The moon sank, the sun rose. In the morning, in the courtyard of the Wenhui Tower, there hung a faint air of gloom.
“…these things don’t need to be done right away, but it’s good to have some preparation regardless… As for the new shopkeeper, however you look at it, however you choose, you two actually have a good eye for people. For now, what’s needed doesn’t have to be someone brilliant or extraordinary—the most important thing is being able to carry out assigned tasks properly, one by one. The chancellor’s residence will help with this, so there’s no need to worry too much… During the time I’m away, as long as everything proceeds in order, by the time I’m back there should be a basic framework in place…”
“…you two look out for each other, visit the chancellor’s residence often, and keep up your contact with Madam Qin and with Yunniang. Madam Qin aside, that Yunniang actually handles a great deal of the Secret Investigation Bureau’s affairs, doing the filing and organizing for Chancellor Qin first. Of course, you two just need to keep up your usual contact with her…”
Sunlight spilled into the room. Ning Yi, Yunzhu, and Jin’er sat at the table, going over matters one by one. Jin’er said, “You said you’d leave tomorrow, but suddenly changed it to today—is it because of what happened last night… will there be trouble?”
Ning Yi smiled and shook his head. “Trouble, sure, but not the kind you’re thinking. The Grand Marshal’s residence has no grounds in last night’s affair and won’t dare truly move against me, but once the pressure comes down from above and an investigation starts, I might have to stay here for ten days or half a month. Time doesn’t wait, so I’d rather leave the city first. As for the rest, the Right Chancellor’s residence will suppress it.”
Last night, Cheng Zhouhai’s sudden action had left Ning Yi with no time to prepare in advance. But as one of the central figures of the Secret Investigation Bureau, Ning Yi wasn’t worried that the man was simply a reckless liability.
The night’s events had gone according to plan. When the people from the Prince of Chong’s household arrived, Ning Yi had escorted out Zhou Pei, half-covered in blood with her clothes torn, and Prince Chong, Zhou Ji, had flown into a rage, drawing his blade and chasing the wretched, disheveled Gao Muen half a street. During this, Lu Qian could only shield Gao Muen as they fled. Two guards of the Grand Marshal’s residence were cut down under the Prince’s fury, and Lu Qian, not daring to dodge too much, had taken a few hits himself, left bloodied. By the time Gao Qiu hurried over with his men, wailing that his son deserved death a thousand times over, the tone of the matter had already been set.
As for what came next, Cheng Zhouhai had been preparing for so long that it seemed unlikely to go far wrong. But as one of those drawn into the affair, Ning Yi didn’t want to be left behind and needed to arrange his departure as soon as possible. Returning last night, he’d spent half the night explaining his arrangements to Xiao Chan, and this morning he’d begun giving instructions to Yunzhu and Jin’er. With things suddenly moved up by a day, though there was much everyone wanted to say to each other, for the moment, the words wouldn’t quite come.
At this same time, in the imperial study within the palace, the current emperor, a man in his thirties, was hurling whatever was within reach and venting his fury at Grand Marshal Gao Qiu, who knelt on the ground before him.
“Damn it! Gao Qiu! I really misjudged you—you’ve failed to raise your son properly, and now this happens under my watch!”
He flung a glazed lamp to the ground, cursing loudly.
“My niece! Come to offer birthday wishes to the Empress Dowager! Right here in the capital, right under my own feet, such a thing happens! That lecherous scoundrel! This morning the Empress Dowager was furious—how am I supposed to be a son to her, how am I supposed to be an uncle! Gao Qiu! Did you think that because I favor you, you could act without restraint!”
Kneeling on the ground, Gao Qiu kept bowing and repeating his guilt, only at the end venturing to suggest that his unfilial son might have been framed. Before he could finish, a plate shattered on the ground in front of him with a crack.
