The early-autumn night carried a hint of coolness. A night breeze blew in through the window, stirring the bed curtains.
“I’ve cried before too,”
Duke Jin’an said, his hand rhythmically patting the person in his arms.
“Can you guess in front of whom?”
No one asked him.
Duke Jin’an hadn’t expected anyone to – he went on by himself.
“Doctor Li,” he said, then laughed. His chest shook and his body trembled slightly. “I nearly scared him to death back then.”
After laughing for a moment, he quieted down again, continuing to gently pat the person in his arms.
“To have someone who can make you lose control and cry – that in itself is a kind of happiness.”
A soft, muffled mm sounded from the person in his arms.
To Duke Jin’an’s ears, it was like a clap of thunder.
“Yes, yes,” he hurriedly lowered his head and laughed. “Even though we’re both miserable, it’s not as if we’re unhappy. There’s joy even within bitterness.”
Lowering his head, he felt something soft and yielding. Unable to resist, he brushed his chin against it – then quickly pulled away.
The person in his arms did not stir.
“It really is miserable,” a muffled female voice came from against his chest, carrying a trace of bitterness. “I never thought it would be wrong. I did so much – and it was all wrong.”
“Knowing you were wrong is already not bad,” Duke Jin’an said quickly with a smile. “Some people never realize they’re wrong at all.”
As he spoke, he cautiously lowered his chin again, lightly brushing it against the head of the person in his arms.
The moment his chin touched her hair, the person in his arms suddenly jolted.
Duke Jin’an hurriedly lifted his head, his heart thumping.
All right, all right – at least he hadn’t been kicked out of bed.
The person in his arms lifted her head.
“They truly will never know,” Cheng Jiao-niang said, her voice choked with sobs.
Never know.
They were all dead.
They would never know.
Duke Jin’an hurriedly reached out to stroke her face, wiping away the tears on it.
“But you know now – and that’s what matters. It’s good that you know. You know now,” he said quickly.
Yes, I know now. It’s good that I know now. Father wanted me to come and ask – now I’ve asked, now I know.
Tears streamed down Cheng Jiao-niang’s face as she buried her head once more against Duke Jin’an’s chest and held him tight.
The joy in Duke Jin’an’s heart had long since vanished. He reached out as well and held her firmly.
Don’t cry, don’t cry. He would rather see her expressionless, rather see her distant and unresponsive, than see her so heartbroken.
What kind of wound to the heart could make someone who never showed joy or sorrow outwardly weep like this without end?
“Cheng Fang,” he said, his throat tight as he held her close, his hand patting her shoulder and back again and again. “Don’t be sad.”
Cheng Fang – don’t be sad.
Duke Jin’an did not know when he had fallen asleep. In a half-dazed state, he reached out to feel – and then jolted awake.
The pillow beside him was empty. His arms were empty.
What had happened last night seemed like a dream…
He hurriedly sat up and lowered his head, seeing the wrinkled undergarment on his chest, still faintly damp.
Not a dream!
A smile bloomed across Duke Jin’an’s face.
“Your Highness.”
Hearing the movement, Eunuch Jing quickly came in from the outer room. As he saw Duke Jin’an sitting on the edge of the bed with the curtain lifted, his gaze fell to his chest.
The undergarment was so rumpled and askew it could hardly be called worn at all -more like hanging on him, leaving half his chest exposed.
Duke Jin’an raised a hand, half covering his mouth as he yawned.
“Where is the madam?” he asked tiredly.
The madam…
Eunuch Jing pursed his lips, looking at the bluish shadows under Duke Jin’an’s eyes.
“Madam has gone to practice archery,” he said.
Her routine and training had returned to normal – so things were at least somewhat better. Duke Jin’an let out a breath of relief and got up to go to the washroom.
“I should start training again too,” he said. “Ask Doctor Li whether I can ride a horse and practice archery yet.”
“That’s not urgent,” Eunuch Jing hurried after him, muttering as he went. “What matters is restraint. Your Highness has only just recovered – relying on youth won’t do.”
“Restraint in what sense?” Duke Jin’an frowned. “What are you muttering about?”
Before Eunuch Jing could answer, he thought of something else.
“What movements were there in the capital yesterday?”
With the choice of the Crown Princess finally settled, the capital and the court had been in an uproar, lively with talk.
Eunuch Jing quickly composed his expression and followed him into the washroom, lowering his voice as he reported.
By the time Cheng Jiao-niang returned, Duke Jin’an had already made a round of the courtyard.
In the morning light, the girl was dressed as usual in a high coiffure, a shawl and skirt. Her sweat-dampened face looked brisk and spirited; her expression had returned to its former calm. When her gaze swept over Duke Jin’an, she merely gave a slight nod.
Duke Jin’an was momentarily dazed – it was as if the girl who had curled up in his arms and cried the night before had been something he had imagined.
“Have breakfast set first. I’ll go wash up and come right back,” she said.
It was different.
