Chapter 1: Grand Valediction
Notes:
From a NiF fan newly minted in 2021:
My allergic reaction to new media caused me to only fall for this divine pairing now.
My obsession and refusal to accept unhappy endings led me to personally come rescue Chief Mei.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The moon was flooding the skies when Mei Changsu returned to the main hall of the East Palace. Light of pure white spilt like water along the blood-red carpet into the hall, bringing to prominence the vastness of the entire palatial space. It was a rare wintry night without wind, and Mei Changsu, clad in thin fur and martial robes, entered with light steps into the chamber, still adorned with extravagant pageantry from the coronation of the Crown Prince, though that newly conferred Crown Prince was merely a lonely figure under candlelight, sitting with ink brush in hand, lost in thought.
But that loneliness was perhaps only an ethereal image; when Mei Changsu looked again, Xiao Jingyan had risen up from the high dais, his golden guan and ceremonial robes cutting a bold and majestic figure brimming over with glowing high spirits, and his smiling eyes were resplendent with light. “Xiao-Shu! You have finally come.”
Mei Changsu could not help but smile back, hands clasped behind his back as he stood with with dashing ease. “Your Highness summoned me—dare I not come?”
Xiao Jingyan took large strides until he was in front of him. “At noon, Commander Meng had already reported the counts for each camp, and I had thought you would return by sundown, not that it would take until this hour.”
“General Meng was only in charge of the counts for each camp. As the army supervisor with your jade token, I must ensure everything else is in order, of course.” Mei Changsu clasped his fists in a pretence of a modest salute and closed in with a smile. “The entire army is gathering in their camps for their grand valediction banquets; did you call me here with good wine and food at the ready?”
Xiao Jingyan’s mouth corners held a smile as he gazed deeply into the radiant man before him—three days ago, in the official appointment ceremonies at the imperial gardens, the imperial decree was issued to name Guest Courtier Su Zhe as the army supervisor, equipped with the Crown Prince’s token of authority; this man was yet clad in fluttering white when he accepted the decree with modesty, but after he returned to the East Palace to receive the token, he seemed to have become a new person entirely, his comportment, countenance, intonation, and elocution somehow not at all concealing that gallant bearing of the Lins’ xiao-Shu long ago.
“Naturally.” Xiao Jingyan gripped that hand in its fist-form salute. “Let us go; I have got something for you yet.”
Mei Changsu did not refuse either, letting Xiao Jingyan tug him through the decorated hall of the back palace directly into the outer veranda of the inner palace. The annex room on the west side was fully aglow with light, and a palace eunuch had long been waiting at the door to serve, pushing the door open as he said, “Sir Su has finally come.”
Mei Changsu was about to smile at that, but his expression froze at the splendour of the array of goods before him. Xiao Jingyan looked at him from the side, also with a not-quite-smiling expression as he explained, “this is what Consort-Mother prepared for you herself. She sent the eunuch with it here this morning, who has been waiting all along for you to inspect the wares so he can report back.”
Mei Changsu examined it thoroughly with gaping astonishment. Not speaking of the sets of brand-new helmets and armour, the winter clothing and martial robes, there were every conceivable item for use in the winter, from furs, quilts, carpets, and curtains to the smaller sleeves, gloves, hand warmers, and medicine, every item laid out in a most perfectly organised fashion that filled most of the annex.
He watched in a daze, turning his head after quite a while to meet Xiao Jingyan’s dark probing eyes, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. “I am going to war, not to be married off for convenience—what ever is such a big spread for?”
“All Consort-Mother’s ardent caring—I’m afraid it is not yet at its end.” Xiao Jingyan’s gaze was ardent as well, and he found the other’s words rather amusing. “I know you are off to war, so I personally chose two cases of emergency war-time items and already sent them to Li Gang. These remaining ones I’ll send with someone to the supplies camp once you’ve had a look; you may as well bring them.”
Mei Changsu seemed listless for a moment before turning back to salute deeply at the eunuch awaiting orders. “I thank Her Ladyship for these generous gifts. Pray tell Her Ladyship to not be concerned; this humble general shall do my utmost to be loyal and filial on this trip.”
The palace eunuch accepted his salute, then made his own to take his leave and report his completion. Mei Changsu saw him off with hands still clasped, then heaved a thoughtful sigh. “The urgent matter of war does not allow time for a farewell in person. Jingyan, in the coming days, give Aunt Jing a kowtow in my place.”
Xiao Jingyan had been gazing upon him with rapt attention, but looked down at those words and swung his sleeves as if he hadn’t heard. “Let’s go.”
Watching those hands clasped behind a straight back, Mei Changsu gave a bitter laugh beneath lowered eyes and followed. He saw Xiao Jingyan cross the warm chamber[1] into the innermost bedchamber, where the indulgent luxuries of the outer halls were completely absent, and it was all very much the picture of the solemn sparseness of Prince Jing’s Manor.
Within the chamber, a banquet of food and wine were already prepared upon Xiao Jingyan’s daily sitting mat. The servers were still his personal attending soldiers of yore, who now all saluted and took their leave, leaving the two host and guest to sit opposite from each other. Xiao Jingyan opened the clay seal of the wine pot with his own hands, and Mei Changsu pushed his cup closer and teased, “Your Highness can finally afford to drink the Royal Ruby[2].”
“I am yet simple in my ways. These two pots of Royal Ruby were gifted from the Mu Manor a few days before,” Xiao Jingyan poured wine as he explained word by word, “arriving together with a carrier pigeon letter by Commandery Princess Nihuang’s own hand: ‘this wine is a tribute to xiongzhang[3] in my place, one for the grand valediction, and one for the victory celebration.’”
Mei Changsu smiled with head dipped and cup in hand as he heard. When she received the news in the south, Nihuang must have known instantly he would never linger in Jinling, so as to send him this letter that could reach the capital in time. Their marriage union from their past life might have dissolved, but their army histories and presents, separated by vast expanses of mountains and waters, still mirror each other out of bonds of loyalty and honour.
“Xiao-Shu, a toast to you from me on behalf of departed friends and family.” Xiao Jingyan knew the sentiments he must have been feeling. “They would for certain drink a cup to their heart’s content for you, knowing your return to the battlefield.”
“Duty calls—dare I not forge forward?” Mei Changsu raised the cup and drank it in one tilt of the head. Ten years plagued with constant illness and poison, and to preserve his frail and sickly frame, he had long not had such a good drink. The strong and perfumed wine flowed smoothly down his throat, and his qi and blood roiled through his organs with great freedom, his eyes blurring over with sublime abandon as he gave a laugh with head back. “What wine! Splendid!”
Xiao Jingyan’s eyes misted over as well; he moved the fuling chicken soup over, to facilitate the pairing with wine. Mei Changsu did not put up a false brave front, but he held the soup bowl with one hand while the other still knocked the table with finger bent. “Bring wine.”
Xiao Jingyan did not defy him, filling up another cup; he smiled suddenly. “Seeing you in such cheer actually reminds me of your first time to the front lines.”
Mei Changsu’s gaze fell upon the wine, his thoughts drifting afar at those words. In those days, with their first battle imminent, fierce generals of the Chiyan Army were encircling their tents like tigers, waiting to pounce, and in the encampment of tens of thousands, there was only the sound of the young marshal yelling “bring wine”, already catching the thrown pot in one hand from the young prince riding alongside him before his words had dissipated.
Those sights and those people were as distant as a lifetime ago; Mei Changsu tilted back his head to finish another full cup, then collected his gaze back at Xiao Jingyan. His trial by fire and splintered bones were no less than reincarnating into another person, and as for Xiao Jingyan, he had already been polished into metal and stone from the upheavals and intrigues of warfare and politics; his red robes and gold guan reflected against the candlelight and wine at present, the lofty majesty of his mien no longer the unbridled liveliness of his youth.
“Jingyan,” Mei Changsu said softly, voice tinted with wine, slightly hoarse, with the end sound swallowed in the throat. Xiao Jingyan tilted his head upon listening, gazing intently at him for a moment before answering, “xiao-Shu.”
Mei Changsu smiled after all; his greatest aspiration was already realised, and his path forward was to be his return as well—to sit and drink with Xiao Jingyan was a gift from fate itself, so why should he mourn needlessly? He raised his head to push his cup over. “I called you for you to replenish the wine.”
A flame flickered light and dark in Xiao Jingyan’s eyes, though after a pause, he still refilled the wine for him and discussed the plans for the campaign. Before they realised it, thrice the wine was served, the moon crept down past the trees, and the night watch drums sounded double; Mei Changsu leaned into his chair-back with some drunkenness upon his breath and stared at the bright red bow before the room partition in a daze.
Xiao Jingyan’s gaze never drifted, and now he turned his head back to follow his sight without appearing surprised. “These years, before every time I embarked on an expedition, I would carefully clean it once again.”
Light flashed in Mei Changsu’s eyes; he rose up, walking to the stand with some unsteadiness in his steps. It was as if the scene in Prince Jing’s Manor re-enacted itself, only now, Xiao Jingyan said gently, “xiao-Shu, for your expedition this time, I wiped it back and forth yesterday for a whole night.”
Mei Changsu spread his fingers, his palm hovering over the limb of the bow for quite a long moment before gripping it. The bow had seen many years without any sign of ageing, its feel in the palm polished and natural, as if it never left its master’s side.
His heart storming, he glanced upon the bow in the light for a good while, then turned to stand erect a-top the steps, lifting his hand to grip the bowstring firmly. The feeling of equipping the bow spread from his palm to his entire body; for over ten years, this was perhaps the first he felt, with such authenticity, Lin Shu’s existence inside this sick and frail frame.
The forest of candles before the steps flickered their shadows, shining red flames[4] in Mei Changsu’s pupils that alternated bright and dark. The gesture to draw the bow flowed naturally, born from utmost familiarity; his breathing was deep and regular as his back stood straight, forearm stretched and level, his back hand pulling the bowstring back slowly and steadily.
But the bow had not been drawn to half its extent before Mei Changsu had used up his entire strength, his back as tight as the bow but unable to progress any longer. His breath caught between gritted teeth, man and bow frozen in tableau for a moment, and the dim light that re-ignited among the ashes of his heart extinguished again—he could not return to being Lin Shu, after all.
