On the first day of the new year in the fifth year of the Jinghe reign, the Emperor received court congratulations in the Fengyang Hall. The ceremonial whip cracked in the hall, and the members of the imperial family and assembled officials paid their respects to the Empress Dowager before offering obeisance in order in the front hall of Fengyang, as the suspended court bells tolled the note of Ruibin.

After the morning court, the officials in charge set out the banquet tables. Officials from all regions and envoys from all four quarters entered to present their gifts, while the rest were seated at their places. The ritual vessels and musical instruments fell into solemn order; the piece ‘Qian An’ was performed, and the Son of Heaven took his seat.

Then the Emperor raised the first goblet, the ‘He An’ piece began, and the banquet was officially declared open.

Ye Tingyan and Chang Zhao shared a table, both dressed in crimson robes, raising their cups to each other.

Everyone knew these two men were the most formidable officials at court at present — each a check upon the other, fire and water incompatible — yet seeing the two of them now, there was not a hint of discord between them; they conversed with evident pleasure.

What Chang Zhao and Ye Tingyan were discussing was the painting ‘Crimson Clouds Shattered Underfoot.’

“When I saw it that day in the rear hall, I found it exceptionally accomplished. From what His Majesty said, though the painting was made by a renowned artist from Youzhou, the ingenuity behind it was Lord Ye’s own,” said Chang Zhao, raising his cup to him, his expression unchanged. “Come to think of it, I owe you a debt of thanks for that painting — had I not guessed what lay in His Majesty’s heart, I fear I could not have gained his trust and favor so quickly.”

Ye Tingyan’s eyebrow lifted for a moment, and he quickly concealed that subtle reaction — but not quickly enough, for Chang Zhao caught his fleeting surprise and pressed the point: “Surely Lord Ye, who could offer that painting, would not have failed to guess at what happened in those years?”

Ye Tingyan replied perfunctorily, “Brother Ping-nian is too kind.”

But Chang Zhao continued as though speaking to himself: “Tingyan is, after all, a member of the Ye clan — one who received the late Crown Prince’s beneficence. Even though His Majesty is deeply fond of that painting, he would not dare to give you his full trust. I, however, am different.”

He raised his sleeve to cover his face and leaned close, speaking quickly: “But if Tingyan will not confide in me, how will you know whether our purposes are not the same?”

It was precisely at this moment that the Emperor raised the second goblet and the ascending song performed ‘Sweet Dew.’

Ye Tingyan did not reply. The two rose with the officials to the hall to receive their wine, then returned to their seats to dine.

Chang Zhao ordinarily came across as dull and taciturn — Ye Tingyan knew this was his disguise, and also knew he was a master at reading people’s hearts. So he suppressed every expression on his face and asked only one question: “Brother Ping-nian, how did you persuade Lord Lu Hang?”

Chang Zhao gave a start, seeming not to have expected this question. He sat back with his empty wine cup, weighing his words before replying, “What does this matter have to do with what I said before?”

Ye Tingyan pressed his lips together and said nothing. When he spoke again, he raised a different matter entirely: “Our dynasty does not execute scholars for their remonstrances, yet those implicated in the Jingqiu Remonstrance have been exiled to the distant frontiers. Was that your idea?”

“Lu Hang did not die because of me,” Chang Zhao answered with detached calm, a note of mockery in his tone. “Nor did the scholars implicated in the Jingqiu Remonstrance die because of me. When a ruler is unkind and the state is in disharmony, there are a thousand ways and ten thousand methods of remedy. Do you think they dashed their heads against the pillars and died remonstrating in order to counsel, to make things better?”

He let a smile show again. “They were only doing it for their posthumous reputations — for those reputations, they could sacrifice everything, not only themselves, but their parents, wives, and children too. Selfish — far too selfish. Tell me, Tingyan — when their parents, wives, and children die on the road to exile, will they consider their loved ones’ sacrifices to have been glorious?”

Ye Tingyan said, “You told me before that you admired men like the late Lord Lu. Have you already forgotten?”

Chang Zhao shook his head. “I only admire them — I do not respect them.”

“Since they desired to sacrifice themselves, I simply granted them their wish — and used them to fulfill my own ends in the bargain. What is wrong with that?”

Ye Tingyan refilled his cup and smiled at him. “Brother Ping-nian, you and I are not of the same path.”

The Emperor raised the third goblet; everyone rose, and below the hall the piece ‘Auspicious Wood in Pattern’ was performed.

Chang Zhao said with some regret, “I was wrong about you after all. I had thought you were even more ruthless than I — who would have thought that ‘Crimson Clouds Shattered Underfoot’ was only a disguise, and that beneath Lord Ye’s killing blade lies a benevolent heart.”

