Chapter 16 – Ghost Shadow

Zhan Changfeng had purchased the grand mansion, but unfortunately its fearsome reputation was too widespread — craftsmen would tremble at the mere mention of its name and refuse to take on the work. Thus, the task of repairs and arrangements fell entirely to the guards.

After this group of former royal soldiers managed to ruin a heap of lumber, they collectively picked up copies of the ‘Carpentry Classic’ and squatted in the corner to study it.

“Looks like it’ll still take some time. Let’s at least get the roof patched first,” Zhan Changfeng said to Jiang Wei.

The former royal soldiers: “…”

They could practically feel the disdain radiating from His Highness the Crown Prince.

A clear cry rang out across the sky. Zhan Changfeng extended her arm, and a black-feathered messenger falcon landed upon it. “I’ve been losing sleep, yet you’ve gone and gotten heavier again,” she remarked.

The falcon tilted its head and looked at her, tucking one leg up — a small bamboo tube was tied to it.

Zhan Changfeng removed the tube and walked into a room that had been temporarily tidied up.

Inside the tube was a rolled strip of paper.

It was almost amusing, really. She had sent Yi Shang four characters: ‘Can desire become emperor.’

Yi Shang’s reply was: ‘Who is Li Chonghua?’

Who is he?

Nothing more than an ignorant rebel being manipulated like a puppet.

Zhan Changfeng spread out a sheet of paper, yet her brush remained unmoving for a long while.

Yi Shang’s choice mattered enormously to her. In Yi Shang, she saw a certain possibility she had longed to witness.

It was precisely because of this possibility that Zhan Changfeng had come to Yizhou, and that she sought to “become a god.”

If Yi Shang failed to meet her expectations, she doubted she would have any further interest in this land.

Thinking this, Zhan Changfeng set down her untouched brush. Perhaps she shouldn’t keep her gaze fixed solely on Yi Shang.

Rulers had spent three thousand years building and consolidating the ideological framework of centralized power — how could she hope to reshape it through one person in a matter of a few years?

But if the world were to fall into true chaos, on one hand order and morality would be shattered, yet on the other it would be an exceptional opportunity to purge deep-rooted ills and establish a new order.

“Right now, the various ambitious factions are stirring but have not yet come to great blows. It’s still relatively calm, all things considered. If war were ignited, the opportunity would arise very quickly.”

Zhan Changfeng stroked the falcon’s back and felt a flicker of hesitation. Yet this moment was also the most suitable for controlling the situation and limiting the damage.

As long as she revealed Li Chonghua’s identity to Yi Shang, then had Li Mao secretly assassinated, and combined that with the remaining forces in the Imperial City, Yi Shang could assist Li Chonghua in stabilizing the realm in the shortest possible time.

Even if some vassals chose to disregard the legitimate bloodline and insisted on launching campaigns, those would only be regional conflicts — they would not engulf the common people of the entire land.

Should she mend this land that was beginning to crack, letting it continue along its established course? Or should she strike it a decisive blow, shatter it to pieces, and then shape a new direction for history?

Could she bear the rivers of blood that would follow such a blow?

The weather had already begun to warm, yet Zhan Changfeng felt only a deepening chill. How had the rulers before her ever made decisions that tilted the course of history?

Had the earliest survivors felt no moral guilt when they began to objectify women?

When the first ruler divided people into nobles and commoners, was it truly only for the convenience of governance, with no thought given to history’s regression?

Throughout three thousand years, no small number of people and organizations had inherited the truths of the previous civilization. Yet how had they, carrying banners of freedom and equality, used the excuse of ‘racial propagation’ to stand by and watch the filth and injustice that plagued the world for a thousand years?

Over this long span of time, Shenzhou had grown to four hundred million people, yet not a single ruler had attempted to change this backward system.

What Zhan Changfeng saw in the historical records was nothing but endless destruction and suppression — and in the end, only the Yi Family had preserved the truth.

And that truth sat gathering dust on a high shelf, untouched by any willing hand.

Humans were truly a self-important and pitiable species. They created history, yet also bore the gifts and cruelties history bestowed upon them.

But on reflection, perhaps those past decisions, however imperfect they appeared today, could not be denied their place — they had necessarily been the result of countless weighings and choices in their own time, and their existence had its own objective rationality.

