Chapter 155: Patriotic Merchants
Winter passed quickly.
By the time Xie Jing’s health was improving, news arrived from Jiangkou’s Shuiniu Town.
The excavation of the underground palace had gone smoothly. After a whole winter, it was finally uncovered. Luckily, it was the dry season, and the water from the subterranean river had been pumped out in time. The earthen walls were reinforced, and many ancient books, scrolls, and gold and silver artifacts were rescued.
As for why the underground palace was beneath the government office, it was said that the old town mayor, blinded by power and wealth, believed in adding “rank above the coffin,” so he buried his stone coffin below the office, using the office to stabilize his fortune. Feng shui principles were extensively applied, requiring much thought and effort.
Indeed, after the stone tomb that had held Liu Ruyi was excavated, beneath the phoenix bed there was another layer: a huge stone coffin was uncovered.
The old town mayor’s final hope was shattered. On the day the stone coffin emerged, he collided fatally with the ruins of the office.
Obsessed with his long-held fixation, he went mad, determined to die there.
After his death, a few of his most loyal followers in Shuiniu Town raved and cursed, their faces terrifying. They too committed suicide in prison shortly after the mayor’s death. Yet these were few; the majority of townsfolk, though fearful and ignorant, still clung to the basic desire to survive and did not dare take their own lives.
The timid villagers followed whoever held authority.
Cao Yunzhao, the local official, ordered them to perform labor to transform the area. Due to a shortage of manpower, villagers leveled the land around the office and constructed a school building. They also rebuilt the docks and ferry stations, using stone and earth cleared from the excavation—making full use of resources.
The chief of staff’s troops had excavated gold, silver, and antiques from the underground palace. The question of how to handle these treasures caused some difficulty.
Professors from Beijing hoped the treasures would be donated, but the chief of staff refused. Many antique dealers also traveled from afar, attempting to buy the relics for resale abroad. Though Sichuan had not experienced external war, local warlord skirmishes persisted. The chief of staff had to guard against foreign raiders and treasure hunters alike.
Several gentry from Meishan tried to bribe Cao Yunzhao, seeing themselves as local bosses. But Cao Yunzhao acted decisively, punishing two offenders, gradually curbing such behavior.
Cao Yunzhao had foresight. He provided every possible convenience, assisting the professors from Beijing and Huang Mingyou in safeguarding the treasures.
With Commander Luo’s forces stationed there, no one dared act violently.
Inside the stone tomb, the old scholars were carefully examining the excavation.
The tomb walls had murals, painted over a century ago, depicting a grand narrative.
The Western King’s reign was brief but plunderous. Numerous ritual vessels and historic texts were amassed, and this enormous mural was painted to commemorate his achievements. It showed dense, towering buildings and courtyards, the king’s carriage, vast ceremonial processions, military escorts, and countless palace staff performing rituals. Bells and drums rang in unison, and even the expressions of drummers and musicians were meticulously depicted.
Over time, the mural had deteriorated and was repaired with gold powder.
Generations of Shuiniu Town’s residents revered their ancestors and believed in these stories.
Some professors from Beijing were meticulously mapping the murals; others observed and whispered among themselves. Professor Fu, the team leader from Beiping, studied intently and sighed after a moment: “What a pity.”
Huang Mingyou asked, “Old Fu, rescuing such a mural is something to celebrate. Why the sigh?”
Professor Fu smiled wryly: “I just heard that Commander Luo is pressing for speed. He may melt the gold and silver above before we can raise funds. The rest is fine, but a few gold books are truly regrettable.”
Someone nearby added, “Not just the gold books. Those antique jars, once recovered, even the seemingly intact ones were immediately taken by the chief of staff without letting anyone examine them.”
Huang Mingyou could only sigh in frustration.
Without the chief of staff’s troops, the underground palace would have been looted long ago. The scholars, powerless, could not protect it.
But the chief of staff had a clear objective: military pay.
The professors were anxious.
Shuiniu Town indeed had treasures, but to the scholars, their value was far beyond gold or silver. Especially in the stone coffin tomb, which contained oracle bones, ivory tablets, and several rare and exquisite gold books documenting the Western King’s awards—precise and well-cited.
Huang Mingyou worried himself sleepless over it.
Two days later, Lord Bai Jiu sent someone.
Upon learning of the professors’ plight, Lord Bai Jiu, using his and Xie Jing’s names, negotiated with the chief of staff. The third of the profit that should have gone to the gold-mining company? They didn’t take any of the gold or silver—only the worthless “junk.” All oracle bones with inscriptions, yellowed ivory tablets, books, scrolls, and bamboo slips were collected by the Bai family and donated to the nation.
Even the gold books Huang Mingyou desired were purchased separately. The chief of staff allowed them to freely select a few for him at a nominal price. Lord Bai Jiu hadn’t taken the gold bars or coins; they had already given 100,000 silver dollars, more than satisfied.
Huang Mingyou was relieved and delighted.
The professors from Beiping were overjoyed, writing articles praising Lord Bai Jiu and Xie Jing as “patriotic merchants.”
Scholars, proud in nature, rarely wrote praise even when paid, but this time, they all wrote about Lord Bai Jiu and Xie Jing’s deeds voluntarily, overflowing with admiration.
A particularly famous scholar wrote multiple essays, praising the actions of the people of Sichuan. For a time, the names of Lord Bai Jiu and Xie Jing frequently appeared in newspapers and books.
These proud scholars had their temperaments, but all expressed love for their land and country in their own ways.
Where there is patriotism, there are friends.
Even if they had never met, they were kindred spirits.
By March, spring arrived.
