Haunted by the question of why the dragon robe was no ordinary item, Yun Guoqiang returned to the excavation site.
The site had already been cordoned off. It was far from the village, so it barely affected the daily routines of the villagers.
Besides the staff from the archaeological research institute, the excavation work also hired some non-permanent personnel.
For example—
“Brother Qiang, I’m begging you,” Xiao Liu kept bowing to a burly laborer covered in muscles, “if you keep recklessly digging and prying, what if you smash a relic to pieces?”
Another big brother raised his hoe high, and Xiao Liu’s head immediately whipped around—
“Boss Li, I’m begging you! It’s okay if you went bankrupt—life can start over. Please go easy, I’ll kneel for you.”
Every excavation site hired such laborers—paid daily, cheap, strong, and easy to work with.
These two laborer brothers were both villagers of Xiao Family Village. To build good relations with the villagers, the team had gone out of their way to hire Xiao Family Village residents, getting them involved in the excavation work—both paying them wages and serving a publicity purpose.
Ultimately, the goal was to get these people to put in a good word when they returned to the village.
Brother Qiang swung his shovel, Boss Li heaved his pickaxe, and dirt flew in all directions…
—”Old Xiao, there’s a traitor in the village!”
The village chief’s lips flapped rapidly as he poured out his grievances to the old man in the wheelchair.
There were many elders in Xiao Family Village, but only this one was worthy of the title “Old Xiao.”
Old Xiao had lived abroad for many years. Ravaged by cancer, his return this time for the ancestral rites would be his last step on this native soil.
“The things dug up from underground belong to our ancestors.” The village chief was overcome with grief and indignation, as if his family legacy was being looted.
Old Xiao parted his lips and recited a string of Daoist incantations: “A single spark of spirit, through a thousand rounds of perdition, wandering through the four births and six paths…”
He reverently lifted the ancestral tablet inscribed “Spirit Tablet of Lord Xiao Zhi, Ancestor of the Xiao Clan” from the center of the shrine niche, took out a handkerchief, and carefully wiped it clean.
The village chief: “Beneath that gold foil mask, there’s something at the bottom. The archaeology team insists it’s a signature, but I don’t think so.”
Old Xiao said calmly: “Xiao Qiangfa showed me. That’s no signature.”
“Qiangzi?” The village chief was taken aback.
Both Xiao Qiang and Xiao Li were Old Xiao’s maternal nephews. They were the spies he had sent in.
Old Xiao maneuvered his electric wheelchair straight toward the inner chamber of the ancestral hall.
Fingerprint and iris dual-lock—with a click, the inner door slowly opened.
It was the village chief’s first time entering the inner chamber, and his eyes were full of shock.
“The decennial grand ancestral rite is over.” Old Xiao surveyed the inner room. Two years ago, he had been diagnosed with cancer and could only send his son in his stead to attend the ceremony. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been here.”
“Laifu,” he called the village chief by his childhood name, “go record your iris and fingerprint. This place is yours to guard from now on.”
The village chief bowed respectfully: “Yes, sir.”
“That mark on the gold foil—I’ve seen it before.” The old man groped along the wall, fumbled for a switch, and pressed it.
From above the white wall opposite, a glass display case slowly descended.
In the middle of the glass hung a portrait.
The man in the painting rode a crimson warhorse, clad in full armor, with sword-like brows and star-bright eyes, his brow exuding an unyielding confidence of one never defeated.
Beneath it was inscribed: Xiao Zhi, Emperor of Great Yan.
The village chief was speechless. “This is… he is…?”
He thought of the ancient-style young man beside the girl.
The wrinkles on the old man’s face relaxed as he smiled and asked: “He looks very much like the young man we saw, doesn’t he?”
The village chief: “Identical. But how could such a thing exist in this world?” Things like time travel—weren’t those just stuff from TV dramas?
The old man looked down at his watch—noon, 12 o’clock. He respectfully lit incense and continued reciting in a low voice: “Drifting through the bitter sea, how many times have you changed your face and form? Consider that the four great elements are insubstantial and rootless, appearing and disappearing like shooting stars and fleeting lightning… without end.”
