“What is this?” Ning Bumo stepped forward.
He had kept his shadow guards shadowing Mu Wan and the others all day, so he knew everything that had transpired. However, he had no idea where this paper ball had come from.
Mu Wan shook his head, and together, they unfolded the crumpled paper.
Inside was a drawing. Or perhaps not a drawing, but rather a set of symbols. The paper depicted a rough square outline, with various objects drawn at different points along its perimeter.
“A sword, a flower, a pool of water, a candle, a dirt pit.” Mu Wan identified the symbols one by one, tracing them until his eyes landed on the center.
“Is this an incense burner?” He looked up at Ning Bumo.
The man contemplated for a moment, tracing the square outline with his finger before speaking. “This is the Prince’s estate.”
A moment later, he pointed to the burner in the center. “This is the sleeping quarters.”
As their thoughts aligned, Mu Wan took out a pen and connected the points. The arrangement of the objects formed the shape of a sword hanging over the estate, pointed directly at its center—Ning Bumo’s bedchamber.
“I actually destroyed a vase of flowers in this exact spot today. If this is true, then these objects represent the five elements, and this incense burner is the trigger for the mechanism.” Both were sharp-minded; they quickly linked it back to the incense from a few days ago. “That Sihexiang incense was indeed problematic.”
It was no wonder that even after Ning Bumo had the incense changed the next day, it had no effect. The mechanism had already been triggered; the true influence remained in the artifacts planted throughout the estate.
The fact that someone could plant such a trap in the heart of his home proved that the power seeking to harm Ning Bumo had been rooted there for a long time. This was precisely why Ning Bumo and Mu Wan had not rushed to destroy the formation; they wanted to find the person acting in the shadows.
Today’s excursion with Meng Song was merely bait, designed to make the clandestine perpetrator panic and show their true colors. This drawing, delivered into Mu Wan’s hands, provided further evidence.
“If the contents of this map are correct, we just need to see which attendants are responsible for these areas, and who is the first to lose their nerve and strike.” Perhaps, through this opportunity, he could conduct a thorough purge of the estate.
The only remaining doubt was the group of Night Hu performers from earlier.
“Who are they? Why would they help us? And how did they know about the sorcery hidden in the estate?” Every question was a mystery. The only thing Mu Wan was certain of was that the old man meant him no harm.
That was precisely why he was puzzled. As a newcomer to this world, where would he have such connections? Or was the other party helping Ning Bumo? Yet, judging by Ning Bumo’s reaction, he did not seem to know who they were either.
Regardless, they now had a breakthrough point.
In the following days, under Mu Wan’s guidance, Meng Song strolled through the estate, occasionally damaging this or adjusting that, causing the layout of the objects in the estate to change drastically.
Mu Wan did not precisely destroy the items depicted in the drawing; instead, he mixed in numerous variables to obscure the truth.
He felt relaxed, but Meng Song was miserable, watching treasures of immense value being destroyed, his face twisted in pain he could not hide.
However, the Prince of Jing’s condition clearly improved with their activities. He was no longer moody, looking significantly healthier than before. Thinking of the reward he might receive, Meng Song beamed, looking at Mu Wan with uncharacteristic kindness.
Mu Wan was his lucky star.
Ever since meeting Mu Wan, everything had gone smoothly; tasks he expected to be difficult were completed with ease. Thinking about how Mu Wan would have to deal with the volatile, moody Prince of Jing after he left, Meng Song felt deeply sorry for him.
“Your Highness, you must be careful in this estate from now on. Do not let yourself be bullied.”
“Bullied?” Mu Wan looked at him with curiosity, not understanding where this sudden concern came from.
Meng Song’s expression shifted as if he were undergoing an intense internal struggle. After a long while, he gritted his teeth and said, “If the Prince of Jing bullies you, go to the Earth Temple outside the city and use my name, Meng Song.”
“And you will help me beat him up?” Mu Wan laughed, asking deliberately.
Meng Song hurriedly waved his hands. “No, no, no, how could I dare?”
“However, I know some people. I can help spread the word. Out of fear of public opinion, the Prince might restrain himself.”
He was upholding his philosophy of playing it safe, yet here he was, planning to help Mu Wan—a significant sacrifice for him.
Mu Wan smiled, his tone meaningful. “Rest assured, Daoist Meng, if there is trouble, I will certainly ask for your help.”
When he said this, the feigned simple-mindedness in his eyes vanished. Meng Song blinked, but when he looked at Mu Wan again, the youth was merely tossing pebbles into the pond, his tone appearing clear and ordinary once more.
I must have misheard, Meng Song thought, successfully convincing himself.
Their actions went smoothly, but for those working in the shadows, it was a time of desperate urgency.
That night, a maid crept out of the corridors of the estate. The late night air was piercingly cold; she pulled her clothes tight, observing her surroundings to ensure no one was watching before making her way toward the Xianyun Pavilion.
How unlucky, Shuangque thought.
She had infiltrated the Prince of Jing’s estate three years ago. At that time, the Prince was rarely home.
Shuangque, in particular, had been well-prepared. Before she entered, her master had briefed her on Lin Zhong’s character. Lin Zhong had been arranged by the late Emperor and possessed an intense desire for control over the estate. After the late Emperor passed, Lin Zhong had adopted the Empress Dowager as his master, treating the estate as his own little kingdom.
He had strict plans for everything in the house. He was even bold enough to mutter in private if a master’s behavior did not suit his liking.
