“The memorials wore my head out—I stepped outside and saw how clear and beautiful the moonlight was tonight, like water flowing across the earth. Missing you terribly, Older Sister,” Song Lan said, leaning close to her as they walked out of the inner chamber together. Catching the crisp fragrance of the hall, he could not help but smile and ask: “Older Sister, is the incense you burn today the same kind I smelled last time? It is called…”
Luowei replied softly: “It is no particularly important name.”
Song Lan said: “Ah yes—I can never remember it.”
A palace maid lowered the gauze curtain. Song Lan leaned against her in a relaxed posture and drew two glass dice from his sleeve, turning them over and over in his hand.
Seeing how quickly the glass pieces spun in his hand, Luowei knew he had something weighing on his mind. But she did not rush to press him, and instead simply placed her hand at his temple and kneaded it gently for a while.
Sure enough, Song Lan, soothed by her attention, relaxed the furrow of his brow considerably. He casually tossed the glass dice aside and said: “Older Sister, I have a case that troubles me—”
Luowei asked at once: “Is it about Lu Fengying?”
Song Lan nodded: “Lu Fengying did such a thing, and nearly brought the fire down upon you too—it is truly hateful. Yet he has been loyally devoted for so many years. Today I went to see him, and he wept bitterly, crying out his innocence, saying that though there had been an old affection between them, Zhang Siyi had taken her own life… I know perfectly well he killed someone and will not admit it—his heart is rotten enough—yet I somehow feel a measure of reluctance. Besides, Tingyan sent people to search his quarters and found… relics left behind by the Crown Prince. He was a man promoted by the Crown Prince. Forgetting neither old kindness nor old master—I do not know what to do.”
Relics?
Luowei paused in surprise, then understood the implication. The corner of her lips lifted in a smile too faint to be heard.
Ye Tingyan had struck by accident, yet the killing blow he had found for Lu Heng turned out to be this.
That afternoon Ye Tingyan had remained with Song Lan and spoken privately with him. With his skilled tongue and a measure of old feeling, he had prodded the Emperor’s suspicions to the furthest extreme—Lu Heng had killed someone, and Song Lan did not particularly care about that, but Lu Heng had always been a minister who had betrayed one master already. To now have Song Lan discover that he still harbored nostalgia for the past was what truly mattered.
Whether it was true or false, Song Lan would surely be shaken. Once suspicion was born, it could not but lead to abandonment.
A man who wavered between two masters was simply not fit to be a trusted confidant.
Although Song Lan had only now established the Zhuque Division, these years at court had not left him without other capable people. The Commander of the Bureau of Palace Command, the Forbidden Army, and the Jintian Guard—he had been unable to find someone suitable to fill the role before, but surely now he could?
And so Luowei said: “Human feeling counts for something—but it cannot outweigh the law. I know His Majesty has a soft heart, but please do not damage your own reputation for the sake of one man.”
Song Lan readily agreed: “What Older Sister says is exactly right.”
The next morning, after Song Lan had departed, a close attendant from the Imperial Medical Office came to inquire after her health. Upon entering, he caught the familiar fragrance once more and shook his head repeatedly: “Your Highness burns this incense for so long—are you not afraid it will harm your health?”
The palace attendants were sent out of the hall, and Luowei gave a soft laugh: “I only light it for a little while when he comes. Burning incense is surely better than drinking medicine constantly. I had such an excess of medicine last year and still fell ill, did I not? This Palace values her life above all else now—how could I possibly harm myself? You worry too much, Physician Miu.”
* * *
With the Zhuque Division acting on Song Lan’s authority, it moved swiftly and decisively. Before the Qingming Festival it had investigated Lu Heng from top to bottom—in addition to the killing of the palace maid, it uncovered a raft of offenses: reckless gambling, licentiousness, illicitly lending money at interest, and more.
