Just after daybreak, rain began to fall. Fine rain tapped against the eaves, stringing down like ten thousand silver beads. Ruyi returned quickly from the courtyard, folding up her umbrella at the doorway, and reported: “Word has just come from the Old Madam’s quarters — it’s raining today, so the young ladies need not come to pay their respects this morning.”

Zhao Cai went back inside and looked at the still and motionless small mound behind the screen that hadn’t moved an inch — she felt the anguish of having high hopes dashed: “My lady, it is already the hour of Chen. How can you still be asleep?”

Behind the screen, Ming Huashang heard that she was excused from the morning greeting and contentedly rolled over, going right back to sleep.

She could still be asleep — because she had only just gotten into bed.

Zhao Cai, seeing Ming Huashang in her thoroughly dead-to-the-world state — or rather, her mountain-crumbling-before-her-yet-unmoved manner — could only accept the futility of her situation. She closed the bed curtains to keep out the cool wind from the window.

Through the screen and the bed curtains, the maids’ voices were as if wrapped in layers of gauze. Jixiang and the others perhaps assumed Ming Huashang was sound asleep, and murmured among themselves: “Have you heard? There was a fire in Chongye Ward last night — a huge one. Fortunately, it didn’t spread. Only one household burned.”

“Really?” The maid beside her pressed in at once. “Which household was it?”

“The Kui household,” Jixiang said. “You know — the one that makes puppets.”

The maids gave a collective shudder, then chattered all at once: “How did the fire start?”

“No one knows.” Jixiang lowered her voice, whispering with an air of great mystery: “And that is the strangest part. In the normal course of things, a fire in the middle of the night — getting someone trapped, even burning someone to death, is commonplace. But the servants of the Kui household turned up inexplicably in an abandoned building. Servants and stewards, ten or more people — aside from the head steward who had a lump on his head, not one person was hurt. When they woke up they thought they were dreaming.”

“They were sleeping perfectly well in the Kui household — how did they end up in an abandoned building?”

“Who knows. They say when they woke up, their clothes had Scholar Tree leaves tucked inside them. People outside are saying it was the Scholar Tree at the Kui household that became a spirit — saw the fire, and moved them all out.”

Ruyi let out a soft, awed breath: “Something so extraordinary actually happened?”

“Indeed. Now many people are going to the Kui household to pick Scholar Tree leaves and take them home to protect the house.”

The maids were all tempted, and began discussing whether to hurry outside to pick some — it would be too late once the rain stopped. Ming Huashang lay inside her bed curtains and pulled the covers higher over her head, thoroughly unmoved.

Scholar Tree spirits indeed. It was that fool Jiang Ling who had bumped into a tree while carrying people because he wasn’t watching where he was going. Those leaves had probably gotten snagged in the clothing by accident.

But this was all to the good. With everyone’s attention fixed on the Scholar Tree spirit, fewer people would notice that the proprietor of the Kui household, its apprentice, and the rest of them had all vanished overnight.

The world had lost a puppet-maker named Kui Bai Xuan. But the capital had gained a new entry in the catalog of late-night strange tales.

The city gate at this hour was also very lively. People everywhere were talking about the great fire of the previous night. Residents of Chongye Ward held forth at length about the puppet haunting of the Kui household in recent weeks, capping it off with the Scholar Tree spirit — and speculation of all kinds flew in every direction. People launched into other ghost stories and strange tales; those listening from the queues were so enthralled that even those who had been on their way out of the city stopped and stayed to hear the rest.

The line crept slowly forward until it reached a middle-aged man and a young woman. The gate guard scanned them with a sharp eye and asked: “Are you father and daughter?”

Kui Bai Xuan answered respectfully: “We are.”

“What happened to his face?”

“My father was travelling at night and fell — by accident.”

“What brings you to Taiyuan Prefecture?”

Kui Bai Xuan paused briefly and lowered her eyes. “Going home.”

The gate guard instinctively felt this father-and-daughter pair were strange — but he looked carefully at the travel permits and found nothing amiss. He waved them through. “On your way.”

Kui Bai Xuan exhaled with great relief, and could not help giving the guard a smile: “Thank you, Soldier. May you have all the blessings under heaven and a bright future ahead.”

This young woman’s features were unremarkable, but her smile was inexplicably radiant — as though what she was leaving behind was not the most prosperous city in the world but a cage. She was young, after all, and the guard had no reason to keep his expression stern: he softened his manner slightly and said, “The northern capital is a long way. Take care on the road.”

Kui Bai Xuan smiled and thanked him: “Thank you for the reminder, Soldier. I understand.”

The road ahead of this life was still very long. She would walk it carefully, slowly.

Kui Bai Xuan finally passed through the towering, magnificent Dingding Gate. She bowed her head and looked at the name written on her travel permit.

Wu Suisui. Female. Eighteen years of age. Native of Taiyuan Prefecture, Hedong Circuit.

There was no longer a Kui Bai Xuan in this world. She, like the ashes of the Kui household, had vanished in the roaring fire.

