Chapter 12#

Tonight, the Xihui Tower of Shengye Lane was packed with distinguished guests.#

Earlier that day, Grand Preceptor Pei had made a fool of himself with the “Eyebrow Charm” incident, yet here he was now in a golden-red interwoven ceremonial robe, weaving between the banquet tables with a bright smile, offering wine and exchanging pleasantries. His eyes sparkled with such vitality that there wasn’t a trace of the morning’s embarrassment. Many of the noble guests who had daughters breathed a quiet sigh of relief: This was the former top scholar of the imperial examinations, the current Grand Chancellor—so young, so handsome! If one were to name Pei Dan’s worst flaw, it would be that he had once divorced a man. But that, conversely, proved something—perhaps he still preferred women…

All the guests had taken their seats. Nearly all of the provincial tribute envoys he had invited had arrived too. He had been glancing around for quite a while but had not spotted Feng Bing or his young servant Chunshi. He had spent considerable effort preparing today’s memorial to the throne, and had arranged for several officials to echo and support him at court. He believed the imperial decree should have already pardoned Feng Bing by now.

Since Feng Bing had left, this was his fifth birthday celebration. Every year he went all out. November twenty-fifth was always bitterly cold, so he would have longevity lanterns lit in every corner of the restaurant, silver charcoal stoves set burning, and the wind-and-percussion ensemble borrowed from the Music Bureau to perform song and dance without pause throughout the night. He had also booked all the rooms behind the restaurant so that guests who grew weary could rest in that warm haven. He was a man who loved liveliness, loved vibrant colors, loved indulgence.

But in the past—during the three years he had been with Feng Bing—he had not celebrated his birthday this way. When he was eighteen, Feng Bing had taken him to Leyou Plateau, accompanying him to gaze at stars in the wild. The next morning, they broke through ice to catch fish and roast them for him. In the end, he got a stomachache and had to hire a carriage to rush back for medical treatment. When he was nineteen, Feng Bing had been sent on official business to the suburbs of the capital, but had a servant deliver a seven-colored glazed lantern as a gift. The moment he received it, he rode straight to the city gates. At the very moment the gates were closing, Feng Bing finally appeared. He scooped Feng Bing up onto the front of his saddle and galloped through the streets of Chang’an together. The result: three months’ salary docked and confinement to his home for self-reflection. When he was twenty, the day of his capping ceremony had been divined to fall in the auspicious third month, and his birthday was moved up accordingly. They returned together to the ancestral Pei estate in Hedong, where the clan elders officiated the capping rite. He felt he was finally an adult, so he grabbed Feng Bing’s hand to go pay respects at the ancestral shrine—only to be chased out again by Third Great-Uncle with a broom.

His courtesy name had been chosen by Feng Bing. At the time, they had shut him outside the door and spent the better part of the day settling on the two characters Yunwang. He had thought the elders had pooled their wisdom. It was only after the divorce that Uncle Wu had somehow found a rhyme dictionary, its pages covered in circles, underlines, and hasty annotations—especially many entries containing the character wang (“hope”)—with “Yunwang” finally circled in red. He recognized Feng Bing’s handwriting: gentle and steady, yet concealing a cool, resolute refusal to turn back. Just as, when they divorced, Feng Bing had not asked a single extra question—simply and calmly answered, “Alright.”

He should have known. Feng Bing was not someone who would argue.

Parting ways like birds that fly to opposite skies—this was the price the young man in him had long accepted. He had never dared to hope to reclaim the past. But should he not perhaps have refrained from asking the Emperor to summon Feng Bing back? No matter how harsh and cutting the winds and frost of Laozhou had been, when the late Emperor was still on the throne, he had at least looked after Feng Bing properly. Now that Feng Bing had arrived in Chang’an, it was as if darkness had fallen beneath a lamp—after meeting Feng Bing, he could no longer see anything clearly.

His body felt slightly heavier. Uncle Wu had draped a wind-breaking cloak over his shoulders, and only then did he snap back to his senses, realizing he had wandered onto the corridor outside the restaurant at some point without knowing. The waning moon after the snowfall was especially cold, its brilliant light stretching ten thousand miles, utterly indifferent to him.

