Chapter 045: Some Rejoice, Some Worry

Wang Zhun chased after Li Zaixing like a mad dog. Yet Li Zaixing remained lucid, knowing the time was not yet ripe to deal with Wang Zhun. In the end, Wang Zhun was but a small shrimp; the true big fish were his father, Wang Hong, and the shadowy figure behind Wang Hong, Li Linfu.

Under Wang Xun’s worried gaze, Li Zaixing slipped away from Wang Zhun’s relentless pursuit like a fish swimming through water. Against other opponents, he struck hard—either knocking them to the ground or breaking their legs—but he steadfastly refused to lay a hand on Wang Zhun, deliberately maintaining the appearance of avoiding him with all his might, as if afraid to hurt him.

Seeing that Li Zaixing dared not harm him, but instead kept knocking out his teammates, allowing Xie Guanglong and Wei Yingwu to score again and again, evening the score and then pulling ahead by a wide margin, Wang Zhun was truly driven mad. He no longer cared where the ball was; his eyes followed only Li Zaixing. Wherever Li Zaixing went, Wang Zhun chased, wild-eyed, snarling and roaring, desperate to catch him. His eyes were so bloodshot that the onlookers believed, should he truly catch Li Zaixing, he might well bite off a piece of his flesh.

Many watched with hearts in their throats, fearing for Li Zaixing should he fall victim to Wang Zhun’s fury.

Li Zaixing’s blows were ruthless. Although he scored few goals himself, he incapacitated at least seven opposing players, enabling Wei Yingwu and the others to charge through unopposed, scoring at will and humiliating Wang Zhun. Yet who could blame him? Wang Zhun’s teammates struck first; Li Zaixing merely retaliated in kind, returning fire with fire, nothing excessive. And he always spared Wang Zhun—otherwise, with Wang Zhun’s physique, he would have joined those teammates already ruined by Li Zaixing.

Thus, though Li Zaixing showed no mercy, none blamed him; though Wang Zhun chased, hair wild and breath ragged, no one pitied him. The spectators, though unwilling to offend Wang Zhun, made no secret of their preferences, stomping and cheering in a torrent of applause.

In this tide of acclaim, Wang Zhun’s blood surged, his vision blurring with golden stars; Li Zaixing’s figure became increasingly indistinct, ghostly. Wang Zhun staggered, legs weak, swaying like a willow in the wind.

Wei Yingwu, observing calmly, charged over and crashed into Wang Zhun, sending him flying and sprawling in the dust. Wei Yingwu cheered, “Pass to me! Pass to me!” stepping right over Wang Zhun’s back, seizing the ball from Xie Guanglong and sprinting towards the goal.

Another point scored.

Wei Yingwu raised his arms, running around the field, howling in triumph.

Li Zaixing exchanged a glance with Xie Guanglong, glanced at Wang Zhun writhing in pain on the ground, and chased after Wei Yingwu, hoisting him high. Wei Yingwu was startled, then all the more exhilarated, his face flushed and voice hoarse.

At this moment, he felt himself a general sweeping away thousands, crushing formidable foes.

The football match ended in a resounding victory for Wei Yingwu’s side. Though Wei Yingwu stood as the figure of glory, the crowd’s discerning eyes were clear: with his slight frame, he could never have won alone. The true heroes were the powerful, fierce, and masculine Li Zaixing and Xie Guanglong, as well as the gentle, handsome Wang Xun. Without these two warriors charging ahead and Wang Xun’s steady command, victory could not have been wrested from Wang Zhun and his ruthless crew.

Everyone was shrewd, knowing Wang Zhun was not to be trifled with; only someone like Wei Yingwu—another scion of privilege—could stand against him. So they loudly cheered, showering Wei Yingwu with praise, but their fervent gazes were reserved for Li Zaixing and Xie Guanglong.

Amid the cheers, Wei Yingwu returned to the Yang residence with the pride of a conquering general, paying no heed to Wang Zhun and the others left groaning on the field.

...

Wang Zhun had already fainted; he had no idea how he left Pingkang Ward. When he opened his eyes, he was back home in Taiping Ward.

Lying on his couch, Wang Zhun felt his back aching terribly, though compared to his face, the pain seemed less important. The shrill cheers still echoed in his ears, making his cheeks burn as if hot enough to bake flatbreads.

“Wang Xun! Wei Yingwu! Li Zaixing! Yang Miaor!” Wang Zhun muttered each name, grinding his teeth.

He refused to let the servants help him change or clean up. He wanted his father, Wang Hong, to see him in this miserable state and avenge him.

Late into the night, Wang Hong finally dragged his weary steps home, and was shocked to see Wang Zhun half dead. When Wang Zhun roused himself and exaggeratedly recounted the day’s events, Wang Hong flew into a rage.

“Fool! A dignified Vice Minister of the Guards, and you go play football with a gang of ruffians? Can’t you give the court a little dignity, or your father any face?” Wang Hong’s face was iron, his fury uncontrollable. “You want women? There are plenty of beautiful women, why must you compete with commoners in Pingkang Ward? You want to relax, to play football—there are clean, respectable fields. Why must you go to that abandoned pitch in Pingkang Ward? You’re not content with embarrassment, you must make sure the Wang family is seen disgraced?”

