Chapter Nine: The Wheel of Fate Turns Again (Part Two)

At the instant the young man saw the memorial tablet, a subtle, inscrutable look flickered in his eyes. With a faint smile on his lips, he strode forward, picked it up, and examined it from left to right. He praised, “Tsk tsk, fine piece of woodwork.”

As Xiao Yunpo closed the door and turned around, he caught sight of the youth toying with Gu Qiuzi’s spirit tablet. His face instantly darkened with rage; he hurried over, snatched it from the young man's hands, and set it carefully back in its place, all the while muttering, “Forgive me, forgive me, Your Highness, please don’t take offense.” He then offered a fresh stick of incense and paid his respects with solemn sincerity.

The young man glanced around the room. The furnishings were exceedingly plain—just the usual, everyday things—completely at odds with his host’s status.

“Please, sir, have a seat,” Xiao Yunpo said, respectfully pouring tea for the youth.

Taking the cup, the young man sat and sipped before gazing at the altar and asking with a smile, “I’d heard that in the sixty-third year of Zhaoyue, the noble families of every realm set up spirit tablets for the eldest prince in their homes. Now that I see it for myself, it truly was no rumor.”

“The ancestral hall, too, has his tablet,” Xiao Yunpo replied with a sigh.

“But why is that? It’s now the sixty-fourth year of Zhaoyue, and the eldest prince has been dead for six years. Yet you only erected his memorial last year. What’s the reason for the delay?”

“Sir, do you really not know?” Xiao Yunpo eyed him with suspicion, wary that the youth might be feigning ignorance.

After a moment’s thought, the young man said quietly, “The Grand Shaman of Lingshan also vanished last year. Perhaps your master ran out of medicine, grew uneasy, and thus thought to pay his respects?”

“You jest, sir. The eldest prince benefited all under heaven; who among us did not receive his grace in life? It’s only right we honor his memory.”

“Then why remember only in the fifth year?” the youth pressed, puzzled.

“This…” Xiao Yunpo faltered, unsure how to explain.

“No need to play coy with me. You used his bones to refine medicine; erecting a spirit tablet is the very least you can do.”

Xiao Yunpo was horrified. He’d believed only the Grand Shaman and their clients knew of this. How could this youth speak of it so lightly?

“Who… who are you, really?” he stammered in alarm.

“Don’t be frightened. I have no interest in your affairs,” the youth replied coolly. “All I want is half the estate.”

“Oh? Then, sir, do you have the cure?” Hearing the youth was only after money, Xiao Yunpo let out a sigh of relief.

“I’m rather hungry.”

This non sequitur caught Xiao Yunpo off guard, but after a moment’s thought, he understood and smiled obsequiously. “Of course, of course. I’ll have the servants prepare a feast at once.”

And so, the youth ate and drank in Xiao’s household for several days, never once mentioning the cure.

“Master, that man’s origins are unknown, and he lingers in our house every day without revealing his methods. What are we to do?” Qi Guan was clearly displeased with the aloof young man.

Xiao Yunpo frowned. “Keep a close watch on him. Do not let him leave the estate, no matter what.”

“Yes, sir.”

From then on, Qi Guan shadowed the youth day and night, never leaving his side.

The young man found Qi Guan rather amusing, often sparring with him in swordplay, making the days anything but dull.

By now, he had been in the Xiao household for over half a month and had learned much of its affairs. There were 131 people in service. Madame Xiao, the legal wife, was the daughter of the former prime minister of Xize and was known for her gentle and virtuous nature. Yet she had never borne Xiao Yunpo a child.

The Xiao family had always passed down a single heir each generation. Feeling guilty, Madame Xiao had urged her husband to take several concubines, but still, none had conceived. She had prayed to the gods and performed countless good deeds, yet for reasons unknown, she had no luck at enjoying the joys of motherhood.

One day, as the youth wandered the estate with Qi Guan trailing him, he teased, “Yu’e really is a rare beauty. If I asked your master to grant her to me, do you think he’d agree?”

Qi Guan bristled, stormed ahead, and warned, “Don’t you dare!”

The youth chuckled. “Oh? Do you think I wouldn’t?”

“I’d die before I let you harm Yu’e!”

“Then why not take her away?”

Qi Guan hung his head, his tone losing all force. “I… can’t.”

The young man flicked his ink-black fan and spoke carelessly, “Help me with one task, and I’ll take you both away. I guarantee you a peaceful life.”

“What?” Qi Guan suspected this young man was only a freeloader, but for reasons he couldn’t name, he believed every word.

The youth’s expression grew serious. He leaned in and whispered a few sentences into Qi Guan’s ear.

“That’s all it takes?” Qi Guan was surprised.

“Mm.”

Three days later, many people suffering from the same symptoms as Xiao Yunpo arrived at the estate, bringing gold with them.

“If you can cure me, all this gold is yours,” one declared.

“And mine as well,” echoed another.

One after another, they pledged the same.

Xiao Yunpo was astonished, wondering who had leaked the news. Staring at the dozen or so high-ranking guests in his front yard, he was furious, but he dared not drive them out. After all, each one held significant power; offending one or two was risky enough, but to alienate them all would be ruinous.

