As Ye Tingyan passed through the long covered corridor at the front of the courtyard, he found the sunlight blazing, casting the small garden in a dazzling haze. He quickly averted his gaze and walked on through the shade.

Below the hall, Song Lan was speaking with Lady Yan, his voice kept very low and very gentle — Ye Tingyan rarely heard the young Emperor speak in this manner: “Mother, did the meal agree with you today?”

The woman’s voice was too indistinct to make out a single word. Ye Tingyan hesitated, uncertain why someone as cautious as Song Lan would summon him at a time like this. He paused his steps and stood before the doorway.

From where he stood, he glanced into the hall — and there, beneath the eaves where shadow met light, half dark and half bright, was a wooden bodhisattva statue set within an elaborately carved shrine, hanging high on the wall of the hall.

The rear chamber of Qianfang Hall had also served as the late Emperor’s study. He had come and gone from it many times and had never seen this bodhisattva statue before — it must have been placed there on Song Lan’s orders.

He pulled his gaze away. He recalled Luowei mentioning casually once or twice that Song Lan had taken to Buddhism of late, joking more than once about her own inner chamber’s irreverence, saying that when she entered to pay her respects she only bowed to the Buddha image placed in the center. Seeing this now, it did seem he was genuinely devout.

Lady Yan came out, supporting herself against the doorframe, and bowed to him from a distance. He glanced at her and was quite surprised to find that this Lady Yan, sent by the Empress Dowager, appeared to be already past thirty, and her attire was not that of a consort but still resembled that of a female official in the inner court.

Ye Tingyan had no time to think further on this and hurried inside.

No incense had been burned in the study — there was only the mingled scent of old books and ink. He drew a few steps closer and saw Song Lan picking up a large leaf from some plant he could not identify, feeding it to a white rabbit in a nest of straw before him.

“Ye Tingyan, you have come,” the young Emperor said, without looking up, his attention still fixed on the rabbit. “Sit down.”

Ye Tingyan sat without ceremony in a nearby chair, his gaze also falling on the rabbit. His fingers tightened slightly, though his tone remained perfectly casual: “Your Majesty is in fine spirits.”

“This is the rabbit my imperial brother left behind,” Song Lan said, tilting his head, his voice slow and deliberate. “He was very fond of these little creatures and kept many of them in the imperial gardens. After he was gone, the rabbits remained. I tended them myself, but one by one they died. After all this time, only this one is left.”

It was a strange thing, when one thought about it. Song Lan had harmed him and Song Qi, implicated more than a thousand people who had expressed dissatisfaction with the outcome of the Thorn of the Tang Case, and killed without a flicker of mercy. And yet at the same time, he had set a bodhisattva statue in his study to venerate day and night, was filially devoted to his mother, and even took care of the rabbits left behind with no one to tend them.

One face that of a demon; another that of compassion — which face did the world see?

Ye Tingyan sat before the hall and watched Song Lan’s expression with keen interest.

In the years before all of this, he had always believed he understood his younger brother well enough. When the case broke open, it had been a shock.

Later, he had changed his appearance and met him again in Youzhou, earning his trust and becoming his confidant — yet had never let slip the smallest crack. He did indeed know him — he had simply not known him well enough before. Now that he had glimpsed even the darkest corners of him, he finally had full confidence.

The rabbit finished the entire leaf from Song Lan’s hand and lay listlessly in its nest. Ye Tingyan stepped forward and reached out to stroke the soft, fluffy creature.

For some reason, the rabbit was suddenly very excited, leaping up from its nest and flicking its ears.

Song Lan seemed surprised, then smiled: “It appears to like you very much.”

Ye Tingyan lowered his eyes and smiled along with him: “This servant kept many little creatures from a young age — we must have some natural affinity.”

“It is rare to see it so lively,” Song Lan said, raising his voice to call: “Liu Xi — take it over for the Empress to see.”

Liu Xi had someone carry the rabbit and its nest away. Ye Tingyan stood to one side and watched, and once the people had gone and the hall door was properly shut, he turned around and gave a slight bow: “This servant comes to report to Your Majesty.”

Song Lan said: “Speak.”

Ye Tingyan answered with a “Yes”: “After this servant and the Zhuque personnel questioned the matter day and night, we have finally confirmed that the one who rescued the Qiu woman from the prison and sent her into the palace in those years was Princess Imperial Ningle.”

Song Lan raised an eyebrow in surprise: “Ningle?”

