The imperial palace was under strict lockdown. Hai Liangyi and the other senior ministers were arranged by the Empress Dowager to rest within the Grand Secretariat’s deliberation compound. Inside and outside the palace alike, people were gripped by panic.
Li Jianheng’s sleeping quarters were cleaned with extraordinary care every day. Only eunuchs and palace maids personally designated by the Empress Dowager were allowed to attend him. Every entry and exit required washing and changing clothes, and during periods of rest no one was permitted to leave at will. Mu Ru relied on no one else’s hands—she personally stood guard at Li Jianheng’s side. Every dose of medicine she tasted herself before feeding him, and she ate and slept without ever leaving his bedchamber.
Li Jianheng drifted between consciousness and delirium. The Imperial Medical Bureau lived in constant dread, writing prescriptions and administering medicine with extreme caution. Everyone had their heads hanging by a thread; the atmosphere everywhere was deathly still, as though all were mourning.
Outside the palace, the Imperial Medical Bureau coordinated the medicinal supplies of Que Capital. Aside from those already infected, all refugees relocated from the low-lying areas were required to drink the medicine as well. The Ministry of Revenue and the Jinyiwei jointly managed relief distribution, setting up porridge-and-medicine sheds outside Zhaozui Temple, where decoctions and rice porridge were handed out on schedule every day.
Han Jin had withdrawn from Donglong Avenue on the very night Xi Hongxuan fell ill. The Eight Great Camps used patrols of the city gates as an excuse and dumped the task of clearing the official drainage channels entirely onto the Imperial Guards. But half of the Imperial Guards were stationed at Fengshan Drill Ground on standby and could not enter the city at all. Xiao Chiye did not have many elite troops at his disposal. Fortunately, the Ministry of Works still had people who had not withdrawn, and together with several dozen Jinyiwei, they scraped together enough manpower to dig through the four main avenues again in the rain.
By the fourth day, everyone was exhausted to the point of numbness. When Chenyang, Ge Qingqing, Qiao Tianya, and Gu Jin returned, they huddled together and dozed against the wall. Ding Tao and Little Wu were young; their elder brothers took care of them, taking turns stretching out their legs for the boys to use as pillows. Ding Tao’s brush would no longer take ink, and the notes in his little booklet came to a halt. In just a few days, everyone had turned into disheveled, filthy beggars.
Xiao Chiye had barely slept these past days. Before dawn he led people to dig trenches, with no rest in between. At night, when he returned to Zhaozui Temple, he kept watch over Shen Zechuan.
In the first few days, Shen Zechuan was still lucid. After that, the fever would not break, and the vomiting grew severe. With nothing in his stomach, all he could retch up was sour bile. Medicine fed to him would be vomited back up in the middle of the night. So whenever Xiao Chiye returned, he held Shen Zechuan. Leaning against the wall, he let Shen Zechuan face him, pressed to his chest or shoulder. Whenever Shen Zechuan felt like vomiting, Xiao Chiye rubbed his back.
In the deep of night, Zhaozui Temple was as desolate as an island cast out from the world. The rain had stopped. There were no birds. Night, thick as ink, covered everything.
Shen Zechuan’s breathing grew heavy. Suddenly he began coughing, his chest heaving violently. Xiao Chiye startled awake from a light sleep, covered Shen Zechuan’s back with his hand, and, exhausted, bounced his legs slightly, gently rocking him.
“Lan Zhou,” Xiao Chiye coaxed softly. “Where is Lan Zhou?”
Shen Zechuan looked wan and dispirited. The urge to vomit was stuck in his throat. His eyes were half open as he rasped, “Here…”
“Rock a little, and the illness will disperse,” Xiao Chiye said. “When you’re better, Second Young Master will take you riding.”
With his head resting on Xiao Chiye’s shoulder, Shen Zechuan let out a hoarse “Mm.”
“This is actually the way you hold a child,” Xiao Chiye whispered, his palm sliding along Shen Zechuan’s back in that intimate closeness. “When I broke out in rashes as a kid, my mother held me like this. Today I’m holding you like this—what should you call me?”
Shen Zechuan rubbed his cheek against him and buried his face. After a long while, he said dully, “Call you Father.”
Xiao Chiye’s chest shook as he laughed softly. “Moved?”
Shen Zechuan coughed and did not answer.
“I used to train horses the same way—eating and sleeping together,” Xiao Chiye said. “When Langtao Xuejin was still a colt, we were once trapped by heavy rain too, huddled together like this for warmth. It probably forgot by now.”
Shen Zechuan listened in a haze.
