In the tenth year of Jinghe, strange celestial phenomena occurred, bringing a sudden and devastating snowstorm. From both banks of the Huai River all the way to Qiong Province in the northern borderlands, common people suffered bitterly under its impact, plunging into widespread misery within a span of several months.
The Armillary Sphere Bureau observed unfavorable astral constellations, with the stars of Qixing and Tanlang blazing brightly a clear omen of a backlash caused by overwhelming slaughter and atrocities.
Rumors and gossip ran rampant everywhere, with everyone claiming that the Grand Emperor Emeritus had acted tyrannically, cruelly, and without benevolence after ascending the throne, thus bringing down such a severe disaster.
Consequently, officials submitted memorials requesting the Grand Emperor Emeritus to issue a decree of self-blame to appease the wrath of heaven. A faction led by the Senior Censor of the Censorate banged their heads against the pillars in the Golden Luan Hall in a death-defying protest, imploring the Grand Emperor Emeritus to abdicate in favor of the young emperor.
Feigning illness, the Grand Emperor Emeritus procrastinated and stubbornly refused to issue a decree of self-blame. Instead, he confined the young emperor to the Xuanqing Palace, strictly forbidding him from leaving without an imperial decree.
Soon after, a decree was issued resulting in home raids, imprisonment, and banishment, leaving fewer than one out of ten officials in the Censorate standing.
For a time, the imperial court was gripped by panic, and undercurrents surged violently.
Qiong Province
Heavy snow sealed the mountain passes, and the ice layers on the official post road stretched endlessly for ten miles.
Amidst a vast expanse of whiteness, a carriage with a domed roof and gilded decorations stopped at the foot of a barren mountain, unable to move forward any further.
The howling wind whipped up gusts of snowy mist that lashed fiercely against people’s faces.
The driver raised his eyes to look at the boundless mountain road ahead. After a moment, he lowered his whip, turned around, and knelt toward the interior of the carriage. “Your Majesty, the heavy snow has blocked the mountain passes. I’m afraid we cannot go any further.”
His voice, deliberately raised to cut through the wind, traveled with difficulty into the carriage. A pale, slender hand lifted the curtain made of brocade and fox fur. The person inside did not say much; his movements appeared somewhat heavy, and his other hand clutched a bright yellow imperial scroll as if he intended to step out.
Fuhai, the driver, immediately scrambled down using both hands and feet. Out of sheer habit, he prepared to kneel on the icy snow to serve as a stepping stool for the noble person, only to hear the other give a cold reprimand: “Step aside.”
One of Fuhai’s hands had already plunged into the snow, freezing completely through, yet he still managed by reflex to fish a footstool out from the front to substitute for himself.
The tall and well-proportioned man wore a moon-white brocade robe, his long hair loosely tied up and fluttering in wild disorder amidst the wind. He possessed naturally gentle and refined features, but his expression was utterly devoid of warmth, with a trace of ferocity lingering between his brows.
Stepping on the footstool, the man alighted from the carriage. Within just a few steps, the bone-chilling cold instantly assaulted him, draining every last trace of color from his handsome face.
His pair of phoenix eyes gazed toward the distant Qiong Mountains ahead. At this moment, the rolling mountain ranges were linked together into a single line by the snow, making it impossible to see where they ended.
The Qiong Mountain range served as a natural barrier for Qiong Province, and Qiong Province itself lay at the southernmost tip.
Had it not been for the heavy snow, they would have reached Qiong Province today.
However, within the territory of Great Liang, Qiong Province suffered the worst of the disaster, and this official road leading to the provincial capital would require at least three to five months to be repaired.
So be it. Let it end right here.
He tossed the bright yellow scroll in his hand toward Fuhai. Having just been written, the handwriting was scribbled and casual, his gesture resembling the casual discarding of waste paper.
Fuhai clumsily caught the imperial scroll, feeling its weight suddenly become as heavy as a thousand pounds in his hands. He stammered incoherently, “Your Majesty, traveling further into the mountain roads is difficult, and the terrain in the wilderness is complex. The guards may not be able to keep up in time, and there are still pursuers behind us. Why must Your Majesty go alone…”
The man in the brocade robe frowned and glanced at him sideways, seemingly disgusted by his chatter.