So, he could only treat them courteously, hoping the youth would soon reveal his cure.

At first, there were doubts. But why did they trust this youth so completely?

Because, upon learning he hailed from the Pavilion of Illusions, all skepticism vanished. The Pavilion had always been known for accepting payment to resolve calamities, never once failing in a thousand years. Who under heaven would dare doubt them? And who would dare assume their name without cause?

Once the group had assembled, the youth chose a bright, sunny day and had all the nobles stand in the courtyard.

Among them were Lord Yu of Beixiao, Minister Li… Chancellor Shang of Nansheng, Minister Wang, Young Master Zhang… Chief Councillor Shen of Baixi… and two ministers from Xize…

Under the blazing sun, sweat streamed down every face. Their attendants waved feather fans furiously to cool their masters.

Unable to bear it any longer, someone asked, “Why hasn’t the young master come yet?”

“How can he keep us waiting in this heat?”

“Indeed, it’s too much…”

The complaints grew louder; the courtyard buzzed with noise.

At last, the youth strolled out, leisurely carrying a wooden box, and mounted the stone steps before them. After a glance, he smiled and said, “All unrelated persons, step aside.”

At his command, the nobles dismissed their servants.

He then had Qi Guan distribute the contents of the box. They all expected miraculous medicine, their eyes glinting with hope—only to discover it was filled with daggers!

Shock rippled through the crowd.

Xiao Yunpo’s hand shook as he held his dagger. “Sir… what is the meaning of this?”

“Yes, don’t toy with us…”

“If you want to be rid of your headaches for good, do as I say. Otherwise, next time the illness strikes, you’ll be lying in a coffin,” the youth replied coolly, indifferent to their fate.

“Fine, fine, tell us what to do. We’ll comply.”

“Yes, yes, please instruct us.”

“These daggers are razor sharp, each tempered with a potion personally refined by our Pavilion Master, a sure cure for your ailment. All you must do is carve one hundred and eight cuts into your own flesh. Don’t worry, it’s but a little suffering—you won’t die. In fact, it will extend your lives…”

Hearing this, they were frightened, but the promise of longevity steeled their resolve.

“Remember—one hundred and eight cuts. Not one less.”

A grand spectacle of self-mutilation began.

As the daggers touched their bodies, deep gashes opened, blood streaming down. Under the burning sun, faces contorted in agony, drained of all color. Their cries rang out, each wail a testament to their torment…

Some tried to stop, but as soon as the daggers drew blood, they could not be controlled—like bloodthirsty demons, they danced across their flesh.

The servants watched in horror, some even screaming. The scene was eerily reminiscent of the Grand Shaman’s live dismemberment of Gu Qiuzi in the fifty-eighth year of Zhaoyue…

The only difference: this time, they wielded the blades themselves.

Surely, all present had once witnessed his death firsthand. Who could say what they felt now, whether they harbored guilt in their hearts.

Chu Yu’e, hiding nearby, shuddered in fear; Qi Guan quickly covered her eyes.

The young man, however, watched with rapt attention, utterly intrigued.

“One hundred and five.”

“One hundred and six.”

“One hundred and seven.”

“One hundred and eight.”

With the final cut, the daggers at last obeyed; terrified, they flung them to the ground, as if the blades would claim their lives outright.

They thought their ordeal was over—but the youth’s voice rang out again.

“When the sun sets, you may leave.”

With that, he returned to his room for a nap.

They looked at the blazing sun still high above, sweat pouring from their foreheads…

Some tried to leave, to escape the pain.

But their feet seemed glued to the ground; not a muscle would move. Even speech was impossible—no words would leave their lips, only terror and disbelief filling their eyes.

The sensation of burning alive only intensified, searing to the bone. Heat, helplessness, and despair consumed them utterly.

Every second was an eternity; they suffered on the brink of death, yet could not die.

At last, the sun set.

Awakening from his nap, the youth smiled. “Once tonight is over, you’ll all be free to go.”

What? Wait another night?!

Their faces twisted in horror at his words, as if they had seen a ghost. Their minds did not merely collapse—this was a torment a thousand times worse than death.

But there was nothing they could do; they still could not move.

That night was one of thunder and lightning, wild winds and torrential rain.

It was as if they had descended into hell itself; the thunder like the howls of fiends, evil spirits circling near. The storm lashed their bodies, gnawing at the uncut flesh.

The torment of that day and night far surpassed any headache, and would haunt them for the rest of their lives.

At dawn, when those in the courtyard could finally move and speak again, the young man had vanished without a trace. The half of the estate Xiao Yunpo had promised, along with the gold the other nobles had brought, had disappeared as well.

Qi Guan and Chu Yu’e had also vanished, leaving Xiao Yunpo searching in vain.

The headaches never returned, but it was said none of those nobles ever slept peacefully again.

By the sixty-fifth year of Zhaoyue, all the emperors and princes of the five kingdoms were busy preparing for the grand alliance ceremony in August.