Imitating the Brush

Since returning from the Seventh Prince’s chamber that day, Xia Yunhe had shut herself indoors, refusing to step outside.

Recently, hailstorms had ravaged Jiangdong, leaving countless cattle and horses dead or injured, and many starving peasants lined the roads. On top of that, news spread of fierce bandits in Jiangdong murdering and plundering, plunging the people into fear and chaos.

Emperor Hui had opened the imperial treasury, dispatching imperial envoys with official warrants to escort grain supplies to the prefectures and counties. Holding aloft the sacred edict from the Golden Bright Emperor, they set off for Jiangdong with a murderous resolve.

These troubling events cast a shadow over the forthcoming emperor’s birthday banquet. The sovereign decreed all celebrations be canceled, and this year only congratulatory verses were to be composed in respect.

As the sole remaining compiler in the Hanlin Academy, the task naturally fell upon her. After consultation with the officials, she was permitted to remain at home to compose the verses, a decision also approved by Emperor Hui.

Burning the midnight oil for several days, she scoured through ancient texts and finally extracted a piece that satisfied the officials. That very morning, the chief scholar, seizing the dim dawn, presented it to the emperor in the palace.

At last freed from this burden, Xia Yunhe enjoyed a sound, uninterrupted sleep. Zhen Niang roused her for a careless midday meal, after which she took her prescribed medicine as usual. Seeing that her complexion had improved somewhat, she allowed herself to don a newly made black felt fox fur cloak, clutching her muff wrapped in a muskrat fur coat, and took two calligraphy scrolls before setting out to visit Master Mo Bai.

She was eager to meet Xu Xing.

After days of meticulous comparison, she had approached all the known forgers in Shangdu, yet none could replicate her spirit and style. Only one remained—Xu Xing—whose identity she still needed to confirm.

If the forger was not Xu Xing, she could make other plans swiftly. But if it was Xu Xing, then she would play along with them, enjoy the game. She herself was well-versed in the stratagems of the Ghost Valley and could set traps; it was not just their group she had to consider.

Guided by Master Mo Bai’s directions, she arrived at the northern outskirts of Shangdu.

Unlike the towering pavilions of the main city, this area was a maze of intersecting lanes, filled with the sounds of dogs and pigs. In summer, the leafy canopies would provide shade, bees would hum, and streams would babble—a perfect spot to escape the heat. Alas, it was the depths of winter now; the fields were barren, streams iced thin, and fallen leaves rustled dryly underfoot.

Farmers, seeing her attire, kept their distance.

Ahead, four or five rough men in coarse linen and hemp garments were gathered, chatting and laughing. Xia Yunhe stepped forward, but upon noticing her, they grabbed their hoes and carrying poles and scattered.

She stood awkwardly, looking down at herself and sighing. One set of clothes had set her apart from the crowd completely. Xu Zihai, Xu Zihai—it was truly difficult to find you.

As she shook her head, an elderly man approached—a figure with graying temples, wearing a tattered straw hat and patched blue cotton jacket, carrying a large purple locust bark basket on his back. His face was soiled with dust and soot; his fingers blackened with grime.

He passed slowly before her, then stopped and came back to stand beside her. He glanced her over, set down his basket, wiped sweat from his brow with a dirty sleeve, and kindly asked, “Child, are you in some trouble?”

Inside the basket were lumps of black charcoal. In the winter of Chu, many would chop wood and burn charcoal in the northern hills. This man was one such charcoal seller.

Xia Yunhe bowed deeply. The old man stepped back quickly, wary of dirtying her clothes.

“Sir, have you seen a man named Xu Xing?”

“Xu Xing, huh?” The old man narrowed his eyes, looking upward in thought. “He’s a ghostwriter, usually helps folks write letters and such.”

Xia Yunhe brightened at the news, but the old man added, “But he doesn’t live here.”

Her smile faded as he continued, “This is Shanghe Village. He lives in Xiàhé Village down this road. Walk about two li past a scruffy area, that’s where Xu Xing stays. But that place’s a mess. What does a child like you want with him?”

Xia Yunhe fabricated a vague excuse, then thanked the old man gleefully and set off toward Xiàhé Village.

Calling it a village, she found instead a den of all manners of riffraff—vagrants, soldier ruffians, itinerant merchants, tooth-pullers, brokers, and street performers mingling in a chaotic mass. The buildings were haphazard—some wooden planks, some adobe, some just branches woven together. Inside was dim and murky. Laughter, quarrels, and bustling trade never ceased; it was livelier than Shanghe Village.

Her striking attire drew sideways glances from all. Some curious onlookers encircled her, pursing their lips and whistling.

Xia Yunhe stood still, quietly revealing a copper fish talisman hanging from a silver pouch at her waist. Instantly, the crowd shrank back.

Those bearing fish talismans were either princes or imperial officials. She was aware there was one such talisman holder in Xiàhé Village—they all knew him.

No one dared approach her now, eyes darting nervously.

She said nothing more, only asked, “Where is Xu Xing?”

The crowd exchanged looks but remained silent.

Slowly, she produced a golden leaf from her pouch. Eyes widened among the crowd, and whispers of swallowing resounded, yet no one responded.

One was not enough. She added more—five golden leaves in all—when a diminutive, wax-faced actor with a rat-like appearance slipped from the throng and loudly declared, “Xu Xing lives in the largest house down that alley.”

The crowd grabbed the little man’s hair, muffled his mouth, and scolded angrily, “Do you want us dead?”

Xia Yunhe ignored them, left the golden leaves behind, bowed in thanks, and moved to proceed.

But she was stopped by a burly man, broad-shouldered and bare-chested, muscles rippling and steaming with heat, a fierce, intimidating presence towering twice her height. Against him, she seemed as fragile as a paper doll, ready to be blown away by a breath.

