“Just old acquaintances, nothing more — how could I remember things so clearly?” Ye Tingyan replied unhurriedly. “Why does Your Highness ask?”

Luowei observed the expression on his face. “Lord Ye just said that he only made the acquaintance of Lord Chancellor Zhang today — then how is it that you seem so familiar with each other?”

Ye Tingyan said lightly, “Lord Chancellor Zhang is a man of great virtue and prestige. When I heard that he had suddenly fallen ill, I came especially to pay my respects. Before arriving, I happened to buy a packet of mung bean cakes from a shop in the lane outside Lord Zhang’s residence. Lord Zhang initially refused to see me, but for some reason later agreed. After we met, Lord Zhang spoke in a muddled fashion at length, and then he fainted away — that is why Your Highness was kept waiting so long.”

He said this, tilted his head slightly, and turned the question back: “Does Your Highness know the reason for this? I have thought it over but cannot figure it out — could it be that Lord Zhang mistook me for someone else?”

Who could Zhang Pingjing possibly mistake him for?

Their figures and appearances were clearly different, their conduct and bearing worlds apart — only that pair of eyes bore some resemblance. On the day she first encountered the other person at Dianhong, her gaze met his at once, and an inexplicable palpitation arose in her heart.

Only after becoming well acquainted did she sense the differences between them. Even the eyes were not truly alike — Ye Tingyan’s eyes were afflicted with some ailment, often tinged red, and behind them lay scheming and calculation; where was the clear and pure gaze of that old acquaintance?

Zhang Pingjing, confused in his sickness, must have slipped into a delusion, his thoughts drifting back to the past. When he caught the scent of those mung bean cakes, he mistook him for someone else.

This happened often enough. After the third year of Tianshou, had she not also… frequently sunk into illusions, unable to free herself?

Thinking of that packet of pastries, a sharp ache pulled at Luowei’s heart.

Years had passed since the parting, even Song Ling had been gone for so long — and yet the shop that made the pastries was still there.

Concealing her emotions, Luowei looked again and again at Ye Tingyan’s expression, but he met her gaze with perfect composure, giving nothing away.

Worried she might lose her composure, Luowei did not answer his question. She took Yan Luo’s hand and turned to board the white rattan sedan chair that had been prepared long in advance.

Once seated and settled, she steadied herself, then lifted the gauze curtain on one side.

Ye Tingyan was still standing where she had left him, cupping his hands and bowing to her.

Luowei said: “Lord Zhang is confused in his illness — how could he recognize anyone? Lord Ye is overthinking things.”

Ye Tingyan fixed his gaze on her, then suddenly spoke: “It is him, isn’t it? If not, why would Your Highness ask about our acquaintance?”

Luowei gripped the gauze curtain of the white rattan sedan chair tightly, a gracious smile appearing on her face. Pretending not to understand him, she deflected the substance of his words: “Lord Ye, tomorrow the Ministry of Justice holds a public trial before the throne regarding the attempted assassination — you had best make some preparations.”

The gauze curtain brushed past his face, and then moved away.

The Empress’s sedan chair passed through the narrow lane, with many attendants walking with bowed heads before and behind her. Luowei sat upright, and as they reached the entrance of the lane, a fragrance of roasted mung bean paste drifted around her nose — she came back to herself.

Through the gauze curtain and the crowd, she caught a glimpse of the familiar shop. The shopkeeper and his wife had both aged; the little boy of that household had grown into a lanky youth. Luowei tried hard to recall, but found she could no longer remember what they looked like.

And at this moment, they were all kneeling respectfully, faces pressed to the ground — she could not see them clearly.

Luowei withdrew her gaze and called out: “Yan Luo.”

The sedan chair came to a stop, and Yan Luo lifted the curtain and entered, responding: “Your Highness.”

Luowei gave her instructions: “Before we return to the palace, go to the old Yan family residence for me. Ask Madame He to send a letter to Youzhou on my behalf — have young Yan help look into this Ye San, especially his dealings and communications with Biandu over these past years.”

Yan Luo answered with a “Yes,” then asked, puzzled: “What does Your Highness suspect?”

Luowei shook her head: “I don’t know myself. With that painting ‘Treading the Crimson Sky to Pieces,’ I should not harbor such doubts… For ordinary matters, Song Lan will certainly have investigated thoroughly. Young Yan has spent many years in Youzhou and knows the local affairs better than anyone Song Lan might send. Ask him to look carefully and in detail — if there is truly anything amiss, inform me. If there is nothing, treat it as my being overly suspicious.”

She turned back for a look, her voice dropping a little lower: “The pastry shop back there — to distinguish the mung beans from the red beans, the shopkeeper always liked to stamp a moon onto the mung bean cakes using red rice yeast. A crescent moon. When you go, buy a piece and try it.”

*

After the imperial sedan chair had departed, Ye Tingyan lingered at the gate of the Zhang residence for a moment, then turned and walked back inside.

He made his way unhurriedly to the front hall where Zhang Pingjing lay, and happened to encounter Madame Zhang.

Madame Zhang had arranged the mung bean cakes he had brought onto a plate, and was holding the copper tray, preparing to enter the room. When she saw him, she was somewhat surprised: “Little Lord Ye?”

She glanced down at the mung bean cakes in her hands and smiled with a touch of bitterness: “Lord Ye has stumbled upon this quite by chance. The shop that sells these pastries is right on this very street, but when my husband goes to and from court, he has too many things weighing on his mind and always forgets to buy any. In the past, it was the Empress — the Empress who, when she came, would often buy some and bring them along. Now that Her Highness has taken her place as mistress of the central palace, she no longer has the leisure. The household servants buy them for him but he doesn’t care for it, so everyone assumed he doesn’t like the pastry, and it’s been many years since he’s had any. Today you brought some, and he was very pleased — others couldn’t tell, but I could.”

When she finished, she suddenly realized she had said too much and hastily added: “Please do not take offense, Little Lord Ye — when one grows old, one becomes chatty.”

Ye Tingyan said nothing. Madame Zhang glanced at him in puzzlement, and noticed that for some reason his eyes had reddened. He caught her gaze, however, and smiled: “It is nothing.”

Madame Zhang did not understand his meaning, but seeing that he seemed faintly sorrowful, she asked one more question: “Little Lord Ye, have you had prior dealings with my husband?”

“I have,” Ye Tingyan answered, lost in thought. “Many years ago, when I came to the capital once, I played a game of chess with Lord Zhang.”

Madame Zhang smiled warmly: “Little Lord Ye must be misremembering — Pingjing does not play chess.”

Ye Tingyan also smiled: “Is that so?”

Suddenly, he swept aside his deep indigo robe and knelt on the uneven cobblestones before the hall. Madame Zhang started, and before she could stop him, Ye Tingyan had already kowtowed with grave deliberateness before the empty space of the front hall.

The candles in the hall had gone out, and in the deep dimness, one could only make out in the distance the plaque hung high bearing the inscription: “Reverence for Heaven, Compassion for the People.”

Having paid his respects, he turned and left without a single word. Madame Zhang, full of puzzlement, wanted to call out and ask another question, but suddenly felt that his retreating figure looked somehow familiar. For a moment she forgot to speak, and simply stood where she was, watching as he disappeared into the drifting willow catkins.

*