Spring was the season for planting mulberry and hemp, and the second lunar month was critical. Reports poured in from all regions as deadlines tightened and the Ministry of Revenue was pressed for funds. In Qudu, miscellaneous affairs had piled up like mountains; every ministry was run ragged. Li Jianheng carried out a sweeping round of rewards: Xiao Chiye was invested as Marquis of Dingdu; Shen Zechuan was promoted over rank to Associate Commander of the third grade, concurrently placed in charge of the Northern Pacification Office, and began to oversee the imperial prison.
The Grand Secretariat initially opposed it, but Cen Yu submitted a memorial strongly recommending Shen Zechuan, and Hai Liangyi—having formed a better opinion of him over the epidemic—raised no objection. And so it was settled.
Xiao Chiye kept the little box with the earrings on him, but never found a chance to cross paths with Shen Zechuan. Shen Zechuan was running between the prison and the courts; cases piled up from before the New Year all had to be reviewed one by one, leaving him so busy he forgot to eat and sleep. On top of that, he had Qiao Tianya keeping watch on Xi Hongxuan, trying to figure out how to retrieve Qi Huilian and Ji Gang.
Young swallows chattered beneath the eaves, willow branches sprouted new buds. The vermilion walls and green tiles of Qudu gradually emerged. After several days of clear skies, spring rain finally fell. Cen Yu hosted a banquet and invited friends involved in the recent affair. Hai Liangyi rarely attended private banquets, and with his health not yet recovered, he did not come this time.
By the time Shen Zechuan arrived, it was already late. He was led straight to the main hall. Lifting the curtain, he saw that the room was full of familiar officials.
Han Cheng, Kong Qiu, and Cen Yu sat together at one table. Xiao Chiye had already gone through several rounds of wine, one arm draped casually as he listened to Yu Xiaozai below him regale the hall of senior officials with jokes.
The moment Shen Zechuan entered, Yu Xiaozai hurried to greet him. “My lord arrived late—quickly, please take the upper seat.”
Shen Zechuan removed his cloak and smiled. “There’s too much going on in the prison. Gentlemen, please excuse me. I’ll sit below.”
Cen Yu rose and beckoned. “It’s a private banquet—none of that formal nonsense. Come up. We’re all friends across generations; why be so stiff? Old Han, call him up!”
Han Cheng said, “That’s exactly right. Lanzhou, come up and sit here. We old, useless fellows are only basking in reflected glory today, sitting next to the Marquis. Marquis, you’re lowering yourself for us!”
“The Commander is taking a dig at me,” Xiao Chiye said with a hint of drunken ease, not looking at Shen Zechuan as he smiled. “Everyone here is a venerable elder. I’ll still be relying on your guidance in the days to come.”
Shen Zechuan had already taken his seat, a short distance from Xiao Chiye across the table—close enough that he could reach him with an outstretched leg. Neither looked at the other, nor exchanged greetings. Kong Qiu glanced between them and laughed. “I’ve long heard you two had a falling-out. Now you meet and don’t even speak? This assignment was handled together, and it went well. Why keep harping on old grudges?”
“I think you’re both young and capable,” Cen Yu said, lifting his hand. “You don’t shirk when it comes to work. Why not take today’s chance to let bygones be bygones? The Embroidered Guard and the Imperial Guards must look out for each other. There’ll be many chances to work together. Marquis—what do you say?”
Xiao Chiye cast Shen Zechuan a lazy glance, his meaning hard to read. “Why would I object? If the Commissioner gives me a smile, what could I possibly refuse? This time, I should properly thank my lord as well.”
“Whenever I see the Marquis, am I not all smiles?” Shen Zechuan turned his wine cup in his fingers. “Those matters were long forgotten. We simply never had the chance.”
Han Cheng had drunk the most with Xiao Chiye. Seeing this, he picked up his chopsticks again and said as he selected a dish, “Then have a drink. Marquis—do us the honor!”
Yu Xiaozai, who had been standing the whole time, immediately filled both cups. Xiao Chiye lifted his without standing. “Then let’s clink.”
By rank, Xiao Chiye indeed need not rise. Shen Zechuan stood and raised his cup, his wrist bone visible as he did.
