THE STORM RAGED on through the night.
The sky had turned its back, plunging everything into darkness. Thunder rumbled and lightning streaked the heavens, the wind howling as rain poured down. The once brightly lit, bustling streets were now full of panic and chaos. Vendors hurriedly packed up their stalls, and under the eaves of tea houses, peddlers taking shelter from the rain bought bowls of steaming hot tea and leaned on their carrying poles. Coachmen urged their horses forward, and the wheels of one carriage crushed a bamboo winnowing basket that had rolled into the middle of the street. Pedestrians ran around covering their heads with their sleeves but were drenched head to toe within moments.
In a small courtyard on Jinggong Lane behind Fuxiang Temple, Shen Jue sat under the eaves, holding a cup of hot tea. An oil-paper umbrella rested against his feet. He listened quietly to the sounds of people rushing around outside. While fallen leaves swirled and danced in the courtyard, the rain fell, as furious as boiling water.
In the storm, he faintly heard the rumble of hoofbeats growing louder and louder, and a group of black-clad riders in raincoats galloped through the rain. Shen Jue sighed softly and looked out into the courtyard, his gaze as still as the moon.
Ten years. It'd been ten years since he last saw Xiahou Lian in the Cold Palace.
For a while, he still heard news of Xiahou Lian. The Wuminggui had reportedly inherited Hengbo; he was said to be a rising star in the Garden, moving stealthily through the night with his puppet, Zhaoye, and killing without a sound. Later, he heard that Xiahou Lian had wandered the brothels of Suzhou and Hangzhou, singing and carousing, his wild behavior earning him the adoration of courtesans and entertainers alike. Next, informants from the Garden reported that Xiahou Lian had assassinated Shixin alone, causing strife within the Garden, then disappeared into thin air.
He was like a dewdrop evaporating in the sun, vanishing without a trace.
A year ago, Shen Jue's men had unexpectedly discovered Hengbo up for auction in a Taizhou black market. He'd interrogated the auctioneer, who confessed to having retrieved the blade from a pile of corpses after pirates attacked Taizhou. Still, that didn't prove that Xiahou Lian had ever made it to Taizhou. Three Ghost Festivals had passed since Xiahou Lian fled the Garden, so in truth, there was no way he could still be alive.
At first, Shen Jue held on to hope, but as time passed, that hope grew fainter and fainter. Today it was finally depleted. Perhaps it was time that he faced reality. Xiahou Lian might've died the day he assassinated Shixin, or perhaps the Seven Fifteen poison had overcome him on a random fifteenth day of the seventh month. His body had likely rotted in the dirt and been eaten by vultures and maggots. Shen Jue's antidote, Hope's Return, would never reach Xiahou Lian's hands.
He and Xiahou Lian wouldn't meet again, unless perhaps in another life.
Wind, rain, and fallen leaves filled the courtyard. Shen Jue looked down at the water gushing from the eaves and the leaves swirling away on the current. He reached out to catch a raindrop that fell from the roof tiles. It chilled his palm, and as the wind blew, his face felt just as cold.
The old emperor was critically ill. Although he was issued one prescription after another, there was no improvement to his health. Meanwhile, Shen Jue had finally broken with Wei De, plunging himself into circumstances he couldn't reverse. Half the court officials watched smugly but passively, while the other half fanned the flames, eager for Shen Jue's downfall.
Xiahou Lian was no longer in this world. Shen Jue had no one to rely on, so he could now set aside all other concerns and fight with everything he had. It didn't matter to him whether he won or lost the battle ahead—his life and death were in fate's hands alone.
The hoofbeats reached the gate and stopped, followed by a firm knock. When Shen Jue didn't respond, the door opened on its own. In strode Qian Zhengde dressed in a crimson robe embroidered with pythons and a gold-threaded hat, an umbrella in his hand. The fat on his plump, pale cheeks made him squint.
After Shen Jue's fall from power, Qian Zhengde had been promoted to the prestigious and powerful position of Eastern Depot chief. The tide had turned, as the saying went. Shen Jue had enjoyed glory for many years, always overshadowing Qian Zhengde; now it was finally Qian Zhengde's turn. He walked into the courtyard and looked down at Shen Jiu, his thin red lips curling into a faint smile. "I hope you've been well, Shen-gonggong."
