Chapter 77 The Underworld Court Appears: Let’s See His Fate

The Crown Prince naturally declined, but after further polite refusals from Old Marquis Jiang and the old marchioness, he had no choice but to accept the kaleidoscope gift.

Jiang Jinghuai joined his grandparents in persuading the Crown Prince to take the gift, though inwardly, his heart ached.

This was something he had swallowed his pride to ask Bing Wengu for, only to turn around and plead for someone else to accept it. Jiang Jinghuai truly felt his heart ache.

As *The Rebirth of Dong Geer* finally began its performance, Bing Wengu led Nan Jinping out and found a quiet corner to sit.

Both the opera and banquet were set up in the front courtyard. Men and women dined in the same space, separated only by screens or curtains—a common practice among noble families in Dayong for events like flower-viewing banquets or poetry gatherings.

The seating arrangement for the play followed the same principle. Bing Wengu and Nan Jinping sat among the male guests, though they were essentially listening to the performance alongside the marchioness, merely divided by a screen.

Li Shishi, portraying Dong Geer, was strikingly beautiful and pitiable, capturing everyone’s attention the moment she appeared. Yet the most shocking moment came when Dong Geer died, and the Black and White Guards of the Underworld arrived to guide her soul.

Here, Bing Wengu employed wires for the first time, suspending the Black and White Guards slightly above the ground while dry ice created a misty effect. Combined with the dim evening light, the illusion of the two figures floating eerily forward was eerily lifelike.

Bing Wengu clearly heard soft, startled gasps from the female guests’ side.

Next came the separation of Dong Geer’s body and stand-in. Under the cover of night and mist, most failed to notice the use of a stand-in. Still shaken by the Black and White Guards, the audience could only watch in awe as Dong Geer’s soul seemed to be torn out, her feet lifting off the ground.

The scene was so impactful that a chorus of gasps erupted.

The old marchioness couldn’t help but cry out, “Good heavens! Did they really summon the Black and White Guards? How did they pull the actor’s soul out like that?”

Jiang Jinghuai, too, was stunned. He hadn’t expected Bing Wengu not only to deliver on his promises but to achieve such an astonishing effect.

At the very least, this opening was already a resounding success.

When the Underworld Court appeared, all the ghostly attendants hovered above the ground, while Yama and his desk floated mid-air—as if the underworld itself had descended upon the mortal realm.

The marchioness clutched Jiang Jinghuai’s hand tightly. “Little Si Lang [affectionate nickname for Jiang Jinghuai], you didn’t actually bring the Underworld Court here, did you?”

Had Jiang Jinghuai not known this was all Bing Wengu’s doing, even he might have wondered if they’d somehow summoned the real deities.

Gently patting the marchioness’s hand, he reassured her softly, “There’s no need to fear, my lady. It’s all an act—not the real Underworld Court.”

Yet the marchioness remained uneasy. “But how is that man floating in mid-air?”

Jiang Jinghuai didn’t know either. “I’m not sure, but I do know who pulled this off.”

“In fact, we just mentioned him—the maker of the kaleidoscope, this year’s Provincial First Scholar Bing, Bing Wengu. After watching the Imperial Music Bureau’s rehearsal, he claimed there were areas for improvement. Who knew he could transform it into *this*?”

“Bing Wengu,” the Crown Prince murmured under his breath. “What a fascinating man.”

Jiang Jinghuai stole a glance at the Crown Prince, uncertain whether Bing Wengu’s name catching his attention would bring fortune or misfortune.

Unbeknownst to the household, out on the streets, others had also spotted the floating figure of Yama. The fierce wind billowed his robes, revealing him seated upon a stool that hovered without support. Lanterns drifting around him like will-o’-the-wisps added to his eerie, chilling presence.

Someone in the crowd suddenly shrieked, pointing at the sky and shouting, “The King of Hell has come! The King of Hell has come!”

The crowd surged as people spontaneously knelt and bowed deeply in fear in the direction of the apparition, pleading for mercy and forgiveness.

The commotion quickly drew the palace guards. Given that this was a street frequented by officials, their arrival was swift.

