The eastern horizon gradually paled to the color of a fish’s belly; the early morning hours passed, day arrived, and the great fleet sailed onward toward the south, seabirds occasionally winging past overhead and alighting on the ship’s rail.
Above the dragon ship, the palace attendants burned sandalwood incense to drive away the sea’s dampness and the smell of fish, and now and then the gentle strains of music drifted through the air.
Walking along the corridor of the towered vessel, Qin Hui stopped the imperial physician Chu Hao to ask after His Majesty’s condition. Chu Hao gave a low, measured account, and both men’s expressions grew troubled.
After finishing his inquiry, Qin Hui made his way toward the cabin where Zhou Yong lay resting, and from a distance he could already see the consorts and palace women waiting outside. These women, mere playthings within the harem to begin with, had found few among them still trusted by Zhou Yong now that he had suddenly fallen ill; some, worried about their own future prospects, took to waiting outside frequently, hoping for a chance to be allowed in to attend him. Qin Hui approached, offered his greetings, made a brief inquiry, and learned that Zhou Pei had already gone in earlier.
Most of the women in the harem were of gentle, timid disposition, and in the presence of Zhou Pei — hardened by a decade of experience and accumulated authority — none dared show the slightest trace of resentment openly, though privately, more than a few harbored grievances they dared not voice. As Zhou Yong’s condition improved somewhat, Zhou Pei took to visiting him regularly to attend to his care. Father and daughter exchanged few words between them; she simply washed him gently and fed him his gruel and medicine.
Zhou Yong’s mind had grown somewhat muddled. At times he wept over Jun Wu’s plight on land and wished to proclaim to the realm that he would abdicate in favor of the crown prince; at other times he grew confused by his ministers’ arguments — that he still had years left to live, that so long as he lived the Wu Dynasty still endured, and that if he abdicated to the crown prince and Jiangning then fell, the Wu Dynasty would truly be finished. Amid this endless inner conflict, he would drift back into confused, muddled sleep.
Occasionally he would bring these matters up with Zhou Pei, hoping his daughter would state her own position, but Zhou Pei only looked at him with pity, and when he pressed too insistently, would simply say: “Don’t trouble the ministers over it.” Zhou Yong, unable to grasp what she meant by this, would think it over for a moment and then drift back into confusion.
Qin Hui was, for the most part, aware of these goings-on around Zhou Yong. Seeing Zhou Pei attending to him within, he quietly took his leave and withdrew without a word. The consorts, preoccupied with worries over their own futures, paid little attention to the old minister’s departure.
Returning to his own mid-deck cabin, he occasionally received visitors.
Since Zhou Yong’s collapse, the little court had convened several meetings, interspersed with several days of pause; formal declarations of position had, by now, largely given way to private visits instead. The officials who came to call spoke of conditions on land, mentioned Zhou Yong’s intention to abdicate, and most wore expressions of considerable unease.
“…The crown prince, for all his martial valor, is truly a blessing to the realm — but with the situation at Jiangning as it stands, who’s to say what will come of it next. We who oppose His Majesty’s abdication do so only out of dire necessity. But has Minister Qin gone to ask the imperial physician about His Majesty’s health…?”
“His Majesty is still in the prime of his vigorous years; any minor ailment, the physician assures us, will soon pass — there’s no cause for concern. As for the situation on land, it’s truly lamentable…”
“…I hear the Tai Lake fleet has already surrendered to the Jin dogs, and may well come chasing us out to sea. That shameless wretch Hu Sunming — sooner or later he’ll face the scorn of ten thousand generations…”
“The Tai Lake fleet suffered heavy losses in its earlier engagements with the Jurchens, and in any case, neither its soldiers nor its equipment can compare to the elite strength of our own dragon-ship fleet. Surely heaven will protect our Wu Dynasty — in the end, nothing untoward will happen…”
“…As for matters aboard ship, Minister Qin, you’d best be careful. The Grand Princess has a fierce temperament, and it was, after all, your own idea originally to bring her aboard by force. Now that her relationship with His Majesty has been mending somewhat — forgive the blunt phrasing — but blood runs thicker than distant loyalty, Minister Qin…”
“The Grand Princess is a child of the imperial house; for ten years she governed Lin’an, and her bearing and character are beyond what ordinary people can measure. You and I ought not speculate so carelessly about the affairs of one so exalted…”
“…This humble official spoke only in passing — judging a gentleman’s heart by a petty man’s own measure… Reckless of me, forgive me, forgive me…”
Officials came and went. Once, the Wu Dynasty’s realm had stretched across ten thousand li; now it had shrunk down to the small confines of this single dragon-ship fleet. What there was to say had, by now, been said and repeated so many times over that it had all begun to sound the same. For several days, Qin Hui’s mood betrayed no discernible fluctuation, but that evening, he took up brush and paper and began drafting a memorial. When his elderly wife came to call him to dinner, he was still sitting there, brush raised, deep in thought, carefully weighing his words.
