Chapter 3:
The Scribe’s Residence
XUE XIAN’S FLIMSY PAPER BODY flapped wildly in the wind as his servant boy steed sprinted along. By the time they at last reached Scribe Liu’s residence, Xue Xian had been bucked around to the point of nausea.
Ningyang County was a prosperous area, and Liu Xue enjoyed a comfortable lifestyle as its scribe. His residence was quite a bit larger than the Jiang family’s ruined clinic. Its exterior was unremarkable, but the layout of its interior had been designed with meticulous care.
“Impressive.” Xue Xian peeked over the servant’s shoulder and scanned his surroundings, then heaved a sigh. “An impressive effort in digging your own grave, that is.”
The servant, puzzled, stood at the threshold. He had a creeping feeling that someone was whispering behind him, almost right against his neck. His hair stood on end and a chill ran down his spine. “Wh-wh-who’s speaking?”
“Guess,” said Xue Xian, flippant.
The servant froze in horror.
Xue Xian was a real piece of work. He hadn’t just treated the kid like a horse, he’d now driven him to tears as well. The boy was only twelve or thirteen, his courage no greater than a pinhead. Xue Xian’s soft whispers sent a jolt of terror through him; he stopped waiting for his master and broke into a run. Wailing, he dashed straight to the guest hall, only to trip over the entrance and land flat on his face.
His impact upon the ground jolted Xue Xian, who lost his grip and fell from his collar, fluttering to the floor. Just as he was about to grab the boy’s clothing again, the servant scrambled to his feet and darted away with rabbitlike speed.
This was what they called “suffering the consequences of your actions.”
A crumpled piece of paper lay on the ground, unnoticed. At that moment, the guest hall was in chaos, filled with panicked cries and frantic footsteps as people of all ages surrounded a young boy and wept.
He was drenched, his hair disheveled and stuck to his face. Several locks had been pushed aside, revealing his ashen complexion, and his eyes were tightly shut. It seemed he’d drawn his last breath.
This was the harrowing scene that greeted Scribe Liu when he stumbled into the guest hall. His legs buckled. “Jin-er—”2
Still on the floor, Xue Xian sharply turned his gaze and saw an enormous wave of feet approaching him. In his alarm, all other thoughts fled his mind as he latched onto a blade of dried grass poking between the tiles and used it as leverage to pull himself away.
He’d barely moved an inch when fingers closed around his body and tried to pick him up.
“What bastard dares grab me? Let go!” Xue Xian cursed. When he turned his head and saw it was that accursed monk again, he almost passed out from rage.
Xue Xian had only come to the Liu residence to keep an eye on Scribe Liu so he could fish for a chance to interrogate him. Why had this stupid monk followed him? Hadn’t he acted like it was none of his business earlier? Surely it wasn’t just to capture Xue Xian again? The world was teeming with evil spirits. Why was Xuanmin so obsessed with him?!
Xue Xian mentally ran through a list of curses for Xuanmin. He’d had enough of him! Clutching at the blade of dry grass, he refused to let go. But, to his dismay, he was eventually plucked from the ground, blade of grass and all.
Xuanmin held his runaway captive in one hand, his pitch-black eyes flickering as he stared at Xue Xian with a hint of reproach.
Xue Xian just rolled his eyes.
While this was going on, Xuanmin gently kicked at a round stone in the courtyard. That stone rolled a couple of times and conveniently came to rest at Scribe Liu’s feet. As Scribe Liu stumbled forward, he stepped on the stone, lost his balance, and pitched to the ground. In an incredible coincidence, he landed squarely on the chest of the youth who’d stopped breathing.
“Khh, kuh, kfff.”
Scribe Liu scrambled to his feet, ready to scream at whoever had tripped him. Before he could speak, he heard the seemingly lifeless youth beside him burst into coughs, expelling water with enough force to turn his face crimson.
The people in the hall instantly erupted—some with joy, others with astonishment.
Scribe Liu just stood there. It was a long time before he returned to his senses, whereupon he quickly had someone carry his son back to his room to rest, then ordered them to fetch a doctor after that. He offered a few comforting words to his red-eyed wife before looking at the round stone on the ground, his expression complicated.
He shot Xuanmin a couple of looks. After all the commotion, Liu Xue was exhausted. The sky gradually paled, and the faint light of dawn fell upon the courtyard, subtle as it was.
The scribe scrutinized Xuanmin once more. He still thought this man rather youthful and not at all like a high monk. If nothing else, he clearly lacked the requisite experience. Someone in his twenties becoming a high monk could only be fantasy, and the coins hanging at his waist were dull and unremarkable. Except for some ignorant common folk, anyone would identify him as a swindler.
But the events that’d just happened were impossible to ignore. Right after Xuanmin told him “Someone else took your place,” his son Liu Jin had fallen into the well. Next, he’d been running unimpeded when a stone had materialized before him, tripping him so that he’d fallen down on Liu Jin, restoring him to life. One incident could be brushed off as a coincidence, but given the current events, Liu Xue couldn’t bring himself to describe them all as coincidences.
Could this person really be a high monk?
Scribe Liu clasped his hands and forced a smile to his face, then bowed to Xuanmin. “I was blind! So very blind!”
Xuanmin ignored him. Instead, he raised his eyes and scanned the courtyard.
“I apologize for my earlier rudeness, Master. I hope you can forgive me,” Scribe Liu took the opportunity to say. “There was in fact a reason for my discourtesy. You see this courtyard? I spent a lot of money hiring a designer for the layout, so I just could not believe that my lifespan would run out early. That’s why I mistook the master for a…a scammer.”
Xue Xian snorted. Scribe Liu’s residence did look perfectly fine at first glance. It was south-facing and nestled against the mountains. The courtyard followed the design tenet called “Reclaiming the Four Waters,” which was excellent for gathering wealth and qi. Outside the front hall, a meandering fish pond curved into itself: This was “Winding Waters Grace the Hall,” ensuring professional success and a rise through the ranks.
Xue Xian only had a basic understanding of geomancy, though. He wasn’t human; to study it all would mean he had too much time on his hands. His assessment that something was amiss with the courtyard was entirely instinctual. From the moment he’d entered, an intense discomfort had washed over him. Hence his earlier declaration that Scribe Liu was digging his own grave. As for what the actual problem was and how to resolve it, that was Xuanmin’s concern, not his.
After brawling with Xuanmin’s fingers in a long, one-sided struggle, Xue Xian had finally exhausted himself and quieted down—at least temporarily. For someone like Xue Xian, who’d lived a proud and pampered life, it was particularly suffocating that he could do so little with his flimsy paper body.
Xuanmin shoved him back inside the pouch. Xue Xian was busy rolling his eyes and peeking back out at the courtyard when a voice suddenly spoke beside him.
“What are you mumbling about? Where are we?” Jiang Shining, who’d been languishing in the pouch the whole time, had mustered the courage to poke his head out at last. He seemed quite afraid of Xuanmin and whispered just loud enough for Xue Xian to hear.
“That scribe’s house, Liu or whatever,” said Xue Xian. “How do you not know? Are you deaf or what? Everyone here has been howling for who knows how long…”
Jiang Shining’s voice went brittle. “A scribe? Ningyang County’s Scribe Liu?”
“Who else?” asked Xue Xian, irritated.