◎Return to the Capital◎

Three days later, Song Chang’s third secret edict also reached Zhou Tan’s hands.

Chu Lin was summoned by Yan Fu, riding hard from the western frontier garrison. Having read the edict, he immediately understood the gravity of the matter and decided to mobilize troops to accompany Zhou Tan back to the capital as soon as possible.

Qu You thought quietly to herself that she had once urged Chu Lin not to get involved so readily in the capital’s turmoil—but now, having received Song Chang’s secret edict himself, there was truly no way for him to refuse this mission.

Before setting out, Yan Fu and Xu Zhi held one final private discussion with Zhou Tan and Qu You.

Chu Lin was returning to the capital to protect Song Chang, but he himself might not necessarily be safe there. With Emperor De’s condition worsening by the day, there was no telling when the decree Zhou Tan carried might need to be put to use.

Before that day came, they would send soldiers disguised as merchant caravans toward the capital, preparing in advance for the coup to come.

Learning that Qu You was to leave, Wang Yiran wept several times—Ruozhou was simply too far from the capital, and meeting again in the future would be far from easy. He Yuankai comforted her from the side, saying that once he was promoted, he’d surely have the opportunity to visit the capital himself.

Since they had to leave in such haste this time, they brought even fewer belongings than when they’d first arrived. To avoid drawing attention, they deliberately chose to leave the city in the dead of night. Qu You lifted the carriage curtain and looked back at the twinkling lights of Ruozhou, her heart heavy with countless emotions.

Zhou Tan sat silently beside her, not looking back even once.

“We came here in light breezes and drifting clouds; now we leave beneath ten thousand li of sorrowful cloud,” he murmured. “I once thought this day would never come so soon.”

Lanterns flickered past beyond the curtain. Qu You lowered her hand, thinking to herself.

So it wasn’t only her who had grown so attached to these days of forgotten worries.

But there were things that simply had to be done.

To set the court aright, to keep it from falling into the hands of a tyrant, was for the sake of all under heaven.

To reform the Begonia Decree, to correct the flaws Gu Zhiyan had left unresolved in the old laws, was for the sake of the common people.

No one could quite explain why some people were born into this world already destined to bear an extraordinary burden. She had watched long enough, across five thousand years of recorded history, through every turbulent, uncertain age, to know there were always those willing to blaze the trail regardless of the hardship.

What did they pursue such things for? For what cause were they willing to give everything?

Wasn’t offering up body and soul as a martyr precisely for the sake of that very “cause”?

At some point, without her noticing, Zhou Tan had taken hold of her hand.

Qu You thought to herself that she was, after all, an entirely ordinary person.

She wasn’t a devoted scholar—she had once been utterly unable to understand why her advisor devoted himself so completely to studying a fictional historical figure, willing to remain unmarried his whole life, content to keep company only with that distant “him.”

Nor was she Nietzsche’s “Übermensch”—though she admired the martyr willing to serve as a bridge with all his heart, even in the moments of true heart-to-heart connection with Zhou Tan atop the mountains outside the capital, what she felt was only admiration—she understood it deeply, yet always felt she herself could never achieve such a thing.

Over the past year, Zhou Tan had once spoken with her late into the night by candlelight, telling her that the first time he’d seen her on their wedding day, he’d felt as though he’d sensed it in a dream beforehand—as though some unseen force had guided him, letting him realize he’d finally found a true kindred spirit.

But the moment true longing had actually taken root in his heart had probably been after she struck the drum before the imperial avenue.

Qu You had asked herself over and over why she, someone who didn’t even belong to this era, had felt compelled to seek justice for those women. She could no longer quite recall what she’d been feeling at the time—only vaguely remembering that the moment she watched Zhi Ling dip her finger in water to write, in the Fragrant Heart Pavilion, she had already made up her mind.

Or perhaps even earlier than that—from the moment Gu Xianghui had fallen from Fan Tower, she could no longer remain a mere bystander.

In the depths of night, Zhou Tan had gently brushed his hand across her face and told her, “You’re not ordinary at all—at the very least… you heard the crying in the darkness.”

Thinking of this now, Qu You finally laughed.