“I should go check on him,” Pei Dan murmured. “I heard he knelt for two nights.”

Uncle Wu said, “An imperial decree was delivered this afternoon, telling him to stop kneeling.”

Pei Dan said, “How can his body endure it? It’s this cold.”

Uncle Wu said, “Perhaps he is resting.”

Pei Dan fell silent.

“I did invite him.” His voice dropped even lower, like that of a wronged child. “If the Emperor hadn’t interfered, perhaps he would have come tonight. Tribute envoys from all over the realm are here…”

Uncle Wu looked at him for a long moment without a word, then sighed.

Perhaps the fact that Feng Bing could not come because of all this had, instead, given Pei Dan some other hope. He was always like this—stubborn, always pushing his willful assumptions through to the very end.

Pei Dan cupped his face in his hands and breathed out, and everything blurred. He pulled the cloak around himself and walked back inside. Some guests had already gone home; the rest were either passing cups and talking drunken nonsense, or had already fallen asleep and been carried by servants to the back rooms. Pei Dan himself had drunk quite a bit; his cheeks were flushed. He stood at the entrance of the decorated, lantern-lit hall, and after a moment, suddenly turned around. “I’m going to see him.”

Uncle Wu couldn’t stop him. He led his horse out from behind the restaurant, mounted with practiced ease, and cracked the whip once. The sound of hooves echoed through the dark night. But he was the Grand Chancellor now— even if he disturbed someone’s sleep, he doubted anyone would dare impeach him for it.

The night was cool as water. He caught the scent of wine drifting from Feng Bing across the way.

Feng Bing must have been terrified by him. He had just made Feng Bing suffer two days and nights of punishment. Thinking this, he couldn’t stop himself from stepping forward. Feng Bing’s figure was like an apparition, like a fleeting bubble rising from a dream—he was just reaching out his hand—

When he fell headlong into the puddle.

His left foot throbbed with searing pain, as if every bone had shifted out of place in an instant. But when Pei Dan grew obstinate, he forgot the pain in his body. He kept walking forward until he had backed Feng Bing into a corner.

Feng Bing hurriedly closed the door, turned around, and cursed: “Have you gone mad?!”

Pei Dan sat down casually at the side table. Spotting a sealed bottle of yellow wine, he smiled. “How much have you had to drink?”

Feng Bing said, “Get out.”

But Pei Dan gazed at him. “The grape wine at Xihui Tower—apparently a tribute from Xiliang Prefecture, sold here through foreign merchants. I asked the Xiliang envoy today. He said the flavor is pure and true—”

Feng Bing put away the yellow wine on the table. “The Three Ducal Tripods support the realm; a nobleman should drink noble wine.”

In the past, he had not never drunk tribute wine, nor had he lacked the experience of supreme wealth and privilege. No matter how unfavored he had been, he was still a son of the Emperor. For over twenty years, his food, clothing, and every expenditure had been far beyond those of common folk.

But that was all five years ago.

He didn’t want to say too much. In front of Pei Dan, it seemed the more he said, the more mistakes he’d make. In truth, what was so special about a mere grape wine from Xihui Tower?

Pei Dan watched his movements, the smile on his face gradually fading while a flush crept across his complexion. Suddenly he spoke: “Do you have female companions in Laozhou? Have you taken a wife?”

“What?” Feng Bing froze, then looked up, anger rising in his eyes. “Pei Yunwang, you’ve been spying on me!”

So that was it. No wonder he had approached him in front of the Huang Clinic!

Pei Dan propped his head up on one hand, phoenix eyes narrowing slightly, and laughed softly. “Can you really take a wife? I don’t believe it. Can you satisfy a woman?”

Feng Bing stood in the middle of the room. The warmth from the wine he’d just drunk had already dissipated; now his hands and feet were ice-cold.

Pei Dan looked at him for a long moment, then abruptly turned his face away. “That Chen Qiu—what kind of person do you think he is? Just a playboy who’s grown used to pleasure quarters. Timid by nature, with no ambition—I could terrify the courage right out of him with a few words. I advise you not to get too close to him.”

