Chapter 67: The Tree Wishes for Stillness, but the Wind Will Not Cease

Zhao Ti said: "What is your name, and where are the relatives you seek? Since you are a traveler who has come to Dongjing, I'll send my men to help you look for them."

"Well…" the young man faltered at the words, his face showing a troubled expression. "Reporting to you, sir, this commoner bears the surname Yang, the given name Yang Yun Chong. The relatives I seek bear the surname Chen. They originally lived on Chengxi Bixiang Lane, but they've already moved away, and I have yet to learn where they went."

"Yang? That surname is not common." Zhao Ti smiled. "I know Bixiang Lane. I'll have someone go ask around, though that area is mostly home to Daoist Priest recluses whose movements are unpredictable, wandering like wild cranes — we may not find any answers."

Yang Yang Yun Chong hastily shook his head: "No need to trouble you, sir. I've gone door to door, but the neighbors don't know each other. My relative is half-recluse, half-worldly, originally from Mount Hua in Shaanxi. Perhaps he has already returned to his hometown."

Zhao Ti said: "That won't do. You were harmed by Ghost Fanlou, your Wu Gong is completely lost, and the authorities naturally ought to lend a hand. Someone come here…"

Shang Qi stepped forward: "Young Master."

Zhao Ti said: "Settle Young Master Yang properly. Not a single mishap is to occur."

Shang Qi nodded: "Yes, Young Master!"

Yang Yang Yun Chong was taken aback: "Sir, there's no need for such trouble. I'll leave on my own and head back to Jiang Nan tomorrow…"

"Get going…" A cold smile tugged at Shang Qi's mouth. He grabbed Yang Yang Yun Chong by the collar and hauled him off to one side.

After another moment, the imperial guards returned with a message: Zhong Pu had encountered numerous forks in the tunnels underground and dared not press forward. He asked Zhao Ti to decide.

Zhao Ti asked: "How many were killed?"

The guardsman said: "Wang Jia, there were several dozen in all, all shot dead. It's dark inside; blades and spears are hard to use."

Zhao Ti thought for a moment: "Tell General Zhong to stop advancing. Proceed with the plan — bring in fire oil and firewood to smoke them out!"

The guardsman departed to carry out the order. Zhao Ti then sent word to every eight-trigram water outlet. Some of these outlets were already blocked and sealed, while others were like this one. Fire oil and charcoal were brought in to begin the smoking. The open channels leading to the river were barred with wooden fences so that not a single person could escape.

The imperial guards watching the water outlets carried bows and crossbows, or single bombards, and more than a dozen double-bow bed crossbows were also brought in and set up before the larger eight-trigram outlets. If anyone from Ghost Fanlou truly tried to fight their way out, the outlet would be collapsed on the spot.

The smoke from burning fierce fire oil contained deadly poison. Even if one inhaled only a little and wasn't killed by the fumes, afterward the body would suffer all manner of ailments. Mixed with firewood and charcoal, the air grew thin. In only a moment, the world beneath Dongjing was filled with rolling black wind, as if doomsday had descended.

Along the way, several water outlets had Ghost Fanlou villains trying to flee outward, but because the outlets were blocked, wails kept coming from within. Only a handful — three or five — managed to break through, and all of them were shot down by a hail of arrows from the imperial guards outside.

It was the same at the underground channels leading to the river. When the wooden fences finally couldn't hold, the imperial guards simply hurled stones to pile the channel mouths shut.

The smoking went on for an entire night. Nearly all the fierce fire oil in the supply depots of the Ministry of Works, the Palace Front Command, the Imperial Guard Command, and the capital-region garrison was burned through.

From time to time, a stench drifted up from underground, and even if people outside caught just a whiff, their heads would spin and they'd feel nauseated to the point of vomiting.

Seeing this, Zhao Ti ordered again that the eight-trigram outlets be temporarily sealed shut with mud slurry and lime, so the fumes could not seep out.

For the next day, imperial guards kept watch over the outlets in shifts, neither entering nor opening them. The poison from the burning fierce fire oil was extremely potent; it could only be left to dissipate slowly underground. When heavy rain came, the outlets would be opened, and the fumes would flow into the Jianghe living water, where a great volume of dilution would carry them away, so that no harm would be done to the surface.

