Jiang Zhongxue listened quietly without uttering a word.
Qin Changsheng shared all the mission-related information he knew. After all, they were now like grasshoppers tied to the same string, sharing a common goal, temporary allies, one might say.
Moreover, Qin Changsheng couldn’t gauge how much behind-the-scenes knowledge Jiang Zhongxue had acquired for this trip. If his brother had already disclosed the full background and reasons for the mission to her, holding back would seem petty. Jiang Zhongxue was a capable person, and she would weigh the stakes herself.
After speaking for a while, Qin Changsheng brought up the information he had gathered from Eagle Eye Qing Zhu. When he mentioned the peculiar folk rhyme, Jiang Zhongxue seemed to react at last, asking, “Peculiar?”
Seeing her interest, Qin Changsheng opened his phone and recited the lines Qing Zhu had shared during the day: “‘Ancient and strange! Strange and ancient! A grandson marries his grandmother; a daughter eats her mother’s flesh; a son beats his father’s skin drum; pigs and sheep sit on the kang; six relatives boil in the pot; the crowd comes to congratulate, but I see only suffering.’”
Jiang Zhongxue’s footsteps halted.
Qin Changsheng walked over to her side, shining her flashlight on the ground. In the faint mist surrounding them, a peculiar expression flickered across Jiang Zhongxue’s face, as if in astonishment, and she murmured, “Peculiar? Written by Bao Zhi?”
Qin Changsheng instinctively asked, “Who is Bao Zhi?” But she quickly realized she was referring to the ancient monk, Master Guang Ji, Zen Master Zhi Gong, who had penned “Peculiar” centuries ago.
What was strange, however, was the tone in which Jiang Zhongxue mentioned his name. It wasn’t the usual way one speaks of an ancient figure but carried a note of helplessness and regret, as if Bao Zhi were someone she had once known intimately.
Observing her expression, Qin Changsheng found it rare to see Jiang Zhongxue display any emotion other than aloofness. In this eerie, shadowy forest, with their flashlights casting beams around them, her dazed demeanor held an oddly endearing quality.
But her distraction lasted only a moment before her face returned to its usual cool composure. She glanced back at Qin Changsheng, who was staring at her, and she quickly pressed, “Have you heard this poem before?”
Jiang Zhongxue shook her head, her expression complex. She gazed at the mountain silhouette blending into the darkness ahead, where the grayish-white cliffs under the moonlight were shrouded by dense forests, twisted into menacing, ghostly shapes hanging over the precipices as if ready to pounce at any moment.
After a moment of contemplation, Jiang Zhongxue said, “I haven’t heard this poem, but I know Bao Zhi. He was a Buddhist fanatic, born free and unrestrained. The phrase he most often uttered was ‘Peculiar.’ Whenever he encountered something that fascinated or puzzled him, he would click his tongue and say, ‘Peculiar.’”
Qin Changsheng felt a slight relief in her confusion. So, Jiang Zhongxue, who seemed so reserved, actually had some knowledge of ancient Buddhist history and teachings.
Noticing Qin Changsheng’s relieved expression, Jiang Zhongxue shot her a glance and continued, “As for whether he wrote this poem or not, I don’t know. Besides this poem, what else did Eagle Eye tell you?”
Qin Changsheng also looked up at the dark, moonlit cliff, its surface a deathly gray, and said softly, “She said the most valuable piece of information is the poem ‘Peculiar,’ and its origin is Jishan. Very few people know about this. Although the Eagle Eye doesn’t know exactly what we’re investigating here, it’s clear she understands our visit is connected to Yu Yin’s affairs. Jishan is fraught with danger, and any piece of information here could be considered a clue.”
Jiang Zhongxue nodded in rare agreement. Under the moonlight, the ancient plank roads had faded into invisible black dots, arranged like ellipses across the pale gray cliff face. Jiang Zhongxue lifted her head and said to Qin Changsheng, “There are two famous viewing platforms on Jishan: one is the mid-mountain viewing platform we saw today, and the other is the lookout tower at Wangduan Peak. Legend has it…”
“What legend?”
Jiang Zhongxue paused briefly before continuing, “Speaking of Bao Zhi’s deeds, I know another one. Legend says Jishan was once the cold palace where an emperor exiled his empress.”
Qin Changsheng asked curiously, “Oh?”
