The news that the Emperor’s summons of Lady Cheng had been rebuked and rejected by Chen Shao quickly spread.
“The Emperor summoned Lady Cheng again?” Attendant Scholar Gao asked. “For what matter?”
His subordinate shook his head.
“No idea. The palace attendant didn’t say, and Chen Shao didn’t even ask – he just scolded and sent them away.”
Attendant Scholar Gao waved his hand, dismissing the subordinate. His personal aide stepped forward.
“Go ask in the palace,” he said.
The aide acknowledged the order and withdrew.
It was only when the Imperial Consort was questioned that she learned of the matter -and her reaction was far stronger than Attendant Scholar Gao’s.
“What now?” she exclaimed. “Is one pregnant Consort An not enough already?”
“Your Ladyship,” the eunuch beside her quickly murmured in caution, “those words mustn’t be spoken.”
The concubine threw her hand warmer with a clatter and turned away in anger.
The eunuchs and palace maids hurried to pick it up carefully.
“So she’s pregnant – so what?!” the Consort fumed. “Promotions, titles for her family, endless imperial dishes and entertainments sent to please her – who hasn’t given birth before? What’s so precious about that? She comes from a family of barrel-makers!”
The eunuch could only offer a helpless smile.
“Your Ladyship, it’s not Consort An who is precious to His Majesty,” he said softly. “What’s precious is that His Majesty has another son.”
He himself was no longer quite a man, but he still understood this much – that all men in the world took pride in proving their vigor, even in their later years.
The Imperial Consort gave a cold snort and sat down angrily.
“At this rate, His Majesty will soon be seeking the Way of the Immortals – what will become of the palace’s decorum then!” she said sharply.
Then she began cursing Feng Lin.
“Useless man! Can’t even handle a mere girl – serves him right to be cast out.”
The eunuch beside her continued to coax and placate her with a smile.
“Your Ladyship, what’s done is done; saying more will do no good,” he said softly. “Better now to find out why His Majesty has summoned Lady Cheng.”
The Consort exhaled, turning back.
“Where is His Majesty?” she asked.
A eunuch bowed his head and stepped closer.
“He’s just come from the Empress Dowager’s quarters, and has gone on to Consort An’s palace,” he replied.
The Consort twisted the brocade handkerchief in her hands.
“Come then – let’s go pay Consort An a visit as well,” she said, taking a deep breath and forcing a smile onto her face.
At that moment, Duke Jin’an also set down his teacup, preparing to take his leave.
“Oh, right,” he said with a smile, as something came to mind. “Do your family still bring up marriage proposals to you?”
Marriage proposals? Why bring that up all of a sudden?
Ban Qin looked up.
Cheng Jiao-niang shook her head.
Duke Jin’an smiled proudly and pointed to himself.
“I do, though,” he said with a grin.
Cheng Jiao-niang gave a small smile.
“Then congratulations, Your Highness,” she said.
Duke Jin’an quickly waved his hands, laughing.
“No, no,” he said. “They brought it up, but I turned it down.”
He reached up and rubbed his nose.
“It’s just that… ever since I was little, I’ve been sent to the palace by my parents. All my life, everything’s been decided by others. I’ve never once made a choice for myself.” His smile faded, and he let out a quiet sigh. “So I want to make my own decision this time.”
Cheng Jiao-niang gave a soft ‘oh’ and nodded.
“Have you ever thought about what kind of person you’d want to marry?” Duke Jin’an asked.
As soon as he said it, he noticed the maid’s odd expression, then saw Cheng Jiao-niang appear slightly dazed.
Wait… was that an inappropriate question?
Friends probably shouldn’t be talking about this, right?
“I haven’t thought about it,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied. “When I meet him… I’ll just know.”
When you meet someone – when you see them – that’s all there is to it. There’s no need for so many whys.
She lifted her cup, tilted her head slightly, and took a slow sip of tea.
“I haven’t thought about it either. Maybe it’s the same for me,” he said.
Duke Jin’an gave two awkward laughs, hastily ending the strange topic.
