The pleasure boat drifted downstream, gradually leaving the noise of the market streets behind. When Luowei came back to herself, all she could hear was the sound of the wind through the reeds and the soft murmur of flowing water.

Su Shiyu suddenly gave a series of heavy coughs. Luowei thought she had touched one of his wounds — but he only shook his head. With great effort, he raised his hand to cover his mouth, and the blood that came up with the coughing stained his already ghostly pale hand a vivid red.

“Weiwei…”

Luowei quickly drew close to his side. “Elder Brother.”

Su Shiyu furrowed his brows. Once he had finally managed to suppress the coughing, he forced himself to speak. “You should not have… come to save me… He will not…”

Before Luowei could even process what he was saying, she realized — a moment too late — that the blood spilling from the corner of his lips seemed far too much.

“…He will not let me live.”

Su Shiyu finally finished the sentence. A light, easy smile broke across his face. “He told me — Suiyun…”

Luowei cut him off, her voice breaking. “Elder Brother, focus on recovering from your wounds. Say nothing more.”

Su Shiyu shook his head. Droplets mixed with fresh blood fell from the corners of his eyes. “I have been ordinary my whole life… I have made a mess of many things, and failed to live up to Father’s teachings… failed to be worthy of Suiyun’s feelings…”

Luowei frantically dabbed at the blood at the corner of his lips, but it was entirely futile — the blood kept welling up, more and more of it. She thought of the farewell cup of wine Chang Zhao had held to his lips, and only then understood the meaning of what Su Shiyu had said. “Say nothing more, say nothing more! Elder Brother, you are the only family I have left. We will leave the city — go to Xuzhou, yes? It is planting season now. Xuzhou has fields stretching a thousand li, and the grand Yan Mountain — light clouds drifting from the peaks, a sky high and clear. The landscape is more beautiful than anything a painting could capture—”

“Is that so?” Su Shiyu asked absently, but then said, “After I die, cast me… into the Bianhe… that will be enough. When Suiyun took her own life… aside from me, she must also have been thinking… that she could not become a burden to you…”

Luowei felt the strength draining gradually from his hand, until at last it slipped, powerless, from her grasp.

When Qiu Xueyu entered, all she saw was Luowei sitting in a daze, staring at her own open palm.

After a long moment, she heard Luowei murmur softly, “A hundred stratagems to keep you — and still you could not be kept…”

“Though I cannot keep you, you must go… Of all life’s pains, parting is the bitterest.”

*

The largest official ferry crossing out of the capital was called Shapingford, situated on the eastern bank of the Bianhe. Past Shapingford, heading southeast, it was not long before one could pass beyond Yongqiu, Xiangyi, and Ningling and head straight down to Jinling.

Ye Tingyan guessed that since Luowei had made her move to rescue someone, she would almost certainly take the waterway. He deliberately maneuvered Yan Ping toward guarding the city gate, while he himself made for Shapingford. But not long after they parted, Yan Ping — for reasons unknown, having encountered some person or heard something — left a company of soldiers to hold the gate and came after him, traveling alongside him.

Yan Ping was a man of small cleverness but lacking in broader strategy. Ye Tingyan was not overly alarmed. After dismounting, he first summoned the river officials on duty at Shapingford to report to him, then dispersed the soldiers he had brought to man the various inspection points, and followed the river official onto a vessel to conduct checks.

The water transport of the capital was flourishing, and the river was thick with boats — half merchant vessels, half pleasure craft. Ye Tingyan kept up his conversation with Yan Ping while casting glances toward the inner city. He could only hope that Luowei and her companions would arrive quickly, and pass through before Chang Zhao could send reinforcements to the ferry crossing.

Standing at the crossing, he heard Yan Ping instructing his men to carefully check each vessel for any trace of blood. From this, he deduced what he needed to know.

When Yan Ping had gone toward the Southern City Gate earlier, he must have encountered Chang Zhao. His conduct now was also acting on Chang Zhao’s direction.

Only — where had Chang Zhao gone, and why had he not come to Shapingford himself?

Before long, Ye Tingyan spotted the pleasure boat with the character for “Luo” hanging from its mast, rocking gently as it passed the crossing. “Luo” was the identity he had prepared for the people aboard the vessel — borrowed from the surname of a noble family in Jiangnan.

He showed nothing in his expression as he watched the soldiers search the boat from stem to stern, inside and out. They found not the faintest trace of blood, and had no choice but to wave it through.

The boat was richly and elegantly appointed, yet there was nothing suspicious to find aboard it — even the several aged boatmen were familiar faces who had made this passage many times before.

Ye Tingyan watched the boat leave the ferry crossing and sail away, and only then felt his heart slowly begin to settle.

The sun had already sunk halfway into the water. He drew his gaze back in and looked westward along the river’s lingering glow. Perhaps because no cause for alarm had been found, Yan Ping’s temper was growing increasingly foul — he lashed out with a kick and sent one of his soldiers tumbling.

The soldier had barely hit the ground and hadn’t had time to cry out in pain when, from the direction the boat had sailed away, someone came galloping on horseback, sweeping past the two of them.

“By order from above — seal the crossing! By order from above — seal the crossing!”

Soldiers made their way along the riverbank, calling out in loud voices as they went. The officials along the shore received the order and immediately began blocking the merchant ships that were preparing to depart at the crossing. Those aboard the ships, hearing the cries, leaned out to look, and in an instant the crossing was congested, voices rising in clamor.

The pleasure boat had already passed the crossing — why was a sealing order arriving now?

Ye Tingyan stood motionless for one brief moment, then without any hesitation, mounted the horse he had arrived on and rode at full gallop in the direction the vessel had disappeared, toward the east — without a single word.

He moved so swiftly that no one reacted for a moment. It was Yan Ping who recovered fastest, and he spurred his horse and gave chase.

