◎Kindred Spirits◎

The two of them had just stepped out of Ranzhu Tower when they saw a woman in plain white robes, her hair unbound, kneeling on the steps ahead. Qu You looked at Fu Mingran in some surprise, and bowed. “Greetings, Noble Consort.”

Fu Mingran ignored her, staring fixedly at Zhou Tan instead, and gave a cold, furious laugh. “So it was you.”

“Do not speak so carelessly, my lady,” Zhou Tan said, looking down at her with something like pity. “His Majesty is honoring his ancestors, and you, Noble Consort, are here removing your hairpins to await punishment—that could be taken as disrespect to the ancestors. You had best return to your quarters soon.”

A look of sorrow crossed Fu Mingran’s face. She bowed her head to the ground fiercely, a visible bruise already forming on her forehead. “Your Majesty, my father has always been utterly loyal—he must have been harmed by wicked men. Please, look into this clearly, please!”

Zhou Tan shook his head and, taking Qu You’s hand, walked away from Ranzhu Tower. Qu You glanced back and asked quietly, “What will His Majesty do to the Noble Consort?”

“He won’t take her life,” Zhou Tan answered simply. “Even if Chancellor Fu is condemned and executed, the Noble Consort is still the birth mother of the Ninth Prince—for the prince’s sake, she’ll probably be allowed to live. But whatever schemes she had before, I doubt she has any hope of them now…”

He trailed off, then suddenly seemed to remember something and asked, “That day you went to see the Noble Consort—did she give you any trouble?”

Qu You held onto his arm. “I just had to kneel a bit longer than usual, that’s all. It’s fine.”

Zhou Tan paid this no mind and only asked again, “How long?”

Qu You said, “Hm? About the time it takes two sticks of incense to burn, I think—I don’t really remember…”

Zhou Tan glanced back coldly and said, “His Majesty may be willing to spare her life, but if she has any sense, she ought to know… Never mind. Let’s go.”

Before Qu You could fully process what he meant, he had already pulled her along and walked off.

Three more days passed, and the Three Judicial Offices, together with the chief investigator, met with the Emperor to settle the sentencing.

Fu Qingnian was found guilty not only of conspiring with the Liu family to frame Zhou Tan and murder an official’s son, but Cai Ying’s investigation also turned up his connections to several other cases stretching back years.

It wasn’t just the tower-fall case—the affair implicated many people, too many to recount fully, and even Cai Ying was somewhat shocked once he’d learned the full extent of it. Fortunately, several cases Zhou Tan had already investigated while still at the Ministry of Justice were connected to Fu Qingnian, which saved Cai Ying no small amount of effort.

Out of some measure of mercy, Emperor De was still willing to grant Fu Qingnian a dignified death—his household would be confiscated, and he would be given poisoned wine to end his own life, with the crime not extending to his family.

Du Hui, on account of his son’s outrageous conduct and his own collusion with Fu Qingnian in staging the scheme, was sentenced to exile in Lingnan. But Qu You knew that since he had gone so far as to risk his life reporting the secret of the Zhenru Temple, Emperor De likely wouldn’t let him live much longer—whether he’d be clever enough to realize this in time, or manage to fake his own death to escape, would depend on his own fortune.

The Emperor had, indeed, found a moderate charge for Zhou Tan—saying that although he had been framed, his past conduct had not been entirely proper, and he had also been entangled in factional strife concerning the Crown Prince—and demoted him to serve as a prefectural aide in Ruo Prefecture. This charge was also meant as a warning to the Crown Prince, so he wouldn’t assume that with Fu Qingnian dead, everything was settled in his favor.

The case was finally closed.

Fu Qingnian sat in a daze in the Imperial Prison when he suddenly heard movement behind him.

He turned to look and saw Zhou Tan having a Go board carried in and set up before him. His face showed no particular expression—neither the arrogance of a victor nor any trace of pity—no different at all from the day he himself had once invited Zhou Tan to his residence to play a game.

Fu Qingnian smiled at this. “Xiaobai, you’ve come.”

