Chapter 12: The Mysteries of Heaven and Earth

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May I ask, what does it mean to draw Du Mu on the very first pull?
—It probably implies that card draws can't save you; you might as well try ghs.
What about the time you drew Qianlong?
—That only proves that indeed, card draws can’t save you.

Ye Zhengliu suppressed the urge to complain the moment she saw the words “Qianlong (Aisin Gioro Hongli).”
She fixed her gaze on the card, and a wave of choking emotion welled up inside her.
She really wanted to know how this card system decided its card pool.
—Qianlong’s card had the same number of skills as Du Mu’s—three in total.

But considering Qianlong’s literary ability and accomplishments… even if he had thirty skills, it wouldn’t mean much.
Visually, compared to Du Mu’s dazzling golden card with a seal script “Heaven” character in the upper left corner, Qianlong’s card appeared remarkably understated, clashing with the refined aesthetic he exhibited historically.
This card emitted a faint, obsidian-like glow, its tranquil color making one feel as if standing amidst a sea of stars.

Like Du Mu, there was also a small seal script character in the upper left corner of Qianlong’s card, but it was neither “Heaven” nor “Earth”—just “Mysterious.”
It seemed her card ranks were divided into four grades: “Heaven, Earth, Mysterious, Yellow.”
However, based on the nonsensical poetry and prose Qianlong left behind, Ye Zhengliu seriously suspected that even this “Mysterious” rating was a secret concession granted by the system out of respect for his former status as emperor.

If it was a secret concession, why wasn’t it absolute?
Honestly, when she saw the name Aisin Gioro Hongli on the card, Ye Zhengliu had a fleeting thought that the card’s design would feature delicate pastel floral patterns.
After calming herself, she began to read the specific skills on the card.

Five seconds later, Ye Zhengliu realized that the literary descriptions of the protagonist going dark in the eyes upon hearing bad news were not exaggerated at all.
Once she saw what the three skills actually were, her vision truly dimmed for a moment.
This was definitely due to the shock she had taken, not because the card itself was dark in color.

Name: Qianlong (Aisin Gioro Hongli)
Skill 1: “My lifelong habit is writing poetry; old Du truly deserves to be my teacher.”

Ye Zhengliu began to doubt her own eyes. To make sure she hadn’t misunderstood, she read the line again.
—Indeed, the poetry essentially said: “My greatest hobby in life is composing poetry; Du Fu is truly worthy to be my teacher.”

Ye Zhengliu: “……”

It should be known that throughout Qianlong’s life of over thirty-two thousand days, he wrote more than forty-three thousand poems. On average, that means he must have started writing from the moment he was born, penning one and a half poems every day.
Yet among such an enormous number of poems, not a single one was worth memorizing.

The only widely known one, “Piece by piece, layer by layer. Two pieces, three pieces, four, five. Six, seven, [missing], flying into the reed flowers and gone,” was not only edited by Ji Xiaolan but also seemed to have plagiarized Zheng Banqiao’s “Ode to Snow.”

With all this context, looking back at Skill 1, Ye Zhengliu was amazed to find Qianlong had absolutely no proper self-awareness regarding his literary talent!

Skill 2: “The bleak wind howls through the bare trees at sunset.”

Ye Zhengliu: “……”

It might be a stretch for Qianlong to compose something on the level of “The sun sets in the west, the heartbroken man is far away,” but was something like “Once again the desolation comes at the edge of the world” really too much?
A poet like Qianlong, in modern terms, would be like a student given the answers during an open-book exam but unable even to copy them correctly.

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Ah, well, this poem clearly represents Qianlong’s usual level; what else could Ye Zhengliu say?
Now, Skill 3...
Skill 3...
Ye Zhengliu froze.

Skill 3 was extremely simple—so simple it was just a single character.
She fixed her gaze and saw a large character “God” defiantly standing at the center of the card.
Moreover... it wasn’t her imagination—the character was printed in a font size twice as large as the others!

Ye Zhengliu: “……”

She couldn’t help but recall the large “God” character Qianlong penned on the “Fast Snow Clearing” calligraphy piece, along with the barrage of a hundred seals stamped over it.
Qianlong, this man, truly was...

Holding the Qianlong card and reflecting on its three skills, Ye Zhengliu found herself plunged into an indescribable state of confusion.
From start to finish, her expression was noted by Shahun, who read a different meaning into it.
He saw his roommate’s face light up with expectation, only to collapse in disappointment moments later.
Next, she wailed sharply, sounding as though she had suffered a serious blow.
Then, she clutched her head with both hands, exuding a visible aura of despair, so dejected she didn’t move at all.
She looked as if she had become too ill to eat.

Shahun calmly thought, secretly even feeling a bit excited—could it be he was about to get two meals a day again?
He bluntly asked Ye Zhengliu this question, only to receive a long silence in response.

Mr. Lu Xun truly was a great literary master, Ye Zhengliu mournfully thought: human joys and sorrows are not mutually understood; my roommate just finds me noisy.

After a while, Ye Zhengliu finally emerged from the shock of her terrible luck, having drawn Qianlong, and from her roommate’s daily desire to eat her meals, dragging Shahun to test the new card.
And then... nothing happened.

