The Golden Hairpin

Huang Zitang listened to the sound of her own trembling breath, her mouth opening wide as if to say something, yet no words came out. She could only glare at him fiercely, breathing rapidly.

"I didn’t mean to imitate Huang Zitang’s handwriting… At that time, I wanted to follow the prefect’s family in death, my emotions in turmoil, completely unaware of what I was doing… Writing in that style was entirely unconscious… Or perhaps, it was because, in my heart, I had been thinking of… her. No one in this world knows her handwriting better than I do. I’ve copied essays for her countless times, even making the same mistakes she would make…" His voice, though still hoarse, grew clearer as he spoke. "And earlier, you said I no longer needed to exploit the Huang family, my enemies, so I moved out of the prefect’s residence… But that’s not true. At the time, I didn’t know… that the little girl whose words had destroyed my family was Huang Zitang…"

He had become a beggar, drifting south with the refugees, until he was taken in by a few scholars in Chengdu Prefecture, who later introduced him to Prefect Huang Min.

Huang Min took a great liking to him. Seeing that he couldn’t even remember his own name after his wanderings, Huang Min named him Yu Xuan and brought him into his home.

Under the crimson sunset, he saw Huang Zitang for the first time.

Like moss growing in the shade, encountering a flower blooming freely in the sunlight. The young Huang Zitang dazzled him, her radiance almost too bright to look at directly. Kneeling to help her pick up the fallen lotus buds from her arms, his fingers brushed against the hem of her skirt, stained with pond mud. Unable to resist, he grasped it and looked up at her.

Her eyes reflected his face, clear as a mirror. From that moment, he resolved to live his life within the gaze of her eyes.

The happiest time of his life lasted only three years. Though the day his mother hanged herself still haunted his dreams, he had gained new parents and an elder brother, a life with food and warmth, a roof over his head, and a small courtyard overgrown with ivy.

And there was her—the girl he adored, Huang Zitang.

Three years later, he passed the provincial examination and returned triumphantly to his adoptive parents. Thinking he might finally have a chance, he tentatively broached the possibility of being with Huang Zitang.

But he never expected that, overnight, his adoptive parents would decide to have him move out of the prefect’s residence and into a house they had prepared for him in Shu Commandery.

Unlike Huang Zitang, who argued fervently and openly with her parents, he revered and was grateful to his adoptive parents, so he had no choice but to leave the prefect’s residence and move into his own small home.

To celebrate his new dwelling, a group of friends invited him out for drinks, reveling late into the night. As the snow began to fall lightly outside, he left his drunken friends and walked home alone through the snow.

He took a detour, passing by the prefect’s residence, and looked up at Huang Zitang’s pavilion from the bustling streets below.

The light in the small chamber had gone out.

The woman he loved had already retired for the night.

Smiling, he stood in the snow and glanced back at the street. The snowy night was cold, with few people out and about. Vendors had packed up and gone home. Only an old shadow puppeteer remained by the roadside, performing a short play behind his gauze screen.He had already walked past but, moved by pity for the old man's hardship, turned back to place some money before the gauze screen. Hearing the old man sing of "Guangdefang in Chang'an," something distant in his memory was faintly stirred.

So he stood in the snow, lifting his head to watch the entire performance.

The heavy snow piled upon his hair and shoulders, yet he remained oblivious.

He watched as the tragedy of his family's destruction became a street performance, a tale of amusement in others' mouths, earning nothing more than a sigh of admiration—"Huang Zixiao was so clever in her youth."

Huang Zixiao.

The dazzling flower he had encountered, blooming wildly under the sunlight.

His elder brother's case of killing his wife was about to be closed. His family, having endured so much hardship, had finally glimpsed the dawn of a brighter future—

But then, why did the twelve-year-old her cry out "Father" beside him?

His mother hung from the beam, still swaying slightly. The newly risen sun outside cast slanting rays through the window lattice, dyeing his mother's entire body, the dilapidated house, and the whole world around him a deep crimson.

Just awakened from a dream, his bewildered mind was left utterly blank. Standing before his mother, he numbly clutched her legs and realized she was already cold and stiff.

After his father's death, it was his mother who had woven cloth day and night, laboring tirelessly to raise the two of them. Despite their poverty, she had gritted her teeth to send him to school and bought him fine brushes and ink. The mother who had once smiled and told him they would live happily together as a family. The mother who had gone mad after his brother was executed, now silently hanged herself while he slept.

He had no home left.

He took his mother down from the beam, dragged her to the bed, and carefully tucked her in. Closing his eyes, he leaned against her, thinking—just like falling asleep, never to open them again.

Yet the snow of that night pressed heavily upon him, making him feel once more the icy numbness as if all the blood in his body had frozen.

He didn’t know how long he had stood outside the prefectural office. By dawn, someone opened the door and was startled to see him. They hurriedly brushed the snow off him, only to find the layers beneath had melted and refrozen, binding his clothes and skin together in a solid mass of ice.

In the hazy darkness before his eyes, he faintly saw her face.

The woman he adored, the most blinding flower in his desolate life—his Huang Zixiao.

His greatest enemy, his deepest hatred, his most beloved.

The cold of that night left him ill for a long time.

He didn’t want to see Huang Zixiao again. When she came to visit him, he pressed a book over his face, ignoring her cheerful attempts to tease him into speaking.

Naturally, she noticed the change in him. Sitting dejectedly by his bedside, she asked, "What’s wrong? Why have you grown distant since we last went out? Why won’t you talk to me?"

