◎ Old Matters ◎

Not wanting the trouble of it himself, Bo Ying sent the shop boy out to order a table of food, and took Ai Disheng along to buy several jars of good wine. By the time everyone sat down at the table, it was already high noon.

Qu You didn’t care for drinking. She lifted the wine jar and poured a cup for Zhou Tan, then suddenly remembered something and asked, “Oh, right — how is that child, A’Luo, doing?”

Before Bo Ying could answer, Ai Disheng spoke up. “As it happens, it was quite the coincidence. That day Ziqian was feeling unwell, so I asked Physician Bo to come look at him, and it turned out Ziqian recognized A’Luo — apparently they go back quite a ways. She’s been staying at Qifeng Courtyard for the time being.”

Zhou Tan’s hand froze around his cup. “Have you looked into it?”

Ai Disheng patted his shoulder, gesturing for him not to worry. “The children knew each other from hard times. I’ve checked into it — she’s just another poor soul, same as the rest.”

Neither of them said it outright, but Qu You suddenly remembered — although Zhou Tan had shown her the edict, he’d never actually mentioned that “Ziqian” was Song Shixuan.

That a beggar child like A’Luo would have ties to Song Shixuan meant she must have been an old friend of his from his days as a fugitive. That Ai Disheng felt safe leaving her at Qifeng Courtyard was proof enough her background had been thoroughly vetted.

Speaking of A’Luo, Bo Ying let out a heavy sigh. “A congenital weakness, and on top of that, ten years of drifting from place to place, never enough to eat — it’s a wonder she’s made it this far at all. I checked her pulse myself. Not even the immortals could save her now. I’d guess… she won’t make it past next winter.”

Qu You gave a small gasp, her heart sinking.

Poor girl — scraping by among the beggars all these years, and just when she’d finally found someone to look out for her, her days were already numbered. Cruel, unfair, and so very sad.

Zhou Tan quietly stroked her back, and she felt the comfort he meant to offer. She forced a smile. “Well, never mind. One of these days I’ll bring the cat and go see the children — cheer them up a little.”

After they’d eaten a few bites, Bo Ying began pestering Ai Disheng for advice on running his medicinal food shop. Though he was technically the owner, he asked his questions half-heartedly and listened even less attentively — nowhere near as engaged as Dingxiang and Zhi Ling beside him, whose eyes lit up as they clutched their notebooks, scribbling furiously, wishing they could write down every single word Ai Disheng said.

Qu You listened in with some interest.

She didn’t know what Ai Disheng had done before, but the fact that he ran an entire district’s worth of businesses on North Street in such good order, and commanded such respect, said enough about his skill.

His advice to Bo Ying was genuinely useful — organizing the wooden recipe placards by category, such as heart, liver, spleen, stomach, and lungs; creating dedicated menus for things like calming the mind or nourishing the skin; converting the second floor into private rooms to receive distinguished guests; hiring people to spread word of the shop’s reputation, and so on.

Bo Ying, cup in hand, hummed approvingly. “Excellent, excellent. Sister Dingxiang, Sister Zhi Ling, make sure you remember all this.”

Ai Disheng sighed helplessly. “Seems like you really don’t intend to lift a finger at all.”

Bo Ying replied, “I’ve got these two ladies to hold things down — what would I even be needed for! All I want out of life is to make money lying down. The ladies work hard, so they get a bigger cut, and I take less — as long as I have enough for wine and meat when I want it, I’m satisfied. If it’s not enough, well, we’ll just earn more!”

An admirably easygoing outlook on life.

Seeing Qu You shaking her head and smiling, Ai Disheng asked, “Physician Bo tells me it was Madam’s idea to open this shop in the first place — there aren’t many places along the Bian River street focused on health-nourishing cuisine. Does Madam have any other suggestions?”

“Suggestions?” Qu You propped her chin in thought, then said slowly, “I certainly don’t understand business the way Proprietress Ai does, but I did take a look around the shop just now, and I have a few thoughts, if you’d like to hear them.”

Ai Disheng said, with interest, “Please.”

Qu You tapped the wooden table beside her. “The most important point, Proprietress Ai has already covered. When I first suggested Physician Bo open this shop, I wanted him to make it for people like me.”

