Empress Wang was formally invested and took up residence in Zichen Palace.
The next day.
The Prince of Jin reported sick and excused himself from court. Everyone in government knew that on the night of the mutiny at Chen Bridge he had taken an arrow for his imperial brother and suffered an abdominal wound, earning great merit. Naturally people assumed the old injury had flared again. At once, all manner of rare medicines and nourishing tonics began arriving at the Prince of Jin’s residence. Everyone knew how deeply the Emperor favored this younger brother. No one dared neglect him.
Zhao Guangyi, however, secretly shaved his head, disguised himself as a monk, and traveled south.
Before he left, Zhao Kuangyin finally could not keep himself from objecting. “There are other ways to obtain that corner of Jiangnan.” His sword-like brows lifted. Looking at Guangyi’s newly shaven head, he almost wanted to laugh. “You managed to keep your hair for more than ten years. Now you have gone and stripped it clean.”
Zhao Guangyi smiled. “It is not as though Guangyi has truly taken the vows. I am only putting on the appearance. Give it a few months and it will grow back.” Dressed now in monastic robes, the man reflected in the bronze mirror looked calm enough to convince anyone. “Big Brother, Guangyi will do everything possible on this journey. No matter what, by the time snow falls in Bianjing there should be an answer.”
Zhao Kuangyin froze. “By the time snow falls…” He had once promised to take someone to see the scenery beneath falling snow. Looking back now, it was nothing more than a foolish dream. Snow, rain, spring blossoms: all of it had become nothing but strokes of ink fighting upon paper. “This journey is different from the others. Big Brother will not be there. You must take care of everything yourself.”
Zhao Guangyi answered, “Big Brother, do not worry.” Thinking Zhao Kuangyin was probably still concerned about his wound, he added reassuringly, “Monks eat vegetarian food. It will not trouble the injury.”
A carriage had already been waiting secretly beyond the palace gates for a long time, ready to take Zhao Guangyi out of the city. The Prince of Jin, now every inch the eminent monk, bowed and was about to leave when Zhao Kuangyin suddenly caught his arm. “Guangyi.”
Zhao Guangyi turned. His elder brother’s profile remained sharp and commanding, yet the pressure of the hand on his arm betrayed hesitation. It was rare to see Zhao Kuangyin so reluctant to speak. “Does Big Brother have another instruction?”
“No. Just remember…” The sword-browed man drew a deep breath. “If anything goes wrong in Jiangnan, tell Li Congjia that one life in the side courtyard is worth another. Tell him to let you come back.”
“The side courtyard?”
“You do not need to ask. Just remember those words.”
“Yes.”
The side courtyard. After watching his younger brother leave, Zhao Kuangyin braced himself against the window frame and remained silent for a long time. Li Congjia had once saved his life in that side courtyard. If anything truly happened to Guangyi, mention of the past should keep Li Congjia from pressing him too far.
He understood too well what Li Congjia valued. If he learned that Guangyi was his younger brother, he probably would not do anything to him.
That man… Zhao Kuangyin truly did not know what to do with Li Congjia. A figure of mist and rain hung in a dream neither near nor far. Whenever Zhao Kuangyin closed his eyes he could see him. Whenever he woke and reached for him, all he received was distance. Again and again. Phoenix Terrace. Shengding House. I could let all of that go. But this third time, I truly cannot forgive you. If you really had let go, why would you still enter my dreams night after night? If I forgive you, who will forgive me?
Then watch. Zhao Kuangyin truly is a madman.
What will it take for you to lower yourself and enter the mortal world? Li Congjia, Li Yu, whoever you are, Zhao Kuangyin is waiting for you to come deliver him from it.
＊
Zhao Guangyi traveled exactly like an itinerant monk. Once he reached the river and crossed it, he would be in Jiangnan territory.
A wooden boat rocked beside the bank. A plainly dressed man stood aboard it, gazing thoughtfully at the surging river. Zhao Guangyi smiled and stepped onto the boat. The man at the prow turned slightly, startled, and was about to bow when Zhao Guangyi shook his head. “This poor monk would like to borrow benefactor’s boat to cross the river.”
The man in plain clothes hurriedly agreed and prepared to push off. Zhao Guangyi pressed his palms together. “Many thanks, benefactor.”
“…How…” Still confused, the man kept glancing back at him while untying the mooring rope. Zhao Guangyi said nothing. After a long while he asked, “How have things been lately?”
The man answered, “The map is finished.”
Zhao Guangyi nodded to show he had heard. Neither spoke again for the rest of the crossing.
When the boat reached the southern bank, the boatman saw him step ashore and was about to ask something. Zhao Guangyi turned first. “This poor monk will enter the city now.”
The plainly dressed man froze, then nodded again with the solemnity of an oath.
