Chapter 39: Unexpected Discovery

Jiwén Studio stands outside the main gate of Danyang Academy.

Xie Jinhuan had assumed it was a bookstore; only upon arriving did he realize it was Danyang Academy’s official library, a three-story building housing no fewer than ten thousand scrolls, with chambers for chess and tea upstairs.

On the first floor, a long counter stood in the hall, where a few students were borrowing or returning books; behind it sat an elderly man dressed in a scholar’s robe.

The elder wore ivory-rimmed spectacles, held a magnifying glass, and leaned close to the book, clearly suffering from myopia so severe he had reached the pinnacle of “no one before his eyes.”

Linghu Qingmo was familiar with the academy; she carried Meiqiu to the counter and waited until the young students sneaking glances had left before greeting:

“Master Wu, I am Linghu Qingmo, a guard of the Wang Fu. I’ve come to ask you a few questions.”

The elder’s name was Wu Zheng, a fellow disciple of Mu Yunling, who once taught at the academy and now lived here in retirement; he set down his magnifying glass, squinted left and right, and finally fixed his gaze on Xie Jinhuan:

“So you’re the Linghu girl—I’ve heard the students speak of you often. Today I see you with my own eyes, and indeed your bearing is extraordinary…”

“Guh?” Meiqiu froze.

“Oh? This black chicken’s grown quite plump…”

“Gukji?!”

Linghu Qingmo was equally stunned and quickly pinned down the furious Meiqiu:

“Master Wu, I’m here. I’ve come to inquire about someone who bought a book here recently.”

Wu Zheng naturally shifted his gaze back to the correct target, smiling warmly:

“Is that so? Anyone who buys books here leaves an impression on me. Tell me, Miss Linghu.”

Remembering every book he’d seen…

Xie Jinhuan and Linghu Qingmo were deeply skeptical, but since they’d come, Linghu Qingmo replied:

“We don’t know his appearance or age—only that he bought a copy of ‘Yangchun Yan.’ Could you recall him?”

Wu Zheng showed a thoughtful expression, paused a moment, then answered:

“This is a Confucian academy. We do not sell such licentious or vulgar texts.”

“Huh?”

Linghu Qingmo didn’t understand.

Xie Jinhuan silently shook his head and interjected:

“‘Yangchun Yan’ was written by the late dynasty’s great Confucian scholar Qingping Jushi. It details the rise and fall of its protagonist, vividly portraying the decadence of officials, gentry, and wealthy merchants, as well as the helplessness of the poor forced into servitude. Though it appears filled with carnal desire, it exposes the depths of human corruption. To call it mere vulgar fiction is far too narrow.”

“Oh?”

Wu Zheng looked slightly surprised; though his gaze lingered on Xie Jinhuan’s ears, his approval was unmistakable:

“Beauty lies in the bone, not the skin—books are the same. Your words reveal you truly understand the text. How is your health?”

“I’ve never read illustrated versions before—my health is fine.”

“Good. Young men must practice restraint. Otherwise, by my age, sigh…”

?

Linghu Qingmo stared blankly, utterly baffled by the connection between reading and physical health, but said nothing, merely watching Xie Jinhuan converse.

After a few moments of idle chatter, Xie Jinhuan asked again:

“The buyer was either an elderly man in his fifties, dressed as a merchant, rather shrewd; or a young lord around twenty, possibly carrying an umbrella. Hmm… Master, can you see the weapon hanging at my waist?”

Wu Zheng looked at the twin blades crossed at Xie Jinhuan’s waist and smiled, stroking his beard:

“I can see them. Using such large scissors as weapons is certainly novel to this old man.”

Fuck…

Xie Jinhuan took a deep breath, truly unprepared for a man in Danzhou more bizarre than Hou’s steward; clearly, there was no point in further inquiry:

“I have urgent matters elsewhere. If you don’t recall him, I’ll take my leave…”

“Ah~”

Wu Zheng raised a hand to stop him: “I said I remember every book I’ve seen—do you think I’d lie to a young man? I’ve taught for a lifetime. Whether it’s an innocent student, a frivolous townsman, or a seasoned Jianghu man, I can tell at a glance. Miss Linghu is innocent; you, sir, are one of the latter two.”