Zhou Tan said, “I’ve come to play another game with you.”

This time Zhou Tan took the black stones, Fu Qingnian the white. The two of them played calmly and evenly; Zhou Tan’s style of play was entirely different from before, every move far more cautious. Fu Qingnian played on, laughing as he did. “So that last game—Xiaobai deliberately threw it, didn’t he.”

Midway through the game, he suddenly said, “Do you know why I hate your teacher so much?”

Zhou Tan set down a stone with a heavy click, his breathing growing a little rougher, but he said nothing.

“I knew that’s what you came to hear,” Fu Qingnian said with a wry laugh, taking his time as he considered where to play next, remarking idly all the while. “Your teacher was promoted to Minister of Personnel in the first year of Pingxi… come to think of it, do you know why the previous Emperor changed the era name to Pingxi? That year the Yellow River flooded terribly, and many people died. Your teacher and I had only just entered office not long before…”

Zhou Tan made a low sound of acknowledgment. “I know.”

“Mm. It was your teacher who repaired the levees and brought the Yellow River flooding under control. He was promoted for it, rising much faster than Gao Ze and I did.” Fu Qingnian turned the stone over and over in his fingers. “Your teacher was an upright official—while repairing the levees, he uncovered a corruption case in the Ministry of Personnel, and he showed no mercy at all, reporting it and demanding it be handled according to law. The previous Emperor would not tolerate the slightest impurity, and that year many high officials had their households confiscated and ruined—just as happened to me today.”

Zhou Tan’s hand paused, as though something had come to mind.

“I married before both Chancellor Gu and Gao Ze did—my wife was our teacher’s daughter,” Fu Qingnian said, not looking at him, continuing on. “Our teacher was implicated in that corruption case, and aside from my wife, his entire household was exiled. Right after the flood came a great plague, and even though I did everything I could to look after them, they all died along the road into exile… My wife had just given birth to Mingran at the time, and her body was already weak. I kept it from her as long as I could, but eventually she found out. She didn’t want to burden me, and rarely brought it up on her own, but her health never recovered, and eventually, consumed by grief, she died young.”

Zhou Tan’s hand trembled slightly, and he said in a low voice, “It wasn’t my teacher who forced them into corruption… what they embezzled was the sweat and blood of the common people.”

“I know, I know,” Fu Qingnian said. “But my wife died all the same—Mingran told me your new bride is deeply devoted to you. What if it were you, Xiaobai? If your wife were killed by someone, even if you knew they hadn’t meant it, even if what they did was in the name of justice—would you forgive them?”

Zhou Tan didn’t answer.

“I originally meant to betroth Mingran to you. Later I sent her into the palace instead—not only for the sake of power, but also because… I knew that I had caused Chancellor Gu’s death, and that a day like this was bound to come eventually.” Fu Qingnian set down a stone, his beard trembling, laughing with an air of perfect composure. “In the palace, at least, she’d have some chance of keeping her life… She’s my only daughter, in this whole life. After my wife died I never remarried. Now, at least, I’ll be able to see her again. It’s just that my life hasn’t gone well, and I’ve grown old—my face is worn, my temples gray, and the trees in my courtyard have grown tall and full. She probably wouldn’t even recognize me anymore.”

Zhou Tan continued the game in something of a daze, misplaying a stone and losing a section of the board to his opponent.

“I know your teacher is a good man, a sage, even. And I know that what I’ve done these past years is unspeakable, and that sooner or later I’d end up like this.” Fu Qingnian gave a long laugh. “But life is like a game of Go—once a stone is placed, there’s no taking it back. Having decided to oppose him, I was bound to give up certain things.”

“Do you know, the day he left the capital, I personally led men to pursue him. Right there by the Qingxi River, he asked me—back when we were young officials together, so full of ambition, so determined to change the world—where had those words gone, why had I changed so much? I told him: how could such hazy dreams ever compare to the smile of the person beside me? My wife, dead so many years now, has never once come to me in a dream. You may be a sage to the whole world, but to me, you are my enemy—and today, you leaping into the Qingxi River, to me, is no different than the river fouling you, or you fouling the river.”

