Xue Xiuyi’s legs went weak. He braced himself against the doorframe and slid down to the ground, watching his wife, concubines, and maids hurriedly pack valuables. He murmured to himself:
“Can’t leave… Jinge’er hasn’t been brought back yet…”
Footsteps sounded outside the courtyard. The armed guards stretched their necks to look and immediately lost their souls in fright—it was the Imperial Guards. The courtyard gate was slammed open with a bang. As the troops surged in, Xue Xiuyi waved his arms and cried:
“The censor is slandering me! I have grievances!”
The new commander of the Imperial Guards took out a token and official documents from his chest.
“This is the Ministry of Punishments’ warrant, and the Emperor’s vermilion approval.” He swept his gaze across the courtyard. “All others are to be taken away.”
The guards suddenly grabbed Xue Xiuyi. His feet slid across the ground as he was forced up, and his mouth was stuffed shut.
Fu Man had been imprisoned, and the internal palace eunuchs were purged of many personnel. That night, Li Jianting replaced all key officials of the Internal Affairs Office. The imperial guards knocked on doors—without waiting for explanations, they immediately gagged and arrested people. The speed was even faster than during Li Jianting’s poisoning case. Everywhere in the palace were hurried footsteps. In the shadows by the walls stood countless guards. Eunuchs and palace maids still on duty were extremely cautious, all shrinking in place, not daring to look around.
Xue Xiuzhuo did not sleep. He stood by the window in a robe, listening to the chaotic running outside the high walls. After the rain stopped, the dark clouds slowly dispersed, and cold moonlight fell over him, his profile reflected against the bamboo shadows by the window.
“Ah ah.” The mute boy roughly wiped his nose and urged Xue Xiuzhuo to rest.
Xue Xiuzhuo turned back and asked:
“Is Jinge’er sleeping well?”
The mute boy nodded, pointing toward Xue Jing’s room, making an “mm-uh” sound as an answer.
Xue Xiuzhuo said:
“Go sleep.”
The mute boy refused. He gestured, signaling Xue Xiuzhuo to eat.
Xue Xiuzhuo did not respond. He lowered his hand and picked up a chess piece from the board, studying it as if unable to understand something. Seeing that he would not move, the mute boy showed a helpless expression, did not leave, and sat down at the doorway.
After a long while, Xue Xiuzhuo threw the chess piece back into the container.
The next morning after court, Xue Xiuzhuo waited outside Mingli Hall for an audience with Li Jianting. The memorials impeaching him were countless. Once Xue Xiuyi was imprisoned, the accusations of corruption and bribery were effectively confirmed. Public opinion followed the wind, and even the students from the Imperial Academy who once sent him visiting cards had decreased.
“A teacher stealing someone’s child is against all natural law,” a censor knelt before the imperial desk. “Xue Xiuyi, no matter what, is his legitimate elder brother. Your Majesty, throughout history there has never been a case of a younger illegitimate brother seizing an elder legitimate son’s position. Moreover, he is an imperial tutor and should set an example. If he behaves like this, does he not teach the world to despise ritual and abandon kinship?”
Li Jianting closed the memorial.
“Xue Xiuyi indulges concubines and suppresses his wife, greedy and luxurious,” she said. “I believe Xue Xiuzhuo’s actions are precisely in accordance with ritual, and for the consideration of the Xue clan’s legitimate line. There is nothing improper.”
The censor, nearly seventy years old, trembled as he continued kowtowing:
“This old minister does not agree. If a brother is wrong, he may remonstrate, advise—this is what brotherly duty should be…”
Li Jianting stood up after listening to a morning full of lectures on ritual doctrine.
“…As it is said: ‘When the wise are employed, the state is orderly; when the unworthy are employed, chaos arises¹.’ What is a worthy man? One who distinguishes nobility and humility, and follows ritual…” the censor continued, “Your Majesty, good medicine tastes bitter, and loyal words offend the ear…”
Li Jianting sat back down again.
