Chapter 59: Yang Er Falls into the Snare

Two days later, accompanied by his confidant big brother Licentiate Nan, Huang Ping went to the Provincial Administration Commission yamen to collect his exam plaque and "floating ticket" for this Provincial Examination, and also registered his temporary address with the office in Xiuyi Ward. Additionally, the floating ticket described Huang Ping's appearance as follows: "Square face, fair complexion, no beard, slightly tall in stature."

With the "Li Kui Plan" having reached this stage, all the preliminary preparations could now be considered complete.

From this moment on, Scholar Huang only needed to shut his door and study. Yet Comrade Huang Zhicheng, the transmigrator who had spared no pains to cross time and space and rush over to take the exam in his place, was equally busy these days. He had to convince himself to recognize the situation, memorize essays, and further refine his brush calligraphy. Every day he also had to set aside time for physical and language training — the poor scholar's manner of walking with lowered head, caved chest, and hunched shoulders, treading cautiously, was honestly not easy for a person of later generations to learn.

Everything was ready, only waiting for the day the exam began on the eighth day of the eighth month.

The weather in Hangzhou this year was somewhat strange. There had been barely any rain in the seventh month. Gusts of hot wind swept through during the day, and in the afternoon hours, it was scorchingly dry and unbearable.

Wearing a sleeveless short jacket of homespun cloth, his belly bared, Yang Er was squatting under the wild locust tree in front of Wuxian Temple, irritably picking at the lice on his body.

He was seventeen this year, still a youth. He was tall and thin, and at first glance his features were even somewhat delicate, only marred by a palm-sized purplish-red birthmark on his face that ruined his looks, making him somewhat unsightly.

Yang Er was an orphan. His parents had died on the road while fleeing famine when he was only five, and he could not even remember his own family name. The old hand who adopted him was surnamed Yang, so he adopted the Yang surname as well. The old hand's only son had died of illness in his early years, so Yang Er, as the adopted son, was ranked second.

The old hand took Yang Er around performing acrobatics and martial arts for a living year after year, until that year when the old hand fell ill and died in Hangzhou. At that time, Yang Er was only fourteen and discovered that his family's flashy knife and staff skills were utterly useless, so he joined the Beggar Sect on the spot, switching his class from wanderer to thief.

Today he had come to squat at the entrance of the Head Hall specifically to wait for someone. Just as he was growing impatient, several figures walked out from the temple in the distance.

The one leading the group walked with a swaying, rocking gait, short of stature and stocky of limb, with a pointed mouth and yellow teeth. A fine thin shirt was forced by his frame into the shape of a date pit. Who could it be but the Beggar Sect's new Liaison Officer, Great Lord Hu Zhengqi?

Seeing Hu Zhengqi leading two attendants swaggering over, Yang Er hurriedly collapsed his lanky frame down, lowered his head, bent his waist, and slid over with an ingratiating smile: "Lord Hu, this little one has been waiting for your honored self for half the day."

Hu Zhengqi stopped and took a look: "Oh, it's you, you monkey. Where's the item?"

Yang Er, upon hearing this, hastily pulled a jade plaque from his bosom and handed it over: "This is the one, not a scratch on it!"

Hu Zhengqi took the jade plaque, raised his head, and examined it carefully against the light, then sighed: "Fine goods. Hollow and floating, delicate and exquisite, flat surface with recessed ground — it's a Zigang plaque alright. Monkey, your skills have improved lately?"

Yang Er, hearing this, hurriedly gave a bitter laugh: "Great Lord Hu, don't tease me. It's just a dabbler's skill, not fit to be brought to the table."

In the very next moment, Great Lord Hu's face instantly changed: "Your skills may have improved, but your eyesight has gone. You plague-ridden muddled worm, are you truly blind? You dared to steal the odds and ends of Chai, the young master of Er Yin Fu?"

Yang Er had by now bent his waist into the shape of a shrimp and replied in a low voice: "I truly did not recognize him, otherwise how would this little one dare to make a move?"

