Chapter Seventy-Five: The Sword Points to the Fengshan Rite

After finishing the letter, Li Zisheng began to ponder his next steps.

He was not at all worried about how to send the letter out. The chamber within the tunnel contained a communication port described in the small map booklet the portly shopkeeper had given him. It was a one-way conduit for transmitting information; one could send messages out, but could not receive replies. Li Zisheng had initially been puzzled by this, but after meeting Deng Qing and his men, he understood. Although the tunnel was a highly secretive location, a determined searcher could eventually find it, however difficult the task might be.

Thus, Li Zisheng arrived at the communication port. He could not help but admire the ingenuity of the ancients; this small tube was somewhat akin to the telephone of later ages. Since the transmission of information was naturally restricted to those within the Three Flavors House, Li Zisheng used ink to make an impression of the jade pendant given to him by the woman from the Three Flavors House, thereby verifying his identity.

However, Li Zisheng remained cautious. Although he had written the letter, he left it unsigned. This was a safeguard in case Deng Qing and Governor Zhang were in league with each other. Furthermore, he took care with his handwriting; as he was capable of imitating many different styles, he had no fear of being identified. The Three Flavors House had suffered a great loss, and he reasoned they would not endure Deng Qing’s actions with patience; they would surely do their utmost to assist him and keep his message hidden. On this point, Li Zisheng felt entirely at ease.

With these tasks completed, Li Zisheng sat down and contemplated the subsequent course of action. The world outside was fraught with danger, especially given the brazen nature of Deng Qing’s ambitions. If he were to be exposed, he would certainly meet a gruesome end, especially since he remained completely ignorant of the situation in the outside world. While not necessarily in immediate danger within the tunnel, it was by no means a perfectly secure refuge. He had sent the letter, but he could only hope that Governor Zhang and Deng Qing were not allies; otherwise, he was merely waiting for his death in this tunnel.

Yet, it was precisely this forced wait that allowed him to reflect on the finer details of the situation. His greatest perplexity concerned the whereabouts of the thousands of citizens in Yue City. How could they have vanished from the streets and alleys in such a short span of time?

There was also the Turkic delegation—hundreds of people, yet he had only seen the corpse of Ashina Canghe; he had not seen a single other member. And the portly shopkeeper of the Three Flavors House—he had not seen another soul in all of Yue City, only him. Although the shopkeeper had helped him escape danger, the journey had been eerily desolate, devoid of even the scent of blood. The realization slowly dawned on him: before he had hidden in the tunnel, most of the citizens of Yue City had already vanished.

His arrival at the Three Flavors House had not been intentional, yet in hindsight, it felt as though someone had orchestrated it, guiding him into this tunnel to uncover Deng Qing’s secret. All of these occurrences were abnormal, and as the saying goes, where there is an anomaly, there must be a demon. There was surely a deeper meaning behind it all.

Li Zisheng felt this keenly. The more unusual the events, the more clearly a single thread connected them. He was well-acquainted with this thread: it was the matter of Emperor Xuanzong’s imperial sacrifice at Mount Tai. Whether it was the visit of the Turkic delegation during the Emperor’s tour, the Three Flavors House’s extensive recruitment of elites, the series of assassinations of prominent scholars and celebrities across the nation, or Deng Qing’s blatant plot for rebellion—all pointed toward the imperial sacrifice.

The imperial sacrifice was a matter of national importance; the slightest misstep could shake the very foundations of the state. These events, once connected, clearly aimed to sabotage the Emperor’s grand ceremony. One side sought to destroy, the other to protect. The crux of the matter was choosing the right side: choose correctly, and one would reap glory for generations; choose wrongly, and the result would be nothing but a mound of dirt, a pile of dry bones, and an eternity of infamy.

As a man from a later age, Li Zisheng was intimately familiar with the tides of history. Emperor Xuanzong would succeed in his sacrifice and become a restorer of the dynasty, achieving unparalleled greatness. Yet, prosperity often leads to decline, and this event would become one of the catalysts for the later decay. Glory easily blinds, and that was the reason for the desolation of the Emperor’s final years.

Li Zisheng shook these chaotic thoughts from his head. The only thing he could do now was wait for the imperial officials to arrive in Yue City.

Fortunately, the tunnel was well-stocked with wine and grain, enough for the two of them to survive for some time. Li Zisheng set aside Mr. Zhong’s ancient text on the Yishan stone inscriptions and began to flip through other volumes. He did not believe it was a mere coincidence that Mr. Zhong’s collection happened to contain a description of these inscriptions. When coupled with Mr. Zhong’s unexplained disappearance, the implication was self-evident.

Most of Mr. Zhong’s books focused on the history of the Pre-Qin, Qin, and Han dynasties, and without exception, each one could be linked in some way to the imperial sacrifice. Li Zisheng had already guessed that Mr. Zhong’s purpose in coming to Lingzhou was far beyond merely winning a diplomatic exchange with the Turkic delegation. Doubtless, there had been other plans, but due to Deng Qing, those plans—or rather, the arrangements made by Mr. Zhong and Governor Zhang—had vanished like smoke. In the eyes of Mr. Zhong, he was nothing more than a pawn. Leaving him in the camp to draw Deng Qing’s attention while Mr. Zhong slipped away was, perhaps, an effective strategy.

Li Zisheng felt no resentment. If he were in Mr. Zhong’s position, he would have made the same choice. In this ancient era, where a single word could determine life or death, one’s own safety and that of one’s loved ones were always paramount. A pawn is merely a pawn; once discarded, there is nothing more to be said.

Li Zisheng ceased his ruminations and continued to read through Mr. Zhong’s ancient books.