◎ Tipsy ◎
Though the capital had no curfew, aside from the area around Fan Tower, most other districts would gradually douse their lamps around the hour when people settled in for the night. Once the row of shops along the river had closed up one by one, Zhou Tan had He Xing and Shui Yue take the fabric and jewelry they’d bought that day and load them onto the carriage. He San and the driver sat up front to drive, and the group headed back to the residence first.
The two of them had spent the whole afternoon wandering along Bian River street, and after nightfall, had stopped at a couple of riverside stalls to eat sweets. Once they’d sent their attendants away, Zhou Tan led Qu You down a secluded side path to the riverbank.
Beneath one of the twelve bridges over the Bian River, in the dark space under the arch, a figure in black waited in a small boat lit only by a single dim lantern.
The river was no longer as lively as it had been an hour or two earlier; many of the flower lanterns along the banks had already gone out, and only a few late vendors remained, packing up their stalls. Qu You sat at the bow, looking down to see a cold, clear moon reflected in the river’s water.
The small boat slipped quietly past streets where a few voices could still be heard, leaving a trail on the dark water behind it. Zhou Tan sat down beside her without speaking. For some reason, a line from the Analects came to her mind: “If the Way does not prevail, I shall set out to sea upon a raft.”
Zhou Tan wanted to accomplish so much — if it all came to nothing, would anyone be willing to sit beside him on that raft, drifting out to sea?
The water rocked gently beneath them as they passed the still-lit Chunfenghuayu Tower, its red silk streamers fluttering from the rooftop. Qu You suddenly asked, “I’ve always wanted to ask — why did you gain such a reputation for being fond of beauty?”
The idea of him being “fond of beautiful women,” as recorded in history, was mostly inferred from a few licentious lines of poetry in the Chuntan Collection — poems Zhou Tan hadn’t even written yet in this timeline. And yet she’d heard whispers of his unreliable reputation even before she’d married into the family.
But looking closely, Zhou Tan was, if anything, more upright than the most upright of gentlemen. Ye Liuchun had told Qu You that the two of them had known each other since their days in Lin’an, and when she’d first arrived in the capital, Zhou Tan had even helped her get her residency registered with the capital prefecture. Even so, the two of them remained as distant as strangers, always speaking to each other in the coolest, most neutral of tones.
Most of his visits to Chunfenghuayu Tower had simply been to borrow a venue to meet friends. Women were rare within the Ministry of Justice, and the maids at home hardly dared even look up in his presence. At banquets, plenty of women had remarked on his handsome looks, but now that he was married, none dared approach him at all — and according to Gao Yunyue, even before his marriage, any woman who tried to strike up a conversation with him was always coldly rebuffed.
“Right after I placed first in the imperial examination, I was nearly dragged off by a crowd of elderly officials right there at the results board,” Zhou Tan said, after a long silence, his tone flat, carrying a faint, barely perceptible note of pride. “As I passed through the palace’s inner street, the Chancellor’s eldest legitimate daughter looked down and let her jade hairpin fall into my arms. Have you heard about that?”
Qu You smiled. “I’ve heard a bit of it. The top scholar drowned in falling blossoms, a jade hair ornament tumbling from over the wall — quite the romantic tale. Such a gallant reputation you’ve earned, Lord Zhou.”
Thanks to my dear friend Yunyue for the gossip.
Zhou Tan shook his head lightly. “That story’s wrong.”
Qu You blinked. “What?”
“The Chancellor at the time was my teacher. My teacher never had any children — where would he have gotten an eldest legitimate daughter?” Zhou Tan said with a bitter smile. “The rumor simply spread too far. The one who dropped the jade hairpin from the wall that day was actually the daughter of the man who would later become Chancellor.”
“Then… wouldn’t that be Fu Qingnian’s daughter?” Qu You’s mouth fell open slightly, astonished. “The Noble Consort?”
Zhou Tan neither confirmed nor denied it. “My teacher wanted to help me decline the match without embarrassing me, but I didn’t want him playing the villain on my behalf. On top of that, so many matchmakers were nearly wearing down the threshold of the Ren household with marriage proposals — I grew so weary of the constant coming and going that I came up with a foolish scheme.”
