In the third year of the Tianqi reign, the Crown Prince hunted on the Emperor’s behalf in the north, and returned to the capital in the fourth month.

At the southern slopes outside the capital, at the Zichuan ferry crossing — once a necessary passage for those going south out of the capital, it had been a place of bustling activity for over a hundred years. Seven years ago, when a southern road was opened cutting through the southern slopes, connecting north and south, far fewer people used the Zichuan bridge to travel toward the south. Along both banks of the river, what had once been a row upon row of inns and wine shops had long since fallen quiet, with only a few old establishments remaining.

The proprietor of the Wangxiang wine shop, Old Zhong, had grown up by this ferry crossing since childhood, and could not bring himself to leave in his old age. He still kept watch over his old wine house. Occasionally a few travelers came and went, and whenever anyone sat down and called for a bowl of wine, they could not escape hearing him tell — at length — the story of how the Zichuan ferry crossing got its name.

When people grew old, they loved to reminisce. The same story, told a hundred times over, never grew tiresome.

The rarest thing of all was to have someone willing to listen while you told the same story a hundred times over.

For a dozen or more years, Old Zhong had grown accustomed to waiting, each late spring, for a certain traveler.

Waiting for him to walk through the door, to sit down at the seat that looked out past the window toward the bridge head, to call for a bowl of wine, and pour for himself, and drink alone.

Old Zhong would narrow his aged eyes, lean on his staff and come over, and ask whether the traveler knew that this Zichuan ferry crossing had once not been called Zichuan.

The traveler would always smile and say: “Tell me, Old Sir.”

Old Zhong would stroke his long beard and sit down to tell the story.

This place was originally called the Changjing ferry.

In that year, Wang Lang had left the capital for the south, dressed in purple brocade and a jade sash, riding a fine horse in dashing style.

The ladies of the capital come to see Wang Lang off — their lacquered oil carriages and blue-topped carriages, with horses and household servants, formed a long, embroidered procession that drew onlookers far and near.

The Princess Consort of Yuzhang — later to be honored as Empress Jingyi — who was Wang Lang’s younger sister, had personally come to the bridge to send him off.

The morning wind had blown the purple gauze scarf from the Princess Consort’s arm, and it had drifted down onto the water’s surface. On both banks, the deep purple and pale pink wisteria blossoms tossed their falling petals, scattered like rain, casting the color of purple across an entire expanse of river water, and from that time forth, the river was called Zichuan — Purple River.

And the ferry crossing gradually also came to be called Zichuan ferry.

“Those were people of immortal beauty.” Every time Old Zhong recalled that scene, a proud red flush appeared on his walnut-creased face. He’d seen little enough in this country village, but even the children of official families were nothing compared to people like that.

Wang Lang’s departure, and the river dyed purple — Old Zhong had been telling this story for a dozen or more years. Everyone was long since tired of it.

Only this traveler always loved to hear it.

Old Zhong had been telling it for however many years, and the traveler had been listening for just as many.

The traveler never spoke much. After listening, he would pick up his wine bowl and drain it in one swallow, then bow his hands to Old Zhong with a smile, rise, and take his leave.

A servant waiting outside under the eaves would bring his horse to him, and he would place the payment for the wine into a clay basin by the door with his own hand.

In former times the basin was still new-made pottery. Now the clay basin was chipped and cracked with age.

Each time he paid, the sum was more than enough for a whole year’s worth of drinking at this shop — yet he came only once a year.

Old Zhong’s back grew more stooped with each passing year.

The traveler’s frosted temples gradually increased, the lines between his brows cut as though by a blade, yet he showed little sign of aging — only seeming to grow more imposing in bearing.

Old Zhong would sometimes remember and laugh at himself — a country man who had seen little of the world. The first time he had poured wine for this traveler, his hands had trembled and he had spilled half the bowl.

At first he had been quite in awe of this traveler.

This man had an exceptional air about him, a distinguished appearance. He wore plain, simple dark robes and the wooden clogs with teeth of ordinary country folk. He never smiled, never spoke, and drank wine as though drinking water.

His horse — black all over, dark as ink, unusually powerful. Tied at the stable, the horse looked at the dry grass on the ground with indifference. The farm horses tethered nearby moved away to avoid him.

His servants — plain clothes and swords, their conduct respectful and serious, their footsteps nearly soundless.

Old Zhong never dared to speak to him.

But once, Old Zhong was leaning on his staff at the doorway, telling travelers newly arrived from the frontier about the old story of Zichuan, and the listeners were all struck with wonder and longing.

That traveler was also in the shop listening.

