In a side room, a table, a large jar of wine—two men drinking face to face.
“Come on, a drunken night will ease a thousand sorrows. After you drink and cry it all out, you’ll feel better. Life’s long. Look ahead, move forward, don’t look back.” Han Ben poured Yin Fu another cup.
Yin Fu drank several big bowls, cheeks flushed, already quite tipsy.
Han Ben kept pace with him, refilling bowl after bowl.
“I can’t drink anymore… My head’s spinning, I really—” Yin Fu collapsed onto the table, gaze unfocused, muttering nonsense drunkenly.
Han Ben watched him for a while, then leaned forward and gently asked, “What’s your name?”
“Yin… Fu.”
The wine jar was specially designed with two layers. Depending on how the mechanism was manipulated, it would pour from either the upper or the lower level. The upper level held normal wine; the lower level contained wine laced with Datura juice.
Datura, also known as devil’s trumpet, has anesthetic and pain-relieving properties. Because of its toxicity, even surgeons used it cautiously. Han Ben had discovered that in addition to numbing pain, it also weakened a person’s will. With the right dosage, it could serve as a truth serum. Back in the Jingbei Army during campaigns against northern tribes, he’d extracted intel from many captives using this concoction. Though a small portion would start rambling incoherently, most of what they said was true.
“What’s your purpose in coming to Yu Wang’s residence?”
“To find… find…”
Han Ben tensed and leaned in closer to hear.
“To find… a place to settle down…”
Han Ben relaxed slightly, reached out to pinch Yin Fu’s soft cheek, and asked again, “What were you doing earlier?”
“Drinking… can’t drink anymore… no more…”
“Before the drinking—why were you injured?”
“Misdirected energy while training… coughed blood… I miss my parents, my parents…”
Han Ben wanted to comfort him with a pat on the head but steeled himself and pressed on: “Wangye has been falling ill these past days—what’s going on?”
Yin Fu murmured “what’s going on” repeatedly—then suddenly went silent and slumped under the table.
Alarmed, Han Ben caught his limp body, afraid the drug had gone too far. He quickly took out a porcelain vial from his robes and poured the antidote into his mouth.
Yin Fu’s face and neck were flushed, his brows furrowed in discomfort. Han Ben sat on the floor, letting Yin Fu rest against his arm, waiting for the antidote to take effect. Their faces were close, breaths mingling.
Han Ben’s thoughts started to drift—he hesitated, unsure whether to lean in closer.
Just then, Yin Fu’s eyes snapped open.
They weren’t merely eyes—they were whirlpools on a night-dark sea, celestial constellations shifting across the heavens. An invisible, overwhelming pull sucked one’s consciousness into their depths, spinning and shredding, mixing clarity and confusion into utter chaos.
Han Ben froze, like a statue, even his breath halted.
Yin Fu sneered, pulled him down by the collar, and whispered in his ear, “Han Ben, you fell in love with Yin Fu at first sight. You trust him, care for him, and would go through fire and water for him.”
Han Ben’s body trembled in his grasp, seemingly trying to break free of the trance.
Yin Fu ignored it and kept repeating those two sentences by his ear. His voice was soft, deep, and each syllable seemed to align with an eerie rhythm, uncannily similar to the bewitching melodies of the crane-bone flute.
Han Ben gradually calmed again, returning to his stone-statue state.
Yin Fu smiled in satisfaction. The combination of nightmare spell and soul-bewitching sound was unexpectedly effective—but of course, it helped that this commander already had feelings for him. After all, it’s far easier to add fuel to an existing flame than to create something out of nothing.
He withdrew his technique and closed his eyes, pretending to sleep.
Moments later, Han Ben suddenly snapped awake, only feeling that he had momentarily lost focus for a breath or two—completely unaware that anything was amiss.
He looked down at the young man sleeping in his arms and gently rubbed the dimple on his cheek with his thumb, an almost imperceptible trace of tenderness in the gesture. Carefully, he laid Yin Fu onto the bed, took off his shoes, socks, and outer garments, tucked him under the quilt, then carried the wine jar out of the room.
—
In the tightly closed rear hall, Emperor Jinglong forcefully shook off Yu Wang’s hand. The short sword went flying, embedding itself deeply into the wall with a resounding thud.
Hearing the swish of the blade, the imperial guards grew alarmed, but due to the imperial edict, dared not rush in. Instead, they called out loudly from outside the hall, “Your humble servants await your command!”
The emperor replied in a raised voice, “All is well.”
The outside returned to silence.
The emperor turned to Yu Wang and ordered, “Focus on recovering your health first. Then go apologize to Su Yan. As for how he chooses to punish you, and whether he forgives you or not—that’s up to him. From now on, aside from official business, you are not to disturb him again.”
Yu Wang, feeling wronged, let out a scoffing laugh. “We both pursue someone we love. Why is it called ‘favor’ when it’s you, but ‘harassment’ when it’s me? Clearly, there’s a difference in status—no need to talk about fairness. How about this: why don’t you just issue a decree and grant him a consort title? No matter how debauched I am, I won’t lay a hand on my imperial sister-in-law.”
