Chapter 50#

Just as the rumors said — the Emperor hunted for several days, and Pei Dan spent several days recovering. When no visitors came, he shut himself in the inner chamber and busied himself; whenever a minister came to pay respects, he lay back in bed groaning and moaning, making it impossible for them to stay and impossible to leave. Although this meant he forfeited the spoils of the hunt, the hot springs at the traveling palace served him exceedingly well.#

On the twelfth, the imperial procession returned to the capital. An imperial edict was issued, declaring that Chancellor Pei had overtaxed himself in service to the nation and fallen ill; the Emperor was greatly concerned and urged Chancellor Pei to rest and convalesce in peace, without rushing back to office to handle affairs.

The edict was laden with words of solicitude and regret, yet anyone versed in court politics could scent the shifting winds. Those who knew the game should, upon receiving it, have volunteered to resign and hand over their official cap — otherwise what followed might well be thunder and torrential rain. Pei Dan received the edict and returned to his residence. First he dispatched a family letter to Taiyuan Prefecture, demanding that his second uncle’s entire household be brought in for questioning, and that if the various clan elders and great-uncles did not mind the hardship of travel, they had best all make the trip. But whether he could truly command the diligence of his clan members — by now, he was no longer entirely sure.

Having done this, he braved the light rain and made a trip to the Court of Judicature and Revision.

Grand Secretary Fu Yuan had sentenced Chen Qiu for the grave crime of defying Heaven’s mandate, and so Chen Qiu’s place of confinement had been transferred here, awaiting execution by beheading in autumn.

The Chief Justice of the Court of Judicature held an umbrella over Pei Dan as they crossed the rain-drenched courtyard; by the time they reached the inner compound, water had seeped through even the soles of their shoes. Inside the prison, situated on low ground, rainwater flooded down the steps in torrents. The Chief Justice flew into a temper, calling for clerks to come clean it up. Pei Dan waved his hand and said never mind. He lifted his robe and descended the steps himself, yet no matter how carefully he tread, his boots still came up soaked.

His expression darkened immediately, but he held back, merely grinding his teeth in silence.

Chen Qiu was confined in the innermost cell. By the time they reached the iron bars, the sound of rain had nearly faded away.

Only ten days had passed, yet Chen Qiu in his cell was already a wretched wreck — face filthy, hair matted, the fierce, piercing light drained from his eyes. He huddled in a corner of the cramped cell, facing the wall, trembling. A jailer struck the iron bars with a chain, and Chen Qiu jerked around as though startled awake.

When he made out Pei Dan, his pupils dilated wide — then slowly contracted back.

The jailer unlocked the door for Pei Dan. Pei Dan caught the stench wafting from within, frowned, and did not step inside. Standing at the doorway, he said coldly: “I’m giving you a chance to atone for your crimes with merit. Do you want it?”

Chen Qiu mumbled incoherently for a long while, and then — “Ptoo” — he spat out a thick glob of phlegm.

Pei Dan’s brow knotted even tighter, his glabella twitching: “I’m only asking you this one thing. The envoys from Jiannan Circuit, led by Feng Cheng — he clearly lost the tribute goods on his way to the capital, so why did he slander Li Fengbing once he arrived in Chang’an? If you have any leads, I might consider memorializing the Emperor to spare your life.”

“Leads?” Chen Qiu let out a cold laugh. “You’re asking me for leads?”

Pei Dan narrowed his eyes slightly, watching him with icy indifference.

“Feng Cheng didn’t tell you? Ah — I understand. Feng Cheng’s confession went straight to the Son of Heaven, never passing through your hands, Chancellor Pei. So you’re uneasy.” Chen Qiu clapped his hands and laughed. “You’ve come to me because you want to fish for information! The Emperor doesn’t trust you, but you simply must know!”

Pei Dan said coldly: “It’s your own life. Think carefully. Don’t be ungrateful.”

“No need to think. There’s nothing to hide.” Chen Qiu laughed without a trace of restraint. “It was me. I told Feng Cheng.”

Pei Dan seized the iron bars without warning, his five fingers clenching so hard the knuckles went white, nails digging into the rust: “You told him? How did you know?”

“What a strange question. How did I know? Naturally because Li Fengbing said it himself.” As Chen Qiu recalled Li Fengbing’s face and voice from that time, even his own expression softened into something almost gentle. “He said he used to have Shu brocade too — pomegranate red, no less.”

The sound of rain seemed to crash through the roof in an instant, pouring down in sheets onto Pei Dan’s skull. His hands released their grip, stiff as wood. He remembered.

When Fengbing had just arrived in Changan and gone to the Eastern Market with Chen Qiu, Pei Dan had followed at a distance, watching them enter a silk shop and come back out. Then he had heard Fengbing say he had female relatives in Laozhou.

He hadn’t known they’d had that conversation inside the shop. Had he known sooner… perhaps he could have cracked Feng Cheng’s case long ago.

The fury that had been accumulating in his chest since the moment he first saw Chen Qiu now rampaged wildly through every limb and sinew, tangled with far too many emotions he could neither name nor untangle. Chen Qiu stared at him provocatively and sneered again.

