◎New Year◎

“I hear it hasn’t snowed in Lin’an for years.”

“That sounds like fireworks outside…”

“Peace and health in the new year.”

Qu You, wrapped in a bright red cloak, pushed open the door with a lamp in hand, and snowflakes drifted in behind her, melting almost instantly.

Inside, the stove fire burned warm, and Zhou Tan sat across from Old Man Juemíng, sharing tea.

Zhou Tan sat upright on his cushion, back perfectly straight, holding his teacup with three fingers out of habit, every movement composed and precise.

Compared to him, Old Man Juemíng was considerably more relaxed, sprawled casually by the fire, a chicken leg in one hand, while with the other he downed in a single gulp the tea Zhou Tan had spent two hours carefully brewing, smacking his lips afterward with clear disappointment. “No flavor at all.”

A vein twitched at Zhou Tan’s temple, though his expression didn’t change. He simply said mildly, “I’ll brew it stronger next time.”

Qu You wanted to laugh seeing him like this, and hurried over to ask for a cup herself.

After drinking it, she put on an exaggerated air of appreciation. “Winter snowmelt and plum blossoms brewed together—the fragrance is wonderful. My husband truly is a man of refined taste.”

Zhou Tan reached out and ruffled her hair, saying with mock annoyance, “There are no plum blossoms today.”

Qu You choked for a moment, while Old Man Juemíng across from them, completely oblivious to the couple’s playful banter, happily finished off his chicken leg.

He pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his mouth, then suddenly scrambled to his feet. “It’s actually snowing in Lin’an today—wonderful, wonderful. I’ll set off walking through the snow first thing tomorrow morning. How carefree and free-spirited.”

Qu You looked rather surprised. “Sir… you’re leaving?”

“The old year’s passed—no point sticking around mooching off you two any longer,” Old Man Juemíng said, casually taking hold of Zhou Tan’s wrist as he spoke, smiling. “He’s recovering nicely. Remember to keep taking the medicine I’ve left you.”

Qu You still felt a little uneasy. “Is the poison completely gone now?”

It was only after Old Man Juemíng’s arrival that she’d finally understood—no wonder no one, from the Imperial Academy of Medicine down to the physicians among the common folk, had ever detected the poisoning. Old Man Juemíng, author of Records of the Southern Mountain Herbs, was a master of the art of poison; any poison of his making would naturally be undetectable to ordinary practitioners.

“I’ve stayed this long, from spring all the way to the first snowfall—there’s no way the poison isn’t fully purged by now,” Old Man Juemíng said with a yawn. “If you’ve got any other questions, ask them quickly. It won’t be easy to find me again after this.”

…

The next morning, Qu You went to see Old Man Juemíng off, gifting him a spacious carriage for the journey—even a physician feared the frost and cold of a snowy day.

Zhou Tan didn’t come out to see him off, only sitting inside and playing a tune for him from a distance.

Qu You had assumed a man like Old Man Juemíng wouldn’t much care for music, but to her surprise, he sat still in the carriage tracks for a good while, lost in thought, before climbing aboard as though nothing had happened, chuckling to himself. “That husband of yours…”

“Hmm?”

Old Man Juemíng shook his head, looking rather sympathetic. “Married to a man so skilled at seeing straight through people’s hearts—it can’t have been easy for you, I imagine… Ah, never mind. Since you came out to see me off today, let me give you something.”

As he spoke, he casually pulled a letter from inside his robe.

The letter looked as though it had been handled and rubbed many times over—even the seal at the edge had grown worn.

Qu You took it, and the first thing she saw were five characters: From your unfilial disciple, with respect.

This was… Bo Ying’s letter.

Her breath caught, and she read on.

“Two years apart now—is my master well? I, Ying, have made an unforgivable mistake, one I no longer have the strength to undo. In the depths of night, I still see myself as the ignorant child I once was, my thoughts turning restlessly… Grateful for master’s boundless kindness, for all your help these many years, I have lived on until now, though I sense my time is nearly at an end… This body of mine has known enough suffering; to leave it behind, too, brings its own peace.”

“…Life in this world is brief as morning dew, and yet there is still one thing that weighs on my mind and will not let go. My friend, Zhou Tan, husband of the Qu family, a man of untainted virtue, has done great deeds of righteousness… though I acted against my will, shame and regret settle in me now, futile and empty. As I face death, I find myself utterly adrift, with nothing and no one to entrust this to—I beg my master’s pity. Should Zhou Tan ever leave the capital, please dissolve the poison sealing his throat, that he might live out the rest of his life freely.”