“His medicinal ingredients are expensive, and time-consuming to prepare — naturally the clientele should be officials and nobility, not commoners. And men go out mostly to socialize, while it’s women who tend to care more about nourishing their health. The reason the ground-floor hall is so empty is that ordinary laborers passing by can’t afford it, so men don’t come — and women wouldn’t want to sit in the open main hall in plain view anyway. There’s really no need for it. In my view, Physician Bo would do better turning half the first floor into private rooms as well, and setting up the other half more like an apothecary, with someone assigned specifically to bring in distinguished guests. A single transaction there could bring in a great deal.”

Most of her suggestions actually came from her own past experience as a customer — how to run a high-end restaurant, how to offer attentive, personalized service, even setting up special discount days, keeping errand boys on hand, and offering home delivery for dishes that took a long time to prepare.

Ai Disheng listened, exclaiming his approval again and again. By the end of the meal, he felt as though he’d met a kindred spirit far too late. As the two of them were saying their goodbyes, he was still shaking Zhou Tan by the shoulder. “Xiaobai, you lucky devil — marrying a wife this capable! Even if you lost the whole family fortune, you’d never end up on the street, she’d earn it all right back…”

Zhou Tan, expression cold, took his leave — but Qu You noticed him sneak in a kick at Ai Disheng, who was too drunk to notice. She couldn’t help but laugh. “You and Proprietress Ai are quite close, aren’t you?”

The carriage swayed gently. Zhou Tan leaned out to give the driver a few instructions, and by the time he turned back to her, his expression had eased considerably. “An old friend from the imperial examinations — kindred spirits, in a way. He comes from a merchant family, and owed his entire path forward to the Su clan’s guidance. We lived together for a time after the palace examination.”

Bo Ying and Ai Disheng loved their drink dearly; Zhi Ling and Dingxiang had had a few cups as well. Zhou Tan had only taken a single sip, and Qu You had merely tasted hers. “No wonder — it’s rare to see you so at ease with anyone.”

Zhou Tan, unwilling to keep discussing it, changed the subject instead. “If you want to visit Ziqian at Qifeng Courtyard, call on me to go with you. His… identity is a delicate matter. If you went alone, I’m afraid they wouldn’t let you in.”

Qu You made a small sound of acknowledgment. “I figured as much.”

Zhou Tan raised an eyebrow. “You figured?”

“You’ve already shown me… that. And judging by his age, it wasn’t hard to guess.” Qu You noticed the carriage wasn’t heading toward the Zhou residence, and asked, “Where are we going?”

Zhou Tan said, perfectly serious and calm, “To steal something.”

For a moment, Qu You didn’t quite process it. When it hit her what he’d said, she was thoroughly stunned. “I’m sorry, what?”

How was this man capable of saying such a thing with a completely straight face, as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world…

She frowned, glancing outside like a nervous accomplice. “Steal what, exactly?”

Zhou Tan, unused to seeing her like this, cleared his throat. “Do you remember — in the letters Miss Liu gave you, there was one page with only a single line of poetry written on it?”

There had been such a page, now that she thought about it. Between the two of them, they’d managed to make sense of most of the letters Liu Lianxi had transcribed from memory — except for one, disconnected from the rest, bearing only a line from Li Bai: “Beneath the moon, a heavenly mirror takes flight; where clouds rise, a sea-mirage palace forms.”

“I remember.”

“Some time ago, on Jinghua Mountain, right before he died, Peng Yue told me that whatever he was holding, Fu Qingnian couldn’t find it either.”

Qu You nodded. “Now that we know what he had — it was probably the written account Master Wuyuan left with Old Fu. But perhaps not the original. My guess is, it was something he saw when he escorted Gongshu Duan from Ruozhou to the capital, and he made a copy to protect himself.”

“Every page of Miss Liu’s transcribed letters carries that crooked relay-station seal — except for this one page, which instead has three brushstrokes.” Zhou Tan said flatly. “Three strokes for ‘Peng.’ This line of poetry was most likely left by Peng Yue himself.”

“I originally assumed he’d take his leverage with him when he left the capital — but thinking it over, I suspect he might not have. Ruozhou was Peng Yue’s hometown. Once he reached Ruozhou, it would have been very difficult for Fu Qingnian to silence him, even if he wanted to. If I were him, I’d leave behind an ambiguous clue like this one, then write a letter to explain it once I was safe, hand the thing over, and wash my hands of the whole dangerous business for good — living out my days peacefully back home.”