When he finished his wine and came out, he stopped before Old Zhong. “Old Sir — will you tell this story of the Zichuan ferry to me again next year at this time?”

The following late spring, he came as he had promised, year after year, never failing.

In these dozen or more years, Old Zhong had grown accustomed to it and no longer found it strange.

Yet this year was a little different from other years.

The traveler finished his wine but did not leave. Instead, he stood hands behind his back under the eaves outside the door, taking the fresh air at his ease, and now and then glancing toward the south, as though waiting for someone.

Old Zhong tottered over on his staff. “Are you waiting for someone, good sir?”

The traveler nodded with a smile.

“Are you waiting for your son to come home?”

“How did you know?” The traveler turned his head slightly, a hint of surprise showing.

Old Zhong stroked his sparse beard and let out a hearty laugh. “Each month when my son comes home, the old wife and I are always standing at the village entrance watching early as well.”

The traveler paused, and shook his head with a smile.

Old Zhong was puzzled. “Why are you shaking your head, good sir?”

“It is nothing.” The traveler waved a hand, seeming reluctant to say. But then he glanced up and saw Old Zhong’s warm, gentle smile, hesitated, and said slowly, “This is the first time I have come to welcome him home.”

“Oh, oh.” Old Zhong stroked his beard, thinking to himself that the customs of great families were different — naturally a father had no reason to go out and welcome a son.

“He has been away from home for half a year. Today he is coming home, and as he must pass through this crossing, I have come to meet him partway.” The traveler’s tone, as he spoke, was no different from that of an ordinary loving father. Old Zhong nodded repeatedly, and grinned to show his gapped teeth. “Your son has made quite something of himself!”

“You flatter him.” The traveler smiled, and asked again, “How is your son, when he is not home? Who looks after you and your wife?”

“My daughter-in-law is at home.” Old Zhong sighed. “My wife and I have been without fortune — we only had this one son in old age, and haven’t had a grandchild yet… Your grandchildren must be old enough for school by now?”

The traveler said lightly, “My son is not yet married.”

Old Zhong was astonished. He wanted to ask but did not dare, wondering privately whether this distinguished guest’s son was ugly or had some ailment, that he had been so long without taking a wife, which was truly difficult to account for.

The traveler paid no mind to his astonishment. He moved with his hands behind his back to stand in the doorway of the eaves, gazing out at the river’s one expanse of water, his robe hem stirring faintly in the wind. In the afternoon, all of heaven and earth was scattered with golden light — yet it could not pierce into the deep darkness of those black robes, casting upon the bridge a shadow black as ink.

Below the bridge, still water ran deep, flowing toward the depths of the woods ahead, where the road home was in sight.

Two li beyond this place, at the post station that had long been desolate, today four riders and four horses had come early and taken up position at the road’s junction.

The one at the front wore a bamboo hat covering his face. The other three were in plain cloth with no hats, ordinary dress, with treasured swords at their sides, riding fine horses.

Past midday, a simply equipped horse carriage came from the south, the sound of hoofbeats breaking the stillness of the woods.

The four horsemen rode forward to meet it. The one at the head removed his bamboo hat, and they all sank on one knee together.

The horse carriage slowed to a stop in the middle of the road.

The large man in plain cloth removed his bamboo hat. The scar cutting slantwise across his face, long since faded to a light brown, he bowed his head with solemn dignity. “This officer Wei Han escorts His Highness back to the capital.”

The carriage curtain was lifted, and a young man in white plain gauze and a small purple-tasseled cap stepped down with composure.

“General has gone to the trouble to come and meet me. Please rise.” The young Crown Prince stood tall and straight, lifting his sleeves in a formal gesture.

Sunlight poured through the woods, and startled birds flew up. Two or three leaves spiraled down, brushing past the dark hair at his temples.

He looked up at the green of the treetops and gave a slight smile. “The capital has truly fine weather at this time of year. No wonder Father Emperor urged me to take this road into the capital — a whole journey through the deepening spring.”

Wei Han rose to his feet, looked at the young Crown Prince’s smile, clear and firm as jade, and felt as though time had slipped away quickly. The one who had borne so similar an appearance had long since come to rest in the imperial mausoleum; the infant prince he had guarded through blood and fire had now grown, in the blink of an eye, from an infant in swaddling clothes into the son of heaven — one whose every word and smile carried the dignity of authority.

“Yes. The scenery here at Zichuan ferry is beautiful — and His Majesty also greatly enjoys it.” Wei Han, who was not given to many words, allowed a faint smile. He paused, then said, “His Majesty is already waiting for Your Highness at the crossing ahead.”

