Chapter 23: In Chains

Jiang Yang had just averted her gaze from the Immortal-Gazing Tower when a chill inexplicably crept up her spine. She couldn’t help but raise a hand to rub the back of her neck, subconsciously tilting her head once more to gaze at that pavilion wrapped in layers of heavy curtains.

If she had cast a spell, Jiang Yang might not have failed to see the Saintess inside. Unfortunately, she had been far too careless, completely oblivious to the fact that such a figure existed here in the Mortal Realm.

The origins of Da Liang’s Saintess were unclear even to the current emperor, Li Hao. All anyone knew was that she possessed vast divine abilities, her means reaching the heavens themselves, capable of safeguarding the nation in times of peril. Add to that a few minor tricks on her part, and the emperor followed her every word with unwavering devotion.

The tradition of the Saintess had ancient roots across the central plains. Each dynasty’s emperors held different attitudes; when one was particularly diligent and self-assured, the Saintess would retreat into seclusion, only reappearing when the royal family had need of her. No matter how dynasties changed, the Saintess always persisted. Hence, a folk rumor spread that every generation’s Saintess was actually the same person. But no one could verify this—after all, no one could live from the primeval era all the way to the present.

As Jiang Yang’s gaze fell upon the tower once more, Saintess Lian had long since withdrawn her own probing. She slowly stepped forward to the railing, her fair hand gently lifting the curtain to observe Jiang Yang with a pair of mortal, fleshly eyes.

Yet, her glance shifted away after just a single look.

Jiang Yang only caught a glimpse of a figure on the upper floor, a fleeting shadow that vanished in an instant.

Who exactly was it?

By the time she thought to use her divine sense to investigate, the space within was utterly empty. Saintess Lian had already departed the Immortal-Gazing Tower.

Feng Jun had nearly emptied his entire money pouch, then turned back to ask Jiang Yang for more. This gave Jiang Yang a jolt. “How did you give so much? The Curtain-Raising General must have prepared several hundred taels of silver at least, right?”

“Is several hundred taels very much?” Feng Jun asked.

Jiang Yang: “…”

A little sheepish, Feng Jun said, “I saw there were over a dozen of them, so I split the money into that many shares and gave it all out. But now new ones have come, and I have no money left.”

“New ones?” Jiang Yang focused her gaze. Indeed, besides a few more strangers who had inexplicably appeared before them, more ragged beggars were streaming endlessly from a distant alleyway. Jiang Yang seized Feng Jun’s arm and cried, “Run! Don’t ask about ‘new ones’—every beggar in the city knows a fat mark when they see one. If we don’t go, they’ll tear us apart alive!”

“Ah!”

Feng Jun didn’t quite understand, but he followed Jiang Yang’s sprint all the way to an empty spot.

“Isn’t this the capital? How can there be so many beggars? As far as I knew, plagues of beggars only appear during famines and floods.” Feng Jun’s face was a mask of genuine bewilderment.

Jiang Yang leaned against a wall, catching her breath. “Simple. A muddleheaded emperor and officials who draw their pay doing nothing.”

Feng Jun’s expression grew serious. “If he is so useless, how does he remain emperor? Has no one risen to replace him?”

Jiang Yang nearly burst out laughing. She stood on tiptoe and patted his shoulder. “Oh, you naive, darling child. Mortal emperors pass their thrones by bloodline. He’s emperor because his father was emperor, and his father because his father’s father was. The Mortal Realm isn’t the Heavenly Court. You could live for tens of thousands of years. If someday you were to die, to whom would you pass the position of Heavenly Emperor?”

“To you,” Feng Jun said.

“And if you had an offspring?”

“Still to you,” he insisted.

Jiang Yang tilted her head up to look at him. The young man’s gaze seemed somewhat stern and resolute, carrying something within it she did not particularly wish to see. It was sheer exploitation. If emotions got tangled up in this, she might not be able to live with herself.

So, Jiang Yang promptly changed the subject. “Why did you treat those mortals so kindly just now? Isn’t our Heavenly Emperor known for keeping people at arm’s length?”

Feng Jun replied, “They are so weak, so fragile that any random person could crush them. If I could help, why shouldn’t I?”

“But they lack the means to offer us tribute.”

“We don’t lack their meager offerings. If I were a mortal emperor,” Feng Jun said, “I would govern the nation in perfect order, where no one pockets lost goods on the road and doors need not be barred at night.”