"Thank you for your concern, Qian-gonggong," Shen Jue replied with a slight nod. He sat in a rosewood armchair, holding a cup of tea, as calm and composed as if it were some stray on the roadside—not him—who'd fallen from grace.
Qian Zhengde watched coldly, sneering inwardly at Shen Jue's facade. "His Majesty has decreed that you will guard the imperial tombs in Nanjing. You are to set off at once. Our venerable patron, in his boundless mercy, acknowledges your decade of service and has graciously sent me to see you off." Qian Zhengde bowed with a smile. "Nanjing is quite pleasant, I hear. The nightly revelries on Qinhuai River outshine even those in the capital. Fortunately, you will enjoy a peaceful retirement there, Shen-gonggong."
"Most eunuchs exiled to Nanjing's tombs are lucky to be sent there on an old horse. I am truly overwhelmed that a powerless outcast like me should merit you as a personal escort, Qian-gonggong," Shen Jue said, lowering his head to trace the rim of his celadon teacup. He gave a slight smile. "Of course, I suspect you're here to transport not me, but my corpse. The assassins two days ago were our father's handiwork, weren't they? To think he could view insignificant Shen Jue as such a threat! I'm truly unworthy."
Qian Zhengde threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, Shen Jue. Even if you knew, why come out and say it? The moon's reflection in the water may be but an illusion, but so long as it's undisturbed, it can still delight you. I planned to add a little something to your meal before you departed—give you a nice, quick send-off. But it seems there's no need." He shook his head. "When a tree falls, the monkeys scatter. But your tree is still healthy and towering, and its robust roots have sprawled out, impossible to prune. Our esteemed father dreads your former allies to the point of sleeplessness. He won't rest easy until you descend to meet the King of Hell himself. Ha! You may be a clever man, but you're still a colossal fool. You were doing so well as chief of the Eastern Depot! Why go and challenge him? Look how far you've fallen."
Shen Jue didn't answer, just smiled faintly at Qian Zhengde. "May I ask how old Father is this year?" he asked.
"His esteemed self is eighty-one," Qian Zhengde replied, uncertain why Shen Jue had asked.
"Eighty-one…" Shen Jue murmured softly, eyes downcast beneath his long, gently curving lashes. When he raised them, they were full of dark clouds, his brows and the corners of his eyes brimming with stormy intensity. Through clenched teeth, he almost hissed, "Eighty-one! A candle flame nearing its end. Who knows when or where he'll breathe his last? How could I sit back and let him die peacefully in his bed?!"
"You…you're mad!" Qian Zhengde shouted, pointing a trembling finger at him. "To think you were hiding such treacherous thoughts! You can forget about leaving through that door alive! Guards! Kill this beast!"
The tips of black arrows rose above the top of the courtyard wall. The riders he'd heard before were now standing on their comrades' shoulders, their crossbows aimed at Shen Jue's figure beneath the eaves. The sharp black arrowheads glinted with cold silver light. Shen Jue didn't move. The tea in his cup had chilled, and rain continued to pour, battering and crushing the hydrangeas in the corner of the courtyard.
"Shoot!" Qian Zhengde bellowed.
The arrows flew, dozens of bolts carving through the dark night and piercing the heavy rain. Shen Jue's long, curved lashes fluttered as he watched the plump eunuch before him fall heavily to his knees, then face-first onto the ground, revealing the dense cluster of black arrows in his back. He looked like a porcupine. His eyes were still wide in disbelief as his blood pooled beneath him. It mingled with the rainwater, soaking the cold green moss as it flowed into the dark gutter below the wall.
Shen Jue set down his teacup, opened his oilpaper umbrella, and stepped over the flowing blood. He walked past Qian Zhengde's pale, plump face and out the gate. The riders stood in the rain, their black crossbows dripping with water. Under their raincoats, the qilin embroidered on their black robes seemed to snarl and glare.
Situ Jin draped a raincoat over Shen Jue's shoulders, and Shen Jue took his horse's reins, then nodded to the riders. "Thank you, men."
"You honor us, Depot Chief!" one rider shouted. "Had you not investigated the Embroidered Uniform Guard's unjust imprisonments three years ago, I would've died in prison!"