"You're trying to make trouble for the Group Head." Hu Zhengqi sneered: "His venerable self just recently wanted to sort out the sect's affairs and establish a new atmosphere, and you, you plague-ridden wretch, go and offend the Vice Prefect. Are you perhaps tired of living? Have you forgotten the sect rules and family law entirely?"

Yang Er then said with a roguish grin: "Didn't I bring the plaque to your honored self the moment I got word this morning? With your honored self here, you can't just watch me go suffer in the jail, can you?"

"Is this plaque all that's left?" Hu Zhengqi weighed the Zigang plaque in his hand, then asked with a mirthless smile: "What about the pouch and the loose silver? Spent it all so quickly?"

Yang Er, upon hearing this, began crying out in grievance, the birthmark on his face seeming to redden and brighten from the injustice: "Yesterday I went to Niu De's place and paid off all my gambling debts. This little one is now truly cleaned out. Lord Hu, if you don't believe me, go ask Niu De. If I've spoken half a false word, may I die a wretched death!"

After listening, Hu Zhengqi tilted his head back and rolled his eyes, then sneered. After thinking for a moment, he said: "Fine. We're all brothers in the sect, and for better or worse, I can't let you sit in prison. I'll go return this plaque right away and add some good words. If the Er Yin Fu household can let go of their anger, your matter will be easy to handle."

After a pause, Hu Zhengqi continued: "For these next few days, don't go back into the city. Go to Moyun Temple first to lie low. Whenever the yamen closes the case, that's when you can come back."

Yang Er, suspecting nothing, hurriedly voiced his thanks repeatedly. Hu Zhengqi turned his head and shot a glance: "Ping Laosan, you're familiar with that area. Take Brother Yang to join a mess group. Say it's on my orders — treat him well."

Ping Laosan was a burly man with a stubbled face. He stepped forward upon hearing this, grinned broadly, and patted the lad on the shoulder: "Let's go, Brother Yang?"

Traveling north from Hangzhou City for over ten li, one reached Banshan. At the foot of the hill lay a stretch of wild forest, and built against the hillside was Moyun Temple.

In the thirty-fifth year of the Wanli reign, a monk built a temple on this site, which took four years to complete. Yet a mere two years later, on a summer night, a ball of lightning struck the main hall of Moyun Temple with unerring precision, and the ensuing great fire burned down more than half of the temple.

Since it was punishment by heavenly lightning, the monks in the temple must have done something that offended heaven and reason — this logic was one everyone accepted. Therefore, in the aftermath, the remaining monks did not propose rebuilding. The whole lot of bald donkeys scattered in a mass dispersal, leaving only the innocent ruins, bearing the reputation of an ill-omened place, silently remaining there.

Not long after this, the ruined Moyun Temple became a stopping place for bandits and thieves. Now, over a decade later, Moyun Temple had grown ever more dilapidated, its interior having already become a refuge for beggars. Whenever anyone lost their touch, they would often run to Moyun Temple to lie low.

Yang Er and Ping Laosan hurriedly left Hangzhou's north gate, hitched a ride on a convenient boat traveling north along the Shangtang He for over ten li, then disembarked at a dilapidated river dock. Their landing place was a stretch of mixed woods. Walking up a line of bluestone steps through the woods, it wasn't far before they caught sight of Moyun Temple's Mountain Gate.

Yang Er was in a good mood the whole journey — his gambling debts were paid off, he had secretly kept a ingot of water-thread silver, and Hu Zhengqi even had to clean up his mess for him. That newly risen short-stuff really was a fool, heh heh, heh heh.

Two black-clad men with knives at their waists stood before Moyun Temple's Mountain Gate. Ping Laosan approached and exchanged a greeting, then led him inside the Mountain Gate.

Yang Er had lain low at Moyun Temple a few times in the past and was familiar with the place. Yet today, as soon as he arrived, he felt something inexplicably strange. Only after entering did he suddenly realize — since when did this godforsaken place have gate guards?