Chapter 68: Ming Jiao, Jiangnan Ming Jiao

Three days later, the sky was gloomy, swallows flew low, and a heavy rain was imminent.

Zhao Ti ordered all eight water outlets and underground channels opened; troops set up tents to guard them, arrows and crossbows aimed and never straying from their posts.

As the rain poured down, not a single soul from Ghost Fanlou emerged, not even rats or insects could be seen.

A pungent odor drifted from the cave, but gradually faded under the rain’s wash; by morning, it was nearly undetectable.

Zhao Ti divided the imperial guards into five squads, each two thousand strong, entering through the five largest cave mouths, while the rest remained outside, awaiting orders.

After a full day, reports came in from all directions: the interiors were filled with corpses, growing denser the deeper they went.

As dusk approached, Zhong Pu led his personal guards out and bowed to Zhao Ti: “Your Highness, I’ve met with the other four squads inside—all found no living souls.”

Zhao Ti asked: “Have all areas been thoroughly searched?”

Zhong Pu replied: “Two locations are too perilous; we’ve stationed troops to guard them but have not yet entered.”

Zhao Ti asked: “Where are they?”

Zhong Pu said: “Your Highness, they lie beneath Ghost Fanlou.”

“Beneath?” Zhao Ti frowned. Kaifeng was indeed a city built atop cities, but after a thousand years, soil and water had filled the gaps, and under immense pressure, the gaps between the buried ruins should have vanished—how could one descend further?

“Your Highness, it is not that a whole city lies beneath Ghost Fanlou, but that two places lead down into intact, uncollapsed spaces.”

“What are they?” Zhao Ti mused.

“One is underwater. Ghost Fanlou has a hidden lake, its waters clear and bright; when lit by fire, half a palace is faintly visible beneath. But we believe no one could hide there—no one can hold their breath that long.”

“And the other?” Zhao Ti asked.

“The other was revealed by the little butterfly Cui Chong—extremely hidden, a deep, winding passage, even deeper than the underwater palace. Cui Chong says the cold yin pearl was taken from within, and deep down lies an ancient tomb from an unknown dynasty.”

Zhao Ti considered: “Has Cui Chong identified the leader of Ghost Fanlou?”

“He has. Aside from the Master of Wuyou Cave and the two attendants beside him, everyone else is dead. We suspect the Master of Wuyou Cave entered the passage and hid within the ancient tomb.”

Zhao Ti rubbed his chin. Logically, if there was a passage, smoke should have seeped in; even if the Master of Wuyou Cave had hidden deeper underground, he likely could not have survived—but he would not rest until he saw the corpse.

He asked: “How much wealth is inside?”

Zhong Pu whispered: “Your Highness, there is immense wealth—and as per Your Highness’s earlier order...”

Zhao Ti nodded: “I keep my word. Is it enough to distribute?”

Zhong Pu blushed in shame: “The soldiers have filled their arms; we officers dared not touch anything, awaiting Your Highness’s command.”

Zhao Ti smiled: “The soldiers have worked hard these days—standing guard day and night in armor, armed and alert, and entering the caves was perilous. Since the mission is complete and no complaints arose, they shall be rewarded. You generals may each select a few chests to take.”

“Your Highness, the treasure of Ghost Fanlou is vast; the remainder, I’ve instructed several generals to transport under cover of night to the Wang Fu,” Zhong Pu hurried to say.

Zhao Ti gazed toward the palace: “Some must be sent to the Son of Heaven, but not through this route—the ministers would have something to say. It’s better to bring it first to the Wang Fu.”

“Your Highness’s foresight is impeccable,” Zhong Pu bowed.

“Surround the entrance to the ancient tomb with troops, station more men, keep crossbows aimed, and do not act rashly.”

“I shall return at once to arrange it!”

Watching Zhong Pu leave, Zhao Ti glanced at the sky and ordered his carriage readied for the palace.

Arriving at the palace, he passed through the Left Ye Gate and headed straight for Funing Palace. The imperial study lay at the front; after the eunuch announced him, he was led in and entered the study.

