On the eighteenth day of the first month, the mountain gate grew lively early in the morning. Princess Taiping had spent lavishly to host a night banquet, intending to rival the grandeur of the capital’s Lantern Festival celebrations. Regrettably, the affair had turned bloody — four people were dead — and the people at the villa were all deeply unsettled, with no one in any mood to enjoy the festivities.
Everyone had spent several agonizing days trapped on the snowy mountain. Now that the road was finally open, guests and host alike let out a long breath of relief. They rushed to harness their carriages and descend, afraid that if they lingered a moment too long, bad fortune might catch up with them again.
At the gate of the mountain villa, carriages and horses stretched out like a great dragon, and servants from every household were calling to one another, each scrambling to get ahead. The attendants of the Ming household were steadily loading things onto the carriage. Ming Huashang, wrapped in a cloak, was bidding farewell to the other guests.
Ming Huazhang said to Jiang Ling, “We have imposed on Young Heir Jiang these past several days. Many thanks!”
Jiang Ling, seated in his carriage, waved his hand with a sweeping air. “Think nothing of it. Such a pity that the good wine I brought is still unopened. When the next occasion presents itself, perhaps we could—”
Ming Huashang heard this and immediately changed the subject. “Look, there’s an opening up ahead! Young Heir Jiang, you had better go quickly — if you wait any longer, the road will be blocked again!”
Jiang Ling hurriedly craned his neck to look. “Quickly, quickly — hold that opening, don’t let anyone cut past us! All right then, I’ll go first — when you’re back in the capital, you must come to the Marquis Jiang’an’s estate for wine!”
Ming Huashang made agreeable sounds in reply, paying no real attention to what he had said. Bao Bao poked its head out from beside Jiang Ling, looking back with curious eyes. The reluctance on Ming Huashang’s face became far more genuine at the sight of it. She waved energetically, and even after the Jiang family carriage had vanished from view, she still wore an expression of longing.
Ming Huazhang asked, “Do you truly intend to go to the Marquis Jiang’an’s estate?”
Ming Huashang gave Ming Huazhang a look of genuine puzzlement. “No. Second Elder Brother — why would you even ask something like that?”
Ming Huazhang sighed. “A person of integrity keeps his word. If you had no intention of going, why agree to it at all?”
Ming Huashang pulled her wrappings a little tighter, her dark eyes the picture of innocence. “If I hadn’t said something like that, would he have gone?”
Ming Huazhang found himself entirely without a reply to that. The sound of horse hooves drew near in a steady rhythm. Ming Huashang and Ming Huazhang both turned back to see Ren Yao leading her horse over.
Ren Yao was dressed in sharp, practical riding clothes in the northern style, with protective wrappings tied at her arms and shins — valiant and spirited, her gender nearly impossible to determine at a glance. Her manner was equally masculine. She gripped the reins, cupped her fist in a brief salute to the siblings, and said, “All banquets must end. I’ll be off — farewell!”
Ming Huazhang returned the salute in kind. Ming Huashang smiled and called out, “Ren Jiejie — remember the noodle soup at Tang Shi Ji!”
Ren Yao swung herself up onto her horse’s back in one fluid motion, waved a hand in Ming Huashang’s direction without turning around, and said with breezy ease, “I remember.”
With that, she gave a sharp cry, and her fine horse shot forward like an arrow loosed from the string — charging recklessly ahead through the packed snow and the congested road of carriages and horses, not the least bit concerned about the danger.
Whether she did it on purpose was impossible to say, but Ren Yao’s horse brushed past Jiang Ling’s carriage as it flew by, sending a scoopful of snow straight through the carriage window.
Jiang Ling yanked up the curtain, cursing furiously. “Who was that?! Who just got snow down the back of my neck?!”
Ming Huashang watched Ren Yao gallop away — free, fierce, and brilliant — and her eyes filled with envy.
She turned her head, blinked several times, and said tentatively, “Second Elder Brother — can I also…”
“No.” Ming Huazhang cut off Ming Huashang’s wishful thinking without mercy. “With that half-baked horsemanship of yours, you can barely manage riding on flat ground, and you want to ride a horse on a snowy mountain? Go and get in the carriage.”
“Oh.”
