◎ Awakening ◎

Zhou Tan heard the sound of suona horns, hazy and distant.

Was this festive music, or a funeral dirge? he wondered dimly.

The clash of shackles rang in his ears; in his confusion, he felt as though he had returned to that day when the heavy chains had been locked around him — the day it had snowed, when he and a group of friends had all been marched together into the dim prison.

“Xiaobai!”

Gu Zhiyan called his name through the cold iron bars, his face etched with anguish, clear tears sliding down his deeply lined cheeks.

“Teacher…”

Zhou Tan struggled to open his mouth, wanting to say “I’m fine,” but couldn’t even summon the strength to speak. From somewhere far off came the chilling sound of screams and weeping.

“Teacher is right — the Tower of Burning Candles… must not be built. If the tower rises, one’s reputation shatters. Your student bows before you again and swears never to change his resolve, even unto death!”

At first there had been many others in the cell with him — he remembered former classmates, the ever-upright Censor-in-Chief from the Censorate, and the superior who had first appointed him to office. Their faces had all blurred together in his memory, save for the fire burning in their eyes.

“Brother Zhou, do you have any wish left unfulfilled?”

“In my youth, I hoped only for peaceful, uneventful years. Later, I wished for my family’s safety and comfort. After passing the examinations, I hoped to make something of myself, to achieve great things, to secure a hundred years of peace and prosperity for Great Yin.”

“So too should be the wish of every one of us — a gentleman holds fast to his principles, unafraid of any torment.”

Three days later, he saw the very young scholar who had spoken those words to him piled beneath a blood-soaked wall in the prison, rotting flesh tangled with bleached bone. He stumbled, and saw a familiar hand reaching out from among the decaying corpses — only then did he recognize who it was.

His stomach twisted with bile; he couldn’t even manage to vomit.

“Xiaobai, remember what I told you…”

“…”

“A gentleman holds fast, unafraid…”

“My lord… I am willing to write a rhapsody for His Majesty’s new tower.”

Zhou Tan was bound to a blood-stained wooden frame, and saw before him the eunuch’s face, twisted into something between a smile and a sneer.

Someone struck his shoulder and pulled out a long, thick iron nail — driven in at a vicious angle, piercing through the gap between his shoulder blades. The pain was excruciating, though the bleeding was minimal; it wouldn’t be fatal.

Nail after nail clattered to the ground, and at last he was released, thrown down heavily onto the floor like a lifeless object. After a long while, someone forced him to his knees before a table. Trembling, Zhou Tan gripped his brush tightly, dipped it in his own blood, and wrote the first line.

“In the fifteenth year of Yongning, the Emperor built the Tower of Burning Candles at the East Gate, and in that year, all things were purified and renewed…”

The sound of the suona horns in his mind grew louder, clearer. He closed his eyes and felt fingers brush gently across the bridge of his nose, and seemed to hear a woman’s soft sigh.

“Poor thing…”

The scene shifted. Zhou Tan lifted his head in a daze, the sunlight blinding, and found himself walking down the street in the vermilion robes of the Ministry of Justice, as though drenched in the blood of his own colleagues.

A child stumbled and fell before him; no one moved to help, and the child wailed in pain. He reached out instinctively, as he had done countless times before, lifting the child up and brushing the dust from his knees. Before he could even speak, a dull, heavy pain bloomed in his chest.

A short dagger had pierced clean through his chest. The child cackled with a strange, high-pitched giggle, mocking him in a childish voice, telling him he deserved to die.

Blood coated his hand, staining his already-vermilion official robes an even deeper red.

But I… can’t die yet!

He jolted awake at the sound of the door being kicked in.

Qu You’s grip on the scissors loosened, and she turned to find herself looking into a pair of pale, indifferent amber eyes.

Zhou Tan, the great red wedding robe still draped over his shoulders where it had been left beside him, stood behind the folding screen with one hand pressed to the wound on his chest, gazing at her with a trace of confusion.

Liang An stammered, “Lord… Lord Zhou…”

Qu You caught, with a sharp eye, the faint sway in Zhou Tan’s stance, and quickly moved to steady him.

Zhou Tan glanced at her but didn’t pull away, addressing Liang An in a flat, cool tone. “Have you come to pay me a visit? Making such wild claims in my own chamber — did you take me for dead?”