The Crown Prince went still, and for a long moment said nothing. Then he only asked: “Has Father Emperor grown old?”

Wei Han could see that the youthful yet composed Crown Prince was doing his utmost to conceal the filial longing and emotion that stirred beneath his surface.

“In response to Your Highness — His Majesty arrived early and has been waiting at the crossing for some time.” Wei Han was not one for extra words, but seeing the Crown Prince’s joyful expression, he added one more sentence. “His Majesty often comes out of the palace to take an outing in plain clothes at Zichuan bridge — it is a rare occasion today, with Your Highness returning to the capital, that he has especially sent this officer to come here to receive you.”

So Father Emperor came here every year — the young Crown Prince was mildly surprised.

The scenery here was beautiful, yet it was nothing particularly special. He knew well that Father Emperor had seen enough magnificent scenery in his campaigns across the empire.

All under heaven knew that the Crown Prince had hunted on the Emperor’s behalf, inspecting the border regions on his return. What was not known was that more than a month earlier, he had also been dispatched in secret to make a detour from Huizhou to the south of the Yangtze River, and had only today, dusty from travel, made his way back north along the route.

Both as sovereign and as father, both strict and loving — but in the eyes of Crown Prince Xiao Yunshuo, it was only his elder sister Yun Ning who was able to enjoy the indulgence of being at Father Emperor’s knee. He himself, as Crown Prince, had been educated strictly since childhood, and between father and son, the relationship of lord and minister was the greater part, with the warmth of ordinary human family being a luxury. The previous autumn, sent by imperial command to hunt in the north, he had spent the harshest winter of his life in the bitterly cold northern frontier, and only then understood how difficult Father Emperor’s northern campaigns to open up the frontier had been — and also came to understand Father Emperor’s painstaking efforts in testing him. In early spring the northern frontier was melting with the thaw and the grasslands were growing green, the mountains and rivers unspeakably extraordinary — and then Yun Ning had come again. The dignified princess, dressed as a man in a Hu-people’s outfit, free and easy as she roamed the northern plains, unrestrained by any sense of femininity and far from Father Emperor’s authority, favored by their maternal uncle, Prince Jiangxia. Watching his elder sister enjoying herself so completely at ease, he had been sent by imperial command further south, and only now in late spring had he been able to return to the capital. At the city outskirts he had received a decree passed by a palace attendant — abandon the official road, return to the palace in plain dress through the old ferry, His Highness the Crown Prince understood Father Emperor’s intention to mean traveling with a small, simple party so as not to disturb the people by entering the city.

He had never for a moment imagined that Father Emperor would personally come to meet him.

Xiao Yunshuo immediately abandoned the carriage for a horse, leaped onto a mount, and urged his horse racing toward the crossing.

Under the sound of hoofbeats, a lone rider blazed forth, robes and sleeves lifting in the wind, in the spirit of one flying on clouds.

Old Zhong, leaning by the door looking out, rubbed his old eyes and stared, dazed for a moment, thinking he was seeing Wang Lang returned.

So the world still had such people — grace and elegance no less than those of former years.

The young man reined in his horse on the far bank, leaped from the saddle, and came walking on the bridge with wide sleeves flying.

The dark-clad figure standing at the bridge head looked steadily into the distance, until the young man drew closer, and then gave a quiet nod and smile.

The young man straightened his robes and knelt. Bowing his head, he called out softly, “Father Emperor, good health.”

Below the bridge the water burbled its constant sound. The sunlight was warm and gentle, falling upon Father Emperor’s shoulders, as though draped in golden radiance.

Without lifting his eyes, he had already seen the familiar dark cloth robe, the wooden clogs with teeth — unchanged in their simplicity for many years.

“There is no need for formalities when you are not at home.”

Father Emperor’s hand came toward him — a steadying force that could not be refused.

This hand, which held sway over all the world, was strong and powerful, with warmth seeping through the palm.

Xiao Yunshuo accepted the support and rose, feeling Father Emperor’s deep gaze resting long upon his own face. He raised his eyes to meet it, and the silver-white that had crept in at Father Emperor’s temples was a stab of pain in his sight.

That white-haired, staff-leaning old man came shuffling from the wine shop to Father Emperor’s side, grinning with his gap-toothed smile. “Finally you’ve come — what a fine figure your son is!”

“You flatter him.” Father Emperor’s manner was as mild as any person’s. “Could Old Sir trouble himself to bring us another jug of good wine? Today there is time to sit a while. We father and son have not had the chance to drink together for too long.”