The road ahead belonged to Wu Suisui.

Wu Kong did not hurry her. He tucked away the sesame flatbreads he had bought, securing them carefully on his back. The young woman from the previous night had recommended the shop; he had gone and queued first thing this morning — and the taste truly was wonderfully fragrant.

Wu Suisui finally drew herself back from memory. She put away her travel permit and said to Wu Kong: “Father, let us go.”

Wu Kong finally heard his daughter call him “Father” of her own free will. A smile spread across his scar-covered face — and even that ravaged face managed to convey something warm and generous. “Very well,” he said. “Let’s go.”

The capital never lacked for novelty. The story of the Kui household spirits circulated for only two days before it was swept aside by something far more remarkable.

The Scholar Tree spirit lost that contest with no grievance — for what displaced it was the Crown Prince’s investiture ceremony.

The Purple Subtlety Palace began preparing well in advance. The Eastern Palace was even busier, with people coming and going in a clamor of activity. Prince Luling had changed into the Crown Prince’s ceremonial regalia. Princess Consort Wei Shi was giving careful instructions to their children: “You must speak and act with the utmost caution today. When you encounter the Wu family’s people, you must be respectful. Under no circumstances are you to cause trouble for the Crown Prince — do you understand?”

These words had been repeated over and over since Prince Luling was recalled to the capital. She was truly terrified — afraid that all of this was only a dream, and when she opened her eyes again, they would still be in Luling, living each day in dread, with no certainty of tomorrow.

Li Chongrun was the eldest son of the main line. He had witnessed his father go from a comfortable idle prince to the Crown Prince of Emperor Gaozong, then to emperor — only to be toppled at the very height of his reign and kept under confinement in Luling for thirteen years, before being suddenly reinstated this year with his status as Crown Prince restored. Li Chongrun understood his parents’ terror, and patiently accepted the instructions. But Princess Consort Wei Shi’s youngest daughter, Li Gu’er, lacked her elder brother’s composure.

She glanced around impatiently, and the moment Wei Shi finally finished speaking, she said: “A’Niang, the investiture document is already written. Father is already the Crown Prince. What is there to be afraid of? We are the rulers; they are the subjects. By right, it is the Wu family who should be showing us respect…”

“Hold your tongue!” Wei Shi was so startled her face drained of color, and she scolded Li Gu’er in a sharp voice, already breaking out in a cold sweat.

This daughter had been born to them while they were being sent into exile. In that chaos, there had not even been a scrap of cloth to wrap the baby in. Prince Luling had removed his own outer robe to swaddle her, and holding his newborn daughter while surveying the devastation around him, he had wept with grief. He named her Li Gu’er — Wrapped-in-Rags Li.

Li Chongrun had at least enjoyed a childhood of fine food and clothing. But Li Gu’er had been born in Luling and grown up with her parents in a life of constant fear. Prince Luling and Wei Shi knew they had wronged their youngest daughter and doted on her exceedingly — from childhood onward, every wish had been granted, nothing refused.

Li Gu’er, though born into material deprivation, had a personality that was tremendously pampered and imperious — and now she dared to speak ill of the Wu family inside the palace! Wei Shi was frightened to the core and dearly wished to give Li Gu’er a proper lesson to prevent her from causing disaster in the future. But watching her youngest daughter’s stubborn, unyielding gaze, Wei Shi could not harden her heart enough to scold her.

What wrong had Gu’er done? Her Gu’er had grown to be so beautiful — she ought to have been a princess doted on and adored by all. Instead, she had followed them through such suffering. It was her and her husband’s fault for being useless!

Prince Luling had always been intimidated by his wife, yet now he said: “Gu’er is young. Children say careless things. You’ll frighten her.”

One look at her parents’ expressions and Li Chongrun knew perfectly well it was useless to expect them to discipline Li Gu’er. He inwardly sighed. He had long felt that their parents had been far too indulgent with Li Gu’er. When they were confined to Luling it had not mattered, but now that they were in the capital, Li Gu’er still acting this willful and thinking herself the center of the world was no way to go on.

But a younger sister was different from a younger brother — even as her eldest brother he had no business interfering. Li Chongrun could only change the subject: “A’Niang, Father is right. Today is the great day of the investiture. Do not be upset — it would be a pity to let it affect the main event.”

Wei Shi took the opportunity to say a word or two to Li Gu’er, not too harshly. The matter passed just like that. From outside the hall came the sound of palace attendants calling out greetings. Prince Luling and his wife hurried to receive the caller and saw that it was Shangguan Wan’er.

Shangguan Wan’er arrived amid a cluster of attendants. She saw them and smiled as she bowed: “This servant pays respects to the Crown Prince, the Crown Princess, the Prince, and the Princess.”

Wei Shi would not dream of accepting such a bow and immediately moved aside: “Please rise quickly, Talented Lady Shangguan — I will be relying on your guidance today. How could I possibly accept your courtesy?”

