On the fifteenth day of the seventh month—the Ghost Festival and its great rites of commemoration—the emperor and empress led the hundred officials to pay respects at the ancestral shrine, then proceeded to Ranzhuo Tower to light lamps and pray for blessings. Even in the imperial prison, where the air was thick with the stench of blood, one could faintly catch the drifting scent of incense.

Just before evening, as the imperial procession passed over Bianhe River, Luowei suddenly stepped down from her palanquin and said she wished to go up to Tinghua Terrace to perform a memorial rite.

In the past she had spoken often of how it pained her to go there, and had rarely visited Tinghua Terrace. This sudden change of manner—no one knew whether it was because Yu Qiushi’s death was near and she had grown lighthearted with relief. Song Lan searched her face and found no flaw in her expression, so he relented and gave his permission. As for himself—apart from the day the golden statue was completed, he never went to Tinghua to offer sacrifices. He only said he could not bear it, and the hundred officials, knowing the emperor’s deep affection for the late Crown Prince, offered another round of praise.

After Luowei departed, Song Lan summoned Ye Tingyan into the imperial carriage to ride alongside him.

Over these past several years, Luowei had almost never visited Tinghua Terrace. Her insisting on going now left Ye Tingyan inwardly startled and suspicious—but facing Song Lan, he had no choice but to press down his doubts and say only, with all proper deference: “Your Majesty.”

Song Lan, however, said not a single word about the matter. He took Ye Tingyan along and chatted for a while about the situation at court. After a full day in his imperial robes, he seemed greatly fatigued, and had nearly dozed off before they reached the palace gates.

Ye Tingyan sat silently to one side. Since the emperor did not speak for a long while, he returned to his own thoughts and became somewhat lost in them.

There should be a Mulian Opera performance on the streets today for the festival. The imperial procession passed through the bustling area of Bianhe River, and only gradually did the surrounding sounds quiet. In their place came the solemn and muffled clamor drifting from within the imperial city.

Just as Ye Tingyan was about to lift the curtain to see how far they had come, Song Lan suddenly spoke—his words clear and distinct, without the faintest trace of drowsiness: “The assassination attempt at Twilight Spring—that was your doing, was it not?”

Ye Tingyan jolted and immediately drew his thoughts back: “This subject does not understand Your Majesty’s meaning.”

Song Lan gave a low laugh, leaned against the gold-flecked silk cushions beside him, and said casually: “Why did Lin Zhao attempt the assassination? Though I was on poor terms with him in the past, the Lin family had a large and prosperous household. They knew very well that once the Grand Preceptor withdrew his protection, only I would be left for them to rely on.”

Ye Tingyan said: “Your Majesty speaks correctly. What a pity the second young master lacked judgment.”

Song Lan said: “Lacked judgment? He is a petty man, not a man of principle. A man of principle acts for righteousness; a petty man acts for gain. Calculating by self-interest alone, no matter how foolish, he would not have done something like this. I fully intended to use the Lin family to fill a certain deficit—yet in my own heart I understood it perfectly. After the Three Offices completed their review, a horse-trainer who had been sentenced to exile beyond the border gates left Biandu, rode north at great speed—and it was you—”

He extended a finger and pointed it at Ye Tingyan’s forehead, finishing with a smile: “Who rescued him.”

Ye Tingyan kept his lips pressed shut and said nothing. Song Lan saw a drop of cold sweat fall at his temple. The hand pointing at him shifted slightly, and Song Lan used it to wipe that cold sweat away: “The palace servant who testified at the hearing also vanished from Twilight Spring afterward—did he not go to Youzhou along with that man?”

Ye Tingyan raised his eyes to look at him and said very slowly: “This subject truly does not know of the matters Your Majesty describes. If Your Majesty harbors any suspicion, this subject is willing to conduct a thorough investigation and relieve Your Majesty of this concern.”

“Ha ha ha ha ha…” Song Lan leaned sideways against the soft cushions inside the carriage, and broke into loud laughter. In the midst of his laughter, he suddenly called out: “Liu Xi!”

The carriage and horses stopped at the sound. Liu Xi bowed outside the curtain: “Your Majesty.”

Song Lan raised a hand and pointed at Ye Tingyan: “Drag this insolent subject who deceives his sovereign down from this carriage and beat him to death.”

Liu Xi paused for a moment, as though hesitating. But the Zhuque guards attending near the imperial carriage immediately received the order—two of them moved forward and bowed outside the curtain: “Lord Ye, please step this way.”

