Leaving the Lu Commandery Duke’s estate, without even having time to say goodbye to Lin Xiao and the others, Qin Yao followed her Master and A’Han as they escorted the fox out of Chang’an City under cover of night.

For reasons unknown, the terrain of Wuwei Mountain had undergone a change, causing the seal that had suppressed the fox for ten years to fail — which was why the fox had managed to escape to freedom several months prior.

It was clearly no longer feasible to suppress the fox beneath Wuwei Mountain again. Qing Xuzi opened a map of Chang’an and deliberated at length before selecting an obscure, nameless little mountain on the outskirts of the city, a place rarely visited by human beings.

Before the ritual could begin, the fox — knowing escape was hopeless — suddenly let out a mournful laugh. It looked at Qing Xuzi and said: “Qing Xuzi, over these years your eyes have been blinded by the splendor of the mortal world, and your five senses have long since lost the clarity they once possessed. That is why you cannot perceive that the heavens carry signs of ill omen. You simply wait — before long, evil demons will bring calamity to Chang’an. When that time comes, and the world is turned on its head, the stars shift and realign, not one of you will escape.”

Qin Yao and A’Han exchanged glances.

Qing Xuzi’s hand paused mid-motion in laying out the formation, and he raised his eyes and looked up at the sky, his horsetail whisk stilled. It was the very start of the third of the twelve two-hour periods — precisely the transitional moment between night and day. The stars had faded and receded; the first light of dawn was just beginning to show. The sky was a faint ink-wash grey, and no signs of any ill omen whatsoever were visible.

Qing Xuzi stroked his beard and remained in contemplative silence for a long while, then waved his hand, directing A’Han and Qin Yao to continue setting up the formation.

After the ritual was concluded, Qin Yao, with her family weighing on her mind, asked Qing Xuzi for leave and returned to the Qu estate.

Having experienced two consecutive nights of heart-stopping events, Qin Yao was already utterly exhausted. Upon entering the house, she paid her respects to her father, mother, and elder brother, then returned to her room and slept in a state of complete oblivion, day and night blurring into one.

Lin Xiao, however, had no such opportunity to indulge himself. He was now a close attendant of the Emperor — Commander of the Imperial Forest Army — and his customary rest and leisure schedule followed a fixed timetable even in ordinary times. Even when permitted to return home to rest, it was for no more than half a day.

Upon returning to the palace, the Emperor had just summoned Wu Xingzhi and Mo Cheng to his study to discuss matters of state.

“Your Majesty, the matter of reopening the Yunyin Academy will likely need to be deliberated upon at greater length.” It was Wu Xingzhi’s voice. He currently held the position of Deputy Director of the Central Secretariat, and ordinarily enjoyed considerable trust from His Majesty the Emperor — the Emperor’s uncle — and for any major decision, His Majesty would consult him beforehand.

“First — the Yunyin Academy has been sealed away for a full twenty years. The buildings are likely already in a dilapidated and deteriorating state. Refurbishing them will require no small amount of time, and will also demand a considerable expenditure of silver.

“Second — when the late Empress Taimu originally established the Yunyin Academy, her intention was to select fine consorts for the princes and nobles of the imperial clan. For this reason, she recruited students who were daughters of officials of the Third Rank and above. Now that the academy is to reopen, it will be necessary to send notifications to the households of officials at every rank, which will again require a considerable amount of effort.

“Third — when the time comes, the academy will be filled with young female students. How should the academy’s rules be established? From where should the instructors be selected? Does Your Majesty have any thoughts on these matters?”

Lin Xiao smiled faintly. Wu Xingzhi was as forthright and direct as ever, unafraid to speak his mind.

The Emperor’s voice carried a note of weariness: “Do you think I am not aware of all you have said? It is only that these past days I have dreamed of Consort Hui night after night — dreams of the scene when I first encountered her at the Yunyin Academy all those years ago. At that time she had not yet reached her coming-of-age ceremony — still in the full freshness of youth — and I myself was no more than in my early twenties. The scenes of those dreams are vivid before my eyes, and I cannot tell what is real and what is illusion. Consort Hui has been gone so many years now, and I have never once seen her in my dreams — and now, when I finally do see her, it is in the Yunyin Academy. I think to myself — perhaps there is some reason in all this, some meaning one cannot entirely discount.”

