She had never barred Song Lan from her inner chamber, and now there was no time to do so. Song Lan turned and headed toward the floral screen within her hall; Luowei rose to her feet, about to say something to stop him, but thought it over and did not speak — she only silently followed.

Song Lan lifted the door curtain and found that no lamp had been lit in her cramped inner chamber.

It was as he walked to the hall doorway and thought of the palace attendant who could not be roused that a strange sensation flickered through his mind — palace attendants on night duty were always light sleepers, so how could there be a case where even the arrival of the imperial carriage failed to wake one?

Furthermore, he had come in such urgency that he had overlooked many details — such as whether Luowei had been perhaps a touch too quick to wake.

Yet these thoughts only turned over briefly; seeing that all around was empty and bare, they vanished.

Luowei followed him inside and lit the lamp behind him.

The inner chamber was dim and cold; not even incense had been burned.

Song Lan stood for a moment. All he heard was the faint sound of candlewax melting the moment the candle was first lit; with that, he set his suspicions aside somewhat. He took three sticks of incense and solemnly placed them in the incense burner, then performed the customary bow.

Luowei knelt on the prayer cushion beside him, her palms pressed together: “Does Zi Lan feel his heart has grown more peaceful?”

Song Lan said: “This is a good place of elder sister’s.”

For some reason, that strange suspicion refused to leave him. The air seemed to carry a trace of a subtly familiar scent — somewhat sorrowful, somewhat cool — rather like the sandalwood Luowei had been fond of burning in former times.

That sandalwood had originally been something his imperial brother loved. Luowei burned it less frequently now; when he stayed the night, the incense she preferred was far sweeter than this.

Ye Tingyan leaned against the wall of the inner chamber and did his utmost to soften the sound of his breathing.

He had first listened to the conversation between the two of them in the main hall, then heard their footsteps drawing nearer from far away before finally stopping at close range. He did not know why, but Song Lan had actually entered this cramped little chamber, and Luowei had followed him in.

Since his eyes were injured, his hearing had grown keener and keener — he could even make out the sound of the breath passing between their lips as they spoke on the other side of the wall.

Song Lan seemed somewhat distracted. After a brief bow he was preparing to leave; Ye Tingyan had just let out a breath of relief when he was startled again by the sound of fabrics brushing against each other.

He remembered that Luowei had draped herself in a thin gauze from the dressing table — it was very fine, floating like a cicada’s wing — while Song Lan favored wearing either white or black lapelled robes in the rear palace.

The gauze brushed across the imperial robe’s hem and elicited a low, soft intake of breath — before leaving, Song Lan had turned back to kiss her hand!

In that single instant, the first thing Ye Tingyan recalled was the scene of encountering Luowei at the entrance to Qianfang Hall some days before.

He did not know what Luowei and Song Lan had said to each other then; he only remembered that her eyes had been red, and that the vivid lip rouge at the corner of her mouth had slightly smeared — an appearance of sensual allure that left little to the imagination as to what “affectionate” relations between an Emperor and Empress might entail.

Although he had told himself ten thousand times already, finding himself this close to it, he realized he was still in such pain he could barely speak.

When Song Lan departed Qionghua Hall, he saw that Attendant Li at the doorway was still unable to suppress her repeated yawning, and could not help but chide himself inwardly for being too suspicious — he knew Luowei had confidants within the rear palace, but surely she would not dare go so far in her boldness. He had been too jumpy and overly suspicious of late.

After walking a few paces, he spotted the left and right Lin Guards across the long street, bowing in greeting. Something stirred in his mind, and he casually gave an instruction: “Xingsi, go and investigate whether any of the Imperial Guards on duty before Qionghua Hall tonight were absent from their posts.”

“Yes.”

Song Lan’s close guards had all been replaced since his enthronement by the Zhuque Attendants; the seven most capable among them were named after the seven stars of the Southern Vermilion Bird asterism — this “Xingsi” was the one who ranked fourth among the Zhuque stars.

Xingsi received the order and departed without a sound.

