Ning Bumo jolted, the blood-red haze before his eyes dissipating bit by bit. As he opened his eyes, he found himself standing, though he had no memory of how he had risen. The room was littered with the shards of a shattered porcelain tea set. He held a sword in his hand, its tip pointed directly at Mu Wan. Fortunately, Mu Wan, possessing hidden strength, had restrained him.
Panic surged in his heart. The sword dropped from Ning Bumo’s hand, clattering against the floor. He asked anxiously, “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”
“Rest assured, you could not hurt me.” Mu Wan stooped to pick up the fallen sword and thrust it back into Ning Bumo’s hand. “A swordsman should never be parted from his weapon. Put it away.”
Ning Bumo looked at the sword. His hand, still gripping the hilt, trembled with lingering fear, yet Mu Wan’s words kept him from casting it aside. He reached for the scabbard hanging at his side and sheathed the blade. As he did, the overwhelming fury within him seemed to dissipate with the movement.
Feeling slightly calmer, Ning Bumo sat down to drink a cup of cold tea. “I apologize. I did not realize the problem was not with the incense. From tomorrow on, let us sleep in separate rooms.”
“There would be no one else there to calm you down,” Mu Wan said calmly. “Did you dream of the battlefield again?”
Ning Bumo nodded in silence.
“Actually, it might not be the incense,” Mu Wan said, lost in thought as he ground the fine powder remaining on the incense burner.
He had been thinking that Ning Bumo’s temperament was clearly excellent; even after suffering such grievous wounds and psychological trauma, he had not reached the point of being a villain. Tonight’s incident provided the answer.
“Someone is behind this, influencing your emotions,” Mu Wan said, his slender fingers brushing Ning Bumo’s forehead. “They are using the trauma of the battlefield to ignite your frustration, resentment, and bitterness, turning you into a completely different person.”
Irritable, impulsive, and filled with a triggered savagery.
Fortunately, it was Mu Wan he had faced tonight. If it had been anyone else, news would have spread by the next morning that the Prince of Jing had lost his mind and turned violent. This would have further tarnished Ning Bumo’s already damaged reputation following his military defeat.
“Why is it that you attract such hatred?” Mu Wan gently tapped Ning Bumo between the brows, pulling him back from his wandering thoughts. “Do you have any leads? Who fears you enough to destroy your reputation, or worries you threaten them, enough to use such a malicious method?”
“That would be a long list.” Ning Bumo massaged his temples, feeling helpless. “There are many who find me an eyesore, and of course, they all despise each other as well. It would be difficult to point to just one person.”
Having lived through this ordeal, Ning Bumo lost any desire for sleep. He sat with Mu Wan at the table, exploring the source of the influence.
“Your estate is shrouded in lingering yin energy, and that black cat runs around recklessly as if the source is not localized in a single spot,” Mu Wan said, tapping the table. “However, the activation of any such technique has requirements; it cannot influence you so precisely for no reason.”
“Are there many problematic people in your estate?”
“There are plenty. Everyone tries to shove a few spies in here, but I have been monitoring their actions, and none have done anything overtly out of line.”
It was a testament to his character that he could speak so nonchalantly about his estate being riddled with security holes. Mu Wan sighed, offering his own solution: “Since we cannot track the origin, we must make it impossible for the other party to complete their arrangement.”
“You mean?”
“Disrupt their plans.”
“How?”
“That will require the help of that Daoist Meng, who was paid a high price.”
Daoist Meng, unaware he was being targeted, was awakened the next morning by the anxious cries of a maid.
“Coming, coming!” Seeing the money that was about to reach his mouth fly away in his dreams, Meng Song wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth, quickly dressed, and opened the door. He met the gaze of the maid who had come to fetch him. “What has happened?”
“Daoist Meng, you must come and see! The Prince, he…”
“What is wrong with the Prince?” Meng Song’s tone grew urgent.
“The Prince, he…” The maid could not bring herself to finish the sentence. She sighed, grabbed his sleeve, and hurried toward the sleeping quarters. “Oh, just come and see for yourself.”