“Framed! Grand Marshal Gao! What kind of character does your son have—do you think there’s anyone left in Bian Liang who doesn’t know? Do you think that because I sit in this palace all day, I truly know nothing of the affairs of common folk? Your son’s misdeeds are notorious. I haven’t had him killed only out of consideration for whatever merit and hard work you’ve contributed as Grand Marshal. And now you dare cry injustice before me?”
“This guilty official would not dare…” Gao Qiu no longer argued. “That unfilial son’s poor conduct is due to this guilty official’s failure to teach him properly. When I return, I will surely punish him severely, without any leniency…”
Amid his continued bowing and pleading, the wrath above raged on for a while longer before finally ordering him to get out. Only after Gao Qiu left, as the palace servants came in to sweep away the broken debris, did the emperor, Zhou Zhe, sitting behind his desk, show not the slightest trace of the anger from moments before—he even reached up to straighten the ties of his crown.
A woman in empress’s court dress came from behind carrying a bowl of soup, smiling. “Your Majesty threw quite the temper.”
“That son of his is a mess, but it wouldn’t have gone so far as to dare touch a princess. I don’t know who was really behind it, but he has to eat this loss on my behalf.” The man in the imperial robe spoke with calm composure. “Civil officials and military officials, loyal ministers and favored courtiers—letting them stir things up a little has its uses too. After all, the way of the sovereign values balance above all. I don’t care who schemed this time, but since it involves the royal family, if I still spoke up for Gao Qiu, he’d be finished. Scolding him is actually saving him—he’ll understand that… What do you think, Empress?”
“Your Majesty is wise. But as for who exactly dragged the little princess into this—shouldn’t that really be sorted out?”
“What good would sorting it out do?” The emperor smiled, taking the spoon from the Empress’s hand and sipping some sugar water. “Among the imperial clan, though they’re my own relatives, most of them are foolish, while both inside and outside the court, it’s the clever ones playing the game. Even they themselves probably aren’t always sure when they’re drawn in or when they’re pushed out. If I had to step in every time one of them got used, wouldn’t that wear me out? The great affairs of the realm, I care about. But as for the schemes within the court, the truth of it—I have no interest in getting involved, as long as they stay in balance.”
What had happened the previous night was, to many people, a matter of life and death. But to the emperor, it was no more than the faint tinkling of a wind chime passing beneath the palace eaves, swallowed by the wind in an instant.
Around noon, Ning Yi walked into the Prince of Chong’s residence, into the courtyard where Zhou Pei now lived. The girl, her head wrapped in bandages, was waiting for him under the eaves. In the fighting the previous night, Zhou Pei had meant to finish off Gao Muen for good. After his two fingers were severed, Gao Muen had screamed for help and fled while also trying to fight back, leaving Zhou Pei with some minor injuries—though such elaborate bandaging was clearly meant to win sympathy. Still, the wrapped bandages and the faint smell of medicine made the girl before him look especially delicate.
“Why did you have to do something like that?”
“Zhou Pei will be going back home soon, and wanted to do something for Teacher first. This matter… Zhou Pei thought it through carefully beforehand. I hope it hasn’t caused Teacher too much trouble.”
“It’s fine, really. It’s just that you’re only fifteen—you shouldn’t have taken such a risk, shouldn’t have gotten entangled in matters like this… and shouldn’t trust people so easily.”
The sunlight was bright, and the two of them sat in the shade of the courtyard. Zhou Pei’s face flushed slightly as she smiled.
“Actually… once I go back, I’ll be getting married. I wanted to do something for Teacher before that happens. Most importantly, being able to do something like this—for Little Pei herself, it also felt… meaningful.”
She had referred to herself as “Zhou Pei” before, but now switched to “Little Pei.” Listening to her, watching her expression, Ning Yi vaguely sensed that after last night, the girl before him seemed somehow different—as if she’d made some decision, arrived at some understanding.
“You’ve decided on the marriage, then?”
