Chapter 2#

The Splendor of Chang’an Is Indeed Fine.#

After the snow, the sky cleared, and the marketplace stretched lazily like a yawn. The calls of hawkers and vendors muffled themselves in the white mist. Children in red and green padded jackets darted through the streets and alleys, roughhousing; even when they tumbled onto the snow, it didn’t hurt—as if, thanks to this snow, everything in the world were blunted.

The Jian’nan Circuit envoy Feng Cheng took his leave first. Chen Qiu dismissed the servants and headed alone with Feng Bing toward the Eastern Market. In autumn and winter, the instruments of punishment held solemn sway, and today it seemed a death row prisoner was being escorted to execution. The streets were packed with onlookers, all common folk come for the spectacle. Halfway there, Chen Qiu hesitated and glanced at him. “Today at the Eastern Market they’re executing someone…”

Feng Bing said evenly, “We simply won’t join the crowd.”

Thinking Chen Qiu was afraid of seeing blood, he strolled ahead under the eaves of a shop. Chen Qiu, however, was entirely convinced that Feng Bing was thinking of something that had happened five years ago. Thousands of the Crown Prince’s close kin and partisans had all been escorted to the Eastern Market to be cut in half at the waist. From morning to night, the executioner’s blade rose and fell, fell and rose again, killing for a half month before they were finished. ——Though at the time Li Feng Bing had been confined in the Imperial Prison and was, in truth, in no position to witness the grand sight.

Chen Qiu found this Fourth Prince rather interesting. So pale, like a wisp of light smoke. A man like this, yet he had married a man ——historically only the top examination graduate married a princess; Pei Dan was the first to “marry” a prince. Chen Qiu had grown up in the capital region, nurtured that unbothered, reckless temperament of one born at the foot of the imperial city. He felt nothing amiss about associating with a commoner who had once committed treason; on the contrary, he was keen to dig up more secrets of the past. Without a second thought, he followed along, hands clasped behind his back, letting Feng Bing comment on the dazzling array of goods that Chang’an had to offer.

At a silk shop, Feng Bing paused and gazed at the embroidered cloth displayed on the high rack, brow furrowed slightly. Chen Qiu saw it was a bolt of pomegranate-red patterned Shu brocade, its lustrous sheen shimmering, cloud shadows interwoven, truly enchanting. He said, “Does Young Master Li like it?”

Feng Bing shook his head. “I once had a garment in this exact shade.”

The shopkeeper hurried over with a broad smile. “Our humble shop also does bespoke tailoring. Would you care to see our needlework?” He presented a ruqun—exactly this Shu brocade, breathtakingly gorgeous and delicate. “Oh, though this is a woman’s style, please, gentlemen, just take a look—aren’t the stitches fine and the craftsmanship masterful? Whatever you need, our shop can custom-make…”

In a sudden fit of impulse, Chen Qiu took the ruqun from the shopkeeper’s hands. The shopkeeper froze—an ordinary man wouldn’t be so rash——yet Chen Qiu actually held the ruqun up against Feng Bing, the corner of his lips curled in a smile. “This shade, it really suits Young Master Li.”

Feng Bing stepped back abruptly, two paces away. He lifted his head and looked at Chen Qiu, his gaze growing cool.

He suddenly understood this man’s unprompted goodwill.

He was a conversation piece. Five years had passed, and he was still the single most flavorful leaf drifting in the teacups of the capital’s tea houses.

He didn’t feel sad; he only found it absurd. He had once married a man, and had once been cast aside by that man. They liked to watch him startle and flinch, still sunk in memories from five years ago, as though that would add to the collective sighs of nostalgia.

But the garment itself was indeed beautiful—the flowing, shifting patterns of clouds and waves, capable of reflecting his past and former life. He drew a deep breath and smiled, pale-faced. “It isn’t easy to make a trip to the capital. I really ought to buy some gifts for the womenfolk at home. But Shu brocade is a regional specialty; something with more Chang’an character would be better.”

Chen Qiu hadn’t expected Feng Bing to reply so composedly. He was stunned for a moment, and by the time Feng Bing had resumed walking, he hurried to catch up. “Young Master… has womenfolk at home?”

