The name ‘Yán Heqing’ had been mentioned frequently throughout Hangzhou over the past month.
A month ago, on the very day Yán Heqing had first arrived, the attention surrounding his name had already completely overshadowed Ning Mo’s.
Yet no one was dissatisfied with this. Even the noble young ladies of Hangzhou who were infatuated with Ning Mo did not wring their handkerchiefs or stomp their feet in jealousy. Whenever Yán Heqing was occasionally mentioned, their faces would inevitably grow warm.
The top aristocratic families of the imperial capital were divided into four great and eight lesser clans, but the Yán family was not among them.
It was not that the Yán family was not powerful. Rather, the Yán clan of Zhongli was a true ancient aristocratic family of scholars and officials, a lineage of wealth and prestige whose ancestors had risen during the era of Emperors Yao and Shun and whose heritage had continued for more than a thousand years into the Great Liang.
Although the Yán family’s foundations ran deep, they had absolutely no interest in imperial power. Emperors throughout the generations had all been wary of the Yán family, yet at the same time desperately desired their support. They could only be described as both loving and hating them.
There was even an amusing anecdote that had been passed down through the history books.
It was said that an emperor of a previous dynasty had once wanted to choose a husband for his princess. One of the imperial consorts recommended the direct heir of the Yán family at the time.
The emperor had frowned for a long while before saying, ‘The Yán clan’s reputation is such that the princess may not be worthy of him.’
It was enough to demonstrate just how deeply hidden the Yán family’s power was. Even an emperor had felt that the imperial family’s status was not worthy of the Yán family.
A hundred years later, the Zhongli Yán Clan began to embrace the philosophy of pure scholarly discourse. On the surface, they gradually withdrew from politics, but their status remained completely unmoved.
Now, although the Zhongli Yán Clan had left behind no prominent public reputation, they were in truth the hidden helmsmen of the entire upper aristocracy of Great Liang.
The foremost clan among the great aristocratic families.
As the direct heir of the Zhongli Yán Clan, even if Yán Heqing wanted to keep a low profile, the world would not allow him to.
When Yán Heqing had first arrived in Hangzhou, it had happened to be around the same time Yan Jingshuang had been struck by lightning, so she had never gotten to see his bearing for herself. Afterward, she had been completely occupied by the matter of the bullet comments and had paid little attention to him.
Now, seeing how intensely the comments reacted to his name, Yan Jingshuang’s interest was piqued.
Could this Yán Heqing also be some male supporting character from the original novel?
In the original story, Ning Mo’s family background had initially been rather unimpressive, but he had firmly established himself as the foremost scholar of Jiangnan. Later, he had gone to the imperial capital, where his official career had progressed smoothly. On top of that, his status as Yan Jingshuang’s fiancé had given him the key to enter the aristocratic circles.
From the foremost scholar of Jiangnan, he had eventually become the foremost scholar under heaven, rising steadily through the ranks until, apparently, he had ultimately become the grand chancellor.
Yan Jingshuang learned from the comments that Xuemo’s masterpiece from back then, 《Record of Plucking Snow》, was never actually finished. Thus, this time, Xuemo linked her consciousness with the mainframe of this virtual novel world to write the continuation of the story, attracting a massive wave of her original reader fanbase who flocked to follow it.
Back then, the novel didn’t actually mention the resolution of Ning Mo’s career. ‘Becoming the grand chancellor’ was something fans dug up with an eight-fold magnifying glass[1]internet slang meaning to analyze or over-examine tiny details, clues, or breadcrumbs left by a creator jQuery('#footnote_plugin_tooltip_3459728_1_1').tooltip({ tip: '#footnote_plugin_tooltip_text_3459728_1_1', tipClass: 'footnote_tooltip', effect: 'fade', predelay: 0, fadeInSpeed: 200, delay: 400, fadeOutSpeed: 200, position: 'top center', relative: true, offset: [-7, 0], }); from an outline Xuemo posted on Weibo.
At first, Yan Jingshuang had not understood any of it. What did ‘consciousness’ mean? What was the ‘virtual novel world mainframe’?
But after a month of explanations, she had more or less understood.
These comments came from humans living an unknown number of years in the future. In their era, virtual-world technology had already become extremely advanced. The virtual world was almost like humanity’s second world.
People could truly enter games or create identities for themselves. Without ever meeting offline, they could have tea, go shopping, watch movies, and carry out all kinds of activities from real life within the virtual world.
Naturally, novels had also gained a new form of presentation within the virtual world.
People could choose to read an original book, or they could choose an immersive novel experience— which was what Yan Jingshuang was experiencing through the bullet comments.
These people, fully immersed in the experience, entered the novel world created by the Virtual World Mainframe. They could see the story’s plot unfold right before their eyes through living, breathing characters and scenes.
But it was different from a television drama.
That was because Xuemo’s consciousness had been bound to the mainframe. In a sense, she was the ‘creator’ of the world where Yan Jingshuang lived, and she could change any part of the story at any time.
To put it dramatically, if Xuemo willed it, she could bring about the end of the world right here, right now.
Therefore, Yan Jingshuang’s actions earlier had not aroused any suspicion. The readers simply assumed that Xuemo was revising the novel and changing the plot.