“So when you heard what he meant, you realized he’d never actually brought the evidence with him at all — which is why you had Miss Yan act before he even finished speaking.”

Qu You suddenly understood. Peng Yue’s disjointed last words before he died had left her deeply confused — if Zhou Tan really wanted to know where the evidence was, why would he have someone kill Peng Yue before he could finish speaking? Now she realized — Zhou Tan had only wanted to confirm whether Peng Yue was carrying it on him.

“If he didn’t have it on him, it might still be in his residence. Surely Fu Qingnian and Du Hui already went to search for it?”

“Fu Qingnian was waiting for Peng Yue to reach Ruozhou and explain everything to him directly, so right after Peng Yue first left, he probably didn’t search very thoroughly. If he did, it would have been a cursory sweep at best. And after that, I had his residence sealed off.” Zhou Tan gave a faint smile. “Since it’s hard to find, leaving it sealed away forever isn’t such a bad thing. Fu Qingnian has no idea I’ve seen that line of poetry — he’s confident that if he couldn’t find it, neither can I. Today, we’re going to try our luck.”

The carriage stopped not long after. Qu You steadied herself on Zhou Tan’s arm as she stepped down, only to find he’d brought her right into the middle of the Bian River street — Bo Ying’s shop stood behind Fan Tower, surrounded mostly by restaurants, while the busiest stretch of the street, in the middle, was lined with several of the finest pleasure houses, along with shops selling cosmetics, fabrics, and jewelry.

Qu You asked, puzzled, “Didn’t you say we were going to—”

“In broad daylight? How could we possibly go now?” Zhou Tan signaled for He San to bring He Xing and Shui Yue along, and said, quite seriously, “At the very least, we’ll have to wait until night. It’s my rest day, and I invited you out for a stroll — I can’t very well break that promise now, can I?”

When Ren Shiming pushed open the door and stepped out, he found his footing rather unsteady.

The air was thick with a cloying, intoxicating sweetness. He gripped the wooden railing as he made his way downstairs, and nearly missed a step, about to pitch forward headfirst, when a pair of hands caught and steadied him.

The sweet fragrance was replaced by the cool, clean scent of plum blossoms. In his haze, he was helped into a room and laid down. He reached out, but caught only a scrap of silk skirt.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw an exquisitely carved red candle, burning steadily.

Beyond the red candle, a beauty raised her eyes idly. She was tuning her pipa, and didn’t seem startled to see him awake — merely continued adjusting the strings. “You’re awake?”

“Chun Niangzi…” His throat felt hoarse. He forced himself upright and drank the tea sitting nearby. “How did I end up here?”

Ye Liuchun ignored him, plucking a single note, then sighed. “Your elder brother and Chancellor Fu are locked in a bitter feud, and you’re throwing your life away working for Chancellor Fu — aren’t you afraid of breaking his heart?”

Ren Shiming answered coldly, “I have no elder brother.”

“Yuequ,” Ye Liuchun called to him, using his courtesy name. Her beautiful eyes, unlike their usual soft, flowing warmth, now carried a note of careless mockery. “The first time I met you, I could tell right away you had high aspirations and deep loyalty — and most of all, that you shared the same devotion to the nation as those upright scholar-officials, the same great ambitions.”

Ren Shiming sat at the table, pinching at his own fingers. They seemed to have gone numb; he couldn’t feel any pain at all.

“No matter how much resentment you hold toward Lord Zhou, you shouldn’t have gone and pledged yourself to Chancellor Fu.” Ye Liuchun shook her head. “The day of the Ministry of Justice’s public hearing, when you brought forward evidence to obstruct him — did you truly understand what you were doing? When you think back on it, don’t you feel regret, don’t you feel your heart clench? If that case really had been buried because of what you did, where would all those wronged souls, stretching for miles down the imperial avenue, have gone to seek justice?”

“You really believe he did all that for the sake of those wronged women?” Ren Shiming let out a scornful laugh, though his voice trembled for some reason he couldn’t explain. “He did it to eliminate his rivals — just like this recent business with the Du household. He fabricates evidence to frame officials, climbing over the bones of others to rise higher… He’s practiced at this, it’s not the first time he’s used this trick. Wasn’t that exactly what happened to my father?”