Duke Jin’an smiled.
She hadn’t said that yesterday.
“Set the meal,” he said.
The people in the courtyard answered in unison. Duke Jin’an didn’t know whether it was just his imagination, but it seemed to him that the maids’ movements all carried a hint of cheerfulness.
But just as the meal was laid out and Cheng Jiao-niang had only just taken her seat, Su Xin hurried in.
“Madam, Steward Cao says Cheng Ping is missing,” she said.
Missing?
Duke Jin’an looked surprised.
Steward Cao and Cheng Ping had both stayed overnight at the Duke’s residence yesterday. How could a perfectly fine person simply disappear?
Su Xin’s expression was a little awkward.
“He ran off, didn’t he?” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
Yes – Steward Cao had just sent word, and his exact words were that the wretched brat had run off again.
But saying that outright would really be too embarrassing.
“Steward Cao has already gone to look for him,” Su Xin said, evasively and tactfully.
Cheng Jiao-niang smiled.
“Finding him won’t be so easy,” she said, setting down her bowl and chopsticks and standing up.
Ban Qin and Su Xin immediately reacted and hurried to follow her movements.
Cheng Jiao-niang stopped in her tracks.
“I’ll go find him,” she said, looking at Duke Jin’an.
Duke Jin’an, holding a plate of rice cakes, stood up.
“You didn’t eat last night, so take a couple of bites first. Let everyone in the residence go look for him,” he said, picking up a piece and offering it to her.
The maids in the room quickly lowered their heads.
Cheng Jiao-niang opened her mouth to take it, raising her sleeve to cover her mouth as she spoke.
“No one else can do it. If he wants to hide, hardly anyone can find him,” she said, moving inward.
Ban Qin and Su Xin hurried to help her dress, while Duke Jin’an followed, still holding the plate.
“He’s that capable, huh,” he said with a laugh.
Cheng Jiao-niang swallowed the rice cake and nodded, spreading her arms as Ban Qin helped her put on an outer robe.
Duke Jin’an offered another piece.
Su Xin knelt to straighten the edges of her clothing, while Ban Qin bent down to fasten her sash.
“Have a sip of tea,” he said.
Watching Cheng Jiao-niang, fully dressed, stride out the door, Duke Jin’an took the tea from the maid and held it up for her.
Cheng Jiao-niang took it in one gulp and handed it back to him.
Duke Jin’an caught it with one hand while offering another rice cake with the other. She took it in a single bite and hurried out.
Eunuch Jing, standing in the hall, had watched the entire scene from start to finish, utterly dumbfounded.
…
Outside the West City Gate, Steward Cao rode in a flustered chase, his eyes fixed on Cheng Jiao-niang, who rode with a hooded cloak covering her face.
“He ran off early. The city gates must not have opened yet. As soon as I realized, I had people guard all four gates – but didn’t see him anywhere. That brat must be hiding inside the city,” he said.
“No, he’s already out of the city,” Cheng Jiao-niang said, glancing toward the outskirts before spurring her horse forward without hesitation.
Steward Cao and the others hurried to follow.
The sight of a cavalry led by a woman drew many curious looks from people along the road.
“Look – over there!”
Not far ahead, Steward Cao suddenly shouted, pointing to someone stumbling along the main road.
The sound of hooves behind them made the person in front turn their head – and they immediately bolted.
Two legs could not compete with four, and soon they were caught and surrounded.
“You little brat! Why the hell are you running off?” Steward Cao jumped off his horse and grabbed Cheng Ping, shouting. “You run off halfway, and at a time like this no less! Don’t you even see where you are? You’re embarrassing the mistress!”
“I’m not running, not running!” Cheng Ping shouted as he dodged. “Didn’t we agree I could do as I pleased once I entered the capital?”
“You call this doing as you please?!” Steward Cao yelled, glaring.
The two of them tugged Cheng Jiao-niang down from her horse, stopping at the roadside. Steward Cao forced himself not to beat the boy, pulling him closer instead.
“Your Highness,” Cheng Ping said with a calm face, bowing slightly as he adjusted the collar of his clothes, which Steward Cao had skewed in the tug.
“Are you leaving?” Cheng Jiao-niang asked, a trace of reluctance in her voice.
Cheng Ping gave a dry laugh, his expression flickering.
“How did you know I’d be on this road?” he suddenly asked, not answering her question directly.
Right – why did Miss head straight this way as soon as she left the residence? And why did she call me back? Steward Cao thought to himself.
“Of course Miss would know,” he said aloud with a hum, though the words sounded reluctant.
Cheng Jiao-niang reached out her hand, opening it in front of Cheng Ping.
“This,” she said.
Everyone nearby couldn’t help but look – and saw three large coins in her hand.
What’s this?
Steward Cao was momentarily stunned.
Cheng Ping smiled, lifting his gaze to Cheng Jiao-niang.
“You really are someone of our kind,” he said.