By rights, the hierarchy of rank dictated that no palace maidservant — however favored — warranted a personal reception from a Crown Prince and his consort. Yet the Crown Prince was Prince Luling, only recently released from confinement with his head still barely on his shoulders; while the maidservant was Talented Lady Shangguan, who served at the Empress’s side, drafting edicts and advising on affairs of state. Who ranked above whom was genuinely difficult to say.

Though she held only a low-ranking position among the female officials, no one in or out of the palace dared underestimate her. People outside had even given her the distinguished title of “Lady Chancellor in Skirts.” Shangguan Wan’er was slender and graceful; she allowed Wei Shi to assist her to her feet with a modest half-resistance, and smiled: “Serving the Crown Prince is this servant’s fortune. The Ministry of Rites is already waiting outside. Crown Prince and Crown Princess, please follow this servant.”

The investiture of the Crown Prince was a matter of state. The Crown Princess, the Crown Prince’s sons and daughters — all were required to attend. The investiture edict had been drafted by Shangguan Wan’er herself; and as a female official overseeing palace ceremonial protocol, the duty of escorting the Eastern Palace household naturally fell to her.

Prince Luling and Wei Shi thanked her and were about to proceed outside when a sudden commotion erupted from behind them. Everyone turned at once to see a column of black smoke rising in the southeast corner of the Eastern Palace.

Dawn had not yet fully broken. That column of smoke stretched across the deep blue-gray morning light like a scar. Shangguan Wan’er’s eyelid twitched heavily, and a foreboding she could not name came over her.

She studied Wei Shi with an uncertain gaze: “Crown Princess, this is…”

Wei Shi also appeared genuinely startled and said: “I don’t know either. Perhaps a servant was careless and upset a lamp.”

This was not a signal fire — how could such a large column of smoke rise from a simple lamp in so short a time? But the Ministry of Rites was already waiting outside, and this was not the moment to investigate the cause of the fire. Shangguan Wan’er said: “Have someone sent immediately to put it out, and do not delay the Ministry of Rites’s auspicious hour.”

Before her words had finished, a group of eunuchs came striding quickly through the palace gate. The moment Shangguan Wan’er saw who was leading them, her heart lurched, and she felt a wave of foreboding.

That group of eunuchs stepped forward to pay their respects to the Crown Prince and Shangguan Wan’er. The man leading them wore a green robe. Though he was smiling, his presence carried an intense, unsettling chill: “This servant pays respects to the Crown Prince and the Crown Princess. Talented Lady Shangguan, I pay my respects in turn. Today is the Eastern Palace’s great occasion — the servants below have been derelict in their duty and let such a great column of smoke rise. It is unforgivable. Crown Prince and Crown Princess, please proceed to a place of safety. This servant will lead the men to fight the fire and will not allow it to disturb the nobles in any way.”

Prince Luling, hearing this, was on the verge of actually leaving. Shangguan Wan’er’s instinct told her something was wrong. Years of experience in the palace told her that abnormalities invariably concealed danger — she could not let these eunuchs go to the back. She called out to Chief Eunuch Zhao: “There is no need to trouble the Eunuch Chief — I will have someone handle it.”

But Chief Eunuch Zhao simply smiled and did not acknowledge her words: “A matter as coarse as this is not fit to trouble such a distinguished and refined lady. If the fire were to grow and threaten Her Majesty, that would be a serious problem. Please carry on, Talented Lady — I will take the lead.”

Shangguan Wan’er still wanted to stop him, but she was a female official and surrounded only by palace maids. No matter how favored she was at the Empress’s side, she could not change the fact that she was at a physical disadvantage. One moment of distraction and Chief Eunuch Zhao’s group had broken free. Now Shangguan Wan’er was certain something was happening — she cursed under her breath and quickly told her trusted attendant: “Go and summon Prince Xiang and Princess Taiping at once.”

Then she looked at Prince Luling — still wearing a completely baffled expression — and felt a deep exasperation at his inability to rise to the occasion. They had already been backed into a corner, and he still had not worked out what was happening. Thirteen years in confinement, and he had not gained even a fraction of alertness?

Shangguan Wan’er had no choice but to make it explicit: “Your Highness — the Eastern Palace is on fire. This does not bode well. The Crown Prince should make his will known.”

Prince Luling finally sensed something was wrong and hastily said: “Go quickly — let us see what is happening.”

After Chief Eunuch Zhao led his men to the fire, he immediately arranged for people to fetch water and fight the flames — the whole operation flowing as one in a single breath. By the time Prince Luling and Shangguan Wan’er arrived, all they could see was a wet, gleaming floor. The specific cause of the fire was already beyond determining.

Chief Eunuch Zhao saw them come and was not in the least surprised. He smiled and said: “Crown Prince, Talented Lady Shangguan — the fire is extinguished. This old servant was incompetent — you have been given a fright, Your Highness.”

Shangguan Wan’er furrowed her brow, unable to determine what scheme Chief Eunuch Zhao’s gourd was hiding. At that moment, a young eunuch behind Chief Eunuch Zhao suddenly called out: “Chief Eunuch, the water is draining away here.”

