Chapter Seventy-Two: The Wandering Soul

On the streets of the twenty-first century, beneath a cerulean sky and radiant sunlight, tropical plants grew lush in this southern coastal city. The bustling avenues, teeming with traffic and noise, proclaimed the city’s prosperity and vibrancy.

When Feng Qiuji opened her eyes, she was greeted by this familiar scene. Standing alone by the street, it felt as if she had awoken from an endless dream; now, at last, she returned to reality.

This road was the one she had walked since childhood, the road home. If she kept following it, eventually she would arrive at her doorstep.

Seeing this familiar world filled her with joy—her family was here, her home. Eagerly, she hurried toward her house, not realizing her body had become transparent, like a wisp of air. Although she could see the world, no one in it could sense her presence.

Excitedly, she reached her front door and stretched out her hand to knock, only to find her hand vanished through the door. She stood frozen, incredulous as she stared at herself. How could she have turned invisible?

Lost in thought, she passed through the door and entered the home where she had grown up. Everything inside remained as it always had, unchanged, filling her heart with warmth and familiarity. After wandering through the empty rooms, she glanced at the clock on the wall—it was ten in the morning; her parents had gone to work.

Though she couldn’t understand why she had become transparent, Feng Qiuji was simply happy to be home. She began to bounce on the soft sofa, but in reality, she was drifting about the room. Seeing the long-lost television, she tried to pick up the remote, only to discover she couldn’t grasp it. Gradually, disappointment crept in—she realized she was no longer human.

Was she dead?

She searched her memories, recalling only that she was tired, so she went to bed, and when she woke up, she found herself in this state. If so, perhaps she hadn’t died, but her soul had left her body and returned to the twenty-first century. Maybe she missed her family too much.

There were four people in Feng Qiuji’s family: her parents, her brother, and herself. Her brother studied in another city and seldom returned home. When she applied for college, she wanted to study elsewhere, but her mother insisted she remain in the province, unwilling to let her stray too far from home, so she stayed in the city. Though her parents were ordinary wage earners, they never let their children want for anything. It was a happy, carefree family of four.

After wandering for a while, Feng Qiuji felt lost.

Just then, she heard the click of a key; the door opened, and a man and woman entered—it was her parents. Nearly a year had passed since she last saw them, and she noticed how much older they looked.

They walked in, faces weary, and collapsed onto the sofa, sitting in silence for a long time.

Feng Qiuji wondered why her parents were home this early—it was only ten o’clock.

“Perhaps we should borrow a little more from your cousin?” her father finally broke the silence.

“We’ve borrowed so much already. I doubt we’ll succeed again,” her mother replied.

“So what do you suggest?”

“How should I know?”

As they spoke, Feng Qiuji sensed something was amiss—their conversation escalated into an argument. From their words, she learned that since her disappearance, her brother had fallen gravely ill. Now, with only one child left, her parents were determined to save him. Yet the costly hospital bills kept piling up, sinking their family into despair, while her brother lay in the hospital, waiting for the money that might save his life.

Watching her parents quarrel, Feng Qiuji longed to comfort them, to urge them not to fight. But her body slipped through theirs again and again; she couldn’t touch anything.

**

Feng Qiuji took the medicine prescribed by the doctor and soon fell into a deep sleep. Ling Zetian watched her fuss for half the day until she finally settled into slumber, and he breathed a sigh of relief, leaving the cabin. Just moments before, Feng Qiuji had cried and demanded he leave, putting him in an awkward position—whether to stay or go.

Yet one thing still baffled him: why did Feng Qiuji keep calling out for Lu Wenwen, insisting on seeing him, as if Lu Wenwen were a family member? It made Ling Zetian uncomfortable.

“Your Majesty,” Lu Wenwen had appeared by his side, though Ling Zetian wasn’t sure when. “Just now, I heard Prince Xin say Her Majesty wished to see me—is that true?”

“And so?” Ling Zetian frowned at his words.

“Actually, Her Majesty once confessed her feelings to me, though I rejected her at the time.” Lu Wenwen smiled, unaware of the turbulence his words stirred in Ling Zetian’s heart.