Qu You guessed the rest. “You wrote a couple of romantic poems and let them circulate?”
“I… didn’t want to take a wife. I was young and unmarried, so being seen as a bit dissolute drew some criticism, but nothing truly damaging.” Zhou Tan smoothed the wide sleeve of his robe beside her, his voice a little rough. “It worked exactly as I’d hoped. Within half a month, the matchmakers had thinned out considerably. Not long after, I was posted away from the capital, and by the time I returned, it was right before the Candlelight case.”
He didn’t continue, but Qu You understood what he meant. After the Candlelight case, Zhou Tan’s reputation had been utterly ruined — no family among the honest scholar-officials would marry their daughter to him, and daughters of military families had no interest in such a husband either. Gao Ze had been willing, but by then Gao Yunyue was already in marriage talks with the Crown Prince.
Zhou Tan had long since come of age, and Emperor De had always intended to tie him down with a marriage — but each time, Zhou Tan had refused. It wasn’t until he was attacked that Emperor De finally seized the opportunity, arbitrarily arranging a marriage for him.
“The Noble Consort arranged this marriage for two reasons — first, to put an end to any thoughts the Gao family might still hold, and second, hoping my household would fall into disorder, leaving me overwhelmed and preoccupied. If nothing went wrong on its own, she and His Majesty both wanted to find some way to tie me down.” The wind off the river was cold; Zhou Tan took off his outer robe and draped it over her shoulders. “You’re the daughter of a court historian, known for your talent — the perfect candidate to hate injustice above all else, even to the point of taking your own life before the wedding rather than suffer such humiliation. That’s exactly what they expected. Except you… “
Even Zhou Tan himself hadn’t expected that she would defy everyone’s expectations — arriving with no trace of love or hatred at all, even feeling some vague, indescribable fondness for him because of that ambiguous dream. That the two of them had, step by step, arrived at where they now stood felt almost unbelievable, even to reflect on.
Still, Qu You didn’t quite understand. “What do you mean, trying to find some way to tie you down?”
Zhou Tan paused. “If… everyone within and outside the palace believed that my wife and I were devoted to each other, deeply in love — then if His Majesty, the Noble Consort, Chancellor Fu, even the Crown Prince or the Executive wanted me to bend, all they’d need to do is threaten you, your father, the Qu family. They have many methods, many shifting motives. I can plan and act with careful deliberation for myself — but if any of you were harmed in the process, how could that ever be made right?”
“I see — just like what happened to the Ren family,” Qu You said, falling silent as well. “If they’d known back then how much effort you went to, scraping together money, bribing people within the prison — someone like Lord Ren might well have suffered the exact same fate a second time, a third time.”
“At banquets, I rarely sit near you. When Lady Gong sets herself against you, I have no way to stand up for you.” Zhou Tan gripped the edge of the boat, his gaze flickering. “It was already improper enough for you to come meet me at the East Gate last time. It was fortunate the Crown Prince believed the rumors in the street, assuming it was nothing more than an act for appearances.”
He turned his head, his gaze reflecting the distant lanterns as they slowly drifted farther away. “Back then… you worried about my reputation. I only wished it had burned even hotter.”
Qu You pulled the cloak tighter around herself, and was just about to reply when Zhou Tan suddenly stood, helping her into the boat’s cabin. A simple set of writing tools sat on a small table inside; all around them was silence, broken only by the gentle murmur of the water.
“Speaking of which, it’s been quite some time since I last wrote any poetry.”
Zhou Tan pressed the paper down with a white jade paperweight, picked up the brush, and dipped it in ink. Qu You reached to take the brush back from him, only to find Zhou Tan pressing it directly into her hand instead, his own hand covering hers.
She wasn’t sure if what she heard was the sound of her own heartbeat, but Zhou Tan was so close now, guiding her hand across the page by the faint light, that she found herself momentarily lost in thought. When she came back to herself, she saw, written out beneath the light, a line of poetry she knew all too well.
