Faraway Wanderers - Prologue
Faraway Wanderers
Farewell to the Imperial Court
Prologue
Tian Chuang
In the peaceful courtyard, plum blossoms bloomed in lively clusters, their tender petals showing shades of pale pink and white. With each soft breeze, they fell from the branches, drifting down like gentle snow, blending with patches of unmelted snow on the ground, forming a surreal tapestry of nature's elegance. The wind, both playful and purposeful, swirling the petals around the yard, orchestrated a charming dance of colors.
As dusk fell, darkening the landscape with twilight, the moon appeared, hanging just above the eaves. Its cool glow shimmered like liquid silver, creating ghostly shadows that flickered over the stone paths and accentuated the courtyard's features.
In the distant corner, partly hidden by the expansive branches of the plum blossom tree, stood an old corner gate. Its wood appeared weathered and tired, radiating a sense of neglected history. The gate was carefully protected by two formidable men in dark armor that shimmered ominously as the light faded, their eyes sharp and intense as they held their weapons, alert for any threats. Beyond the gate, a large area was cloaked in darkness, but the narrow veranda above offered a stark view of a stone path that twisted down into a pitch-black prison. The atmosphere was heavy and chilling, filled with an overwhelming sense of dread and the persistent smell of decay.
The delicate, sweet scent of the plum blossoms sharply contrasted with the heavy atmosphere around the gate, which it couldn't penetrate into this gloomy area. Inside, the harsh truth was evident—more guards stood firm, armed with different weapons, their faces tense and alert as they vigilantly watched over the cells behind sturdy, unyielding bars akin to a grown man's arm.
As one moved deeper along the dim, narrow prison corridor, three large stone doors appeared. Each was formidable and carefully guarded, featuring complex locking mechanisms meant to prevent unauthorized entry. Beyond these intimidating barriers, there was a strange silence and emptiness, as if the corridor led directly to the underworld, populated by wronged spirits doomed to drift in despair. Flickering lights, similar to will-o’-the-wisps, flickered irregularly, casting ghostly shadows that seemed to pulse with the echoes of a tormented past.
At the far end of the dimly lit prison corridor, a deep male voice echoed gently against the cold stone walls, then there was a brief silence, followed by a tired sigh that seemed to reverberate off the damp concrete.
Suddenly, a piercing scream shattered the oppressive darkness, slicing through the silence like a knife and briefly overpowering the flickering overhead light. The scream was deafening, like that of a wounded animal in pain, and sent shivers through everyone nearby.
One of the two guards outside the cell, a young man with anxious features and wide eyes, trembled involuntarily at the anguished sounds. His heart pounded as he glanced at his partner, an experienced guard with a grim look, standing rigidly like a granite statue, seemingly unaffected by the horror nearby. The newcomer took a deep breath to steady himself, then stared at the ground, averting his gaze from the chilling scene.
But the scream grew louder, sharper, and more frantic, eventually turning into haunting moans and sobs that echoed through the corridor, heightening the trapped soul's suffering. It was a sound filled with despair and hopelessness, reflecting the torment of a life in bondage.
The young guard felt goosebumps on his skin, a cold reminder of the suffering beyond the cell's iron bars — a darkness that affected not only the prisoner but also those who witnessed it. A deep dread took hold of him as he grasped the seriousness of the situation, revealing that the prison's horrors extended beyond its walls.
After the longer incense stick was burned[i], the sound finally died down. A short time passed before two people, looking half dead, dragged out a middle-aged man. His arms were bare, his head lolled to one side, his hair was sweat-soaked, his lips were bitten raw, and blood foamed at the corner of his mouth. There were no visible injuries except for the seven major acupuncture points on his stomach and chest, which were pierced by deep crimson nails. It looked like a horrifying map.
The young guard kept his gaze on the man until he disappeared behind a stone door. Suddenly, a voice spoke from behind him, asking, "Do you have regrets now that you've seen that?"
Trembling with fear, he turned to see a man in turquoise robes who had silently appeared. The other guard had already knelt, so he quickly followed and said, "My lord."
The robed man seemed to be in his late twenties, moving with a scholarly grace, though his complexion showed signs of illness. His face was angular, with bright eyes that often looked downward behind thick eyelashes—a habitual gesture. When he lifted his gaze, a piercing coldness could be seen in his eyes. An aristocratic nose and a sneering curl of his lips gave his attractive appearance a dangerous edge.
