Chapter 150: Illusion
Hu Da had originally intended to seize the weapon from Xie Jing, worried that he might accidentally hurt someone—or even himself—but the level of physical strength Xie Jing possessed while clear-headed was only high before and had not diminished. The fungus had a mild paralyzing effect, and even if one were injured, it didn’t feel very painful. Under such circumstances, even if Xie Jing had no gun, no one could get close to him relying solely on hand-to-hand combat.
Hu Da observed him for a while. Seeing that Xie Jing remained calmly seated on the phoenix bed without making any moves, his unease lessened slightly. He called the others to guard Xie Jing, gritted his teeth, and went out to take a look around.
The tomb was enormous, dug like an underground palace. Hu Da did not dare to go far and only checked a few nearby chambers.
Most of the tombs outside were crude, mostly made of wood and earth. Only the stone chamber where Liu Ruyi had been chained was special—it seemed the most important. Its carvings featured dragons and phoenixes, unlike the others. This was likely the Phoenix Palace.
Hu Da dipped a strip of cloth in some lamp oil and tied it to a wooden stick, making a makeshift torch. He held it up and examined the surroundings.
When he came across a sealed tomb chamber, he pried it open with a dagger. Inside were decayed wooden boxes and many clay jars. He stepped carefully, noticing something odd underfoot. Looking down, he saw hollowed tree trunks, some split open, revealing black metal blocks inside. He crouched and pried them open, only to realize they were silver ingots. These ingots were much larger than any he had seen before, stamped with silversmith marks, uniformly cast, with a black layer from long-term water exposure.
Hu Da nudged them with the dagger but did not touch them directly.
He then kicked the clay jars, finding no traps, and nervously approached for a closer look. One glance, and his face changed drastically.
The clay jars were squat and wide-mouthed. The one closest to the door contained nothing but earrings. They were old, made of gold and silver—mostly silver—and coated with black, whether from rust or dried blood, he could not tell.
Hu Da nearly fell to the ground, his arms covered in goosebumps. Piles of earrings were stacked like small mountains, all different styles. Even without seeing it firsthand, one could imagine the suffering of the women who once wore them. The designs were outdated; a single town like Shuiniu could not have accumulated so much blood debt. The townspeople were perhaps not merely masons burying treasures for the Western King, but remnants of his army.
Their ancestral treasures had all been accumulated with human blood.
Hu Da stumbled back, nearly collapsing. He stared at the room filled with gold and silver, trembling, and whispered, “Murderers… demons…”
In the Phoenix Palace stone chamber, Liu Ruyi curled up near the door, shivering. Long-term consumption of the fungus had side effects, like now, with a splitting headache. She dared not make a sound, biting her lip to suppress herself. The pain, in a way, brought some clarity.
She looked at Xie Jing. A lamp on the stone table in front of him illuminated his expression. This was the first time she saw someone in an illusion, after three years of being trapped in her own dream.
During those three years, she had thought about Young Master Cao often, but upon waking, she could still distinguish truth from illusion.
Cao Yunzhao, to her, was like stars in the sky, the moon in the water—untouchable. A person only to be imagined in dreams.
Once awake, she immediately remembered who she was and where she came from. She had been sold into a brothel as a child by her own maternal uncle.
Back then, she had no name. Her family gave her a lowly one, promising to take care of her—but only for seven or eight years. After losing her parents, her uncle gave her a few meals, then sold her. She was too young to understand anything. In the brothel, the madam did not make her serve men; instead, because of her looks, she was assigned to serve the lead courtesan, learning skills through her.
The lead courtesan had a bad temper but treated her well, even renaming her, saying: “I’ve had a life of misfortune; from today on, you shall be called Liu Ruyi.”
Liu Ruyi had, for the first time, an older sister figure, someone who cared for her.
This sister had also told her: “Do you know why people say our fate is miserable? Courtesans’ lives are full of misfortune. You must cling to someone until they redeem you. Only leaving this place can give you a new life.”
Her sister had said this firmly, but she never left the brothel, never met someone she truly liked. No matter the appearances or the wealth some gentlemen lavished on her, once dead, a woman’s life ended on a mat, while men fought over her.
Despite her apparent fragility, Liu Ruyi had a streak of defiance. Unlike others, she remembered her sister’s words—she wanted to escape. If someone redeemed her, she would go, refusing to die here. She wanted to live a proper life.
Then Cao Yunzhao appeared. He became her only hope. She had nothing else and wanted to give her body in exchange.
But Cao Yunzhao did not accept; he said he would not do that.
He clothed her, looking steadily at her face, speaking gently: “Ruyi, for a man and woman to be together, there must be mutual love. I will help you. You need not repay me.”
