“The sages teach that a gentleman values his garments and crown above his own life. If Father Emperor wishes to administer punishment, there is no need to bring a court stool — this son kneels to receive it.”

Luowei blinked, yet none of what lay before her disappeared.

In the bright and clear spring day, snowflakes were falling from above her head.

The blue, red, and purple below the Vermilion Terrace blurred together in a mass and burst into flame; the ashes that burned away transformed into flake upon flake of pure white snow. Borne on a wind from far away, they drifted swaying and wavering to the fore, and fell upon the shoulders of the fourteen-year-old Crown Prince.

It was winter of that year. Snow had fallen within the imperial city, covering every trace of crimson on the cinnabar steps, leaving only a vast stillness.

The Emperor, hands clasped behind his back, had not allowed the attendants to hold an umbrella, and descended the steps one by one, coming to a halt before the Crown Prince — who was shivering with cold, yet had not bowed.

“You had no more than a passing acquaintance with those young masters of the Ye family. Beiyou and the capital are separated by a thousand miles — the Youyun River campaign was catastrophically brutal. On what basis do you dare stake your conviction that the young general did not turn traitor?”

Luowei hid behind a corridor pillar, holding a food box, tears welling in her eyes as she watched the father and son in the courtyard, not daring to go forward.

Wind and snow howled. She rubbed her own ears, reddened with cold, and so the voice coming from far away became very indistinct.

“Father Emperor — the Ye family are all loyal and devoted people. Though this official only shared a cup of wine with the eldest son, his single-minded patriotic heart, how could it be concealed? If the young general had intended to turn traitor, how could he have died in battle, his bones and body never recovered? These past years, this official has been corresponding with the Third Young Master, and knows that they…”

Luowei did not catch the words that followed. She only saw the Emperor tilt his head back and look up at the sky, letting out a long, deep sigh.

“Chengming, you are too young, too stubborn.”

After a moment of silence between the two, she could not make out what the Crown Prince said next, but the emperor’s expression suddenly darkened. He stepped back, raised his voice, and called out: “If you insist on this, then I shall teach you a lesson! Someone — drag the Crown Prince to the corridor bench, strip him of his garments and crown, and administer the court staff!”

The Crown Prince answered at full volume: “The sages teach that a gentleman values his garments and crown above his own life. If Father Emperor wishes to administer punishment, there is no need to bring a court stool — this official kneels to receive it!”

Luowei had once heard her father say that the reason the court staff punishment in the imperial palace required the removal of garments was to make applying medicine easier afterward. If garments soaked in blood were left on and then peeled away, that peeling alone would be a second round of pain no less than the original wound.

And yet many civil officials still preferred to endure this agony of stripped flesh rather than remove their garments under the public gaze.

Her father had stroked her hair, his tone carrying what seemed like a trace of wistful reminiscence: “Your grandfather once had a close friend whose reputation was very poor — he was often punished within the inner court. Yet from the day he entered the court as an official until he rose to the post of chief minister, he always received his punishment kneeling outside the Eastern Gate while reciting the Book of Rites.”

And so Luowei could only wipe her tears and watch the Crown Prince receive his punishment kneeling on the cinnabar steps. When it was over, she lifted the lid of the food box and found the red bean round dumplings inside had already gone cold.

No doubt the Emperor had noticed her presence long since, but had said nothing. Seeing the punishment complete, he had intended to offer a few words of concern, but caught sight of Luowei half-hidden behind the corridor pillar, and immediately turned and left with his attendants.

Only then did Luowei lift her fluffy skirts and run forward: “Second Elder Brother…”

The boy she addressed as ‘Second Elder Brother’ started, and bracing himself up, turned his face toward her.

That face, in the hazy, misty snowfall, was blurred and dreamlike — only the smile tugging irresistibly at the corner of his mouth was bright and dazzling: “Wei Wei——”

Then all sound faded away.

Seemingly sensing Luowei’s abstraction, Yan Luo at her side reached out and refilled her cup with hot tea, leaning close to her ear and saying: “My Lady, the tea is freshly boiled — please be very careful.”

Luowei’s fingers brushed the beautifully crafted porcelain cup, and the scorching sensation yanked her back abruptly from her reverie.

These visions, which came and went with increasing frequency, had grown more and more severe of late.

She did not know where things were headed — if this continued, would there come a day when she could no longer distinguish the visions from the present moment?

Yet this was not the moment to ponder that question. The Yu Qiushi before her, because of Ye Tingyan’s evasion, was becoming ever more unwilling to let the matter go: “It is merely a request to let the gentleman be seen. The Censor stands under suspicion — to be so obstinate about it, is it that you truly consider it a humiliation, or is it that your heart is afraid?”

Ye Tingyan replied coldly: “The Grand Preceptor has put it exactly right — suspicion of plums near a melon, slander of the Job’s tears’ grain. This must not be forgotten.” ¹

Luowei tightened her grip on the cup of tea, the heat searing her palm until it turned faintly red. Yan Luo cast her a worried glance and had not yet spoken when Song Lan suddenly asked: “What does the Empress think?”

“This Lady thinks —”

Luowei looked at Ye Tingyan, his eyelids lowered in apparent indifference, and hesitated for a brief moment — but this time he did not lift his head to look back at her.