Song Lan went to see him once more in person. Not long after stepping out, he issued a verbal decree ordering the Ministry of Justice and the Office of Judicial Review to reexamine the case, and the Censorate to confirm, before transferring it to the Ministry of Justice’s main prison. In accordance with the laws of the Great Yin, the sentence was to be carried out in autumn.
After Lu Heng’s removal, the Jintian Guard fell naturally to his deputy commander—a man of excellent martial skill who was ordinarily earnest and reticent. Song Lan had him summoned before the throne, questioned him at length, and after careful investigation concluded that he was capable, so he did not appoint anyone new. The Jintian Guard had been selected with great care; if a new commander were brought in, short-term friction was to be expected, which might give rise to all manner of other complications.
Perhaps because this matter had been exhausting, and there were also the Qingming memorial rites to prepare for, Song Lan did not enter the inner palace for seven consecutive days. Luowei, too, was occupied with the Qingming arrangements and had found no suitable opportunity to bring up what she wished to say.
On the eighth day, Song Lan came to find Luowei to discuss the ritual details for the Qingming ceremonies. After they had settled everything, Luowei hesitated for a moment and then raised the subject with care: “I hear that Zi Lan has dealt with Lu Fengying’s case?”
Song Lan tossed down the writing brush in his hand and answered without looking up: “Yes.”
“After he is moved to the Ministry of Justice, I would like to go and see Lu Fengying once,” Luowei said. “He has done these things, and whatever old feeling there was between us is naturally no longer worth counting on. But Zhang Siyi was close to me, and I wish to hear from Lu Fengying’s own lips what happened.”
Song Lan was startled; his gaze flickered several times as he mulled it over at length before finally speaking: “Older Sister—it is not that I am unwilling—but he was subjected to many punishments while in the Zhuque Division. The sight of it is bloody and terrible, and I fear it would give you a fright. Since there is no old feeling left to speak of, there is no need to go. If you wish to know the particulars of Zhang Siyi’s case, shall I have Lord Ye come and report to you instead?”
Luowei had known all along that Song Lan could never bring himself to allow her to see Lu Heng. What she had said was nothing more than a way to summon Ye Tingyan through legitimate channels. Now that the objective was achieved, she naturally had no further objection.
“That would work as well. Thank you, Zi Lan.”
Song Lan, catching the sweet fragrance of the hall, turned back with a grin and said: “I have told you, Older Sister—you need not say ‘I’ to me, and need not thank me either.”
Luowei smiled warmly and gave a gentle nod. Then something stirred within her, and she asked: “Is that third son of the Ye family a capable man?”
“He is a person who handles matters with a sense of proportion,” Song Lan replied, unconcerned about discussing court affairs with her, eyes closed as he spoke. “But as Older Sister also knows—those around us are full of hidden dangers and treacherous currents. Although I have had people investigate his background thoroughly, how a person’s heart truly is can never be fully measured. Having him come is also a way to ask Older Sister to appraise him for me. After all, you are old acquaintances—and if he can indeed be trusted, it would be all the better.”
Luowei responded softly: “Zi Lan may rest easy.”
* * *
The next morning, after early court was dismissed, Ye Tingyan accompanied Song Lan to Qionghua Hall.
Song Lan was making his way through the garden of Qionghua Hall when Liu Xi came hurrying after him, saying that several officials who had not yet left the palace had turned back and were waiting at the rear hall of the Qianfang Palace, wishing to discuss matters with him—it seemed that Jiangnan was facing a drought this spring, and an urgent report had arrived.
Song Lan had no choice but to send Liu Xi ahead with Ye Tingyan, left a few words of instruction, and then departed.
Ye Tingyan walked with Liu Xi along the path beneath the crabapple trees, which were blooming in dense and joyful profusion.
He lowered his head, watching the fragmentary light and the scattered fallen petals on the ground. He could not say why, but with every step he felt a deep sense of unreality, as though he were treading through clouds.
