Chapter 40#
Gold Saddles and Fragrant Grass#
After Feng Bing returned home, he found that Yuan Jiulin had come to deliver an imperial edict and had been waiting for him for quite some time. It turned out that the Emperor wished to go on an excursion to Mount Li the following day and had invited Master Li to accompany the imperial entourage.
Feng Bing accepted the edict, then asked one additional question: who else would be attending? Yuan Jiulin replied that all those holding princely titles in the capital, as well as officials of the fifth rank or above, and elders of eighty years or age or older were all welcome to go. This was an act of imperial grace, allowing them to escape the cold and enjoy the hot springs. South of Mount Li lay the Emperor’s beloved hunting grounds; this time, there would be plenty of prizes and rewards, with banners stretching like clouds. It was sure to be a splendid sight.
Feng Bing had originally wanted to make some excuse and decline, but for reasons unknown, a surge of will surged to his head, and he accepted.
He thought: imperial favor or divine punishment—either way, the Emperor would not let him go. What’s done is done; he might as well accept his fate.
Chun Shi had not yet recovered from his heavy injuries from spring and could not accompany him. Feng Bing selected one male and one female servant from those that Vice Minister Yang had provided. Chun Shi still couldn’t rest easy, and by evening was still muttering instructions to the two of them. Feng Bing couldn’t help but laugh, and ordered Chun Shi to go back and lie down.
Chun Shi had no choice but to shrink back under the covers, saying, “Nothing will happen to you, I promise.”
“Whether something happens or not, I have to go.” Feng Bing drew the bed curtain down for him. “But now everyone knows—I’ve got a fierce servant at my side.”
Chun Shi gave a tiny huff.
Feng Bing suddenly drew the curtain back open. Under the lamplight of the night, master and servant’s eyes met.
In that instant, a thought surfaced. He wanted to tell Chun Shi everything. Although in the past he had always been accustomed to bearing it all alone, at this moment he felt that none of it mattered so much anymore.
The candle flame flickered in the depths of his eyes, as if it might snuff out at any moment. Chun Shi couldn’t help but look troubled. He sat up, having already lain down, and called softly, “Master?”
Feng Bing snapped back to awareness. He patted Chun Shi’s quilt and said slowly, “I think we… perhaps we won’t be going back to Laozhou.”
Chun Shi was stunned for a moment. Then he said, “Wherever you go, I’ll be by your side.”
Feng Bing smiled. “The only thing I regret now is those three years after the wedding—covering my ears, stealing the bell, drifting through a haze. I should have had Pei Dan teach me how to read and write official documents, but I didn’t learn well. In the end, I’m still just a useless, pampered wastrel.”
But Chun Shi shook his head. “Master has his own strengths. With everyone, you are cordial. Between superiors and subordinates, you maintain proper decorum. You feel no resentment when slighted. In all these regards, even Prime Minister Pei cannot compare to you.”
Feng Bing simply sat down on the edge of his bed and pinched his cheek. “You’re feeding me sweet talk again!”
Chun Shi’s words came out all muffled. “I’m not! I’m telling the truth!” He paused. “But there is one thing. Master, you… you’re too kind-hearted. If I may be so bold as to say this—sometimes when others bully you, you won’t even bully them back. You just swallow all the bitterness yourself. That isn’t good for you… for your health.”
Feng Bing chuckled softly. “Maybe you’re right.”
Chun Shi leaned in, his eyes clear and earnest. “Do you remember that time you were poisoned during dinner? You had just come back from the palace after receiving a reward and, in high spirits, drank a little wine… Fortunately, Prime Minister Pei found a doctor in time, but you were still unconscious for three days. I was so worried I could die! Prime Minister Pei went out to interrogate people—searched the entire residence, nearly going to the neighboring houses to make arrests. But the scoundrel who poisoned you had hidden away in the Shao Ci courtyard.”
Feng Bing listened in silence. He had a memory of this incident, but it wasn’t deeply etched—not only because he had been unconscious at the time, but also because… not long afterward, Pei Dan had divorced him.
He had never had the luxury to sort through this particular memory.