When the guards looked up and saw the floating figure of Yama, they almost fell to their knees alongside the civilians, begging the stern and just King of Hell for leniency.

Fortunately, the palace guards still had some sense and quickly identified where Yama had appeared, tracing it back to the marquis' estate.

The guards questioned the gatekeeper, "What happened at the marquis' estate? Has anyone committed a crime? Otherwise, why would Yama manifest above the estate?"

The gatekeeper was scared stiff, shaking so hard he couldn’t speak. He himself had no idea what was going on—just moments ago, he had been kneeling with the crowd toward Yama’s direction.

Out of patience, the guards shoved the gatekeeper aside and strode forward, ready to storm into the residence.

Only then did the gatekeeper snap to his senses, shouting, "My lord, please don’t act rashly! Today is the Lady’s birthday, and many high-ranking guests are present. And—the Crown Prince is here too!"

Others could be offended, but the Crown Prince? Absolutely not.

Leaving some men outside, the guards quietly entered the estate with only a few elite soldiers.

Sure enough, they spotted the Crown Prince in the front row. The guards approached discreetly and saluted, "Your Highness, we saw Yama manifest outside and, knowing you were here, feared an incident and came to investigate."

The Crown Prince smiled gently, "You’ve been deceived. It’s not Yama’s true manifestation—just a theatrical performance."

The guards objected, "But Yama was hovering in the air!"

"Just a trick," the Crown Prince chuckled. "At first, even I was fooled. Later, I learned that the actors and props were hung by thick wires—apparently called 'wires.' It’s just too dark to see them clearly."

Only then did the guards understand.

"There’s no danger here. Withdraw and calm the crowd outside to prevent unrest."

"Yes, Your Highness." The guards obeyed and left.

Outside, a restless crowd had gathered, peering curiously at the estate.

The guards quickly shouted, "It wasn’t Yama’s manifestation—just a play being performed inside!"

A commoner retorted, "Don’t lie to us! We may be uneducated, but we know people don’t just hover in the air for no reason. If not Yama, then what?"

"Exactly!" others chimed in. "Stop lying to us!"

Fearing unnecessary trouble, the guards explained, "Why would we trick you? It really was a performance. The actor playing Yama was hung by wires—it’s just too dark to see them."

But since no play had ever used such techniques before, the crowd remained skeptical.

"What play is it? Tell us the name, and we’ll go see it tomorrow to judge for ourselves!"

The guards replied, "Dong Geer’s Rebirth, a play by the Imperial Music Bureau. If you want to see it, head to the theater district tomorrow."

Still doubtful, the crowd lingered outside. Just then, the Yama scene ended—the candles in the floating lanterns dimmed, and Yama’s ghostly figure, no longer illuminated, blended into the dark, seemingly vanishing.

This triggered another wave of kneeling and cries: "Yama’s gone!"

The guards groaned, unable to disperse the stubborn crowd. They could only stand guard to prevent more panic. Fortunately, no more wire stunts followed, averting further unrest.

Inside, the play continued. Dong Geer discovered that Sun Erlang was the one who poisoned her parents. No longer the gullible, timid Shuang Er of her past life, she laid a trap.

She secretly invited the magistrate and yamen officers into her home while pretending the house was empty. As expected, Sun Erlang, hearing the house was empty, sneaked in—only to be caught in the act by the officials.

Cornered, Sun Erlang dragged the widow and his own parents into it.

All four were thrown in jail. The Sun family, along with the local headman, tried to strong-arm Dong Geer into letting them off.

Dong Geer had the means and was completely unafraid, so she took her parents and left the village without hesitation, settling down in the prefectural city.

All four members of the Sun family were sentenced, but since no lives were actually lost, they did not receive the death penalty.

However, Sun’s mother was old and died in prison within two years, while Sun’s father only outlived her by another two years.

As the main culprit, Sun Erlang and the widow were sent to a quarry for hard labor. That was no place for humans—starvation and cold were just the beginning, and they were treated like animals—no, worse than animals.

The widow couldn’t endure it. First, she seduced a strong man to do her work for her, then later curried favor with a low-ranking overseer, who assigned her some lighter tasks.