The weather after rain was hot and muggy, making the flowers in the hall look wilted. The censor rested briefly, drank tea, and before Li Jianting could speak, continued his admonitions. Li Jianting sat there from morning court until the hour of You.
After who knows how many cups of tea, the censor finally said warmly:
“Your Majesty, the more intelligent and enlightened one is, the more one must keep clarity of mind and hearing…”
He smacked his lips and paused to breathe.
“Therefore—”
“I have learned more from your words today than from ten years of reading,” Li Jianting said, standing to personally support him. The flower mark on her forehead made her face bright and radiant as she smiled. “Another day, I will ask you to lecture at the Imperial Academy for the students. It is getting late—sir must be tired, please go rest.”
The censor repeatedly said “I dare not,” but as he was leaving, still insisted:
“A wise ruler prevents disaster before it forms—Xue Xiuzhuo…”
Feng Quan stepped forward and supported him, smiling:
“The ground is slippery, sir, please watch your step. This servant will help you.”
The censor, supported by Feng Quan, walked farther and farther away. The setting sun bathed the hall’s potted plants in orange light, and the gold hairpin at Li Jianting’s temple gleamed. She turned and looked at Xue Xiuzhuo standing below the hall. His back was like a blade, shoulders bearing the last rays of light. His official robe was swallowed by the dusk, and his expression could not be seen.
“Teacher,” Li Jianting lifted the beaded curtain, “please enter.”
Inside Mingli Hall there were no lamps lit and no attendants. After entering, Xue Xiuzhuo knelt before the imperial desk, but Li Jianting did not return to the throne. She stood beside the desk, looking at the paintings on the wall.
“Xue Xiuyi’s crimes have nothing to do with you,” she said. “If you are here to plead guilty, there is no need.”
“Xue Xiuyi’s corruption is under investigation. The Ministry of Punishments is pursuing the Western merchants involved but found nothing,” Xue Xiuzhuo replied. Unlike others, he knelt upright, just as he had when teaching Li Jianting in the mansion. “Your Majesty ordered the Imperial Guards to assist. This matter naturally has nothing to do with me.”
“There are countless impeachment memorials against you,” Li Jianting said, gazing at the painting. “Listing more than ten accusations. Yet your tone is calm and unhurried. You must have anticipated this.”
Xue Xiuzhuo said:
“When one is in dire straits, one seeks change.”
The light in the hall dimmed. Both figures were hidden in shadow. Outside, the palace lanterns under the eaves were not lit. The entire palace seemed asleep, vast halls resting under faint light at the horizon. There was no bird call, no human sound.
“You once saved thirteen cities with Jiang Qingshan, and helped Hai Liangyi bring down Hua Sihai. You investigated eight cities’ land taxes without rest. No one understands better than you how deeply entrenched aristocratic clans are,” Li Jianting said, touching the painting stamped with Emperor Guangcheng’s seal. “Your insistence in court on continuing the audit was merely to give me a chance to win over veteran officials.”
Xue Xiuzhuo understood this better than anyone. With Han Cheng and the Empress Dowager already fallen, the aristocratic clans were weakening and collapsing on their own. His repeated petitions to abolish Fei clan titles and execute their entire family were also to create an opportunity for the emperor to unite opposition.
“You want to sacrifice yourself to help me secure the empire,” Li Jianting said.
A palace lamp lit. Weak light filtered through the beads, falling in fragments on Xue Xiuzhuo’s back. His thin frame and worn robes looked like a pine nailed into Jiandu, unmoving in the wind. He looked at the painting and said:
“To protect the state, one must be willing to give up everything.”
Those who coerce the emperor above and dominate the court below are called powerful ministers. Most gather factions and violate ritual, like Hua Sihai. If Li Jianting were indecisive like past emperors, Xue Xiuzhuo could have become such a minister. But she was not.