Xiao Jingyan had risen and walked over some unknown time ago. Mei Changsu was about to retract the bow when he pressed against his back all of a sudden, spreading his arms to clasp his two hands in his own. The two of them were of similar stock and build; Xiao Jingyan imitated his posture, and his entire body fit perfectly against Mei Changsu’s, without a seam.
Mei Changsu froze solid as if threatening to break; Xiao Jingyan’s arms were strong and frame trustworthy, steadfastly standing his ground against the force of the bow, and then he held his hand, in a manner that did not allow for protest, and drew the old bow fully open, bit by bit. The empty, arrow-less bow faced the vastness of the hall; Mei Changsu’s mind was thunderous in its silence, and he could only feel the heat all around him, Xiao Jingyan’s bright red robes as if a mirage of raging flames, devouring him utterly and without sound.
It could not be known how much time had elapsed—perhaps after only a fleeting instant—when Xiao Jingyan released the empty bowstring; outside the palace doors was the moon, peaceful as still water, and inside was the sound rending the emptiness to pieces. The illusion of fire and radiance wore off; Mei Changsu leaned, drained of power, against Xiao Jingyan, and only until his hollow eyes regained clear brightness did he realise that Xiao Jingyan half held the bow while the bend of his arm was perfectly and tenderly holding him tight.
Mei Changsu breathed in deeply; he had endured, without yielding, the conflagration that charred his body, the poisonous mites that devoured his bones, those years of flayed skin flayed and splintered bones, and a decade of ice and fire coursing through his veins, but now, inexplicably, his prideful metallic armour melted off with Xiao Jingyan’s warm embrace, rendering a sudden soft weakness inside him that he could not help.
The bright red bow slipped from his hands; he could feel nothing but that handsome bridge of Xiao Jingyan’s nose approach and sink deep into his shoulder, possibly accompanied by a sob. Mei Changsu steeled himself to force out a smile. “Fear not, this time to the north, I won’t pretend braveness on these weaponry and exertions; I will stay most properly in the encampment.”
Xiao Jingyan’s arms closed in tight as he breathed in deep, as if to ward off pain, but it seemed he could not truly grip the thin body in his arms no matter how he tried. The rims of Mei Changsu’s ears were burning hot; he turned around as if to say something, but Xiao Jingyan released his arms and pushed him away softly.
That long-lost tenderness gone as quickly as it came, Mei Changsu watched Xiao Jingyan vacantly, only to see his eyes swimming with emotions, as if forcibly restraining himself for a long instant before he choked out with difficulty, “xiao-Shu, I know everything.”
Mei Changsu widened his eyes in shock, his heart in deep turmoil. Xiao Jingyan did not wait for him to speak. “Consort-Mother told me all of it.”
He looked at Mei Changsu with great sorrow. “Some days ago, Lin Chen asked to visit the East Palace, and brought with him a list of medicines to bring to the front lines, asking me to assist with procuring them.
“I did not want to entrust it to the imperial physicians, so I took it into the palace and had Consort-Mother arrange it herself. But who could have expected that as soon as she saw the list, her tears fell like rain.
“Then I understood it all. I did not have the heart to question Consort-Mother, and wanted to find Lin Chen, but she stopped me.
“She said, Jingyan, for certain xiao-Shu will tell you nothing, but as your mother, I have it not in my heart to be cruel. If you let him go like this, when you find out the truth one day, I fear you shall hurt with ceaseless regret for all of your remaining days.”
Xiao Jingyan’s eyes were soaked full of sorrow, settling with trepidation in an unknown direction before he collected his gaze, fixing it upon Mei Changsu’s face. “Xiao-Shu, xiao-Shu, how can you be so cruel?”
Notes:
Translation Footnotes (click the numbers to return to the text in-place):
[1] The warm chamber/暖阁 is a standard palace room on the smaller and warmer side, often built with special architectural elements, such as hollow walls and floors for conducting heat from burning coal.
[2] The wine that was name-dropped at Mei Changsu’s housewarming party, Zhàodiànhóng/照殿红 is literally shining palace hall red and an alternate name for rubies as well as a variety of camellia.
[3] Nihuang called Mei Changsu Lin Shu-gege/林殊哥哥 when she first found out his identity, then switched to xiōngzhǎng/兄长, a respectful term of address akin to elder brother, for the rest of the show. Jingrui and Yujin also addressed him as Su-xiong/苏兄, with similar connotations.
[4] Chiyan/赤焰 is literally red flame. References to red flames throughout the entire work are meant to evoke Chiyan.
Chapter 2: Heart’s Longing
Notes:
From someone knifed silly by the ending: if he asked him to fight for his life then, would he have?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Mei Changsu’s state of mind churned and billowed; his hand formed into fists deathly tight, the tang of blood was upon his throat, and he had naught to say in response. The Bingxu pill was ferocious in its poisonous strength, and the supplement medicines were sure to be strong as swords, also; with Her Ladyship Consort Jing’s healing skills, she must have known at a glance that he was determined to go to his death, with no chance for reprieve.
Xiao Jingyan’s question stabbed at his heart like a blade; but if he were truly that cruel, why did he not dare to tell him the slightest hint of his innermost feelings?
“Jingyan, I have stayed long enough on this return from hell.” Mei Changsu pushed his countless emotions down by force, and though his tongue and lips moved, he somehow could not make out whether it was his own voice saying these things. “To be Lin Shu again is my best ending.”
Xiao Jingyan stared at him in a trance as well, his mien turning cold, a savage smile unexpectedly forcing itself out after a while. “The best ending for you, but for me?
“That year, when the world was inverted in an instant, I could do nothing, my life without joys or interests thenceforth. And now, threats arise yet again, and I am about to deliver you to death with my own hands—how shall I fare in the rest of my days, do you think?”
“Jingyan!” Mei Changsu felt an acute fire surge into his heart, and his qi roiled, the world spinning before his eyes as he staggered to fall upon the ground, drained. Xiao Jingyan was immovable and unmoved, only gazing down at him with sorrowful eyes, watching him gasp for breath endlessly as if at death’s door.
After a while, Mei Changsu’s breathing recovered somewhat, and he retrieved his silk handkerchief to wipe the blood from the corner of his mouth. “This body of mine, even if rested as much as possible, would not be able to cling on to life feebly for much longer than a year or thereabouts. Fate does not grant me more, and my time has run out; it cannot be rescued by human power.”
“Moreover, I am departing to save our country from crisis, bound as I am to Chiyan by blood to do my duty—how can you not know these cardinal principles?”
Xiao Jingyan was silent in his drooping long robes, only hearing Mei Changsu begin again earnestly, “the court is now honest, the borders shall be at peace, and with your sincere and determined disposition, you will abide by justice and honour while exposing dangerous treachery—I know as a certainty you shall become the virtuous ruler of an era.”
There was a flickering in Xiao Jingyan’s eyes as his straight frame crumpled downward, his knees bending as he fell to sit upon the ground. Mei Changsu’s sorrowful tear-laden eyes were close enough to touch; he squeezed his own fist to press against his unbearably throbbing chest, and a cold sweat and paper-like pallor overspread his forehead; he only replied in hoarse pain much later, “you know all the workings of this world, except one thing: that Xiao Jingyan also has a heart.”
Mei Changsu was overcome with despair; he raised his hand to clasp Xiao Jingyan’s hand, white to the bone from tension, only feeling that iron fist press against his heart though unable to prevent it from thundering in indignant grief. He could bear it no longer, leaning over to embrace Xiao Jingyan tightly, those fingers digging into his chest, as he growled low with futility, “I know; I know it all.”
“Ten years separated by life and death[5], three twelvemonths the hardship and danger of fighting for the throne—I, Xiao Jingyan, forged on with my lonely heart, and was never untrue to you,” he leaned on Mei Changsu’s shoulder, muttering as if talking to himself, “but you’ve righted your wrong now, and are abandoning me in an instant.”
Mei Changsu only felt an impossibly great burden, his absent mind incapable of reply. In his trance, the weight in his arms became ever more heavy-laden, and every rise and fall of breath from Xiao Jingyan’s burning body pressed upon his heart, lively yet steady.
He knew long ago that this return to the world would be perilous at every step, and he simply could not be frank with Xiao Jingyan. The countless pains and difficulties, all the virtues and vices of the human heart—none of these could hinder his bitter iron will; in this world, only Xiao Jingyan remained the anchor tied to his heart.
The two of them embraced and supported each other’s slumping forms for an unknown length of silence. Mei Changsu gradually felt the scalding burn upon his forehead fade, though his hand against Xiao Jingyan’s back was warmed to the bone for the first time in many years. As his thoughts turned clear and sober, Mei Changsu heaved a long sigh inwardly. To embrace Xiao Jingyan again in the peace of Jinling was already the heavens taking pity on him, and he should not be greedy and ask for more, should not covet Lin Shu’s horseback heroism and battlefield merits.
This wretched life and wild fantasy of his—what worth are they of, to be cherished at all? If he could let go of his worries in exchange for Xiao Jingyan’s peace of mind the rest of his days, he would. But Da Yu’s army, a hundred thousand strong, bore down with menace, and the court was devoid of military talent; once the aged defences at Meiling were breached, the north would see fires and drums of war unceasing, the people plunged into ashes of calamity.
The heart of Chiyan was beating still—how could he choose private sentiments and safety and abandon his country and people? Mei Changsu’s thoughts threatened to set him ablaze once more, but suddenly Xiao Jingyan raised his head, speaking deep and low while his eyes still glittered with tears, “think no more, xiao-Shu: I know you must go.”
Speechless, Mei Changsu let Xiao Jingyan grip his hand and look straight into his eyes. “Just promise me one thing, then I shall let you go, fully willing.”
Knowing what he wanted, Mei Changsu dared not answer, lowering his head to avoid that fervent gaze. Xiao Jingyan brooked no delay from him. “I will not ask for what I cannot have. Hear me.”
Mei Changsu attempted to raise his gaze but could not meet those eyes after all, only squeezing his hand in return. “Please, say it then.”
“I had summoned Lin Chen into the palace to report your condition in front of Consort-Mother. He stated plainly that you already took the Bingxu pill, and your meridians and pulse have undergone radical change, in order to last three months of time.
“He and Consort-Mother carefully surveyed the interiors and exteriors of your illness, as well as the science and making of the Bingxu pill. Even the skin-flaying, bone-splintering of yore, and the secret methods for health preservation afterwards, were divulged to the very bottom with no details spared.”
