◎Leaving the City◎

After the Lantern Festival, without waiting for Zhou Tan to say a word, Nanny Yun had already begun arranging the household and preparing everything needed for the journey to Ruo Prefecture. Nanny Yun’s husband had died years ago in a flood, and now, keeping company with Uncle De, she would naturally be accompanying Zhou Tan and Qu You as well.

Qu You sat at the desk in Songfeng Pavilion, chin in hand, watching Zhou Tan mark up a map of the western border.

She hadn’t quite understood it before—since Zhou Tan had already revealed his identity and meant to support Song Shixuan, why not simply stay in the capital? Worst case, he could simply cut off contact with Song Shiyan, and that alone would be enough to dispel Emperor De’s suspicions.

But now, watching him mark up the map of the western border, she began to piece together some of it.

For reasons of his own, Zhou Tan clearly did not want Song Shiyan to inherit the throne—likely because of something deeply malicious Song Shiyan had once done, something that had convinced Zhou Tan the man cared nothing for the realm and was unfit to be emperor.

She had to admit, Zhou Tan’s judgment was remarkably sharp—after all, she was someone who knew how things would unfold.

When Song Shiyan learned that Emperor De intended to depose him as Crown Prince, he wouldn’t hesitate to collude with foreign enemies and raise an army to force the throne, willing to sacrifice all of Bian Capital itself to achieve his goal.

A rare kind of madman, even by history’s standards.

Song Shiyan had spent these years scheming deeply, and Emperor De, ever suspicious, had left most of his sons weak and ineffectual—either too timid and clueless to matter, or entirely obedient to the Crown Prince’s will.

The Ninth Prince, once so favored through his mother’s powerful family, had faded into complete irrelevance after Fu Qingnian’s death, with no chance left of contending for anything.

Over this past year, Zhou Tan had watched Emperor De’s sons with a cold eye, and truly, not a single one of them had the bearing needed to take on this realm.

Song Shixuan, on the other hand, was a child he and Su Chaoci had personally raised and educated, and had been personally chosen as heir by Emperor Xuan—naturally, Zhou Tan placed great hope in him.

After Fu Qingnian’s death, though Emperor De had, as Zhou Tan predicted, promoted Cai Ying to balance the court, Cai Ying was a man of pure loyalty who stayed out of the succession struggle entirely. Song Chang felt confident enough to have Fu Qingnian put to death because he believed he could still cultivate someone new to stand against the Crown Prince.

But Qu You knew that Song Chang likely didn’t have the time left for that.

Starting in the sixteenth year of Yongning, he would fall gravely ill and remain bedridden. The Fifth Prince never had the chance to build up any real power, and Song Shiyan instead used the opportunity to eliminate several of his own brothers.

And so the balance at court tilted further and further out of control, until eventually even Song Chang himself lost any ability to manage it.

Under these circumstances, Song Chang would summon Zhou Tan back to Bian Capital—partly out of fear of death, and partly because he truly had no one else left he could trust or rely on.

It seemed that heartfelt confession Zhou Tan had made in the Xuande Hall had, after all, left some lasting impression on him.

Su Chaoci was steadily building his own faction at court; Ai Disheng controlled the trade networks of Bian Capital, Jinling, and indeed the whole realm; and Zhou Tan held the late Emperor’s decree, giving him legitimate standing.

The only thing the group still lacked was military power.

The Crown Princess came from a prominent military family; her father, General Li Wei, though not as commanding a presence as Chu Lin or Xiao Yue had once been, and having relinquished command of the capital garrison after his daughter’s marriage to the Crown Prince, still carried real prestige—if the Crown Prince could ever produce the tiger tally, Li Wei’s word in the capital garrison would command instant obedience.

Chu Lin spent his years moving constantly between Bian Capital and the western border, devoted wholly to repelling foreign enemies, and likely had no inclination to align himself with either side. Before the Crown Prince made his move to seize the throne, there would be no way for Zhou Tan and the others to persuade him to back Song Shixuan.

To win him over, to secure military power—Ruo Prefecture was the ground they had to contest.

