◎ Dawn and Dusk ◎

Qu Cheng was a court historian, and hearing her ask such a question, he felt inward surprise, though his expression betrayed nothing. He only asked, “Why do you ask this?”

“What I’ve read in books, what I’ve gathered from rumor, what I’ve heard from the world at large—all of it differs from what I’ve seen with my own eyes and heard with my own ears.” Qu You stirred the plain congee in her bowl, speaking half in earnest, half evasively. “Sometimes I think, words carry us far from the truth of a person, and even what we witness may not be real. Unless I possess some art of seeing directly into another’s heart, in the end it’s all just guesswork.”

“You used to care only for poetry and verse, never reading the histories of past dynasties. That you can ask such a question today shows real progress.” Qu Cheng praised her, looking pleased. “Zhuangzi once wrote, ‘Even should ten thousand generations pass before one meets a great sage, it would feel as close as an encounter between dawn and dusk.’ Do you know what this means?”

“That if one has a true confidant, even ten thousand generations apart would feel as intimate as meeting morning and evening.” Qu You thought it over. “That line comes from the ‘Discussion on Making All Things Equal.'”

“As the Tang poets wrote, hearts connected without words, understood in a single spark—that is also what Zhuangzi sought.” Qu Cheng’s expression grew serious. “What you call the ‘truth of a person’ is, to one who compiles history, something far too intangible. What passes through my hands spans a thousand autumns, ten thousand years—how could I seek the truth of any single soul within all that? To reach the truth you speak of would require reading another’s heart, sharing in their feelings, like a single drop merging into the sea—only once merged could one grasp its vastness. It’s exceedingly difficult.”

He fell silent for a moment, then couldn’t help but ask, “Do you believe Vice Minister Zhou is different from what the rumors say?”

So he really had understood her meaning. Qu You wasn’t sure what to make of his tone, so she lowered her head and drank her congee without answering.

Father and daughter finished their breakfast in silence. Qu You, having already eaten once, forced herself to drink another bowl of plain congee, and still felt somewhat bloated as she left. After that question, the two of them exchanged no further words. Qu You took her leave and went to the back garden.

Qu Jiaxi and Qu Jiayu were waiting for her in front of the hall; the moment she arrived, they pulled her by either arm into the hall and sat her down, one pouring tea, the other bringing melon seeds, asking in unison, “Did Father hit you with the ruler?”

Qu You said proudly, “No!”

Seeing the state of the three of them, Yin Xiangru couldn’t help but laugh. “The two of them didn’t get the chance to speak with you when you visited after the wedding, and you happened to be away the last time they came looking—they’ve been dying to talk to you. Go on, keep them company for a while.”

The two girls crowded around Qu You, chattering about all sorts of things, asking about life at the Zhou residence, then pestering her to tell the story of beating the drum on the Imperial Street again. Qu You patiently answered each question, and handed out the two boxes of jewelry she’d brought for them, which sent them into excited fits, then squabbling over whose piece was nicer.

Taking the opportunity, Yin Xiangru had her sit close, holding her hand and studying her carefully, a note of gentle reproach in her voice. “Last time you said Vice Minister Zhou treated you well enough—how did the talk in the streets turn so ugly so quickly? I can see your food and clothing are of fine quality, so he hasn’t neglected you, but I still wonder…”

Qu You quickly cut her off, repeating what she’d told Qu Cheng, and told her as well about the backgrounds of Zhi Ling, Yan Wuping, and several other women, until Yin Xiangru nearly wept, pressing a hand to her chest and murmuring several invocations to Buddha.

Yin Xiangru had come from a noble family, disliked socializing, and had married Qu Cheng young, devoting herself to managing the household and raising the children in peace and comfort—except for the few hard months when Qu Cheng had been imprisoned, she’d had little chance to encounter a life like the one Qu You described.

“I don’t know much, and there isn’t much I can say. You’ve always been a girl with a mind of your own—if you feel it’s worth doing, then idle gossip means nothing.” Yin Xiangru sighed. “Pick a day, and I’ll go with you to Tingshan Xiuqing Temple to pray—say a prayer for these poor women as well.”

Qu You wasn’t much of a believer in gods or Buddhas herself. When Ding Xiang and Zhi Ling had first left Fangxin Pavilion, they’d invited her to Xiuqing Temple as well, but she’d declined, being busy at the time. Still, the noblewomen of the capital seemed to love burning incense at Xiuqing Temple, and Yin Xiangru was no exception.

Qu You said nothing. Yin Xiangru sat in her chair, her gaze drifting toward the screen behind which Qu Jiaxi and Qu Jiayu had just gone, and continued, “Come to think of it, you haven’t been in a long while, have you? You have quite a connection with the master at Xiuqing Temple—you really ought to visit more often.”