“Don’t forget,” Xiao Chiye said. “If you’re moved, you have to remember it—and pay me back later.”
Shen Zechuan tried to say something, but though his mouth opened, no sound came out. Xiao Chiye lifted a finger to brush aside Shen Zechuan’s soaked hair and lowered his gaze to that pale profile.
“Lan Zhou.”
Xiao Chiye murmured. Shen Zechuan fell asleep in that low calling, immersed at the edge of pain and pleasure, indulging in torment, tasting sweetness within bitter suffering.
Xiao Chiye was like a blazing sun, and like a wind from the grasslands—utterly different from others. In the gloomy dampness of rain and snow, Shen Zechuan hid that handkerchief away, as if hiding an impassioned, fervent dream. In that dream were the wild exhilaration of galloping across a thousand miles of grasslands, and the soaring spread of wings beneath a vast, clear sky, until it finally became a窥探 he could not speak of.
Xiao Chiye himself was a kind of temptation. Every time he murmured “Lan Zhou,” it was as though affection ran as deep as the sea. His flippancy and his firm steadiness were paradoxically blended together—he whispered lightly into Shen Zechuan’s ear, yet opened his arms to him with absolute reliability.
Shen Zechuan could no longer parry. Deceived by those affectionate yet frivolous kisses, his guard was stripped away. He became someone who rubbed cheeks and temples with Xiao Chiye, and at last, amid illness and pain, relied on him in a daze.
Later, Shen Zechuan’s vomiting eased somewhat. The decoction was fed to him by Xiao Chiye, one sip at a time. Whenever Shen Zechuan showed signs of sinking into unconsciousness, Xiao Chiye would say that same line—“Where is Lan Zhou”—as though it carried some inexplicable power, calling Shen Zechuan back again and again.
At first, Xiao Chiye would still doze while holding Shen Zechuan. But as several people died over the following days, he no longer dared sleep at night, listening constantly to Shen Zechuan’s breathing.
On the ninth day, two more people died beneath the canopy. The bodies could not be kept, nor could they be buried. Xiao Chiye handed the matter to Ge Qingqing.
When Ge Qingqing led people to carry the bodies out, Qiao Tianya was squatting by the stove, fanning the fire. As he watched the medicine, his mind was elsewhere.
“The Commander is waiting to feed the medicine,” Little Wu came over to ask. “Is it ready?”
“The drainage channels are already cleared. There’s no rush today—tell the Commander to wait a bit longer,” Qiao Tianya said, adding a couple of sticks of firewood. He shifted the cloth covering his mouth and nose. “Keep an eye on the Commander. He’s been with my lord every day. If he catches it too, there won’t be enough medicine left here.”
“There was an epidemic at Luoxia Pass in the Yongyi era,” Little Wu said as he squatted to wait. “The Prince led people to handle it and didn’t catch it either. I’ve heard the brothers from Libei say the Xiao family is favored by Heaven—physiques like that aren’t ordinary.”
“Dantai Hu was strong too—didn’t he still go down just like that?” Qiao Tianya said. “Being cautious never hurts. Did you drink your medicine this morning?”
“I did,” Little Wu answered honestly.
“How’s Dantai Hu today?” Qiao Tianya shifted his legs, which were slightly numb.
“He stopped vomiting yesterday,” Little Wu said. “Brother Chen says it’s because he’s strong, and we caught it early, had enough medicine, and physicians watching him closely. He’ll be fine!”
“If someone isn’t conscious yet, you can’t let your guard down,” Qiao Tianya said, as though deep in thought. He tossed the fan to Little Wu. “You watch the fire for your brother. I need to go talk with them about serious matters.”
He stood and headed for the canopy.
The canopy curtain was half lifted. Qiao Tianya ducked inside. It was dim but not damp; the bedding was dry, changed daily by attendants from the Imperial Medical Bureau. He saw Xiao Chiye speaking with Dantai Hu and waited a moment.
Xiao Chiye turned his head. “What is it?”
Qiao Tianya lifted his robe and sat on a nearby stool. “I need to talk to you about something important.”
Xiao Chiye rubbed the ring on his finger and looked at Qiao Tianya at his leisure.
“This illness is recorded in the archives of the Imperial Medical Bureau and the Jinyiwei,” Qiao Tianya said. “Have you looked at them?”
Xiao Chiye nodded.
“Do you know why Dancheng broke out back then? Xiao… Commander,” Qiao Tianya nearly called him Xiao Er again and corrected himself in time. “Before my lord fell ill, he checked the Jinyiwei records here and specifically had me write some things down. I’ve been thinking about this illness these past days, but my lord still isn’t awake, so I can only talk to you.”
