Naturally, there was no such thing as two suns in the sky. Same as how water always flows downstream or that fish could not live outside water, the fact that there was a sun that rise and falls every day is a universal principle - simple and plain. No matter how much one will it, there could not be a second sun, nor can water travel upstream.

Another universal principle is that all living beings will eventually die. Be it the Emperor or a beggar; they would all share the same fate once in the grave.

Jing Ping and Princess Kang had died. That was a universal principle. Jing Wen had been there on their last breath, heard their last words, and buried them in the garden of the manor in Jing village. Even if a deity had descended from heaven, it would be impossible to revive Jing Ping and Princess Kang.

Still, Jing Ping and Princess Kang’s death had affected many people. The current Emperor viewed Jing Ping as his uncle and Princess Kang was his biological sister. This is not to mention the countless commoners who benefited from the Prime Minister’s reforms. Yet perhaps no one was as affected by their death as Jing Wen. He had mourned Jing Ping and Princess Kang for over a month and burned countless incense before their grave. Even Jing An found it somewhat too zealous; it was simply too different from the temperament of Jing Wen before Jing Ping and Princess Kang’s death, who was bold and confident. The Jing Wen at Jing village was a man soaked in miserably, constantly torturing himself.

Perhaps if Zhou Aimin had not invited Jing Wen out, he would have remained in that state, even after the forty-nine days-long period of mourning that is typically in the Great Zhu.

Fortunately, that Little Taoist had come to Jing village, and Jing Wen’s talents were not wasted on his grief. After he entered the capital, he had shown a little semblance of his previous state of grief. Though he had not known any vigour in his actions, he at the very least, appeared to have found an objective to stave off the misery from Jing Ping and Princess Kang’s death.

Perhaps because of this, Zhou Aimin had grown careless in his words, creating this situation.

Of course, it was rather challenging to grasp the connection between those Southern Wu rebels with the prime minister’s death. Zhou Aimin’s regret was what one could consider baseless. Yet still, Zhou Aimin sought after cooperation with Jing Wen to be built on trust, and his curious inquisition had touched the dragon’s reverse scale.

“Fellow Jing I… I…”

Zhou Aimin struggled to find the words appropriate for this situation, yet found none. Responding to grief was a complete novelty to the Little Taoist. After all, he had grown up in Shuntian, where man and woman were tempered by the harsh nature of the frontier against the North Sea tribes. It was a land where infants slept in the carcass of goats to prevent a frozen end. Where human life was no different from the grass growing between the pavement.

Even though Zhou Aimin was the heir of the Prince of Qiao, the difference between men in the North was judged by how capable one was on the battlefield. The line between commoner and noble had long blurred in such a place.

So, how could someone from such a place send other condolences?

After a long moment, Jing Wen waved his hand. With an indescribable expression on his face, he said, “Fellow Zhou, you needn’t apologies. If I grew indignant over this matter, I would be a very petty person.”

Zhou Aimin’s face filled with embarrassment. Looking at Jing Wen, he said some nervously, “Honourable sir Jing, you aren’t angry with me?”

In the end, Zhou Aimin was only sixteen of age. It was the age at which one’s thoughts would run uncontrollably. Perhaps Jing Wen truly was not impacted by his words. But in the youthful mind of Zhou Aimin, these matters that typically existed unrelated to each other suggested that Jing Wen was, at the very least, affected by it.

Jing Wen thought for a moment before saying, “It was a casual statement. Don’t worry, I am not obsessed enough to deny my parent’s death.”

Zhou Aimin thought for some time and found what Jing Wen said was rather reasonable. And since Jing Wen had said he would not become angry over this matter, then Zhou Aimin should not obsess over it any longer. Moreover, his statement was truly made in a casual manner, with no intentions of harming Jing Wen.

It was truly for the best if this conversation was simply forgotten. Treated no differently than mere small talk that had ended poorly.

However, Zhou Aimin could not. If Jing Wen indeed did not have some obsession over the death of the Prime Minister and Princess Kang, then why did he hesitate to answer?

---

In the end, Zhou Aimin decided to learn from his earlier mistake and did not urge Jing Wen to answer his curiosity. Perhaps out of embarrassment or confusion, Zhou Aimin did not wish to continue the conversation further, quickly excused himself from Jing Wen’s bedchambers, seeking the simple-minded Yang’er to alleviate the convoluted thoughts on his mind.

After Zhou Aimin had left, Jing Wen placed the classic onto it bookshelf and dimmed the light. After rinsing his mouth and washing his face, he changed into another set of white robes before stepping before the bookshelf once more.

Jing Wen’s bookshelf was rather unique. Aside from the books resting atop it, there was also a department for weapons. The collection was very pitiful, with only a sword, bow and spear. Jing Wen took out the sword and began sharpening it.

