The headquarters of the Hewei were located in the southwest corner of the imperial city, adjoining the Yulin Guards, while the Xuanshi Hall still occupied its old site, with its bureau set within the palace city itself. Because of this, Xie Jun rarely happened to encounter Xiao Yao on his way to duty.
Xie Jun was walking on foot, while Xiao Yao rode in a carriage. Catching up from behind, Xie Jun stepped forward and saluted, “It has been many days since I last saw you, Master.”
Xiao Yao lifted the carriage curtain. “Get in; I’ll give you a lift.”
The master and disciple settled into the carriage. Xie Jun was dressed in his official uniform, yet Xiao Yao looked almost no different than she always had; the way she had appeared entering and exiting the Star-Plucking Tower for over a decade was exactly how she appeared now. The Xuanshi reported directly to Lu Lingcong; to put it bluntly, they were the emperor’s “hounds and hawks.” Which court official would dare to openly criticize Xiao Yao?
“The other day I went into the palace to sit and chat with your little uncle. I heard him mention that you intend to resign from your duties at the Hewei in a while?”
Xie Jun nodded, saying with emotion, “Master has always known that I still carry lingering fears because of my family’s past. To be honest, it was your decision to accept the position of Chief of Xuanshi that truly took me by surprise.”
Xiao Yao cocked an eyebrow. “Do I look like someone who is indifferent to fame and fortune?”
Xie Jun smiled and shook his head. “I simply felt that Master allied with His Majesty because of a benefactor’s dying wish, laboring for years only to clear the names of your innocent clansmen. Now that the debt of gratitude has been repaid, I thought you would set down the heavy burden and go off to live a life of leisure and freedom.”
Xiao Yao fell silent for a moment after hearing this, then said, “This name was given to me by my master when he took me in. But how could he fully know what I truly want for myself?”
She gave a cunning smile. “Furthermore, does whether a person lives a life of leisure and freedom truly depend on where they are? Those who used to listen to my songs and flute in the pleasure houses now have to bow and respectfully call me ‘My Lord’ when they see me. How is that not the most exhilarating triumph in the world?”
Xie Jun felt a stir in his heart; he nodded instinctively and fell into deep thought.
As the carriage approached the gates of the Hewei, Xiao Yao asked once more, “You intend to resign, but I doubt Lady Li will do the same?”
Xie Jun snapped back to attention. “She won’t. First, Fangchen handles everything very well; second, her mother and uncle want her to gain broad experience. From what I can see, there is still a bright future ahead of her.”
Xiao Yao said with evident pleasure, “She’s exactly at the age where she can accomplish great things. If it weren’t for feeling sorry for you, wanting to let you serve alongside her and see her every day, I would’ve already gone to Lu Zifeng to ask for her and personally nurture her myself. But this works out just fine. Once you leave today, I’ll go tomorrow and ask Miss Li what she thinks.”
Xie Jun felt helpless and scratched the back of his head. “…Master!”
Xiao Yao gave a playful roll of her eyes, laughing at his embarrassment. She pointed a finger toward Xie Jun’s chest from a distance, “Jun’er, it all lies within this heart.”
Savoring those words, Xie Jun dismounted from the carriage and walked into the administrative hall somewhat dazed. When he looked up, he saw that Li Ye had already arrived ahead of him.
The Hewei had been personally promoted by Lu Lingcong and tempered through real combat under Lu Lingzhen for several years; though Xie Jun held the position of commander, he was far from having total confidence that he possessed their heartfelt support.
However, Li Ye sat composed behind a desk with her back mostly turned to him while giving instructions to several subordinates in the hall. Her voice was not loud, it was steady and calm, possessing a quality that could truly be called “unfazed.”
Xie Jun stood outside the hall, watching her from a moderate distance. It wasn’t until the subordinates had received their orders and withdrawn that Li Ye seemed to sense something; she turned her face and discovered his presence.
She might have offered a small smile. Xie Jun started, hurriedly averting his gaze.
For many years, Lady Wu had maintained the habit of not eating after noon. Ordinarily, her children and grandchildren would come to Mingluan Hall to keep her company for lunch, but today even breakfast had been served late. By noon, the imperial family gathered directly at Zhaoyang Hall for a simple meal together.
The dishes began to arrive before everyone was even seated. After washing his hands, Lu Lingcong caught sight of a dish of Hushu braised duck on the lacquered tray and said, “Set a few pieces aside on a separate plate.”
the palace attendants complied immediately. Lu Lingcong took the saucer and walked toward the shrine in the side hall, where he found Lu Shuning standing on an embroidered stool, leaning forward to arrange a bunch of apricot blossoms into a vase. On the wall behind the altar hung a portrait with fresh ink; the girl in the painting wore red robes and carried a sword on her back. The inscription in the lower corner read: “A sketch of Zhenzhen; created by niece Shuning in the fifth month of the first year of Yanjia, inscribed by sister-in-law Jing.”
