“Yes,” said Ye Tingyan, rising to his feet and bowing deferentially before her as he spoke in measured tones. “Zhang Siyi drowned. I went to ask the palace maids at the Flower Hall—the last time any of them saw her was half a month ago. She was packing her belongings, preparing to leave the palace. She must have met with foul play sometime after that. The corpse had severely decomposed. After lengthy examination, the coroner could only determine that her body bore no other scars. After much discussion, everyone concluded that Zhang Siyi had taken her own life.”
Luowei frowned, but before she could speak, Ye Tingyan continued: “Yet why would a young palace maid who had offended no one above and had no financial worries below throw herself into a well? The Office of Palace Attendants was at a complete loss and dared not present such a conclusion to the Emperor—so they kept stalling, waiting for someone to be assigned to take over the thorny case.”
The Office of Palace Attendants would never dare to hastily close such a high-profile case as a suicide, when they could not uncover any other explanation—so they spent every day praying someone would come and relieve them of the hot potato.
Luowei said: “That is their usual style. And you?”
Ye Tingyan replied: “I differ from them. Before the Office of Palace Attendants even sent people to retrieve the body—or rather, even earlier than that—Young Lord Pei had given me a piece of evidence. He found it on the path the day he came to the Western Garden and was run into by the fleeing maid.”
Luowei’s heart gave a start. She watched as Ye Tingyan drew from his sleeve a fragment of shattered jade.
The jade was ring-shaped, and appeared to be a broken archer’s thumb ring. Its jagged edge was stained with old traces of blood.
Ye Tingyan turned his palm upward and held out the inner surface of the jade ring for her to see, adding a quiet reminder: “The broken edge is sharp—please be careful, Your Highness.”
In the dim candlelight, Luowei saw that the inside of the jade ring bore a shallow carving of an eagle with wings spread, poised for flight.
She had not yet had time to register her astonishment when the other person’s clear, calm voice drifted to her ear like a ghost: “Your Highness, think carefully—this kind of pale jade ring—whose hand have you seen it on before?”
“On the day of the grand banquet at the Crimson Platform, all the officials were present at such a splendid gathering—how did the Jintian Guard arrive so quickly and so improperly? That well in the Western Garden had gone unseen for many years. Who—who would know the inner workings of the imperial palace well enough to dare dispose of a body there?”
The answer was just on the tip of everyone’s tongue. The only person capable of summoning the Jintian Guard in such a rush, and whose thumb ring matched the eagle insignia, was the one who had been reprimanded by Song Lan that day—Lu Heng, Lu Fengying.
His hasty summoning of the Jintian Guard to surround the Western Garden betrayed his guilty conscience. The Jintian Guard had not dared to report to the Emperor and Empress before sealing the area—they had most likely intended to make a sweep for any incriminating evidence before anyone arrived.
But their plan had backfired spectacularly: both the Emperor and Empress had been alarmed, which only earned him a reprimand.
Luowei’s eyes shifted slightly, and she said quietly: “Based on this evidence alone—evidence of unknown authenticity—you dare to bring charges against the commander of the Jintian Guard, the Emperor’s most trusted man?”
“That is precisely why I needed to ask Your Highness to come,” said Ye Tingyan, letting out a soft sigh and affecting an expression of worry. “I ask Your Highness to instruct me: should this case have a perpetrator, and if so, who should it be? Evidence? What I found myself naturally cannot serve as evidence—but as long as Your Highness wills it, why worry about lacking evidence?”
Luowei listened to these words and gave a cold, curving smile: “This Palace has no grievance, old or new, against Lord Lu…”
“He killed Zhang Siyi—does that not count as a grievance?” Ye Tingyan cut in. “I have spent these past few days looking into old matters. At the time, it was Your Highness who promoted Zhang Siyi, enabling her transfer into the palace—was it not? Before she left the palace, she even embroidered a handkerchief for Your Highness as a parting gift. She had been in the palace for so long—why would she suddenly want to leave? It could be nothing other than someone having made her a promise, and then silencing her at the moment of her departure. As long as the person is brought in, all of these doubts—I can extract the answers for Your Highness.”
