“Huh? Why hasn’t she shown her true form yet?” The little terror circled around Hua’er, scratching his head in confusion.
He had clearly splashed black pig blood and boy’s urine all over Sister Hua’er—why hadn’t she revealed her true form? Could it be that Sister Hua’er really wasn’t a goblin? Then was that scene of her pulling out Brother-in-Law Bumpkin’s intestines just to tease me?! Brother-in-Law Bumpkin must be way too idle and bored!
“What true form? We’ve told you—Hua’er isn’t a goblin.” Li Shu, with her big pregnant belly, stepped forward, tapped the little terror on the head with her finger, and scolded him gently, “Hurry up and apologise to Hua’er.”
“S-sorry, Sister Hua’er.”
This was one of little Rui-ge’er’s rare good traits—he owned up to his mistakes.
“It’s—it’s fine. But Rui-ge’er, why did you call me a goblin?” Hua’er wiped the black dog blood blurring her eyes with her hand. Even now, she was still utterly bewildered, unsure why Rui-ge’er had labelled her a goblin.
“Because at noon, I went to the study to see Brother-in-Law Bumpkin, and I saw you using your mouth to pull his intestines out,” the little terror said, scratching his head. “I didn’t know you and Brother-in-Law Bumpkin were using props to trick me.”
“What? Oh!”
Hua’er froze for a moment after hearing the little terror’s words, then instantly realised what he meant by “pulling out intestines.” Her face turned a deep, burning red—red enough to drip blood. She quickly covered her face with both hands, too embarrassed to face anyone.
“Alright, quick, wipe your face. I’ll have someone prepare a bucket of hot water for you, and you can bathe and change,” Qin’er said, hurriedly handing Hua’er a damp towel to wipe the black dog blood off her face. She helped Hua’er with some basic cleanup and sent a little maid to fetch hot water so Hua’er could wash and change.
By evening, the snow in the capital had long stopped. The clouds cleared, and the setting sun emerged, painting the western sky with a glow of twilight.
Against the backdrop of the sunset, the snow on the rooftops looked like silver mountains, and the snow on the streets resembled a silver dragon.
At the Yan residence.
Yan Shifan stormed back into the Yan residence with Luo Longwen in tow, cursing under his breath as he headed straight for the study.
Inside the study, Yan Song stood at his desk, writing a qingci—a ritual prayer. Four or five completed qingci sheets lay beside him, and he was working on another. Despite his advanced age and stooped back, he wrote tirelessly.
There was no choice—His Majesty constantly held fasting ceremonies, and the demand for qingci was endless.
Stockpiling qingci now and polishing them carefully meant he could present them when His Majesty needed them.
Today, seeing the snow stop and the sun emerge, Yan Song had been struck with inspiration. But though the idea flashed brightly in his mind, putting it to paper always fell short of his satisfaction.
He couldn’t perfectly capture his inspiration.
He’d written five sheets already, none to his liking, and this one—the sixth—was still in progress.
“The snow ceases, the sun rises, the heavens clear and calm. Five-coloured clouds embrace the sun, their brilliance dazzling and radiant like silk. The people gaze and cheer without end. According to the records, it is neither smoke nor cloud, yet dense and swirling, desolate yet grand—this is called an auspicious cloud, also known as a scenic cloud, a sign of good fortune. The Taihu Response and Divine Covenant states: ‘When the Emperor is filial, scenic clouds appear.’ This saying proves true today. It aligns with the omens of this moment. Since the songs of the Yu court ceased and official chronicles omitted them, three thousand years have passed…”
Here, Yan Song paused his brush. The previous sheets had all stalled at this point, leaving him unsure how to continue.
He’d forced himself to write five times, but each attempt felt like a clumsy addition, dissatisfying him.
He believed that if he could perfectly express his inspiration, it would undoubtedly be a qingci that would catch His Majesty’s eye and earn his admiration.
But at this point, he genuinely didn’t know how to proceed.
Just then, Yan Shifan’s grumbling voice came from outside. Yan Song’s face lit up as if a saviour had arrived. He looked toward the door and called out eagerly, “Donglou, quick, come here—help me figure out how to continue this!”
“Old man, how are you still in the mood to write qingci? I’m in no mood to help you finish it!” Yan Shifan stormed into the room, clearly in a foul temper.
“What’s wrong? Is the interrogation not going smoothly?” Yan Song asked.
“Smoothly? Too bloody smoothly! Those captives—the best interrogators from the capital and nearby areas questioned them separately in isolation—and they all reached the same conclusion: the captives presented from Suzhou are genuine wokou pirates, all captured by Zhu Ping’an in the Battle of Suzhou. The details of the battle and their pasts are all authentic, not fabricated. Their statements confirm that little thief Zhu Ping’an achieved an unbelievable victory in Suzhou!”
“And those severed heads? Preliminary checks show they’re real wokou heads—no signs of fakes.”
“It’s basically confirmed—that little thief Zhu Ping’an really did achieve a glorious victory, wiping out forty thousand wokou!”
Yan Shifan practically spat the words through gritted teeth.
“Hmm,” Yan Song nodded, seemingly unsurprised.
“What? Old man, you’re not shocked?” Yan Shifan asked irritably.
“I’m used to preparing for the worst, so I’m not surprised,” Yan Song replied calmly.
“But what preparations have you made?” Yan Shifan pressed, then spotted the qingci. He rolled his eyes and said exasperatedly, “Oh, your preparation is writing qingci? Zhu Ping’an wins a great victory, His Majesty is delighted and holds another fasting ceremony, and you present a qingci to add icing on the cake?!”
“Yes, and no,” Yan Song said, unruffled.
“Old man, stop playing coy and spit it out—I’m dying of frustration here!” Yan Shifan urged impatiently.
“The qingci came from a flash of inspiration today after the snow cleared and the sun shone—a gift from the heavens. But my preparation is something else,” Yan Song said with a slight smile, exuding confidence.
“What else? Stop keeping me in suspense at a time like this!” Yan Shifan pressed, his impatience mounting.
“After hearing of Suzhou’s great victory, I secretly ordered the collection of intelligence from across Jiangnan, to be reported regularly. Take a look—this is a battle report from Jiaxing. The official report hasn’t reached the capital yet. Due to Jiaxing’s special circumstances this time, their official report needs approval from the Zhejiang administration and Zhang Jing before it can be sent to the capital. Estimating the timing, Jiaxing’s official report won’t arrive until the day after tomorrow at the earliest,” Yan Song said, pointing to a document on the desk.
“A battle report from Jiaxing? Did Jiaxing fight the wokou too? But, old man, are you getting senile? Jiaxing is Jiaxing, Suzhou is Suzhou—whatever happens in Jiaxing, win or lose, has nothing to do with Suzhou or Zhu Ping’an. They’re completely unrelated!” Yan Shifan muttered as he reached for the document on the desk, his face full of confusion.