A state sometimes needed a gentle ruler, but not now—not in this land surrounded by wolves. If she could not be decisive and resolute, she would not be worthy of sitting here.
“There are censors to restrain words, officials to govern affairs, and the Imperial Academy to advise on governance,” Xue Xiuzhuo said calmly. “But if the prestige of the Academy rests on one minister, then it becomes a wolf influencing the emperor. Therefore, I must stand apart from the court.”
His gaze was calm in a way that was not ordinary calmness, but the calm of someone who already knew the path ahead—so no matter what stones or insults came along the way, he would not be moved.
Reputation seemed intangible, yet it was the foundation of faction-building. Hai Liangyi never formed factions, yet did that truly mean he had none? Scholars gathered, the Imperial Academy aligned itself, and Yao Wenyu could gather talents for Shen Zechuan—all of it contained Hai Liangyi’s influence.
Xue Xiuzhuo’s record in office was consistently excellent: stabilizing Western regions, restoring thirteen cities, and later auditing land taxes and returning land to the people. He had used “reputation” before, and understood the power of stirring tides.
Li Jianting suddenly turned and said:
“Teacher, are you not afraid of death?”
No one had ever asked Xue Xiuzhuo this question. He looked at her and answered:
“Officials die for the state.”
To protect the state, one must be willing to give up everything.
Xue Xiuzhuo was willing. Even his life and reputation—he was willing to give them up.
After a moment of silence, Li Jianting said:
“I respect you, teacher, and I am willing to give it up as well.”
“Things reach their extreme and then reverse; evil reaches its extreme and then perishes².”
Yao Wenyu wrote furiously, his handwriting messy. The room was filled with scattered papers. His hand trembled slightly as he held the brush, and finally he coughed violently into his sleeve after dropping it.
Timing. Timing.
Chi Shiyu wanted the Chi clan to inherit Chi Zhuyin’s title of “Eastern Lie King.” He was more cautious than Xiao Fangxu and could still observe the situation. Shen Zechuan had only recently gained the hearts of six prefectures after the Zhizhou battle; to fully erase the names Shen and Wei required absolute righteousness. Thus, Dunzhou’s defense army could not act first even after reaching the Northern Plains training grounds. Moreover, as long as Chi Zhuyin remained inactive, the 300,000 Jidong defense troops were the blade at the southern border of Zhongbo.
Timing. Timing.
The Duke needed a timing that would completely eliminate hidden threats.
Yao Wenyu coughed violently, no longer writing, only covering his mouth with a cloth. Qiao Tianya had just arrived that night. As he entered the courtyard, he heard the coughing inside.
“Didn’t you prepare medicine for him?” Fei Sheng asked the maid in the courtyard.
“He only took half a bowl,” the maid replied softly. “Then he stayed inside and did not allow anyone to disturb him.”
Qiao Tianya pushed the door open. The carpet was covered with scattered papers. Fei Sheng followed behind and picked them up, only to find dense writing on each sheet, and was stunned.
“Is he writing a book…”
Qiao Tianya had already entered the inner room. Yao Wenyu’s cloth was stained red. Qiao Tianya immediately pushed aside the wheelchair and lifted him up.
“Call Jiran!”
Yao Wenyu tilted his head weakly. Blood was also flowing from his nose. Qiao Tianya wiped away the cloth covering his mouth and nose; it was damp and cold.
It was deep night. Jiran was already asleep.
Qiao Tianya did not wait. He carried him down the steps and ran toward Jiran’s courtyard. Yao Wenyu’s eyes were half closed, his face pressed against his chest, murmuring:
“…Fei Sheng… send the message…”
Qiao Tianya was drenched in sweat as he ran, covering Yao Wenyu’s face with his hand as if trying to press him into his chest.
Fei Sheng reached the steps first and pounded on the door:
“Open it! Wake the little monk!”