"Depot Chief, you gave promotions based on merit!" cried another. "If not for you, I'd be an unknown officer to this day!"
"Wei De only promoted his own," added a third. "Without you, Depot Chief, we'd never have had a chance!"
Kneeling, the riders declared in unison, "We're ready to serve you with all our hearts. We devote our lives to your cause!"
"Without you men, there would be no Shen Jue!" Shen Jue cried in response. Mounting his horse, he looked toward the imperial palace. "The day I return to the capital will be the day Wei De meets his end!"
In the midst of the wailing storm, the riders surged ahead like a dark tide and disappeared into the heavy rain.
***
THE DAWN SKY WAS A HAZY bluish gray touched with the faintest glow of light in the east. The quiet of Yanzhi Alley stood in stark contrast to its typical nighttime bustle; it was usually full of crowds, singing birds, and shining lanterns.
In Yunxian Tower's storage room, Xiahou Lian rose from his straw bed, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and stepped outside. Drawing water from the well, he brushed his teeth, rinsed his mouth, and washed his face. Once tidied, he passed through a side gate to the kitchen to boil water. On the way, he passed other young servants, exchanging nods in silent greeting. One by one, he carried water buckets to the courtyard's west wing and placed them at the door. A wooden plaque hung over the door read Warm Retreat, the three bold characters written in a flowing hand. Inside, all was quiet—everyone was likely still asleep.
Xiahou Lian carried the water into the side room and poured it into a jujube-wood tub. The room was in disarray—on the floor lay one embroidered shoe, and there was a crumpled silver-red robe under a small incense table, looking like a discarded rag. On the ground was an overturned basin; a square porcelain jar had also fallen over, the water it had held long since spilled. Even a tuberose blossom had been stepped on, its petals tattered and scattered. Clearly, quite a battle had taken place in this room the previous night.
Xiahou Lian pretended not to notice. He filled the tub and scattered a thick layer of rose petals over the surface, ensuring that it was entirely covered.
This was required as part of one of the daily rituals of A-Chu, Yunxian Tower's most celebrated courtesan. Every morning, without fail, she bathed in rose petals. Xiahou Lian had been at Yunxian Tower for four months now, and for all that time, he'd lugged the water here for A-Chu's baths. He stacked the empty buckets outside, then went to the kitchen for a flatbread, five steamed buns, and a jug of water. Sitting on the veranda, he ate slowly—he had only a few tasks, so there was no need to rush.
It had rained heavily the night before, leaving the ground damp and water pooling in the cracks between bricks. The courtyard flowers and grasses looked wilted, and A-Chu's beloved potted clivia plants had apparently died, their pale petals scattered on the ground. Xiahou Lian had forgotten to move them indoors the previous evening; when A-Chu saw that, there would surely be trouble.
The neighboring courtyard was already noisy. It housed the male courtesans, one of whom had a bad temper and often beat young servants half to death. The boys sometimes came to Xiahou Lian to complain.
Time had flown; Xiahou Lian had left Qiye Garden three years earlier. He'd expected to bleed to death that day in the Garden, but to his surprise, he'd awakened very much alive. After much deliberation, he traveled to Qixia Mountain to seek Qiu Shan, the abbot of Qixia Temple. Qiu Shan had let Xiahou Lian live at the temple in the guise of a monk who'd kept his hair, helping Xiahou Lian alter his appearance drastically. For five months, Xiahou Lian had swept the temple grounds, his head wrapped in bandages. The temple visitors who saw him left him coins out of pity, likely assuming that his face had been somehow disfigured.
When the bandages were removed, Xiahou Lian had examined his new face in a brass mirror. It wasn't as striking as before, but it was still pleasant to look at. Although his deep-set eyes and prominent nose were untouched, he was satisfied. Since the scar above his eye could not be removed, he learned to cover it with makeup until it was unnoticeable unless inspected closely.
His enemies could no longer identify him; Eastern Depot agents passed him without a second glance. He went to Jinling to settle Chiyan's accounts, then traveled around, admiring the scenery and experiencing the things Chiyan had spoken of. He listened to the bells of Fengqiao Inn, the evening bells of Hanshan Temple, and the songs along the Wu River. He savored the sights and sounds of every place he visited. In Canglang Pavilion, he burned Chiyan's will and scattered the ashes in the flowing water. From then on, he felt, Chiyan wouldn't miss a single mountain or river vista.