As for Sun Erlang, the one who had dragged the widow into this hell, she naturally held a grudge against him. She made his life a living hell, convincing the overseer to assign him the hardest labor and giving him the least and worst food. Sun Erlang ultimately failed to survive until his release and died in prison.

The widow didn’t fare much better either. The overseer’s position was too low, with little authority, and he couldn’t arrange better work for her. At best, he could make her life slightly easier than others, but it was still backbreaking.

Under such conditions, the widow quickly lost her looks, and with fading beauty came fading affection. The overseer abandoned her, and she met a wretched end—none of them did.

As for the child born between the widow and Sun Erlang—the very child who, in the previous life, had betrayed Dong Geer, only for Dong Geer to raise him, only to later starve Dong Geer to death—

He was the shame of the Sun family. With his parents and grandparents gone, how could his uncles treat him well?

From childhood, he scrounged for food like a stray dog. That he survived to adulthood could only be attributed to sheer will to survive.

By adulthood, forget about marrying or starting a family—he didn’t even have a roof over his head.

One might say fate had a twisted sense of humor, for the heavens granted this child memories of his past life. He remembered that Dong Geer had been his Shuang Er father.

By then, Dong Geer was renowned across the land—her embroidery fetched a fortune, and her deeds were known far and wide.

The child had heard of Dong Geer and had even harbored secret envy, thinking how wonderful it would be if he could be her child. Never imagining that one day his dream would come true, he completely forgot how he had mistreated Dong Geer in his past life. He only remembered how good Dong Geer had been to him, how she had been willing to sacrifice her life for him. Naively, he believed that if he could just find Dong Geer and explain everything, she would treat him with the same kindness again.

So the child begged his way to Dong Geer’s doorstep. By then, Dong Geer was already married with children, and her husband treated her exceedingly well, always putting her first.

Dong Geer’s children had been raised excellently—her son had already passed the imperial examinations at eighteen, a far cry from that wretched boy.

Perhaps some people are born wicked. Far from feeling ashamed, the child instead believed that Dong Geer’s children had stolen everything that should have been his—that he should have been the one living in glory.

The child rushed forward like a madman, ranting about his past life. No one believed him, thinking he was insane. Dong Geer, in public, acted the same as everyone else—but later, in private, she went to see him.

She told him she remembered everything, including how he had watched her starve to death. So now, seeing him reduced to a state worse than an animal, it filled her with grim satisfaction.

The child was stunned, only then realizing that Dong Geer remembering the past was not a blessing for him.

Dong Geer smirked and said, *"Look—we both got to relive our lives with memories intact. Yet now, I live in boundless wealth and glory, while your Sun family, a bunch of bloodsucking leeches who lost me, were exposed for what you truly are—living like damned souls."*

*"And the funniest part? Some still think Shuang Er are inferior to men. How absurd!"*

In the latter half of her life, Dong Geer devoted herself to charity. She enjoyed a loving marriage, filial children, and a life of prosperity and respect.

After her death, due to her immense virtue, she became a figure of great merit, exempt from reincarnation. Instead, she remained in the Hall of Judgment as a clerk in the Retribution Bureau, tasked with delivering justice to wronged Shuang Er and women.

Her husband, by virtue of her merits, was also spared reincarnation and became a clerk as well.

This was written not to portray Dong Geer as love-struck, but to reflect the customs of the Great Yong.

Due to the preference for sons over daughters and Shuang Er, wives typically gained status through their husbands. But Nan Jinping insisted on a husband gaining status through his Shuang Er—ultimately, it was a defiance of male dominance.

When Li Shishi, playing Dong Geer, floated mid-air in red robes to inspect the virtues and sins of the mortal world, the play came to an end.

After a moment of silence, the crowd burst into thunderous applause.

Bing Wengu was also clapping, but his applause was solely for Nan Jinping. "Nan Jinping, congratulations on your new play being a smash hit."

Nan Jinping heard the applause from the marquis’s guests and saw Bing Wengu’s congratulatory gesture.

Suddenly, her eyes welled up. "Thank you, Wen Gu. Without you, I wouldn’t be where I am today. I can’t even imagine what kind of drifting life I’d be living now if I hadn’t met you."

"No point dwelling on 'ifs.' The reality is, you did meet me."

