Several days later. A summer night.

Zhang Suwu entered the hall carrying a candle. She noticed that midnight had long since passed, and yet Luowei had still not gone to sleep.

Outside the latticed window, cicadas called in noisy abundance. Luowei sat before the bed, all the gauze curtains drawn up, looking somewhat lost in thought. When she saw him enter, she raised her eyes. Dark shadows pooled beneath them.

“Has Your Highness not been sleeping well?”

“I dreamed of people from the past—after waking, I could not fall asleep again.”

“What kind of people from the past?”

Luowei smiled as she answered: “I dreamed of my paternal uncle.”

She closed her eyes and leaned against the cool phoenix carving at the head of the bed, recalling aloud: “My uncle was stricter with my elder brother, but toward me he was quite tender and loving. Even my father never secretly brought me into the palace to catch crickets. When I was small, I always thought—if only I could grow up to become someone like him. But who would have imagined that one day I would actually…”

She broke off abruptly and suddenly opened her eyes, asking: “He has not come?”

Zhang Suwu shook his head.

In recent days, disparaging talk about Yu Qiushi had been spreading without restraint throughout the court. The trouble had started when Ye Tingyan combed through the official government bulletins he had written over the past three years and discovered several improprieties within them.

For instance, he had written ‘grand yin’ when he should have written ‘grand yang’—suggesting a muddling of darkness and light. He had written of the Qiantang tidal surge as ‘the waves as flat as barbarians,’ which failed to observe the taboo on the character ‘lan’ from the emperor’s name, and moreover placed the character ‘yi,’ meaning ‘barbarian,’ in the same line as the imperial name—what could his intentions have been? Such brushstroke errors numbered eleven in all. The faction at court loyal to Yu Qiushi had initially refused to believe any of it and forced Ye Tingyan to lay out each and every government bulletin before them.

Everyone looked them over again and again, and at last fell silent.

Yu Qiushi had an elegant hand and was by nature a cautious man. The bulletins in question had been written in nearly different calligraphic styles, yet for each one, a corresponding example from his past calligraphy that had circulated among collectors could be found to verify the match. Even if someone had deliberately framed him and forged his handwriting, it would have been impossible to imitate every single style with such precision.

And moreover, the bulletins bore his personal seal.

After a government bulletin was issued, it was archived by the Council of State. Unless every bulletin had been intercepted and replaced before it ever left the palace gates, there was no possibility of forgery.

Who could have taken three full years to lay such a vicious trap?

When Chao Lan conveyed to Luowei the piecemeal news she had gathered from palace servants throughout the inner quarters, Luowei was still at her desk practicing calligraphy. Upon hearing this, she laughed for quite some time.

By now she was able to write with both her left and right hands. Those years of patient, dedicated practice had finally come to serve its purpose.

Zhang Suwu burned in the rear garden every last one of the Chief Minister’s calligraphy works that the Empress had collected over the years. Before burning them, he had even counted them—the piece Yu Qiushi had written the most copies of was the ‘Zhongni’s Dream of the Ritual Hall.’

Did the sage dreaming that he lay between two pillars and died mean that deep within his heart, he too longed to become a sage?

‘Good and evil each receive their due, as a shadow follows its form’—pompous and high-minded as he was, had he too felt fear in his heart?

It seemed that answer would never be obtained now.

After this incident, the court faction loyal to Yu Qiushi had come calling in droves, curious to see how the Grand Preceptor would respond. To everyone’s astonishment, Yu Qiushi was completely out of character—he shut his doors and refused all visitors, refusing to let a single person cross his threshold no matter who came.

Equally out of character was the emperor’s attitude.

Incidents of this kind had been frequent in the past. Combined with the assassination attempt at Twilight Spring and the bronze cup affair at Huiling Lake, the emperor had always maintained the formal deference of a student toward this Grand Preceptor who held enormous power, while at the same time holding him in deep wariness, and had never once called him to account for anything. Whenever someone raised the matter in court, the emperor would even show gestures of comfort and reassurance toward Yu Qiushi.

But now, everyone at court knew that Ye Tingyan was the emperor’s most trusted and valued official. For him to have brought this matter to light was widely interpreted as the emperor’s own directive. After the affair broke, the emperor said not a single word—which only cemented people’s conviction.

The Empress remained completely untouched by any of this, and naturally would say nothing either.

Yu Qiushi pleaded illness and absented himself from early morning court, and throughout all of this he offered not a single word of defense.