“Of course, of course.” The old man agreed readily, shuffling away to go — then turned back, leaning on his staff. “Just so — there is a jug of wine I stored in my cellar long ago. If you two honored guests don’t mind our country ways, would you not do us the honor of coming to our home, and we’ll open the cask and drink?”

Father Emperor laughed out loud. “Old Sir, do not take it amiss — this cask was stored away by me in earlier years, and I was waiting for the day this wine shop closes its doors, to drink the closing-day wine. After all, age does not spare anyone, and I’m afraid that by next year at this time I may not be able to tell this story of the Zichuan ferry for you to hear again. Over all these years, only you have loved to hear it… When a person grows old and loses his teeth, even old stories are forgotten — only old wine still keeps its fragrance.”

Having said this, the old man let out a long sigh.

Father Emperor was silent for a moment, and also sighed softly, murmuring: “How could one ever forget.”

Old friends of many years would have their final parting. The wine at the ferry crossing, too, would eventually be drunk down to the last drop. The old story of the Zichuan ferry would at last have no one to tell it anymore.

“Good — this cask of wine, today my son and I will drink it.” Father Emperor said with spirit, and turned. “Che’er — go bring Old Sir’s horse for him.”

The attendants had the horses all ready.

Xiao Yunshuo did as he was told and brought it over. Father Emperor himself helped the old man mount the horse, stroking the horse’s mane, and said, “Old Sir — tell this young man the old story of the Zichuan ferry again.”

Old Zhong cheerfully agreed.

And so on the road to the farmhouse in the hills, the old man told the tale, and the young Crown Prince Xiao Yunshuo, riding at an easy pace alongside him, listened as he heard once more of the scene long ago, when the Empress Jingyi and Prince Jiangxia had once walked across this ancient bridge.

And that lone dark rider had already gone far on ahead.

In the distance, a thread of cooking smoke. A bamboo fence half-hiding an ancient well. A thatched cottage, three rooms, with wildflowers scattered here and there. A straw-thatched yard dog barking out a welcome.

Old Zhong’s home was at the foot of the mountain, beneath a grove of green bamboo.

Hearing the dog bark from a distance, a village woman had already come out to open the gate. Seeing there were outside guests, she quickly lowered her head and stood to one side by the gate.

Old Zhong told his daughter-in-law to quickly start cooking to welcome the guests.

To Xiao Yunshuo’s eyes, this farmhouse courtyard held a fresh, rustic charm, though it was rough and simple. Yet he did not know why, the moment Father Emperor set foot in the courtyard, he seemed to fall into a reverie, with an enchanted look in his eyes as he wandered from place to place, examining every last thing carefully — a windlass at a well, a grinding stone, a rake — each looked over in turn, with an expression that could not conceal his wonder and longing.

A founding sovereign of the age, in war and in court — this kind of expression was surely something no one had ever seen. Not even his elder sister had ever had the chance to see it… Xiao Yunshuo’s thoughts moved abruptly, and he thought of his mother, who had died young. He wondered if she had ever seen Father Emperor like this.

“Wei Han — Wei Han, where are you?” Father Emperor, standing under the eaves, called out with his hands behind his back.

Wei Han, who had been waiting outside, answered and came in. “Commander, I am here.”

“Mend this rooftop for me.” Father Emperor raised his hand and pointed — it seemed the thatching on one room’s roof had sagged and was leaking.

“Commander…” Wei Han was taken aback, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

The great General Wei, with his battle record and martial arts, truly did not know how to thatch a roof.

Father Emperor glared at him. “What — must We teach you?”

Xiao Yunshuo standing to one side suppressed a laugh, gave a polite cough, and reminded Father Emperor of his mode of self-address. He had let his tongue slip.

Old Zhong did not catch it, and only stepped in to intervene. “It is no trouble at all — when my son has a moment to spare he’ll patch it.”

Wei Han could not utter a single word of objection. He accepted the command and went off to round up all the palace’s top warriors who had accompanied the guards of honor, and put them to work mending the roof.

Old Zhong went along with his staff, pointing and guiding.

Father Emperor stood with his hands behind his back, watching from a distance with a furrowed brow.

Xiao Yunshuo asked under his breath: “Does Father Emperor truly know how?”

“What?” Father Emperor seemed not to understand.

Xiao Yunshuo glanced at the rooftop, meaning the “We’ll teach you” he had said when glaring at Wei Han a moment ago.

Father Emperor froze, gave a grunt, and turned away without replying.

So he too didn’t know how — the Father Emperor who had swept across thousands of armies and trampled the palace gates, could not mend so much as a small thatched cottage.

Xiao Yunshuo stifled a laugh, pressing the corners of his lips into a long arc.