At this, Xiao Jingyan’s palm constricted and trembled. “Xiao-Shu, thank you for seeking life from the impossible, that year.”
Mei Changsu dared not mention a shred of the past to him before; knowing the other must be in extreme agony, he found he could not comfort him with words, only by clinging on to his hand more tightly. Xiao Jingyan composed himself. “Consort-Mother said, with the Bingxu grass as the lead, if properly supplemented—there may be a hint of life.”
Mei Changsu looked down in silence, unruffled. Langya Hall knew of the Bingxu grass for long; if a sound method existed, surely it would not have deferred itself all this time. Xiao Jingyan seemed to know his mind. “Lin Chen did not much agree, but he still saluted and asked for her to exert her utmost.
“Neither Lin Chen nor Consort-Mother were willing to speak of surrender—how could I throw aside this chance for reprieve?”
This so-called chance at life could not be more slim, Mei Changsu thought anxiously, and how could he place any hope on it, but at the same time, how could he bear to destroy Xiao Jingyan’s sliver of hope?
“Xiao-Shu, I implore you only to never go in peace to your death. If you find yourself at the precipice between life and death once more, promise me you shall fight with all of yourself and not give up.
“I only implore you this, will you promise me?”
Xiao Jingyan’s eyes were full of anguish and sorrow, and only in the deepest parts of his pupils was his desperate plea evident, nearly buried in the depths of despair. Stricken and spiritless, Mei Changsu watched those two eyes in a daze and did not know how to respond.
What a small thing to request; not for him to not go, not even for him to return, but only for him to fight for his life. But how painful, at the same time—Lin Shu was dead in body and name, and Mei-lang[6] had achieved his life’s work: what worth did this world have left for his sick and ghostly person to linger?
“Jingyan, listen to me.” Mei Changsu swallowed hard, finding himself still unable to meet Xiao Jingyan’s eyes, so he leaned in, neck to neck, for another embrace. “Lin Shu died at Meiling, and he can return no longer. Mei Changsu has finished his mission, and he ought to return, too.
“These ten-and-more years, not a moment passed where I was not fighting for my life. Bones splintered, skin flayed, fire and ice upon my person, for vindication and the throne, to scheme and plot, I struggled afloat until now; truly, I hurt too much, I tire too much.
“…Jingyan, we have had our reunion. And now, you should let me go.”
Mei Changsu confessed it all in a low voice, his tone containing neither joy nor sorrow, but upon hearing, Xiao Jingyan widened his eyes in fury, his body quaking all over, clutching on to Mei Changsu tenaciously and nearly bursting into tears from utter despair. “To lose and regain you—how can I bear to lose you again! How can I!”
His mind blank, Mei Changsu threatened to fall to pieces from his strangle-hold. A long while later, he dimly heard Xiao Jingyan whisper without spirit, “I once believed, too, that soldiers ought to die on the battlefield. Perhaps you and I both could have one day placed life and death outside the sphere of our considerations. But only when I saw you off the expedition you never returned from did I know, the dead are gone forever, but the living have to live on.
“You can have your death, but I must go on alone. Forever separated by heavens and earth henceforth—do you truly not have any longing for me at all?”
Mei Changsu felt his insides rend at those heart-breaking words. Since the sudden calamity of a decade ago, Xiao Jingyan became the sole object of his heart’s longing in this world. So many times he was upon death’s door, and when the blood-debt deep as the sea would drown him with maddening grief, and when the Frostfire Poison ground him to a body unrecognizable—it was always Xiao Jingyan who tugged at his heart-strings; as long as Xiao Jingyan was still here, he had hope yet.
And now, at death’s precipice again, with Xiao Jingyan exposing him thus while weeping blood, how could he possibly not have any lingering yearning for him. Furthermore, he only asked him to fight with all of himself—how could he possibly refuse, by either reason or feeling?
Xiao Jingyan’s tall and straight back trembled without ceasing beneath his palms. Mei Changsu had no time to deliberate, and he embraced Xiao Jingyan with all his strength. “Then I shall promise you.”
Notes:
Translation Footnotes (click the numbers to return to the text in-place):
[5] Near quote (十年生死茫茫) of Sū Shì/苏轼’s famous poem mourning his late wife, 江城子·乙卯正月二十日夜记梦.
[6] -Láng/郎 is an honorific referring to a young man. Mei-lang of Jiangzuo/江左梅郎 is a frequently used title for Mei Changsu in canon.
Chapter 3: Exchanging Good-Byes
Notes:
——————We kiss goodbye in the empty night[7]——————
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Xiao Jingyan froze in disbelief for a moment; his senses were dimmed by his heart-rending agony, and he suspected his faculties might have conjured that reply. The cool warmth of Mei Changsu’s face was pressed to his ear, and there was the impression of something quiet being said, but it was indistinct. Xiao Jingyan struggled up and raised his head, tearful eyes open. “What did you say?”
Mei Changsu watched him with full seriousness as he spoke every word firm and clear, “I promise you, if I have any sliver of hope for life on this venture, I will think of you, and choose life, and fight with my all.”
Xiao Jingyan did not seem sure he had heard correctly, or perhaps he was in disbelief, his expression complex and perplexed, nearly bewildered with doubt as he scrutinised Mei Changsu’s face while distraught. He had already abandoned all hope; how could he have expected Mei Changsu would change his mind? In his anxiety, he nearly suspected this to be yet another one of Mei Changsu’s stratagems born of expediency.
Mei Changsu knew his thoughts and wanted to defend himself further. “Since I made my promise, I will not renege. But the heavens determine our fates, and if I cannot return alive, or if I still perish soon, you must know that I will have done my utmost.”
And now it was somehow Xiao Jingyan who dared not reply, only staring fervently into his eyes; even if Mei Changsu were utterly sincere, he had still cheated and deceived him for years. Mei Changsu understood him plain, bitter pain blooming inside him. “With the present state of things, what need do I have to deceive you any longer.
“Jingyan, my name was ruined, my body between life and death, but you endured the harsh oppression of in-fighting without complaint, and stayed loyal and true for me. I schemed storms and hatched plots, and you were unafraid of placing yourself in danger to help me obtain redress against grievances. These ten-and-some years, I was fortunate to have you do so much for me, but I pushed you on to this lonely, dangerous throne, and yet can do no more besides.
“And without many of my days remaining, it is a rare opportunity for me to do something for you wholeheartedly, how can I not—”
Before he could finish, Xiao Jingyan suddenly came forward and sealed those words with his mouth. His every action of these fleeting ten-and-some years was born of his innate character, not of a desire for recompense. He detested how the man before him apportioned and measured the things between them, but did not dare to refute him, and fairly laid his heart bare thus as he lost his presence of mind.
With their painstakingly maintained distance abruptly breached, Xiao Jingyan decided he might as well go all the way, nearly pouncing upon him like Foya, biting with wild abandon. A decade of lonely anguish and a few years of the dangerous path to the throne elapsed, and now the person before him, the one in his heart, having finally been found after being lost, but was about to be lost to him again—his bottled storm of bitter loneliness, loving devotion, and agitated indignation finally found its vent.
How could Mei Changsu reject him at all? When Xiao Jingyan collided into him, a crash sounded in his head, his logical thought as if immolated in a raging firestorm, utterly blank with no hope for return. Some time later, he seemed to feel himself being lifted, and when he came to his senses, he was lying amidst the brocaded and embroidered finery of the East Palace bed of the Crown Prince.
His mouth was brimming with the taste of blood, and Xiao Jingyan’s tear-stained face was still nuzzling against his; Mei Changsu looked up at the roof of curtains in a daze, and suddenly he was back in his youth, riding his horse with Xiao Jingyan freely up on Lone Hill, the sun and breeze beautiful, the spring trees flourishing, and Xiao Jingyan suddenly leaping off his stirrups to pounce upon him with utter delight.
Lin Shu would have just let go of his reins when his full-body tackle sent him down among the soft spring meadow, and his full lips bled from the impact, his words of complaint swallowed to pieces between mouths and teeth. Xiao Jingyan’s full head of fresh sweat would have been slightly salty, just like this, lingering lovingly against his face.
Mei Changsu closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, it was yet the heavy brocaded curtains before him, blocking out any hint of light. Xiao Jingyan seemed to notice, his body rising in response as he watched him intently. Mei Changsu raised his hand, his icy fingertips lightly dabbing that wet eye corner. “Jingyan, you see, I am no longer Lin Shu.”
Waves surged and churned in the depths of Xiao Jingyan’s gaze; he refrained with gritted teeth for a long delay, then, after all, bent down in silence to softly lap the wound on Mei Changsu’s lip. Mei Changsu found it difficult to resist, closing his eyes and giving him free rein while permitting himself to bask in a brief moment of tenderness.
No one knew how long it was later when Xiao Jingyan fumbled to loosen Mei Changsu’s robes slightly, and then reached back to pull the silk quilt over him carefully.
Under the quilt, Xiao Jingyan embraced Mei Changsu from behind, gathering that thin body snugly into his arms, and whispered into his ear, “I know you have never liked Mei Changsu, not the scheming and calculating, to say nothing of this sick and frail frame.
“But you know not, from the moment I found out Mei Changsu is Lin Shu, how fortunate I feel, how joyous, how protective.
“However you look like, whatever you change your name to: what difference does it make to me? As long as you remain in this world, it is enough for me.”
Xiao Jingyan paused thoughtfully. “You can be xiao-Shu, or Chief Mei, or Sir Su, no matter—after all, you promised me, so do not go back on your word.”
He pressed in closer, his handsome nose smarting as it nudged against the pale and soft nape of Mei Changsu’s neck. “Have a bit of rest; I shall see you off on expedition in the morning.”
Mei Changsu slowly shut his eyes to Xiao Jingyan’s low whispers. His emotions had churned between tragic depths and joyous heights this night, and his vigour, forcibly energised by the Bingxu pill, had long been drained. Xiao Jingyan’s embrace was blistering and steadfast, more comfortable than any number of braziers and fur, and he hadn’t felt warmed to the bone in bed like this for over a decade; he fell asleep deeply thus, curled up in his arms.
