Chapter 89: Han Xizai’s Hidden Thoughts

Returning from Yingzhou when the moon was at its zenith, Yang Lian and Zeng Yiling reached an agreement to assist one another. Yang Lian would begin within the military to gradually seize control of the Southern Tang’s military and political power, while Zeng Yiling would provide support from the civilian sphere. Furthermore, Zeng would leverage the brothels she operated across Jinling, Jiangdu, Xuanzhou, and elsewhere to aid Yang Lian.

Regarding intelligence, Zeng Yiling held the advantage. Yet, as she herself noted, being a woman, it was impossible for her to establish a foothold in the military. If she were to seek a strategic partner, she found no one else she could trust. With one having lost his country and family, and the other having nearly seen her entire lineage slaughtered, their shared experiences and nearly identical goals formed the foundation of their partnership.

Once Zeng Yiling confided her secrets to Yang Lian, they struck their palms together in a vow to help one another toward their common objective. Upon returning to the inn, Yang Lian was deeply struck by what he had learned. Years ago, Xu Zhixun had been deposed by Xu Zhigao and subsequently imprisoned. In the sixth year of the Daho era, Xu Zhixun was murdered by bandits in his own residence, and most of his kin were killed as well. Even as the former Crown Prince at the time, Yang Lian had suspected that the affair was highly suspicious.

Three years later, Xu Zhigao usurped the throne from the Yang Wu dynasty, established the state of Qi, and later changed his name to Li Bian, renaming the state Tang. Connecting this to the fates of Yang Pu and himself, Yang Lian realized that the scheme must have been orchestrated by Xu Zhigao. Reflecting on the past, Yang Lian understood why Zeng Yiling harbored such hatred for him. He was a wolf cub from Zhongshan—no matter how one raised it, it could never be tamed.

With this connection established, a few days later, Yang Lian secretly visited the Xiaoxiang Pavilion to speak with Zeng Yiling. Through her, he gathered much intelligence: for instance, that after his great victory, Han Xizai spent his days in revelry at his mansion, and that Li Hongji was secretly organizing an army of about three hundred men, said to be composed of wandering knights with very unique backgrounds.

The news about Han Xizai invigorated Yang Lian. Han Xizai was a leading figure in the opposition against the Prince of Qi and Feng Yansi. The reason for this was that he had been a loyal official to the current Emperor when the latter was still the Crown Prince. While undeniably talented, Han Xizai was also arrogant, which made him unpopular with many—especially the Founding Ancestor, who had disliked him intensely. Had Li Jing not ascended the throne, Han Xizai would likely have had no further opportunities in his official career.

After much deliberation, Yang Lian had a plan.

Han Xizai’s mansion was located at Qijia Mountain in the south of the city, not far from Yuhuatai. The terrain was elevated, and his residence was exceptionally grand. Two lions, each half a man’s height, stood at the gate, looking imposing. However, this main gate was never opened unless a noble guest arrived; there was only a small side door to the right for servants to enter and exit.

The Han estate occupied a vast area, covering nearly half of Qijia Mountain. Built into the slope, it featured high hills, flowing water, and numerous trees. In the height of summer, it was exceptionally beautiful, filled with the fragrance of flowers and the songs of birds.

Around noon that day, Han Xizai was returning from the mansion of Li Hongji, the Duke of Dongping, with a look of joy on his face. The Emperor had summoned him several times in recent days, and Han Xizai was almost certain that the Emperor intended to name a successor—the Duke of Dongping. Once the Duke became Crown Prince, Han Xizai, as a former official of both the current and future Emperor’s household, would wield power over the entire court.

Feeling quite smug, Han Xizai reclined in his carriage, which was lined with Sichuan silk, humming a southern ditty. The coachman handled the carriage smoothly, seemingly infected by his master’s good mood.

Naturally, Han Xizai intended to use the main gate. As the carriage stopped, he stepped out leisurely. Just as he was about to walk in, he spotted a Taoist priest with white hair and eyebrows, peering at the mansion, stroking his beard, and shaking his head. "A pity," the priest muttered. "What a pity."

The two gatekeepers, seeing the priest gesturing, were about to drive him away when they noticed their master approaching. Their expressions shifted, and one of them hurried forward, saying, "Be off with you! There is no spare change here!"

The priest stepped back without a word. As he turned to leave, he muttered, "Truly a pity. This is a fine residence, but it has been infiltrated by evil spirits. Otherwise, its master would surely have been enfeoffed as a marquis and risen to the rank of minister—a status of unimaginable nobility. What a pity, a pity indeed!"

Han Xizai, whose hearing was keen, felt a stir in his heart at the sight of the priest’s immortal bearing and his cryptic words. He quickly stopped him. "Taoist priest, what do you mean by that?"

The priest paused, looked Han Xizai over, sighed, and shook his head. "It cannot be said. It must not be said."

"Priest, I clearly heard you say that evil spirits have entered this residence. Why do you hold your tongue now?" Han Xizai asked. The mention of being "enfeoffed as a marquis and rising to the rank of minister" had struck a chord. For years, his official career had been stagnant; although the Emperor treated him well, he had never been promoted to a high position, which was a source of great frustration.

