Wei Shufen felt as though she were walking through a dream bathed in the hues of dawn.
Early that morning, the group packed their belongings and left the Xianyang region, crossing the Wei River and sneaking back into the forbidden garden. Led by Li Yuangui, they headed east, passing through the area north of the main palace and the western inner garden, then turned south after reaching the northern side of the Crown Prince's Palace. As they rounded a mountain ridge, they were greeted by a breathtaking sight—a vast peach blossom grove, radiant under the spring sun, its dazzling colors overwhelming the senses.
Li Yuangui’s face lit up with joy. “This is it,” he murmured before ducking into the peach grove, the others following closely behind. Their feet trod upon lush, fragrant grass, their shoulders brushed by falling petals, and even the sunlight filtering through the trees took on a rosy hue, the sweet scent filling their hearts. Unconsciously, everyone slowed their pace. Chai Yingluo leaned in close to Wei Shufen’s ear and whispered with a soft laugh:
“I just remembered something—I need Yang Da to help me with a task. You and Fourteenth Uncle go on ahead…”
“Ying-jie!” Wei Shufen grabbed her sleeve, refusing to let go. She knew exactly what this was about—Chai Yingluo was teasing her and Li Yuangui again.
Li Yuangui, walking ahead, turned to glance at the two girls—his sharp ears catching their exchange.
“Yingniang, stop fooling around. Time is tight. We don’t even know if Ouyang Shuleng is home, and it’s getting late. We need to finish our business quickly.”
The night before, they had debated who to approach for verifying the handwriting of Yi Niang’s letter, which Chai Yingluo had brought. Among the three greatest calligraphers of the time, Yu Shi Nan was elderly, frail, and bedridden with illness, while Chu Suiliang was constantly occupied with imperial duties at the Emperor’s side. Ouyang Xun, the Palace Rate Adjuster of the Crown Prince's Palace, though nearly eighty, was still in good health. Moreover, he had been exempted from active duties by imperial decree, spending his days leisurely practicing calligraphy—making him the most suitable candidate.
There was just one problem—Chai Yingluo didn’t know where the old master currently resided.
“If we can find him, given my mother’s connection and the Empress’s order, Ouyang Gong probably wouldn’t refuse me,” the female Taoist said. “Ouyang Gong’s calligraphy was already renowned during the Sui dynasty, and he was a frequent guest at the residence of the Supreme Emperor, then Duke of Tang. Around the WuDe Era, my mother took me to seek his guidance. He was very kind—my mother jokingly suggested I become his disciple, and the old master laughed it off. Later, too many people came seeking his teachings or his works, even envoys from places like Goryeo, Silla, and Japan, as well as powerful court officials. Ouyang Gong’s rank was never particularly high, and he couldn’t refuse them all. When he complained to the Emperor, His Majesty issued a decree: ‘Ouyang Xun is forbidden to privately write for anyone without imperial permission.’ But even that didn’t stop the requests. A few years ago, I heard the Emperor arranged a secluded residence for the old master. Ouyang Gong took only a few trusted attendants and left his family to live in seclusion, devoting himself to calligraphy and withdrawing from worldly affairs. His grand estate in Daozheng Ward is now occupied by his descendants, but no one knows the old master’s whereabouts.”
The secluded residence the Emperor had arranged for Ouyang Xun was here—within a peach grove in the northeastern part of the forbidden garden.
This location had been provided by Li Yuangui.
“Last year, I offended His Majesty and was punished by copying the Classic of Filial Piety twenty times,” the young prince said with a bitter smile. “After submitting my work for review, an envoy from the Hall of Established Governance returned it with a scolding—my handwriting was so poor it ‘could blind the imperial eyes.’ The envoy also brought two scrolls of the Emperor’s own calligraphy practice and ordered me to carry them to this peach grove cottage, where Ouyang Gong would evaluate them in person. I stayed for a few days to learn brush techniques from him.”“Really? His Majesty truly favors you, Fourteenth Uncle. I’ve never heard of such grace bestowed upon the other uncles.” Chai Yingluo had said with a laugh at the time. She likely meant nothing by it, but Li Yuangui couldn’t help glancing at Wei Shufen. Their eyes met in silent understanding, stirring ripples in their hearts.
