The Crown Prince’s so-called “parting words” were nothing more than a plain passage written on thick, tough paper, sealed in an envelope.
Su Yan tore open the seal and carefully read:
“Qinghe, this young master has gone to Nanjing to preside over the grand ceremony of ancestral sacrifice.
The Winter Solstice is one of the Four Great Sacrifices. This year the nation has faced great upheaval, the capital is unsettled, and so it is all the more necessary to sacrifice at Xiaoling to dispel disasters and calamities. To perform rites at the tomb on behalf of the Son of Heaven is not only Royal Father’s command, but also my duty as the Crown Prince.
Until the very moment of departure, you still had not returned. I wished, again and again, to say farewell to you face-to-face, yet both times it was not to be.
I thought it over: rather than telling you in a letter and leaving you with needless concern from afar, better not to say at all. Perhaps when you return to the capital, I might be back a step sooner and intercept your carriage outside the city gates.
At that time, do not be in such a hurry to report back, and I will not be in such a hurry to return to the palace. Let us be ordinary youths for a few days—go out together to the countryside, to wander and ease our hearts.”
…Good. Su Yan silently answered in his heart, the tight strings inside him loosening by more than half. He folded the page back into its envelope and tucked it into his robe.
He asked the attendant eunuch: “Did the young master leave any other instructions?”
The eunuch thought, then shook his head. “No more. Oh—yes. Since Lord Su has returned, then the remaining letters need not be sent on to Shaanxi. I will fetch them for you at once.”
“Remaining letters?”
“Yes. They are all letters the young master wrote before leaving the capital in the seventh month, instructing that one be sent every other day. He said he feared the jolting of the journey, and once in Nanjing, the many ritual affairs might delay him from writing.” The eunuch brought out a wooden chest from the cabinet. Inside was a thick stack of unsent letters, which he handed all together to Su Yan.
Holding the chest, Su Yan could not help but picture the little rascal writing through the night, counting on his fingers the number of letters to prepare. Warmth surged in his chest.
He said to the eunuch: “May I sit here alone for a while, to read these letters?”
The eunuch bowed again and again: “My lord, please do as you wish,” then poured tea, set out fruits and pastries, and withdrew from the hall.
Su Yan sat cross-legged on the purple sandalwood rattan couch where he once slept, removing his boots.
Across the kang-table, the rattan couch on the other side bore a slight hollow, as if someone were often sitting there, playing leaf cards or Western chess with him, or chatting idly about everything under heaven.
Su Yan smiled as he opened letter after letter, looking at the repeated “Qinghe” written at the top, softly answering back: “Mm, young master.”
—
At the Morning Court in Fengtian Gate, Emperor Jinglong sat upright upon the dragon throne behind the imperial desk. He wore a russet-yellow robe embroidered with dragon waves, with a cloud-shouldered round collar. His back was straight, his posture refined, both hands placed upon his knees in ritual form. Even the fine whiskers of the gold-threaded dragon upon his crown cap did not tremble.
The voices of the ministers reporting matters came and went by his ears, like the distant roar of tidewater beyond a sandbank—vague and noisy.
“…The Oirat Khan Hu Kuoli has died at Hastah City… Great Prince Kunle of the Oirats killed Wuhalang, son of the Tatar Grand Preceptor Tuohuotai… Raised an army for vengeance, attacked the Tatar royal court, drove straight in, slaughtered three Tatar vassal tribes… Later, when Tuohuotai returned with reinforcements, Kunle withdrew… Both sides suffered casualties…”
“…In this battle, the Tatars outwardly proclaimed ‘a great defeat of the Oirat cavalry, Grand Preceptor Tuohuotai’s valor once more spreading across the northern steppe, the enemy chief unable to withstand his might and fleeing in panic’… But according to our spies, though the Tatar royal court remains stable, their losses far exceeded those of the Oirats. Countless cattle and horses were plundered. Kunle’s cavalry came and went like the wind, never engaging Tuohuotai’s main army directly…”
“…The bandits in Henan split into two routes. The western led by Madman Liao, who crossed the river and struck at Weihui Prefecture, but was ambushed by troops under the Shilang and fled to the Nanyang region… The eastern led by brothers Wang Wu and Wang Chen, roving between Bozhou and Xuzhou, their movements elusive… They may head north to Shandong, or east toward Nanjing… Though not yet a true threat, still cannot be ignored…”
“… the lower Yellow River, the dikes burst, flooding vast homes and farmland. The local officials, powerless to stem the breach, leapt into the river clutching idols, praying to quell the waters…”
Suddenly, Emperor Jinglong rose to his feet, one hand pressing upon the edge of the imperial desk, standing as straight as a pillar upon the jade steps.
The Ministry of Works official in the midst of his report was startled, his words choking back into his throat, letting out a loud hiccup, and hastily knelt to beg forgiveness.
The Emperor did not look at him, nor at any of the civil or military officials. His gaze passed far beyond the Meridian Gate tower. Bathed in sunlight, his outline shone with a halo, and none in the court could clearly discern his expression.
