In all things, ask not what Heaven will do; fortune and disaster, success and failure, are wrought by one’s own hand.
Search to the root, pursue the truth until death, and when you turn your head you have already become an outsider to the world.
It was late summer when Emperor Shizong of Later Zhou died. An old injury suddenly flared beyond recovery. His ambitions unfulfilled, he died in the prime of life, leaving behind only a seven-year-old son. In an instant, thunder seemed to break across all four quarters.
As Chai Rong lay dying, he intended to establish Chai Zongxun as Crown Prince and heir to the throne. The ink beneath the imperial seal had not even dried before the succession became an indisputable fact. When Liu Jun, Emperor of Northern Han, learned of it, he sent envoys to submit to Yelü Jing, Emperor Muzong of Liao. Liu Jun styled himself the Liao emperor’s “son-emperor” and invited the Great Liao to send troops in support so they could seize the chance to march south.
By the time the news crossed the river, the ruler of the Southern Kingdom had already withdrawn in haste to the Southern Capital, leaving only Crown Prince Li Congjia in Jinling to oversee the state. Every faction fixed its eyes on Bianjing at once. While a thousand li of the north were still wrapped in mourning white, scarcely two days after news of Emperor Shizong’s death spread, Northern Han joined with Liao forces and drove south, threatening the Three Passes. Urgent military dispatches raced in from hundreds of li away. The seven-year-old emperor cared only for play and knew nothing of the gravity of military and state affairs. For days on end he ignored court business, while civil and military officials argued among themselves.
In the Golden Hall, Zhao Pu listened as the officials debated without producing any sound plan. After a moment’s thought, he personally entered the palace to petition the new emperor. “The frontier is in the gravest danger. I beg Your Majesty first to mobilize the imperial guards for a northern campaign, then summon loyalist forces throughout the realm.” Chai Zongxun merely continued playing and paid no attention to the memorial. With no other recourse, Zhao Pu withdrew, only to encounter Zhao Kuangyin outside the hall.
The situation remained uncertain. The sword-browed man had not closed his eyes all night, yet he showed no fatigue. He raised a hand and pointed toward the palace where the Empress Dowager resided. Zhao Pu hesitated. Seeing no one nearby, he lowered his voice. “The new emperor has only just ascended the throne. I fear the Empress Dowager will not easily trust anyone else.”
Zhao Kuangyin nodded. “I have already arranged matters on every side. In a little while, Lord Zhao and the other senior ministers will enter together to petition the Empress Dowager. The Liao are invading, His Majesty neglects government, and resentment is rising everywhere. Whether she wishes to consent or not, she will have to.”
Zhao Pu understood. He wanted the tiger tally.
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One imperial edict could command all under Heaven; one military tally could summon the Six Armies. How could something so important be kept secure by an orphaned child and a widowed mother? By the time Zhao Kuangyin held the tiger tally in his hand, rumors were already sweeping every street and alley of Bianjing.
“The wars of the Central Plains have yet to cease; how many may sleep soundly beside golden spears?
Within the realm there is a true Son of Heaven, who shall sweep away all demons and reveal the sun.” No one knew when it had begun, but even children only a few years old could stammer out jokes about the prophecy that the Inspector-General would gain All Under Heaven. The common people suddenly remembered the predictions in that strange book. With the new emperor too young to understand government and the balance of power shifting on every side, people began to believe these occult sayings in earnest.
The whole city was draped in mourning. A brilliant ruler had won the realm yet could not defeat one old wound from years before. Beneath the dense shadows of the trees, behind the half-dead paulownia, grief-stricken cries rose high enough to shake the heavens. Kneeling outside the Buddhist hall, Zhao Guangyi abruptly opened his eyes. The Buddha’s features remained serene, his gaze broad with compassion for all living beings. Zhao Guangyi took down the old scriptures one volume at a time and turned through them again. Then he rose, lit a candle, and as he read each page, fed it one by one into the flame. Thick smoke filled the room.
I will not become a Buddha.
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Hurried knocking sounded outside the Buddhist hall. Zhao Guangyi’s hand paused. “Who is it?”
