Chang'an City was too vast, so even in its most prosperous corners, there were still places that looked dilapidated. At the end of the 16th Street in the East City, there was an abandoned house complex, said to have once belonged to a noble family. Later, that family fell on hard times in Chang'an and could no longer make a living, so they sold the house to a wealthy merchant at a low price. Not long after, a murder occurred in the merchant's home; the entire family was poisoned. Although the real culprit was later found to be a business rival, the house remained uninhabited for many years.
Because Chang'an City was so large, giving all the streets elegant names would be too much work. So, simply put, east-west streets were called "条" (tiáo), and north-south streets were called "街" (jiē). Fang Jie's rented shop was on the 23rd Street in the East, quite a distance from the 18th Street in the East where this house was located—at least an hour's walk.
A cloud obscured half the moon, and the fragmented moonlight filtering through the dilapidated windows made the room appear even more fragile. During the day, perhaps some daring children might climb over the ruins to play here, but at night, the eerie atmosphere deterred anyone from entering and frightening themselves.
The snow hadn't completely melted, especially around the ruined walls, which still looked almost exactly as it had on the day of the heavy snowfall.
A stray cat huddled on the wall, shivering in the cold of Chang'an's winter night. Whether from hunger or sheer cold, the cat showed no reaction when a large, bird-like shadow landed in the courtyard. Only when the shadow slowly drifted into the house and bumped into a piece of wood did the cat let out a startled, piercing cry before fleeing.
The shadow ignored the cat, shook its robe, and slipped through the half-open door. The place was secluded enough, and it seemed quite satisfied.
The room was pitch black, almost imperceptible. Aside from the moonlight filtering through the broken windows, which offered a semblance of humanity, the rest of the room felt like the underworld.
The shadowy figure, however, seemed unfazed by the profound darkness. He slowly turned his head, glanced around, and chose a corner covered with straw. Just as he reached it, he suddenly stopped, staring at two eerie, cold glints that had suddenly appeared in the corner. It was a stray dog; several puppies lay in their straw kennel, their eyes still closed. Those two cold glints were the mother dog's fierce, wary gaze.
Just as the mother dog opened her mouth, revealing sharp fangs, about to roar, the man's eyes widened. The mother dog, fiercely protecting her pups, let out a few low whimpers and lay trembling on the ground.
The shadowy figure slowly walked to the mother dog, knelt down, and reached out to stroke her dirty, long fur.
The mother dog lay sprawled on the ground, seemingly paralyzed with fear.
The man's gaze softened. He reached out and grasped the dog's muzzle. The dog tried to open her mouth but couldn't, managing only a few low, pleading whimpers. His hand gripping the muzzle suddenly jerked, and the dog's head snapped off cleanly at the neck. Strangely, not a drop of blood flowed.
In the moonlight, glittering shards of ice could be faintly seen at the severed neck.
He tossed the dog's head aside and kicked the carcass away. The man crouching beside the doghouse, the moonlight illuminating his face, revealed him to be quite young. His face was filthy, his mouth covered in black grime, as if he had just finished gnawing on a greasy pig's leg, with bits of food still lingering on his face.
However, he hadn't eaten anything; he simply hadn't washed his face in a long time.
The stains on his lips weren't grease, but blood.
He sat down in the straw doghouse, casually picked up a puppy that could only weakly whimper, and held it in front of him, staring at it for a full three minutes. Then he sighed softly, placed the puppy to his mouth, and bit its neck.
More bizarrely than snapping the mother dog's neck, the puppy, though killed, didn't bleed a drop of blood, which the man greedily sucked into his mouth like a heavy drinker. In the darkness, his Adam's apple bobbed, and gulping sounds escaped his throat.
About two minutes later, he had drained the puppy of all its blood.
He seemed to enjoy this meal, his blood-red tongue lolling out as he licked his lips as if savoring the taste. Then he began to eat the meat. Even a small puppy has fur, but he, like a wolf, tore open the skin and began to devour the sticky entrails.
In the silent darkness, the smacking sounds of chewing were so clearly audible.
He ate slowly and carefully, wasting not a single drop of flesh.
After stuffing the entire puppy, except for the skin, into his belly, he used a still-tender bone to write the character "one" on the wall with his remaining blood. Then he stretched comfortably, curled up in the doghouse, seemingly enjoying the lingering warmth of the mother dog.
The remaining two puppies, though they smelled the blood, huddled together beside his head, seeking warmth from hunger and cold. And so, the two puppies and the man who had just eaten a puppy nestled together, falling into a deep sleep.
Sometime later, the stray cat returned to the wall. It glanced fearfully at the huddled figure in the dilapidated house, struggled for a long time, and then fled again. Perhaps it had seen the dog's head, or perhaps it had seen the puppy's skin.