“Cease this nonsense!” the emperor took a deep breath and said coldly, “When he’s willing, it’s courtship. When he’s not, it’s harassment. You have a problem with that? If you do, take it up with the golden scepter left by the late emperor! And don’t bother with any dramatic heart-baring performances. I’ll just break both your legs and confine you to the palace!”
With that, he stormed off.
The doors swung open. The heavily armed guards finally let out a breath and escorted the emperor back to the palace.
Yu Wang sat motionless on the edge of his bed, alone in the dim hall.
Some of the servants peeked in curiously. Seeing the brazier long extinguished and the room as cold as an ice cellar, they could wait no longer. Without waiting for his command, they rushed in to add charcoal, clean up the wine jar, lay out fresh bedding, and relight the lamps.
“Is Ah Wu asleep?” Yu Wang suddenly asked.
A maid replied, “Wangye, he’s still awake, playing with his nursemaid. Shall I bring the young shizi here?”
Yu Wang was silent for a moment, then shook his head. “No. Let him play. Finish up and leave me alone.”
The maids bathed him, dressed his wounds, changed his clothes, then retreated and closed the hall doors.
Yu Wang drank the medicine prescribed by the imperial physician, laid on the bed, and inhaled the faint calming fragrance from the golden incense burner. His mind gradually cleared. He began to ponder: He’d been tormented by nightmares and the sound of a flute in his dreams for five or six nights. Only the two nights spent in the lakeside pavilion had been peaceful—the nightmares had ceased, and the symptoms had lightened. Why?
Was it because the pavilion stood in the middle of the lake, wide open on all sides and inaccessible to others?
If so, then it meant the flute sound wasn’t part of the dream, nor was it auditory hallucination—it was deliberate.
Who? Who was manipulating things behind the scenes, stirring his emotions, disturbing his mind—for what purpose?
Yu Wang suddenly remembered that even during the earlier meeting with the emperor, he’d faintly heard the flute. Several times during their conversation, he’d nearly lost control—tempted to erupt in violence to vent the rage boiling inside him.
The moment of most intense loss of control had been when the emperor exposed the military mutiny from ten years ago. His heart had shaken; he staggered back to the bed and sat down. His hand had already touched the hilt of the short sword under the pillow.
Had he drawn it then, it wouldn’t have been a symbolic gesture of loyalty—it would’ve been… He dared not continue the thought.
Suddenly drenched in cold sweat, Yu Wang leapt from the bed, rushed to the doors, and shouted, “Where’s Han Ben? Tell him to come at once!”
—
The imperial carriage had yet to return, and the Chief Gatekeeper was so nervous he couldn’t eat. Even after the palace gates were locked for the night, he stayed, keeping watch with a unit of the imperial guards outside the Jingyun Gate. Near the hour of xushi , they finally saw torchlight in the distance as the emperor’s sedan, escorted by the guards, returned from the Outer Court to the Inner Palace. Only then did he breathe a sigh of relief and quickly reopened the palace gates.
Since winter began, the emperor rarely stayed in the Hall of Mental Cultivation. He usually lodged in the East Warm Pavilion of the Qianqing Palace, where red plum trees bloomed—ideal for snow viewing.
That night’s dinner had gone cold. Lan Xi hurriedly arranged for the imperial kitchen to prepare a new meal. The emperor stopped him, saying, “No need to trouble everyone. I’m not very hungry. Just bring something warm and comforting.”
Though the emperor was considerate, the kitchen staff didn’t dare slack off. They served a carefully stewed “Blessings and Longevity Supreme”—a rich broth with abalone, sea cucumber, fish maw, dried scallops, tendon, lamb shank, quail eggs, and shiitake mushrooms. Simmered slowly in broth and aged wine, it filled the air with savory aroma.
The emperor tasted a spoonful and praised, “Rich and flavorful, meaty but not greasy—truly layered in taste.”
Lan Xi took the chance to flatter, “This is a famous dish from my hometown. I had the recipe copied and taught to the palace chefs. With the superior ingredients in the palace, it’s even better than what we had back home.”
“Oh? Your ancestral home is Fuzhou, right? I recall Su Yan is from there too?”
“Indeed, we are both from the same hometown.”
“Has he tasted this ‘Blessings and Longevity Supreme’?”
The emperor asked with an odd tone, but Lan Xi caught on and smiled even wider. “He surely had it in his youth. As for here in the capital, I’m not sure. But once, while dining in the palace, he mentioned this dish. He said that while ‘Blessings and Longevity Supreme’ sounds auspicious, it lacks elegance. It should be called ‘Buddha Jumps Over the Wall.’”
“Oh? And why’s that?”
“Su Shaoqing said, ‘When the jar is opened, the savory scent wafts through the neighborhood. Even the Buddha, upon smelling it, abandons meditation and leaps over the wall.’”
