Flakes of gilding clung to her fingers. Luowei’s fingertips trembled almost imperceptibly as a thousand thoughts flashed through her mind in an instant.

She loved so dearly the feeling of having calculated everything with perfect clarity. Now that her scheme had suddenly gone awry, she could not help but feel a moment of panic.

But in only a brief instant, she forced herself to calm down and began to think through where the flaw in the plan had emerged.

This set of twelve lotus-pendant gold cups had originally been a set of drinking vessels housed in the Qianfang Hall.

Song Lan did not care much for drinking in private, and so the cups had sat unused for a long time. Yesterday she had placed the cups in a conspicuous position. When Song Yaofeng entered the palace today, she had gone first to pay her respects to Song Lan and, whether intentionally or not, had mentioned in passing that “these vessels would suit perfectly a banquet on Huiling Lake.”

When the mood was right, only a word or two from Liu Mingzhong at his side would be needed, and Song Lan would naturally think of these gold cups he had left idle.

What Luowei had called “adding fuel to the fire” for Ye Tingyan’s scheme was her having spread that ballad, the “False Dragon’s Lament,” throughout the common streets.

The merchant who had sold the imitation gold was originally her own man. The fact that those counterfeit gold objects had sold so briskly at the time owed no small debt to her efforts behind the scenes.

Before he was exposed for selling goods that were not genuine gold, the merchant had “happened” to encounter Yu Qiushi’s eldest son Yu Suishan in a wine shop, where the two had taken to each other at once. He had generously given Yu Suishan an entire set of lotus-pendant gold cups as a gift.

Later, when the merchant became entangled in the case of the seditious ballad and fled, Yu Suishan grew worried that the matter would implicate him and hastily disposed of the set of lotus-pendant cups.

Yu Suishan had been born early and had followed Yu Qiushi through postings in the provinces, experiencing firsthand the poverty of his family in lean times. He was not the sort to throw away money like an ordinary child of wealth and privilege. After the merchant’s troubles began, he had examined the cups and found that the lotus-pendant gold cups the merchant had given him were not made of copper at all, but of genuine gold.

Yu Suishan had therefore not been willing to simply destroy or discard them. He reasoned that gold objects of such a shape were plentiful on the market and that these bore none of the merchant’s marks, and so he quietly arranged to have them sold off.

Yu Qiushi was a man with precious few vulnerabilities. One could only strike at those around him.

When Luowei learned that Yu Suishan had not directly destroyed or discarded the gold objects, she knew the scheme had already succeeded.

Under Luowei’s management, this set of lotus-pendant gold cups was acquired by a minor official, then passed through the hands of the Bureau of Palace Attendants into the inner palace, where a palace servant placed it in the Qianfang Hall.

When the merchant had presented the gift to Yu Suishan, he had slipped that one copper cup in among the rest. Yu Suishan had been in a panic at the time and had not had a chance to examine them one by one.

Luowei’s visit to Xiuqing Temple to see Ye Tingyan had been precisely because she needed him to find and identify that one copper cup concealed among the rest.

So when she learned today that he had entered the palace, she had sent someone to relay the two characters “gold” and “copper” to him. True to expectations, he had not disappointed her—everything had gone smoothly.

In Luowei’s original scheme, when Song Lan saw the inscription and flew into a furious rage, he would trace the origins of the gold cups through the Bureau of Palace Attendants, leading him back to Yu Suishan.

At that point, Yu Suishan’s personal acquaintance with the merchant would be exposed.

The merchant had already fled Biandu. Even if Yu Suishan protested his innocence and claimed they had been only casual acquaintances, who was there who could prove it?

Song Lan would naturally begin to wonder whether that merchant who had fled Biandu had been acting under Yu Suishan’s direction. Even more extreme, might the “False Dragon’s Lament” itself have been composed by Yu Qiushi’s hand?

There was no need for ironclad evidence, no need for a fixed and settled charge. Everything she had arranged mirrored perfectly the scheme Ye Tingyan had devised at Mount Luyun.

The spring hunt assassination alongside the mystery of the seditious ballad—only when Song Lan’s suspicion of the Chief Minister had accumulated to its peak would it be possible to fully steel his resolve to shatter the balance of power between the Chief Minister and the Empress.