Zhao Xu sat behind his desk in casual robes, writing diligently, yet his expression was utterly lax.

Zhao Ti had never closely observed him before; now he noticed Zhao Xu’s hand holding the brush was as pale as jade, with not a single vein visible, as if carved from stone, and he narrowed his eyes.

“Prince Yan, sit,” Zhao Xu said without looking up, still writing—a Thousand Character Classic.

Zhao Ti sat on the brocade stool and recounted the events at Ghost Fanlou. Zhao Xu set down his brush and nodded: “If this eliminates all future threats, it is truly beneficial to the state and people.”

Zhao Ti said: “Your Majesty, we will likely need to station troops for daily watch—otherwise, once the heat dies down, outsiders will creep back in. Soon, another Ghost Fanlou may arise.”

Zhao Xu sighed: “I know. The root lies not beneath the earth, but in the quality of governance and the people’s livelihood. If the world truly were as Master Anle’s poem says—‘When the old live in peace, spring never fades; orioles and flowers harm no one, sleep beneath the high sun’—how could such a den of filth ever form?”

Zhao Ti fell silent, barely breathing.

Then Zhao Xu suddenly asked: “Prince Yan... do you know the Ming Jiao?”

Huh? Zhao Ti’s heart stirred: “Your Majesty, what is the Ming Jiao?”

“It is the Manichaeism introduced to the Central Plains during the Yan Zai era of Wu Zhou. The common folk call it Ming Jiao—it reveres the flame of light, worshipping anything that illuminates.” Zhao Xu spoke slowly.

“I... do not know,” Zhao Ti shook his head. “Your Majesty, what of this Ming Jiao?”

“I’ve recently received word that the Ming Jiao has been aggressively proselytizing in Jiangnan, far surpassing any previous time—buying popular favor, siphoning wealth to sustain itself. I fear they have ulterior motives.”

Zhao Ti thought: the Ming Jiao’s main temple was now in Jiangnan; thirty years from now, Fang La would rise in the Tianmu Mountains’ Gecetian, scattered by Tong Guan and Huang Shang’s Western Army, then relocate—until the Yuan Dynasty’s founding, when the land fell, they fled far to Kunlun to establish a new Bright Summit.

“Your Majesty’s meaning...”

Zhao Xu said: “There are likely followers hidden even in the capital. I’ve ordered the Jiyi Office and Jisu Fang to investigate. Prince Yan, while operating outside, must remain vigilant.”

Zhao Ti replied: “I understand. I’ll review the texts to learn the Ming Jiao’s doctrines.”

Zhao Xu smiled: “The Secretariat holds surveillance records on the Ming Jiao since the dynasty’s founding. You may request them.”

Zhao Ti nodded, rose, and said: “Your Majesty, I take my leave.”

Leaving Funing Palace, his thoughts swirled. Earlier, Hou San and Zhu Si had mentioned Yang Yunchong kneeling toward empty space at dawn and dusk, speaking of life and fire—he’d already suspected.

He knew little of Jiangnan’s outlaw circles, but he knew the Ming Jiao well: they worshipped the Great Ming Lord, bowed daily, chanted phrases like “What joy in life? What sorrow in death?” and invoked the Sacred Flame.

Thus, the girl, the old man, and Yang Yunchong were all Ming Jiao members.

Zhao Ti pondered all the way back to his mansion. Night had fallen; after dinner, he entered his training chamber. His Yin Finger had reached the peak of the fifth level; the sixth level required more than understanding—it demanded vast internal energy. He estimated he’d need more time before he could achieve it.

At midnight, Zhao Ti left the training chamber. The eunuch Guan Tong crept up quietly and whispered: “Your Highness, I just heard some movement.”

Zhao Ti glanced at him, closed his eyes slightly, and sensed—his gaze turned toward his bedroom. On the roof, a shadow moved slowly.

“Who dares break into the Wang Fu at night?” Zhou Dong’s voice rang from nearby; torches flared up, and palace guards rushed toward the spot.

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