After lunch, Chu Mu finally stepped out of the Wind and Moon Pavilion.
Standing once more before the pavilion's entrance, Chu Mu appeared burdened with heavy thoughts.
It wasn't that he hadn't enjoyed himself to the fullest; rather, during his time in the Wind and Moon Pavilion, he had heard yet another tale of gods and ghosts.
This time, the story centered on the Wind and Moon Pavilion itself—or rather, on a former pleasure house in Nanshan Town known as Tinglang Court, as recounted by one of its songstresses.
In simple terms, it was a tale of a courtesan and a penniless scholar.
The scholar, being destitute, could not afford to redeem the courtesan's freedom, so they made the age-old pact to elope.
But their plan was betrayed when the courtesan's close friend leaked the news. On the day of their planned escape, the scholar was beaten to death on the spot, and the courtesan was dragged back to the Wind and Moon Pavilion, where she was humiliated until her death.
That very night, a sudden and ferocious fire engulfed the Wind and Moon Pavilion, reducing it to ashes.
Passersby claimed to have heard endless wails emanating from the building, with shadowy figures of malevolent ghosts faintly visible amidst the flames.
Patrol officers and bystanders attempted to douse the fire, but pouring cold water on it was like adding oil to the blaze—it only grew fiercer.
A songstress who tried to flee was said to have been dragged back into the inferno by a vengeful spirit.
By the end of that night, every soul in the Wind and Moon Pavilion—seventy-eight lives, including the guests—was reduced to charred remains.
The current Wind and Moon Pavilion had been established in the town only after Tinglang Court was reduced to ashes.
As for the former site of Tinglang Court, its infamy caused it to lie abandoned for many years until, a few years ago, the authorities requisitioned the land and built a warehouse to store mining materials.
Chu Mu's gaze drifted toward the end of the street. Every day, after finishing his shift at the mines, he passed by that warehouse. He hadn't imagined it held such a history.
In the span of a single morning, Chu Mu had been bombarded with these so-called tales of gods and ghosts. Though he wasn't one to believe in the supernatural, he couldn't help but feel an inexplicable chill creeping down his spine.
"What a strange place. I came to listen to music, and somehow I ended up with another ghost story!" Chu Mu muttered to himself, pulling his clothes tighter around him. Without lingering further, he quickened his pace and headed home.
Perhaps it was his imagination, but the home that usually brought him peace now felt oddly unsettling as he stepped inside.
"Woof, woof…"
As he entered the room, the puppy whined softly and nuzzled against Chu Mu's pant leg. He crouched down, ruffled the pup's fur, and the eerie feeling began to dissipate.
Lighting the hearth and changing into clean clothes, Chu Mu picked up a book and settled slowly onto the edge of his bed.
As he opened the book, his restless mind gradually calmed, naturally shifting to focus entirely on the pages before him.
The lingering buzz of wine, the flickering glow of the hearth, and the warmth enveloping his body made for an almost too-comfortable moment.
Time slipped by unnoticed, and it wasn't until he had finished the entire book that Chu Mu closed it, shut his eyes briefly, and mentally reviewed its contents before setting it down.
Unlike the historical record he had read previously, this book, though also historical in nature, was a local chronicle—a record of anomalies and events.
Specifically, it was the chronicle of Qinghe County, where Chu Mu now resided.
The Great Chu Dynasty had stood for seven hundred years, and Qinghe County had existed for nearly as long. Naturally, its official chronicle could not be contained in a single slim volume like the one he held.
Of course, the book in his hands wasn't the true county chronicle.
After all, the official chronicle was compiled and stored by the county magistrate's office, far beyond the reach of a lowly patrol officer like himself.
Strictly speaking, the book he held was an unofficial chronicle, a so-called "wild history" compiled by a local scholar, titled The Chronicles of Nanshan.
Nanshan, of course, referred to the very town of Nanshan where Chu Mu now lived.
According to The Chronicles of Nanshan, the Nanshan iron mine had been formally excavated some sixty years ago, and the town of Nanshan had gradually taken shape as the mining operations grew.
Before the mine's discovery, this place had been nothing more than barren hills and wilderness, utterly devoid of human presence.
The chronicle meticulously recorded the significant events that had occurred in Nanshan Town over the years.
To Chu Mu's surprise, the ghostly tale he had heard at the Wind and Moon Pavilion was also documented in The Chronicles of Nanshan.
However, the chronicler had clearly embellished the account with artistic flourishes, framing it as a tale of karmic retribution and divine justice. It read almost like a ghost story, heavily colored by the writer's personal views.
What captured Chu Mu's attention most in The Chronicles of Nanshan was its account of the Nanshan iron mine.
It touched precisely on the concern that had long weighed on him: uprisings and rebellions.
After all, the corvée labor imposed on Qinghe County was so harsh that "severe" hardly did it justice.
Decades of unrelenting labor drafts without a single uprising would have seemed unbelievable to Chu Mu.
Though the region appeared stable for now, who could say when a spark—perhaps a single stone figure with one eye—might ignite a full-scale rebellion in Nanshan?
The chronicle's records confirmed Chu Mu's suspicions.
According to The Chronicles of Nanshan, over the sixty-odd years since the iron mine's opening, there had been three popular uprisings.
The most severe of these had swept through the entire town of Nanshan, requiring troops from the prefectural city to suppress it.
Three uprisings in sixty years…
Chu Mu let out a long breath. Combined with what he had observed in his nearly one month as a patrol officer, the reasons behind these events were not hard to discern.
At its core, it all boiled down to human greed.
From what he knew, the prefectural city issued annual mining quotas to the Nanshan iron mine.
In other words, Qinghe County was required to meet the mining targets set by the prefectural city each year.
If the quota was met, all was well. If not, officials risked losing their posts—or their heads.
To protect their positions, the county's officials would stop at nothing to fulfill the prefectural city's demands.
But the reality was that the people of Qinghe County were burdened with far more than just the prefectural city's quotas.
After all, who could stand beside a treasure trove like the iron mine and not be tempted by the scent of profit?
This created an inescapable cycle.
The prefectural city demanded ore, the county officials needed ore to line their pockets, and the thousand or so officials in Qinghe County all reached for a share of the wealth.
Those at the top took the lion's share, while those below sipped the broth.
Layer upon layer, this formed the vast web of interests Chu Mu had suspected.
Even if someone wanted to improve the treatment of conscripted laborers or lighten the burden on Qinghe County's people, it would be nearly impossible to achieve.
"The most recent uprising was six years ago…"
"That was the year the original owner's father was transferred to Nanshan Town…"
Chu Mu had a sudden realization. No wonder the original owner's father, who had been doing well in the county, was abruptly reassigned to this remote town.
"What was the original owner doing all these years? How could he know nothing about this?"
Chu Mu racked his brain but found no trace of information about the uprisings in the original owner's memories. The most vivid recollections seemed to be of staying cooped up in this courtyard, playing with that Xu Yuan…
…
*(End of Chapter)*