The monk turned toward Jinling. In the distance, the slopes of Phoenix Mountain looked withered. “When the chrysanthemums north of the river have all fallen, go answer the opportunity that awaits you.”
He had seen it clearly: throughout the crossing, the boatman’s hand had remained tightly closed around something bright yellow inside his sleeve.
The little boat turned back toward the northern bank. The man in plain clothes gripped the object in his sleeve and stared toward Jinling.
Right and wrong had long since become impossible to separate. Whether he was doing this to avenge that night of rain or simply to prove himself, he had agreed, and now he would carry it through.
＊
After entering Jinling, Zhao Guangyi removed the wooden bracelet from his wrist and hid it inside his robe. He carefully checked himself for any flaw in the disguise before truly stepping back onto the land of his past. Andong Temple stood not far away. He lifted his head toward the incense smoke curling above it and felt something impossible to name. Too many stories had passed since the last time he saw that temple. Their twists and turns clogged his chest beyond speech. Returning here carried a measure of selfishness as well. Perhaps if enough time passed, he would eventually forget what this place had once felt like.
The farther a person traveled, the easier it became to betray the intention with which he had begun. And Zhao Guangyi had never been easily satisfied in the first place. Otherwise, growing old and dying quietly in a temple while enjoying Jinling’s mist and rain might not have been a bad life.
Holding a string of prayer beads, Zhao Guangyi breathed in the air of Jiangnan and felt every part of his body loosen. He closed his eyes slightly. Again he saw that day of torrential rain, the eternal lamp wavering but refusing to go out.
He had lived here for more than ten years. He took a few steps, thinking he might secretly go look around outside the temple, but in the end abandoned the idea.
Throughout the city, monks were being openly recruited. Any commoner willing to take the vows and enter monastic life would be rewarded with two gold pieces. Temples sprang up everywhere, and as people moved through the streets they talked constantly about the situation.
“Ever since His Majesty married, he has devoted himself completely to Buddhism… If you ask me, Empress Zhaohui’s death must still have struck him too hard…” A peddler selling hairpins and cosmetics played idly with a powder box as he gossiped. An older woman setting out a fresh display of incense and candles waved him off. “If that were so, he would not have rushed to install a new Empress. Who can make sense of royal affairs?” Someone nearby shook his head, then noticed the woman’s new merchandise. “More and more people are going to the temples now. Auntie, you certainly know how to pick your moment.” The merchants along Flower Street chattered among themselves. Hearing them from a distance, Zhao Guangyi gave a mocking smile. What Emperor? A ruler clinging to one corner of the south, yet he keeps every imperial form unchanged. If Imperial Brother were not… forget it. People on both sides of the street suddenly noticed a monk approaching. Though clearly a man of the cloth, his bearing was anything but ordinary. Gold thread edged his kasaya, and his expression was cold and remote.
Looking around, Zhao Guangyi saw that the courtyards and upper stories of ordinary Jinling homes still retained traces of the Mid-Autumn festivities. Some gold-and-red streamers had yet to be taken down and swayed beautifully in the wind, while people beneath them hurried only toward temples, blind to the chains of mortal dust above their own heads.
Truly laughable.
He paused. Li Yu had plainly done it on purpose. He too had turned Mid-Autumn into an extravagant spectacle, clearly putting on the display for Imperial Brother to see.
The peddlers kept gossiping. Traffic streamed endlessly through Flower Street until noon passed without notice.
The monk did not seek out a temple where he might stay. Instead, following the bustling street, he entered the nearest government office.
＊
The evening bell of Andong Temple rang.
Liuzhu’s voice called softly, “Your Majesty, it is time to eat.”
Li Yu opened his eyes. The Buddhist hall was so dim that day and night were difficult to distinguish. He had not expected another whole day to be almost gone. Rising, he opened the door and found Liuzhu waiting outside with Jingchan standing behind her, head lowered.
“Liuzhu…” Li Yu studied her. Her complexion was much better than several days ago, though she still could not hide her exhaustion. She had followed Ehuang into marriage from childhood. Now Ehuang was gone and only Liuzhu remained beside him. She could not possibly be taking it well. She said nothing, but the grief had stayed knotted inside her. Li Yu thought of what he might say, then felt that by now any words were useless. “Have you recovered?”
Liuzhu understood Li Yu’s temperament better than almost anyone. Looking into his double pupils, she nodded. “Liuzhu is much better. Your Majesty need not worry.” Then her eyes dropped to the scarred wrist he habitually rubbed. In the dim evening light it looked so thin that pity rose involuntarily in her. Liuzhu sighed. She knew he would not listen, but still advised him softly, “Your Majesty must take care of your dragon body. While Liuzhu was ill these past few days, I imagine there was no one to urge you and you neglected your meals again.”
Li Yu smiled. “Liuzhu… I knew that the moment you came back you would start talking about this again.” He was just about to walk on when Piaopeng hurried toward them. Seeing that Liuzhu was out today, he too seemed slightly relieved.