They arrived at the chambers, passing servants and maids who wore panicked expressions, as if they had encountered a miracle. Meng Song’s heart thudded. As they reached the door, the maid was about to announce them when a roar erupted from within: “Get out! All of you, get out!”
The door swung open, and a heavy wooden stool flew out, shattering against the floorboards as it struck.
Meng Song jumped back, seeking help. “What is going on?”
The man had been fine yesterday. Why had he become so irritable today? One would think someone had deeply provoked him.
The servants dared not gossip about the Prince. Finally, a voice answered coldly and woodenly: “The Prince has gone mad.”
Meng Song turned back in surprise and found himself facing a face of ethereal, otherworldly beauty.
He was dressed, but his collar was disheveled, and his hair was carelessly pinned up, as if he were in the middle of a crisis.
While Meng Song wondered who this was, the maid stepped forward, speaking anxiously, “Prince Consort, you must not say such things, and do not let others hear you!”
Only then did Meng Song realize that the person before him was the rumored Prince Consort of Jing.
He had heard the Prince Consort was born simple-minded, with the mind of a child. Seeing him now, he realized the rumors were true.
Yet, Mu Wan’s words gave Meng Song a headache. If the Prince Consort was not lying, Ning Bumo’s condition was far too bizarre.
Meng Song had traveled far and wide for many years and had encountered strange phenomena, though he had usually managed to bluff his way through them with his cleverness. Who would have thought he would land a job yesterday only for the client to go mad today?
Given Ning Bumo’s unique status, Meng Song could not leave. He had to listen to the maid’s hushed instructions: “In short, that is the situation. Daoist Meng, I am not trying to make things difficult for you, but the Prince’s status is special. Since he has hired you, you must find the cause as quickly as possible.”
It was characteristic of a servant in the Prince’s estate to speak with such pressure. Meng Song replied with a dry laugh, but then the Prince Consort approached, looking at him curiously. “Is this a Taoist?”
“In reply to the Prince Consort, this is Daoist Meng, invited by the Prince. With him on the case, I trust the Prince will be restored to health soon.”
Mu Wan nodded and said suddenly, “I want to go too, with Daoist Meng.”
“This… I fear that would be inappropriate.” The maid hesitated.
Mu Wan’s expression immediately fell. “But he hit me, and I am afraid.”
What a disaster, Meng Song thought. It was one thing to marry off a simpleton, but to find a master with such an unpredictable temper was another matter entirely.
Seeing no way out, Meng Song persuaded the maid: “Actually, it is fine. If the Prince Consort wishes, he may accompany me. With me here, no specters or demons will dare to interfere.”
With his guarantee and Mu Wan’s expectant gaze, the maid finally relented. She emphasized once more that Meng Song must work quickly, then worriedly ordered the guards to escort them as they investigated the estate.
Once they reached the vast estate, Meng Song felt like a headless fly, unsure where to start.
He shook the compass he used for show, his gaze falling upon Mu Wan’s bright, clear eyes.
They said that children’s spirits remained uncontaminated by the filth of the world, and they were naturally able to see things others could not. Perhaps the Prince Consort was the same?
Furthermore, having stayed in the estate for a long time, perhaps he had seen something strange.
“Your Highness, where do you think we should start?” Meng Song asked, adopting a testing tone.
Mu Wan thought to himself that this man did indeed have a talent for deception, so he pointed toward the coldest part of the estate. “There!”
The guards followed his gesture and hesitated. “That is the Xianyun Pavilion. No one has been there for a long time.”
“Then let us go there.” Meng Song decided immediately.
The long-sealed gate was pushed open, revealing the scene within.
Ning Bumo had built the estate in his youth; though large, it was not populous. With only himself and Mu Wan as masters, many of the courtyards were left vacant.
The Xianyun Pavilion was beautiful, with a pond dug out beside the pavilions and bamboo growing alongside. Their arrival startled a flock of birds, confirming that few people visited this courtyard.
The pavilion was locked, but since they knew an operation was planned for today, the steward accompanying them had the key. He unlocked it, and they walked inside.
As they pushed open the door, Mu Wan noticed something wrong instantly.
Meng Song muttered, “This is far too clean.”
Was it not supposed to have been vacant for a long time? Why was the room spotless, without a speck of dust?