Jiang Yang fell silent for a long moment before asking him, “Do you know how to cook?”

“Why are you asking this?”

“Just answer.”

Feng Jun, baffled, shook his head.

Jiang Yang said, “That’s it, then. Governing a great nation is like cooking a small fish. If you can’t even cook a small fish, what qualifies you to speak of ruling a great nation? Let me ask you: if you, like a mortal emperor, did something wrong, what would you do? You are the lofty Heavenly Emperor. No one dares to contradict you to your face. Even if you were wrong, you yourself would never know.”

Jiang Yang’s words held a deeper meaning. She had been by the Heavenly Emperor’s side for tens of thousands of years and knew him well. The young Heavenly Emperor was stubborn and self-righteous, adhering to his own strict, ironclad code of justice. And his justice just so happened to be the absolute cruelty towards all demons. Beyond that, he was a dutiful and decent Heavenly Emperor.

Chuci would not let him off. Jiang Yang understood this with utter clarity. Yet, a sliver of wishful thinking always lingered in her heart. If the Heavenly Emperor could acknowledge his mistake and turn over a new leaf, she might beg the King for leniency on his behalf.

As a demon, Jiang Yang was as incompatible with him as fire and water. But as the Jiangchu Fairy, they truly did share a bond of friendship.

“If I have truly done wrong,” Feng Jun said, “do I not still have you? Others might not dare speak up, but even you would not?”

Enough.

Jiang Yang heaved a long sigh in her heart, shook her head, and fell silent.

Not far away, a crowd bustled noisily, gathering as if something novel was happening. Jiang Yang said, “Let’s go up ahead and take a look,” then abruptly turned and strode forward. Feng Jun froze there for a moment, then followed after.

The crowd had gathered around a woman in white mourning robes and a corpse wrapped in straw.

Jiang Yang saw at a glance that the woman’s features were outstandingly beautiful. Yet, a rough hemp stick was jammed askew into her hair bun, and her sorrowful, bleak expression had a thoroughly miserable air about it.

This was the classic opera trope: selling oneself to bury one’s father.

Jiang Yang watched along with the crowd for a while. As expected, the lecherous goons straight out of opera scripts emerged, catcalling “Little missy” from one side and “Little beauty” from the other, spouting filthy obscenities.

After the verbal harassment came the groping hands.

Jiang Yang was waiting for some hero to save the damsel when a figure beside her suddenly blurred. Feng Jun had leaped out. Effortlessly, he sent the two local despots scrambling away in defeat. Newly arrived in the Mortal Realm, he found everything a novelty. In the blink of an eye, he’d subdued the evil and comforted the good. He even cadged a few taels of silver from Jiang Yang and offered it to the filial woman in mourning clothes.

According to the operas, the next part would be her pledging herself to him in marriage. Jiang Yang was calculating how to hide her glee at his coming misfortune, when the woman raised her head, and a pair of beautiful, slanting phoenix eyes fixed directly upon her.

A sudden, uneasy feeling washed over Jiang Yang, as if she were in the presence of the King.

Could it be…?

The woman shuffled forward a few steps on her knees, lowered her brows and eyes demurely, and prostrated herself in a kowtow: “This little woman is called Honglian. I thank you, Miss, for saving my life. Since Miss has bought this maidservant, then this maidservant belongs to Miss for all her days to come.”

Her brows were extraordinarily long, sweeping up toward her temples, setting off a sharp, striking beauty.

Wait! Why is this playing out differently from the operas again?!

Jiang Yang coughed dryly. “No need. That young gentleman over there was the one who saved you.”

Honglian insisted, “I saw with my own eyes that it was Miss who gave the money.”

“The money was a loan to him. He must pay me back.”

Feng Jun: “…”

Honglian asked, “Does Miss look down on this maidservant for her humble origins?”

“Of course not—” Jiang Yang hadn’t even finished her sentence when her expression abruptly shifted. The ground transmitted a faint shudder, the vibrations uniform and disciplined—the very sound trained soldiers make.

They had arrived.

A troop of armored soldiers bristling with sharp weapons swiftly encircled Jiang Yang and Feng Jun. Their commander sat astride a tall horse: none other than the Prefecture Lord of Jingzhao. The Prefect of Jingzhao boomed in a loud voice: “This official has received a report! Someone has unlawfully embroidered a five-clawed golden dragon, an act of brazen treason against Heaven’s majesty! Seize them all! Take them back to the yamen to await judgment!”