Volume One The Youngest Among Three Hundred Chapter Fifty-five The Three Mechanisms of Man, Earth, and Heaven

In the Hall of Mental Cultivation, facing north within the grand Sun Palace, the candlelight blazed high, casting a shimmering glow upon the resplendent chamber, its lavishness overwhelming. Bai Wan shrugged off her outer robe, draping herself in a sheer silken garment spun from the finest spring cocoons, and gazed softly at the favored consort reclining upon her bed. “Youzhi,” she murmured, “how have the tonics fared lately? How many times can you manage now?”

Zhang Youzhi’s voice was languid, honeyed. “As many times as Your Majesty desires.”

A flush of excitement and color swept Bai Wan’s cheeks. “Good. Very good!”

But just as her words fell, there came a cautious knocking from outside—three gentle raps. Bai Wan’s mood, interrupted, turned sharp. “What business is so urgent it must ruin my evening?”

Outside, Feng Yuan’s voice was thin as a mosquito’s hum. “Your Majesty, someone seeks audience.”

Bai Wan’s patience snapped. “Insolence! Come again tomorrow.”

After a hesitant pause, Feng Yuan persisted. “Your Majesty, I would not dare disturb you, but the Grand Diviner and Chief Steward Wang have both arrived. The matter is...”

Bai Wan’s brows, which had arched almost to a right angle with petulance, relaxed just a fraction. She forced herself to smother the embers of her desire. “Let them wait in the imperial study. I shall be there presently.”

Soon after, Bai Wan entered the study, her hair unbound and attire plain, to meet Dong Zhongxuan, Grandmaster of Yingtian House and the realm’s Grand Diviner, along with Chief Steward Wang Liansi.

“Kneel before Her Majesty, long live the Empress!” The two men bowed in unison, voices ringing out.

Bai Wan could not help but jest, “If every night I were visited so late as you two, I fear my longevity would be forfeit.”

They bent lower, foreheads to the floor. “Forgive us, Your Majesty!”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Enough. You’re here now—speak.”

Dong Zhongxuan straightened, about to reply, but she cut him off. “Liansi, you first.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Wang Liansi rose, produced a brocade box from his sleeve, and spoke with careful enunciation. “Within is a rare incense called ‘Carefree’, procured from distant shores. When burned, it calms the spirit, sharpens the mind, and prolongs life. I have prepared it as a birthday tribute for Your Majesty.”

Bai Wan gestured for Feng Yuan to take the box, eyeing Wang Liansi with suspicion. “If you intended to present a gift, why not come to the Grand Harmony Pavilion earlier? Why choose this hour?”

Wang Liansi fell to his knees again. “Your Majesty, I also wish to request leave to return to my ancestral home in Cangzhou for three months. In my absence, my adopted son Cui Rang will act as Chief Steward. Such matters are ill-suited to the Pavilion’s public setting, and as I do not attend morning court, I had no other opportunity.”

“I beg Your Majesty’s grace.”

At his words, Bai Wan’s breath seemed to freeze for several heartbeats. After a long moment, she asked, “Why this sudden request to return home?”

Wang Liansi’s voice trembled, tears streaming down his aged cheeks. “Your Majesty, in Cangzhou, there is a custom: fifty years after a father’s passing, the son must return to guard his tomb for three months. Though I am a rootless man, I cannot forget my origins.”

Bai Wan turned to Dong Zhongxuan.

He nodded in understanding. “It is true; Cangzhou holds such a custom.”

“Very well,” Bai Wan said, taking up a brush to write the decree and affixing her jade seal. “You may take leave and return home, but you must return after three months.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Wang Liansi stepped forward to receive the decree and then stood quietly aside.

Bai Wan arched a brow and waved her sleeve. “If you have no further business, go and rest. You’ll need your strength for travel tomorrow.”

“Yes, yes! I take my leave!” Wang Liansi bowed deeply and withdrew.

Bai Wan’s gaze followed him, the glint in her eyes fading only when his footsteps were lost to silence. She then turned to Dong Zhongxuan. “Zhongxuan, you too—why come at such an hour? It’s almost as if you conspired together.”

Dong Zhongxuan explained, “It was chance. We met by accident.”

He took a gourd from his sleeve and set it lightly upon the desk. “I had intended to present this at the Grand Harmony Pavilion, but the Elixir of Longevity was not complete, so I was delayed.”

Bai Wan regarded him knowingly. “Zhongxuan, do you still withhold the truth from me? You simply wished to avoid those from the Celestial Masters’ House—and, no doubt, your elder brother.”

Dong Zhongxuan could only smile wryly. “Your Majesty sees through everything.”

Bai Wan, who had sat throughout, now rose and paced over to him. “But your brother did not attend tonight. When Changning vanished, the Celestial Masters’ House was eager, sending disciples everywhere to investigate—yet for my birthday banquet, they made no move. Intriguing, is it not?”

Dong Zhongxuan pondered. “The lineage of the Celestial Masters, founded by our ancestor Bian Jing, has always been tied to the fate of the realm. Unlike other sects with myriad ranks, ours has only three: Human Mechanism, Earth Mechanism, and Heavenly Mechanism—one plots affairs, one plots time, one plots the world. My brother stands at the early stage of Heavenly Mechanism, while I am but mid-stage Earth Mechanism. The gulf is vast. He perceives far more than I, and I cannot guess his aims or actions.”

