◎ Facing the Wind ◎

The man who had clung to the bridge post on Bian River Street, threatening to jump, went and struck the petition drum at the Ministry of Justice.

The moment Qu You learned of it, she hurried to the front courtyard. But no matter how quickly she moved, the man, seeing someone emerge, cried out twice and dashed his head against the drum-stone, killing himself instantly.

No one at the Ministry of Justice dared collect the body—the slightest misstep might implicate them further.

Qu You stood frozen beneath the drum, thinking to herself: back when she’d first arrived in this world, she had thought herself clever, believing Liang An—who had come to seize the official seal from her—would never dare act rashly. She’d never imagined he might be willing to destroy everything rather than lose.

Looking at it now, this struggle for power was far more terrifying, far darker and more brutal than she had ever imagined.

Reputation, life itself—in this life-and-death struggle, neither mattered anymore.

She and Zhou Tan could both guess who had orchestrated this whole spectacle.

Perhaps it was the old nobility, resentful of losing their privileges; perhaps a political rival at odds with him in court; or perhaps… Li Yuanjun, still not found, sowing chaos to obstruct the new policy wasn’t impossible either.

—But there was no proof.

The case spread quickly through the streets and marketplaces, as though someone were deliberately fanning the flames. Throughout the court, people shifted with the wind; the Censorate already had no shortage of memorials impeaching Zhou Tan, and now their numbers doubled.

Qu You slowly drew the jade bead on the cord of his official cap upward.

“Today’s banquet at Linfeng Pavilion is all prepared. I’ll be waiting for you there when you return.”

Zhou Tan, lost in thought, was startled by these words. He composed himself and smiled. “My thanks for your trouble, wife.”

Qu You said nothing, nor did she look at him. The two of them stood facing each other in silence for a while.

At last it was Zhou Tan who spoke first. “You’ve already guessed, haven’t you?”

“Hmm?”

“After what happened yesterday, you didn’t ask me a single question—only seemed troubled and avoided my eyes. He San told me you stood before that screen for a long while.”

She had specifically instructed He San not to tell Zhou Tan about her coughing up blood, and he had complied—but he’d told him everything else, apparently.

“Yes, I’ve more or less figured it out,” Qu You answered. She raised her eyes to meet his. “But in my view, this matter shouldn’t have been resolved this way. I still want to hear your reasoning—the reason it had to be this way, and no other.”

“Very well,” Zhou Tan said, taking her hand in response. “At Linfeng Pavilion today, I’ll tell you everything, without any concealment.”

Sure enough, the case caused an uproar at the morning court session.

After the session, Song Shixuan summoned Zhou Tan to the imperial study.

When Luo Jiangting arrived carrying a food box, all she heard was the sharp shatter of a teacup breaking within the study.

She crept closer on tiptoe and caught, faintly, the sound of the two of them arguing.

“Teacher, I am no longer a child!”

“…The new policy is a necessity. What happened is merely a temporary lapse.”

“Back then… given how things stand now, how am I to trust you? Does this court still belong to the Song family, or has it become the Zhou family’s? When the decree abolishing the flower tax was issued, it was you, Teacher, who guided my own hand to stamp the imperial seal. As Emperor, I…”

“Your Majesty simply no longer trusts me.”

Before long, Zhou Tan emerged from the study, expressionless.

Luo Jiangting hurried to step aside with her food box.

Zhou Tan seemed not to notice her at all. He walked a few steps out and happened to run into Yan Fu, who had come to report on military affairs.

Yan Fu bowed. “Ah—Chancellor, your finger is bleeding! It looks like a cut from something sharp.”

Zhou Tan said, “It’s nothing.”

After a pause, he suddenly added, “You and I share a bond forged in life-and-death circumstances. These days, it seems only Zhuozhou is still willing to spare me a word of concern.”

Yan Fu didn’t understand what he meant.

But Luo Jiangting, overhearing, felt a chill run through her. She lifted her skirts and hurried into the study; the attendant at the door immediately closed the tall carved wooden doors behind her.

“Your Majesty, I just overheard something…”

Zhou Tan patted Yan Fu on the shoulder, took his leave, and continued walking out. Crossing the threshold into the small garden outside the study, he suddenly turned back for a moment, his amber eyes deep and distant, carrying the faintest trace of an almost imperceptible smile.

Word spread throughout the court that the Emperor and the Chancellor had parted on bad terms after the audience that day.

That very noon, Zhou Tan’s memorial was submitted to the Ministry of Personnel—its tone restrained, blaming himself for “failing to fulfill his duty as a minister,” requesting to be relieved of his post as Chancellor.

Song Shixuan approved it without a moment’s hesitation, writing back a single word: “Granted.”

Qu You sat in Linfeng Pavilion, holding a cup of clear plum wine, letting the wind toss her loosely arranged hair into disarray.

When the servant informed her of the news, she showed no great surprise.

Zhou Tan’s first dismissal from office had, after all, resulted purely from public opinion in court. She had nothing to worry about—within three months, he would be reinstated for his merit in “clearing out the old faction,” and would serve another two years as Chancellor.

Until his second dismissal, when he would die far from home, in a foreign land.