—Behind vermilion gates and embroidered doors, song and dance play on; in jade towers, deep in wine, still not quite satisfied.
But wasn’t this the second poem in the Chuntan Collection — the most licentious line Zhou Tan had ever written!
How could it possibly be written here, under these circumstances?
She stared, dumbstruck, as Zhou Tan, perfectly composed, guided her hand to finish the two lines that followed — lines she knew so well.
—Gathered rouge, condensed fragrance, upon the fine pillow pressed; hand upon her lovely form, as though reading beneath the curtain.
Once finished, Zhou Tan rubbed his thumb gently over the back of her hand, saying nothing for a long moment — whether out of some lingering embarrassment over the racy lines, she couldn’t be sure. Qu You reached out and touched the paper herself, murmuring, “But shouldn’t this have been written for the Qixi Festival…”
The poem’s actual title was “Written at Chunfenghuayu Tower on a Distant Qixi Night, Slightly Tipsy” — why on earth would it appear here of all places!
The moment the words left her mouth, she realized her mistake, and hastily corrected herself. “Er — what I mean is, this sounds like the kind of thing a man and woman might write to each other during a festival like Qixi, when lovers come together.”
Zhou Tan paused, then, still holding her hand, wrote out a title for the poem.
—A Distant Qixi Night, Written at Chunfenghuayu Tower.
He thought a moment longer, then added two more characters.
Slightly tipsy.
Qu You froze completely. Zhou Tan released her hand, picking up the page and folding it neatly. “No matter. One of these days I’ll have Blackrobe let this poem slip out. Qixi or not, it should add a bit more to my reputation as a heartless rake… If anyone brings it up in front of you, there’s no need to correct them.”
She had no idea what to say to that. Just then, the little boat bumped against the stone steps of the riverbank with a heavy jolt, and the man in black called from the stern, “My lord, we’ve arrived.”
As she stepped off the boat, she noticed a faint flush had crept over Zhou Tan’s cheeks — whether from the cramped, stifling air of the cabin or something else, she couldn’t say. It suited the title of the poem rather well, all things considered.
Slightly tipsy.
Unlike Fu Qingnian, who came from an old aristocratic family, Peng Yue had never been based in the capital and owned no property here. Xianming Ward, where land was worth its weight in gold, had nothing available even for those willing to pay, so he’d bought a residence instead in Changle Ward, further downriver along the Bian.
Changle Ward was a favorite among the newly risen elite. Unlike Xianming Ward, its plots weren’t rigidly divided; wealthy families often built their estates spread out, since the district was spacious and sparsely populated, with considerable distance between properties.
The nearest residence to the Peng estate, for instance, was half a li away. This particular lane held only the one household — even if chaos broke out inside, it was unlikely anyone nearby would ever know.
Zhou Tan had already had the Ministry of Justice guards stationed there reassigned earlier that day. Qu You took a step closer, expecting Zhou Tan to lead her over a wall or through some hidden side entrance — but instead, he walked her straight through the front gate.
“Why are we going in through the main entrance?”
Zhou Tan, seeing her take off her outer cloak, took it and draped it over his arm, looking at her with mild surprise. “If not through the door, would you rather climb the wall? I could manage that myself, easily enough — could you?”
Qu You stared at him, baffled. “But walking in through the front gate so openly like this…”
“It’s fine,” Zhou Tan said, gesturing behind them. “The Ministry of Justice sealed this gate. I had Blackrobe bring an official Ministry seal-strip with him — once we’re done and gone, he’ll simply put it back up.”
As they walked, she asked, “How is this stealing, then, exactly?”
Zhou Tan replied, “We don’t want anyone to know we’ve been here, and we intend to take something away with us without permission — what would you call that, if not stealing?”
They began their search from Peng Yue’s main hall. Blackrobe produced a lantern from somewhere; Qu You took it to hold, and he ducked away without another word.
