At Shen Zhuxi’s suggestion, the Qingfeng Army split into several separate routes to avoid making too much noise along the way and alerting Fu Xuanmiao’s spies. Niuwang led the elephant soldiers back to Jinzhou to conscript troops and build up reserves for any eventuality; Li Wu took Shen Zhuxi and Li Kun to Yangzhou to seek financial support from the Bai Family there; Shen Zhuxi also wrote a letter, entrusting someone to secretly deliver it to Xiaohu in Xiangyang. Multiple forces were gathering strength, waiting for the moment to strike.
Three days after the army set off along separate routes, the Qingfeng Army contingent carrying Shen Zhuxi and the others finally entered the first town along their path — Hefei County.
The army halted and set up a temporary camp ten li outside Hefei County. Li Wu, who had long been away from civilian life, volunteered to go into the city to contact merchants and arrange supplies. Shen Zhuxi wanted to go into the city to buy a couple of changes of clothes, Li Kun wanted to go in for a proper feast, and Dong Miji — who had never seen the world beyond his tribe — also wanted to go into the city with Li Wu. That made three of them.
Poor Li Kun, whose towering frame was far too conspicuous and could not be disguised, was flatly refused by Li Wu.
Shen Zhuxi promised again and again to bring Li Kun back something delicious to eat, and only then did she manage to soothe his temper. With Li Kun appeased, Shen Zhuxi and Dong Miji — who kept tugging uncomfortably at his collar and had been craning his neck left and right like a curious child ever since they approached the city gates — followed Li Wu inside. With a forged travel pass and a pouch of loose silver, they slipped without difficulty into the loosely guarded Hefei.
“Wow…”
“Oh!”
“Ah!”
Dong Miji, whose mouth had not closed once since they entered the city, gave a startled jump when an ox-cart rumbled past. By reflex he lurched backward and yanked out the dagger he had hidden inside his robe.
The silver-haired old man driving the cart stared at him in bewilderment. Nearby pedestrians stopped in their tracks and gaped in astonishment at Dong Miji, who looked as though he were facing a mortal enemy.
Li Wu, standing beside Dong Miji, shook his head and raised one finger to his own temple, stirring it in slow circles the way a malt-candy vendor stirs his wares.
The old cart-driver and the onlookers who had caught the exchange exchanged knowing, sympathetic glances. A light flick of the whip sent the old ox plodding forward again, and the small crowd gradually dispersed.
Dong Miji looked at Li Wu with a mixture of confusion and unease. Li Wu simply slapped the dagger back against Dong Miji’s chest.
“If I catch you jumping out of your skin like that again, next time you can stay home and keep watch with Diao’er.”
Even though Dong Miji only half-understood the words, he could read Li Wu’s expression well enough to guess the meaning. He hastily tucked the dagger back inside his robe, terrified that Li Wu would send him back.
The three of them continued toward the busy market district.
Li Wu haggled a price with a grain merchant, then paid a visit to a pawnshop to sell some ivory carvings that the Rong tribespeople had given them through barter.
The pawnshop owner received them warmly, and was especially interested in the ivory pieces they had brought.
“…You’ve come at the right time. Ivory never fetched prices like this in previous years. Only half a year into this year, and the price has already multiplied several times over compared to before — and even so, demand still outstrips supply!”
Shen Zhuxi asked curiously, “Why have ivory prices shot up so sharply this year?”
“It’s all because of the current Associate Administrator of Political Affairs, Lord Fu Xuanmiao — he loves ivory for its pure whiteness, hardness, and noble character, and the officials at court inside and out have all followed his lead. These days, if your household doesn’t have a few ivory chairs and ivory mats — well, that’s a real loss of face!” The pawnshop owner set down his crystal-stone magnifying glass and smiled ingratiatingly. “The quality of the ivory pieces you’ve brought is excellent. I wonder, where does this ivory come from? Even the ivory from the Southern Ocean can’t compare to this grade…”
Li Wu leaned one hand on the counter, letting a roguish expression cross his face. He raised an eyebrow and said, “Don’t ask what you shouldn’t ask. Be straightforward, and there’ll be a next time — otherwise the next round of business won’t be coming to you. Understood?”
“Of course, of course —” the pawnshop owner said with a conciliatory laugh.
While Li Wu and the pawnshop owner haggled over the price for the outright sale, Shen Zhuxi stood to one side teaching Dong Miji to identify the objects on the display shelves.
“Those are the Four Treasures of the Study — the brush, ink, paper, and inkstone… used to record language, making it easy to preserve and circulate.”
“We have songs. Elders tell stories,” said Dong Miji.
“Passing things down by word of mouth is prone to errors, but writing things down on paper allows them to be preserved word for word for years or even decades. This effectively prevents certain skills and knowledge from being lost, and makes it convenient for people to communicate through letters.”
“Letters… how communicate?” Dong Miji asked.
