Chapter 8#
Pei Dan said, “Yesterday I noticed you weren’t accustomed to drinking Shenquan Xiaotuan, so today I’ve switched to Xiazhou Bijian. It should be more refreshing.”
Feng Bing wrinkled his nose slightly. Shenquan Xiaotuan originated from Yunnan — he had not failed to detect its scent the day before; it simply clashed with the medicine. He didn’t want to say more, so he raised the cup and took a careless sip, remarking, “It is good tea.”
Pei Dan’s gaze followed Feng Bing’s hand as it came to rest on the table, then lifted again. Beneath long lashes, that pair of eyes, still as an autumn lake, had always been capable of stirring one’s heart and soul. “Does young master Li have something to say to me?”
“…Mm.” The clear tea finished its sweet aftertaste in the throat. Feng Bing stilled for a moment, then decided to get straight to the point. He took out the small gold-lacquered box he had prepared long ago. “This small gift — please do me the honor of accepting it, Premier Pei.”
This clearly caught Pei Dan off guard; even those lashes quivered slightly, as if the shadow of a startled crane had fallen across a placid lake. The corners of his thin lips curved up a fraction. “What is the meaning of this, young master Li?”
Feng Bing set the box on the table, pressed the clasp gently, and the lid sprang open, revealing a snow-white pierced incense ball within. Its ivory-like luster was flawless, carved into the nine-faced aspect of Guanyin, sheltered by bodhi above and seated upon a lotus below — solemn and tender, vast and boundless. Feng Bing lifted it carefully and held it between both hands, only then did Pei Dan notice its more miraculous feature: no matter how the ball was positioned, the nine-faced Guanyin would always right itself, never tumbling or tilting.
Feng Bing spoke softly, “This is the skillful ivory carving technique from the Guangzhou area of Lingnan. I believe even among the treasures of the Sage, such a thing would be rare. The small ball inside is made of copper and can be opened to add incense materials. Whether used to scent the bed or tucked into a sleeve, there is no need to worry about spills.”
To scent the bed, tucked into a sleeve.
Pei Dan did not look at the incense ball. Instead, he looked at Feng Bing. Had he meant to say those words deliberately? Perhaps because of the warmth within the pavilion, a faint tinge of candlelight red had colored Feng Bing’s pale cheeks. And at that very moment, Feng Bing also raised his eyes to look at Pei Dan.
Pei Dan averted his gaze in haste, feigning a couple of coughs, and said lightly, “Thank you for your kindness, young master Li. For me to refuse would be discourteous.”
He changed his self-address, then reached to take the incense ball, but Feng Bing placed it back into the box. “Premier Pei governs myriad affairs of state, and the labor wears on the spirit. Using this to scent the air will surely soothe the mind and calm the nerves — a blessing for the realm.”
Pei Dan’s eyes flickered. “Why are you giving me this?”
Feng Bing was not accustomed to facing him head-on. The boy of five years ago had now fully grown; his handsome features carried an added sharpness of worldly insight, yet at this moment he was plainly gentle, even carrying a hint of warmth. Feng Bing could not fathom what he was thinking, nor did he wish to try, so he simply replied evenly, “I came to thank Premier Pei for yesterday’s gift of medicine.”
Pei Dan’s eyes widened slightly, then he laughed — half exasperated, half resigned. “Did you put licorice root in it again?”
Feng Bing murmured an assent.
“A bit sweeter is good,” Pei Dan said. “In the past you always complained that medicine was bitter, so Grand Physician Sun kept adding more and more licorice root. Do you remember?”
Feng Bing said, “I don’t remember.”
Pei Dan was quiet for a moment, then said, “But I remember clearly.”
His gaze seemed to reach out a hook, testing Feng Bing’s expression. But Feng Bing didn’t even want to show him one. He must be numb right now, like a clay figurine.
He had spent five years in Langzhou. He had long learned that the medicine used to save one’s life was hardly bitter at all.
Pei Dan took a sip of tea, his lips glistening faintly, and smiled to himself. “Speaking of which, in three days I’ll be hosting a banquet at the Xihui Tower in Shengye Ward. If young master Li, such a prominent figure summoned by the Sage himself, would deign to attend, it would be the greatest fortune of my life.”
“Three days?” Feng Bing asked instinctively.
“Three days.” Pei Dan held up one palm, measuring the space between them. “I will be turning twenty-five.”
After receiving the gift, his demeanor grew even more childlike; his posture relaxed further, and his eyes, fixed on Feng Bing, sparkled with flecks of light. But Feng Bing abruptly rose to his feet, his legs somewhat unsteady. His trailing hem knocked over the incense burner beside him, and he hastily stooped to right it.
