Chang Zhao swirled the teacup in his hand and declined Xu Dan’s motion to refill his wine: “I have not touched wine for a long while. Today at the banquet I was drinking tea in place of wine.”
Xu Dan did not press him: “It is rare to meet a scholar so disinclined to drink.”
Chang Zhao asked: “What year were you born, Boming?”
Xu Dan replied: “The sixteenth year of the Xiping reign—or you may call it the first year of the Qinghe reign. I was born in the same year as Crown Prince Chengming, and it seems in the same year as the currently influential Master Ye at court.”
Chang Zhao paused: “I am more than four years your senior.”
Xu Dan exclaimed in surprise: “With the scholarly bearing Pingnian carries, I could not have told at all. In that case, I should certainly address you as elder brother.”
He set aside the wine vessel and poured tea for Chang Zhao: “Speaking of which—how does elder brother know so much about this old case of the Thorns of the Tang Rose? We are both scholars from last year’s examinations, and this case occurred two or three years before then. I am dull-witted and new to these surroundings, so beyond what everyone knows, I cannot make out a single thing.”
Chang Zhao paused briefly, then said in a mild tone: “In the third year of the Tianshi reign, when that year’s examinations were held, I also came to Biandu to sit them. I simply did not make the list.”
Xu Dan immediately understood: “I see—then please, elder brother, explain a thing or two for me, so that my confusion may be resolved.”
Chang Zhao took a sip of his tea and cleared his throat.
“Crown Prince Chengming was born on the very night of the Lantern Festival. From the year of his birth, to celebrate the Crown Prince’s birthday, the Lantern Festival celebrations were extended from three days to five, with feasting granted to the common people year after year, the whole realm celebrating together. The third year of the Tianshi reign was no exception. In that year, the late Emperor fell ill within the palace—even now, people do not know what his illness was, whether severe or mild. What is known is that after falling ill, the late Emperor expressed a wish to pass the throne to the Crown Prince. That year’s grand river ceremony at the Bianhe River was also conducted by the Crown Prince following the ceremonial protocols for a Son of Heaven’s procession.”
Xu Dan shook his head in sorrowful regret: “Crown Prince Chengming showed every sign of becoming an enlightened ruler. When he suppressed the locust plague in Xu Prefecture in his early years, his reputation was known even as far as Beiyou, a thousand li away… truly, it is a case of heaven begrudging its finest.”
Chang Zhao nodded gently: “That night was chaos. No one knew at what point insurgents had infiltrated Tinhua Terrace. What people later heard was only this: the ceremonial rites of the sacrificial offering had just concluded. The lanterns all across Tinhua Terrace suddenly went dark. Aside from the few members of the Jintian Guard who had accompanied the Crown Prince up to the sacrificial platform, all the other guards were trapped in the surging crowd and could not break free. In that one opening, a death warrior broke past the guards closest to the Crown Prince and drove home a desperate sword thrust. The Crown Prince was caught off guard and fell wounded into the water. Every member of the Jintian Guard on Tinhua Terrace perished. In the darkness, no one noticed for a time.”
Xu Dan sighed repeatedly and could not help but reach back for the wine vessel and pour himself a cup: “Such a tragedy. Yet I heard that Crown Prince Chengming’s martial arts were not inconsiderable—how was it that they managed to get to him so easily?”
Chang Zhao shook his head: “No one could have known. After the lanterns went out, Tinhua Terrace descended into complete chaos—in the confusion, several people were even trampled to death. The assassins who attacked the Crown Prince also failed to be apprehended on the spot. It was only when the sole Jintian Guard who survived on Tinhua Terrace, though gravely wounded, shouted the order that everyone learned the Crown Prince had been attacked. The Bianhe River was placed under strict lockdown at once.”
“When word reached the palace, the late Emperor’s illness was critical. The palace issued only one arrest warrant. The current Empress led the Jintian Guard in searching along the Bianhe River through the night. They recovered only the Crown Prince’s crown, and it was at that point that everyone knew the heir apparent was gone. The late Emperor could not bear this terrible blow and passed away not long after. Then…when we spoke of Her Majesty before the Crimson Selection gathering, I imagine Boming already knows the rest.”
