It was a long while after he had gone before Luowei returned to herself. She slumped against the small table by the window as though she had been drained of all strength, and her hands—the hands that had held the blade—could not stop trembling.

She was not certain whether what she felt now was guilt or regret. She only felt dizzy and lightheaded—confronting him had been far more exhausting than facing Yu Qiushi.

Zhang Suwu entered the hall to serve tea. Seeing him, Luowei thought to ask: “He has been staying in the palace far too many nights recently. Do you know the reason?”

“This servant has already made inquiries,” Zhang Suwu said, holding the tea tray and answering in a low voice. “These days, while Your Highness has been avoiding suspicion by rarely leaving the palace, unbeknownst to you, His Majesty has already launched a devastating killing measure. Word has it that even the stone carvings in the Zhuque Bureau have been stained with blood.”

Luowei’s face went pale; she felt sick and nauseated: “He stayed behind to handle this on Song Lan’s behalf?”

Zhang Suwu shook his head: “Quite the opposite—he stayed behind to contain it.”

Luowei frowned: “Contain it?”

Zhang Suwu said: “Your Highness knows His Majesty’s temperament. After enduring years under the Grand Preceptor’s hand, his hatred for the Grand Preceptor’s faction—if not utterly bone-deep—runs extremely close to it. Now that the menace is newly removed, and the censorate officials are temporarily reluctant to say anything about Zhuque because they are currently united with the emperor against a common enemy, His Majesty has seized this opportunity to vent his fury on a few chosen targets.”

“Who did he arrest?”

“This servant inquired yesterday—at least four people: Gao Meng, Yu Zheng, Liu Qianlu, and Xue Wenming.”

Luowei was taken aback: “They are indeed members of the Grand Preceptor’s inner circle, but those few people…”

She did not finish that sentence, and instead asked: “Were their lives spared?”

Zhang Suwu nodded: “Lord Ye was there yesterday without pause, speaking ceaselessly in earnest persuasion, refusing to leave the spot—and managed to preserve them. All four officials, though seriously wounded and facing either banishment or demotion, at least came out of the Zhuque Bureau alive.”

“He understands Song Lan’s mind so well. If he had been there from the time of the Jintian disaster, perhaps that catastrophe could have been avoided. This person Ye San—” Luowei said in a voice tight with vexation, “this person… well, enough. Tonight he took a dangerous risk to test me. If it was simply to confirm that I am not hardhearted, that is all well and good. But if from now on he thinks he can be reckless because he knows I cannot bring myself to act—that would be a problem.”

She pressed her hand to her forehead, feeling a considerable headache coming on: “Since he tested me like that, I will have to find a way to force him over to my side…”

Zhang Suwu urged: “Your Highness is tired—please rest early.”

Luowei nodded, rose, and walked back to her bed. As she let down the gauze curtains, something suddenly occurred to her, and she asked: “If those four men have already left Zhuque, why did Ye San stay behind today? Where is Song Lan?”

Zhang Suwu said: “Lord Ye remained behind, but was not in attendance upon His Majesty. Naturally, that is because what His Majesty had to say to the person he wished to see could not be heard by him.”

Luowei understood at once: “He went to see Yu Qiushi again?”

She turned back toward her bed and stretched lazily: “Since there is nothing to be gotten from it, I imagine he went to take his leave. In my view, that pair of teacher and student need not bother with farewells—they will certainly have occasion to meet again on the road through the underworld.”

Zhang Suwu hesitated and asked: “Does Your Highness truly not worry about what he might say?”

Luowei shook her head and waved him out: “Whether he speaks or does not speak, it makes no difference whatsoever.”

* * *

Inside the imperial prison, from somewhere unknown, a drop of water fell and struck the puddle pooled there from accumulated rain, making a single quiet sound.

This sound was originally very faint and subtle. But when it reached Yu Qiushi’s ears, it struck like a drum. He jolted awake and saw that a dark figure had appeared before him.

Song Lan sat in front of him on the dry grass, unceremoniously, watching him quietly. It was impossible to say how long he had already been sitting there.

Seeing Yu Qiushi wake, Song Lan smiled slightly: “Old Teacher, you are awake?”

His official rank and honorary titles had been stripped away, so the appellation ‘Grand Preceptor’ was no longer appropriate.

Though Yu Qiushi had been imprisoned, the authority he had accumulated over many years still clung to him. Song Lan had also not subjected him to brutal torture, preserving in the end a measure of dignity for him.