“So I went and discussed it with Feng Cheng. I said, ‘Tell me — do you think he’d wear a long robe, or a short skirt?’ I wagered it’d be a short skirt, after all, with Master Li’s looks — you can’t let that lovely waistline go to waste—” Later Li Fengbing even told me it was once your ‘boudoir pleasure.’ I’d truly love to see for myself—"

Pei Dan’s fist landed without any warning. Chen Qiu hadn’t even had time to scream before he was knocked flat on his back — and Pei Dan, no longer caring about any filth or stench, actually grappled with Chen Qiu right there in the prison cell!

The wall sconces flickered wildly, shattering and exploding in his vision. Chains dragged with a harsh rasp. The walls bled in mottled patches. Every muffled punch and heavy kick echoed a thousandfold inside Pei Dan’s chest, as though his heart cavity would burst apart, his breast would cave in. Yet all this pain seemed to fall into empty air, into open water — nothing could catch it. So there was only sinking, and sinking further, no splash, no bottom in sight.

It took the Chief Justice and several jailers working together to finally haul Pei Dan off. By then he had driven his knee into Chen Qiu’s throat, and Chen Qiu, unable to struggle, his hands wound round with chain after chain, bulging eyes glaring at Pei Dan, gasped in ragged, choking breaths.

Pei Dan’s eyes were so red they might have seeped blood. He held Chen Qiu’s gaze for a long moment, then sprang to his feet in one motion, and swept out with a flick of his sleeve.

“Chancellor! Master!” Wu Zhiheng held up an umbrella and ran over, panting.

Pei Dan was already waiting in front of the Court of Judicature.

His fight with Chen Qiu had done little to improve his mood. Night had fallen, and the Court of Judicature didn’t dare keep him for dinner. They respectfully sent the Pei household’s Steward Wu to fetch him.

He was soaked through, filthy, and reeking. Both his face and his dignity had been utterly lost — yet he still put on airs, lowering his head to flick at his lapels. Steward Wu had him change into fresh clothes in the carriage and took the reins himself, muttering as he drove: “He’s a beaten dog with no master. Why did you need to hit him?”

“Venting.” Two words issued from inside the carriage, brooking no argument.

“And did you actually feel better?”

“…No.” Pei Dan was quiet for half a beat, then muttered: “But I won.”

“Of course you won — four or five people held him down for you, and he was still wearing shackles.” Wu Zhiheng was thoroughly unimpressed. “A gentleman may take ten years to exact revenge. Why rush it?”

“That wasn’t revenge at all,” Pei Dan said stubbornly. “It was venting.”

Wu Zhiheng fell silent. One had to admit, for all Pei Dan’s impulsiveness, after beating the man he had still thought to slip a few strings of cash to the four or five officials and clerks from the Court of Judicature to keep their mouths shut. And even if it did get out, it hardly mattered — Chen Qiu was already a dead man either way.

“Have you considered,” Wu Zhiheng said slowly, “that the Emperor is about to strip you of your office, and at a time like this, you go picking fights…”

“How was I picking fights?” the voice inside the carriage raised in childish indignation. “Do you know what he said?!”

“…What did he say?” Wu Zhiheng asked.

But after a very long silence, the question went unanswered.

Wu Zhiheng sighed. “Today, the envoys from Laozhou also left the capital.”

The carriage rocked gently. The whip lashed through sheets of rain, stirring trembling mist into the air before it fell to earth and merged with the melted snowwater flowing into the open gutters. They had reached the boundary between Chongren Ward and Pingkang Ward. Shops along both sides of the street had begun hanging up wind lanterns, and passersby, each wearing different expressions, pressed themselves under the eaves to let the Pei household’s carriage pass.

Wu Zhiheng continued: “Young Master Li didn’t go with them. — Master, do you still intend to let Young Master Li actually return to Laozhou?”

“—Stop the carriage!” Pei Dan said suddenly.

“What?” Wu Zhiheng was taken aback. Before he could react, Pei Dan had thrown open the carriage curtain and jumped straight down off the step. He had already changed into a change of everyday robes and wore a waterproof cloak, but the jump splattered mud across his hem in dark flecks. He paid it no mind, merely striding into Chongren Ward — though not in the direction of home.

As the first lanterns blazed to life in the wards, Fengbing had just set the bowls and chopsticks on the small hall table, ready to eat.

Chunshi came rushing in without warning, out of breath: “Master — Pei — Chancellor Pei—” Before he could finish, Fengbing looked up and already saw him.

Pei Dan stood in the courtyard amid the pouring rain. Water streamed unchecked over his face and body. He looked like a tall, joyless mannequin — save for his eyes, washed even more luminous by the rain, in which reflected all the scattered, flying fragments of the past and one thin, tenuous line of future.

“Fourth Brother.” Pei Dan called to him, but his voice was hoarse. The two words did not carry clearly in the rain, as though they were nothing more than inconsequential static. He drew a breath. “Why didn’t you leave?”

Fengbing walked slowly to the eaves, steadied himself against the corridor pillar, and frowned slightly. “Are you asking why I didn’t go back to Laozhou?”

The rain was too cold. Pei Dan’s whole body had begun to tremble. Droplets splashed against the surface of his eyes and scattered. His voice, thick with cold, choked: “But won’t you regret it?”

Fengbing gazed at him in silence.

“I don’t know,” Fengbing answered.