Chapter Eighteen: An Encounter in the Attic

After leaving Sun Fang’s house, Song Mu’s heart was still pounding with excitement. Now that he understood the strength of his hidden card, he looked toward the future with even greater anticipation.

When the county school let out at dusk, Song Mu bade farewell to his friend Kong and headed home. He was turning over in his mind how to solve the classics questions he needed to work on that evening when suddenly, two government officers appeared before him.

One of the two yamen runners was stout, the other thin. Both clasped their hands to him with a smile and said, “Good day, Young Master Song. The magistrate wishes to see you—he’s waiting at the northern gate tower. Would you prefer to go home first and put your things away, or come with us now?”

Song Mu sized them up and recalled County Magistrate Jin Changwu, whom he’d met just yesterday. Although, as a student, he would normally address the magistrate as ‘teacher,’ it struck him as odd to be summoned to the city wall at this hour. He suspected it must be about last night’s events.

Pressing his lips together, Song Mu nodded, slung his book satchel over his shoulder, and said, “Then please, lead the way.”

The officers bowed again and led Song Mu toward the northern city wall.

Before long, Song Mu reached the gate. This was the main entrance to Shiyang County, opening northwards and guarding a vital road that connected the south and north. Not far east of the city, the Gan River wound its way north, its swift current pressed by the mountains. Boats traveling upstream often had to stop at Shiyang’s docks for a spell before continuing. Following the river north, one would enter the Yangtze, pass through the Grand Canal, and reach the northern frontier.

Even before climbing the seven or eight-meter-high wall, Song Mu could see townsfolk with pickaxes and shovels, carrying baskets brimming with sand and stone up to the ramparts. Construction on the city wall had begun early that year, drafting labor from across the county for months. The wall, once only five meters high and two meters thick, had been painstakingly raised and reinforced to its current imposing state, giving the city a newfound grandeur.

Song Mu ascended the wall and, guided by the officers, walked along the rampart. In the middle of the north wall stood a towering watchtower—home to the Tower of Literary Eminence.

After the founding of the Dynasty of Letters, it was decreed that every county must build such a tower within its city walls, to enshrine the memorials of all scholars of distinction from the county, and to collect and preserve the essays and poetry of local talents, thereby gathering the county’s scholarly spirit.

Song Mu’s recent “Ode to Literary Flourishing” now resided there as well.

He made his way to the base of the three-story tower, where he first noticed a bronze stele at the foot of the steps. Veined with red and green, the stele was inscribed with a lengthy essay—the signature at the corner read Song Wenrong.

This was the work of his own ancestor, a great scholar whose words were said to fortify the city walls, dispel evil, and ward off the incursions of monsters. Seeing the glory of his lineage manifested so tangibly before him, Song Mu was filled with emotion, pride, and a sense of duty.

Now that he knew the ancestral secret arts, Song Mu was all the more determined not to disgrace his forebears.

Turning, he followed the officers into the three-story tower. On the second floor, Magistrate Jin Changwu and Dean Ouyang Hong were seated by the northern window. Sunlight slanted in from the west, bathing the chamber in a golden glow and lending the place an air of solemn dignity.

“Song Mu, at your service, Magistrate, Dean.”

Song Mu stood at the threshold, bowing in greeting. Both Jin Changwu and Ouyang Hong turned to him with smiles and beckoned him closer.

“Song Mu, you’re here! Come in, sit with us,” they called.

Flustered by the unexpected honor, Song Mu quickly entered and seated himself carefully on the bench by the window, respectfully awaiting their words.

Jin Changwu regarded him with a kindly smile, stroking the few whiskers on his chin before speaking. “Song Mu, I hear that Master Xun had you reciting the classics at school today?”

Song Mu nodded. “The provincial exams are near, Sir. Master hopes we’ll reinforce our knowledge so that nothing escapes our attention.”

Jin Changwu nodded again and glanced at Ouyang Hong, the dean—an austere man with a long beard—who also nodded and addressed Song Mu.

“Song Mu, the poem you composed yesterday was splendid. We’ve already dispatched it posthaste to the capital; I expect that in a month’s time, it will appear in the National Literary Journal.”

He laughed heartily. “It’s been years since Shiyang County has produced a poet of such talent. At last, we can show our face before His Majesty!”

Ouyang Hong seemed especially pleased, laughing aloud. Song Mu joined in with a modest smile. Once the laughter faded, Ouyang Hong became solemn again, handed Song Mu a cup of tea, and continued.

“Song Mu, though you’re only seventeen, I believe you have a good chance in the provincial exam. Be diligent in your studies, and strive to win the title of Scholar in one go.”

“Of course, if you take one of the top three places—or even win first prize—that would be even better!”

Ouyang Hong’s words carried a faint sigh. Song Mu rose and bowed deeply. “I will not disappoint you, Dean. I shall study hard and do my utmost to win the scholar’s degree.”

“Good. Since you have such resolve, and as you are a rare scion of our county’s literary line, I have a gift for you today,” Ouyang Hong said.

With that, he flicked his wrist, and a long wooden box appeared on the table. Song Mu was startled, but Ouyang Hong gestured for him to open it.

Song Mu carefully lifted the lid and saw inside a calligraphy brush. The handle was carved from jade, the tip made of fine wolf hair, each strand gleaming with a luster that marked it as a true treasure.

He could not help but widen his eyes, but then quickly stepped back and said in alarm, “I dare not accept such a generous gift.”

Ouyang Hong merely waved a hand. “No need for concern. This Demon-Quelling Brush is something I crafted some years ago. Take it as both encouragement and a reward for your poem.”

Magistrate Jin, beside him, added supportively, “Go on, Song Mu, accept it. The dean gives it as a reward and he can well afford it—he won’t miss it.”

Ouyang Hong laughed, “You old fox, are you just coveting my things?”

He let it go at that. Song Mu thanked them profusely and, with great care, accepted the gift before sitting down again.

At that moment, the atmosphere between the three men grew somber. Both Ouyang Hong and Jin Changwu set aside their smiles, and the magistrate regarded Song Mu gravely.

“Song Mu, there is a matter I must explain to you,” Jin began.

Song Mu immediately adopted a serious expression.

“We have investigated yesterday’s incident. The fox spirit exploited a gap left by the city wall repairs, slipping past the deterrent power of the scholar’s inscription.

“As for the four fiendish men, they were the Qiao brothers—bandits from Greenleaf Mountain within our county. The demonic aura devoured their humanity.

“But how these four entered the city, how they ended up directly in your path, and how they knew to target you—these are questions we cannot answer. The trail has gone cold.”

Jin Changwu’s explanation was meant to set Song Mu’s mind at ease. Song Mu nodded, and the magistrate continued.

“However, we did catch a fugitive last night. Though he refused to talk, it appears you were his target as well. And what he wanted was the ancient book of the Song family.”

At these words, Song Mu’s expression sharpened.

The Song family’s ancient book—the very Song Family Annotated Text that resided in his own mind—had always been the family’s most treasured heirloom, passed down through the ages at all costs.

Over the centuries, many had coveted it. Hearing the magistrate’s words now, Song Mu began to suspect something.

Lately, many people had spoken of the book, but its secret was not widely known. If an outsider came to Shiyang, even if they knew a little, they could not have targeted him so precisely.

There was only one explanation: someone inside the city had set their sights on him.

But who could it be?

…