“In your tribe, if a person has traveled far away and another person wants to reach him, what can be done?”
Dong Miji looked blank. “Can’t reach… no way…”
Shen Zhuxi smiled. “If we had paper and brush, we could write what you want to say on paper and have a person — or even a bird — carry it to whoever you want to speak with.”
“That is good,” said Dong Miji, his face filled with envy.
“Would you like to learn our written characters?”
Dong Miji looked at Shen Zhuxi in astonishment. “I… am allowed?”
“Of course you are,” said Shen Zhuxi with a smile. “As long as you are willing to learn, I am willing to teach. Will you learn?”
Dong Miji nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes!”
A short while later, Li Wu tucked a thick stack of banknotes into his robe and concluded his transaction with the pawnshop owner.
After some spirited haggling, Shen Zhuxi purchased for four taels of silver a She-stone banana-leaf inkstone that the pawnshop owner had been asking forty-five taels for — leaving Dong Miji, who had been watching from the sidelines, utterly slack-jawed with a mixture of awe and disbelief as she handed him the paper-wrapped parcel containing the Four Treasures of the Study.
After the three of them left the pawnshop, they bought many snacks and street foods on the way back. When an ox-cart rumbled past Dong Miji a second time, he no longer flinched — except for the moment when he felt that the candied haws in his hand were drawing envious stares, at which point he bared his teeth in a fierce grimace that startled a small child in tiger-head shoes into tears.
Once the surplus goods had been sold and the military supplies replenished, the army set out again at first light the following morning, heading toward Yangzhou.
At their current pace, the group would arrive in Yangzhou in fourteen or fifteen days. Shen Zhuxi passed the time on the road in her carriage by teaching Dong Miji to speak the Yan tongue and to read and write, so the days did not feel difficult to endure.
It was not until a golden ginkgo leaf came spinning through the half-open carriage window that Shen Zhuxi suddenly realized, without quite noticing when it had happened, that the blazing heat of summer had already passed.
The cold, austere bite of autumn had begun to show.
When the wind swept through, cascades of gold drifted down from the branches like butterflies, dancing in swirling multitudes along the path of the army’s advance.
Drifting, drifting — and just at the moment of touching the ground, caught up again by a stronger gust of autumn wind and carried aloft toward the distant sky.
Within the city of Jianzhou, the whole city gleamed gold.
Shimmering ginkgo leaves blanketed the willow-lined riverbanks and settled upon the magnificent palace buildings, white as snow.
Ivory prices had soared across the entire country, with Jianzhou seeing the highest prices of all. The newly constructed auxiliary palace in Jianzhou had made extensive use of ivory in its grand towers and jade-like halls; at first glance the rooftops looked as though they were blanketed in pure white snow, and so the people had taken to calling it the Snow Palace. The new Emperor, who had fallen ill upon returning from Jianzhou, now resided within this opulent yet cold auxiliary palace.
As for the reasons behind the new Emperor’s illness, popular speculation ran in many directions. Some said the new Emperor had been overwhelmed with grief over the Princess of Yue’s fall from the cliff; others said the circumstances of the Princess of Yue’s death were suspicious, and that the Emperor’s retreat from court on account of illness was likely not a genuine illness at all — their evidence being the carriage-loads of fine wine, sumptuous food, and beautiful entertainers brought into the auxiliary palace. Could a truly sick man still enjoy singing and dancing, and drown himself in pleasure?
With the new Emperor having retreated from court on grounds of illness and the palace gates sealed shut, the Fu Residence — located on the opposite side of Jianzhou — also had its gates firmly closed. Countless people hoping to see the Associate Administrator of Political Affairs circled outside his doors each day, submitting calling card after calling card on behalf of their own masters, and each day they returned empty-handed.
In the circles of well-born young women in Jianzhou, it was said that the foremost gentleman under heaven, once lost and then found, had now been lost again — and had at last collapsed from the blow. Fu Xuanmiao was steadfast and deeply devoted, utterly unlike ordinary men; the Princess of Yue must have accumulated blessings across several lifetimes to share such a bond with him.
Jianzhou’s civil and military officials were also discussing the same person, though their conversations were not fit to be overheard by outsiders — for if they were, one might have found oneself vanishing quietly for a spell, just like the scholars whispering in the teahouses and taverns.
An invisible vortex churned beneath the seemingly placid surface of Jianzhou — hidden beneath the brilliant, glittering lamplight, hidden beneath the swirling curtains of ginkgo leaves, hidden beneath the lustrous gleam of the auxiliary palace’s eaves, and hidden beneath the new Emperor’s fits of explosive rage and furious cursing.
And at the center of that vortex lay the deathly still Fu Residence.
With the Emperor having retreated from court, the memorials were not being delivered to the imperial study at all. Instead, they streamed like flowing water to the Fu Residence — though situated in the city’s outskirts, it was heavily fortified and guarded like an impregnable fortress.
