Ban Qin added more charcoal to the brazier, and the room grew warm and cozy.
“I called the wrong name.”
Standing under the eaves outside the door, Duke Jin’an said with a smile.
“I should have called you Cheng Fang.”
Cheng Jiao-niang nodded without replying.
“I was just passing by and thought I’d stop to say hello – nothing important,” the Duke said again, still smiling. “I’ll be on my way now.”
Cheng Jiao-niang answered softly, “Alright,” and stepped outside.
“You… are you all right?” Duke Jin’an asked after a brief pause, looking at her.
“A bit of something, but it’s nothing,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
The Duke nodded.
“Oh, right,” Cheng Jiao-niang added, “you said that the pastries that day were made by me?”
So it was because of that?
The Duke let out a quiet breath of relief – at least now he knew what the “something” was about.
“No, no,” he said quickly. “That day you said they were too sweet, so I had the cook change the recipe. What I told His Majesty was that you’d given some advice on it.”
Cheng Jiao-niang nodded.
“Are you angry because of that?” the Duke hesitated before asking.
“Of course not,” Cheng Jiao-niang said, shaking her head.
Duke Jin’an looked at her.
“Cheng Fang,” he said, reaching out to pat her arm – then quickly drew his hand back after the brief touch.
Cheng Jiao-niang looked at him.
“Don’t be sad,” he said.
“I’m fine,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
She didn’t say she wasn’t sad – she said she was fine.
Meaning: she was sad, but she could bear it.
Watching the girl bow respectfully to see him off at the door, Duke Jin’an lowered the curtain of the carriage.
The carriage rocked gently as it moved.
Born into misfortune – after finally gaining sworn brothers, they died in battle; after finally reclaiming honor for them, she herself became the target of Feng Lin’s relentless accusations.
Though in the end, every danger had been turned aside and every wish fulfilled – who would choose, if they could, to always grit their teeth and fight their way through brambles and thorns?
Even on a cloudy day, the streets were still crowded. His attendants cleared the way ahead; though the people by the roadside fell quieter as he passed, the sounds of talk and laughter still drifted through the air.
Duke Jin’an turned his head and lifted the carriage curtain slightly.
Now that December had come, the capital was livelier than ever. Shops along the streets hung up colorful lanterns – at night they shimmered like rainbows, and even by daylight they caught the eye.
A few young women in bright red and green were gathered around a shopfront, chatting and laughing, their smiles radiant beneath their hoods.
She had never even smiled like that.
One thing after another – she never seemed to have a moment of real happiness.
Duke Jin’an lowered his head.
What should he do?
Duke Jin’an gave a light cough, and the eunuch sitting at the front of the carriage quickly leaned in.
“You – come here,” the Duke said, beckoning.
The eunuch hurriedly crawled inside.
“If one of your friends is in a bad mood,” the Duke asked, “what would you do to cheer her up a little?”
The eunuch froze at the question.
“I’d… deliberately lose some money to them,” he said blankly.
The Duke spat in irritation.
As if she’d care about money! And besides – how would we even gamble?
He was truly mad to be asking advice from a eunuch whose only friends were other eunuchs. For those people, wasn’t money their only joy?
“Get out, get out,” he said, waving him off impatiently.
Duke Jin’an’s carriage rolled on through the streets.
At the Bureau of Astronomy, a brazier burned inside the winter room. Several officials sat around it, a star chart spread out before them, drinking wine and chatting with laughter.
Just then, the door was pushed open. A gust of cold wind swept in, making everyone inside shiver; they hurriedly set down their wine bowls and assumed a look of scholarly seriousness, pretending to study the star chart.
“Sir…”
A timid voice spoke up.
They turned and saw that it was only a student who had come in. Instantly, their postures relaxed again, and they picked up their wine bowls.
“What is it? Didn’t we say no interruptions while we’re conducting calculations?” one of them said sharply, raising his brows.
The student hurriedly bowed.
“Sir, just now I… I think I saw…” he said hesitantly, stammering over his words.
“Saw what?” one of the officials asked impatiently. “Just record it down if you saw something.”
“I saw Taibai…” the student said.
At that, one of the officials who had been drinking wine suddenly spat it out.
Taibai!
A flurry of footsteps followed as four or five officials rushed from the hall up to the observation platform. In the cold winter afternoon wind, they squinted their eyes to look at the sky.
It was a cloudy day, the sun dim and hazy.
The officials stared carefully for quite a while, but saw nothing unusual.
“What nonsense are you talking about?” they shouted as they turned back, relieved.
The student looked uneasy.
“I truly saw it, just now – perhaps it passed by already…” he said, but before he could finish, several officials interrupted him with sharp, dismissive spits.
“Passed by, did it?” one official said, brows knitted, teeth clenched, his voice low and stern. “Do you even know what you’re saying?”
“Taibai crossing the heavens – you dare to speak such words so carelessly?” another scolded in a hushed tone.
At once, the man beside him gave him a sharp tap.
“Don’t say that!” he hissed, eyes wide with alarm.
The rebuked official fell silent at once, lifting his head slightly.