Nan Jinping laughed through tears—her tears were soaked in happiness.

The performance continued, as the play would run around the clock for three days at the marquis’s residence. After listening to *Dong Geer’s Rebirth*, Bing Wengu and Nan Jinping left.

Before departing, they said their goodbyes to Jiang Jinghuai, who saw them off.

Jiang Jinghuai gave Bing Wengu a thumbs-up. "Yuan Ting, impressive! I never thought you actually had the skill to make someone truly fly. Back then, I thought you were just being a sore loser in front of Jin Geer."

Bing Wengu snorted, cocky as ever.

Jiang Jinghuai, already accustomed to this, said, "Yuan Ting, the kaleidoscope you gifted Her Highness was passed on to the Crown Prince—I got completely left out."

He whined, "Make me another one, won’t you? I’ll pay for it!"

Faced with Jiang Jinghuai’s pleading, Bing Wengu remained unmoved. "Prepping for the exams. Too busy."

Jiang Jinghuai pressed on, unwilling to give up. "I even put in a good word for you in front of the Crown Prince."

Bing Wengu nodded slightly. "Thanks."

"Honestly, Bing Yuanting, how are you immune to sweet talk and threats?"

Shen Qinghe had joined the group earlier and overheard the entire conversation.

"Cooperate with him, and he’ll have time," Shen Qinghe said to Jiang Jinghuai.

"Huh?" Jiang Jinghuai was baffled, unsure why Shen Qinghe would suddenly suggest this.

Bing Wengu, however, chuckled first. "Brother Qing He, you read me like a book."

This was as good as an admission. Jiang Jinghuai’s eyes bugged out, unable to grasp the underlying meaning.

"Cousin, how did you infer from his rejection that he actually wanted to collaborate with me?" Jiang Jinghuai asked, confused.

"Dumbass," Shen Qinghe replied, rolling his eyes. "Quit making a fool of yourself and discuss the partnership."

"Right, let’s talk business." Regardless, the kaleidoscope was an excellent venture. Even if Jiang Jinghuai was clueless about business, he could see its potential.

If even the Crown Prince couldn’t put it down, how could it be anything ordinary?

"I’ll provide the funds, you provide the formula—70-30 split," Jiang Jinghuai proposed, his eyes lit up with greed.

Bing Wengu shook his head. Jiang Jinghuai, ever the schemer, tried to needle him. "Don’t think holding the formula makes you invincible. Without capital, it’s useless. Setting up workshops, sourcing materials—colored glaze, for instance—won’t come cheap. Without money, even the best formula is worthless."

Seeing Bing Wengu remain indifferent, Jiang Jinghuai continued, "Even if you could partner with anyone, you’d still need to screen them. What if they betray you after getting the formula? With your current connections in the capital, what could you do? You’d have to take the L. But with me, Jiang Jinghuai, my word is gold, and I’d never stab a friend in the back."

Bing Wengu wasn’t one to be easily swayed. He had already made up his mind.

"The three of us will collaborate," Bing Wengu said, pointing at Shen Qinghe. "I provide the formula, you two provide the funds. We each take 30%, and the remaining 10%—no matter how much—will be donated under our names for charity."

This proposal stunned them both.

Shen Qinghe had always prided himself on being sharp-witted, yet he never expected Bing Wengu would want to collaborate with him. Hadn’t this guy always been butting heads with him? Why would he want to share such a surefire moneymaker?

"Why include me?" Shen Qinghe knew Bing Wengu had unconventional ideas and rarely followed the usual playbook. He could probably figure it out eventually, but it would take time and effort, so he decided to ask directly.

Bing Wengu was straightforward in his reply: "Jiang Jinghuai isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. With a business this large and profits so substantial, it’s bound to attract attention from more powerful forces. He can’t protect it alone, and in the end, the burden would fall on me."

He might as well have said—why should he do all the hard work while Jiang Jinghuai skated by on his coattails?

Jiang Jinghuai sputtered, wanting to argue but finding no rebuttal. Bing Wengu was simply stating facts.