On the third day of his absence from morning court, the incumbent Censor-in-Chief stood up in full session and submitted a formal impeachment, cataloguing seven charges against Yu Qiushi in elaborate and sweeping detail. The censorate and the Chief Minister had never been on good terms—but in the past, those who dared speak against him had mostly been demoted, and over time no one had been willing to raise their voice. Now that someone had stepped forward to lead the charge, the rest of the court rushed to add their voices in agreement, and in an instant, the storm gathered.

With the censorate having already built up such momentum, Song Lan handed the matter over to the Censorate accordingly, but appointed Ye Tingyan to co-investigate alongside Zhuque—Zhuque’s involvement was not entirely proper procedure, but in extraordinary times, no one raised objections.

Ye Tingyan had also been staying these past two days at the Ministry of Rites.

Luowei had assumed that in the evening he would come to her as he always did, to discuss and plan together. But to her surprise, he had not come at all.

Having received Zhang Suwu’s answer, Luowei was silent for a long while, and then leaned against the latticed window, lost in a very long, distant reverie.

Zhang Suwu had been about to urge her to rest earlier, but then heard her suddenly break into a soft laugh.

The candlelight flickered. He asked with some curiosity: “What is Your Highness laughing at?”

Luowei said: “A very odd thought suddenly occurred to me.”

“Odd?”

“Yes,” Luowei rested her chin in her hand and said, “I have never thought this way before. But today, I suddenly feel…”

She suddenly stopped herself and did not continue. Instead, she heaved a sincere and heartfelt sigh: “I wonder how long this sound of cicadas will go on.”

* * *

Within the Yu family’s residence.

Song Yaofeng carried a bowl of ginseng broth through the covered walkway and happened to see her husband, Yu Suiyou, standing just outside the study door, hand raised and then lowered, hesitating and unable to speak.

Seeing his wife arrive, he quickly took the bowl from her hands and said in a low, dejected voice: “Elder Brother came and knocked a moment ago—Father didn’t answer him either.”

Song Yaofeng was quiet for a moment, then said: “The Grand Preceptor has not touched food or water for two days now. If this goes on, how will it end? Husband, perhaps you should force your way in—even if it means kneeling and begging him at the cost of your life, you must get him to drink the broth.”

Yu Suiyou asked: “Would that really work?”

Song Yaofeng sighed: “One must at least try.”

And so Yu Suiyou knocked on the door with the bowl of broth in hand and called out: “Father, please open the door and eat. Take care of your body—take care of your children and grandchildren.”

As before, there was no response. Yu Suiyou hesitated for a long while, then finally drew his sword and broke down the door—Yu Qiushi had been strict in raising his sons, and both were greatly in awe of him. But Yu Suiyou was a simpler man than Yu Suishan, and at this moment, concerned for his father’s well-being, he no longer cared about such things.

The room inside was unlit.

That day at dawn, Yu Qiushi had gone to pay his respects at Xiuqing Temple and was caught in the downpour on the way. He had come home drenched to the bone, but took no notice of it at all—he went straight to his study and said he wished to look at the gifts the Empress’s household had sent over that morning.

After that, he had shut himself in the study and never come out again.

The court’s rumors about the Chief Minister had been raging like a raging fire. Yu Suishan had never seen anything like this in all his life and was frightened into weeping and wailing outside his father’s study for a long while, even saying things like ‘Father, if you do not come out, it may bring disaster upon the entire family.’ Yet Yu Qiushi paid no heed to any of it.

Song Yaofeng did not know what Yu Qiushi and Luowei had said to each other that day, yet she could dimly guess something of it.

She lit the candle at the entrance to the study. She had not taken many steps before she heard Yu Qiushi’s low murmuring.

He was slumped on the floor in front of his desk, clutching several gold-sealed memorials to his chest. The study was in disarray—desk overturned, chairs toppled, books scattered everywhere—yet those several memorials had been stacked neatly and carefully at his side.

She recognized them. Those were the memorials the late emperor had written to him.

“On the twenty-fourth day of the xingyou year’s third month, your submitted memorial has been read in its entirety. This measure greatly benefits the people’s welfare, and is excellent… The cold dew of autumn is heavy—you return presently; upon your return, a banquet shall be held in Qianfang Hall, and I shall drink with you until we are both drunk.”

“…I have heard that there is flooding in Jiangnan and am beset with worry, unable to sleep through the night. All faults in the realm belong to me. Please draft a self-reproach memorial on my behalf, to be presented and deliberated upon the following day.”