The palace attendants immediately complied. Lu Lingcong picked up the dish and walked to the side hall’s shrine, only to see Lu Shuning standing on an embroidered stool, leaning forward as she prepared to place a branch of apricot blossoms into a vase. Behind the altar table hung a newly inked portrait on the wall: a young woman in a red robe bearing a sword. Beneath it was an inscription: “True-life sketch of Zhenzhen; painted in the first year of Yanjia, fifth month, by her niece Shuning, transcribed on her behalf by her sister-in-law Jing.”
“Can you reach it?” Lu Lingcong asked.
“Of course.” Lu Shuning adjusted the flowers to make them more staggered and graceful, then hopped down lightly. She glanced back and chirped, “Ah, duck! Aunt’s favorite.”
Xie Jing’s voice drifted in from the main hall: “The food is getting cold! Where has everyone run off to?”
The father and daughter returned together just as Lu Shuqing entered the hall. As he changed out of his outer robe, he muttered under his breath, “Mother is the funniest of all. At night he urges everyone to sleep, and barely two quarters past the first watch he’ll say, ‘Look, it’s already the second watch of the night.’ At noon he hurries people to eat, pointing at the cold dishes and saying, ‘The food’s already gone cold…’”
Xie Jing truly had not heard him clearly: “What did you say?”
Lu Shuqing: “Nothing!”
Once they were settled and had begun their meal, Xie Jing asked Lu Shuning casually, “What kind of flowers did you pick for your aunt today?”
“They’re apricot blossoms I snapped while passing by Taiye Pond. They are jade-white. These are the last few branches; I expect they’ll all be gone after the next rain.”
“It doesn’t matter, the begonias outside the Orchid Pavilion are all in bloom.” Lu Shuqing said. “I’ll bring some back tomorrow.”
Since there were only the four of them at the table, Lu Lingcong found the space a bit cramped and did not have the palace attendants step forward to serve the dishes. He reached out an arm to grab a serving of asparagus, accidentally bumping into Xie Jing’s left elbow as he held his teacup, causing him to hiss and draw in a sharp breath of cold air.
Hearing the sound, both Lu Shuqing and Lu Shuning looked up at their mother. Beneath the table, Xie Jing nudged Lu Lingcong’s knee with his own while saying simply, “It’s nothing; the cup is just a bit hot.”
Lu Lingcong knew very well that it was because Xie Jing had spent half of the night before last pressed against the fox-fur-covered floor of the West Pavilion study during their intimacy; he still hadn’t fully recovered, and his left arm remained painfully sore.
He leaned in inconspicuously and whispered, “I’ll run a pool of hot water tonight and give you a proper massage.”
It was only after Lu Lingcong and the children had left Zhaoyang Hall that Yin Chou came alone to take her leave of Xie Jing.
Over a month ago, she had already expressed her intent to depart and had said bid her farewell to Lu Shuqing and Lu Shuning several times. Yet, when the actual moment of separation arrived, she couldn’t bear the thought of it and decided to keep it from the siblings, leaving the palace quietly.
Although Xie Jing had vaguely anticipated her departure, he still tried to hold on to a thread of hope: “Imperial Physician Qin is already advanced in years and plans to retire after this Mid-Autumn Festival. Zifeng and I originally intended to leave the position of deputy chief physician for you.”
Yin Chou simply shook her head. “At home, I’m perfectly comfortable serving as Qing’er and Ning’er’s nursemaid. But in the palace, to serve as wet nurse and caretaker to the crown prince and princess; that feels too distant for me, and a little beyond my abilities.”
Xie Jing understood exactly what Yin Chou meant. There had been almost no worldly sophisticated maneuvering to speak of in the Prince’s Mansion, but the palace was a place of mixed company with countless sharp eyes from both the court and the inner chambers watched constantly, and the instances of nepotism and bribery were innumerable. As the woman closest to and most trusted by the Crown Prince and Princess, second only to their grandmother, Yin Chou would inevitably have to face many “unseemly” troubles and entanglements.
She smiled and called him by his courtesy name, “Zhiwu.”
Xie Jing shuddered, and the dam of his memory was instantly broken as if by a sudden flood. The beautiful woman who had once stormed into his room years ago in the Star-Plucking Tower, cursing without any restraint amid the flutes and strings, came crashing vividly back into his mind today.
Not long ago, Xiao Yao had sat across from him and spoken of similar topics. Yin Chou and Xiao Yao were arguably the two friends Xie Jing knew best. Their backgrounds were worlds apart, the “ways” by which they established themselves were not the same, and the choices they made at the crossroads of life were diametrically opposed.
