Luofu Spring’s taste was sweet, and Zhao Yen greedily took one more cup. Not long after, a faint blush surfaced upon her fair cheeks.

Zhao Yan, lacking in vital energy, did not flush when drinking wine, unlike her vivid color.

Amidst the occasional flare of fireworks, Lady Liu suddenly leaned across the steps, past the drifting fireflies, narrowing her eyes as she carefully sized her up.

Zhao Yen held the wine cup, her eyelashes blinking very slowly, puzzled by Lady Liu’s sudden closeness.

“Zhao Yan spoke truly, indeed pleasing.”

Lady Liu mumbled in a half-drunken manner, then reached out to place a hand on Zhao Yen’s shoulder. “From now on, I will take care of you in his stead.”

A hint of color touched the overly solemn face of Liuying, as she mercilessly intercepted Lady Liu’s restless hand, frowning as she said: “I must ask Lady Liu to be more mindful in both words and conduct.”

Lady Liu carelessly drew her wrist back, then propped herself on the steps, tilting her head to gaze at the night sky black as ice, smiling with full provocation: “Liuying, you are merely jealous that the Crown Prince favors me.”

Liuying pressed her lips together and turned her head away, ignoring her.

All of a sudden, Zhao Yen felt as if everything had returned to before that tragic event in late summer and early autumn—the mutual dislike between Lady Liu and Liuying, and between them, a good-tempered Zhao Yan.

The heavy rain at Huayang Palace in late summer emerged once more in her mind, drenching her thoughts.

The golden hairpin fell to the ground, the young girl in a flamboyant thorny red dress clenched her fists, her red lips opening and closing rapidly, speaking to her elder brother in the rain those words of regret for a lifetime…

Zhao Yen suddenly shut her eyes tight, stopping herself from recalling further.

After a moment, she tremblingly opened them again, gazing at the wine-dazed Liuying beside her as if nothing had happened: “So then, Elder Sister Liuying, what did the Crown Prince say before leaving?”

“……”

Realizing these two were conspiring to draw words out of her, Liuying’s drunken haze instantly cleared. Saying only, “This servant should go and make the bed,” she rose warily to her feet.

She almost fled in disorder, yet after walking barely a zhang away, her steps slowed.

“Her Highness not allowing His Highness to know too much is for His Highness’s sake.”

After speaking this sentence, she lowered her head and hastily departed.

The fireworks ceased, and the world suddenly grew quiet, with only the faint flicker of lantern light still swaying under the eaves.

“You heard Liuying’s words as well.”

Lady Liu lightly shook the small wine jar, listening to the sound, “If you give up now, it is still not too late.”

Zhao Yen knew these words were meant for her.

Raising her eyes misted with wine, she only replied with two words: “Absolutely not.”

After speaking, she lightly yawned, placed the empty wine cup on the steps, and rose to head toward the sleeping palace.

Lady Liu tilted her head back and drank the last mouthful of Luofu Spring, letting the empty jar roll down the stone steps with a rumble. She raised her hand over her heart—through the thick winter robe, there could faintly be felt within the layers of cloth a sheet of silk paper—

This was the reason she had to return.

The cold moon slanted down the western eaves; in the eighteenth year of Tianyou without Zhao Yan, it quietly arrived amidst the embers of fireworks.

Because of the Spring Sacrifice rites, Zhao Yen’s New Year’s rest was bitterly unbearable.

Every day before dawn, she had to take a carriage to the Secretariat of the Ancestral Temple, where the Ritual Officers instructed her in the rites of sacrifice. After ten days, she was already utterly exhausted.

“So many trivial matters, one after another—it is no wonder the Crown Prince’s illness was worn down to such a state.”

Zhao Yen sat on the couch, rubbing her sore back and waist, and at last understood the difficulty Zhao Yan faced in occupying the position of Crown Prince of the Eastern Palace.

“Tomorrow is the suburban sacrifice. Your Highness must endure just a little longer, and it will pass.”

Liuying wrung out a warm cloth and wiped her hands for her. Remembering the message just conveyed from the female official of Kunning Palace, she said in a low voice, “Her Highness there has received word: His Majesty has appointed a Reader-in-waiting to temporarily assume the post of Junior Mentor, to instruct His Highness in literary lessons. Tomorrow, during the suburban sacrifice, when all the officials are gathered, you should meet him.”

Truly, one wave had not yet subsided before another arose. One Wenren Lin was already enough for her to bear, and now yet another was to come.

“Whose person is this time?” Zhao Yen asked.