He slept without dreams, and when he woke it was from the cloud-shaped announcing percussion[8] outside the palace hall that rang loudly thrice; the advising minister, following protocol, was formally inviting the Crown Prince to send the army off on campaign and expecting his orders out there. No doubt there was a personal attending soldier by the gates awaiting reply on his behalf; as the sounds faded, within the chamber, expiring candles still flickered amidst a vast silence. Mei Changsu awoke gradually, only feeling Xiao Jingyan’s even breathing upon his back, his surroundings completely devoid of the usual frosty chill at dawn, warming him through and through instead.
A tender embrace is the burial site of a hero[9], thought Mei Changsu with a smile, then he suddenly felt the arms about his waist tighten. He turned his body and head back, and then their robes tangled together as their noses and breaths joined, both loath to part as they clung to each other.
An unknown time later, Mei Changsu manoeuvred even closer, closing his eyes and pressing his brow to Xiao Jingyan’s, his breathing following the other’s rhythm. And at the end, he raised his chin so he could lightly peck the corner of Xiao Jingyan’s mouth. “I’m going.”
Neither of them spoke more. Xiao Jingyan helped him up, and they each slightly rearranged their robes before servants were called in to aid their ablutions and dressing. Xiao Jingyan had already prepared his clothing for him, a newly made set of body-fitting warm robes and supple armour, and the outer robe was even Lin Shu’s flame-patterned wear from long ago.
Mei Changsu’s gaze turned tender; who knew how many things he had left with Xiao Jingyan, before, and even after the upheavals of over a decade, these aged objects were so well preserved as to appear brand-new. Xiao Jingyan had already changed into the ornate Crown Prince robes for holding court, and he walked over, tying Mei Changsu’s robe belt for him with his own hands.
Two pairs of eyes exchanged a look, then Xiao Jingyan took a step back and saluted low in his gold guan and red robes. “Remember what you have been entrusted with, General. Your brisk victorious return is awaited.”
Mei Changsu grasped his sword and helmet, returning a military salute. “This humble general shall be true in life and death, for the country, for ye my lord.”
Notes:
Translation Footnotes (click the numbers to return to the text in-place):
[7] Chinese webnovels often have a typed divider between the author notes before a chapter and the chapter text. Sometimes the author will add notes and jokes to the divider itself, in which case there’s no need for notes before the divider, as seen here. This note is a reference to the 1993 Mandopop classic Goodbye Kiss/吻别 by Jacky Cheung.
[8] The announcing percussion here are cloud-shaped iron plates/云板 used by the government to announce an event or to gather the crowd.
[9] Near quote (温柔乡英雄冢) of the 1931 poem 哀沈阳 by Mǎ Jūnwǔ/马君武, now an expression meaning even the most powerful man will meet his doom in love.
Chapter 4: On Expedition
Chapter Text
Mei Changsu left the East Palace after making his preparations, with an entire retinue of attending soldiers escorting him to the encampment north of the city gates, and he arrived exactly as Meng Zhi was assembling officers at his tent and assigning them their duties. The sky was yet unlit, and the tent was fully bright with candles; Mei Changsu sat erect at the seat of the army supervisor, watching each general receive their orders and file out, finally leaving only him and Meng Zhi in the tent.
Meng Zhi was about to exit himself, but then he looked upon Mei Changsu with some hesitation, and saw he was absent-minded in his old robes, not as lively as he was a few days prior, and could not help but ask, “xiao-Shu, he was somehow willing to let you go?”
At his voice, Mei Changsu rallied from his stupor and smiled mildly. “Why not? He knows Lin Shu better than any.”
Meng Zhi gave an audible sigh—yesterday, Xiao Jingyan had summoned him into the East Palace, and after they discussed the matters of army supplies and gear, he detailed all of Mei Changsu’s condition to him, asking him to watch over him during the course of the march. “Meng-qing[10], you were his first teacher, and I place him in your hands once more. This venture shall be perilous, and I dearly hope you will protect him with care.”
Meng Zhi retorted immediately, saying that with Mei Changsu’s condition as such, he should certainly not be allowed to the north. But Xiao Jingyan smiled mildly, the same as Mei Changsu had just now. “After all, he is of Chiyan blood, the Lins’ xiao-Shu.
“Meng-qing, you need not discuss with him what I have entrusted him, nor his condition—it would only burden him further. I know that no matter how much I ask of you now, when it comes the moment to seize a moment and make a decision, he will for sure exercise his commander’s prerogative to respond to emergencies unbound by my command[11]; so I only ask that you take heed and help me watch over him a little, nothing more.”
Meng Zhi could not help but again sigh and stomp his feet at this thought, leaving with a wave of his hand—these two were truly well-matched in thought, both acting as if grave matters were simple, but from his own vantage point, he found it difficult to watch it all.
Mei Changsu did not know Meng Zhi’s frustrations, and seeing him leave gallantly, he also invigorated himself to exit the tent and direct military affairs. As the day broke, the army horn sounded to alert all tents, the banners fluttered before them, and the army to the north finally marched forth in proper succession, departing the encampment north of the city as a curled dragon leaving its nest.
At this time, Xiao Jingyan had also left the palace as per designated protocol, standing at the north gate of the city, by imperial decree, to give the army a spirited send-off. With the present military emergency and the Crown Prince acting as regent, not to mention the national mourning period, all rites were simplified—only the three animals were sacrificed to the heavens[12] outside the gates, and the Crown Prince’s flags were raised a-top the city tower. After he completed the ritual, Xiao Jingyan climbed up the tower and stood, tall and silent, under the imperial canopy, solemnly watching the soldiers off on their expedition.
It was not until the sun rose high overhead, the official road out of the city was swirling with smoke and dust, and the front army had wound outward tens of li[13], that the main army set out slowly around their commander’s banners. On the tower, seeing that the banners were raised, the war drums began to beat, and the horns within the army procession were blown loudly in response; at the city gates, drums and horns rang out sharply against the bleak landscape, and for a moment, the stirring and heroic dirge swept through half the city.
But Xiao Jingyan appeared unmoved, his face still as stone as he watched the army march off without joy or sorrow. The army marshal’s banners unfurled high in the wind, and the yellow earth blanketed the sky, the armour of the soldiers glinting with chilling light; from the top of the tower, the effect was solemn and forbidding, and he truly could not see where the one of his heart was.
At this time, Mei Changsu had passed the roadside pavilion at the outskirts of the city; he pulled on the reins to stop his horse and could not resist taking a look back, after all. The wind rose a-top the city towers, setting the imperial flags fluttering, and under the grand canopy, that figure in bright red stood stock-still, though those dignified robe sleeves danced like flames, as if imbued with the urge to take flight.
Mei Changsu took a good look, then turned and drove his horse in the footsteps of the army ensign, toward Meiling.
This was to be a long journey, and the troops and supplies had to be marshalled and measured along the way; for the time being, Mei Changsu cast all of Jinling behind him, and as he rode, he devised and dispatched strategies along the way. At nightfall, when they arrived at the encampment, he finished listening to all three army forces[14] report in the marshal’s tent and returned to his own, only then discovering that he was surrounded by an impassable array of attending soldiers.
He stood before the tent in astonishment, and before he could speak, an officer by the entrance made his move first to come forward and give him an army salute, reporting loudly, “This humble general, Zhu Shouchun, is at the orders of the Crown Prince to lead a thousand elite attending soldiers with our own supplies, following the army and protecting Sir Su!”
Mei Changsu’s eyes widened, and he was seemingly struck dumb by the impressive power in that voice. And then there was a shadow in the night sky, and Feiliu, absent for an entire day, came out of nowhere and blocked himself between Mei Changsu and the general. Only now did Mei Changsu come to his senses. “Pray rise, General Zhu, and let us discuss within the tent.”
Zhou Shouchun was not unfamiliar, either—he was a deputy general inside the Imperial Guards under Meng Zhi, but was later demoted because of the case of the murdered eunuchs and moved to Prince Jing’s command as a subordinate, becoming one of Xiao Jingyan’s trusted men. But as he looked upon him now, Mei Changsu only felt anxious. “General Zhu, the Crown Prince has just been installed, and the situation at court is not yet stable; you are far more useful in Jinling. I am surrounded by the army and safely ensconced in the general’s tent—why should I trouble you to guard me? We are not far from the capital; please to return quickly on the morrow.”
Brought up as a military man, Zhu Shouchun could hardly win a war of words with Mei Changsu. Fortunately, he remembered his imperial orders clearly, and gave a detailed account to Mei Changsu, “By the Crown Prince’s orders, the men formerly under Prince Jing’s command have seen much fighting and never evaded war—how can they be content with personal safety in this time of crisis? I have brought with me an elite troop of his former subordinate to only obey Sir’s command; we can be used as a surprise vanguard in attack or a tenacious defence in retreat. Furthermore, the situation at Jinling is now stable, and the Imperial Guards are brave and loyal; the north needs soldiers—Sir, pray do not send us off.”
Mei Changsu was measuring the situation in Jinling in his head and about to open his mouth, but Zhu Shouchun spoke again in a low voice, “His Highness said, Sir Su will be deploying troops for battle, and the reliable people by his side he will of course use to their full extent, each covering one aspect, and he shall not be content with keeping them with him. At this, His Highness was worried that Sir will have no one by his side, and only wished fervently he could come himself.
“His Highness also gave this humble general strict orders that, if Sir…if Sir has not the strength to continue one day, I must take the Crown Prince’s gold token of authority for the entire journey, without regard for horse-power, by night and day, to escort Sir back to Jinling without fail.”
Mei Changsu had wanted to interject, but hearing this military man’s simple and direct words, there arose an indescribable pang in his heart, and he sighed after a long while. “Send eight hundred soldiers to the vanguard battalion; they are to set out with them to-morrow and be under the vanguard commander’s control. You can lead two hundred attendants to escort the army supervisor’s tent, that is all.”
Zhu Shouchun’s face showed his happiness, and he saluted with his fist and went off to dispatch the soldiers; only Feiliu remained in the tent, and he nestled close to Mei Changsu, pressing against his knees. Mei Changsu lightly caressed his hair, lost in thought: he naturally entrusted former Chiyan soldiers like Wei Zheng, Li Gang, and Zhen Ping with important duties; Xiao Jingrui and Yan Yujin were on their first long expedition, and he arranged the appropriate stations for them, as well; Miss Gong Yu could not easily guard his tent at night because of the proper decorum between men and women, and so he had only Lin Chen with him besides Feiliu, and though he did not mind, it was indeed difficult for Xiao Jingyan.