Zhou Tan, breathing hard, reached out and overturned the board just as Fu Qingnian had once done to him. Fu Qingnian burst into laughter, and even as Zhou Tan walked out down the long corridor of the Imperial Prison, he could still hear that twisted laughter behind him: “Young Lord Zhou, whatever you do, never let yourself end up facing what I once faced!”

Gao Ze was waiting at the entrance of the Imperial Prison, his expression complicated. He hadn’t heard what the two of them had discussed, and only remarked with feeling, “Chancellor Fu was a good man too, once.”

Zhou Tan walked out beside him in silence. The sun was setting, the sky deepening to a somber red, and a guard bearing the poisoned wine passed close by them.

“His Majesty was merciful in demoting you to Ruo Prefecture—he’s having you stay a while longer in Bian Capital before you leave.” Gao Ze sighed. “Your wife and Yunyue are quite close. Before you go, come by the house for a visit.”

Zhou Tan agreed, then added, “That day in the Zanjin Pavilion, I had my wife ask the administrator a question. His answer was that loyalty to the sovereign outweighs love of self…”

“When Shiyan was six years old, the Empress was out of favor, and his life wasn’t easy either because of it,” Gao Ze said, shaking his head with feeling. “I watched that child grow up. Though he holds the rank of Crown Prince, I know his heart. His Majesty has no other outstanding sons, so it’s only natural the Crown Prince should succeed him. I wanted to ask you before—why do you distrust the Crown Prince so much?”

“The administrator still clings to old affections, not realizing that people can change,” Zhou Tan said, not looking at him. “Never mind—there’s little use in me saying more now. In your future dealings, do think more of your own position, and don’t put too much faith in the Crown Prince… You and my teacher are close friends. If you ever need help, even from Ruo Prefecture, Xiaobai will do what he can.”

Gao Ze agreed, though his expression remained indifferent, clearly not taking the words to heart.

The two parted at the east gate with a bow. Zhou Tan walked a few steps, then turned back and added, “When the administrator has time, he might look into the old case of the Su family.”

This time Gao Ze’s expression finally grew grave. Zhou Tan didn’t look back again, but climbed into his carriage, where Qu You handed him a hand warmer.

His carriage and Gao Ze’s parted ways at the east gate.

“You came out so quickly,” Qu You said. “I thought you’d play several more games with Chancellor Fu—I was about to doze off.”

Zhou Tan shook his head. “There was nothing left for either of us to say.”

The carriage rocked along for a while, and the sun soon sank low. By the time they reached the Qu family’s gate, the sky had already gone dark. Qu You sent the servant boy ahead to announce them, and said with some worry, “I don’t know if Father will be willing to see you.”

Unexpectedly, the servant boy came running back very quickly, and after a moment quietly led the two of them in through the back door to the main hall.

Qu Cheng and Yin Xiangru sat together before the candlelight in the main room, with Qu Xiangwen and the two younger sisters beside them. The moment Qu You entered, she knelt without a word and bowed. “Father, Mother, your unfilial daughter is here.”

Yin Xiangru flicked her handkerchief; Qu Cheng’s brow was creased with worry. “Ordinarily, when a husband is exiled and the crime doesn’t extend to the family, a wife may remain in the inner quarters to serve her mother-in-law, or, failing that, return home to care for her own parents. Did you know that?”

Qu You stiffened her neck and said, “Daughter knows.”

Qu Cheng slapped the table. “And you still mean to go?”

Qu You answered quietly, “Yes.”

Qu Cheng sighed and slapped the table again in frustration. Yin Xiangru reached out to help Qu You up, but before she could, Zhou Tan abruptly knelt beside Qu You and bowed formally and deeply to the two of them.

“On our wedding day I was still confined to a sickbed, and the proper courtesies were neglected. Today, allow me to offer tea to my parents-in-law.”

There were no servants in the main room. Hearing this, Qu You hastily moved to pour the tea herself, but Qu Jiaxi beside her pressed her back down, signaling with her eyes that she should stay properly kneeling. Qu Jiayu, quick-handed, poured the tea from the other side and handed it to Zhou Tan.