Even in these circumstances, he showed no shame or indignation. He even straightened his robe and asked with composure: “Has Zi Lan been here long? Why did you not have someone wake me?”

Song Lan said: “They say Old Teacher has had difficulty sleeping these past few days. I did not have the heart to disturb you.”

Yu Qiushi sighed: “It is so—I keep dreaming of things from the past, and cannot sleep well. It is a fortunate coincidence that you came today—this was actually a good dream.”

Song Lan said with genuine curiosity: “Oh? What kind of good dream?”

“Yellow dust, clear water, beneath three mountains, a thousand years of change pass like a galloping horse… I dreamed of three immortal mountains, wreathed in mist and cloud. I stood at the edge of a cliff, gazing out over this magnificent land.” Yu Qiushi closed his eyes and spoke slowly. “Returning geese came from the south, gunsmoke rose from the north. I heard the sound of gongs signaling retreat, the whistle of arrows cutting the wind. I also heard the gurgling of wine poured out, and a single verse of ‘A Garden Full of Fragrance’… Jade Mountain tilts and collapses, ascending to the clouds; rivers and lakes as far as the eye can see, all filled with spring’s breeze—would you say that counts as a good dream?”

A heavy silence fell between the two of them.

After a long pause, Song Lan finally spoke—his voice very low, sounding somewhat sorrowful: “Old Teacher—you regret it, don’t you?”

“Jade Mountain tilts and collapses, ascending to the clouds; rivers and lakes as far as the eye can see, all filled with spring’s breeze…” He recited the line once more and smiled. “These were the Elder Imperial Brother’s poems, the Elder Imperial Brother’s realm. Old Teacher once said you would never speak of regret—looking at things now, it was only an empty boast after all.”

Yu Qiushi did not answer, but only tilted his head back to look up. The imperial prison had a small window, through which a shaft of silver-white light poured in: “The moonlight must be exceptionally fine tonight—did you look up as you came in?”

Song Lan was briefly startled, then answered: “I did not.”

Yu Qiushi shook his head repeatedly and said several times what a pity that was.

He stroked his beard and smiled, saying in a light tone: “If you speak of regret, I have realized in these past few days that there are simply far too many things in a lifetime to regret—so I will not bother regretting any of them. Zi Lan, why must you ask me whether I regret or not? I know why you came to see me—you only wish to know what the Empress said to me.”

Song Lan said: “I ask Old Teacher to enlighten me.”

Yu Qiushi said: “The Empress told me that one day His Majesty would certainly move to remove me. If I submitted without resistance, she would do her utmost to preserve the Noble Consort’s life.”

Song Lan was taken aback: “Only that?”

Yu Qiushi laughed out loud: “What else would there be?”

Song Lan still did not quite believe it, and said slowly and deliberately: “Old Teacher, in the past you said to me many times…”

Yu Qiushi replied: “Yes, I said it many times, and each time His Majesty did not believe me. What would be the point of saying it again now? Whether the Empress has been biding her time and concealing her intentions, or whether she truly knows nothing—Your Majesty must certainly have already decided how to deal with her. After this old subject is gone, whether she knows or does not know makes no difference. What need is there to say more?”

Before Song Lan could speak, he continued: “The Empress truly need not say anything more. On the day I resolved to support Your Majesty, I already held the heart of one who walks into fire. I originally believed that Your Majesty understood me.”

Song Lan rose from the floor, brushing the dry withered straw from his palms.

Perhaps knowing there was nothing more to be gotten, he said nothing further, but straightened his robe and knelt before Yu Qiushi.

His forehead struck the straw with a dull, muffled sound.

“Your student pays his respects today. First bow—in the ceremony of a student to his teacher.”

Yu Qiushi did not move to avoid it, watching as he performed the full prostration.

“Second bow—in the rite of a subject before the Grand Preceptor.”

“Third bow—you knew me as I truly am. Even though ruler and subject could not cherish each other well, you were still a confidant and a friend across generations.”

After the three kowtows, Song Lan raised his head. From those three bows alone, a dark bruise had risen across his forehead.

