The Crown Prince did not insist that Su Yan stay in his quarters overnight. He ordered an attendant to escort him to the side hall and arranged for a servant from the Su household to wait on him personally.
But the next morning, Su Yan didn’t even get the chance to sleep in. A disastrous message from the Nanjing Ministry of Justice prison struck him like a bolt from the blue,
The sound of approaching footsteps woke him. Still half-asleep, Su Yan rolled over under the quilt and mumbled, “So early?”
Zhu Helin sat down on the edge of the bed, his expression grave. “Yan Yiyi is dead.”
Su Yan froze for several seconds, then suddenly flung off the covers and sat up. “What?”
As he helped drape Su Yan’s outer robe over his shoulders, Zhu Helin said, “The Ministry of Justice just sent word. During the guards’ inspection at dawn, they found Yan Yiyi’s body, decapitated. The cell door was still locked from the outside.”
In terms of guilt, the eunuch’s death was no loss, but his timing couldn’t have been worse. The court had yet to conclude the case, and now the prime suspect had died brutally in prison. Even if the other accomplices didn’t recant their testimonies, the issue of ‘a dead man can’t testify’ would be enough to land the chief examiner in hot water.
And the chief examiner was the Crown Prince.
Clearly, someone didn’t want him to clear his name of desecrating the imperial tomb. The first person Su Yan suspected was Mister He, the mysterious man still hiding somewhere in Nanjing.
“Has Your Highness’s memorial to the capital been sent?” Su Yan asked.
“It went out yesterday,” Zhu Helin said. “The couriers split into two groups, one took the official road, the other went by the Grand Canal.”
Su Yan thought for a moment, then said, “Transfer the remaining accomplices to the capital immediately. Nanjing isn’t safe.”
Zhu Helin hesitated. “But the road may not be safe either. If they’re ambushed on the way…”
“If they’re ambushed, that only proves there’s a hand behind the scenes, and that it has nothing to do with you. But if they die in Nanjing, it’ll be another story. What if they accuse you of ‘torture to death’ or ‘unlawful execution’? Then what?”
Su Yan finished dressing, pulled on his boots, took a towel from a maid to quickly wipe his face, and strode toward the door.
Zhu Helin hurried after him with a teapot. “At least have some water first.”
Su Yan took it, rinsed his mouth, drank a few gulps, then handed it back. Zhu Helin tossed the teapot aside, and the two of them went down the steps together, mounted their horses, and galloped off.
They exited the palace through the northern Yuanwu Gate, passed through Taiping Gate in the inner city, and soon reached the Nanjing Ministry of Justice.
With a squad of guards in tow, they entered the prison. The eunuch’s corpse was still on the wooden bedboard, the mattress soaked through with blood.
After questioning the guards, inspecting the scene, and examining the body, the captain of the guards reported, “Your Highness, he’s been dead less than two hours. He was beheaded cleanly in his sleep, didn’t even have time to struggle.”
“Any clues about the killer?”
“There are no signs of forced entry on the door. I suspect the murderer somehow stole the guard’s key, entered, killed him swiftly, and returned the key before leaving. No extra footprints or handprints, whoever did it was calm and highly skilled.”
Zhu Helin exchanged a glance with Su Yan. Both thought the same thing, this had the mark of the Seven Kill Camp, assassins under Mister He’s command.
The stench of blood was overpowering. Su Yan turned and left the cell; Zhu Helin followed him out into the courtyard, frowning. “We’ll need to report this separately, and as for Mister He’s movements…”
Before he could finish, an attendant from the Crown Prince’s guard came rushing up. “Your Highness! Envoys from the capital have arrived, a delegation from the Censorate, the Embroidered Guards, and the Directorate of Ceremonial Affairs. They claim to be under imperial orders to investigate the Xiaoling case. They’re already at the Yingtian Prefectural Hall. With Prefect Gu imprisoned, there’s no one managing the prefecture, and from what the clerks say, they’re heading straight for the Nanjing Ministry of Justice.”
They really couldn’t have chosen a worse time! Su Yan gave a bitter smile and shook his head. If only they’d arrived a day earlier, no, even a few hours earlier, it would have been different.
But regret was useless now. Zhu Helin, oddly calm, clapped Su Yan on the shoulder. “You’re not involved in this matter. Go back to the Ministry of Rites first. I’ll handle them.”
“Your Highness…”
“It’s all right. The facts are plain enough, what is, is. The case is interconnected and well-documented. Yan Yiyi’s death won’t erase the truth.”
Seeing the Crown Prince so composed and steady, Su Yan felt more at ease. Smiling, he said, “Then I’ll go check in at the ministry, and afterward grab some breakfast for Your Highness from the market.”
“Good. I want soup dumplings and soft-boiled eggs, the ones outside are always better than the palace cooks.”