Only after confirming that Song Lan had left Qionghua Hall did Luowei dare dismiss the palace attendants and reopen the hidden door of the inner chamber.

Ye Tingyan sensed the light and instinctively raised a hand to shield his eyes. Luowei saw him crumpled by the door, a thoroughly pitiable sight, and was momentarily taken aback.

She quickly blew out the candle in her hand and leaned forward to ask: “What is wrong with you?”

In the dim light of the inner chamber, she only saw his reddened eyes when she drew close, and felt a pang of guilt: “I only remembered that you have an eye ailment and cannot bear strong light — I did not expect that this dark and gloomy place would also be intolerable for you.”

Ye Tingyan took the handkerchief she handed him and wiped the few drops of moisture that had seeped from the corners of his eyes, then made light of it: “Your Highness’s dark and gloomy place is truly a touch too dark and gloomy.”

Luowei said nothing. Just now she had been certain that the inner chamber was pitch-black, and that without a lamp nothing could be seen — it was on that confidence that she had dared put him in there.

She did not know whether he had guessed her reasoning. The tone of his voice just now seemed, compared to before, to carry something rather pointed.

Perhaps it was only her imagination.

Luowei reached out her hand to help him to his feet: “The hour is late; you had best go back soon. Song Lan received the military report from Youzhou — if the mood strikes him, he may well come looking for you at Zhuque Bureau.”

Yet Ye Tingyan would not rise. He caught her outstretched hand and lowered his gaze slightly: “Is this your hidden move? You asked me to preserve her life for three days because three days is precisely the travel time from Youzhou to Biandu. Young General Yan’s return to court is no small matter; His Majesty will surely have too much on his mind to pay close attention to Zhuque.”

Luowei did not answer, only saying: “A few days ago, you said you could not preserve her life, but three days were within your power. Now that you have done so, I am greatly relieved. As for other matters, there is no need to trouble yourself further, my lord.”

“Your Highness has considerable influence — a single letter was enough to bring Young General Yan all the way back to the capital, even to the point of slaying a court official without hesitation, going to such lengths to manufacture a reason he simply had to return,” Ye Tingyan said. With one firm pull, he tugged her down and gathered her into his arms, then leaned close to her ear and said quietly: “When the young general helped His Majesty ascend the throne back then, it was also as a favor to Your Highness, was it not? Tell me — is he… also one of Your Highness’s ‘close attendants’?”

He drew out the words “close attendants” with a tone full of layered implication. Luowei did not know what had gotten into him, and was about to scold him — then thought better of it and could not be bothered to expend the effort. Instead she gently smoothed his lapels and said softly: “Whether he is or is not — what does it matter?”

Ye Tingyan looked down at her.

Like a demon seizing his wits, he caught sight again of her slightly smeared lip rouge.

That vivid red, the color of blood, overflowing from the curve of beautifully shaped lips, leaving a trace that sent the imagination running — like a taunt directed at him. He reached out as if bewitched to wipe it away, but no matter how he tried it would not come off. He rubbed until Luowei was in pain; she gave his finger a sharp bite: “What madness is this now?”

Only then did he wake as from a dream. He froze and stopped, and when he looked again, he found his fingertip and her lips clean and unstained — no blood-colored smear bleeding outward.

— She had been sleeping when night fell; she had put on no lip rouge at all.

He gave a self-mocking laugh, then with great effort steadied himself and looked up to survey this cramped inner chamber.

The previous Empress had occupied Qionghua’s main hall, with the bedchamber just behind it. On his first night here he had nearly gone to the wrong place; he had originally been puzzled as to why Luowei had chosen this remote little corner as her sleeping quarters. Thinking on it now, it was surely because this inner chamber contained a hidden room.

Song Ling had been devout in his faith; Luowei had only respected it, without true devotion.

Seeing this now — not just irreverent, but positively iconoclastic.

Since the middle period of the Zhou dynasty, the three schools of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Taoism had been flowing together, and though they had influenced each other, no one had ever heard of someone who worshipped all three together and lodged them in the same room — she had even placed the hidden entrance at the top of the Buddha’s head, which truly made one not know whether to laugh or cry.