“If you want to laugh then laugh.” Father Emperor said without turning his head.

Before the expected reply of “Your son is wrong” could leave his mouth, Xiao Yunshuo was startled to find his own laughter had gotten there first.

This laugh, once started, would not stop. When he looked up to see the stern profile of Father Emperor’s face, it too had taken on a warm smile.

How long had it been since he laughed this freely in Father Emperor’s presence? Since coming of age he had gradually become the Crown Prince Xiao Yunshuo in Father Emperor’s eyes, no longer the soft little “Che’er” of Mother Empress’s lips.

“When you laugh, you look most like her.” Father Emperor said slowly.

Xiao Yunshuo lowered his eyes. “Uncle said — though I resemble Mother Empress in appearance, in temperament it is Elder Sister who takes after her more.”

Father Emperor smiled. “Of course.”

Speaking of Elder Sister Yun Ning, Xiao Yunshuo could not help his brows rising in an arch. “That day Elder Sister was in red robes, and raced on horseback against a prince of the Helan clan. The Helan clan played tricks, and Elder Sister in her fury cracked her whip and knocked the man right off his horse. Uncle laughed loudly and said — Mother Empress, too, when young, had whipped two young clansmen who had offended her, right in front of the Empress Dowager.”

“She was right to do it. Those Helan barbarians — and they had the audacity to petition for a marriage.” Father Emperor gave a cold humph. “A few strokes of a whip is nothing — if it were A’Wu’s fierceness…”

The words were not yet finished, and already the voice had gone dim. Father Emperor did not say the second half, and fell silent.

Mother Empress’s name — he was most sparing with it before others.

Xiao Yunshuo felt a pang, and gently steered the subject away with a smile. “Elder Sister sends her regards to Father Emperor.”

“She cares only for wide-open sky and free-roaming pleasures. She has no time to think of a dull old man.” Father Emperor’s tone was exactly like any ordinary old man grumbling with his children. Xiao Yunshuo listened with a quiet smile, but then he heard Father Emperor pause, and ask, as though it were nothing: “Is Prince Jiangxia well?”

He said Prince Jiangxia, not maternal uncle. That small distinction was enough to give Xiao Yunshuo a moment’s pause.

“Prince Jiangxia and the Queen of Kundu are both well. The northern frontier is at peace, the army’s spirit strong.” Xiao Yunshuo replied. “Only in winter Prince Jiangxia caught a chill. The north is bitterly cold and very difficult.”

“Does he have any wish to return to his homeland?” Father Emperor asked with a deep and meaningful tone.

Xiao Yunshuo turned the question over carefully, not daring to speak carelessly, and only said after weighing his words: “I have not heard Maternal Uncle mention it… There are letters from the south of the Yangtze River from time to time, but Maternal Uncle never replies to them.”

Father Emperor gave an offhand smile.

“Maternal Uncle does not concern himself with outside affairs, and has kept his door closed to visitors all year round, even seldom seeing close relatives and old friends.” Xiao Yunshuo chose his words with great care.

“He is the cleverest man of his generation. The Wang clan has never lacked for wise people.” Father Emperor seemed to smile and sigh at once. “Having passed through three dynasties without decline — there is reason for it.”

Xiao Yunshuo turned this over in his mind, and his gaze drifted toward Wei Han in the distance, resting on the sword at his side.

He thought of what his imperial tutor had once said — the place closest to imperial power is the most perilous of all.

Yet a foolish man takes risks, a brave man faces danger, while a wise man remains at peace. The Wang clan over a hundred years had always stood in the place closest to imperial power — not too close, not too distant, neither transgressing nor withdrawing. They had spread their roots wide, with family ties and connections everywhere. However the dynasties changed, it was as though a sword’s edge goes dull and is sharpened again, new and then dull, and dull and new again — the scabbard was always in hand. No matter who wielded the sword, the scabbard was needed to protect it. The Wang clan was that scabbard.

Yet in the young Crown Prince’s heart there lay a long-unresolved puzzle.

With such careful management, why had the Wang clan never simply seized the realm for themselves?

Surely Father Emperor held wariness toward his wife’s family — otherwise, why would he have kept Maternal Uncle posted far away in the north for so long? Yet why entrust him with such heavy forces?

This puzzlement showed in Father Emperor’s eyes, and he only smiled faintly. “You are still young. When We have passed from this world and you sit upon the dragon throne, you will understand.”

“Your son is full of trepidation.”