At this thought, Mei Changsu lowered his head to ask Feiliu, “where’s Lin Chen-gege?”
Feiliu pondered for a moment, but before he could speak, they heard Lin Chen’s loud smiling voice outside. “Are you the attendants sent by the Crown Prince?”
It seemed to be Zhu Shouchun who answered quietly, and his words could not be made out before Lin Chen already bent over to enter the tent, looking over to examine the colour of Mei Changsu’s face. “My Bingxu pill has indeed performed miracles; you’ve ridden the whole day, and though your face has a slight shade of dirt, you still appear somewhat alive.”
Mei Changsu looked at him icily. “By now, half of Da Liang knows I am not long for this world, and soon, all shall know that your doctoring skills are poor as well.”
Lin Chen tucked his sleeves and sat down near. “You’re not long for this world, but choose a path of death all the same; though my doctoring skills are poor, I shall at least blaze a new trail—you want to be a discredit to my reputation? Well, we shall see!”
Mei Changsu was in no mood to entertain him further, but at the thought of Xiao Jingyan burning with worry, he could not help but add, “your Langya Hall claims to know all the workings of humanity, but you don’t know whether my life can be saved? Why heap troubles on to bystanders for no good reason!”
“Thank you for your compliment, truly—since my Langya Hall knows every thing under heaven, we naturally know also that there is no limit to the world, and there is always someone superior in capabilities.” Lin Chen nodded in false modesty, then continued in false seriousness, “the full unsurpassed glory of imperial power—the four seas and the riches of every living thing—all of it to be used to attempt to save that life of yours: don’t tell me it’s not worth a try?”
Mei Changsu found this talk absurd to the extreme—how could the full power of a nation be used for his personal purpose? He was about to refute him when Lin Chen continued, “and further, who is this bystander you speak of? Did you two have a tiff last night?”
Mei Changsu’s many blunt words were stoppered in his throat at once, and he nearly spat out blood in response. Lin Chen gave an unperturbed not-quite-a-smile. “Since you did not part on bad terms, then naturally you came to mutual concord. If he was willing to let you go, you must have promised him something?”
He did not wish to answer, and Lin Chen did not wish to hear his answer, either. “At the precipice between life and death, it is a time to speak clearly, and yet you have the heart to lie to him again.”
Mei Changsu replied, “I did no such thing.”
“In that case,” Lin Chen was prepared, and straightened himself to retrieve a pigeon from within his tucked sleeve as he said, “you are required to write a letter to prove yourself.”
The pigeon cooed endlessly in Lin Chen’s palm, and Lin Chen chattered endlessly before Mei Changsu. “The court now has Her Ladyship Consort Jing and the Crown Prince to strategise for you, and although the Jianghu has me, it seems insufficient, in comparison—why don’t you write to Jiangzuo, and order them to find quickly the humble doctor Xun Zhen[15] to invite him into Jinling: that will do.”
Mei Changsu watched him with a gaze cold and unmoved. “You don’t know where the venerable Sir Xun is? When you were concocting the Bingxu pill, did you not invite—”
“It’s one thing for me to invite him; even if I invited celestial deities, if you would rather die than listen, what good would it do? If you are not deceiving us, then you should exert your utmost now; but if you are deceiving us, then I can help you escape this mortal realm early, and save us all some effort!”
Mei Changsu sat silently at those words; Lin Chen thought the same as Xiao Jingyan in this, afraid that he intended to go to his death. But he was hardly one to crave death—it was only that he did not want to struggle to no avail at death’s edge, and he knew that there were limitations to what was possible by human power. As it stood now, since he promised Xiao Jingyan, and was indebted to Lin Chen for his many years of care, why not be gracious as a stream follows its course.
He gently called Feiliu to bring over paper and ink, and simply wrote a long missive that also detailed many of the Jiangzuo Alliance’s large unfinished matters, so as to hand them over. He gave Lin Chen a glance upon finishing, and as discussed, clearly added instructions that the doctor should be invited into the capital in haste, only then sealing the letter and giving it to Feiliu. “Go forth.”
Feiliu disappeared in the blink of an eye once the letter went to his hand. Only then did Lin Chen stand, relieved, placing the pigeon back into his sleeve then retrieving a bottle of medicine. “Eat then sleep.”
Mei Changsu took the bottle with a slight degree of loathing, but he behaved himself and swallowed the medicine. Only then did Lin Chen leave in satisfaction, and Mei Changsu called his attending soldiers over to doff his armour, then sat upon the traveling bed, still clothed, to read the army reports for quite a while, until Feiliu returned to come close to him and urge, “sleep!”
He smiled and nodded, lying down without much resistance for an early rest; on the second day, he rose before dawn to don his armour and summoned subordinates to his tent, supervising the decamping of the three armies. Meng Zhi waited for him to complete his orders, then could not resist opening his mouth, “to march and camp cannot compare to staying at home, and even if Shouchun guards you with care, the outside sounds of sentries changing shifts and clanking armour cannot be avoided. Xiao-Shu, were you not rested well, waking up so early?”
Mei Changsu shook his head, replying with mien serious, “To sleep in the army tent is already a sweet dream.”
Meng Zhi felt the swelling of many complicated emotions; returning to the army was perhaps the greatest stimulating encouragement for Mei Changsu, and so he did not say more. At first, Mei Changsu appeared to maintain a balanced schedule, but as the army neared the north day by day, with the military situation often pressing, he once again burned his candle at both ends, working diligently night and day, and if there would come an emergency report, he would be battle-ready at all hours, the light always lit in his tent.
And so Meng Zhi worried again. “If you tire yourself out even before reaching the border, whatever shall I do? Even if you do not value your own health, you must consider the grander situation!”
Lin Chen, on the other hand, did not follow suit to urge him; the efficacy of the first Bingsu pill could last him, perhaps, one or two more days, but afterwards he would naturally be sapped of energy. Mei Changsu did not know that Lin Chen was harbouring such wicked intent, and slightly reassured Meng Zhi with, “Meng-dage, you see, the doctor does not say much either—I know you wish me well; I shall ride the carriage from this day forth, and take rests from time to time, and not ride horses any more—how is that?”
Meng Zhi did indeed feel some reassurance, but he did not know that Mei Changsu himself harboured wicked intent, as well—the imperial carriage Xiao Jingyan had allocated from the East Palace rode smoothly and was well-equipped, and so Mei Changsu sat before the writing desk with bountiful paper and ink, and he was ever more enabled to scheme and plan in writing without stopping.
Indeed, not two days passed before the Bingxu pill’s effects wore off, and Mei Changsu collapsed almost instantly, bending over inside the cart and coughing heavily. When Feiliu found Lin Chen and brought him over, he saw Zhu Shouchun kneeling upon the carriage shaft, face the colour of dirt. “Young Master Lin! What shall we do?! This humble general will escort Sir to the capital post-haste!”
Lin Chen, holding his chest of medicine, felt the urge to laugh at this sight. “You truly frighten easily—just go fetch a brazier here, and I shall attend to him.”
As he spoke, Lin Chen ascended the carriage neither fast nor slow, taking Mei Changsu’s pulse while letting Feiliu manipulate his lung meridian with his natural qi. Not long after, Mei Changsu recovered one breath and stared at him hatefully. “You substituted my medicine?!”
Lin Chen did not mind him, tilting his head as he examined his pulse. “Are you the doctor, or am I? With your condition, your medicine ought to be substituted indeed.”
Mei Changsu was still short of breath, and he would naturally be at a disadvantage were he to argue with Lin Chen now. Furthermore, the situation at hand was under the man’s control, so he could only entreat urgently, “we are near the border now, and the forces and supplies are nearly marshalled—we must reorganise the three armies to speed to the front at once. I cannot fall sick now, or military operations would surely be hindered!”
Lin Chen was unmoved. “Save your breath. I am no soldier to begin with, and this won’t work on me.”
Mei Changsu fought his hand out of his grasp, the look in his eyes nearly murderous, as if he were about to be engaged in battle with enemies. “Lin Chen! I’m not joking with you! You don’t understand the sacrifices demanded by the battlefield—”
“I’m not joking with you, either!” Agitated by that gaze, Lin Chen was alarmed and furious at once. “The Bingxu pill can energise your body, but you must have strength left to be energised! How much reserves do you think this frail and sickly frame of yours has remaining? If you continue draining yourself like this, by the time you’ve killed yourself, you’ll still leave me with half the bottle of Bingxu pills!
“Yes, I know you don’t care much whether you die, and only the army and war and what not are on your mind. But I advise you sincerely to save it for now, or when the front is engaged in bloody combat and their commander suddenly perishes at the rear, you can tell me again what hindering military operations really means!”
Notes:
Translation Footnotes (click the numbers to return to the text in-place):
[10] -Qīng/卿 is an honorific from a ruler addressing a senior official or minister (and also a term of endearment between lovers).
[11] A general in the field is not bound by orders of the sovereign/将在外君命有所不受 is a saying deriving from Sunzi’s The Art of War, the principle being that good rulers should trust in their capable generals to make their own decisions in the field and not restrict them.
[12] Sacrificing to the heavens/祭天 was an important ritual to ask for divine providence. The three sacrificial animals/三牲 were most commonly a pig, a sheep, and a cow. As Buddhism gradually became more influential and forbade killing, animals were later replaced with plant-based sacrifices.
[13] Lǐ/里 is a traditional unit of measurement that fluctuated in length over Chinese history, approximately 400 meters during the Han Dynasty and now standardized to 500 meters.
[14] In ancient times, the three army forces consisted of the front army/前军 (vanguard attacks, scouting, and clearing the way), the main army/中军 (most of the fighting forces, both cavalry and infantry), and the rear army/后军 (supplies and workers).
[15] In the book, Xún Zhēn/荀珍 was a famed Jianghu doctor who made various medicines for Mei Changsu, including the heart protection pills.
Chapter 5: In Memoriam
Notes:
———Just in time for Qingming[16], in memoriam all the departed heroes—————
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Mei Changsu’s eyes were fully blood-shot; he threatened to faint at the scene had Feiliu not kept his meridians flowing, and upon recollection, he despised his useless frail body once more. Lin Chen found it difficult to watch him, pulling his hand back again to hold him at the pulse point and remediate his qi for a moment, saying gently, “I know this return of yours to the army is truly not easy, and naturally you want to do your utmost.
