Chapter 242: The Return Of The Dead

At the wide-open city gate, Zhou Yinzhi’s bloodied corpse, no longer bleeding, lay sprawled in the path, faintly heralding a bloody prelude amid the swirling dust and haze.

With a wave of Yan Lin’s hand, the army entered the city.

Jiang Xuening walked from outside the gate to within, the familiar streets appearing before her once more. From her past life to this one, they seemed much the same. But not a single shop was open—doors were either tightly shut or left in broken disarray. Where was the bustling splendor of the capital in its prime?

Long ago, on this very street, Yan Lin, brimming with youthful vigor, had ridden with her through the lantern festival; You Fangyin, clumsy and awkward, had knocked over a vendor’s stall while eyeing a pouch; when Shen Zhiyi was sent to the Tatars for a marriage alliance, that seemingly joyful yet sorrowful procession had wound through the city; and Xie Ju’an, still biding his time, had strolled from his residence to Youhuang Hall to find Lu Xian, seeking a zither string and some fine wood…

Everything began here, and it would end here.

She thought killing Zhou Yinzhi and exacting revenge would feel satisfying.

But it didn’t.

Standing on this long street, watching the soldiers march forward in orderly columns, Jiang Xuening felt an inexplicable emptiness, as if she suddenly didn’t know what to do next or where to go.

Xie Wei stood by her side, watching with her, but said nothing.

Jiang Xuening suddenly asked, “And you?”

Xie Wei turned. “What?”

Jiang Xuening said, “Once your revenge is complete, what will you do?”

Xie Wei looked at her, silent for a long time.

Twenty years of heavy obsession, a blood feud tied to his uprooted origins—if he achieved vengeance, would he feel fulfilled?

Or would it be like her sudden feeling…

Jiang Xuening couldn’t fathom it.

Deep autumn leaves, swept by the wind, carpeted the corners of the long street. The sound of marching stretched to the street’s end. Scouts rode ahead to gather intelligence, while at the other end, Lu Xian, frowning, spoke with Yan Lin. From the far end of the street, a young monk in blue robes hurried forward but was stopped by soldiers. He explained himself with effort until he spotted Xie Wei, pointed at him, his eyes lighting up…

Xie Wei seemed to drift for a moment.

He said to Dao Qin beside him, “Let him through.”

Dao Qin complied, instructing the soldiers and escorting the young monk over.

Jiang Xuening watched with curiosity.

The monk clearly held some fear of Xie Wei but approached respectfully, bowing with palms pressed together. “Some days ago, a bloodied benefactor named Meng sought refuge. The abbot, after questioning him, said to inform Benefactor Xie. Hearing the Xinzhou army has entered the city, he sent me to report.”

Xie Wei knew who he meant, lowering his eyes slightly. “Thank you.”

Jiang Xuening looked at the monk, puzzled.

Xie Wei turned to her and asked, “Have you been to White Pagoda Temple?”

Jiang Xuening’s heart jolted.

She’d heard of White Pagoda Temple but had never visited.

Words caught in her throat, unspoken.

Xie Wei took her hand, smiling. “An old acquaintance you know is there. I need to go. Will you come with me?”

Jiang Xuening couldn’t refuse.

Xie Wei pulled her onto a horse, holding her close as he spurred it forward, passing through several streets until a tall white pagoda came into view.

The desolate city was steeped in bleakness.

The ground, covered in unswept fallen leaves, was devoid of ordinary folk. Those who hadn’t fled had locked their doors, hiding from calamity.

Yet the path ahead was pristine.

Fresh broom marks adorned the mossy stone slabs, not a leaf in sight. At the end stood an ancient, secluded temple, its maple leaves blazing red in the deep autumn, like radiant clouds.

Xie Wei reined in the horse.

He offered his hand to help Jiang Xuening dismount.

At the temple gate, a young monk was sprinkling water from a basin onto the freshly swept ground. He seemed surprised anyone would visit for worship at such a time, his eyes showing curiosity as he saw them.

But when he recognized Xie Wei, his eyes widened.

Xie Wei knew he’d been recognized but wasted no words, asking, “Where is Abbot Wangchen?”

The monk stammered, standing frozen before hastily setting the basin by the wall. “The abbot is meditating in his chamber. I-I’ll go announce you!”

He darted inside.

Xie Wei paid him no mind, leading Jiang Xuening into the temple.

Bodhi trees lined the walls.

The abbot’s chamber, plain and simple, lay further back.

At the entrance, Xie Wei said to her, “Wait here a moment.”

Jiang Xuening nodded.