After noticing the honorifics, the man glanced at the younger individual and smiled softly. "You must be new."
The young man nodded. "Yes, my lord."
The man then patted him twice on the shoulder and said, "You must remember never to call me that again; the title is no longer mine. Call me Sir Zhou from now on."
The young man quickly glanced up, then looked down again out of respect. "Yes, Sir Zhou."
He nodded and waved his arms, saying, “You two can leave. I need some space for myself.”
The two guards obeyed and left together. The younger guard cast a quick look back at the robed man, who was leaning against the doorframe with vacant, unfocused eyes. It appeared as if he was staring into the distance or lost in thought, suggesting he longed to escape to some distant place.
After the first iron door was closed, the old guard beside him suddenly whispered, “Despite Sir's kind, gracious, and scholarly manner, do you think he is responsible for planting the ‘Nails of Seven Apertures for Three Autumns’ into Old Bi?”
The young guard stared at him in surprise, while the white-haired old man let out a sigh. “You still have a lot to learn. Once you enter ‘Tian Chuang,’ there’s no way to leave. Any attempt to escape will only result in death or severe injury.”
Tian Chuang was an organization composed of intelligence gatherers and assassins loyal only to the Emperor. Their size and whereabouts remain unknown; their influence could reach anywhere. Emperor He Lianyi of House Rong established Tian Chuang during his time as Crown Prince, and by then, it was fully organized and strictly controlled.
The original leader of Tian Chuang was Zhou Zishu, known as 'Sir Zhou,' who wore turquoise robes and previously served as Lord of Si Ji Holdings.
In Tian Chuang, court affairs and peasant issues were openly known. One rule of the organization stated that as long as a person could still speak, they could not leave unless they had died or requested the “Nails.”
The punishment called “Nails of Seven Apertures for Three Autumns” involved driving poisonous nails into the seven vital acupuncture points on a person’s upper body using internal force. This method would block their Eight Meridians[i] The eight extraordinary meridians are of pivotal importance to the study of Traditional Chinese medicine that incorporates the modalities and practices of Qigong, Taijiquan and Chinese alchemy. These eight extra meridians differ from the standard twelve organ meridians in that they are considered to be storage vessels likened to oceans, fields, or reservoirs of energy that are not associated directly with the Zang Fu, i.e. internal organs but have a general influence upon them., severely impairing their martial arts skills and their ability to speak or move. Over three years, the poison would gradually circulate through their body, ultimately resulting in death.
Over those three years, they led a purposeless life, which made the suffer feel even worse than death.
However, some individuals still chose to deliberately enter a nearly unconscious state, yearning to break free from Tian Chuang. For these people, those three years—even with the suffering—were the best gift they could have received, offering a bittersweet escape from their difficult circumstances.
He reached for the box, feeling its smooth exterior beneath his fingertips, and lifted the lid to expose the terrifying small objects inside—the Nails. Each one served as a chilling symbol of brutality, their surfaces reflecting a sinister gleam in the dim light. They carried a grim scent reminiscent of wilted plum blossoms, haunting yet strangely intoxicating. Zhou Zishu took a deep breath, the aroma awakening something dark inside him, then proceeded to undo his robes, getting ready to face the heavy decision ahead.
He seemed to be fairly muscular, but once his robes were taken off, a emaciated body was exposed, as if all vitality had been drained. His gaunt frame bore six nails that appeared to have been embedded for a long time, nearly merging with the flesh.
He looked down at his body, smiling mockingly at himself and picking up a nearby knife. Slightly gritting his teeth, he quickly cut away the flesh clinging to the nails as if it were not his own flesh. His chest quickly soaked with blood, but the nails looked new again.
As if a force had been unleashed, he cried out in agony, leaning weakly against the corner wall and gradually sliding down. His body shook uncontrollably, his lips turned deathly pale, and his teeth remained clenched. Suddenly, he convulsed; his eyes widened, then gradually shut, and his head twisted to one side.
Blanched and covered in blood, he looked like a corpse.
The man in the corner of the cell twitched only after dawn. His eyes opened slowly, and he attempted to stand, but his weak legs failed, causing him to fall. After a second try, he managed to rise slightly, using a cloth dipped in water to gently wipe most of the blood from his chest. He then redressed himself and picked up a nail to hide in his robes.
Breathing deeply, he stood motionless for a moment, eyes closed, then decisively opened the cell door and walked outside.