Fuhai’s voice quieted down, his expression still carrying bewilderment.
The current political situation in the imperial court was chaotic, and certain factions loyal to the young emperor had long since lost their patience. The moment the imperial procession departed from the royal capital, assassins had followed right behind.
Yet, His Majesty had never given the order to completely clear out the tail trailing behind them…
Reflecting on this, an absurd sense of terror crept upward from the bottom of Fuhai’s heart.
“Pass down my oral decree: all Imperial Guards are strictly ordered to escort the scroll safely back to the Xuanqing Palace.” The man covered his mouth and coughed softly a few times. He turned his head slightly, his gaze lacking any fixed focal point, and stretched out his hand to accurately grasp the reins. Untying the slip knot, he swung himself onto the horse.
Fuhai turned pale with shock, yet he dared not block him at all. With a heavy thud, he dropped to both knees, finally comprehending the reality of the situation, and bowed deeply with his head pressed to the ground to bid farewell.
For several months, endless controversies had plagued the imperial court, and a storm seemed ready to break, seemingly signaling that the Grand Emperor Emeritus’s imperial throne was already in a precarious state.
Yet, no one would have ever imagined that the Grand Emperor Emeritus himself who ought to be managing state affairs within the Xuanqing Palace had already left the national capital.
Qiong Province was both the source of the rumors for the past few months and the very place where the Grand Emperor Emeritus had raised his rebellion ten years ago.
Perhaps it would also become his burial ground.
Low temperatures, heavy snow, deep mountains, and a heavy trail of pursuers once swallowed by that pale monochromatic world, even gods could not save him.
He pressed his forehead deep into the snow, his throat choking up. His tone was as hoarse as if soaked in blood, and hot tears dripped into the snow layer, instantly disappearing without a trace.
“Your humble servant respectfully sends Your Majesty off, and prays that Your Majesty’s wish is fulfilled.”
And may the heavens bear witness, allowing the sacred will to turn around.
“Go back.”
A hoarse and indifferent echo drifted back through the wind.
The wind and snow had ceased, though the bitter cold remained.
In a certain village of Qiong Town, inside a dilapidated Earth God Temple, a broken and rusted bronze bell sat in the main hall. Drafts blew through the hall from all directions, and blades of thatch grass danced wildly with the wind and snow. Below were large straw mats tied roughly together with hemp ropes, allowing a group of people to squeeze closely together, sitting upon them and listening intently.
In front of the hall’s only low table, an elderly man with hair and beard as white as snow wore a long gown, layered with a dusty gray velvet padded jacket. Though he looked advanced in years, his gaze was exceedingly sharp and astute, and his voice was full of vigorous energy when he spoke.
“At the end of today, we shall continue with our character analysis…”
Clearly, this was a simple private school set in an out-of-the-way village, and from its location to its composition of personnel, it exuded an informal, lower-class unruliness.
Ah no, it was merely unconstrained by conventions.
The elderly man before the low table spoke eloquently and fluently, “Yang (炀), scorching and drying. Mostly denoting intense heat, related to fire. Of course, there are other interpretations as well…”
This natural pause and sharp gaze instantly turned the faces of those below into sour gourds, knowing full well that the master was about to pick someone to test their scholarship.
The old man’s gaze swept across the faces of varying ages before him, quickly landing on the outermost figure: a young man leaning sideways against a stone pillar with one leg crossed over the other.
The coarse hemp hat on his head was rimmed with a circle of animal fur a rare luxury item in such an isolated village that looked exceptionally warm. The hat-wearer pulled the brim down to shield the upper half of his face, while his naturally curved, thin lips retained a trace of color in the cold wind.
The youth was sleeping so soundly and deeply that even if the bronze bell overhead had rung three times, it wouldn’t have delayed him from paying a visit to the King of Hell in his dreams.
Before the old man could call out to this good-for-nothing student who stubbornly refused to listen attentively, another person nearby blurted out an answer first.