“Oh?” Qu You’s interest was piqued. “What do you mean by that, Mother?”

“Have you asked the physician to look at you again recently? Why hasn’t your memory loss from falling in the water improved at all?” Yin Xiangru said, worried. “Have you forgotten? Among you sisters who share the generation character ‘Jia,’ you fell seriously ill at age seven, and the master from Xiuqing Temple came down from the mountain—by some stroke of fate, he was the one who suggested changing your name.”

“Then what was my original name?”

“Jiayi—also a fine name. But the master said the timing wasn’t right, that it clashed with your birth chart, and so it was changed.”

Mother and daughter talked on until midday. When Qu Xiangwen finished at school and heard his eldest sister had come home, he hurried over, satchel of books still in hand. Qu You saw him enter in his white scholar’s robe, bowing properly as he came in—it had only been a few days since she’d last seen him, yet he seemed to have grown taller already.

Qu You picked out a few lines from the Great Learning to quiz him on at random, and to her surprise, the boy, young as he was, answered fluently and at length, his words carrying no small ambition.

“Xiangwen means to sit for the exams next year. I’ve watched him work hard, and I think he’ll do fine,” Yin Xiangru said, smiling as she looked at her. “Now that the whole family’s together again, nothing could be better. If you’ve suffered any wrongs, don’t hide it from me.”

Qu You looped her arm through her mother’s, and glancing up, saw Qu Xiangwen had already set down his satchel and gone off to play with Qu Jiayu. Outside the door, the sunlight was warm and bright, filling her with a rare, gentle sense of contentment.

She took her leave after lunch. Yin Xiangru saw her to the door, then suddenly remembered something. “Jiaxi is currently discussing a marriage match with a young scholar your father has been sponsoring. Though your father is keeping an eye on things, we still need to look further into this young man’s character and family background. If it’s convenient, help us look into it a little.”

Qu You agreed, and only after boarding her carriage did she notice that Qu Cheng had followed her out as well. She stepped down to bow to him, and finally received one more remark from him: “Next month is your mother’s birthday. If your husband comes, don’t let him make a show of it.”

It seemed her words that morning had moved him, at least a little.

As the carriage pulled out of the alley, Qu You found herself turning over the morning’s discussion of the “truth of a person” with Qu Cheng, a tangle of feelings rising in her chest. She told the driver to detour to Bianhe Avenue instead. After getting down, she entered Chunfenghualiu Tower through the back door Ye Liuchun had once left open for her, intending to change into men’s clothes there before heading straight to the Ministry of Justice.

She’d timed it well—knocking and entering, she ran straight into Bai Shating.

Ever since Ye Liuchun had sung that particular song, Qu You had found something indefinably complicated in how she viewed Bai Shating. She’d known from books before that the great poet drifted among the pleasure houses, romantically involved here and there, and it had never bothered her much—but having witnessed Ye Liuchun’s expression that day, she now felt his rakish charm was, in truth, rather hurtful to others.

Still, going by the meaning of that ci-poem, the two of them had known each other very early on; Bai Shating had mocked himself as someone “hard to rely on,” while saying the other treated him with the same “thousand graces” she gave everyone else—which suggested Ye Liuchun wasn’t exactly nursing an undying devotion to him either. Her own sorrow seemed more a matter of nostalgia than heartbreak. Whatever tangled history lay between them, Qu You, as an outsider, felt it wasn’t really her place to say much.

Ye Liuchun had gone herself to fetch the men’s robes Qu You had left with her before. Bai Shating sat at the table sipping tea, and noticing her thoughtful gaze, laughed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

His laugh suddenly interrupted her train of thought.

Because for some inexplicable reason, she felt that Bai Shating’s smile, just now, bore a strange resemblance to Bo Ying’s.

“Master Thirteen… do you happen to know a friend of mine?” Qu You blurted out before she could stop herself. “He practices medicine here in the capital, surname Bo. I don’t know why, but I keep feeling that he and you must have some connection.”

“Is that so?” Bai Shating said, intrigued. “Then introduce us sometime. I’ve always loved making friends—the more, the merrier.”

Qu You couldn’t resist adding, “The more, the merrier, and yet, sir, you might also cherish the one already in front of you.”

Ye Liuchun happened to return just then, and with two maids in tow, gently led her off to another room to change. Before leaving, Qu You caught Bai Shating slapping his thigh and saying, “Speaking of Lady Zhou reminds me—I ran into that rascal Zhou Yang again yesterday, drinking by the river. The boy was dressed like some sort of night prowler—who knows what he’s up to…”

Ye Liuchun asked, curious, “Since when did you start calling her ‘Lady Zhou’?”

