That night, it was destined to be an unusual one.
Fan Xian had gone mad with poetry, and the great Zhuang Mohan had quietly left. His Majesty had made it clear that he wanted to cultivate the eldest son of the Fan family, and the Crown Prince's position was secure. There was too much information that night, so whether it was the diplomatic mission from Dongyi or the various ministers, when they returned to their manors, they discussed what they had seen with their aides or colleagues. But what shocked everyone the most, and what they discussed the most, was, of course, the eighth-level functionary Fan Xian's performance in front of the palace.
In the end, they all came to a common conclusion: Sir Fan was truly a poet.
Some people wondered if Fan Xian had composed so many poems over the years, and then released them all in one night. After all, the circumstances of these poems were different, and the feelings were different. If it was said that he had wandered between such different and intense emotions in one night, and could still form naturally, then the poet would probably go crazy.
But no matter which one it was, everyone still believed that Fan Xian was not an ordinary person. Nonsense, what ordinary person could bring out so many good poems like they were cabbages? Even if you were not afraid of getting tired, you still had to be able to grow them.
In short, in the world close to the Kingdom of Qing, all the beautiful, passionate, or gloomy literary works had been unwillingly or willingly brought down by Fan Xian's mouth. From then on, they had become an inseparable part of the spirit of this world.
There were some parts of the poems that people did not understand, and they all took it as Sir Fan's inarticulate speech after drinking too much. They were waiting for him to sober up and ask for advice. As for whether Fan Xian would have to cover up his lies, and thus be forced to write a comprehensive history of China and write the Four Great Masterpieces, or whether he would have to castrate himself to avoid trouble, that was a matter for another time.
— — —
On the carriage back to Fan Manor, Fan Xian was still sleeping soundly. Later, some busybody did some calculations for him. That night at the palace banquet, not to mention how many poems he had composed, he had drunk no less than nine liters of royal wine. So when his poems were destined to intoxicate many scholars, he himself was already drunk to the point of unconsciousness.
He was carried out of the palace by the eunuchs under the feet of His Majesty. His body reeked of alcohol and he was full of complaints. Fortunately, he did not faint in front of the people who looked at him as if he were an immortal.
On the carriage of Fan Manor, the eunuchs in the palace carefully instructed the servants of Fan Manor to take good care of their master. The masters had all spoken. This master's head was the treasure of the Kingdom of Qing, and they did not dare to damage it.
The carriage arrived at Fan Manor. The well-informed members of Fan Manor had long since known that their young master had won a great deal of glory in front of the palace. He had slapped Zhuang Mohan in the face, and everyone in the manor shared his glory. The personal attendant happily carried him off the carriage. Madam Liu personally cleared the way and sent him to his bedroom. Then, she personally went to the kitchen to cook some soup to sober him up. Fan Ruoruo was worried that the maid was not careful enough, so she carefully wrung the towel and wet his dry lips.
Fan Sizhe, who had been woken up by the noise, rubbed his sore eyes. He looked at his unconscious, drunk brother with jealousy and admiration. Count Sinan, Fan Jian, was in his study with a smile on his face. Even the uneducated servants could read his master's expression. He wondered what he should write in his memorial to His Majesty. His Majesty should not be surprised by what had happened to Fan Xian. After all, he was the child of a Tianmai.
The night gradually grew dark. After a period of excitement, everyone gradually dispersed, not daring to disturb Fan Xian from his drunken dreams. At that moment, he suddenly opened his eyes and said to his sister, who was standing by his bed, "In my belt, there is a light green pill."
Ruoruo saw that he had woken up, and without any time to ask questions, she hurriedly took out the pill from her belt and carefully fed it to him.
Fan Xian closed his eyes for a long time, slowly circulating his zhenqi. He found that the hangover pill was indeed miraculous. There was no longer any discomfort in his chest, nor was there a trace of drunkenness in his brain. Of course, he was not really drunk. Otherwise, when he was "reciting" in the palace hall, he would have accidentally read out the original author of the poem. That would have been wonderful.
"I'm worried that someone will come to see me in the middle of the night. After all, I should be drunk and not sober." Fan Xian frowned as he put on his night clothes with his sister's help. His eyes were clear; he had not been as drunk as he had been in the palace.
"It shouldn't be. I told them that I would take care of you tonight." Fan Ruoruo knew what he was going to do, and couldn't help but worry.
"Lady Liu..." Fan Xian frowned. "Will she come to take care of me?"
"I'll watch here. No one should come in." Fan Ruoruo looked at his eyes worriedly. "But you'd better hurry."
Fan Xian touched the dagger in his boot, the three needles in his hair, and the pill at his waist. He confirmed that he was fully equipped, and nodded. "I'll hurry."
He walked from the back of the manor to the mansion where the wedding was being prepared. By now, he was already dressed in night clothes. Under the cover of the night, it would be difficult to see him. Only when he moved, the black light that came with his rapid movements gave him a ghostly feeling. He crawled out from under the wall of the courtyard, where a carriage was already parked.
