Prince Luling walked through the palace halls that were so deeply familiar yet had been absent from his life for so long that he moved through them like a man in a dream. It was only when the attendants led him into the hall and he saw the old, austere, expressionless woman seated above that he was fully brought back to himself.

His knees gave way, and all the responses he had rehearsed over and over on the road proved entirely unnecessary. Without any pretense at all, the tears came of their own accord. “Mother!”

That single cry contained anguish and grief and sorrow — thirteen years of imprisonment and mutual suspicion, the distance between mother and son become enemy; ten thousand li of treacherous mountain road between Luling and Luoyang; the deep sea of blood between the Li Tang dynasty and the Zhou Wu clan — all of it poured into that one word: “Mother.”

Even someone as iron-willed as the Empress could not keep her eyes from growing wet. Thirteen years — Prince Luling had been confined for thirteen years. Thirteen years had passed since mother and son had last seen each other.

When she had sent Prince Luling into exile in the circuit of Jiangnan West Road, he had still been a young man full of vigor and spirit. Now, he stood before her as a middle-aged man with streaks of white in his hair, worn and timid in bearing. Looking at him, how could the Empress not feel the ache of it?

After all, Prince Luling was still her son.

Seeing the Empress again, Prince Luling himself could not have said whether there was more fear in his heart or more longing. But there was no need to sort it out now. Weeping was enough.

Shangguan Wan’er withdrew from the hall with soft, careful steps, leaving the space to this mother and son. She gathered her skirts and retreated to a quiet corner, instructing a palace girl to prepare warm water and towels.

She was still issuing instructions when her gaze swept over a moving shadow at the edge of her vision. She looked up, and saw a eunuch moving hunched over, hurrying quickly along the covered walkway. Shangguan Wan’er’s expression cooled. She beckoned a trusted attendant close and murmured, “Follow him. I want to see exactly which divine personage is behind all this.”

The eunuch was in such desperate haste that he no longer bothered to cover his tracks, and scurried in rapid tiny steps into a particular palace hall. From within the hall, music drifted pleasantly — the sound of a pipa like the clash of golden swords and shattering jade, forceful and commanding; a guqin woven between, like a good-natured gentleman giving way, barely audible except in the pauses between the pipa’s notes, where it offered a few soft, gentle tones.

A young man in blue robes sat playing the guqin, elegant and refined in bearing — his face was already quite handsome, yet compared to the young man on the dais playing the pipa, he somehow seemed to lack a little. The eunuch crept up behind the man in blue and quickly whispered something into his ear.

The guqin strings let out a jarring, discordant note, and the music stopped. The young man playing the pipa had been at the height of his enjoyment when he was so rudely interrupted. He frowned in displeasure, set down the pipa, and asked, “Fifth Elder Brother, what has happened?”

Zhang Yizhi looked at the guqin before him, every trace of his scholarly elegance completely gone, and said coldly, “Something major has happened. The Empress has seen Prince Luling.”

The beautiful young man holding the pipa gave a violent start. He shot to his feet with a bang, dropping the instrument without a second thought — the strings struck the floor and rang out a wild, harsh jangling. “What?”

Zhang Yizhi said nothing, his expression heavy. He and Zhang Changzong were brothers. Zhang Yizhi was the fifth, Zhang Changzong the sixth. Palace servants and the Empress herself called them “Fifth Young Master” and “Sixth Young Master.” They held official positions in the Hall of Controlling Cranes, but everyone knew what they truly were: the Empress’s male favorites.

The Empress was very old now, while the Zhang brothers were in the full bloom of youth. At the Empress’s age, the passion of the bedchamber had long since ceased to be a concern. Yet from time immemorial, men had been entitled to three wives and four concubines, while women were expected to remain faithful to one husband without question. The Empress had been participating in court politics from behind a curtain even in the days when she was still Empress Consort — but from behind that curtain to the dragon throne was only a few short steps, and those steps had taken her nearly thirty years.

Now she had become Emperor. Ancient emperors had their three palaces and six courts of consorts — and she was entitled to the same. It was not about desire. The Zhang brothers were in themselves the most dazzling jewels on her scepter, the most glorious spoils of her rise to power. The Empress wished to hold them up for all to see — anyone who dared show disrespect to the Zhang brothers was showing disrespect to her.

Besides, a woman’s love grows from time spent together, not from the bedchamber. Zhang Yizhi and Zhang Changzong were about the same age as the Empress’s own grandchildren. They spent every day at her side, inquiring after her warmth and comfort, keeping her company with music and laughter. Over time, how could the Empress not cherish them?

The Empress was extremely severe with her own sons and grandchildren, yet she lavished the Zhang brothers with endless indulgence. Official titles, noble ranks, wealth — she gave them whatever they asked for.

And so Zhang Yizhi and Zhang Changzong found themselves living a life that stood second only to one person, above ten thousand others. Whether a young nobleman or a top scholar, all had to bow their heads in their presence. Even Princess Taiping and Prince Wei were polite and courteous toward them.

The Zhang brothers’ lives could hardly be called anything other than extraordinarily comfortable. Yet the more wildly they indulged, the greater the fear that lurked at the bottom of their hearts — because they too knew that these days were borrowed.

