Wooden clogs struck the bluestone slabs with a crisp clack, clack, the sound weaving and echoing among the palace halls.
“Ah-Fang!”
She turned her head to look at the tall man standing behind her, his figure half hidden in shadow against the sunlight.
“Ah-Fang, though this abandoned capital of Great Zhou has only these ruined terraces and broken halls left, you can still tell how magnificent it must have been when first built…”
He spread his arms and gestured to both sides with a smile. His clear voice resonated through the desolate, empty palace, sometimes near, sometimes far.
“It’s not that great – nothing compared to the home you’ll have in the future.”
She broke into a bright smile as she spoke.
Behind her, the man’s laughter rang out even louder, as he stretched his hand toward her.
A soft cough sounded by her ear. Cheng Jiao-niang lifted her head, catching sight of the palace attendant just turning back, then glanced at the two sides where guards in heavy armor stood gripping their halberds, their stance carrying a faint warning.
“…Don’t be afraid, just answer whatever you’re asked…” the attendant went on chattering, not at all surprised that this young lady had suddenly stopped in her tracks.
It was her first audience with the Emperor – even officials granted such an audience often lost their composure, let alone a mere young woman.
So this was the famed “Divine Doctor”? She turned out to be so young. People had said the divine doctor must be seventy or eighty, or at the very least in her twenties. Who would have thought the one brought here from the Censorate was just a slip of a girl?
Sixteen, maybe seventeen?
Cheng Jiao-niang lowered her head slightly in salute, her gaze sweeping the towering halls that rose layer upon layer, about thirty-odd meters high.
“In Wu’s old palace, flowers and grass have swallowed hidden paths;
The robes of Jin have long since crumbled into ancient mounds…
Ah-Fang, how’s my poem?”
The girl’s laughter rang out in bright peals.
“Bah, liar. I may not love poetry, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know poetry.”
A liar… no, there was no liar.
“It was Heaven’s Emperor who was drunk in those days;
It was never Qin’s rivers and mountains that were to blame.”
Cheng Jiao-niang looked at the murmuring figure before her.
“What did you say?” the palace attendant asked, leaning slightly toward her. Before Cheng Jiao-niang could reply, he added with a hint of warning, “In the palace, if you are not asked, you must not answer.”
Cheng Jiao-niang bowed once more and held her silence.
“So young after all.”
The officials inside the hall withdrew their gazes.
“She looks frightened enough – yet how could someone with that timid air cause such trouble?”
Many began whispering in low voices, until the censors gave a few sharp warnings for silence.
Of course there had to be someone pulling strings behind her.
Even though her age had already been confirmed, seeing her with his own eyes, Attendant Scholar Gao still couldn’t help but sigh at how very young she was. If not for the fact that all the information he’d heard about her was verified and true, he would never have believed that anyone would back her, nor dared believe she actually had the ability to be supported so firmly.
Perhaps this was exactly why Secretariat Editor Liu had stumbled so badly – because this opponent was simply too easy to underestimate.
His brows furrowed slightly, and his gaze swept, almost casually, across Chen Shao.
When had it begun? Was it from the time she treated Old Master Chen’s illness? If anything could be dug up, then just that rumor – that the divine doctor was a disciple of True Master Li – would be enough to drive Chen Shao out of the capital. But of course, that was impossible…
From beginning to end, that lady had never once acknowledged such talk. On the contrary, she had chosen to withdraw at the height of her fame, leaving only the title of “Divine Doctor,” without spreading her skills everywhere and letting evidence pile up for others to seize upon.
So what else could be done? Such a golden opportunity could not be allowed to go to waste.
Attendant Scholar Gao’s brows drew tight as he pondered. As for the matter before him, he paid it little mind anymore. It hardly counted as a problem at all – the victory was already his.
When she reached the front of the hall, the young lady disappeared from everyone’s view, stopping beneath the eaves of the corridor while the palace attendant went inside through a side door to announce her.
Inside, Duke Jin’an stood with his gaze angled toward the great doors. He had once thought the carved latticework above them poorly designed – too cold in winter, too hot in summer. Yet at this moment he felt the lattice was still too sparse; if only there were more, and larger, he might have been able to see the person beyond.
