Chapter Eight: The Cycle of Heaven's Retribution (Part One)

After Shen Xiuruo’s death, the rumors and gossip about her faded away, sinking into oblivion along with her. Those young gentlemen who had once claimed she relied on her beauty and talent, boasting of nothing but a pretty face, now changed their tune, lavishing praise upon her: “The princess’s beauty eclipsed all others in the world. Her brilliance and pride were such that we men feel ashamed in her presence.”

Yet once dead, all things are finished; posthumous fame meant nothing to her now.

Meanwhile, the noble clans and high officials of the five kingdoms wore troubled expressions, their hearts full of indignation, some even mourning as though they’d lost a parent. If asked what caused their sorrow, they all replied in unison: It is for the pain of the Third Princess of Northern Xiao. The real reasons were clear to all; such answers merely masked their own disgrace, or perhaps the shame of the common people. Her death became their excuse for punishing servants at the slightest provocation, saving them the trouble of finding another justification.

Especially for the powerful minister of Eastern Ling, Lord Xiao Yunpo. His grief was well known throughout the land. He spent his days at home, weeping, and hadn’t attended court for nearly half a month, mourning even more than the emperor and empress of Northern Xiao.

...

“Brother Qiguan, this might hurt a lot—bear with it, don’t cry out, or if the master hears, you’ll be beaten again.” Chu Yue’e whispered softly, carefully applying medicine to Qiguan by the faint candlelight.

She no longer remembered how many times she’d tended his wounds; the old scars had barely healed before new injuries appeared. Thinking of this, her heart ached, and tears rolled down her cheeks.

Qiguan bit his lip, lying on a pile of firewood in the woodshed. His back was covered in bruises from the cane, flesh torn and bloody—a sight that would make anyone shudder. Seeing Chu Yue’e in tears, he reached out to wipe her face, smiling comfortingly, “Don’t cry, Yue’e. I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt at all.”

Both Qiguan and Chu Yue’e were servants in the Xiao residence, entering together. Their mutual affinity had led them to look after each other. Now he was of age, handsome and robust, while Chu Yue’e had blossomed into a graceful young woman. They seemed a perfect match.

They’d hoped to save enough silver to leave the household and marry, but for reasons unknown, Xiao Yunpo’s temper had grown especially violent over the past year. He singled out Qiguan, beating him whether or not he’d done anything wrong, always with a heavy stick.

Because of this, Chu Yue’e often found herself tending Qiguan’s wounds in the woodshed.

Tonight, Xiao Yunpo vented his rage on Qiguan in the courtyard, swinging a fist-sized stick with all his might, terrifying everyone into silence. The entire household lived in fear, worried about becoming the next target—no one dared intervene, pretending not to see anything, for only then could they hope to survive.

“Brother Qiguan, let’s leave the Xiao residence. If this goes on, we’ll lose our lives,” Chu Yue’e said earnestly after finishing the treatment.

Each time Qiguan was beaten, she hid behind the crowd, pressing her hands over her mouth, her heart twisting in agony.

She had often wished to take his place, but knew it would only make things worse and endanger him further.

“The master would never let me leave,” Qiguan sighed.

He’d considered running away, but if he did, he would live in constant fear, wandering for the rest of his life.

“Why?” Chu Yue’e asked, puzzled.

Qiguan sat up and looked at her, his eyes full of helplessness. Seeing her so curious, he pulled her into his arms, lowered his eyes, and said nothing.

Though Chu Yue’e didn’t understand, she trusted Qiguan had his reasons for keeping silent, and thought it best not to press further.

She tightened her arms around his waist, letting herself hold him for a while—just a little longer.

After a long time, Chu Yue’e finally left the woodshed.

That night felt interminably long for Qiguan.

The candle had long since burned out; darkness engulfed the room and the world outside.

All he could do now was find the great shaman as soon as possible, so his wish would be fulfilled, and only then might he have a way out—only then could he give Yue’e a safe home.

Before dawn, Qiguan awoke, took his sword, and left hurriedly.

He had searched for nearly half a year, yet found no clues.

But for the sake of the pill in his hand, Qiguan knew that Xiao Yunpo would never give up, not even if it meant scouring heaven and earth.

When he returned to the Xiao residence, exhausted, he was summoned to the study.

The once-elegant study was now a chaotic mess, as if it had been ransacked by desperate thieves.

Inside was Xiao Yunpo himself: middle-aged, fat-faced, round, with a drooping mustache and short, stout stature. His greasy appearance betrayed a life of extortion and cruelty—a man born with a wicked face.

