Tiangongfang
Jiang Heng put down his package and then carefully surveyed the new residence. The main gate faced the inner hall, where there was no screen wall. The two "guards" that Fu Qinxiang had given him stood inside the gate. The inner hall had three wide openings without doors. In the courtyard, a tree in full bloom had been battered by the rain, leaving only its branches drooping. Jiang Heng looked closely and realized that the flowers and leaves were clearly the same as the embroidered pattern on Fu Qinxiang's skirt. He couldn't help but chuckle. Fu Qinxiang was trying to embellish his appearance with her own beauty.
"Is everything taken care of?" Fu Qinxiang rushed back to the mansion, pushed away the hot tea offered by the male concubines, and couldn't help but tease them by tapping their noses with her fingertips as if playing with delicate flowers. "Keep a close eye on them."
"We're keeping a close eye on everything, whether it runs on the ground or flies in the sky." The assassin, half-masked, had eyes that reflected the candlelight like eerie will-o'-the-wisps. "You can rest assured, my lord."
"Let's take Jiang Heng to Tiangong Workshop tomorrow after he's rested." Fu Qinxiang propped herself up with her hand, tilted her head to the side and fell asleep, murmuring softly, "The completion date is still set for the day after tomorrow, no matter who pushes it."
The next day, Fu Qinxiang's men deliberately arrived an hour early, anticipating Jiang Heng's comical reaction. As soon as the guard opened the door, he met Jiang Heng's gaze as Jiang Heng recited his lessons under the flowering trees in the courtyard. Jiang Heng was startled, instinctively pulling his loose hair back, and replied, "Forgive my slowness, I apologize for waiting so long." The man sized up Jiang Heng, who was dressed in loose robes, and gestured with his chin to hurry.
The workshop was covered in gold paint, and the four walls were carved with mountains, rocks, flowers, and birds, no different from those in the palace. However, looking up at it for too long could become monotonous. Before even stepping into the workshop, one could hear the thunderous roar of looms, the smell of rust mixed with the stench of sweat, which smelled bitter. The weavers wore red headscarves, their worn and dull ones mingling with the newly made, shiny ones amidst the black and silver wood and iron, creating an illusion of being in a sea of fire. Looking further up, at the extremely high roof of the workshop, as soon as Jiang Heng stepped through the gate, the guards slammed the door shut, and he himself felt as if he had been swallowed whole by a giant beast.
"How long have you been working? If you're tired, please take a rest. The clothes you rushed to make this time are mine; I've already returned them to the Imperial Preceptor, so it's alright," Jiang Heng said softly to an old man. He carried with him the food given to him by Fu Qinxiang, which he had carefully wrapped up after testing it for poison. He took it out of his sleeve at this moment, and it was still warm.
The old woman frowned, not because she was smelling the food, but because she was trying to pinpoint the direction of the sound. She instinctively reached out to investigate, but then suddenly stopped, turned around, and knelt on the ground, exclaiming, "A deity! A deity has descended to earth!" The voice was deafening, and everyone around seemed to wake from a dream. They all stopped their needlework and turned to look at Jiang Heng. Jiang Heng was somewhat surprised, put down his food, and helped the old woman up, saying, "You've mistaken me for someone else. I'm not a deity, but a scholar."
"A scholar?" another old man asked eagerly. Jiang Heng bowed to the old man and said, "This junior, Jiang Heng, is indeed a scholar." "Then you must have passed the imperial examination to be able to serve under Fu Xian'er!" another man said. "No, no, this junior is untalented. I was recommended here by my uncles and others, which is quite fortunate." As the crowd was discussing, the old man suddenly laughed loudly in a hoarse voice, "Hahaha... the immortals are playing a joke on this old woman again."
"Never mind him, that crazy woman went crazy after her son died last month." "She went without food for days to write a letter, even selling all her money to pay the guard to write a few lines for her, but she still couldn't send it. Tell me what..." "It's so pitiful. She was perfectly fine, but the court arrested her and sent her to the army. She only had one son." "We work ourselves to the bone just for a letter from our children. It's not easy for anyone."