She simply didn’t know how much of today’s quarrel between Zhou Tan and Song Shixuan had been genuine, and how much had been staged.

And as for the “old faction” Zhou Tan would later be credited with clearing out to earn his reinstatement—the only person she could think of who fit that description was Li Yuanjun, whose fate remained unknown, whether alive or dead.

But she had no spare thought to dwell on such matters right now.

The wine was crisp and cool; outside the pavilion, a fine drizzling mist blurred the air, and mist rose from the lake behind the Zhou residence’s rear garden. Sitting here felt almost like being in some immortal realm. Since Zhou Tan had left that morning, she had been sitting here the entire day.

Things she hadn’t been able to make sense of before now suddenly seemed to come clear.

Understanding them only made her feel colder.

Su Chaoci arrived earlier than the appointed time. He shook the rainwater from his oiled-paper umbrella, said not a word, and simply took a seat in the pavilion.

Before long, Bai Shating and Ai Disheng arrived together.

With their arrival, the pavilion finally grew a bit livelier.

Ai Disheng was the first to ask, “Your wife didn’t come with you?”

Bai Shating shook his head. “She went with Miss Gao to check accounts on the North Street. She couldn’t get free.”

“And Physician Bo?”

“Eleven was urgently summoned by His Majesty—the Empress has fallen ill. He won’t be leaving the palace tonight.”

Once everyone had settled in, and each had drunk a cup of the plum wine Qu You had prepared, Zhou Tan finally arrived, somewhat late.

By the time he came, the drizzle had just cleared. Though clouds still lingered, the moon hung directly overhead, casting a faint, dim glow through the gaps.

The moment Zhou Tan sat down, Ai Disheng teased, “What a fine night, what a beautiful scene—everyone gathered here to drink and admire the moon together. Truly a scholar’s delight.”

Su Chaoci remained silent throughout the gathering, drinking quietly to himself. Zhou Tan, never much of a drinker, drank sparingly, but seeing Su Chaoci nearly drink himself into a stupor, he quickly intervened, pressing a hand down on his wine jug.

Su Chaoci struggled against him.

Zhou Tan refused to let go. In the tussle, he suddenly exerted force, and the bronze wine jug crashed loudly against the ground. “Enough! Stop drinking!”

Qu You’s hand, holding her round fan, froze mid-motion.

Bai Shating and Ai Disheng’s teasing laughter cut off abruptly. The pavilion fell into complete silence, broken only by the sound of cicadas ringing through the quiet post-rain night.

Su Chaoci glared at him, eyes red, suddenly rising to his feet and smashing his own wine cup down. “What exactly are you trying to do?!”

He pointed a trembling finger at Zhou Tan. “That case at the Ministry of Justice yesterday was clearly a deliberate frame-up… The scheme was so obvious, finding evidence would have been easy. I wanted to speak up for you—why did you stop me? After your argument with His Majesty in the imperial study, I went to explain things to him, and you wouldn’t allow that either. Ever since that debate the other day, I’ve wanted to ask—what exactly is it you want? Must you drive yourself into ruin, hated by all and abandoned by everyone close to you?”

His words came out disjointed, his tone rising and falling erratically. He’d expected Zhou Tan wouldn’t respond at all—but after a moment, Zhou Tan answered quietly, “Yes.”

“What did you say?”

The hand holding Zhou Tan’s wine cup trembled slightly. In that brief moment of distraction, Qu You snatched the cup from him and downed it in one gulp, then tossed it carelessly aside. “Let me… speak for him. Let him hear it too, and see if I’ve guessed correctly.”

Zhou Tan turned to look at her, his throat working, and finally managed with difficulty, “A’Lian!”

Qu You paid him no mind, only asking, “Brother Su, setting aside the people’s livelihood for now—what do you make of the current state of the court?”

Su Chaoci was startled, then pressed his fingers to his temple, forcing himself to think more clearly. “…It’s as incompatible as water and fire. Even with Xiaobai and I sharing a common cause, factionalism has already taken root. The new officials His Majesty promoted stand divided in court from the old nobility and former officials of the capital, each harboring their own hidden agendas. Under the old regime, with Gao Ze and Fu Qingnian, there were at least only two factions—but now there are countless. Never mind, Xiaobai understands all this too. For us to push through reform so urgently at a time like this…”

Qu You cut him off. “Then how would you break this deadlock in the court?”

Su Chaoci was left speechless, opening his mouth and hesitating a long while before finally saying, “Curbing factional strife is not something achieved overnight…”

Ai Disheng suddenly gave a low, bitter laugh beside them. “So that’s how it is.”

Bai Shating looked at him in confusion.

Qu You ignored him and smiled. “I have a good plan.”

“Please, do share.”

“Right now, old and new officials alike waver back and forth, scheming in every direction, simply because His Majesty has only recently ascended the throne and his Chancellor lacks years of accumulated authority—it needs time still… And as the Council of State’s power grows, it threatens the interests of the old nobility, and to protect what they’ve gained, they’re forced to find ways to counteract it.”

Zhou Tan reached out and took her hand.

