The eclipse didn’t last long. Qin Shi’san-lang rushed through the chaotic hall and out the door. The sky was already beginning to brighten, and as the sun gradually returned, the wild winds also slowly subsided.
On the street, people were still running and shouting. Qin Shi’san-lang looked over and saw a carriage swaying unsteadily through the crowd.
Ban Qin forced herself to suppress her fear and only relaxed once the sunlight fell on her again.
“Put away the lanterns,” she said.
The attendants walking around with lanterns looked no better than she did.
Too terrifying! Far too terrifying!
The young lady had said there would be an eclipse today, that the sky would go dark for a while, that if they were afraid they could light the lanterns.
Her words had always been accurate, but in the past it was about human affairs. This time it was about the heavens. Forecasting wind, rain, clouds, or the grass was one thing, but a celestial dog devouring the sun…
Everyone still felt uneasy. What’s more, the officials had claimed the eclipse’s time had already passed, though their prediction had proven wrong.
When they had just entered the city, Ban Qin lifted the carriage curtain. Everyone thought the young lady did it because of the heat, but after a short while, she lowered her gaze from the sky.
“Light the lanterns,” she said.
Before the attendants could even react, the sky began to change.
Recalling that scene, that single command, the attendants once again broke out in goosebumps.
As the lanterns were extinguished, someone squeezed forward, braced a hand on the carriage frame, and climbed up.
Ban Qin let out a startled cry, and the attendants, jolted back to their senses, hurried to act.
“It’s me,” said Qin Shi’san-lang. He turned his head toward Cheng Jiao-niang inside the carriage and smiled, the joy in his eyes overflowing.
By reckoning, it had been more than two years since they last met, yet in this moment it felt as though they had only parted yesterday.
At times, when he tried to recall her face, the details would escape him. But now, seeing her again, her brows, her gaze, her every expression appeared vividly clear and achingly familiar.
When apart, it was as if mountains and mist stood between them; when together, she shone bright as the clouds at dawn.
“Young Master, you nearly scared me to death,” Ban Qin said, her face pale.
They had certainly had more than enough fright on this trip into the city.
“You lot are no good,” Qin Shi’san-lang said, looking at the attendants. “If I had been an enemy, that single moment of carelessness would have put your lady in danger, wouldn’t it?”
The attendants looked ashamed.
“Have you never heard that true experts always make their move at the very last moment?”
A girl’s voice came from behind.
Qin Shi’san-lang turned his head and saw the girl slowly fanning herself with a round silk fan, its handle glinting coldly in the sunlight that had already returned.
She had never regarded others’ protection as her last line of defense.
Qin Shi’san-lang smiled again.
“What calendar do you use?” he suddenly asked.
“The Linde Calendar,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
“You still like studying that? I, too, once dabbled in it for a few days, but never reached the level of making calculations,” Qin Shi’san-lang said. “Since you’re so skilled, why don’t you teach me?”
“And if I did teach you, how far would you get?” Cheng Jiao-niang asked. “Do you know the art of Tianyuan calculations?”
Qin Shi’san-lang was taken aback.
“Not to mention mastering it – I’ve never even heard of it. I only studied the Nine Chapters,” he said with a wry smile.
“To calculate calendars and verify the solar terms is the work of the Imperial Observatory. Young Master, you’d do better to devote yourself to the Six Classics and matters of men,” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
Qin Shi’san-lang burst out laughing.
“You might as well just say I’ll never be able to learn it,” he replied.
“The movements of heaven follow their own laws; whether you study them or not makes no difference,” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
“All right, all right, I know I’m too slow-witted to ever learn it. Let’s drop the subject,” Qin Shi’san-lang said with a grin. “It’s been so long – how have you been?”
“I’ve been well. And you, Young Master Qin?” Cheng Jiao-niang replied with a polite bow.
Now here they were, exchanging formal courtesies again.
“After all these years, to meet by chance in the street – what a stroke of fate. Allow me to escort you home,” Qin Shi’san-lang said.
Ban Qin couldn’t help but laugh, glancing at Qin Shi’san-lang seated in the carriage.
Who was escorting whom, really?