The village chief’s gaze fixed on the lower part of the portrait. Beside the emperor’s name, there seemed to be a simple pattern.
He put on his reading glasses and leaned in closer, finally able to make it out.
The pattern was exactly the same as the one on the gold foil mask.
Like a cloud from the horizon, drifting into the painting.
.
Yun Yi returned home, her whole body limp and her head feeling fuzzy.
“Surely I’m not getting dizzy from the massage?” She glanced at her phone one last time—12 noon—and muttered, “Might as well take a ‘noon nap.’”
She fell into a deep sleep within a second.
In her haze, she seemed to hear voices nearby.
“Huh? The Emperor’s imperial seal… how did it end up bound by a hair tie?”
Wasn’t that reedy, pinched voice none other than Wang Delan, the Grand Eunuch by the Emperor’s side?
“Eunuch Wang, that hair tie belongs to His Majesty. This servant has seen it when combing His Majesty’s hair. Shall this servant put it away properly?”
Yun Yi recognized Yu Lian’er’s voice.
“No, that is His Majesty’s possession. You must not touch it under any circumstances—at best, you’ll lose a hand; at worst…”
Yun Yi: “…” Xiao Zhi, your tyrannical image is truly deeply ingrained.
Their voices gradually drifted away.
Yun Yi suddenly opened her eyes and quickly surveyed her surroundings.
A row of jade-handled wolf-hair brushes hung from a rosewood brush rack. On the broad imperial desk, several memorials lay open, along with an imperial edict half-written.
It was the Emperor’s study.
Her field of vision was confined to a small space—this time, she had possessed an object.
With nothing else to do, her gaze fell upon the stack of open memorials.
She read a couple of lines—something about military affairs concerning the Northern Di barbarians raiding the border.
Peeking at military secrets was a capital offense.
Yun Yi glanced at a few lines and looked away—not out of fear of losing her head, but because the dense vertical columns of traditional Chinese characters genuinely gave her a headache.
The study was perfectly quiet, with not a single palace attendant in sight. Yun Yi was forced to stay put inside the imperial seal for quite a while, with no sign of Xiao Zhi anywhere.
Her gaze drifted back to the memorials.
It seemed to be about… selecting consorts?
Yun Yi read character by character.
This was the consort selection roster drafted by the Ministry of Rites.
Cui Xiaoyue—clearly the name of a classic early-days romantic novel’s pure and innocent heroine.
Wang Wanjun—Wang Guanwen? All these names that illiterate people can’t pronounce, just to show off how cultured you are?
Yue Ying—An old acquaintance! You’re the only one who looks agreeable. I, the Empress Dowager, shall bestow upon you the title of Consort Shu.
…
Wait.
Yun Yi, hidden in a corner of the imperial seal, swept her gaze back and forth across the roster of consort candidates.
Closely packed—enough for a full class of students.
Good heavens.
She sneered mockingly: “Taking in so many consorts—isn’t he afraid of kidney deficiency? Lewd, base, scoundrelly.”
.
The Northern Di suddenly provoked the border, and General Cui sent three urgent memorials in quick succession.
Upon receiving the report, the Emperor on the dragon throne turned solemn: “How is the Northern Di envoy’s health?”
Cen Ni: “Reporting to Your Majesty, the envoy has recovered well and will depart for the Northern Di tomorrow.”
“Dispatch extra troops to escort him along the way.”
“Your servant obeys.”
Xiao Zhi knew that even if the envoy returned to the Northern Di tomorrow, it would only temporarily remove the pretext for their invasion—not a long-term solution.
After finishing state affairs, Minister of Rites Fan Xun said: “Your Majesty, the consort selection roster I submitted for Your Majesty’s review several days ago…”
The Emperor cast over a cold, heavy look: “Minister Fan, was I not clear enough?”
Fan Xun flipped the hem of his robe and knelt, still stubbornly holding his ground: “Your Majesty must put the welfare of the realm first. The harem has been empty for too long—this bodes ill for the dynasty’s fortune.”
