2,950 left. Here’s 2,000. I need 900 for future grocery expenses.”
He handed over the money. “I’m not earning much yet, but I’ll repay you gradually.”
“Alright,” Chen Henian nodded, putting the money in his pocket. The immediate crisis averted, he had money for train tickets and accommodation.
Jiang Wan, who was feeding the snake raw meat, paused. “Wow, you’re such a good housekeeper.”
“You flatter me,” Zuo He replied. “There’s something else. My senior brother said they found a tomb in Kunnan Mountain, an imperial tomb from the Jiang Dynasty. I thought it might be useful to you. As a junior disciple, I’m not allowed to participate in such important excavations.” He continued, “But I can accompany you, as your bodyguard.”
He took out a stack of books from his backpack. “I borrowed these from a nearby bookstore, pre-selected, see if they’re useful.”
He placed the books on the table, and Chen Henian read the titles: Secret Histories of the Jiang Dynasty, Anecdotes of the Jiang Dynasty, The Death of King Wu of Jiang, Emperor Gaozu of Jiang: Five Years of Glory.
“Emperor Gaozu?”
“Emperor Gaozu, also known as King Wuwen of Jiang, the one Granny Zhao mentioned, the only emperor not of the Jiang bloodline,” Zuo He explained.
Chen Henian picked up Emperor Gaozu: Five Years of Glory, flipping through the pages, understanding the title’s significance.
Emperor Yu Lin of Jiang had reigned for only five years.
It had been a turbulent era, political instability, foreign invasions, the nation on the brink of collapse, its king and heir dead, but a single warrior had turned the tide, five years of glory, a brief but brilliant reign, a legacy of iron and blood.
—Foreword.
The book described his accomplishments:
During his reign, Emperor Yu Lin of Jiang led two successful military campaigns, one personally, driving the nomadic Beimu people back to the grasslands, then further north, to the desolate desert. He expanded the Jiang Dynasty’s territory to its greatest extent, the Beimu king, Hori Yatus, forced to surrender, signing a peace treaty, becoming a vassal state, ending the border conflicts. He was a ruthless military strategist, yet a benevolent ruler, unlike his predecessor, King Wu of Jiang. After the war, he reduced taxes, demobilized the army, promoted agriculture and trade, bringing unprecedented prosperity to the Jiang Dynasty.
Born a slave, his early life spent in servitude, his later years as a soldier, his compassion perhaps stemming from the recognition and support he received from his mentor, Crown Prince Jiang Henian.
Historical records of the Crown Prince were scarce, his accomplishments unremarkable. Born to the Queen, he was designated Crown Prince at two, entering politics at fourteen, a virtuous and capable heir, groomed by King Wu, his position secure, destined to rule, yet lacking the ruthlessness of Yu Lin. Under his rule, the Jiang Dynasty might not have reached its peak.
But perhaps it would have lasted longer.
Because five years after ascending the throne, Emperor Yu Lin died suddenly in Kunnan Mountain, leaving no heir. His chosen successor, a distant relative, inherited a prosperous nation, but he couldn’t maintain it. The Beimu people rebelled, the court divided, and the Jiang Dynasty fell, replaced by the Northern Dynasty.
“Crown Prince Jiang Henian died at twenty-eight, not of natural causes,” Zuo He said, reading from Secret Histories of the Jiang Dynasty. “The official records state he was killed by sorcery, a conspiracy between his sister, Princess Zhaoping, and the High Priest, Zhao Yinyang.”
“Princess Zhaoping, also known as the Ironclad Princess, a skilled warrior, fought alongside her brother, but betrayed him when King Wu fell ill, staging a coup, which failed. She confessed and committed suicide at twenty-six.”
Jiang Wan, the same name. Zuo He looked at the sixteen-year-old girl.
“Why are you looking at me?” she asked, unfazed. “I’ve heard this story before. It’s just a coincidence, people share names all the time.”
“It’s just strange,” Zuo He said. “The history books say they were close siblings. The prince convinced the king to let her join the army. Why would she kill her own brother? Did she want the throne for herself?”
“Who knows?” Jiang Wan said. “History books say she failed, and so did Jiang Henian. The only winner was Yu Lin.”
“With the Crown Prince dead, the other prince, Jiang Li, ascended the throne. The court was unstable, and Yu Lin, still a general, returned from the border with his army, not to the capital, but, supported by the former Crown Prince’s faction, marched on the capital, forcing Jiang Li to abdicate. Jiang Li was imprisoned, his fate unknown, and Yu Lin took control,” Jiang Wan explained. “But the title ‘King Wuwen’ was given to him posthumously. There’s no record of his official coronation.”
Emperor Gaozu: Five Years of Glory mentioned that before Yu Lin became emperor, the High Priest, Zhao Yinyang, had foreseen a struggle between two dragons, one headless, unable to rule, the other hidden, destined to become the new king.
At the time, everyone believed Crown Prince Jiang Henian was the hidden dragon.
Only after his death and Yu Lin’s ascension did the prophecy’s true meaning become clear. Zhao Yinyang died in prison, a knowing smile on his face.
But Yu Lin, like Jiang Henian, died a violent death, killed by sorcery.
“Sorcery…” Chen Henian closed the book. “Why would he resort to sorcery?”
The book detailed Yu Lin’s accomplishments, his courage on the battlefield, his strategic brilliance, his victories against overwhelming odds, his benevolence as a ruler, his wisdom and compassion, a celebrated emperor, a brilliant military strategist and politician, his policies bringing prosperity to the Jiang Dynasty.
Centuries of praise, such accomplishments, he should have become a deity, transcending the mortal realm, the ultimate goal of all Daoist practitioners.
But he had become a ghost, grotesque and lost, his memories fragmented.
“A lingering attachment, an unwillingness to leave the mortal world. A ghost of his power, even the underworld officials wouldn’t dare touch him,” Jiang Wan said, holding The Death of King Wuwen of Jiang. “He turned to sorcery at the height of his power, not for longevity, as most rulers would, but the book mentions a servant witnessing him cutting his wrists, his body weak and emaciated. He clearly didn’t value his own life. And it mentions the Crown Prince again. Historians, trying to uncover his secrets, found only letters, sent to the Crown Prince from the border, one every month, each containing only four characters.”
A faded image of a letter was printed in the book:
—Are you well? I miss you dearly.
“The Crown Prince died from sorcery, a conspiracy by his sister and the High Priest. But when Yu Lin returned to the capital, they were already dead, and the Crown Prince’s body was missing. He searched tirelessly. Perhaps his lingering attachment is his desire to uncover the truth behind his friend’s death?”
“That’s just speculation,” Zuo He said, unconvinced. “An emperor would prioritize his kingdom, wouldn’t he?”
“But he chose his successor from among his relatives, spending five years stabilizing the dynasty,” Jiang Wan countered. “After his death, it’s said he was buried in Kunnan Mountain. But Chen Henian, have you been there? Is that where you encountered the ghost?”
“No, the imperial tomb in Kunnan Mountain doesn’t hold his remains,” Chen Henian said firmly.
“If it’s not him, then who? Could it be Crown Prince Jiang Henian?”
Chen Henian paused, his gaze fixed on the words “Emperor Gaozu.” “Let’s go to Kunnan Mountain,” he said. “We’ll open the coffin and find out.”