“Mm.” Zhou Pei’s expression dimmed slightly, then brightened again with a smile. “After all… it couldn’t be put off any longer. I still haven’t found anyone I feel is… right, but what has to be faced eventually has to be faced. Putting it off forever isn’t really a solution. What do you think, Teacher?”
“Doing things just to be doing something isn’t good either, but if you’ve thought it through, it’s your choice.”
Zhou Pei smiled. “By the way, Teacher, what were you and Tan’er, your wife, like back then?”
“Haven’t you always known?”
“I know a little. Could Teacher tell Little Pei more?”
The little princess’s face held a look of yearning. Ning Yi thought for a moment. “Heh, us? When we first got married, we barely even knew each other. I got hit on the head, she was running from her own wedding…”
He recalled those events, giving Zhou Pei a rough account of the tangled history between him and his wife. “Actually… as long as everyone’s willing to make a sincere effort to understand each other, in the end, you can always find the good in one another. I think that’s the foundation for making things work. When you go back, you don’t need to feel so resistant to the idea of living with someone. How well people get along—at least half the reason for that lies within yourself.”
“Mm.” Zhou Pei nodded. When Ning Yi was about to leave, she walked him to the courtyard gate, forcing a smile. “Teacher.”
“Hm?” Ning Yi turned back.
“Will we… not see each other again after this?”
“Probably not very often.” Looking at the smiling girl standing two steps away, Ning Yi smiled. “Perhaps from now on you’ll be in Jiangning and I’ll be in Bian Liang, but I’ll always go back eventually, and you might come up here too. As long as there’s a will, the bond between teacher and student won’t be entirely severed.”
“Mm… take care of yourself, Teacher.” She gazed at him, and after saying this, bent low in a deep, formal bow—an almost flawless lady’s courtesy. In the sunlight, Ning Yi thought it looked as graceful as flowing water.
Indeed… he could never have taught a student to carry herself like this…
Thinking this, he left the estate.
After Ning Yi’s figure disappeared, Zhou Pei sat under a tree in the courtyard, waiting for the sun to tilt westward. There were things she couldn’t see, yet her heart knew them all the same. As the sun began to wane, Ning Yi’s group of carriages and horses said their farewells to others at a mound outside the city. Yunzhu and Jin’er hadn’t come, and Xiao Chan had been left behind in the city. His mind was still full of the image of Xiao Chan crying as she packed his bags: “Husband, can’t you take me too…” His heart carried the taste of tears.
This trip to Shandong included, besides a few capable guards from the chancellor’s residence, the three Qi brothers and Su Wenyu of the Su family. As for Su Yanping, he was left behind in Bian Liang to look after things, and would only head to Shandong to bring news and rejoin Ning Yi once Tan’er arrived in the capital.
Monk Juemi, Yao Zunian, Cheng Zhouhai, and others came out to see him off. Not long after, a carriage arrived, and out stepped Qin Siyuan, who drew Ning Yi aside to speak.
“The Liangshan matter won’t be easy. I know you’re eager for revenge, but if it can’t be resolved, that’s fine too. No one here would dare claim they can solve the Liangshan bandit problem. Shanyue’s temperament runs to extremes—if you can, keep an eye on him.”
“Understood.” Ning Yi nodded. “Yunzhu, Jin’er, Xiao Chan, and Tan’er who’s coming up soon—they matter a great deal to me. I’m entrusting them to you. Ordinarily I wouldn’t worry, but after what’s happened, I hope Gao Muen doesn’t cause any more trouble.”
“I understand how important this is, and I’ll arrange people to guard against trouble beforehand. This will be handled by Ji Kun—he’s the most meticulous person for the job, Liheng can rest easy. No one in Bian Liang can touch them.” Qin Siyuan paused. “As for Zhouhai’s plan this time, it does have merit, and I quietly gave my approval to it in advance—it may have caught you off guard, but I’ll take responsibility for handling what comes after. Zhouhai’s temperament isn’t bad, but he still needs more tempering. Afterward, I’ll probably send him north to oversee grain supplies…”
“Er… heh heh…” Ning Yi laughed. “So it seems he won’t get to kill Gao Muen after all…”
“If the Grand Marshal ever falls from power, as for that lecherous scoundrel, I might well kill him myself…” Qin Siyuan sighed and shook his head.