?

Xie Jinhuan paused, puzzled by the gaze—both sharp and unsettling—and looked down at himself:

“Do you think I’m frivolous? How can you tell?”

“Heh. There are countless historical texts from the late dynasty. Who but a frivolous man would learn about the era’s customs through ‘Yangchun Yan’?”

“… ”

Xie Jinhuan had no rebuttal, yet couldn’t admit it either; he changed the subject:

“So both were seasoned Jianghu men. Do you recall either?”

Wu Zheng thought carefully: “Jianghu people rarely come here. Early this month, a youth in his early twenties bought ‘Yangchun Yan.’ His speech and manner were slick and insincere—I knew at once he wasn’t a scholar.

“We chatted briefly. He claimed his name was He San, here with his father to trade spices in Danyang. He asked about Master Mu and several instructors’ daily routines, saying he admired their reputations and wished to pay his respects…”

Linghu Qingmo, hearing this, knew this man was highly suspicious:

“Master Wu, do you have any other clues about him?”

Wu Zheng’s gaze drifted to the empty space beside him, smiling warmly:

“If he were truly a bandit, would he speak so freely? I chatted with him a while and found only his surname was real—the rest was pure fabrication.”

“His surname is He…”

Linghu Qingmo felt the range was too broad, but better than nothing; she stepped forward and bowed:

“Thank you for the tip, Master Wu. I’ll investigate thoroughly.”

Wu Zheng nodded with a smile, his gaze turning back to Linghu Qingmo:

“I saw at once you’re a kindred spirit. I have many rare collections here—would you like to see them?”

Linghu Qingmo’s head filled with dark lines!

Xie Jinhuan, accustomed to eyes missing their target, felt it improper to leave without buying something; he asked:

“Oh? Could you recommend one?”

“As a Jianghu man, you’d likely enjoy these.”

Wu Zheng stepped aside, lifting a panel beneath the counter.

Whoosh~

The two and the bird leaned forward to peer inside, discovering the counter concealed a horizontal bookshelf.

Dozens of finely bound volumes stood neatly aligned: ‘The Passionate Swordsman Shang Lianbi,’ ‘The Rogue Lu Wu Zhen,’ ‘The Erotic History of Master Sikong,’ ‘Tales of the Erotic Heroes,’ ‘The Legend of the Golden Orchids’…

An entire wall of Jianghu romance and ancestral scandals—nearly every major figure from all sects, save the Confucian sages, was featured!

“Sss…”

Linghu Qingmo drew a sharp breath. Merely seeing these blasphemous titles made her feel she needed to cleanse her eyes in a thunderstorm.

Xie Jinhuan was equally awestruck; he pulled a handkerchief from Meiqiu’s waist, wiped his hands, then picked up one volume:

“Master, you see people truly well. What became of the authors of these books?”

Wu Zheng’s brow brimmed with pride:

“We Confucians do not fear heterodox paths. Most of these authors died peacefully.”

So some died violently, then?

Xie Jinhuan had never seen such “forbidden books” in the capital; to see how wild the unofficial histories could be, he picked up one with a relatively normal title: ‘The Legend of the Golden Orchids.’

But within a few pages, he realized he’d vastly underestimated these scholars’ audacity.

The female lead was Lady Xixia, clearly modeled after Qixia True Person, the former Sect Master of Zihui Mountain a century ago, Grand Master of the Dan Ding Sect.

According to the book, Lady Xixia began as a pure, unworldly Daoist novice at Zihui Mountain, accidentally entering a secret realm and obtaining the divine scripture ‘The Supreme Response to the Spirit.’ After outwitting her fellow disciples, she eventually became Sect Master.

So far, the story was normal—and moved swiftly.