Two days later, the weather remained clear. At dusk, Zhao Ti rode by carriage to the Golden Wind and Fine Rain Tower.

Yang Yang Yun Chong had been placed here, watched day and night, not allowed to leave.

Dongjing had no shortage of spies. The various government offices planting agents among one another was one thing, but if the Liao or Western Xia had planted people here, or if various greenwood forces with ill intent had inserted themselves into Dongjing, that would be a serious matter.

The Great Song had never lacked men who rose in rebellion. The notion of killing and rebelling to earn amnesty was no empty talk. Many greenwood bands harbored such thoughts — succeed and you succeed, fail and you surrender and become an official — so their nerve was enormous.

But in truth, so-called amnesty was not as simple as they imagined. Small-time rabble was simply swept away. For those too powerful, how could the court dare employ them? Most were sidelined and then put to death on some pretext. The court was not that foolish; it would not commit the folly of a tail too big to wag.

And those who could plant eyes inside Dongjing would certainly be no ordinary greenwood force.

Greenwood and the jianghu are not the same. Jianghu is a general term; greenwood refers specifically to bandits and brigands — those who seize mountains as kings, gather crowds to rise in revolt. The name comes from the Greenwood Army and Greenwood Mountain of old, along with the Red Eyebrows, both originating in the era of Wang Mang's Xin dynasty.

That little maid from the Duan Wang Fu is not normal — a mere maid who carries Wu Gong within her. The Bai Mei elder is even more obviously a master, and certainly not a native of Dongjing. If they came from the mountain greenwoods of the Wu-Yue lands in Jiang Nan, or from some sect or cult with designs on rebellion, that would be bad.

Therefore Zhao Ti did not let Yang Yang Yun Chong go, intending to question him and see where these few had come from and what their purpose was in sneaking into Dongjing.

Once inside the tower, he sat down to drink tea. Hou San and Zhu Si came over.

The two were one thin, one fat. Hou San was skilled at climbing — not because his lightness skill was profound, but simply because his body was nimble; rooftops and trees were nothing to him. Give him two grappling hooks and he could scale even a city wall.

Zhu Si, on the other hand, was all external skill, pure sinew and bone strength. One couldn't call it bronze sinews and iron bones, but the average person with a smattering of internal force was no match for him.

Zhao Ti asked the two: "How has that Yang Yang Yun Chong been these past few days? Has he caused any trouble?"

Hou San said: "Fairly well-behaved. He doesn't need reminding to eat or drink, but he goes around all day with a long face, as if something terribly grievous weighs on his heart."

Zhu Si said: "No other oddities, but there's something strange about morning and evening."

"Oh?" Zhao Ti picked up his tea bowl and took a sip. "What strange thing?"

The two exchanged a glance. Hou San said: "Young Master, every morning and evening he kneels and kowtows toward the west, day after day, down to the exact hour. His lips keep muttering something. When I crept close to listen, he'd stop speaking and fall silent."

Zhu Si said: "At first we thought the man had been driven half-witted by Ghost Fanlou, but later we realized that wasn't it. He must be worshipping some god, Buddha, or bodhisattva in the void."

"Worshipping some god, Buddha, or bodhisattva in the void?" Zhao Ti leaned forward slightly. "Did you ever make out what he was muttering?"

Hou San said: "This subordinate heard the two characters 'life and death.'"

Zhu Si scratched his head: "This subordinate only heard the one character 'fire.' The rest I couldn't make out. The moment he noticed us, he'd fall silent."

"'Life and death'… 'fire'?" A flicker of change passed through Zhao Ti's eyes. As he pondered, he gazed out the window. By then the sun was setting in the west, a great ball of fire seemingly ablaze, painting the sky and earth a sheet of crimson…

Night. The moon hung at the zenith.

In a royal idle residence on the street opposite Qisheng Court, Zhao Xu stood with his hands behind his back, while a Red Dragon Guard whispered something to him.

When he finished speaking, he bowed and stood to one side, motionless as a stone statue.

Zhao Xu's eyes were somewhat empty and still. He gazed toward the due south and murmured to himself: "I long for a prosperous land and a peaceful people, for all beneath heaven to be at peace. But alas — the tree may wish to be still, yet the wind will not cease…"