With a thud, Yue Minye also knelt. He was dead set on sending his daughter into the harem.
Cen Ni stood stone-faced, and because his rheumatism was flaring up, he reluctantly dropped to his knees along with the rest of the officials.
The Emperor faced off against his ministers for a moment, displeased and unwilling to argue further. With a flick of his sleeve, he ended the court session.
On the way back to the study, Xiao Zhi thought to himself: since that Fan Xun was so disobedient, he might as well issue an edict demoting him.
On the imperial desk, the warm-hued imperial seal stood quietly. Tied around the mythical beast atop it was a butterfly-bow hair tie.
The seal looked like a carefully wrapped gift presented to him.
Xiao Zhi spotted it at once and hurried over, his shoe thudding against the corner of the desk—making the attendants’ hearts tighten.
He paid it no mind. He simply lifted the seal, running his fingertips over every edge, his heart trembling with each breath.
Yun Yi met his gaze.
For her, it had been only a day apart.
But the Emperor’s eyes were brimming with an agitation born of long separation—as if three autumns had passed.
Xiao Zhi rubbed her with his thumb and forefinger for a full incense stick’s time, making her more dizzy than the hospital massage.
She did a quick calculation: one modern day was roughly equivalent to thirty ancient days. So that was why he was this stirred up? Still, if he kept rubbing, she really was going to throw up.
“So you know to come back,” Xiao Zhi said to her.
He rubbed her back and forth, the warmth of his palms heating the cold jade. The seal lay motionless in his hands.
“Can’t you move a little—give me some sign?” Xiao Zhi lifted the seal and murmured to the jade.
A new palace attendant, who had never seen the Emperor like this, stared dumbfounded. The recovered seal had so captivated His Majesty that he was even speaking to it.
The attendant gaped openly at the Emperor.
Wang Delan kicked him with his palace boot and hissed: “Go receive fifty strokes and be banished to the Bathhouse Bureau.”
“Th-thank you, Eunuch Wang.”
How could anyone presume to speculate on the Emperor’s affairs?
“Your Majesty?” Wang Delan said. “Minister Fan Xun is requesting an audience. He’s kneeling outside the hall.”
Xiao Zhi wrapped his large hand around the seal, his mood sour. That Fan was determined to oppose him.
“Tell Fan Xun,” Xiao Zhi said, “if he wants to kneel, I won’t stop him. For every extra hour he kneels, I’ll have one of his toes chopped off.”
“…Your servant obeys.”
Just then, there happened to be an already drafted edict on the desk. Xiao Zhi flicked through them with his fingertips and selected one for Wang Delan to proclaim.
Guessing the Emperor would not see him, Fan Xun remained stoic and prostrated himself to receive the decree.
When Wang Delan unrolled it, he was immediately shocked by the state of the edict. His eyes darted back and forth as he forced himself to read it out with composure.
The mourning period for the late emperor had just ended, the border was unstable—there was no mind for consort selection.
It did not say when the selection would take place, nor did it give any definite date.
Fan Xun was a veteran minister. His hands trembling, he received the decree: “Your servant accepts the decree. His Majesty is so filial and so concerned with the realm—the late emperor’s spirit in heaven will surely be comforted.”
Wang Delan had a look of wanting to hand it over but not daring to.
Fan Xun was puzzled: “Eunuch Wang…?”
The decree was tugged back and forth for a moment before Wang Delan released it in despair.
Fan Xun won.
He unrolled the decree and was horrified.
The edict was drowning in seal ink.
Not only had the Emperor’s name been scribbled over and defaced, but the blank spaces of the decree were also filled with strange simplified characters.
[Only thirty consorts? Is the Yan Dynasty on the verge of collapse? Are you going bankrupt? Why not marry thirty thousand wives? For the next eighty-two years of your life, be a bridegroom every single night!]
Thud—Fan Xun, who had just risen, went weak in the knees and knelt back down again.
Wang Delan’s breath caught in his throat—Minister Fan, you fool! Have you truly given up on your toes?
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