Zhou Zishu emerged from the bleak prison and was greeted by the fresh scent of blooming plum blossoms in the courtyard ahead. The gentle fragrance seemed to absorb into his very soul, removing the scent of blood and despair lingering on him. He paused for a few moments under a large plum tree, breathing in the sweet aroma deeply, a subtle, involuntary smile forming on his face as he found comfort in the natural beauty surrounding him.
However, the calm was brief. He exhaled softly as he accepted reality again and quietly asked, “Is anyone here?”
A shadowy figure in black appeared as if emerging from the night itself. The figure bowed subtly, signaling his readiness. Without delay, Zhou Zishu handed over a faded command token, showing signs of wear, and said, “Summon Head Butler Duan to join me in meeting His Majesty.”
The figure quickly took the token, then vanished into the darkness just as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving no sign of its presence.
Head Butler Duan Pengju was a man Zhou Zishu personally promoted to this trusted role after assuming control of Tian Chuang. Known for his sharp mind and strong ambition, Duan was skilled at navigating complex court politics. Sometimes, Zhou Zishu saw a reflection of his younger self in Duan’s resolute gaze, intense and full of promise.
Duan Pengju quickly appeared before him, clutching the command token with a bewildered expression. Members of the organization rarely revealed themselves publicly, and except for Zhou Zishu, very few had the chance to meet with the Emperor.
Zhou Zishu spoke calmly and briefly, then gestured for Duan to join him for breakfast in the simple dining space. After a relaxed meal filled with quiet talk and camaraderie, Zhou Zishu stood up and said firmly, “Let’s go.” He knew the Emperor would hold an early court meeting, so every moment counted.
As they headed toward the palace, Duan Pengju trailed quietly, uncertain about his master’s plans.
They finally arrived at the Emperor’s study, where His Majesty He Lianyi was already waiting. He quickly sent them inside. After exchanging greetings, Zhou Zishu pulled a bamboo tube from his sleeve and handed it to He Lianyi. “Your Majesty, here is the outcome of the last mission,” he said.
He Lianyi took the tube but didn't check its contents right away. Instead, he studied Zhou Zishu carefully and frowned. “You’ve been looking more unwell lately. You must call for the royal physician afterward. Don't depend only on your youthful strength and ignore any internal injuries.”
Zhou Zishu smiled but did not nod, replying, “I do not deserve Your Majesty’s concern.”
After a moment of surprise, He Lianyi looked at Duan Pengju and asked, “Why are you here too, Pengju? It's been a while since I last saw you. You still seem to be in good spirits.”
Duan Pengju smiled, with narrowed eyes, saying, “It is a great honor to still be in Your Majesty’s thoughts.”
He Lianyi realized Zhou Zishu had more to tell him, so he focused on the bamboo tube first, taking out a small note from inside. He quickly glanced over it with a smile, then looked up at Zhou Zishu. “That was flawless. What do you want as a reward this time, Zishu?”
Zhou Zishu suddenly knelt, pulling Duan Pengju with him, unsure of what else to do.
He Lianyi frowned and asked, “What are you doing?”
Zhou Zishu, almost out of breath, replied softly, “I only dare to ask one favor from Your Majesty.”
He Lianyi chuckled and said, “There’s no need to kneel. After risking your life for me, do you really believe I wouldn’t give you anything you want? Just stand up and tell me.”
Zhou Zishu straightened his back but stayed kneeling. He quietly peeled away the outer layers of his heavy robes, and the smell of blood filled the room. His recently scabbed wounds had reopened, probably due to the rocky horse ride.
“Zishu!” He Lianyi exclaimed as he jumped to his feet.
Duan Pengju stood frozen in silence, terrified.
Zhou Zishu opened his slender palm to show a single nail resting in it. "Your Majesty, I have already driven six of these into myself. The seventh would incapacitate me from handling royal duties. I have come to bid farewell and kindly ask that Pengju fulfill my last wish."
He Lianyi was shocked and silent. After a moment, he slumped into his seat, gaze drifting to the beams on the study ceiling as he muttered, “Yun Xing is in the far northwest, Beiyuan no longer exists... and now you are leaving me as well?"
Zhou Zishu remained silent.
He Lianyi, after a moment of thought, sighed and said, “I really am alone, aren’t I?”