Ye Tingyan raised his cup along with the movement of Song Lan above and said, “I too have asked myself countless times whether, to accomplish great things, one should abandon certain principles. I have also struggled and wavered in the mire, even been driven to reckless despair — yet in the end, I chose as I did.”

Chang Zhao tilted his head back and laughed. “‘Look upon the lotus flower — pure and untainted, so one knows its heart is unstained’ — what a fine…”

He did not finish the sentence, but turned his head abruptly. “Do you know — I have just understood something. The very moment ‘struggle’ arose in you, your choice was already determined. If you had not always been that kind of person, you would not have struggled at all — just like me. If not, why would you choose ‘Lotus Blossom’ as your alias?”

“The first time I heard the name ‘Master Lotus Blossom’ was in the first year of Jinghe. The Prefectural Magistrate of Yangzhou, Shen Sui, was selling official posts and taking bribes, throwing the officialdom of the Jiangnan region into chaos. You came from the northern frontier and became a poetry companion and drinking friend to Shen Sui. After half a month’s acquaintance, you actually talked him into surrendering the list of corrupt officials — the entire Jiangnan bureaucracy was swept clean without a single drop of blood being shed. The court did not know, but who in Yangzhou city did not? I never heard for myself the waves of praise that rose when you distributed alms along the streets — but I was intensely curious. What kind of person would dare take ‘Lotus Blossom’ as their alias?”

Ye Tingyan said lightly, “Brother Ping-nian flatters me.”

Not the slightest trace of pride or self-satisfaction showed on his face, yet Chang Zhao said, “Now I finally know — you do indeed deserve that name. Yet, Tingyan, precisely because you have such a proud nature and are unaware of it yourself — when others see it, it truly, truly, truly makes people…”

“Oh?” Ye Tingyan was still composed, cutting him off with mild exasperation. “Brother Ping-nian actually holds me in contempt.”

Chang Zhao shook his head. “I have simply made my peace with things. I can see your ending at a glance: the road to the sacred mountain is not so very long; the lotus blossom must wither in the mud; and you, Lord, will die an unnatural death. I cannot find a second path for you. Since I can see all this, why should I hate you or envy you? As for coming today to counsel you to walk the same road as me — that, too, is nothing more than kindred spirits recognizing one another.”

He spoke bluntly, almost like a curse. Yet Ye Tingyan was entirely untroubled, his smile unchanged. “I accept your sentiments, Brother Ping-nian. If one day we find ourselves among the dead and the bleached bones, let you and I drink a cup to one another as true intimates.”

Chang Zhao clinked cups with him in mild regret. “Naturally.”

After that, no more was said between them. The court assembly was long and tedious. After the first three goblets, the Court Music Director led the ‘All Under Heaven Is Settled’ dance; then the four remaining goblets were accompanied by ‘Auspicious Grain’ and ‘Qian An,’ and only after the Emperor departed did the assembled company finally withdraw.

Ye Tingyan descended the long steps of Fengyang Hall. Chang Zhao did not walk with him again.

When Pei Xi found him by going against the flow of the crowd, he asked an additional question: “Does Lord Chang actually have a friendly relationship with Lord Su? I never saw these two interact before. A few days ago Lord Su was detained in the Qianfang Hall after the morning court — I assumed it was because he was being pressured about the Empress’s whereabouts, but looking at things now, that doesn’t seem to be it.”

The ‘Lord Su’ he referred to was naturally Luowei’s elder brother, Su Shiyu. Since the events at Guyou Mountain, Song Lan had deployed men to surround the Su family residence, and Su Shiyu had guards following him whenever he came and went. Luowei was fully aware of this and, fearing it might implicate him, had not yet contacted him.

Su Shiyu knew the Emperor was suspicious and took no particular notice of it, simply going about his duties each day with diligent care as an eighth-rank official in the Qiong Ting Bureau. The Su family had enjoyed three generations of illustrious prominence — and once Luowei was invested as Empress, to prevent officials from remonstrating about the influence of the imperial consort’s family, Su Shiyu had deliberately kept his distance ever since passing the imperial examinations. Together with the other sons and nephews of the Su family, the posts they held were respectable but not prominent, leisurely and inconsequential.

That he would suddenly strike up a close friendship with Chang Zhao — that thought passed briefly through Ye Tingyan’s mind. The two departed through the Mingguang Gate and boarded their conveyances. Once they had moved away from the imperial boulevard, Pei Xi began chattering to him about various recent trifles. He listened with half his attention until Pei Xi said, “Today I saw my elder brother again.”

Ye Tingyan blurted out, “Was he called in to serve today as well?”

