Chapter 52#

The Silver Milky Way Spilled Across His Lap#

Fengbing brought Pei Dan into a small reception hall, the very place where Magistrate Han had visited during the day. On both sides of the hall, covered corridors extended outward, framing a courtyard lashed by a steady, pattering rain. Though it was the tail end of winter, the wisteria on the corridors had long since withered into dry, broken threads that hung like tattered curtains.

Fengbing sat before a screen partition, cradling a medicine bowl, gazing out at the night rain. Pei Dan lit the incense burner, then reached up and trimmed the lamp wick. For a moment the hall blazed with light, casting their two shadows together, flickering and overlapping upon the screen.

When there was nothing left to do, Pei Dan could only sit down beside Fengbing.

The faint fragrance of the medicine drifted through the air as Fengbing took small, careful sips. Strangely enough, he had been drinking medicine since the age of three, yet at thirty he still couldn’t bear the bitterness—every time he took a sip, he would savour it for a moment before his expression betrayed him.

Pei Dan asked, “Is there not enough licorice root?”

Fengbing didn’t answer. He felt there were things he needed to make clear to Pei Dan; once said, he could send him away, as if the darkness outside concealed some danger. So he stared at the curtain of rain and spoke: “My reason for not leaving is my own, and has nothing to do with you.”

Pei Dan slowly straightened up and watched him in silence.

“The trouble in Laozhou stems from my offending the powers above. If I go back, either they will follow orders to harm me and I die, or they refuse to harm me and they die.” Fengbing’s voice was light and even. “I don’t want to die, nor do I want innocent people to die because of me. Do you understand?”

Pei Dan said calmly, “The strings tied to Laozhou are ultimately pulled from Chang’an—Laozhou has no say of its own. If you truly wish to return, there is a way to have it both ways. But if you’ve already decided against it, you must prepare for other things.”

Fengbing asked in a low voice, “Prepare for what?”

“To contend with the Son of Heaven to the very end.”

Fengbing let out a long sigh.

“Back when the four of us brothers were all living in the Prince’s Residence, I truly never imagined it would come to this,” he said. “Second Brother was an easygoing, amiable person—his courtyard was always lively and warm. Do you remember? Third Brother was different. He was always running about outside, and there were even rumours he kept a woman in Pingkang Ward—He’s about my age, and to this day he’s still unmarried.” Fengbing buried his face against the rim of his teacup, his teeth biting the edge as he laughed. “Eldest Brother lived in Shaozi Courtyard, so we hardly saw much of him…”

As he spoke, it occurred to him that Pei Dan had a grudge with Crown Prince Youke, and he lifted his eyes to glance at the other man. Pei Dan, by coincidence, was looking over at him at the same moment.

Their gazes collided, and Fengbing’s teeth nearly clattered together.

“I meant,” he said hastily, “I never thought it would come to this. But come what may, I’m not an idiot. You—you don’t need to treat me like one and keep things from me.”

Pei Dan said, “I have never treated you like an idiot.”

Fengbing asked, “If the Son of Heaven stripped you of your office, what would you do?”

Pei Dan looked at Fengbing. Outside, the fine rain shimmered in Fengbing’s eyes, deep and faint. Pei Dan relaxed his posture a little, bracing one hand on the small red-lattice square table, propping up his chin as he smiled at him. “If it’s merely losing office, I’m not afraid. If it goes further than that… I’m afraid there’s not much I could do.”

Fengbing was impatient. “What does that mean?”

“Fourth Brother.” Pei Dan called out softly.

Fengbing’s expression shifted, but he did not stop him.

Pei Dan broke into a bright smile again, as though that one word—Fourth Brother—was a proclamation of some grand scheme achieved. He said gently, “If that day truly comes and you find yourself in danger, you can go to the King of Zhao—he’ll know what to do. If there is no danger, then you’d best not intervene. Simply stay out of it.”

Fengbing listened but, unusually, didn’t argue back. He lowered his head and drank his medicine, big gulps, eyes closed, swallowing it down in one rough draught before he spoke: “I don’t think you’re going to die that easily.”

Pei Dan tilted his head and smiled. “I’m all alone in this world—if I die, no one will care.”

