After the twenty-fifth day of the twelfth month, officials no longer needed to report for duty at government offices and could stay home preparing for the New Year festivities. Even those granted imperial favor who entered the palace for discussions mostly exchanged pleasantries with Emperor Tianyou, reminisced about old times, or received additional rewards before returning home.
Unless some particularly urgent matter occurred, the period until the Lantern Festival was the longest vacation of the year for officials—though naturally, social engagements among officials also reached their peak during this time.
Since the eighth year of Tianyou when they repelled the large-scale southern invasion by Liang forces at Shouzhou, these past few years had seen fierce battles between Liang and Jin over Qingzhou and Weizhou. This meant that Chu, which occupied the Huai River region, had enjoyed several years without major warfare, and the state treasury was not as strained as in previous years.
On the twenty-fifth day of the twelfth month, His Majesty even issued an edict at the final grand court assembly of the twelfth year of Tianyou to reduce several miscellaneous taxes, demonstrating his intent to rest and recuperate with the people.
Though evening had not yet fallen, mansions large and small throughout the city eagerly hung lanterns and festoons, and the sounds of string and bamboo instruments already filled the air endlessly, as if everyone was thoroughly demonstrating that Great Chu had entered an era of singing and dancing in peace.
Han Qian dawdled until nearly evening before entering the city. Surrounded by Zhao Kuo, Zhao Wuji, Lin Haizheng, and Fan Dahei, he headed straight for Marquis Linjiang’s residence to attend the banquet.
Dusk gathered on all sides, and snowflakes began falling from the overcast sky.
Han Qian had worked up a sweat riding into the city, and now the cold wind cut across his face like a knife. He looked up at the sky, thinking that after the snow and a few more cold days, the weather should warm up.
Arriving at Marquis Linjiang’s residence, he saw several of the marquis’s guards dragging a ragged old man and an emaciated youth into a nearby alley. Han Qian initially thought they were driving away beggars, but when he heard faint wails mixed with the sounds of punches and kicks coming from the alley, he found it strange. He wondered why the marquis’s guards, even if in a foul mood, would need to drag them into an alley for a severe beating when simply driving away beggars from the gate would suffice.
Han Qian hesitated and waited a moment. When the guards returned, one was wiping bloodstains from his hands with a white cloth. Han Qian asked, “Who is that old man?”
“Some old man from Zhao Cang’s family. Don’t know why he brought this half-grown boy with him these past few days—grandfather and grandson running into the city crying out injustice, pestering endlessly,” the guard said carelessly.
Han Qian found the name Zhao Cang vaguely familiar. As he stepped through the gate, he suddenly remembered this was the guard whom Shen He and Guo Rong had determined conspired with the palace attendant in blue robes, Zhao Shunde, to assassinate the Third Prince but failed.
Only then did Han Qian recall that after the Third Prince Yang Yuanpu’s clumsy “assassination” incident, it seemed no one in Marquis Linjiang’s residence cared about the purely innocent guard who had been implicated in the assassination case simply because his blade was stolen by the Third Prince Yang Yuanpu, nor about what became of him after Shen He brought him to the palace to report.
Neither had he.
This guard named Zhao Cang seemed merely a prop, already discarded in some corner. No one cared whether he was torn to pieces, no one cared whether he had a wife, children, or elderly parents.
Han Qian stood frozen in place, turning his head to look. In the dim street, he saw the old man, his face covered in blood, trying to crawl out. But seeing the wolf-like guards still standing at the gate, he fearfully let the thin youth pull him back into the alley.
Han Qian was about to steel himself and walk inside when he suddenly stopped and instructed those guards, “Bring those two here.”
Han Qian was now not only an academic companion to the Third Prince Yang Yuanpu but also an assistant in both the marquis’s residence and the Dragon Sparrow General’s office. Even though few knew he was the Third Prince Yang Yuanpu’s true confidant, the guards below wouldn’t disobey such a minor instruction. They immediately dragged the old man and youth over.
Just then, a plain and unadorned carriage rolled over the stone-paved road and stopped before the marquis’s gate. The carriage curtain lifted slightly to reveal Yao Xishui’s delicate and charming face, watching with great interest everything happening before the marquis’s gate.
Han Qian glanced at Yao Xishui sitting in the carriage but paid her no mind. He directly pulled over the old man who had been beaten bloody and searched his person for his identity document, then tore it to shreds.
Not only Zhao Wuji and Lin Haizheng beside him, but even several of the marquis’s guards looked somewhat dumbfounded. They merely held down the old man and the youth whose eyes were filled with hatred, preventing them from offending Young Master Han Qian.
