Li Qingge brought her back to the Daoist temple where she herself lodged. Li Miaomiao, a Buddhist nun, entered the Daoist temple and at once shut herself in, refusing to come out—and seeing her trembling like chaff in a sieve with fright, no one could fail to grow suspicious.
Wang Chong was rather at a loss. He said to Li Qingge, "Constable Li, do you know where Miss Lu, the Wu-Hook Frost-Snow, has taken lodging? I am most eager to clear my name."
Li Qingge pressed her lips into a smile. "I hear she is staying at the residence of Miss Su—Su Luo Yan, the Chess-Sword Linglong. The two were acquainted long ago and are on excellent terms. I'm afraid you will have to make another call, young master."
Wang Chong kept feeling that his luck had a way of doubling back on itself. No sooner had he parted from Chu Qiuzi and her companions than Fang Jingru and the others cornered him; after much winding about, he ran into Chu Qiuzi again; he had scarcely bid farewell to Chu Qiuzi and Su Luo Yan when Li Qingge stopped him; and now, for the sake of Li Miaomiao, he had no choice but to go back once more. He was beginning to feel like a man sunk in an ancient wuxia version of Groundhog Day.
Wang Chong sighed. "My spirits are a little unsettled. Grant me one day to calm my mind, and we can set out the day after tomorrow."
He was not, in truth, after a breather. He meant to use that free day to sharpen his spear on the eve of battle and lift his martial arts another notch or two. If, in the end, he was exposed—if he, Wang, really was White Chrysanthemum—he could at least fight his way out of the encirclement. Though with that many masters ringing him in, his chances of breaking free were never great to begin with.
Li Qingge said with a smile, "I too must send in my calling card first; only then is it proper to call, without seeming presumptuous."
Wang Chong took Yu Zao back to their lodgings and went into closed seclusion. He did not cultivate the Innate Pure Yang Art this time; instead he took out the Thirty-Two Aspects Spirit-Transformation Cultivation Fundamental Classic that had been taken from Sun Yanqi's person, hoping to try his luck.
Wang Chong had paged through the Thirty-Two Aspects Spirit-Transformation Cultivation Fundamental Classic and the Correct Explanation of the Four Aspects many a time. Since time immemorial, only a handful of people had ever grasped the Correct Explanation of the Four Aspects, and the one who truly brought its cultivation to completion was probably Yuecang Jixiangzhi, the Buddha Lord of the Mind-Consciousness School, alone. He had no intention of laboring over that; this time he wanted to test his luck and see whether he could succeed in cultivating one of the spirit-transformations.
He had long since committed both volumes to memory, but as a matter of study habit—constant review to keep the material fresh—he still read them carefully. When he came to the chapter on the Demon Aspect, the Sutra of Mahasthamaprapta Buddha Enlightening the Sea Dragon King to Attain Heavenly Dragon Fruition that Kong Chan had taught him suddenly rose in his heart. Endless sutra text flowed slowly through his sea of consciousness; Buddhist chanting thundered between heaven and earth. His mind grew hazy, as though he had plunged into a boundless ocean—startling waves and monstrous billows ready to swallow him under at any moment, murky breakers slapping the sky with a latent force of ten thousand jun.
An insight, mysterious beyond all naming, drew his spiritual consciousness out of his fleshly body, as if it perched in dominion from some high, remote place in the ninth heaven, watching himself struggle amid raging winds and storming waves.
"If I am a man, I shall drown in the great sea! If I am a dragon, I shall churn the billows and toy with the waves, roaming free and unchecked."
"If I am a man, I shall be a beast of burden! If I am a demon, I shall run rampant through a thousand mountains, gallop across ten thousand li, laugh in pride over rivers and seas, and topple the heavenly court."
"I will not be a man; I will not be a beast of burden. I will be a great demon—I am the Nine-Headed Dragon King!"
In the boundless ocean there was no longer any tiny mortal. A nine-headed giant dragon burst up through the sea. The wind and waves on the ocean grew fiercer still, yet every swell answered this great demon's breathing, all of it bent to its command!
Wang Chong abruptly tore free of the vision. With a thunderous boom in his meridians, dozens of tides of qi surged at once—rising like the flood tide, breaking like thunder—pouring out through his body and winding around it in a spiral, like a great rolling river that galloped on without end, like the sun and moon wheeling across the heavens, vast and mighty. He was like a single small boat amid the ocean's towering billows: powerless in himself, yet holding the strength to command the furious waves of a boundless sea.