Looking at him, she felt she truly saw him for the first time. Cao Yunzhao had modern education but was unlike other men she had met—he treated her as an equal.
Yet he was unattainable. She tried to live in the Cao family’s small mansion but remained only one of the men’s acquaintances, with no true status. These three years had been a delusion.
The old Shuiniu town mayor wanted to live to ninety-nine. For those to be married here, their combined age was uncertain in fortune. She spent three years in a dream.
But beauty fades, and dreams rarely last.
Liu Ruyi leaned against the stone wall, staring at the candlelight, recalling the dreams. In the dream, Cao Yunzhao sat beside her, discussing poetry and literature, caring for her, showing her his new plays. He braided her hair and pinned a phoenix hairpin with pearls, smiling: “Share with me a coral branch, secure her a half-life in the phoenix nest.”
She hugged her knees, tears flowing, whispering: “I regret not having the coral branch, miscasting the phoenix nest…”
After a while, faint sounds came from above the tomb, with some soil falling—like digging outside, though distant, causing slight shaking.
Xie Jing suddenly moved on the stone phoenix bed, almost immediately alert and standing to look.
The nearby men from Sichuan rushed to surround him, trying to protect him, shouting, but could not rouse him.
Hu Da ran in, covered in dust and sweat, looking disheveled, clearly feeling the tomb’s tremor: “Quick, find a stone wall or table, crouch and hide!”
After a while, the shaking ceased.
Hu Da listened intently, then exclaimed with relief: “They’re digging! I hear it—it’s faint but continuous. We are saved! Everyone find a safe spot and wait…”
Before he finished, he saw Xie Jing standing, eyes fixed ahead, stepping out. Hu Da ran to block him.
Xie Jing was strong; Hu Da could not restrain him. He called more men, coaxing: “Young master, where are you going? This is the East Courtyard! Stay here; the wedding guests are almost here!”
But Xie Jing saw a different scene.
He heard roaring noises and tremors. The sounds converged like planes dropping bombs. Wedding guests scattered chaotically. Panicked, he could not sit still. Lord Bai Jiu had not arrived yet; the outside was in turmoil. He had to reach him…
People pushed him back in the crowd. Enraged, he dismembered anyone approaching, pushing them to the ground, stepping forward relentlessly.
He weaved through the streets, dodging falling stones and debris, shaking with fear—not for himself, but for the one he had yet to see.
The sounds grew louder, initially chaotic, then he heard it clearly: a shout of “Lord Bai Jiu!”
Xie Jing spun around. Amidst the smoke and ruins, he saw a familiar figure and followed back.
They returned to the residence; no one else was there. Only the two of them remained. Xie Jing stood behind Lord Bai Jiu, watching the thin figure seated before a mirror.
Lord Bai Jiu coughed lightly and smiled: “I hear you were busy today, still seeking Quan Fu Ren for the face treatment?”
Xie Jing stared at the reflection, recognizing the familiar, affectionate teasing. Hesitating, he shook his head: “I did, but he hasn’t come. It’s chaotic outside. Master, shall I take you to hide? It’s too dangerous here.”
Lord Bai Jiu looked down at the dressing box and calmly said: “No need today. You comb my hair, alright?”
Xie Jing nodded. Watching the mirror, he carefully combed Lord Bai Jiu’s hair, adjusting his grip as needed.
Lord Bai Jiu was thin and tall, occasionally coughing, making Xie Jing’s touch automatically gentler.
Lord Bai Jiu smiled: “It’s nothing, just chest congestion these past two days. Combing your hair has nothing to do with it.”
Xie Jing quickly said: “Master, I’ll brew the medicine.”
Lord Bai Jiu held his hand: “No medicine today. It’s our wedding. Even without entertaining guests, we must drink the nuptial wine together.”
Xie Jing hesitated, eyes uncertain.
Lord Bai Jiu smiled: “I’ve listened to you take medicine for so long; today, just listen to me once, alright?”
“…Alright.” Xie Jing replied reluctantly.
Even if his arm ached, even if he had to cut a piece of flesh, he wanted to brew the medicine.
Lord Bai Jiu’s gaze fell on his arm; Xie Jing subtly moved aside. Lord Bai Jiu asked: “Did you hurt your arm again?”
Xie Jing shook his head with a smile: “It’s fine. Now that you’re better, I feel at ease.”
While combing, he spoke softly, answering Lord Bai Jiu’s questions.
“Jing’er, what’s the meaning of this comb?”
“I heard it said: one comb for a smooth life, two combs for growing old together.”
Xie Jing lowered his eyes, combing carefully, focused.
He wanted to grow old together with Lord Bai Jiu, never parting.