After the water on the whetstone had become dark from dust and the stone itself, Jing Wen wrapped the sword in butcher paper. Returning to the bookshelf for the final time, Jing Wen took off the ox-horned bow and began to wind the bowstring. The cow tendon had a dull shine to it, its surface smoothed by extensive use.

Next, Jing Wen reached within his sleeves and took out a jade thumb ring. The green light the thumb ring reflected under the early mourning appeared truly magnificent, akin to the reflections of mountains onto a lake.

However, this beauty was spoiled.

For there was a dark mark on the jade surface.

It was the same colour as what one would see when gazing upon expensive black tea. It was crimson like blood.

But it was very different from black tea. It did not smell fragrant and cause one’s mouth to water.

It had a rusty scent that caused one to vomit.

---

Aside from causing the Seventh Prince to grow complacent and Fang Hui to enter his inner circles, there was a third reason Jing Wen had gave the Seventh Prince the names of those Southern Wu rebels.

It was to kill with a borrowed knife.

However, it was simply impossible for such a disorganised group to kill Jing Ping and Princess Kang, who were protected by innumerable guards. There naturally were other groups involved in the plot to kill the Jing couple. Their knowledge of the events of that day was far greater than those of the Southern Wu rebels, who had departed after the initial phase of the event that ultimately led to the Jing couples’ demise.

That was why Jing Wen was willing to pass their information to the Seventh Prince. Even if tortured, they could not give off information related to the true events of Jing Ping’s death.

However, there are many to do.

Leaving Jing manor, Jing Wen refused Mingzhu’s proposal to accompany him as he headed North in the light snowfall that had continued from the previous day. Passing Long’an Avenue, he went deeper into the slums of the city. In such places, no one noticed the blind youth passing into the lanes or the snow that was gradually gathering upon the two pieces of butcher paper.

The snowfall gradually began, forcing the inhabitants of Lin’an to return to their homes and workshops. Jing Wen finally stopped beneath the eaves of a run-down manor from a previous dynasty. He did nothing to prevent the loose snowflakes from resting upon his shoulders. Jing Wen simply stood motionless, his head drooped down, listening to the sounds coming off a cramped buidling.

Jing Wen rolled the thumb ring in his head, feeling the gentle ridges upon it as he thought; if not for his father actively seeking those skilled in divination, he probably would have never known the existence of the man behind the door.

Jing Wen silently calculated the time, and guess it should be about right. He unwrapped the butcher paper and carefully folded it before placing it into his sleeves. He then walked through two streets in the ever-growing snow, keeping his path on the left side of the footpath.

Jing Wen’s silk shoes were protected from becoming soiled walking on the mud road by the thick layer of snow. As the distance between him and the worn-down wooden door, his grip onto the sword began tighter and tighter.

Jing Wen was not afraid of killing the man in public. With his status as Marquis, killing a mere commoner would only result in a fine. Of course, the Emperor would like to reproach him, but Jing Wen did not mind listening to His Majesty’s words.

Jing Wen uncreased the piece of cloth covering his eyes, and stepped closer to the door without any sense of urgency.

The door was slightly cold and wet when Jing Wen knocked on it. He could feel that on it’s surface, there was quite a number of holes clumsily patched with planks. He did not think much of it, since a martial artist, at a high enough level, did not need to fear the cold or hot.

The sound of muffled footsteps could be heard before it was replaced by the miserable cry from the spindles of the old door. Without lifting his head, Jing Wen asked the person who had opened the door, “Hong Fu (洪富)?”

The middle-aged man wearing a thin jacket patched with cloth appeared more miserable than that old door. His face was full of wrinkles, like a chrysanthemum flower. Between those cracks were traces of hardened mud that have yet to be washed out with soap. His black and grey hair was clumsily tied with a piece of hemp.

The middle-aged man looked at Jing Wen with his distinctively dark pupils that were distinctively separated from the white of his eyes. A suddenly flash ran through it as he said after a long moment, “Young master. It has been some time.”

Jing Wen lifted his head and asked calmly, “May I sit down for a meal?”

Hong Fu grew surprised but quickly recovered as he said, “Yes. But I’m not sure if it’s suited to your taste.”

After Hong Fu stepped aside, Jing Wen passed the wrecked door. Hong Fu’s residence consisted of a single room, so it only took Jing Wen half a dozen steps before reaching the dining table.

Sitting down, he noticed an additional girl was at the table. He asked, “Your daughter?”

Hong Fu sat between Jing Wen and the girl. After making sure his entire body covered her, he said, “Yes. Hong Jingfei (洪靜非).”

Jing Wen asked, “Are you fine with her presence here?”

“She is deaf and mute. I also have not taught her martial arts,” Hong Fu answered indirectly.

Jing Wen loosened his grip on the sword and used the now spare hand to pick up a pair of chopsticks. Reaching for a piece of rotten lettuce that was soaked too long in brine, he ‘looked’ at Hongfu.

“After I kill you… I will at least ensure she will not struggle in the future.”