“I would never dare, my lord!” Liang An’s legs buckled, and he dropped straight to his knees behind the screen — moments ago he had been utterly arrogant and unrestrained, now he looked more frightened than if he’d seen a ghost.

Zhou Tan had been at the Ministry of Justice for barely three months, yet had swiftly and decisively cracked five long-unsolved major cases. Despite his refined, almost delicate appearance, he acted with the ruthlessness of a demon from hell — a man everyone feared.

Liang An lay prostrate on the floor, his heart pounding with terror, thinking that Zhou Tan truly hadn’t died after all — and that he’d lain so calmly at home all these days, perhaps precisely waiting for today, for him to come knocking.

“Take your men and get out,” Zhou Tan said in a low voice. “I won’t hold today against you. Have someone bring the Ministry’s recent case files to my residence.”

Liang An remained kneeling on the floor, unmoving, a thousand thoughts flashing through his mind in an instant. He tentatively raised his head, looking toward the figure behind the screen.

Everyone already believed Zhou Tan was dying anyway—

He had come today to seize the seal by force. Would Zhou Tan let him off the hook after this? If that was the case, he might as well go all the way now.

Even if he killed the man himself, the world would simply assume he’d died of his wounds — wouldn’t they?

Then set the place on fire afterward, and even if suspicions arose, no one would ever find proof.

Liang An gradually steeled his resolve. He took a deep breath, summoned his courage, and rose from the floor. “My lord, there is one more matter…”

He began walking toward the screen. Qu You watched the shadow drawing steadily closer, his tone unmistakably malicious.

In that instant, she suddenly realized — only the three of them currently knew that Zhou Tan had woken. If Liang An killed him now, he could still claim afterward that he’d died of his illness.

She instinctively turned to look at Zhou Tan. His gaze was deep and unreadable, the veins standing out on the back of his hand as he gripped the wedding robe draped over him, but he said nothing, made no move at all.

Liang An slowly drew the sword at his side; Qu You could even hear the sound of the blade cutting through the air.

At that critical, hair’s-breadth moment, the closed door behind them was kicked open once again.

Qu You heard an arrogant, brash young voice. “What the hell are you? I’m walking into this residence, and you dare block me? Are you Zhou Tan’s pet dog? What loyalty!”

Zhou Yang — bursting into the residence at this very moment?

Liang An jumped, startled, and immediately sheathed his half-drawn sword. Zhou Yang looked him up and down with disdain. “You Ministry of Justice types reek of blood — makes me sick just being near you! Take your men and get the hell out of here!”

Liang An was clearly flustered. He shot one last resentful glance toward the screen, but had no choice, releasing his grip on the sword hilt. “I’ll come pay my respects to the Lord some other day.”

He then left the room.

The moment he left, Zhou Tan’s strength gave out; he nearly fell backward, and Qu You quickly caught him, helping him slowly down to sit on the floor.

Zhou Yang kicked over the folding screen, and upon seeing Zhou Tan sitting there, froze for a moment, his handsome face registering disbelief. “You… you really didn’t die!”

Zhou Tan showed him no courtesy whatsoever, sneering coldly. “You dare threaten an official of the Ministry of Justice? How many lives do you think you have?”

“I don’t know how many lives I have, but from the looks of you, you don’t have half a life left.” Zhou Yang crouched down before him, hand resting on the sword at his waist, mocking him. “You posted guards at the gate trying so hard to hide it — I figured you must be awake. You move fast, calling in your Ministry subordinates and everything. What, afraid I’d stab you while you’re weak?”

Qu You listened, caught somewhere between laughter and disbelief — so Zhou Yang had simply happened to notice the private soldiers Liang An had left at the gate, guessed that Zhou Tan had woken, and, being blocked from entering to find out, had grown all the more convinced of his suspicion and barged in regardless of consequence.

And in doing so, he’d unexpectedly resolved their crisis.

Zhou Tan coughed a couple of times. Qu You helped him to his feet. “Said your piece? Then get out.”

Zhou Yang flew into a rage. “You think I want to stay here with you? Even if you’re awake, I doubt you’ll last much longer — I’ll be waiting to collect your corpse!”