The moment the words left his mouth he realized something was off.

There were only the two of them in the carriage — he was not as guarded as usual. Seeing him slip up, Pei Xi could not suppress a certain satisfaction, and spoke with a tinge of bitterness. “He told you not to say anything to me, didn’t he?”

When the Crown Prince was still young, there had once been a rebellion at court.

The deposed Crown Prince who had usurped power before Emperor Ming ascended the throne had not known it himself, but one of his concubines had evaded her contraceptive medicine and given birth to a child during the journey into exile.

Whether from infatuated love for the Crown Prince, or from a craving for power, this woman brought the child with her and remarried into the imperial clan. Once the child came of age, she revealed everything to him. To avenge his father, the child bided his time for many years, eventually usurped the military power of the imperial clan, and when he came to the capital to offer congratulations, he launched a palace coup under the banner of ‘rightful succession.’

Song Ling had even seen this man — who might or might not have been called ‘imperial uncle’ — in his youth, and had a vague recollection of deep-set eyes, curling hair, as though there were some foreign blood in him, and a gaze that always seemed to be drifting to some far distance when he looked at him.

This ‘imperial uncle’ had married the daughter of the Duke of Yue, joined forces with various factions to storm the palace, and after failing was imprisoned in the Edict Prison, where he cut his own throat with a sword. The Duke of Yue was implicated in consequence, and the Dongshan estate — where he had once hosted reunion banquets — gradually fell into ruin and became the wasteland of scattered graves it was today.

Song Ling had rescued the son of this ‘imperial uncle,’ with whom he had a deep bond of affection, and sent him to Youzhou to be raised and educated. When the boy approached adulthood, Song Ling personally chose the courtesy name ‘Cuozhi’ for him — perhaps from the moment the ‘imperial uncle’ had tacitly permitted his son to grow close to Song Ling, he had already harbored the hope that one day Song Ling might save him.

Pei Xi had a cousin as close to him as a brother — a descendant of the old Duke of Yue. When the time came, Pei Xi had wanted to bring him away as well, but he had searched the entire imperial court and could not find a trace of him, and had no choice but to give up with reluctance.

On the day Zhang Suwu revealed himself, everything finally made sense.

It was Luowei who had petitioned her father, and during the confiscation of the Duke of Yue’s estate, managed to locate him — but she had arrived a step too late, for Zhang Suwu had already been castrated and entered the palace. With no other option, Luowei sent him into the archive tower and instructed him to study diligently and not give way to despair.

Zhang Suwu had also petitioned Luowei to search for Pei Xi’s whereabouts, but they had been extremely careful when rescuing him — after the rescue, they had erased every trace that might be investigated.

Everything was just as it had been when the two of them, each harboring the same secret, had been reunited: because the disguise was too perfect, neither could see through the other’s mask.

Ever since Luowei had left the palace, it was Pei Xi and the now-out-of-palace Zhang Suwu who exchanged messages at the Fengle Tower. In the course of their back-and-forth, they had inadvertently revealed their identities to each other.

Perhaps, just as she had said, they were always bound to meet again.

“In truth, I guessed it myself,” said Pei Xi, smiling at him and speaking on his own account. “After I guessed, I tricked Her Highness the same way I did today — and when she admitted it, I asked why she had saved my elder brother. She said that at the time of the Moon Worship at Dongshan, she and my elder brother had shared a cup of wine together.”

Ye Tingyan could not help asking, “What else did she say?”

Pei Xi replied, “What she said was almost word for word the same as what you said when I asked why you saved me — she had heard far too many accounts of the consequences of pulling out weeds without getting the roots, yet she believed in certain intangible bonds of feeling, certain principles that hold good in the world: that kindness brings its reward, that evil meets its reckoning, that people will praise a beautiful and noble character and despise a base and wicked mind, and that a person, living in this world, ought to do what they feel is right and what brings them joy.”

“When you first returned to the capital, I asked you why you didn’t simply raise troops from the north — if you had only revealed your identity, every hero under heaven would have rallied to your cause. Now I understand: you were unwilling to wage reckless war out of your own personal vengeance and ask others to sacrifice themselves on your behalf. You chose a far more arduous road.”

Chang Zhao’s voice rose unbidden in his ears, saying he could only see the lotus blossom withering in the mud and his unnatural death.

Then Pei Xi’s voice followed, completely overriding that other voice, and with great seriousness he said: “Elder Brother — I have not called you that for a long while, but right now I truly want to say it: you are not Song Lan, and you will never become Song Lan. You will travel further and live longer than he does, and together with her you will lead the dynasty toward a better path. You were not wrong before, and you will not be wrong going forward. The realm… will never fail you both.”