Both Ye Tingyan and she could clearly see Yu Qiushi’s position and were therefore certain this matter was not his doing. But Song Lan, seated upon the imperial throne, had always wanted to break free of the Chief Minister’s control. Whether he believed Yu Qiushi had done this to give him a pointed warning, or saw it as Yu Qiushi battling the Empress—and dragging out the truth of the Thorns of the Tang Rose case that only the two of them knew about as a handle to use against him—it was enough to touch Song Lan’s most sensitive nerve.

But the phrase originally to have been engraved on the bottom of the copper cup—”the lotus flower departs the realm”—had somehow become this sentence pointing so much more clearly and explicitly toward its target.

This phrase “the reed flowers of the waterside have been wronged” not only laid bare the events of that year far more fully and openly, but once these words were spoken, the focus shifted entirely away from the case of the seditious ballad.

Though the ballad contained references to “true dragon” and “false dragon,” the focus had always ultimately fallen upon the “false dragon”—using the figure of Crown Prince Chengming to mock Song Lan for being unworthy of his position.

This new phrase, however, told Song Lan in unmistakable terms that the crux of the matter was not a mockery of his lack of virtue, but rather that Crown Prince Chengming still had loyalists from his old faction—and that they wished to seek redress for the injustice done to him all those years ago.

Yu Qiushi and Song Lan had jointly orchestrated the Thorns of the Tang Rose case. If the intent had been merely to signal that Song Lan’s conduct was insufficient and that he could not govern independently and break free of control, there was every possibility that Song Lan would believe it was Yu Qiushi’s doing.

But to publicly call for reopening the case of those earlier events—that could never be Yu Qiushi’s doing.

Because they understood with perfect clarity that if Yu Qiushi were to expose what had happened then, the very first person to be dragged down and implicated would be himself.

So the greatest effect of changing this one phrase was to shift Song Lan’s suspicion away from Yu Qiushi and onto…

“Eldest Sister?”

Song Lan suddenly called out to her. Luowei slowly raised her head and saw that Song Lan was watching her closely. His expression had shed the warmth and patience he usually showed her. His almond-shaped eyes were fathomless as deep water, carrying a note of probing scrutiny.

Luowei suddenly gave an inward start.

Before the incident at the West Garden, she had concealed herself perfectly, never giving Song Lan the slightest crack to see through her. That was why Song Lan had never suspected she already knew the truth of those events from years ago.

It was only from when she had acted on her own initiative to have him go to the Grand Ancestral Temple to pray for rain—and that matter became linked to the “False Dragon’s Lament”—that Song Lan had begun to harbor one or two degrees of suspicion toward her.

This had been her deliberate doing. One purpose was to get Song Lan to dispatch Ye Tingyan to follow her, making it easier for the two of them to meet. The other was to lay groundwork for her future schemes.

But today’s event had lit the fuse of Song Lan’s suspicion.

The timing was wrong. Lit too early, it would bring down upon her nothing but the calamity of her own destruction.

Luowei bit down hard and swallowed all trembling. In an instant she replaced her expression with one of grief and disbelief: “What—what does this mean?”

She leaned closer and said in a voice only Song Lan and she could hear: “Has the true culprit behind those events of that year not already been apprehended? Why is there now someone still claiming injustice? Zi Lan—who harbors such a grievance, who is demanding redress?”

At this juncture, she had no choice but to follow the words inscribed on the cup and display the most fitting reaction possible, and see how things unfolded from there.

Entirely forgetting the preceding phrase about “lack of virtue,” caring only about what injustice had been done—this was precisely consistent with how she had always presented herself.

Song Lan stared at her for a long moment, then reached out and patted her shoulder, offering a perfunctory word of comfort: “Eldest Sister, do not be agitated. I will investigate this thoroughly.”

Luowei sat beside him, her face drained of color, and glanced down. The first thing she caught was the look of startled disbelief in Ye Tingyan’s eyes.

She gripped the cup in her hand and gave the faintest shake of her head.

Ye Tingyan lowered his gaze. All the roiling emotions that had surged through his heart moments before were as if doused with a bucket of ice water, utterly extinguished.

He had received her signal and known that she had a scheme arranged for today—that she needed him to locate that one copper cup concealed among the rest.

