Although he knew that Imperial Astronomer Wu was advanced in years and had heard that he suffered from a heart ailment — one that left him palpitating, trembling, and gasping for breath during attacks — Pei Shaohuai still felt that something about this matter was off. The timing of the “episode” was far too convenient.

Was this merely the unpredictability of fate, or had someone deliberately caused his death?

Pei Shaohuai’s encounters with Imperial Astronomer Wu had been few. The first was before his southern journey to Fujian, when Imperial Astronomer Wu had advised him, “In the cold, wood does not thrive; without wood, farming cannot prosper.” The second was a chance meeting during the Lantern Festival, when Imperial Astronomer Wu warned him to guard against the slander of petty men. The last had been after the lightning fire at Fengtian Gate, when Imperial Astronomer Wu invoked the auspicious omen of the “Five Planets in Alignment” at court to shield Pei Shaohuai from the attacks of the assembled officials.

Could it be that this very act of goodwill had brought calamity upon Imperial Astronomer Wu?

Pei Shaohuai’s heart was wrought with complicated feelings.

……

Imperial Astronomer Wu was one who observed the heavens and listened to their language. After death, he was not to lie in state for long, and was to be interred on the third day.

Imperial Astronomer Wu’s only son had died in misfortune, leaving Wu Jianqing as the sole male descendant in the household. Fortunately, positions in the Imperial Observatory were hereditary, and the family still had access to the Emperor’s ear, so no one dared entertain ideas of bullying a widow and orphan at such a time.

With other officials from the Imperial Observatory lending their assistance, though the time was short, the old Imperial Astronomer’s funeral arrangements were properly managed.

Pei Shaohuai had dressed in a dark robe, intending to come and pay his respects, but as he approached and heard the mournful music begin, the murmuring of monks chanting prayers to guide the departed soul, and saw Wu Jianqing kneeling on a straw mat at the doorway, head bowed and utterly still…

White mourning banners draped the lintel; those in funeral hemp wept with streaming tears.

Pei Shaohuai could not bring himself to take a single step inside.

The shame of it was like a club swung from behind — one that Imperial Astronomer Wu had taken in his stead.

Without having uncovered the truth, what face did Pei Shaohuai have to enter and offer incense?

……

Within the Imperial Palace, the Northern and Southern Offices of Imperial Security and the Court of Judicial Review were conducting a rigorous investigation into the cause of the fire at the Palace of Heavenly Purity.

As the Emperor’s residential palace, the Palace of Heavenly Purity was the grandest structure within the Inner Court. Its eastern corridor alone spanned eighteen bays in width and nine in depth. The inner chambers where the Emperor took his afternoon rest and evening sleep comprised three floors of nine rooms each, housing twenty-seven dragon beds for the imperial consorts’ visits. Only those in the Emperor’s innermost circle knew which room and which bed the Emperor occupied on any given night.

A palace of such scale was indeed difficult to investigate.

After a thorough search, all that could be determined was that the fire had started in the western wing, where a gilt incense burner had toppled over, and the scorching ash had ignited the hanging drapes. By the time the palace attendants noticed the blaze, the flames had already leapt along the connecting corridors and spread in all directions.

As for the eunuchs and palace maids assigned to guard the western wing — lacking supervision in the afternoon hours, they had gathered in a room to play cards.

The most frightening outcome was not that a palace had burned, but that no arsonist could be identified, leaving only the conclusion of “an overturned gilt incense burner.” If someone had truly done this deliberately, they must have been intimately familiar with the Palace of Heavenly Purity.

More scorching than the palace fire were the rumors flaring up everywhere, relentless and ceaseless —

“Fire burns the dragon’s nest to make way for a new nest; where the new dragon rises, none can tell.” “Great chaos rises from great fire; unrest follows ill omens.” “Wood gives birth to fire, and fire supplants what was before…”

Even the dragon’s nest had burned — was it not time for the dragon within to be replaced?

Yan Ze was not a tyrannical ruler; he had not resorted to indiscriminate slaughter to silence the prophetic murmurings. Yet this also meant the rumors could not be stemmed, and those who spread them lurked in shadow without restraint.

……

That night, Pei Shaohuai kept watch within the palace.

Because of the fire and the rumors, everyone in the palace was focused on self-preservation, their every action cautious and measured, the atmosphere deeply oppressive.

Pei Shaohuai understood that his adversaries had been laying their groundwork for a long time, their sights now trained on him — it would not be long before the fuse was lit. In these recent days, he had not sought an audience with the Emperor, nor had the Emperor summoned him. Sovereign and minister, in unspoken accord, allowed the situation to develop and churn on its own.