He stared for a long while at the boxwood brush stand on his desk, lost in thought, and then let out a long sigh: “My mind is made up — the Yunyin Academy must reopen. Say no more to dissuade me. However, your words have given me a reminder: a great many of the imperial clan’s young men have yet to wed, and ordinarily my several elder sisters have been no small amount of incessant in imploring me to arrange marriages for their children and grandchildren. Why not use the reopening of the Yunyin Academy as the occasion, and select from officials of every rank some young women of virtuous character and fine appearance, and have them study at the academy for one year? After a year, the more outstanding among them will be chosen, and I shall make royal marriage arrangements for them — presenting them as matches to eligible young men of the imperial clan of appropriate age — to bring about a number of auspicious unions.”

As he spoke, his resolve grew more and more firm: “And there need be no restriction to officials of the Third Rank and above — as long as one is a serving official in the court, his daughters will fall within the scope of selection.”

Upon hearing these words, Lin Xiao felt a sudden, quiet stirring in his heart.

The Emperor glanced around and caught sight of Lin Xiao, then beckoned to him: “Weijin, what do you think of my idea?”

Lin Xiao stepped forward and paid his respects to the Emperor, then said: “The Yunyin Academy was once one of the three great academies of Chang’an, renowned alongside the Minglu and the Zhongshan Academies, its fame celebrated throughout the realm. If it can reopen, it is naturally a most auspicious matter.”

A look of satisfaction crossed the Emperor’s face.

Wu Xingzhi and Mo Cheng turned to look at Lin Xiao in astonishment. One could forgive His Majesty the Emperor for making decisions on the spur of the moment, but how could even the Young Lord be joining in with such caprice?

“Then it is settled.” The Emperor rose from the dragon throne and began pacing back and forth in excitement. “The Yunyin Academy was founded single-handedly by the late Empress Taimu, and it flourished for decades thereafter. The academy’s rules were long since established through customary practice and need not be altered. As for how many students to admit and how to arrange the curriculum — all of you shall follow the precedents of the past.”

The Emperor had clearly made up his mind, and further argument would be futile. Wu Xingzhi and Mo Cheng had no choice but to nod their assent.

After emerging from the study, Wu Xingzhi and Mo Cheng stood before the white jade balustrade and gazed in silence for a long while at the towering magnificence of the palace complex. They had been counting on getting past the imperial examinations and then enjoying a proper period of rest — but who could have known the Emperor would, on a passing whim, casually hand them yet another thorny assignment like this one? Leaving aside everything else, the task of drawing up the list of eligible young women to admit to the academy alone would be enough to give anyone a headache.

Just as they were furrowing their brows in contemplation, someone approached from behind: “Deputy Director Wu, Attendant Mo.”

The two turned around — it was none other than Lin Xiao.

On the day of the imperial examinations, Qin Yao was up before first light. After a brief and simple wash and grooming, she climbed into a carriage with her mother to see her elder brother off to the examination grounds.

Qu Ziyu’s expression was as serene and composed as ever. It was Qu Chen Shi who could barely contain her anxiety — the entire way she fussed and exhorted without end, repeating the same few sentences over and over until Qin Yao was nearly nodding off.

“Dalang, are you thirsty? Do you need some water?” That was sentence one.

“Don’t you worry — you have been studying hard all these years, haven’t you been waiting for this very day? Just perform the way you normally do, and Mother will be waiting for your good news.” That was sentence two.

“I’ve heard the food at the examination grounds is quite rough and plain. Would you like some more flaky pastry to fill your stomach first?” That was sentence three.

What was remarkable was that no matter how many times Qu Chen Shi repeated herself, Qu Ziyu answered each one with the utmost patience — and in between, managed to spare a warning glance for Qin Yao, whose eyes had been rolling continuously.

After enduring the journey’s slow torture, they finally arrived at the examination grounds. Qin Yao put on her curtained hat and jumped out of the carriage first, as though fleeing for her life.

The area outside the examination grounds was a dense mass of people — packed with examination candidates who had come from every part of the realm to sit the test.

In the present dynasty, there had long been a saying that “a man who passes the Classics examination at thirty is old, and a man who passes the Jinshi examination at fifty is old.” So among the candidates, quite a few were already advancing in years. Young candidates like Qu Ziyu were, by comparison, a distinct minority.

“Wenyuan!” Someone called out.

“Wenyuan” was elder brother Qu Ziyu’s courtesy name. Qin Yao was momentarily startled, and followed the sound to look in its direction.

