Chapter 83: The Proud Tiger (Bonus Chapter for Monthly Votes)

The white tiger lay weakly in its cage, listless and dispirited, unwilling even to twitch an eyelid. Even when Jiang Lan arrived, it merely let out a faint breath, still refusing to respond.

“Your Grace, please forgive us. We don’t know what happened to General White Tiger. It was perfectly fine in the palace, but now…” The servants knelt anxiously, but Jiang Lan waved his hand, signaling for them to rise. “Go on, this isn’t your fault.”

“But…” Seeing the young lord’s firm attitude, they hurriedly rose and left, their footsteps stumbling over one another in a panicked escape.

“Granduncle, what’s its name?”

“Troublemaker—because it stirs up a lively scene.”

Jiang Ruoming stepped into the cage, reaching out a tentative hand toward the tiger’s paw, which rested outside the bars. Jiang Lan, observing, made no effort to stop him, allowing the child to stroke it. In her view, the tiger was still dazed and bewildered—perhaps wondering how Jiang Lan’s body had acquired a new soul. Its apparent indifference was a mere pretense; hadn’t she noticed one ear perked up, twitching? It was just feigning ignorance, afraid she might finish it off as well.

“Granduncle, it’s so obedient.”

The cage was placed in the largest open space in the outer courtyard. All the servants who had been cleaning had vanished without a trace, terrified of the creature. Along the edge of the clearing were patches of green grass. Jiang Lan sat on the stone border of a flowerbed, watching the child and the beast from a distance.

“Do you want to keep it?”

Jiang Ruoming hesitated, then tilted his head, looking at Jiang Lan. “Is that allowed, Granduncle?”

Leaning back on her hands, Jiang Lan basked in the sunset, listening to Ming’er’s childish voice and seeing the longing in his eyes. “If you like it, then we’ll keep it.”

“Troublemaker, did you hear that? You must be good.”

In that moment, the white tiger seemed to realize its predicament. Yet, it was a proud creature, dignified even in captivity. It turned its head away and lay back down, refusing to acknowledge anyone—a display of lofty indifference that Jiang Ruoming found utterly endearing.

“Granduncle, Granduncle, let’s keep it, please?”

Jiang Lan’s gaze fixed on the white tiger, intense and unwavering. The tiger, unable to withstand the scrutiny, finally lifted its eyelids and, with reluctant affection, nudged Jiang Ruoming’s hand with its paw. All the while, it dared not so much as glance toward Jiang Lan, its tucked tail betraying every ounce of fear. Its days as king of beasts were surely over—how humiliating.

“Granduncle, it’s truly so gentle.”

Jiang Lan stood and ruffled Jiang Ruoming’s hair. “Alright, you can keep him. I won’t have time to look after him, so when you come home from school, be sure to check on him.”

“Yes, Granduncle.”

Jiang Lan then took Ming’er to visit his younger sister, Lan, and together they went to Siyan Pavilion to dine with Jiang Si. Only after Jiang Si had gone to bed did Jiang Lan return to the courtyard with Ming’er.

In the dead of night, Jiang Lan, clad in nightclothes, vanished from her room once again. Using two invisibility talismans, she slipped into the main prison of the Capital Commandery Office.

Outside Cell B-23, Jiang Lan touched the wooden hairpin at her temple and murmured, “Let the spell grant me entry to this cell.”

As soon as she finished speaking, she slipped inside with a faint crackle.

“Let everyone here sleep deeply and wake only on the morrow.”

With these words, a subtle fragrance drifted from the hairpin, spreading through the prison. The final wisp of green smoke curled from its tip, and a figure in green appeared, hands folded and kneeling: Qingli.

“Great Immortal.”

Jiang Lan nodded. “Stand guard outside. No one is to approach. If anything happens, signal me.”

“Yes, Great Immortal.” To have such an important task thrilled Qingli, who had lived in solitude for so long. She darted out of the cell, elated.

Jiang Lan surveyed the prison; everything was as she had left it. In the adjacent cell, Shen Duo slept soundly.

She moved to the Eight Immortals Table and stomped on the hidden mechanism beneath it. The entire Cell B-23 glowed with a peculiar light as Jiang Lan removed the invisibility talisman from her person.

Before her arrival, Qin Shu had thoroughly searched and cleaned the place. Given Master Xie’s meticulous nature, nothing should have been taken by Qin Shu’s men.

Jiang Lan’s eyes passed over the recently arranged items. The cell contained only three pillars, one wall, and the floor beneath her feet.

The ground was uneven, despite repeated repairs by Qin Shu’s subordinates, and still pitted with hollows.

She examined everything exposed, noting the many dents and bumps, but none appeared to have been disturbed. According to Tutu’s methods, Master Xie often revised his records, so there ought to be traces.

It seemed she would have plenty to do.

She moved the table first—nothing. Then she pushed aside the tall rosewood display shelf, noting the mark it left on the floor. Examining the ground, she found it solidly packed, so she turned her attention to the wall behind the shelf.

The wall was old—no less than thirty years, perhaps fifty or sixty. Jiang Lan tapped on dozens of bricks without hearing a sound out of the ordinary.

Next, she pushed aside the carved canopy bed and the folding screen—still nothing.

Dusting off her hands, she circled the room. “Xie Muyun certainly knows how to hide things.”

Exhausted, Jiang Lan collapsed onto the bed and closed her eyes, but sleep eluded her. Her mind was filled with thoughts of Xie Muyun’s hidden documents. “Where could that old man have hidden them?”

She had scoured every inch, even the floor, several times over. Could he have hidden them above?

Suddenly, Jiang Lan’s eyes flew open. She scanned the ceiling and, sure enough, noticed something amiss.

With the thick booklet in hand, she occasionally glanced at the old man standing in the corner—imposing despite his tattered clothes.

“Not bad. A fine book.”

Jiang Lan closed the heavy tome and looked toward Master Xie, who stood three paces away by the Eight Immortals Table.

He was over seven feet tall, aged, his back slightly hunched, his frame thin and gaunt, cheekbones pronounced, eyes shining with a light born of boundless knowledge.

“Xie Muyun? The author of this book?”

Jiang Lan regarded him with suspicion. The old man had been “invited” here by Tutu’s band of ghosts and hadn’t shown a hint of friendliness in a quarter of an hour. His chin jutted high, his unwillingness to engage written plainly on his face.