The howling wind tore past his ears. As Ye Tingyan’s mind worked through it, the more he turned it over, the more certain he became.

The sealing order was “from above.” If Song Lan was still within the palace, he would not have issued such a command. After the ladder cart passed through the market, Chang Zhao must have gone immediately to see Song Lan.

Both of them had anticipated Luowei would take the waterway, yet they had not intercepted the vessel at the crossing. Instead, they had chosen a spot past the crossing to set an ambush — and then sealed the crossing behind it to prevent any other boats from passing through, to avoid catching the wrong target.

As for why they had not come to the crossing themselves…

—This was a test. A test of him.

He was no longer at the Southern City Gate. Chang Zhao had gone into the palace to make his declaration of loyalty to Song Lan, and had deliberately held one card back — persuading Song Lan to set the ambush past the crossing. If Luowei’s boat passed the crossing without incident, it would be sufficient proof that he had colluded with Luowei.

What a meticulous and intricate scheme.

After thinking it through, Ye Tingyan reined in his horse, let out a long breath — and couldn’t help but laugh.

Without Yu Qiushi, Song Lan was nothing but a hollow shell of bluster. This Lord Chang of still-uncertain origins was the real opponent.

Yan Ping had shaken off the soldiers trailing behind him and finally caught up with Ye Tingyan, only to find him stopped of his own accord, gripping the reins and laughing broadly. He couldn’t help but ask, “Lord Ye — where were you heading?”

Ye Tingyan answered with something entirely off the point, his voice mild. “The horse bolted at a gallop and is a bit tired. Just stopping to let it rest.”

He swayed his horse forward a little closer. Yan Ping had thought he was coming over to explain himself — but before he could register what was happening, Ye Tingyan executed a flip from his saddle in one stunning motion, stepping on Yan Ping’s stirrup and swinging astride the horse behind him.

“You—”

Yan Ping had barely opened his mouth when a sleeve carrying a faint scent of sandalwood swept across his cheek. Ye Tingyan, holding a razor-thin blade between two fingers, drew it clean and swift across his throat.

Yan Ping floated softly from the saddle. His hand pressed to his throat, and his fading vision held only the image of Ye Tingyan seizing the horse and riding away in a cloud of dust.

It had all happened so fast that not a single drop of blood had landed on him.

Less than three li east of Shapingford, there was a great bend in the river. Past that bend, vessels could turn from the narrow waterway onto the broad open river beyond.

This had originally been the main crossing out of the Bianhe, but the terrain was narrow and treacherous. When the previous dynasty renovated the waterways, the site had been abandoned and the ferry crossing relocated to Shapingford.

Luowei stood at the side of the boat, gazing back at the sunset slowly retreating behind them — and suddenly felt the hull tilt. They were turning.

She felt something was not quite right. Turning her head, she saw the boatmen who had been busy at their tasks on deck suddenly set down what they were doing and retrieve bows and iron shields from beneath the cargo hold.

A guard came forward to attend her. “My Lady, there is danger ahead. For fear of alarming you, please return to the cabin for now.”

Luowei stood on her toes to look. She could just make out the half-ruined stone bridge of the abandoned crossing, its span over the waterway long since crumbled by repeated flooding. The court had intended to rebuild it, but fearing it would be swept away again, had left the matter in abeyance.

She closed her eyes and listened intently, then suddenly asked, “Do you hear anything?”

The guard closed his eyes as well, ears perking slightly. “It sounds like… a bowstring being drawn taut.”

The “sound of a bowstring being drawn taut” was naturally not from their own ship. Luowei smiled and asked, “Is this something he prepared in advance?”

The guard replied, “My Lady, look at this ship — it was converted from a warship to begin with. The Young Master is a careful man; he would never take unnecessary risks.”

Before the words had fully faded, Luowei heard a chorus of voices calling out from ahead: “Young Master!”

Ye Tingyan came galloping along the bank. Without a moment’s hesitation, he leapt his horse across the narrowest point of the waterway — the horse gave a long, shrill whinny, landing just at the side of the vessel.

Ye Tingyan sprang forward, landing heavily on the deck. In the instant he touched down, a crowd of guards raised their shields and moved in front of him.

From behind the iron shields, he heard the sharp impact of iron arrowheads striking metal.

The pleasure craft slowed as it turned through the bend. Between the boatmen being occupied with the defense and the current, the vessel rocked and came to a standstill for a moment. Ye Tingyan pushed the shield aside and pulled himself upright — and sure enough, saw Song Lan and Chang Zhao standing on the broken bridge.

Seeing him raise his head with such composure, Song Lan erupted in fury. He slammed his palm down on the balustrade and screamed, “So it was you after all! You — you have been on her side all along! How dare you betray us!”

Ye Tingyan said not a word. He took a bow from someone nearby, and before Song Lan had even finished speaking, the arrow was released.

He was shooting into the setting sun, and could not help but narrow his eyes against its blazing light. So this arrow — aimed at Chang Zhao — veered slightly off course, and drove clean through Song Lan’s shoulder.

“Your Majesty!”

Song Lan clapped a hand over his shoulder. Had it not been for the people crowding around him, he would have gone straight down. “Archers—”

He gripped the balustrade and forced himself upright through the pain. At last, at the stern of the pleasure boat, he spotted Luowei.

Three months without seeing her — Luowei had grown somewhat thinner. Without the heavy, elaborate gold crowns and ornaments of the palace, her whole bearing was slender and light, and she actually looked more graceful and striking than before.

Song Lan called out before he could stop himself: “A’Jie!”

Luowei gripped the short sword at her waist with white knuckles, yet showed nothing in her expression. She even tilted her head back and gave him a faint smile. “Zi Lan. It has been a long time.”