Walking toward them from a distance was a remarkably handsome young man. Beneath his soaring brows were a pair of eyes as bright as cold stars — the kind of gaze that seemed capable of looking straight through to the bottom of one’s heart. His complexion was luminous and fair, setting off his jet-black hair like ink. His nose bridge was high and straight; his thin lips were red and full of luster. Every single feature was so strikingly fine that there was nothing to fault.

The weather was still somewhat cold, and most people in Chang’an were still dressed in heavy clothing — but this person wore only a plain grey-blue coarse cloth robe that had been washed to a faded pallor, a black silk folded headscarf of matching color, and nothing else whatsoever. His appearance was plain to the point of excess.

Even so, the moment this person appeared, he was like a dark pearl gleaming in the night — and in an instant, his presence eclipsed the radiance of everyone around him.

“Jizhou.” Qu Ziyu was both startled and delighted, and went forward to meet the man.

The name struck Qin Yao as vaguely familiar. She thought for a moment, then understood with a sudden flash of recognition — was this not elder brother’s classmate who, owing to his extraordinary talent, had been recognized and appreciated by Master Ji?

Qu Chen Shi’s eyes lit up when she saw Jizhou, and she spoke up: “And this is?”

Elder brother quickly led the man forward and made introductions to their mother and sister: “This is my classmate and close friend, his given name is Feng Boyu, his courtesy name is Jizhou. He is from Yuanzhou, and has come to take the spring examination along with me this time.” He then turned to make the introduction in reverse, to Feng Boyu: “This is my mother, and this is my younger sister. My father set off for court early this morning and was therefore unable to come along.”

Feng Boyu bowed to Qu Chen Shi with easy, unaffected confidence: “Greetings, Madam.” He then gave Qin Yao a brief nod.

Qu Chen Shi, like any mother of middle age the world over, harbored a heart full of maternal warmth toward young people close in age to her own children. Seeing that Feng Boyu’s clothing was plain, yet his appearance was distinguished and graceful, and his bearing natural and easy — standing beside her son, he was in no way inferior to him — she took to him wholeheartedly and said with a warm smile: “What a fine young man. Come and visit us at home often from now on.” Her tone was full of affectionate kindness.

Feng Boyu paused for just a moment, the warmth in his eyes deepening a few degrees further. “As long as Madam does not find me a bother, I shall certainly come to pay my respects at your residence often.”

She had risen too early that morning, and on the way home, Qin Yao drowsed with her head resting in her mother’s lap.

“Once your elder brother finishes the spring examinations, your father and I will start arranging his marriage.” She heard her mother saying this in her drowsy, half-asleep state.

She did not respond, and continued to doze.

“Over the years there have been several families who showed something of an interest, but once they made inquiries about Ziyu’s health, nothing ever came of it. You cannot blame them — who would willingly give their daughter away to a husband with a frail constitution? Now that Ziyu has become strong and healthy, your father and I discussed it and decided we would simply wait until after the spring examinations to talk about his marriage—”

“Aah—!” A piercing scream came from not far away, cutting off Qu Chen Shi’s murmuring.

Qin Yao’s drowsiness vanished without a trace. She sat up and looked outside.

The carriage had just arrived at Pingkang Ward. In front of a narrow alleyway, a dense, dark crowd had gathered. Several youths with panicked expressions squeezed out of the crowd and scattered in all directions like headless flies.

“What has happened?” Qu Chen Shi leaned out of the carriage window to ask one of the youths.

“There’s a dead person!” The youth shouted the words and ran off.

Qu Chen Shi sat back in her seat, alarmed, patting her chest — only to find, to her astonishment, that her daughter had already put on her curtained hat and gotten out of the carriage.

“Come back here — what is there worth seeing in a dead body!” she called out anxiously.

Qin Yao had already parted the crowd and entered the alleyway.

“What a fright — one can see ghosts in broad daylight,” someone was saying, voice muffled by the handkerchief pressed over their face.

“Exactly so — I hear it was a singing girl from Chunying Ward nearby. So young, and just like that, gone. What a tragedy.”

Qin Yao pressed forward with difficulty until she reached the far end of the crowd. There, in the depths of the alleyway, lay a young woman. Her face was lost in shadow and her age and features were indistinguishable — but at her throat there was a dark, hollow wound, as large as the mouth of a bowl, that was absolutely and horrifyingly conspicuous.