“Trepidation over what — We are a person too, and cannot truly live ten thousand years.” Father Emperor let out a short laugh. “What is the meaning of ‘the solitary one’? We are the solitary one, and you will also be the solitary one. The ruler of a dynasty born of one surname — at the uttermost height and in the utmost solitude — once you step upon it, there is no retreat for all eternity. Your children and grandchildren for ten thousand generations will be upon this solitary road.”

Xiao Yunshuo raised his eyes and stared at Father Emperor in a daze, deeply shaken. Something like the cold air of ten thousand years seemed to silently rise from the ground.

“Only those with nowhere else to go can ascend to the highest seat.” Father Emperor’s face was as still and deep as water, without a ripple. “The Wang clan is not like this. They have always kept their options open. The reason world-spanning clans are great clans is not because they hold the highest ranks and power, but because they remain untroubled by honor or disgrace, and are always able to maneuver freely. Of the current Wang clan, your Mother Empress and your Maternal Uncle are the most supremely clever. Your Maternal Uncle petitioned of his own accord to leave the capital and be posted far away, not to be involved in court matters. We then entrusted him with heavy forces. This is the unspoken agreement between Us and the Wang clan.”

Xiao Yunshuo bowed his head and listened, his thoughts churning like the tide.

With Maternal Uncle’s talent for governing a state, Father Emperor had nonetheless posted him to the far northern frontier — on the surface giving him command of heavy forces, treating him as a trusted limb, yet in reality the loyalty of all six armies to Father Emperor could never be shaken by anyone.

Over many years, Father Emperor had elevated those of humble birth and had no softness in demoting the sons of great clans. Only the Wang clan, in the honor of the Empress’s family, was in name given weight and favor, while quietly sent far away. It was truly the only way to have it both ways.

To eradicate the obstruction of the distinction between scholars and common people, to cure the ills of the clan-rank system — this involved a bone-deep and sinew-tearing pain. The great clans would be the first to bear the cutting edge.

If the Wang clan were at court, they could not avoid the pain of being at the front of the blade.

Given how deeply Father Emperor cherished Mother Empress, he still could not avoid calculation and weighing. Xiao Yunshuo fell silent. Flashing across his heart for a brief moment was the bright, clear smile of a young girl — that daughter of the Huan family, who in his presence seemed like a drop of water, transparent and pure.

If she entered the Eastern Palace and became the Crown Prince’s consort, how many of her clear and limpid smiles would remain in the years to come?

“This time, sending you to hunt on Our behalf and inspect the northern frontier — Our purpose, your Maternal Uncle has understood.”

Father Emperor’s words drew his thoughts back.

Father Emperor looked at him steadily and said slowly: “In Our remaining lifetime, the Wang clan will still be the greatest clan under heaven. We will not fail your Mother Empress. In the days to come, Prince Jiangxia will also not fail you.”

The young Crown Prince’s eyes lifted at the corners, and a clarity flashed in his gaze.

Father Emperor’s voice grew slightly lower, and at the corners of his thin, sharp lips a subtle, unreadable smile showed. “What comes after — only Heaven and the earth know. No human power can fully account for it. This rising and falling contest between the imperial family and the external clan has never been fully resolved through any dynasty. In Our hands, perhaps a few decades of peace can be had. In your hands, in the hands of your children’s children — without the Wang clan there will be some other family, and this contest will never come to its end. A dynasty, a clan, a realm — the marriage alliances cannot be set aside, and a man utterly alone cannot hold the realm stable. The slow drawing out of appointing the Crown Prince Consort is to have the various great families contend with and check each other. We want those clans, proud and haughty, to suffer heavy blows first, and then recover their glory under your grace and authority — only then will they be fully submissive to the new sovereign.”

What deep and careful effort the sovereign father had made on his behalf.

Gazing at the silver at Father Emperor’s temples, Xiao Yunshuo suppressed the trembling in his heart, and set the corners of his lips into a firm, resolute line.

Father and son bore expressions that were exactly alike.

“Che’er — remember what We say to you today—” Father Emperor looked at him, called this milk-name, and the softness that flashed in his eyes disappeared in an instant, giving way to seriousness. “The Wang clan, as the head of the great clans, stands at the Emperor’s side — even We must give way by three parts. Even so, We still trust them and employ them. Only because, on the battlefield, meeting an enemy you kill the enemy, and those who resist you you destroy — this is a soldier’s method. As sovereign, from the highest point you survey all under heaven. Who does not covet, who does not fear? To kill is never-ending. If you face a snarling dog in your path, simply strike it down. If you face a roaring tiger full of pride, then tame it. You must remember — the sovereign’s art is the art of governing people, not the art of killing people.”