“To settle a court like this as quickly as possible requires a Chancellor who has the Emperor’s complete trust from above, and the support of both old and new factions, the great clans, and the censors and scholars from below. He must be decisive and swift, wielding an iron hand while still commanding universal respect. Hold the Council of State for two years, and factional strife would surely be quelled.”

“What you say is true, my lady, but…” Su Chaoci listened, stunned. “Such a figure—since our dynasty’s founding, only Chancellor Liu and Chancellor Gu ever fit that description. Looking across Xuande Hall today, where could one possibly find such a person? Though Xiaobai has the protection of the late Emperor’s dying edict… the scandals of his early years have damaged his reputation too badly. To achieve such standing, he’d likely need many more years yet. And besides that…”

He trailed off, stopping himself mid-sentence.

Qu You gripped Zhou Tan’s hand even tighter, feeling a bitterness spread across her tongue, but she forced herself to continue. “Of course such a person exists, Brother Su. It’s you.”

“You come from a distinguished, noble family, already held in high esteem under the previous reign, and you were the Emperor’s tutor besides—capable of mediating among all the factions. There is no one in this entire court more suited to the role than you.”

Su Chaoci turned his string of five-colored prayer beads over in his fingers, instinctively protesting. “I… I have no such ability, nor such standing. Even if Xiaobai handed the chancellorship to me directly, I doubt I could manage it, not in the short term.”

In truth, he had already worked it out for himself—he simply refused to admit it yet.

“There is a way,” Zhou Tan finally spoke, his voice slightly hoarse. “There is a way, Chaoci. You need only do something to prove yourself—prove that you have ambition, that you have the ability, that you can hold every faction’s competing interests in check, and that you can rid them of what troubles them most.”

He held his wine cup, walked over to stand beside Su Chaoci, and took a deep breath.

“My life, in truth, ended the moment I was drawn into the Burning Candles case, forced to betray my teacher just to survive—or perhaps even earlier than that. But you’re different. You come from an upright, respected lineage, with a longstanding good name. What you lack now is simply an opportunity.”

Su Chaoci stared fixedly at him, watching his lips move.

“From the day I entered the Council of State, I’ve deliberately let the rumors against me spread unchecked. Reform… has always been my heart’s desire. But just as Huai’an said the other day, it should truly have waited another twenty years. That I’ve pushed it forward so hastily now is because I’m seeking a way that harms the dynasty’s foundations the least, while still achieving what I set out to accomplish.”

“…No reformer ever meets a good end. Given time—at most two years—I will become the target of resentment throughout the entire court, far more so than I already am. By then, the early gains of the reform will have already taken root, marking a good beginning, but it will also have drawn anger from every direction. You’ll write a memorial, and with your own hand, send me—the chief culprit—into the imperial prison, abolishing the new law. From that moment on, in court, your word will be final, and no faction will dare defy you. Factional strife will end, the borders will remain secure under Little Yan’s watch, and Great Yin will enjoy a century of peace in exchange.”

He finished in a single breath, walked over to Ai Disheng, snatched his wine, and downed it in one gulp. Bai Shating sat there utterly stunned, the wine cup in his hand clattering to the ground.

Su Chaoci sat frozen in place, motionless as a stone statue.

“…And what of your reputation?”

Zhou Tan avoided his gaze, giving a mocking laugh.

“Reputation… what does that even matter! I never had it to begin with, and pursuing it now would mean nothing. Just as I told you the other day—what use is fame in life, or a name after death, compared to what’s in front of us right now? I have no interest in spending my life scheming after something so intangible… The history books praising me endlessly wouldn’t make me any happier now. Being cursed, being remembered in infamy for a thousand years—that’s nothing more than gossip after I’m already gone. What is there to fear in that? All I have left now is this one final wish. If I can see it through, I want for nothing else. Even death would hold no regret.”

The table fell into dead silence.

Qu You lifted the wine jug, gave a first laugh, then raised a hand toward the moon, as though speaking to someone unseen. “Back then, to bring down Peng Yue, Xianghui and Wuping schemed together, willing to make themselves the bargaining chips, to become a sharp blade, sacrificing their lives in exchange for justice. You couldn’t save them then, and it consumed you with guilt afterward…”

“And now, after all this time, you insist on using the very same method—turning yourself into a blade too, just to achieve your end. And I… just like you back then, even knowing this in advance, I’m utterly powerless to stop it—how laughable. I know this is your heart’s wish, and I know there’s no better way, so I can’t even bring myself to try to stop you.”

She slumped onto the table for a while, unclear whether she was laughing or crying. After a moment, she abruptly rose to her feet and stumbled over to stand before Zhou Tan.

Perhaps because she’d drunk too quickly, she felt herself already thoroughly drunk after only a few cups.

Qu You reached out and grabbed the snow-white collar of Zhou Tan’s robe. Worried she might lose her balance, he reached out and wrapped an arm around her waist.

She used the moment to lean close to his ear and whispered, “This morning, the question I asked you—I’ve finally worked out the answer. Back then, Xianghui resorted to that desperate measure because she knew her days were already numbered. So then, Zhou Tan…”

“Tell me—how much longer do you have left to live?”