The steward explained quickly, “These courtyards may be vacant, but most are regularly tended to.”
Everyone looked around and saw this was indeed the case. On the table sat a flower arrangement—narcissus and orchids clustered together, looking stunning, perfectly complementing the portrait hanging behind them.
Yet, the chill of the Xianyun Pavilion rose from that very spot.
Meng Song was planning to find something to pretend to perform a ritual, but Mu Wan had already stepped forward, slapping his palm directly onto the vase, toppling the flowers to the floor.
The shards shattered, scattering light and shadow across the floor. Everyone ignored the destroyed vase and crowded around Mu Wan, shielding him from the wreckage.
“Prince Consort, are you alright?!”
“If there is something to be done, please command us. Do not hurt yourself.”
Mu Wan shook his head. He looked at the vase fragments with hesitation and, under their concerned gazes, whispered, “There… there is something there.”
His voice was very soft, even tinged with fear, but everyone heard him clearly. Recalling his previous actions, even though the sun was shining brightly, everyone felt a sudden chill.
There is something? What is something?
Thinking of Ning Bumo’s reaction earlier that day, everyone wondered if the estate truly contained something unclean.
Consulting gazes fell upon Meng Song. The master swallowed hard, feeling like crying.
He wanted to put on a show to pretend he was exorcising spirits, but he was terrified of encountering something truly supernatural. However, under the eyes of everyone, he dared not refuse. He immediately put on a serious face and said, “The Prince Consort is correct; there is indeed a problem here. You all go out first. Once I perform the ritual, I will make the evil specter flee in terror.”
At this point, no one dared stay in the pavilion. After offering a few sycophantic words, they hurriedly escorted Mu Wan out.
Soon, the sound of a Daoist chanting scripture emerged from the pavilion. Mu Wan listened for a moment, found it boring, and turned his attention elsewhere.
Meng Song, however, was patient. The ritual lasted for quite a while. As noon approached, music and drumming drifted from outside, lively and festive.
The sound grew closer, approaching the Prince’s estate. Mu Wan watched curiously as the steward explained, “Prince Consort, that is the sound of ‘Beating the Night Hu.’ They are poor people disguised as ghosts and gods, praying to drive away evil.”
In the dead of winter, the lives of the poor were not easy. This was a way to beg for rewards.
Because this happened to coincide with the incident at the Xianyun Pavilion, and the performers had arrived at an opportune moment, the steward intended to offer some rewards to seek good fortune.
However, Mu Wan spoke up: “Copper coins, clothes, go together.”
The steward was startled. Realizing the Prince Consort shared his intent, he sent people to fetch warm clothes and several strings of copper coins, all of which were placed in Mu Wan’s hands.
There was a small side gate for transporting goods nearby. As the troupe approached, the steward opened the gate slightly and called out to the old man disguised as Zhong Kui, “Old man, come here.”
The troupe consisted of only five people. Hearing the call, “Zhong Kui” led the others forward. Seeing Mu Wan approaching, the masked old man paused, then stepped forward and recited some auspicious words.
Mu Wan took out the clothes and the strings of coins, handing them to the troupe himself.
The steward wanted to help, but Mu Wan shook his head in refusal.
The old man raised his hands to receive them. Where the clothes covered his hands, Mu Wan hesitated for a second; he saw the person behind the mask seem to give him a smile, then speak a few words of blessing before leaving with the clothing.
Once the troupe had blown their instruments and retreated into the distance, Mu Wan and the steward returned to the pavilion.
Meng Song had also finished his ritual, and the crowd turned to leave. Mu Wan remained silent the entire time. Only when they returned to the sleeping quarters and met the eyes of Ning Bumo, who was finally calm in the eyes of the others, did Mu Wan shake his sleeve, pulling out the object the old man had hidden inside.
Indeed, the old man disguised as Zhong Kui had silently slipped a paper ball into his sleeve while receiving the clothes. He had no idea if the man knew Mu Wan was simple-minded; the paper ball had been shoved deep into his sleeve, likely fearing Mu Wan would drop it by accident.
Yet, for no reason, why would someone give this to him?