Xiao Yunshuo drew himself upright and held his breath. It seemed a vast and tumultuous cloud spread before him, and the ten thousand miles of mountain and river unfurled in silence beneath Father Emperor’s words.

After a long while, he solemnly bowed his head. “Your son will remember.”

Ordering the realm and bringing peace — held within a few casual words exchanged between father and son.

Over on that side, the rooftop thatch had been mended freshly. The daughter-in-law of the Zhong family had finished cooking the wind-dried venison and placed it on the stone table for the guests to accompany their wine.

Old Zhong called his daughter-in-law in to warn her not to let the pot of medicine she was decocting for her mother-in-law boil over on the stove before coming out to help tend the guests.

The cask of wine, stored in the cellar for many years, had its mud seal cracked open. The extraordinary fragrance it released could intoxicate all the flowers and trees in the courtyard. Standing within it, a person felt dizzy, as though already floating.

Xiao Yunshuo, who was not accustomed to drinking, could not help drawing a deep breath of the wine fragrance floating on the mountain breeze. He was already pleasantly dazed before he had drunk a drop.

Father Emperor grabbed an earthenware wine bowl and tossed it to Wei Han. “Come — let us drink with good company!”

Wei Han bent at the waist to catch it, not declining at all, and came to pick up the wine cask and pour for everyone.

“Let me.” Xiao Yunshuo stretched out his hand to take the cask, and poured a full bowl for Father Emperor with his own hands.

Four wine bowls were raised. The wine splashed up, clear and bright in the setting sun.

Father Emperor drained it in one tilt and pronounced it excellent wine.

But Old Zhong turned to Xiao Yunshuo with approving wonder. “I would not have guessed, looking at this young gentleman, that he can handle his wine so well!”

For he saw the bowl completely emptied, not a single drop remaining. The aged wine had gone straight down, yet the face like fine white jade was as composed as ever.

Xiao Yunshuo only smiled, and sensing Father Emperor’s sidelong glance of approval, felt a private surge of bold spirit within.

“This farmhouse has nothing fine to offer the guests. Do try some of this venison — my son shot it himself.” Old Zhong gleefully raised his chopsticks, then saw the venison had not yet been carved, and hurriedly called his daughter-in-law to come, scolding her for showing negligence to the honored guests.

“It is quite all right, Old Sir — let me cut it.” Father Emperor said with good cheer, drawing the short sword always at his side. The cold air was bracing, and where the blade passed, the venison was carved into thin, even slices.

Old Zhong stared with mouth agape.

Father Emperor tossed the treasured sword about with evident interest. He let out a contemplative laugh. “Using this for carving — this is the second time.”

This had originally been Mother Empress’s personal weapon, and had now come to rest with Father Emperor. Xiao Yunshuo was caught between laughing and not laughing. “If your son may ask, Father Emperor — when was the first time?”

Father Emperor did not look up. “It is not to be spoken of!”

Of course he did not know either — the Father Emperor who had swept across a thousand armies and trampled the high palace gates could not actually mend so much as a small thatched cottage.

Old Zhong’s daughter-in-law stood awkwardly to one side, and recovering herself, apologized with embarrassed looks to her father-in-law and the guests, mumbling out, “Just now the medicine for Mother was coming to a boil on the stove, and I was busy and did not think in time…”

Father Emperor raised a brow with interest. “Old Sir — is your honored wife at home?”

Old Zhong nodded and let out a sigh. “She is home — she has an eye ailment, and if she came out to receive guests, I’m afraid it would embarrass her in front of them.”

“Old Sir, what is this — we have wine and meat, the feast cannot be without the host. Please invite your honored wife to come out.” Father Emperor set down his wine bowl.

Old Zhong hesitated slightly, then told his daughter-in-law, “Go on, give your mother-in-law another layer before she comes — it has gotten windy.”

That one small instruction, spoken so ordinarily, fell in Xiao Yunshuo’s ears with a sudden blank. He glanced sideways — and saw Father Emperor fall silent, turning his face away.

Old Zhong’s wife came out shuffling on her daughter-in-law’s arm.

The white-haired, disheveled old woman had deeply creased skin. Her eyes had grown a white film. Her sight was failing. She made her way groping to the tableside.

The village woman, unfamiliar with etiquette, sat to one side without saying much.

Her daughter-in-law picked up food and fed it to her. She tilted her head and chewed slowly, a little foam at the corner of her mouth.

Old Zhong turned to the side, his trembling hand reaching up to use his sleeve to wipe away the food at his wife’s lips. He smiled slowly as he did. “In our younger days, she would bring me my meals at work. Now old, we’ve switched places.”