Chief Eunuch Zhao turned around and sure enough — several floor tiles were not holding water. It was draining away through the cracks between the bricks. Chief Eunuch Zhao was visibly shocked: “What is this?”

Shangguan Wan’er’s face changed dramatically. She finally understood what they were after — and yet it was already too late. The young eunuch had quickly pried up the floor tiles, exposing a dark, black opening; steps slick with water could be dimly made out, leading down into unknown darkness.

Chief Eunuch Zhao turned around and looked at Prince Luling: “Crown Prince, what is this?”

Prince Luling would very much like to know as well. The Empress had summoned Prince Luling back to the capital in secret, and only later had Wei Shi and the children been brought over. They had moved into the Eastern Palace only a few days ago and hadn’t even finished learning their way around — how could he possibly know there was a hidden cellar here?

Shangguan Wan’er could see from Prince Luling’s expression that things had gone badly. She tried to stop Chief Eunuch Zhao: “Chief Eunuch — today is, after all, the joyous occasion of the Crown Prince’s investiture. The auspicious hour is nearly upon us. Why not proceed with the formalities first, and after the investiture is complete, present a memorial to the Empress and investigate this matter thoroughly then?”

Chief Eunuch Zhao gave a toothy, insincere chuckle and said: “The Talented Lady makes good sense. Please escort the Crown Prince to the ceremony — leave this place to this servant to investigate.”

Saying this, he had someone bring candles, and boldly went down first himself.

Shangguan Wan’er cursed under her breath. She quietly asked Prince Luling: “Your Highness, what is actually down there? Who has been here recently?”

Prince Luling shook his head, looking utterly at a loss. Shangguan Wan’er truly felt like she could scream — this was the Eastern Palace, the Crown Prince’s own domain, and he could not even keep his own back courtyard in order! If Chief Eunuch Zhao truly found something in that cellar, who would believe the Crown Prince knew nothing?

Shangguan Wan’er could already foresee what would happen next. Chief Eunuch Zhao had close ties with the Zhang brothers; behind the Zhang brothers stood Prince Wei and Prince Liang. Once Chief Eunuch Zhao obtained his evidence, the Zhang brothers would surely strike. Whether this investiture ceremony could proceed was genuinely uncertain.

Shangguan Wan’er had already placed her bet on the Li family’s side. If Prince Luling could not hold his footing and was once again toppled from power, she would have to swallow the consequences as well.

Shangguan Wan’er had no concern for whether it was damp and dark below. She hurried down as well. There was nothing to be said for this situation — the only option was to look for any chance of remedy.

Prince Luling was slow, but even he understood by now that catastrophe was upon him. He stumbled backward, his face draining to white, his body trembling beyond his control.

He could not bear to find out what was below. Waiting for his mother’s furious response — being confined again — was preferable to facing her wrath himself.

Wei Shi called his name several times — “Your Highness, pull yourself together” — and Prince Luling remained in his state of useless panic. Wei Shi inwardly swore and gave a sharp order to the servants behind her: “Watch the Crown Prince carefully — do not let him do anything foolish. Bring candles. I will go down and look myself.”

“Crown Princess!” The crowd cried out in alarm. Li Chongrun also quickly said: “A’Niang, it is dangerous below — you must not put yourself at risk.”

If the Crown Prince’s position was lost, she wouldn’t even be able to keep her life — so what danger was there to be afraid of? Wei Shi was unmoved. She personally took a candle, bent her head, and made her way into the dark cellar.

The cloud-toed shoes with their eastern pearl accents pressed onto the slick stone steps, and the hem of her magnificent ceremonial robe was soiled in an instant — but Wei Shi paid no attention, bracing herself against the wall and descending step by step.

Wei Shi had already prepared herself for the worst. Yet when she reached the bottom of the steps, she found only an empty, unkempt cellar. There was nothing inside at all — only dust accumulated on the floor, and spider webs in the corners. Wei Shi paid no attention to the grime that brushed onto her sleeve as she looked all around, deeply puzzled.

All this fuss — the fire, the water — and in the end all they had to show for it was an empty cellar? What manner of scheme was this?

Chief Eunuch Zhao felt equally baffled. Holding a tall candle, he went back and forth along the walls three or four times and still found nothing.

This was not how it was supposed to go — the arrangements he had made beforehand—

Shangguan Wan’er, after a brief moment of stunned confusion, quickly read the truth from Chief Eunuch Zhao’s expression. Her heart settled. She immediately spoke first: “So it appears to be a storage cellar — one that has clearly been abandoned for quite some time, judging by the spider webs. The Crown Prince has only just arrived in Luoyang and is not yet familiar with the Purple Subtlety Palace — no wonder he was unaware of this hidden cellar. After the investiture ceremony is complete, it may be worth petitioning the Empress to have this place renovated. A cellar left empty and unused like this — if the Prince or Princess were to accidentally fall in, that would be a serious offense.”