The servant did not dare delay and ran to call people. When Jiran came out, still wearing his monk’s robe and rubbing his sleepy eyes, he said:
“This humble monk does not see patients at night—ah! How did the gentleman become like this!”
When Shen Zechuan arrived, it was nearly dawn. He wore a loose robe and, upon entering the inner room to see Yao Wenyu asleep, signaled everyone to the side hall.
“Overexertion shortens life,” Jiran said. “The poison he has is called ‘Delayed Return.’ As the name suggests, it is the opposite of ‘Swift Pursuit.’ It comes slowly and disperses slowly. It has been over a year, hasn’t it?”
“About a year and a half,” Fei Sheng remembered. “From the time in Dan City.”
Jiran set down his brush, pressed his palms together, and bowed to Shen Zechuan.
“This humble monk first saw the gentleman, and his wrists already showed cyan marks. Lord, this poison is like Swift Pursuit. I cannot cure it.”
The faces in the hall changed instantly.
In a haze, Yao Wenyu heard rain. He dreamed of Mount Bodhi, where closing his eyes meant endless rain. Mist covered the bamboo forest, sleeves stained with mud. He could not tell whether he was wet from sweat or rain.
“One spring and autumn since we parted,” a voice said behind him. “Yuan Zhe, you’ve returned.”
Yao Wenyu turned around. The wind lifted his wide sleeves.
“Teacher.”
Hai Liangyi stood with hands behind his back, his beard already white. He wore no official robe, just as when he once led Yao Wenyu into the academy. He said:
“I heard the wind move, and knew you had returned.”
The bamboo waves roared. Hai Liangyi’s figure faded into them, leaving Yao Wenyu alone. He looked toward Jiandu’s imperial palaces in the distance, only now realizing the vastness of heaven and earth.
“Teacher, wait for me,” Yao Wenyu said. “When the rain stops…”
A zither sounded abruptly. The scene shattered. He fell back into the bed.
The half-closed window blocked sunlight. When he opened his eyes, it did not feel like waking, but like falling deeper into a dream. After several attempts, he finally said:
“Songyue, it is the hour of Si.”
Qiao Tianya pressed the strings:
“You’ve reversed day and night. You’re confused. Don’t you usually call me Qiao Tianya?”
“‘Pine moon brings night chill, wind and spring fill clear listening³,’” Yao Wenyu said. “That name is too lonely.”
“I once had a friend named Shao Fengquan,” Qiao Tianya plucked the strings, the notes scattered without forming a tune. “Too bad he died.”
Yao Wenyu listened to the chaotic sound and asked:
“Did he also play the zither?”
“I don’t remember,” Qiao Tianya said. “But the only one who can play for you is me, Qiao Tianya.”
Yao Wenyu looked at him:
“When we first met that spring month, you never finished teaching the tune.”
Qiao Tianya paused and looked at him:
“Then it is not too late now.”
Xue Xiuyi could not explain himself clearly. The residences of those traveling merchants were all empty. In Jiandu, entry and exit required household registration documents; the Imperial Guards had been stationed there for three days, yet they found no one. Those merchants who once spent extravagantly on East Dragon Street had vanished as if into thin air.
Kong Qiu received Xue Xiuzhuo’s request in the administrative compound and set down his teacup. After thinking for a moment, he said:
“Let him go.”
After the messenger left, Cen Yu across from him said:
“Allowing Xue Xiuzhuo to participate in this case now… I’m afraid it is inappropriate.”
“This concerns the internal court, and the amount of silver involved is large. After the Ministry of Punishments determines the charges, it will certainly go through a joint trial by the Three Offices.” Kong Qiu picked up his teacup again. “Xue Xiuzhuo is Deputy Minister of the Court of Judicial Review. Since he has not been suspended, he has supervisory authority.”
“Xue Xiuyi is his elder brother after all. He should avoid suspicion,” Cen Yu said, supporting his knee. “Moreover, the impeachment memorials against him are increasing by the day.”
