Chapter 62: Sixty-Two: Su Guoer

Sixty-Two: Su Guoer’s Troubles

At the Liu family mansion, a grand hall lit up with bright lanterns.

Upon hearing her elder brother’s words, Liu Zian fell silent.

But Liu Zilin’s expression grew increasingly confused:

“Aren’t they saying this guy was exiled for offending His Majesty and Princess Changle?”

Liu Zian frowned, glancing at him, impatiently explaining:

“Even exiled officials must be sent somewhere specific—being county magistrate of Longcheng isn’t something just anyone gets banished to.”

He paused, also looking puzzled:

“At first, I thought he was just a book-addled little rabbit—otherwise, how could the Wei clan have allowed him to come here? Isn’t it obvious they’re just handing him over to us as a dog?

“A clean reputation, a bookish fool—this was a compromise both sides could barely accept… but now, it feels more like a decisive move from the other side.”

Liu Ziwen bowed his head in silent thought; Liu Zilin half-understood.

The hall fell quiet.

At that moment, two figures suddenly walked in from the corridor outside the hall.

A lame servant led in a plain-looking woman, around forty, with a slightly elongated face, well-kept, dressed in the standard fashion of a wealthy family in the Zhou Dynasty—nothing unusual.

“Big Brother, it’s time for dinner. Oh, Second and Third Brothers are here too? Join us.” The woman moved slowly, spoke slowly.

Liu Ziwen looked up, forced a smile, and nodded. “You’ve worked hard.”

Liu Zian and Liu Zilin immediately rose, responding with “Yes, Sister-in-law.”

The woman was surnamed Xu; Liu Ziwen married very early, devoted entirely to the Gu Yue Sword Shop and other family businesses, treating his wife with respectful distance.

The three Liu brothers lost their parents young; the eldest brother was like a father, and the eldest sister-in-law was like a mother—just as Ouyang Rong’s aunt was like a mother to him.

No matter how arrogant, bullying, or domineering Liu Zian and Liu Zilin were outside, they were obedient before their elder sister-in-law—this was normal in this era, where clan filial piety was strong.

Thus, no matter how busy or troubled the three brothers were, they always went quietly to eat the dinner Xu prepared—it was an unspoken agreement in the Liu household.

Tonight was no different.

At dinner, Xu showed great care for her two younger brothers, constantly serving them dishes, asking after their well-being, and even rising to pour soup for them.

Just then, Liu Ziwen—who always ate in silence—suddenly put down his chopsticks, staring fixedly at the dish before him.

“Since the county magistrate says he’ll uphold justice, Third Brother, go demand justice tomorrow.”

“Yes, Big Brother!”

Liu Zilin nodded eagerly.

But Liu Zian seemed unconcerned with his brother and brother’s words; his gaze flickered to Xu’s back as she fetched soup, then he returned to eating quietly.

…

Luming Street, Su family mansion.

After dinner.

In a quiet, elegant rear garden.

Jiangnan’s vegetation thrived; by night in this season, fireflies had begun to emerge from the flower beds.

A plump-faced maid held a light silk fan, hopping and skipping among the flowers, chasing fireflies, occasionally crying out, “Miss, Miss, look look!” or “Oh no, so big!”

But sometimes a sigh of disappointment would rise—she’d tilt her head, pout, watching a firefly fly away with a sigh.

On a lantern-lit gallery in the garden, a cold, elegant lady, newly painted with plum-blossom makeup, quietly turned pages of a book, ignoring her wildly out-of-place personal maid.

Yet whenever a stumbling sound came, the cold lady would nod slightly, without lifting her eyelids:

“Don’t sneak snacks from the parlor after you get hungry from jumping—otherwise, Mother will keep sending piles of pastries, thinking I’m greedy.”

“…“ The plump-faced maid, whose stomach was already rumbling.

Su Guoer shook her head and turned another page of her poetry anthology.

She was still reading Tao Qian’s poems.

Not because Su Guoer was some literary fangirl admiring reclusive scholars.

But because of the fortune-teller’s earlier divination.

It foretold she would meet a man as if destined by heaven—a noble patron in her fate. How exactly he’d be “noble,” the old soothsayer didn’t say; he only stressed the importance of the “meeting”—that would be the turning point of her fortune. Su Guoer wanted to meet him soon.

The old soothsayer was no ordinary man—he came from Shangqing Sect, one of the Three Pure Ones of southern Daoism, of extremely high rank, having read the physiognomies of many in Su Guoer’s family; in some ways, he rivaled the top fortune-readers at the Wei Empress’s court…

Under the night sky, the cold lady leaned lazily against the railing, her plum-painted brows slightly furrowed, fingers gently pinching the corner of the pale yellow page.

“A coiled dragon lies in the depths… emerges with the bright moon… serves as county magistrate here, then resigns… writes a resignation and retreat essay…”

Of all people, Su Guoer had racked her brain and could think of only one who fit these conditions.

That was Tao Qian, Tao Yuanming, recorded in the Longcheng County Annals.