Ever since Li Yuangui confided his doubts about his origins to Wei Shufen, they couldn’t help but dwell on such matters whenever they arose—though they knew it was futile. Perhaps Li Yuangui would never escape this whirlpool of thoughts in his lifetime?
A gust of wind sent petals fluttering down like rain.
The slender figure leading the way ahead stepped onto a pebbled path. Not far ahead, a small bamboo-fenced courtyard suddenly appeared amidst the dense trees. The courtyard housed only two modest buildings, front and back, not particularly tall, somewhat resembling the thatched cottage they had stayed in for days near the vegetable garden. Yet the structures were exquisitely crafted with white walls and black tiles, promising far greater comfort.
At the gate, a young servant girl with twin buns was sweeping. Spotting the group emerging from the woods, she froze momentarily before cheerfully calling out, “Fourteenth Young Master!” and curtsying to Li Yuangui. Here, even the lofty Prince Wu of Tang set aside his usual arrogance, exchanging pleasantries with the girl. He had barely asked a few questions like “How is Master Ouyang’s health?” when the wooden door of the main house creaked open behind them.
Wei Shufen turned to look and gasped at the sight of a hunched, clothed white ape shuffling out of the house.
The elderly ape—no, upon closer inspection, it was an old man, though his features were indeed bizarre—had unkempt white hair tied into a small bun at the back of his head, sans turban, with stray strands sticking out wildly. His wrinkled face was grotesque, with upturned nostrils and a beak-like mouth. His robe was splattered with ink stains, and he leaned on a wooden cane, his long, thin fingers grimy and dark, making for a truly frightful sight. Wei Shufen couldn’t suppress a soft cry and stepped back. The white-haired ape—old man—looked at her and burst into laughter:
“Whose little maiden is this…?”
“Master Ouyang!” Li Yuangui and Chai Yingluo stepped forward simultaneously to bow, with Yang Xinzhi following suit. The old ape—no, the old man—chuckled and returned their greetings. Clearly, this was the man they had come to seek: Ouyang Xun, Crown Prince’s Chief Secretary, Scholar of the Hongwen Academy, and Baron of Bohai County.
Wei Shufen had seen some of Ouyang Xun’s handwritten letters in her father’s study—solemn in structure, vigorous in strokes. They said “the style is the man,” so she had imagined him as a stern, disciplined Confucian scholar who never cracked a smile. Seeing him in person, she was first startled by his appearance, but then Chai Yingluo, after bowing, immediately began teasing him:
“…The Hall of Established Governance has heard that His Majesty secretly keeps a retreat and beauties in the forbidden garden, often lingering there without returning. It must be true! The moment we entered Xia Forest, I had a premonition that a celestial being would appear. Truly, ‘peach leaves reflect red blossoms, swaying gracefully without wind’…”
Instead of taking offense, the octogenarian laughed heartily:
“A celestial being? A bird-beaked immortal or a sea-patrolling yaksha? After all these years, little Miss Chai has grown even lovelier, and her tongue ever sharper…”
As the two bantered, a thunderous boom suddenly echoed in the distance, like a mountain splitting apart. Wei Shufen and the others jumped, looking up to see a plume of white smoke rising far beyond the treetops, dispersing into the clouds.
“What happened over there?” Chai Yingluo shielded her eyes with a hand. “Did someone’s alchemy furnace explode?”Ouyang Xun first shook his head and sighed, then revealed a smile—one that should have been warm and kindly, but paired with his features, it only appeared eerie and frightening—like a grandfather watching his mischievous grandson. Without answering the question, he merely trembled slightly and beckoned:
"Come, come inside and sit down to talk..."
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