“I’ll be frank, Xunyi, the Censorate really needs some cleaning up.” Kong Qiu took a few sips of tea. “That day in court, impeaching Xue Xiuyi for corruption was fine, but dragging Xue Xiuzhuo into it is clearly mixed with personal resentment. Look at those accusations—they’re all baseless.”
“He has outstanding achievements and comes from a noble clan,” Cen Yu said. “People who hate him would step on him given any chance. If the emperor had scolded Xue Xiuzhuo a little while punishing Xue Xiuyi, it wouldn’t have turned into such an uproar.”
Kong Qiu could no longer taste his tea. He set the cup down and fell silent for a moment.
“This matter should never have been brought up so directly. Xue Xiuzhuo audited land taxes in Dan City, Wu City, and Rucheng, returning land to the people. During this year’s Yong City drought, Jiang Qingshan struggled to borrow grain and had to beg everywhere in Jiandu, yet even then, not a single grain set aside for those three cities’ people was touched. The people remember him well—even setting up ancestral tablets for him at home. Last time, the emperor rejected his request to continue auditing land taxes and instead rewarded Jiang Qingshan to stabilize the situation. Now if Xue Xiuzhuo is condemned over something like Xue Xiuyi, the people of those three cities will not agree. Besides, everyone knows Xue Xiuzhuo and Xue Xiuyi are estranged and have long since separated households. If you censors want the emperor to dismiss him, and the emperor actually does so, would that not be ingratitude and betrayal of merit?”
Cen Yu replied:
“Censors are remonstrating because they fear the emperor will favor the Xue clan. If everything the emperor does follows Xue Xiuzhuo’s will, it will disrupt the hierarchy of ruler and ministers. And besides, the emperor was quite fond of Fu Man recently—didn’t Fu Man eventually overstep and make mistakes?”
Kong Qiu pointed at Cen Yu.
“Exactly. Because the emperor trusted Fu Man, Fu Man made mistake after mistake. This time, you are not seeing clearly. Let me ask you: what kind of person is Fu Man? He once associated with Xiao Chiyan, then betrayed him to side with Han Cheng, even luring Xiao Chiyan into the palace. Later, to save his own life, he turned on Han Cheng. The poisoning case was never fully investigated, and the emperor did not pursue it—but that doesn’t mean he is foolish. Fu Man’s influence in the internal court is immense, with disciples everywhere. Most importantly, he is a eunuch who has served two reigns, with authority to reject cabinet memorial approvals. The emperor is still in his prime now—but what about later? Keeping such a man by his side is dangerous. A slight mistake could injure the person, or worse, the state itself. If the emperor does not kill him, I will.”
Kong Qiu stood and paced.
“Shen Zechuan is already stationed at the Northern Plains training grounds. How long can Jiandu’s forty thousand new troops hold? We must immediately request the Grand Commander to mobilize and defend the throne. Last time, when the Grand Commander moved against the Qing Shu tribe, the military pay was provided by Xue Xiuzhuo. If we now cross Tianfei Pass to attack Zhongbo, we will still need to request funds from him.”
The Ministry of Punishments prison guards were familiar with Xue Xiuzhuo and opened the door for him.
“Sir, are you here to see Xue the custodian? As long as you have the warrant, I’ll open it right away.”
Xue Xiuzhuo followed the guard’s gesture, glanced briefly, then withdrew his gaze.
“I am here to see Yingxi.”
The guard did not ask further. After checking the warrant, he led Xue Xiuzhuo inside and opened the cell.
Yingxi, in a filthy prison uniform, had been tortured. He lay curled up inside, and upon hearing movement, he trembled violently and scrambled up, covering his head.
“I am guilty! I am guilty! Don’t hit me!”
Xue Xiuzhuo looked around the cell.
Yingxi saw him through the gaps in his arms and immediately crawled down from the bed, kneeling at his feet.