The breeze revived the vegetation. The mountains and forests of Sichuan were lush; tree branches sprouted tender green leaves, full of life.
After a winter of recuperation, Xie Jing’s health had fully returned. Lord Bai Jiu and Xie Siquan had been particularly attentive to him, keeping him confined in the Xie residence all winter. Once the weather warmed, they decided to take Xie Jing out under the pretext of spring outings, letting him move around and relax.
They did not travel far, choosing a half-mountain site at Luohan Temple.
The carriage swayed; Xie Jing lifted the curtain to look outside. Xie Siquan leaned on a cushion beside him, handing him a fruit: “What are you staring at? There’s nothing much to see along the way. Wait until we arrive—it’ll be prettier. Here, try this fruit. I tasted it; it’s sweet.”
Xie Jing took it and bit into it. “Uncle, is this the Luohan Temple you mentioned before?”
Xie Siquan smiled: “Yes, the one your mother and I used to visit. When our elders were alive, we went with them. Later, it was just me and my sister; she would take me there.” He paused, thinking, and continued: “The vegetarian dishes there are excellent. I remember a stuffed tofu that’s really good. You like tofu, right? We’ll have it for lunch.”
Xu Jun, sitting nearby, couldn’t resist commenting: “Jing’er isn’t picky.”
Xie Siquan raised an eyebrow: “What do you mean?”
Xu Jun: “He eats everything. You, on the other hand, should learn from him.”
The two often bickered over trivial matters; Xie Jing was used to it and simply smiled silently.
Outside, the sound of approaching hooves drew Xie Jing’s attention. Lifting the curtain, he saw Lord Bai Jiu.
Today, Lord Bai Jiu was on horseback, bending slightly to ask: “Tired?”
Xie Jing shook his head, smiling with eyes sparkling.
Lord Bai Jiu’s lips curved, asking: “Want to ride? I’ll take you.”
Xie Siquan, about to intervene, saw Xie Jing eagerly agree, jump down, and run to Lord Bai Jiu. They coordinated perfectly; with a tug, Xie Jing was on Lord Bai Jiu’s horse, and they rode off together.
Xie Siquan called twice, but they did not return.
Upon arriving at Luohan Temple, Xie Jing’s complexion was rosy. Riding had no negative effect; if anything, he looked healthier, easing Xie Siquan’s worry.
The temple staff were old acquaintances of the Xie family. After offering incense, Xie Siquan followed the abbot to a memorial tablet.
He brought only Xie Jing, who respectfully bowed before the tablet inscribed with “Xie Yuan” in fresh gold paint.
Xie Siquan, watching Xie Jing bow, seemed lost in thought.
Xie Jing stood quietly, waiting amid the sandalwood incense.
Xie Siquan said: “This tablet used to have no name. I always felt that the one He Dongting found wasn’t my sister. I thought I could look further if I didn’t acknowledge it, but I worried she’d be alone and lose her way. That’s why I asked the master to dedicate this ‘Longevity Tablet.’” He sighed lightly, letting go of something in his heart, and smiled: “Now it’s settled. My sister has gone ahead. We can live well, and when we cross the Sanzu River and meet her, no one will mock us.”
He bowed before the tablet again, sincerely offering incense, his gaze gentle.
At noon, they had a vegetarian meal. Xie Jing enjoyed the stuffed tofu, eating nearly half a plate. Seeing this, Xie Siquan ordered more tofu buns and glutinous rice desserts—small portions but many varieties, catering to his nephew’s favorites.
Lord Bai Jiu quietly took the glutinous rice dessert Xie Jing had bitten, placing it in his own plate to prevent overindulgence. He also prepared a bowl of porridge for him, speaking softly beside him.
Though the table had many people, Lord Bai Jiu’s attention was focused on Xie Jing. Feeling observed, Xie Jing ate more slowly.
Lord Bai Jiu glanced across the table. The others quickly averted their gaze, except for Bai Mingyu, who stared curiously at Xie Jing.
Bai Hongqi nudged him lightly, coughing.
Bai Mingyu realized too late; looking up, he met Lord Bai Jiu’s displeased gaze and felt a chill in his heart.
Bai Hongqi smoothed things over with her cheerful, lively voice: “Uncle, I recently heard from people in Shuiniu Town about the underground palace. It truly is related to the Western King’s sunken silver. According to the gold books Huang Mingyou and others identified, the palace was originally built by the Western King’s adopted son.”
The Western King’s adopted son, Zhang Kewang, was a capable man.
Following secret orders from Zhang Xianzhong (The Western King), he used mountain quarrying as a cover to build the underground palace to store treasures.
Unexpectedly, the Great Western Kingdom fell quickly, and the treasure became a tool for those attempting restoration. Generations stubbornly guarded it, growing increasingly rigid. By the old town mayor’s generation, the county records absurdly claimed: “The heavens show wonder; mountains split, stones emerge; without labor or transport, the new office buildings arose by divine will…”
Clearly impossible.
The old mayor, guarding the treasure, was greedy.
He used stone from the palace so that stones would “split naturally,” and spent treasure to build a tomb and expand the office, seeking rank above his coffin.
His servants, guarding the treasure, metaphorically “killed themselves” in this small town, clinging to it until death.
A dream lasting a century.
Bai Hongqi concluded the story with a sigh.
Bai Mingyu, feeling uneasy about the madness in Shuiniu Town, quietly fed Bai Hongqi a piece of lotus root tip she liked, whispering: “Don’t talk about that, I don’t want to hear it. Aunt, try this; the lotus tip is crisp and well-braised.”
Bai Hongqi glanced at him, thinking she had saved a fool. Without Bai Mingyu, she might have scolded him properly instead of telling stories.