Yunjie’s soft, gentle voice crossed the roomful of cold ash and reached him clearly before he quite realized it. He did not know why she had come, but she had seen smoke rising from the hall and, afraid something had happened, was knocking anxiously. Zhao Guangyi went over and opened the door for her. Fresh lotus fragrance rushed in with her.
He walked back inside and continued slowly burning the book in his hand. Yunjie stood at the doorway at a loss, staring at him. He was burning Buddhist scriptures?
Zhao Guangyi smiled faintly. “Something the matter?” Yunjie suddenly remembered why she had come. “Could my lord tell Yunjie what the situation outside is now?”
His fingers never stopped. Page after page went into the fire. “The late emperor has died. The whole city is in mourning.” Yunjie clearly had more to ask, but his behavior today was strange and she did not dare say too much. She stood there watching him burn the texts. “Why destroy all of them?” He was burning sutras in front of the Buddha himself.
Zhao Guangyi answered lightly, “I am afraid I will never need them again.” Yunjie slowly stepped inside and heard the man amid the fire and smoke continue, “You want to ask how Elder Brother has fared after being out of sight these many days?”
Yunjie said nothing.
He asked again, “You are afraid something has happened to him?”
“Nothing will happen to him. Today’s situation favors him greatly, and the Inspector-General holds the imperial guards in his hand.” Yunjie was Wang Rao’s daughter after all. Even raised within the women’s quarters, she understood the stakes. Zhao Guangyi’s smile deepened. “Then why did you come here, if you are not worried about him at all?”
Yunjie answered in a low, distant voice that seemed to dim the very daylight. “I am worried about you.”
“Me?” The scripture in his hand stopped. Flame raced up and licked his fingers. Zhao Guangyi watched it leap toward him and forgot to pull away. Only when the pain finally registered did he withdraw his hand slightly. “What about me worries you?”
The woman beside him moved the candle farther away. “I am afraid you will become like my father.”
Zhao Guangyi burst out laughing. “He is my elder brother. The rumors filling the city today were partly stirred up by me with all my strength. How could I be like your father? What benefit would I gain if something happened to Elder Brother?”
Yunjie did not look at him. For a long time she said nothing, quietly watching him continue burning the books. Only when he seemed to tire and turned to throw open all the windows did she speak again. “I do not know why I think this way. Perhaps… you are different from the way he once described you.” Zhao Guangyi answered at once, “Many people have said that to me. Elder Brother has sighed over the same thing. But how could any of you understand the ten years I lived through? If Zhao Guangyi had remained exactly as he was, he could never have survived until today to wait for him. Would all of you prefer a me who forever trails obediently behind him? Or in everyone’s eyes, is he the only one fated to become a true dragon Son of Heaven?”
“That thought itself is dangerous.”
“And Zhao Kuangyin is safe?” Zhao Guangyi said. “Today he is only one step away. That one step is the most dangerous of all.” He saw the worry in her eyes. A row of candles before the shrine swayed beneath the light breeze entering the room. Yunjie was intent on speaking with him and had her back to the flames, unaware that a few strands of her hair had caught a drifting spark. Zhao Guangyi moved instantly and slapped it out. Her long hair fell past her waist. “Stay farther away. It would be a pity to burn such beautiful hair.” The words amused him. Taking advantage of the movement, he guided her toward a chair at the side. “I never noticed before. Yunjie’s hair grows very beautifully.”
She gathered it herself and looked it over. “It is nothing.” Zhao Guangyi tossed aside the remaining scraps of scripture and brushed ash lightly from his hands. “The frontier has changed. Liu Jun has joined with Yelü Jing of Liao and intends to march south. Within a few days Elder Brother will certainly obtain the tiger tally and lead another northern campaign. What he has been planning is already beginning to show its shape. I have no further use for these things, so I may as well burn them all.”
Yunjie plainly found it a shame, yet she knew he spoke the truth. “All these years, when he never came, did you ever give up?” she asked suddenly. “Did you ever think of simply taking the precepts, becoming a monk, and yielding to reality?”
Zhao Guangyi looked as though he had heard the funniest joke under Heaven. He answered without thought, “I was not waiting for him. I was waiting for my own opportunity. I refused the precepts not because Zhao Kuangyin would not allow it, but because I never had the heart of a Buddhist.”
