Ye Tingyan tilted his head back toward the moon rising over the treetops and said: “Grand Preceptor…”

“I know what you wish to ask,” Yu Qiushi interrupted him with a smile. “From the moment we first met at Dian Hong Terrace, I already knew your purpose in coming.”

He set down his wine cup, seeming to sink into memories—even his tone became distant: “Very well. What you wish to know—I will tell you. When Youzhou was at war with the Ezhen tribe at the time of the Youyun River campaign, I happened to be stationed in Pingcheng near the Youyun River. That battle lasted six months—the fighting stretched on without end. If the Ezhen broke through the Youyun River, they could march straight into Pingcheng and slaughter the twenty thousand civilians within. At the time I was an obscure minor official holding the city at Pingcheng. At the end of the sixth month, when the flames of war drew close and troops marched out to meet the enemy—the one commanding them was your eldest brother.”

“Later the Youyun River campaign ended in defeat—but the Ezhen withdrew. I heard that your eldest brother had surrendered to the enemy and died, and that only because the garrison commander Liu Yun had been alert enough to lead the remnants of the force to escape was any military strength preserved at all. After this, Liu Yun stirred up a great outcry throughout Pingcheng, claiming the army had been well-fed and well-armed, and that had your elder brother not surrendered to the enemy, they would never have been defeated. The common people had no way of knowing the truth. For a time, everyone offered praise to General Liu and spat upon your elder brother’s name, and the battle report was sent back to Biandu in that same fashion.”

Ye Tingyan kept his eyes down as he listened to this point: “And then what?”

Yu Qiushi continued: “Though Pingcheng was temporarily preserved, the Ezhen had not retreated. The fighting still had to go on. I knew some of the Ezhen language, so I disguised myself and crossed the border, attempting to gather some intelligence from the Ezhen side. Later I did manage to make the acquaintance of an Ezhen general, and from his words I learned of a certain transaction—”

“In the Youyun River campaign, the Ezhen commander had a blood vendetta against your Ye family. To satisfy his personal grudge, this man secretly met with Liu Yun. He told Liu Yun that as long as he withheld the reinforcement troops from your eldest brother and let him die beneath a false name, he would persuade his own men to pretend there was an internal rebellion among their tribe after crossing the Youyun River, and not enter Pingcheng to massacre the city. Liu Yun was a treacherous man, and your eldest brother was young and hot-blooded—there had long been friction between them. The Ezhen man and Liu Yun found each other in perfect agreement. And so the Ye family’s calamity came to pass.”

“And you?” Ye Tingyan gripped the wine cup in his hand so tightly his knuckles whitened. “Once you knew this—what did you do?”

Yu Qiushi shook his head slowly: “Me? I did nothing.”

He reflected for a moment and said: “What could I have done? If I had learned of it beforehand, I might have done everything in my power to stop it. Liu Yun was shortsighted and small-minded, consumed entirely by personal grievance, with no thought for what would happen if the Ezhen broke their word. But I found out too late. What was done was done. The Ezhen man kept his promise and did not attack Pingcheng. Liu Yun became a hero. If at that point I had submitted a memorial making everything clear to the court—what would have happened?”

“True, trading the clean reputation of the Ye family for the lives of twenty thousand civilians in Pingcheng was a transaction that came out ahead. But selling a general to buy peace is deeply dishonorable. If this became widely known, the court’s reputation throughout the northern territories would suffer greatly. The garrison commanders throughout Youzhou would inevitably be gripped by anxiety—sunk in strife and mutual suspicion—and who would then dare to truly defend the nation? Who would dare entrust their life to it? Moreover, Liu Yun had cultivated such a fine reputation for himself—would the people not assume that the late emperor was jealous of Liu Yun’s growing power and was using the accusation to bring down a worthy general?”

He pressed on with three rhetorical questions in rising succession. As Ye Tingyan listened, a sudden pain clenched in his chest—he abruptly understood why Song Lan had said the previous day, “It is not only the Grand Preceptor’s fault—it is the fault of the imperial family as well.”

“Someone always has to be sacrificed. Since things had already come to this, what was the use of struggling against it?”

Seeing that Ye Tingyan made no reply, Yu Qiushi lifted his eyelids and looked at him: “Third Young Master—are your questions answered?”

Ye Tingyan suddenly asked: “You did nothing? Liu Yun was later reassigned to Biandu and drowned in the Bianhe River after drinking himself into a stupor—that was your way of making amends. Why do you not mention it?”

Yu Qiushi answered with cool composure: “Making amends for what? That man deserved to die—nothing more. I have never sought credit for such things.”