Yu Qiushi looked down at him, his gaze shifting and uncertain, for a moment unsure whether to feel pain or regret. Had he truly made a mistake in raising this child to the throne? The late emperor had been so benevolent—the border threat had dragged on for ten years, dragging the dynasty from its outward strength to hollow decay, riddled with crisis. One glance and you could see the gunsmoke that would cloud the coming years! The late emperor had lacked the resolve to act—and so he had used iron and blood to seize the succession, watching the boundless rivers of filth surge down over the jade steps of the palace without ever feeling a moment’s regret. Through all these years he had enjoyed the full heights of power and prestige, all wealth and glory, had removed every voice at court urging accommodation with the border threat—he should have had no regrets.

And yet the words Luowei had spoken struck true, character by character, into his heart.

Taxation, the people’s welfare, the moral spirit of the age, the transmission of culture and learning—these words rang out in a chaotic clamor in his ears. She had told him the truth of how the late emperor had died precisely to force him to acknowledge it: the sacrifice he had made, heedless of what history’s brush might write, heedless of what came before or after, had been a decision so fundamentally wrong it had overstepped every boundary.

He had sought to become a sage, but the path he had realized led to the shadowed road of the underworld. He had sought to sacrifice himself, but what he had sacrificed was the body of one who had squandered every grace shown him.

How could he face the jade mountain ascending to cloud, the spring wind across the rivers and lakes?

The emperor in dark robes kneeling before him—where would his cunning and inscrutable ways lead the dynasty?

There was no time left for regret.

Song Lan was still young. Even with a mind full of hidden designs, he was in the end without proper guidance and education. After his death, if Song Lan took the opportunity to remove the Empress, he would cement his reputation as a tyrant within five years. Could the peace and stability of the four regions all be entrusted to military force? The stability of the dynasty and the hearts of its people were also a war—one that could not be won through gunsmoke and blades.

He had thought that with himself present, he could still press things down at an opportune moment. But in the end he had overestimated himself and underestimated Song Lan. Song Lan had already proven himself capable of murdering his own father to ascend the throne—what else would he be incapable of?

He could only hope that the Empress would do as she had said, and remedy this mistake.

But would her remedy only bring yet another storm of blood?

These questions flashed through his mind in an instant, nearly driving him to the edge of madness. Song Lan did not know what was passing through his thoughts. After completing his bows, he rose with solemn dignity—carrying with him a grief that seemed equal parts genuine and performed—and said: “Old Teacher, is there anything else you wish to instruct me in?”

Yu Qiushi pressed his hand to his chest, and after a long while finally asked: “What manner of death does Your Majesty intend to bestow upon this subject?”

Song Lan said: “In the height of summer, when all living things flourish—if it were to come at autumn’s turn, would it not bring yet another bleakness to the season? Old Teacher is a pillar of the nation. I cannot bear to see you stripped of your rank and paraded through the market in disgrace. Would that not also be an insult to my own self?”

A crime of high treason—executing him publicly in the eastern market would only make Song Lan appear guilty of a troubled conscience. But Song Lan could not wait until after autumn.

The words were prettily phrased. In truth, what they meant was that he intended to have him put to death here in secret.

Yu Qiushi’s lips parted. He knew he must not raise the matter of his children. In the end he only said: “This subject… thanks Your Majesty for this grace. The moonlight tonight is so fine—might I ask what day it is?”

Song Lan answered: “Tomorrow is the Ghost Festival.”

Yu Qiushi considered: “There will be too many spirits on the Ghost Festival, and I fear they will clog the roads through the underworld. I beg a small kindness, then—permit me to pass the Ghost Festival, and let me depart on a day when the moon is still round and full.”

That meant either the sixteenth or the seventeenth.

Song Lan thought it over and agreed. He turned to leave, running his hand along the cold iron lock, and said quietly: “This place is desolate and bleak. When the time comes, I will send people to bring Old Teacher to the inner courtyard to view the moon—would that be agreeable?”

Yu Qiushi replied: “Nothing could be better.”

Song Lan sighed once more: “Only I will not be able to come to see Old Teacher off on the final journey—I fear I would weep and make a sorry spectacle of myself. I will send Tingyan to keep Old Teacher company and share a drink of wine. Old Teacher knows—he has always wanted to share a cup with you.”

Yu Qiushi was silent for a moment, then said: “That would be very fine. This subject… has no words sufficient to express his thanks. He bids farewell to Your Majesty.”

Song Lan asked: “Will Old Teacher not call me Zi Lan once more?”

There was no answer. The Son of Heaven reached out and wiped at the corners of his own dry eyes, and turned back around with reddened eyes, managing with effort to produce a smile: “Zi Bai, after this parting of years—you and I shall meet again in another world.”