In the silence, the Emperor spoke, his tone calm: “All matters reported shall be compiled by the Office of Transmission and submitted to the Grand Secretariat for deliberation. Court is dismissed.”
Lan Xi, standing behind the throne, immediately stepped forward, discreetly supporting the Emperor’s elbow.
At such close distance, only he could see that the Emperor’s hand gripping the edge of the imperial desk was tense, knuckles protruding white, as if exerting great force.
Lan Xi’s heart went cold, but he dared not speak, only bowing his head, maintaining his posture of support.
After a few breaths, the Emperor slowly released his grip, declined the support, and walked steadily from the throne into the inner hall.
A group of eunuchs followed closely. As the Emperor crossed the threshold into the right-side chamber, he stumbled slightly, then immediately commanded: “All of you out! Close the hall doors! Lan Xi!”
The eunuchs hurriedly bowed and withdrew, shutting the chamber doors.
Lan Xi hastened forward a few steps, catching hold of the Emperor’s body.
The Emperor’s frame trembled faintly, as though some immense force he strove to suppress still leaked out in traces.
Lan Xi felt a chilling illusion—that the Emperor was grappling with some unseen, colossal power. Trembling, he asked: “Your Majesty… shall I summon the Imperial Physicians?”
Sweat streamed down the Emperor’s temples, soaking his inner robe. Nearly crushing Lan Xi’s arm in his grasp, he ground out between his teeth: “No summons. Secretly call Chen Shiyu here.”
“At once.” Lan Xi bore the pain as he helped him lie down upon the couch. “Your Majesty, please wait. Master Yingxu is now stationed outside the court, ready at any time. He will arrive in moments.”
The Emperor closed his eyes without a word.
Before long, Chen Shiyu hurried in with Lan Xi. Without a word, he took the pulse and began acupuncture.
Each long needle had been dipped in oil from the lamp, heated red in the flame, then thrust deep into the major points of the head and neck. Lan Xi had watched many times before, yet still, every time, his heart leapt in fright.
Afterward, Chen Shiyu used fire needles to repeatedly prick points all across the Emperor’s scalp. Only after a long time, when he heard the Emperor slowly exhale, did he relax the tension between his brows and carefully withdraw the needles.
Lan Xi took a cotton cloth to wipe the fine beads of sweat from the Emperor’s forehead.
Chen Shiyu sat on a round stool before the couch and asked gravely: “Your Majesty must tell this old man the truth—when it strikes now, just how painful is it?”
The Emperor opened his eyes and looked at him: “Bearable.”
Chen Shiyu shook his head: “Your Majesty’s endurance is astounding, but you must understand, a person’s spirit is like an ox tendon—no matter how tough, if stretched to the limit, it will still snap. Lately, Your Majesty’s headaches have grown more frequent and more severe, yet the temporary blindness has never recurred. This shows the root of the illness is not in the eyes, but in the brain. My medical advice remains the same—Your Majesty must by no means exhaust heart and mind any further. Lay aside government affairs and rest the dragon body. Rely daily on decoctions alongside acupuncture, and when the pain is unbearable, use some mandrake.”
The Emperor asked in return: “If I follow your advice in everything, will this head ailment of mine be completely cured?”
Chen Shiyu was briefly taken aback, then sighed: “This old man dares not deceive the Son of Heaven. I can only say—the symptoms and the pain can be alleviated. Three parts treatment, seven parts nourishment, Your Majesty.”
The Emperor said: “Only an illness that cannot be eradicated requires more nourishing than curing. Master Yingxu, my earlier proposal—you truly will not reconsider?”
Chen Shiyu rose and bowed deeply: “This old man is ashamed, utterly ashamed! Even if I exhaust my studies, I cannot perform the deeds of the divine physician Hua Tuo… To confess the truth, earlier this month I attempted cranial surgery on two patients dying of head ailments who volunteered. The result: one never woke after the operation; the other woke with clear consciousness and speech—I thought it a success and rejoiced—but days later he was seized with a sudden high fever and died… I… I wronged them both. I dare not harm a third.”
The Emperor concealed the disappointment in his eyes: “Enough, I will not force you. Since I was appointed by Heaven, then let all be left to Heaven’s will.”
As Chen Shiyu rewrote prescriptions, adjusting the medicines, he was filled with guilt, his expression bleak.
The Emperor glanced at him: “No need for this. So long as I endure the moments of attack, afterward I am as normal. It seems this illness torments, but will not take my life.”
Lan Xi, fearing such words were ominous, blurted out: “—Your Majesty!”
The Emperor closed his eyes again, his voice low: “Prescribe what must be prescribed, apply the needles that must be applied. Whatever new methods there may be, do not hold back. But those four words ‘lay aside government affairs’—need not ever be spoken again.”
He drew a deep breath, suppressing the waves of pain in his skull, and continued: “As for mandrake… yes, it can relieve pain, but it also confuses the mind. I must keep my wits clear in handling state affairs. I cannot use it.”
Chen Shiyu urged: “In small amounts, the effect on the mind is minimal. Severe pain also harms the body, Your Majesty.”