“But with the condition of your health thus, you are truly not suited for exhausting yourself on every detail—you must learn to let some of it go. For example, the matters of troop conscription and supply requisition along the route should have fallen to the superintendent officers in charge, but you insisted on attending to it yourself, not only personally interviewing the local military officers, but the governmental offices as well, and at the end, you also wrote detailed appraising reports.
“I know your thinking: you are loath to let go of your attachment, afraid you will not be able to return, and want to help the one you have placed your hopes on with more knowledge, and to contribute as much as you are able.
“Changsu, for the time being, why not expend your energies on taking care of yourself, and once you go through your trials, safe and sound, you shall have many more days in the future to place hopes on your lord, and to work diligently for your country.”
It would be improper for Lin Chen to speak any more deeply on this, and as he saw Mei Changsu’s complexion recovering, he continued, “I know more how to use the Bingxu pill to its greatest efficacy for you. I have only decreased its proportion in the formula, and supplemented with medicine that protects your qi and blood. Though you will need to restrain yourself somewhat, you shall for sure not hinder any military operations.
“I have carefully discussed this method at length with the Jinling palace—even if I do not understand the sacrifices demanded of the battlefield, surely Xiao Jingyan does? You should also keep your promise, and not keep his heart in suspense each day.”
Mei Changsu was silent for a moment, then coughed for a spell and only said, “I was hasty before; you will have to excuse me.”
Since they had said all that was needed, Lin Chen turned back to draw up the carriage’s felt curtain, only then seeing that Zhu Shouchun, with eyes red through and through, was guarding over a brazier of coals, and it was not known how long he had been crouching on the carriage shaft. Lin Chen pulled the brazier into the carriage and applied another round of acupuncture needles on Mei Changsu, then fed him several kinds of medicines, and finally his coughing was suppressed for the present moment.
“All right, I shall go steep another draught for you, and you ought to rest.” Lin Chen collected the needles back into his medicine chest, giving Mei Changsu another look. “Even if you are bent upon not resting, very well, but you mustn’t exit the carriage and be exposed to the elements.”
After Lin Chen’s words, Mei Changsu thought it would be indecent of himself to rise and work again. He rested for a moment in his rounded armchair, then called for Zhu Shouchun through the curtain, “summon General Wei here to see me.”
Zhu Shouchun seemed to hesitate for a moment, but at the end, he dared not disobey the orders and naturally sent someone to fetch Wei Zheng. Wei Zheng was the commander of the vanguard battalion, which was quite a distance from the tents of the main army commanders, and the trip there and back took until the afternoon to complete, by which time Mei Changsu had already taken the draught and was reading the army reports in his carriage, cool and collected.
Wei Zheng did not know the underlying causes, and as he entered the carriage, seeing him in furs and without armour, the scent of medicine still lingering, he could not help but worry. “Young Marshal!”
Mei Changsu hurried to dismiss his concern with his hand. “No matter; come, I have orders for you.”
Wei Zheng could only move on his knees to sit closer; a map of critical military locations was upon the desk, and he heard Mei Changsu instruct, “to-morrow, the vanguard battalion shall reach the last mountain pass garrison. I have ordered the troops stationed at the pass to prepare supplies; you will regroup the provisions slightly, and then must march without rest to the front lines.”
Mei Changsu’s hand pointed along the path; he knew the northern border as well as the shape of his own palm, and dissected with Wei Zheng the positions of attack and defence of their side and their enemy’s, even discussing the particularities of marching and camping locations in great detail. Only after much of the day spent in discussion over the desk did Mei Changsu say gravely, “vanguard battalion, at my command!”
Wei Zheng clasped his fist and bent his head, hearing Mei Changsu say, “The full vanguard battalion is to depart the pass to-morrow. Vanguard Lieutenant Zhen Ping is to take ten thousand light cavalry along the east path, riding without rest, to reinforce the southern line of Ningzhou[17] within five days’ time. Vanguard Commander Wei Zheng shall take twenty thousand of the rest westward out of the treacherous valley, reclaim the bottle gourd stronghold[18], and must reach Ganzhou[19] in seven days to rebuild the Meiling defence line.
“If there is any delay, punishment is to be dealt according to martial law!”
With hot tears in his eyes, Wei Zheng saluted low. “This humble general accepts your command!”
Mei Changsu seemed to fall into a uneasy trance for a moment, then added in a gentle voice, “you and Zhen Ping have not returned to the north in many years. Take great care on this trip.”
“Young Marshal,” Wei Zheng began and was stopped by Mei Changsu’s raised hand. “The war situation cannot wait. Go now, and let’s meet again in Meiling.”
Wei Zheng looked straight into Mei Changsu’s eyes, then turned and left resolutely. On the next day, the vanguard battalion headed out of the pass for the northern border at full speed as per orders; by the time the main army commanders had reached the garrison, the view to the north was of a vast emptiness, any trace of the front army long gone.
The iron gates of the garrison tower opened wide; in plain armour and old robes, Mei Changsu strolled forward, all alone. The might of the tower was behind him, and the boundlessness of the void was before him, but the cold wind seemed to howl of the clashing of swords and armour, shouting and killing that shook the very skies. He halted his steps, looking up to see mottled snow drifting, but his eyes saw a fiery sea of blood red, the hazy sight of army flags shooting up, thousands of soldiers and horses with chilling blades and red armour screaming across, engulfing everything as they swept by his side and returned, once again, to peaceful quietude.
Mei Changsu trembled; he went down on one knee after a long moment, pressing against the earth of the northern border with his palm.
Li Gang arrived an unknown time later, transporting supplies with the rear army; he brought with him several former Chiyan members, each holding wine, to perform simple rites of worship with Mei Changsu. Up on the tower, Meng Zhi watched quietly, and Zhu Shouchun watched quietly behind them, as well; at night, he wrote it all down carefully, and sent it with the army report to Jinling.
It was New Year’s Eve when Xiao Jingyan received this brief missive; the palace was festooned with radiance and bustling activity to and fro, save Xiao Jingyan, who was standing in front of the palace hall at a complete loss, an ornate box in his hand, the briefs having accumulated to fill half its space. As he continued in his trance, an advising minister urged him to follow protocol and head to Yangju Hall to pay respects to his father; Xiao Jingyan obeyed and went, and the elderly Emperor upon the dragon bed was yet paralysed in the face, his mind murky and decrepit, and only his throat could rattle as he heard someone approach.
The small stove beside his bed was simmering medicinal porridge and gurgled similarly. Xiao Jingyan said his pleasantries, then asked the attendant to fill a bowl of hot porridge, and he lifted his robes to sit down at the bedside as he received it, beginning to feed it to the old Emperor.
“Emperor-Father, to-day is the eve of the new year, and the cold has rather taken hold of the imperial city.” Xiao Jingyan’s actions were meticulous, feeding him a spoon at a time as he spoke a phrase at a time, “Your servant son has, just now, received the army report from the northern border; the front army has arrived at the battle lines, and Meiling, in East Ganzhou, must be even more bitterly cold to the bone.
“Removing the hundred-thousand-strong army on expedition, Meiling still has seventy thousand loyal souls who have departed and cannot return; with the Spring Festival approaching, Emperor-Father must be feeling indescribable sympathies. So I drafted a decree for the front army to worship in your stead, to manifest Emperor-Father’s mourning, to comfort those brave and noble souls.”
The old Emperor’s muddled eyes quivered in their sockets, bringing an ineffable look to fall upon Xiao Jingyan’s face. Xiao Jingyan watched him mildly, using the silver spoon to scrape clean the remnants of porridge at the corner of his mouth. “Your servant son obeys your decree, and expresses gratitude on behalf of the soldiers of Meiling.”
Notes:
Just went out to burn incense to the Buddha and mourn. Turns out this mini-holiday period is so lovely and pleasant with sunshine.
This is a short update for this peaceful time. Hope all the departed heroes dedicated to their home and country get their offerings.
Translation Footnotes (click the numbers to return to the text in-place):
[16] Qīngmíng/清明 is a major Chinese holiday for sweeping the tombs of your ancestors and worshipping them.
[17] [19] Níngzhōu/宁州 and Gānzhōu/甘州 are both ancient names for regions in modern-day Gansu province and battle locations in Nirvana in Fire 2.
[18] The bottle gourd stronghold/Lúsāi/芦塞 is a formation of two cliffs that have a narrow pass between them, as in the shape of a bottle gourd. It’s a battle location in Nirvana in Fire 2.
Chapter 6: Victorious Battle
Notes:
————Sexy reborn edition of Young Marshal now online—————
————Encore of oiled felt attack[20] to pay tribute to the Chiyan Army——————
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
By the time this imperial decree reached the front lines, Mei Changsu had already safely arrived in Ganzhou. After he accepted the decree along with his fellow officers gathered in the tent, he was silent for a moment, heavy brocade scroll in hand, before saying simply to Li Gang, “the fighting cannot wait, so we will proceed simply; first set up the altar beneath the marshal’s banners as per orders, and then we shall worship the departed heroes after our victory.”
No one had anything to say against that, of course. The commander’s tent fell silent, all waiting with bated breaths for Mei Changsu’s orders—ever since reaching the northern border, it seemed as if his mind and spirit had settled, his comportment turning ever steadier and calmer, and when he sat properly in the tent, he nearly had the majestic poise of an unmovable mountain.
Mei Changsu himself did not realise this; the military situation was more urgent by the day, the previous situation of decline reversed as best he could, and the three armies were deployed and ready to fight decisively at any moment. Mei Changsu’s full attention was on the war, and after discussing yesterday’s military situation with other generals, he ordered each one to return to their assigned posts and stay on alert.
Da Yu had already shown its impatience—originally, they believed that with the Liang court destroying its own Chiyan fortifications, the past decade had seen little defence and conflicts, and their venture into the south would be like taking free unguarded territory. But who could have known that a Qilin Talent would emerge from nowhere, serve as a civilian army supervisor, and organise the motley army conscripted along the march into such a disciplined force. After several skirmishes, though they had not been defeated, they had not made any progress, either.