It had been winter when Zhou Tan first brought his younger brother to the capital.

That day, Ren Shiming had just finished his morning studies, and pushed open the door from his father’s front hall, only to see the household steward leading in two young men. The taller of the two had a gentle, jade-like bearing, and raised his hands to give his father a formal bow in the old style.

He had a pair of amber-colored eyes. When he lifted his head after the bow, snowflakes still clung to his hair.

His father had helped the two of them up in the courtyard, then introduced them. “Ming’er, this is your elder cousin from your Aunt Bai’s family in Lin’an. His name is Tan — the tan of rosewood.”

From that day on, the dull, tedious family schoolroom had two new playmates in it.

Zhou Yang hated studying, could never sit still for even a moment. Zhou Tan, by contrast, was steady and composed, sitting upright at the desk with a perfectly straight back, able to remain there an entire afternoon. The incense burning nearby seemed to seep into him entirely, leaving him steeped in that same scent of quiet water.

At first, Ren Shiming had found the two brothers, so doted on by his parents, a little irritating. But in time, he’d come to truly consider them family. Zhou Yang was lively and mischievous, always dragging him off to climb trees and catch cicadas together, while Zhou Tan would sit in the courtyard with a book in hand, saying little, though his hearing was remarkably sharp — even from beneath the tree, he could tell precisely whether the two of them had wandered off in the wrong direction.

Later, Zhou Tan swept the imperial examinations, earning first place in all three rounds, riding high on success. He and Zhou Yang had squeezed into the crowd to watch that same brother, who had first arrived amid heavy snow, now ride his horse down Bian River street, pelted from every side with flowers.

Word had it that even the Chancellor’s daughter, catching sight of him from atop the city wall, had been so startled that her jade hairpin slipped from her hair and fell straight into the new top scholar’s arms.

When Zhou Tan was posted away from the capital, Ren Shiming sat for the exams himself, riding down that same street as his elder brother once had, filled with regret that Zhou Tan couldn’t be there to see it in person.

Zhou Yang had no interest in the exams at all — all he wanted was to run off and join the army, and their father had given him a proper beating for it.

Ren Shiming still remembered — the New Year’s Eve before the fifteenth year of the Yongning era arrived was the last truly complete, joyful spring festival in his memory.

Zhou Tan had taken a post at the Court of Judicial Review — an office without much real power, but anyone with eyes could see it was a path Gu Zhiyan had deliberately laid out for him. Newly returned to the capital after his provincial posting, he’d been given the rank of the fourth grade right away — the lowest rung of the fourth grade, granted, but still, his peers were still struggling at the bottom rungs of the remonstrance bureau. No one else had such a smooth, effortless path.

The most brilliant, most favored student of the empire’s most renowned Chancellor — his future bright and glorious, his career path unobstructed, destined, almost as a matter of course, to one day ascend to the cabinet and become Chancellor himself.

Far off, Fan Tower blazed with fireworks lighting up the sky, and those amber eyes were lit again and again, then dimmed once more, heavy with shadow.

The three of them, drunk, sat together in the ancestral hall, talking late into the night.

He’d asked, “Elder brother, do you have any wishes?”

Zhou Yang, who’d had the most to drink, slurred out first, “Uncle, let me go join the army! I want to… ride into battle, armor and blade, defend the nation’s borders, live up to what Father and Mother always hoped for me!”

Even as he spoke, he suddenly burst into loud, wailing sobs. “Brother, brother…”

Zhou Tan silently reached out and patted his back, his gaze holding something distant that Ren Shiming couldn’t quite understand. In the flickering candlelight of the ancestral hall, he spoke quietly.

“My wish… is for my whole family to live in peace and prosperity, never to fail those I love. I wish to devote my life to the common people, to keep the realm at peace, and the world at rest.”

A lie.

A clumsy, obvious lie.

Looking back on it now, it was easy to see how strange Zhou Tan had always been.

The way he always preferred to sit alone in the schoolroom, never once discussing court matters with his father, only occasionally letting slip a hint here and there.

The way he loved to space out, lost in thought. One night, coming home very late, believing himself alone, he had laughed and wept by turns in the corridor, then picked up a brush and written on one of the pillars: “That which abandons me — the days now past cannot be kept. That which troubles my heart — the days yet to come bring endless grief.”

