Chapter 25#
Clear Stream, White Stones#
The two men sat side by side, drinking wine with impeccable courtesy—as if everything between them were perfectly fine, like their first meeting.
The young crown prince lost interest and sat back down. Empress Cui immediately stuffed food into his mouth to shut him up. A while later, as the hour grew late, the crown prince began to yawn, and Empress Cui made a timely request to return to the palace for rest. The Emperor then rose to his feet, and amid the thunderous salutations of all the courtiers, his imperial carriage departed for the palace.
When that bright yellow palanquin had rocked its way into the distance, everyone let out a long sigh of relief.
Feng Bing walked out of the Ziyu Pavilion alongside the King of Zhao. He saw the King of Zhao off first, then rubbed his Taiyang acupoints in fatigue and looked up—only to spot Pei Dan standing not far away.
Pei Dan seemed exhausted too, standing in the middle of the abandoned banquet where the music had stopped and cups and plates lay in disarray. He reached back to pat his own shoulder, but apparently hit a wound, grimacing in pain in a way that struck Feng Bing as faintly amusing. Just then, a palace eunuch came to speak with Pei Dan about some matter. Pei Dan issued instructions while walking away. Feng Bing abruptly pulled his gaze back and gritted his teeth at himself.
Yuan Jiulin came to see him out of the palace.
They rounded the Great Liquid Pool, and sparse snowflakes began drifting through the night sky. Yuan Jiulin’s palace lantern swayed in the cold wind. “Premier Pei has instructed me to make certain you are delivered home safely.”
—So even the Deputy Commissioner of the Palace Secretariat was one of Pei Dan’s men.
Feng Bing pulled on his hood and drew his cloak tighter around himself. “The Premier is certainly kind-hearted,” he murmured.
Yuan Jiulin smiled. “Premier Pei is concerned for your safety. Even within these palace walls, not every path is safe to walk.”
Feng Bing let out a soft “Hm.” Yuan Jiulin almost thought he’d misheard. When he looked again, Feng Bing’s expression was placid, his complexion taking on a particularly sickly whiteness in the darkness. “Then he shouldn’t have let me come to Chang’an.”
Feng Bing’s tone was light, unburdened by taboo—he had long since made peace with the matter, reasoning that as long as certain affairs remained unresolved, the Emperor would hardly let him leave. But to his surprise, Yuan Jiulin only smiled further. “Premier Pei already knows you don’t wish to remain in Chang’an. Either way, it’s only a little over a month left. He asks you, in your magnanimity, to endure a little longer.”
Feng Bing stopped abruptly, stunned.
He’d drunk two cups of wine in quick succession and felt slightly dizzy. His floating heart, which had been drifting, suddenly plunged to the bottom of a well—and he hadn’t even had time to take that easy expression off his face.
“He…” A trace of discomfort crossed Feng Bing’s features. “Why doesn’t he tell me himself?”
“Oh, come now.” Yuan Jiulin answered quickly. “That wouldn’t be appropriate.”
Ah. Not appropriate.
Feng Bing thought: That makes sense. The question itself was strange—why should Pei Dan have to tell him in person?
But not long ago, Pei Dan had been speaking passionately, urging him to stay in Chang’an, even saying he would clear his name. The young man’s eyes had been blazing then, his breath heavy and laboured, like a man going all in on a desperate wager. Could such a fierce bet truly be withdrawn just like that?
Yuan Jiulin studied Feng Bing’s expression and finally sighed. He glanced behind him—the other palace attendants were a good thirty feet away—but still lowered his voice even further. “Please don’t blame this servant. What you said today in confidence to His Highness the King of Zhao, I have already relayed to Premier Pei. Premier Pei understands you. He will find a way to let you go.”
The night wind howled long and mournful, laced with biting sleet that slapped against his face like open palms. The new year was fast approaching, yet at this deep hour there was no joy of bidding farewell to the old and welcoming the new—only the residue of unresolvable dreams. The vast Daming Palace, with its countless gates and chambers, rose in magnificent rows. What met his eyes was thousands of cold, indifferent lamps, all there to illuminate Feng Bing’s rigid face.
His gaze was like ice; the emotions beneath were frozen solid. But his breathing grew rapid, and suddenly he clapped a hand over his mouth, turned away, and was racked by violent coughs.
Come and go as you please, come and go as you please—Li Feng Bing, what does he take me for?!
And what kind of magnanimity is this? Endure a little longer?!
Feng Bing knew this anger had risen without reason, but he couldn’t contain it. The cough scraped over his throat like a dry knife, and the freezing air shot straight down his windpipe and into his chest. When the coughing finally subsided after a long while, he said nothing more. He turned and strode forward.
Feng Bing found Chunshi waiting for him outside the palace gates. He got into the carriage back to the residence, and from there until he reached his bedroom, he didn’t speak a single word. Chunshi, bewildered by his master’s silence, attended him with even greater care. The hot water had been heated and he was just about to help Feng Bing change out of his clothes—Chunshi had been puzzling over where this outer robe came from—when Feng Bing suddenly brushed him aside.
“I’m going out again,” Feng Bing said coldly.
Chunshi looked worried. “Where is my master going?”
Feng Bing clenched his jaw and didn’t answer. He strode straight out. Chunshi hurried after him. His master was heading resolutely toward the back of the courtyard—it was unmistakable—he meant to leave through the back gate.
Chunshi couldn’t believe it.