Among the eleven western border prefectures, Ruo Prefecture was the largest in territory and population, and because it had long served as the front line against invasions from Xishao, it was less closely governed by the general command overseeing the eleven prefectures. The military family holding Ruo Prefecture was the House of Marquis Xiangning, and the current Marquis, Xu Zhi, had once served under Xiao Yue himself.

Ever since Xiao Yue had died in the campaign to pacify the west, his fief had remained vacant, administered instead by his old subordinates. Xu Zhi had, over the years, kept a low profile and rarely appeared in public. Though he had privately moved his entire household to garrison Ruo Prefecture, he only ever deployed small private forces to protect the common people during Xishao incursions, never once interfering with Chu Lin’s campaigns in the western border region.

Over time, even Song Chang had nearly forgotten the man entirely, only calling on him for a few words once every several years when representatives came from all directions to pay homage.

Exactly how much military strength Xu Zhi commanded, no one but the House of Marquis Xiangning itself could say.

But when the Crown Prince made his bid for the throne, it was Zhou Tan who mobilized a great army to retake Bian Capital—the histories never recorded where that army came from, only vaguely noting that it was a force from the western border.

Qu You suspected it was, in all likelihood, this Marquis of Xiangning’s support.

It seemed that by the time Zhou Tan left the court, he had already planned out everything that would follow. Even without knowing for certain whether Xu Zhi commanded any troops at all, he could count on his identity as Xiao Yue’s son to make sense of the western defenses and bring Ruo Prefecture under his control.

It was a pity that even though she had been honest with Zhou Tan, she still hadn’t found the chance to talk things through with him properly—if she brought up matters of military and state affairs too abruptly, she worried it might startle him.

There would be time enough for that later.

For now, what mattered was taking stock of the household staff. Because Qu You had always treated the servants with generosity and kindness, the household was of one mind, and even though everyone believed Zhou Tan’s demotion was genuine and knew Ruo Prefecture to be a harsh, remote place, there were still no shortage of people willing to follow them.

Qu You went carefully through Nanny Yun’s list of names, trimming down the staff as much as she reasonably could. Those with family still nearby, especially with relatives close to Bian Capital, were mostly reassigned to the estates and shops instead. The road to Ruo Prefecture was long, and though there would still be chances to return, circumstances along the way could change in an instant, and she couldn’t take responsibility for so many people at once.

Emperor De had not reclaimed Zhou Tan’s properties, so Qu You left a few trusted old servants recommended by the Qu family to look after the residence, and entrusted the shops and estates to Ai Disheng as well—he had plenty of people under him already, so managing a bit more wouldn’t be any trouble.

When the Bai clan’s main branch heard Zhou Tan was headed to Ruo Prefecture, they immediately sent someone to ask if he needed any financial assistance. Zhou Tan kept a few loyal servants but declined their money, instead sending the household jade pendant to Bai Shating—Ye Liuchun accepted it on his behalf, since Bai Shating had been too busy chasing after Bo Ying lately to be found.

According to Ye Liuchun, the man had apparently had a change of heart recently and intended to sit for the imperial examinations—whether Bo Ying had provoked this was anyone’s guess.

Qu You thought to herself that, going by what she knew of history, Zhou Tan would likely pass the examinations right around the year he returned to the capital.

Hearing that Zhou Tan was leaving the capital, someone came from Shui Yue’s family, intending to take her back to be married.

After asking around carefully, Qu You confirmed that the match was with Shui Yue’s honest, good-natured cousin, and generously agreed to the marriage, even adding some silver as a dowry to help with the couple’s livelihood. She introduced Shui Yue to Zhi Ling and Dingxiang, so she could earn a little extra working alongside them.

He Xing was a girl Nanny Yun had bought some time ago out of pity from a trafficker—she had no parents, no family at all, and so naturally was devoted entirely to Qu You. Though the girl was usually quiet, she’d grown considerably steadier and more careful in her work, and if she wished it, Qu You hoped to find her a good match as well.

As the day of departure drew nearer, Qu You had finished packing the carriages and luggage one day, only to find Zhou Tan unexpectedly absent from Songfeng Pavilion. Asking around, she learned he’d gone to the Ministry of Justice.