But one day, Lady Xixia suddenly developed human desires and fell in love with a demoness!

The demoness was breathtakingly beautiful; Lady Xixia became utterly obsessed, even surrendering half her sacred mountain. By day, she ruled as Sect Master; by night, the seductive female demon took control of Zihui Mountain, indulging in wine, music, and revelry that left the people sleepless…

A lesbian tale…

Xie Jinhuan flipped through the book carefully, his brow furrowing; the demoness in the story bore a striking resemblance to his own ghost bride…

He was about to delve deeper when the book was suddenly pressed shut.

Thwack—

Linghu Qingmo, who had been peeking, saw the book depicted her ancestral mistress’s scandalous history; her eyebrows shot up:

“How dare you! Who dares fabricate such lies? Ancestor Qixia rendered great service during the Witch Cult Uprising—how can you slander her so?”

“Ah!”

Wu Zheng raised his hand, clearly displeased:

“The author of this book was also a veteran who contributed greatly during the Witch Cult Uprising—he fought alongside Ancestor Qixia and others to save the nation. As a younger generation who never lived through that catastrophe, you have no right to judge.”

Linghu Qingmo hadn’t expected this scandalous book to be written by a contemporary of her ancestral mistress; she could no longer rebuke it, but she certainly couldn’t let Xie Jinhuan read it—she snatched the book and hid it behind her back.

Xie Jinhuan, now certain he’d found the source of his ghost bride, asked:

“Who wrote this book? The Sword-and-Book Saints? Master Sikong the Demon?”

Among the greatest heroes of the Witch Cult Uprising were: the Sword-and-Book Saints Ye Ci, the Buddhist Jade Mind Bodhisattva, the Daoist Qixia True Person and Ziyang True Person, and the Witch Cult Sikong Shitang.

These five were the sect leaders a century ago; nearly all current sect heads are their disciples.

For example, Mu Yunling was a disciple of the Sword-and-Book Saints Ye Ci; Lu Wu Zhen was a granddisciple of Ziyang True Person; the current leader of the Poison Cult is Sikong Shitang’s son.

Of these five, only the last Confucian Sage, Ye Ci, could have written such a book—and had it secretly circulated in the academy.

Yet to protect his master’s reputation, Wu Zheng did not name him outright, only said:

“Read the book thoroughly, then cross-reference it with the historical records—you’ll know its author.”

Xie Jinhuan already suspected who it was, and asked again:

"Are all the events in this book historical facts?"

Linghu Qingmo narrowed her beautiful eyes, but before she could clarify for her ancestral master, Wu Zheng spoke first:

"This is fiction, how could it possibly be history? Mount Zihui is just twenty li outside the city; some elderly residents of Danyang have even met Ancestor Qixia. If demons and monsters were to seize Mount Zihui and cause chaos at night, disturbing the peace of the people, how could the locals remain unaware?"

"If you truly wish to learn about the events of that era, you should consult official histories. If you believe folk tales, then even the founding emperor of Northern Zhou started his rise by selling hooks on the grasslands..."

Linghu Qingmo nodded quickly: "That's right. Mount Zihui has complete records of Ancestor Qixia’s birth and entry into the pass. If you wish to see them, I’ll fetch them for you when I return."

Xie Jinhuan knew folk histories couldn’t be trusted, but the ghost bride was too mysterious; after searching for days, he’d found only a few clues in this book, *Jinlan Zhuan*—how could he not read it? He decided to buy it.

But Miss Mo was too reverent toward her ancestral master; she shoved the book straight into her chest, slapped silver taels onto the counter, and turned to run—clearly fearing he’d snatch it away.

Xie Jinhuan watched helplessly; only after Miss Mo had dashed out the door did he pull out silver coins and quietly slip them to Wu Laohan.

Wu Zheng said nothing, reached beneath the counter, and pulled out another book, handing it to Xie Jinhuan—along with a thoughtful bonus: a lavishly illustrated, bound edition of *Yangchun Yan*, the second book at half price...

(End of Chapter)