“Let’s take another careful look,” he said. “If it’s there, it’s there; if not, then it’s not. What the eyes see is real – what the ears hear is empty.” He glanced at the student as he spoke.
The student lowered his head awkwardly.
The officials once again examined the sky carefully, and after confirming that there was nothing unusual, they all let out a sigh of relief.
“Showing off after just a few days of study!” they scolded, glaring at the student.
“Matters of astronomy must be handled with utmost rigor – not treated as a game. Remember, a single word can strengthen a nation, and a single word can throw it into chaos.”
The student quickly bowed his head and answered, “Yes, sirs.”
“Let’s go, let’s go – the weather’s truly cold this year.”
“Who’s on night watch tonight?”
“Doesn’t matter who. It’s cloudy anyway – nothing to see.”
Still wrapped tightly in their robes against the winter wind, the officials descended the tower.
The student stood alone on the observatory platform and looked up at the sky once more.
The sun was sinking in the west, now completely hidden behind thick clouds.
“Did I really see it wrong?” he couldn’t help but mutter to himself.
But then–
“Fuzhi!”
Someone called out loudly below.
The student looked down and saw a young man at the foot of the platform waving to him.
“Come on, let’s go,” the young man said, making a drinking gesture. “Let’s get warm with some wine.”
The student hesitated, then shook his head.
“I’m on night duty tonight. I’ll stay,” he said, pointing up at the sky.
The young man looked surprised and tilted his head back to glance upward.
“It’s cloudy tonight – what’s there to see?” he asked, puzzled.
The student cupped his hands in a polite salute, and the young man could only shake his head and walk away.
“The sky… is actually very beautiful,” the student murmured to himself, lifting his gaze once more.
The overcast night was dim and heavy – almost no stars could be seen.
At the Cheng family residence by the Yudai Bridge, the lights had already gone out, and most of the household was deep in dreams.
In the back courtyard, a thick felt rug had been laid out. A girl reclined upon it, half-leaning as she gazed up at the night sky.
Ban Qin stood nearby, hesitated for a moment, then brought over another thick felt blanket.
“My lady, please cover yourself with one more,” she said softly.
“No need,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied, extending the wine bowl in her hand. “Pour.”
Ban Qin answered obediently, set down the felt blanket, poured the wine, and watched as Cheng Jiao-niang slowly drank while gazing at the sky.
What could one possibly see in the night sky?
She too lifted her head to look.
“Father, what do you see?”
In the darkness, the man standing on the Celestial Observation Terrace turned his head.
There was not a single lamp on the tall platform – only the vast, glittering sky above.
“I see the mandate of Heaven,” the man said with a faint smile.
The little girl beside him lifted her head; under the starlight, her face showed pure puzzlement.
“Can fate be seen?” she asked.
The man reached out to smooth the hair at her temples, then looked around. From the terrace, one could see the layered rooftops below, faintly visible in the night.
“Ah-Fang,” he said, “of course it can. Don’t forget what our Cheng family does.”
“We make food, make toys, read books, record history, lead armies…” the little girl counted carefully on her fingers. “And Brother Dongshan’s father heals people…”
The man burst out laughing.
“Those are but side paths,” he said, lifting his hand to point at the sky. “Ah-Fang, remember – our Cheng family’s true path is to observe the Way of Heaven.”
Observing the Way of Heaven.
The cold wind grew fiercer, whipping loose strands of hair across her face. Cheng Jiao-niang raised a hand to steady them and looked up. The pitch-black sky seemed, under the force of the gale, to be slowly torn open – through the rift, faint starlight flickered.
The Way of Heaven – why has it fallen into disorder?
According to the records, the phenomenon of Taibai traversing the heavens had appeared only eighteen times during the Zhou dynasty. Seventeen had already occurred; the eighteenth – and final – appearance took place the year before the Great Emperor of the Great Qing overthrew Zhou.
It was precisely by following that heavenly sign that the Great Emperor, in accord with destiny, replaced Zhou and took the realm.
Yet that was still decades away.
How could it appear now?
Could it be that this moment had gone unobserved – an omission in the records?
“My lady, the wine,” Ban Qin said, pouring once more.
Cheng Jiao-niang reached out, took the bowl, and drained it in one go – then lifted her eyes again to the sky, where faint starlight shimmered through the clouds.
“Father, then what did you see in the Way of Heaven?”
At those words, the man lowered his head with a faint smile.
“The Way of Heaven?” he said. “It is the Mandate of Heaven.”
“Then, Father – why observe the Mandate of Heaven at all?”
“To follow it,” he said, “and to defy it.”
To follow the Mandate – to defy the Mandate!
Cheng Jiao-niang sat upright.
Then… the things her Cheng family had done – were they in accord with Heaven’s will, or in defiance of it?
What was it they followed?
And what was it they opposed?
Once, when she did not know who she was, she had never thought of the past. Now that she did know, she still could not bear to look back – and yet, at this moment, she realized that the past must be faced after all.
“Father, why must I learn so many paths?”
“Because you will be someone very important – someone different from all others.”