It was as if nothing had happened—no assassination attempt, no betrayal, no blood, no tears. No scheme, no disguise, no illness or wound, no masquerade. He lifted his head to look at the crabapple trees he had once planted himself, and passed through cluster after cluster of purple crepe myrtles of varying shades—they grew in close companionship within the one garden, just as he and the green plum tree beside the corridor had been inseparable during those ten-odd years.
Ye Tingyan raised his eyes slightly and made out Luowei standing at the far end of the long covered corridor, in the pavilion. She wore the Empress’s everyday robes—dark, heavy silk. In his distant memory, the young girl had always been partial to vivid colors and light gauze fabrics.
But preferences do change, and so does the heart.
The sun was too bright today—its light dazzled. He did not dare raise his head, and could not look long. He could only hurry beneath the shade and, with practiced ease, bend his knee: “This servant kowtows to Your Highness.”
Luowei leaned against the eave-pillar and sat, without bidding him rise. She gazed, lost in thought, at the clear sky beside her, and reached out to catch a few fluttering pale pink petals.
A breeze blew through, and the petals fell into her palm, then flew away just as quickly. She reached out to catch them again—and came away empty-handed, her palm blank and bare, as though she had never possessed anything at all.
Yan Luo had dismissed all the palace attendants from the garden, then stood with Liu Xi some twenty paces away beneath the covered walkway.
For the Empress to receive an outside official in private was improper. In the past when Luowei handled affairs of state, Song Lan had always been at her side. Today, with Song Lan absent, he had given Liu Xi a particular instruction before leaving: what the Empress needed to discuss with Lord Ye concerned private and confidential matters of the inner court, and absolutely could not be heard by others. Yet they also needed to maintain the proper appearance of decorum. So the meeting had been moved to the garden, with attendants standing watch from a distance—and if anyone asked afterward, there would be an explanation.
Ye Tingyan waited for her summons to come, but none did. And so he straightened up on his own, then knelt at her feet. Luowei cast a lazy glance at him, and heard Ye Tingyan say in all seriousness: “This servant has long heard of Your Highness’s virtuous renown. Now that Your Highness is receiving an outside official, should you not straighten your garments and sit with proper dignity?”
Luowei was amused by him. She glanced toward Liu Xi and Yan Luo in the distance and covered her mouth with a smile: “If Lord Ye were one of those pedantic Confucian scholars from the Censorate, this Palace would not be receiving you at all.”
She drew out the word “receiving” with a certain tenderness. Ye Tingyan looked up to find a face like jade beneath the flowering trees, and a thousand responses rose in his mind, the impulse to offer some cutting remark—but a quiet constriction in his chest stopped the words before they came.
He lowered his head and noticed that his hand was trembling, so he tucked it deeper into the wide sleeve of his official robe.
Luowei had not seen this small movement. She brushed fallen petals from her shoulder, straightened up beneath the walkway, and folded her hands together in decorous fashion. She said with solemn authority: “Lord Ye, speak.”
Ye Tingyan replied with a cupped-fist bow: “This servant examined the matter in detail—there is too much to tell. It would be better if Your Highness asked.”
Luowei went directly to the point: “Why did Lu Fengying want to kill Zhang Siyi? Were the two of them previously acquainted?”
“Your Highness is perceptive,” Ye Tingyan replied swiftly. “In the final years of the Changning reign, after Zhang Siyi received Your Highness’s appreciation, she met by chance with Lord Lu Heng at that time—who was then still serving in attendance on the late Crown Prince. A year later, when Zhang Siyi was transferred into the palace, their encounters became more frequent. When His Majesty ascended the throne, the two formed a private attachment. Lu Heng then persuaded Zhang Siyi to retire from official service early and leave the palace—once she was placed among the common people, he could petition His Majesty for an imperial decree granting them permission to marry.”
“And so Zhang Siyi came to me and said she wished to leave the palace,” Luowei reflected aloud. “Yet according to what Lord Ye says, Lu Fengying had already formed the intention of taking a wife—so why did he kill her and discard the body?”