As he spoke, he drew somewhat closer. The candlelight cast long, slender shadows from his eyelashes onto his eyelids—a small patch of shadow.
Luowei caught the scent of the sandalwood incense that clung to the man’s official robes. She closed her eyes and steadied herself for a moment. She did not rebuke him for drawing so close without propriety, only saying: “If this Palace agrees—it is because I wish to clear my own reputation, and I am also willing to seek justice for Zhang Siyi. Then what about you, Lord Ye? What do you want?”
Ye Tingyan followed the line of the candlestick and knelt back down. Whether by intention or chance, the place where he knelt was precisely where her cloak had fallen: “This servant wants His Majesty’s trust.”
He cleared his throat and smiled: “Your Highness already knows the affairs of the Ye family. My father died in service to the country. My eldest brother’s reputation was unjustly tarnished. My second brother, mediocre and unremarkable, was stripped of the family title by the court—now he can only serve as a low-ranking soldier in the military, scraping by in the ranks. In those days I made up my mind to go out and make a name for myself in the world precisely because I could not bear to see that spirit of loyal service to the country buried in the yellow earth of You Province.”
“I spent many years in You Province working with great effort and finally achieved some small measure of accomplishment. His Majesty took notice and was pleased enough to grant this servant a place at the table—but how long this seat at the table will last, even I cannot say for certain.” He smiled as he reached out and smoothed the creases from the hem of Luowei’s skirt, then shifted the direction of his words to finally arrive at the heart of the matter. “His Majesty is young, having only sat upon the throne for three or four years. There is the Grand Preceptor at court, the powerful noble families in Biandu, the former dynasty’s clan members in the provinces, and at the borders…”
Luowei said coldly: “You presume too much.”
Ye Tingyan paid no heed, and with focused attention stroked the fabric of her skirt: “Lord Lu is His Majesty’s most trusted man, commanding the Jintian Guard and the Bureau of Palace Command—one could call him the person His Majesty trusts most. Yet he was, after all… a former attendant of the late Crown Prince. No matter how much trust His Majesty places in him, could there not be one or two traces of doubt lurking in the depths of his heart?”
He gave a soft, contemptuous laugh without lifting his head: “But I—I am different. I am solitary, of clean record, and have served only one master. I wish to become the person His Majesty trusts above all others. To do so, I must clear one nagging concern from His Majesty’s heart—and offer it as my token of allegiance.”
Luowei was silent for a moment, her eyelashes giving the faintest flutter.
In summoning her here under the pretense of having something to report, Ye Tingyan had in fact been fishing for an advantage—he intended to use his scheme to transform Lu Heng into his own token of allegiance, earning Song Lan’s trust. At the same time, he had discovered the significance Zhang Siyi held for her, and so he had invited Luowei here and laid out his intentions plainly. If she agreed, it would be two birds with one stone.
This person’s intricate calculations were seamless and watertight. Luowei had exchanged words with him back and forth, her heart pounding with startled alertness the whole while. Though she could find no flaw in what he had said, she still felt compelled to probe further: “In truth, if Lord Ye could uncover the real culprit, there was no need to first report it to this Palace.”
Ye Tingyan replied: “All under heaven, both at court and beyond, know that Your Highness and His Majesty are of one mind and body. I have some bond of old acquaintance with Your Highness, and so I thought to do what I could to be of service. I only hope Your Highness will not find it beneath you—please look down and see this servant’s efforts.”
The inner chamber fell silent for a moment. Ye Tingyan waited with patience and finally heard the Empress give a single word of assent: “Lu Fengying has long enjoyed His Majesty’s trust. If you cannot find solid evidence, His Majesty, out of regard for his old loyalty, will not make things too difficult—and in that case, the one who will suffer the consequences will be you yourself.”