The room was pitch dark; not a single character could be made out. Yet Yu Qiushi repeated the words over and over. It seemed that even with his eyes closed, he could recall the contents of every single memorial.

Seeing him like this, Yu Suiyou felt a deep and shuddering grief in his heart. His knees buckled and he knelt down, calling out in a firm voice: “Father!”

Yu Qiushi took no notice, still murmuring as though he had lost his soul: “…I have served the imperial ancestral shrine for twenty-two years. Today, illness afflicts me, and I fear I shall soon depart this world. With no other choice, I entrust the guardianship of the nation to you. The great pillars of this dynasty totter and sway in uncertainty. Though Zhoudu and Huaian are gone, the vow made at Jujuhua Temple still stands—may the mountains and rivers of the Great Yin shine bright forever… The Crown Prince is young. His gentle nature is a failing of my own making. I hope you will not stint in your guidance. His compassion, loyalty, filial devotion, and integrity, his determination and uprightness—these shall ensure you do not suffer the fate of Han Xin, and you shall be granted long years of enjoyment… I…”

He recited to this point, then suddenly stopped. Afterward, he raised his voice in sudden, booming laughter, as though he had recalled something delightful. Yu Suiyou, terrified, shuffled forward on his knees holding the candle, and when the light finally reached him—he nearly fell over in fright. In just a matter of days, his father’s hair and beard, which had previously been only faintly streaked with white, had turned completely white.

Song Yaofeng stood where she was and did not move. She turned her head to look—and there she saw the lacquered box that Luowei had sent over that morning before going to the temple.

The box contained the testimonies of palace servants who had survived at the late emperor’s bedside during his final days, the testimony of a court physician rescued by Song Zhiyu, and the edict of succession that the late emperor had written when he first fell gravely ill.

That edict had been entrusted separately to Song Qi and Song Yaofeng. Song Lan could never have imagined that Song Qi’s copy had been destroyed, yet she still had another.

A dull ache bloomed in her chest, but her expression remained impassive. Yu Qiushi knelt on the floor, chaotically sorting through the memorials he himself had disordered, and glanced up—catching sight of the princess standing behind the faintly flickering candlelight, her face devoid of all expression.

“You—”

He had just opened his mouth to say something when he heard an abrupt clamor of voices outside the door.

It was Yu Suishan leading several household guards who had burst their way to this place. Seeing the study door standing wide open, he started, but strode in anyway, speaking loudly as he came: “Father—there is a traitor right within this very household! I myself know that the government bulletins bore Father’s personal seal. The more I thought about it, the more wrong it seemed. That seal was always carried on Father’s person—how could it have been used to conspire against him? Just now, I led men to conduct a search, and sure enough, I found a large and small pair of private seals in the princess’s room. The evidence is right here. Father—she and the Empress are in league with each other! This is a frame-up! This is their scheme to slander us!”

Song Yaofeng listened to this string of accusations and did not so much as bat an eyelid. Yu Suishan grew more furious with every word, and he raised the jade seal in his hand and hurled it straight at her. Yu Suiyou threw himself in front of her to shield her; the hard jade struck his temple squarely, and blood seeped down from his fair and pale face.

Yu Suishan was at once alarmed and furious: “Second Brother!”

Yu Suiyou pressed his hand to his temple: “Elder Brother… there may be a misunderstanding in all of this…”

Hearing the two brothers squabbling without end, Yu Qiushi raised his hand and smashed the paperweight at his side, roaring at Yu Suishan: “Enough! How dare you—a princess of this dynasty—how dare you humiliate her in this fashion! Is this not tantamount to—tantamount to—”

He braced himself on the edge of the desk and struggled to stand. Yu Suishan only now got a good look at his father’s state, and in fright immediately fell to his knees. Yu Qiushi could not finish his sentence; his trembling hand pointed at him, as though something had seized in his throat. Yu Suishan looked up—and saw him cough up a great mouthful of blood.

“Father!”

The study descended into chaos and uproar. Song Yaofeng watched the three fathers and sons in their distress and, setting down the candle in her hand, slipped quietly away, making her unhurried way to the inner courtyard.

The face of every single person she passed in the Yu household wore a look of terror and panic.

Such a familiar look of terror and panic—exactly the same as it had been all those years ago.

Song Yaofeng looked up, and saw that the summer night’s moon was perfectly full and round.

She gazed up at the moon and said softly to herself, with a smile: “He no longer has the will to live. A stratagem to destroy the spirit—in the end, it proves the most effective of all.”