Ming Huashang acquiesced, deflated. Then a soft laugh came from behind, followed by a voice. “With this many carriages on the road, aside from someone like Miss Ren — a daughter of a military family through and through — no horse could go quickly anyway. As for Second Younger Sister wishing to ride — what difficulty is there in that? My horse is very gentle and can navigate mountain paths on its own; the rider need only hold the reins. If Second Younger Sister wishes to ride, she is welcome to ride my horse, and I will take the carriage in her place.”
The smile on Ming Huashang’s face went slightly stiff, and she found herself at a complete loss.
Actually — that really was not necessary.
Ming Huazhang cast a look of undisguised disdain at Xie Jichuan. “Go away. You’ve got some nerve saying that.”
Xie Jichuan was still smiling cheerfully. “I have known this younger sister for many years and still do not know her name. Might I ask what name the younger sister goes by — and does she have a courtesy name?”
Ming Huazhang did not even bother to give him a roll of his eyes this time. He looked down at Ming Huashang and said, “Second Miss, go to the carriage first. We will set off shortly.”
Ming Huashang responded sweetly, gave Xie Jichuan a smile, and lifted her skirts to step up into the carriage. Once the carriage curtain was closed, the sounds outside took on a slightly muffled quality — drifting, like the white winter light of today’s sun.
Ming Huazhang’s tone had not been particularly warm, but then it was understandable. An unmarried young woman’s given name was not to be shared outside the family. Xie Jichuan directly asking an unmarried girl her name was, if one were being strict about it, a somewhat forward thing to do.
But if one were not being strict about it, it was actually quite ordinary. After all, most people in the world were reasonable and did not go around invoking propriety at every turn. Many families had close ties across generations, and young ladies and gentlemen would exchange names and address each other as siblings. Xie Jichuan was a friend of Ming Huazhang’s, and asking a friend’s younger sister her name in private was not out of bounds.
Ming Huashang leaned against the side of the carriage, listening to the distant clamor of shouts and the creaking of wheels, lost in her own thoughts.
They had stayed at the Feihong Garden for several days, and yet Xie Jichuan had only now asked her name as they were about to leave. The reasons behind this she could more or less guess.
It was nothing more than the fact that before now, Xie Jichuan had not given her a second thought. His kindness and consideration toward her had existed only because she was Ming Huazhang’s younger sister. But now he had discovered that Ming Huashang was not merely a delicate, sheltered young lady — that she had, at least, some qualities worth noting. Only now had Xie Jichuan truly looked at her — and decided she was worth remembering by name.
Ming Huashang fell into a daze. When she came back to herself, she realized the carriage had begun to move. Xie Jichuan was standing by the roadside, his voice warm with a smile as he called to them, “Jingzhan, Second Younger Sister — take care on the road. I will see you in the capital.”
Ming Huazhang could afford to ignore Xie Jichuan, but Ming Huashang could not be discourteous. She lifted the carriage curtain, pressed her hands together in a bow toward Xie Jichuan, and said, “Xie Elder Brother — goodbye.”
Xie Jichuan gave her a slight smile. The young man stood among white snow and green pines, watching them go.
The Ming family’s carriage grew smaller and smaller in the distance, and the smile at the corners of Xie Jichuan’s mouth slowly faded. He watched for a long time the dark violet shadow at the edge of the carriage, and found himself unexpectedly thinking back to the words from that night.
Ming Huazhang had wanted Princess Taiping to take action. But a princess of such stature would not concern herself with the lives of common people — why would she fall out with her own husband’s household over a few maidservants?
If Ming Huazhang truly wished to avenge those three women and bring the killer to justice, he would have to reveal the connection to Prince Luling. Only if Princess Taiping learned that all of these events had been directed at Prince Luling would she investigate the matter to its very end.
But once he became entangled in the struggle between the Wu clan and Prince Luling, Ming Huazhang would no longer be able to remain uninvolved.
Such a straightforward calculation — they both understood it clearly. Xie Jichuan was silent for a long moment before asking, “Jingzhan, once you involve yourself in these things, there is no withdrawing. Do you truly mean to wade into these murky waters?”
Ming Huazhang answered with equal calm. “I never had a choice.”
The mountain villa receded further and further behind them, and Xie Jichuan’s figure was no longer visible. Ming Huashang let down the carriage curtain and leaned against the side, feeling at something of a loose end.
Zhao Cai, reading her expression, said knowingly, “Young Miss, are you hungry?”
Ming Huashang’s eyes snapped open wide in an instant. “How did you know?”
“I prepared it ages ago.” Zhao Cai reached under the carriage seat with practiced ease and produced a box of pastries. “This is an eight-delicacies box — all sorts of flavors. Would you like to try, Young Miss?”
