Chapter Thirty-One: A Sudden Clap of Spring Thunder

Upon seeing Wei Cizang, Li Zisheng had already become aware of a crucial truth: though he stood in the midst of the storm, he now possessed the power to command his own fate. In this, he must adhere to the principles he had always held dear. Medicine was essential, but his pursuit of literary mastery could not be neglected; should he falter here, his future would become uncertain and precarious.

Li Zisheng understood that his primary task was to elevate his literary skills. Only then could he stand before the Emperor with confidence and seek the legendary Eastern Sea Pearl. The Eastern Sea Pearl, according to the Medicine King Wei, was nurtured by a thousand-year-old giant clam. It was said to not only bring the dead back to life and mend broken flesh, but also to rival the mystical treasures of immortal mountains.

Of course, Li Zisheng realized it was merely a pearl. Although he did not know why it could delay the onset of his Nine Yin Terminal Veins, any reprieve was better than none; after all, no one begrudges a longer life.

Having settled his affairs, Li Zisheng bid farewell to Wei Cizang, who gave a few instructions before departing hurriedly. The day of their next meeting was etched firmly in Li Zisheng’s memory.

With all matters concluded, Li Zisheng felt the weight on his shoulders lighten considerably. The most pressing concern now was the impending confrontation with the Turkic delegation. This was of utmost importance. He did not question their intentions further; he knew they sought his master’s medical prowess. Surely, his master was already aware, and behind him stood the enigmatic Bureau of Heavenly Mysteries—an institution Li Zisheng could barely fathom.

The Bureau had summoned his master to Lingzhou, and his master trusted them implicitly. This alone proved that his master was in no danger. Yet, Master Zhong’s words contained inconsistencies. Zhong was a subordinate of Governor Zhang; their interests were intertwined. Why the deception? Was there a deeper purpose, or had Li Zisheng failed to see it?

Then there were Deng Qing, Master Lin, and others. Their actions seemed bizarre to Li Zisheng—he could not understand their open break with the Zhou family. Was it not like striking at their own feet with a stone? He had asked his master about the details, but his master’s answers were brief and ambiguous, offering only partial insight. However, one detail emerged: the Emperor himself would soon arrive in Lingzhou, and it was highly likely he would observe the contest between Li Zisheng and the Turkic delegation from the shadows.

At first, this news startled Li Zisheng, leaving him shaken. He had not expected the Emperor to watch the trial. Thus, he no longer fully believed Master Zhong’s claim that the Turkic delegation was interested solely in his master.

Li Zisheng pushed these thoughts aside, resolving not to trust anyone in Lingzhou. Vigilance was his only recourse.

It was the season of plum rains, and the weather shifted swiftly. The sun had been shining, but by the time Li Zisheng returned to his tent, the sky had grown dark and ominous. Black clouds blanketed the heavens; it was as if a celestial immortal had overturned a fine inkstone, spilling ink across the earth. Lightning tore through the darkness, a blinding streak across the sky.

A thunderclap followed, shaking the earth to its core. The ground trembled, echoing like empty barrels tumbling down the heavenly ladder from the Southern Gate. It was the first thunder of spring—bright, startling, and resounding.

Torrents of rain lashed down, as if the river boy had neglected his post and let the celestial river burst its banks. Today’s rain was heavier than most: wind, rain, thunder, and lightning mingled into one. All was wrapped in gray, cold mist—indistinguishable were earth and sky, cloud and thunder, flowers and trees. Everywhere, confusion reigned; all was noise and blur.

Within his tent, Li Zisheng heard the pounding of raindrops overhead, the deafening sound seeming to come from all sides. The earth shivered timidly, silent and strange, as wind, rain, and lightning raged above.

Li Zisheng frowned at the weather.

“This rain is quite heavy,” he said quietly, settling into his seat and turning to his transcribed books and classics. The kerosene lamp sputtered softly.

On the main road to Lingzhou, a wagon covered with oilcloth swayed through the storm. The sturdy horses, soaked and exhausted, snorted heavily, struggling through the muddy road.

As noon approached, Eight Liang brought the meal from General Deng Qing to Li Zisheng’s tent. Seeing Li Zisheng still absorbed in his books, Eight Liang admired him quietly, brushed the rain from his clothes, and placed the food at Li Zisheng’s seat. With a gentle cough, he signaled it was time to eat.

The morning had been full of trials for Li Zisheng, and hunger was gnawing at him. Seeing the meal, he could not resist and prepared to eat heartily. Eight Liang, noticing, quietly withdrew, not wishing to disturb his master.

Just as Li Zisheng raised his chopsticks, a young soldier entered the tent, barely announcing himself before stepping inside. Li Zisheng glanced at the dust-covered youth, but found his manners lacking and ignored him, continuing to eat.

The young soldier noticed Li Zisheng’s deliberate disregard, but with the storm raging outside, he had no choice but to seek shelter. Though instructed to be respectful, the weather was too fierce; he was only a child, and surely such etiquette could be overlooked.

So he thought, but what happened next made him realize how foolish his assumptions were.

Even in Tang, where social rank was not as rigid as in other dynasties, there were still clear distinctions. Not just anyone could overstep their place. It was a grave offense—not unforgivable, but by no means a light matter.