“What right do you have to control me?” Feng Bing’s voice was ice-cold—this seemed the heaviest thing he was capable of saying. “You ruined the first half of my life, and now you come to haunt me again?”

Pei Dan did not answer him.

Even if he were nothing but a vengeful ghost now, he would still come to haunt and cling to Feng Bing. Let alone the fact that he was no ghost—he was the Grand Chancellor, second only to the Emperor and above ten thousand others. He knew that as long as he wished it, Feng Bing could not escape the palm of his hand.

But he was also somewhat despondent.

He could clearly feel himself making mistake after mistake, drifting further down the wrong river with the current.

He couldn’t control the drunk version of himself. He shouldn’t have come.

“Don’t,” he said, his words sluggish. “Don’t be angry. The Emperor already knows about us—that our feelings haven’t ended—it’s me, I still have unresolved feelings for you. Feng Cheng’s case has been completely closed. Right now, King Zhao has considerable popular support, and the Crown Prince is still too young. If you return to Chang’an, the situation will become even more complicated. The Emperor won’t act rashly against you. His problem is that he’s indecisive… Over all these years, I’ve always wanted to clear your name…”

Feng Bing couldn’t understand why he was listening to a drunkard analyze court politics for him. But Pei Dan suddenly leaned forward and reached out to take his hand.

Feng Bing jerked his wrist in shock, but Pei Dan held on tighter. The young man’s hand was scorching hot, making him feel suffocated, and he began to cough uncontrollably. He turned away; the coughing bent his back, and a lump of turbid air lodged in his throat that he simply couldn’t cough up, the bitter wind scraping as if it would tear his esophagus open.

Pei Dan panicked. He let go of Feng Bing’s hand and went to find tea, forgetting his injured foot. His left ankle twisted, and he fell to the ground once more.

He couldn’t move his foot at all; the pain made him grit his teeth. But Feng Bing ignored him, walking straight to the door and calling out in a hoarse voice: “Chunshi!”

Chunshi never came. The entire courtyard was silent as death. Feng Bing grew more and more anxious. He had not slept well for two days, and his body had been taut to its limit. With reddened eyes and wordless silence, he came back and crouched in front of Pei Dan, grabbing his foot.

Pei Dan looked at him, as if genuinely moved, and murmured: “Fourth Brother.”

Feng Bing, face cold, pulled and realigned the bones of Pei Dan’s left foot. Crack—three sounds in quick succession—and the joint was set.

Pei Dan no longer had the strength to speak. He leaned his head against the wall, face pale as paper, cold sweat streaming down. In the peak of agony, he didn’t cry out—he simply watched Feng Bing.

The window was half-closed. The cold, dim moonlight filtered in, illuminating Feng Bing’s features like those of an emotionless immortal.

But he was different from the past few days. When he had said he didn’t hate him the other day, he had been so calm. Now, however, his face was flushed with anger, and in the depths of his eyes, Pei Dan’s reflection burned.

Pei Dan no longer dared to reach for his hand. He simply gazed at him and said softly: “Fourth Brother, I said some things I shouldn’t have. Don’t be angry…”

A thin, elongated shadow suddenly crept across Feng Bing’s face.

Pei Dan froze for an instant. Without a thought, he lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Feng Bing and slamming him to the ground!

Feng Bing couldn’t react in time. He only heard a swift whistle cutting through the air. The back of his head was cushioned by Pei Dan’s outstretched arm as they fell flat on their backs. “What are you doing?!” He struggled desperately, only to find that Pei Dan put up no resistance and was easily shoved aside.

Only then did he notice that the chest of Pei Dan’s robes, pressed against his own, was drenched in fresh blood. His face drained of color instantly. He looked up again—nothing showed on Pei Dan’s red robes—but a short, thin arrow had been driven straight into his shoulder, just barely piercing through the shoulder bone.

The chapter title is taken from Li Shangyin’s “Xixi”: “At the edge of the world, one is often ill at heart; in solitude, better than in merriment.”

Pei Dan even called him “Fourth Brother” now—can this summon everyone’s comments? QAQ