Yin Xiangru accepted his cup first, feeling a sudden sting behind her nose. “Good, good. If our son-in-law is like this, he’ll surely take good care of A’Lian…”

Qu Cheng sat with a dark expression, watching Zhou Tan hold the teacup respectfully with lowered head. The tea was rather hot, steam rising from it, but Zhou Tan held it perfectly steady, not a single finger trembling.

At last he couldn’t help himself, and sighing, took the cup, saying sternly, “Ruo Prefecture isn’t as harsh and desolate as Lingnan. If you must go, then treat it as a chance to see something of the world…”

Qu You gave a start, and quickly pulled Zhou Tan along to bow their thanks. “Consider this the formal tea we owed you before. Father, Mother, from now on your daughter and son-in-law won’t be able to care for you as we should—please take good care of yourselves.”

But they would come back, eventually.

Qu Cheng gave a cold snort.

Qu You knew that since he had accepted the tea, he no longer held the past against them. He knew at least something of what had happened at court, and having seen Qu You willingly sound the Petition Drum, and Zhou Tan behaving so respectfully now, he supposed the two of them were in true harmony, and there was no need to reproach them further.

The two of them stayed until late into the night. Qu Xiangwen, sniffling, mentioned that he would sit for the imperial examinations next year, and upon hearing this, Zhou Tan gave him a jade pendant, telling him to seek out young Master Su for help if he ever ran into trouble, and named several upright officials currently in favor at court, which made Qu Xiangwen’s eyes light up.

Qu Jiaxi and Qu Jiayu received a good deal of silver and jewelry from him—Zhou Tan had quietly handed it to Qu You beforehand, asking her to give it to her two younger sisters as a dowry gift.

By the time the two of them left, the streets were already empty, with only a faint glow remaining from Fan Tower in the distance. Seeing this, they decided not to take the carriage. Noticing the deep smile on Qu You’s face, Zhou Tan couldn’t help but ask, “Are you very happy?”

“Of course. Father has finally accepted you as family—how could I not be happy?” Qu You said, shaking his arm. “You don’t have many relatives of your own, and now that we’re about to leave the capital, with the administrator and young Master Su here, the Crown Prince probably won’t act rashly, so we won’t need to deliberately keep our distance anymore. Don’t you want your family to know how happy you are now?”

Zhou Tan’s face went blank for a moment, as though he hadn’t quite processed what she meant by “family.”

Qu You made a face at him. “What’s wrong? Moved?”

Zhou Tan said slowly, “No.”

“It’s only now, hearing you say something like that, that I truly feel you’re beside me. Do you know, I used to always feel that I was very far away from you.”

Qu You blinked in surprise. “Why would you think that?”

Zhou Tan looked up, the distant lights of Fan Tower reflected in his eyes.

“Let’s go up the tower,” he said suddenly.

So the two of them climbed to the top.

Fan Tower was the tallest building in Bian Capital, a full nine stories high—to climb it was to reach the very peak of the mortal world, looking down on the clamor of human life below, and up at the cold, moonlit sky above.

Qu You climbed until she was out of breath, working up a sweat in the late autumn air, fanning herself continually with her folding fan. She was leaning on the railing, looking down, when she heard Zhou Tan ask, “Before you married me, what did you seek in life?”

She was startled for a moment, then answered, “Back then… I didn’t seek anything.”

“Is that so?”

Zhou Tan looked away noncommittally and laughed once.

“Do you know what I was thinking, the first time I brought you up to Fan Tower?”

“This capital, so crowded and bustling—you stood high above it on this tower, looking down, and though you seemed full of interest, there wasn’t a single person reflected in your eyes.”

Qu You’s hand froze on her fan.

“I felt, at that moment, that you were very far from me,” Zhou Tan went on. “How strange—you’re right in the midst of it all, and yet somehow above it too, looking down on everyone here, including me, and yet you can’t help but pity us all the same.”