“When Prime Minister Pei heard about it, he took down the sword from the wall and was going to the Shao Ci courtyard. But you woke up and asked him where he was going. Prime Minister Pei told you that the Crown Prince had harmed you. Do you remember what you said?”
Feng Bing said, “What did I say?”
Chun Shi stared at him blankly, then sighed. “You must have been delirious with fever. You said, ‘I never harmed him—why would he harm me?’”
That did sound like something he would have said. Feng Bing said, “And what did Pei Dan answer?”
“Prime Minister Pei didn’t answer you.” Chun Shi shook his head. “After you said that, you passed out again. He put the sword away, and together with me, cared for you. He never mentioned the matter of Crown Prince You Ke again.”
“Do you know why he didn’t answer?” Feng Bing said suddenly.
Chun Shi looked at him.
The words that followed cost Feng Bing a great deal of effort.
He had never connected the misfortunes he suffered with everything Pei Dan did afterward, but now he suddenly understood.
“Because he had convinced himself that the reason my eldest brother harmed me was all because of him,” he said. “Because he fancied himself clever, took matters into his own hands, overestimated his own abilities, and flattered himself with sentiments that were never his to have.”
The air had been warmed by the charcoal brazier. Behind the heavy curtains, it was dry and warm, as if it could hold any number of secrets. Chun Shi, too, was like a mute little thing who only took in and never let out—just sitting there, staring at Feng Bing like this.
Feng Bing looked, if anything, at ease. That ease showed a sharp, detached edge in someone who normally “felt no resentment when slighted.”
But it was only sharp. Nothing more. Having seen through it all, Pei Dan was, in the end, just a foolish young man—one who couldn’t protect his beautiful dream. When it shattered, he blamed his own clumsy hands. He didn’t blame the dream itself, which had always been both too heavy and too fragile.
After Chun Shi fell asleep, Feng Bing went to the inner room to wash up. In the dark, there was scarcely a sound. As he turned on his side toward the bed to sleep, he pushed the pillow up and it made a clattering sound. Drowsily, he reached out to feel around and touched paper lining the bedboard—perhaps the mattress hadn’t been laid flat properly, allowing it to peek out.
His hand came away covered in dust. Feeling quite exasperated with himself, he got up again, lit the lamp, and glanced toward the head of the bed.
It was several pieces of red paper, with writing faintly visible on them. He pulled them out without a second thought. The paper was brittle and crumbling, but the handwriting was familiar.
It was the clerical script that Pei Dan had once guided his hand through—holding his hand, his arm around his waist, standing with him at the writing desk, stroke by painstaking stroke.
Feng Bing raised the candlestick, straining to make out the poem written on the red paper, and slowly read it aloud: “Spring’s tidings come like yours—should come but never do. Count the days before you write back, but by the time the letter arrives, how many blossoms have bloomed?”
Gold powder had been sprinkled over the characters. He guessed this was a spring couplet. Slowly he turned back, set the candlestick down, and flattened out the several pieces of red paper. Another faded spring poem gradually emerged under the candlelight:
“Though spring things cherish each other, spring’s heart is grief at the core. The spring wind blows across all lands, yet never carries you back home.”
His eyes were tired in the night. The spring from some unknown year, trapped on the paper, shook off dust that made him cough. Muffled by his own coughing, he tried to roll up the red papers, but his fingers gripped too hard and crumpled them—then he hastily let go.
Cold lamplight casting its glow. Dust drifting in the air.
He pressed the several pieces of paper flat with a book box, making sure they wouldn’t be blown away by any draught, then went to wash his hands again, blew out the lamp, and went to bed.
He slept through the night without a dream.
Didn’t expect this update, did you? I’m finally back! A new arc is about to begin!
Several of you asked, so let me clarify: those red papers are spring couplets (see Ch. 10-2), the kind pasted on doors and walls for New Year’s. They’re not letters that little Pei wrote to Feng Bing… After the New Year is over, they’re torn down and tossed. As for why they ended up at Feng Bing’s bedside—it’s because this residence originally belonged to… little Pei’s… also see 10-2~ (I’ve said too much, wah wah wah)