Father Emperor held his wine cup and did not move for a long time. Then he gave a very quiet laugh. “Old Sir is truly fortunate.”

Xiao Yunshuo heard the hidden desolation in Father Emperor’s voice.

“What fortune — an old couple growing old together.” Old Zhong shook his head and smiled.

“Speak words of gladness and drink wine, and grow old together. The qin and the lute are played together — all is quiet and good.” Father Emperor murmured, reciting from The Rooster Crows, gazing at the pair of white-haired elders, his expression distant and lost.

The wine was not yet half drunk, and Old Zhong had already grown tipsy.

Father Emperor set his empty bowl down and commanded Wei Han to pour more.

Wei Han hesitated slightly — and Father Emperor reached out and took the cask from his hands.

“Che’er — drink with Us.” Father Emperor gripped the wine cask, rose without looking back, and walked to the front of the house, flicking a sleeve to prevent anyone from following.

He walked along the mountain path for a long while, until there was no road ahead — only a small pond, covered with floating duckweed and fallen leaves.

In the surrounding silence, birds in the forest scattered and flew.

Father Emperor sat down on a large stone and said not a word, tipped his head back and drank several long draughts. Then he flung his arm and tossed the cask over.

Xiao Yunshuo caught it, drank a long draught directly from the cask — the first time in his life he had drunk like this, wine splashing and soaking the front of his robes.

What dispels worry? Only good wine.

When the wine ran dry and the men were flushed, the sound of the forest was like lamenting.

“We will not come again to the Zichuan ferry to drink.” Father Emperor flung the empty cask out and it fell into the pond, sending up a splash of water and sending duckweed scattering in all directions. “This old fellow — how he made Us envious and jealous!”

With that, Father Emperor let out a great laugh. The sound of it shook through the distant forest, carrying in it something of grief.

Xiao Yunshuo also laughed. “If Father Emperor wishes to drink, under heaven north or south — your son will accompany you.”

Father Emperor turned his head and looked at him. For an instant, his gaze went hazy.

“North or south… the Eastern Sea’s vastness, western Shu’s precipitousness, the loveliness of the south of the Yunnan region… Yes — We still have Che’er to accompany Us.” He murmured, saying words that Xiao Yunshuo could not quite follow, his manner seeming to laugh but also to be half mad. Carrying a seven-part measure of drunkenness, he lay back on the great stone and tilted his face to the sky, closing his eyes, and fell asleep.

“The wind is cool here, and it is already growing dark. Father Emperor should return to the palace.”

Father Emperor waved a hand. “We are tired. Do not bother Us.”

With those words fallen, he truly fell asleep. In a moment his breath was long and even.

Xiao Yunshuo looked at his father’s sleeping face, removed his outer robe and gently draped it over him, then lay down beside him.

The most familiar, yet most distant breath — his father’s breath, closing around him in a thick, enveloping warmth.

There was nowhere in the world more peaceful than this place, not a moment more tranquil than this instant.

In his ears he heard the long, even breaths of his father, broken now and then by murmured words in sleep. He was already in a dream.

Xiao Yunshuo closed his eyes. He desperately wanted to know what dream his father was dreaming.

The evening light in the hills closed in gradually before his eyes, a scattered gold, a misty haze, the glow dyeing everything green.

In that haze, the evening breeze brushed his face, as though carrying the sound of a song.

Whose voice was it, coming from far away, threading through layers upon layers of time, softening all of heaven and earth?

He looked in all directions in search of it. The one who was humming that familiar song seemed to be just at the end of the small path, in that farmhouse.

He almost reached out to wake Father Emperor, and then looked up — and saw out ahead, in wide, trailing sleeves, that tall, large figure walking briskly forward — who else but Father Emperor?

He hurried to follow, all the way trailing after Father Emperor, and came back to the bamboo fence at the front of Old Zhong’s house, the gate half-latched and ajar.

Father Emperor pushed the gate open and went in, and stood in the courtyard, smiling as he called: “A’Wu — A’Wu!”

Answering this call, the light wooden door opened gently, and a figure in plain, clean robes walked out unhurriedly.

She smiled with long, soft eyes. Her face was still young. Yet at her temples, like Father Emperor, all had turned to white snow.

Father Emperor stepped forward and took her hand.

She raised her sleeve and brushed a fallen leaf from Father Emperor’s shoulder.

The two silhouettes gradually merged into one in the dreaming eyes of Xiao Yunshuo — he could no longer tell whether it was Father Emperor or Mother Empress. They seemed to drift like a soaring dragon, like a startled swan, fading lightly into the sky, and at last becoming one with the unbroken stretches of mountain and river.