“Sir, sir, are you here to investigate the case? I am guilty! I am guilty!” He rattled his chains and pointed at his face. “But I was wronged this time!”
Xue Xiuzhuo’s official robe was grasped and wrinkled by Yingxi. He looked down and said:
“Your guilt is not yet decided. I will ask you a few questions. If you answer truthfully, I will speak to the Ministry of Punishments on your behalf.”
Yingxi nodded frantically.
“I will tell everything! Everything! I was all following Old Ancestor’s orders!”
“Who sent you to the Eastern border as supervising commander?”
“The… the previous emperor…” Yingxi stammered. “The previous emperor sent me. It was recommended by Old Ancestor. He said we, father and son, one inside and one outside, would never have to rely on others again.”
Xue Xiuzhuo continued:
“Did you replace the border grain?”
Yingxi froze, shrinking back.
“I was only a supervising officer… how would I dare… to replace military grain…” He glanced at Xue Xiuzhuo’s expression and suddenly started shifting blame. “That… that was not my fault! Deputy Commander Lu Guangbai’s defection was not forced by me!”
Xue Xiuzhuo grabbed his arm again.
“Was the border grain replaced by you?”
Yingxi gasped, unable to escape.
“It… it wasn’t my intention. I only… changed the grain carts. I didn’t know it was moldy rice! If I had known, even if I had ten lives, I wouldn’t dare! Old Ancestor harmed me! When the Grand Commander arrested me, I was only taking the fall for Fu Man—he felt guilty, so he tried to save me!”
Xue Xiuzhuo had been investigating the border grain case. All Ministry of War officials seemed clean. Only now, seeing Yingxi again, did he remember the supervising eunuchs.
A scorpion.
He stared at Yingxi.
“Why did you enter the palace?”
Yingxi shook his head desperately.
“It wasn’t me! Truly not me! This time I came to the palace because Fu Man instructed me. He wrote to me in the sixth month, telling me to take care of the flowers in the estate, waiting until the ninth month to win favor from the master! I came… I only came to deliver flowers!”
“You are hiding in Jiandu,” Xue Xiuzhuo raised his voice. “Who else are you planning to kill?”
“I don’t know! I don’t know!” Yingxi cried. “I am innocent!”
“Is Shen Zechuan one of you?”
“I have nothing to do with the rebels! I swear!”
“Did Xiao Chiyan’s recommendation of Fu Man come from Shen Zechuan’s instruction?”
At this moment, Xue Xiuzhuo felt a chill down his spine.
Everything he could not understand suddenly began to connect.
“Also the report accusing Wei Huaigu,” Xue Xiuzhuo said darkly. “The eunuchs swapped the seals, changing it from the Ministry of Punishments to the Ministry of Revenue—so Wei Huaigu would confess and cut off the trail. It was Fu Man… it was the eunuchs!”
No wonder there was no trace in court.
Fu Man hung his head, barely breathing. A bucket of salt water was suddenly thrown over his face. His body was covered in wounds, and he screamed in pain, but his limbs were bound.
“You dog bastard!” he shouted.
Feng Quan tossed the bucket aside.
“So you’re not a good dog either.”
“This is your doing!” Fu Man screamed.
“You brought this on yourself.” Feng Quan patted his face. “Calling yourself ‘Old Ancestor’ at your age—you were tired of living long ago.”
Fu Man spat blood.
“You wait… when the emperor—”
“Will execute your entire clan.” Feng Quan leaned close. “You poisoned the emperor. Did you think no one knew? You framed me to be imprisoned, so eager to kill me—did you think the emperor couldn’t see through it?”
Fu Man’s teeth loosened.
“I didn’t… it wasn’t me!”
“Then who?” Feng Quan stepped back. “The one who took Han Cheng’s ‘Swift Pursuit’ was you. Han Cheng gave you the poison to put into the emperor’s food, so that when she died, the army could use ‘loyal defense’ as an excuse to purge the court. You almost succeeded.”
