When the maid opened the door, Ban Qin was still crying.
“Stop crying – you’ve been crying the whole way here,” the maid said, kneeling down beside her. “Miss isn’t even angry, so please, don’t be like this.”
“Miss may not be angry, but I’m angry for her. I have to cry for her!” Ban Qin sobbed. “What did Miss do wrong? Why would they treat her like that?”
“Because she’s become a threat to them,” the maid said.
“A threat to what?” Ban Qin wept. “The lady didn’t steal their money.”
“It’s not about money. She threatened their beliefs,” the maid replied.
“Beliefs?” Ban Qin looked at her through tearful eyes. “What are beliefs worth?”
The maid smiled.
“Beliefs may not be worth anything,” she said, “but they drive people mad more than money ever could.”
She smiled again. “It’s just like before – like with Dou Qi, and with Secretariat Editor Liu, and with First Master Cheng. Exactly the same.”
The same?
Ban Qin looked at her through tears.
The maid nodded.
“The same,” she said.
Only, this time, it was heavier than those open, naked struggles of right and wrong and self-interest – heavier, and sadder.
Ban Qin pushed the door open and stepped inside. She saw Cheng Jiao-niang leaning on the low table, reading.
“My lady, do you feel sad?” Ban Qin knelt down beside her and asked softly.
“What’s there to be sad about? I’ve told you before – being disliked is the norm; being liked is just luck,” Cheng Jiao-niang said, her eyes never leaving the page.
“But my lady, you haven’t done anything wrong,” Ban Qin said, wiping her tears.
Cheng Jiao-niang put down the scroll and looked at her.
“That’s only what you think,” she said. “It has nothing to do with anyone else.”
Ban Qin looked back at her.
“Right and wrong aren’t judged that way,” Cheng Jiao-niang continued after a pause. “It isn’t right just because you think it is – and of course, it isn’t right just because they think it is either. So don’t dwell on it. Just do what needs to be done and reach your own goal. Stop craving others’ approval or gratitude. One must learn to be content.”
“But this time, it’s Master Feng Lin and Young Master Han,” Ban Qin said, lowering her head, her voice choked with tears.
“So what? They’re no different,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
“They are different! They helped you, and you helped them too – though they don’t know it, you do. For them to act like this now… it’s like stabbing you in the back, isn’t it? My lady – it must hurt so much, doesn’t it?” Ban Qin cried.
Cheng Jiao-niang burst out laughing.
She rarely laughed like that – out loud, so freely – that Ban Qin was startled, forgetting even to cry.
“Silly girl,” Cheng Jiao-niang said. “They’re nothing. How could that be called pain? You think that hurts?”
Ban Qin gazed at her through misty eyes.
“Compared to the greatest pain in the world, this doesn’t even count as a tickle,” Cheng Jiao-niang said. The laughter faded, leaving only a faint smile at the corner of her lips as she lowered her head again to read.
The greatest pain in the world?
Ban Qin wiped her tears, dazed, wondering – What could that be?
The Emperor set down the memorial in his hand and looked at Duke Jin’an, who was kneeling nearby, calmly drinking tea.
“So you came into the palace just to drink my tea?” he asked.
“Of course not,” Duke Jin’an replied with a grin. “Today’s the Grand Court Assembly – it’s one of the few days your son can openly and properly see Your Majesty. Naturally, I have to make the most of it.”
The Emperor spat lightly in mock irritation.
“Don’t go learning from those ministers who love to talk about empty honor,” he said. “As long as your heart is upright, then you’ll be upright at any time, in any place.”
Duke Jin’an smiled and answered obediently, “Yes, Your Majesty,” and went on sipping his tea.
The Emperor looked at him.
“You’re not planning to say anything on behalf of that Lady Cheng?” he asked.
Duke Jin’an lifted his head, looking slightly surprised.
“Your Majesty – say what?” he asked.
“Something good about her,” the Emperor said with a smile.
“She’s done nothing wrong. Why should anyone need to speak good words for her?” Duke Jin’an replied with a faint smile. “If I were to plead for her, wouldn’t that make me just like Feng Lin?”
The Emperor blinked at that, then burst into hearty laughter.
“Now I’m at ease,” he said. “I can rest easy sending you out to open your own household.”
Duke Jin’an drained the tea in his bowl in one gulp.
“Your Majesty is overthinking again,” he said. “I have nothing more to say – please permit me to take my leave.”
The Emperor smiled without replying, watching as Duke Jin’an bowed and took his leave. Just then, a palace eunuch hurried in.
