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The case of Yangchun Manor finally came to an end. The official explanation placed all the blame on the second wife, while the first wife was merely considered a subordinate of the elder mistress, following Tao Yuan’s lead. Imprisoning Di Jiang in the cellar was simply to prevent their secrets from being discovered by outsiders.
Due to the influence of the iron-clad amnesty decree, the Empress pardoned the rest of the household from further investigation. However, Yangchun Manor was confiscated, and all its assets were seized by the state. After several rounds of inventory by the Ministry of Works, it was revealed that Yangchun Manor had long been a hollow shell—its usable silver amounted to no more than two hundred taels, barely enough to sustain an ordinary family for three years. Once a household of immense wealth and power, Yangchun Manor had been bled dry by its quarrelsome descendants within fifty years.
This confirmed an old saying: “Wealth does not last beyond three generations.” No matter how much gold and silver one’s ancestors accumulate, unworthy descendants will squander it all.
That night, Di Jiang sat at her desk, pondering the events of recent days.
The person who abducted Shuxiang and Zhuchi was likely none of the three main individuals involved, nor was it Zhong Xu. This person’s powers surpassed everyone else’s—could it have been the young Lord of Ghosts?
If he intentionally lured her into Yangchun Manor, this explanation would make sense…
But… for some reason, her intuition told her something still felt off.
Di Jiang decided to stop overthinking. Whatever comes, she would face it as it arrived; overthinking would only complicate matters.
She walked to the window and pulled out The Record of Flower Deities hidden under her pillow, but hesitation gripped her once again…
Tao Yuan, the elder sister, possessed a gentle and kind nature, never harming others. She kept her promises and guarded the manor faithfully without complaint. The only time she harbored murderous intent was when Di Jiang detected Tao Yu’s presence. To protect her younger sister, she reluctantly resorted to killing—but even then, she ultimately couldn’t bear it and spared Di Jiang’s life by using a feather as a guide.
As for Zhang Siyao and Liu Si, the talismans suppressing their souls were placed by Tao Yuan to ensure the safety of Yangchun Manor, which explained why outsiders with spiritual senses couldn’t detect any ominous energy.
Tao Yu, the younger sister, made one grave mistake that haunted her forever. She exploited others’ malevolent intentions to scheme against her own kin, committing countless murders. Though her methods were cruel, they were ultimately fueled by external causes. She merely amplified the evil already present in others’ hearts—an evil that, even without her intervention, would have grown day by day. She was but a tragic catalyst.
Meng Zichang, for all these years, remained devoted to Tao Yuan. His marriage to Tao Yu stemmed from his inability to face his betrayal of Tao Yuan, leading him to marry numerous women in succession.
Moreover, in those times, possessing such immense wealth, how could one remain celibate?
After much deliberation, Di Jiang finally inscribed Meng Zichang’s name in the third volume of The Record of Flower Deities . His past deeds appeared on the yellow parchment.
After finishing, she extinguished the candle and lay down fully clothed on the bed.
In her dream, Di Jiang found herself effortlessly arriving at the palace of the Lord of Ghosts.
“Madam Di, why are you here again?” A young attendant pouted, his expression one of sheer dread.
Di Jiang chuckled, “Are you really that afraid of me?”
“I couldn’t be more terrified…” The child’s voice trembled like a mosquito’s whine.
Di Jiang laughed even harder, patting his head reassuringly. “Don’t worry, I don’t hold grudges. Once things are over, they’re truly over. From now on, I’ll treat you kindly.”
“Really…?” The boy furrowed his brows, his fear easing slightly.
Di Jiang nodded with another hearty laugh. “Little King of Hell, I’ve come today with an important request.”
“Please tell me, Madam Di.”
Di Jiang took out a scroll from her sleeve—the portrait depicted Meng Zichang during his prime. She placed it in the hands of the young Lord of Hell and said, “This man has entered my Record of Flower Deities . Please ensure his safety in the underworld until, three hundred years later, he meets a woman named Tao Yuan and forms a bond spanning three lifetimes.”
“Alright! No problem! You can count on me—I’ll take care of it immediately!” The young Lord of Hell nodded fervently, clutching the scroll as he dashed out like a fleeing rabbit.