Xie Wei walked inside, his figure soon obscured by the door. From the chamber’s yellowed paper windows came a Buddhist chant, followed by calm conversation.

It was well known that, though Xie Wei served in court, he studied Taoist scriptures and Buddhist teachings, befriending scholars and matching wits with the former state preceptor, Monk Yuanji.

Yet this was the first time she’d seen him truly engage with a temple.

A benefactor named Meng, someone she knew…

Was it Meng Yang?

Jiang Xuening realized she wasn’t particularly curious. Looking around, her gaze fell on a stone pavilion nearby.

In that moment, though she couldn’t see the pavilion’s name, an uncanny intuition made her heart pound. She stepped toward it.

As she drew closer, she saw clearly.

It was indeed Chaoyin Pavilion.

Seven stone steps elevated the pavilion, which housed an old wooden table with an incense burner. It seemed incense had been lit that morning; though no smoke curled now, a faint scent of agarwood lingered in the air.

Beside the pavilion stretched a vast forest of steles.

Each stood six feet tall, one foot wide.

Names were carved upon them, one after another.

Further back, some bore no names at all.

They had stood here for years, their edges weathered by wind and rain, covered in dust.

Jiang Xuening walked among them slowly, pausing at each name as if to etch it into her memory.

Surnames like Zhao, Qian, Sun, and Li inscribed; some stones bore full names, others only childhood nicknames, and many at the back were blank…

The tombs of three hundred righteous children.

In her past life, she hadn’t seen them, as they seemed unrelated to her. Only later, during during her confinement in Kunning Palace, when You Fangyin mentioned them, did she learn that her past life’s tragic fate was tied to this bloody incident from over twenty years ago.

Now, she finally saw them.

She didn’t rush, lingering at each name, wanting to leave a trace in her memory.

But at the southeastern corner, Jiang Xuening paused for a long time, not moving forward.

Before her was another tomb.

But it was markedly different.

Other stones bore clear names or none at all. This one had once held a name, but it was partially carved and then forcibly scraped off, leaving only mottled dents and chaotic scratches.

A voice spoke behind her: “This is me.”

Jiang Xuening turned.

Xie Wei had emerged from the chamber. By the steps below Chaoyin Pavilion stood an old monk with Meng Yang, pale-faced, watching but not approaching.

At first, Jiang Xuening didn’t grasp his meaning.

He stepped beside her.

Brushing dust from the dark stele, Xie Wei looked at her and smiled. “A name was meant to be carved here, but she refused to believe the charred bones and mud in that snow were mine. When the craftsman began carving, she snatched the chisel, destroying the name. Then she told others her child might not be dead, and even if he was, he shouldn’t bear the Xiao surname in burial.”

His words were spoken with a smile.

Yet Jiang Xuening, listening, felt her eyes grow hot, her throat tightening.

Xie Wei said quietly, “I was supposed to have died over twenty years ago.”

Jiang Xuening grasped his hand, shaking her head. “No, you’re not.”

Her palm was sweaty, trembling.

Xie Wei smiled. “What are you afraid of?”

Jiang Xuening couldn’t say, only murmured, “No matter what, she wanted you to live.”

Xie Wei’s throat tightened, and he fell silent, his fingers clenching. He didn’t respond, saying instead, “Don’t come here alone. It’s time to go.”

He led her out.

Passing Chaoyin Pavilion, Meng Yang glanced at them, while Abbot Wangchen pressed his palms together and chanted, “Amitabha, all phenomena are empty!”

Jiang Xuening, lacking spiritual insight, didn’t understand.

Xie Wei didn’t respond.

He led Jiang Xuening out of White Pagoda Temple, where Yan Lin waited with a mass of soldiers. Lu Xian, standing below the steps, glanced at Jiang Xuening before approaching.

Xie Wei paused.

Lu Xian whispered something.

Xie Wei seemed unconcerned. “Let her come. Don’t stop her.”

Lu Xian stared at him. “Do you still want to win?”

Xie Wei said, “I do.”

Lu Xian replied, “But if what you want has changed, your victory is others’ defeat.”

Xie Wei said calmly, “I won’t lose.”

He spoke no more with Lu Xian.

During his time in White Pagoda Temple, Yan Lin and others had assessed the city’s situation. The Heavenly Sect Army, after entering, faced a meticulously planned ambush. Blood flowed through the markets of the western and southern cities, staining Chang’an Street all the way to the Forbidden City.

Corpses littered the roads—some Heavenly Sect, some court.