“Your Majesty, Han Chang of Panjiang County requests an audience,” he reported.
It was an appointment already arranged by the Imperial Archives – routine business for the Emperor. He nodded.
“Han Chang of Panjiang County?”
A young eunuch nearby overheard and stopped in his tracks, quickly tugging at the reporting eunuch’s sleeve.
“Is that the official who predicted the solar eclipse?” he whispered.
The eunuch nodded.
“That’s the one,” he said.
The young eunuch’s face lit up with excitement.
“Your Highness! Your Highness!” he called, hurrying after Duke Jin’an. “It’s that Master Han! You should ask him whether the flower fields at our residence could really form a yin-yang pattern!”
“What’s the point of asking him?” Duke Jin’an said. “No one’s word is worth more than hers.”
Her – of course – was Lady Cheng.
The young eunuch grinned and agreed cheerfully, “Yes, Your Highness.” But after watching Duke Jin’an depart, he lingered in the palace.
Before long, he saw that same Master Han emerge from the audience chamber.
“What is it you want to ask me?” Han Yuanchao’s father, Han Chang, was suddenly stopped by a young palace eunuch and looked at him in surprise.
It wasn’t his first time appearing before the Emperor – he had seen His Majesty years ago during the palace examination for the imperial scholars. Still, after so many years, being summoned again filled Han Chang with both excitement and unease, worried that he might say or do something improper.
But the audience had been brief; the Emperor clearly didn’t remember him. After a few routine questions, he was dismissed.
He hadn’t expected to be stopped again on his way out.
“Master Han,” the young eunuch said quietly, “His Highness wishes to have a flower field built at his residence. Would you be able to take a look for him?”
“Me?” Han Chang was taken aback, wondering if he had misheard.
Their exchange naturally caught the attention of other eunuchs nearby. One of them narrowed his eyes, paused for a moment, then turned and hurried away.
In the Hall of Diligent Governance, the Emperor set down the memorial and narrowed his eyes at the eunuch bowing before him.
“Private dealings with a court official?” he asked.
“I would not dare to speak rashly, Your Majesty,” the eunuch replied softly.
The Emperor was silent for a moment.
“Your Majesty,” the eunuch said quietly, “perhaps the Imperial City Guard could be ordered to investigate…”
A flicker of excitement flashed in his eyes.
If the Imperial City Guard were sent to investigate, then this would no longer be a mere matter of private acquaintance with a minister. Who knew what else might be uncovered? And even if nothing serious were found – or only some small, unspoken matter – it wouldn’t matter. What mattered was the word investigate.
Once an investigation was launched once, there could be a second, and a third…
What do court officials and princes fear most? Losing the Emperor’s trust.
And once that trust was gone, their days in court were numbered.
“What’s the point of investigating? The man’s right here – just ask him.”
The Emperor’s voice came from above, dousing the eunuch’s excitement like a bucket of cold water.
So – that was why the Emperor’s trust mattered most.
The eunuch bowed his head quickly. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Han Chang, who had just stepped out of the palace gates, was called back – along with the young eunuch who hadn’t yet left.
“His Highness wishes to build a flower field, but he’s worried the Bureau of Astronomy won’t approve it,” the eunuch said, head lowered.
The layout and geomancy of Prince Qing’s residence had all been inspected by the Bureau of Astronomy. Minor arrangements were fine, but any major changes required their approval.
The Emperor nodded.
“And what does that have to do with Master Han?” he asked.
“Your Majesty, this is all a misunderstanding!” Han Chang said quickly, though his heart was in turmoil.
He had long heard that life in the capital was not easy – but he hadn’t expected to run into trouble the very moment he arrived.
“I only heard that Master Han had once predicted the solar eclipse,” the young eunuch said, bowing low. “So I thought he must also be well-versed in geomancy, and if he could take a look first, it would make things easier when reporting to the Bureau of Astronomy.”
“Impudent!” the Emperor barked. “How dare you use Master Han as a scapegoat for your own nonsense!”
The eunuch knocked his head repeatedly on the floor, confessing his guilt.
“Bring Jin’an here,” the Emperor ordered, still fuming. “The moment he steps outside the palace, he starts causing trouble!”
“Your Majesty, what have I done now?”
Duke Jin’an’s voice came from outside, and he stepped in a moment later.
“What nonsense are you up to again – changing the layout of your residence? Who gave you permission?” the Emperor scolded, his face dark. “Today you’re rearranging the grounds; what will it be tomorrow – cockfights and dog races in your courtyard?”