Zhou Zishu answered, “Your Majesty need not worry about Tian Chuang. Pengju has supported me for years, and I trust his abilities…”
Duan Pengju interrupted, saying, “My lord! You must not say that. I’ve never had such intentions... You... You cannot…”
Zhou Zishu whispered, “They are the Nails of Seven Apertures for Three Autumns. I will die after three years. The bow has been drawn; it cannot be stopped.”
He bowed to He Lianyi and refused to look up even after finishing. “Please consider my years of service to Your Majesty and grant my wish.”
He Lianyi gazed stiffly at the bloodstained man, and at that moment, no one could tell what the fair emperor was thinking. His caution, meticulous calculations, memories of wars, and bitter struggles. After all those years, he had finally seized the throne. Yet, everyone he once considered close to him was gone, leaving him all alone.
No one can escape the inevitability of this world or the passage of time.
After a long while, he closed his eyes and waved his arm.
The corner of Zhou Zishu’s lips turned up into a smile. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
He appeared as if he'd just heard the funniest story, his pale face slightly flushed with enjoyment. Turning to Duan Pengju, he, with a wicked sense of satisfaction, commanded, “Do it.”
Duan Pengju hesitated briefly, then bit his lip and raised the faintly crimson object to pierce his lord’s body. Having seen such scenes many times before, he knew this act would cause excruciating pain, so intense that even the strongest man would scream and cower. However, Zhou Zishu only trembled slightly, standing stiffly and straight. There were no screams, only faint, inaudible groans.
Even those groans seemed to contain an element of joy.
Duan Pengju thought his Lord must have lost his mind.
Zhou Zishu stayed silent for a long moment before turning to He Lianyi, with his head bowed and his face pale as paper.
The strength in his body slowly waned, and numbness crept in. His last words were, “Your Majesty must take care.”
Without waiting for a response from He Lianyi, he walked out of the study, shedding the burdens of the years as if they were as light as feathers. His silhouette seemed to flash for a moment, then vanish without a trace.
As dusk fell, darkening the landscape with twilight, the moon appeared, hanging just above the eaves. Its cool glow shimmered like liquid silver, creating ghostly shadows that flickered over the stone paths and accentuated the courtyard's features.
In the distant corner, partly hidden by the expansive branches of the plum blossom tree, stood an old corner gate. Its wood appeared weathered and tired, radiating a sense of neglected history. The gate was carefully protected by two formidable men in dark armor that shimmered ominously as the light faded, their eyes sharp and intense as they held their weapons, alert for any threats. Beyond the gate, a large area was cloaked in darkness, but the narrow veranda above offered a stark view of a stone path that twisted down into a pitch-black prison. The atmosphere was heavy and chilling, filled with an overwhelming sense of dread and the persistent smell of decay.
The delicate, sweet scent of the plum blossoms sharply contrasted with the heavy atmosphere around the gate, which it couldn't penetrate into this gloomy area. Inside, the harsh truth was evident—more guards stood firm, armed with different weapons, their faces tense and alert as they vigilantly watched over the cells behind sturdy, unyielding bars akin to a grown man's arm.
As one moved deeper along the dim, narrow prison corridor, three large stone doors appeared. Each was formidable and carefully guarded, featuring complex locking mechanisms meant to prevent unauthorized entry. Beyond these intimidating barriers, there was a strange silence and emptiness, as if the corridor led directly to the underworld, populated by wronged spirits doomed to drift in despair. Flickering lights, similar to will-o’-the-wisps, flickered irregularly, casting ghostly shadows that seemed to pulse with the echoes of a tormented past.
At the far end of the dimly lit prison corridor, a deep male voice echoed gently against the cold stone walls, then there was a brief silence, followed by a tired sigh that seemed to reverberate off the damp concrete.
Suddenly, a piercing scream shattered the oppressive darkness, slicing through the silence like a knife and briefly overpowering the flickering overhead light. The scream was deafening, like that of a wounded animal in pain, and sent shivers through everyone nearby.
One of the two guards outside the cell, a young man with anxious features and wide eyes, trembled involuntarily at the anguished sounds. His heart pounded as he glanced at his partner, an experienced guard with a grim look, standing rigidly like a granite statue, seemingly unaffected by the horror nearby. The newcomer took a deep breath to steady himself, then stared at the ground, averting his gaze from the chilling scene.
But the scream grew louder, sharper, and more frantic, eventually turning into haunting moans and sobs that echoed through the corridor, heightening the trapped soul's suffering. It was a sound filled with despair and hopelessness, reflecting the torment of a life in bondage.
