Chapter 78: Chang'an, Both Familiar and Strange

Chang'an City remained as majestic as ever beneath the sunlight, its towering walls casting long shadows. Countless carriages and pedestrians passed in and out of the gates, as if the city itself were a colossal, terrifying beast that devoured all who entered. Lu Liao shook his head hard, unable to dispel the strange notion from his mind.

He greeted Lu Jiu, scooped up Bai Liangqi, and with Zhou Liuzi and Pei Wuniang in tow, rode home along familiar streets. Yet, when they arrived, he found the courtyard gate tightly shut, the plaque above the entrance gone without a trace.

Surprised, he knocked for some time before the door creaked open, revealing the aged, white-haired Zheng Bo.

“Young master, you’ve returned,” Zheng Bo said, ushering the four inside and closing the door behind them.

“Zheng Bo, what’s happened?” Lu Liao was momentarily bewildered.

“Everyone’s moved to the new courtyard next door. That place is spacious and comfortable—so many people live there, yet it still feels empty. Hardly anyone remains in this old house.” As he spoke, Zheng Bo tottered forward, cane in hand, leading them toward the passage connecting the two courtyards.

Only Lu Manman and Tang Xiaoqi would think to plant medicinal herbs throughout a perfectly good back garden. At that moment, Tang Xiaoqi, with her young maid Ping’er, was diligently watering the seedlings.

Suddenly, Lu Liao, wearing a headscarf, appeared from the moon gate in the back garden, followed by a strikingly beautiful, spirited girl of sixteen or seventeen, and a child of seven or eight. At first glance, they seemed a family of three.

Tang Xiaoqi’s watering can clattered to the ground, her gaze fixed on Lu Liao. She spoke timidly, “Liao, you’re back.”

Ignoring the others present, Lu Liao stepped forward and embraced Tang Xiaoqi, overwhelmed by emotion and tinged with guilt. “Yes, I’ve returned.”

Pei Wuniang stared at Tang Xiaoqi for a long while, unable to resist exclaiming, “Ah! Senior brother, you’re truly fortunate to have such a fairy-like lady hidden in your household.”

Tang Xiaoqi blushed, gently pushing Lu Liao away and offering Pei Wuniang a graceful salute. “You must be Emil’s sister?”

Pei Wuniang’s mouth fell open, stunned.

Lu Liao felt a pang in his chest, stroked Tang Xiaoqi’s head, and spoke in a hoarse voice, “This is my junior sister, Pei Wuniang, granddaughter of General Pei Min, the Sword Sage.” He pointed to Bai Liangqi. “This is my disciple Bai Liangqi, son of Magistrate Bai Zao of Huojia County in Weizhou. Please arrange their lodging. I must visit my grandfather; we’ll speak of the rest tonight.”

When Lu Manman learned that his granddaughter-in-law and unborn great-grandson had died tragically, he seemed to age overnight, retreating silently to his room and skipping supper.

Lu Liao placed Emil’s memorial tablet in the family shrine before going to see Hu Laoda, who had miraculously survived two arrow wounds.

Before Lu Liao could speak, the now-healed Hu Laoda knelt with a thud and slapped himself hard.

“It was wrong of me to tell the young mistress that you’d eloped with Emil after being captivated by her beauty. I was mistaken, truly mistaken!” he cried.

Lu Liao’s feelings were a tangled mess; he forced a bitter smile. “So, what did the young mistress say?”

Hu Laoda glanced up furtively, replying, “She didn’t believe me. She said you’d surely return. It seems she was right.”

“Get up! Has your fainting-at-the-sight-of-blood problem been cured?” Lu Liao shot him a glare.

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“This... I think it’s gone. When I was shot twice, I thought I was done for. I rushed forward and chopped off a bandit’s head—blood splattered all over me, but I didn’t faint.” Hu Laoda grinned, proud.

Lu Liao didn’t linger, soon departing, and Hu Laoda finally breathed easy. He noticed that the young master spoke less and seldom smiled since his return, yet somehow inspired more fear than before.

That night, after hearing Emil’s story, Tang Xiaoqi wept until she was a figure of tears. She curled into Lu Liao’s arms, needing his embrace for comfort and security.

When she’d first heard Hu Laoda’s words, she’d feigned calm, but inside, sorrow lingered for a long time. Now, for that poor departed girl, she felt no jealousy or resentment. Had she not met the bold bandit Tang Xiaoqi, nor encountered Lu Liao, would her fate have been any better than Emil’s?

In the old house’s backyard, an ancient locust tree seemed to burst with youthful vigor, its lush branches stretching out to shield the monk Wuhua and the infant in his arms from the harsh sun.

Lu Liao reached to hold the two-month-old child, but the baby turned away, wailing loudly. Embarrassed, Lu Liao withdrew his hand, only to see Wuhua’s proud, smug face.