If she were Zhou Tan, in a situation like this, she too would return to the capital without hesitation—just as she herself, curious about the truth of history, unable to abandon those crying voices in the darkness, would never look back, no matter how much she cherished the peace of Ruozhou.

Hand in hand, on this quiet spring night, the two of them marched forward together toward the “cause” each held in their hearts—and by some happy coincidence, it turned out to be the very same cause. Perhaps that, too, could be counted as its own kind of desperate romance.

The Crown Princess had taken ill from shock and fright, and had not appeared before him for a full four days now.

Song Shiyan pressed his fingers against his temples before the candlelight, when he suddenly heard an advisor entering announce, “Young Master Zhou has returned to the capital.”

“What?” He set down the bamboo scroll in his hand, mildly startled. “Father’s secret edict—went to Zhou Tan, of all people?”

Song Chang was gravely ill, but not yet so far gone as to be entirely unaware. Though the Crown Prince’s reach extended into the inner palace, he didn’t dare act rashly. For instance, he only knew that the Emperor had sent three secret edicts in succession—he had no idea where they’d actually gone.

Song Shiyan stood up, murmuring to himself as he thought it over. “Gu Zhiyan’s student, the top scorer of the triple examinations, the nail that survived the Burning Candle Case purge, the jade-faced Asura of the Ministry of Justice, the very man who single-handedly brought down Fu Qingnian…”

The advisor heard the crisp clatter of a game piece falling to the floor—Song Shiyan, lost in thought, had swept his wide sleeve across the go board beside him, scattering the pieces from an unfinished game onto the ground.

“Given Father’s temperament, if even one of these things were true of any other man, he wouldn’t have let him live,” Song Shiyan said, eyes lowered, unclear whether he was speaking to the advisor or to himself. “I always assumed he didn’t kill him, only exiled him from the capital, as a way to guard against me. But at a time like this, why would the person he trusts most turn out to be Zhou Tan?”

The advisor said nothing, apparently equally unable to work out the answer himself.

“Jing’an, go investigate tomorrow, and look into exactly what became of Zhou Tan’s parents, who died early back in Lin’an.” The Crown Prince came back to himself, frowning as he gave the order. “All I know is that his mother apparently came from a prominent clan in Jinling, but if that’s all there is to it…”

He didn’t finish the thought, instead asking, “Has he gone into the palace yet?”

The advisor answered, “Young Master Zhou has Old General Chu’s troops with him, so our people can’t touch him. Once he entered the city, he went straight to the palace. He must have already seen His Majesty by now.”

Song Shiyan didn’t seem particularly alarmed. He toyed idly with the heavy gilt jade ring on his finger and laughed dismissively. “So what if he’s seen him? Chu Lin has cared about nothing but warfare for all these years—the capital garrison has long since been loyal to me. He can’t hold the imperial city.”

The advisor said, “Your Highness has planned for years. A handful of men like these surely can’t undo it all.”

But Song Shiyan suddenly asked, “Did Zhou Tan’s wife come back with him?”

The advisor, not quite understanding the point of the question, answered anyway, “Of course. Young Master Zhou brought only his wife and a single guard to the capital—the rest of his household stayed in Ruozhou. He must not feel entirely certain about the situation here.”

“If the two of them were truly deeply devoted to each other, Zhou Tan would never have let his wife come back with him,” Song Shiyan said, as though everything suddenly made sense, speaking with complete confidence. “She must be worried about her own family here in the capital—Zhou Tan has no close kin of his own, but she does.”

Speaking of Qu You reminded the advisor of something. “Ever since Chun Niangzi entered the Crown Prince’s residence, the Chunfenghualiu establishment closed its doors entirely. Our people turned the place upside down but found no trace of the Gao girl at all… A few days ago, they fished a woman’s corpse out of the lower reaches of the Bian River, its face disfigured. The build seemed to match, but we couldn’t confirm it was her, so we haven’t reported back on it yet.”

“That Gao daughter had a bit of spirit to her, but she’s far too stubborn and unyielding—she won’t last much longer anyway.” Song Shiyan waved his hand dismissively, then, as though struck by some interesting new idea, said, “I have another matter at hand right now… tell Song Qi to take a squad of men and surround the Qu residence.”