“Anyway, I made my own decision this time – I turned it down.”
Saying so, he rose to take his leave.
“Have you really made your own decision?” Cheng Jiao-niang suddenly asked.
Duke Jin’an’s heart gave an unexpected jolt, and he let out a faint “ah.”
Yes – he could finally make his own choices now. They wouldn’t just shove someone at him anymore…
No, they wouldn’t. Don’t worry.
Don’t worry? Why – why would she need to worry? It wasn’t her concern…
Duke Jin’an suddenly felt awkward all over.
“Oh – right!” A thought struck him. “I want to make a bet with you.”
Cheng Jiao-niang looked at him; sure enough, she didn’t pursue the previous topic.
“A bet? With me?” she asked.
“Yeah!” Duke Jin’an’s eyes lit up after a brief pause for thought. “Let’s bet on whether there’ll be a lunar eclipse on the fifteenth.”
Cheng Jiao-niang looked at him and smiled faintly.
“You want to bet this with me?” she asked again.
“That’s right,” Duke Jin’an said solemnly. “I don’t believe you can really calculate it that precisely.”
“At the fourth quarter of the Chou hour, the eclipse will begin in the west, fifteen degrees into the constellation Yi; by the sixth quarter, it will reach totality – eight parts full – and by the time it sets in the You position, it will fade into shadow and no longer be visible,” Cheng Jiao-niang recited calmly. “Still want to bet?”
Duke Jin’an laughed. It was the first time he had ever heard this girl speak to him in such a tone.
So the eunuch had been right…
“Of course,” he said. “If you lose, you’ll owe me… one thousand strings of cash.”
Ban Qin was so stunned she could no longer show any expression.
A bet? For a thousand guan?
Neither of them was short of that kind of money!
She glanced between the two of them and saw Cheng Jiao-niang nod.
“All right,” she said.
“If you lose, no going back on your word.”
Duke Jin’an grinned, pointed a playful finger at her, then turned and strode away. The smile on his face didn’t fade as he stepped out the door – it only deepened.
He was bound to lose.
And the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to laugh.
“Your Highness.”
The slightly raised voice made Duke Jin’an snap back to attention. He looked toward the lifted carriage curtain, where a palace eunuch was gazing at him questioningly.
“Will Your Highness be entering the palace now?” the eunuch asked.
“What for?” Duke Jin’an replied.
The eunuch was taken aback.
“Your Highness – did Lady Cheng not speak to you about the lunar eclipse?” he asked.
“Oh.” Duke Jin’an made a small sound of realization, quickly straightened his expression, and thought for a moment.
“No,” he said at last. “Not yet. I must see someone first.”
This time, Guo Yuan arrived first. It was the same room as before, only the dishes had not yet been served.
Just as he was glancing about the place, the door was pulled open. A cloak swept through the air as someone strode in. Guo Yuan quickly lowered his head and bowed.
“I asked for you.”
The voice floated down from above – light, cheerful, carrying a brightness that made it easy to imagine the speaker smiling.
He seemed to be in an excellent mood – much better than the last time they’d met.
“You asked… about what?” Guo Yuan asked blankly, dazed, lifting his head.
Before him stood a handsome young man, shining with vitality against the golden lotus screen behind him.
“The lunar eclipse, of course,” Duke Jin’an said with a faint smile. “Your calculation was correct: on the fifteenth, at the fourth quarter of the Chou hour, it will begin to wane in the west, fifteen degrees into the constellation Yi; by the sixth quarter, the eclipse will reach totality – eight parts full – and by the time it sets in the You position, it will fade into shadow and no longer be visible.”
Hearing the familiar technical phrasing, Guo Yuan jolted back to his senses.
“At the fourth quarter of the Chou hour… fifteen degrees into Yi… sixth quarter totality, eight parts full, setting at You, lost to shadow–” he repeated in disbelief. “This – this was calculated?”
“Of course. How else could you know a lunar eclipse in advance – by looking?” Duke Jin’an said lightly.