Ming Huashang agreed with delight. Zhao Cai lifted the lid and held the box out to her. Among the pastries was one shaped like a white circle with a black dot in the center — at first glance, it looked remarkably like an eyeball.
After the terrifying nights at the mountain villa, both Zhao Cai and Ruyi felt a jolt in their hearts at the sight of it. Ruyi was about to laugh it off and discreetly toss the offending pastry away — but to her astonishment, Ming Huashang reached out as though she had noticed nothing unusual, and picked it up first.
Zhao Cai was just about to say something when Ming Huashang had already bitten off half of the “eyeball.” Zhao Cai choked, and quietly closed her mouth.
Their young miss truly had an extraordinary appetite… Then again — however fearsome a monster might be, it had once been a bird or a beast. Eating it was the end of that.
Ming Huashang ate with every appearance of enjoyment. In truth, she had noticed the unusual shape of the pastry. She simply felt that she ought not to bring such inauspicious things back home — better to be done with it on the road.
But there was something Ming Huashang could not quite understand. Prince Wei and Prince Ding had wanted to manufacture a tale of the supernatural, and there were so many ways that could manifest. Why had they specifically chosen to gouge out eyes?
Eyes — or rather, the act of gouging them out — what did it represent?
Ming Huashang could not work it out. She could only take another bite of the eye-shaped pastry.
Clear, crisp hoofbeats sounded outside the carriage, and then a clean, cool voice came through the curtain. “Second Miss.”
Ming Huashang responded, quickly wiped the pastry crumbs from the corner of her mouth, and lifted the curtain. “I’m here. Second Elder Brother, what is it?”
Ming Huazhang rode his horse alongside the carriage with one hand on the reins. Behind him stretched jagged, weathered rocks and mountains blanketed in snow. In his dark violet round-collar robe, his form cut a tall and upright line — like a deliberate brushstroke drawn by heaven itself. He glanced briefly at the corner of Ming Huashang’s mouth and said, “Second Miss — do not speak of what happened at the mountain villa after you return. Not to anyone — not even to Father.”
Ming Huashang nodded. “I understand.”
“And the matter of you reading the killer’s state of mind,” Ming Huazhang continued. “I do not know where this ability of yours comes from, but it is not a good thing. Those who kill are vicious and ruthless. Immersing yourself in their thoughts is no righteous path. From now on, you are not to use that method again.”
Ming Huashang made a small, dissatisfied sound and felt a twinge of regret. But then she thought — using that method again would mean a new violent death had occurred near her. In light of that, never needing to use it again would be a good thing.
Ming Huashang sighed faintly and nodded, albeit a little sluggishly. “All right.”
After she agreed, Ming Huazhang did not relax. His expression remained stern. “Even if there is no murder case, do not display this in front of others either. Be careful with your words, be discreet in your actions, do not draw attention to yourself, and take care not to become someone’s target.”
Ming Huashang thought to herself that Ming Huazhang had an overly high opinion of her. She was such an unremarkable person — who on earth would bother to target her? She said playfully, “Second Elder Brother, you can set your mind at ease on that count. I am so thoroughly mediocre in both letters and arms that I could not stand out even if I tried to.”
Ming Huazhang looked at her laughing face and knew she had not taken his words to heart. How could someone like her — a young lady who knew nothing beyond this — imagine that Luoyang, behind its Wanxiang Divine Palace and its bustling streets and markets, concealed an entire other half swallowed in darkness?
Ming Huazhang inwardly let out a long breath. He told himself: let it go. These matters were never hers to worry about anyway. For her, a lifetime of good food, good drink, laughter and friends was more than enough.
·
Luoyang. The Purple Subtlety Palace. The Inner Court.
The Empress finished reading the topmost memorial, raised her hand, and Shangguan Wan’er immediately stepped forward to help her to her feet.
The Empress was well advanced in years, and she no longer had the tireless iron constitution of her youth. After reading memorials for only half an hour, she already felt stifled and weary.
Shangguan Wan’er had served at the Empress’s side for many years, and reading moods was among her greatest skills. Seeing that the Empress was tired, she said considerately, “Your Majesty, the plum blossoms at the Lichun Pavilion are in magnificent bloom at the moment. Might Your Majesty wish to take a turn there to refresh herself?”
The Empress let out a quiet sound of assent. Shangguan Wan’er attended her, and with a great retinue of palace servants and female officials in their wake, accompanied the Empress toward the imperial garden.