Yunjie fell silent. Only after speaking did Zhao Guangyi suddenly feel a jolt of alarm. He had forgotten that child’s position, forgotten what that child would have hoped for if he were still here. Yet the words were already spoken. Zhao Guangyi realized that in Yunjie’s presence, he was gradually beginning to forget the child’s existence.
Every time I see you, I begin struggling to be myself.
But what would come of it?
＊
“Yunjie, go back.”
“An order to leave?”
Zhao Guangyi turned his back and picked up the fire tongs, clearing the ash from the shrine bit by bit. “You will not have to wait much longer. Two months at most. In two months, when the dust has settled and the Fire Star sinks west in the seventh month, your wedding may already be close at hand.”
Elio’s Notes: “In the seventh month, the Fire Star sinks/passes west” echoes the Book of Odes poem “Seventh Month” (《七月》). The old seasonal phrase marks the turn toward cooler weather, not summer heat.
Yunjie’s expression dimmed. She had only just managed to forget the matter for a little while, and he had brought it up again. An inexplicable pressure rose in her chest, too stifling to put into words. She could only stand and walk toward the door. Smoke filled the room. Through the haze, the man suddenly turned. Yunjie happened to pass directly before him, and by the time his gaze steadied, all he could see was her back hesitating at the threshold.
Zhao Guangyi smiled softly and said something she could not understand. “I once saw the back of the person in the painting just like this. It was still in the Southern Kingdom then, in the wilderness below Phoenix Terrace. The light was poor at night, but his silhouette truly was the sort that stays in a person’s heart. Yunjie, you cannot win against him.” His voice was very low. Yunjie caught only fragments and understood none of it. She turned to him. “What did you say?”
He shook his head and slowly walked over. Reaching out, he smoothed the disordered hair down her back. “I said your hair is a little messy.” As he withdrew his hand, his fingers accidentally brushed the small patch of skin beside her neck. Zhao Guangyi naturally lowered his hand, his expression entirely unchanged. Yunjie retreated three steps, the avoidance in her eyes obvious. “I… should go back to Autumn Pavilion.”
He waved a hand in farewell and closed the wooden door of the Buddhist hall.
The narrow blade of light between door and frame divided two worlds. Outside, flowers and birds were at their height. After the torrential rain of several days before, the air was not oppressive but washed utterly clean, the world broad beneath a clear wind and bright sun. Inside, candle flames trembled over ash scattered everywhere. All the undercurrents sealed away beneath dust could no longer be hidden and came pouring out at once. The room was suffocating, his nose full of the bitter stink of burning. Zhao Guangyi had no desire to step outside for air. He moved a chair into a corner the window’s light could not fully reach and sat there, as though returned to the cramped meditation cell where he had spent countless days and nights alone.
That child’s final insistence and this woman’s long hair wound around one another until they became a spell.
He began to understand why his master had always refused to shave his head and ordain him. His worldly ties were unfinished. Zhao Guangyi’s heart could not remain beside an ancient Buddha, nor could it become anyone’s salvation. He understood what Yunjie meant. A woman’s thoughts were fine and subtle; somewhere inside, she feared he might become a second Wang Rao and endanger Elder Brother. Zhao Guangyi sat in the chair and sneered. Even if he wanted something now, what could he do? He would not move rashly. The gulf in status, position, and reputation was far too great. He still needed Zhao Kuangyin if he was ever to rise. How could he harbor some other design at a time like this?
Besides, when it came down to it, Zhao Guangyi himself did not know whose role he meant to play.
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The next day, Zhao Kuangyin took command of the central army and opened his tent to muster the troops. On his left stood Wang Shenqi, Zhao Guangyi, Zhao Pu, and the other strategists; on his right, the generals Shi Shouxin, Gao Huaide, Zhang Yongde, and the rest. Once the officers had assembled and the cavalry and infantry were drawn up, Zhao Kuangyin ordered three cannon signals sounded and the army marched north.
After the third report of the cannon, a thousand li away, Ehuang suddenly collapsed unconscious in Cloud-Dragging Pavilion.
