Chapter 37#

Iron Net, Coral#

For the first several days of the first month, the Pei household’s gates were thronged with visitors — relatives, friends, former students, old acquaintances all coming to offer New Year’s greetings. Chancellor Pei drank with them night after night, and by the afternoon of the third day, things finally quieted down somewhat — partly because Chancellor Pei had supposedly fallen ill.

In the mansion’s east warm pavilion, braziers were lit, making the air stiflingly hot. Pei Dan was drenched in cold sweat, burning with fever and barely conscious. He had been robust and healthy since childhood, rarely falling ill, so this sudden sickness left Wu Zhiheng at his wit’s end — especially at this time of year, when the omen was none too auspicious. They kept changing the water and wiping down his body, and Pei Dan still hung limply on the old man like a wet noodle, so that Wu Zhiheng feared that if his hold slipped even slightly, the boy would slide right off him onto the floor.

“Haven’t you told me I’m old?” Wu Zhiheng huffed. “I’m only at the age of knowing Heaven’s mandate — how is that old?”

Pei Dan drifted in a haze; the old Wu before him was doubled and blurred. He was tossed back onto the bed and stuffed under several layers of scalding quilts, still muttering things Wu Zhiheng couldn’t understand. When the lamps were extinguished late at night, he finally fell into a heavy sleep — and dreamed of his childhood.

The private tutor his family had spent a fortune to hire had been forced to leave, because no one was paying his salary anymore.

He didn’t understand why. He had studied diligently every day and completed his lessons well — why had the tutor left with such a disappointed look on his face?

But the tutor had left behind quite a number of books, which together with those his parents had left him, were originally arranged in the study. The courtyard of his parents’ old residence nominally still belonged to Pei Dan, but in reality, aside from his bedroom, all other rooms had long been reassigned to other uses. So unfamiliar relatives and servants were constantly coming and going. One time, a certain cousin entered the study to shoo out a cat and knocked over a bookshelf. Books scattered across the floor in shreds and were trampled with countless footprints. When Pei Dan came and saw it, he was nearly struck dumb.

It took him and Uncle Wu several hours to sort all the scrolls back into order. Uncle Wu spoke up for him in righteous indignation: “Someone who doesn’t cherish books will surely never study well!” But Pei Dan merely replied with cold indifference: “Why should I care whether other people study or not?”

After that, he moved all the books into his bedroom. Stacked high in dozens of piles beside his pillow, he needed to see them from the moment he woke until he fell asleep each night before he could feel at peace. Later, when he placed first in the imperial examinations as Zhuangyuan and received an imperial edict of marriage, he carted all those old books from the family estate in Hedong to the Residence of the Ten Princes, cartload by cartload. Feng Bing, waiting at the gate, exclaimed in amazement: “You really read this many books!”

Feng Bing’s eyes sparkled as he looked at him, as if he had never before seen someone who had read so many books. Pei Dan couldn’t help but laugh. He leaned close to Feng Bing’s ear and asked: “Which classic would you like to learn? I can teach you.”

Feng Bing let out a breath and said, with great pride: “That would be wonderful — I have a Zhuangyuan for my teacher. No one else has that.”

Pei Dan wanted to say, I’m far more than just your teacher — but Feng Bing grabbed his sleeve, a touch nervously: “You must not go teach anyone else.”

That day the sunlight was radiant, golden and bright — early autumn, gilded and warm. The princes and nobles of the Residence of the Ten Princes, who had never been much for scholarship, all came out to watch in clicking admiration as Zhuangyuan Pei moved his books. Feng Bing leaned leisureantly against the door, watching Pei Dan direct things front and back. Every time Pei Dan turned his head, Feng Bing smiled at him.

The moment Pei Dan saw him smile, he forgot all about Heaven, Earth, Sovereign, Parent, and Teacher. He thought that perhaps he had read all those books for nothing more than to earn this one person’s smile.

But that Feng Bing who smiled at him turned and walked away. Pei Dan followed in bewilderment, but his feet sank into a drift of snow, unable to be pulled free. He was desperate with worry. The Feng Bing before him grew farther and farther away — and then suddenly turned his head.

Feng Bing said: “No one will ever love you again the way I once did.”

Feng Bing spoke the word love to him — but it was such a despairing word.

He opened his mouth to speak, but wind and snow immediately rushed into his throat. The back of his skull took a blow as if struck by a cudgel, and the pain drove him pitching forward. Blood wouldn’t flow — it just circled and surged endlessly in the pain. The night was murky and dark; on this new moon, even the moon was invisible. The cold snow on all sides seemed ready to bury him whole. When would dawn finally come?

Self-righteous. Unmoved by others’ suffering. Domineering. Heart of iron and stone.

This was the verdict passed upon him.

“Master! Master!” Wu Zhiheng shook him urgently. “Wake up — you’re having a nightmare!”

Pei Dan slowly opened his eyes.

So it was already dawn. Wu Zhiheng sighed with relief. “Look at you — covered in sweat. You should be feeling better now, yes?” He reached out to touch Pei Dan’s forehead. “Is your old trouble acting up again?”