As he watched Su Yan’s departing figure, Zhu Helin instructed the commander of his guards, “Pick twenty of our best men, dress them as civilians, and follow to protect Su Shilang. Lead them yourself. If there’s an ambush, his safety comes first.”
The commander saluted and departed at once.
The market was bustling. Su Yan found an empty seat at a breakfast stall, ordered a plate of beef potstickers and a bowl of duck-blood vermicelli soup, and began eating slowly.
He had already noticed the few groups of loafers loitering not far behind him, they were actually the Crown Prince’s guards in disguise, assigned to protect him. The realization gave him a deep sense of security, along with a kind of proud satisfaction, as if thinking, “The boys I trained myself really are reliable.”
But just a few yards ahead of him, separated by seven or eight zhang, a man in a dark long robe and a bamboo hat was sitting alone beneath the eaves of another eatery. Through the gap in the bamboo curtain, his eyes were fixed unwaveringly on Su Yan.
“Guest, our shop’s most famous for its mini wontons. Would you like a bowl?” the waiter came over to greet him.
The man didn’t so much as twitch. A voice came from beneath the hat: “I hate wontons.”
The waiter blinked, then quickly smiled. “Then what would you like, sir? We’ve got other dishes too.”
A northern wind lifted the curtain, revealing half of Shen Qi’s face under the hat. His gaze locked onto that long-missed figure not far away, and an expression of restrained hunger crossed his face, a hunger that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul, an emptiness no tangible thing could fill.
“Give me… three taels’ worth of potstickers, and a bowl of duck-blood vermicelli soup.” His eyes followed the spoon in Su Yan’s hand, to the lips reddened by the hot broth, and when the other swallowed, his own Adam’s apple bobbed in response.
“Right away!” The waiter tossed the towel onto his shoulder and turned to fetch the food.
Su Yan never noticed the watching eyes. After finishing his breakfast, he packed a serving for the Crown Prince and ambled on horseback toward the palace.
By late morning, the Crown Prince finally returned to Chunhe Palace. Su Yan handed the food to the attendants to be reheated and asked, “How did it go?”
Zhu Helin took a gulp of tea and said, “Three censors, two commanders from the Embroidered Guards, and a eunuch from the Imperial Stables. The guards and the eunuch were quite respectful. The censors weren’t overly deferential, but they stuck to their duty, asked a number of critical questions. If they’re not fools, they should be able to see the truth behind the case.”
Half the weight on Su Yan’s heart lifted. He reasoned, “They’ll probably visit Zhong Mountain and the prison next to question the accomplices. With your memorial already submitted and their report following, the court should be able to reach a fair conclusion.”
Five days later, the White Deer case investigation team left Nanjing and returned to the capital.
By then it was the end of the twelfth lunar month. Though the Crown Prince said nothing, he inwardly longed for a decree from his royal father calling him home for the New Year, even if not in time for New Year’s Eve, at least for the Lantern Festival.
But from the twelfth month to New Year’s Eve, and from New Year’s Eve to the Lantern Festival, that decree never came.
While the city bustled with festive spirit, Nanjing’s officials considered organizing a celebration to please the Crown Prince. Yet Zhu Helin dismissed them with a single sentence: “Unable to serve my royal father in person, I have no heart to celebrate the new year. The palace will hold no banquets. Do as you wish.”
Seeing the crown prince so disheartened, Su Yan’s heart ached. He arranged some quiet entertainments and took turns amusing the prince, cuju, polo, shadow plays, it felt like the early days in the Eastern Palace all over again.
By the end of the spring holiday, the Crown Prince’s skill at mahjong had improved considerably, while Su Yan, engrossed in studying an imperial Go manual, had also made some progress.
The Crown Prince, being terrible at Go and jealous of Su Yan’s obsession, snatched the book from him. “Where’d this come from?” he demanded, pretending not to know.
“From the imperial study,” Su Yan replied sheepishly. “I kept losing to His Majesty. He finally threw me this manual, saying I should study it, that the key to winning lies not in the tactics, but in commanding the whole board.”
Zhu Helin snorted. “Even the national Go master admits defeat to my royal father. Why bother playing Go with him? Play chess instead, or better yet, five-in-a-row, your specialty.”
Su Yan laughed awkwardly. “Lost those too. His Majesty’s mastery of one game extends to all.”
“Then how about…” Zhu Helin paused, then grinned. “How about mahjong! I may lack skill, but luck’s on my side.”
Indeed, the lucky crown prince won four rounds in a row, not only wiping out Su Yan, but also bankrupting the commander of his palace guards.
Driven to desperation, the guard nearly offered his clothes as collateral, then returned later carrying a tabby cat.
“The kitchen eunuchs kept complaining about a cat stealing food,” he explained. “I caught it the other night. Look, fine coat, glossy fur, just a bit wild. If I’ve nothing else left to wager, I’ll stake it.”