“Lord Li, the Left Grand Chancellor, and Grand Preceptor Wen himself jointly recommended him. Exactly who he is, is not yet known.”

Liuying’s voice dropped lower, as if troubled. “With Consort Zhen at His Majesty’s side, the entire Kunning Palace is increasingly neglected and guarded against. The news Her Highness can obtain is no longer as swift as before.”

Thus, the grief of losing a son was not only a mortal blow to the Empress’s heart, but also a calamity that threatened both her position as mistress of the Central Palace and the stability of the state.

“I have it in my heart, I will act with caution.” Zhao Yen comforted her.

She had already encountered the most dangerous person in the Imperial City. No matter who came, none could be more terrifying to her than the pale-faced and black-hearted Prince Su.

Tomorrow was the Lantern Festival, and the Imperial City would lift its curfew. On the streets, various lanterns had already been hung in advance.

Beneath the winding streets aglow with lamplight, flakes of snow fluttered down. Men and women admiring the lanterns came and went, holding paper umbrellas, as if the spring wind had entered the city in a single night, blooming in a profusion of azaleas.

At the Left Chancellor’s residence, within the Jingyuan Garden, the warm yellow paper windows reflected the shadows of an elder and a youth playing a game of chess.

“Since the sixteenth year of Tianyou, when you took first place in the palace examination, you have already served as an official abroad for two years. This time, you requested His Majesty to transfer you back to the capital. First, it is to temporarily assume the post of Reader-in-waiting to the Crown Prince. As it is only a short-term concurrent appointment, you need not worry about whether your youth makes you unfit. You are the prized disciple taught by me, Li Kexing—naturally you are material fit to be an Imperial Teacher.”

Li Kexing placed a piece on the board, speaking with stern composure: “Only, according to Grand Preceptor Wen, the Crown Prince’s thoughts have changed greatly since his recovery. The Great Xuan has only this one seedling. If we are to advance our policies, he is the only hope. He must be properly guided and corrected, and must not be allowed to drift unchecked.”

At the other end of the chessboard, a hand, gentle and elegant, pressed a piece down in proper form: “Yes.”

“Secondly, it is a little selfish wish of mine.”

Li Kexing recalled another proud and unrestrained favored disciple, and his brows gathered with sorrow. “The news of your junior fellow disciple Shen Jingming’s death—you must already have heard. He may not have been as steady and proper as you, but he was the final disciple I poured all my life’s efforts into teaching. Now, tangled up with the Eastern Palace, he has died unjustly and suspiciously. This time, as you take up the post of Reader-in-waiting, should there be an opportunity…”

“Teacher’s meaning, this student understands.”

The one placing the piece beneath the lamplight was very young, about at the age of weak crown. In a wide-sleeved azure robe, he stood upright and refined. Though his countenance could not be called sharply handsome with sword brows and starry eyes, he excelled in fairness and purity; in every movement he displayed the natural bearing of the aristocratic clans, making one think of the clear snow that never melts upon high mountains.

“This student and Jingming both received grace from Teacher. We were as close as hands and feet. It is my unshirkable duty.”

In Li Kexing’s eyes, a look of fatherly affection appeared.

Had it not been for the calamity of that Qixi, the one sitting here now, playing chess and discussing the classics with Wanlan, would have been that child Shen Jingming. Then, one upright gentleman treading frost and snow, and one talented but arrogant free-spirited youth—what brilliant sparks would have burst forth in the literary and even political circles.

Alas, the “Twin Jades of the Li School” had in the end lost one half.

“I know your aspirations are lofty and pure, that you wish to return to the Hanlin Academy to write books and leave words to posterity. To be entangled in this arena of fame and gain—it wrongs you.”

Li Kexing let out a long sigh, gathering the pieces as he said, “Prince Su is Crown Prince’s Grand Mentor. When you work alongside him, you must be cautious and self-disciplined.”

The youth rose, gathered his sleeves, and made a deep bow, his words clear and resonant: “This student, Zhou Ji, will faithfully uphold Teacher’s instruction.”

……

The Spring Sacrifice was chosen to be held at the Southern Suburban Altar.

At the fourth watch of the night, in the bitter cold of the darkest hours, Zhao Yen was forced to change into the solemn guanmian¹Guanmian (衮冕) is the highest form of ceremonial attire in the Zhou–Han ritual system, later preserved in imperial China as the most formal regalia of the Son of Heaven (the Emperor) and sometimes granted in modified form to the Crown Prince.  ceremonial robes and, following the palace attendants leading the way, went to wait before the Ancestral Temple.