Han Chang, standing to the side, glanced up at the famously mischievous “Prince Who Brings Sons,” then quickly lowered his head.
From beside him came the young prince’s easy, unbothered tone:
“Your Majesty, nothing like that! It’s just a lake. I filled it in for Prince Qing’s sake – the bare ground looked unpleasant, so I planted some flowers. But plain flowers looked dull too, so I thought I’d arrange them into a pattern.”
The Emperor’s expression softened.
“What is it you’re trying to build? And why sneak around asking questions like a thief?” he asked.
“Lady Cheng said it would be best to make a yin–yang pattern,” Duke Jin’an replied.
Lady Cheng!
The Emperor froze for a moment – and so did Han Chang, who instinctively looked up at the young prince.
So it was someone connected to the imperial family after all.
“She tells you to do something and you just go along with it?” the Emperor said, his face darkening again.
“Yes,” Duke Jin’an answered without hesitation. “I trust her. She wouldn’t speak carelessly – she must have her reasons.”
“Reasons? What reasons! Since when does she dabble in geomancy too?” the Emperor snapped.
But as soon as he said it, something about his own words struck him as familiar.
“Didn’t she claim she wasn’t a disciple of some Daoist master? Yet she can purify dwellings – what’s next, reading feng shui?”
He recalled what the Empress Dowager had once said.
“Not will – she already does…” he murmured to himself.
Han Chang stood there, wondering if he ought to excuse himself – after all, this seemed to be the Emperor’s private family matter. But since the Emperor hadn’t dismissed him, he could only remain where he was, feeling increasingly awkward.
“Summon Lady Cheng,” the Emperor said sharply. “I want to ask her myself what exactly she intends to do!”
At those words, Han Chang’s heart gave a little jump. So I’ll get to meet this Lady Cheng after all? But surely it was also time for him to take his leave…
While he was lost in such thoughts, the Emperor, prompted by the matter at hand, suddenly recalled who Han Chang was.
“That solar eclipse some time ago – was it you who predicted it?” he asked, turning to Han Chang and momentarily ignoring Duke Jin’an.
“No, Your Majesty,” Han Chang said hastily, bowing low. “I know only a little about astronomy – hardly enough to chart the heavens.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Duke Jin’an standing nearby, smiling cheerfully, utterly unconcerned about being deliberately set aside.
“Then how did it happen?” the Emperor asked, curiosity piqued. “I heard it was a passing woman who told you?”
“Yes,” Han Chang replied, and began to recount what had happened back then.
When Han Chang described how the woman had stepped forward alone, and with a smile and a single swift stroke beheaded the traitorous monk, Duke Jin’an couldn’t help exclaiming, “Well done!”
The Emperor shot him a glare, and the duke quickly stepped back a few paces, grinning but falling silent.
“A woman 0 too eager to kill,” the Emperor said with a frown.
“Your Majesty, at that time, it had to be done,” Han Chang replied. “If one hesitates when a decision must be made, chaos follows.”
“It seems both you and your subordinates are very grateful to this woman,” the Emperor remarked.
Han Chang did not evade the question but answered plainly, “I believe that the lady risked her life in service.”
To risk one’s life in service – that was loyalty.
The Emperor narrowed his eyes.
That monk, of course, deserved to die. But who killed him, how he was killed, and what consequences would follow – all of that was troublesome. That was precisely why the officials of Panjiang County had been paralyzed, watching helplessly as the monk’s power grew.
Some things must be done – though doing them brings harm to oneself, whether in body or in reputation. But if by that harm the court and the people are freed from disaster – that is loyalty.
“Do you know whose daughter she was?” the Emperor asked.
“Unfortunately, she refused to say,” Han Chang replied. “She only told me the timing of the solar eclipse – allowing me to use that knowledge to finally rid the region of the chaos the traitorous monk had left behind.”
The Emperor was just about to speak when a young eunuch entered from outside.
“Your Majesty, Lady Cheng has arrived.”
“Let her in,” the Emperor said.
Han Chang instinctively turned around, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the young Duke Jin’an also turn eagerly toward the door, a look of delight on his face.
The door was pushed open, and someone stepped in. Against the light, her face and age were hard to make out, but it was clear from her tall, poised figure that she was a woman – yet without any trace of frailty. Her steps were steady, composed, deliberate.
When she had walked close enough – ten paces or so – she stopped, bent forward, and bowed deeply.
“Your Majesty.”