Cheng Jiao-niang smiled faintly, bowed her head in return, and the carriage rolled forward.
Watching Qin Shi’san-lang sitting beside the coachman, chatting and laughing as he rode away, Lady Zhu from Desheng Pavilion withdrew her gaze.
“Miss, don’t be sad,” Chun Ling suddenly said beside her.
The words startled Lady Zhu, and she turned to look at her.
Chun Ling lowered her head uneasily.
“How could you think that way?” Lady Zhu said. “Chun Ling, such thoughts are gravely mistaken. That would mean forgetting your proper place. And if a person loses their place, life will become very hard to endure.”
“Yes, I was wrong,” Chun Ling said hurriedly.
Lady Zhu gave her a glance, said nothing more, and turned to walk away.
Only after the door closed did Chun Ling lift her head. There was not the slightest trace of fear or unease – only a hint of scorn at her lips.
“Proper place? Hah,” she said. “That’s nothing but admitting you’ll never make it to the stage, never be a phoenix.”
After speaking, she looked out the window again. The eclipse had passed, and the street was no longer in such chaos. The carriage was nowhere to be seen.
Returned…
She’s actually come back…
It’s wonderful that she’s come back!
And what kind of revenge is true revenge? It’s when your enemy watches with their own eyes, hears with their own ears, and feels it in their own body. Otherwise, it’s no different from putting on an opera for the blind and the deaf – where’s the fun in that?
Because of the eclipse, the entire capital had fallen into turmoil. That small group on the street seemed as silent and unnoticed as lanterns that had flared briefly, only to be extinguished again.
From outside the great hall, the Emperor’s furious voice could still be clearly heard:
“…The changes of heaven are my responsibility; observing the changes of the sun, moon, and stars is your responsibility. Whenever there’s a celestial change, it becomes my fault for not governing diligently, for failing to care for the common people. Well then, could you at least tell me in advance exactly what I did wrong? Or even just say outright that I was wrong? Could you at least make some effort to do your duty?”
“…Your Majesty, please calm your anger. The changes of heaven are nothing to fear. Do not let them cause you anxiety in state affairs or indulgence in amusements…”
The few ministers standing outside couldn’t help but laugh.
“These fellows really do dare to talk,” someone whispered. “No matter what happens, it’s never their fault. Their faces are thick as walls.”
“If they didn’t have thick skins, how could they stay on at the Bureau of Astronomy?” another said with a quiet laugh. “Anyway, His Majesty scolds them to let off steam, but afterward they go on as before…”
What else could happen? Punish them? And on what grounds – because they failed to predict the eclipse? Some would say celestial events cannot be foretold. Because of the eclipse? Then it would be called a natural disaster, which makes even less sense.
At that moment, a loud crash came from inside, as if the Emperor, in his fury, had smashed whatever was at hand.
“Out! Get out of my sight!”
The officials waiting outside quickly stifled their laughter and stood properly. The great doors soon opened, and a row of officials filed out. Their expressions were calm, as though they were not the ones who had just been scolded so harshly. They even saluted the other officials outside before walking away.
“Not entirely without gain,” one official muttered. “The incense offerings at Puxiu Temple will likely decrease because of them.”
That remark nearly made the others burst out laughing again, though they forced themselves to hold it in – after all, they were still standing before the palace.
They waited for a while, but no summons from the Emperor came. Instead, voices drifted out from inside.
“Your Majesty, don’t be angry. What they said isn’t wrong – this sort of thing isn’t really their responsibility.”
It was the voice of a young man.
The officials outside exchanged glances.
Duke Jin’an.
Someone silently mouthed the name.
“How is it not their responsibility? Does the court feed them for nothing?”
“Your Majesty, it’s not for nothing – they draw up the calendars and seasonal divisions, don’t they?”
The officials outside couldn’t help but snicker again.
“Well now, with just that one sentence from the duke, we could abolish the Bureau of Astronomy altogether. Two random officials from the Imperial Observatory would do just as well,” someone whispered.
And it wasn’t only they who laughed – the Emperor inside laughed too, the knot of frustration in his voice loosening considerably.