The young guard felt goosebumps on his skin, a cold reminder of the suffering beyond the cell's iron bars — a darkness that affected not only the prisoner but also those who witnessed it. A deep dread took hold of him as he grasped the seriousness of the situation, revealing that the prison's horrors extended beyond its walls.
After the longer incense stick was burned[i], the sound finally died down. A short time passed before two people, looking half dead, dragged out a middle-aged man. His arms were bare, his head lolled to one side, his hair was sweat-soaked, his lips were bitten raw, and blood foamed at the corner of his mouth. There were no visible injuries except for the seven major acupuncture points on his stomach and chest, which were pierced by deep crimson nails. It looked like a horrifying map.
The young guard kept his gaze on the man until he disappeared behind a stone door. Suddenly, a voice spoke from behind him, asking, "Do you have regrets now that you've seen that?"
Trembling with fear, he turned to see a man in turquoise robes who had silently appeared. The other guard had already knelt, so he quickly followed and said, "My lord."
The robed man seemed to be in his late twenties, moving with a scholarly grace, though his complexion showed signs of illness. His face was angular, with bright eyes that often looked downward behind thick eyelashes—a habitual gesture. When he lifted his gaze, a piercing coldness could be seen in his eyes. An aristocratic nose and a sneering curl of his lips gave his attractive appearance a dangerous edge.
After noticing the honorifics, the man glanced at the younger individual and smiled softly. "You must be new."
The young man nodded. "Yes, my lord."
The man then patted him twice on the shoulder and said, "You must remember never to call me that again; the title is no longer mine. Call me Sir Zhou from now on."
The young man quickly glanced up, then looked down again out of respect. "Yes, Sir Zhou."
He nodded and waved his arms, saying, “You two can leave. I need some space for myself.”
The two guards obeyed and left together. The younger guard cast a quick look back at the robed man, who was leaning against the doorframe with vacant, unfocused eyes. It appeared as if he was staring into the distance or lost in thought, suggesting he longed to escape to some distant place.
After the first iron door was closed, the old guard beside him suddenly whispered, “Despite Sir's kind, gracious, and scholarly manner, do you think he is responsible for planting the ‘Nails of Seven Apertures for Three Autumns’ into Old Bi?”
The young guard stared at him in surprise, while the white-haired old man let out a sigh. “You still have a lot to learn. Once you enter ‘Tian Chuang,’ there’s no way to leave. Any attempt to escape will only result in death or severe injury.”
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
By the fourth year of Rong Jia's rule in Da Qing, merely mentioning ‘Tian Chuang’ could evoke fear throughout the court.Tian Chuang was an organization composed of intelligence gatherers and assassins loyal only to the Emperor. Their size and whereabouts remain unknown; their influence could reach anywhere. Emperor He Lianyi of House Rong established Tian Chuang during his time as Crown Prince, and by then, it was fully organized and strictly controlled.
The original leader of Tian Chuang was Zhou Zishu, known as 'Sir Zhou,' who wore turquoise robes and previously served as Lord of Si Ji Holdings.
In Tian Chuang, court affairs and peasant issues were openly known. One rule of the organization stated that as long as a person could still speak, they could not leave unless they had died or requested the “Nails.”
The punishment called “Nails of Seven Apertures for Three Autumns” involved driving poisonous nails into the seven vital acupuncture points on a person’s upper body using internal force. This method would block their Eight Meridians[i] The eight extraordinary meridians are of pivotal importance to the study of Traditional Chinese medicine that incorporates the modalities and practices of Qigong, Taijiquan and Chinese alchemy. These eight extra meridians differ from the standard twelve organ meridians in that they are considered to be storage vessels likened to oceans, fields, or reservoirs of energy that are not associated directly with the Zang Fu, i.e. internal organs but have a general influence upon them., severely impairing their martial arts skills and their ability to speak or move. Over three years, the poison would gradually circulate through their body, ultimately resulting in death.
Over those three years, they led a purposeless life, which made the suffer feel even worse than death.
However, some individuals still chose to deliberately enter a nearly unconscious state, yearning to break free from Tian Chuang. For these people, those three years—even with the suffering—were the best gift they could have received, offering a bittersweet escape from their difficult circumstances.