Was she afraid?
She shouldn’t be.
It was just like when, as a child, he had come to the palace for the first time with his parents. The enormous palaces, the rows of guards, the multitude of people – all of it had terrified him. But afterward, when his parents handed him over to a palace maid and left without so much as a backward glance, he had never been afraid again.
Once you have tasted the very worst of fear, there is nothing left in this world that can truly frighten you.
It seemed a long time passed, and yet perhaps only a moment, before the Emperor’s voice gave the order for her to be summoned.
Footsteps sounded – the young lady entering through the side door, approaching the rear hall. Though the people on this side of the folding doors could not see, they could still hear the voices from within. A few officials, unable to resist, stepped closer toward the doors, until the sharp glare of the censors forced them to halt.
“…Is it true that you encountered the Daoist Patriarch?”
The Emperor’s voice rang out, leaving the officials on this side taken aback; even the Imperial Censorate Deputy furrowed his brow.
None had expected that the Emperor’s very first question would be something so frivolous.
Yet this frivolous question was by no means easy to answer.
In the hall, apart from the First Prince whose face showed eager curiosity, everyone else looked tense.
If she said it was true, then it would be nothing but talk of spirits and superstition uttered before the Emperor – she wouldn’t even need him to speak; the ministers themselves would have her dragged out and executed.
If she said it was false, then she would be admitting she knew such a rumor existed but had never denied it – spreading deceptive tales and misleading the people all the same.
How should she answer? How could she answer? But she could not hesitate too long either, for stammering and evasion before the Throne was itself proof of a crooked heart.
While those on this side were still holding their breath, a young lady’s voice rose from beyond.
“I knows only myself, and not others,” Cheng Jiao-niang said softly, lowering her head and kneeling once more in salute.
A faint smile touched Duke Jin’an’s lips, but he quickly lowered his head to hide it.
The Emperor lifted his gaze toward the young woman kneeling before him, and, like his ministers, could not help but sigh.
So young.
Then he noticed her bearing – though her head was bowed, she knelt with her back straight, shoulders open, posture steady.
Great officials and high ministers exuded an innate authority; ordinary folk trembled in their presence, let alone before the Emperor himself. At every annual palace examination, there were always tribute scholars who disgraced themselves with clumsy demeanor.
But this girl before him, though seated with strict formality, still appeared composed and unflustered.
Form reveals the heart, he thought. This young lady was indeed remarkable.
Fixing these two impressions in his mind, the Emperor lowered his eyes once more.
“And what about you?” he asked.
“The one I encountered was a man, not an immortal,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
So she truly had a master!
Outside the folding screens, the officials could not help but whisper among themselves, until the censors once again barked at them for silence.
The Emperor, however, showed no surprise at this answer. Through the Imperial City Guard, he was already well aware of the rumors circulating in the capital, and he naturally knew of Chen Shao’s attempts years ago in Bing-zhou to seek out Cheng Jiao-niang’s teacher.
The officials outside did not know – not because Chen Shao had deliberately hidden it, but simply because no one had ever cared. After all, until just a few days ago, who would have paid attention to this young lady?
“Who was your master?” the Emperor asked.
“At the time, my mind was still clouded and unopened. If Master Chen had not gone searching, I would never have known there was such a person in this world,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied. “By the time I learned of it, that person had already passed away. I did not even know his name, only that he left behind a single rebuke to serve as my warning.”
“What words did he leave you?” the Emperor asked, curiosity stirred.
The court officials outside were curious as well. This time, when some of them edged a few steps closer to the folding doors, the censors did not scold them; they too tilted their ears to listen.
“Who are you.” Cheng Jiao-niang spoke.
That letter – the one that had nearly cast her into a darkness from which she might never have awakened – lay even now pressed against her heart. She still did not know who had left it for her, but she was certain it had been written by the only person in this world who knew where she had come from.
Ever since regaining her memories, she had kept a tight rein on her own thoughts, forcing herself to fix upon one goal at a time and pursue only that. When she sought the Yang family, she thought of nothing else but finding them. She would not dwell on other matters, past matters, any matters – because she feared that if she thought too much, she would only lose herself again.
And in the end, what use would it be? Knowing who she was – that alone was enough.