Knowing this, Shuangque played to his interests. By flattering his management skills and praising how much the Empress Dowager and the Prince appreciated him, it was easy to secure a cushy position.
Shuangque’s task was simple: to place a fresh vase of flowers in the Xianyun Pavilion every single day, year after year.
But who would have thought that even this simple task would be sabotaged? Thinking of the shattered vase, Shuangque clenched her fists in fury.
That new Prince Consort is truly a jinx. Why could he not destroy something else? Why did he have to ruin her flowers? Anyone who would lay a hand on plants and flowers could not be a good person; he was likely a walking curse.
Venting her frustration, Shuangque covered her own sense of guilt. She preferred to believe Mu Wan had smashed the vase at random rather than suspecting he had truly sensed the malice hidden within the arrangement.
When the time for action arrived, Shuangque became cautious. After holding back for three days, she finally could not resist and hurried toward the Xianyun Pavilion. If she did not get it done and her master learned she had delayed the mission, she shuddered at the thought of the punishment.
Many others like her had begun to act; Shuangque was neither the first nor the last.
As she entered the pavilion, clutching the spare key, the vase, and a candle, she suddenly stopped in her tracks.
Two figures stood right before her.
The candlelight cast their shadows long and thin. Shuangque jumped, directly dropping the vase in her hands. “Ah!” she gasped, and when she saw who the figures were, her heart turned to ice.
“Prince and Princess Consort?!”
Should they not be sleeping at this hour? Why were they here?
In her panic, she turned to flee, but the guards waiting outside the door pinned her shoulders to the ground.
It was destined to be a restless night.
Someone had attempted to harm the Prince of Jing using witchcraft.
When the officials of the Three Judicial Offices received the news, they found it unbelievable.
It was said that the Prince of Jing had discovered the plot himself. When the cat corpses buried in the courtyard and the wooden tablets bearing his birth date and name were unearthed, his rage was boundless.
The news reached the palace, and the Emperor did not dare delay, immediately dispatching the Imperial Dragon Guards to the estate to arrest the involved personnel.
Witchcraft and harming royalty—this was a grave matter that effectively filled the doors of the imperial prison.
The details leaked, and within a few days, the news had spread throughout the capital.
It was said that the Prince of Jing had been feeling unwell for days, suffering from splitting headaches and uncontrollable temper. Suspecting foul play, he invited a high-level master.
Of course, everyone already knew this. The guards had escorted Meng Song to the estate in broad daylight. People had initially thought the Prince had lost his mind by hiring a charlatan, never suspecting that this Daoist Meng truly possessed real skills.
“I heard that the person trying to harm the Prince used the five elements, using incense as a medium to destroy the Prince’s fortune and curse him to death.”
“But I heard someone deliberately buried cat corpses in the estate, causing a black cat to wreak havoc and destroy the feng shui!”
“It is all the same, it is all linked. No wonder the Prince of Jing’s year has been so unlucky. It turns out someone was intentionally plotting against him. Who could be so malicious?”
“Indeed. Do you think the incident in Lingzhou was also caused by that same hateful person? Otherwise, how could the Prince of Jing, who always handled the Hu people with ease, have been so severely injured this time?”
“One should not guess wildly about such things. Speaking of which, I am quite interested in this Daoist Meng. When did such a master come to our capital? We had never heard of him before. I wonder how he compares to the National Preceptor?”
“You did not know? I have seen Daoist Meng before. A few days ago, the Li family hired him for a ritual. I knew he was a true master. See, talented people can never be buried.”
How incredible am I? And I have never met this brother before, Meng Song thought, slurping noodles in a shop. His mind wandered back to everything that had happened before the Imperial Dragon Guards arrived.
At the time, the estate was brilliantly lit. The attendant who came to inform him looked both happy and worried. “Thanks to you, Daoist Meng, we found the spies who infiltrated the estate to harm the Prince. The Prince is waiting for you now.”
Meng Song had been led to a large tree in the garden, where a deep pit had been dug. Inside lay cat bones, exuding a pungent, rotting stench. Beside them knelt several panicked attendants, men and women alike.
The Prince of Jing, free of his previous fatigue, sat in his wheelchair, his spirit radiant. Mu Wan sat by his side, his gaze sweeping over Meng Song in a way that felt inexplicably profound.
“Daoist Meng.” Ning Bumo smiled. There was no trace of the rage of someone poisoned by witchcraft; he looked entirely at ease. “Thanks to you, the evil art has been broken and the thieves are in custody. Once the Imperial Dragon Guards take them away, I will pay your reward.”
But at that moment, Meng Song could not smile.
He looked at Ning Bumo and then at the thieves kneeling on the ground. He felt no joy in having successfully bluffed his way through another job; instead, a sinister premonition took hold of him.
He felt as if he were about to be pulled into a vortex.
After finishing his noodles, Meng Song patted the warm silver in his robe, left the shop, and decided to flee the capital immediately.
This was no place to stay in the short term.
Fortunately, he had kept a low profile, and few in the capital recognized him as the legendary Master Meng. Once he cleared the city gates, he finally let out a sigh of relief. Just as he was about to depart, his shoulders grew heavy.
The unexpected guests who held his shoulders said, “Daoist Meng, my master has a matter for you to attend to. Sorry for the trouble.”
Meng Song panicked for a moment, but then felt a sense of resignation; the worry he had anticipated had finally arrived.
As a black hood was pulled over his head, his vision was filled with Mu Wan’s bright, clear eyes, completely devoid of any simple-mindedness, and the prophecy he had left behind:
Remember the words I taught you; someone will come to find you.