Not long after, he bid farewell to everyone.
“A man’s life spans but two hundred years with confidence, and he ought to strike three thousand li across the waters. All of you have important matters of your own to attend to—go on back… take care.”
The carriages set off with a crack of the whip, leaving Bian Liang, heading east.
As the sun sank further west, before long the sky at the horizon burned crimson. The sun set, the stars rose, and Cheng Zhouhai walked into the Prince of Chong’s residence. Entering that courtyard, he saw the little princess sitting there in the moonlight.
“Master Cheng…”
“This afternoon, young master Ning already left Bian Liang. I thought… I should come let the Princess know.”
“I know.”
Zhou Pei nodded in reply. Cheng Zhouhai stood there for a moment.
“Forgive my bluntness, Your Highness, if you’re fond of young master Ning.” When Zhou Pei’s sharp gaze turned toward him, he smiled calmly. “Why not do something to pursue it?”
Zhou Pei looked at him for a good while before a smile crossed her lips. “Master Cheng, and what if I did pursue it?”
“If you wanted to buy time, there are ways—for instance, becoming a nun… or citing the shock of this recent ordeal…”
“If Zhou Pei pursued it, would Teacher come to love me?”
“Er…”
“Teacher won’t fall in love with me. I’ve already come to understand that. Teacher… has many women around him, and he isn’t a heartless man, but… that’s fate. I’ve known Teacher for over two years now, slowly coming to know him, to understand him, to admire him—but I may never truly understand him. Teacher will always be Teacher, and I’ll always just be his student. These two years… that’s all just fate…”
Zhou Pei spoke these words with her eyes lowered, her gaze clear. “…I’ve suddenly grown up, and with that, this bond has run its course too.”
Cheng Zhouhai was taken aback. He was, after all, a man of warm sentiment, and for a moment he didn’t know what to say. In the end, he could only let it go. “Then… once Your Highness returns home, you’ll be married soon. Allow me to offer my congratulations in advance—may you and your husband live in perfect harmony and happiness.”
Zhou Pei smiled. “Actually… getting married isn’t such a big deal anymore. Master Cheng, being able to do something like this for Teacher before I marry made me happy. But last night’s experience also suddenly taught Zhou Pei something—that being of royal blood, forever fretting over marriage, really is such a petty, small-minded thing. I do hope for happiness in the future too. But what this really taught me is that there’s still so much Zhou Pei can do.”
The girl looked at Cheng Zhouhai and rose gracefully. “For instance, there might be another Gao Muen running rampant somewhere else, or corrupt officials undermining the foundations of our Wu Dynasty… I used to always want to do something, but always felt that as a woman, there was nothing I could do, so I kept losing my temper at my lazy, good-for-nothing little brother, frustrated that he wouldn’t live up to expectations. But this matter taught me that as long as you’re willing, there’s always a way to act. For this affair… Zhou Pei wants to thank Master Cheng for your help. If there’s ever a chance in the future, I’ll repay you generously.”
“Er… you’re too kind.” Cheng Zhouhai cupped his hands, vaguely uncertain whether what was happening before him was a good thing or not. He watched this fifteen-year-old girl standing there, gazing at the night sky. Her figure wasn’t much taller than his own, yet within it there was a faint air of pride and dignity—he knew that was the bearing bestowed by royal power.
Cheng Zhouhai took his leave.
Zhou Pei stood there for a good while. The air cooled, and once no one was around, she felt moisture sliding down her face.
The tears were ice cold… Teacher had already left…
From last night until today, she’d thought through a great many things in her heart—many things she could go on to do, and many things she would never be able to do again. But the things she’d worked out clearly could only be set aside for the future; they did nothing to comfort her present feelings.