The Nine-Headed Dragon King Aspect divine art had taken initial form. His internal force was as though gifted with a spirit of its own, spiraling through his whole body. Without deliberate effort, true qi circulated through every meridian, cycling without pause; even several feet beyond his body it obeyed his driving will, winding and turning as he pleased, sent out and drawn back at a whim. And it was keen beyond measure: wherever the true qi brushed, every shift of angle within several feet stood clear in his mind, as if he had been born with a hundred eyes.
Wang Chong leapt up without warning and threw twelve punches in a row, bang-bang-bang, the reports unbroken. By the time he came back to himself, the rooms where he lodged had their beams snapped and their bricks and tiles shattered; doors, windows, and furnishings lay smashed to fragments and powder.
Yu Zao and Wang Dong stood amid the ruins, faces full of horror. Yu Zao fared better, merely dusted all over—she had evidently dodged most of it—but Wang Dong looked like a refugee fleeing famine, hair in wild disarray and face smeared with grime, for all the world a beggar child.
Wang Chong felt thoroughly embarrassed. "Got carried away for a moment," he said sheepishly. "Couldn't hold back."
Li Qingge's voice came drifting over. "Young master Wang has destroyed one of my rooms. I'd say that counts as owing me a favor, wouldn't you?"
Wang Chong cupped his hands toward the direction of the voice. "Put it all on my account."
Li Qingge never showed herself. Before long a young Daoist nun came and led Wang Chong and his two servants to another small courtyard. Wang Chong asked her a few questions and learned there was a clear stream nearby. He said to Yu Zao and Wang Dong, "I'm going to bathe. Will you two come along?"
Yu Zao's pretty face went red, and Wang Chong had to add, "When you wash, I'll stand guard so no one else looks." Yu Zao murmured, "It's not as if I'd mind master looking." Wang Dong abruptly decided he should not be hearing any of this and bustled off to gather the bathing things.
Wang Chong took his maid and page boy to the stream. He was not one to fuss: he stripped off robe and shoes, washed himself clean, and coming ashore found that Yu Zao had prepared a brand-new set of clothes—black garments and swift boots, crisp and trim. "A gift from Constable Li?" he asked offhandedly.
Yu Zao answered, "So master can pass himself off as that Ma You, chief constable of Songcheng."
Wang Chong laughed, dressed himself neatly, and, seeing there was also a steel saber, tied it at his waist for good measure. Then he sent Wang Dong ahead and stayed to chat idly with Yu Zao.
From childhood, Yu Zao had received an elite education in the Su family: martial arts, yes, but also composition and classical lore, needlework and feminine handiwork, even arithmetic and bookkeeping under a dedicated tutor—nothing went unlearned. Any one of Su Luo Yan's Eight Maids, turned loose in the world, could stand on her own two feet, and Yu Zao was the finest of the Eight. Whether managing the family's shops, handling official paperwork, or running the affairs of a great gang, she could take charge at a moment's notice.
Wang Chong quizzed her at length, clicking his tongue in admiration, and thought to himself, "The maid Sister Su gave me is quite a talent. I wonder when I'll ever scrape together an establishment like hers—dozens of beautiful, capable maids trailing at my side."
"Mm... my progress with Sister Chu Qiuzi is still far too slow..."
Wang Dong bathed quickly. In no more than one incense stick's time he had changed into the old clothes he had brought with him—the old shirt from his days learning the arts in Qingcheng, washed spotless in ordinary times yet too dear to wear. Wang Chong sent him back to the Daoist temple first, and only then let Yu Zao go wash off the dust.
Yu Zao took far longer—a full shichen and more—before she came swaying gracefully back, her jade face indeed outshining spring, like a lotus blossom, her long hair faintly damp and spilling over her shoulders, her fox eyes more bewitching than ever.
Wang Chong was just about to call her to walk back with him when a voice said, unhurried, "Young master Wang is truly a gentleman of utmost sincerity, one who keeps faith even where no light can see. More than nine out of ten men in Chang'an, with such a beauty for a maid at their side, could not have held themselves back." Li Qingge came gliding out, and the little maid Yu Zao's pretty face went scarlet on the spot.
...Wang Chong: I am a perfectly decent man...
...Li Miaomiao: You—you—don't you come over here...
Chapter 35