During the Ghost Festival, Xiahou Lian dug a grave for himself behind Qixia Temple, then used his last money to buy a simple coffin. He lay inside and closed the lid, waiting quietly for death. The coffin was dark, and his mind raced with wild thoughts. He climbed out several times to relieve himself, once scaring a woodcutter passing by on the mountain trail. He apologized profusely before climbing back into the coffin and eventually falling asleep. When he woke again, it was broad daylight, and he was still alive. Walking over a carpet of fiery-red maple leaves, he returned to Qixia Temple.
He found Qiu Shan sitting on a walkway, drinking tea. Looking at Xiahou Lian's bewildered expression, Qiu Shan said, "The heavens have spared you. You ought to keep living."
"But I'm a sinner," Xiahou Lian objected.
"The most faithless hedonist can achieve enlightenment and attain Buddhahood after endless cycles through a single thought of awakening and goodness. Then they can achieve even more."
Bidding farewell to Qiu Shan, Xiahou Lian began wandering aimlessly. He had no fixed residence and went wherever his feet took him. The trouble was that he had no household registration or identification papers, which made him a drifter. The authorities were zealous about rounding up vagrants—once caught, they would either be registered as outcasts and imprisoned or sent to labor camps in the borderlands. Thus, Xiahou Lian lived in hiding, constantly taking odd jobs to earn enough money to survive. It was a hard life.
When he reached Taizhou, Japanese pirates were laying siege to the city, and the military defenders were recruiting soldiers without requiring identification. Desperate and broke, Xiahou Lian enlisted, staying in the camp for an autumn. During one street battle, a pirate knocked Hengbo from his hands. He killed the pirate, but he couldn't find Hengbo afterward. He later saw it at an auction but lacked the money to buy it back. He'd watched helplessly as Eastern Depot agents carried the blade away.
Out of options, he went to the capital. Living under the Eastern Depot's watchful eyes was especially difficult; the city was relentless in its pursuit of vagrants. Every few days, raids were conducted in the spots where vagrants tended to gather: abandoned temples, shrines, and charity halls. The Eastern Depot's impenetrable security was impossible to outmaneuver.
During the twelfth month of the previous year, Xiahou Lian had ended up shivering in the woods outside the capital, ravenous and chilled. He hadn't died at his enemies' hands, nor on a Garden battlefield; nonetheless, he was about to starve and freeze to death in the forest. He knew that, if he reached the afterlife that way, his mother would probably laugh at him.
A-Chu happened to be returning from offering incense at a nunnery and found him, then brought him back to Yanzhi Alley. At Yunxian Tower, she introduced him to the madam as a cousin seeking refuge. Having been given a place to stay, Xiahou Lian had finally solved the problem of food and shelter.
A-Chu was a stunning woman with arched brows and misty eyes. When she glanced sideways, she had an enchanting, soul-stealing allure. Her sharp chin and thin lips gave her a slightly fierce appearance that some men preferred; they found it more thrilling to see a defiant-looking woman submit.
As Yunxian Tower's top courtesan, A-Chu had the madam wrapped around her little finger. Men paid twenty or thirty taels of silver just for one night with her. Sometimes, when she was in a bad mood, A-Chu locked herself in her room and refused to see clients no matter how loudly the madam knocked. But A-Chu was A-Chu, the most famous courtesan in all the capital, unmatched in northern circles and rivaling even the famed courtesans of the south. The madam was forced to indulge her. She even sent Xiahou Lian to stand in line for A-Chu's favorite pastries or to fetch braised pig's feet from Chu Tower.
Clients who saw A-Chu as a seductive enchantress had no idea that she liked to eat those pig's feet with her bare hands while drinking with Xiahou Lian. When she was happy, A-Chu acted wild and carefree—and when she was sad, she suddenly grew quiet, stroking her face in the mirror and asking Xiahou Lian whether she looked old.