Her hand, resting on her knee, stirred slightly, then stilled, resisting the urge to press against her chest.
Yes – knowing who she was, that was enough.
Who are you?
When they heard this reply, the officials outside were momentarily stunned.
“What sort of harsh rebuke is that?” the First Prince could not help but mutter.
“This is most certainly a rebuke meant to awaken,” Chen Shao said in a low, solemn voice as he looked at him. “The sages and teachers of all ages spent their lives, with countless classics and writings to their name, yet in the end all of it pointed to a single purpose: to attain clarity of mind – to know who I am, and to remember who I am. These words may sound simple when spoken, but they are not easily answered, and even harder to live by.”
The First Prince inwardly wanted to sneer, but Chen Shao had once been his teacher, and a teacher could not be shown disrespect. So he bowed and answered, “Yes, sir.”
The officials on this side kept listening, but inside there was a moment of silence.
“Withdraw,” the Emperor said.
At these words, the First Prince was taken aback.
“Why stop now?” he blurted out.
He had been waiting to hear more of those rumors – far more entertaining than listening to court officials bicker. Why had it ended just as it was getting interesting?
This time, his tutor Chen Shao gave him no reply.
“Because this lady is detestable,” Attendant Scholar Gao murmured. “Summoning her in was already enough.”
Enough for the world to see – for everyone to look, and that was enough.
How could the Emperor possibly waste words on a woman who tried to use public sentiment to hold him hostage?
“Your Highness, the Master said that the five evils of man are worse than thievery. This lady – her heart is cunning yet perilous, her conduct deviant yet obstinate. Such a person must never be employed, nor indulged,” Attendant Scholar Gao said earnestly.
The Master said!
The First Prince’s eyes lit up – finally, a topic he could speak on.
“First, the heart that is cunning yet perilous.
Second, conduct that is deviant yet obstinate.
Third, words that are false yet eloquent.
Fourth, a memory for ugliness yet a talent for embellishment.
Fifth, yielding to what is wrong yet adorning it as right.”
He recited.
Attendant Scholar Gao nodded with a smile.
“Your Highness remembers the classics in full detail; the sources and their meanings come easily to your tongue. Truly, you are gifted with wisdom,” he said.
The First Prince smiled with a trace of pride and aloofness.
“To try to trap the sovereign into unrighteousness – that is the mark of an evil person,” Attendant Scholar Gao continued.
In the great hall, no one listened with the same curiosity as before. The outcome was something they had all more or less anticipated; what had piqued their interest earlier was only curiosity about Cheng Jiao-niang herself.
As for Chen Shao, he could be set aside for now. With Zhou Fengxiang gone from the northwest, who should be appointed in his place? And the generals demoted and implicated in Wang Butang’s case – it was about time to have some of them recalled…
Attendant Scholar Gao’s thoughts had already drifted elsewhere. He felt no concern that the girl might rashly speak out before the Emperor. On the contrary, he would welcome it – he would prefer that she shout and argue with the Emperor. A commoner, without rank or title, committing such an act could be executed on the spot by the guards stationed outside the hall.
And if she truly were killed, all the better. At that point, he could simply claim that she had been incited and deceived by Lu Zheng and Chen Shao, turning public sentiment against them. Without needing to lift a hand himself, Chen Shao would be forced to resign…
From the corner of his eye, he glanced at Chen Shao. Chen Shao’s expression remained unchanged. Just then, from the other side, a sudden gust swept through – hurried footsteps sounded.
Attendant Scholar Gao instinctively turned his head – only to see Duke Jin’an striding past the folding screens and storming straight into the rear hall.
That wretch! Rage flared in Attendant Scholar Gao’s heart.
“Outrageous! To enter without summons!” he shouted, his voice thick with barely contained fury.
Before the others in the hall could react – before Attendant Scholar Gao’s words had even faded – the voice of Duke Jin’an rang out from within.
“Lady Cheng! Since you claim to hold fast to those words, then why commit such absurd acts? The court has its laws. If you felt wronged, if you harbored grievances, why did you not present them in accordance with proper procedure? You yourself set down three rules – rules so strict you would not even treat a prince – so why then do you spurn the court’s laws, spurn the laws of all?”