A fleeting shadow crossed Bai Wan’s eyes, but she swiftly regained her composure, patting Dong Zhongxuan’s shoulder with grave meaning. “Zhongxuan, I drew you from the Celestial Masters’ House to found Yingtian House and named you Grand Diviner to counterbalance him. For though I do not know what Meng Qinglian intends, the Celestial Masters’ House binds its fate to the Qi Dynasty and surely supports the Zhao bloodline. Should he act one day, I hope you will stand with me.”

As sovereign of all under heaven, her tone was tinged with helplessness.

Dong Zhongxuan was moved. “Your Majesty, rest assured—I shall strive to reach the Heavenly Mechanism soon.”

“Good,” Bai Wan nodded. “It’s late. Go and rest.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Dong Zhongxuan bowed and turned, but after a few steps, he paused. “There is one more matter, Your Majesty. The martial artist of Houxuan rank from the small kingdom of Yingzhou has arrived in Chang’an. Was this mentioned at the banquet?”

Bai Wan’s gaze turned deep. “No, it was not. We shall see what he intends.”

After a short pause, she met Dong Zhongxuan’s eyes, her tone solemn and resolute. “If, within two months, you cannot yet break through to the Heavenly Mechanism, come to me. I can help you.”

……

Outside the Eight Immortals Residence, apart from Su Wanqiu, the rest of the Su family formed a circle, all propping their chins in their hands, peering intently at Chen Chang’an, who sat in the center, lost in thought.

Chen Chang’an hung his head, resembling a schoolboy caught in the throes of early romance, awaiting the principal’s reproach.

Su Qingtang’s eyes darted suspiciously as she surveyed this son-in-law, whose recent conduct had won the family’s approval. “He was fine just moments ago—why can’t he see now?”

Qin Fulou poked at the bridge of her nose with a finger. “Hey! Are you really blind or just pretending? If you’re not, stop acting.”

The second sister, Su Wanqing, glanced at her unconscious husband Zhu Jiawen cradled in her arms and pouted. “Mother, I’m sure it’s because our brother-in-law is afraid of carrying all those things you bought, so he’s pretending. When he dropped the silver earlier, his eyes were sharp enough!”

“Er…”

Chen Chang’an’s mouth twitched as he offered a helpless excuse. “I can see, but only temporarily. I’m still under treatment.”

“This cloth was soaked in medicinal water—when I wear it, I can see a bit. For lasting recovery, I’ll need more time.”

That was the same story he had told Changning before.

“Is that true?” Su Wanqing reached to tug the cloth from his eyes.

Sensing the motion, Chen Chang’an tilted his head away. “Of course it’s true.”

Su Wanqing stamped her foot. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Mother, have him carry all your rouge, jewelry, and fabrics. Jiawen’s fainted anyway.”

Qin Fulou tried to rouse Zhu Jiawen with a few pats, but seeing no effect, she batted her lashes. “Chang’an, sorry to trouble you.”

“No trouble at all!” Chen Chang’an waved it off, resignedly gathering the bundles and bags as he led the way—only to bump into a lamp post after three steps, a wall after four, and, after all the dropping and shuffling, the items Zhu Jiawen had carried were now utterly ruined.

Qin Fulou winced at the loss. “Stop, stop! I’ll carry them.”

Chen Chang’an ceded without protest, then, catching the delicate scent wafting from his wife Su Wanqiu at his side, leaned in and whispered, “Hey, where’s your brother?”

“He said the lantern show was dull and the food here too greasy, so he went home early,” Su Wanqiu replied.

“I see,” Chen Chang’an nodded.

Just then, Su Wanqiu suddenly gripped his sleeve, her tone grave. “When did you start your treatment—when did you begin to see, even occasionally?”

“That night… in Room 207 of the Black Clothes Guard, could you see?”

Chen Chang’an’s expression was the picture of innocence. “I started treatment yesterday at noon and only just now can barely see. That night, when you changed your dressings, I had no idea.”

Su Wanqiu’s face tightened. “If you couldn’t see, how did you know I changed clothes for the medicine?”

Chen Chang’an’s heart leapt into his throat, but he quickly recovered. “Didn’t you say it to Cao Wu when she came in?”

“Oh, then it’s fine.”

Su Wanqiu released him, saying nothing more.

By the time they reached home, it was already the second quarter of the Tiger Hour. Chen Chang’an reckoned that after a few more ranked matches, he would hear the rooster’s crow. He accompanied Su Wanqiu inside, feigned sleep upon the floor mat, and waited for her to drift off before sneaking back out to the courtyard.

He removed the cloth from his eyes. Under the sparse, starry moonlight, no magpies flew south.

He inhaled deeply, produced the Body Tempering Manual gifted by Li Shu, and licked his finger to turn the page. At last, he could make out the densely written characters.

On the first page, the preface read: “The body is the root of martial power—one may approach women and yet not fall short.”

Chen Chang’an was speechless.