When Peng Yue had first been exiled, he’d left in a great hurry. Emperor De hadn’t confiscated his family’s property, so he’d hastily gathered up whatever valuables he could carry, and what remained had since been picked clean by fleeing concubines and servants. Fu Qingnian had also secretly sent people to search the residence at some point — every room they passed showed signs of disarray, furniture overturned and scattered.
Carefully carrying the lantern, Qu You stepped around a fallen plaque near the doorway, and followed Zhou Tan into what had clearly been Peng Yue’s study — surely the most important room in the entire residence.
“Fu Qingnian already searched here and found nothing, so this thing certainly isn’t hidden anywhere obvious,” Zhou Tan said, holding back a precariously tilting shelf for her to pass. “That line of poetry…”
“Beneath the moon, a heavenly mirror takes flight; where clouds rise, a sea-mirage palace forms…” Qu You murmured. “Perhaps we should start by looking for paintings or books that match this poem.”
But Peng Yue’s study held no shortage of treasured paintings and calligraphy. Even after he’d taken many pieces with him, the mounted scrolls left behind still filled an entire blue-and-white porcelain vat.
Zhou Tan unrolled scroll after scroll by lamplight, examining them closely, while Qu You circled the room twice, even checking the ceiling — but found no other likely hiding place.
Distracted, she stepped over a fallen folding screen near the door, meaning to check the doorframe, when a glance downward caught something important. “Zhou Tan, look at this!”
Zhou Tan turned and looked down, seeing a faint, almost invisible image of a moon printed on the dust-covered screen.
Qu You grabbed a nearby book and wiped at the screen’s surface, revealing an entire scene — rolling green mountains, a great river rushing past their base, a moon hanging in the sky above, with a few nearly illegible characters inscribed nearby.
She leaned closer and saw, in the smudged, blotted signature, the very poem “Crossing Jingmen, a Farewell.”
“This screen is made of thin gauze — even with the poem written here, how could anything be hidden inside it?” Zhou Tan studied it carefully alongside her, puzzled. “But the characters here are so clumsily written — this might well be something Peng Yue wrote himself, as a reminder to himself of where the thing was hidden.”
Qu You had Zhou Tan help her lift the screen upright.
As she circled it, examining it closely, she noticed a relatively clean patch of floor nearby, marked with an impression matching the wooden base of the screen — this must have been its original spot, only moved aside by whoever had searched the room.
They moved the screen back into place, and as Zhou Tan walked around in front of it, he immediately noticed something odd. “A’Lian, look at this.”
Qu You ducked around to see, and found that the spot behind the printed moon on the screen lined up exactly with a bronze mirror hanging on the study wall.
Something clicked immediately. “Peng Yue was a man — why would he keep a bronze mirror in his study?”
The mirror hung on the wall, and appeared to have only been flipped over during the search, never actually moved from its position.
“Beneath the moon, a heavenly mirror takes flight…”
Qu You leaned in to examine the mirror, turning it back around to face outward. Zhou Tan looked past the thin gauze screen and suddenly took a step back. “What a coincidence…”
They hadn’t closed the door when they’d entered, and tonight the moonlight happened to be perfect — a full round moon shone through the gauze screen by the doorway, casting a fragment of its light directly onto the bronze mirror.
The two of them stood off to the side and waited. As the moon sank westward, its full reflection gradually appeared in the small bronze mirror — and just as it began to slip out of the mirror’s frame entirely, a bright patch of light suddenly appeared, refracted onto a section of the darkened study wall.
Qu You stepped forward at once. The wall still bore faint marks — clearly, something had once hung there.
Her foot brushed against an old painting, discarded on the floor during the earlier search. She unrolled it and found it depicted a “mirage over the sea.”
If this painting had been hung there, it would have covered that patch of light perfectly.
Zhou Tan reached out cautiously and pressed firmly against the illuminated spot on the wall. The wall gave way beneath his hand, sinking inward. A faint sound of turning gears followed, and on the floor beneath the desk, a shallow opening suddenly appeared.