Gazing calmly at the opposite cliff, Jiang Zhongxue explained, “It is said that during the reign of Emperor Xiao Yan, Empress Xi, who lacked faith in goodness and committed grave misdeeds, fell into ruin after death and was reborn as a giant serpent.”
“Emperor Xiao Yan, being devout and dedicated to spiritual cultivation, revered Zen Master Bao Zhi as the national mentor and sought his guidance on how to save Empress Xi, liberate her soul, and help her shed her serpent form to ascend to paradise. To this end, the emperor observed fasting, followed the master’s instructions, summoned five hundred eminent monks, built a sacred site, and repented before the Buddha. With utmost sincerity and the divine power of the Three Jewels, the emperor guided Empress Xi’s soul to manifest as a serpent at the site. The serpent coiled several times below the altar, its appearance horrifying. The monks ascended the altar, paid homage to the Buddha, chanted sutras, and performed rituals. Empress Xi, blessed by this grace, was indeed liberated from her serpent body and attained a celestial form. Her silhouette appeared among the clouds, bowing in gratitude before departing. The karmic cause was thus fulfilled, and the retribution made clear. Thereafter, Emperor Wu deepened his faith, diligently pursuing cultivation, never forgetting the virtuous causes, and constantly seeking profound truths.”
Qin Changsheng, intrigued by the occasional archaic phrases in Jiang Zhongxue’s otherwise standard Mandarin, shook her head with a wry smile. “So Empress Xi fell into a serpent’s form just because she lacked faith in goodness? That’s absurd. I don’t believe in Buddhism, I follow Marx!”
Jiang Zhongxue nodded, sighing with earnest gravity. “Indeed, to punish disbelief with serpenthood and curse those who deny the divine, such acts could only come from a self-proclaimed benevolent ancient god.”
At the mention of the word “curse,” Qin Changsheng’s heart skipped a beat. Jiang Zhongxue stood still, her gaze fixed as if looking at her, yet not quite. She continued, “Empress Xi did not become a serpent because she lacked faith. She had always been a serpent.”
A faint tremor passed through Qin Changsheng’s heart.
Had she not known Jiang Zhongxue to be a cold and aloof woman, she might have thought this was all a jest. But in the scattered glow of the flashlight, she saw clearly that Jiang Zhongxue’s expression held no trace of humor, she was merely stating a fact.
Empress Xi was a serpent? Emperor Xiao Yan’s empress was a serpent?
Jiang Zhongxue spoke with deliberate clarity, word by word: “Calling it a serpent’s body was merely the terminology of that era. Empress Xi was born with a rare single leg, her parents were siblings, so deformities were not surprising. What was strange, however, was that all their previous children had died young, leaving only Empress Xi. Moreover, Empress Xi was exceptionally beautiful and delicate, which became a key reason for her parents to keep her. In her youth, she was raised in seclusion, unknown to anyone beyond her immediate family. Later, she was sent to the palace to become the crown princess. At that time, Emperor Xiao Yan still needed the support of her family’s influence to secure the throne, so he paid little heed to her disability. But after Emperor Xiao Yan ascended the throne, he grew increasingly bothered by her single leg, which resembled a serpent’s body. He found it an eyesore and eventually used an excuse to send her to the ancient land of Shu, ostensibly for recuperation but in reality, as exile.”
Qin Changsheng hummed in acknowledgment, a tangled thread of thoughts swirling in her mind, unable to grasp the fleeting idea that had just crossed it.
Jiang Zhongxue continued, “Emperor Xiao Yan was not as gentle and magnanimous as depicted in folk songs. He was a ruler who harbored grudges and sought revenge. After sending Empress Xi away, he grew angrier the more he thought about it, how could the Xi family dare to offer a one-legged daughter as his principal consort? In retaliation, Emperor Xiao Yan recruited numerous dwarves and individuals born with missing limbs from among the common people, assembling a grand procession to escort Empress Xi to the ancient land of Shu. He exiled her to the highest peak, hoping never to lay eyes on her again, for all eternity.”
Qin Changsheng murmured softly, “How despicable of Emperor Xiao Yan! Empress Xi didn’t do anything wrong.”
Jiang Zhongxue gazed at her, her heart stirred, yet her tone remained calm. “There is no right or wrong in this world. Whoever holds power is the one in the right. Even if undeserved suffering befalls you one day, it has nothing to do with right or wrong.”