“They say His Majesty isn’t well, and the other ministers have stopped discussing state affairs — and here you are, writing a memorial? Aren’t you afraid it won’t even reach him?” his wife asked, faintly puzzled.
Qin Hui’s expression was grave and solemn. He nodded. “Even so, there are still great matters concerning the realm that cannot go unspoken. The crown prince at Jiangning shows such valor and resolve, it puts the rest of us to shame… The ministers aboard this ship, cowering and hesitant as they are… I have no choice but to step forward myself, and urge His Majesty to abdicate in favor of the crown prince as soon as possible.”
“Weren’t you, just a few days ago, urging His Majesty not to abdicate?”
“…I was mistaken in my thinking then.”
Qin Hui said this with a flash of firm resolve crossing his face.
Before long, the memorial was sent up.
…
The sea and sky stretched vast and boundless, the fleet drifting upon the water, each day’s scenery indistinguishable from the last. Clouds drifted past, seabirds came and went, and at last that year’s Mid-Autumn Festival arrived.
Zhou Yong’s condition had improved somewhat, and at the urging of those around him, the dragon ship was hung with lanterns and decorations for the occasion. The palace attendants moved the great bed into the ship’s main cabin, and the consorts and palace women rehearsed various performances to make a festive occasion of it, hoping to lift Zhou Yong’s spirits amid his illness.
As night fell that day, drifting clouds moved across the sky, the moonlight dim and hazy, appearing and vanishing by turns. The great dragon ship blazed with light, music rang out, and a grand banquet had already begun. Several ministers and their families had been invited to attend. Zhou Yong sat propped up on the great bed, watching the performances unfold within the cabin, his spirits showing a faint improvement.
At the third quarter of the Hour of the Dog, Zhou Pei slipped away from the main cabin of the dragon ship, making her way along the long corridor toward the stern of the vessel. This was on the upper-middle level of the ship; after rounding several turns and descending a staircase, the number of guards nearby gradually thinned. At the end of the corridor lay an unoccupied observation cabin, with a fair-sized platform above it, reserved for the nobility to view the sea or read.
Over these past ten years, the dragon ship had spent most of its time moored at the docks along the Qiantang River, refitted and refurbished with numerous elaborate but impractical flourishes. Now that it was out at sea, much of what had once adorned this platform had been cleared away, leaving only a few shelves, chests, and a tea table, all secured in place with wooden wedges, waiting for calmer weather when people might make use of them again. At present, the moonlight was faint and obscured, and two small lanterns swayed gently in the sea breeze.
As Zhou Pei entered, a figure stepped forward from within the lantern-light, bowing in greeting; in the flickering light, the sincere yet humble face of an old minister came into view. Zhou Pei drew a slip of paper from her sleeve. “I never imagined, however hard I tried, that Minister Qin would summon me here over a matter such as this.”
A look of profound guilt flickered across Qin Hui’s face as he bowed deeply, hands clasped. “None of the ministers aboard this ship would consent to this humble old servant’s proposal. Fearing that walls have ears, I had no choice but to seek Your Highness out privately to lay out the matter… The realm now teeters on the very brink of ruin, and no one can say how much longer Jiangning can hold. The crown prince is a man of heroic valor — if our Wu Dynasty is ever to rise again, we cannot afford to lose him. His Majesty must abdicate, to lend the crown prince every possible aid…”
Zhou Pei’s expression remained indifferent. “Only a few days ago, you yourself were urging my father against abdication. And now, today, you summon me here in secret. What exactly is the wicked scheme lodged in that heart of yours?”