“What did Lan Zhou say?”
“He said this illness came in an unusual way.” Qiao Tianya braced his hands on his knees and whistled to Ding Tao. “Recite the details of the Dancheng epidemic for the Commander. You’ve got a photographic memory—you still remember, right?”
Ding Tao thought for a moment. “The Dancheng outbreak in the Yongyi era happened in summer. The Imperial Medical Bureau sent people along with the Jinyiwei to investigate and found something strange. After checking, they discovered the place was backed by a mass grave—filthy, chaotic, never cleaned up. Corpses dumped before spring rotted after soaking, stinking to high heaven, and there were cooked-food stalls in front. It was hot, flies everywhere. The shop owner fell ill first. No one paid attention at the start—he thought it was a common cold, grabbed some medicine, and kept doing business. And then—those cooked foods got sold, and people fell sick in droves. Only then did the Dancheng prefectural office realize something was wrong.”
“A mass grave has all kinds of bodies,” the physician said while packing his case. “Perhaps one carried some disease, or had been bitten by some wild creature. Once it soaked and rotted, flies bit and fed on it. With people crowded together, infection was inevitable. Back then it was hard—Dancheng was sealed for half a year, and many died. This time we’re lucky. We discovered it early and had experience, so our precautions were timely.”
“That may be so, but how did Que Capital end up with it?” Qiao Tianya said. “The low-lying area of Donglong Avenue was indeed soaked in foul water, and people getting sick was expected. But Donglong Avenue had no deaths. To speak frankly—and Commander, don’t take offense—on Donglong Avenue, contracting venereal disease would be normal. How is it that this time it was the Dancheng epidemic?”
The physician, sensing the situation, found an excuse and withdrew.
“There’s never been a definitive explanation for the cause of the Dancheng epidemic,” Chenyang said after thinking for a moment. “This time there were collapses and heavy rain, everyone was in the water. Maybe—”
“There are too many kinds of epidemics,” Qiao Tianya said. “For example, the outbreak at Luoxia Pass that year was plague, but Hezhou couldn’t have that. Conditions differ from place to place—you can’t generalize. I may be overly suspicious, so let’s speak plainly. I think this illness didn’t start on Donglong Avenue at all. I think it started from—”
He lifted his thumb and pointed at the roof.
Inside the canopy, it fell utterly silent. Faces changed.
Qiao Tianya laughed once. “Isn’t it unfortunate? A man sent down from Heaven meets calamity the moment he descends. Avoid one pitfall only to fall into another. These past days, there’s been no news coming out of the palace. Commander, the channels are cleared, the water has receded—but the way I see it, this matter has only just begun.”
“The Heavenly Palace is inhabited by immortals,” Xiao Chiye said slowly. “Immortals cherish their lives. They wouldn’t dare play like this. The possibility you’re talking about—only someone driven into a corner, gambling everything, would dare do that.”
“Who knows,” Qiao Tianya said. “The Directorate of Ceremonial now lacks a chief eunuch capable of overseeing the Twenty-Four Offices. Many things are in a state of unmonitored chaos. If someone really brought something in, it would be easy to slip it past with a bit of deception. Our Imperial Guards and the Jinyiwei are all external forces—we can’t reach inside. But I think this is something we can’t afford not to guard against.”
Why did Li Jianheng leave the palace—was it really just for fun? He had survived an assassination attempt not long ago. He wasn’t bold by nature. How could he dare sneak out? Unless someone incited him.
Xi Hongxuan now discussed everything with Shen Zechuan. This brush with danger had been entirely unexpected, and he still lay in bed between life and death. So who had incited Li Jianheng—and who had made the Lotus Pavilion collapse at just the right moment?
Xiao Chiye sank into silence.
His instinct said it was not the Empress Dowager. Li Jianheng had begun showing filial devotion to her again; for her, this was precisely the moment to regain momentum. She would never bear to see Li Jianheng die now.
Then who was it?
This time was not meant to scare Li Jianheng—it was meant to kill him. And if Li Jianheng died, who would benefit?
The curtain was lifted again. A physician poked his head in and said joyfully, “Commander, the Zhenfu has awakened!”
Xiao Chiye sprang up and crossed the distance in a few strides, entering the room. Shen Zechuan, who had slept for days on end, had his eyes half open. Xiao Chiye crouched by the bed and looked at him softly.
Shen Zechuan lifted a finger and weakly brushed Xiao Chiye’s brows and eyes. Xiao Chiye caught his hand at once and pressed it to his own cheek.
“Go on,” Xiao Chiye leaned closer, laughing hoarsely. “Touch me. I’ll let you.”