Xuanji was imprisoned
That night, in the study of the Li residence, the candlelight was dim.
Shi Liu was led here silently. She kept her head down, not daring to look at the figure behind the desk.
“She’s been quite the talk of the town lately,” Li Yi’s voice broke the silence, devoid of emotion.
Shi Liu's heart tightened, and she nodded in agreement.
"Red Star Over China...it's truly a good book." Li Yi tapped his fingers lightly on the table, his tone suddenly turning cold. "But in that essay 'The Official of Longxi,' the lines 'The officials's granaries are fat with rats and sparrows, while the villagers are like weeds'...such sharp writing, if interpreted by someone with a discerning eye, might lead to misunderstandings...that it expresses resentment towards the Emperor's governance and the officials of the court?"
Shi Liu looked up abruptly, her face turning deathly pale: "My lord! My wife... she absolutely did not mean that!"
Li Yi's gaze was like a cold awl, piercing her face: "Whether she has such intentions or not is not important. What is important is what others will think." He leaned slightly forward, lowering his voice even further, "Shiliu, you are a smart person. Since you have chosen to stay by her side, you should know what is truly 'good' for her."
His gaze was sharp as a hook, and his tone shifted to a seductive slowness: "Given the current situation, the best outcome for her, and for yourself, is to let her return to Qiwu Pavilion and to my protection."
His gaze was fixed on Shiliu: "I will take care of things outside. You just need to stay by her side and keep a close watch on her. If there is any disturbance, report it to me immediately. That will be your contribution."
As he finished speaking, he casually placed his hand on Shiliu's. The touch was warm, and his calloused fingertips gently caressed her delicate skin, the movements slow and intimate.
“I will never let someone who does their job well suffer indefinitely.” With that, he slowly released his grip.
Shi Liu's cheeks burned, and her heart pounded. A surge of emotions, a mixture of shyness, ambition, and a yearning for stability, welled up within her. She understood what her husband was about to do, and she knew what her tacit agreement, even her cooperation, meant. But that last vestige of loyalty seemed so insignificant in the face of the more alluring future. She lowered her head, her voice weak:
"This servant...understands. This servant will...will take good care of Madam."
"Take this back with you." Li Yi handed Shi Liu a manuscript.
A few days later, on a drizzly night, the Yunqi Courtyard of Xianyi Temple was quiet. Qingxing was already fast asleep in the outer room, while Shiliu rose silently, like a ghost in the dark. She walked to the bookshelf where Xuanji usually kept his poetry manuscripts and took out a thin scroll of poems with slightly worn edges from her bosom.
It was given to her by Li Yi, and it contained the most incisive lines from "The Official of Longxi," as well as several "new works" that imitated Xuanji's handwriting but were more daring and outrageous in their wording and clearly alluded to current politics.
She held her breath and carefully mixed these crucial pages into Xuanji's stack of unorganized old manuscripts.
After doing all this, she quickly retreated to her bed, her heart pounding. A mixture of guilt and twisted anticipation surged within her. She closed her eyes, trying to convince herself that the young master was acting in her best interest.
Within days, a new, more sinister yet seemingly "reasonable" version of the rumors about "female Taoist priest Yu Xuanji" emerged in the streets and alleys of Chang'an: that she was arrogant and conceited, and that her poems and essays often contained satire of current affairs and insinuations about the court, making her intentions unfathomable... These rumors, like a carefully woven net, originated from the shadows and silently entangled the remaining bricks and tiles of Xianyi Temple.
In November of the tenth year of the Tianqi reign, a memorial impeaching the emperor, jointly submitted by several "pure stream" censors, was quietly delivered to the emperor. The memorial stated that "recently, a female Taoist priest, relying on her talent and being arrogant, has written 'A Journey to the West' under the pseudonym Yang Che, making unwarranted comments on border affairs and slandering the court."
The memorial requested the court to rectify the social atmosphere and severely punish such acts that "confuse the people's hearts." Furthermore, it took things out of context, extracting a few lines from the poem "The Official of Longxi" that depicted the hardships of the people, and then fabricated an interpretation, claiming it was an insinuation of the emperor's incompetence and the decline of the court.
After reading it, the emperor may not have fully accepted it, but the accusations of "women interfering in politics" and "female Taoist priests misleading the public," coupled with the fact that the text did exist, were enough to arouse suspicion. An imperial edict was issued from the palace, ordering the Jingzhao Prefecture to "investigate the facts and deal with the matter appropriately."
This imperial edict became the long-awaited favorable wind for Li Yi, and also the last straw that broke Xuanji's back.
That morning, Xuanji was practicing calligraphy by the window, while Qingxing was tidying up the desk beside him. Suddenly, they heard a series of hurried and heavy footsteps coming from the front yard, mixed with the panicked cries of the abbot of Jingxu Temple trying to stop them.
"Who are you? How dare you trespass..."
Before the words were finished, the gate of Yunqi Courtyard was pushed open with a loud bang. Several yamen runners from the Jingzhao Prefecture, dressed in official uniforms and with swords at their waists, filed in. The leader, with a cold and hard expression, held an arrest warrant in his hand. His gaze swept across the room like lightning, finally settling on Xuanji, who was standing in front of his desk with a pen in hand.
"Are you Yu Xuanji?" the man asked.