Arriving at the temple, she saw the civil and military officials already standing in a dense mass. She had actually arrived later than many.

Yet when she lifted her head to look at the sky, it was still pitch black with not a glimmer of light—dawn was still far away.

Several ministers came forward in succession to greet her, among them her maternal uncle, Marquis Ningyang, Wei Yan.

“Uncle.”

Zhao Yen returned his greeting and then asked, “And Aunt?”

She remembered that for this sacrifice, the consorts of officials were also permitted to accompany and participate, an honor reserved only for the families of high-ranking nobles. With Wei Yan’s nature of cherishing his wife like his own life, had he not brought her along?

Wei Yan explained: “A’yue is ill, still recuperating in the residence. It is not convenient for her to come.”

Only then did Zhao Yen recall that her aunt was like a delicate lantern ruined by the wind, afflicted with a heart ailment. It was said that in the past she had injured her spirit and harmed her foundation. She relied entirely on the rare and precious medicines that Wei Yan exhausted himself to find. Not to mention the fortune of money spent, the human connections and efforts were innumerable.

Yet for ten years, Marquis Ningyang had tended to her with unchanging devotion. Even her father, who cared little for worldly affairs, upon hearing of it once remarked, “The Wei clan has produced a man of deep affection.”

As she was thinking this, Wei Yan’s gaze shifted past Zhao Yen’s shoulder. Smiling, he cupped his hands: “Minister Li.”

Then he straightened and looked toward the young man beside the Left Grand Chancellor: “If I remember correctly, this must be the Zhuangyuan of the sixteenth year of Tianyou, Zhou, is it not?”

Zhao Yen instinctively turned to look. Catching sight of that familiar figure, she paused in slight surprise.

She thought she had mistaken him, but when Li Kexing and his student walked into the torchlight, the warm orange glow illuminated Zhou Ji’s icy expression plainly, and her heart suddenly skipped a beat.

Zhou Wanlan!

How could he be here!

In her astonishment, Zhou Ji’s gaze also turned toward her. After pausing for a breath, he seemed slightly puzzled.

“Wanlan, why do you not quickly greet His Highness the Crown Prince,” Chancellor Li prompted at the right moment.

Zhou Ji swiftly regained his calm, and with proper form saluted: “This minister Zhou Ji pays respect to His Highness the Crown Prince.”

Zhao Yen could only brace herself and return the greeting, pressing her voice low: “Minister Zhou, dispense with the courtesy.”

Fortunately, the Emperor and Empress finally arrived belatedly. Zhao Yen and Zhou Ji, along with the others, withdrew to either side, kneeling and performing their obeisance, which at last interrupted this exceedingly awkward encounter.

On the way to the southern suburbs, within the imperial carriage, Zhao Yen finally let out a sigh of relief.

“The young official beside Chancellor Li—most likely he is Your Highness’s new Reader-in-waiting.”

Observing Zhao Yen’s expression, Liuying softly asked, “Does Your Highness regard him as troublesome?”

“It is not exactly a great problem, only…”

Zhao Yen found it hard to explain, and likewise lowered her voice: “Only, when I was at Huayang Palace, he once served as my tutor for a month.”

That month was truly unforgettable for Zhao Yen.

Before meeting Zhou Ji, she had never known a person could be patient to such an exasperating degree.

When she sneaked into the kitchens to steal food, Zhou Ji stood outside the window watching her.

When she climbed the wall to go out and play, Zhou Ji stood beneath the wall watching her.

She skipped lessons to drift on a boat picking lotuses; parting the broad lotus leaves for a look, there was Zhou Ji on the bank, walking along, watching her.

Until the moment she was willing to obediently sit down and follow him in reading and practicing characters. If he wished to accomplish something, even thunder and lightning could not shake him.

The rumble of carriage wheels drowned out the conversation between master and servant.

Liuying pondered: “So, he very likely might recognize Your Highness. Such a person cannot be kept at your side.”

“Not necessarily.”

“What does Your Highness mean?”

Zhao Yen’s lips curved: “Zhou Ji has difficulty recognizing people, somewhat mildly face-blind.”

When it came time for the sacrificial stationing, Zhao Yen deliberately walked past Zhou Ji. Sure enough, his eyes did not shift, showing not the least reaction.

Even so, when the Empress heard of it, she still was not reassured.

Liuying brought the Empress’s message: “Her Majesty has already petitioned on Your Highness’s behalf. His Majesty, taking pity on the Crown Prince’s frailty, has granted leave for Your Highness not to attend the banquet of the portioned sacrificial meat, and to return to the palace early to rest.”

