Chapter Sixty-Seven: Nine Pavilions and Ten Halls

Li Zisheng gazed at the corpse before him, his heart filled with astonishment. If such a body had appeared in his own time, he might have been able to tolerate it. But to find it in the Tang Dynasty, a thousand years earlier, and see the corpse preserved to such a degree—it was truly shocking, a terrifying feat of technology. What was most perplexing was that, despite his careful scrutiny, he could not discern the reason why this body showed no signs of decay inside the pavilion. It emitted no foul odor, nor was it surrounded by flies, maggots, rats, or ants. There was almost no trace of any preservative substances. This alone defied all his expectations.

The only explanations he could conceive were twofold. First, the body might have been subjected to an extremely potent toxin—one that did not affect the skin but protected the body from damage. Crucially, this poison was odorless and could disperse any surrounding scents, thereby deterring snakes, insects, and rodents. Yet, Li Zisheng had never encountered such a substance before.

As he continued to observe the surroundings, everything remained unchanged, without even a speck of dust. By now, such anomalies no longer startled him.

He then turned his attention to the small pavilion itself. Its placement was highly irregular. According to architectural principles, a pavilion’s size should correspond with the garden or residence it belongs to, its distance properly measured, and its shape generally limited to circles, squares, pentagons, hexagons, or octagons; odd or strange shapes were to be avoided. Yet this pavilion was precisely one of those bizarre, irregular forms—something he had overlooked during his first visit.

The longer he looked, the stranger it seemed.

Normally, a pavilion should not face a doorway directly, especially with pointed corners, as improper alignment could harm the household’s prosperity or invite illness. Yet this pavilion stood directly opposite the academy’s main gate, almost fully visible from the entrance, though the interior arrangement remained concealed. Paradoxically, from within the pavilion, one could clearly see the academy’s gate—an arrangement that flagrantly violated architectural norms.

In terms of the Five Elements, square and pentagonal pavilions correspond to Earth; circular and four-sided to Metal; hexagonal to Water; octagonal to Wood. Though he had not yet examined all the pavilions, Li Zisheng had already noticed nine distinct colors and shapes among them. Most strikingly, the layout of these nine pavilions was extraordinary—they seemed to have been constructed starting from the location of this first pavilion.

Continuing his inspection of the surroundings—the countless trees and flowers arranged with exquisite care—Li Zisheng initially thought it was a unique design of the Lingzhou Academy. Yet when he closed his eyes and recalled the layout, he was stunned to realize that the nine pavilions formed the shape of a dragon. Such a deliberate design was astonishing; to arrange the academy grounds in the form of a dragon was an act of profound defiance, bordering on treason.

At this moment, Li Zisheng clearly understood the anomaly within the academy: the nine pavilions and ten towers must hold special significance. But now was not the time to ponder these matters. He suppressed his thoughts about Lingzhou Academy and resumed his inspection, searching for other peculiarities.

He arrived at Minglun Hall, a building he knew well. It was here that Deng Qing had brazenly arrested Zhou Fulin and the others, showing no regard for appearances or scholarly decorum. Reflecting on this, Li Zisheng found it chilling. Although he was not fully aware of the Zhou family’s influence, Deng Qing’s considerable effort confirmed their formidable status. Moreover, the academy’s dean and Mr. Zhong’s apparent favoritism toward the Zhou family was unmistakable.

However, dwelling on these facts was now futile. In just five days, Lecheng and the Lingzhou military camp had transformed from bustling centers into ghost towns. Except for the eight taels, Li Zisheng had yet to encounter a single living soul.

The stench of blood in Lecheng was overwhelming, nearly nauseating. Only within the academy was there no scent of blood—yet the atmosphere was even more chilling, suffused with an indescribable aura of death.

Coupled with the mysterious arrangement of the nine pavilions and ten towers, Lingzhou Academy exuded an unfathomable sense of dread.

The first pavilion contained a headless corpse, grotesquely preserved. Now, Li Zisheng and his companion approached the second pavilion. At first, they noticed nothing unusual, but soon Li Zisheng observed that the tables and chairs were slightly askew. Squatting to examine the floor, he was horrified to discover countless tiny fragments of bone beneath the furniture—smooth, pristine bone remnants.

The more he looked, the more bone fragments he found. Cold sweat broke out on Li Zisheng’s brow. The person who had scattered these bones must have harbored immense hatred for the deceased, so much so that even in death, the body could not rest peacefully. It was utterly terrifying.

Yet his dread deepened when he spotted three small skulls beneath the smallest table—each resembling the skull of an infant. Li Zisheng quickly withdrew his gaze, unwilling to look further.

“Master, master, this place is far too frightening. Let us leave and return to the tunnel,” his companion urged once more, trembling with fear. But Li Zisheng’s curiosity remained unshaken. He pressed on toward the third pavilion, driven by a persistent premonition that the headless corpse and these scattered bones bore hidden meanings—meanings he had yet to uncover.