The Empress was willing to favor them, but the Empress was old. How much longer could she live? When the next Emperor ascended, their current glory would become the measure of their subsequent misery.

The logic was clear enough to Zhang Yizhi and Zhang Changzong, and they had long since been seeking out powerful backers to pave a path for themselves. But the various princes of the Li clan were superficially courteous while inwardly contemptuous. Civil officials and military generals were even more obvious — any person of principle refused to attach themselves to the Zhang brothers. Having considered all options, only one road remained.

Support Prince Wei for the throne. As long as the next emperor was still a member of the Wu clan, they could leave the palace with their gold and treasures intact. Their official positions were certainly finished, but at least they could live out their years in peace.

So when the Zhang brothers learned that the Empress had secretly summoned Prince Luling back to the capital, they were profoundly shaken. They urgently transmitted the news to Prince Wei, urging him by all means to prevent the Empress from receiving Prince Luling.

Having spent so many years at the Empress’s side, they understood her well: the older she grew, the more she was given to nostalgia and sentiment. If she laid eyes on her third son, battered and aged by years of hardship, and if a few of the old ministers wept and made their appeals, the Empress would very likely soften — and Prince Luling would be kept in the capital from that day forward.

If that happened, the advantage held by the Wu clan would begin to reverse. And the very fact that the Empress had secretly summoned Prince Luling back to the capital was in itself an alarming signal.

Was the Empress simply missing her son? Or had she already begun to entertain thoughts of restoring power to the Tang?

The Zhang brothers dared not contemplate this. They had already boarded Prince Wei’s ship long ago, and there was no turning back. There was only one road ahead, and they had to walk it to the end.

After passing the message to Prince Wei, they waited inside the palace — a mixture of uneasy relief and gnawing dread. The news that finally arrived was the worst possible: the Empress had received Prince Luling.

Zhang Yizhi’s expression darkened like storm clouds. Zhang Changzong paced restlessly back and forth across the room. The face that had earned him the palace-wide title of “Sixth Young Master, the Lotus Blossom” no longer showed even the faintest trace of arrogance or grace. He stared at the fine Western-style gold vase beside him, overcome by an inexplicable surge of irritation, and hurled it violently to the ground. “Didn’t Prince Wei say he had a plan? Where is his plan now?”

The gold vessel struck the floor, sending a harsh, reverberating clang through the room — as if the entire palace were ringing. Zhang Yizhi said with a sombre face, “Enough of that. What moment do you think this is, and you still have the energy to throw a temper tantrum? You have the strength now to hurl a Western gold vase — but in two years, will you have the strength to pick up your own head?”

Zhang Changzong’s face was equally dark with fury. “Then you tell me what we should do!”

Zhang Yizhi drew a long breath and forced himself to settle down. He summoned a trusted attendant and said, “Go and send a message to Prince Wei. Tell him the Empress has already softened. Whatever ability he has, he had better use it now — otherwise, he can start preparing to collect corpses.”

Prince Wei had only just returned to his estate when he saw his household steward standing at the gate. The steward had at last caught sight of Prince Wei and came rushing over, leaning close to whisper something in his ear.

Prince Wei’s eyelid gave a heavy twitch upon hearing it. He immediately started to head into the palace, but turned and took two steps before his reason forcibly stopped him.

He could not go into the palace. The Empress had secretly summoned Prince Luling back to the capital, and the news had not yet been made public. If he came charging into the palace now in such a rush, would he not be exposing the fact that he had informants planted near the Empress?

Of course, everyone had informants — he, Taiping, and even the Empress herself all knew this perfectly well. But it could not be made explicit on the surface.

Prince Wei stood before his gate. The wind swept through Luoyang, past the great ten-thousand-Buddha pagoda, through every street and lane, and finally gathered into his sleeves. He stood as still as if he could not feel the cold at all.

At the beginning of the first month, just after the new year banquet had ended, while Prince Wei was still immersed in the endless round of festivities, he had suddenly received a secret message from the Zhang brothers saying that Prince Luling had returned to the capital.

When Prince Wei read the message, the effect of his lingering intoxication vanished entirely in an instant.

The Empress’s movements had been exceptionally covert. She had brought back only Prince Luling himself — his wife, children, and attendants were all left in their place. Imperial envoys traveled quickly by post horse, avoiding attention, and the confidentiality had been handled with great care. Even the Wu clan had been unaware of it, and Prince Wei had missed any chance to intercept and kill Prince Luling along the road. By the time Prince Luling arrived in Luoyang, the Empress had dispatched people to receive him into the palace and placed him there under her personal protection.

Had it not been for the Zhang brothers spending every day at the Empress’s side and obtaining the information in advance, Prince Wei did not know how much longer he would have been kept in the dark.

With Prince Luling protected inside the palace, surrounded on all sides by the Empress’s people, Prince Wei had no opportunity to kill him. He had to devise another plan to prevent the Empress and Prince Luling from meeting.

While Prince Wei was racking his brain over this, he suddenly heard that Princess Taiping had entered the palace and spent a good while charming and cajoling the Empress before announcing her desire to hold the Feihong Banquet, saying it had been far too long since the capital had seen any real festivity.