Yet their original intentions were as firm as bedrock—unchanged by status, unyielding even in the face of life and death.
“That’s right,” he said while offering a faint smile in return. “On the very first day we met, you said you wanted to reopen your family’s medical hall. Though it is a bit late—sixteen years late; you must, after all, be as good as your word.”
Xie Jing escorted Yinchou all the way to the Gongche Gate. Standing at the head of the white marble bridge over the moat, he watched as her carriage and horses grew smaller and smaller, turning into a mere black speck before vanishing completely, leaving behind only the empty gate.
Passersby, do not listen to the water before the palace gates, this very sound is what drains away all passing years.
On the way back to Zhaoyang Hall, Xie Jing walked slowly ahead alone with the eunuchs and palace attendants trailing far behind, following in silence.
The plaza outside Shenlong Hall was vast and solemn through all four seasons; only on New Year’s Eve, when the emperor held a banquet for the officials, did it briefly come alive with a few lighter sounds. It was there and then that Xie Jing had first encountered Cui Shushi; she had looked at him coldly through the lights and silhouettes, indifferent to the approaching eighth year of Zhenyou.
The Orchid Pavilion was already locked by this hour, no longer open for officials of various departments to search through archives. Back then, Lu Lingzhang had specifically carved out a space within the Orchid Pavilion to find a location convenient for both Lu Shuqing and Zhang Yan. Now, the entire palace complex was at Lu Shuqing’s disposal, yet he still spent his days huddling within that slightly cramped study.
Lately, rumors of ghosts in the Linhai Hall seemed to have become popular among the palace attendants. This was a “privilege” shared equally by every hall in the Taichu Palace, which was hardly surprising. Perhaps at this very moment, just inches beyond where Xie Jing could not see, the spirits of Lu Lingzhen and Lu Lingzhang still lingered in their childhood forms; laughing and playing around him, running through the bottomless depths of those eternal corridors.
There had been very few “True Sons of Heaven” born in the Jiuhua Hall, and now Lu Shuqing was the only one left; one could not even say if there would be others in future generations. In truth, when selecting the empress’s residence, Xie Jing had suggested that the Jiuhua Hall would suffice—the carved beams and painted rafters were the same throughout the palace, so what did it matter where one slept? Lu Lingcong had refused because the circumstances surrounding Lu Shuqing’s birth had left him with lingering fears. Xie Jing did not mind because he had heard his mother’s voice during his most difficult hour, and so, very little of his fear remained.
As Xie Jing stepped through the gates of Zhaoyang Hall, the sun was sinking in the west, and neither of his children had yet returned.
Lu Shuqing had gone out of the palace to play in the afternoon. Xie Jing thought to himself: was this not the very reason they had ascended the throne? It was so that Lu Shuqing could still carve out a few idle hours from life, briefly stepping away from the burdens of being heir apparent to seek out the circle of friends he had chosen for himself—friends who might one day become the core ministers he chose himself.
There were major issues that had long been mired in corruption: the expansion of the imperial examinations to select scholars, the reformation of land systems and tax laws, the friction between the gentry, the commoners, and the merchants, and the matters of war and peace regarding the borders and trade routes with the Northern Desert… Even if these could not all be resolved during the years of Lu Lingcong’s reign, they would still set the stage for Lu Shuqing to begin.
Lu Lingcong and Xie Jing had agreed that every three days Lu Shuqing would be allowed to take part in the discussions of Political Council; the two of them would also be present, while Xie Jing would only listen and not speak. As for the memorials submitted to the Department of State Affairs, the senior officials would first sift through them by selecting only those of great importance or difficult to decide upon to be presented to Lu Lingcong’s desk. Lu Lingcong would then bring back any matters he could not settle to the Imperial Study, where he and Xie Jing would deliberate over them together.
But more often than not, all these elaborate procedures were waived altogether. On the day of the empress conferment ceremony, Lu Lingcong had already written out in plain black and white that, in court affairs and matters of state, Xie Jing’s authority would be as follows—he would not kneel in court assemblies, would be addressed as a minister rather than a consort, and would attend to governance without any curtain of seclusion.
At twilight, the inner hall was always at its most silent as if everyone had vanished into thin air in the blink of an eye. Xie Jing walked step by step through the ginger-yellow glow of the sunset; every piece of furniture in the room was sliced in two by the light, one half a deep gold and the other a profound grey.
On the couch facing west, a stack of scrolls lay in disarray—all of them texts Lu Shuqing was fond of and read every day. He was used to taking his afternoon naps there, and the palace attendants did not dare to put them away without permission.
Xie Jing stopped nearby and reached out to pick up a book lying face down. He found it to be a volume of miscellaneous notes and essays; Lu Shuqing had already reached the sixteenth and final volume. It seemed that as the boy grew older, much like Xie Jing himself back then, he no longer had the patience for the classics of the sages, instead spending his days pondering over poetry and lyrics to show off sophisticated prose.