The gloom of gales and snow-storms pressed heavily upon Ganzhou, and the endlessly undulating ridges of Meiling seemed to hold its own latent tempest, waiting to surge. For several days past, Mei Changsu had climbed the watch-tower himself to survey the situation, and this day, when he had rushed back to the tent and was about to discuss matters with Meng Zhi, a scout cavalry suddenly galloped through the encampment, shouting before the tent, “Report! The Da Yu imperial army of sixty thousand is within a hundred li of the main camp! Red beacon alert!”
Before he could finish, Wei Zheng had already burst into the tent in full armour and arms; Mei Changsu looked straight at him, and red flames were burning in both pairs of eyes. At this time, Meng Zhi strode forward to hand over the gold token: Mei Changsu took it, and handed it gravely to Wei Zheng, grasping tight on to his hand. “Go now!”
Wei Zheng saluted deeply while holding his fist and left swiftly. There was an array of shouting and neighing outside the tent, and then the sound of metallic hoofs shook the very earth, advancing away as an unstoppable force. It had been over ten days since the front army sped for Ganzhou, and Mei Changsu deliberately set a feint of a formation to test the enemy, finally bearing fruit to-day as the Da Yu imperial army was attracted deep into the heart of Meiling.
The battle with their arch-enemy was near; Mei Changsu stood before the map, his fingers slowly rubbing; the more the situation was becoming exactly as he predicted, the more he could not be arrogant and underestimate the enemy. At this time, Meng Zhi had prepared himself to head out as well; he walked over and struck Mei Changsu’s breastplate with the hilt of his blade. “The Chiyan Young Marshal is alive and well—grant them no return!”
It was as if Mei Changsu’s heart had been struck as well, and he watched Meng Zhi with great solemnity. Meng Zhi saluted with his fist and strode out with his blade, leading the main army cavalry with spear skirmishers and archers to make their all-out charge.
At the end, Wei Zheng’s vanguard met the Da Yu army at the mountain pass sixty li outside the main encampment. The heavy cavalry of the enemy army was at the front; Wei Zheng led his forces to attack them directly, charging through as a sharp knife and breaking out of their left flank, forcibly ripping open a tear in the enemy’s formation.
The Da Yu imperial army had only heard of such a powerful force from the scattered survivors of the earlier generation. Before they could have a real skirmish, the Liang vanguard had already broken their formation and left; the Liang army banners suddenly appeared before them, and behind the heavy armoured cavalry there were tall shields and long spears as numerous as a forest that halted the movements of the Yu army.
The two sides faced each other, still as mountains and waters, for a moment, and then there was only the sound of Meng Zhi’s explosive shout, the drums starting abruptly, and then the two armies charged toward each other at nearly the same time. The heart of Meiling, long since dormant, was now full of screams and sounds of killing, and soldiers clashed against each other in a thicket of spears and blades, the fire and smoke of war soaring skyward as red blood soaked through the mottled frozen earth.
The duration of winter daylight was short at the northern border; when Mei Changsu climbed the close by hill to look out from the tower, the land was enveloped in heavy darkness, and the rear of the Yu army was already in visible disarray. Da Yu’s military strategies had always been the ruthless ways of jackals and wolves, and with their strong forces unable to make progress, they would surely retreat and hibernate to re-emerge another time. The Liang army did not give chase, either; the main army gong immediately sounded for the troops to withdraw, and they watched as the Yu army withdrew to the side of the ridge and stationed their horses leeward, their stand-off arrangement restored.
The battlefield seemed to return to tranquility once more, only some lingering flames of war flickering in the long night of wind and snow, but Mei Changsu did not move from the sentry post one bit. Thick clouds concealed the moon; gradually, only the howling of the wind could be heard from all sides, and as his robes billowed, he fixed his clear gaze upon the muddled night of snow, sharp eyes seemingly able to detect the slightest movements within Meiling.
All was quiet up on the watch-tower some unknown time later, pieces of snow falling thinly without wind. Leaning against the parapet, Mei Changsu suddenly straightened himself, widening his eyes as if waking from a dream, as he commanded sternly, “light the fire!”
The signalling beacon in the tower lit up, and the bright fire-light transmitted through the darkness, illuminating half of the side-ridge of the valley like a soaring dragon. Fire arrows rained out, followed by fiery thunder quaking the ground, as if an earthen giant of a crawling beast were awakened by the sound within Meiling; from the sentry post, the turbulent struggle blanketed the field, killing sounds ringing through the air.
The main encampment of the Da Yu imperial army was already in shambles, soldiers and horses trampling and fighting to form a hasty formation, but before they could, the Liang commander flag was somehow erect at the right, and the heavy cavalry, armed with torches, had arrived for a surprise invasion. The Da Yu army had always been uncommonly fierce; they had wanted to fight to the death with their backs against the mountain, but then boiling oil and fire flooded down from a-top the mountain, and soldiers and horses were immediately thrown in tumults, with no alternative but to retreat with defeat in sight.
By now, from the watch-tower, the stage was set in the south valley of Meiling to annihilate the enemy utterly. Firstly, the vanguard had ambushed and then concealed themselves at the mountain ridge, and once night fell, the main army placed themselves in the down-wind direction, using the sound of the wind to conceal the movement of its forces to surround the pass. Once the Yu army broke formation and scattered, the Liang forces surrounded them from above and below the ridge on three sides: the heavy cavalry with spears in the centre, archers with long arrows bringing up the rear, and light cavalry screaming by on the side flanks, herding the Yu army like cattle within the canyon.
When the wind stopped, under the moonless night, the three forces lit their flames, and the imperial army, true to its reputation, still attempted to break through the blockade. The Liang army did not entangle with them, but used their heavy armour and weaponry to press on, forcing the Yu army to move with their enemy upon them. The Yu army attempted to gather into formation several times, to no avail, their ineffective counter-attacks only causing more chaos within their ranks, and in the darkness one could hear the horn sounding within the mass of their army, signalling to retreat for the time being and find opportunities to attack later.
The Liang army pursued more intently then, and the resolute imperial army broke into two halves, but still could not escape this long night in Meiling—the Da Yu rear army, fleeing to regroup, collapsed into sudden pandemonium, men and horses falling on the desolate wasteland of snow. The snow remnants, about to be hoove-less, had somehow become fathomless depths, and the Yu army screamed in terror, “Fissure! Snow fissure ahead!”
It was as if a trap had appeared on the vast wasteland, invisible yet impassable. Though the Yu army tried all their might to reverse direction, they still fell into the deep crevasse from being surrounded by the Liang and their arrows. The imperial army had amassed its main forces and prepared long for this: who could have imagined that such a calamity would befall them? By now, they were already at a mortal impasse, the battleground instantly becoming the scene of a violent, bloody massacre without end.
But this final struggle could not last, after all; at the high ground of the crevasse was hidden a thousand Liang suicide warriors, clad in oiled felt and emerging from the snow, who slipped straight into the rear of the Yu army as a sharp blade. Before the Yu was utterly defeated, it saw the thousand soldiers light their own felt and summon courage to march forward with fire upon their backs and wielding blades, rending the last defence of the imperial army asunder.
At this time, it was as if the heavens itself gave its favour, and the north wind somehow began howling through the valley once more. The remnants of the Yu army faced the wind and fire, only now discovering that they had moved in disarray, driven by the Liang army and under the windless darkness, to the west, far from familiar routes, and that was how they had fallen into this hitherto unknown fissure of snow. Now the fire burned ever more furiously, carried on the power of the wind, and the imperial army faced a strong enemy above and the chasm below, the wind and fire upon them as if sinking them into the depths of hell, and any remaining will to fight back was utterly sapped.
From the watch-tower, Mei Changsu observed from afar the sea of red flame erupt and rush through the enemy formation, finally severing the last chance of life for the imperial army. Flickering red shadows of fire-light shone against the snow of the crevasse, as if a fragment of a dream from thirteen years prior. His pale and thin face was hidden in the dark night, that bygone blaze also seemingly raging inside his eyes.
“Marshal-Father, the red flame of us Lins still guarded our native Meiling, guarded the mountains and rivers we call home.”
Notes:
Geography and war tactics both not researched (just know that grown-up Young Marshal is 🔥[21]).
Translation Footnotes (click the numbers to return to the text in-place):
[20] In canon, Wei Zheng said Lin Xie used the oiled-felt-and-fire attack/油毡火攻 at Meiling to defeat the Da Yu army before Xie Yu arrived, though the details of the battle tactic were not explained.
[21] The original is a pun on 帅 meaning both marshal and, in slang, handsome/cool.
Chapter 7: Ceasing Hostilities
Notes:
———A transitional chapter with neither plot nor emotional progression————
Chapter Text
The snow-storm raged for the rest of the night; on the next morning, the scene from the watch-tower was a vast field of white as far as the eye could see, only the place of fiery, bloody conflict last night containing a trace of human activity, its smoke remnants yet soaring.
Zhu Shouchun leaned against the watch-tower parapets, blood still pumping furiously, the images of war lingering before his eyes. Last night, he served, armed and ready, by Mei Changsu’s side, and once the fire was lit in Meiling, he bit his tongue and held his breath, not daring to miss any of it, and when the north wind blew again, he was clad in cold sweat. Speaking of this artful ability to direct and cleave tens of thousands of units at will: perhaps there were a handful of people within the past decade who could compare, but this godly talent to scheme winds and storms could likely only be found in the legendary tales of military history.
The faint sound of horse hoofs could be heard in the cold quiet as a single scout cavalry approached in the snow; Zhu Shouchun hurried down the tower and returned to the tent to prepare himself—last night, after Mei Changsu descended the post, he immediately coughed up a mouthful of blood, and at daybreak, his illness worsened, with chills and fever alternating. Lin Chen had been waiting long with needles and medicine in the tent, though the sky had already turned bright by the time his condition was slightly brought under control, and it was unlikely that he had had any chance for rest by now.
When Zhu Shouchun entered the tent, Lin Chen was already done with acupuncture, and gave him an exceedingly indifferent glance. Mei Changsu, on the other hand, wore his ordinary expression, sitting up in bed with a marten fur coat, robes loose, and by the brazier, which made his face appear even more ghastly pale. “How are the two armies? Is there a report?”
The scout was already before the tent by now, and entered as soon as he heard the question. “Marshal Meng reports! Last night, in the battle of the snow crevasse, we killed twenty thousand of the enemy and trapped thousands, and the fire and snow-storm of the latter half of the night meant a scant chance for survival. The remaining thirty thousand fled to the east and were stopped by the army lying in wait there; they are now trapped in the north canyon of Meiling, and sent smoke signals for rescue!”