Xuanji put down his pen, his expression calm: "This humble Taoist priest, Wangji, may I ask what business you gentlemen have with me?"
"By order of the Prefect of the Capital," the man flashed the arrest warrant, "female Taoist priest Yu Xuanji is suspected of slandering the government with her poems and writings and confusing the public. She is to be immediately arrested and taken to the Prefectural Office for trial! Take her away!"
Two constables immediately stepped forward, ready to arrest the man.
Qingxing turned pale with fright, but still mustered her courage and stood in front of Xuanji, "What right do you have to arrest people! My wife is innocent!"
"Qingxing, step back." Xuanji gently pulled her behind him, his gaze calmly fixed on the leading official. "This humble Taoist will go with you."
With a clang, the cold iron chain slipped onto Xuanji's slender wrist.
"My lady!" Qingxing cried out and tried to rush forward, but was roughly pushed away by the yamen runners.
The abbot of Jingxu Temple stood to one side, his face pale and his lips trembling, but he could not utter a single word.
Shi Liu, meanwhile, hid in the shadows, quietly observing everything.
Xuanji was pushed and shoved by the yamen runners as she walked out. As she passed the courtyard gate, she glanced back at the wooden plaque she had personally inscribed with the words "Poetry and Lyrics Awaiting Instruction." The characters, washed by the rain, appeared exceptionally clear and ironic in the morning light.
She was taken directly to the Jingzhao Prefecture prison.
The dark, damp corridor, filled with the smells of mildew and despair, seemed to have no end. A jailer opened the door to a small cell and pushed her inside.
With a loud bang, the iron gate slammed shut behind us, cutting off the last ray of light and sound from the outside world.
Xuanji leaned against the cold stone wall and slowly slid down to sit on the ground. A few moldy straws were spread in the corner, and an indescribable odor filled the air. The only source of light was a small, iron-barred vent high above.
She closed her eyes, and many images flashed through her mind: the lights in the Wen family's study, the murals in the ancient temple in Jing County, the sandstorms on the westward journey, the quiet conversations in Xianyi Temple... Finally, her gaze settled on Li Yi's unfathomable eyes, which shone with an air of unwavering determination.
After learning that Xuanji had been successfully imprisoned, Li Yi stood with his hands behind his back in his study, gazing at the deep night outside the window, a cold and confident smile playing on his lips.
“Youwei,” he murmured to himself, as if whispering between lovers, “this suffering in prison is the best medicine to wake you up. When you have tasted the coldness and warmth of the world, you will know that only I, Li Yi, am your only refuge.”
Shi Liu seemed to realize that the situation was getting out of control and, fearing that Li Yi would kill her to silence her, quietly went into hiding.
Almost at the same time that Xuanji was thrown into prison, a letter with messy handwriting and obvious anxiety was sent by Wen Jue to the distant Wuzhou via express courier.
When the letter finally reached Wen Tingyun, he was sitting quietly at his deceased wife's grave. When Wen Zhong delivered the urgent letter, he felt a vague unease. As he opened the letter and saw the words about Xuanji's imprisonment, his fingers began to tremble uncontrollably, and his face gradually turned pale.
The letter slipped from his fingers like a withered leaf.
“Youwei…in prison…slanderous poems…” he muttered to himself, each word seemingly squeezed out with difficulty from between his teeth. A tremendous panic, like ice water, instantly overwhelmed him.
He pushed her away time and time again.
It was he who, bound by etiquette and reputation, chose to retreat and "properly" distance himself when she needed guidance and support the most.
It was he who, during her most difficult time living alone away from the mansion, fled to Wuzhou and failed to provide her with any support.
For the sake of this empty reputation, he has driven her step by step into a helpless situation. Now, he is watching helplessly as she is framed and imprisoned, facing a life-or-death predicament!
Then, an even more terrifying and vivid image uncontrollably crashed into his mind—Liu Qianqian! That equally fierce woman, equally driven to despair, pierced her own throat with a sharpened bamboo hairpin in the dark prison! The gushing blood, the rapidly dimming eyes filled with resentment and despair…
"No...no...Youwei can't!" He stood up abruptly, almost unsteady on his feet. Liu Qianqian's fate was like a hideous curse, filling him with a chilling fear. His Youwei, so proud, so pure, how could she bear such filth and humiliation? Would she...would she also walk that resolute path of no return?
This thought, like a venomous snake, gnawed fiercely at his heart.
The image of Liu Qianqian's blood splattered in the prison kept flashing before his eyes, overlapping with Xuanji's cold and resolute face, almost driving him mad.
If Xuanji really suffers some misfortune this time, then Wen Tingyun will be an unforgivable accomplice!
"Uncle Zhong," he suddenly opened his eyes, bloodshot yet burning with an almost frantic determination, "Use the fastest horses! Travel day and night back to Chang'an!"
He couldn't lose her again. He couldn't bear to watch the person he cared about go to ruin for the sake of that ridiculous reputation.
As for the future... he dared not think about it. He only knew that if he lost her, his remaining life would truly be nothing but a meaningless, desolate silence.
The carriage sped along the official road, kicking up clouds of dust. Wen Tingyun leaned against the bumpy carriage wall, his face haggard, but his eyes unusually clear and resolute. The layer of despondency that had enveloped him due to the loss of his wife and his self-suppression seemed to have been forcibly torn open by the impact of immense fear and realization.
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