Ye Tingyan replied at once: “Since this servant has dared to speak, I have already resolved to win.”
Luowei stood and, inch by inch, retrieved her cloak from beneath his knees. Ye Tingyan rose and escorted her to the door. As she was leaving, he suddenly added one more question: “Lu Heng was a former attendant of the late Crown Prince—he must have had some connection with Your Highness as well. Does Your Highness… feel not even a trace of old feeling for him?”
An old acquaintance?
More than that—a former acquaintance who had once received trust.
But dogs who have been trusted—when they bite their master, the wound only cuts deeper.
Luowei replied: “Zhang Siyi was also this Palace’s old acquaintance. Even if there were old feeling between us—so what? For the blood that stains his hands, the one who cannot accommodate him is not this Palace. It is the laws of the Great Yin dynasty.”
She spoke slowly, and so she did not see the cold smile that crept across Ye Tingyan’s face behind her.
* * *
In the fourth year of the Jinghe reign, in the intercalary second month, toward the end of the second second-month, Luowei heard that Song Lan had imprisoned Lu Heng—not in the Ministry of Justice, but in a newly established institution called the “Zhuque Lodge.”
The Zhuque Lodge was located at the end of Zhuque Front Street, on the former site of the Hairpin-and-Gold Hall. This move clearly indicated his intention to establish a directly controlled surveillance institution under the Emperor—it was unclear whether the court had yet grasped the significance of what the Emperor was doing.
“Moved to the Zhuque Lodge? Lu Fengying has long enjoyed His Majesty’s favor—was no quarter shown to him this time?”
Yan Luo was kneeling before Luowei, carefully painting her fingernails with a lacquer of red and purple.
Red like fire, purple like rosy clouds—Luowei’s fingers were slender and elegant; a single point of red between them was like the setting sun amid dusk-colored clouds. She had not painted them in such vivid, passionate colors for a long time. It was only after unearthing those old skirts that she had remembered: in her youth, it seemed she had loved these things.
A palace maid standing guard at the hall door watched Yan Luo murmuring privately with the Empress with a touch of envy. Yan Luo had started out as the lowest-ranking maid in Qionghua Hall—though she was rather pretty, she was quiet and reticent, never competing for anything. It was impossible to say when she had caught the Empress’s eye, but she had in a single leap become her most trusted attendant.
The maid stood too far away to catch their exchange, which passed between them like whispers. Yan Luo blew gently on Luowei’s nails and said softly: “That Lord Ye investigated for several days and reported to His Majesty that the wound on the body was unusual—like an injury from some special weapon. Not daring to investigate directly, he reported it to His Majesty, who had all the inner-court guards come and display their weapons.”
“Guard Lu immediately acted strangely. After being compelled to show his blade, Lord Ye promptly identified that his knife had two edges, and the double edge bore tooth-like notches—matching perfectly. On top of that, the Office of Palace Attendants later found Guard Lu’s broken thumb ring in the Western Garden—he could not deny it. Before the assembled witnesses, His Majesty could not shield him, and in his fury kicked Guard Lu once and had him transferred to the Zhuque Lodge.”
Luowei pressed a hand to her chest in theatrical surprise, letting out a cry of mock astonishment, though her eyes were clearly bright with amusement: “Lord Ye calculated this—he chose a moment and situation that could not be sidestepped to drag Lu Fengying out into the open. In doing so, even His Majesty could find no fault with him. On the contrary, His Majesty would have to praise him for his upright and sincere heart.”
Yan Luo wrapped Luowei’s fingers and sprinkled a few drops of lacquer-drying water on them. Even her usually expressionless face showed a faint trace of disdain: “Guard Lu, as he was dragged away, kept crying that he had been wronged—that he had been framed, that such a wound was impossible.”
Luowei sighed: “This Third Lord Ye is quite capable too—just before, he said there was not a single scar on the body; yet now he can conjure up a wound that neither gods nor ghosts could detect. A masterful feat of deception.”