Wang Zhun was dumbfounded, unable to fathom why his father not only refused to help, but scolded him so harshly.

Seeing Wang Zhun’s stunned, goose-like look only made Wang Hong angrier. He grabbed his jade tablet and struck. Wang Zhun was beaten, confused, crying out in pain. Wang Hong hit him twice, then stormed out in a rage. Wang Zhun was bewildered, face streaked with tears, and dared not utter a word.

Wang Hong was in a foul mood, for he was beset by grave trouble: Princess Chongniang had disappeared in his jurisdiction.

Security in Qinren Ward was managed by the Left Guard, so he was not primarily responsible, but as Magistrate of Jingzhao, anything that happened in Chang’an implicated him. Worse, Chongniang vanished while blessing An Lushan’s newly built residence—an event he had personally overseen.

Neither Princess nor An Lushan was anyone he could afford to offend. After flogging the magistrate of Wannian County thirty times and executing the headman of Qinren Ward, Wang Hong still found no trace of the princess; Chongniang had vanished without leaving a clue.

She disappeared yesterday afternoon; now more than a day had passed. If she was not found soon, Wang Hong would have to report to the emperor. He had risen rapidly in office, partly through the patronage of Yang Shenjin and Li Linfu, but also because he was adept at gauging imperial intent. He knew what kind of man the emperor was: perhaps indifferent to Chongniang, but her disappearance would infuriate him. Should she lose her life, the consequences would be unthinkable.

Thunder and rain are both imperial grace, so the saying goes—it’s easy to speak, but bitter when it falls upon oneself.

Wang Hong had visited Li Linfu, but Li Linfu, well aware of the gravity of the matter, treated it as official business, insisting that Chongniang be found quickly and the affair concealed, lest it stir up the city.

Wang Hong knew what Li Linfu was thinking. Li Linfu would do anything, but never risk offending the emperor. If Wang Hong failed, he himself would become Li Linfu’s problem to solve.

Chongniang’s disappearance struck Wang Hong like a bolt from the blue, plunging his springtime fortunes into winter’s depths. At such a time, how could he care about Wang Zhun’s petty troubles? If Chongniang was not found, father and son would not even survive; being bullied was trivial by comparison.

Wang Hong was at a loss.

...

The main hall in Li Linfu’s courtyard was not the usual rectangular shape, but crescent-shaped, known as the Moon Hall. The Moon Hall was tranquil—so tranquil as to be eerie; even Li Linfu rarely visited, deliberately keeping it shrouded in mystery. Only when confronted with insoluble problems would he dismiss his wives and children, sitting alone here in contemplation. Thus the rumor circulated: the Moon Hall was a treacherous place; before every intrigue, Li Linfu would meditate here, and once he emerged smiling, his adversaries would inevitably be ruined.

Li Linfu was aware of such tales, but did not object. Draping himself in mystery, inspiring fear in his enemies, was no bad thing; besides, there was more truth than rumor in it.

Now, Li Linfu sat in the Moon Hall, gazing at the dim moonlight falling from the eaves, silent. Even in his seventies, his square face remained refined and composed, though in the shadows it appeared somewhat grim.

That afternoon, he had received a report from his trusted Wang Hong: in nearby Qinren Ward, by imperial decree, Princess Chongniang had vanished while blessing An Lushan’s new residence.

Unlike Wang Hong, Li Linfu did not worry about Chongniang—her fate was not his concern. What occupied him was the impact of the incident on himself.

The world claimed he and An Lushan were allies, but Li Linfu knew better; he and An Lushan were not truly partners. Their apparent camaraderie stemmed from An Lushan’s fear—he knew he was no match for Li Linfu.

Many believed An Lushan would become a scourge to the nation, but Li Linfu alone was convinced that the barbarian could accomplish nothing. As long as Li Linfu was in power, An Lushan would not dare act rashly. Moreover, though An Lushan was nearly twenty years his junior, his health was poor—years of campaigning had left him with chronic injuries, and such a man would not live long.

If An Lushan died before Li Linfu, the claim that foreign generals were a curse to the realm would be disproven, and his political adversaries would lose their ammunition.

The princess’s disappearance while blessing An Lushan’s new home—could it be a sign that An Lushan’s days were numbered?

Perhaps it was guilt from too many misdeeds, or the emperor’s yearly decline, or the crown prince’s resentment—Li Linfu had lately grown sensitive to omens and spirits. Two years ago, plagued by ghosts in the northeast corner of his estate, he converted that courtyard into a Taoist temple, installed his cherished youngest daughter as abbess, and had the emperor inscribe its name for protection. Sure enough, the hauntings ceased. This only deepened Li Linfu’s belief in supernatural forces.

Now, with this new incident, Li Linfu naturally thought of An Lushan.

At two in the afternoon, I’ll go to Sanshui River for your votes. Thank you!