Xu Dan furrowed his brow: “Before, it was said the Crown Prince perished at the hands of a riotous mob—yet elder brother speaks of scholars from that year. I find myself confused.”
Chang Zhao pointed out the window: “You came at an inconvenient time—last year Tinhua Terrace was being renovated and no offerings were permitted. On Tinhua Terrace stands a stele inscribed ‘Stele Commemorating the Execution of Rebellious Students in the Final Month of the Gengzi Year.’ If you had seen it, your confusion would be resolved. Let me ask you—aside from the suppression of the locust plague in Xu Prefecture, Crown Prince Chengming had one other notable achievement in his early years. Do you recall it?”
Xu Dan thought for a moment, then his eyes lit up: “The abolition of human sacrifice in the south! At that time the ‘Demon-Sacrifice Cult’ was rampant throughout Guangdong and Guangxi. Not only did local people suffer greatly from it, but passing travelers were also lured to their deaths. I believe an official who had been demoted died in a demon-sacrifice incident around that time—this official was a close friend of the Crown Prince’s tutor, Master Fang He. To avenge the grief of his teacher, the Crown Prince personally went to the two Guangs provinces, led troops through more than three months of planning and deployment, and in one stroke wiped out this cult, earning universal acclaim throughout the realm.”
Chang Zhao dipped his finger in water and quickly wrote three names on the tabletop: “The three men on the Execution of Rebels Stele—Liu Fuliang, Zuo Chenjian, Yang Zhong—all came from the Guangdong, Guangxi, and Jing-Chu regions where the Demon-Sacrifice Cult had been rampant. After the current Emperor ascended the throne, he dispatched officials to thoroughly investigate the Thorns of the Tang Rose case and apprehended these three men. All three were adherents of the Demon-Sacrifice Cult. They insisted that Crown Prince Chengming had abolished their customs in his early years and deserved divine punishment. They claimed that if they could slay him, they would surely receive the blessing of the Great Spirit and achieve an immortal golden body.”
Xu Dan listened with his eyes wide: “Such deluding words—and there were actually people who believed them?”
“Why not?” said Chang Zhao with a faint smile. “The three men were widely read in the words of the sages and in the spring examinations had all placed on the ranked list. Who could have known they would commit such a momentous crime? The current Emperor and the Crown Prince were as close as brothers. The moment he ascended the throne, he disregarded the Grand Preceptor’s objections and had all three executed by slow dismemberment in the public marketplace. He had a golden statue of the Crown Prince erected on Tinhua Terrace, and a stele inscribed, so that they should kneel before the image in eternal atonement.”
“The Emperor and the Crown Prince had indeed a bond rare to find even in the imperial family,” sighed Xu Dan. Then suddenly he felt something was not quite right: “But these three men were all scholars—how were they capable of orchestrating such a sweeping conspiracy and obtaining death warriors to approach so close for the assassination?”
“Naturally. And that is precisely why there were four months of associated prosecutions that followed,” said Chang Zhao. “As Boming surely knows, scholars coming to the capital for the examinations had in most cases already attracted the notice of various eminent officials while still at their academies, and lodged in those households. These three men were no different. When the case was originally investigated in full, how could only three people possibly have been implicated? The households in which these three had lodged, the princely faction these officials had supported…”
“It is recorded clearly on the Execution of Rebels Stele: the Thorns of the Tang Rose incident was originally a plot for seizing the position of heir apparent, carefully schemed by the Fifth Prince Song Qi in collusion with his subordinates and these three Demon-Sacrifice Cult adherents. After all, besides Crown Prince Chengming, the late Emperor’s most favored son was him. But the Fifth Prince made one small mistake in an otherwise flawless plan—he had not anticipated that the late Emperor would pass away that very night. He hastily contacted his subordinates to build support for his own succession to the throne. It is common enough for the faction of civil officials to overpower the great noble families—but who could have foreseen that the Grand Preceptor and the Empress would intervene and put the current Emperor on the throne.”