In the moment when he casually rubbed away the gilded surface and made out the two phrases engraved beneath it, his heart had nearly been overwhelmed by an incredulous, wild exhilaration.

If this was her design—if she had engraved such two phrases—what did she mean by it?

Could it be that she had not been party to the events of that year? Or was it that, having reached this point, she had come to regret it?

While Song Lan dispatched an inner attendant to summon Luowei, the banquet fell into a hush. Ye Tingyan sat in his place and nearly allowed his own absurd imaginings to deceive him.

For a time, he could hardly spare any thought to consider whom her scheme today was aimed at, or what its purpose was, nor was he willing to think about what reaction Song Lan would have upon seeing it. He could only turn over and over in his mind: she had written such two phrases—she had written such two phrases!

Even if this were merely a pretext she now employed to remove a political adversary, or a means of using the events of that year to pave the way for her own ambitions—such two phrases—did she feel guilt toward him? Did she feel remorse?

To speculate even more wildly…

Ye Tingyan almost could not bear to continue the thought.

Until he saw the drained pallor of her face, and the barely perceptible shake of her head.

To fall from blazing fire into bitter ice—this was exactly that. He looked down at the hand clutching his wine cup and found it soaked in cold sweat.

Had her scheme been seen through by Yu Qiushi?

Ye Tingyan steadied himself and turned the matter over carefully.

What Luowei had just thought through, he had naturally also worked out in full—those two phrases that had shaken him to his core were, in fact, ones the Chief Minister had substituted in to strike back.

Luowei had intended to use the “False Dragon’s Lament” to make Song Lan feel he was being pressured by Yu Qiushi. But Yu Qiushi had turned the tables: using those same events of years past, he wanted to make Song Lan believe that she had come to regret what had been done.

Three people engaged in a court of mutual scheming, each trying to bring about the other’s death. Was this existence of ruthless striving—was this what she had wanted, after making her choice all those years ago?

Ye Tingyan gave a cold laugh and set his wine cup down upon the table with a firm click.

After Luowei’s gaze moved away from Ye Tingyan, it fell upon Yu Qiushi on the opposite side.

Yu Suishan, as the son of the Chief Minister, was thoroughly ordinary in both intelligence and martial ability. He longed desperately to do something for his father, and having been drawn into something as major as the case of the seditious ballad, he should by rights not have dared to breathe a word of it to his father.

And yet Yu Qiushi was only gazing at her from across the distance, one eyebrow lifting very faintly.

In those eyes, lined with wrinkles, lurked a smiling expression that carried a killing edge.

It was then that Luowei became certain: these two phrases had absolutely been substituted by Yu Qiushi.

At some point she did not know, he had already seen through her scheme.

Even having been implicated in the spring hunt and having lost the Lin family as a source of support, he had endured it all in silence without a single word—waiting until this very day to deal her a devastating counter-blow.

The situation now still lay within his plans, while she had temporarily fallen at a disadvantage and did not even know what further moves he had in reserve.

Ever since Song Lan ascended the throne, Yu Qiushi had never been at ease about her. He had made repeated proposals to Song Lan that an Empress capable of holding real power—yet ignorant of their schemes—by his side was a powder keg that could ignite at any moment.

Song Lan was still young and not content to be completely controlled by Yu Qiushi, and so he had always remained vague on this matter, leaving the two of them to contend with each other at court.

But Luowei knew that Song Lan must also constantly worry that she might have learned the truth of those events from years ago.

What Yu Qiushi had done today, therefore, was a test of her.

The most pressing matter now was this: she must not, under any circumstances, allow Song Lan or Yu Qiushi to detect so much as a hairline crack in her composure.

She must act as though she knew nothing at all.

Yet if she knew nothing, then she would have to appear shaken and aggrieved by these two phrases, consumed by the need to get to the bottom of it—but if she got to the bottom of it, might she not implicate herself? Yu Qiushi had been so audacious—what further moves did he have waiting for her?

For a moment, Luowei was trapped with nowhere to advance and no way to retreat.

Fortunately, after she had spoken those two sentences, Song Lan too could not dare to show before her any trace of indifference toward the matter of his royal elder brother’s old affairs. He offered her a hasty word of comfort.