“Your Highness sees clearly. This old servant’s entire life has been marked by scheming and calculation. In my early years, influenced by the late Lord Qin Siyuan, I came to hope that matters might, in the end, reach some meaningful conclusion. When word of the situation on land first arrived, the ministers were thrown into an uproar, and this old servant’s own heart wavered as well, unable to settle on a clear course. While everyone was still debating, His Majesty’s strength had already begun to fail him… Over these past few days, this old servant has finally come to a decision, but the ministers aboard ship remain undecided, and His Majesty still lies ill. This old servant submitted a memorial, but fears His Majesty may not yet have seen it.”
“…This one is aware of your memorial.”
“Then surely Your Highness must understand this old servant’s true intentions.” Qin Hui bowed once more. “This matter bears enormous weight and cannot be delayed further. Since my memorial has failed to reach him, this old servant had considered, tonight or tomorrow, presenting himself before His Majesty in person to press the matter with all his strength — even if it should later bring the condemnation of the entire court upon him, this old servant would have no regrets. But before doing so, there remains one matter this old servant does not understand, and must ask Your Highness to clarify in detail…”
Zhou Pei looked at him. Qin Hui drew a deep breath.
“I beg Your Highness’s forgiveness for this old servant’s petty, unworthy thoughts — but having witnessed so much in this life, if the great matter fails, this old servant’s own death means nothing; but the realm stands in peril, and what fault lies with the common people…? These past few days, the one thing this old servant has been unable to understand is Your Highness’s own intentions. Your Highness and His Majesty have reconciled with one another, and in the current situation, Your Highness alone is the person His Majesty trusts most completely — and yet on the matter of abdication, Your Highness has not spoken so much as a single word before His Majesty. This old servant cannot fathom Your Highness’s thinking, but understands one thing clearly: if Your Highness supports His Majesty’s abdication, this matter can be accomplished. But if Your Highness does not wish for it to happen, then even should this old servant die before His Majesty pleading his case, the matter would likely still come to nothing. And so this old servant has no choice but to lay out the stakes before Your Highness first…”
The sea wind blew in, moaning softly. Qin Hui stood with hands clasped, his body bent low. Zhou Pei said nothing, her face showing both sorrow and contempt. She walked forward, refusing to even look at him. “Gauging the sovereign’s intentions before acting — this is… the method by which petty men like yourselves conduct their affairs.”
“This old servant already knows his fault, but standing in officialdom, one bears the weight of countless lives with every careless move — this old servant finds it difficult to endure. There remains only this one final matter, which this old servant is determined, with all sincerity, to see through — to leave behind some small hope for our Wu Dynasty…”
Qin Hui dropped to his knees with a thud, forehead bowed low. “Since the news from land arrived, these past several days, this old servant has come here each time, gazing toward the rear, out where sea meets sky — that direction is where Lin’an and Jiangning lie. Your Highness, this old servant knows full well the grave sin we bear in abandoning Lin’an as we did. And there, even now, the crown prince fights on to the death at Jiangning with over two hundred thousand men, in circumstances such as these. Compared to him, this old servant deserves ten thousand deaths—”
His forehead struck the deck as he spoke, his words carrying tremendous, almost hypnotic force. Zhou Pei gazed toward the distance, her eyes growing distant and unfocused.
“The crown prince’s valor calls to mind a poem written by Ning Yi in the southwest. When the ancient kingdom of Shu fell, all its officials surrendered to Cao Cao, save the Prince of Beidi, who would rather die than yield. After the battle at Little Cangshui with the Black Banner, Ning Yi composed verses and sent them to the Jin: Lord and vassal alike bent the knee in submission; one son alone grieved in solitary sorrow. Gone now, the affairs of western Shu; how heroic, the Prince of the Northern Lands! He gave his life to repay the ancestors’ glory; scratching his head, he wept toward the vault of heaven. Stern and noble, as though the man still lived — who dares say the House of Han has truly fallen…“
Qin Hui’s voice carried the faint trace of weeping, unhurried yet suffused with immense gravity. Across the platform, the wind moaned mournfully, the lanterns swaying gently. Behind Zhou Pei, Qin Hui’s figure rose quietly to his feet, the tremor in his weeping voice never once faltering.
“How magnificent, our crown prince…”
His feet suddenly drove forward with tremendous force, and he charged toward Zhou Pei ahead of him.
Zhou Pei turned back, tears just flashing in her eyes, as Qin Hui, exerting every ounce of strength he possessed, shoved her toward the edge of the platform below!
Zhou Pei’s feet left the deck, her long hair scattering wildly in the sea wind—