He said, “Official, why do you seek Xu Xing? Is it business or personal?”

Lowering her eyes, she paused, then answered truthfully, “Personal.”

Nearby, someone deliberately shouted, “Why is Xu Xing so popular?”

Another replied, “With that face, how could he not be? If you looked like that, you’d be popular, too.”

The crowd erupted in laughter and teasing.

Xia Yunhe found this odd. She bowed politely to the big man. The man glanced at her gesture and scoffed, “An official like you and Xu Xing are both scholars.”

Doubt crept into her mind. Measuring her words carefully, she said, “Good sir, I heard that Zihai caught a cold, so I came to visit.”

“He also goes by Zihai? Isn’t that...?”

Someone nearby covered the man’s mouth, who struggled and hummed before swallowing the rest.

Xia Yunhe frowned and looked at the crowd, asking, “Good sirs, why can’t you call him Xu Zihai?”

They looked on like spectators at a play, laughing and replied, “Official, why don’t you go see for yourself?”

Then, ignoring her, they scrambled to snatch the golden leaves from the actor, quarreling and disappearing into the dust and noise.

Composing herself, Xia Yunhe walked toward the place described.

At the narrow alley entrance, shouting voices rose. A circle of people gathered, craning their necks and peering in, occasionally laughing quietly.

She tilted her head to listen, catching fragments like “Get lost!” and “Are you trying to kill me?”

Frowning, she gently tapped a nearby young woman who was peeking in and asked, “Sister, what’s going on up ahead?”

The woman turned, eyes brightening.

She wore cheap lipstick, her face painted brightly, her collar slightly open. Approaching closely, a strong floral scent wafted toward Xia Yunhe’s nose.

Her nose twitched, she sneezed and coughed a few times. Suddenly regretful, she stepped back.

But the woman grabbed her arm and tugged her toward the far side of the alley, whispering coquettishly, “Darling, let’s go there. I’ll tell you everything slowly.”

Xia Yunhe’s brow twitched, heart racing. She struggled to free herself, but the woman clung tighter. Backing away repeatedly, she was finally cornered against a wall. Pressing her hands together, she pleaded, “Sister, forgive me. I am like you.”

The woman paused, raised an eyebrow, glanced her over, lost interest, rolled her eyes, and clicked her tongue, “Bad luck.”

Xia Yunhe quickly stuffed a pouch of money into the woman’s hand, apologizing profusely.

The woman grumbled but accepted the embroidered gold pouch, her attitude softening. “Why dress as a man? Don’t tell me you came looking for Xu Xing?”

Hearing this, Xia Yunhe’s heart leapt with joy. She glanced at the onlookers and slightly bowed to the woman. “I am an old friend of Xu Xing, long separated, here to visit.”

The woman looked toward a small courtyard nearby, lost in thought, then turned and eyed her with pity, motioning her closer.

“Sister, you seem young, like a daughter from a wealthy family. I won’t tell you the sordid things, but I advise you—there are plenty of good men in the world. Don’t hang all your hopes on one.”

Xia Yunhe was dumbfounded, unable to grasp the meaning.

Just then, Chen Haizhou emerged from the courtyard, face darkened. The woman quickly grabbed Xia Yunhe’s wrist, turning her back as if they were an inseparable pair of wild lovers.

After Chen Haizhou left, the woman spoke earnestly, “Sister, did you see that man just now? He guards Xu Xing closely, won’t let anyone come near. Once, Old Yu from Yunxiang passed by and stopped a while. That old man had a huge knife that barely missed the top of Old Yu’s head and stuck deep into the porch pillar opposite. Who dares provoke him? Your beloved Xu Xing has long been...”

She left the sentence hanging, smiling slyly. “Take my advice, don’t ask any more.”

The woman stroked the fur at Xia Yunhe’s collar, pulled up her sleeve to examine it, clicking her tongue in admiration. “All girls, but how is your fate so good?”

Xia Yunhe finally understood: Xu Xing and Chen Haizhou’s relationship was not the deep friendship Master Mo Bai had described, but rather a carnal liaison.

Suddenly, a man forcefully pulled them apart.

Xia Yunhe, dazed, recognized him and was shocked speechless, swallowing hard to swallow the sight of the Seventh Prince.

Xie Yi glared fiercely at the woman and gripped Xia Yunhe’s garment like a small wolf baring its fangs.

The woman teased him by touching his face, “Oh, so fierce.”

Xie Yi slapped her hand away, warning in a sullen, youthful voice, “Dirty.”

The woman sneered lightly, glanced at the grasped fabric, then leaned close to Xia Yunhe’s arm, “What would a kid like you understand?”

Xie Yi pushed her away harshly. “Stay away from the lady.”

The woman laughed, studying Xia Yunhe again. “Gentleman? You highborn folk are so innocent every day. Why do I meddle in such matters?” With that, she flicked her wrist, hooked the money pouch, and sashayed away.

Xia Yunhe looked at Xie Yi with unease, suddenly feeling something was wrong. She pulled the youth close and asked in a low, serious voice, “Your Highness, how did you come to be here?”

Xie Yi was unhappy but seeing her worried face, his earlier displeasure faded.

He lowered his head and whispered, “I woke up here. I escaped from a house and saw you, so I followed you.”

These people... she sighed. This matter must be reported to His Majesty.

To abduct a prince—who had such audacity? Were they mad?

Xia Yunhe glanced at Xu Xing’s heavily barred door, squinted at the setting sun, and gripped Xie Yi’s wrist tightly. “Before the palace gates close, we must hurry back.”

But Xie Yi, stubborn as ever, shook off her hand, frowned, and stared at her with wide eyes.

“Will the gentleman abandon me?”