Xu Dan had only heard that Song Qi had been put to death for his role in plotting the Thorns of the Tang Rose case—he could not have imagined the events behind it were so breathtaking: “The Fifth Prince was known for caring nothing about politics, devoting himself entirely to poetry and literature—his verses were known across the four seas, his calligraphy sheets studied throughout the realm. How could he possibly have…”
Chang Zhao laughed, his tone carrying a measure of mockery: “Who knows whether his devotion to poetry and literature was not merely a surface appearance? The minds of imperial princes are not what ordinary people can fathom. The power that looks down upon all beneath heaven from the golden throne—who does not desire it? Those who go to their deaths for it are as numberless as fish crossing a river. For its sake they forget lifelong bonds entirely—they execute brothers, slay closest friends, throw the world into turmoil. ‘Turn the hand and clouds appear; turn it back and rain falls—such fickle frivolity, why bother counting? Have you not seen how Guan and Bao remained true friends in poverty? That path is now discarded like dirt by the people of today.’ Imperial power…”
He reached this point and suddenly felt he had said too much. He changed course: “No matter, no matter. What right do mere mayflies like ourselves have to lament? In any case, the associated prosecutions that year implicated no fewer than a hundred people. The households in which the three had lodged, the Fifth Prince and his close subordinates—all were executed, with the extermination extending ten generations outward. Since the founding of the Great Yin dynasty, associated prosecutions on such a scale were rarely seen. Yet the Crown Prince’s fine reputation had spread so far and wide, and he had met his end so tragically, that the scholars of the realm not only did not speak out in opposition—they praised the current Emperor for his deep feeling.”
Hearing all this, Xu Dan felt a wave of unsettled and melancholy emotion rise within his chest. He could not have said whether it was on account of the brilliant heir apparent who had died before bringing peace to the realm—or on account of those killed without reason in an association of guilt from which no flaw could be found.
The Crown Prince was innocent. But would he have wanted to see such sweeping slaughter?
In the end, Xu Dan did not dare voice this aloud. He only murmured through the slight haze of three cups of wine: “One night of tinhua blossoms, lingering wind and endless rain—the world of the living and the dead, with no relief in sight. I wonder what thoughts the late sage heir apparent would have, looking down upon the state of the world today?”
“The current Emperor is still young, and at court the Grand Preceptor and the Empress faction contend with each other. Though it does not go so far as to impede the governance of the realm, there is instability within and without.” Chang Zhao seemed to drift for a moment, murmuring to himself: “The remnants of the Xiyi faction roam the two Guangs provinces. The northern border is temporarily quiet, but who knows whether the allied northern tribes might not suddenly launch an invasion? The Yan family army holding the city walls is in the Empress’s close circle—one can only hope the Grand Preceptor does not interfere with them. This realm appears stable on the surface, yet is it not on the verge of collapse at every single moment?”
He hesitated, then reached out for the copper wine vessel Xu Dan had set on the table: “Today you and I have a fortunate meeting. We share a common worry for the realm—it is only right that we drink together. We do not leave until we are drunk.”
Xu Dan was moved: “We do not leave until we are drunk!”
*
That night, Luowei played the zither in the Qionghua Hall.
After the banquet on Huiling Lake dispersed, Song Lan kept Yu Qiushi and Ye Tingyan to discuss matters. She found no opportunity to exchange even one word with Ye Tingyan, and received only a relayed message through Pei Xi.
Ye Tingyan told her to be patient, to wait until he had probed the full extent of the Grand Preceptor’s hand, and then look for a way forward.
She could not say why, but her heart, which had been in a state of great agitation, settled into a strange and inexplicable calm after hearing those words.
It was a feeling difficult to put into words—like walking alone through a sudden downpour, when someone abruptly holds a canopy over you.
Though you do not know where they come from or where they are going, to walk together through such wind and rain for this brief stretch is a bond not to be asked for too eagerly.
A bond—Luowei’s thoughts reached this point and she felt a slight contempt for those two characters.
Though she had not yet seen through this man completely, she knew that under such circumstances, he would certainly do everything in his power to protect her. Though she could think of ways to break out of this impasse herself, having one more person to assist her gave her one more layer of peace of mind.
Once she had settled her thoughts, Luowei retrieved from the inner chamber the ancient zither she had not played in many years. She wiped the dust from its surface with her own hands, then suddenly thought: if Ye Tingyan were to betray her now and go over to Yu Qiushi’s side—what then?
