Fated Only Because of a Past Life
Upon entering, the room remained a banquet hall, arranged in the style of a paired chamber. There was no scenery to admire here, only a wall adorned with four reliefs depicting scenes of music, chess, poetry, and literature.
There were no beauties present, not even a single woman; at the rosewood round table sat a young man, dressed in luxurious golden-threaded robes, boldly and unabashedly staring at the three who had just entered.
His wine cup was tilted slightly, clearly just about to be raised to his lips, giving him an air of carefree insolence.
“Dongmei” stifled her laughter, puzzled. “Does Miss Loxue also fancy men’s clothing?”
Pure as water, droplets of wine fell onto the table with a delicate patter. The young man exclaimed loudly, “I am a man!”
Zheng Fanren retorted sharply, “You call yourself a man? Hiding in the ladies’ hall, not a trace of beard on your face, you dare call yourself a man? You’re nothing but a woman, and an unrefined one at that!”
The young man turned his face away, unwilling to argue further, evidently having suffered in verbal duels before.
Zheng Fanren laughed heartily. “Nangong woman, I’ve brought back the person you wanted to save! Well? Aren’t I impressive?”
It turned out the young man was Nangong Mo, the second young master of the Nangong family.
Hearing this, he drained his cup in one gulp, saying gloomily, “Don’t you have any sense of servitude? I am, after all, your master. Couldn’t you leave me a shred of dignity?”
Zheng Fanren said nothing, raising a finger to point at “Qiu Xiang.”
Nangong Mo hurriedly rose and bowed. “Greetings—”
Before he could finish, “Qiu Xiang” waved her hand to halt him, then ignored him entirely, taking her seat.
“Dongmei” also sat down, leaving Nangong Mo standing, his expression somewhat tense.
As Zheng Fanren sat, he abruptly pulled Nangong Mo into a chair. “Look at you, what a sorry sight—you don’t even look like a young master!”
Just as Nangong Mo was about to retort, the sound of the three eating silenced him completely. Watching “Qiu Xiang” gulp down food at an astonishing pace, Nangong Mo’s mouth twitched; he obviously couldn’t reconcile the image of his goddess with such voracious appetite.
...
At last, the three finished their meal, a spectacle so contrary to Nangong Mo’s expectations.
“Dongmei” cried out in delight, clearly never having enjoyed food so thoroughly.
Nangong Mo glanced left at “Qiu Xiang,” then right at “Dongmei,” thinking to himself, “Their figures, their faces—both are exceptional! Heaven shouldn’t have let that rascal corrupt them, what a tragedy!”
Just then, music drifted from the side chamber. The four felt as if the season had shifted from summer to a snowy winter, yet the sound resembled a warm coat in the cold.
After a moment, “Qiu Xiang” nodded slightly, expressing her satisfaction with the music, then said calmly, “I’ll be staying here for a few days.”
With that, she took Dongmei’s hand. “Let’s go find Miss Loxue.”
Dongmei replied happily, “Yes, yes!”
The hall was left with only two. Nangong Mo eyed Zheng Fanren, somewhat apologetic. “I had you handle this matter for me, thinking nothing would go awry.”
Zheng Fanren replied coolly, “Someone leaked word? Wan Lixing shouldn’t know her identity.”
Nangong Mo grew serious. “It wasn’t leaked—it was deliberate! Those thirteen archers have all been executed, but clearly they underestimated you, a freak without Xuan power.”
“They didn’t underestimate me—the attack on the river proves it.”
“What? Weren’t they trying to assassinate the Princess of Taixuan?”
Zheng Fanren queried, “Princess of Taixuan?”
“Yes! The daughter of the current director of Taixuan Academy, the Princess of Taixuan!”
Zheng Fanren mused, “So Dongmei is the Princess of Taixuan!”
He then grew solemn. “He wasn’t targeting the Princess of Taixuan.”
Nangong Mo’s expression turned grave. “We must start with Wan Lixing. I want to see what the Empire of Anxi relies on, daring to send Xuan practitioners to kill a subject of Great Han!”
“Not we—just you.”
Nangong Mo drew two documents from his breast, handing them to Zheng Fanren, his smile returning. “Don’t be so formal. These are your identity papers—from now on, you can be master of your own house. And this is the exam document for Taixuan Academy. The Nangong family has only one recommendation, and I’m giving it to you as well!”
Zheng Fanren took the papers with his left hand, his voice calm. “This is what you promised me. I also want some Heavenly Silkworm Thread.”
Yet his thoughts soon drifted back over the years, his gaze fixed on the seemingly ordinary papers, the heat in his heart long since replaced by bewildered longing, his right hand in his sleeve trembling uncontrollably.
When he first arrived in this world, he realized he was a servant, and knew all too well what a lowly position that meant. To gain the physical cultivation techniques available to every citizen of the Han Empire—though, of course, “every citizen” did not include a servant without identity—he spent three years earning Nangong Mo’s approval, exhausting nearly all the stories and romantic tricks in his memory.
He recalled that year when he shielded Nangong Mo from assassins with his body. It was a foolish act, for he hadn’t known that Nangong Mo had no need for him to be a human shield; those assassins couldn’t harm him at all.
Yet this somewhat sentimental young master later asked him, “What do you want? I can take you to every pleasure house in Luo City for a life of delight!”
The youth replied, “I want to cultivate.”
Nangong Mo was speechless—no servant had ever dared aspire to such—but he secretly sent the youth a copy of “Sensing the Mysteries of Heaven and Earth.”
Nangong Mo knew the youth had no chance of cultivation. None of his Xuan meridians showed the slightest sign of opening. He’d said it countless times, but the youth never believed him. Every time Nangong Mo asked what reward he wanted, the answer was always the same: “Find me another Xuan practitioner to check me!”
...
“One last try!”
Zheng Fanren’s trembling fingers gently stroked the document, reciting its contents softly. In this moment, he only wished to share his unspeakable feelings with it, for perhaps only it could understand him now.
“You said it yourself—Taixuan Academy’s Body Observation Pavilion is your last attempt.”
“Yes, so next I must pass the exam into Taixuan Academy!”
“All these years, you’ve read many books, but your chances of passing the exam are slim!”
“I know, but how can I know if I don’t try?”
No one knew he carried the accumulation of another lifetime.
It was said that the Body Observation Pavilion of Taixuan Academy never made mistakes; even the slightest chance of cultivation would be detected.
Drinking with that ethereal hope, for the first time the youth became drunk. When Nangong Mo helped him up, he heard the youth mutter indistinctly, as if saying, “I know I’m not as good as you damn cultivators, but I’m destined to be better than you all!”
Nangong Mo shook his head, knowing his friend was rambling again. How could there be someone so humble, yet so proud? How could you be destined for greatness?
He could not understand that Zheng Fanren’s sense of destiny stemmed from deep affection for his previous life. He always believed: I come from such a proud nation—how could I not excel?