He had seen it, but said nothing. Days of heavy rain followed soon after, washing the ink away entirely, as though it had never been written at all.

When the Candlelight case first broke, and his father heard that Zhou Tan had been thrown into prison for remonstrating fiercely at court, he’d rushed about trying to call in every favor he had for news, but learned nothing at all, driven half-mad with worry. And when his father himself was later implicated and imprisoned, he’d gone to see Zhou Tan — who by then had betrayed his own teacher’s school — only to be turned away at the door.

When Chancellor Gu drowned himself in the Qingxi River, the news spread wildly through the markets and streets, and everyone said it was Zhou Tan’s ingratitude that had driven his own benefactor to his death.

The Emperor rewarded the newly appointed Vice Minister of Justice with a fine residence. As the common people took to the streets to send off Chancellor Gu’s coffin, his gates remained tightly shut — he never once came out to look.

It was many days later before Ren Shiming finally saw him, in the rear hall of the Ministry of Justice. By then, he had already shed the Court of Judicial Review’s black cloak; he wore a crimson official’s robe beneath a matching cloak, which made his face look as pale as snow.

Seeing someone approach, he didn’t move — only turned his face coldly toward the visitor, fresh blood still splattered across it from an interrogation.

Ren Shiming had wanted to ask about his time in prison, wanted to ask whether his old wounds had healed, wanted to ask why he never returned to the family residence. He’d thought of so many things to say, and in the end, asked none of them.

Because Zhou Tan had already lowered his eyes indifferently and said to him, “There’s nothing I can do about your father’s situation. As for the years of room and board you’ve provided me, I’ve already converted it all into silver and sent it to your household. From today onward, please don’t come looking for me again, Young Master Ren.”

He simply couldn’t believe it — that all their years of friendship had meant so little to Zhou Tan.

The matter grew too large to contain. Zhou Yang rushed back from the army, and upon learning that Zhou Tan had refused to lift a finger to save Ren Pingsheng, cursed him out in utter disbelief, and in the end, the two of them severed all ties at the family shrine, tearing their robes apart in the old ritual break of brotherhood.

Zhou Tan had answered only, again and again, with the same words: “There’s nothing I can do.”

Even if it were truly beyond his power, even if he simply didn’t want to be dragged into the matter and was only protecting himself — if he’d just offered one word of explanation…

His father was sentenced to exile, but his health could never survive the long journey. Under the laws of this dynasty, exile could be commuted with a payment of silver. His mother had borrowed a great sum from the family’s main branch in Jinling, sold off what property they had, and with great difficulty finally managed to save his father, bringing him home to recover.

The moment Ren Pingsheng was released from prison, the first thing he did was call Ren Shiming and Zhou Yang to his bedside and, with a cold expression, forbid them ever to associate with Zhou Tan again. Gu Zhiyan had shown him boundless kindness, and yet this man had turned on him with a heart of wolf and lungs of dog, betraying both teacher and forebears — if he could do such a thing to the man who raised him, who knew what he might do to friends and family. Such a man deserved the wrath of both gods and men.

And yet Ren Shiming had clearly seen — when no one else was around, his father still sat lost in thought for long stretches, holding a painting Zhou Tan had once given him.

Ren Shiming had once enjoyed an excellent reputation among the scholarly circles. Now that his fortunes had collapsed, thanks to having severed ties with Zhou Tan, he wasn’t dragged down along with him. Old friends would pull him aside, spitting with fury as they denounced Zhou Tan’s ruthless methods now at the Ministry of Justice, righteously indignant, saying that even Lord Ren himself had been used as nothing more than a stepping stone by the man.

Ren Shiming, feeling suffocated, excused himself from his friends and fled, running into a dignified elderly man by the Bian River. The old man asked him, “Are you a son of the Ren family?”

Only then did he realize he’d run into the current Chancellor. The Chancellor stood beside him, expressing his sympathies over what had happened to the Ren family, then asked whether he’d like to become his student.

Fu Qingnian was Zhou Tan’s political enemy — Ren Shiming knew that perfectly well.