“Your Majesty, the movements of heaven follow their own laws – these are not matters man can control. If the Bureau of Astronomy fails to predict them, so be it; after all, Li Chunfeng was a rare genius, not someone who appears often. But if they take celestial changes and twist them into omens of fortune or disaster, then they are in the wrong. To say not that the calendar’s calculations failed, but instead that such events are caused by human misdeeds – that is nothing but heresy to mislead the people. Your Majesty should punish them severely as a warning.”
The officials outside all exchanged glances.
Duke Jin’an had just handed His Majesty a very fine blade indeed.
In the Imperial Archives offices, Chen Shao set down his brush.
“No wonder His Majesty often keeps the duke by his side these days. His mind is indeed clear,” he said. “At the very least, he’s better than the First Prince.”
An official chuckled softly and cleared his throat.
“Careful – Attendant Scholar Gao wouldn’t like to hear that,” he said with a smile.
At the mention of Attendant Scholar Gao, Chen Shao’s expression showed a trace of disdain.
“What the duke said is entirely correct,” he shifted the topic. “The people at the Bureau of Astronomy ought to be cleaned out. Useless men sitting idly in high positions, while men of talent waste their years in obscurity – it’s a shame.”
Spreading heresy to mislead the people! That was a fine excuse. But the premise, of course, was being able to prove that the calendar’s calculations actually worked.
“Minister, there is,” an official said.
At those words, everyone present looked at him in surprise.
There is what?
“Someone used the calendar to calculate the precise timing of this eclipse,” the official said. “They used Celestial Master Li’s Linde Calendar.”
At that, the room was filled with astonishment, and everyone began asking questions at once.
“Why wasn’t this reported earlier?” Chen Shao asked.
“How could we dare report such a thing?” the official said with a smile.
True enough. Although astronomy and calendrical science were said to follow certain patterns, the affairs of heaven still inspired awe, and were thought beyond human control. That was why the officials of the Bureau of Astronomy could fail repeatedly without ever being severely punished.
“What’s more, this came as an urgent memorial from Su-zhou Prefecture, criticizing Panjiang County for their errors,” the official added. “They warned it could very likely spark civil unrest.”
Everyone grew more interested, and even Chen Shao asked what had happened. The official recounted the matter, and when they heard it was a young lady who had publicly beheaded a monk with many followers, the whole office became lively. Even minor clerks from outside came running in to listen.
Who would have thought a solar eclipse could stir up such an amusing affair?
“Hurry, Chief Examiner Zheng is telling a rare tale!”
Everyone began calling their colleagues and crowding in.
“…That lady must be well-versed in calendrical science.”
“Not just the lady – the monk must have been, too.”
“Being skilled in calendrical science is nothing unusual. What’s unusual is that this lady was clever, quick-witted, and bold. Think about it – if it had been you, what would you have done?”
At that question, everyone in the hall fell into thought.
If it were me, the first thought would probably be to debate with the old monk, to tell the people there was no eclipse today and that the monk was deceiving them.
“You think you could explain it clearly to the common people?” someone sneered in rebuttal. “If words alone could make it clear, that monk wouldn’t have so many followers in the first place.”
“That’s right. And besides, most of the crowd were the monk’s followers. Even if they weren’t, even if they were just ordinary townsfolk – if some stranger suddenly appeared and said this ritual was no good, would you believe that stranger, or your own neighbor?” someone else nodded and said.
Of course, people believe those they’re familiar with…
That’s probably human instinct.
“Debating is useless. Even if you could win the argument, you’d only risk sinking into the mire yourself,” another person said, nodding again. “The best way to deal with an enemy is to deny him any chance at all – deny him the chance to contend with you. Kill the old monk, and from then on, whatever is said becomes her truth. A dead man cannot refute.”
The best way to deal with an enemy is to deny him any chance…
Chen Shao, seated behind his desk, couldn’t help tightening his grip on his brush and nodding slightly.
But how many in this world would truly dare to go that far?
If anyone could… perhaps that young lady…
That young lady!
Chen Shao suddenly sat upright.
Impossible…
“This shows that the young lady has both courage and strategy. If it were only that, she could merely be called competent.”
The voices in the hall continued:
“But what she did next – that was truly excellent.”