Fengbing said immediately, “Are you provoking me?”

The scent of medicine coiled through the air, winding its way into Pei Dan’s throat. He gazed at those thin lips parting and closing, remembering how there had always been the taste of medicine when he kissed him—so much so that even now, whenever he smelled it, he could only think of it as an aphrodisiac.

Does Fourth Brother know what he’s saying?

Like a little rabbit who has wandered into a cage of its own accord—so soft-hearted, with faint gaps where one might slip through, yet still baring its teeth and snapping to fright people off.

Pei Dan’s gaze moved lower, settling on the edge of the gradually emptying teacup, where Fengbing’s fingernails gleamed like tiny shells. Pei Dan said, “Does your hand still hurt?”

Fengbing tucked the injured finger back into his sleeve. “It doesn’t hurt.”

Pei Dan braced himself on the table and stood up, walking half a circuit around the hall, circling behind a curio shelf. He opened a small drawer and rummaged out a bundle of fine silver needles and a jar of ointment. Even Fengbing himself hadn’t known there was so much tucked behind that shelf.

Pei Dan sat back down cross-legged before him and said simply, “Hand.”

Fengbing hid his hand behind his back. “I don’t need you to fuss over it.”

Pei Dan spoke gently. “Apply the ointment and it’ll be healed overnight.”

“I enjoy it hurting.”

“Didn’t you just say it doesn’t hurt?”

Fengbing was struck dumb, staring at Pei Dan in wide-eyed disbelief. Then he looked away and murmured, “A small wound like this—even if it can’t heal in a day or two, it’ll be fine in three or five. Isn’t that how every scar in this world goes?”

Pei Dan didn’t answer. He had already unwrapped the bundle of silver needles, drawing one out to heat in the candle flame. The incense hung thick and heavy in the air, and in that moment he looked like some dark lord holding another man’s life in his hands.

Fengbing finally decided the stalemate was pointless and laid his hand out. The blister had grown a little larger—perhaps from constant friction—the skin around it faintly red. Pei Dan took hold of his hand; the silver needle pierced the blister with practised precision.

It was over in an instant. Fengbing hadn’t even had time to feel the pain before Pei Dan was already smoothing cool ointment over the spot. Beneath the candlelight, Pei Dan’s lowered head seemed to make his lashes appear even longer. Their fine shadows fluttered over his features, veiling his expression.

Fengbing drifted into a daze, remembering that although Pei Dan never attended to his own needs, he was actually very good at taking care of others. During those three years together, whenever Fengbing had a headache, a fever, an aching back, or weak knees, Pei Dan had been more attentive than the palace eunuchs—having won the top place in the imperial examinations, this young prodigy had even insisted on competing with him over medical texts, as though this tenderness were wrapped in competitive spirit.

In fact, even back at the Prince’s Residence, which medicines were arranged on which shelf, which herbs were stored where—Pei Dan had always known better than him.

Fengbing said softly, “Thank you.”

Pei Dan’s lashes fluttered. He said slowly, “Being a chancellor and being a physician are the same in principle—both are about ordering the four seasons, following the rhythms of nature, and harmonising all things.”

Fengbing smiled faintly too, as though the mood had finally eased a little from this bland joke. But Pei Dan wasn’t laughing. Fengbing suddenly sensed that, after five years, this man—once the brilliant Scholar Pei, now Chancellor Pei—had become something closer to a dark and dangerous shadow. The moment he tried to look deeper, it was as though he were drawing near to an abyss, the wind from its depths pulling at his feet.

He felt they were too close. Even as he tried to draw his hand back, Pei Dan spoke.

“Fourth Brother,” Pei Dan said. “Do you get hurt often in Laozhou too?”

Everything around them went quiet.

Pei Dan’s grip on his hand was trembling, ever so slightly. Fengbing forced himself to exhale with a casual air, pulled his hand free, braced himself against the table to stand, even patting his thighs once or twice. “The rain’s let up a bit. I’ll walk you back.”

But Pei Dan didn’t rise. He only lifted his head to look up at him.

“Fourth Brother,” Pei Dan’s voice was like a line pulled taut in the rain, “am I also one of your scars?”