Ye Tingyan fell silent. After a long while, he finally asked: “The late emperor—did he know of any of this?”

Yu Qiushi started, then let out a long, drawn-out laugh from deep in his throat: “The late emperor—”

“When the military report came back, Liu Yun submitted the evidence of the eldest young master’s alleged treason along with it—clear and complete. Even so, the late emperor refused to believe it. He thought the matter over, and then in the imperial garden he pretended to reprimand Crown Prince Ling, deliberately allowing news of the father-and-son quarrel to spread far and wide—and it was only by that means that he managed to clear your Ye family of the crime. Without that, after the branding you should have died along with the rest, and you would never have survived to this day. The late emperor—how great was his benevolence! If he had been made to know the whole truth, it would have been more heartbreak, more torment. So I simply never told him. For a matter where the dead leave no witness—why burden the living with needless grief?”

Ye Tingyan’s face went deathly pale. He let out a slow breath of relief.

Yu Qiushi had not noticed his barely visible reaction: “I knew you wanted to hear this. At the riverside pavilion on the Bianhe, when you brought up old matters, were you not testing to see how much I knew? Today I have told you. And I will add one more word of counsel—Third Young Master, now that you have heard all of this, swallow it whole and let it rest. The present emperor is not the late emperor. He has no leisure to concern himself with events from years past. If you harbor resentment against the court over this matter, you had best resign your post and leave while you still can, rather than meet an unpleasant end. My needling of you at Dian Hong Terrace was precisely to make you understand the difficulty of the path, so you would retreat while you still could—do not drive yourself into a dead end, or you will regret it when it is too late.”

The cold liquid flowed down his throat, bringing a sharp, burning sting. Ye Tingyan set down the wine cup in his hand. It was as though he could hear, from somewhere in the emptiness, the sound of a young voice.

“Having been saved through the grace of the Crown Prince… I would give my life in service to the Crown Prince.”

“Your Highness, I have no other wish… If one day I could come to know the full truth of my Ye family’s injustice, I would die without regret.”

“Go—go quickly, Your Highness… You and I, ruler and subject, shall meet again in the next life!”

Those words sounded one by one in his ears, tangled and chaotic.

At last, in the midst of that noise, he heard two dull, ringing taps.

Yu Qiushi had dipped his fingertips in wine and flicked the gold-bronze cup twice. Droplets scattered.

“You and I have finished our business, and spoken at length—consider it my thanks for this jug of wine. The moon has not yet sunk to the west. This should be my fine hour.”

“How short is a human life—the span of a finger snap, a single wave of the hand. The world has loved me, hated me, resented me, slandered me—what is there to fear? I need not be known by the world. I only lament that I strayed onto the wrong path—my life’s work unfinished and no chance to see it through; spring’s bloom already past, autumn’s fruit not yet ripened. Alas—how this pains me!”

The moon rose to the center of the sky. He reached out and gripped the short blade. A gust of wind rose suddenly.

Ye Tingyan sat where he was and asked without expression: “Do you have any regrets?”

“Why do you ask that too?” Yu Qiushi tilted his head back toward the heavens. The look of confusion in his eyes gradually sharpened into clarity. “From the day the late emperor raised me up, twenty-three years have passed—how could I be without faults? But when I look back and think, if I were to choose again from the beginning, I would walk this same road once more. So—I have faults, and no regrets!”

Ye Tingyan gave a cold laugh of acknowledgment: “That is a fine spirit.”

There were no clouds this night. One cold, still moon. Yu Qiushi stared at it, transfixed—something that looked like the glimmer of tears passed through his eyes: “My hands have never touched blood, and yet I have killed countless people. Tonight the moon has come to see me off—truly Heaven has feeling. And yet, Heaven—having feeling, one ages more easily! The great earth bears my form; through life’s toil and age’s rest—let me find peace in death, to live well and to die well!”

He drew the blade across his throat and fell heavily to the ground.

Ye Tingyan sat where he was for a long while, then gathered his robes and rose. He bowed his head down to the ground before the body.

“I should have called you Teacher as well. Though I never formally paid you that homage, I learned far too much from you—more than I know whether to call good or bad.” He caught the iron scent of blood around him. “But if you had known who I truly am—would that not have been exactly what you wished for? I have returned from the deepest pit of suffering. Now I too am one of the people you chose.”

His forehead had touched the blood. Ye Tingyan raised a hand and wiped it, then let out a low laugh. The smear of blood on his pale white cheek made him look vivid and striking—like a brilliantly colored vengeful spirit.

“Though your words had a sweeping grandeur, in the end your heart could not find peace. But if you had known my true identity—even if your soul had returned to the heavens beyond, you would still have been glad to know it, I think. As for me—in my own private heart, I still did not wish you a merciful end.”