Some, injured but alive, cried out as the Xinzhou army passed: “Save us, save us…”

Most onlookers felt pity.

But Xie Wei’s gaze swept over them, stirring old memories without lingering, as he and Yan Lin headed toward the eerily silent Forbidden City.

The palace gates had been breached by the Heavenly Sect.

Uncollected corpses lay scattered.

The golden Taiji Hall was now cloaked in blood-red.

Wan Xiuzi surveyed his surroundings, scarcely believing it.

Only a few thousand battered soldiers remained at his side, their eyes bloodshot, bodies wounded. Even he had an arrow lodged in his waist, its shaft broken off, the head still embedded, too risky to remove.

The scene before the hall was no better.

Thousands of elite soldiers stood arrayed, guarding the emperor in the center. But Shen Lang, disheveled and barefoot, hardly resembled the ruler of old.

He laughed maniacally.

The loyal courtiers who hadn’t defected or fled cowered in the hall, watching the Heavenly Sect Army, now at their doorstep, with lingering fear.

Prince Linzi Shen Jie, Duke Dingguo Xiao Yuan, Minister of Justice Gu Chunfang, Vice-Minister of Revenue Jiang Boyou, and even Xiao Dingfei were among them…

But Zhang Zhe was absent.

Xiao Shu, now an imperial consort, stood in a corner, watching Shen Lang’s laughter, feeling chilled and desolate.

In terms of cunning, Shen Lang was a capable emperor.

He had deliberately weakened the city gates’ defenses, setting an ambush in the narrow market streets. When the Heavenly Sect thought victory was theirs, he struck, catching them off guard.

The brutal fight had narrowly tipped in his favor!

Though now cornered in the palace, he showed no panic, even exuding a strange satisfaction, making one wonder: Did this emperor hold another trump card?

Wan Xiuzi eyed him darkly, uncertain.

Regardless of what lay ahead, the dragon throne sat high in Taiji Hall.

Over twenty years ago, he had been a step away from it. But Prince Pingnan, entangled in royal grudges, insisted on exterminating the Shen bloodline, only to be thwarted by reinforcements, failing at the last moment!

Now, twenty years later, he stood beneath that throne again!

Before Taiji Hall, the sun blazed, and thousands faced off in silence, the only sound the wind whipping through.

Then, a distant noise grew clear.

The sound of countless synchronized footsteps pounded the palace’s stone ground, drawing closer, each step seeming to strike the heart, dictating its rhythm!

Both the Heavenly Sect and court stirred.

Shen Lang and Wan Xiuzi looked toward the palace gate.

When the Xinzhou army’s banner appeared, the Heavenly Sect’s remnants felt panic, while a few court officials grew elated, some even weeping with joy!

“It’s Master Xie and Prince Yan’s Xinzhou army!”

“They’re finally here!”

“The loyal army! Heaven aids our dynasty! The Heavenly Sect rebels will fall today!”

…

But Shen Lang’s face turned ashen.

Wan Xiuzi, as if hearing a grand jest, pointed at the foolish officials, laughing wildly. “Reinforcements? You think reinforcements have come? Hahaha…”

Xie Wei, in a spotless white Taoist robe, approached slowly in the gusting wind.

All eyes turned toward him.

Jiang Xuening, at his side, gazed at the grim standoff, the world bleaching white, a strange dizziness washing over her.

The overwhelming army, like a dark tide, arrayed before Taiji Hall, encircling everyone.

The court officials, hearing Wan Xiuzi’s laughter, grew noisy.

Wan Xiuzi, thinking himself pitiable, found others even more so. Laughing maniacally, he pointed at Xie Wei, shouting, “Seven or eight years in court, right under your noses! And you never recognized him! This isn’t your devoted Grand Tutor; this is a demon come to claim your lives and settle a blood debt!”

Xiao Dingfei, hiding in the crowd, sighed softly, thinking: My days of freeloading are over…

Xie Wei ascended the steps, silent.

Duke Dingguo Xiao Yuan looked at him, then at Wan Xiuzi, a sudden, unspeakable fear gripping him!

That ominous premonition soon proved true.

Amid the crowd’s anxious gazes, Wan Xiuzi’s voice, laced with malice and a touch of triumph, rang out before the vast Taiji Hall, carrying an eerie chill: “Twenty years ago, in this very place, he wasn’t Xie Ju’an—he was Xiao Dingfei!”

A thunderous buzz erupted in the minds of many in the court.

Xie Wei stood still, calmly surveying the crowd, and said lightly, “Such a lively scene. It seems I’ve arrived a bit late.”

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