In the days prior, the sound of copper bells could be heard throughout every street and alley of Biandu — even Fengle Tower had hung a string of copper bells from its upper floors.

The folk rhyme mocking merchants who passed off copper as gold was catchy and easy to recite, and all manner of shopkeepers would hum a verse or two to show that their own businesses were honest and fair, cheating neither old nor young.

No one had thought much of it at first, but then one day a troop of soldiers suddenly appeared, confiscating the copper wares and bells that merchants had displayed along the streets, and issuing orders forbidding anyone from singing the rhyme any further.

A long rope hung with copper bells dropped suddenly before his eyes. Chang Zhao paused with his cup in hand, following the falling rope downward with his gaze, then shook his head: “His Majesty is, in the end, too young. Xunzi said that remonstrance by loyal subjects follows three principles: first, prevention; second, remedy; third, admonishment. What does Lord Ye think?”

Ye Tingyan sat properly across from him, cradling his wine cup and inhaling its fragrance. Upon hearing this, he composed his expression and replied: “To forestall what has not yet occurred is prevention; to intervene once it has begun is remedy; to censure after the fact is admonishment — prevention is highest, remedy is second, admonishment is lowest. [1] This was originally said of how subjects offer counsel to rulers. Having given it some thought, I believe Scholar Chang’s meaning is that His Majesty: first, failed to prevent the problem while it was small; second, failed to detect it in time; and now this admonishment he has chosen to enact is far too heavy-handed — after the sound of copper has been silenced throughout Biandu, even more people will come to understand the meaning of ‘false dragon.'”

Chang Zhao cast a glance at the tightly shut door: “Lord Ye has quite the audacity.”

Ye Tingyan smiled: “Likewise, likewise.”

The two sat together on the third floor of Fengle Tower drinking wine, the sound of copper bells all around them. Ye Tingyan reached out to pour a cup for his companion: “Speaking of which, it is I who ought to thank Scholar Chang — the archery contest of the late spring came first, then the public trial followed naturally in its wake. Scholar Chang is a clever man…”

Before he could finish, Chang Zhao said: “It was nothing at all. Lord Ye is too courteous. My courtesy name is Pingnian.”

Ye Tingyan smoothly picked up the thread: “‘Endless brilliant sunshine, illuminating the years of peace’ [2] — what a fine courtesy name. A fine name indeed.”

Chang Zhao gave a slight nod in acknowledgment.

Ye Tingyan watched him steadily and asked: “But I confess I am somewhat curious — I wonder why Pingnian chose to assist me?”

Chang Zhao set down his wine cup, averted his gaze, and spoke casually, unhurried: “I know you are not Ye San.”

These words, once spoken, froze even Ye Tingyan’s smile. He reached instinctively for the hilt of the sword at his waist: “Oh?”

Chang Zhao took in his movement and said, somewhat wearily: “Why should Master Qiuhua be nervous? If I intended you harm, why would I have obliged your wishes and brought the second witness of the late spring contest before the Emperor?”

‘Master Qiuhua’ was the name he had gone by in Youzhou before he had assumed Ye San’s identity — a name of some renown. This man had spoken it at once, which meant he must have known long ago that ‘Master Qiuhua’ and Ye San were not the same person.

He was most likely an old acquaintance from his early years in Youzhou.

Ye Tingyan released his grip on the sword hilt and, as though nothing had happened, picked up his wine cup again: “I said long ago that Pingnian is a clever man. Since you have taken everything in, why then did you choose to help? In truth, you could have told the Grand Preceptor everything, and perhaps earned somewhat more of his trust.”

Chang Zhao was not much given to smiling, but at these words a faint smile crossed his face: “Even if I had done so, would Master Qiuhua have had no counter-move? I have no wish to lift a stone only to drop it on my own foot. Better to sell you a favor — after all…”

He raised his wine cup with both hands and continued: “How does Master know that you and I do not share a common enemy?”

The cup held Fengle Tower’s Meishou wine — a recipe worth a thousand gold coins. Its fragrance was not the lush, rich kind, but carried instead a particular clean, sharp quality.

A copper bell struck the ground, and a soldier gathered it into a bag and confiscated it. Chang Zhao held up his cup, looked down at it, his tone carrying something between regret and admiration: “The Jintian Guard, whose name shook the imperial city — sent to do this kind of confiscation and seizure work.”