“I’ve read half a volume of the History of Zhou, and it recorded a tyrant whose posthumous title was ‘Yang’…”
The white-bearded master’s face twitched slightly, seemingly anticipating what the young lad wanted to say. Before he could stop him, he watched as the youth shook his head and blurted out,
“Emperor Yang committed many tyrannical deeds that provoked both heaven and earth, so this character must also imply cruelty and ruthlessness.”
Currently, it was the tenth year of Jinghe in Great Liang. The preceding dynasty was Ying, and before that was Great Zhou. During the Great Zhou Dynasty, there was a young emperor who loved martial arts, possessed an explosive temper, and became a tyrant reviled by future generations right after inheriting the throne at a young age.
More importantly, the reason the young emperor remained a “young emperor” was precisely because he passed away less than two years after ascending the throne dying prematurely in his youth as if struck down by divine retribution.
“That symbolism is way too ominous, dying young… When I name my youngest child later, I must make sure to avoid this character,” a young man said with a frown.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s practically cursing someone to die early.”
“But surely nobody would use such a character to name a child, right? ‘Yang’ how ill-omened…”
The sound of their conversation was scattered by the howling cold wind, drifting into the ears of the half-sleeping person and transforming into fragmented characters that, when pieced together, instantly took on a completely different meaning.
“Qing… naming… Yang… ill-omened…”
Ying Qingyang had just finished a meeting in his dreams with the King of Hell. With his consciousness still hazy and his eyes unopened, he heard someone cursing him as ill-omened.
Before he even figured out the situation, his brain instinctively blurted out a retort: Do you have any manners?
When Ying Qingyang opened his eyes, he only felt as though he had been beaten all over by a flurry of heavy punches. The reward for maintaining a single posture for too long had him wincing and grimacing for a long while.
His face, which should have possessed youthful valor and dashing good looks, comically twisted into a somewhat absurd expression.
Throughout his entire life, Ying Qingyang had never had people point fingers right behind his back—let alone to his face. He prepared himself, full of vigor and bravado, to hunt down the culprit in the crowd. If he couldn’t extort at least ten or eight copper coins out of them, it wouldn’t do justice to his fiery temper.
“What is your honorable surname, sir? I must see just how wonderful your name sounds.”
Before a sarcastic remark could escape his lips, Ying Qingyang lifted his eyes and locked gazes with the old master sitting before the low table, instantly causing half of his bravado to deflate as a wave of guilt welled up inside him.
He gave a dry cough and shifted his gaze away.
The elderly gentleman before him, Mr. Jiang Yunzhi, was the sole learned scholar in this tiny village, Ying Qingyang’s introductory teacher, and an elder who had lived alongside him for many years.
Of course, Mr. Jiang preferred to refer to himself as the Grand Tutor.
Grand Tutor Jiang ran a private school in this obscure little village, collecting small tuition fees to subsidize his household expenses, and Ying Qingyang was dragged over to attend lectures time and time again.
Before coming to this East Town village this time, in order to squeeze a bit more silver out of him, Ying Qingyang had buttered up Grand Tutor Jiang with endless flattery praising how truly talented the master was and spouting praise about how he was a true sage through the ages, while repeatedly swearing on oath that he would listen attentively in class. Only then did he manage to extract a few extra copper coins.
Even Grand Tutor Jiang, usually as stingy as an iron rooster, couldn’t withstand his sugar-coated bombardment and reluctantly agreed to his request.
However, no sooner had Ying Qingyang taken his seat in this dilapidated schoolhouse than he listened to the lengthy “zhis, hus, and yez” spilling from Grand Tutor Jiang’s mouth. He failed to last long before falling fast asleep; even the biting wind and snow could not defeat a heart determined to doze off.
Heaven and earth as witness, Ying Qingyang truly had resolved to study diligently, but he was inherently incorrigible.
Ever since he began his education at age five under Grand Tutor Jiang, right up until the present when he was nearing capping age, daily lectures had been delivered without fail every single day, yet he still failed to become a man of accomplishment.
If you asked him to speak flattering, boot-licking phrases suited for petty individuals, they rolled right off his tongue; but the moment you asked him about the Classic of Poetry, statecraft policies, or strategies for governing the nation, he remained utterly clueless.