Shangguan Wan’er swiftly framed it as nothing more than a long-abandoned storage cellar, one that Prince Luling simply hadn’t known about — and therefore there was nothing to connect him to it. Today’s incident was reduced to a matter of a fire breaking out in the Eastern Palace, and the Crown Prince was at most guilty of insufficient oversight — nothing of any consequence.

After making her case, Shangguan Wan’er smiled and looked at Chief Eunuch Zhao: “Eunuch Chief — the Ministry of Rites is already waiting outside. Shall we proceed to the investiture?”

Chief Eunuch Zhao’s expression was extremely unpleasant. He realized that the Crown Prince’s side had an exceptionally capable person in their corner, who had quietly dissolved a seemingly inescapable predicament.

Hateful! They had kept eyes on Prince Luling’s every movement and action since his return to the capital — when had someone this formidable appeared at his side?

He put on a skin-deep smile and said: “The Talented Lady is quite right. Oh my — Crown Princess, how did you come down here? A thousand-gold-weight noble such as the Crown Princess should not be in this damp place — please, Your Highness, do come back up…”

The investiture ceremony, delayed by a short interlude, began in full and solemn dignity. Under the watchful gaze of all the officials, the entire long and stately ceremonial protocol was carried out. No one knew that just moments before, a small twist of events had taken place — one that had very nearly rewritten the fate of half the people gathered there.

And no one knew that as the grand ceremonial music rang out through the outer court in full splendor, two inconspicuous young men had slipped out through a side gate and quietly disappeared into the eastern auxiliary city.

Xie Jichuan said: “I told you everything was fine — you insisted on coming to see for yourself. Now that Prince Luling is receiving his investiture in the Hanyuan Hall, you can surely rest easy.”

Ming Huazhang had seized Kui Yanqing and Kui Bai Xuan on the second day of the third month, and then immediately raced to the Eastern Palace to handle the crisis — he had barely rested in all these days. That was largely due to the butterflies serving as guides; without them, the Purple Subtlety Palace had so many halls and chambers, and the puppets could be disassembled into small pieces and transported separately. Using manpower alone, they could never have destroyed the plot in three days.

Following the powder that no human eye could see or nose could smell, they tracked the butterflies all the way to the entrance of a side hall. Even with his prior suspicions, when Ming Huazhang saw the scene below, he still drew a sharp breath.

The cellar had been arranged in the style of a ritual altar. A ring of Imperial Guard puppets surrounded the perimeter, their weapons all pointed inward at the center. In the middle sat an old woman dressed in plain everyday clothes. By her features — it was the Empress.

At his first glance at the Empress — every hair and whisker rendered in lifelike detail, sitting motionless and silent — Ming Huazhang was completely taken aback. Then he realized it was a fake.

The Kui household’s people knew what the Imperial Guards’ uniforms looked like, but they did not know the Empress’s face. As for the Empress herself, she was well known for dressing simply and without adornment. Someone had given them a portrait, and they had reproduced it faithfully — without the slightest idea that they were signing their own death warrants.

If they had known that the perfectly ordinary old woman was the Empress, even someone as blinded by greed as Kui Yanqing would never have dared accept the commission.

Wu Suisui’s craftsmanship was truly a masterwork. The puppets were so lifelike they seemed real. Even Ming Huazhang was startled by the false Empress — one could only imagine how effective it would have been for Prince Wei’s people to see it and make the most of it.

The Empress was growing old by the day, and the thing she feared most was, first, death, and second, usurpation. This altar had managed to stamp on every last one of the Empress’s sensitivities. Prince Luling had set up an altar like this beneath the Eastern Palace — to what end? And with the Imperial Guard’s blades all pointed at the Empress — if the Empress learned of it, what would she think?

Ming Huazhang erased every trace of this treasonous, maliciously calculated scene and arranged the space to look like a long-abandoned cellar where no one had set foot. A hidden chamber beneath the Eastern Palace was too sensitive a matter however one framed it — better to have the whole thing untangled from Prince Luling entirely. Only those who could claim ignorance could be without guilt.

Ming Huazhang did not answer Xie Jichuan’s question. He asked instead: “Have the items been properly secured?”

“Rest assured — someone has been keeping watch for twelve continuous hours. Evidence recovered at such great effort — it will not be allowed to be destroyed.”

Ming Huazhang gave a calm nod and asked again: “The person?”

“Has already attempted suicide several times and still refuses to talk.” Xie Jichuan said slowly. “Should we…”

He left the sentence unfinished, but the implication behind it was unmistakable. Ming Huazhang was quiet for a moment, then said: “Hold off on the interrogation by force. Keep him alive. He is one of Prince Wei’s men — His Majesty the Empress will understand from that alone.”

Xie Jichuan raised an eyebrow, making no attempt to hide his disagreement: “Are you certain you don’t want to torture a confession out of him? Prince Wei is the Empress’s own nephew. Without clear evidence, the Empress will not suspect the Wu family. Jingzhan — that scholar is Prince Wei’s man. There is no need for misplaced compassion. Do not let one moment of excessive kindness ruin the whole plan.”