Through this, he avoided Pei Dan’s luminous gaze.
During the three years of their marriage, he had accompanied Pei Dan for every single birthday, and the two had spent them together. But after they had divorced and Pei Dan climbed steadily higher in rank, surely more and more people would celebrate his birthdays for him.
So why should he bother joining that crowd?
He took his sleeve to wipe the spilled incense ash from the Boshan burner, but the more he wiped, the messier it became. The gilded bronze mountains radiated boundless heat, heat enough to make him dizzy. He remembered again — when the case of high treason broke out, when the entire household was wailing and beating their chests in despair, he had gone to the Secretariat to seek out Pei Dan, waiting outside for three days and three nights, yet Pei Dan never came out to see him even once. He had gone to beg his imperial father, but his father would not heed him either. Outside the palace gates in the depths of autumn, he was taken away by the Imperial Guard. In the Imperial Prison, he endured daily interrogations by the Ministry of Justice, compelled to confess to a secret conspiracy with the rebelling Crown Prince. They dared not use torture on him, so they forced him to stay awake, fed him sour, spoiled rice and bran, and even put rats in his cell. He watched one by one as the others in the Imperial Prison were dragged out — his servants, his kin — all taken to the Eastern Market, never to return—
He endured one winter in that place, until the great amnesty at the start of spring.
His five fingers had dug into the crevices of the Boshan burner. In his daze, he heard a low exclamation — Pei Dan had pulled his hand out and held it up, examining it closely while saying, “Don’t burn all your nails away.”
Pei Dan had come so terribly close. Between their fingers was scalding incense ash; his forehead nearly bumped Pei Dan’s shoulder. He recoiled suddenly, yanking his own hand back, and only then did he dimly feel the phantom, piercing pain in his nails. In the instant his eyes met Pei Dan’s, moisture of pain had already pooled in them — then it sank away at once.
He did not hate Pei Dan. Pei Dan had hidden himself during those days — thin in feeling, deficient in loyalty, yes — but he had not kicked him while he was down. But why should he celebrate Pei Dan’s birthday? Why did Pei Da— dare to ask me to come celebrate his birthday?!
There was no more revolting logic under heaven.
Feng Bing closed his eyes.
“This commoner carries a guilty status and would not befit disturbing your grand gathering.” His voice rose like a blade drawn from beneath a river of ice, carrying a faint, blurred hum. “After the Yuanhui, this commoner will depart Chang’an and vanish from Premier Pei’s world forever. I wish Premier Pei boundless fortune like the Eastern Sea and longevity as the Southern Mountains.”
Pei Dan froze.
That secret, helpless anticipation that had just moments ago hovered in his eyes receded entirely, and for a moment it seemed as though he were the one who had been abandoned.
The absurdity of it struck Feng Bing. When they had divorced, it had been Pei Dan himself who wrote in his memorial that he wished to sever all ties, never to meet again.
He spoke once more, word by word: “I came to tell Premier Pei — in the months ahead, I will cause you no trouble whatsoever. The matter of the tribute was my own negligence. If anyone seeks to investigate me from now on, Premier Pei is free to wash his hands of it.”
“Free to wash his hands of it?” Pei Dan cut in suddenly. “You brought that ruqun all the way to the capital. How am I supposed to wash my hands of it?”
Feng Bing’s face blanched. “I said, it was my own negligence—”
“But any discerning eye would see it and guess that you came to win my favor.” Pei Dan pressed closer another step, his gaze blazing.
Feng Bing had not expected such shamelessness. He held the other’s gaze and said coldly, “Does Premier Pei make the same guess?”
Pei Dan’s eyes went still, as though he had been punched squarely in the face — nothing vital was harmed, but the bruise was deeply mortifying. His face flushed and paled in alternation; he said nothing. Feng Bing knew that Pei Dan had always carried himself with lofty, untouchable composure, but to discover, in this matter, that he had been flattering himself would knock every lofty, proud assumption he had back to its original shape.
Feng Bing felt a cruel, sharp satisfaction.
“Then why,” Pei Dan lowered his voice, slightly hoarse, “did you bring it?”
Feng Bing looked back at him evenly. “Does Premier Pei insist on knowing? My young servant didn’t know better — he slipped it into my luggage. He thought he could use it as a gift in the capital.”
“Was it Chunshi?” Pei Dan said quickly. “Chunshi clearly knew that I gave it to you, tailored to your measurements—”
“Pei Yunwang.” Feng Bing seemed to have finally regained the upper hand, so even the words that cut the other short came out gentle and unhurried:
“We have nothing to do with each other anymore.”
Here comes a bonus update! 20,000 words now — I’d love to hear your thoughts…