Watching his retreating figure, Di Jiang muttered approvingly, “If the previous Lord of Ghosts had your efficiency, he wouldn’t have been replaced…”
________________________________________
Thus, the legend of the Yangchun Hermit circulated among the common folk for a few days before gradually fading away.
A few more days passed, and it was nearing the end of spring. Taiping Prefecture was in full bloom, but the people of Jian Su Medical Clinic had no desire to venture outside.
For several days, they stayed indoors to recuperate, especially Zhuchi, who declared upon waking, “I’m never going out again!”
Di Jiang wholeheartedly agreed and led by example, staying inside the shop and avoiding outings.
During these days, Di Jiang noticed that the coffin shop remained closed. On the fifth day, unable to resist her curiosity, she sent Wen Yao to check on Zhong Xu and Changsheng to see what they were up to.
To her surprise, Wen Yao returned bearing shocking news.
“Shopkeeper, Daoist Zhong left a note and departed!” Wen Yao stepped into the pharmacy, waving a letter in her hand.
Just moments ago, Di Jiang had been slicing medicinal herbs. As soon as Wen Yao spoke, her hand froze mid-air, the sharp tip of the knife glaring menacingly toward Wen Yao. The intensity in her eyes seemed capable of killing.
The atmosphere in the room grew deathly silent. Wen Yao quickly took the knife from her hands and tried to comfort her, “It’s just some lousy Daoist priest! If you’re fond of Daoists, why not ask Prince Rui’an to borrow some robes from a temple? He’d definitely look better in them than Zhong Xu! Why bother thinking about that stubborn log?”
After a long pause, Di Jiang slowly raised her head and asked blankly, “Zhong Xu… When did he leave?”
“He’s probably been gone for several days. I saw a thick layer of dust in his room!”
“Is that so… He didn’t even bother to say goodbye.” Di Jiang’s voice was soft, tinged with self-mockery and lingering regret.
Wen Yao nodded repeatedly, “Exactly! You should forget about him as soon as possible. Someone like that isn’t worth your kindness! Do you want to read the letter he left?”
“No need... Now that he’s gone, what difference does it make what’s written in the letter?” Di Jiang fell silent, quietly tidying up the medicinal herbs on the counter. After wiping her hands, she murmured softly, “I’m tired. I’ll rest now. If Mrs. Niu comes by later, tell her I’m not here. Give her whatever she wants, but don’t take any money—she’s not from a wealthy family. Charging her double the market price is more than enough. Profiting too much will bring bad karma.”
“Alright, I understand! Shopkeeper, get some good rest.” Wen Yao nodded fervently and followed Di Jiang upstairs, watching her lie down fully clothed before heading back downstairs.
Wen Yao slumped onto the counter, sighing deeply. “Ah… the seven emotions and six desires of this mortal world are truly like floods and ferocious beasts—unpredictable and unstoppable...”
Shuxiang, sitting nearby, raised an eyebrow but continued reading his book, seemingly indifferent to everything around him.
“I’m talking to you,” Wen Yao said, nudging Shuxiang when he ignored her. “If one day you fall in love with someone, what would you do?”
“It won’t happen,” Shuxiang replied curtly after glancing at her.
“What won’t happen?” Wen Yao furrowed her brows.
“I won’t fall in love with anyone.”
After saying this indifferently, Shuxiang closed his book and went to the backyard, leaving Wen Yao alone in the shop. For the rest of the day, she asked everyone who came in, “Do you have someone you like?”
The visitors looked at her as if she were a strange creature.
Some, like Mrs. Niu, even covered their mouths and laughed at her. “Miss Wen Yao must be feeling the pangs of springtime love!”
“Go away—you’re the one thinking about spring!” Wen Yao handed over the medicine and shooed her off.
Mrs. Niu happily left with her “discounted” herbs. Once she was gone, it signaled the end of the day’s business. Before the sun had even set, Wen Yao closed the shop.
For the next three days, there wasn’t much activity in the shop. Di Jiang drifted through life in a daze, spending most of her time sleeping or staring blankly at the table when awake. She seemed like an empty shell, moving through each day like a soulless zombie.
