ITIEQ C46

Chapter 46 – The White Lotus Temple

“Xiaorou, why have you come here?”

Gongyang Ci gently took the tea tray from his wife’s hands, studying her face with concern before speaking: “Your health is frail. You mustn’t do these chores anymore.”

Wei Qiong only smiled softly, letting him ease her down into a seat.

“The tea leaves are Spring Buds I brought with me when I left home for marriage, and the water is from last year’s first snow gathered on Green Plum Mountain.” With graceful motions, Wei Qiong brewed two cups, delicately setting one before Shen Qinghe. “You seldom entertain guests. If you do have a friend come visit, of course I ought to fulfill the duty of a hostess.”

“Well met, my lady.” Shen Qinghe gave her a polite salute, then said with a smile, “I’d heard much of your fine reputation. You are indeed like a celestial maid descending to earth.”

Wei Qiong’s ears flushed red. A faint medicinal fragrance clung to her. Her manner was gentle and refined, her speech mild. When her lips curved, the light dimple at her cheek appeared delicate as a spring blossom. Shen Qinghe thought to himself—yes, so this was how women of noble households in this era must look.

Because of fragile health, Wei Qiong rarely left home. By contrast, Shen Qinghe, with his versatile looks that could appeal to both young and old, easily charmed when he chose to act innocent. And so the two sank readily into conversation—forgetting Gongyang Ci who stood quietly nearby.

It was only when Wei Qiong asked if Shen Qinghe had yet taken a wife that Gongyang Ci could no longer hold back, interjecting curtly. At that exact moment a warm wind blew through, giving him full excuse to half-embrace his wife protectively. His tone tightened: “It grows late, and the wind is rising. Lord Shen, let us speak again another day.”

Altogether the visit had lasted barely half an hour.

Shen Qinghe merely smiled. “Then I shall take my leave.”

As he rose, Gongyang Ci suddenly called him back. A servant came forward with a cloak. Gongyang Ci bent low first, murmured a few words of gentle reproach to his wife, and then carefully wrapped her entire body in the cloak, sealing out stray drafts. Only then did he turn back to Shen Qinghe.

“Soon it will be the Festival of the Third of the Third Lunar Month*¹. You and I live far from home and haven’t joined the rites in many years. The date this year is auspicious. I plan to go pray for disaster-aversion and for my wife’s recovery. Would Lord Shen join me?”

The Festival rite, called Xiu Xié (修褉), was popular among southern aristocracy. It was held by riverbanks, with participants bathing in fragrant flowered water to cleanse illness, ward off demons, and offer prayers.

In other words—it was essentially everyone bathing together in the river.

Shen Qinghe declined with a smile. “I will not intrude. Lord Gongyang’s good intentions will surely move the spirits, and your lady wife will regain her health.”

He had offended too many southern nobles already—several of them from those Five Great Surnames. If bathing rites truly held spiritual power, many would be praying for him to be possessed by demons rather than for his safety.

Leaving by the winding path among the forests, Shen Qinghe mused to himself. It seemed tales of their happy marriage were no lie. Gongyang Ci cherished his wife as he would his own eyeballs.

A man who loves his wife so deeply cannot be all that bad.

“Shen Qinghe—!”

While still lost in thought, the familiar shout jolted him back. A young general in white pulled up on horseback, reining in his mount. The golden spear in his hand caught sunlight, flashing with scales of brilliance, his demeanor proud and dashing.

“Brother Yao!” Shen Qinghe exclaimed in surprise. “Didn’t you go to the capital? How have you returned so soon?”

“That place— I cannot stand long there. Nothing compares to the Northwest’s freedom. I rode back on horseback. If not for… delays, I would’ve been here days earlier.”

Yao Guang dismounted in a leap, unable to resist boasting. He lifted the long spear before Shen Qinghe. “This was gifted me by His Majesty! Tell me—isn’t it magnificent?”

He held it with the eager air of “Go on, touch it!” Shen Qinghe obliged, running his hand along the shaft from end to tip. It was warm to the touch, yet its blade sharp with chilling edge. The carved patterns were exquisite, even inlaid with inscriptions. Truly a divine weapon.

“Magnificent!”

His heart skipped—genuine envy stirred inside him. What man could resist his blood stirring at such an armament?

Overexcited, Yao Guang even tossed the Tyrant-Slayer Spear directly into Shen Qinghe’s arms. Nearly knocked over by its heavy weight, Shen Qinghe staggered—almost dislocating his arm.

“Like a chick you are!” Yao Guang burst out laughing at his glare, before helpfully hefting the weapon back up. Shen Qinghe rubbed his sore wrist bitterly, dignity dented.

