The Wager and the Illusion

I never thought, in this lifetime, I’d be allowed to cut the line.

The steward led us toward Zhao Jin, and as we passed through a garden, sure enough we saw a throng of wandering charlatans. Some held banners proclaiming themselves “Divine Doctors,” others waved placards promising to “Cure All Illnesses.” A black sea of self-styled healers filled the path. When they saw Gongsun Bai and me being ushered in ahead of them, they scowled with open resentment.

The meeting place was the Sword-Casting Villa’s council hall. Zhao Jin sat in a carved Eight-Immortals chair, brush flying like dragons and serpents as he reviewed documents. Though I had glimpsed him within the幻境, this was our first true meeting. In the illusion he had been tall and commanding, arms muscled like tempered steel. Now he looked worn and gaunt: eyes sunken, cheekbones jutting, lips cracked despite the beard grown to conceal them.

“Another physician? Get on with it then, don’t waste my time,” he said brusquely. He cast us a quick glance, then lowered his gaze again. But I caught the dark bruises beneath his eyes, shadows of sleepless nights, as if someone had struck him there.

I cleared my throat. “This is not the proper place to treat an illness.”
“What?” The steward blinked.
“Is the master not troubled by insomnia? And yet there isn’t even a bed here. If I cure him, where will he lie to sleep? I must ask that the master move to a chamber—preferably one with a bed.”

At last Zhao Jin set down his brush and looked at me. “You are certain you can cure me?”
I nodded. “Certain.”
He turned to Steward Gao. “If he puts me to sleep tonight, reward him three thousand taels of gold.”
The steward bowed and noted it down.

“I have not slept for three days,” Zhao Jin said faintly, flexing his wrist till veins bulged. “Only thousand-year ginseng sustains me. At times I collapse for a short while, but never true rest. Let us wager: if you put me to sleep, you earn three thousand taels. If you fail—what can you give me?”

I swept a glance down my empty self: not a penny, not even a biscuit. All I had was Fanghua incense, and that could not be gambled. I turned to Gongsun Bai, about to ask to borrow some silver, or even pawn his jade fan as collateral. But Gongsun Bai merely stepped back a pace, silently refusing.

I clenched my teeth, yanked him forward, and declared: “This one—he is my personal servant. If I fail, I offer him to you, to clean your latrines.”
Zhao Jin blinked. Gongsun Bai also blinked.
“Straightforward. Though I was only jesting…”
“No need. I mean it,” I insisted, turning to the steward. “Write it down.”
Gongsun Bai: “……”

We were brought to a bedchamber. By its fittings it was truly a study, with shelves and scrolls, but in the center a bed had been set for Zhao Jin to collapse upon when exhausted.

I dismissed the servants, asking even the guards at the door to leave. The steward hesitated, glancing uneasily at Zhao Jin. Zhao Jin nodded: “Do as Master Su says.” The man bowed and withdrew.

I glanced at Gongsun Bai. He, sensible enough, stayed put, though his gaze wandered to a landscape painting upon the wall, lost in thought.

“How does Master Su intend to treat me?” Zhao Jin asked.
“Seek the cause, find the root. If I am not mistaken, the famed blade ‘Slaughtering Sun’ lies within this very room.”

A chill glint flashed in Zhao Jin’s eyes. After a pause, he shifted a vase in the corner. The landscape painting fell, revealing a great blade mounted on the wall—the Turi itself.

This was the stratagem Gongsun Bai and I had devised. We would pin his malady upon the sword. “The blade’s yang energy is too fierce,” I would claim. “Long exposure harms the body. To cure this, yin must balance yang. Not more concubines, but another blade—the ‘Duling.’”

Everyone knew the Duling was now the treasure of Yu Luo Pavilion. With it, Yu Hanjun’s power had soared, making him pavilion master. Thus, to seek his cure, Zhao Jin would be forced to ask Yu Hanjun, and their rivalry would deepen into blood feud. Two tigers locked, one must perish—a neat trick of “borrowing a knife to kill,” a scheme of Gongsun Bai’s.

“So?” Zhao Jin’s cold gaze fell upon me. My hair stood on end. “Well… ah… er…” I forgot my lines.
“Did you not boast of curing me? Then begin.”
I swallowed the rest.

I fetched a small censer, placed Fanghua incense upon the coals. At once the chamber filled with fragrance.
Zhao Jin closed his eyes. “Good… this scent soothes the spirit. My eyelids grow heavy already. When my father lived, he loved incense; we collected thousands. Yet this fragrance—I have never known it.”
“It is my own blend, never sold abroad,” I said.
“No wonder.” His lids sank lower, will faltering, till he succumbed and fell into slumber.

Once he slept, I snipped a lock of his hair, then one of mine, twined them together, and cast them into the censer.
“I will enter Zhao Jin’s mind. Guard this place. Let no one disturb.”

Gongsun Bai leaned, half-smiling, arms crossed, silent.
“…” I knew he still begrudged me for wagering him as collateral. But this was no time for sulking. “Be good, I’ll share some of the three thousand gold.”
He snorted.
I stamped my foot in desperation. “Why sulk now of all times? Do you believe—”
“Believe what?” His eyes glinted, cold.
“Uh…” All my threats withered on my tongue. “You’re my bodyguard, aren’t you? Keep watch. I’ll dive into his mind—there may be gossip for you afterward.”

He rose suddenly, one hand seizing the thread of causality, the other yanking me.
“I am bodyguard, not babysitter.”

Before I could protest, I felt a heavy pull, then my body sank—kicked straight into the dream-realm.