Song Lan picked up an orange from beside him, turned it in his hands, and raised an eyebrow at Ye Tingyan: “Do you have anything left to say?”

Even someone as composed as Ye Tingyan could not help but have trembling lips and flickering eyes at this moment. He opened his mouth several times before managing to force out a single sentence: “This subject has been wrongly accused.”

“Tingyan—I know your heart holds a grudge against the Grand Preceptor, and I can guess what you went to such pains to return to the capital for. Though you scraped off that slave’s brand at Dian Hong Terrace, blood kin is blood kin—even broken bones stay connected by the sinew. During the Youyun River campaign, the Grand Preceptor was in the Beiyou army. Why the Ye family fell to ruin, whether he had a hand in it or not—you can guess, and naturally I can guess as well.” Song Lan lowered his eyes and said, “You fought him beautifully in the end, and the Grand Preceptor will soon be dead. Now I only want one honest word from you—is what I have just described true or not? Do you admit it?”

Ye Tingyan knelt at the feet of the Son of Heaven inside the imperial carriage, his fingers trembling slightly.

He pressed his lips together and was silent for a long moment. Then he raised his head, his reddened eyes fixing intently on the emperor. His tone had also lost the careful, deferential caution of before: “That is true—now that the Grand Preceptor is dying, it seems this subject is no longer of use to Your Majesty.”

Song Lan said coldly: “Insolence!”

Ye Tingyan replied: “Your Majesty may speak plainly—this subject will accept death willingly. But even if Your Majesty were to beat this subject to death at Minghua Gate, this subject cannot and will not confess to things that were not done.”

Song Lan heard these words, closed his eyes, and gave a light lift of his eyebrow. But his hand moved in a small wave.

Liu Xi had served him for many years and understood his meaning better than anyone. Seeing the gesture, he let out a quiet breath of relief, dismissed the two Zhuque guards, and stepped back himself.

The stopped imperial carriage resumed its journey, rolling heavily over the carved stonework before the palace gates.

When Song Lan opened his eyes again, he wore an expression of approval. He patted Ye Tingyan on the shoulder and said in a tone that revealed nothing: “Good. Very good.”

Ye Tingyan bowed his head to the floor calmly: “This subject thanks Your Majesty for your trust.”

Song Lan did not raise the earlier matter again. He only smiled and said: “Tomorrow, I ask that you trouble yourself to go share a cup of wine with the Grand Preceptor. If there is anything you wish to ask him, then ask him. The late emperor did not pursue the matter—the Ye family’s misfortune is not only the Grand Preceptor’s fault, but a fault of the imperial family as well. I speak candidly to you today as a way of urging you to make your peace with it, so that in the future you and I do not become estranged over this.”

“Since you believe it was the Grand Preceptor’s doing, let this matter end with him. You remain at court—you can still restore your ancestors’ heritage and reclaim your family’s achievements.”

Ye Tingyan prostrated himself deeply, and said in a voice thick with gratitude: “This subject… kowtows in thanks for the imperial grace.”

He stepped down from the imperial carriage at Mingguang Gate. His legs had gone so weak that he nearly fell directly off the carriage. Song Lan sent Liu Xi in person to support him and see him to the base of the red palace wall.

Liu Xi, seeing what appeared to be a close acquaintance of Ye Tingyan’s waiting near the wall, entrusted him to that person, exchanged a few pleasantries, and turned back toward the palace.

Pei Xi took him and supported him as they walked for quite a long distance. Only after they had left the imperial boulevard did the two of them get into a carriage.

Pei Xi’s heart had been hammering without stop, and he had restrained himself at great cost. Only when they were inside the residence did he speak at last, his lingering fright evident: “I was at the very back of the procession—I heard the emperor fly into a rage and order those on either side to drag you down and beat you to death. Everyone was whispering in alarm, and no one truly expected you to step down from the imperial carriage all in one piece… What did he discover?”

Ye Tingyan casually took a handkerchief and dabbed at the corners of his eyes. Hearing this, he actually laughed: “He discovered that I arranged for Ruoshui and Peng Jian to give false testimony.”

Peng Jian was the horse-trainer from before—also an old acquaintance of his from Twilight Spring.

Zhou Chuyin happened to come out to receive him at just that moment. Hearing this, her brow furrowed for an instant, then smoothed out just as quickly.

Pei Xi was so frightened his soul nearly left his body: “He knows? Then—then…”

Ye Tingyan looked at how ghastly pale his face had gone in an instant and laughed aloud: “What are you worried about?”