Xiahou Lian knew he would never understand a madwoman like A-Chu. For one thing, when she asked whether she looked old, she didn't believe him if he said "No," but she got angry if he said "Yes." Xiahou Lian learned it was best to pretend not to hear her and go on drinking his wine. Overall, life at Yunxian Tower was comfortable, and Xiahou Lian rarely left except to run A-Chu's errands.
Still, he needed to retrieve Hengbo. He assumed that the blade was with Shen Jue, the chief of the Eastern Depot—anything the depot acquired inevitably ended up in Shen Jue's hands.
Now and then, Xiahou Lian saw Shen Jue's carriage pass in the distance. Tassels and intricate carvings adorned the vehicle. Four fine horses pulled the carriage, and two squads of Eastern Depot agents followed behind—a grand and imposing sight. Twice, Xiahou Lian had seen Shen Jue himself while waiting for pig's feet at Chu Tower. Both times, he'd knelt with the others as Shen Jue passed, the golden embroidery along the hem of his robe shimmering magnificently as it brushed by. After Shen Jue had passed, Xiahou Lian pressed his forehead to the ground to sneak a glance at the depot chief's cold, distant figure as it faded into the distance.
Xiahou Lian understood that they were now strangers occupying two different worlds. He was a lowly brothel servant, as insignificant as dust, and Shen Jue was the powerful chief of the Eastern Depot, a eunuch of great influence. The memories of their days at the Xie residence and in the palace seemed to belong to another lifetime, but those distant recollections still aroused indescribable emotions whenever they resurfaced in Xiahou Lian's mind.
The hot-tempered young master of the Xie family was gone; in his place was the enigmatic chief of the Eastern Depot, a man who controlled the fates of others with a flick of his hand. The depot relentlessly hunted Garden assassins, and none who fell into their hands survived. Wanted posters for Xiahou Lian were still everywhere—when the old ones faded, they were replaced with new ones, year after year. The chasm between him and Shen Jue was unsurpassable.
Without connections, Xiahou Lian couldn't obtain a map of Shen Jue's residence. He tried sneaking in on two separate occasions, but he got lost and left empty-handed both times. He still hadn't reclaimed Hengbo, and he was at a loss.
After finishing his flatbread and buns, Xiahou Lian buried the clivia petals in the soil. Suddenly, A-Chu burst from her room, her clothes disheveled and exposing an expanse of pale skin. She dashed to Xiahou Lian as though he was her savior, gasping for breath.
"Xiahou! I…I killed someone!"
Xiahou Lian was incredulous. "You? Killed someone?"
A-Chu looked embarrassed. "Well, he…he died in bed…" she stammered.
In other words, climaxing had killed him.
When Xiahou Lian didn't reply, A-Chu pulled him into the room, glancing around furtively. Only after confirming that the courtyard was empty did she slam the door again.
"How was I supposed to know that he'd be so frail in bed?" she said. "All I did was let him finish twice—he was still hopping around last night! Then, this morning, I found him lying there stiff as a board. I laughed at him for being so feeble, but then I pulled back the covers—it nearly scared me to death!"
Xiahou Lian drew back the bed curtain to reveal a man's pale, lifeless face, black blood trickling from his slightly open mouth and eyes. Xiahou Lian recognized him—this was Yan Xiaobei, a low-ranking Eastern Depot agent. He had once been dirt poor, but somehow he'd come into enough money to boldly slap onto the madam's desk and book A-Chu for a night.
A-Chu twisted her handkerchief nervously, stomping her foot in panic. "He's an Eastern Depot officer, and he died in my bed! What am I supposed to do? The Eastern Depot—once you go in, you don't come out again. How could someone as weak as me survive their torture?"
"You definitely wouldn't," Xiahou Lian agreed, nodding.
"Should I run away? I've saved up a little money, so I won't starve. Xiahou, help me—get me out of the city!"
Xiahou Lian shook his head. "That won't work. The Eastern Depot has spies everywhere—relay stations, hostels, stables, you name it. Unless you can flee Great Qi in one journey, you'll never find peace."
"So what do I do?" A-Chu pleaded helplessly.
Xiahou Lian thought for a moment. A-Chu had saved his life; he couldn't just abandon her. He sighed. "Lend me some makeup."