The words had barely left his mouth when tears welled up in her eyes again. Cheng Ping instinctively took a step back – but this time, the girl did not break down crying. She lowered her head and made a polite bow.
Two tears fell to the ground and vanished almost instantly.
“Then you don’t need to ask me why I’m leaving, right?” Cheng Ping said with a smile.
Why?
Steward Cao remained in a daze.
He thought to himself: It’s because he’s strange, so madam is strange, so whenever the two meet they’re both strange… Every word made sense, but put together it was utterly incomprehensible.
Cheng Jiao-niang lifted her head, a trace of excitement in her eyes.
“Did you see it too?” she said. “Then… do you think he–”
Cheng Ping raised a hand to interrupt her.
“Madam,” he said with a hint of solemnity, pointing to the three large coins in her hand, “since we are of the same kind, you haven’t forgotten the rule of not asking and not speaking, have you?”
In divination and fortune-telling, predictions of luck, misfortune, or right and wrong are not to be discussed by those uninvolved.
“Besides,” Cheng Ping added, putting his hands in his pockets, “you didn’t even pay me.”
Cheng Jiao-niang smiled, tears glimmering in her eyes.
“Yes,” she said with a bow, then stood and raised her head to look at him. “But… why are you leaving? You came to the capital for him, didn’t you?”
Next year, the emperor at the time, Emperor Zhongzong, would die, and the new emperor would ascend the throne. Cheng Ping’s fame began precisely at this time, when he gained recognition by divining for the new emperor.
Now, the historical “new emperor” whom Cheng Ping had once foretold – Prince Ping -was already dead. And yet Cheng Ping had still come to the capital, and even seen…
So why was he leaving? Shouldn’t he stay, or consult a divination, and then gain fame…
“I’m not here for him,” Cheng Ping said with a smile. “How could I be here for him? I have abundance, not lack. Why would I come looking for him?”
Cheng Jiao-niang looked at him.
“Those who enrich my wealth harm my spirit; those who grant me fame destroy my body,” she said.
Cheng Ping’s eyes lit up, and he reached out to nod.
“Good, good, good,” he said three times in succession. “Madam, you truly are one of our kind.”
Cheng Jiao-niang smiled, raising her sleeve to wipe the tears from her eyes.
These were the words that the late Prince Ping had spoken to declare his identity, refusing the prince’s offer of office. She had never imagined that today, she would be speaking them in such a setting.
“Moreover, now I have you, Madam,” Cheng Ping said with another smile, carrying a hint of deeper meaning. “I have no further need to stay.”
Cheng Jiao-niang was taken aback.
“Then I will take my leave,” Cheng Ping said, bowing politely.
Cheng Jiao-niang dodged his bow, hurrying to return it while stepping forward a pace.
“Where are you going?” she asked anxiously. “Back to Jiang-zhou?”
“Yes, back to Jiang-zhou. Oh, by the way – I heard that Tai Ping Temple belongs to you. I wonder… might I borrow it for a while?” Cheng Ping asked.
Cheng Jiao-niang nodded in response.
Cheng Ping smiled and bowed again.
Naturally, Cheng Jiao-niang quickly dodged once more.
Cheng Ping straightened, looking at the woman who finally dared to meet his gaze. The reverence in his expression softened, replaced mostly by reluctance – as if a young child were leaving a loved one and lingering.
He paused, looking at Cheng Jiao-niang.
“I’ve studied Laozi and gained some understanding,” he said. “I wonder if you’d like to hear it?”
Cheng Jiao-niang raised her sleeve again to partly cover her face, tears slipping from her eyes. Before a single drop could fall, she bent deeply in a bow.
“Please, teach me,” she said, her voice choked with emotion.
On the official road in the early-autumn morning, more and more people were coming into and leaving the city – riders on horseback, people in sedan chairs, porters with baskets, pushcarts, finely dressed in silks or in coarse linen, old and young, men and women. As they passed by, many couldn’t help but glance toward the roadside.
In the wild patch beside the road stood a solitary large catalpa tree, its branches and leaves still lush and green.
A tree this size wasn’t so uncommon – but what drew people’s attention was the two figures sitting beneath it.
A young man raised his hand, gesturing to the sky and the ground as he spoke confidently, while a young lady sat upright, listening attentively.
“…Thus the Dao produces One; One produces Two; Two produces Three; Three produces all things. All things have their roots, all categories have their ancestors. Heaven and Earth are the greatest of things, and humanity follows next…”
What are they doing?
Curiosity drew some closer. The attendants standing around the tree didn’t stop anyone, and the young lady listening seemed unbothered, completely absorbed, as if lost in another world.
“…Heaven and Earth are born of the Great Harmony; Great Harmony is born of the Void, thus existence comes from nonexistence… The way of Heaven and Earth: one yin, one yang… Yet the will is mine to serve; what need have I of the greater…”
The sonorous voice spread beneath the tree in the open field. Gradually, more and more people gathered, and from a distance the scene became a striking sight.