Yu Qiushi rose from his seat and stepped forward, cupping his hands in a bow: “Since the Shangsi Festival, there have been those who have deliberately spread words harmful to His Majesty through the common streets. Such conduct amounts to treason. Now they have grown so bold as to extend their reach into the very imperial city itself. In this servant’s view, this matter absolutely must be investigated with all rigor.”

He looked toward Luowei: “What does Her Majesty think?”

Why was Yu Qiushi so supremely confident? Was it because he did not know Yu Suishan had been implicated—or had he already thought of a way to deal with her?

Luowei made every effort to still her heart and answered: “Indeed.”

*

The banquet on Huiling Lake thus came to an end. Those present had caught a glimpse into such an imperial secret that not one of them dared say a word too many. Even when the female guests coming out of the palace asked why the Empress had departed so abruptly, not one person dared say a thing more.

Xu Dan, though not one of the Emperor’s close attendants, currently enjoyed a good reputation in Qiong Ting, and had been brought along today by a superior. Seeing all those around him silent as cicadas in winter, he was filled with puzzled bewilderment.

Passing out through the East Gate, the officials each mounted their carriages. Xu Dan made his way with difficulty through the horses and suddenly spotted the scholar who had spoken with him at the Crimson Selection gathering. Unable to help himself, he called out happily: “My friend!”

He hurried forward and clapped the man on the shoulder: “Do you still remember me? At the Crimson Selection gathering that day, we were brought together by fate and shared a cup of wine.”

Chang Zhao slowly turned his head. He thought carefully for a moment before saying: “Ah—young Brother Xu.”

Xu Dan said happily: “Exactly. Last time it was hurried and I did not get the chance to ask your name. I have seen you a few times at Qiong Ting, but I am stationed in the archive tower and was genuinely too busy to come over and say hello.”

Chang Zhao smiled as well: “It is no matter. My family name is Chang and my given name is Zhao. You may call me by my courtesy name, Pingnian.”

Xu Dan exchanged a bow with him: “My courtesy name is Boming. A pleasure.”

The two walked along the imperial thoroughfare outside the East Gate, talking at leisure about matters at Qiong Ting. When Chang Zhao mentioned he had received the silver fish-shaped badge, Xu Dan asked a great deal more about the interesting story of his promotion and listened with admiring clucks of appreciation.

After they left the imperial thoroughfare, he finally could not contain himself and slung his arm around Chang Zhao’s shoulders: “Just now at the banquet, I truly felt my heart stop. The last time I saw Pingnian, you knew the events of that year like the back of your hand—I wonder whether you know what this ‘injustice at Tinhua Terrace’ actually refers to?”

Chang Zhao had said considerably less today than the last time. Only when he heard this did he say with surprise: “You saw the characters on that cup?”

Xu Dan hastily covered his mouth and hushed him, whispering: “Master Ye was holding that cup as he received the imperial grace. As he walked back he happened to pass right by my side. I have sharp ears and heard him quietly read it aloud in disbelief.”

Chang Zhao fell silent again. Xu Dan was patient, and the two walked along the imperial thoroughfare all the way to Bianhe River, where they took a private room in the Fengle Tower. Xu Dan went to open the window and found that this spot happened to afford a view of the barricaded Tinhua Terrace on the Bianhe River.

Chang Zhao came over and, gazing out the window with a slightly faraway expression, said: “After the current Emperor ascended the throne, he sought out the culprits behind the Thorns of the Tang Rose case and designated three principal criminals. Their kneeling stone likenesses are still on Tinhua Terrace to this day. Do you know the identities of these three men?”

Xu Dan nodded, then shook his head: “I have heard them mentioned, but the people of Biandu treat the Thorns of the Tang Rose case as forbidden ground and say very little about it. I believe I only know their names—were they scholars who sat the examinations that year?”

“They were,” said Chang Zhao, “and yet they were not. If they were merely ordinary candidates for the examinations, how could they have had such sweeping connections? The Thorns of the Tang Rose case implicated no fewer than a hundred eminent families and nobles. Even the Fifth Prince…”

Xu Dan cried out: “Was it not said to have been the work of a riotous mob? Were there truly such extensive associated prosecutions?”

Chang Zhao raised his hand to close the window, refilled Xu Dan’s cup, and smiled: “If Boming wishes to know, then let me tell you in full.”