The Emperor answered, unmoved: “In the revolt at Ganzhou years ago, Yu Wang was pierced through the chest by a halberd. During treatment, though the pain reached his very bones, he never used such a drug. I will all the less.”
Helpless, Chen Shiyu handed the written prescription to Lan Xi, gave a few last instructions, and took his leave.
As he opened the hall door to go out, a eunuch outside wavered, then finally stepped in. From beyond the heavy curtains, he knelt and kowtowed: “This slave deserves death, but since Your Majesty once said, if Lord Su requests audience, it must be reported at once…”
From within the curtains there was silence for a moment, then the Emperor’s voice came: “Transmit my word… not to see him.”
The eunuch froze, seemingly surprised.
Lan Xi barked: “Did you not hear the sacred decree?”
The eunuch hurriedly kowtowed: “This slave obeys! I will go convey it at once.”
“Wait.”
The eunuch stiffened.
“…Nothing. Go.”
The hall doors closed again.
Lan Xi held a medicated strip to moxibustion at the Emperor’s temples, speaking softly: “Perhaps, once Your Majesty feels better, summon him to audience then?”
The Emperor lay with eyes shut, expressionless.
Just when Lan Xi thought he was drifting into a doze, the Emperor suddenly said: “From this day, I will not summon him privately again. Lan Xi, you have served me many years. You know what words are to be spoken, and what words are not.”
Though the tone was calm, the meaning beneath was as sharp as a blade. Lan Xi’s fingers trembled. He answered respectfully: “This slave understands. Your Majesty may rest assured.”
—
“…His Majesty truly said this?” Su Yan asked in disbelief.
The eunuch who delivered the message replied: “Truly so.”
Su Yan’s mind was in a whirl. He pressed further: “Besides those words, did His Majesty say anything else… or what was he doing, what expression he wore… I beg gonggong to tell me.”
The eunuch frowned: “Lord Su speaks too far. How could a slave dare spy upon the sacred countenance, presume upon the holy will? In short, just two words—‘not see’!” Having said so, he gave a perfunctory bow and turned to leave.
Su Yan stood alone where he was, those two hard words slamming into his chest until it felt stifled and heavy.
Perhaps he is busy with state matters, with no time to see me… he thought silently. Maybe I should try again tomorrow.
—But no! Even if there is no time now, at least he should give a reason, arrange another time. How could he just—just coldly fling two words at me like that!
“Longing makes one thirsty,” “It’s been long since I’ve heard your pure fragrance”… The tender words in his letters still fresh before his eyes—and yet when I reach his very door, I am turned away without mercy?
The more Su Yan thought, the more stifled he became. He had raced back with whip and spur, endured the carriage jolting him like chestnuts in a pan, carsick until he vomited bile—only to return to the capital and not see a single one.
Zhu Helin being in Nanjing was one thing. But Qilang, knowing he had returned, still would not come out; and now even His Majesty refused to see him… If they were so busy, why write such honeyed words in letters, making it sound like he was of such importance!
Su Yan fumed, muttering a couple of curses under his breath, venting a little anger. With hands in his sleeves, he trudged back toward his carriage, yet still felt something was wrong.
Could there be some hidden reason? As he pondered, he lifted the carriage curtain. Just as his head entered, a force clamped his shoulder and yanked him inside. He cried out in surprise—
He fell into a man’s arms, squeezed so tightly he could not breathe, unable even to see the other’s face. He could only pound desperately on the man’s back, muffledly crying out: “Let… let go, you’re strangling your father to death!”
The other man chuckled with great amusement, loosening his hold slightly but not letting go, and buried his nose against Su Yan’s neck for a few deep inhales: “Fresh off your horse, haven’t even eaten a bite, and you run straight to the palace begging an audience. That’s what they call burning passion in a forbidden affair, isn’t it?”
That deep, resonant voice was all too familiar. Su Yan ground his teeth: “Zhu Xujing, what sudden fit has seized you this time? Let go—let go now!”
Yu Wang released him with a smile, even smoothed the wrinkles in his robe, and before Su Yan could flare up, he cut in first: “Have a meal with me. Ask whatever you like—I’ll tell you everything I know, hold nothing back.”
Su Yan had no desire to dine with him, but he did need a well-informed mouthpiece. A flicker of hesitation showed on his face.
Yu Wang pressed the advantage: “Shen Qi isn’t in the capital. Hardly anyone knows where he’s gone.”
“I’ll inquire at the Northern Surveillance Bureau.”
“The Crown Prince’s trip to Nanjing—there’s more to it than meets the eye.”
“…I can ask His Majesty.”
“I just heard it myself. My imperial brother said he would not see you. So cold, so heartless—like a faithless man who turns his back the moment he’s out of bed.”
Su Yan snapped back at once: “What’s it to your butt, huh? Get lost!”
Yu Wang burst out laughing, threw an arm around his shoulder, and dragged Su Yan’s hand firmly down to press against his own waist and hip: “Instead of spewing ‘get lost’ over and over, why don’t you feel for yourself?”
Su Yan’s palm met the hard muscle of his glute, the sheer brazenness of it stunning him.
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