Wen Yao brought meals to her several times, but they were always returned untouched.
Sitting at the dinner table, Wen Yao sighed deeply to Shuxiang, “This can’t go on. When have you ever seen our shopkeeper give up on herself like this?”
Shuxiang kept his head down, eating silently without responding.
Wen Yao continued, “If this keeps up, I’m afraid the shopkeeper’s health will collapse.”
“She won’t collapse. The shopkeeper isn’t an ordinary person,” Shuxiang replied calmly.
“But even non-ordinary people can’t just waste away indoors! What if she grows mold?”
“Mold?” Shuxiang frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean growing fungus!” Wen Yao explained. “Didn’t you hear? A while ago, under that ginkgo tree in Datong Village, a nest of moles—moles that were supposedly enlightened beings—grew white fuzz!”
“...” Suddenly losing his appetite, Shuxiang put down his chopsticks and stared at Wen Yao. “Then what do you suggest we do?”
“Find the Prince! Prince Rui’an is so good at charming women—he’ll surely cheer up the shopkeeper!”
Shuxiang couldn’t think of a response and, almost unconsciously, helped Wen Yao draft two letters. One, signed under Di Jiang’s name, invited Rui’an to meet her at the Octagonal Pavilion the next day. The other, under the Prince’s name, invited Di Jiang to reminisce about old times at the same location.
Both letters brimmed with deep emotion and tender affection, hinting at feelings without explicitly stating them, leaving the reader yearning for more.
“Wow, Shuxiang, you’ve got such talent for writing! If I ever fall in love with someone, I’ll ask you to write my love letters too!” Wen Yao praised him endlessly, holding the two letters.
To avoid further disturbances, Shuxiang ushered her out, saying seriously, “Go deliver the letters quickly. The sooner Prince Rui’an receives them, the better prepared he’ll be—and we can prevent the shopkeeper from ‘growing mold’ in the house.”
“I’m going right now!”
Wen Yao practically skipped all the way to Prince Rui’an’s residence. After handing the letter to the steward, Liu Changqing, she returned and placed the other letter on Di Jiang’s bedside.
________________________________________
The next day, after a night of revelry at a tavern, a tipsy Prince Rui’an stumbled back to his mansion. Spotting a letter bearing Di Jiang’s name on his desk, he eagerly tore it open. A pink peach blossom-patterned note appeared before him.
“A dice carved with red beans, embedded with longing—do you know how deeply it pierces my heart... A single day apart feels like madness...” Wu Rui’an read aloud haltingly. Soon, joy lit up his face, and the brightness in his eyes dispelled the gloom that had clouded his heart for days.
Meanwhile, at the southern edge of Taiping Prefecture, upon receiving the letter, Di Jiang’s face darkened to the point where ink seemed ready to drip from it.
“When did he develop such feelings for me...?” Di Jiang felt as though struck by lightning, her head throbbing painfully.
Peeking from behind the door, Wen Yao saw the shopkeeper’s anguished expression and realized she might have caused an even bigger mess. But it was too late to turn back now...
________________________________________
The next day, at the Octagonal Pavilion.
The Octagonal Pavilion stood in the center of a spring pool in the eastern part of Taiping Prefecture, named for its eight corners. Surrounding the pavilion were landscapes designed in the style of Suzhou gardens—a garden originally gifted by the founding emperor to a favored minister. After the minister’s death, it was donated and became a scenic spot for commoners to enjoy. In spring, flowers bloomed in abundance; in autumn, maple leaves turned redder than February flowers. Its beauty during these two seasons was breathtaking.
Scholars loved to compose poetry and exchange writings here, while merchants enjoyed hosting lavish feasts. Eating, drinking, and conversing amidst such scenery made anything negotiable.
Wen Yao had thought the same—creating a romantic setting to bring the shopkeeper and Wu Rui’an together. After all, she believed in living for the moment rather than seeking eternal love. But clearly, Di Jiang didn’t share her sentiment.
Watching the shopkeeper’s increasingly dark expression throughout the journey, Wen Yao feared this meeting would lead to disaster...
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