He did run every morning; only recently with summer’s heat had he skipped some. But compared with Yao Guang, raised daily among steel and battle… there was no comparison. Even the foreign wolf cub not half his height bore terrifying raw strength.

Well, when Heaven opens one window, It closes another. Those two both lacked wit, after all—thinking of this, Shen Qinghe felt consoled. He muttered: “Brainless brute.”

“Who are you calling brute!?” Yao Guang flared, stalking closer. “Don’t you forget who’s saved your life more than once? I hear that while I was gone, you nearly got assassinated again. Being your county governor looks more dangerous than being the Emperor!”

Had anyone else insulted him thus, Yao Guang would have challenged them to spearplay instantly. But as for this sworn brother—even when scolded “brute,” he shrugged it off, quickly retorting cheekily: “Alright, you are the clever one. But it’s still up to this brute to guard that clever head of yours!”

Shen Qinghe was speechless. How had this proud young general of their first meeting turned into such a fool?

“I liked you better at the start—unruly and wild.”

Yao Guang recoiled in mock horror, retreating three steps, tilting his head dramatically at the sky. “You—like me? Really? Ha ha ha ha!”

“…”

Yes. Proved him right again.

Dust clouds rose as another carriage halted by them. The coachman craned his neck, exhausted. Finally relieved not to lose them, he wiped streaming sweat from his face. He’d never driven horses so fast!

But inside the carriage it was different. Kong Zhengqing lifted the curtain, leapt out, and instantly retched at the roadside, nearly heaving bile itself.

“Lord Kong?” Shen Qinghe blinked, astonished. Indeed it was the imperial censor himself! He turned in confusion toward Yao Guang.

“Brother Xiao sent him with me,” Yao Guang explained.

They had travelled with little entourage; imperial guards had peeled off twenty miles outside the capital. Since then, Yao Guang with his fine steed rode ahead, pausing only briefly every so often, while the following carriage strained desperately to keep pace. When at last they reached Cangzhou, Kong Zhengqing looked half dead.

Seeing the proud Imperial Censor now wasted and bent over vomiting gave Yao Guang pangs of guilt. He muttered defensively: “See? This is why I can’t get along with scholars. Shake a little and they come apart like cracked porcelain bowls…” Feeling Shen Qinghe’s cold glance, he instantly grinned and flattered: “But not you! You’re unmatched—handsome as a star, backbone of the nation. I only get along with you.”

Such a blockhead. Shen Qinghe let it pass. But poor Kong Zhengqing, eyes full of venomous hate at Yao Guang for shaking him half to death. Shen Qinghe was about to speak when faint rustling noises came from the carriage.

Yao Guang’s eyes narrowed; he strode forward with spear raised. The terrified coachman leapt off. Yao Guang’s spear-tip hooked the curtain up—inside it lay empty. He listened sharply, then suddenly stabbed beneath the carriage—out rolled a small scrawny child, tumbling with cries of pain.

“What in—? A wild monkey?”

On realizing it was a child, Yao Guang yanked his spear back. “Who are you? Why were you hiding under the carriage?”

The child was raggedly dressed, hair unruly like a bird’s nest. Opening her mouth, she wailed uncontrollably, sobbing and gagging from the rattling journey, nearly passing out.

Only then did they realize—this beggar child was a girl.

“See what your brute’s done again.” Shen Qinghe sighed, shifting blame. In her state, they would gain nothing now. He waved for a provincial page to bring her—with horses—back to his residence.

After half an hour’s rest and a calming tonic prepared by Gao Rong, Kong Zhengqing finally recovered somewhat. A scholar at heart, he rarely showed prejudice. But now, after being jolted like this, he could not help bitter words, grumbling nonstop.

Even Shen Qinghe hadn’t expected the stern-faced censor to have this side.

Yao Guang rubbed his nose, guilt-ridden, saying nothing.

“Lord Shen,” Kong Zhengqing finally turned with more warmth. “His Majesty has heard much of Qiuchuan under your governance—that it has transformed entirely. He sent me to investigate personally. Should you require assistance, I will spare no effort.”

“Lord Kong is His Majesty’s trusted right hand. If ever I need, I will certainly not be shy.”

Kong Zhengqing fell silent. His lips trembled before he confessed, ashamed, “That day… the Changzhou refugee affair… it was your achievement. Yet in the end, the credit fell to me. I did not mean it…”

“Say no more, Lord Kong.” Shen Qinghe shook his head. “I was then too brash. Neither of us comes from lofty lineage—we both know that fortune conceals misfortune, and misfortune hides fortune. To be exiled to Cangzhou may not altogether be a curse.”