Luoyang had just had a heavy snowfall a few days ago. Eunuchs had swept the paths that noble persons would walk, but the rooftops, corners, and treetops were still laden with snow. As far as the eye could see, the palace of Purple Subtlety stretched endlessly in every direction, like something from beyond the mortal world.
The Empress walked along a lofty covered walkway of white marble, with upturned eaves and interlocking brackets on both sides, red columns layered one upon another, and countless silent attendants following in her wake.
She was already past seventy. At that age, ordinary people would have long since grown muddled and forgetful. But the Empress’s step remained firm and vigorous, her gaze sharp and penetrating. The highest power of the empire rested in her hands, and not a single person dared regard her as a mere old woman.
As the Empress admired the snow, she remarked in a seemingly offhand manner, “I hear that not long ago, a palace girl from Prince Luling’s residence died?”
Shangguan Wan’er felt a tremor in her heart. She carefully studied the Empress’s expression, but the Empress was utterly composed — even the lines at the corners of her mouth were as unfathomable as ever.
Shangguan Wan’er looked away and calculated furiously, yet she could not pause for too long. At last she answered with great care, “Your Majesty, that is indeed the case. With the cold weather and the extraordinary snowfall this year, palace servants with little resistance to the cold — losing one or two to illness is not unusual.”
The Empress gave a slight nod and asked again, “And Taiping — has she returned?”
These two questions had nothing to do with each other on the surface, and yet Shangguan Wan’er felt with certainty they were not coincidental.
Their Empress never spoke idle words. The Empress had asked about Prince Luling, then abruptly moved to Princess Taiping. Was it because of something Princess Taiping had written in her letter from a few days ago?
Shangguan Wan’er could not be sure what Princess Taiping had written, and could only weigh her words as she replied, “The Imperial Guards reported yesterday that the mountain snow has been cleared. I expect the Princess will be back in the capital by this afternoon at the latest.”
The Empress made a sound of acknowledgment and said no more. But Shangguan Wan’er felt gripped with apprehension. Why was the Empress asking these things? Could it be that the Empress had discovered she had once passed a message to Princess Taiping?
That surely should not be the case — she had been exceptionally careful. Could it be that the Zhang brothers had planted a spy near her and reported her?
For the remainder of the walk, Shangguan Wan’er felt as though she were treading on knives, yet she was still obliged to keep a pleasant expression and say charming things to amuse whoever held power over her. The Empress was advanced in years, and the wind tired her quickly. They never reached the Lichun Pavilion in the end — after spending a short while at the Guanwen Hall, they turned back.
Upon returning to the Xuanzheng Hall, Shangguan Wan’er had no time to rest before she was already bringing the Empress hot tea to warm her. The Empress accepted the cup, took a small sip, and said, “Have Prince Luling summoned.”
Shangguan Wan’er was startled. She instinctively felt a swell of joy, then quickly suppressed it and bowed with solemn composure. “As you command.”
The world knew that the Empress now had only two living sons. Her youngest — the heir apparent — was confined to the palace depths, and her third son, Prince Luling, had been banished to Luling and was living under house arrest, in confinement and uncertainty. What the world did not know was that before the new year, the Empress had secretly summoned Prince Luling back to the capital.
Very few people were privy to this. Shangguan Wan’er was one of them. Upon receiving the information, she had immediately arranged for a palace girl to go and inform Princess Taiping. Fatally, the palace girl was dead not long afterward.
This had filled Shangguan Wan’er with dread for some time. She did not believe the girl’s death was accidental, yet she could not understand why the girl had been killed. She had remained on guard, waiting for the person behind it to make a second move — but she waited and waited, and right up until today, there had been no further action from the other side.
Shangguan Wan’er could not make sense of it, but she understood the Empress’s mind even less.
The Empress’s heart was deeper than any needle in the ocean floor. With one hand she had pulled her youngest son down from the throne, imprisoned him in the palace, and forbade him from seeing anyone — yet with the other hand she had declared him heir apparent. Now the same pattern was appearing with Prince Luling: the Empress had secretly summoned him to the capital, yet had continued to put off receiving him.
This game of truth and deception, of presence and illusion, had left even Shangguan Wan’er — who had served her for over a decade — utterly bewildered. Fortunately, before Shangguan Wan’er could frighten herself to death with her own speculation, the Empress had finally agreed to see Prince Luling.