“Master,” Qiguan half-kneeled, anxious.

Xiao Yunpo barked, “You still haven’t found it?”

“No.”

At that, Xiao Yunpo grabbed the inkstone from the table and hurled it at him, cursing, “Useless!”

Blood trickled from Qiguan’s forehead, but he dared not utter a sound, nor show the slightest displeasure.

Suddenly, Xiao Yunpo clutched his head, crying out in pain, howling, “Aiyo, aiyo!”

He felt as if thousands of ants were gnawing at his brain.

Unable to endure the agony, he smashed his head against the table, making a loud clattering noise.

Qiguan quickly struck him unconscious.

But in moments, Xiao Yunpo’s eyes snapped open, now blood-red and terrifyingly twisted.

“Quick, tie the master to the bed!” Madam Xiao, arriving with servants, ordered urgently.

It took four or five people to subdue the frenzied Xiao Yunpo.

Ever since the great shaman disappeared, the nobles of every kingdom, including him, suffered recurring headaches, each attack worse than the last.

No one could explain these mysterious afflictions; it was baffling.

Though it was a torment worse than death, once it passed, they were grateful not to have met the King of the Dead.

Afterward, Xiao Yunpo issued a public notice, promising half his fortune to anyone who could cure his strange illness.

He was the foremost minister of Eastern Ling, from a long line of officials—half his wealth would let a family live in luxury for generations.

Such a reward tempted all except the already wealthy.

Doctors from five kingdoms, wandering healers, monks, and mystics all came in droves, full of confidence, but left shaking their heads—no one could help, not even if a celestial physician descended from the heavens.

Nearly a year had passed since the notice, yet not a soul had managed to claim the coveted fortune.

People gradually abandoned hope.

As the number of visitors dwindled, Xiao Yunpo’s fear of death grew ever stronger.

At a loss, a handsome youth strode calmly past the servants and entered the main hall.

Yes, he walked straight in.

His manner stunned everyone present; they forgot to stop him.

Seeing the intruder, Qiguan quickly drew his sword, pointing it at the newcomer, “Who are you, daring to trespass in the Xiao residence?”

The youth’s expression was cold and stern, “Are your eyes failing you? When did I trespass?” He deliberately emphasized the word.

Indeed, no one had stopped him as he entered—how could it be trespassing?

Xiao Yunpo, noting his youth, assumed he was some reckless noble’s son playing a prank, and waved him off impatiently, “Consider yourself lucky, boy. I won’t bother with you today—get out the way you came!”

From the moment the youth entered, the kindly Madam Xiao was delighted. Though she’d been married to Xiao Yunpo for over twenty years, she had yet to bear a son or daughter.

She stepped forward, bidding Qiguan sheathe his sword, and gently asked, “Young sir, how did you avoid the servants and come here?”

“The walls weren’t high—I felt like climbing in on a whim. Tsk tsk, your residence is truly splendid.”

Madam Xiao laughed softly, “Then you’d best leave quickly, but remember not to be so reckless in the future. If you’re mistaken for a villain, your life may be forfeit.”

“Thank you for the warning, Madam, but I’ve come to relieve Lord Xiao’s distress.” He glanced sidelong at Xiao Yunpo.

“Hmph, such arrogance.” Xiao Yunpo sneered, thinking him nothing but a boastful youth.

“The medicine you paid a fortune for from the great shaman of Spirit Mountain—I trust you’ve found it very useful?”

At these words, Xiao Yunpo’s expression changed abruptly. He scrutinized the youth, then rose, saying, “Forgive my poor eyesight, sir. Please, follow me to the inner chamber for a private discussion. This way.”

He paused to instruct Madam Xiao and the other concubines, “No interruptions without my permission.”

The two walked along the corridor, chatting idly.

The youth asked, “You haven’t slept well these past years, have you?”

“Ah?” Xiao Yunpo was startled.

The youth smiled, “No matter, just making conversation.”

“Did you buy the medicine, young sir?” There was no other explanation—how else could he know?

“Unfortunately, my purse is empty—I never bought it.” The youth shook his head.

“We’re here, please enter.”

Once inside, Xiao Yunpo looked around to ensure no one was present before closing the door.

Straight away, the youth noticed an incense table to the left, with several plates of fruit offered before a memorial tablet.

The inscription read: “Spirit tablet of Gu Qiuci, Crown Prince of Bai Xi Kingdom.”