The Crown Prince examined the cat. Its coat was patterned with deep chestnut and pale gold rings, its face round, muzzle white, eyes like glazed gems, a strikingly beautiful feline.
He’d always been weak toward furry creatures, whether cats or lions. Reaching out, he scratched the cat’s ears, back, and chin until it purred in delight, then, without hesitation, abandoned its former master and leapt into his arms.
Cuddling the big tabby, the Crown Prince laughed, “You’ve lost again.”
Half an hour later, the guard left the hall hollow-eyed. He had lost his cat forever.
Having had his fill of petting, the crown prince handed the cat to Su Yan. “Name it.”
Su Yan, who’d never cared for pets, least of all cats, which he thought fickle and haughty, humored him and said, “It’s a tabby. Why bother with names?”
“Fine. Then Lihua it is.” Snow fell quietly outside the window, and the palace lay silent in the spring night. The prince leaned forward, perhaps to stroke the cat through the minister, perhaps to touch the minister through the cat, and murmured, “Just because spring is fading, I’ll keep this to accompany the pear blossoms. This is our cat now.”
Something stirred in Su Yan’s heart. He lowered his gaze to the cat.
Lihua mewed sweetly, “Meow.”
—
After the Lantern Festival, the imperial decree from the capital finally arrived.
But instead of summoning the Crown Prince home, it ordered him to vacate the Nanjing palace and move to a cottage at the foot of Zhong Mountain, to remain there in self-reflection and atonement, guarding the imperial tomb.
Zhu Helin read the imperial decree three times over, caught between disbelief and the bitter sense that he had somehow expected it all along.
His wise father, the Emperor, had written clearly enough:
Nanjing has long enjoyed peace and stability. Yet since your arrival to perform the ancestral rites, disaster has followed, it is hard to say this is not divine retribution. The main culprit has been captured, yet under your interrogation he died mysteriously in prison, there must have been deceit.
The accomplices have already been executed; the White Deer case is hereby concluded. It is not that you are blameless, but that I, as your royal father, choose to spare you further humiliation. Reflect deeply on yourself. Ask whether you truly meet the moral standard required of a Crown Prince. Cherish what you have, and do not disappoint me again.
As Zhong Mountain has yet to be restored, you are to take up residence at the foot of the imperial mausoleum and remain there in service, guarding the tomb of the founding emperor. When the Taizu Emperor forgives you, then we shall speak again of your return to the capital.
“What does he mean, ‘hard to say it’s not divine retribution’? What does he mean, ‘there must have been deceit’? If he wants to condemn me, he’ll always find an excuse!”
Zhu Helin flung the decree to the ground. His initial anger turned swiftly to despair. “Exiled to guard a tomb, with no set end? That’s banishment in all but name! And when will the Taizu Emperor forgive me, am I supposed to wait for him to send me a dream? Such a flimsy, empty pretext… pretext…”
His voice broke. He sank onto the steps of the hall, clutching his head in his hands.
Su Yan stood in silence for a while, then stepped forward, picked up the decree, and read it carefully from beginning to end. Finally, he let out a weary sigh, rolled the decree, and placed it gently on Zhu Helin’s knees.
“Throwing an imperial edict to the ground is an act of grave disrespect,” he said quietly. “If anyone with an agenda saw it and reported you, it could bring another round of bloodshed.”
Zhu Helin, still holding his head, muttered, “What am I supposed to do now? Just obey, go live by that tomb for who knows how long? Wait until one day Father finds some new pretext, and…” He choked on the word before forcing it out: “…and deposes me, leaves me to die forgotten before the mausoleum?”
Su Yan shot to his feet and began pacing before him, raising his voice: “And what should I do? Obediently take a public beating, swallow my pride, and never speak a word of dissent again? Wait until the Wei family crushes me underfoot like an ant?”
Zhu Helin looked up, startled by his outburst.
Su Yan lifted his arms, continuing with fierce self-derision: “What should I do? Keep floating along with the rot of the bureaucracy, stop struggling for reform and change? Until one day the people curse me, ‘he claimed to restore fairness in Shaanxi, and turned out another greedy official’?
“What should I do? Just sit here in Nanjing collecting my pay, wasting away all ambition, and cry over every hardship with the Crown Prince? Until one day you’re deposed, and I, as your ally, am dragged down and executed with you…”
Zhu Helin lunged forward and clamped a hand over Su Yan’s mouth, but his force was too great; the two of them tumbled to the floor together.
“Stop it, just stop!” Zhu Helin cried, his voice thick with shame and anguish. “I know I was wrong! Qinghe…”
Su Yan pried his hand off and gasped, “Since the day I entered officialdom, if I’d ever once given up in despair when things got hard, there’d already be grass growing on my grave taller than you! And you call this hardship? At least you’re alive, at least you still hold your title. As long as you don’t break, there’s a chance for restoration someday. But if you collapse first… Where’s my sword? I swear I’ll cut ties right now, leave office, and flee for my life!”
