Chapter Two: The Death of the First Wife

The same bright moon shone upon the twenty-eighth year of the Kaiyuan era of the Tang Dynasty, 740 AD, as the spring night in Yangzhou was still alive with song and music along the breezy ten-mile road. Decades earlier, a frustrated scholar had wandered here, chanting verses, and with his “Spring River, Flowers, and Moonlit Night,” created a masterpiece that stood peerless throughout the entire Tang. “The river and sky are one color, without a speck of dust; alone in the empty sky hangs the bright round moon. Who on the riverbank was first to see the moon? In what year did the moon first shine on man?” The world praised these lines for their beauty, but Yu Lang saw in them a glimpse of life’s greatest terror.

Yangzhou city was shaped like a carpenter’s square, surrounded by a deep moat. A canal ran east to west through the city, shimmering under the moonlight. The most eye-catching bridge across the water was named “Moon Wheel.” On either side, exquisitely carved pleasure boats were moored, behind pink curtains laughter and soft voices mingled with song.

By the river stood a grand residence of three courtyards, and even in a prosperous neighborhood like Jixian Lane, such a house was striking. Yet, for all its size, not a single servant or maid was to be seen. No lanterns hung, nor was there a sign of life in the front or rear courtyards—only a solitary lamp burned before the east wing.

“Old man! I’m starving—give me something to eat,” came Yu Lang’s feeble voice from the crack beneath the door.

A thin, silver-haired old man sat alone at a simple pearwood table, enjoying a plate of stewed beans, some yellow beef, two seasonal vegetables, and leisurely drinking wine, paying no heed to the plaintive pleas from behind the door.

In the courtyard, spring flowers were in full bloom and green vines climbed the wall. The old man, flushed with drink, was becoming slightly tipsy.

When Yu Lang’s voice grew so hoarse it was barely recognizable, the old man finally set down his jade chopsticks and replied, “Just call me ‘Grandfather’ and you can come out to eat. Is it so difficult?”

Yu Lang rolled his eyes. Though he’d only recently arrived in this world, his learning from his previous life told him that in the Tang Dynasty, “Grandfather” meant one’s paternal grandfather, and he refused to play along. “I told you, I don’t even know you. Why should I call you Grandfather?”

The old man chuckled softly. “You were gravely ill not long ago and lost your wits. It’s understandable to forget some things after such an ordeal. But, you must call me Grandfather…”

“Otherwise,” he said with a satisfied sip of his wine, “I’d lose face.”

In truth, Yu Lang’s heart was not nearly as anxious as he appeared; in fact, he felt more joy than worry. He was perhaps the most naturally adaptable of all those who had ever crossed into another time.

To suddenly find himself in such a legendary age, young again, with a mind full of knowledge and perspective far beyond this era—this world was a blank canvas, and Yu Lang held more colors than anyone else.

Even more delightful, all those books he’d loved in his former life but found useless were now worth their weight in gold. His quick mastery of the local dialect was due partly to his previous studies, but also to his expertise in ancient phonology, and with a bit of listening and verification, he soon pieced it together.

Most importantly, there was a chance he might find Ning Xue here. In his past life, Yu Lang had been alone for as long as he could remember, with no attachments save for his mysteriously vanished beloved. Now that fate had handed him this clue, he would search the entire Tang Empire if he had to, just to find her again.

Yu Lang felt his empty stomach but resolved that he would not lightly utter that word “Grandfather.” It wasn’t a matter of pride but of leverage—he had so few resources here, even a form of address was a bargaining chip he could not afford to surrender easily.

He turned his eyes and said, “Let’s make it clear: as soon as I say the two words, ‘Grandfather,’ you’ll let me out to eat?”

“Of course. When I, Yu Chaoran, give my word, it’s like an arrow loosed from the bow—never to return,” the old man replied with a slap on the table, full of heroic spirit.

“It’s specifically those two words, right?”

“Exactly. Why are you so fussy after your illness?”