Closing his eyes, he murmured heavily, "Ah Xiao, if only you didn’t know how to investigate cases."

Angry, she left—because his words had dismissed all her pride in one stroke. And for the first time, he didn’t stop her, letting the rift remain between them.

Because he thought, perhaps this was how it would be for the rest of his life.

Once he recovered somewhat, he went to Guangdu Temple on Mingyue Mountain to listen to the teachings of Buddha.There, he encountered Qi Teng, who introduced him to Master Mushan. For some reason, the things he had buried deep in his heart—intending to let them rot there forever—all spilled out under Master Mushan’s gentle smile. He spoke of Huang Zixiao, of Prefect Huang, and of his own mother.

Finally, Master Mushan asked, "There is a poisonous dragon in your heart. Since you cannot suppress it, why not let it unleash its might, so that you may finally find peace?"

Dazed, he rose and left Master Mushan’s meditation chamber, walking past the whitewashed walls and winding corridors.

He saw the words carved clearly on the stone tablet—

"By the empty pool at dusk, meditation subdues the venomous dragon."

Yet, he was already powerless. The vicious dragon in his heart had coiled free from his body, roaring through his veins, eager to embrace the bloody ecstasy that awaited.

When Yu Xuan recounted this, the gazes of those present inevitably turned to Master Mushan.

"Amitabha... Benefactor Yu lacked the resolve to tame his own nature. This old monk had hoped to use poison against poison, to destroy the demon in his heart in one stroke. Who could have foreseen that you would misunderstand, and now bring about such calamity?" Master Mushan lowered his eyes, clasped his hands, and said, "When I first saw Benefactor Yu at Benefactor Qi’s home, I thought you had not yet let go of past hatred and thus sought to end your own life. Little did I know you harbored malice, intent on murdering the foster parents who showed you such boundless kindness!"

Li Shubai saw how swiftly the monk absolved himself of blame and knew he must have long prepared his defense—there was surely more to the story. But since Yu Xuan’s case was still unresolved, he said nothing, merely observing coldly.

Yu Xuan paid Master Mushan no mind. A faint, despairing smile surfaced on his pale face, his lips still beautifully shaped despite their sickly hue, casting a shadow of sorrow over all who beheld him.

He left Guangdu Temple, purchased a piece of jade, and sought to win her favor once more. As they discussed the design for the bracelet, his vision flashed momentarily with the image of the Agashini that Qi Teng always carried—

Crimson as blood, elusive as smoke.

Agashini , born from the fleeting thoughts of a dragon maiden, often appearing beside those who died unnatural deaths.

"Let’s make two fish," he said slowly, sketching two small, looping fish on paper. "You and I will be like these two fish, each holding the other’s tail, forming an endless cycle. Neither can escape the other—bound together for eternity."

For eternity.

He obtained the poison from Qi Teng and applied it to three tiny indentations inside the bracelet, sealing them with wax, then smoothing them down. The faintest traces of yellow blended seamlessly into the white jade.

And so, this ill-fated bracelet was clasped around her wrist.

When he heard that the Huang family intended to hasten her marriage to Wang Yun, he made a bet with her, coaxing her into buying a packet of arsenic as she often did. On the day the plum blossoms bloomed after the snow, he saw her uncle and grandmother visit, guessing they had come to press for the wedding. As he helped her carry an armful of plum branches, he subtly pressed the bracelet on her wrist, locating the fish’s eye and using a twig to scrape away the wax.

Arm in arm with her grandmother, she walked away, affectionate and smiling like a flower.

He, cradling the plum blossoms, left her family’s garden, passing the pavilion where she once lived—the one he had gazed at for so long—past the withered lotus pond where they first met, and out of the prefect’s residence.In the desolate and empty back alley, he stood beneath the vast sky. The early spring's snowy wind swept through his entire body. He felt the cold, yet he did not move.

He remained motionless, gazing up at the heavens.

The plum blossoms in his arms slipped through his limp arms and fell to the ground. Reds and pinks, blood and rouge—all sank into the mud, their delicate fragrance extinguished.

It was as if he had returned to that day once more, lying motionless beside his mother’s cold corpse.

He had attended the poetry gathering at Qing Garden, engaging in idle talk and drinking wine. How strange—he felt as though he could barely hold himself together, yet no one seemed to notice anything amiss. He wasn’t truly drunk; he simply couldn’t keep up the act any longer. In a frenzy, he tore himself away from everyone, returned home, and lay motionless in his own residence, waiting for the news of mourning to arrive.

By the next morning, his adoptive parents were dead, and Huang Zixiao—so they said—had become the sole survivor of the Huang family.

He gathered the love letters she had written to him days before and went to the Western Sichuan Military Commissioner’s Office, submitting them to Fan Yingxi, who harbored a deep grudge against Huang Zixiao. His son had been exposed multiple times by Huang Zixiao, spared only by his desperate intervention, while his nephew had been exiled to a barren land with no hope of return—all because of her.

As he had expected, Fan Yingxi, now in charge of Sichuan’s administration, had the authority to handle all affairs in the region without consulting the central government. He immediately confirmed Huang Zixiao’s guilt in poisoning her own family and, after her escape, reported to the imperial court, demanding a nationwide manhunt for the woman who had murdered the Governor of Sichuan, Huang Min, along with four of her relatives.

His purpose fulfilled, after arranging for the construction of a proper tomb for the Huang family, he wrote a suicide note and took his own life before their graves.