Zhu Helin grabbed his arm desperately. “Don’t go! Don’t leave me!”
Su Yan snapped back, “I’m leaving! We’re done, and the cat’s mine!”
Zhu Helin, eyes rimmed red, burst out laughing. “Fine. The cat’s yours, I’m yours too. Wherever you go, I’ll follow. So why not stay here together, lie low, and wait for the right moment?”
Su Yan exhaled hard, the fight draining out of him. He sprawled flat on the floor and murmured after a long pause, “Good. As long as you’ve come to your senses.”
Zhu Helin leaned his arm across Su Yan’s rising chest, draped one leg over his thigh, and said in a low voice, “As long as you’re here, I’m not afraid of anything. I can endure anything.”
“Got it, now get off, you’re crushing me!” Su Yan slapped his arm in protest. “You’re three years younger than me, but built like a rock, and d*mn heavy.”
Just then, Lihua the cat appeared from nowhere, perched on the table, peering down at the two men on the floor. Her glassy eyes narrowed with amusement.
Back arched, tail lifted, she sprang into the air and landed squarely on Su Yan’s chest.
It was like being struck with a hammer. Su Yan let out a strangled yelp, nearly coughed up blood, and clutched his chest. “No kneading! Please, no kneading!”
Zhu Helin jumped in fright, swatting the cat off and anxiously massaging Su Yan’s chest. “You okay? Are you okay?”
Lihua rolled back to her feet, tail flicking furiously, she’d never been treated so roughly by her human servants. With an indignant yowl, she bolted out of the hall.
Catching his breath at last, Su Yan muttered tearfully, “That d*mn cat weighs more than you!”
Zhu Helin couldn’t bear to see him hurt, but he also couldn’t bear to part with the cat. “Next time you lie down,” he said sheepishly, “I’ll make sure she’s shut in her pen first.”
—
The Crown Prince gave up his ceremonial escort, taking only a few attendants and guards, with the tabby cat in his arms. Dressed in plain blue robes, he left the Nanjing palace for the tomb at Zhong Mountain.
By rule, while guarding the mausoleum, he could no longer wear finery, only blue or white; he was forbidden wine, music, dance, and any other pleasures.
He brought few belongings, keeping everything simple, and made no formal announcement, his party departed quietly before dawn.
Su Yan, also dressed in plain clothes, accompanied him for dozens of miles, until they reached the humble residence by the tomb that would now be the crown prince’s home. Only after repeated urging did he turn back toward the city.
The sky was dark and heavy, snow threatening again. Su Yan had no desire to return to the cold, empty ministry offices or his rented quarters. He wandered slowly toward the market instead, fingers and toes numb with cold, longing for a bowl of scalding, numbing-spicy soup to thaw the chill pressing out from his heart.
Not far behind him, Shen Qi hesitated, following at a distance.
The Crown Prince was exiled to guard the imperial tomb. Though his title remained, in truth he had already fallen out of favor, nearly deposed. The tribute demanded by the chess player had now been more or less fulfilled.
Before leaving Nanjing, he wanted to appear openly before Su Yan, hold his wife tightly in his arms, see with his own eyes that look of surprise and joy, and hear with his own ears that one call of “Qilang.”
They had been apart far too long, from one spring to the next. Life is a journey against the current, how many springs does one have to spare?
Shen Qi bit down hard and stepped out of the shadows. He had only gone a few steps when an old man in rough cloth garments, a black headscarf wrapping his hair, suddenly blocked his path.
The old man was dry and thin, yet stood as straight as a spear. With his back to Shen Qi, he planted himself in the middle of the alley like an iron rider guarding a narrow pass, impossible to break through.
A sharp, blade-like pressure filled the air. Shen Qi placed a hand on his hilt and demanded sternly, “Who are you? Why do you block my way?”
The old man did not turn around. His tone was clipped and cold: “The Northern Surveillance Bureau, does it answer to you now?”
A chill pricked at Shen Qi’s spine. His thumb pressed against the guard of his blade, ready to strike.
The old man let out a dry sneer. “The Embroidered Uniform Guards these days, each generation worse than the last. Can’t even find a proper Commander. With your sort of quality, all you’re good for is managing the prisons.”
Shen Qi said coldly, “Who are you? Keep playing riddles, and don’t blame me for being merciless.”
The old man turned around. His face was aged but not withered, thick brows, leopard eyes, and a sharp, hooked nose that drew attention.
Shen Qi froze for a heartbeat, then quickly searched through the countless portraits in his memory. His voice slipped out before he could stop it: “You’re…”
The old man said, “Former Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard and Grand Marshal of the Five Military Offices, Yuan Bin.”
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