The moment Ye Zhengliu activated Skill 1, “Old Du truly deserves to be my teacher,” a surge of supreme confidence overwhelmed her.
The next second, without even thinking, she recklessly charged at Shahun’s sword tip.
If it weren’t for Shahun’s lightning-fast reflexes—throwing the sword aside and kicking up its sheath to switch hands in the blink of an eye—he might have had to massacre his sixth batch of roommates.

The most poisonous part was that this skill lasted about five minutes. During that time, Ye Zhengliu was utterly reckless, without any sense that she should cancel the skill.
When the skill ended, recalling her extreme maneuver made her choke on the spot.

Shahun gave a precise evaluation: “Since you used that move... you’ve become completely out of control.”
His assessment was so apt that Ye Zhengliu felt like she’d been struck by an arrow.
“...Anything else?”
Shahun seriously said, “Seeing you like that made me really want to hit you.”
Ye Zhengliu: “...I can understand.”

When she saw this card, she also wanted to give Qianlong a good beating.
In short, Skill 1 was the ultimate face-tank, the pinnacle of self-destruction. Combining these two skills inflicted 0.3 damage to enemies and 250 damage to herself.

With a “damned if I do, damned if I don’t” attitude, Ye Zhengliu tried out the remaining two skills.
Skill 2, “The bleak wind howls through the bare trees at sunset,” filled the stone jail cell with a sorrowful, mournful cold wind, sounding almost like a ghost crying.

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As for the “bare trees” and “sunset” described in the poem, perhaps due to unsuitable conditions, Ye Zhengliu did not see them—for which she was grateful, lest some further strange occurrence arise.

As for Skill 3’s “God” character...
If Skill 1 was for self-destruction and Skill 2 was for ghostly horror, Skill 3 barely made a ripple.
As the cardholder, Ye Zhengliu could feel that the skill was effective and had not missed, yet she searched the entire cell and found no trace of the “God” character.
She even turned her undershirt inside out!
In the cell, there wasn’t even a single seal or scrap of paper.

This was truly baffling. Ye Zhengliu wondered to herself—where exactly had this skill, which definitely took effect, been applied?

...

That very night, a furious shout suddenly echoed from the island lord’s bedchamber on Fusheng Island.
Upon hearing the noise, the surrounding rooms quickly lit their lamps, and the night guards sprang into action. Under their commander’s orders, the guards gathered at the inner courtyard gate, guarding the lord’s chamber tightly.
Though the lord soon appeared to dismiss the guards and explained it was just a misunderstanding, doubts lingered in many hearts.

Only a few knew that late that night, the lord summoned Mu Yaoguang, head of Qunyu Pavilion, to his chamber.
Before them lay a splash-ink freehand landscape painting, with a poem inscribed by a famous calligrapher. The brushwork and the calligraphy complemented each other perfectly, creating an ethereal mood that surpassed the value of two separate scrolls.

Mu Yaoguang immediately recognized the piece, titled “Revisiting Mount Lu,” a genuine work by the previous dynasty’s painting saint, Xi Yunzi. The poem was by the renowned calligraphy master Deng Jinling, both famed in their era.
These two, one painter and one calligrapher, represented the twin glories of the Northern dynasty. Born in the same age, their works rarely corresponded, making this scroll, which contained both their calligraphy and painting, exceedingly precious—indeed priceless.

If this “Mount Lu” painting was authentic, its value would be incalculable.
The lord, a lover of elegance, had long enjoyed collecting antique manuscripts, something Mu Yaoguang had heard about. Yet to secretly possess such a “Revisiting Mount Lu” was beyond his expectations.

However, at this moment, a large “God” character had been scrawled right in the center of this expensive landscape painting.
That character was boldly placed on the central blank space, the ink thick and vigorous, the strokes arrogant—and even poorly written.
While neat, it lacked spirit and was overly vulgar. It might be acceptable elsewhere, but on this “Revisiting Mount Lu,” it was a sheer waste.

Mu Yaoguang glanced once and turned his head as if pained to the eyes.
Even a hint of ambiguous regret crossed his face; one could imagine the lord’s mood, having spent a fortune for this masterpiece.

Mu Yaoguang swept his gaze lightly and found the lord’s lips pale, fingers trembling, about to faint.
Mu Yaoguang smiled inwardly, though maintaining an innocent expression, and teasingly asked, “Lord, may I ask, what is this...”
“‘Revisiting Mount Lu,’” the lord said each word with bloodied heart. When he spoke the last word, he could no longer contain his rage and slammed his palm on the table, shouting, “Who! Who ruined my beloved painting! I shall never forgive them!”

Indeed. Mu Yaoguang opened his fan to half-cover a faint smile and thought casually: the one capable of sneaking into the lord’s chamber, finding this well-hidden scroll, and slapping such an ugly character on it... who could it be?

...

Long, long afterward, Ye Zhengliu would come to understand that Qianlong’s card third skill, like the man himself in history, had a very distinctive trait.

—This “God” character always chose the most precious places to appear; it wouldn’t even glance at cheap calligraphy or paintings.

—Had the “Revisiting Mount Lu” been even more valuable, Skill 3 would not have been limited to just one “God” character; it would have come with over a hundred bright red seals as well.