Come to think of it, though her name was still registered there, she had only ever handled a single case before having to leave—she couldn’t help feeling a little regretful about it. With that thought, she changed into men’s clothing and rode a horse over to the Ministry of Justice.

She had finally learned to ride under Zhou Tan’s instruction, and no longer needed to bother with a carriage or sedan chair.

After tying up the horse in the courtyard, she made her way toward the back hall.

It was around noon, and the whole courtyard was nearly deserted, hardly a soul in sight.

Just as she pushed open the door to the back hall, she saw a familiar figure in white standing behind the screen directly opposite the entrance. Zhou Tan, not expecting anyone to walk in without announcement, froze for a moment, his brush hand stiffening.

Once he saw it was her, he relaxed slightly and went back to writing behind the screen.

Master Bai Xue.

Qu You watched his focused, brush-wielding figure, and though startled for a moment, she quickly understood—though she had never actually read the very first poem Zhou Tan had written under that name, in some deep, unspoken way, she seemed to have always known it was him.

Who else, in a place as steeped in blood as the Ministry of Justice, would be so audacious as to call himself “White Snow”?

Qu You stepped closer to the screen, looked up, and saw once again the poem the two of them had once written together.

—A clear window full of snow, nothing stirs; racing a horse, wielding a sword, in a small corner of the wide world.

When Zhou Tan had first come to the Ministry of Justice, it had been early spring, with a lush bamboo grove outside his study shaking snow loose onto the latticed windows. Qu You could almost picture him lying against the window after a fresh snowfall, lost in memories of his old carefree days—a single bamboo grove standing in for an entire world of wandering freedom. It was a pity that such untroubled days had, in the end, drifted away like smoke.

—Young men in blue robes, splashed with new wine; a white-haired man burns candles over the books of the departed.

The young men newly arrived at the Ministry of Justice hadn’t yet traded their blue robes for the somber official uniform. Zhou Tan wasn’t really much older than they were, and yet it felt to him like another lifetime altogether. Many of these young men came from official families, still untouched by bloodshed, still carrying the fragrant scent of wine about them, and looking at them, he couldn’t help feeling as though his own hair had already gone gray.

Before the first candle of Ranzhu Tower had even been lit, his old friends had, one by one, perished in the Imperial Prison. The seals of friends long gone still lingered faintly on the books in his study, their handwriting still there, though there would never again be a chance to meet them in person.

—Able now to hear the White Snow through three springs, no longer smiling at the virtuous echoes of old Gusu.

Zhou Tan had once served in Suzhou, back when he was still relatively carefree, well-liked in his official post, praised wherever he went for his integrity and virtue.

It rarely snowed in Suzhou, and he had never once seen it while stationed there. Only after returning to Bian Capital did he hear, from a distance, that Gusu had seen fresh snow that very spring. Snow now covered over those old memories; the praise he’d once heard was gone, and all he could do was smile ruefully to himself.

As for the final lines—”a meager remaining life” and “swallowing his voice through sickness and old age”—those, it seemed, were likely how he had once imagined his own end, before he had met her.

Qu You felt a sting of salt gathering behind her eyes. Standing behind the screen, she reached out to touch Zhou Tan’s cheek; sensing her movement, he paused his brush and reached back very gently, resting his hand over hers through the thin silk screen.

Through the sheer fabric, their fingertips touched, and Qu You felt, in that moment, that she had never once been so moved in her life.

She looked down at the words he had written—”we meet at dawn, we meet at dusk“—and knew she had found her soulmate.

That was exactly the feeling.

I know your immortal bones know neither summer nor winter’s chill; though a thousand years apart, meeting you still feels no different than dawn to dusk.

She sat with Zhou Tan behind the screen for a long while, watching him patiently write replies to every petitioner’s grievance. Since this was the last time, he wrote slowly, pausing now and then to sit lost in thought.

She had the back hall’s doors locked, and no one came by the entire afternoon, until at last, as dusk began to fall, he set down his brush and rose.

Using the excuse that she wanted to stay a little longer to look things over, Qu You sent Zhou Tan on ahead to his study. Once he was gone, she took out the private seal she’d quietly lifted from him earlier, and stamped it onto the first screen, right before the very first poem Zhou Tan had ever written there.