“A mayfly’s life, from dawn to dusk, cannot be reclaimed. I, Ying, have stolen borrowed years enough already, and now I depart without recourse—unfaithful, unfilial, more than words can express. I wish my master well for whatever years remain to you; do not trouble yourself to hold rites for me. Burn this letter once you’ve read it. With deepest respect, and again, with deepest respect.”

The letter had clearly been written in great haste. The moment she finished reading the very last word, Old Man Juemíng reached out and snatched it back from her, tucking it back into its worn, battered envelope. “Finished reading it? Then hand it back. That unlucky disciple of mine left nothing else behind—in years to come, I’ll have only this letter to remember him by.”

Qu You’s lips trembled, but before she could find words, Old Man Juemíng glanced at her and sighed to himself. “He never wanted the two of you to see it, you know. It was I who insisted on bringing it out.”

“His very last words to me, before he died, were to tell me that everything wrong with Zhou Tan’s health was his doing,” Qu You said, blinking and wiping away the faint trace of tears gathering in her eyes. “I thought I’d misjudged him completely—but in the end, he really was just as I once told him: unable, in the end, to become a purely evil man.”

Old Man Juemíng fell into an uncharacteristic silence, and in the end left her with only a sigh. “…Ah, well. The path was his to choose. Whatever else, as long as he didn’t regret it, that’s enough.”

Wind chimes hung from the eaves of the carriage rang out softly, jingling as it slowly drew away into the distance.

Qu You stood where she was, watching the carriage go.

Listening to the chime of the bells, she found herself, in a daze, remembering Bianducheng from many years before—the first time she and Zhou Tan had traveled together, a carriage’s wind chimes ringing out just like this, clear and bright above the noisy street.

Back then, she hadn’t yet encountered that case of the man who’d fallen from the tower, and she and Zhou Tan had barely known each other.

Life’s twists of fate were strange indeed—hearing that same sound again, so many years later, everything had changed and nothing was quite the same, and she couldn’t say whether to feel joy or sorrow.

Zhou Tan appeared behind her at some point, still carrying that familiar scent of still water, silently holding an umbrella over her. After a long moment, he finally said, “Another year has passed.”

Qu You reached out to catch the drifting snowflakes. “Yes… and after this year, everything will be different.”

Zhou Tan wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “There’s something I’d like us to do together, once the snow stops.”

The next day dawned clear and bright, and Zhou Tan brought her up to Apricot Hill Slope behind the villa.

He carried the simple gravestone he’d already had carved for himself, found a spot, and set it up as a grave marker.

Qu You gently brushed her hand over the stone, and saw that the words he’d finally chosen to carve were still that same line: “Though your bodies and names will both perish, the rivers still flow on, unceasing through eternity.”

Zhou Tan brushed the snow from her collar, smiling faintly. “New year, new world—may as well bury the past along with it. Word of my death… should reach Bianducheng soon too.”

Song Shixuan had spared his life, but he could no longer allow his own presence to cast a shadow of influence—only once Zhou Tan had “genuinely” died of illness could everything Su Chaoci had done proceed without leaving those skilled in court maneuvering any grounds for future concern.

After New Year’s Eve came the Lantern Festival. The snow in Lin’an lasted only two days, and by the time the Lantern Festival arrived, there was already a hint of spring warmth in the air.

That night, the two of them went to watch the lanterns at the village on the front hill, and it was already quite late by the time they returned. As was her custom on Lantern Festival night, Qu You hung a single lamp before Zhou Tan’s door, then, feeling the light too dim, lit several more, hoping to bathe the whole villa in brightness.

She and Zhou Tan carried lamps and opened the gate, only to find a figure standing in the shadows before the door.

He seemed to have been waiting there a long while; startled by the sudden opening of the gate, he took a step back in surprise.

A faint rustling stirred immediately all around.

Qu You held up her lamp, and upon seeing the man’s face, called out in surprise, “Your Maj—”

She caught herself and corrected mid-word: “…Ziqian.”

Song Shixuan wore a black cloak wrapped tightly around himself, only his young face showing. He raised a hand and bowed, saying somewhat uneasily, “Mistress, Teacher… I’ve come to pay my respects for the new year.”

Qu You glanced back. In the candlelight, Zhou Tan’s expression was calm, unreadable. After a moment’s silence, he stepped aside. “It’s cold. Come in.”

Song Shixuan immediately hurried inside, afraid Zhou Tan might change his mind. The guards waiting at a distance seemed about to follow, but he waved them off hastily and turned to shut the courtyard gate himself.

