Jing An, seeing her young master unconvinced, calmed her mood with some effort. She skillfully wiped off the droplets of tea scattered on the ground and Jing Wen’s white robes, saying.

“The Great Zhu Dynasty was founded a mere 28 years ago. It’s soul youthful and vibrant, it’s people prosperous yet not indulgent. Although the emperor Gaozu had died a mere ten years after unifying the heavens, he had left a strong foundation for his talented successor, the present emperor Yong. Young master, your father’s role as the nation’s first prime minister cannot be denied by yourself - were it not, the former emperor would not have wed his beloved daughter, the Honourable and Virtuous Princess Kang (慷) to the old master.”

Seeing a trace of emotions at the corner of Jing Wen’s lips in response to her words, Jing An’s heart grew thrilled. She, however, maintained a tranquil tone as she continued, “Young master, although you are not of the imperial succession, you still possess royal blood. As the ancients had once said, the dignity of an emperor cannot be lost, even in poverty. To carry pig intestine is not simply an insult to yourself, but an insult to the royal family itself -”

Suddenly, Jing Wen slapped the table before him, causing the empty teacup to quiver weakly in circles. Finally, after a long moment, both Jing An and the teacup recovered from their previous state of shock and confusion. Silence fell on the room.

“Enough,” Jing Wen said decisively, his single word possessing an aura of authority that can only be cultivated through countless years of command. He stood from the table and made his way to his resting chamber, using his hands and the walls he had grown familiar over the past month with as a guide.

After the faint sound of clicking between two pieces of wood was heard, Jing An knew Jing Wen must have reached his chambers. She rinsed the porcelain cup with scalding water, then returned it next to a shelf of a large variety of tea sets. During this whole process, her lips unconsciously carried a faint smile, continuing to be present on her lovely face as she left the building, and ultimately stood before Jing Ping’s grave.

Seeing the incense Jing Wen had placed earlier had already been exhausted, so she placed another lit incense into the holder. She bowed to the mound and began to speak, “Adopted father, the young master has finally begun to show traces of himself after so long. Though I am aware that provoking him is a foolish idea, I have neither the farsightedness adopted father possess nor the virtue adopted mother is known for.”

A few drops of blood flowed down her forehead - evidently, Jing An must have incurred such injuries from bowing in excess to Jing Ping’s grave. Regardless, Jing An ignored the wound and said, “ Did the ancients not say that aside from love, anger is the most powerful emotion? As long as the young master has returned to his former self, I am willing to bear all incarnations of his wrath.”

After this, Jing An spoke of a few more matters, such as how cold it had been in recent days, or how the servants of the Jing family were unfaithful for abandoning Jing An after he had dismissed them. In the end, half of the incense stick she had lit remained before Jing An finally left the courtyard.

---

The sun had descended below the horizon, and the full moon took its place. Sitting in his room, Jing Wen had already changed to a new set of clothes that was likewise also completely white. ‘Staring’ outside his window, he looked longingly at where the moon should be positioned at this moment. A furrow could be seen beneath the strip of cloth that covered his eyes as he struggled to recall the appearance of the full moon.

A soft sigh left Jing Wen as he realised he had forgotten too much of the world’s beauty after only a month of blindness. What would happen after two months? Six months? A year? Ten years? Would he forget the kind look his mother always carried, or the strict yet loving of his father? Of course, even if he managed to regain his vision, he could not see those two people of which his flesh and blood comes from again.

Ignorance comes from nescience, and a path to nescience is through forgetfulness. In the capital, Jing Wen had seen many scholars kill themselves at the first sign of dementia, and while Jing Wen was not as fanatical as those people, to forget the beauty of the world is truly a miserable thing.

However, even if Jing Wen desired to recover his vision, how could he do it? The tales of mythical medicines that could cure all wounds were as old as time itself, but who had truly found such things?

Pondering these thoughts that he never would have had as an imperial guard in the capital, Jing Wen slowly lost all sense of time and fell asleep at an unknown moment.

The next day, the snowfall had lessened by a great degree. The pedals slowly drifted through the air, floating elegantly as if in some sort of dance. At points, the snowfall would move in unison, while at other times, move with great liberty. Were the scholars in Lin’an to see this scene, they would surely order their servants to pour them a cup of tea and compose poems beneath a pavilion.