* * *

Beneath that same moon, Liu Mingzhong hurried into Qionghua Hall and reported in a low voice to the Empress: “The Grand Preceptor has passed. His Majesty has said he wishes to spend tonight in Ranzhuo Tower, burning incense through the night—he will most likely not come to the inner palace.”

Luowei was quiet for a moment, then said: “This palace understands.”

Liu Mingzhong hesitated for a long time: “There is one more matter…”

Luowei said: “Speak freely.”

Liu Mingzhong moved forward on his knees and prostrated himself: “Princess Imperial Shu Kang and her Prince Consort have been under house arrest at the princess’s residence and have been peaceful throughout. But tonight—at roughly the same hour that the Grand Preceptor departed—the Prince Consort was suddenly seized with a pain in his chest so agonizing it drove him half-mad. In the end, he gripped the princess’s hand and drove a sharp object into his own heart.”

Luowei was taken aback and demanded sharply: “There should be no sharp objects whatsoever in the princess’s residence. With what did he harm himself?”

Liu Mingzhong said: “It appears to have been a wooden hairpin that had been sharpened to a point. The pin was originally smooth and blunt—it is unclear how long the Prince Consort had been grinding it. But he sharpened it enough to kill with a single blow. The princess was badly frightened. She had intended to make her way to the palace in the night, but ultimately decided against it, and only sent this servant to deliver word to Your Highness.”

Luowei closed her eyes and drew a long, deep breath: “Very well… And the Noble Consort?”

Liu Mingzhong bowed his hands: “The Noble Consort is in Pifang Pavilion, surrounded inside and out by nothing but palace servants and Imperial Guards. To say nothing of a blunt instrument—not even a scrap of news can reach her. His Majesty’s thinking is that the Noble Consort has always been in delicate health, and learning of her father’s and brother’s fates would inevitably be a shock. If that were to harm the imperial heir, it would not do. Everything will wait until next year to be addressed.”

Luowei pressed her hand to her temple and sighed: “You may go.”

Liu Mingzhong said quickly: “Your Highness, please take care of yourself.”

Yu Qiushi had slit his throat at the seventh double-hour. By the time Liu Mingzhong departed, it was already the ninth double-hour. Luowei had slept for three full double-hours after midday, so she felt not the slightest sleepiness now.

She lit a candle by the window and then leaned on her arms over the writing table, patiently watching the layers of wax peel away one by one, melting into a soft puddle of red.

The candle had burned halfway down when familiar footsteps sounded outside the latticed window.

For some reason, he did not hurry to open the window. So Luowei did not move either. She watched as the figure outside reached out and pressed a hand against the window paper, and she asked with a smile: “What are you feeling for—my shadow?”

From outside the window, he recited in a slow, wandering voice: “When shall we trim the candle by the western window together—”

Luowei murmured: “But I cannot see your shadow.”

For a moment she actually found herself uncertain—was the figure outside the window truly Ye Tingyan, or was it the wandering spirit of someone from a long-ago past, conjured by her imagination?

Ye Tingyan stood quietly outside the window, making no movement and saying nothing.

Luowei suddenly did not want to push open that window. She gazed at that indistinct shadow, and a great many words rose up inside her all at once, wishing to be said to him: “Autumn has not yet clearly arrived, and yet old acquaintances are falling away like leaves. Even those who have not yet fallen away are already swaying on the bough, on the verge of letting go. I stand beneath the tree, powerless against the desolate autumn wind, able only to watch them leave.”

The person outside the window gave a soft sigh, light as the wind, and murmured: “Wilting orchids see a traveler off along the Xianyang road—”

Luowei’s eyes grew moist. She picked up the line: “If Heaven had feeling—”

At that very moment, a drop of hot wax fell on the back of her hand, burning her so sharply she flinched.

Luowei was jolted fully awake. She stopped herself abruptly.

She pressed her fingers to her temples and let herself grow calm. She thought through once more what she needed to do tonight. Then, steeling her heart, she reached out and pushed open the latticed window.

Ye Tingyan stood quietly outside and looked at her. When he saw her turn toward him, he said: “You had not yet finished reciting.”

Summer night, wind moving through the rustling leaves, cicadas calling without end, the moonlight just right. Amid all of this, she felt a stillness descend—as though all living things had their spirit, and that spirit was now at rest.

Ye Tingyan leaned his arms on her windowsill, his voice sounding distant: “Wilting orchids see a traveler off, along the Xianyang road, if Heaven had feeling—”

Luowei looked at him and smiled.

“If Heaven had feeling—Heaven, too, would grow old.”