These memorials from every corner of the realm piled up like a mountain on a desk in a small courtyard where bamboo shadows swayed and lake breezes stirred.
A golden ginkgo leaf drifted in through the open window and settled upon an inkstone carved in the shape of twelve peaks, its gold stained by seeping black ink.
A lean figure in blue robes held in his hand a memorial that had arrived from Cangzhen, and read its contents with an expressionless face — words viciously denouncing the Fu clan for holding all power in their hand and acting with unbridled, singular authority.
Yan Hui stood to one side, and catching a glimpse of a few of the more contemptuous phrases in the memorial out of the corner of his eye, he held his breath and dared not make a sound.
“This Military Commissioner of Cangzhen — he must be past sixty by now?” Fu Xuanmiao said softly.
Yan Hui quickly replied, “In response to the young master: yes, that is correct. In two more years, it will be the Military Commissioner of Cangzhen’s sixty-sixth birthday.”
“An old steed still harbors the ambition of a thousand li,” said Fu Xuanmiao. “Japanese pirates have been repeatedly raiding Dengzhou since before the new year. Kong Ye is experienced and knowledgeable, and his vigor is evidently still remarkable — he should surely be capable of reforming those pirates with a loyal heart. Let him lead troops to suppress and clear out the pirates.”
“…Understood.” Yan Hui felt a private shock and immediately lowered his head in acknowledgment.
Fu Xuanmiao set down the memorial from Military Commissioner Kong Ye of Cangzhen, pinched the bridge of his nose between his eyes, and beneath his lowered lashes let slip a fleeting trace of desolation, loneliness, and a weariness far beyond his years.
“The rainy season is almost here…” He raised his eyes toward the clear, washed sky outside the window and murmured.
Yan Hui knew what he meant and immediately said: “Please set your mind at ease, young master. The troops have already been assembled. We need only wait for the rainy season to arrive and the miasma outside the cave to disperse, and we will pass through Tiantian Cave to search for the remains of the Princess of Yue.”
“…The Princess of Yue,” Fu Xuanmiao said softly.
Yan Hui paused, and then understood.
He broke into a cold sweat, lowered his head even further, and said respectfully, “This subordinate spoke carelessly — please forgive me, young master. What I meant to say is: to search for traces of the Princess of Yue’s survival.”
Fu Xuanmiao turned his gaze to the back of his pale right hand. Compared to a month ago, the hand had grown even more gaunt. A deep-red puncture scar stood out jarringly on the once-smooth, pale skin of his hand — like a nearly-wilted dark crimson lotus blooming against pure white snow.
“…Is she still there?” Fu Xuanmiao asked.
“She has not left.”
Fu Xuanmiao sat motionless for a moment. From behind his thin lips came a sound barely louder than the buzz of a mosquito: “…Come in, then.”
Yan Hui went out, and not long after, Fang Shi — gaunt and frail — was helped inside by someone supporting her arms. Once she had entered the inner room, the maidservant who had been helping her quietly withdrew. Only Fu Xuanmiao and Fang Shi remained in the study.
Fu Xuanmiao said nothing, nor did he rise immediately to assist her to a seat as he had in the past.
This was the first time he had come face to face with Fang Shi since she had helped the Princess of Yue escape.
Fu Xuanmiao sat calmly in his chair and observed in silence Fang Shi, who stood on the other side of the desk and was growing visibly uneasy at the continued silence.
After a prolonged and agonizing wait, Fang Shi broke the silence.
“I know you did not wish to see me…” she said. “I have come here with one request…”
Fu Xuanmiao said nothing.
Fang Shi hesitated for a moment, then suddenly bent her legs and dropped to her knees before Fu Xuanmiao.
The sound of her knees striking the hard floor rang out in the silent study like a thunderclap.
Fu Xuanmiao did not move.
“What I asked of you before, you did not accomplish… you deceived me, and I deceived you. Now I only wish to ask one thing of you… I will no longer obstruct anything you choose to do. I only ask one thing of you… I ask that in consideration of the bond between us as mother and son, you grant me one wish…”
When she finished speaking, Fang Shi looked toward Fu Xuanmiao with an imploring gaze.
“When a mother has a request, a son cannot refuse.” Fu Xuanmiao said softly.
A look of joy crossed Fang Shi’s face, and she was just about to state her request when Fu Xuanmiao reached inside his collar and withdrew an object, setting it gently on the desk.
The jade piece, thin as a cicada’s wing, shimmered with a water-like luminescence in the sunlight.
Fu Xuanmiao’s voice was as light as drifting mist, and his deep, brooding eyes were unreadable in their emotion.
He looked at Fang Shi, kneeling before the desk, and said softly:
“Only if mother will tell me —”
“Why the Princess of Yue came to possess a jade piece identical to this one.”