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
After dismissing everyone with a brief nod, Zhou Zishu returned to the small, dimly lit cell, the heavy door creaking as he shut it behind him. Standing with his hands clasped behind his back, he paced the limited space, deep in thought, his brow furrowing with each reflection. The flickering light cast shadows on the stone walls, reflecting his inner conflict. Suddenly, he stopped in a corner of the room, his eyes fixed on a small, intricately carved box hidden among the sparse furnishings.He reached for the box, feeling its smooth exterior beneath his fingertips, and lifted the lid to expose the terrifying small objects inside—the Nails. Each one served as a chilling symbol of brutality, their surfaces reflecting a sinister gleam in the dim light. They carried a grim scent reminiscent of wilted plum blossoms, haunting yet strangely intoxicating. Zhou Zishu took a deep breath, the aroma awakening something dark inside him, then proceeded to undo his robes, getting ready to face the heavy decision ahead.
He seemed to be fairly muscular, but once his robes were taken off, a emaciated body was exposed, as if all vitality had been drained. His gaunt frame bore six nails that appeared to have been embedded for a long time, nearly merging with the flesh.
He looked down at his body, smiling mockingly at himself and picking up a nearby knife. Slightly gritting his teeth, he quickly cut away the flesh clinging to the nails as if it were not his own flesh. His chest quickly soaked with blood, but the nails looked new again.
As if a force had been unleashed, he cried out in agony, leaning weakly against the corner wall and gradually sliding down. His body shook uncontrollably, his lips turned deathly pale, and his teeth remained clenched. Suddenly, he convulsed; his eyes widened, then gradually shut, and his head twisted to one side.
Blanched and covered in blood, he looked like a corpse.
The man in the corner of the cell twitched only after dawn. His eyes opened slowly, and he attempted to stand, but his weak legs failed, causing him to fall. After a second try, he managed to rise slightly, using a cloth dipped in water to gently wipe most of the blood from his chest. He then redressed himself and picked up a nail to hide in his robes.
Breathing deeply, he stood motionless for a moment, eyes closed, then decisively opened the cell door and walked outside.
Zhou Zishu emerged from the bleak prison and was greeted by the fresh scent of blooming plum blossoms in the courtyard ahead. The gentle fragrance seemed to absorb into his very soul, removing the scent of blood and despair lingering on him. He paused for a few moments under a large plum tree, breathing in the sweet aroma deeply, a subtle, involuntary smile forming on his face as he found comfort in the natural beauty surrounding him.
However, the calm was brief. He exhaled softly as he accepted reality again and quietly asked, “Is anyone here?”
A shadowy figure in black appeared as if emerging from the night itself. The figure bowed subtly, signaling his readiness. Without delay, Zhou Zishu handed over a faded command token, showing signs of wear, and said, “Summon Head Butler Duan to join me in meeting His Majesty.”
The figure quickly took the token, then vanished into the darkness just as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving no sign of its presence.
Head Butler Duan Pengju was a man Zhou Zishu personally promoted to this trusted role after assuming control of Tian Chuang. Known for his sharp mind and strong ambition, Duan was skilled at navigating complex court politics. Sometimes, Zhou Zishu saw a reflection of his younger self in Duan’s resolute gaze, intense and full of promise.
Duan Pengju quickly appeared before him, clutching the command token with a bewildered expression. Members of the organization rarely revealed themselves publicly, and except for Zhou Zishu, very few had the chance to meet with the Emperor.
Zhou Zishu spoke calmly and briefly, then gestured for Duan to join him for breakfast in the simple dining space. After a relaxed meal filled with quiet talk and camaraderie, Zhou Zishu stood up and said firmly, “Let’s go.” He knew the Emperor would hold an early court meeting, so every moment counted.
As they headed toward the palace, Duan Pengju trailed quietly, uncertain about his master’s plans.
They finally arrived at the Emperor’s study, where His Majesty He Lianyi was already waiting. He quickly sent them inside. After exchanging greetings, Zhou Zishu pulled a bamboo tube from his sleeve and handed it to He Lianyi. “Your Majesty, here is the outcome of the last mission,” he said.
He Lianyi took the tube but didn't check its contents right away. Instead, he studied Zhou Zishu carefully and frowned. “You’ve been looking more unwell lately. You must call for the royal physician afterward. Don't depend only on your youthful strength and ignore any internal injuries.”
Zhou Zishu smiled but did not nod, replying, “I do not deserve Your Majesty’s concern.”
After a moment of surprise, He Lianyi looked at Duan Pengju and asked, “Why are you here too, Pengju? It's been a while since I last saw you. You still seem to be in good spirits.”
