Chapter 31#

What the Pursuer Has Lost#

On New Year’s Day in the second year of Guangyou, the Emperor received court audience at Hanyuan Hall.

The imperial palace blazed with lanterns through the night; the gates of heaven swung open at first light. Myriad nations arrived in their court robes and caps to pay homage. As the water clocks marked the hour of dawn, snow whirled in vast white sheets. The Crown Prince’s Grand Preceptor, nearly eighty years of age, entered through the Danhuang Gate together with three chancellors of the State Affairs Council, leading the civil and military officials. Holding their ivory tablets solemnly, they crossed the Imperial Bridge, then wound their way up the dragon-tail ramp paved in white jade, ascended to Hanyuan Hall, and knelt to recite congratulatory scrolls in honor of the Emperor’s birthday.

This year’s congratulatory scroll, it was said, had been composed by Pei Yunwang — its prose was resplendent, its rhetoric magnificent. He himself stood at the head of all officials. Compared to the ancient Grand Preceptor ahead of him and the two other elder chancellors beside him, he was far, far too young. His brow was sharp, his bearing valiant and dashing, as though he carried a streak of youthful defiance — yet in his manner and conversation there shone through a kind of worldly shrewdness born of long tenure in high office.

The inner court eunuch announced the reply, the rites officials received the congratulations, and next came the tribute envoys from every prefecture and county across the realm, as well as from vassal states beyond the borders — all filing in one after another to present offerings beneath Hanyuan Hall. The Son of Heaven sat solemnly aloft, remote and silent as a painted Buddha. After hearing all the salutations, the Emperor raised his cup; the dancers performed; and from above and below rang three cries of “Long live the Emperor!”

Feng Bing took his position where Laozhou’s court-audience envoy Xiang Chong had once stood, kneeling down with the dense throng to join the cry of “Long live!”

Since arriving in the capital, this was the first time he had finally laid eyes on the attendants who had traveled alongside him for nearly four months as members of the Laozhou tribute mission. The highest-ranking among them was a county magistrate, who accompanied the others in the ceremony but spoke not a word. When the grand ceremony concluded, they withdrew in orderly fashion to prepare for the evening’s palace banquet, and Feng Bing watched the magistrate return to the ranks of the Laozhou contingent. There had originally been over a hundred of them.

He could see that the other party did not wish to speak with him. It puzzled him somewhat, but he did not insist. Did they still consider him the chief culprit behind Xiang Chong’s murder? Only because the Emperor had taken a personal interest in clearing his name had Xiang Chong’s case been quietly suppressed.

From Laozhou to Chang’an — forty-five hundred li of mountains and passes, rough roads and driving dust — they had looked after one another along the way. Feng Bing was frail; Xiang Chong had been especially attentive to him, always sharing any fresh ingredients found along the road with him first. The subordinates, taking their cue from this, had all been quite attentive to him as well. But who would have thought Xiang Chong would perish in a desolate mountain, with his killer still uncaught to this day? That they now kept their distance from Feng Bing was perfectly understandable.

No one was permitted to wander the palace, so before the banquet the tribute envoys could only find places near Hanyuan Hall to rest. It was not just the people of Laozhou — the other tribute envoys, aware of Feng Bing’s peculiar status, mostly dared not greet him either. Amid the ceaseless coming and going, the exchange of New Year’s greetings and birthday congratulations, Feng Bing was happy enough for the quiet. Chuns hi had brought in a large bundle stuffed with hand warmers, incense sachets, medicinal poultices, hot water, and even dried fruits and candied snacks. Though they had been subjected to a tedious search upon entering the palace, the bundle now proved its worth. In a secluded corner of a side hall, Chuns hi attended him so comfortably that Feng Bing could not help but pinch his cheek, laughing: “If I didn’t have you, what would I do!” Chuns hi promptly made a face, grinning proudly.

At that moment Feng Bing sensed two gazes upon him and looked up to find Chen Qiu, the envoy from Hezhong Prefecture, watching him from not far away.

He was startled. It had been a long time since he had last seen Chen Qiu. The latter seemed to have changed very little — only that he neither spoke nor smiled. When their eyes met, Chen Qiu was the first to look away.

Finally the hour of the palace banquet arrived. The tribute envoys were all starving to the bone. Eunuchs of the Directorate of Ceremonial came one by one to escort them to their seats in Hanyuan Hall. Wine and food had been laid out, the dancers were prepared, and all they awaited was for the Emperor, seated at the very top, to lift his ivory chopsticks — whereupon the new year would begin, melting and flowing, at his single command.

Chuns hi was not qualified to take a seat; all servants waited outside the hall. Compared to the imperial kinsmen and chancellors seated on the high dais, Feng Bing’s seat was far from conspicuous. Lost among the crowd below, with unfamiliar faces on either side, he actually felt more at ease — he only hoped he could blend in like this until the feast ended.