And yet he’d said yes anyway. Perhaps it was because the Chancellor had, almost offhandedly, remarked: “He abandoned you so heartlessly simply because he decided the Ren family was no longer of any use to him. Don’t you want him to look at you differently, Yuequ?”

Thinking back on it now, Ren Shiming felt a splitting headache coming on.

He’d learned to play the game, to compromise, to shed some of his scholarly integrity, exchanging cups with his fellow officials at court. Fu Qingnian hadn’t taken him in directly as a formal disciple, only telling him to gain some experience first.

During the public hearing at the Ministry of Justice, when he’d caused that scene, he’d heard his usually cold and composed elder brother shout “Ren Yuequ” from behind him — and yet, he found the satisfaction he’d expected never came.

Ye Liuchun finally set down her pipa and rose, coming over to press gently at his forehead, her voice soft. “I knew your elder brother back in Lin’an. And you’ve spent even more time by his side than I have — you know, deep down, what kind of man he really is… Stop torturing yourself over this. Do you know he was nearly assassinated recently — nearly died for real? If he really had died, what would you have done?”

“How could he possibly die?” Ren Shiming startled, though he still spoke stubbornly. “His Majesty even arranged a marriage for him — why would he let him die…”

Ye Liuchun gave up trying to persuade him, turning instead to open the door. Outside, the faint, melancholy sound of music drifted in.

“If you insist on tormenting yourself, there’s nothing more I can say.” Ye Liuchun said. “Next time you drink too much, if you’re not at Chunfenghuayu Tower, don’t go wandering off up any high places alone.”

As he left, he caught sight of a lovers’ knot embroidered with the character “Bai,” tucked beneath her pipa.

“Chun Niangzi, you’re just as unable to let go of the past as I am.”

The flowers decorating the corridor were vivid and seductive, and the woman’s lingering voice still sang on behind him.

Her jeweled hair loosened, her captivating gaze lingering. The moon bright, the world hushed, over nine layers of mountains.

Ren Shiming went downstairs, and stood by the Bian River, letting the cold wind clear his head from the wine — only to catch sight of a scene so strange it felt like a dream.

Zhou Tan sat together with the beautiful new bride he’d seen at the wedding banquet, the two of them in a plain, simple little boat, a figure in black rowing at the stern. The small boat, painted black, blended into the night, marked only by a single flickering lantern at its side.

He almost thought it was a hallucination, watching, transfixed, as the boat carrying the two of them drifted silently past him, gliding into the pitch-black distance.

Scattered lanterns still floated, unextinguished, on the surface of the Bian River, broken apart and scattered by the strokes of the oar.

Ren Shiming stood frozen on the bank for a long while, rubbing his eyes, trying to see more clearly — but that faint, flickering light had already vanished completely from view.

He leaned forward slightly to look — and suddenly felt a powerful shove from behind.

—Someone had pushed him off the bridge!

Startled, Ren Shiming tried to turn and see who was behind him, but there was no time at all — he fell, straight down. He’d braced himself for the icy shock of river water, but instead landed hard on the wooden deck of a boat.

The fall left him dazed, and it took him a long moment before he could rise. Just as his senses returned, he heard the sudden, abrupt sound of something dropping into the water.

The cabin of the boat was pitch dark. It seemed someone had leapt off the stern. Ren Shiming pulled himself up by the railing, but couldn’t take another step forward—

The reek of blood hung thick in the boat. By the fleeting light of a passing flower lantern, he saw a fresh corpse.

Author’s Note:

Over 6000 words today

Edison: Your wife is really cut out for business!!

Tan: Don’t you have a wife of your own? Why compliment someone else’s!

Edison: ?

Ye Liuchun: I’m genuinely done — this little brother got thrown into the burn pile and by the end all that’s left of him is a mouth!

PS

“That which abandons me — the days now past cannot be kept. That which troubles my heart — the days yet to come bring endless grief.” — Li Bai, “Farewell at Xie Tiao Tower in Xuanzhou, Presented to Uncle Yun the Collator”

“Beneath the moon, a heavenly mirror takes flight; where clouds rise, a sea-mirage palace forms.” — Li Bai, “Crossing Jingmen, a Farewell”

Thanks to the little angels who watered with nutrient solution: Good Luck Please, Solitary Wanderer Buddha’s Son, 1 bottle;

Thank you all so much for your support — I’ll keep working hard!