Fan Xian frowned slightly. Although there was no curfew in the capital, the streets were still strictly guarded at night. After the incident on Niulan Street, the city patrol had been badly shaken, so they were now especially vigilant. So he temporarily gave up on the idea of using a carriage. With a shake of his body, he circulated his zhenqi throughout his body and immediately sped up, disappearing into the darkness of the capital.
Fan Manor was not far from the Royal Palace. Before long, Fan Xian had reached the foot of the western side of the Royal Palace. That was where the servants of the Palace intersected with the inner city. Usually, it was lively, but now that night had fallen, it had become quiet. Using the short trees as cover, he lowered his body and leapt to the side of the Yudai River. His left hand hooked onto the stone railing by the riverside, and his whole body moved forward like a koala.
The lights in front of him were bright, but the river seemed very dark. Fan Xian did not dare to be careless. Relying on the endless zhenqi in his body, he held his breath and carefully moved his body.
After an indeterminate amount of time, he finally bypassed two arched bridges and came to a quiet forest on the side of the palace. Fan Xian relaxed a little, and opened his mouth to take a few quick breaths. He felt his body gradually become excited, as if he was enjoying this dangerous activity.
The palace wall next to the forest was at least 15 meters tall, and its surface was extremely smooth. There was no place for him to put his weight on. Even the strongest martial artists in the world could not leap over it. Of course, for the few who had already reached the level of a grandmaster, whether or not this high wall would have any effect remained to be tested in practice.
Fan Xian was not one of the four grandmasters, but he had other methods. The scarlet wall in front of him looked somewhat blue in the dark. Like a shadow, he skimmed from the forest to the wall. He found a dark corner where the palace lanterns could not illuminate. Forcing himself to calm down, he sat cross-legged and slowly turned the Tyrannical zhenqi in his body through the snowy mountain into warm threads of Qi, adjusting the condition of his body.
— — —
In the depths of the palace, not far from Hanguang Palace, Hong Sixiang sat quietly in his room. The empress dowager was not feeling well that day. She had heard the Emperor talk about the funny things that had happened at the court banquet. When she heard that Zhuang Mohan had been angered to the point of vomiting blood by Fan Xian, the empress dowager could not help but laugh. But for some reason, she seemed to share the sorrow of old people, and so she had gone to bed early.
Hong Sixiang had been in the palace for decades, and the young eunuchs did not know how old he really was. They guessed that he was at least 70 or 80 years old. In any case, Hong Sixiang's only duty in the palace was to keep the empress dowager company. He had been here since the founding of the Kingdom of Qing. When he was young, he liked to wander outside the palace. As he grew older, he realized that there was not much difference between the inside and the outside of the palace.
Hong Sixiang picked up a peanut, put it into his mouth, and chewed it. Then, he picked up a small glass of wine and took a sip with enjoyment. The oil lamp on the table was dim. The old eunuch thought of Fan Xian's drunken madness in the palace today, and he could not help but smile. Even if he was a eunuch, he was still a eunuch of the Kingdom of Qing. Eunuch Hong was in a good mood to be able to make the people of Northern Qi suffer.
On the other side of the palace, the Emperor's study was lit with candles. Naturally, it was much brighter than the eunuchs' rooms. The current Emperor was a diligent ruler who loved his people, so he often read memorials at night. The eunuchs had long gotten used to it. They just kept a midnight snack with warm water, waiting to be summoned.
It was late at night after the banquet in front of the palace, but the Emperor was still diligent. He sat in front of the table, holding a brush in his hand. The tip of the brush was stained bright red, like a knife that killed silently. Suddenly, the tip of the brush stopped above the memorial, and his brows gradually furrowed.
The eunuch holding the brush said carefully, "Is Your Majesty tired? Why don't you take a break?"
The Emperor laughed. "Tonight in the palace, did you not break your hand copying poetry?"
The eunuch pursed his lips and smiled. "The Kingdom produces talented poets. I would love nothing more than to copy poetry like this every day."
The Emperor smiled and did not say anything more. He only occasionally lifted his head to look out the window, feeling that there was something strange in the dark.
...
...
The palace was large, and it was quiet in the summer. The serving girls half closed their eyes, feeling sleepy, but they did not dare to sleep. The guards were carefully guarding the Outer City, but the Inner Palace was peaceful.
In the corner, next to the fake mountain, Wu Zhu, wearing a brand-new set of light brown clothes, melded into the night. The only thing that could be seen was his eyes, which were covered by the black cloth. His entire body seemed to have become an existence very similar to the inanimate objects around him with the help of some kind of method.
His breathing and heartbeat had slowed to an extreme, moving in harmony with the gentle night wind around him. Even if someone walked past him, if they did not deliberately look in that direction, it would probably be difficult to notice his existence.
Wu Zhu "looked" at the light in the Emperor's study for who knew how long. Then, he slowly lowered his head, put on the black hood, and silently walked in the other direction of the palace. The route he took was very ingenious. He avoided the light and used the terrain to move. He followed the grass and flowers, entered the mountains without a trace, patrolled the lakes without a sound, and was as terrifying as a ghost. It was as if he was taking a leisurely stroll through the heavily guarded palace.
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