After the public trial at the Ministry of Justice, Song Lan had dispatched Zhuque to conduct a thorough investigation of the entire Jintian Guard. The result was exactly as Luowei had predicted — nothing was found. It happened to be the time when the Jintian Guard was due to change their tassels, and if one looked closely, nearly every man was a potential suspect.

Song Lan deliberated for two days, waking in alarm in the middle of the night on both occasions. In the end he made up his mind, transferred the Jintian Guard away from his side, and deployed them within Biandu city to replace the Imperial Guards who had originally been patrolling the streets.

The Jintian Guard had previously drawn men from the imperial city for patrol rotations as well — including taking turns guarding Tinghua Terrace for Crown Prince Chengming. Now that they had received the Emperor’s orders, they simply and cleanly accepted.

Song Lan probably never imagined that the tassel had actually been stolen from Chang Feng Hall by Yuanming.

Song Lan harbored deep suspicion toward the Jintian Guard, which had been trained single-handedly by Song Ling — yet the hidden thread ran through Zhuque, whom he had chosen personally. No wonder he had had no guard against it at all.

Ye Tingyan stroked the banana-leaf cup at his side and asked quietly: “Who are you, and what grievance do you have against the Grand Preceptor?”

Chang Zhao answered: “Master Qiuhua and I are making use of one another — why must you know so clearly? I have not asked, either, who Master Qiuhua truly is, have I?”

Previously he had sent men to investigate Chang Zhao and learned only that this person had come from the north, was somewhat older than him, that his father had once served as prefect of Yanzhou and was later implicated in some affair, causing the family to decline. He had then come to Biandu with his wet nurse and lived there for some years, passing the imperial examinations only last year and becoming a minor Scholar of Qiong Ting.

Beyond that, nothing more could be found — a rather clean and blameless background.

Could it be that his family’s downfall was connected to Yu Qiushi?

Whatever he could uncover, Yu Qiushi could certainly uncover as well. Since that man had trusted this person, he must have been satisfied there was no real connection.

Then only one possibility remained — this man, like himself, had borrowed another’s identity.

Ye Tingyan considered carefully, raised his wine cup, and asked: “Pingnian entered the Grand Preceptor’s service, and not long after your arrival, the Lin family — who had introduced you — was utterly destroyed. If I were you, I would find that rather difficult to trust.”

Chang Zhao replied without hesitation: “Master Qiuhua is too close to the situation to see it clearly.”

He leaned over and clinked his cup against Ye Tingyan’s: “How could Master Qiuhua not know the principles by which those in positions of power govern their subordinates? They want men who are clever, but not too clever — and who are ideally still uncertain in the face of major decisions. Only then can they feel at ease. The second witness Master Qiuhua arranged — the Grand Preceptor had already known about him before the public trial and permitted me to bring him forward. It was Master Qiuhua who was one move ahead, deceiving the Grand Preceptor. As for me, I was nothing more than a go-between.”

He drained his cup and rose to take his leave: “No matter. There will come a day when Master will see my sincerity.”

Ye Tingyan watched him walk a few steps and called out: “Wait.”

It happened that Chang Zhao also stopped and turned around — and they both asked each other a question at the same moment.

“The folk rhyme making its rounds on every street and alley — was that Pingnian’s work?”

“Ye San used ‘Tingyan’ as his courtesy name — who gave it to him?”

Chang Zhao paused, and asked in return: “Who does Master Qiuhua think was behind it?”

Ye Tingyan raised his cup and drank, feeling a clean sharpness slide across his tongue, so fiery it reddened the corners of his eyes: “Tingyan… is my courtesy name. He left in haste — he never had a courtesy name.”

Chang Zhao stood in the doorway for a long while without speaking. Then he gently pushed open the door and walked out.

Ye Tingyan set down his wine cup and looked outward. Someone was passing below the tower carrying a bronze mirror, and the midday light from the courtyard refracted in it, sending a flickering flash of light across his eyes. He quickly turned away, shielding himself from that brightness.

* * *

When Luowei saw Ye Tingyan again, it was three days later, at dusk.

After that folk rhyme had spread, the matter of ascending the Imperial Ancestral Temple to pray for rain was naturally no longer worth mentioning. In recent days Song Lan had issued orders to confiscate all copper bells throughout the city and to conduct a thorough investigation into the rhyme’s origin.