That in itself was not significant. What Princess Taiping truly wished to say was in her next sentence — it had been far too long since she had seen the heir apparent, and she wished to take advantage of the Lantern Festival to reunite with her elder brother and enjoy the pleasures of family and kinship together.

The Empress had been making amends to Princess Taiping ever since the death of Xue Shao, and requests that would have cost anyone else their head were permitted when Princess Taiping made them. The one who came out, however, was not the heir apparent but two of the heir apparent’s sons born of concubines.

Outsiders could only marvel at how deeply favored Princess Taiping was, with no idea of the deeper significance. But Prince Wei saw through it at once. He understood: Princess Taiping was also aware that Prince Luling had returned, and was trying by whatever means necessary to pass the news to the heir apparent.

Prince Wei had spent years moving in and out of the palace. Combined with the Zhang brothers’ assistance, he soon traced the chain of events. When Prince Luling entered the palace, a certain young palace girl had seen him. The girl had gone to Shangguan Wan’er to seek guidance, and Shangguan Wan’er had immediately arranged for her to leave the palace and carry the news to Princess Taiping.

That was the origin of the Feihong Banquet: Princess Taiping using the pretense of a grand celebration to covertly pass information. But what Princess Taiping did not know was that Prince Wei had also obtained the intelligence. Her seemingly clever feint had in fact exposed her intentions plainly.

Prince Wei had a flash of inspiration, and a brilliant plan came to him all at once.

If whispered rumor is fearsome, then ghostly whisper is more fearsome still. And if even the Zhang brothers could not prevent the Empress from seeing Prince Luling, then only the supernatural could.

He would manufacture a “ghost tale,” telling all the world that Prince Luling had been possessed by a serpent demon — that whoever had laid eyes on him would be the next to suffer and die. The Empress, being old and supremely wary of anything touching on death, would surely, upon hearing such a tale, send Prince Luling away to some distant place.

With the son kept far away, the Empress would have no choice but to pass the throne to her nephew.

Once the plan came to him, Prince Wei moved without delay. He painstakingly laid the groundwork for this ghost story. First he gladly accepted Princess Taiping’s invitation to the Feihong Banquet. Once at the garden, his first order of business was to seek out Prince Ding and demand that Prince Ding help him kill several people.

Although Prince Wei had his own men inside the Princess’s residence, Prince Ding — as the actual master of the household — was better placed and better connected. Prince Wei had already investigated. Tracing back to the moment the young palace girl first saw Prince Luling: the girl had slipped away to the Princess’s residence, and it was Chi Lan who had opened the door for her. Chi Lan had then passed the news to Wei Zi, and Wei Zi had told Princess Taiping in the night.

Kill the people in this chain, and the “demon” could be pinned upon Prince Luling.

Prince Wei had no intention of killing Princess Taiping — but the deaths of a few palace girls and maidservants were of no great consequence. Prince Ding had been unable to refuse, and could only send the fiercest household slave at his own side to do the killing.

The young palace girl was attended to by Prince Wei’s own people. Prince Ding needed only to kill Chi Lan and Wei Zi in sequence. To amplify the terror of the supernatural rumor, Prince Wei had made a specific demand: the eyes were to be gouged out, and the manner of death was to be as horrifying as possible — the more conspicuous, the better.

At the same time, Prince Wei spread the tale of the serpent demon claiming victims far and wide across the mountain, fanning the flames of terror. As the guests delightedly passed among themselves the rules by which the serpent demon supposedly chose its next victim, none of them knew that the traveler in the story — the one who had journeyed from Fangzhou to Luoyang, was possessed by a serpent demon, and would pass misfortune to anyone who had seen him — was Prince Luling himself.

The Feihong Banquet was attended by sons and daughters of all the great noble families of the capital. Once they returned home, the ghost tale would spread through the capital with extraordinary speed. Prince Wei would then arrange for the Zhang brothers to stoke the fire before the Empress, so that by the time the Empress heard the tale of the serpent demon seeking its next victim, she would immediately think of Prince Luling — newly returned from Fangzhou, said to harbor resentment against her.

Without Prince Wei needing to say another word, the Empress would naturally develop misgivings about Prince Luling.

At first, everything at the Feihong Garden was proceeding smoothly. After Chi Lan learned of Prince Luling’s return, she became distracted and out of sorts. Wei Zi, worried that the secret might leak, called Chi Lan out repeatedly to admonish her, and to outside observers it simply looked like Wei Zi was scolding Chi Lan.

Prince Wei had the avalanche triggered in the night — artificially collapsing the snowfield — trapping everyone on the mountain and forcing them to perform in his tale of terror. After the avalanche, Prince Ding sent someone to fetch Wei Zi. A summons from the master of the household — no one would have suspected anything, and in fact no one even noticed.

Wei Zi was lured out in this way with ease, and met her end on the snowy mountain.

After Wei Zi, the other deaths were merely additions to amplify the atmosphere of dread. Everything was proceeding exactly as Prince Wei had envisioned — until a group of young men and women broke through and shattered his plans.