“What is it?” Li Yu glanced at the sky, but Liuzhu spoke first in reproach. “Why are you still so impatient? Whatever it is, can it not wait a little while?” She was thinking of Li Yu’s health and would not let dinner be delayed again merely because Piaopeng had come running with some trivial matter.
Piaopeng’s gaze flicked toward Jingchan, who stood silently to one side, then back to Li Yu. “Your Majesty…”
They were already outside the Buddhist hall, where the surroundings were unusually quiet. Li Yu looked around. There were only his two close attendants nearby. “Speak.”
Piaopeng had no choice but to step forward. “A wandering monk in Jinling claims to possess echoes of the High Tang…”
“You two go first.” Li Yu abruptly cut him off. Liuzhu froze and was about to speak, but the man in white waved a hand. “Liuzhu, go to Fengque Palace and wait. Have dinner served there.”
Liuzhu could only obey. She turned away, Jingchan following behind. As they rounded the corner beyond the Buddhist hall, Jingchan quietly glanced back at Li Yu. His white clothing made him look even thinner in the dusk. Ahead, Liuzhu called for her to arrange the meal. Jingchan hurried to catch up and answer, though thoughts were already turning in her mind.
Jingchan knew Liuzhu was not like the other palace women. She had served Li Yu and Ehuang for years. Li Yu was ruler of a kingdom now, while Liuzhu was only a palace maid, no matter how unusual her position. Yet today Li Yu had personally asked after her illness. There was guilt in his eyes.
Even toward a servant, his concern was sincere.
Someone carried surviving echoes of a golden age… Piaopeng had not finished, but Jingchan had heard enough. She hurried through the palace. What was coming had always been bound to come.
＊
Once everyone else had withdrawn, only Li Yu and Piaopeng remained before the Buddhist hall. “Say it again.”
“A monk claims to possess a surviving fragment of the Rainbow Skirt and Feathered Robe Dance score and wishes to present it to Your Majesty.”
Li Yu frowned. “Who in Jiangnan does not know that Empress Zhaohui already recreated the Rainbow Skirt and Feathered Robe Dance atop Yuxiao Pavilion? Is a marketplace rumor like this worth reporting?”
Piaopeng looked helpless as well. “But the monk says plainly that what was performed that day was not the true Rainbow Skirt. He holds the genuine score and asks Your Majesty to judge it personally. If his claim proves false, Your Majesty may dispose of him however you wish.”
Li Yu said nothing. After a long while he spoke. “Since he is a monk… one who has left the household should not speak falsehood. Invite him into the palace tomorrow. This matter must not spread outside.”
He knew better than anyone that Zhao Kuangyin was nothing but a liar. Whether the true score still survived somewhere in the world, who could know?
What a pity… Li Yu smiled bitterly and shook his head. Even if he truly obtained the genuine Rainbow Skirt and Feathered Robe Dance now, to whom could he possibly give it?
He had once thought that if she were happy, perhaps it might lessen his guilt even a little. Had that thought itself been too selfish? He had never truly known what Ehuang wanted. Apart from this score, he could not even name anything else.
Ehuang, meanwhile, had always remembered his tastes and temperament. For him she had eaten Mist Cake. For him she had dyed Tianshui Blue. For him she had burned red sandalwood. For him… she had gone back to Phoenix Terrace to look.
Li Yu gently closed the door of the Buddhist hall and walked toward Fengque Palace.
＊
When he reached Fengque Palace, the pearl-light seemed sparse and lonely. Such a vast residence for the principal Empress was almost eerily quiet at night, with very few figures moving through it. Only then did Li Yu think to look back at the attendants following Liuzhu. His gaze settled on Jingchan. Today she wore a long lotus-root-colored skirt, and she had the same quick, lively air as Nüying. “Jingchan, from now on serve the Empress. See that everything is attended to properly.”
Liuzhu began, “Your Majesty…”
Li Yu knew what she meant. By palace custom, Liuzhu should have gone to serve Nüying. But the knot in her heart remained. Ehuang’s death had been too much for Liuzhu to accept, and sending her there now might only make her ill again. Li Yu lowered his voice. “Liuzhu, stay with me.”
“Yes.” Tears clearly gathered at the corners of her eyes, but she forced them back. How could she fail to understand the care behind his decision? Steadying herself, she led Li Yu toward the front hall.
Nüying sat beneath her shining phoenix crown, still small in stature, chin propped in one hand against a gold-and-jade armrest as she stared into space. When the party entered, she sprang up to bow.
It was rare enough for the Emperor to emerge from the Buddhist hall, rarer still for him to say he would dine with the Empress. Li Yu remained dressed entirely in white. It seemed a long time since anyone had seen him in blue-green, and since her sister’s death he had often dismissed morning court. Even imperial yellow appeared on him only rarely now.