He turned the book over and brought it toward the brighter window while skimming a random passage: “…The melody of ‘Prelude to the Song of Six Prefectures’ was originally a drum-and-wind military tune. In recent times, enthusiasts have set lyrics of historical lament to its sound… Its tone is tragic and solemn, reinforced by the facts of ancient rises and falls. To hear it sung causes one to feel a deep sense of melancholy and loss…”
Rises and falls.
Xie Jing started slightly, murmuring those words under his breath. He remained rooted to the same spot, standing motionless for a long time.
Even the lyrics of military tunes loved to dwell on the rise and fall of things. What he had observed with cold detachment, and what he had been forced to experience firsthand, was ultimately nothing more than an embellishment to these rises and falls—the rise and fall of dynasties, of great clans, of families, and of a single soul. White bones and green ashes beneath fields of overgrown wormwood.
Yet all of this, in the face of the eternal flow of rivers and the passage of sun and moon, was nothing more than a speck of dust. A hundred or a thousand years on, people like them would long have returned to earth and turned to smoke and ash, but the Qinhuai River would still be there, the Zhuque Bridge would still be there, the Yangtze River would still be there, and the city of Jinling would also still be there.
Xie Jing suddenly recalled the kite string that had snapped in his hand many years ago and that purple swallow, which had vanished into the distant, boundless sky without a trace.
Times change and pass; the swallows that once circled before the halls of the Wang and Xie families have long since vanished without trace, yet the slanting sun at the mouth of Wuyi Lane remains as it always was. The era he had walked through came crashing down in an instant; beneath the titles of kings and consorts, emperors and empresses, beneath the elaborate honorifics in life and the burdensome posthumous names in death, who could dare claim they would remain forever young?
Lu Shuqing rode upon his white horse, “Qiong Xu.” Ahead of him, his companions scrambled down the hillside while looking back to call his name and urging him to catch up. The person who had once gifted him that white horse never returned; only a cenotaph remained on the opposite bank of the river, year after year accompanied by fragrant grasses that spread all the way to the horizon.
Yanji was bathed in the blood-red glow of the setting sun. While the twilight should have stirred melancholy, Lu Shuqing gazed upon the scene and felt a steady, surging warmth.
Lu Shuning took her leave of Madam He, rolled up the sketch she had completed that afternoon and tucked it under her arm. She slipped out of the Painting Academy through a side gate after refusing the eunuch’s offer to have her ride in the palace carriage. Just beyond a single wall, in the broad inner courtyard of the Department of Imperial Attire, silk that had just been dyed hung everywhere, waiting to be dried in the evening light until it achieved the most even, luminous hues.
She dashed from carmine to primrose-yellow, then ducked from pale cerulean into lilac, moving so swiftly she was like a bird nearly taking flight. Her hand caught the wind as she took a shortcut home, leaving behind the trailing ripples of a rainbow.
Xie Jing set down his book scroll and continued walking inward. Ahead, all that held his gaze was a mother-of-pearl inlaid screen standing firmly before the sleeping chamber. Beyond the screen, a figure could be faintly seen reclining as though he had been waiting for him for a long time.
“You are here?” Xie Jing asked softly.
The sound of a chess piece striking the board echoed from the inner room. Lu Lingcong replied, “I am here.”
“Accompany me to finish this game,” he said to him. “You take the white piece.”
Xie Jing walked toward Lu Lingcong but did not go around to the other side. Instead, he stopped on this side of the screen and slowly sat down at an angle. Through the gauzy veil in the dim light, he fixed his gaze on Lu Lingcong’s profile.
A lingering, balmy breeze drifted into the hall. Their first meeting, in its truest sense, had happened exactly during this season—the spring of sixteen years ago, the spring of Xie Jing’s sixteenth year; a spring of absolute purity, of infatuation, and of a spirited soul.
The setting sun brushed past the sloping eaves and splashed across the gauze of the screen. The shadows of flowers, birds, and people were all sewn firmly into place with fine, dense stitches with their edges fading into a faint, mournful circle of gold thread. It was no ordinary landscape or portrait of a lady. The wisteria, the magnolias, and the pond terrace all remained in their familiar forms. it was that boundless, sea-like depth of late spring, that very sight seen when looking out from the window of Xie Jing’s study at Prince Zhao’s Mansion.
Sixteen years have passed like a single dream; life’s long sorrows flow east like the river, never to return.
Fortunately, they still remember those springs.
And so, they embroidered the spring upon the brocade screen, praying that it would never wither.
The End of the Main Text of “Prelude to the Song of Six Prefectures”
T/N: We’ve reaching the end guys, all extra will be posted tomorrow, please come and check out tomorrow ^^