Sacred texts didn’t necessarily produce sages either; Ying Qingyang interpreted this truth through his dozen or so years of student life.
However, his personal truths were viewed as crooked sophistry by the Grand Tutor.
Simply regarding the matter of attending lectures, perhaps because he knew he was in the wrong, Ying Qingyang felt somewhat intimidated by him. Hearing himself caught red-handed by the Grand Tutor while dozing off in dreamland stripped away every shred of arrogance.
Yet, this timid and cowardly appearance of his, in the eyes of Jiang Yunzhi, struck a raw nerve provoked by the earlier discussion labeling the character “Yang” as ominous.
Ying Qingyang’s name was a taboo that Jiang Yunzhi was unwilling to touch and that few people had uttered in over a decade.
Earlier, he had intended to stop it, but he was still a step too slow.
Jiang Yunzhi’s white beard trembled twice, and he slowly spat out a single sentence: “…Your explanation was quite good. Today’s lecture ends here.”
Eyes wide with astonishment, Ying Qingyang never expected to be let off so lightly.
He raised his gaze, peering through the half-missing roof at a patch of desolate sky to check whether the sun had risen from the west today.
The snow-cleared sky was as azure and pure as washed jade, all dust melted into the earth alongside the boundless glistening white, leaving Ying Qingyang somewhat entranced.
When he finally snapped back to reality, Grand Tutor Jiang was collecting tuition fees by the low table.
In such remote places, few people were willing to run private schools, but unfortunately, every household lived in tight constraints, so the tuition fees they managed to offer took all sorts of bizarre forms.
Aside from copper coins, eggs, cured meat, furs… a diverse array of tuition offerings slowly piled up on the low table, and Grand Tutor Jiang turned none of them away.
Ying Qingyang slowly shuffled over, still fixated in his heart on those extra copper coins.
The students gathered in the hall gradually dispersed, and Jiang Yunzhi sorted the tuition payments into categories. Ying Qingyang pulled out a small wooden stool from somewhere and sat beside him, staring longingly at the pile of copper coins on the far right.
Scholars were supposed to keep their hands clean of vulgar wealth; Jiang Yunzhi originally held such taboos, but the reality was far too cruel a noble, unblemished reputation could not fill an empty stomach.
And only Jiang Yunzhi possessed a shred of parental dignity in front of Ying Qingyang, capable of reining in Ying Qingyang’s rampant consumer impulses.
Over time, the bookkeeping duties naturally fell onto Grand Tutor Jiang’s shoulders.
Picking up a few copper coins, Grand Tutor Jiang extended his hand toward Ying Qingyang. “Take them.”
Ying Qingyang took them and counted, feeling a sudden wave of surprise. “Oh, how come there are two extra?”
Jiang Yunzhi glanced at him askance, his tone chillingly cold. “If Your Highness had actually listened to the lectures, there would have been even more.”
Ying Qingyang immediately let out a long sigh, though not out of regret for failing to exercise self-restraint. “You old man should have known long ago that I am simply a useless mediocrity. All that talk about heavenly mandate, heavy responsibilities, and saving the common people from fire and water is absolute nonsense why bother wasting any more effort?”
Having listened to such titles for over a dozen years, Ying Qingyang had transitioned from initial awkwardness to utter boredom, his thick skin having long since evolved.
He dug into his ear, feeling puzzled. “What’s wrong with today? Didn’t we agree outside not to bring up this title?”
The so-called disaster of loose lips: Qiong Town was remote, but no matter how far away from the emperor’s reach a place was, his identity remained a burdensome liability that could invite a death sentence at any moment.
Instead of answering his question, Jiang Yunzhi pivoted. “The content of today’s lecture was improperly arranged by this subject. Your Highness’s given name carries absolutely no ill-omened meaning; do not take those remarks just now to heart.”
The young man chuckled lightly, possessing a carefree detachment that refused to take anything seriously.
“Grand Tutor, that’s not right. If I weren’t truly a cursed lone star plagued by constant misfortune, how could I have survived healthily until today?”
His surname was Ying, and his given name was Qingyang. Within the current territory of Great Liang, he was a surviving orphan of the former royal family who had been sentenced to death from birth.