Pei Dan turned his head away, dodging the man’s hand like a child refusing to concede. The back of his skull felt as though a thin thread were being pulled there, sending his entire scalp tingling and aching. He gritted his teeth and endured in silence until Wu Zhiheng thought he had gone silly again — and then suddenly said: “Who told you to pile all these quilts on me? You nearly smothered me in that bed.”

Wu Zhiheng stared blankly, clicked his tongue, and went straight out to order a servant boy to fetch the doctor.

After Pei Dan had washed and freshened up, the family physician arrived with his medical case. He first took the pulse, then had Pei Dan lie face-down at the head of the bed, lifted his long hair to expose the nape of his neck, opened the acupuncture box, and inserted the silver needles one by one — the needles dense across his scalp all the way to the back of his skull. They were all vital acupoints governing life and death, but the doctor had been doing this for years and handled it with practiced ease. And Pei Dan had been enduring it for years too, his mind as still as still water.

He closed his eyes to rest. Only when it was time to remove the needles did he ask Wu Zhiheng: “Has the imperial edict come down?”

Uncle Wu said: “It has. The edict instructs you to rest well, and also rewarded you with some calming medicine.”

Pei Dan smiled coolly.

The doctor withdrew the silver needles one by one. Pei Dan felt his head no longer hurt so much, and living no longer seemed quite so unbearable. So when the doctor was leaving, he told Uncle Wu to slip him some extra money and wished him a happy New Year.

Uncle Wu returned, somewhat hesitant: “About Chen Qiu’s case this year — the Department of State Affairs and the Privy Council have sent people to ask… The New Year’s Day audience is a major event, and they’re all afraid of being punished.”

“What’s there to ask? He already has his plan — and still he comes asking me.” Pei Dan rolled his shoulders once, feeling an inexplicable irritation. “One Chen Qiu — is he going to overthrow heaven or something?”

“Twenty or thirty tribute envoys from various regions are currently held in the Inner Prison. Though it’s classified, there are rumors floating about outside,” Uncle Wu said. “The Emperor has ordered the Three Departments to convict them, and this matter is quite thorny — that’s why the Privy Council sent someone to consult you.”

“The Emperor seems to be punishing them, but in truth he’s waiting to punish me.” Pei Dan’s tone was cold. He fell silent for the better part of a long while. Uncle Wu waited patiently. Finally, Pei Dan said: “The envoys committed a breach of decorum at the New Year’s audience, an affront to Heaven’s will. Chen Qiu is the chief offender — put him to the torture first. When I have time, I will interrogate him personally.”

Uncle Wu was startled. “What?”

Pei Dan considered. “Feng Cheng died too quickly. There are still many things I haven’t figured out. A few more questions under interrogation — extending his life by a few hours — can’t do any harm.”

His gaze drifted slowly, vaguely, over to the clothes chest beside the bedroom. That one truly magnificent pomegranate skirt had already been stored at the very bottom of the chest. He sat quietly for another moment.

Uncle Wu helped Pei Dan up to wash and dress, and prepared paper and brush. Pei Dan then began writing official memorials to Grand Secretary Fu Yuan. After finishing several of those, Pei Dan thought for a moment and also submitted a memorial to the Emperor pleading guilty: every disorder at the New Year’s audience was due to his failure, as both the Minister of Rites and chief minister of the realm, to live up to his position. He earnestly implored the Emperor’s judgment.

Uncle Wu’s eyelid twitched. “Isn’t that putting it a bit too strongly?”

Pei Dan had always been well versed in such artful rhetoric and evasive language, but at this moment he simply felt tired. For the first time, he began to consider — if the Emperor truly did follow his wishes and stripped him of the title Concurrent Councillor of the Secretariat and Chancellery, would that perhaps not be a good thing?

He held in his possession the late Emperor’s posthumous edict. Li Fengtao did not know its precise contents, and for five years had kept circling back, on guard, probing and testing — even shifting his attention to Feng Bing, wanting to use Feng Bing to threaten him. The year before last, when the late Emperor passed away, Li Fengtao had barely ascended the throne before scheming to reopen the old case, ordering Feng Bing to be brought back in a prison cart for trial. Pei Dan had managed to block it. Last year, there was no avoiding it no matter what — Li Fengtao replaced the Commandant of Laozhou, the Military Commissioner of Lingnan, and all other relevant officials, and still insisted on recalling Feng Bing. So Pei Dan could only suggest that Feng Bing accompany the tribute envoys on their journey to pay court, so there would be someone to look after him along the way.

The posthumous edict could not be handed over — but he himself should also make some concessions, and not press the Emperor too hard… The Emperor’s heart and his methods — Pei Dan had already experienced them firsthand five years ago.

Uncle Wu sent out all the documents. When he returned, Pei Dan had crawled back into bed, huddled under his quilt, his hair disheveled, his eyes staring blankly as he gazed out the window. Uncle Wu asked: “It’s the fourth day today. How about going out for a walk?”

Pei Dan said: “Where to?”

Uncle Wu thought for a moment. “Let’s go to Ci’en Temple and pay our respects — to ward off bad luck.”

“…” Pei Dan muttered, disgruntled. “Fine. If we go, we go.”