Chapter 57#

Meng Chao’en raised his voice and let out an exaggerated angry snort. He had surrounded the entire mansion, dug three feet into the earth — how could he possibly fail to find it? If the item wasn’t inside, then why had Pei Dan spent an entire day and night frantically burning things in such a panic?#

But that snort of his ultimately exposed just how lacking in confidence he was. Pei Dan crawled forward on his knees another step, his eyes flickering with guile. “If Your Majesty commands me to die, I dare not refuse; but Lord Meng, do you truly wish for my death? If I perish, your burden will only grow heavier… If what the Sage needs has already been turned to ash by my hands, do you think the Sage will believe it or not?”

His expression was the very picture of sincerity — even the earlier look of “having no fear of death” had gradually given way to something resembling genuine terror, making Meng Chao’en realize: so this was his scheme.

This man, he had concocted all this mystifying fuss for the sake of staying alive.

—But did he himself, before the Sage, truly possess any credit whatsoever? If he failed to find the decree of assignment the Sage wanted, and Pei Dan was already dead… then what would he do?

Meng Chao’en grew agitated. A few days ago the Sage had given him command of the Shence Army, but the generals of the Northern Headquarters were all fierce and difficult to deal with. He, a rootless eunuch, had not smoothly taken over, and because of this had been reprimanded by the Sage several times. He had to find that decree, otherwise under the Emperor’s furious wrath, he wouldn’t even know which corpse would end up lying where…

Just then, the soldiers reported that the great fire had been fully extinguished. But Pei Dan had far too many books — it couldn’t all be inventoried in such short time — so they asked whether they should first return to the palace to deliver word.

Snow-laden winds whirled, clouds shifted and transformed. This great imperial-bestowed mansion no longer belonged to Pei Dan.

Meng Chao’en clutched the brilliant yellow brocade of the imperial decree in his hand, then suddenly hurled it onto Pei Dan’s face and sneered, “Take him to the Ministry of Justice, throw him into the great prison for interrogation! Playing his mystifying games, is he? I refuse to believe we can’t wring it out of him!”

The snow finally began to fall.

A carriage with black curtains and a black cabin set forth from the Pei residence, Pei Dan — hands and feet locked in shackles — was escorted into it by soldiers. The wild wind howled, the long street was nearly empty of passersby, interspersed with distant horse neighs and boot steps from across the street, overlapping in layers like waves of snow, all rising, rising further, piling up to the unreachable golden ridge eaves of the Taiji Palace, making the heavy dragon-head sculptures on the eaves gradually soften their merciless gaze as they looked down upon the mortal world.

The mortal world would never cease harboring busybodies. They furtively paused at the roadside, or opened windows from second-floor shops facing the street, watching as this greedy and fearful former prime minister actually refused to take his own life and was personally being marched off to the Ministry of Justice.

Whispers began to stir quietly.

“What’s going on — has the Sage finally lost his patience?”

“Do you see that enormous cloud of smoke from the Pei residence? I heard that when the eunuch went to deliver the decree, Pei — Pei the top scholar was setting fires, trying to destroy evidence!”

“What does that mean! Is there really something…”

“His Majesty’s decree — it can’t be wrong! The Pei family has been throwing their weight around for so long, it’s about time they met their downfall!”

Leaving Chongren Ward and passing through a corner, beneath the eaves of some shop, stood a figure in plain robes with long hair.

Feng Bing held a medicine packet in one hand. Today he had only come out to pick up his medicine and take a walk to clear his head.

Along the way, he kept drifting in thought — tomorrow would be the Lantern Festival — and when he looked at the street, the newly hung lanterns seemed to float everywhere in a vague haze. Then he thought again of Pei Dan’s piece of calligraphy: white plum blossoms in full bloom, reflected in the water, as if waiting in unhurried leisure. A mischievous impulse arose in his heart — why not paint those white plums red, send them back, and let Pei Dan take a guess…

But halfway there, he encountered the sudden wind and snow — and the carriage of the Ministry of Justice.

The carriage cabin was sealed tight, concealing the person inside, yet the onlookers around it grew ever more numerous. Their murmurs never rose too loud, only gradually converging — like specks of mud in snowfall, growing faster and denser, as though by sheer force of accumulation they might pierce through the window and canopy and drag the person inside out for public display.

The shop had been open for a long time without a single customer. Seeing Feng Bing standing at the entrance in a daze, the proprietor disgruntledly swept the snow with a broom — swish, swish — the residual snow flying up heavily and falling again, stirring up wisps of white mist like pollen around his feet. Feng Bing appeared as though he were about to freeze stiff, but that rigid body suddenly turned and began walking toward the far end of the street, quicker and quicker.

The swirling sleet finally provoked a fit of coughing. He hurriedly pressed a handkerchief to his mouth, but the cough scraped across his throat like a blade, jabbing left and right through his airways, burrowing deep into his lungs, raw and bloody — so fierce it reddened the rims of his eyes as if blood were seeping through. With each cough, his heart hammered wildly against the edge of a knife, nearly leaping out of his throat — thud-thud, thud-thud — heard against the wind and snow, a dull, door-knocking sound.

Finally he ran home. All the servants were absent; the little house lay so quiet it felt like a tomb sealed off from the world.

He walked straight into his own room, pushed open the inner door, and saw Uncle Wu sitting inside — he stopped on the spot.

Even Chun Shi’s expression was dark and troubled. Chun Shi stepped forward first to close the door, yet for the moment didn’t know what to do. He poured a cup of hot tea, intending to hand it to Feng Bing, but Feng Bing wouldn’t take it. Chun Shi could only stand there in anxious silence.

Uncle Wu also held a cup of hot tea, the misty vapor wreathing around his face, making him seem as though he had aged twenty years in an instant. But his gaze still carried a touch of that desperate, all-or-nothing resolve as it swept over Feng Bing. On the table beside him lay four old bound volumes.

Click.

The medicine packet slipped from Feng Bing’s hand and fell to the ground.

“Perhaps I’ll soon be able to rest easy.”

“I’m all alone in the world — if I die, no one will care.”

“Once the night-watch relaxes and the curfew lifts, you and I will stroll together and enjoy the lanterns.”

“Idiot talk. Should I go to him and say, ‘Let’s go on the run together across the land’?”

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Actually this chapter has three sections — best to read them all together, awooo……