Ming Huazhang was silent for a time, then said: “He who uses power to feign benevolence rules as a hegemon. He who acts with benevolence out of genuine virtue rules as a true king. My service in the Xuan Xiaowei was a matter of necessity — but I will never do what the cruel officials of former times did.”

Xie Jichuan knew there was no changing his mind, and abandoned the subject. He brought up something lighter instead: “Your little sister really is a remarkable person. Never mind that she can somehow conjure up a portrait of a killer from thin air — she actually thought of catching spiders.”

They had needed to create the impression that the underground chamber had been undisturbed for a long time. The spider webs had been an enormous help. When the subject of Ming Huashang came up, Ming Huazhang’s manner visibly eased, a hint of amusement hiding in his eyes.

He thought of what Ming Huashang had said to him two days earlier. She had puffed out her cheeks and issued a complaint: “Those spiders are like they have something against me personally. Every year on the seventh evening I fail the spider test. Serve them right — lock them in a sealed chamber and see what happens. I want to see for myself whether the webs they spin are round or square.”

The spider test was a custom of the Double Seventh Festival, called “Spider Web Augury for Skill.” On the evening of the seventh day of the seventh month, girls would catch spiders and place them inside their jewelry boxes. The next morning, they would open the boxes and examine the webs. If a spider had woven a web that was both round and square, evenly spaced and neatly dense, the girl was deemed skilled.

As it happened, Ming Huashang was precisely the kind of perpetual unfortunate who caught spiders year after year for over a decade and never once received a favorable reading. She had a thorough and deep hatred for spiders, and that offhand remark of hers had solved Ming Huazhang’s problem entirely.

“Jingzhan?” Ming Huazhang returned to himself and found Xie Jichuan looking at him with an expression of pointed, knowing intent. “What were you thinking about just now? You were smiling quite broadly.”

He had been smiling? Ming Huazhang set his expression back to its usual cool composure, unruffled as a still surface, and said with perfect equanimity: “No, I wasn’t. You are seeing things.”

Xie Jichuan didn’t believe a word of it: “I called your name quite a few times and you didn’t respond at all — and you still claim you weren’t distracted? Who were you thinking about?”

“No one.” Ming Huazhang was becoming genuinely annoyed and said in a cold voice: “Today is the Crown Prince’s investiture. The palace is full of people — let’s get out of here first.”

Xie Jichuan looked at Ming Huazhang and smiled without saying anything. He had already gotten the answer he wanted — because just now, he had not called Ming Huazhang several times at all.

Usually, Ming Huazhang would not dignify a teasing remark with a response. Now, he had flushed with irritation and snapped back.

The Crown Prince’s investiture ceremony kept them occupied for an entire day. When it was finally over, some felt a weight lifted from their shoulders, some trembled in its aftermath, and others simmered with indignation. The capital enjoyed an uncommon stretch of quiet, and the court settled into a watchful calm, each faction observing and waiting. No one noticed that a minor fifth-rank official in the Court of Imperial Sacrifices had quietly disappeared.

The Court of Imperial Sacrifices oversaw the rites of the imperial tombs, mausoleums, and ritual ceremonies — a post of idle leisure, and among even the most unambitious of officials, it ranked among the least driven. A court official who was frequently absent, always slipping away, would attract no one’s attention whatsoever.

If anyone had seen who stood before the Empress at that moment, they would have been utterly astonished. Han Jie stood in the Hall of Political Governance — back perfectly straight, gaze steady and resolute — bearing no resemblance whatsoever to the idle, listless Court of Sacrifices official others knew him as. The Empress finished reading the memorial, set it down, and asked with a measured weight to her voice: “Who drafted this memorial?”

Han Jie kept his gaze slightly lowered and replied: “Ming Huazhang. He has been in the Xuan Xiaowei for two years now and has independently handled several matters successfully. Your subject mentioned this person to Your Majesty previously — this time, the promotion is due.”

“Ming…” The Empress turned the surname slowly in her mind. “What is his relationship to Ming Huaiyuān?”

“He is Ming Huaiyuān’s second son.”

“So he is Ming Huaiyuān’s son.” The Empress’s expression was unreadable. “As I recall, Ming Huaiyuān has not remarried all these years. He is quite the sentimental man.”

Ming Huaiyuān had been an official under the Eastern Palace — when the Crown Prince at that time was Prince Zhanghuai, Li Xian, the Empress’s second son. Prince Zhanghuai was the only son of the Empress who had dared to openly defy her, and who had been given the charge of plotting rebellion. When Prince Zhanghuai was still living, he had valued Ming Huaiyuān greatly.

The Empress’s remark about Ming Huaiyuān being “sentimental” was decidedly not a flattering assessment.