The emperor laughed and said, “What a phrase — ‘Even the Buddha abandons meditation and leaps over the wall’! If even the Buddha can’t resist breaking his vows, then isn’t this flavor truly divine? From now on, let’s call it ‘Buddha Jumps Over the Wall.’”
As he spoke, he suddenly recalled a sarcastic remark from Yu Wang: In this life, if one cannot love who they love, and ends up living like a god without emotion or desire, then even if they hold the world in their hands — what meaning is there in that?
Even the Buddha was tempted by the aroma and gave up his meditation — so why should I, a mere emperor of the mortal world, restrain myself so severely, to the point of near self-torment?
Emperor Jinglong remained deep in thought.
Lan Xi ladled a few more spoonfuls of hot soup into his imperial bowl and gently reminded him, “Your Majesty should eat while it’s still hot. It’s not good for the stomach if it cools.”
The Emperor paired the soup with a bowl of Donglan black rice, consuming nearly half a jar of Buddha Jumps Over the Wall before finally setting his chopsticks down with satisfaction. Seeing that the Emperor had eaten more than he usually would from a full table of dishes, Lan Xi was inwardly delighted.
“What’s on the palace schedule for tomorrow?” the Emperor asked.
“Tomorrow is the second day of the New Year. Nothing major is scheduled. The consorts have all requested to return home to visit their families.”
“The second day is the traditional day to visit one’s parental home. Let them go. They can stay a few days—just be back by the fifteenth for the lantern festival.”
Lan Xi smiled broadly and agreed. Then he added, “Today, the young master and Su Shaoqing were ordered to investigate the case at the Ministry of Rites. I wonder how the investigation is progressing. Would Your Majesty like to summon Su Shaoqing to report tomorrow?”
If the Emperor wanted an update, he could have just summoned the Crown Prince from the Eastern Palace. But it seemed that Lan Xi, like someone with partial amnesia, had conveniently forgotten this point.
Even more curious, the Emperor followed his lead without correction and nodded. “Summon him tomorrow at the time of Shen.”
“Is Your Majesty planning to have Su Shaoqing stay for a meal?” Lan Xi probed, catching on instantly. “Perhaps I should instruct the imperial kitchen to prepare Buddha Jumps Over the Wall again tomorrow evening, so he can enjoy a taste of home.”
The Emperor was very pleased with the idea and silently gave his approval.
While drinking a digestive tea afterward, the Emperor suddenly asked, “Do you know the story of ‘Zhuang Gong raising a calamity’?”
Lan Xi bowed humbly. “Though I’ve studied a bit at the palace school, I’m just a rough servant who came into learning halfway. May Your Majesty enlighten me.”
The Emperor spoke slowly, “During the Spring and Autumn period, Zhuang Gong of Zheng was not favored by his mother, Lady Wu Jiang, who instead doted on her younger son, Shu Duan. She asked Zhuang Gong to grant Shu Duan the fief of Jingyi. Ministers advised against it, saying Jingyi was larger than the capital and thus unsuitable as a fief—it might threaten the ruler. But Zhuang Gong said he could not defy his mother’s wishes.”
Lan Xi thought for a moment and said, “Zhuang Gong was a filial son, but Lady Wu Jiang’s favoritism clearly went too far…. And then?”
“Shu Duan expanded his territory without permission and defied royal commands. The ministers repeatedly urged Zhuang Gong to punish his brother, but he replied, ‘Those who commit many wrongs will destroy themselves.’ Still, he did nothing.”
Lan Xi winced. “Zhuang Gong was too lenient. With his mother supporting him, wouldn’t Shu Duan just become even more reckless? He might even threaten his authority in the future! Didn’t Zhuang Gong worry?”
“Years later, Shu Duan fortified cities, recruited soldiers, and prepared weapons and chariots to launch a coup against the capital and seize the throne. Lady Wu Jiang even planned to open the gates for him from within the city. When Zhuang Gong learned of this, he gave the order: attack. The army crushed Shu Duan’s forces. Unpopular and repeatedly defeated, Shu Duan fled to another country and died in exile.”
Lan Xi clicked his tongue. “A well-calculated move—silent until the decisive strike.”
The Emperor smiled faintly. “Why do you think Zhuang Gong allowed his brother to act unchecked for so many years, knowing his malicious intentions?”
Lan Xi’s eyes lit up with realization. “He was deliberately raising the calamity. By letting a small problem grow big, it becomes justified to eliminate it.”
“Not only justified,” the Emperor said, “but also thorough. Letting the problem grow lets you see how deep its roots go and how far it spreads. Only then can you uproot it completely—main culprit and accomplices alike.”
Lan Xi nodded in strong agreement, though he was still puzzled: Just moments ago, the Emperor was talking about inviting Su Yan for dinner, and now he’s bringing up Zhuang Gong’s strategy of raising calamities…?
Still, having served the Emperor for many years, Lan Xi knew better than to ask.
The Emperor set down his tea cup and rose. “The ministers can take time off for the New Year, but I cannot. Go fetch the frontier maps of the Nine Borders.”