But the merchant who had first sold the copper wares had already quietly slipped out of the capital, and opinions varied wildly — no one knew where the rhyme had come from.

Under the force of imperial fury, the sound of copper bells fell silent for the time being, and fewer and fewer people sang the rhyme. Yet contrary to this, more and more people grew curious about the hidden meaning within the rhyme.

What was a true dragon? The late Crown Prince Chengming had been renowned throughout the realm, yet had died in tragic and mysterious circumstances from an assassination attempt. The Emperor now on the throne had been placed there with the support of the Empress and the chief minister. No matter how many prayers were offered, rain had not fallen in the south — was this Heaven’s will declaring that the true dragon was gone and the present dynasty’s virtue insufficient to hold the throne?

What was the concealed iron? The chief culprit behind the assassination of the Crown Prince had been carved into a stone statue and placed to suppress the evil — how then could there still be a murderer at large in Biandu? Was it the Empress, or the chief minister?

These speculations, hidden away in private corners, would naturally never reach Song Lan’s ears. They were like undercurrents surging beneath a calm surface — unseen unless a vessel passed directly through them.

Luowei walked into the old hall and pulled the door shut behind her.

Not a single candle had been lit in the hall today. Only scattered fragments of sunset light filtered through the carved wooden lattice of the weathered door and fell upon the floor in strange and phantasmal shapes.

This time Ye Tingyan was not sitting with his back to her. He had removed his official headwear and was slowly turning a white porcelain vase over in his hands. Seeing her enter, he raised his head and smiled: “The Empress has arrived.”

Luowei drew closer and asked: “What is that?”

Ye Tingyan replied: “Medicinal ointment that His Majesty obtained from the Imperial Medical Institute for this subject.”

The moment he mentioned medicine, Luowei immediately recalled the day of the public trial at the Ministry of Justice — after Chang Zhao had come forward, she remembered the look in Ye Tingyan’s eyes as he stood before the hall.

It was strange. He had clearly not been looking at her then, and yet for some reason she always remembered that gaze with vivid clarity — just as on that first occasion at Dianhong Platform, when Yu Qiushi had asked her whether she had ever seen him before, and she had denied it flatly, while Ye Tingyan stood alone in place, watching her with perfect calm.

A calm like the ceasing of all things, ancient and desolate.

She knew perfectly well that he had calculated everything without a flaw — every person present, every glance, every reaction, he could predict with eyes closed. He knew perfectly well that in a moment like that, she could not — and would not — speak up for him.

And yet, in two such similar scenes, he had harbored toward her some strange and peculiar longing.

Yes — she had termed it a strange and peculiar longing. What troubled her even more was that she could not rid herself of that gaze no matter how hard she tried, and it even had the power to disturb her composure.

And so Luowei had fled as if running away — only when she could not see him was she able to settle her mind and think everything through clearly, and she could not help but feel irritated at that pitiable little sentiment of his.

She had been about to say something cutting, but Ye Tingyan had already knelt before her in proper courtesy upon seeing her.

The movement must have pulled at the wound on his back. Luowei watched his brow furrow slightly, then smooth out again.

The irritation she had been holding onto dissolved in an instant. Luowei sighed softly and told him to rise.

To her surprise, Ye Tingyan did not obey. Instead, he shuffled forward on his knees two steps, drawing close to the side of the table where Luowei sat, and extended the porcelain vase toward her: “I beg the Empress to apply the medicine for this subject.”

Luowei shot him a look. Ye Tingyan immediately said with complete shamelessness: “They always say the medicines from the palace are better than those outside. This subject has been injured for quite some days now and hopes to recover sooner rather than later. Besides — does the Empress not like the great gift this subject prepared? If you like it, you ought to give some reward in return.”

He looked up to read Luowei’s expression, and found she was looking back at him deeply — he fell into a sudden daze, and the playful words at the tip of his tongue would come no further. Only then did Luowei stand and take the porcelain vase he offered.

She turned and walked toward the darker inner chamber. Seeing him still kneeling there in a stupor, she could not help but frown and call: “Come here.”

Ye Tingyan propped himself up on the red-wood round table to stand, and saw that just beyond her was the bed draped with its blue-orchid curtains.