Han Jie bowed his head and dared not observe the Empress’s expression. Fortunately, the Empress only made the one remark and did not pursue it further. The Empress studied the memorial in silence. Han Jie waited quietly, with absolutely no intention of offering further comment.

The Xuan Xiaowei served the Empress. Whom to promote and whom to dismiss was entirely at her discretion. If the Empress judged that the Ming family had once served Prince Zhanghuai and could not be trusted, then Ming Huazhang simply had no fortune to stand in the Empress’s presence.

The Empress was quiet for a moment, then said: “This calligraphy is exceptional. How old is he this year?”

Han Jie replied concisely: “Your Majesty, Ming Huazhang is sixteen years of age this year.”

“Only sixteen.” The Empress looked at the memorial for another moment, then said: “One can see a person’s character in their writing. To write with such graceful, upright brushwork — the person must be a man of principled bearing. For a sixteen-year-old to produce characters like these is truly rare. He is exactly the kind of talent the Great Zhou needs.”

Han Jie hesitated: “Your Majesty, your meaning is…”

“Promote him to Heaven Rank. Have him come to see Us when the time is right.” The Empress said. “It has been a long time since I read a memorial this pleasing. He writes well and acts with efficiency. Men of true civil and martial accomplishment are rare to find these days — and he is only sixteen. A young man of this kind would be a waste to leave buried. Such a young man neglected would be a pity.”

Han Jie understood: Ming Huazhang had passed the most important test of all. He had realized a great leap forward and would henceforth be able to appear before the Empress directly.

Standing close to the Emperor is like standing close to a tiger. Han Jie did not know whether to offer congratulations, but whatever the Empress decided was surely enlightened. Han Jie bowed deeply: “Your Majesty’s perspicacity in recognizing talent and seeing clearly through all things is truly a blessing for our dynasty.”

The Empress was long accustomed to such flattery and paid it no mind. She had also heard about the fire at the Eastern Palace on the day of the Crown Prince’s investiture. She had not reacted during the ceremony, but had inquired afterward, and very soon received this memorial.

She had decided to invest Prince Luling as Crown Prince, and did not wish for anything more to disrupt her arrangements. An undercover informant had sent word that someone was plotting to sabotage the Crown Prince’s investiture ceremony. It was the Empress who had ordered the investigation, and when the findings pointed to Prince Wei as the instigator, she was not surprised.

Yet she had not expected Prince Wei to be so brazen as to have a puppet made in her likeness. The Empress had not seen that scene with her own eyes, yet she was still wounded to the core by what it implied.

Everyone felt she was old. Her ministers pressed her to name a Crown Prince; her children grew restless; even her nephew had the audacity to mock her openly.

Han Jie sensed the Empress’s mood had turned foul. The Empress waved a hand, dismissing him. Han Jie did not linger and withdrew with respectful compliance.

After the Crown Prince’s investiture concluded smoothly, Chief Minister Di’s illness rapidly worsened — as though a long-held task had at last been accomplished. The Empress, who had always respected men of true integrity, personally visited the Di residence.

Chief Minister Di had spent a lifetime in service to justice and the law. From his sickbed, he perceived the undercurrents of unrest churning beneath Luoyang’s calm surface. Summoning all his remaining strength, he said to the Empress: “Your Majesty — there is no such thing as a thief who can only be fended off for a thousand days. If hearts are not settled, such incidents will only multiply without end. Internal strife is the root of a nation’s ruin. I implore Your Majesty to act decisively, and not allow a minor evil to grow into a great calamity.”

The Empress had been troubled by this matter as well. She had deliberated over the question of succession for more than a decade. Her final choice to pass the throne to the Li line rather than the Wu line was not made without careful consideration. She could understand her own kinsmen’s disappointment and bitterness — but she would not permit anyone to act against her wishes, to scheme behind her back against her.

The Empress asked: “In the opinion of the Chief Minister, how should We proceed?”

Chief Minister Di was already struggling to speak. He wheezed and said with great effort: “Move the capital to Chang’an.”

The Empress was struck into silence.

Moving the capital to Luoyang had been an important step in the Empress’s rise to power. The old aristocratic families of Chang’an had held too much influence. When she was still only Empress Consort, she had begun restructuring her own power base by shifting the imperial seat and building a new foundation in Luoyang. To return to Chang’an would be tantamount to declaring to the entire world that the era of Zhou and Wu was ending — that she was about to return governance to the Tang.

Chief Minister Di did not press her to reach a decision on the spot and turned to other matters. On this occasion, the Empress had kept her visit low-key, with only her personal attendants in attendance; few beyond them knew of it. Shortly after the Empress returned to the palace, Ming Huazhang went out to accompany Ming Huashang to watch a puppet show.

It was Ming Huashang’s request. After the events at the Kui household, she had suddenly developed an interest in puppet theatre. But once she was out the door, a roadside snack stall seized her attention, and by the time she finally arrived at the Bodhi Temple, it was nearly evening.

The Bodhi Temple was as lively as ever. Scholars competed on the walls with poetry; young women hung red threads in the trees; children had finished their evening meals and rushed out, jostling eagerly to secure seats on the steps before the puppet theatre began.