Without an identity document to prove one’s status, one became a vagrant—there were still many vagrants and famine victims outside the city. Without an identity document, one wouldn’t be arrested as a spy or traitor, but neither could one expect to enter the city again.
Han Qian scattered the shredded identity document, which seemed to merge with the snowflakes. Then he said to Fan Dahei and Lin Haizheng behind him, “You two drive these eyesores out of the city. It’s almost New Year—spare us the sight of such ill fortune.”
Fan Dahei and Lin Haizheng felt reluctant, but strangely, they didn’t know when they had begun to not dare defy their young master Han Qian’s authority. They could only steel themselves to untie their horses from the hitching post again, haul both the old man and youth onto the horses’ backs, and gallop out of the city while the gates were still open.
At this moment, Yao Xishui had two maids from Evening Red Tower behind her holding a pile of boxes. Two carriage drivers sat quietly on the carriage, waiting for matters here to conclude before taking Yao Xishui back to Evening Red Tower.
As an imperial prince’s academic companion and assistant to the marquis’s residence, Han Qian, along with Zhao Kuo and Zhao Wuji as Han family household troops who had long been registered with the marquis’s residence, could come and go freely and carry swords and bows inside.
As an invited dancing girl coming to perform, Yao Xishui found entering the marquis’s residence much more difficult, especially after the assassination incident.
Though the marquis’s residence had eight musicians bestowed by His Majesty, Yao Xishui also brought an ancient zither and the sword props needed for her sword dance, all of which had to be surrendered for inspection.
Moreover, the sword props had to be handed over to the marquis’s people for safekeeping and would only be returned to Yao Xishui when needed.
Han Qian had no authority to instruct the guards to skip this procedure. He merely watched with considerable interest as a maid from the marquis’s residence came to search Yao Xishui.
Yao Xishui wore a snow-white fur robe. When she removed it, her inner dress was relatively thin. As the marquis’s maid searched her, one could still see her tall figure was quite substantial, reminding Han Qian of that day at Evening Red Tower when he had grappled with this little spitfire.
At the time, in his haste to escape this little spitfire’s clutches, he hadn’t thought to carefully savor that astonishing sensation. Now recalling it, the impression was quite vague.
“Young Master Han is so cruel-hearted. In this bitter cold, tearing up people’s identity documents and driving them out of the city—aren’t you afraid this frigid night will add two more frozen wronged souls to heaven and earth?” Yao Xishui’s beautiful eyes fixed on Han Qian’s as she asked with a charming smile.
“Miss Yao’s dance tonight will surely move heaven and earth and make ghosts weep. How could we let two filthy creatures disturb it?” Han Qian tucked his hands into his wide sleeves, gazing calmly at Yao Xishui.
Though Yao Xishui’s performance tonight didn’t surprise Han Qian, her appearing so calmly made Han Qian feel this little spitfire was no simple matter.
The Third Prince Yang Yuanpu’s previous repeated reversals toward him could all be attributed to Li Chong and others’ influence.
Though the Third Prince Yang Yuanpu might not particularly like his arrogant demeanor born of resentment and talent, he would resent even more Li Chong and others’ misleading of him.
If he could restrain himself slightly in the Third Prince Yang Yuanpu’s presence while continuing to occasionally provoke Li Chong and others in secret, keeping their resentment toward him undiminished, it would only completely extinguish the Third Prince Yang Yuanpu’s trust in them.
He just hadn’t expected Yao Xishui to appear tonight without showing the reaction he wanted—how disappointing.
Yao Xishui’s beautiful eyes looked toward the distant street. In this short time, the sound of hoofbeats had already faded. The figures of men and horses merged into the night and could no longer be seen.
“Young Master Han, please go ahead,” Yao Xishui said impassively.
As an assistant to the marquis’s residence, though Han Qian held a lowly clerical position, he still had an actual official post. Yao Xishui, being in the entertainer’s registry, naturally had to address him as “Young Master” and follow behind him.
Inside Marquis Linjiang’s residence, eyes and ears from the Anning Palace and the Crown Prince were everywhere. The Third Prince Yang Yuanpu wouldn’t treat Han Qian too warmly either. But following behind Han Qian, Yao Xishui saw Yang Yuanpu’s eyes shine brightly when looking at Han Qian. She sighed quietly to herself. When she withdrew to the side courtyard to prepare for her performance, she instructed one of her accompanying maids in a low voice, “Leave the city immediately. Find that old man and young girl Han Qian expelled from the city and bring them to Autumn Rain Pavilion to settle them. Don’t alarm the mistress about this.”