The priest wore a troubled expression and waved his hands repeatedly. "Sir, you must have misheard." With that, he sidestepped and prepared to leave.

How could Han Xizai let him go? He bowed deeply and said, "Priest, this is my humble home. I heard your words just now. I beg you to enlighten me: what is wrong with this house? If you lend me your aid, I shall reward you handsomely."

"This house... alas, if I speak, I fear I shall shorten my own lifespan by several years," the priest said, hesitating.

"Priest, your heart is kind. If there is truly a problem, this house may face natural disasters or human calamities. I beseech you to help me. Whatever you ask, I shall grant," Han Xizai promised, bowing again.

The priest looked hesitant, pondered for a moment, and finally sighed. "Very well. Saving a life is better than building a seven-story pagoda. I shall sacrifice a few years of my life to drive out these demons."

"My deepest thanks, Priest." A smile spread across Han Xizai's face as he respectfully invited the priest into the mansion. The gatekeepers watched in bewilderment.

Han Xizai led the priest into the main hall, ordered tea, and asked respectfully, "Priest, what exactly is in this residence?"

"I have only had a cursory look so far. To discern the full truth, I must examine it carefully," the priest replied. He did not drink the tea but stood up, walked into the courtyard, and began to inspect his surroundings, even pulling out a compass. Han Xizai did not understand the craft, but he knew the priest was surveying the feng shui, so he remained silent, waiting.

The priest paced with his compass, glancing up at the surroundings and counting on his fingers with his thumb. After a long while, he sighed and returned to Han Xizai’s side. "The Qijia Mountain area was once a place of great spirit and talent. But alas, what a pity."

"What is a pity, Priest?" Han Xizai’s heart tightened.

"Too much killing has altered the feng shui of Qijia Mountain. Malevolent ghosts roam here, and this house is filled with yin energy, which has hindered the master's promotion. By the original feng shui of this mountain, the resident should have been a marquis or a minister, but because of these ghosts, the owner can only ever be a high official of the court," the priest said.

Han Xizai sighed inwardly. It was more than just a hindrance; ever since he had defected to the South, his life had been one of unfulfilled ambition. Even though he was favored by the Emperor, his rank remained low—not even equal to Yang Lian, who was only a fifth-rank official. It was deeply depressing.

Hearing that the location held such potential for high office, Han Xizai’s heart began to race. He bowed to the priest again. "Priest, how can these demons be driven out? If you can rid me of them, I will be eternally grateful."

The priest narrowed his eyes and paced the courtyard for the time it takes to burn a stick of incense. Finally, he stopped and said, "I see you are a sincere man, so I shall do a good deed. However, these wandering spirits have lingered on Qijia Mountain for years, and they will not be easy to remove."

Though difficult, it was not impossible. Han Xizai understood the implication. "Whatever you command, Priest, I shall obey."

The priest nodded. Returning to the hall, he requested brush, ink, paper, and an inkstone. He wrote for a while, then handed the paper to Han Xizai, instructing him to purchase the necessary items—mostly talismans, cinnabar, and the like. Servants hurried out to procure them. The priest then opened his pack, revealing several command flags, which he planted around the perimeter of the mansion. By the time he finished, the servants had returned with the supplies.

Mixing the cinnabar with willow-branch water, the priest began to write on the talismans. Although Han Xizai was well-read, he could not decipher the script. Once the hundred-plus talismans were finished, the priest had the servants wash their hands and paste them on the doors of every room, large and small.

Han Xizai, feeling very nervous, asked, "Priest, how has it gone?"

The priest shook his head. "It is not yet enough." He took out two more talismans and personally pasted them in Han Xizai’s bedroom. "This is where the yin energy is strongest. At the hour of the Rat tonight, I shall perform the ritual myself to purge the demons."

Hearing that his bedroom was the source of the strongest yin energy, Han Xizai’s face paled. "Thank you, Priest. If not for your help, I fear my old life would have been lost here."

The priest stroked his beard. "A practitioner of the Way must be compassionate. Do not stand on ceremony. As it is still early, I shall rest for a while."

"Please, this way," Han Xizai said hastily.

At the hour of the Rat that night, the Han mansion was ablaze with light and filled with the scent of incense. No one in the household slept. Some held command flags, others carried dog’s blood, and some even held pots of excrement, standing by in readiness.

Han Xizai had changed into a Taoist robe, with the yin-yang symbol clearly visible on his back. He stood beside the priest with a solemn expression. This was the hour when yin energy was at its peak. If the priest succeeded, the mansion would be cleansed, and with the feng shui of Qijia Mountain restored, Han Xizai would finally be able to attain the rank of marquis and minister. How could he not be excited?

The priest, dressed in his robes, held a peach-wood sword in one hand and a bell in the other. He rang the bell rhythmically while chanting words Han Xizai could not understand, focusing on the exorcism. Suddenly, the priest exhaled, and the candles on the table flared to life.

"The priest truly has great power," Han Xizai thought, his confidence growing. He believed the exorcism would succeed. If he could reach the pinnacle of the court, he felt his life would be glorious enough.