Ming Huazhang and Ming Huashang sat among a crowd of small children — conspicuously out of place. Ming Huashang was eating a sugar figure as she said: “Should I have worn a veiled hat coming out today? This is a bit awkward. What if we run into someone who knows me — they’ll think I’m being childish.”

Ming Huazhang noticed that a small grain of sugar had stuck to the corner of Ming Huashang’s mouth, and her cheeks were puffed out like a little hamster, making her look extremely endearing.

Ming Huazhang raised his finger and brushed away the sugar crumb from her cheek: “Eat in peace. If we run into anyone, I’ll say it was my idea to come.”

Ming Huazhang’s fingertip was cool, and the sudden touch on her face made Ming Huashang instinctively flinch. Then she saw the sugar crumb on his fingertip, and shame flooded through her. “Did I get some on my face?”

Ming Huazhang finished wiping her cheek carefully and gave a faint smile: “It’s fine now — there’s none left.”

The spring night breeze was as gentle as a lover’s hand, and the air was thick with the sweetness of sugar. Ming Huashang took a bite of the tip of the sugar figure, and suddenly felt that the sky was clear and the night air was fresh and the spring breeze was just right.

Just as Ming Huashang was hesitating over whether to say something, the drums and gongs sounded ahead of them — the puppet show was starting. Ming Huashang let out a quiet breath of relief and turned her gaze naturally to the front.

On stage was the same tired old story of a talented scholar and a beautiful maiden. Ming Huazhang listened with half his attention, and then noticed someone in the shadows making a signal at him. He slipped away unobtrusively, winding through several detours and shaking off all observation before stopping. “What is it?”

The man who had quietly followed him stepped forward and leaned close, murmuring: “Word has just come from the palace — the Empress, longing for the Daming Palace, wishes to return to Chang’an.”

Ming Huazhang’s dark pupils widened slightly. This was far clearer news than even the investiture of the Crown Prince. The investiture might have been a provisional measure — but the relocation of the capital was as much as announcing to all ministers of court, all military commanders across the realm, and the Wu family, the Empress’s resolve to restore governance to the Crown Prince.

This was truly a stirring and heartening piece of news — but upon hearing it, Ming Huazhang gave only a quiet nod, the entire person still like a cool, clear jade carving, with no trace of extra emotion.

Ming Huashang had been watching the show halfway through when she suddenly noticed that her elder brother had disappeared. She waited for a while. Then someone settled back down beside her, and a pair of long, elegant hands passed her a small packet.

Ming Huashang looked down — it was a bag of pine nuts. She accepted it with great pleasure: “Second Elder Brother, did you go to buy pine nuts just now?”

Ming Huazhang was quiet for a moment, then answered softly: “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

Ming Huazhang looked at the puppet figures on the stage as they played out their turns of joy and sorrow, and said in a low voice: “Nothing is as important as watching the puppet show.”

·

The first year of Shengli. The third month. Late spring.

Yesterday I had an audience. That woman is older than I had imagined. Looking only at her outward appearance, one finds it impossible to picture her as a ruler of a nation.

The sharpness of her thinking and the depth of her learning were also beyond my expectations. Han Jie said she was very pleased with me and intends to cultivate me. She has accordingly instructed me to review and study my poetry and prose. This autumn, she will issue an edict for a special examination. She hopes I will sit the civil examinations and enter officialdom through the ranks of the advanced scholars, which will provide a convenient cover for my identity and allow for easier deployment in the future.

The capital relocation is now a settled matter. The exact timing is still being arranged. Second Young Lady asks me every day whether I still remember Chang’an, and what good things there were to eat in Chang’an.

She is still just as carefree.

I often feel I do not understand her at all. The case at the Kui household dragged on until the very end before being solved — the error was mine, and the credit belongs to her. My deliberate decision to keep her from visiting the crime scene caused me to fall prey to my initial assumptions and make the wrong judgment. If not for her pointing it out, if I had not found the puppets hidden in the cellar in time, the consequences would have been unthinkable.

And yet to this day I still do not understand why she wanted to join the Xuan Xiaowei.

The court has greeted the news of the capital relocation with general joy. Prince Wei has pleaded illness. Grandmother Ming says this is the blessing of the Li imperial ancestors upon the Crown Prince — that after enduring hardship, the dawn has finally come. If the former emperors truly had spirits watching over the living, and only now came to protect him, one would have to say they were remarkably slow to act.

Kui Bai Xuan could craft puppets so uncannily lifelike — and yet Kui Yanqing had only to dangle a marriage proposal and she would comply. Kui Yanqing went through all that effort for a single word from Prince Wei. And Prince Wei — was he not equally a puppet in the Empress’s hands?

When all is said and done, none of us is anything more than a marionette on silk threads.

Jingzhan. Written at the Duke Zhenguo’s Residence in Luoyang.

——End of the Second Case: “Marionette on Silk Threads.”