“Confessed her feelings?” Ling Zetian asked, “You mean she liked you?”

“Yes. I imagine Your Majesty finds this hard to believe, so I’ve come to tell you about Her Majesty’s past.”

“Go on,” Ling Zetian said, curious to hear Feng Qiuji’s history.

Lu Wenwen recounted his past with Feng Qiuji, including how he had been ostracized by Prime Minister Feng.

Ling Zetian listened thoughtfully. “In that case, the Empress Dowager must have helped you go to Fusang. I’m not ignorant; I know the Empress Dowager is adept at winning hearts, and you must be among those she’s drawn in.”

“Exactly,” Lu Wenwen admitted. “I stayed in Fusang for some time. When I heard the new emperor ascended the throne, I guessed it was Your Majesty. I can tell you frankly: Fusang is in chaos. The old emperor has died, and the court is split into two factions—one supports Prince Kimura Xinghen, the other Prince Kimura Xingye. They’re at each other’s throats. I was sent to escort warriors tasked with bringing the young prince back to Fusang.”

“Is that so?” A flicker of surprise crossed Ling Zetian’s eyes. He hadn’t expected such upheaval in Fusang, a vassal state of Ling Dynasty, which had concealed the old emperor’s death. “So you’re aligned with Kimura Xinghen’s faction?”

Since Lu Wenwen served the Empress Dowager, and she was closely connected with Kimura Xinghen, it was logical he would support Xinghen.

“Correct.” Lu Wenwen replied, “The young prince should already be back in Fusang. Prince Xinghen intends to use him as leverage against the Ling Dynasty, to ensure Ling’s help with his accession.”

“Why reveal all this?” Ling Zetian asked. To threaten him with Ling Shunuo—Kimura Xinghen underestimated him.

“Because I no longer wish to be caught up in this war.” Lu Wenwen gazed into the distance, his tone calm and detached.

“Oh? Why?”

“What is life? To live happily. But this happiness isn’t what I want.” In truth, the moment he saw Qin Ruyan, he felt like giving up. He knew she had become Ling Zetian’s concubine; she always wanted to be with him, and now she had succeeded. Seeing her happy, Lu Wenwen felt content. Suddenly, he realized all he was doing wasn’t what he truly wanted. He disliked living abroad, hated being called a traitor.

Ling Zetian fell silent.

Lu Wenwen continued, “My only wish now is to return to my hometown, even if it’s just to be a village tutor, to care for my parents and teach others what I’ve learned. That way, I won’t have wasted my parents’ efforts. Politics is too complicated; officialdom doesn’t suit me. I don’t want to be embroiled in any more political strife, because I can only be a victim—like now, caught by others.”

On this point, Lu Wenwen was clear. He had wanted to repay the Empress Dowager’s kindness, but after witnessing the bloodshed from the battle for the throne in Fusang, he grew weary. It was like war; everyone was loyal only to their master, and when conflict erupted, they had to be ready to sacrifice themselves.

Now, he no longer wished to sacrifice—not out of fear, but because it wasn’t worth it.

Ling Zetian now looked at Lu Wenwen in a new light. Previously, he’d considered Lu Wenwen a traitor deserving punishment, but after hearing him speak, he understood him better. Ling Zetian saw Lu Wenwen’s talent; if he could recruit him, it would be a great advantage.

However, Lu Wenwen’s words made it clear he had no desire to remain in court, longing instead for the freedom of rural life. Even so, Ling Zetian did not try to persuade him otherwise and nodded. “Since you have such resolve, I will lend you my full support.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Lu Wenwen cupped his hands in gratitude.

Learning of the turmoil in Fusang, Ling Zetian became more determined to go there himself—not only to rescue Anuo, but also to see what trouble this small vassal state might stir up.

From ancient times, small states survived by depending on great powers, paying tribute annually and seeking approval for new emperors. Yet Kimura Xinghen dared to threaten him with Anuo—Ling Zetian wanted to see whether the Ling Dynasty still held supreme authority in these lands.

Just then, a servant arrived to report, “Your Majesty, the Empress has awakened.”

This novel was first published by Xiaoxiang Academy. Please do not reprint.