“Too bad—it’s not a daughter,” Lu Liao said regretfully.

“If you want a daughter, you’ll have to try yourself,” Wuhua replied, lifting his son high. The boy giggled.

“Xiaoqi, let’s go.” Lu Liao, face dark, called to Tang Xiaoqi, who was whispering to Luoluo in the house.

Tang Xiaoqi followed, timid and guilty, as if weighed down by an enormous burden.

After two days of tireless efforts to conceive, Lu Liao knew he could not avoid certain matters. He took Bai Liangqi to Yuzhen Temple.

Princess Yuzhen sat high in the hall, with two young priestesses fanning her and holding a cup of iced tea. Her expression was cold, as if she hadn’t noticed the arrival of Lu Liao and his disciple.

Lu Liao knelt with a thud, Bai Liangqi, uncertain, followed suit.

Princess Yuzhen, so noble and elegant, would never unleash her anger with harsh words. She simply sat in silence, forcing those below to kneel in obedience—an ordeal far more torturous for Lu Liao.

After what felt like the time it takes incense to burn, Bai Liangqi was grimacing in pain. Lu Liao pinched his backside, making him cry out, tears brimming as he glared at Lu Liao.

Princess Yuzhen frowned, motioned toward Bai Liangqi, and the two priestesses led him away to the side hall.

“A disciple of Guigu, a student of the Poet Immortal, reduced to a clerk for a merchant’s guild, and skipping the crucial imperial examinations. I wonder, what charm does that merchant’s daughter possess to turn your head so completely?” Princess Yuzhen’s phoenix eyes widened, brows furrowed in anger.

Lu Liao knew she misunderstood, but could not explain. His head bowed deeply, he stammered, “I know I was wrong!”

“You’re just like your drunken master—a lecher! At least he married the noble granddaughter of a prime minister. But you? Entangled with a merchant’s daughter—what is that?” Princess Yuzhen slammed her cup down, clearly furious.

Cold sweat dripped from Lu Liao; he dared not defend himself.

“This year, drought struck Guanzhong, and crops were poor. My estates used your composting method, and yields increased. Had you passed the imperial exam, I could have praised your achievements before the Emperor, and your prospects would have soared. Now, your credit has been stolen by the cunning Li Linfu.”

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Princess Yuzhen pointed at Lu Liao, her face full of disappointment.

Lu Liao had never imagined that the opportunity he had sought so desperately would slip away so easily, yet he felt no regret. He only bowed lower, unable to meet her gaze.

“Get up, you useless thing,” Princess Yuzhen said, exasperated.

Lu Liao rubbed his numb legs, hurried to refill her tea, and took up the fan, diligently waving it.

Princess Yuzhen’s heart softened, her stern expression relaxing slightly. She asked, seemingly offhand, “How is your new mistress?”

“She’s young and beautiful, gentle and courteous, but she can’t compare to your noble bearing,” Lu Liao replied carefully.

“What use is nobility? It never matches youth and beauty. Look at that fox spirit in the palace—arrogant enough to defy the Emperor, expelled for less than a month before being recalled and favored more than ever. Even her sisters are not to be trifled with. Men, always fickle and forgetful.”

Princess Yuzhen spoke with deep melancholy, her mood troubled, and waved Lu Liao away.

Sitting in the room of Xilin Aunt at the Huji Tavern, Lu Liao endured her endless questions before letting out a long sigh.

“It’s reassuring to know someone is looking after him,” Xilin said, wiping her tears as she handed Lu Liao a booklet.

“Master is well, Aunt—you need not worry,” Lu Liao comforted her, then began to read.

“That old man is sixty-five, yet with the world’s most beautiful woman, he’s still unsatisfied, appointing so many interviewers to seek new beauties for him. One meal costs the fortunes of dozens of families. Oh, Emperor, oh Emperor,” Lu Liao muttered as he read.

“Wait, that Censor Ji Wen is supposed to be Li Linfu’s man—why is he speaking for the noble consort before the Emperor? Censor Song Hun and Minister Xiao Jiong too. Looks like Censor Yang Zhao is beginning to cut off the prime minister’s faction,” Lu Liao murmured, lost in thought.

King Geluofeng of Nanzhao rebelled, attacking Yunnan, killing Zhang Qiantuo, and taking thirty-two southwestern prefectures. At this news, Lu Liao froze.

He’d been in Chang’an several days, yet neither the common folk nor officials spoke of it. Even Princess Yuzhen had not mentioned it.

The Emperor lived in luxury, lost in wine and women. Officials squabbled for power, the city filled with song and dance. The bustling capital seemed to have entirely forgotten the rebellion on the southwestern frontier—the lost prefectures, the displaced people.

Opening the window, gazing at the majestic city beneath the blue sky, Lu Liao was suddenly swept by a sense of unfamiliarity.

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