Yan Jingshuang slightly knitted her brows.
She had decided to break off the engagement only after seeing the bullet comments and regaining awareness. She knew very well that she had not been manipulated by the author.
But her actions today would undoubtedly attract Xuemo’s attention.
For a moment, Yan Jingshuang’s thoughts were in turmoil.
As she sipped her tea and sorted through her thoughts, Yan Shouyi mentioned Yán Heqing’s name once again, pulling her attention back. She picked up where her earlier train of thought had left off, a trace of puzzlement appearing in her eyes.
Yán Heqing came from the Zhongli Yán Clan. Even if Ning Mo really did eventually become the grand chancellor, it seemed impossible for him to overshadow Yán Heqing’s brilliance. This was clearly a case of a dimensional reduction strike[2]internet slang meaning an overwhelming, absolute defeat delivered by someone operating on a completely superior level or dimension jQuery('#footnote_plugin_tooltip_3459728_1_2').tooltip({ tip: '#footnote_plugin_tooltip_text_3459728_1_2', tipClass: 'footnote_tooltip', effect: 'fade', predelay: 0, fadeInSpeed: 200, delay: 400, fadeOutSpeed: 200, position: 'top center', relative: true, offset: [-7, 0], });.
Dimensional reduction strike was a term Yan Jingshuang had learned from the comments.
How could someone like Yán Heqing have been reduced to merely a male supporting character?
Yan Jingshuang could not understand.
────ρя
Qianfo Temple was the most efficacious temple within Hangzhou, located on its outskirts.
At that moment, inside a side hall, a young man stood quietly, holding a single stick of incense. Thin white smoke curled upward, seemingly adding an ethereal, purified aura to his presence, as though he had emerged from drifting clouds.
His hair was bound beneath a black-and-gold crown. Embroidered on the front of his pure white brocade robe was a silver crane resting against a rock.
He was tall and upright, his eyes cold, solitary, and serene.
In Great Liang, there was a renowned connoisseur of beauty who once remarked—
‘Yán Heqing’s eyes looked as if a puzzle no one in the world could solve had been carved into a piece of translucent, glowing ice-jade.
It drew people into obsession, yet no one could ever pluck it for themselves.’
The young novice monk waiting outside the side hall clasped his hands together and secretly peeked at Yán Heqing inside. He found himself deeply agreeing.
Since Heir Yán had arrived at Qianfo Temple a month ago, the two of them had spoken only once— and even then, it had been because his master had assigned him a task.
He had heard that Yán Heqing was extremely devout to Buddhism. Wherever he went, he would always stay for some time at the most famous temple in that region.
His master had simply hoped Yán Heqing would offer a bit more incense money to the temple— or, better yet, fund a new gold-gilded statue for the Buddha.
That day, the young novice had tactfully brought up the matter.
Who would have expected Yán Heqing to merely say, “Whether it is efficacious or not has yet to be determined.”
The young novice had repeated those exact words to his master, who had scolded Heir Yán for being stingy for several days.
But it would not have been accurate to say that Yán Heqing was truly stingy. He came to Qianfo Temple every day to burn incense, and from the very beginning, he had requested their most expensive Golden Lotus Lamp.
The lamp had been carved in the shape of a golden lotus. If one had a wish in their heart, they could write that wish on a slip of paper each day and place it inside the lamp to burn. After lighting it for forty-nine days, the Buddha would supposedly bless and protect the person who made the wish.
Every day, Yán Heqing came before the Golden Lotus Lamp and burned a slip of paper.
And every time, he would solemnly burn incense and recite scriptures before the Buddha, remaining there for several hours at a time.
The young novice thought that someone as pure and lofty as Heir Yán must surely be praying for something extraordinary.
Perhaps peace along the border?
Or prosperity for the people?
At the very least, perhaps the safety and well-being of his elders.
The young novice believed that whatever Heir Yán prayed for must be as noble and lofty as the man himself.
However, this time, after taking out the slip of paper, Heir Yán merely glanced at it before putting it back into his sleeve.
He did not burn it in the Golden Lotus Lamp.
But he still burned incense and recited scriptures as usual.
As he prepared to leave, Yán Heqing called out to the young novice— a rare gesture for him.
The young novice was flattered. “Benefactor Yán, do you have any instructions?”
Yán Heqing lifted his eyes— cool and clear as hidden snow— and said in a faint voice, “Young novice monk, this side hall is a bit run-down.”
“……Ah? Then shall this humble monk arrange another hall for you?”
“No need. It simply needs to be renovated. Especially the Buddha’s golden body. It should be recast.”
Yán Heqing spoke the last sentence very seriously.
Not long afterward, the young novice monk received a heavy chest of gold ingots delivered by servants from the Yán family.
He stood there somewhat dazed as he carried the weighty chest.
Heir Yán wanted to recast the Buddha’s golden body. Could this mean…… the Buddha had actually manifested his power?!
But that was not the only reason the young novice monk was stunned. He watched the Yán family’s carriage slowly depart beneath the moonlight and rubbed his eyes.
“Strange. I think Benefactor Yán…… just smiled.”
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