Once Zhou Tan was gone, Master Bai Xue would never come again either.

She had no idea how long it would take the people at the Ministry of Justice to realize the truth—but she thought she might as well leave Zhou Tan’s own seal there for him, so that no one would doubt it afterward.

In early March, Zhou Tan and Qu You set out from Bian Capital with a light escort, traveling west out through the city gates. The night before, everyone had already come to say their farewells; Qu You had even received a gift of gold bars from the Crown Prince and Crown Princess, a sign that Song Shiyan still hoped, even at this final hour, to keep Zhou Tan from leaving. Zhou Tan only smiled faintly at the gift and, without comment, had it sealed up and passed along to Gao Ze.

Gao Yunyue leaned over the city wall, waving her handkerchief, and in the distance, Qu You thought she could just make out Ren Shiming and his parents as well.

Their traveling escort was small—besides Uncle De, Nanny Yun, and twenty or so trusted servants and maids, there was only the black-clad guard sent by Proprietor Ai, who insisted on accompanying them himself. He was highly skilled in martial arts, and would help keep the two of them safe along the way.

Zhou Tan lingered at the city wall for a long while. Qu You knew who he was waiting for, but Zhou Yang never came.

Not long after leaving the city, as they passed by Jinghua Mountain, Ai Disheng and Bo Ying, who had already been waiting there, brought them a letter from Song Shixuan. Unable to leave the little Qifeng courtyard himself, he had simply written a poem as a farewell gift—

Crossing the river, the heavenly steeds came south—how many were truly men of talent and vision? The elders of Chang’an, the scenery of the new pavilion, remain sadly unchanged. Yifu and his companions, the realm sunk and lost, how many ever looked back? Reckon: ten thousand li of pacified borderlands, true glory and true achievement—that is the scholar’s true calling, do you know it?

And besides, there is still literary greatness, a towering peak of letters, facing the shade of the parasol tree, through a whole courtyard of clear daylight. Once fallen to earth, now tested by the times, watch how the winds and clouds race on. The wild fields, the mist and smoke; Pingquan’s grass and trees; East Mountain’s songs and wine. Wait, in years to come, once the realm is set right again, we’ll drink a toast to your long life, teacher.

Reading it through, Zhou Tan’s face relaxed into a look of quiet relief. He folded the letter carefully and gave it to Qu You to keep, and had Ai Disheng carry back the reply: “Counting the days until then.”

The carriages and horses gradually vanished beyond the walls of Bian Capital. Zhou Tan lifted the curtain for one last look back, and saw dark clouds drifting overhead, moving toward the city, wrapping the gates in a heavy gloom.

But ahead of them, the sky remained clear and open.

He was quiet for a moment, and at last made out the words of the song Qu You had been humming all this while, words he had never quite understood.

“Is that a poem by Changji?”

Qu You didn’t answer him, sitting quite contentedly outside the carriage, gazing ahead, still humming the tune.

“Fleeting light, fleeting light, I offer you a cup of wine. I do not know how high the blue heavens are, nor how thick the yellow earth—I see only the cold moon and warm sun, wearing away at human life; the bear-eater grows fat, the frog-eater grows thin. Where is the Divine Lord, does the Great One even exist? To the east lies the Ruo tree, beneath which the candle dragon coils. I would sever the dragon’s leg, chew the dragon’s flesh, so that morning never returns and night never falls…”

“Naturally, the old would never die, nor the young ever weep—why then swallow gold, why devour white jade? Who has seen Master Ren, riding his green donkey through the clouds? Liu Che’s Maoling tomb still choked with lingering bones; Ying Zheng’s cypress coffin, wasted on fish and rot…”

Where is the Divine Lord, does the Great One even exist?

This poem is called “The Bitterness of Short Days,” Zhou Tan thought.

It felt like only yesterday that they had talked through the night by candlelight—only now spring had arrived, and there was no longer any need to grieve over the long nights; the days were growing brighter, and even beneath gathering clouds, the clear sky would surely return in the end.

What they meant to do together had only just begun.