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By the time word reached the palace, the Emperor had already newly designated Nanchang Prefecture as the Southern Capital, and most of the senior ministers had withdrawn there with him. Li Congjia, left behind in Jinling to oversee the state, had only just entered the palace when someone came running urgently from the Eastern Palace to report that the Crown Princess had eaten breakfast, gone to Cloud-Dragging Pavilion to play the pipa for a while, and suddenly fainted.
Li Congjia could think of nothing else. He abruptly remembered the heart ailment that had only begun improving a few days earlier. If it flared again, anything might happen. He turned, abandoned every matter before him, and hurried back. This was the one thing he could still do for her. She was one of the very few people he still wished to protect. So relocation of the capital, the northern situation, whatever else lay piled upon his desk, became nothing more than other people’s troubles.
He rushed into the Eastern Palace and found Liuzhu outside the bedchamber, both frightened and frantic. Without even changing his robes, Li Congjia went straight to her. “What happened to the Crown Princess?”
Liuzhu let out a long breath when she saw him. “She was perfectly fine when she woke this morning. Her spirits were good, just like usual. After breakfast she changed clothes and went to sit in the pavilion and play. I was waiting beneath the covered walk. Barely half an hour had passed when the pipa stopped all at once. I thought it strange and started toward the pavilion. The Crown Princess stood up as if she wanted some tea, and I even ran over because I was afraid it had gone cold. Then, right in front of me, her body simply went limp and she…”
“How is she now?” The bedchamber was utterly silent, which made his anxiety worse. “The imperial physician has just examined her. He still says it is the old illness returning, but this time it looked very serious to Liuzhu. Before, she was only low in spirits. Today she actually fainted.”
“Has she awakened?”
“Not even once.” Tears rose as Liuzhu spoke. Seeing her cry made the matter feel even more serious to Li Congjia. He pushed open the door. Ehuang lay unconscious on the couch, her complexion dreadful. Liuzhu had changed her into a more comfortable satin dress, but in the rush Ehuang still wore her hairpins and ornaments. Li Congjia went over softly and loosened her hair so they would not press painfully against her head.
＊
Inside Ehuang’s mind was utter chaos: countless images flickering between light and dark, a broken melody that refused to form a complete passage. She felt wretched, as though something had turned her whole body inside out and scattered her spirit. Again and again she failed to wake. Then suddenly she caught an intensely familiar thread of red-sandalwood fragrance. It cleared her mind in an instant, almost like instinct returning. Someone was calling gently beside her ear. “Ehuang? Ehuang?”
She struggled to open her eyes, yet a jagged, piercing fragment of music kept sounding through her mind, hoarse and shattered like an old qin with snapped strings, cutting straight into the heart. Someone held her hand, his touch cool and tense. She wanted desperately to wake and tell him she was all right, but no matter how she tried, she could not.
Her consciousness remained, yet something seemed to stand between her and the world. Somewhere beneath thought, Ehuang knew clearly that his hand had grown even colder. Li Congjia was always like this when frightened. One could not read it on his face or in his eyes, but Ehuang knew that he too was capable of fear. She wanted to comfort him. If she said she was fine, then she would truly be fine. State and realm, the Emperor could retreat to the south and leave him alone in Jinling, but at a time like this, who else could give him even a little peace?
She could not break free of the haze. Li Congjia called to her for a long time without seeing any sign that she would wake. A faint sheen of sweat appeared on Ehuang’s brow, her fine eyebrows drawn together in discomfort. He dampened a cloth and carefully wiped her face. Seeing how uneasily she slept, he was afraid that saying too much would only make her toss and turn and further exhaust her spirit. “Ehuang, it is all right. Slowly. Try to open your eyes. Ehuang, I am back.” His voice was quiet, the same easy tone he used every day when he returned from the palace and smiled as he said, I am back.
Gradually her breathing steadied. Ehuang slowly began to feel the warmth around her. It was summer, but because they feared she might catch a chill after fainting, the windows of the bedchamber had not been opened, making the room rather warm. Li Congjia laid a palm against her forehead. Only after confirming she had no fever did he relax slightly. It was still the old illness, only this attack was particularly severe, severe enough to plunge her into unconsciousness.