When it came to schemes and cunning, Jiang Jinghuai was out of his league against Shen Qinghe or Bing Wengu. His straightforward and cheerful nature suited direct confrontations of skill rather than intricate plots. Not that he was a reckless fool—just that his strategic thinking was too shallow to outmaneuver old foxes.

Shen Qinghe understood immediately and agreed without hesitation. A golden opportunity had landed in his lap, and he wasn’t about to refuse.

"But are you really sure about giving up 10% to charity every year?" Shen Qinghe asked. "The kaleidoscope’s gonna be a high-end product at first, and the profits won’t be trivial. Even 10%, it’ll be a mind-blowing amount. Are you truly willing to part with it?"

Bing Wengu chuckled. "Brother Qinghe, don’t sell me short. While I may not have the ambition to 'build countless mansions to shelter all the poor scholars under heaven,' I do believe in 'cultivating oneself when poor and benefiting the world when prosperous.'"

"What a line—'cultivating oneself when poor and benefiting the world when prosperous.' If even a farmer’s son like you has such principles, how could we, as little lords, fall short? Let’s do it this way." Jiang Jinghuai, who had a knight-errant vibe, was instantly inspired and pounded his chest in agreement.

"Yuan Ting, aside from that mouth of yours, your character really resonates with me. I feel like we should’ve clicked sooner." Jiang Jinghuai’s eyes gleamed with camaraderie as he reached out to clap Bing Wengu’s shoulder.

Bing Wengu dodged and moved beside Nan Jinping. If not for Jiang Jinghuai’s martial skills, he might have stumbled face-first.

"Seriously, Bing Wengu, was that necessary?" Jiang Jinghuai protested.

"You promised me you’d stop calling Wen Gu that," Nan Jinping interjected quietly.

Bing Wengu smirked triumphantly at Jiang Jinghuai. "The only one I regret not clicking sooner in this life is my husband."

Nan Jinping turned red, and Bing Wengu gazed tenderly at her profile, making his devotion clear.

Jiang Jinghuai didn’t know what "dog food" was, but he felt like he’d been force-fed something gross, stuck in his throat.

"Cousin, don’t you feel like you’re gagging?" Jiang Jinghuai asked Shen Qinghe.

Shen Qinghe nodded.

"Good, so it’s not just me—it’s Bing... Yuan Ting’s fault." Jiang Jinghuai turned to Bing Wengu. "The moment you open your mouth, I feel like we met too soon after all."

Bing Wengu shrugged. "Doesn’t matter. Aside from my husband, you can resent me all you want, early or late."

With their preliminary agreement settled, the three parted ways. The marquis’s estate was still hosting guests, and there was no hurry.

Meanwhile, the Crown Prince returned to the palace and reported everything that had happened at the marquis’s estate in detail to the Emperor, including Bing Wengu’s inventions—the kaleidoscope and the flying rig.

"So it was another stroke of brilliance from our Little Triple Champion. It certainly caused a stir among the people," the Emperor remarked. "Even I heard about it in the palace. It’s said many commoners were amazed."

"It was his ingenuity—using steel wires to suspend actors mid-air. Under the cover of night, it looked as though they were truly floating. They call it 'flying rigging,'" the Crown Prince explained.

A gleam of curiosity flickered in the Emperor’s eyes. "A kaleidoscope and flying rigging—our Little Triple Champion truly has some talent."

"Father doesn’t consider these mere flashy gimmicks?"

"What does it matter if they’re gimmicks? It’s about how they’re used."

The Crown Prince bowed. "Your son is ignorant. I beg Father’s guidance."

"Even flashy gimmicks can generate revenue and fill the treasury. With the empire in need of rebuilding, silver is scarce everywhere. What does it matter if they’re tricks? What counts is their ability to bring in wealth." The Emperor’s eyes gleamed shrewdly. "If such a man were placed in the Ministry of Revenue, churning out these 'gimmicks' now and then, the Minister wouldn’t have to keep complaining to me about empty coffers."

The Crown Prince was surprised. "Father had initially planned to assign this year’s top scholar to the Imperial Academy as Assistant Director. Has Your Majesty changed your mind to place him in the Ministry of Revenue instead?"

But this time, the Emperor didn’t answer immediately. After a long pause, he finally said, "Let fate decide."