Very important, very different… Was it because she was meant to become an empress? That was what everyone said back then.
No – not everyone. Her father had never said so. He had only smiled.
He never lied.
If it had truly been so, he would have said it aloud.
If he did not… then that meant–
Cheng Jiao-niang pressed a hand to her chest.
So the reason she was important, the reason she had to learn so much, perhaps was not because she was destined to be an empress.
Then what was it for?
What purpose did it serve?
Was it… for this very moment?
And this moment – what was it for?
Cheng Jiao-niang lifted her gaze to the heavens.
Taibai traversing the sky?
What did that omen foretell?
Chaos under heaven?
Why… why would the world fall into chaos now?
At that very moment, in a secret chamber of the Bureau of Astronomy, piles of scrolls were heaped in disarray beside a low desk. Several volumes of astronomical records lay scattered across the floor.
The student stood before the desk, staring in shock at the papers strewn before him -densely covered in calculations and diagrams.
“My heavens… what have I just calculated?” he exclaimed.
The cry startled a minor clerk dozing by the brazier.
“Careful there! Don’t mess anything up – if you damage those documents, you’ll lose your head for it,” the clerk warned, looking up at the student. Seeing the young man’s stunned expression, he frowned. “What’s the matter?”
“What have I calculated?” the student repeated, now looking up – his expression shifting from astonishment to exhilaration.
“What?” the clerk asked blankly.
“A lunar eclipse,” the student said, pointing toward the sky. “A lunar eclipse!”
A lunar eclipse?
A lunar eclipse was an ominous sign: if it began from above, it foretold the ruler’s loss of virtue; if from the side, the minister’s loss of command; and if from below, the general’s loss of discipline.
Though merely a minor clerk at the Bureau of Astronomy, he still knew something of astronomy, calendars, and celestial omens. The interpretation slipped from his lips in a mutter – then he gave a short, dismissive laugh.
“What’s so strange about that? Didn’t you lot predict a solar eclipse last time too?” he said.
And what came of it? Nothing – it had been wrong again.
“All right, all right – every day, every month, you’re calculating this and that. In the end, you can’t even get the calendar right. Off you go.” The clerk waved his hand impatiently. “Dawn’s almost here. Go on, get out. The celestial charts and portents recorded here are communications with Heaven itself – they’re not for just anyone’s eyes. Go on, before it’s light out.”
The student had no choice but to gather his papers and leave.
In the east, the sky was beginning to pale, not yet bright but no longer dark. The air was dim and cold, the wind cutting like a blade. The student pulled his robe tighter around him, tucked the papers safely into his arms, and looked up once more at the sky.
Could it be that he had been mistaken before – and miscalculated again now?
Daylight had fully broken. In Prince Qing’s residence, Duke Jin’an lounged idly against the couch, watching Prince Qing sitting on the floor, happily playing by himself.
“Liu Ge’er,” he sighed, “do you think… she’s really angry with me?”
Prince Qing, of course, gave no reply.
“I don’t think she is,” the Duke said after a moment.
Though he said that, he couldn’t help but sigh again, tossing back and forth the ball that Prince Qing had thrown to him.
“Your Highness,” a eunuch hurried in, bowing low.
“Someone at the Bureau of Astronomy has reported seeing Taibai crossing the heavens.”
Taibai crossing the heavens?
A scholar’s education went far beyond the classics and histories – it included some knowledge of astronomy and geography as well.
And any educated man knew what Taibai crossing the heavens foretold.
Duke Jin’an sat up in surprise.
“Now?” he asked.
“No,” the eunuch quickly shook his head. “Yesterday – and only one person saw it, a mere student. So the report was dismissed.”
The Duke frowned slightly.
Taibai… crossing the heavens…
“Of course! So that’s it!” the Duke exclaimed, slapping his knee.
Of course? So that’s it?
So – was it true, or not?
The eunuch stood there, staring at him in bewilderment.
“Yes – it was Taibai crossing the heavens,” the Duke of Jin’an said with a nod.
The eunuch stared at him, stunned.
“Your Highness… you saw it too?” he asked.
Yes – he had seen it. The Duke nodded again.
He had been standing before Cheng Jiao-niang’s gate then, watching her lift her head to the sky, her expression unlike ever before.
She had once predicted a solar eclipse – so surely, she would recognize Taibai crossing the heavens as well.
Then… she hadn’t been upset because of him!
Not because of him!
“Your Highness,” the eunuch asked uneasily – but when he looked up, he saw the Duke smiling.
Smiling? At a time like this?
The eunuch shuddered in alarm.
“Your Highness!” he cried sharply.
The Duke blinked, snapping out of it.
“Your Highness, if it truly is Taibai crossing the heavens,” the eunuch said in a low, grave voice, emphasizing each word, “then it is Taibai crossing the heavens!”
Such a celestial sign was a dire omen – a portent of turmoil in the realm, peril to the Son of Heaven himself. How could one possibly smile?
The Duke tried to restrain his grin – but the joy still shone through.
So she wasn’t upset because of him.
Not at all.