Xiao Chiye suddenly said, “Since it’s a drink to bury old grudges, we can’t just drink it ordinarily. Commissioner—how about a cross-cupped drink?”
Han Cheng laughed at once, pointing at Xiao Chiye and shaking his head. “Marquis, that’s not decent—why put Lanzhou on the spot?”
“How is that putting him on the spot?” Xiao Chiye said. “I value him too much for that. Isn’t this showing resolve?”
Cen Yu knew Xiao Chiye’s temperament and thought he might be nursing old grudges from Zhongbo, deliberately trying to embarrass Shen Zechuan. He was about to intervene when Shen Zechuan was already smiling.
“All right,” Shen Zechuan said. “As the Marquis wishes.”
Cup in hand, Shen Zechuan leaned in. Xiao Chiye could glimpse the faint line of his collarbone. Their arms crossed. As Shen Zechuan drank, his throat bobbed; Xiao Chiye’s gaze seemed to follow that motion, sliding with the wine beneath the robes.
Xiao Chiye drank slowly, the wine held in his mouth, his eyes never leaving Shen Zechuan. When their arms crossed, Shen Zechuan could clearly feel how solid he was.
At the moment Xiao Chiye finished, he seemed to chuckle—but no one heard it except Shen Zechuan, who lowered his eyes to look at him. Xiao Chiye’s gaze was naked, brimming with dangerous, burgeoning desire.
Shen Zechuan withdrew his arm and sat back down, a light sheen of sweat on his back. Xiao Chiye appeared unchanged, resting his arm on the chair again, turning his head to listen to others talk.
Cen Yu said, “After spring plowing comes the spring examinations. The Imperial Academy will recruit new students this year as well. I imagine the Ministry of Revenue will be pulling its hair out again.”
Kong Qiu snorted. “What does Wei Huaigu worry about? He’s the money shopkeeper! He should be the one counting. These matters should have been arranged long ago; leaving it to now already counts as dereliction.”
“He’s the money shopkeeper, and you’re the living judge of hell!” Han Cheng set down his chopsticks, sated with food and drink. “Zhongbo is a mess right now—cases sent up to the Ministry of Justice are as numerous as ox hairs. If we don’t send someone to handle it, won’t that be trouble?”
“I think the Grand Secretary is weighing whom to send,” Cen Yu sighed. “If Lanzhou were properly entering court service, he might have a chance this time.”
Shen Zechuan’s cheeks were tinged with pink, whether from the heat or the wine. “Not me. My seniority isn’t enough for an external posting—I couldn’t keep things in line.”
“Experience comes with time,” Han Cheng said, animated. “Everyone says capital officials are tricky, but how can they compare to local officials’ slickness? Years ago I went down with the Censorate to audit accounts—those ‘lords’ and ‘old fathers’ were crafty as foxes! Every prefecture kept two sets of ledgers. Even you, Cen Xunyi, wouldn’t be able to tell the real from the fake. Every year, when an imperial inspector was sent down, word spread early. Before you arrived, they’d drive all the disaster victims and refugees out of the jurisdiction so you’d never see them—that’s how they got ‘no hunger within the borders’ on the evaluation. Once you arrived, they’d lay out banquets and ply you with wine under one excuse or another. You’d drink till dawn, sleep till dusk, be too drunk to even step out of the yamen gate—how could you still have the energy to audit accounts? When time was up, silver in pocket, a checkmark for excellence on the evaluation, and off to the next place to drink. That’s an inspection completed.”
“There are still people who do the work—you can’t condemn them all with one stroke,” Cen Yu said, then sighed. “A few years back, Xue Xiuzhuo went down and did an impressive job. He sorted the accounts of the thirteen cities of Juexi meticulously, without a single mistake. I thought he’d go to the Ministry of Revenue, but the Grand Secretary transferred him to the Court of Judicial Review.”
“How would he ever rise under Wei Huaigu?” Kong Qiu leaned back in his chair. “At the Ministry of Revenue, even the vice ministers are hollow titles now—Wei Huaigu decides everything. If Xue went there, he’d be wasted. The Grand Secretary is tempering him; he’s meant for greater things later.”