“…She used the monk’s own words to defeat him, yet she did not go on to speak of heaven or spirits. In fact, had she chosen to, she could have easily deceived countless simple folk. But instead, she withdrew and handed the matter over to the authorities, clearly stating that it was based on calendrical calculation. In doing so, what might have seemed miraculous was turned into something entirely ordinary…”
“And how is that excellent? What a pity, to waste such a chance for fame,” someone said with a laugh.
“Fame?” the speaker gave a cold sneer. “The masses are foolish, and scholars prideful. If she had done that – won fleeting fame – sooner or later she would have ended up like that monk, cut down as someone else’s pawn. If nothing else, I’m certain the officials of Panjiang County would have been the first not to spare her.”
The men in the hall all nodded. Panjiang County had already suffered heavily; they would never allow another ‘Master Ningde’ to arise.
“What’s more, by acting this way she gained on both sides – she eased the suspicion of the scholars and officials, yet she did not lose credibility among the common people.” That official stroked his beard and smiled knowingly. “As I said just now, the masses are foolish; they don’t care about her calendrical calculations. What they see is only her marvel. But we – scholars, noble clans, and officials – knowing the process, don’t find it miraculous. At most, we praise her as learned and talented, but we won’t view her with envy. After all, anyone can study the calendar; the difference lies only in mastery. She earns a reputation without inciting jealousy at the top. Isn’t that the very outcome everyone most desires, and the best result one could hope for?”
It’s often said that only mediocrities escape envy, a way of comforting oneself. But in truth, there are certain prodigies who also escape envy: they accomplish great deeds, win renown, and yet everyone loves them.
Isn’t that the case here? She killed, she set fires, yet in his own eyes – and his father’s too – she remained only a pitiable, sickly young lady, unloved by her family, forced into her actions by the malice and coercion of others.
She killed, she set fires, she reaped the benefit – and still, everyone pitied and cherished her.
Chen Shao let out a breath and rose to his feet.
“That young lady – where is she from?” he suddenly asked.
The lively chatter in the hall was cut short. One official quickly thought for a moment.
“The memorial didn’t give such detail. It only said she spoke with a Southern accent, likely from the Jiang-zhou prefecture area, but her attendants spoke with the accent of the capital…”
Chen Shao chuckled, raised his hand slightly in parting, and strode out of the hall. He lifted his eyes to the blazing sun overhead.
Wherever this young lady moved, ripples were sure to spread.
“I fear the capital will know no peace again,” he said with a wry smile, stroking his beard. “In that sense, this heavenly change really was an omen of fortune and misfortune.”
A mere young lady? That he should think this way – wasn’t he overestimating her?
“Have Suzhou Prefecture and Panjiang County investigated thoroughly, and write it all into a memorial for submission,” Chen Shao ordered. “As ministers, it’s our duty to ease His Majesty’s worries. It’s about time we cleaned out the useless dead weight at the Bureau of Astronomy.”
The officials answered in unison, watching as Chen Shao stepped away.
At that very moment, the residence by the Yudai Bridge was filled with clamor.
“Ban Qin!”
Two voices called out the same name, and the two maids who had just embraced each other left the onlookers – several younger maids – staring in a daze.
“I missed you so much!”
The two Ban Qins clasped hands and looked at each other, and when they thought about the circumstances that had led them both to the capital for this reunion, tears welled up and they both began to cry again.
“This isn’t the time for that – go and attend to Miss,” one maid said through sobs. “We’ll talk later.”
“Yes, and there’s still a guest inside,” Ban Qin nodded.
“Honestly, that guest arrived far too quickly,” the maid said, glancing toward the room, where a young man was sitting with a smile on his face.
“Well then, tell me – who is it we’re taking down this time?” the young man leaned forward, grinning broadly, and lowered his voice.
That line again!
The maid standing under the corridor rolled her eyes.
It had been nearly two years. The young man had grown even more refined and gentle, and the young lady had become ever more poised and graceful. And yet, at this long-awaited reunion, could they not talk about something pleasant?
Was her lady truly some mountain bandit, a ruthless demon who, at the drop of a hat, had to take someone’s life?