Duan Pengju smiled, with narrowed eyes, saying, “It is a great honor to still be in Your Majesty’s thoughts.”
He Lianyi realized Zhou Zishu had more to tell him, so he focused on the bamboo tube first, taking out a small note from inside. He quickly glanced over it with a smile, then looked up at Zhou Zishu. “That was flawless. What do you want as a reward this time, Zishu?”
Zhou Zishu suddenly knelt, pulling Duan Pengju with him, unsure of what else to do.
He Lianyi frowned and asked, “What are you doing?”
Zhou Zishu, almost out of breath, replied softly, “I only dare to ask one favor from Your Majesty.”
He Lianyi chuckled and said, “There’s no need to kneel. After risking your life for me, do you really believe I wouldn’t give you anything you want? Just stand up and tell me.”
Zhou Zishu straightened his back but stayed kneeling. He quietly peeled away the outer layers of his heavy robes, and the smell of blood filled the room. His recently scabbed wounds had reopened, probably due to the rocky horse ride.
“Zishu!” He Lianyi exclaimed as he jumped to his feet.
Duan Pengju stood frozen in silence, terrified.
Zhou Zishu opened his slender palm to show a single nail resting in it. "Your Majesty, I have already driven six of these into myself. The seventh would incapacitate me from handling royal duties. I have come to bid farewell and kindly ask that Pengju fulfill my last wish."
He Lianyi was shocked and silent. After a moment, he slumped into his seat, gaze drifting to the beams on the study ceiling as he muttered, “Yun Xing is in the far northwest, Beiyuan no longer exists... and now you are leaving me as well?"
Zhou Zishu remained silent.
He Lianyi, after a moment of thought, sighed and said, “I really am alone, aren’t I?”
Zhou Zishu answered, “Your Majesty need not worry about Tian Chuang. Pengju has supported me for years, and I trust his abilities…”
Duan Pengju interrupted, saying, “My lord! You must not say that. I’ve never had such intentions... You... You cannot…”
Zhou Zishu whispered, “They are the Nails of Seven Apertures for Three Autumns. I will die after three years. The bow has been drawn; it cannot be stopped.”
He bowed to He Lianyi and refused to look up even after finishing. “Please consider my years of service to Your Majesty and grant my wish.”
He Lianyi gazed stiffly at the bloodstained man, and at that moment, no one could tell what the fair emperor was thinking. His caution, meticulous calculations, memories of wars, and bitter struggles. After all those years, he had finally seized the throne. Yet, everyone he once considered close to him was gone, leaving him all alone.
No one can escape the inevitability of this world or the passage of time.
After a long while, he closed his eyes and waved his arm.
The corner of Zhou Zishu’s lips turned up into a smile. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
He appeared as if he'd just heard the funniest story, his pale face slightly flushed with enjoyment. Turning to Duan Pengju, he, with a wicked sense of satisfaction, commanded, “Do it.”
Duan Pengju hesitated briefly, then bit his lip and raised the faintly crimson object to pierce his lord’s body. Having seen such scenes many times before, he knew this act would cause excruciating pain, so intense that even the strongest man would scream and cower. However, Zhou Zishu only trembled slightly, standing stiffly and straight. There were no screams, only faint, inaudible groans.
Even those groans seemed to contain an element of joy.
Duan Pengju thought his Lord must have lost his mind.
Zhou Zishu stayed silent for a long moment before turning to He Lianyi, with his head bowed and his face pale as paper.
The strength in his body slowly waned, and numbness crept in. His last words were, “Your Majesty must take care.”
Without waiting for a response from He Lianyi, he walked out of the study, shedding the burdens of the years as if they were as light as feathers. His silhouette seemed to flash for a moment, then vanish without a trace.
[i] A typical incense stick burns for 30 to 60 minutes, but this can vary greatly depending on the stick's size, thickness, and composition.
- Standard incense sticks: Approximately 30 to 40 minutes.
- Longer or thicker sticks: 45 to 60 minutes or more.
[2] The eight extraordinary ans are of pivotal importance to the study of Traditional Chinese medicine that incorporates the modalities and practices of Qigong, Taijiquan and Chinese alchemy. These eight extra meridians differ from the standard twelve organ meridians in that they are considered to be storage vessels likened to oceans, fields, or reservoirs of energy that are not associated directly with the Zang Fu, i.e. internal organs but have a general influence upon them.
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