All that remained was one starkly pale silhouette. Reflected and magnified several times over by the jeweled walls, it became almost startling to behold, as if he truly had crossed into demonhood. Nüying’s hand trembled involuntarily as she reached for the wine pot to pour for him. Suddenly a pair of hands covered hers, colder than the jade liquor itself. She shivered. Just as the pot was about to slip, he caught it. “I have been observing a fast lately. Wine is unsuitable.” Li Yu sat naturally in the seat of honor, his tone as calm as ever.
Nüying answered yes and released the pot. His hands were extremely thin, yet every gesture remained extraordinarily graceful. The Li Yu of her memory had always been like this, dazzling and peerless. The man before her now carried a weariness that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.
“You always seem to be afraid of something.”
Nüying shook her head and said nothing.
“I still remember the way you snapped off that flower branch with one hand. The Nüying of those days was not like this.”
She looked at the simple dishes on the table, clearly chosen to suit Li Yu’s taste. “Times have changed. Is Your Majesty not also unlike the man you once were?” She was, after all, a girl sharper and brighter than Ehuang. Though young, her spirit did not yield easily.
Li Yu smiled. His double pupils were deep, yet the pearl-light gave them a hint of mortal warmth. “So you regret it after all? An imperial household is nothing like an ordinary family. It is different from what you once imagined?”
“If Elder Sister had never existed, perhaps it could have been what I imagined. But now Nüying understands that some things cannot be recovered merely by surpassing another person.”
The answer drew a long sigh from Li Yu. He took a small sip of warm congee and felt the heat spread comfortably through his abdomen. “Perhaps what you understand is right, perhaps wrong. You only imagined your sister too perfectly. You thought the life she lived must have been something everyone should envy. The truth is, I am not as good as other people imagine either. Sometimes…” He paused and continued drinking the plain white congee. “Sometimes I do things you would not even dare imagine.”
Nüying ate the vegetarian dishes with him. Behind her, the Shaocao pipa rested on a side table, probably brought out and played while she waited. Li Yu glanced toward it, regret passing through his eyes. “All of you expect too much of me… Perhaps not only all of you. Everyone beneath Heaven does.”
Nüying was plainly thinking deeply. She ate her small bowl of congee absentmindedly until a few grains caught in her hair. Li Yu sighed softly. “In the end… you are still only a child.” He reached out and brushed them away. His fingers accidentally touched her warm cheek. It had been so long since he had felt another person’s warmth that he seemed almost startled by it. The chill of his fingertips jolted Nüying awake, and she instinctively leaned back. His hand slid down, caught her arm, and pulled her directly into his embrace, as though he himself were clinging to something. He closed his eyes and felt the warmth for a moment. “Are you cold?”
Nüying’s face flushed. “No…” The weather was nowhere near cold, but she felt that he desperately needed warmth. He held her on his lap, yet his voice remained almost unnaturally calm. “Zhao Kuangyin… will not let me go. Are you afraid?” The man behind her seemed to murmur to himself even as he asked her. Nüying carried a faint floral fragrance. Li Yu closed his eyes and breathed it in, unwilling to release even this temporary sense of peace. The warm food had loosened his mind, and exhaustion spread through him. In a haze, he saw again that man’s arrogant, unconquerable gaze, sword-like brows slightly raised, as though not even overturning Heaven and changing fate could concern him.
The realm beneath Heaven and you. I want both.
He had also said, If you betray me again, I will burn Jinling. In the end he truly had become a fire that destroyed everything of the past. That false musical score had shattered another pair of devoted lovers and driven Ehuang straight toward death.
Who could know? The realm beneath Heaven. Him. And now Zhao Kuangyin was only one step away from having that realm.
No one had ever been able to shake that man once he chose to do something. Li Yu’s chest rose sharply as blood surged again. He forced it down. The sword scars of Phoenix Terrace had never been carved into stone. Every one of them had been carved directly into his own body.
Suddenly Nüying’s voice sounded beside his ear and dragged him back into this empty, lonely Fengque Palace. She answered, “I am not afraid.”
He smiled and leaned against her back, his voice muffled. “I alone have failed so many affections. Why would you accompany me across these dark waters of the deep palace, Nüying… If one day you become afraid, remember to tell me. I will let you leave…” By the final words his voice was almost inaudible. Nüying could feel him trembling. She could not see Li Yu’s face behind her. Instead, she stared at the pipa on the side table, and her expression gradually became reckless again, like the Second Young Miss who used to laugh and cause trouble in the Duke of Anding’s Residence, snapping a flower branch without hesitation.
The girl in his arms answered with a decisiveness far beyond her teens. Li Yu felt someone close warm fingers around his hand, offering comfort. Yet even she could not warm it.
“I will stay with you.”