“I controlled it…” Fu Man’s voice shook. “It wasn’t me!”
Feng Quan smiled faintly.
“You are the Old Ancestor. I am the little ancestor.”
Fu Man roared and struggled.
“You are Yingxi’s dog!”
“That dog was raised by you,” Feng Quan said. “He doesn’t even recognize me.”
Fu Man cried:
“I am wronged!”
Feng Quan covered his nose and turned away.
“Since you’ve confessed, I’ll deliver your statement properly to the emperor.”
The door slammed shut.
That night, Xue Xiuzhuo waited in the administrative compound for Kong Qiu’s approval. He needed the warrant to see Fu Man.
Kong Qiu said:
“Fu Man tried to bite off his own tongue yesterday. The prison guards took it upon themselves and cut it out. Even if you go now, you won’t get anything out of him. Fortunately, his confession was already recorded.”
Xue Xiuzhuo froze.
“…Who authorized that?”
“A young hot-headed subordinate,” Kong Qiu said, frowning. “It was too harsh. The Ministry of Punishments is already investigating.”
Too coincidental.
Before Xue Xiuzhuo could speak further, Cen Yu rushed in, drenched in sweat, holding a piece of paper.
“Look at this—it’s turning into chaos!”
“The current ruler comes from the common people—who can verify his bloodline? Only Xue Xiuzhuo’s word!” The rumor spread overnight. “He is untrustworthy. Look at his elder brother Xue Xiuyi—a state rat who nearly angered the Grand Chancellor to death.”
“Doesn’t he resemble Emperor Guangcheng?” someone said.
“Then I resemble him too,” someone else snapped.
The tea house erupted in chaos. Papers were read aloud, arguments broke out, and soon people were fighting.
Students shouted:
“The Xue clan controls the court! You are accomplices! Traitors to the Great Zhou!”
Others shouted back:
“Xue Xiuzhuo audited taxes and returned land to the people! Who among you can do that? You are framing loyal officials!”
Tables overturned. Ink spilled everywhere. The schoolmaster rushed in to restore order but was pushed back out.
“Call the Imperial Guards!” he cried. “Someone is going to die!”
More chaos erupted. A student climbed onto a table:
“Xue Xiuzhuo is a loyal minister!”
A stone inkstone struck his head mid-sentence.
Outside, the academy fell into complete disorder.
The sound of the zither lingered as Yao Wenyu played slowly. His wrist thread swayed as his fingers turned red from plucking the strings.
Qiao Tianya pressed down on the strings.
“You missed it.”
Then he guided Yao Wenyu’s hand.
Yao Wenyu looked at him:
“Have you taught others like this before?”
“Many,” Qiao Tianya said casually.
“Then none told you,” Yao Wenyu said softly, “that you grip too tightly.”
Qiao Tianya paused.
“Maybe someone did. I just don’t remember.”
“That’s a good habit,” Yao Wenyu said.
Qiao Tianya looked at him for a moment.
Then he leaned forward and kissed him.
Leaves fell in the courtyard behind them.
Qiao Tianya held his chin, deepening the kiss. The bitterness of medicine filled the mouth, spreading into the chest like pain.
When he finally pulled away, he asked:
“Do you have anything to say to me?”
Yao Wenyu smiled faintly.
“I am your first student.”
Qiao Tianya also smiled.
Yao Wenyu touched his eye.
“May you have peace, prosperity, and longevity.”
Qiao Tianya’s eyes reddened slightly.
“Why not wish me a good marriage and many children?”
Yao Wenyu did not answer.
“You are lying,” Qiao Tianya said softly. “You already knew that tune.”
Yao Wenyu withdrew his hand.
“This life ends in your March appointment. No regrets.”
Their sleeves stirred in the wind—close, yet impossibly distant.