The moment the words left his mouth, he wanted to bite off his own tongue. Who didn’t have womenfolk at home? But his “womenfolk” was pointedly specific.

Sure enough, this question was too easy to deflect. Feng Bing tilted his head and smiled. “Yes. She’s far away in Yaozhou, waiting for me to return.”

Chen Qiu stammered. The two strolled through the Eastern Market chatting, avoiding the most crowded areas—they guessed an execution was underway. Come evening, they went to a famous restaurant in Chongren Ward for dinner. Feng Bing’s expression remained faintly placid throughout; one couldn’t read anger in it, but neither was there the slightest trace of joy.

Chongren Ward was where the capital’s nobles and kinfolk clustered. Fragrant clouds gathered thick, song and music went on through the night. From the window of the restaurant’s private room, one could see the upturned eaves and flying cornices of Taiji Palace, above which hung a crystal-platter round moon.

Today was already the sixteenth of the eleventh month.

“Over there,” Chen Qiu said, having drunk a bit and grown bolder, pointing toward somewhere in Chongren Ward, “that’s Premier Pei’s great residence. Personally bestowed by His Majesty! Nine bays, nine courts—impressively grand! When all the lamps are lit, I dare say even the palace itself would pale in comparison!”

Feng Bing said softly, “Prefect Chen misspeaks. How can one compare it to the imperial palace.”

But his gaze had already drifted toward the place Chen Qiu indicated. It was indeed a great mansion. In the moonlight, one could vaguely make out pavilions and terraces, a broad expanse of pond, its surface smooth as a mirror, seemingly frozen over, reflecting the round moon’s clear radiance. Yet almost none of the residence was lit—perhaps it was lit, but hidden behind walls and never visible—silent darkness, like a dormant leviathan.

“Premier Pei serves the nation with unwavering loyalty; I’m afraid he hasn’t returned home yet,” Chen Qiu said with an awkward laugh.

Feng Bing replied, “I went to the Ministry of Rites in the Department of State Affairs today, and he wasn’t there either.”

He said it so naturally, as though he didn’t care about that ex-husband at all at all, yet the words carried a peculiar, intimate familiarity. Chen Qiu didn’t know how to respond. Feng Bing, too, realized the slip and lowered his head.

Sometimes he forgot that he had already divorced Pei Dan.

Had they not divorced, Pei Dan could never have risen to the high station of Minister over one of the Six Ministries, Grand Preceptor of the Realm.

But after five unchanging years of erosion, his feelings had gradually been ground dull. South of the Five Ridges, the windswept smoke was cold and vast; in his field of vision rose mountains reaching into the clouds, eternally. Sometimes he felt that Pei Dan, the Crown Prince—all of it belonged to a past life.

Yet the moment he opened his mouth, he still seemed to care. He didn’t like this.

He had drunk wine as well. On the way back, two drunks supported each other, the daytime’s grudges forgotten, trading nonsensical banter back and forth. Thus they walked back under the moonlight. At the courtyard of the guesthouse, he finally bid Chen Qiu farewell.

Silence descended all around. He turned and saw the thread of flowing water beneath the eaves. A sudden whim of mischief seized him—he gathered up his hem, bent his knees slightly, and leapt across. He wobbled, steadied himself, then turned back to regard the water with satisfaction.

Not bad at all. Drunk as he was, he’d still made it over.

That night’s wine carried a lingering kick. It laid him out until the sun was three poles high, and he still felt uncomfortable all over. Supporting his forehead with one hand, he rose in a daze. Chunshi was nowhere to be seen, so he had to wash and dress himself. Just as he stepped out the door, he found a dozen or so court tribute envoys and their attendants all crowding around the bare wutong tree in the courtyard. Several chests stood open. The post-snow sunlight shone down upon them; everyone had their lips pressed tight, not a word spoken, all staring at the person standing in the center.

The moment the person in the center saw him, his voice broke into a cry. “Master!”

It was Chunshi—in rough cloth, at a complete loss.

Feng Bing froze, then strode forward. “What happened?”

“I brought Shu brocade as tribute,” Feng Cheng rubbed the bridge of his nose, saying wearily, “Yesterday there wasn’t time to bring it indoors. When I inventoried it this morning—it was gone.”