She simply didn’t want to appear weak in front of others.
The bond had run its course… she wouldn’t see him again… Teacher had finally left after all…
She was thirteen when she met him, fifteen when she realized she’d fallen for him. But now he was leaving, and she was to be married.
Understanding it clearly did nothing to suppress the sorrow in her heart. After tonight, her youth would have already passed, like a body buried in the earth—new trees would sprout, the old shell would die. A person could pretend to be strong, but no one could know what awaited in the future.
She stood there, leaning against a tree in the courtyard, lowering her head, covering her mouth to weep silently. In her mind’s eye, there was a carriage that had left Bian Liang that afternoon, carrying the night eastward, bearing the teacher she’d fallen for at fifteen—and that carriage moved on without pause, growing ever more distant from her…
A shooting star streaked across the sky.
……
Lüliang Mountains, Green Wood Stockade.
Lu Hongti raised her head, watching the shooting star cross the night sky, then smoothed the hair by her ear and walked into the small cabin ahead. Inside, an old man sat at his desk with a brush in hand, poring over something.
“Grandpa Liang, I’m coming in.”
“Oh.” Liang Bingfu tilted his head, tidying the things on his desk, then after a moment nodded. “Ah, Hongti, you’re here…”
“Grandpa Liang, you said earlier you had something to discuss—is it something urgent?”
“Let’s go for a walk.” Liang Bingfu thought for a moment, then rose, leaning on his cane, and headed out the door. Lu Hongti followed beside him. Looking down from the small hillside, figures moved about within Green Wood Stockade, scattered points of lamplight—this was one of Lu Hongti’s favorite sights.
“That proposal from Meng River Stockade earlier—Hongti, what do you think of it?”
After walking a while, Liang Bingfu suddenly asked, catching the young woman slightly off guard. “Grandpa Liang, why ask this all of a sudden…” Proposals weren’t unusual, and the one from Meng River Stockade wasn’t anything particularly special either. She couldn’t quite understand why the old man was bringing it up specifically.
Liang Bingfu chuckled, leaning on his cane. “Just asking casually. What do you think?”
“I feel… it’s not really… um…” Being no longer so young, and having turned down so many proposals already, Lu Hongti found herself hesitating even in how she answered. Liang Bingfu stood at the roadside on the hillside, looking down at the scene below, chuckling for a while.
“Actually… Lu San and Li Li and the others have gone south together.”
“Hm?”
“Hongti, you should pack your things too, and make another trip south.”
“Grandpa Liang, what’s going on?”
Only now, with this, did the conversation finally take on the air of real business. Confused, Lu Hongti watched as Liang Bingfu stood there, gripping his cane, his expression turning serious.
“Lu San, Li Li, and the others were driven out of the stockade, and they’ve been restless ever since. Heading south, they’re going to make trouble for that Ning Liheng fellow. These men have never left Lüliang their whole lives—there’s a great deal they don’t understand about the prosperity of the south. They got Tian Liu to guide them, thinking I wouldn’t know their movements?”
The Lüliang Mountains were wild, untamed territory, where many things were settled with a blade, and the rules for survival were different here. Though these men seemed free, having lived their whole lives on this patch of land, they might not actually adapt well elsewhere. If they wanted to travel far, there were always a few who’d been outside who could guide them, teaching them the customs. The Tian Liu that Liang Bingfu mentioned was one of these men. Lu Hongti was silent for a long moment. “Grandpa Liang, this…”
“They’ve already been gone several days. Within Lüliang’s borders, you won’t be able to catch them now.”
“But I… I can’t leave right now. Grandpa Liang, everything here has just started running smoothly—how can I leave with things like this?”