“That youth is a girl in male disguise?” the maid asked in surprise.
“Is Han Qian blind, and you as well?” Yao Xishui glanced at the maid, telling her to hurry out of the city. She mustn’t wait until the city gates closed, or leaving the city would require too much trouble.
…
…
After Shen Yang, Guo Rong, Chen De, Li Chong, Li Zhigao, Chai Jian, Guo Liang, Zhang Qian, Feng Yi, Kong Xirong, Han Qian, and other generals and officials nominally belonging to Marquis Linjiang’s residence and the Dragon Sparrow General’s office had all arrived, the evening banquet officially began. Female Official Song Xin attended at one side, directing palace attendants and maids to serve everyone during the feast, and arranging for musicians and dancers to perform in succession.
Regardless of how duplicitous everyone normally was, after more than ten cups of wine, the atmosphere gradually grew lively.
Yao Xishui appeared as the finale, having changed into a colorful dress with long water sleeves. She walked out gracefully, her appearance stunning, instantly eclipsing the several entertainers of decent looks kept by the marquis’s residence. Holding a bladeless short sword, wearing silk slippers, she slowly began her sword dance.
When Han Qian was in Xuanzhou, he had heard that Yao Xishui was famous at Evening Red Tower for her sword dance, ranking among the six most accomplished, but had never had the opportunity to watch. Now seeing Yao Xishui execute the sword with slow, graceful movements, it was beautiful to the extreme.
“That little beauty you’ve taken a fancy to is truly gorgeous. Look at that backside of hers—so round and firm! Give it a pinch and water would surely flow out!” Feng Yi, having drunk wine, staggered over to sit beside Han Qian, commenting on Yao Xishui from head to toe without restraint.
Feng Yi intended to speak quietly with Han Qian, but having drunk wine, his tongue was thick and he couldn’t control his volume. Han Qian believed Guo Liang and Zhang Qian sitting across from them could hear, yet Yao Xishui before their eyes seemed oblivious. He thought this little spitfire had a better temper with others.
“Sword dance has both slow and fast movements. This servant has also learned a splashing sword dance, whose sword is extremely swift. I specially present it for Your Highness’s viewing,” Yao Xishui said, stopping the slow dance and kneeling before the courtyard.
“Excellent!” Yang Yuanpu said.
Chen De still stared at Yao Xishui lustfully. Guo Rong gestured for two guards to stand before the Third Prince Yang Yuanpu—watching the sword dance was fine, but security couldn’t be neglected.
Yao Xishui changed to a different sword prop and gracefully walked before Han Qian and Feng Yi. Han Qian had to admit that in full costume, Yao Xishui was indeed quite alluring.
Glancing at Han Qian, Yao Xishui asked Feng Yi, “May this servant request that Master Feng hold this scabbard?”
“Good, good, good!” Feng Yi said as if his bones had lightened by two ounces, seemingly completely forgetting that Yao Xishui was the girl Han Qian had first taken a fancy to. He took the scabbard and held it upward toward the sky as Yao Xishui instructed.
Yao Xishui’s form contracted backward, her movement swift as a phantom. The sword light scattered like heavy snow, filling the courtyard.
Han Qian had been practicing diligently with sword and bow during this period, profoundly influenced by his dreams. He had thoroughly abandoned flowery techniques, leaning entirely toward practical combat skills. Yet even so, he had to admit that Yao Xishui’s splashing sword dance could truly be called exquisite. He silently felt that the verses from previous dynasty poets praising sword dance masters—”her dance vigorous and marvelous, brilliant as Yi shooting down nine suns, graceful as celestial emperors riding dragons, coming like thunderbolts gathering fury, ending like rivers and seas condensing clear light”—could be completely applied to Yao Xishui.
The more it was so, the more terrified Han Qian felt about that day’s grappling with Yao Xishui. How dangerous, how dangerous—had he slipped even slightly, who knows how this little spitfire would have humiliated and tormented him.
Feng Yi watched even more dumbstruck. Finally, he saw Yao Xishui’s short sword leave her hand, flying into the air like a white silk ribbon for several dozen zhang, turning and descending. The sword light flashed down like lightning. With a resounding clang, before Feng Yi could react, the short sword had already slipped into the scabbard he held.
Feng Yi broke out in a cold sweat and sat down hard on the ground. Listening to the thunderous applause around him, he didn’t recover his senses for quite some time.