“Yes. When the word ‘princess’ was first drawn from that old palace attendant’s mouth, this servant naturally assumed it must have been Princess Imperial Shu Kang,” Ye Tingyan said. “But as the matter was traced from beginning to end over two days of investigation, it was turned entirely on its head. This servant has already written a detailed memorial of ten thousand characters laying out the full sequence of cause and effect. Though three years have passed and many of the palace attendants involved are no longer present, what Zhuque’s investigation uncovered still yielded thorough human and physical testimony — it is beyond any doubt or possibility of fabrication.”

He paused, then continued: “This servant understands Your Majesty’s concern — yet if Your Majesty thinks carefully, the Empress and Princess Imperial Shu Kang had close friendships with countless women in their youth. For the sake of one convicted official’s daughter with whom they shared only some acquaintance — why would anyone take such a risk?”

Song Lan played with two glass beads in his hand and was silent for a long while, finally saying slowly: “When the Empress opposed collective punishment in those years, it was out of concern for this subject’s reputation — and out of unwillingness to let the Grand Preceptor use that as pretext to purge his opponents. If she truly wanted to protect this woman, she should have come to petition me first.”

“Precisely,” Ye Tingyan said in a serious tone. “Sending this woman into the palace was a strategy of killing two birds with one stone. First, this woman had always believed the Empress shared some feeling with her and yet had kept herself at a distance — she harbored resentment, and if she ever found an opportunity, she would likely act against the Empress. Second, if someone with ulterior motives were to use her identity to stir up trouble, the Empress would have no way to defend herself. The Huiling Lake bronze gold cup incident — had this woman not panicked upon fearing the Empress had discovered her identity and struck in a rash moment, with such a person at her side, would Your Majesty not naturally have concluded that everything was arranged by the Empress? Had this scheme succeeded and the court balance shifted — what then?”

Song Lan fixed his gaze on the wisp-like patterns swirling within the glass beads in his hand and said nothing.

Ye Tingyan glanced up and saw his expression — he knew that look meant he had already believed his words.

Those in high positions were often prone to suspicion; this was nothing unusual. But whether because Song Lan had spent so many years in a state of anxious uncertainty, his suspicion wound through nine bends and eighteen turns, always finding more to dwell on than an ordinary person.

Moreover, what he had said was the crux of it: Song Lan’s emotional responses were muted; hearing this, he would certainly reflect — would Luowei risk her life to save someone? If she risked herself to harm someone, that would still be worth something. To risk herself to save someone — that would not add up.

Under ordinary circumstances, this speech alone might not have made him believe so easily. But the present moment was different — Luowei had sent word to bring Yan Lang to the capital precisely to scatter his thoughts. The False Dragon’s Chant affair had been giving him headaches. Yan Lang’s killing of Wang Fengshi, his trusted man in the military, was the far more pressing and troubling matter.

This spring had been far from peaceful: first the Western Garden killing, then the spring hunt assassination attempt, then Zhang Pingjing’s sudden illness, then the emergence of the False Dragon’s Chant, then the Empress’s palace attendant being implicated in the old case. The Jintian Guard had been cast aside; the head of the Ministry of Revenue was now vacant. Somehow, the court had suddenly become rife with undercurrents.

And at precisely such a time, Yan Lang had returned to the capital. The Yan family had always maintained a warm relationship with the Empress, and Song Lan had long sought a way to take the military command at the frontier from their hands, yet had never found the means. For Yan Lang to kill his appointed general without a word — was it a show of defiance? Whatever the case, one thing Ye Tingyan had said was quite right: if the court balance shifted at this juncture, what then?

Thinking this far, Song Lan felt blood rush to his head. In a moment of distraction, the glass bead in his hand slipped and fell, shattering on the floor.

*

The next day Luowei received word through Ye Tingyan that Song Lan had placed Song Zhiyu under house confinement, while his handling of Yan Luo remained ambiguous and unclear.

Later, Song Lan took Luowei with him to meet Yan Lang, and on the way made a vague remark, handing Yan Luo over to her to deal with as she saw fit.

On the day Yan Lang entered the palace, he rode a date-red horse through the imperial boulevard in conspicuous fashion. He had returned to the capital with a retinue of only a little over twenty soldiers, half of whom had gone directly to the capital’s suburban garrison and had not even entered the city.

In the years when the Yan Shizi had been in the capital, his personality had been very flamboyant, and he was handsome to boot — the object of the daydreams of women of every kind up and down every street and alley. Now, after years of tempering on the frontier, he was not as fair-complexioned as before but appeared more mature. In the short stretch of road he traversed, he was nearly buried under the ribbons and flowers thrown down from the buildings on either side.