Only a young eunuch who’d been standing close by managed to slip in with him. Qu You let out a breath and spoke up first. “Sir, come help me fetch some hot rice balls, won’t you? We’ll share a bowl with each of the men outside the gate.”

The young eunuch looked overwhelmed by the honor. “This servant can go alone, my lady—there’s no need to trouble someone of your standing.”

But unexpectedly, Zhou Tan spoke up. “It’s no trouble. I’ll go along with you both.”

Qu You cooked up a fresh pot of red bean rice balls, distributed them among the guards at the gate, and still had enough left over for a bowl each for the three of them inside.

Song Shixuan sat before the hall, cradling his bowl, lost in thought. By the time Qu You finished her tasks and returned, he still hadn’t taken a single bite.

Zhou Tan sat down across from him and, as though nothing had ever happened between them, asked casually, “Why didn’t Ziqian come with you?”

“He did come, he did—Master Su and Master Ai came too,” Song Shixuan said quickly. “We arrived in the city a bit late today. We’d originally planned to come tomorrow instead, but I couldn’t settle my mind, tossing and turning all night, and ended up coming in the middle of the night instead. I’m sorry to disturb you.”

He licked his lips and asked, with difficulty, “Teacher… are you keeping well?”

Zhou Tan said nothing, so Qu You answered on his behalf. “Very well, very well. Not long ago, Physician Bo’s old master came to visit and spent quite some time nursing him back to health. Life here has been easy and unhurried—better, even, than back in Bianducheng.”

Song Shixuan nodded repeatedly; it seemed he’d already known of this beforehand. After Qu You finished speaking, he seemed at a loss for what to say next.

Not until Zhou Tan spoke, calling to him: “Ziqian…”

Song Shixuan answered at once. “Teacher.”

“Are all our old friends in Bianducheng doing well?”

“Yes, yes, they’re all well. After the new year, Master Ai plans to head to the western frontier to start some new ventures, and take the chance to visit Master Thirteen and his wife as well—Miss Gao is expecting, or else she likely would have come along with Yuechu. Zhou Yang’s been out on campaign with Little Yan and didn’t make it back for New Year’s Eve. Master Su… everything is going smoothly for him at court, all is well, just as Teacher hoped.”

Zhou Tan listened with lowered eyes, and gradually a smile began to surface on his face. He rose and walked closer, patting his shoulder. “You… have done well.”

Hearing those words, Song Shixuan felt, for some reason, an overwhelming rush of grievance well up inside him. Struggling to hold back tears, he lowered his head. “Teacher, what I said before, that day…”

But Zhou Tan suddenly cut him off. “Tomorrow, come with me up to the slope behind the hill. Let’s pay our respects to old friends, and lay their souls to rest.”

On Apricot Hill Slope, besides Zhou Tan’s own false gravestone, there also stood two markers for Bai Qiu and Zhou Shu.

That he was willing to invite him there himself meant he had finally let go.

Qu You let out a breath of relief. Once the meaning sank in, Song Shixuan’s tears fell freely. “…Your disciple has been unworthy. Ever since that day, I’ve thought day and night of everything you taught me… In this world, you’re the very last person I should ever have doubted.”

Zhou Tan didn’t answer, his gaze falling instead on the bowl of red bean rice balls at his side. “Eat up, before it gets cold.”

His own eyes had clearly reddened too, though he pretended otherwise.

Qu You quietly walked over and covered his eyes with her hand.

The next day, Song Shixuan went with Zhou Tan up Apricot Hill Slope. Qu You didn’t accompany them, staying behind at the villa until Su Chaoci and Ai Disheng arrived, faces dark with worry.

The two of them had woken to find the young Emperor had slipped away and left them behind—utterly bewildered, they’d rushed over without pause, only to find no sign of him yet.

Qu You brewed tea for them. Su Chaoci, clearly on edge, kept asking her over and over, “Is Zhou Tan truly all right? If something’s happened to him, sister-in-law, don’t lie to spare me—just tell me plainly. I’ve prepared myself. Has His Majesty gone up the mountain to pay respects…?”

Qu You couldn’t help but laugh. “I already wrote to you, Master Su. Every word of it was the plain truth, no deception at all.”

She noticed, sharp-eyed as ever, that Su Chaoci was unconsciously rubbing the beads at his wrist.

That string of five-colored prayer beads would surely stay with him for the rest of his life, destined to be recorded alongside him in the pages of history.

Later generations would speculate endlessly, never able to guess where it had truly come from.

Not until someone, like her, came in person into the very heart of this storm.