Calculated… and with such precision…
Guo Yuan stared at him, then quickly bowed deeply.
“I beg Your Highness for instruction,” he said, his voice trembling.
Duke Jin’an burst out laughing.
“We can talk about that later. For now, since I’ve told you, you can go and do what you’re supposed to do,” he said.
Guo Yuan froze again and looked up.
“What I’m supposed to do?” he asked.
“Aren’t you a student of the Bureau of Astronomy?” Duke Jin’an replied with a smile. “You study the heavens and the calendar – serve as the bridge between Heaven and the Throne. Since you’ve calculated this celestial phenomenon, you should report it to His Majesty, so that he may prepare accordingly.”
Guo Yuan’s expression flickered with unease.
“I…” he began hesitantly.
“Don’t want to, or don’t dare?” Duke Jin’an asked.
Don’t want to? Don’t dare?
“My knowledge is shallow – I’ve only grasped a little of the surface…” Guo Yuan said, bowing his head.
“That’s fine,” Duke Jin’an interrupted. “Someone who knows far more than you has already confirmed your calculation.”
“But… but, Your Highness,” Guo Yuan lifted his head anxiously, “the senior officials – they won’t allow it.”
“What you report is what you should and want to do. Whether they agree or acknowledge it – that’s their concern,” Duke Jin’an said with a faint smile.
He lifted his robe slightly, set one foot on the table, and leaned forward, studying Guo Yuan – studying the young student’s eyes, where unease mingled with a restless, defiant spark.
“Do you dare to take a gamble this once? Or do you only want to remain a student forever – serving under those mediocre men? No, after this, you might end up packing your things, driven out of the Bureau of Astronomy, sent somewhere obscure to spend your life as a record-keeping clerk.”
Guo Yuan lowered his head, his expression shifting.
“But even that’s not so bad,” Duke Jin’an said with a laugh, straightening up and brushing off his hands. “You’d still be doing what you should, and what you want to do. It’s just that…”
He smiled slightly.
“You’d only be saying it for yourself to hear – writing it for yourself, and for those who come after you, to see.”
Does his own things quietly and silently.
Guo Yuan’s hands, resting on his knees, clenched into fists. The cloak before him brushed past; footsteps sounded, the door opened, and the man was gone.
Do you dare to take this gamble?
If he really submitted the report and the lunar eclipse came to pass, he would make his name overnight.
But if it didn’t…
The Emperor did not execute civil officials – but those of the Bureau of Astronomy were a special case, not covered by that mercy. And it wasn’t unheard of for officials who misread celestial omens to lose their heads.
Guo Yuan sat motionless in the hall for a long time, until someone slid the door open.
“Sir?” the attendant asked.
Guo Yuan turned his head toward him.
“Would you like to order anything, sir?” the man asked politely.
Guo Yuan blinked blankly for a moment.
“Um… has the bill been paid?” he suddenly asked.
The attendant smiled and nodded.
“Then bring me the same as last time,” Guo Yuan said, sitting up straight.
The attendant bowed and withdrew.
If I’m going to die, I’ll die a full-bellied ghost!
Guo Yuan lifted the teacup before him and downed it in one heroic gulp.
…
From sunrise to sunset, after the morning court session, the Imperial Archives as usual continued reviewing the memorials and reports submitted from various offices.
A clerk picked one up and looked surprised.
“It’s from the Bureau of Astronomy,” he said. “That’s rare. Are they saying the calendar’s wrong again and needs recalculating?”
As he spoke, he opened the document – and his words stopped short.
“On the sixteenth day, there shall be an eclipse of the moon. Requesting that the proper offices investigate precedent and heed Heaven’s warning with utmost caution.”
A lunar eclipse?
The clerk shot to his feet.
A lunar eclipse?!
A lunar eclipse was a dire omen: if it began at the top, it signified the ruler had lost the Way; from the side, the ministers had lost order; from the bottom, the generals had lost discipline.
“Is this real? This is a huge matter!” the clerk exclaimed, and, clutching the memorial, he turned and ran out.