Ye Tingyan had been residing in Zhuque Bureau for three days. Yan Lang’s entry into the palace today finally gave him the chance to take leave, and after morning court he returned to his residence.

Pei Xi covered his ears and struggled to push through the crowd at the street’s edge, saying with fury: “After all these years, and he still hasn’t changed that ostentatious manner of his!”

Ye Tingyan played with the folding fan in his hand: “You think him ostentatious, yet he is clever indeed — last night before entering the city, he had already sent someone ahead to spread word through the city with plenty of embellishment about his heroic defense of the frontier and his slaying of the rebel commander. And today he rides on horseback down the main street. Grand General Zhuozhou’s reputation still stands; with him conducting himself so openly, which of the common people would doubt what he says?”

Pei Xi let out an “ah”: “The young man did this on purpose?”

Ye Tingyan said: “Song Lan and Yu Qiushi have spent years racking their brains trying to take military authority away from the frontier, yet have never found a way in. By parading through the streets like this, he makes it impossible for them to use even the cheapest trick of detaining him in the palace. The voice of the multitude, you see…”

Pei Xi was waiting for him to continue. But without warning, Ye Tingyan fell silent and instead turned to ask: “Mistress, how much are these buns?”

He stood before the stall working out the calculation for what seemed like half a day, then finally paid for four buns, handing one to Pei Xi. Pei Xi took it in confusion: “Why did you stop talking?”

Ye Tingyan said with a blank expression: “Ah — was there more to say?”

He made a show of casually glancing back. Yan Lang wore ornate armor today, gleaming golden in the sunlight; that glance caught a dazzling reflected glare, and he quickly pulled his gaze away.

Pei Xi clearly saw the flash of grief in his eyes and finally understood why he had so abruptly changed the subject just now. Over these years, he had changed too much — even his thoughts were buried ever deeper; had Pei Xi not watched carefully, he would not have worked it out in an entire day.

He felt he ought to say something but did not know what to say. So he took a bite of the bun in his hand, winced from the heat, and with an expression that remained perfectly grave said: “Delicious.”

Ye Tingyan was amused by him and absently stuffed the remaining three buns into his arms.

Pei Xi clutched those buns and walked on with him toward the residence, saying as he walked: “The False Dragon’s Chant in Biandu and the bronze gold cup at Huiling Lake have yet to be resolved. The Empress summoned Yan Shizi back to the capital at this time — was it only to save her old friend? With so many things piled together, I can’t quite work it out.”

Ye Tingyan answered casually: “What is there to work out? Wei… the Empress first had someone scatter the False Dragon’s Chant through Biandu, then carefully engineered the bronze gold cup affair, hoping to use it as an opportunity to make Song Lan feel that Yu Qiushi was being disrespectful — this move is the same as what I did at the spring hunt, both meant to add more fuel to Song Lan’s wariness of Yu Qiushi. But that old fox Yu Qiushi caught her opening and swapped the cup; he originally planned to use the Qiu woman’s identity to settle the matter and make Song Lan believe the Empress harbored divided loyalties. I stepped in and spoiled his scheme…”

He yawned: “With the Qiu woman stabbing the Empress, and given Song Lan’s suspicious nature — if I add a little to the story and make Song Lan think the Qiu woman was sent in by someone else — in that state of half-belief and half-doubt, he will turn around and suspect it was all Yu Qiushi’s doing. The court is already unstable; with the Empress now calling Yan Lang back to the capital, everything is stirred into even greater confusion. From Song Lan’s perspective, the question of why Yan Lang killed his trusted man Wang Fengshi is clearly of greater importance; from Yu Qiushi’s perspective, the first move has failed, and the next move is unclear — holding still is best. In all these years, she has grown quite accomplished.”

Pei Xi mused thoughtfully: “And your lordship also took the opportunity within her scheme to get rid of Princess Imperial Ningle — how convenient. Oh, right — before morning court, you said offhandedly that you had finally understood what the Empress wants, but left the words unfinished. If it were not for the Emperor, why would she… I cannot work it out either — what is it she wants?”

Ye Tingyan lowered his head and said nothing. The two of them walked quietly beneath the eave tiles at the street’s edge, the sunlight filtering through the gaps in the roofline casting patches of light and shadow that flickered across his face in a shifting, overlapping pattern.