“I’ve thought about that too.” Liang Bingfu closed his eyes, shook his head, and sighed. “But… it should be fine for a while. I can still watch over things for a bit longer…”
“No, Grandpa Liang…” The young woman shook her head, then after a moment, said, “That… that Ning Liheng, he learned my skills, he’s quite capable. Lu San and the others can’t beat him. As for scheming and tricks, they’d just be walking to their deaths. I really don’t need to worry about him at all…”
Liang Bingfu looked at her steadily. “The prepared against the unprepared—are you truly that certain?”
“I…” Lu Hongti found herself at a loss for words. After a long moment, looking at the old man before her, “…why are you asking this?”
“You should… live a little for yourself.” The old man glanced at her and smiled. “These men you’ve turned down, sure, they’re not really that great—but even if there had been a good one, I wouldn’t have said anything. That Ning Liheng, you’re fond of him… heh, don’t tell this old man otherwise. You deserve to like someone too—there’s nothing shameful about it. I’m already old. This stockade—I won’t be able to hold it up for you for many more years. But while I still can, I hope you’ll go do something else for yourself. There may not be another chance later…”
Lu Hongti was silent for a moment, then broke into a smile. “We’re friends, and I really do think… he’s quite capable. But I can’t bring him back into the mountains with me…”
“Being able to bring him back would of course be the best outcome.” The old man smiled. “But even if that’s not possible right now, going to see him more often might lead to something, who knows. You have to go first before there can be a future at all. Hongti… seize the moment now. Even if nothing comes of it, you’ll still be glad to look back on it later. You’ve carried so much for this stockade—you deserve to keep something good for yourself…”
“I think things are fine as they are now…”
“Heh, Grandpa Liang isn’t pushing you to marry. Things being what they are in Lüliang, if you truly don’t want to, then wait. Go see him, talk with him, tell him… about your life here in Lüliang, and see what he’s doing. As for whether anything comes of it, and how you’ll feel when you come back, Grandpa Liang won’t say a word about it, all right?”
Hongti stood there, gazing at the lights below, fingers twisting together. “What about the stockade? Things have only just gotten this far…”
“Lüliang never had much in the way of rules to begin with. What Ning Liheng wrote down is a bit too strict—enforcing it now is fine for a while, but keeping it up long-term will take time.” The old man said, “While you’re away, I’ll handle the strict parts, keep a lid on anything that comes up. When you’re back, you can ease things up a little, and they’ll all appreciate you for it. I’ve thought all this through. I may be old, but for half a year, a year, I can still hold things together.”
After a long silence, Hongti suddenly said, “Grandpa Liang, you and Master, were you two…”
She couldn’t finish the question. Liang Bingfu’s cane paused twice, his gaze fixed on the scene below, his expression shifting, but in the end he only said, “Back then, it was your master who saved me, brought me here… there are things I never said, things I never did. When you’re old, you might come to regret it too.”
Lu Hongti looked at him for a long while before finally nodding. “…I’ll think about it.”
“Mm, go think about it.”
With that said, Lu Hongti walked down the hillside, uncertain of what she should do. When she turned to look back, the figure halfway up the slope still stood there, leaning on his cane, gazing off into the deep darkness of the night.
In her memory, her master had been much older than herself, while Grandpa Liang, when she was young, had been a gentle, refined middle-aged scholar. It was only after her master died that Grandpa Liang had aged rapidly.
She’d always thought Grandpa Liang had suddenly grown old because he could no longer help the stockade. It seemed her master, in saving him, had originally had exactly this in mind. Grandpa Liang had done a great many things—some useful, some not—but in the end all he’d managed was to keep this stockade alive until the present, for those still living to carry forward and grow it.
That scholar of years past, and that heroine of years past—what exactly had happened between them? Those who’d been part of it were mostly dead now, and the living, it seemed, no longer wished to speak of it. Hongti stood there, watching that figure, wondering what he was looking at.
Countless stars fell across the sky.
Buried within that darkness, perhaps, was a story that belonged only to the two of them.
Thinking of this, she felt a touch of sorrow.