“Good! Good! Good!” Kong Zhengqing choked, tears brimming. “From first sight, I knew you were a man of broad vision!” Compared with Yao Guang’s buffoonery, he now felt Shen Qinghe was his true confidant.

“Broad vision?” Shen Qinghe chuckled. “Perhaps you misunderstand me. Maybe I only mean to lose the mulberry here, and reap the elm there*².”

Before Kong Zhengqing could puzzle it out, Lü Song came in. “My lord, the little beggar can now speak clearly. She asks to see you.”

“What trickery? Crawling under a carriage like a thief—no good thing!” Yao Guang’s tone was harsh, spear at his side, a young vengeful god glaring. Lü Song shrank in fear, retreating—better leave the girl to her fate.

Shen Qinghe meanwhile chatted idly, when at last the little girl mustered courage to step into the room.

Eyes darting nervously, she scanned them all. Perceptive, she judged the kindest face among them—hurrying forward, kneeling at Shen Qinghe’s feet despite Yao Guang’s fierce stare.

“…”

“What is it you want?” Shen Qinghe’s voice stayed calm. In such chaotic times, even children of that age may already have killed. Thin and fragile as she appeared—outward looks misled.

Choking back fear, the girl threw herself forward in desperation and wept: “Great lord, please save my elder sister!”

So it was a plea for help.

“What of your sister?”

“My sister—my sister will be sold by the White Lotus Sect! She is at the White Lotus Temple at the foot of Mount Qilian!”

The White Lotus.

The name rang familiar. Shen Qinghe thought for a moment, recalling it. Originating in the south, a sect that had in recent years spread rapidly across the land. And now even into Cangzhou?

On the bed, Kong Zhengqing jerked upright, eyes flashing. “Yes—I have once investigated officials, discovered letters showing dealings with the White Lotus Sect—phrases like purification, good deeds, karmic destiny… On the surface harmless, yet my instincts screamed corruption. But they are cunning—ten years without leaving a single solid charge. If today we can seize them—then we can excise a canker from Great Yong!”

When it came to duty, vigor surged through him. No longer sore of back or weak of knee, he leaned in. “What’s your name? Where from? How was your sister taken? Speak clearly, in every detail.”

The beggar child, unused to such authority, trembled violently under his interrogation. Before she could speak, Shen Qinghe softly reassured: “We are officials of the court. Whatever your hardship, speak it plainly. Fear not.”

That calmed her. Sniffling, she held back her tears and forced the words out:

“My name is Xiaoman. I am from Li Family Village. Last month my parents sent my elder sister into the White Lotus as a ‘nun’. I missed her and wanted to see her, but the guards would not let me in the front gate. So I crawled through a dog hole in the wall.”

Though terrified, Xiaoman gave each word carefully. “Inside, I could not find her room. But—I overheard their stewards. They said… they would sell all the girls in the temple as women for the night!”

“I cried out without thinking. They heard me. I barely escaped through the hole. In the thick woods I hid and ran until by chance I saw my lords’ carriage…”

Her cheeks blotched, her voice still shaken as she recalled the terror. Yet thought of her sister steeled her again. So long as her sister could be saved—her own death would not matter. Even crushed, beaten, or flung into a mass grave… she did not care.

So long as her sister lived.

“But they are forcing the good into prostitution!” You Luo cursed furiously. “To build temples and commit such filth—Heaven itself will punish them!”

Xiaoman’s black eyes shone with desperate hope. “My lord—you will save my sister, won’t you?”

Shen Qinghe lowered his lashes, lost in thought.

Kong Zhengqing cut resolutely: “Of course. Preaching false goodness, deceiving the people—leaders are to be hanged, followers flogged a hundred and exiled three thousand li*³. If they truly commit such evil, I swear to investigate to the end!”

Hearing the iron determination, Shen Qinghe almost interjected—but held back.

“Thank you, my lord.”

With tears streaming, Xiaoman knocked her forehead onto the ground, prostrating deeply.

Footnotes:

1. Festival of the Third of the Third (三月三修褉): An ancient ritual festival celebrated on the third day of the third lunar month, especially among southern aristocrats. It involved bathing by rivers with herbal-infused water to cleanse illness and avert evil. 
2. Lose the mulberry, reap the elm (失之桑榆，收之东隅): A Chinese idiom meaning, “a loss here may be offset by a gain there.” Shen Qinghe uses it wryly. 
3. Punishments (絞, 杖, 流): Execution by strangulation for sect leaders, one hundred strokes of the heavy cane for followers, exile three thousand li (~1500 km). This reflects historic laws against heretical cults that deceived the populace.