Qu You had already walked too far to hear the rest, only catching a faint, grumbling complaint from Bai Shating: “Hmph, and whose fault is that but…”

Zhou Tan had arranged a proper position for her at the Ministry of Justice, so whenever she came, she now had to sign in at the back hall register like everyone else. Li Hongyu, who was usually on duty there and managed exactly this task, was someone Qu You ran into every single time she came—she half suspected the man simply slept at the Ministry and never went home.

She drew a circle next to the position of “Law Clerk” in the register. Li Hongyu set down his pen and immediately struck up a familiar conversation with her. “Brother, haven’t seen you in ages! You’ll never believe the news I heard the other day! I went home and my sister-in-law told me she ran into Lord Zhou’s new wife at a banquet!”

Qu You nearly fell off her stool.

Utterly oblivious, Li Hongyu carried on eagerly. “My sister-in-law said Lady Zhou, young as she is, has this incredible bearing, and beautiful as an immortal to boot—she got into some argument with her over a misunderstanding, but Lady Zhou wasn’t angry at all, even apologized to her, which left my sister-in-law completely mortified… Tch, with a wife like that at home, why would Lord Zhou still go wandering the pleasure districts?”

Gossiping about herself with a Ministry colleague who didn’t even know her name—Qu You was now certain: the man was genuinely a bit clueless.

Still, it hadn’t occurred to her that Gong Yuying would go home and speak so highly of her. It seemed holding back at the banquet had been the right call after all—women really did respond well to the tactic of yielding ground to gain it; the old saying held true.

So Qu You played along glibly. “Really? Who knew Lord Zhou was so fortunate in love! By the way, I heard Lord Liang ran into bandits while seeing the former Chief Justice out of the city—how tragic, how tragic. It’s not very safe outside the capital these days, Lord Liang really should have brought more men.”

Li Hongyu said mournfully, “Exactly right. Though His Majesty rewarded him generously, that hardly brings the dead back to life. I’ve since been transferred under Lord Zhou—I wonder if he’s easier to work under?”

Qu You had been about to head out, but suddenly remembered the question she’d once written on the screen, and turned back to it, chatting idly with Li Hongyu while crouching down to examine it more closely.

The second folding screen was nearly filled now. The question she’d written before had been in tiny, out-of-the-way characters, and she’d assumed Master Baixue wouldn’t even notice it—but he had answered it anyway, his handwriting tucked in among a jumble of everyday chatter, standing out with a distinctly formal air.

She had asked: history is a vast, boundless sea—how can one glimpse the truth of a person within it?

His answer was the very line from Zhuangzi she’d just heard that morning—

“Even should ten thousand generations pass before one meets a great sage, it would feel as close as an encounter between dawn and dusk.”

Qu You froze. Her fingertips traced over the screen, trembling faintly—she hadn’t felt this way during her conversation with Qu Cheng earlier, but the moment she saw the master’s elegant, flowing hand write out this same line, an image rose unbidden in her mind.

It seemed she was back in that spring day in Lin’an she’d seen in her dreams before, apricot blossoms stirred by the spring wind, drifting and scattering all around her. She looked down at herself and found she was wearing the blue-green windbreaker that had once been her favorite from her old wardrobe—the very same coat, she thought, that she’d been wearing when she’d transmigrated into the history books.

The sun was setting in the west, and across a small stream, a figure in white stood on the slope of a hill. Everything felt at once so real and so illusory. The wind lifted the wide hem of his robe, and as he turned in the molten gold light of sunset, his light amber eyes were bright and clear.

Qu You stood rooted to the spot, gazing transfixed at Zhou Tan across the way—he was very young here, no shadow at all in his eyes, smiling faintly, calmly. He simply stood there, not stepping any closer to her, while the sound of pages fluttering rushed through her ears. The instant their eyes met, she felt, with sudden certainty, that she truly knew this person.

Neither of them spoke a word, and yet, by some inexplicable instinct, she felt herself to be the one person in this world who understood him best—and that he felt the same of her. A single stream separated them by more than a thousand years of vast, sprawling time, and yet, absurdly and truly, they had met here, transcending time, transcending space. She had plucked an apricot blossom from within the pages of Chuntan Anthology—all she had to do was read his words, close her eyes, and she could see him.

The ends of the earth collapsed into a hand’s breadth; a thousand years passed in the snap of a finger.

Zhuangzi had lived and died in solitude, longing to meet a great sage even after ten thousand generations—but she had come here, and so dawn and dusk faced each other at last, no longer an empty void.