It was simply that the power to make such choices rested in the hands of very few.

And now — was it her turn to make such a choice?

Why did she want to change things? Was it anger at their failure to strive, or was it a desire to correct history?

Perhaps she needed to re-examine her own purpose, and Yi Shang, too, needed to understand the true meaning of war.

One of Zhan Changfeng’s trains of thought came to rest for now, but that didn’t hinder her from acting.

She was very curious about the level of existence possessed by those who could destroy or remake an entire realm with the snap of a finger, and what that hidden world unknown to ordinary people actually looked like.

The Yi Family had held sway over Shenzhou for at least eight hundred years. Even if they had never personally encountered true gods or immortals, they had some knowledge of certain extraordinary individuals who either moved through the mortal world or transcended it — though like parallel lines, they never interfered with one another.

If she couldn’t find them, she would make them come to her.

Deifying herself served not only to expand her influence, but also to attract such extraordinary beings.

But rumors alone would not be enough.

The corner of Zhan Changfeng’s eye curved slightly upward. What if she added the art of immortality into the mix?

First, she would build her name by suppressing the haunted mansion to create momentum. Then, she would spread rumors — vague and half-believable — that she possessed the secret to eternal life. After that, she would send out invitation letters to the mountains, summoning people, and see exactly who would come.

She wasn’t worried about being unable to clean up the aftermath. Anyone with any real cultivation ability would see through her age and gender at a glance, and at worst they’d give her a nickname for being a charlatan.

The finer details still needed to be worked out.

Just as Zhan Changfeng was focusing her mind to refine her plan, the messenger falcon suddenly let out a sharp cry, beating its wings furiously against the tightly shut window — fierce and agitated.

“Ling,” Zhan Changfeng reached out and blocked its head, her gentle touch gliding from the crown of its skull down its neck and back, coaxing it onto her left arm.

The falcon calmed under her soothing, yet its sharp eyes remained fixed intently on the window.

She had raised this messenger falcon for six years. It was as proud as she was as Crown Prince, and it was rare for it to be so on edge as if facing a great enemy.

Zhan Changfeng pushed open the window. Outside, the sky had already darkened. Red lanterns had been hung along the eaves of the corridor, casting a forlorn and desolate glow over the dilapidated buildings.

The guards posted at the door saw her and bowed in greeting.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

And with her level of cultivation, she hadn’t sensed any danger just now either.

The falcon flew out and circled above the buildings for a long while before landing back on the window frame and beginning to preen its feathers.

Zhan Changfeng furrowed her brow and instructed the guards, “Stay sharp on night watch. If anything seems off, call for help immediately.”

The guards answered loudly in unison.

The night was still.

The early spring wind was still biting cold, slicing at the face like a blade. Han Laoshan’s unit of guards finished their shift change and headed back to rest.

Halfway there, Han Laoshan broke from the formation. “Report to the Deputy Commander — this subordinate requests permission to relieve himself.”

“Go ahead. Return to quarters quickly.”

“Understood.”

Han Laoshan rubbed his frozen face and headed southeast.

One section of the wall on this side had collapsed and hadn’t been repaired yet. Stepping through the gap led into a grove of trees. Han Laoshan, desperately needing to go, charged headfirst toward a tree — his belt half undone — when he spotted a figure not far away and nearly jumped out of his skin.

The moon was dark and the wind high. Han Laoshan couldn’t make out the figure clearly, but from the silhouette it appeared to be a sturdy man, a blade stuck in the ground beside him, facing the tree.

Scaring himself for nothing, wasn’t he?

Han Laoshan laughed awkwardly and continued relieving himself. “Brother, you’re from the front courtyard shift change, right? Damn, I’m freezing to death out here.”

“Brother, you’re from the front courtyard shift change, right? Damn, I’m freezing to death out here.”

A chill shot straight through his heart. The stream he’d already started cut off mid-flow. Han Laoshan frantically fastened his belt and yanked up the blade stuck nearby, his face battered by the cold wind until it was hard as raw iron.

“Hey pal, it’s not good to joke around in the middle of nowhere like this.”

The shadowy figure also drew its blade and turned toward him.

“Hey pal, it’s not good to joke around in the middle of nowhere like this.”