The advisor said, startled, “The Qu residence?”

The Crown Prince yawned, saying lazily, “Go on, then.”

Seeing he wasn’t inclined to explain, the advisor didn’t dare press further. Just as he was about to leave, he caught a faint, quiet scent of plum blossom drifting through the room.

The advisor immediately stepped aside behind the screen by the door, and only after Ye Liuchun had entered did he ask a hoarse, low question, then hurry off.

Though he held the Crown Prince’s trust, personally encountering one of his concubines was always improper—all the more so someone as sensitive in status as Ye Liuchun.

Ye Liuchun hadn’t noticed him, but she knew the Crown Prince held this advisor in high regard, and immediately bowed. “This concubine has come at an inopportune time. Have I interrupted Your Highness’s important business?”

She was skilled at reading people, and after years of association with the Crown Prince, understood his thoughts extremely well. Since being forced into his household, she knew resistance would be pointless, and had simply resigned herself to serving him as before, even inventing a few lines about having “long harbored affection for him” to placate him.

Song Shiyan knew this wasn’t genuine, but he found her false flattery immensely satisfying all the same, as though it gave him some sense of pleasure in forcing her to submit.

“It’s nothing. Why have you come, Liuchun?” Song Shiyan sat back down at his desk, toying with the candle flame beside him. “I haven’t been to see you in a few days—I wonder what you’ve been up to.”

Ye Liuchun fanned herself lightly with the round fan in her hand, the pleasant scent of the Xin’yang Princess’s plum blossom perfume drifting to his nose. “I’ve been attending to the Crown Princess lately—she’s quite ill. If Your Highness has a moment to spare, perhaps you should go see her.”

Song Shiyan reached out and pulled her forcefully into his arms. A flash of distaste crossed Ye Liuchun’s eyes, but her expression remained docile, feigning reluctance while yielding all the same. “Your Highness seems to be in good spirits today?”

“I’ve had people searching everywhere for word of Miss Gao, but there’s still no trace of her. I know how close you two sisters are, so I’m sure you’re worried—if she truly can’t be found, Liuchun, don’t let yourself grieve too much over it.” Song Shiyan nuzzled against her neck, a sinister smile spreading across his face. “But speaking of which, that other close sister of yours has returned to the capital today.”

Ye Liuchun started. “You You’s back?”

Song Shiyan studied her expression and laughed. “That’s right.”

“But… didn’t she go to Ruozhou with Young Master Zhou?”

“Father’s gravely ill. He summoned Zhou Tan back to the capital.”

Ye Liuchun said nothing in response. She’d known Zhou Tan since their days in Lin’an, and combined with Bai Shating’s vague hints later on, she could piece together some of the picture. She had no idea how much Song Shiyan already knew, so she chose to stay silent.

Thinking of Bai Shating, a wave of bitterness immediately rose in her chest.

Song Shiyan, however, caught every flicker of her expression, and deliberately remarked, “Liuchun, thinking of your dear Master Bai?”

Ye Liuchun forced out a smile, meaning to deny it, but Song Shiyan continued, “He should already be at his post down south by now, indulging in food, drink, and pleasure the whole way there, having long since forgotten you entirely. Here you are, devoted to him with all your heart, while he remains utterly oblivious, no doubt assuming you only entered the Crown Prince’s residence out of greed for wealth and status the moment you saw him fall from favor… A fickle man, hard to fathom—all that deep affection of yours, truly wasted on the wrong person.”

“I’m here now, and my eyes and heart hold only Your Highness,” Ye Liuchun said, showing no sign of losing her composure at his words, her tone gentle. “The past is the past. To be cherished by Your Highness is something every woman in this world envies—why should I waste any thought on a man like that?”

Song Shiyan found these words immensely pleasing, and didn’t much care whether she meant them sincerely or not. He gave her neck a light peck and lowered his voice. “Liuchun pleases me most of all. To make you happier, in a few days, I’ll invite your dear sister into the residence to keep you company for a while—how does that sound?”

Ye Liuchun understood exactly what he meant by this, and couldn’t help but freeze in place.