“What an exquisitely designed mechanism,” Qu You marveled. “If we hadn’t come at exactly the right moment, we’d never have found it. No wonder Peng Yue felt so confident — even with Fu Qingnian’s people searching, they’d never have found this.”
Zhou Tan reached into the opening and retrieved a small wooden box — a Luban puzzle box, intricately and elaborately made. He seemed remarkably familiar with it. Qu You watched his hands move quickly over the box, working through its hidden mechanisms, and before long, he’d taken it apart entirely.
She reached out, wanting to touch it, but Zhou Tan warned her. “Careful — this kind of puzzle box often has tiny hidden arrows inside. It could hurt you.”
Qu You quickly withdrew her hand, and sure enough, watched as he drew out a written account from inside the box — its cover worn and tattered, as though torn from something else entirely, bearing the title “Imperially Commissioned Plans for Zhenru Palace.” Tucked into the very first page was a finely detailed craftsman’s sketch.
The pages bound beneath it were written in the same crooked, clumsy hand as the writing on the screen — clearly not the same person who’d written the cover. Zhou Tan flipped through a couple of pages, sounding surprised. “I assumed he only had the transcribed copy. I never expected he’d actually managed to steal the original pages of Master Wuyuan’s construction sketches. No wonder Fu Qingnian was so anxious — this is far more valuable than whatever vague letters Du Hui was holding.”
Though Qu You couldn’t fully understand the architectural drawing, she could make out the general shape of it. Aside from the surveyed measurements, Gongshu Wuyuan had specifically drawn, at the bottom of the sketch, a boat-shaped hidden chamber, connected through a well in the South Garden — extremely well concealed.
“So this hidden chamber was built in from the very start of construction — it wasn’t carved out later during some renovation,” Qu You said thoughtfully. “Which means the fire in the South Garden back then was probably the Noble Consort using the renovation work as cover for concealing her affair. And afterward, they filled in the well.”
“The remains must have been buried at the bottom of that well. No wonder His Majesty had no choice but to tear down the whole palace under the pretense of rebuilding it — a hidden chamber this large could never have been found any other way.”
“Let’s go,” Zhou Tan said, carefully wrapping the items up, then reaching to take down the bronze mirror as well, decisively. “I’ll have Blackrobe drag this screen out to the back garden and burn it, and sweep the ashes into the pond. This residence won’t stay sealed for much longer — His Majesty will grant it to someone else eventually. It was pure luck we managed to find this today. Fu Qingnian’s earlier search was careless — once the residence is given to someone new, coming back to look again would be entirely hopeless.”
“Now that you have this leverage against him, what will you do?” Qu You asked. “His Majesty wants to consolidate control over judicial authority. Whether this case’s verdict ultimately matches what the capital prefecture ruled, or what you’ve uncovered, is entirely up to His Majesty’s whim — either you or the head of the capital prefecture will end up as the sacrifice. If I were Fu Qingnian, once I understood His Majesty’s intentions these past few days, I’d do everything possible to arrange new evidence proving you were simply eliminating your rivals, so His Majesty would choose to protect him instead of you.”
Zhou Tan rode with her back to the residence on horseback, the sound of hooves echoing through the now-quiet streets and alleys. Amid the sound of the wind, she heard him say, “If you were a man, Madam, you’d have made an excellent official.”
“Proprietress Ai told me today I’d make a fine businesswoman, too,” Qu You laughed. “Why does it always have to be about being a man? I’m a woman, and I can manage all of this just as well.”
Zhou Tan was silent for a moment. “As my wife, if you wanted to spend more time with Physician Bo, I wouldn’t mind at all — but I worry it might damage your reputation among the common folk. The Zhou household does own some shopfronts along the Bian River as well — if you’re interested, you’re welcome to look into them further.”
“Wonderful,” Qu You agreed at once, smiling brightly. “In that case, next time, aside from calling on Physician Bo for treatment, I’ll just have him dress up as a woman when I see him.”
Zhou Tan fell silent again.
By the time Song Shiyan returned from the palace, it was already well past nightfall.