Kong Qiu had long avoided dealings with Wei Huaigu and Pan Xiangjie. Their surface harmony and inner discord were known to all, and he wasn’t afraid to speak even in front of Han Cheng.
Han Cheng laughed loudly. “Private banquet—no state affairs! How do you keep forgetting? Old Kong, you should be punished!”
Cen Yu thought everyone had eaten enough and said, “Not long ago You Jing returned and told me of a game. It’s still early—why don’t we try it today? You Jing, bring out those tiles of yours.”
Yu Xiaozai answered briskly, brought out a wooden box, opened it, and took out the carved wooden tiles. “This is something I saw people playing when I was supervising Yongyi Port—matching tiles into pairs. Gentlemen, would you like to try?”
Han Cheng said to Xiao Chiye, “This kind of scholar’s game isn’t for me. Marquis—care to advise?”
Xiao Chiye drank and said, “The Commander thinks too highly of me. I don’t look much like a scholar.”
“Just for fun. Let’s go. You Jing, deal!”
Yu Xiaozai dealt three hands. Xiao Chiye toyed with his wine cup as he looked—then suddenly something brushed his lower leg. He froze, his gaze fixed on Han Cheng’s tiles.
A foot slipped under the table, toes gliding slowly up Xiao Chiye’s calf, tracing the curve back and forth a few times.
Han Cheng frowned at his hand. “All these flowers and grasses—are they trying to stump me? Marquis, do you recognize them?”
Xiao Chiye said, “Play dogtail grass against the other two—guaranteed—”
The socked foot reached Xiao Chiye’s knee, the sole testing its place, resting there.
“—Guaranteed to stump them!” Han Cheng threw down a tile, laughing. “Swallows play, dogtail grass arrives with spring. I’ll cobble together a first line—Xunyi, your turn!”
Han Cheng truly had little literary talent, but he didn’t mind. Kong Qiu and Cen Yu laughed. In the gaps between their talk, Xiao Chiye glanced at Shen Zechuan.
Shen Zechuan held a small bamboo fan—the one Xiao Chiye had had someone send him. He tapped it lightly, listening intently. Sensing Xiao Chiye’s look, he lifted the corner of his eye with a hint of a smile.
The foot slid between Xiao Chiye’s legs, lingering as it rubbed his inner thigh. Xiao Chiye gripped his wine cup, thumb pressing the rim, utterly still.
“Isn’t this a fox?” After a while, Xiao Chiye smiled and plucked a fox tile inked in black from Han Cheng’s hand, tossing it onto the table. “Night rain finds a leaking roof; in dreams I hear the fox chant. Where does the spring tide invite us? I search within the dripping sound—sorry, I got carried away.”
Han Cheng clinked cups with Xiao Chiye and laughed. “Everyone else is speaking properly—how is it that when it’s your turn, the fox has to become a fox spirit?”
“With someone like me,” Xiao Chiye drank, looking at Shen Zechuan, “foxes just come calling.”
“How can a proper person answer that? Too crude,” Kong Qiu laughed and sighed. “You, Xiao Ce’an—leave the door unlatched even when you sleep, and then blame others for coming. Clearly you’re the one hoping for it.”
Xiao Chiye didn’t respond. The foot pressed lightly against him, and he smiled. Shen Zechuan’s upper body was steady, betraying nothing. His fingers tapped the fan, brushing it lightly; through the heat of the room, even the corners of his eyes were flushing red.
Just then Cen Yu dropped a tile. Yu Xiaozai immediately paused and bent to pick it up.
Shen Zechuan was about to withdraw his foot when Xiao Chiye’s hand darted down and clasped his ankle. The sole of Shen Zechuan’s foot, through cloth, pressed against an unspeakable place. Xiao Chiye slid two fingers into the sock, touching him.
Shen Zechuan’s fan came to rest on the table. Yu Xiaozai had already lifted his robe, his waist bending as he said, “Gentlemen, please lift your feet—this humble servant will see where it fell…”
Xiao Chiye was not flustered in the slightest. He held Shen Zechuan’s ankle steadily, his thumb applying pressure. The sensation sent a shiver up Shen Zechuan’s spine; he tightened his grip on the fan.