Pei Xi stared fixedly at him—but Ye Tingyan was completely unlike the stunned and shaken person he had been as he came out from the imperial city. That panic, that bewilderment, that fear—it had all vanished without a trace, and with remarkable speed.

Had all of it been pretense?

Pei Xi was struck speechless. Ye Tingyan, meanwhile, strolled toward the inner courtyard and said in a leisurely tone: “When I saw Peng Jian and Ruoshui out of the border, if I had not wanted Song Lan to find out, how would he have caught the faintest hint? He thinks I was careless in covering my tracks—but there you are wrong. Remember this: in this world there is no such thing as an act that can be entirely erased. But traces—traces can deceive people.”

He walked off to his study on his own, leaving Pei Xi standing there in stunned silence.

Zhou Chuyin looked at his bewildered expression and sighed, then explained: “He did it deliberately. Thinking back on it now—the person he sent to escort those two out of the capital was probably selected well in advance. Not choosing someone more meticulous was precisely so that this day would come.”

“He deliberately let Song Lan get a handle on him—making it look effortless and easy. It created the illusion that he is easy to control, and at the same time resolved the lingering worry about his identity as a member of the Ye family. After today, Song Lan will certainly trust and rely on him even more.”

Pei Xi turned it over in his mind for a long while before it finally sank in, and he murmured: “But he never mentioned any of this to me—has he told you?”

Zhou Chuyin paused for a moment: “No.”

He looked out toward the deep, shadowed courtyard and let out a long sigh: “He has never said it to anyone. Perhaps he feels that even friends cannot be fully trusted.”

Pei Xi assumed he was speaking from a wounded heart: “Master—”

But Zhou Chuyin patted him on the shoulder and consoled him instead: “No—this is an old wound of your young master’s. Do not blame him for it.”

* * *

The following day, Ye Tingyan was once again rewarded by the emperor, and word spread that he had enjoyed the honor of riding in the imperial carriage. An unfamiliar young palace eunuch relayed the story in careful detail to Luowei, then bowed and took his leave.

Luowei raised her eyes and saw a slash across the young eunuch’s palm.

Behind her, Chao Lan was fanning her and musing aloud: “Though it is not known what His Majesty said to Lord Ye, when he stepped down he could barely stand—clearly he had been severely reprimanded. To receive a promotion after a severe reprimand—truly a narrow escape. Word is that when he entered the palace again today, everyone regarded him with even more deference than before.”

Luowei clicked her tongue: “Fortune comes only through peril—it could not be otherwise.”

She glanced at the sun, which was nearly touching the western horizon, and asked: “Has he left the palace yet, at this hour?”

Zhang Suwu on the other side shook his head: “Not yet.”

Luowei murmured to herself: “Then it must be tonight…”

She rose and walked toward her bed, gave a yawn, and said: “I am going to sleep for a little while. Chao Lan, you need not stand watch tonight—have Suwu come instead.”

* * *

After the sun had set, Ye Tingyan entered the imperial prison alone. It was empty and desolate.

Yu Qiushi had already been brought out to the courtyard by the servants and was leaning against a rattan chair that had been brought from somewhere, gazing toward the east where the first shadow of the moon was beginning to show.

He had been stripped of his Chief Minister’s official robes and wore only a snow-white inner garment. That garment was soiled from the imprisonment of these past days, and yet he had arranged his collar with meticulous care. Ye Tingyan glanced over and saw that he had also found a wooden chopstick and used it to carefully bind up his disheveled hair.

The attendant who had followed Ye Tingyan set a jade plate down on the stone table to one side and stepped back.

Yu Qiushi turned his head to look. On the plate were a jug of wine, a short blade, and two wine cups.

He let out a soft laugh: “As between poisoned wine and a sharp blade—which is superior? Perhaps Lord Ye might make the selection on my behalf.”

Ye Tingyan raised his hand and poured a cup, then drank from it himself first: “Grand Preceptor is mistaken—this wine was brought by me. It is not a gift from His Majesty.”

Yu Qiushi seemed mildly surprised, but still smiled: “My thanks.”

He accepted the full cup Ye Tingyan poured for him, raised it toward the moon, and recited aloud: “Facing wine, one should sing—how short is a human life! Like the morning dew, the days gone by are many and bitter. Tonight I depart this world, and yet I have the moon to see me off and wine to drink beneath it. Truly I have not lived in vain.”