Not only did his name match the first two parts of the prophecy, but he had indeed served as county magistrate of Longcheng for eighty-one days, then resigned, refusing to bow for five pecks of rice; he was a brilliant writer, leaving behind many poems and essays, still cherished by locals…

Many current Longcheng place names and street names derive from stories connected to this scholar.

In recent years, Su Guoer had also learned from county records that, before resigning, he had indeed composed a resignation and retreat essay—its name seemed to be… “Returning Home.”

But this essay had been lost somewhere, never fully preserved.

Finally, the only slight discrepancy that troubled her…

He was a figure from the Eastern Jin Dynasty, four hundred years ago!

Could he possibly be a long-lived supreme Qi Refiner?

Even the most supreme Qi Refiner would struggle to live this long—unless he reached the pinnacle of some mythical Dao lineage, some unknown rank? But… could that be possible?

She found it unrealistic.

The cold lady set down her poetry book, propped her chin on her hand, gazing blankly at the foolish maid among the flowers; only a quiet sigh remained in the evening breeze:

“Returning Home… will grant me the bright moon… grant me the essay…”

Yet recently, Su Guoer’s previously lifeless mood had stirred slightly, for she’d heard something from her co-resident, Sister Xie.

Something about the new young county magistrate.

This trend seemed… different.

The old soothsayer’s prophecy clearly indicated this destined noble patron would serve as Longcheng’s county magistrate, so Su Guoer had carefully searched archives—but found no county magistrate in the past fifty years had voluntarily resigned, except those who died in office or went into mourning.

She’d also observed recent appointees, but all disappointed her: either incompetent fools or dullards, with zero interaction with her, let alone any gesture of gifting an essay or the moon.

When Ouyang Lianghan first arrived months ago, Su Guoer even went to greet him with a colored sash—but found nothing special; he didn’t seem the kind of noble patron worthy of the “coiled dragon in the depths” description.

And ironically, on his first day in office, after announcing he’d manage flood control, he fell off a bridge and drowned, unconscious…

Su Guoer was deeply disappointed, her heart already dimmed; she no longer wished to believe in fate.

She’d rather pin her hopes on Tao Qian from four hundred years ago—maybe he really did live this long?

Now, though she found the young county magistrate gradually interesting, she held little hope; she certainly wouldn’t easily abandon the years she’d invested in Tao Qian.

“I wonder if Sister Xie can help me find that lost essay.”

Su Guoer whispered softly.

She gazed quietly at the night for a moment, then suddenly caught sight of a familiar silhouette not far off; she rose immediately, left the gallery, and walked toward it.

“Sister Xie’s back?”

“Little Su,” Xie Ling turned, greeted her.

As she approached, Su Guoer slowed and stopped—she noticed a woman following Xie Ling closely. This was the first time Xie Ling had ever brought someone into the Su mansion—not even her county magistrate senior brother had been brought back.

Su Guoer glanced sideways.

A tall Hu woman, deep-set eyes, high nose, brown hair, with strange blue-green eyes; now, seemingly overwhelmed by this unfamiliar environment, she kept her head down, timid and shy, avoiding looking around, let alone meeting Su Guoer’s gaze.

“By the way.”

Xie Ling, in good spirits, smiled gently and introduced:

“Her name is Zhiying; she was originally a Hu dancer from Yuanming Tower. Little Su, you may call her Yingniang.”

“So Sister Xie is going to…”

Xie Ling’s gaze was bright; she took Yingniang’s hand:

“Yingniang has suffered—sold into this foreign land by a heartless Hu merchant. I took an instant liking to her, and recently helped her buy her freedom. But after leaving Yuanming Tower, she had nowhere to go, so I brought her back, thinking she could share my room… you wouldn’t mind, would you?”

Su Guoer shook her head indifferently: “No problem. No need to share a room—I’ll have Caishou clean another one.”

Xie Ling patted Yingniang’s trembling hand, soothing gently:

“Don’t be afraid. Little Su may seem cold, but she’s sincere—she won’t treat you like those people at Yuanming Tower. From now on, we’re sisters.”

Yingniang seemed slightly calmer, whispering: “Good evening, Miss Su.”

Su Guoer nodded, but right now she had more important matters—no time to attend to a minor Hu girl. When Caishou finally arrived, Su Guoer instructed her to take Yingniang away and prepare her.

After the girl was led away, Su Guoer turned directly to Xie Ling: “Sister Xie, in the county office’s archive room—did you find any trace of ‘Returning Home’?”

Xie Ling wasn’t surprised; she nodded slightly:

“In addition to attending to my senior brother’s tasks these past days, I also carefully reviewed the archives. I found something: one edition of the county annals records that the Eastern Jin scholar indeed left behind one final essay.”

“As for its whereabouts, it only mentions briefly that before leaving Longcheng, Tao Qian gave it to the abbot of Donglin Temple, his close friend. But whether Donglin Temple’s archives still preserve it… no one knows.”

Su Guoer’s face lit up with joy, then froze—yet finally relaxed slightly; she whispered:

“At least there’s a lead… Donglin Temple…”