He sensed faintly that something was wrong, but could not identify it. Ehuang was delicate, yet she had never suffered such a spirit-draining illness before. What had caused these repeated attacks lately? Li Congjia had blamed himself for everything she had stumbled upon in the remote courtyard and assumed the shock had wounded her heart and mind. Now it seemed far too serious to be explained by that alone.
Just then Piaopeng’s voice sounded outside. From some distance away Liuzhu was still telling him to keep his voice down. “Minister Han sent someone last night to ask whether the Crown Prince might be free to visit his residence today. He said some new incense materials had arrived. Your Highness returned too late yesterday, so the servants did not dare report it. They came again today to ask.”
Li Congjia quietly stepped out through the doorway and gestured for him to lower his voice. “The situation has been extremely unstable lately, and today the Crown Princess suddenly suffered another attack of her old illness. Report back to Minister Han’s residence that the Crown Princess is ill and I cannot go for now. Put it off for a few days.”
Piaopeng acknowledged him and left. Medicine arrived from the other side, and Li Congjia personally carried it in. He saw Ehuang stir slightly, her lips moving. He called to her again. After a long while she finally opened her eyes a little. “Congjia…” Her head felt as though it would split apart. Li Congjia quickly set down the medicine and went to help her sit up. “How do you feel? Where does it hurt?”
“Everything is… confused. I…” Ehuang felt as though she had slept through an impossibly long dream. Even after waking, everything before her looked unreal. She reached out and touched his face. Only then did she relax. “You… came back…”
“What happened? How did you feel when you woke this morning? Why did you suddenly faint?”
“I felt nothing wrong when I got up. I went to Cloud-Dragging Pavilion to look over the score as usual. The more I played, the sadder I felt. I had just stood to pour some tea when all my strength left me.” Ehuang slowly quieted, though the headache remained. When she saw him bring the medicine, she shook her head. “There is no use drinking it. I have taken these medicines for days. I thought I was better, but today it became even worse.” Li Congjia knew she disliked letting him see her ill and coaxed her gently. “The weather is hot. The imperial physician said summer is bad for this illness. Perhaps you were simply overheated. Come, drink the medicine.”
Seeing that he insisted, Ehuang opened her mouth and let him feed it to her slowly. It was terribly bitter and her brow pinched. Seeing she still feared bitterness, he told Liuzhu to bring pear-blossom paste. Li Congjia wanted to ask what had triggered her symptoms the first time she felt unwell, but as the words reached his lips he remembered the remote courtyard, her seeing him with his clothes disordered, the panic on her face. His fingers instantly lost their steadiness. The bowl of medicine trembled and a few drops spilled. Ehuang gave a small cry. He hurriedly took a cloth and wiped them away. “My fault. Did it burn you?”
Ehuang shook her head. “What did you remember?”
Li Congjia drew a deep breath. “Nothing.”
Something in Ehuang’s mind seemed to be abruptly triggered by the flash of concealment in his eyes. She swept the medicine bowl from his hand. It smashed across the floor, dark liquid scattering everywhere. “What were you about to say?” she shrieked. Her expression was nothing like its usual self, as though she had fallen into some obsession. Li Congjia rose in shock. “What is wrong with you, Ehuang?”
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Someone came running happily outside the bedchamber, her clear voice audible even through the door. Liuzhu followed behind, unable to stop her. The newcomer called loudly, “Elder Sister! They say you are unwell again, but once you see Nüying you will be completely better. Hurry and let me tell you the joke I heard yesterday!”
The chaos inside was abruptly broken. Li Congjia spun around and saw a flash of green beyond the closed wooden door, only a single door separating them.
He had just opened his mouth to say not to come in when Nüying pushed the door open without a thought. Liuzhu shouted for the Crown Prince, but it was already too late.
＊
Nüying saw her sister wild-eyed, pointing at Li Congjia and saying something. Broken pieces of the medicine bowl covered the floor, dark-brown liquid splashed everywhere, even staining the plain bed curtains.
For the first time, she saw Li Congjia so utterly wretched. His face turned slightly away, and every line of it was sorrow.