Bed curtains of this pattern were common in the palace, but the color was unusual. In the inner palace, bed curtains were most often peach pink, creamy white, or begonia red — all carrying a subtle, half-concealed suggestion of intimacy.

This blue-orchid color was too severe. The hall was already dim, and if they were to go behind those curtains now, it would surely be impossible to see one’s own hand before one’s face.

He turned these disordered thoughts over in his mind and, drawn by some mysterious force, walked over. Luowei lifted one corner of the bed curtain and sat down casually, then gestured for him to come.

Ye Tingyan lifted the curtain and sat before her. Luowei leaned a little closer, and as if by chance, reached behind him and drew the bed curtain he had just parted fully closed.

The two of them sank into a total darkness.

This kind of darkness was something he was most accustomed to — and yet right now it felt quite strange and unfamiliar. Luowei’s cool fingers grazed the back of his neck and came to rest on the glass bead at the collar of his scarlet official robe.

She concentrated on undoing that bead, her breath falling softly against his ear: “…the gift you sent — I liked it very much. I wonder what you plan next?”

Ye Tingyan steadied himself and did not follow her words, but instead said: “A few days ago, this subject met with Scholar Chang. He…”

Luowei undid the buttons at his collar and let her hand drift over his shoulder, and responded with no interest at all: “Oh?”

Then she added: “The court flogging was not severe — are your injuries not already healed? Why ask me to apply medicine?”

Ye Tingyan could not see her expression — he could only hear her low voice.

His eyes were already poor, and Luowei could still make out a faint outline of him in this darkness, while he could see nothing at all.

The voice drifted and shifted, at once familiar and strange — one moment a crisp ‘Second Brother’ materialized out of thin air, the next it dissolved into a half-smiling ‘Lord Ye.’ Which was real? Which was false?

He reached out, fumbling for a moment, and cradled her face in his hands. Luowei was unexpectedly compliant this time — as though it were truly a reward for his diligent service — and not only that, she leaned in closer of her own accord, speaking deliberately toward his face: “You still have not answered — your wounds have healed so completely, what medicine is there for me to apply?”

And so Ye Tingyan cradled her face and kissed her. Luowei reached up and circled her arms around his neck, neither responding nor refusing.

To her surprise, the kiss he gave today was so tender and so gentle — unlike before, in this very place, when that man who had kissed her regardless of her resistance bore no resemblance to who he was now.

This disjunction left her with a flicker of panic. Fortunately, the scent of jasmine tea leaves and sandalwood was still there.

The desires of the flesh and appetite for food — such is human nature. When she had prepared these blue-orchid curtains, she had already anticipated this day. Everything would be dark and indistinct; she would not see the other person’s face. Unable to see — only breath remained. That would be fine.

Only too much tenderness was not fine. However similar the resemblance, there had to be a boundary. If that boundary were crossed, she truly feared she might drown in it.

Ye Tingyan cradled her face and offered this kiss, and hearing her nearly imperceptible breath, felt for some reason the faint sting of tears in his eyes. The kiss that should have moved along her cheek to her neck stopped abruptly. He reached out his arms and held her tightly against him.

Such an expression of mutual dependence — he mocked himself inwardly. Luowei was quite astonished by his action, and after a moment said: “Lord Ye, I know what you want.”

Ye Tingyan took quite a while to make sense of this sentence, and asked in genuine bewilderment: “What?”

Luowei’s fingers traced lightly across his back as she spoke honeyed words: “You like blue, you like orchid — these curtains were prepared for you. I said just now that I know what you want — why hide it behind the pretense of medicine? If from now on you can do every task as splendidly as the last one, I… will give you anything.”

He heard these words in a daze, but then snapped sharply awake. His heart seemed to plummet straight into an abyss of ice — cold down to the very core, then blazing hot. On one side were the gods and Buddhas; on the other, a multitude of ghosts — he heard countless cries of anguish. What was real? What was false? Here in this place — not only this place — what manner of people had she said these very words to before? What had once been held as something precious, what could not now be relinquished — it had all become this cheap and worthless. She was so, and so was he.

They were mired together in this absurd world, wearing false faces and crawling forward, until they were steeped in every evil that had ever existed across all of history — knowingly, willingly sinking into the snares of power and scheming.

Was it still possible… to escape?