A deep-rooted affliction requires drastic medicine to cure.

Night hung heavy, the wall lamps harsh and stark, and a long wind swept through the palace walls with a mournful howl. It was now the third watch. Pei Shaohuai was about to close the door of his office and rest for a short while in his chair.

Just as he reached the doorway, he caught sight of a dim, shadowy figure making its way toward him from the courtyard outside — the dead of night, not even a lantern held aloft.

Footsteps so light they made no sound.

Only when the figure drew near could Pei Shaohuai make out who it was — Wu Jianqing. Taking advantage of the darkness and the absence of anyone about, he had wrapped himself in a black cloak and made his way from the Imperial Observatory to the Office of Merit Assessment by a roundabout route.

The front court offices were unguarded at night.

“Sir Pei, may I come in?”

Pei Shaohuai quickly ushered him inside and closed the door.

Wu Jianqing removed his black cloak, revealing an ill-fitting official’s robe beneath, embroidered with the trigram patterns exclusive to the Imperial Observatory. Wu Jianqing was still a young man of fifteen or sixteen, far too slender, making the robe look outsized and shapeless on him.

With his face fully visible, Pei Shaohuai looked and felt both startled and a pang of heartache. The boy with bright, clear eyes he had seen at the Lantern Festival was now ashen-faced, his eyes reddened, as though his body had long been exhausted to its limits yet had been forcing itself upright by sheer will.

There was no more trace of that luminous gaze.

Hot tea was set before Wu Jianqing. He did not drink, but spoke directly: “The day before Grandfather’s episode, he had set up an observation array at the Imperial Observatory and was preparing to read the coming star patterns. Tonight, those readings have come in.”

His tone was slightly stiff, but Pei Shaohuai could tell that Wu Jianqing’s goodwill outweighed his wariness. Whatever wariness there was perhaps came from Wu Jianqing’s suspicion that his grandfather had not died of natural causes.

Pei Shaohuai remained composed and asked gently, “The star signs are inauspicious — is that right?”

“You aren’t afraid?”

Pei Shaohuai shook his head. “What brings prosperity to Da Qing is people, not celestial phenomena. What brings ruin to the common people is also people, not celestial phenomena.”

Hearing those words that seemed somehow familiar, Wu Jianqing’s gaze faltered and he blinked away the shimmer of tears. After a long moment, he continued: “What has been foretold is… ‘Mars Occupying the Heart.'” His voice grew heavier.

This was the most dire celestial omen known since antiquity.

Mars burns red and bright, glimmering like fire — thus it is called “the glimmering.” Its position is unpredictable, drifting sometimes east, sometimes west — thus it is called “the confounding.” Combined, the planet Mars earned the name “Mars, the Glimmering Confuser.”

Among the seven lunar mansions of the Azure Dragon of the East, the fifth is the Heart Mansion, composed of three stars, also called “the Heart of the Azure Dragon” — representing the reigning Son of Heaven.

When the erratically wandering Mars suddenly enters the Heart Mansion and lingers there for a long while without departing, this phenomenon is called “Mars Occupying the Heart.” At such a time, Mars is regarded as a star of calamity.

The Book of Song states: In the eighth year of Taikang, Mars occupied the Heart; the following year, Emperor Wu passed away. In the ninth month of Guangxi’s first year, Mars occupied the Heart; in the eleventh month, Emperor Hui died. The Annals of Han states: In the first year of Yongchu, Mars occupied the Heart; the capital fell into famine, and people consumed one another… Whether factual or embellished, such records filled the historical texts and star charts in great numbers.

Wherever Mars occupied the Heart, the ruler died and the people fell into chaos. The more fanciful unofficial histories painted the picture even more dramatically.

And so “Mars Occupying the Heart” became the supreme ill omen presaging the fate and rule of the Son of Heaven — “a change of governance and of the throne,” “ministers rising in rebellion against their lord, and the princes following in succession,” “great cold and drought, the year’s harvest ruined and the people destitute”… all were linked to this dread sign.

Not only did the Son of Heaven fear Mars Occupying the Heart — the common people feared it too.

Later generations had long established that this was nothing more than an ordinary astronomical phenomenon. But Pei Shaohuai could not deny that — call it the deception of charlatans or the ignorance of superstition — these so-called “celestial omens” had always been part of ordinary life since ancient times, even a matter of belief capable of stirring the deepest nerves of the populace.