She withdrew her gaze and gave her instructions: “Yan Luo, you and Liu Internal Official withdraw for the time being. Have the Jintian Guard bring a folding screen — Lord Ye is a gentleman; how could he be humiliated in public?”

After receiving the Emperor’s tacit consent, Yan Luo dismissed the serving palace servants attending the three of them, and with the remaining two imperial guards stationed before the throne carried over a four-panel folding screen from the side.

The captain of the guards, after setting up the screen, positioned himself beside Ye Tingyan and said in a low voice: “Sir, please.”

Ye Tingyan curved the corner of his lips in a bitter smile: “This official gives thanks to My Lady’s grace.”

Luowei said coolly: “There is no need for thanks.”

For the sake of that familiar phrase a moment ago, she had already placed the means to resolve the situation before him — it remained only to be seen whether he himself could grasp the meaning.

Behind the screen, only the Emperor, the Empress, and the chief minister remained — along with two Jintian Guards standing at either side.

Below the terrace, the assembly was buzzing with discussion over this unusual development. Yet Ye Tingyan was a low-ranking civil official in green robes, and the people who had not yet paid their respects after him were by now very few — it was not so much of a delay.

The officials sat in somber attention, not knowing what had transpired before the Emperor, the Empress, and the chief minister. Nor did they dare make a clamor, and so they straightened their posture and sat with dignity — though every single one of them was closely watching the movements on the Vermilion Terrace, undercurrents running through the entire assembly.

Ye Tingyan, unhurriedly, undid the pale glass bead at the collar of his neck, his face inclined downward as though unable to bear the extreme humiliation. Luowei used the round fan at her side to half-cover her face, and through the gauze, she watched him slowly remove his deep pine-green outer robe.

The fan was embroidered with crabapple blossoms — pink-white petals, pale green stems, their grace and elegance cool and pure. She slowly moved the fan from before her eyes, and at just that moment saw Ye Tingyan shed his snow-white inner robe and expose his right shoulder.

Below the collarbone, barely half an inch, was unmistakably an old brand mark.

The character for ‘slave,’ written in seal script, clearly and undeniably proclaimed its owner’s suffering in years past — and the shame that had now been forced to see the light of day.

Song Lan gave Ye Tingyan a slight nod by way of comfort, and so Ye Tingyan, his expression blank, pulled his robe back over himself. Before he had finished putting it on, he heard Yu Qiushi’s voice, faintly mocking: “As for what truly happened in the Youyun River campaign — the capital has no idea; everyone assumed the eldest son had simply been incompetent in battle. What a pity, what a pity — the Third Young Master was so set on coming to the capital. Though his identity is not false, with the slave brand now exposed, the matter of those years cannot be covered up. Third Young Master, you are full of talent and learning, yet you are destined to walk a difficult road. His Majesty ought to take careful…”

Before his words were finished, Ye Tingyan, kneeling before the screen, suddenly snatched the short blade hanging at the waist of the Jintian Guard captain beside him. The captain was shocked out of his wits; in that instant he only managed to shout: “Outrageous — protect the Emperor!”

The numerous Jintian Guards who had been lying in wait at the side of the Vermilion Terrace heard the call and rushed swiftly toward them.

But after Ye Tingyan seized the short blade, he turned it with lightning speed toward his own right shoulder.

Both Song Lan and Luowei rose from their seats; even Yu Qiushi was startled by his sudden, unexpected action.

While everyone was still without a single reaction, the disheveled Ye Tingyan had already moved with decisive swiftness — and excised the slave brand from his own shoulder!

Blood flowed ceaselessly from his wound. In an instant it soaked his snow-white inner garment through with red, and even splattered a few drops onto the screen behind him.

Those few drops of blood were like ink falling into clear water — spreading outward in patterns of savage, grotesque shapes.

Song Lan raised his hand to stop the Jintian Guards, allowing only the captain to retrieve the short blade. He hastened over, his voice full of concern: “Ting Yan, are you all right?”

Ye Tingyan answered with great difficulty: “This official… gives thanks to His Majesty’s concern.”

His complexion had turned frightfully pale, and the expression on his face had twisted with the pain from his right shoulder. Cold sweat soaked his neatly combed sideburns and ran down his cheeks to fall into the wound, where it mingled with the blood and disappeared.

He had acted with great precision — he had only shaved off a thin layer of the skin’s surface.

Luowei stood behind Song Lan, and her sharp eyes caught the flash of a smile that crossed Ye Tingyan’s gaze as it swept over her.

The smile extinguished itself in an instant. Ye Tingyan pressed a hand over the wound on his shoulder and, straining to support himself, looked toward Yu Qiushi at his side: “As for what truly occurred in the Youyun River campaign, this official dares not claim to know with certainty… yet the Grand Preceptor has spoken precisely. Whether to sever oneself from the family name, or to make amends for an elder brother’s offense — the pain of excising this brand today is what this official deserved! His Majesty must not employ a man of doubtful identity or one who conceals the truth. Today, this official gives thanks to the Grand Preceptor, for cutting away, on behalf of this official… all future grounds for rumor and suspicion. With deep reverence — this official bows again!”