Emperor De had nine sons. Setting aside his eldest son and fifth son, who had both died young, only the ninth prince, born of the Noble Consort, was truly favored by him. Today marked the ninth prince’s third birthday, and Song Shiyan had spent the entire banquet forcing smiles until his cheeks ached from the effort.
He knew full well that his father didn’t actually care much for this ninth younger brother either — the favoritism was simply because the boy was still so young.
Young, and therefore harmless.
Fu Qingnian, walking alongside him to the palace gates, spoke with practiced courtesy. “A safe journey to Your Highness.”
Song Shiyan curved his lips into a faint smile. “Farewell, Chancellor Fu.”
The two men passed each other beneath the cold, forbidding red walls, close enough to catch the scent of wine on each other’s breath.
The Crown Princess waited to greet him at the residence gate, having prepared a sobering broth and millet porridge. Song Shiyan took a few sips, and noticing the porridge tasted different from usual, asked, “Was this made by the household’s small kitchen?”
“I had it made today at an eatery outside the palace, along the Bian River,” the Crown Princess answered, her voice as gentle and compliant as ever. “Don’t worry, Your Highness — I already had it tested. As it happens, it was quite the coincidence — I ran into the Vice Minister’s wife at that very shop today.”
She hadn’t attended the ninth prince’s birthday banquet, as she’d always been frail and prone to illness, and that morning in particular she’d woken with tightness in her chest. The court physician had advised against drinking or overeating.
“Oh?” Song Shiyan asked, with some interest. “The Vice Minister’s wife… you spoke with her?”
“The Vice Minister’s wife has a kind, generous heart. She helped me choose a number of recipes,” the Crown Princess said, pressing gently at his forehead. “You were right, Your Highness — she really is easy to get along with.”
“Mm.”
The room was thick with heavy incense, its scent inducing drowsiness. Song Shiyan had felt exhausted and listless lately, and after tonight’s banquet, an unaccountable irritability had settled over him. Just then, the Crown Princess’s fingernail brushed lightly, almost carelessly, across his forehead.
As though a spark had been thrown onto dry kindling, Song Shiyan’s expression darkened at once. He rose and struck her sharply across the face.
The force of the blow sent the Crown Princess sprawling to the floor. The servants around them, holding basins and cloths, immediately dropped to their knees, while the guards at the door coughed once, then quietly retreated on their knees.
“This concubine… has failed to serve Your Highness properly…” The Crown Princess knelt on the floor, trembling, her voice shaking as well. “I beg Your Highness’s punishment.”
Song Shiyan gave a scornful laugh, but said nothing more, taking his time finishing the porridge in his hand before reaching down to help her up.
The Crown Princess’s skin was fair, and the slap had left a clear red mark on the side of her face. Song Shiyan brushed his fingers over her cheek with a show of tenderness, smiling with no warmth in his eyes at all. “Poor thing. Why kneel there like that? It pains me to see it. Come, let me tend to your wound.”
“I’m grateful for Your Highness’s trouble.” The Crown Princess lowered her eyes.
She took medicinal powder from a nearby drawer and offered it up respectfully, then knelt at the Crown Prince’s feet, quietly raising her head.
He accepted it with lazy indifference, then, as if playing some cruel joke, poured the white powder directly onto her face. It scattered everywhere; the Crown Princess didn’t dare cough, her cheeks flushing red from holding it in.
Song Shiyan tossed the empty bottle aside and patted her cheek in a mocking, humiliating gesture. “Your uncle is a great general who’s put down rebellions and campaigned in the west. Your brothers charge into battle, true men of spirit — how is it you’re so fond of kneeling?”
He seemed to remember something as he spoke. “For a woman, you’re strange — most women can’t even bear to see the household servants kneel, and yet you take to it so naturally. Cheap, disposable little thing, aren’t you.”
The Crown Princess bowed her head and said nothing. But just then, three knocks sounded at the door. Song Shiyan tapped the table, and someone entered at once, speaking urgently, as though entirely oblivious to the scene in the room. “Your Highness, something’s happened by the Bian River.”
Song Shiyan narrowed his eyes.