In a world where fewer than one in ten could read, to stand before the people and argue with empty words that the star signs were false and the ill omens meaningless was simply not possible.

And certainly not enough to defeat his adversaries.

This so-called “prediction” was very likely something his adversaries had engineered. After all, Mars Occupying the Heart had not yet actually appeared.

And so Pei Shaohuai’s expression remained calm. He placed a hand on Wu Jianqing’s shoulder and said, “I have received your warning. As for the star signs — report them faithfully. That is all.”

“The star signs point to you as the treacherous minister. You aren’t afraid?” Wu Jianqing asked again.

“Do not worry on my account.” Pei Shaohuai looked the young man in the eyes and said sincerely, “Report the prediction truthfully, protect yourself, protect your mother and grandmother — these are the things that need to occupy your mind right now.”

He did not wish for Wu Jianqing to conceal the celestial readings and thereby put himself at risk.

Moreover, his adversaries had already extended their reach into the Imperial Observatory, and Wu Jianqing was not the only official there — how could the results of the reading possibly be hidden? This fuse was going to be lit one way or another.

Wu Jianqing’s face showed hesitation and bewilderment. He did not know what he should do. Every hexagram, every calendar of stars — he had committed them all to memory. But what his grandfather had called “observing the heavens with the eye, yet keeping watch with the heart” — this he had not yet grasped.

Seeing his confusion, Pei Shaohuai asked, “Why did you come here tonight?”

“Because Grandfather spoke of you on several occasions, calling you an upright and capable minister rare in a hundred years. And because…” Wu Jianqing had been stubbornly holding back his grief; every mention of Imperial Astronomer Wu deepened the sorrow in his eyes. He said, “Because Grandfather said one must hold fast to one’s heart, and that the outcome of things lies in people.”

“By coming here tonight and telling me all of this, you have already held fast to your heart.” Pei Shaohuai took up the black cloak and draped it back around Wu Jianqing’s shoulders, fastening it securely. “Remember this: protect yourself.”

“Go now.” Pei Shaohuai patted Wu Jianqing on the shoulder.

Wu Jianqing nodded and turned to leave.

“Wait.” Pei Shaohuai suddenly recalled something he had overlooked. He had to warn Wu Jianqing in advance. Wu Jianqing paused his steps. Pei Shaohuai said, “Imperial Astronomer Wu made mention of the auspicious omen of the ‘Five Planets in Alignment’ some time ago. Once this report of Mars Occupying the Heart is submitted, there may be those who will speak ill of your grandfather…” — his voice gradually softened, unable to bear what had to be said — “You will need to endure that.”

Speak ill of him how? They would slander Imperial Astronomer Wu by saying that he died a liar, that he died from the wrath of Heaven.

For Wu Jianqing, the battles of the court were brutal indeed.

The young man could hold back no longer. He suddenly turned around, buried his face against Pei Shaohuai’s shoulder, and wept in low, shuddering sobs, biting down to keep the sound from escaping, his scalding tears soaking through Pei Shaohuai’s robe.

“I no longer have a grandfather…” Wu Jianqing choked out. “I do not want to wear this official’s robe at all. Not even a little.”

“It will pass.” All Pei Shaohuai could do was gently pat the young man’s back in comfort.

Imperial Astronomer Wu had raised his grandson well — well enough that Pei Shaohuai’s own eyes began to sting.

At last, Wu Jianqing wiped away his tears, reached into his chest, and withdrew a letter, which he handed to Pei Shaohuai. “This was found among Grandfather’s belongings. It is addressed to you, Sir Pei.” Then he stepped out the door and vanished into the darkness of the night.

The envelope had already been opened, which meant Wu Jianqing had read the letter privately beforehand.

Pei Shaohuai opened the letter and read it. For a long while after, he could not find his composure.

The letter was written in a tone of gentle lightness. It read: “…Should anything befall this old Wu, it is not on account of you, Sir, and I ask that you not take it to heart. I shall have died for the peace and prosperity of Da Qing, and I hope that you will see fit to honor this small and righteous indulgence of mine.”

“…Jianqing is still young, his judgment not yet fully formed, and he is far from having fulfilled his potential. I hope that you might offer him a word of guidance from time to time, and steer him away from misstep or deviation.”

Pei Shaohuai folded the letter into the shape of a gold ingot, walked out into the courtyard, and beneath a sky full of stars, set flame to that paper ingot.

A gust of night wind swept through, and the tiny embers of ash drifted upward with it, glowing briefly alongside the stars for one fleeting moment before being extinguished.

Pei Shaohuai had never been fighting alone.