“Then hurry up and open the door so I can join you for a drink. Drinking alone is no fun, and I just said those two words,” Yu Lang replied, sly as ever.

The old man laughed helplessly, unwilling to argue further. He unlocked the door; after all, his only intent was to temper Yu Lang’s character.

Yu Lang studied the old man, who was likely his grandfather. The old man’s face was lean, his hair simply tied without the fashionable headdress of the time, his splendid robe draped loosely over his shoulders, exuding the air of a refined gentleman.

Another life of wealth, Yu Lang thought, almost drooling. This outfit, this grand house, the jade ring on his finger… But, he recalled, such rings in the Ming and Qing dynasties were mere ornaments, but in the Tang, they were used for drawing bows—could this old man be a martial artist? He certainly looked the part. In that case, seizing the family fortune would not be so easy…

The old man seemed unoffended and smiled, “Hungry again, aren’t you?”

Awakened from his thoughts, Yu Lang threw himself at the food, eating ravenously and praising its taste. The beans were soft, the beef fragrant, the vegetables crisp and sweet—it nearly brought tears to his eyes.

But the food was just a few side dishes, not enough to fill him. When the plates were empty and clean, Yu Lang took up the wine jar and drank deeply, trying to fill himself.

Watching Yu Lang drain the entire jar as if it were water, the old man was stunned. This was no cheap market brew, but strong liquor brought from the Western Regions along the Silk Road. Even a robust man would lose half his life drinking so much, yet the thin Yu Lang, holding the empty jar, still looked unsatisfied.

It’s just a strong drink, nothing special, Yu Lang thought with disdain. He knew Tang-era distilling was primitive; the legendary “three hundred cups in one sitting” could only mean the alcohol was weak. Try drinking three hundred modern shots—any poet would turn into a ghost.

The old man fixed Yu Lang with a searching look, his brows and beard quivering. “Do you really remember nothing from before? You’re not lying to me?”

Yu Lang nodded innocently. “I flirt with girls, not old men. All I remember is my name, Yu Lang—nothing else.”

The old man’s eyes fell, and he shook his head with a sigh. “Ah, retribution…”

Yu Lang asked, “What retribution?”

But the old man said no more, and Yu Lang wisely did not press. They cleared the table in silence, each retreating to their rooms with their own thoughts.

The comfortable bedding soon lulled Yu Lang to sleep. In his dream, he wore a purple robe and python belt, honored above all others, wealthy as a prince—yet a strange wind blew, and he was scattered to dust. Startled awake in a cold sweat, he pulled on his soft leather boots and went out to the courtyard to cool off.

Just then, the main gates of the Yu residence were violently thrown open. A group of men bearing torches stood in ordered ranks. Leading them was a square-faced scholar dressed in mourning white, his expression one of grief and fury.

Yu Lang’s knees went weak at the sight. “You break into a private home at night… aren’t you afraid I’ll call the authorities?”

The scholar laughed in rage. “Call the authorities by all means! My sister grew up with you as childhood sweethearts, and on your wedding day you poisoned her! Tell me, should such a person not be handed over to the magistrate for execution?”

The attendants on both sides answered as one, “He should!”

With a sweep of his sleeve, the scholar signaled two servants to carry in the body of a young woman dressed in bright red wedding clothes. Though she was still in her girlhood and her features delicate, her face was now deathly pale and lifeless.

Yu Lang shivered again. To land in such trouble the moment he arrived—married off without his knowledge, and now accused of poisoning his bride! He could have handled it more calmly, but he was still half lost in the nightmare, his mind in a whirl, caught off guard by the force of the accusation. He could only stand there, tongue-tied.

“Do you confess?” The scholar stepped forward, his anger pressing in.

A night wind swept through the hall, lifting the red skirts of the corpse high, fluttering fiercely. In the deep darkness came the sound of weeping.

Yu Lang was suddenly overwhelmed by a nameless grief, and before he knew it, he answered, “I confess!”