But Yan Luo raised an eyebrow and asked: “He told Your Highness that the body bore no scars? Afterward, this servant also went to have a look at the Office of Palace Attendants—the knife wound was indeed there.”
Luowei paused, then gave an amused, helpless laugh: “This Palace was taken in by him.”
Yan Luo said: “In any case, it is not a particularly important matter. What this servant wonders is—Guard Lu has enjoyed His Majesty’s trust since… that year. Even though he is now in prison, will His Majesty truly have him killed?”
Luowei studied her own long nails and smiled: “It has come to this point—what reason is there for him not to die? Even if His Majesty were reluctant, that Third Lord Ye would certainly find a way.”
Yan Luo nodded: “Your Highness is right.”
Luowei kept her smile, lazily lifting her eyelids. She glanced toward the doorway, satisfied that no one else could hear, then leaned close to Yan Luo’s ear and whispered softly: “A’Fei—next month is the Qingming Festival when the rites of sacrifice are observed. Shall I light a stick of incense for you at the tomb of your parents?”
Yan Luo’s attending hands paused for a moment, then finally answered with calm: “There is no need.”
* * *
After the hour of the rooster, Song Lan came to Qionghua Hall. Candles had already been lit throughout. Luowei was in the inner chamber, kneeling before a glass vase and reciting a Buddhist sutra, when she suddenly heard the long, melodious announcement of the inner eunuch at the palace gate.
She had not yet risen when Song Lan walked in.
The inner chamber was small, and Luowei could even catch the faint, distant fragrance of dragon ambergris incense that clung to the young Emperor’s person.
That fragrance was sweet and mellow, lingering at the edge of her senses, and made her think in a daze of the day she first entered the palace. The late Emperor’s hall had also been perfumed with dragon ambergris, yet over the incense burner there had also been dried petals of orchid, osmanthus, plum blossom, and pine needles blended into scented pieces. Filtered through these things, the solemn and cold fragrance was transformed—becoming fragrant, richly complex, clear, and captivating. Those scents belonged to antiquity: orchid, osmanthus, pine, and plum—every one of them beloved by a man of virtue. And so the young man of virtue within that simple world, as green and upright as cypress, had walked in and praised her flowers for their hundred days of red blooms.
Those words were still fresh in her ears, yet the person had long since fallen into the rushing waters of a river, leaving no trace, never to be found. Burned offerings were not made, and on the spirit mountain they worshipped only an empty tablet. The funeral clothes and the casket were hollow inside. Confucians do not believe in ghosts and spirits, yet for a man of virtue one must set right the clothing and cap before the body—but with no bones remaining, how could anyone arrange his appearance and burn incense in prayer? How could his spirit rest beside the orchid and osmanthus, receive the blessings of this mortal world, and pass peacefully through the long river of the afterlife?
This life had already perished. The Buddhist and Taoist schools had faith in what would come after—and together with the Confucian gentleman’s creed, she had put her trust in all of them. Only then could she find something like comfort.
Death had taken the body, yet the stone carvings kneeling on the platform of the water temple were false and guilty parties. They, like him, still circled above the river of her long years—souls wronged and unable to speak.
This heart-rending silence—someone must carry it to the ears of the world.
Luowei turned slowly. There was a dull-bladed ancient sword in the inner chamber; she thought, if she could only be a little more reckless, she might drive it directly into the chest of the person before her.
Yet killing someone was the work of a single instant—giving vent to rage was the simplest thing in the world.
Song Lan naturally had no idea what was passing through Luowei’s mind. He simply looked on his own at the various painted likenesses hanging on the wall—one Buddhist, one Daoist, one Confucian sage. Religion had known its upheavals throughout the world, yet within this small inner chamber, the three had achieved a kind of convergence.
He bent down and, thinking himself thoughtful, helped to his feet the empress who was one year his elder.
Luowei responded gently, having already let down her hair. Her loose flowing locks brushed his palm: “Why has Your Majesty come at this hour?”