Ye Tingyan steadied himself against the wall, stretched his somewhat aching neck, and happened to glance at what lay behind him.

A single look — and he was immediately struck cold.

On the wall of the secret chamber directly facing the door hung a vast and detailed map of Great Yan.

Even from this distance, he could make out that the markings on the map were extraordinarily precise — rivers and mountains went without saying; there were also dense clusters of red dots. He knew this map well: it showed the military defense distribution of Great Yan!

Before he could look more carefully, Luowei stepped in front of him and sealed the door of the secret chamber.

The two of them walked together out of the inner chamber and all the way to the window, where Luowei sat down on the daybed and was about to push open the latticed window — when Ye Tingyan suddenly said from behind her: “When I first entered Biandu and pledged my loyalty to Your Highness on the high terrace of Gaoyang, I said that Your Highness wished to use me because His Majesty no longer trusted her as he once had, and the Grand Preceptor also watched with hungry eyes — to preserve herself, she had no choice but to proceed as she did. Today, this servant takes the liberty to ask, overstepping his place —”

His voice came as light and eerie as a ghost’s: “The realm holds a deer and all the world hunts it together — Your Highness, what is it you seek?”

Luowei’s fingers gave a small tremor. She still reached out and pushed open the latticed window before her; a night breeze swept through, tousling the wisps of hair at her temples.

*

Exactly as Ye Tingyan had speculated before — the news of Yan Lang’s return to court crashed like a great boulder into the already turbulent depths of the court.

The Great Yan dynasty valued the civil and thought little of the martial arts — yet great military families that had endured for three or more generations were exceedingly rare, and those of blazing prestige rarer still.

The Ye clan, once a great northern family, had guarded the northern frontier for generations — but their ancestors had all been garrison commanders, defenders of cities.

The Yan family was different from the Ye family. The prestige they enjoyed today was because in the era of Emperor Ming, the family had produced a general of unrivaled fame throughout the realm.

Grand General Zhuozhou had originally been surnamed Zhou; he later changed his name to Yan. He clashed with the Western Wilds many times over, fighting countless battles that were spoken of with admiring relish. In the Mingtai years, with this heaven-sent genius at the helm, the Western Wilds people were driven back beyond the walls of Pengcheng and utterly lost their former dominance.

It was said that Emperor Ming and Grand General Zhuozhou shared a bond of sworn brotherhood, and the Emperor bestowed upon him the glory of “entering the audience hall wearing sword and shoes, not hastening in the imperial presence, not being called by name at court.” The Yan family held one of the four tiger-tally seals in all of Great Yan, and though unlike the Ye family they did not have many branches, they were a genuinely illustrious military clan.

At the time of the Young Zhaoling Emperor’s enthronement, the Yan Shizi — the Yan heir — who was still in Biandu had moved forward the forces of the capital suburbs garrison in advance and faced five routes of Imperial Guards in a standoff, and it was this that had given the Emperor the means to enter the Golden Hall smoothly. After the enthronement, the Emperor had wished to bestow further honors and rewards, but the northern five-tribe coalition had suddenly launched a raid on the Youzhou border, and both the Yan Shizi and his father had departed for Beiyou before they could receive their reward.

Now, although the five-tribe alliance still stirred restlessly, the Yan family had not lost a single engagement in the three years they had guarded the north.

With the frontier threat not yet resolved and the Emperor planning to tour the north that spring — precisely to bring the rewards in person — no one could understand why, at such a time, Young General Yan would suddenly request entry into the capital. After all, the son of a great man’s virtue lasted five generations before fading — and in the eyes of Biandu’s people, the northern frontier threat was no longer so pressing. With the Yan family holding such power in their grasp, it would seem they ought rather to be regarded with wariness by the ruler.

Luowei sat before the not-yet-withered lotus pond in Qionghua Hall’s little garden and let a faint smile touch her lips.