Halfway through the wine rounds, the Emperor departed. As the saying went, after three cups all propriety was cast aside, and the officials grew increasingly boisterous. The inner court eunuchs began calling the tribute envoys by name one at a time — thanking them for their diligent service in guarding their regions over the past year, commending their fine tribute goods, and, according to the Emperor’s wishes, rewarding each with rare treasures from the palace. Feng Bing gathered his spirits and, upon hearing the Grand Attendant call the name “Laozhou — Li Feng Bing,” brushed off his robes and stepped forward.

The tribute envoys below the dais fell silent at once. Behind the name Li Feng Bing lay too many hidden secrets. Some glanced up at Pei Dan on the high platform, only to find the Grand Councilor in high spirits, chatting with the person beside him, seemingly as though he had not heard the name called at all.

A husband and wife long since parted — one walked below the dais, one drank above on the platform — the two entirely unrelated.

The Grand Attendant read aloud the imperial decree. The tribute from Laozhou was such and such, to the Emperor’s great satisfaction, and so forth; bestowed upon the prefecture: fine silks from Qi, brocade from Shu, precious jade, and ruddy jade pendants, in varying quantities. Feng Bing kowtowed to receive the decree. The treasures bestowed by the Son of Heaven were placed in a gold-lacquered, jade-inlaid chest. A young eunuch held it open for him to inspect, then courteously invited him to return to his seat.

“—What good things are those? They seem different from what we received.”

A voice suddenly cut in from the side, ringing with carefree delight. Feng Bing started and turned his head to find Chen Qiu, who was seated nearby.

Chen Qiu now wore an entirely different expression. He lounged lazily against the banquet arrangement, raising an eyebrow at Feng Bing as though they were the oldest of friends. “Young Master Li is no ordinary mortal like the rest of us — the rewards he receives must surely be the finest. Why not let us feast our eyes?”

The young eunuch glanced at the Grand Attendant, who paused his roll call. The young eunuch then stepped forward with the chest, smiling at Chen Qiu: “Your Excellency, please look. The Way of the King is vast and impartial — how could the Son of Heaven show favoritism? Why, the amber pillow given to Hezhong Prefecture is a treasure the Emperor holds most dear.”

Those from the palace always spoke in polished phrases, but no one could stand in the way of curiosity. Quite a few tribute envoys had gathered around Chen Qiu, craning their necks to peer at what the Son of Heaven had sent to his own brother. But upon seeing only bolts of fabric and jewels, their eyes couldn’t help but register disappointment.

Chen Qiu rose with the air of a man thoroughly tipsy, the tip of his fan delicately probing, lifting out — with languid, deliberate slowness — various garments cut from Shu brocade and Qi silk, as though he truly intended to examine each one in careful detail. The young eunuch’s expression shifted several times, and just as he was about to raise a hand to stop him, Chen Qiu shook out a pomegranate-red ruqun skirt and held it up with a grin for all to see: “This dress would suit Young Master Li quite well.”

The men beside him had all handled matters with Li Feng Bing during their shared lodgings and knew the old scandal tied to that very skirt. In an instant, they all broke into knowing, insinuating smiles. In truth, the imperial gifts in the chest were varied and abundant, and this particular ruqun was merely similar in color — not to mention it had not been bestowed on Feng Bing at all, but on Laozhou as a whole. Yet none of that could stem the crowd’s drunken imaginations, now turned lewd and filthy.

Li Feng Bing stood behind the young eunuch, never given the chance to speak a single word, his face already ashen as paper. Countless gazes clamped down on his limbs and senses like instruments of torture. He raised his head and met Chen Qiu’s eyes, and in them he saw condescension — the cold mockery of one looking down from a great height.

The music did not stop. The revelry did not stop. The officials laughed and chattered, some looking at him, some not. The young eunuch turned his head again to glance at the Grand Attendant — his lowly status could not withstand a scene like this, and the hand supporting the chest ached as though it would snap off at any moment. But the Grand Attendant would not be the one to step forward. Though the Emperor was gone, the chancellors remained — how could a mere eunuch presume to intervene? He simply folded his hands into his sleeves and watched the show. And so the music and the revelry continued to swell, inch by inch, like a rising tide within that magnificent hall, and all the brilliance and splendor of the moment poured forth upon Li Feng Bing’s slender figure, straight as a stalk of green bamboo.

Should he speak? he wondered. Chen Qiu’s words were not, in essence, a question at all. He could hardly —

“Young Master Li’s bearing is truly exceptional,” Chen Qiu said, his gaze sliding to the waists of the dancers on the stage above. “Put it on and let us see — I dare say you’d put any woman to shame. Or perhaps Young Master Li simply doesn’t care to show it to us outsiders?”

Someone behind them sucked in a sharp breath. With words driven this far, it was close to a desperate gambit — tearing the net and breaking the fish alike. Chen Qiu fixed his stare upon Feng Bing, and the coldness in his eyes gradually gave way to fierce, burning hatred.

Where had that hatred come from?