Zhao Yen had slept only one hour the previous night and truly felt weary, so she nodded: “Change to a lighter carriage, I will make up for sleep.”

Liuying promptly went to make the arrangements.

The carriage swayed as it entered the road back to the palace. Zhao Yen, holding an embroidered pillow, leaned against the carriage wall to nap.

Just as she was drowsing, the carriage suddenly braked to a halt. Zhao Yen, unguarded, nearly toppled, and startled awake: “What is it?”

At the front, Gu Xing reined in his horse, one hand pressed on his sword, his gaze alert as it swept about: “Something is not right.”

No sooner had he spoken than a volley of sharp whistling sounds split the air.

“Protect His Highness!” Gu Xing roared, cleaving down the arrow before him.

In a flash, Liuying lunged forward with practiced ease, shielding Zhao Yen tightly beneath her. Almost at the same moment, several arrows pierced the carriage curtains, nailing into the wall beside Zhao Yen’s ear.

Liuying trembled imperceptibly. Zhao Yen saw fresh red blood continuously seeping from beneath her torn sleeve.

“Liuying, you’re hurt!”

“Your Highness, do not move. This servant is fine…”

Still fine? The blood was nearly dripping onto her face!

“Don’t be foolish, stop lying on top of me! Can your other hand still move? Help me!”

Zhao Yen’s drowsiness vanished, her mind wholly awake. Instinctively, she lifted up the table inside the carriage.

Understanding her meaning, Liuying endured the pain and lent a hand, raising the table as a shield against the arrows flying through the window.

“Acting for Heaven’s justice, kill the dog emperor who sells the people for glory!”

The cries of rebellion rang out from the roadside. Amidst the chaos, both steeds pulling the carriage were struck by arrows and, in agony, bolted into a mad gallop.

Zhao Yen was jolted to the point of dizziness. When she came to her senses, the carriage had already raced more than a hundred zhang away, leaving Gu Xing and the other guards far behind.

What was worse, Liuying had fainted, and the assassins, swift in pursuit, were closing in.

Zhao Yen desperately crawled beneath the carriage, stretching out her hand in an attempt to grasp the reins. Yet her five viscera seemed tossed about, utterly displaced; it was completely in vain.

Another arrow whistled over. The horses at last neighed with white froth at their mouths and collapsed, and Zhao Yen too was thrown from the carriage by the great inertia, rolling across the ground.

The masked bandits raised their blades, step by step closing in on Zhao Yen.

Seeing it was a youth, the bandits were momentarily stunned.

Just now inside the carriage, Zhao Yen had heard them shouting “dog emperor,” and thus knew this band of desperate men had mistaken their target in this assassination.

She quickly composed a draft in her mind, just about to open her mouth to bluff her way through, when from ahead there came the sound of horse hooves.

At one end of the street, a troop of riders approached head-on. At the front, the man sat astride a fine black horse, its hooves treading the snow-white ground, his long figure in a robe of black civil-and-military sleeves utterly familiar.

It was not the Imperial Guards coming to the rescue, but rather—by coincidence on his way to the southern suburbs to face the Emperor—His Highness Prince Su.

But the bandits did not think so. Instinctively they seized Zhao Yen, pressing a blade to her neck to use her as a hostage.

In any case, the arrow was already notched on the string—at the very least, they must take a head back to report. This youth was weak and frail, yet his clothes were of fine nobility. If not the Crown Prince, he must at least be some prince or heir.

“Stand aside! Or I’ll cut him down!” the bandit bellowed.

The icy blade pressed against the fragile side of her neck, stirring an inborn shiver. To say she was unafraid would certainly have been false.

Zhao Yen stiffened, swallowing with difficulty. Those clear, innocent eyes of hers stared unblinking at His Highness Prince Su, mounted high on horseback—pitiful to the utmost.

The cold wind howled past. Their eyes met, and Wenren Lin’s dark cloak snapped and billowed.

In the next instant, he lifted the corner of his lips with an unreadable expression, then reined his horse aside, turning his gaze away.

Yes—he turned his gaze away, allowing the bandit to carry the Crown Prince off.

As though the one trembling beneath the knife was nothing more than a stranger he had never once known.

Zhao Yen’s vision went black, and she clenched her teeth in fury.

Footnotes

• 1
  Guanmian (衮冕) is the highest form of ceremonial attire in the Zhou–Han ritual system, later preserved in imperial China as the most formal regalia of the Son of Heaven (the Emperor) and sometimes granted in modified form to the Crown Prince.