“Last time, on Jinghua Mountain, in front of those graves, you answered whatever I asked, and never said a word more than that, because I had a clear feeling then—that you don’t belong here. You belong to some free, weightless, transcendent world, one that can hold your ideals, and kindred spirits who share them. When you look at me, there’s admiration, yes, but more than that, a kind of pity, looking down from above.”

Clouds drifted across and covered the moon. Qu You leaned against the railing, watching Zhou Tan, and he looked back at her with the same unflinching gaze, the wind brushing past his cheek, then hers.

In that quiet, unguarded moment of looking at each other, she felt something strange stir in her.

It wasn’t a sense of his presence within history—it was a sense of her own presence, within this era.

“Yes,” Qu You said, studying him, feeling that she couldn’t lie to him just then. “I used to belong to a place like that. Do you envy it? Do you long for it?”

Zhou Tan didn’t answer her question. He was dressed in white that day, which set off his sharp, thin frame.

“You, an inner-court noblewoman, spoke up for the lowborn; you, with only a woman’s strength, stood against the powerful; to save me, you held nothing back, cared nothing for your reputation or the danger to yourself—your anger, your tears, all of it arose for the sake of other people… Do I envy you? Perhaps. But I can’t long for it, because I am here.”

Qu You was silent a while, then asked in return, “What if I told you that everything you strive for is, to the wider world, no more than a mirage—that our years pass as swiftly as a colt glimpsed through a crack in the wall, that what we do here might not leave the faintest trace behind? Would you still feel that everything you hold to has meaning?”

Zhou Tan looked at her across the hazy night sky.

“I am here—are you not here too? Are the people worth your tears not here as well? Having come to this place, how could you ever remain a mere bystander forever? Look down at the people of Bian Capital below—if everything I do leaves no trace, then they are even less than dust. Why should a person, living in this world, need to pursue some trace left behind after death? Isn’t it the people right in front of our eyes that we ought to protect?”

She was not the only one being observed.

From the day she was forced into this world—or perhaps even earlier, from the moment she first saw Zhou Tan in her dream—she had already been swept into the tide of history: observing, searching, and in turn being observed, being searched.

Why had it taken her until today to understand that she had never been an outsider to history?

Zhou Tan smiled faintly. “Now that I’m in your eyes, along with these people, when I look at you, it’s entirely different from before—do you remember now what it was you sought?”

“What I sought before…” Qu You thought for a long while, then answered, trembling—it seemed the first time since arriving in this world that she had spoken so honestly with anyone. “It was a puzzle. Perhaps, to the wider world, this one mystery means nothing at all, but my calling was to clarify the truth.”

On the first day of her graduate studies, standing before a shelf holding all four hundred ninety-six volumes of the Yin Annals, she had felt a strange sense of calling rise in her—all the painstaking textual research, the cross-checking, the searching, was a historian’s pursuit: to make history ever more true.

Though sometimes, finishing a paper late at night, she would suddenly realize how far removed she was from the world within those pages—that she might spend her whole life without ever glimpsing the “truth.”

But the road ahead was long, and she meant to keep searching.

And so, coming to this place, her first reaction, once she’d gotten past the fear, was excitement. Now she understood even more clearly—she was standing within the truth itself, and might not only restore history’s reality, but perhaps do something for it as well.

“To clarify the truth—a truly great calling,” Zhou Tan said. “But even standing within it, the fog is thick. Have you seen the truth?”

You have no idea how far I once was from the truth—so far that even a small thing like this could move me so deeply.

Qu You answered, “I saw you.”

Because I saw you, my pursuit was already granted its highest meaning.

Zhou Tan gave her a faint smile; since their absurd first meeting, Qu You had never seen him smile with such genuine happiness. She stared at him intently, and saw her own reflection in his eyes.

“That’s what you sought before. What about now?”

“Now…”

Qu You lowered her eyes and pulled his wind-filled outer robe tighter around him.

“I don’t know. But right now, in this moment, I hope that from now on, I can walk the same path as you, always.”

“What you seek, my heart seeks too.”