After thinking it over for a while, it did not seem especially terrifying.
Luowei plucked at the zither strings and found that she had finally calmed down completely.
If he threw in his lot with someone else, she naturally could not afford to expose any private feelings. But between the two of them they had enough to hold over each other’s head—only more, never less. As long as she held firm and did not expose the fact that she already knew, Song Lan, however suspicious, would not dare move against her.
But Ye Tingyan was a different matter. Song Lan needed to cultivate men for his inner circle—the moment even the faintest seed of suspicion was planted, he would immediately cast them aside.
All his previous effort would have been for nothing. He was not so foolish as to do such a thing.
Luowei’s thoughts reached this point and she asked: “Why was that Scholar Chang not kept behind today?”
Yan Luo combed out the fringe at the end of the zither and said: “When he rescued the Emperor during the late spring gathering, His Majesty only felt that Scholar Chang was also a talented man. We learned from the Lin family that this person had aligned himself with Yu Qiushi, but His Majesty did not know—which is how he came to be entrusted with responsibilities.”
Luowei frowned: “Over time, Zhuque would inevitably find out that he was Yu Qiushi’s man.”
Yan Luo said: “Indeed. But in fact, two days ago Liu Mingzhong suddenly told me that Yu Qiushi had impeached Grand Master Chang before His Majesty, saying he was making connections everywhere and showed signs of harboring disloyal intentions. Master Ye also chimed in. His Majesty was somewhat displeased and has been keeping his distance.”
Chang Zhao truly was a person she could not read.
That day when Ye Tingyan had wanted to tell her about Chang Zhao, she had deflected it. The reason was that before Chang Zhao went to seek out Ye Tingyan, he had first come to pay her a visit.
She had known in advance that he wavered in his loyalties, and did not particularly trust him. Naturally she had no need to hear what Ye Tingyan might say about him.
Judging by appearances, Chang Zhao was not a foolish man—how could he not know that at court one must never be seen maneuvering in all directions? To conduct himself in such a way was sure to expose him. Now that Song Lan had grown distant from him, it was all as expected.
Luowei said: “Continue having someone investigate his hometown thoroughly.”
“Yes.”
She gazed at the ancient zither in a brief reverie, then placed it on the offering table in the inner chamber, her slender fingers plucking the strings, softly chanting a verse.
“Beneath Phoenix Mountain the rain has newly cleared; the river breeze is cool, the evening glow bright. A single lotus flower, open and still in full bloom. Whence have two white egrets flown—as if with intent, drawn by graceful beauty.”
She played it through in an unhurried manner, then suddenly heard faint footsteps behind her. At once the music shifted, swift and urgent, adding three measures of sorrow.
“Suddenly from the riverbank comes the sound of mournful zither, laden with feeling—for whose ears? Mist gathers, clouds draw back, faintly like the spirit of Xiang. Wishing to wait until the song ends to ask—but the person is gone, and only the green peaks remain.”
The verse concluded. She turned and saw Song Lan standing behind her.
She had turned too quickly. Song Lan had not yet had time to conceal the dark expression on his face, and could only mask it by coughing lightly, asking in a soft voice: “Eldest Sister—are you thinking of the Elder Imperial Brother?”
Luowei turned her hand back against the zither strings, drawing out a single clear note that rang through the inner chamber, so still a falling needle could have been heard.
*
Beneath the same overcast sky, Ye Tingyan suddenly snapped a zither string with his hand.
Zhou Chuyin, sitting across from him, paused and said: “Your heart is not calm today.”
Ye Tingyan said with a rueful smile: “I am rarely calm of heart.”
Zhou Chuyin asked: “Have you thought of a way to break the impasse for her?”
Ye Tingyan nodded slightly, then shook his head.
Zhou Chuyin said: “What does that mean?”
Ye Tingyan said: “I have thought of one. But the way to break the impasse cannot be used—which makes it no different from not having thought of one.”
Hearing this, Zhou Chuyin’s expression turned grave: “What exactly does Yu Qiushi have on her?”
Hearing the question, Ye Tingyan was quiet for a moment.
Then after a long pause: “Do you know who the inner attendant at her side—the one surnamed Feng—truly is?”