Chapter 36#

The darkness of night reached its extreme, and a corner of the sky was torn open by a wash of pale white. The carriage servant of the Prime Minister’s estate had waited outside Daming Palace for a long time without seeing Prime Minister Pei himself, and had nearly fallen asleep on his own. As dawn approached, he decided to return first—only to see Prime Minister Pei collapsed at their own front gate, covered head to toe in snow.

The carriage servant was terrified. The long street was blanketed in white, and Prime Minister Pei was still wearing his official robes with Eagle Vulture’s cloak draped over him, half his body buried in the accumulated snow. The carriage servant first rushed to pound on the door. Steward Wu came to answer it, and upon seeing Prime Minister Pei in such a state, was also greatly alarmed. The two of them together exerted their strength to help Prime Minister Pei up onto the stone steps that had been cleared of snow.

Steward Wu ordered someone to bring out the charcoal basin and stuffed a hand warmer into Prime Minister Pei’s chest. His five fingers were clenched tight inside his sleeves; Steward Wu forced them open with effort. In his frozen, blue-white palm was a small square medicine box with gilt edges.

Steward Wu called out to him, his voice trembling with fear: “My lord?”

Pei Dan came to consciousness quite quickly, as though he had only fainted for a brief moment. The snowflakes on his body had begun to melt. He looked at Steward Wu and blinked, and the snow from his lashes drifted delicately down into that deep, clear lake in the depths of his eyes.

The moment Steward Wu felt relieved, he immediately scolded: “Why didn’t you take the carriage?”

Pei Dan thought for a moment, then smiled. “I forgot.”

Seeing that smile, all of Steward Wu’s words were lodged in his throat. He crouched down and gestured for Pei Dan to climb on—he could carry Pei Dan back on his back. But Pei Dan merely patted his shoulder. “You’re old now. What are you doing.”

Steward Wu was about to be angered by him again, but he saw Pei Dan had already trudged heavily past him, and with every step, the figure of his back shed little showers of powdered snow.

Chen Qiu and some twenty to thirty tribute envoys were arrested overnight and thrown into prison. The eunuchs of the Directorate of Palace Attendants, who had failed to manage the situation in time, were all implicated and punished as well. Any incident during the New Year’s Day audience was a major affair, and it was said that all three department heads were so distressed they couldn’t eat.

Fengbing had heard about all of this, but in the end it no longer had much to do with him. After returning from Daming Palace, he had been constantly tending to Chunshi, and had even turned away several investigating officials who wanted to question Chunshi. Though Chunshi had woken briefly in the palace, upon returning to the residence he kept falling into unconsciousness, and occasionally would not stop vomiting. However, Imperial Physician Sun said that as long as he was properly nursed back to health, this was merely a minor injury—which was some comfort to Fengbing.

While he was managing household affairs, Chunshi on the bed watched him. Though his body was exhausted, his pair of eyes remained limpid and bright, following his young master as he moved about the room.

Finally, when there was time to rest, Fengbing returned to the low couch beside the bed and read quietly—but Chunshi was still watching him.

Fengbing, having been stared at until his patience wore thin, set down his book and said: “What is it?”

Chunshi opened his mouth. Fengbing thought he wanted water, but Chunshi whispered: “My lord… did the Emperor punish you?”

“No.” Fengbing reached out to feel his forehead, then tucked the quilt around him, smiling. “More than that, he even praised you as a loyal servant.”

The corner of Chunshi’s mouth curled upward, as though he wanted to smile but lacked the strength. “That’s good… I’m very stupid. When I saw you being humiliated by Envoy Chen, I couldn’t think of any other way.”

Fengbing went still, reaching under the blanket to hold his hand, and said gently: “You did very well.”

Chunshi shook his head. For a long while he said nothing more. He turned his face away—but his tears fell.

Fengbing sighed. Making Chunshi cry was not his intention either. Chunshi had been only ten when he entered the Ten Princes’ Residences—a skinny, scrawny poor boy. He had cared for both Fengbing and Pei Dan while also growing up under their care. Later, when Fengbing was imprisoned in the Imperial Prison and then exiled to Laozhou, Chunshi had been by his side the whole time. He still remembered them doing hard labor in Laozhou, in summers so hot and humid they felt like steamers. Chunshi’s small, thin body pulled the warm bellows and hammered iron, drenched in sweat—yet he wouldn’t let Fengbing get anywhere near, laughing and saying: Since you clearly can’t do it, don’t try to show off.

Fengbing reached out with his sleeve and wiped Chunshi’s tears. “Sleep now. Once you sleep a little longer, your head won’t hurt anymore.”

Just as it had been when they were in Laozhou—as long as he slept, there would be no bitter heat in his dreams, no dust and toil.

“I didn’t take good care of you…” His voice was choked with sobs. “Young Master Pei once instructed me…”

Fengbing’s hand stiffened slightly. “What did he say?”

“Back when you first bought me,” Chunshi said softly. “When we returned to the prince’s residence, he instructed me. He said you have a kind heart and a soft hand, and told me I must take good care of you.”

A long time passed before Fengbing spoke, in a mechanical tone: “You have taken very good care of me.”

Chunshi lowered his head.

Fengbing rubbed his hair. White cloth bound the wound on his forehead, and his hair along with it was dark and disheveled. Fengbing stared for a moment, then suddenly said: “He said… he was not doing it for revenge.”

Chunshi looked back at him, dazed.

“He said that back then, eldest brother grew suspicious of me and repeatedly tried to harm me. He said he had to bring eldest brother down.” Fengbing pieced together Pei Dan’s words from memories scattered like wind and snow, but it seemed they were not meant for Chunshi—they were meant for himself.

Chunshi did not know that Fengbing had encountered Pei Dan on New Year’s Eve, nor did he know that Pei Dan and Crown Prince You Ke had old enmity between them. But hearing these words, he suddenly recalled the night of the Lantern Festival, when his young master had just returned from giving thanks in the Hall of Receiving Vassals.

At that time, Chunshi’s mind had been very hazy. He only remembered his young master draped in snow, his face so pale it looked as though it had been washed a dozen times, his eyes brimming with red streaks. When he sat down beside Chunshi, he seemed to have let out a quiet, stifled breath.

Had he seen Young Master Pei?

Were all these words told to him by Young Master Pei?

“Perhaps Young Master Pei had no choice,” Chunshi said suddenly. “You suffered so much in the Imperial Prison. Perhaps it wasn’t that he didn’t want to save you—he simply had no way.”

Fengbing said quietly: “On New Year’s Eve, I slapped him. After the blow, all the strength left my body. I suddenly felt…”

Fengbing paused. The cold air moved slowly, thickly around them. He propped one hand on the edge of the bed, cradling his face. A few strands of loose hair slipped through the gaps between his fingers. He continued: “Third brother once said that before Pei Dan passed the imperial examination, he had lived a very unhappy life in the Pei family.” He smiled faintly. “I didn’t even know that. I went with him to the Pei family in Hedong many times, and I still didn’t know. Chunshi… am I ridiculous?”