"Everyone, please take a break. This robe is mine, so please take your time. There's no rush." Upon hearing Jiang Heng speak—no, upon hearing the golden light flashing at his waist—everyone temporarily stopped their looms and gathered around Jiang Heng. "Hey, you know, after all these years of hardship, we've really waited for a 'god'!"
As they were talking, the strange old woman, with some unknown strength, suddenly grabbed Jiang Heng's arm tightly and said, "Immortal, can you please take my life? Whether it's for alchemy or as a sacrifice, I just want my son to become an immortal or a god, free from pain." Jiang Heng bent over in pain, but he had never encountered such a situation before. He simply comforted the old woman and observed her expression further.
"Don't look down on my old bones," the old man said, "I know that Fu Xian'er's Heavenly Palace workshop is for us to accumulate good karma and make clothes for the celestial beings so we can become immortals ourselves. I've worked the hardest and for the longest time, so it's not too much to ask that my son be given an immortal position!" The old man's eyebrows were raised higher than everyone else's. Jiang Heng felt a pang of pity, but still smiled and said, "Old man, why don't you have some pastries first? I'll make arrangements for your son, so don't worry. You and your son will definitely reunite in the Heavenly Palace." Hearing this, the people shook their heads and dispersed. They wanted to really rest, but the tall figure of a female servant kept flashing through their minds, accompanied by the lingering pain of the whip marks on their bodies. So they perked up and silently pushed and pulled the roaring looms again.
Seeing this, Jiang Heng took a step back and thought that their incessant activity was probably due to Fu Qinxiang's pressure. He himself held a lowly position and couldn't easily interfere. His only hope was that he could ensure they had three meals a day and enough rest. With this in mind, he settled the old man and turned to the gatekeeper, asking, "Sir, are their three meals prepared? When will they be delivered?" Seeing his humble manner, the gatekeeper assumed it was another of Fu Qinxiang's favorites coming to see the new clothes. He fiddled with his sword tassel and said, "If they starve to death, it's not your fault. You're still living a life of luxury, aren't you? Mind your own business!" He glanced at Jiang Heng, noticing his rather plain clothes, and teased, "What, trying to put on a pitiful act to get your master's pity? Save your breath!"
Jiang Heng felt nauseous and walked back to his original spot without saying another word. Not long after, someone opened the door and brought food. He glanced at it and, as expected, it was leftovers. Without thinking, Jiang Heng gave the food he had brought to the eldest weaver first, then went straight to the gatekeeper and demanded to leave the workshop. The gatekeeper, while pushing and shoving, took the opportunity to gain some advantage, a satisfied smile on his face, and said contemptuously, "Such a fiery temper, no wonder the Prime Minister likes you." Jiang Heng, unable to bear it any longer, twisted the gatekeeper's wrist with one hand and ripped off his waist badge with the other, holding it to the gatekeeper's nose: "Look carefully, are you opening this door or not!" The gatekeeper had never seen this gold-plated, silver-edged, pearl-embellished badge before, only recognizing the gleaming gold. He was immediately filled with regret, not daring to pull his hand away, and endured the pain to open the door. Jiang Heng ignored him, rushed out to the kitchen, and soon returned with hot food, allowing everyone to eat well.
"There really is a second immortal descending from heaven! I have no regrets!" Everyone laughed upon hearing this, and then quickly picked up their food, using the steam to cover the tears in their eyes.
Seeing that everyone had mostly finished clearing away their bowls and chopsticks, Jiang Heng walked over to the younger weaver and tentatively asked, "These injuries on you don't look like work-related injuries. How did you get them?" The young man finished tidying up his loom, jumped down, and replied, "To be honest, sir, these were all inflicted by a maid. She must be a servant of one of those nobles." A servant of a noble? That didn't seem likely. Anyone who dared to lay a hand on a weaver must be someone close to Fu Qinxiang, most likely one of her bodyguards. Thinking this, Jiang Heng patted him on the shoulder to comfort him.