Before A-Chu could respond, a young maid's soft voice spoke from outside the window. "A-Chu-jiejie, Officer Zhu is waiting in the front yard. He's waiting for Officer Yan, so please wake him now."
A-Chu leapt to her feet.
"Answer her," Xiahou Lian mouthed.
"Yes, right away!" A-Chu called back through the window.
The maid's footsteps receded as she hurried off. A-Chu wrung her hands. "It's Zhu Shunzi! He's a good friend of Yan Xiaobei's. What should I do now?"
"Go out and stall him," Xiahou Lian said. "Leave this to me."
A-Chu nodded, taking a deep breath. She straightened her clothes and hair then walked out, head held high.
Zhu Shunzi had a sharp, rat-like face; there was hardly any flesh on his high cheekbones. His countenance was sly and conniving. All in all, Eastern Depot agents were really no more than hoodlums in official robes; they were always up to no good, darting around the capital and digging up scandals and secrets. Yunxian Tower was a favorite haunt of theirs. A-Chu was used to dealing with them, but today, the mere sight of Zhu Shunzi upset her. She sat in her armchair and waited, watching him pace back and forth until her head spun.
Her nerves were reaching their breaking point when a man strode through the flower gate.25 He was tall and lean, with sharp cheekbones that lent him a gaunt look and a faint shadow of stubble around his lips. A-Chu froze in shock—it was none other than Yan Xiaobei! For a moment, she thought he'd come back from the dead.
"Well, Old Yan, you're finally awake!" Zhu Shunzi exclaimed, throwing an arm around him. He turned to A-Chu and waved farewell. "We'll head off now, Miss A-Chu!"
"Farewell and take care!" A-Chu replied, a stiff smile on her face.
Disguises and makeup were Xiahou Lian's specialty; he'd mastered those arts under Qiu-shifu's tutelage. With practiced calm, Xiahou Lian glanced at A-Chu before stepping out alongside Zhu Shunzi.
Zhu Shunzi was practically brimming with excitement. "Wei-gonggong has given us another mission, Old Yan! I just knew he'd see our worth! After sending us to assassinate that ungrateful bastard Shen Jue, he's assigned us to Jiading!"
Assassinate Shen Jue? Xiahou Lian's heart thumped, and his eyes jerked up.
"Who would've guessed that Shen Jue could actually fight?" Zhu Shunzi went on. "I always thought he was just some frail, pampered little thing who couldn't even lift a blade. We're lucky we got out when we did—if we'd stayed, it would've been the end for us. But Wei-gonggong is so generous. He didn't blame us; in fact, he rewarded us with silver! Now he's entrusting us with another important task. They say that a man will die for the one who recognizes his worth. Now that he favors us, we owe him our loyalty!"
Xiahou Lian responded with a simple grunt, masking his thoughts as he prodded Zhu Shunzi cautiously for more information. "What's Shen Jue's situation now? Is Wei-gonggong still sending people after him?"
"No—there's no need! The emperor ordered Shen Jue to Nanjing to guard the imperial tombs. That's the end of his story. A eunuch tomb guard doesn't have much of a life—he won't be able to stir anything up anymore!"
At least he's alive, Xiahou Lian thought with relief.
Still, the news left a bitter taste in his mouth. Shen Jue had endured so much, laid the groundwork with such patience and determination, only to end up like this. Shen Jue wasn't like Xiahou Lian, who'd long since grown accustomed to rolling in the mud; Shen Jue was proud, and he'd reached the heights only to fall back down. Xiahou Lian couldn't help wondering how he was handling it.
Ah, the cruel tricks fate played.
Then again, Nanjing wasn't so bad. It was Shen Jue's hometown. He could spend his days there drinking tea, playing with cats, and feeding birds. That would be the rest of his life—a quiet end.
Xiahou Lian tilted his chin toward Zhu Shunzi. "So why did you come looking for me?"
"Oh, right! Forget Shen Jue—our luck has finally turned," he said enigmatically, pulling a letter from his lapels. "The emperor is on death's door, but he hasn't summoned the feudal lords. It's obvious he means to pass the throne to the second prince. Wei-gonggong's sending us to Jiading to escort the prince of Fu back to the capital in secret. This is our golden chance! When His Highness ascends the throne, we'll be his right-hand men!"