...
...
At least an hour and a half before sunrise, Fang Jie had already practiced his boxing in the small garden of the Sanjin Marquis's residence. Sweat soaked through his thin shirt, and upon closer inspection, one could see pale white steam rising from his body. Once his body was warmed up, Fang Jie simply removed his upper garment. The moon hung low, its light reflecting off his muscular body with a soft glow.
A fine layer of sweat glistened on his sharply defined chest and abdominal muscles, giving them a strange, metallic sheen.
Fang Jie picked up the broken sword from the ground, first with his right hand, then his left. After half an hour of practicing a single sword move, his breathing remained calm and even. After finishing his sword practice, he habitually sat cross-legged again, trying to sense his dantian (energy center). Five minutes later, he opened his eyes and smiled, not disappointed.
It had become a habit; there was no disappointment.
He still couldn't sense his dantian.
He had asked many people, and they said that when sensing one's Qi Sea (lower abdomen), internal energy swirls within it, causing a warm sensation in the lower abdomen—a feeling Fang Jie longed for.
Lifting his clothes, Fang Jie slowly walked to the well, drew up a bucket of icy water, soaked a towel, and carefully wiped his body. After finishing, the sky grew even darker. The darkness before dawn always seemed deeper than midnight; most people were sound asleep at this time.
Fang Jie returned to his room, changed into a clean set of martial arts academy uniform, and without waking Da Quan and the others, went straight to the coachman waiting at the door. The carriage was ready; the coachman patted the rump of the slow horse, which snorted, exhaling two puffs of white breath, and accelerated forward in the last vestiges of moonlight.
Many officials had already arrived outside the Taiji Palace. With some time before the palace gates opened, the adults climbed into the carriages of familiar friends and chatted amongst themselves. Outside the palace gates, two rows of imperial guards, their flying fish robes like nails, stood motionless, their hands on their swords, draped in crimson cloaks.
Fang Jie had the coachman find a spot to stop. He calculated the time and figured the palace gates would open soon, so he didn't want the coachman to freeze with him and told him to go back first. The coachman thanked him and spurred the carriage on his way. It was still early; he could catch up on some sleep when he got back.
This was the first time Fang Jie had seen the Taiji Palace up close at night. Imperial guards patrolled the walls, torches in hand. In the distance, the faint sound of the night watchman's clapper could be heard.
It was a very peaceful and serene scene, and Fang Jie was somewhat mesmerized.
This scene was vaguely familiar, existing only in his memories of scenes from period dramas. Fang Jie couldn't help but look down at his own court robes, wondering if he would one day become a character on television. This feeling was both boring and strange; random thoughts always helped pass the time.
After waiting for about twenty minutes, the officials alighted from their carriages and lined up outside the palace gates according to their rank. Fang Jie watched them warming their hands with their breath, then looked at his own thin clothes and felt a little smug. After reaching a certain level of cultivation, one becomes impervious to heat and cold. Fang Jie couldn't cultivate, but his body was strong enough that he didn't feel as cold as ordinary people in the dead of winter.
The palace gates creaked open from the inside, and the eunuch on duty came out and, as was customary, chanted a few arias before leading the officials in single file.
Fang Jie waited until they were all inside before going in himself, only to find the young eunuch Mu San already waiting for him in the doorway.
"This servant greets Young Master Fang."
The young eunuch, his face flushed from the cold, looked enviously at Fang Jie's tall and upright figure, thinking to himself, "Isn't he cold wearing only a thin garment?" "No need for such formalities, sir. Thank you for waiting."
Fang Jie smiled and returned the greeting, then slipped a package into Mu San's hand as he approached. "Sun's oven-baked sesame cakes from East Twenty-Fourth Street were ready before I came, so I brought you some. Eat them while they're hot; they're quite delicious."
The young eunuch Mu San weighed the small package in his hand, knowing it contained more than just a few cheap oven-baked sesame cakes. He didn't refuse, tucking the package into his sleeve and leading the way. "His Majesty barely slept last night. The three esteemed officials—General Yu Manlou of the Left Guard, Vice Minister Zong Lianghu of the Ministry of War, and Vice Minister Pei Yan of the Yellow Gate—just came out of the East Warm Pavilion not long ago..."
His voice was soft, as if he were chatting casually.
"His Majesty seemed to have lost his temper last night, throwing things around... When Lord Zong Lianghu went in, he was carrying a thick stack of official documents, but we don't know what they were. General Yu Manlou came out to use the restroom, and his face didn't look too good. Lord Pei, on the other hand, didn't say much and didn't seem to react in any unusual way."
"Hmm."
Fang Jie nodded, pondering in his heart what attitude he should adopt in front of His Majesty.