He stormed off in a fury, nearly colliding with Nanny Yun, who came rushing in at the commotion, and let out a scornful snort — every bit like a small dog whose tail had just been stepped on.

Seeing Zhou Tan awake, Nanny Yun burst into tears of joy, then, forcing herself to calm down, hurried out of the residence to fetch Bo Ying.

The room was suddenly left with just the two of them.

Zhou Tan let out a breath, pressed a hand to his wound, and stepped back to sit down on the bed. Once his breathing had evened out, he said, “I need to rinse my mouth.”

Qu You, somewhat surprised, went and fetched him water anyway.

Zhou Tan wiped his mouth with a handkerchief and looked up, studying the woman before him in her peach-pink robes. She showed no fear at all, meeting his gaze with a raised brow.

Peach-pink was, admittedly, a rather garish color, and yet the woman before him carried herself with an air of pure elegance. Her eyes were clear and bright, looking at him with curiosity and quiet scrutiny — none of the resentment or contempt he’d grown used to from others.

There was even a certain distance to it — as though she weren’t looking at him so much as examining some object that had caught her interest.

Zhou Tan looked away first, lowering his eyes, and asked quietly — though the first thing he asked was: “Who is your father?”

Qu You was a little surprised, but answered evenly. “The Court Historian of the third rank… I mean, sixth rank — Qu Cheng.”

“Lord Qu… is still in the Ministry of Justice’s prison,” Zhou Tan said after a moment’s silence, seeming to be thinking something through. His eyes closed, he nodded faintly. “You were betrothed to me for Chongxi, weren’t you? How many days have I been unconscious since the attack?”

“Counting today, a full nine days,” Qu You answered, then couldn’t help but ask, out of curiosity, “How did you know?”

“His Majesty intended to arrange a marriage for me even before the attack, though I turned it down each time.” Zhou Tan slowly pulled off the wedding robe draped over him, answering simply. “With my life hanging in the balance these past several days, wasn’t it the perfect opportunity? Dress it up as a Chongxi marriage, with no one left who could decline on my behalf.”

“This marriage was pushed through by the Noble Consort, who convinced Emperor De—I mean, convinced His Majesty to bestow it,” Qu You added helpfully. “My father is currently a convicted criminal, of no great rank besides, imprisoned for his ties to the Tower of Burning Candles case and his reputation as an upright scholar. This marriage… was meant to humiliate you.”

“Watch your words!” Zhou Tan glanced at her, his tone cold. “Every act of imperial favor or wrath alike is the emperor’s grace to bestow. Besides, you…”

He paused for a moment before speaking again. “I will save your father.”

His expression remained blank, his tone icy, as though he were settling some debt he owed and had no wish to discuss it further. Qu You wanted to ask more, but just then Nanny Yun knocked at the door outside.

She had no choice but to reluctantly set aside her curiosity and open the door to let Bo Ying in to check Zhou Tan’s pulse.

Bo Ying had left barely half a day earlier before being summoned back. He checked the pulse with a look of thorough exasperation. “I already told you he’d wake up soon — why call me back just to ask again?”

Qu You laughed. “Just wanted peace of mind, that’s all. Oh, and — do you have any recipes for medicinal food that would help him recover? Write some down for me.”

Zhou Tan leaned back against the bed, eyes lowered, his lashes casting a shadow beneath his eyes, his tone still perfectly businesslike. “My thanks for saving my life. I… will surely repay it.”

“No need,” Bo Ying said without looking up, gesturing backward with the brush clenched in his teeth. “Treating the sick and saving lives is simply my duty — it’s not as though I’m not getting paid. If you want to thank someone, thank her. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t have come at all — treating you was quite a risk.”

Qu You kicked him.

Evening was fast approaching. After seeing Bo Ying off, Nanny Yun went to help Zhou Shengde tidy up the front hall, which had been disrupted during the day’s chaos. Qu You studied the medicinal recipe Bo Ying had left behind and decided to try it out right away — conveniently solving the problem of her own dinner in the process.

She was just heading out with the recipe in hand when Zhou Tan spoke up behind her. “What is it you want?”

Qu You’s footsteps stopped short.

Author’s Note:

The little brother really does give off the vibe of an unruly dog that hasn’t been properly trained yet.