At night, everyone sang in response, one line after another. The starlight illuminating the riverbank as they fished, the rustling of wheat ears as they strolled through the fields, and the chirping of insects all swirled around them like a gentle breeze in their songs. After they finished singing, everyone smiled and went to their shared sleeping quarters. Jiang Heng, too, had a beautiful dream.
The next day, Fu Qinxiang sent people over, and Jiang Heng was taken away without explanation. People could only watch from afar. The warm light at the door was soon blocked by the iron gate, and this group of people began to forge their own lives again.
Upon meeting Fu Qinxiang, Jiang Heng's first words were, "Your Excellency is wise. Weavers bear the heavy responsibility of making garments; without adequate food and rest, they will find it difficult to increase their efficiency." Fu Qinxiang chuckled and lightly tapped the letter in Jiang Heng's hand, saying, "Let me see your letter first." Jiang Heng unfolded the letter with some skepticism, only to see a few words neatly written on it:
He will be sent to the capital for examination another day. If he passes the examination, he may serve as acting prime minister.
After reading it, Jiang Heng looked up and stared directly at Fu Qinxiang, saying, "I am already aware of what you said. I hope the Grand Preceptor will consider my previous statement." His words were blunt, and his gaze was sharp. Fu Qinxiang seemed to recall a troublesome old friend, frowned, and then smiled, saying, "The weaver was negligent and has already been punished according to the rules."
"Execution?" Jiang Heng's voice trembled.
“Adding extra meals will cause delays in work and neglect my guests; such behavior will surely result in execution.” Fu Qinxiang glanced at Jiang Heng, deliberately emphasizing the word “execution” to appear nonchalant. “That’s fate. Do you really think you can change their destiny? You are not destiny.” She raised her hand to brush away a few strands of white hair that had stuck to Jiang Heng’s robe, watching him lower his eyes and hide the tears in them with his eyelashes, as if lamenting that a bright pearl was gradually being tarnished.
"Don't worry, they won't hate you. After all, they were calling your name before they died." Fu Qinxiang's eyes turned contemptuous as she was led out the door by her guards. The air was filled with the fragrance of flowers, but upon closer inspection, the stench of blood was overwhelming.
As Fu Qinxiang sat in the sedan chair, she lifted the curtain, the tassels swaying, perfectly complementing her official attire, captivating the guard's heart. "Tell me," the voice drifted over, "that's a huge blow to him right from the start. Won't it be even harder to win him over later?" The guard retorted with a hint of reproach, "You never seem to care about me, but this new pale-faced scholar is being treated like royalty. What kind of distinguished guest is he?"
“Haha, he’s not a distinguished guest, but if we keep him, he’s useless, but if we don’t, there might be trouble later,” Fu Qinxiang raised her voice, ignoring the guard’s teasing. “Tell me, Jiang Zhong’s son, his mother is still missing, and now he’s inexplicably been recommended by his subordinates, and in less than a month he’s gone from being a ghostwriter to a high-ranking official’s attendant. Is all of this just a coincidence, or was it premeditated? Whether he’s relying on connections or his silver tongue, it’s all his skill. If we don’t have this kind of person under our control, we have to crush him.”
“He only ascended to the clouds a few years after Jiang Zhong died; it seems like a long-planned scheme.” The guard took the curtain and leaned closer. “So, how does this man compare to Jiang Zhong?”
“I’ll know the truth after I provoke him today. I hope he’s a bad-natured young master, not kind to the end, and even more cowardly.” Fu Qinxiang stopped, took out a candy, and threw it to the guard. “I should have killed him back then.”
“Then let’s dampen his spirits these next few days, and it’ll be easier to deal with him later,” the guard said, clutching the candy tightly.
The setting sun hung low on the treetops, the branches struggling weakly in the wind for a moment, some breaking, startling the birds away. In the distance were endless palaces and pavilions, with the occasional outline of mountains peeking through the gaps. The mountains also darkened, cutting off the sun's path down the mountainside.
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