But to Jing Wen, there is no difference between the gentle waltz of the snowflakes and were there no snow at all. He woke up at the time of Mao (6:00 am), a habit he had since the earliest days of his martial training. Getting off the bed, he folded the quilt and made the bed, albeit the corners of the quilt were terribly misaligned. In the dining room of the Jing residence, he ate four freshly made hot meat buns, rinsed his mouth with cold tea leftover from the previous day, and returned to his resting chambers.

He sat down cross-legged on the floor, his hands forming a lotus symbol. Jing Wen continued to remain in his position like an ice sculpture for a full shichen (2 hours). His expression was filled with disappointment, while his head was soon lowered in contemplation. In the end, he could not figure out how he had failed to circulate Qi in his body, and so thought no longer, shaking his head. Soon, he stood up, paid respect to his father’s grave, and left the Jing residence.

He had left the box of pig intestines behind on the main street due to the mischief of the children Yesterday. Although a box of pig intestines was not worth much, the wooden chest was the first thing he had brought with his own wealth, gained from half a month of carrying things across the town.

Arriving at the eaves he had been the previous day, he heard a large number of footsteps and breathing - more than he had ‘seen’ in the entirety of the month he had been carrying goods through the main street. Was his wooden chest so interesting to attract the attention of the entire village? Of course not, it must be that some traveller had set up a stall at this very location, gathering the interest of the townsfolk. Despite the proximity of Jing village to the capital, it was separated from it by mountains and rivers, making the journey difficult for little benefits. Any traveller that had come here would naturally be of some novelty for the curious inhabitants of the village.

As if to prove his conjecture, the sharp sound of a handbell commonly used by merchants travelled through the crowded street. The sound was followed by the quietness of the townsfolk.

The individual holding the bell was of a slender and elegant build, though the loose fitness of the Taoist robes he was wearing made him appear somewhat humorous. The clothing crawled above his Adam’s apple, bringing attention to the little Taoist’s rather ordinary face. Were one asked to state the Taoist’s most prominent feature, it would be no doubt his slender eyebrows, which appeared like a willow branch elegantly curved above a clear lake.

The Taoist raised his voice and spoke in a clear manner, “My master, the great Taoist master Guo Xiling (郭西陵) has instructed this humble Taoist, Zhou Aimin (周愛民) to divine the fortunes of the men under Heaven in these times of mourning. Good people of the Jing Village, there is no need for any rush, for I shall only leave after three days of rest. Please property line up if you wish for your fortune to be told!”

The little Taoist’s words seemed to have a magical effect on the town folks, who obediently formed a queue without many difficulties. The Taoist gazed at the first person lined before him, a man of thin stature and dark complexion. He said without any reservation, “The yin Qi within your body is imbalanced. Aside from a change to a diet of more yang in nature, abstain from sexual activities will allow you to recover much of your lost strength and deficiency of blood.”

The man before the Taoist grew surprised, thinking; even without words, this Taoist was able to foretell my troubles. He must be a great master well versed in the divines! Hurriedly thanking the Taoist, he copied a prescription of various vegetables given by the Taoist, before leaving.

The second person, a woman wearing a light green dress that did not violate the conducts of mourning, stepped up with awkward steps. Her expectations raised by the patient before her, she waited for the Taoist to make his judgements.

As expected, it was soon that a confident smile appeared on the Taoist’s face. “Your struggles of the common actions such as walking are a result of dullness in the senses. For that, your problem has already been sorted.”

The woman naturally asked, “What is the venerable Taoist suggesting?”

The Taoist answered, “I have suggested to your husband a reduction of sexual activities. The masters often state that too much of a good thing is harmful. As long as you two practice moderation, your senses will return in due time.”

The Taoist motioned his hand to bring the woman closer and whispered a few words into her ears. Hearing these instructions, the face of the woman turned scarlet, and she quickly left the stall.

The Taoist, seeing the woman hurriedly depart, could not help but chuckle a few times in amusement. Soon, he began divining for the next individual in the queue. By noon, much of the townsfolk interested in the Taoist had received a satisfactory answer, returning to their homes to act on this said advice. As such, only two people were left on the main street.

Jing Wen, as a former member of the imperial guard, looked upon the people of JiangHu (江湖) with relative disdain, particularly diviners, who he thought to base their speculations off simple observations and broad language. The true reason why he had been waiting before the Taoist’s stall was simply that he wanted someone to help him find the wooden chest he had lost the previous day.

As he was about to approach the stall, the little Taoist preemptively knocked something by his side, producing a hollow sound.

This sound, was of course, from Jing Wen’s wooden chest.