Mei Changsu deliberated for a moment, then said with face stern, “tell Marshal Meng—the Yu army is ruthless, and we must take strict precautions against the remaining army risking their all for one final counter-offensive. The north of Meiling still has twenty thousand imperial elites: we must split our forces and enter the north quickly to our agreed upon positions, no delay permitted.”
He was already supporting himself against the brazier and panting low as he said this; a long moment later, as his breathing recovered slightly, he ordered again, “command the entire army to be on high alert to-day and to-morrow; all watch-towers, sentry posts, and patrols must be double-staffed, thrice-shifted, without any negligence. Any remissness is to be punished by martial law.”
Zhu Shouchun and the scout both saluted, and Mei Changsu thought of another thing to enjoin, “many of our ranks were conscripted along the route, and are unused to the bitter cold. With this snow-storm and raid after a long journey, the fur robes and hats of the Yu army can be taken as needed and cut up to protect our soldiers’ hands and feet.”
The scout left to fulfil the orders—the word in the whole army was that this army supervisor could predict the future and analyse all aspects of the situation, but even in this, he thought of every detail. In the tent, it was once again just Lin Chen and Feiliu, and only now did Mei Changsu lean back slightly toward the pillow in bed as he looked at Lin Chen and said, “excuse the trouble, and do give me another heart-protecting pill.”
Lin Chen was writing something with great concentration and took no heed of him. It was instead Feiliu, standing blankly by the bed, who dove to Mei Changsu’s side—he did not understand why, but he felt Mei Changsu had often been strict and stern lately, his countenance distant and foreign, as if they could not be close again.
“Feiliu, be good.” Mei Changsu reached out his hand to pat the youth’s face, asking him to take a fox fur over from afar and coaxing him to put it on. “It’s cold outside, and this fox fur is soft and warm; our Feiliu looks so good in it.”
This fur was sleek and shining, pure of colour, and most likely an imperial item, but Feiliu did not like it. It was a rare occasion to be close to Mei Changsu, though, and he could only say loudly, “no going out! Sleep!”
Mei Changsu smiled gently. “Su-gege isn’t going out. After drinking my medicine, Su-gege will sleep.”
Feiliu seemed to be awakened by those words, speeding over to stand at Lin Chen’s side. “Medicine!”
Lin Chen still did not reply, and his brush danced vigorously for another long while before he examined his writing and took it over to Mei Changsu’s bedside. “Changsu, with this diagnosis written down, even I have to admit your condition is incurable—and even if Xiao Jingyan were to find a source of life for you in Jinling, I am afraid you won’t last the return.”
Mei Changsu’s face was mild and indifferent, containing neither joy nor sorrow as he looked calmly up at Lin Chen. The rim of Lin Chen’s eyes were faintly red, and that face so often suffused with merriment or annoyance was now showing nearly palpable sorrow. The two of them looked upon each other silently until it was Lin Chen who said, “I am but a mortal, but yet I do not wish to disobey the mandate of heaven. Give me three days; I shall return then.”
As he spoke, Lin Chen sealed the letter and threw a bottle of medicine at Mei Changsu, then turned to leave without consultation. Feiliu hurried to bring Mei Changsu tea, only seeming to be at ease after he took his medicine. Mei Changsu then reached out to tie the fox fur on him tightly. “Go now, and listen to Lin Chen-gege.”
Feiliu imitated him in response, giving his fur coat a tug. “You listen, too!”
Mei Changsu nodded with a smile, watching as Feiliu disappeared in a flash. Lin Chen was already preparing the horses at this time, but Zhu Shouchun, letter in hand, would not let him go. “Young Master Lin! Young Master Lin! I beg you! It is so frigid here and lacking doctors or medicine, and with Sir sick so, how can you leave!”
Lin Chen had already said he would return at three days’ end, and did not want to tarry with him, so he forcibly threw him off and walked away, but he did not expect Zhu Shouchun to raise his hand and pull out the blade at his waist. “Pardon the offence, Young Master Lin! But you must not go at this time!”
Stunned, Lin Chen saw this man’s simple and stubborn loyalty and summoned his patience to explain, “not to worry, he shall not collapse before the fighting has ceased—after three days, the victor and loser will be clear, and then I will be back to protect his life.”
Indeed, just as Lin Chen had said, news of victory from the southern line came on the second day; Zhen Ping had defeated over ten thousand of the enemy army in Ningzhou, with a few thousand remnants already surrounded in a valley, to be eliminated any day. On the northern front, the hindered thirty thousand strong Yu army risked their lives in a last effort to break the encirclement and escape north, but were ambushed and cut off by the awaiting Liang army, and before they could fully enter the north canyon of Meiling, they were once again surrounded and subdued.
By now, it had been precisely three days since the battle at the snow crevasse, and the hundred thousand strong Da Yu imperial army had only forty thousand remaining; twenty thousand were trapped in the canyon without provisions, and twenty thousand rear units were withdrawn at the main tent, their spirit utterly sapped, afraid to head south to stage a rescue at the distant sight of the Liang army banners in the northern reaches of Meiling.
With victory determined, Meng Zhi returned to the watch-tower in North Ganzhou, and as soon as he saw Mei Changsu, he felt the urge to have a good cry and embrace together—to return to Meiling over ten years later, to fight the war in the north once more, though his appearance was completely altered, his body broken, he did not fail at the duty the country placed upon his shoulders, and that hot Chiyan blood still flowed through his veins.
“Xiao-Shu, xiao-Shu.” Clad in frosty iron armour, Meng Zhi dared not embrace the gaunt man in furs after all, only reaching over and clenching his hand deathly tight. “Live on!”
This scene was like the one from his nightmares, and Mei Changsu nearly felt his insides rend and tear, his vision turning black as he fell backward. But this time he did not plunge down a deep abyss with no return: Meng Zhi held on tight to his hand, pulling him over and supporting him steadily, and his natural qi surged powerfully into his back, protecting his organs and meridians.
Only then did Mei Changsu recover a breath; to be unexpectedly saved like this, from the spectre of his past—this was the first time, since he decided to go out on expedition, that he felt an inexplicable glimmer of hope for his own survival. Meng Zhi’s eyes were both red; only now, transporting his qi through Mei Changsu’s body, did he realise how damaged his meridians were, and he could not imagine how he could pretend as if nothing were wrong and endure it all silently.
The two of them sat across from each other, each harbouring secret thoughts, and it was Mei Changsu, in the end, who broke the silence. “Meng-dage, I have a matter to discuss with you. A few days ago, Jingyan had sent an imperial decree for us to worship Meiling’s heroic souls in stead; I had delayed it, for the time being, firstly to wait for the day of the year-end rites, and secondly, to seek a great victory beforehand. And now year-end is near, and our victory is assured—with the remnants of the Yu army trapped in the impassable valley, I want to set up the altar and banner a-top the mountain ridge, with our victory as sacrifice, with the enemy as offering, to perform the rites of worship to our Chiyan souls, to all the brave spirits who have fought in war.”
Meng Zhi wanted to refute him, at first; it was more than a hundred li from here to the Meiling mountain ridge, not to mention that it would be close to the front lines there, but he knew that although he had set up shrines and rites in Jinling, it was not the same as performing it here, after all. As he hesitated, he saw the tent opening lift and Feiliu fly in, a round capsule of cold jade in each hand that he pushed in front of Mei Changsu’s eyes. “Bug!”
Lin Chen followed in, swaggering and swaying with hands in sleeves. “I seemed to hear you just say you want to go to the north and seek your death, which would have been a hearty end three days ago. But now, I think you don’t need to wish for a quick death—I found a good thing for you on this trip, and perhaps it could save your skin.”
Meng Zhi was about to have a fit from hearing all those deaths, but he could not help but be beside himself with joy once he finished listening. He rubbed his hands together, looking at Feiliu then at Lin Chen. “What bug? What good thing?”
Chapter 8: Poison Erupts
Notes:
——————Last testament, blood and tears, a thousand scrolls[22]———————
—————His fighting bones shatter but his will lives on[23]——————
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Mei Changsu understood it all; after the oiled-felt attack days ago, Lin Chen must have gone to the crevasse to find the snow mites currently feasting on burnt flesh. But though these mites caused his condition, if they could cure his poison as well, then surely it did not need to wait until now.
Lin Chen seemed to know his thinking, and took out another capsule of medicine from his sleeve. “They say the antidote to the poison is always within a hundred steps[24], so I searched a day and night in the snow crevasse and found a stalk of red alga in a crevice, shaped like burnt flesh, crimson as blood—have you guessed it by now? It was full of snow mites, their corpses and skeletons!”
Meng Zhi leapt up in one smooth movement of excitement. “Then haven’t you found the cure!”
Lin Chen glanced over at Mei Changsu, whose expression was ordinary and completely unmoved. Lin Chen coughed lightly and said, “well, not quite; the Frostfire Poison is known as extraordinary precisely because of its combination of frost and fire. Setting aside the healing properties of this red alga, even if the frost poison of the snow mites can be cured, the fire poison can take his life still.”
This half-suspended anticipation of Meng Zhi’s was pulled down to the earth again; Lin Chen did not wish to discuss it further with him, only taking one capsule of snow mites from Feiliu and giving it and the capsule in his own hand to Meng Zhi. “This medicine naturally has its uses; send the most suitable person to race without rest back to Jinling and hand it to that Highness of yours.”
Meng Zhi quickly called in Zhu Shouchun and entrusted him to the task repeatedly, to the point where Zhu Shouchun became teary-eyed, too. Mei Changsu only silently wiped Feiliu’s face and hands clean, letting them have their joys, before urging gently, “Marshal Meng, since you are already here to-day, you may as well return to Ganzhou to hasten the provision re-supply—General Zhu, you should go quickly too!”
Meng Zhi replied loud and clear at his words, “then I am to return north on the morrow, and will see you again on the way!”
Thus the two of them left the tent to attend to their own duties, and Lin Chen pressed close to Mei Changsu, taking over the cloth to wipe his own hands. “Why are you not leaping in high spirits like them?”
Mei Changsu glanced sidelong at those hands, frozen to the point of swollen redness, and could not help but heave a sigh. “Even if both the hot and cold poisons can be cured, my meridians can no longer survive the fight. It’s one thing if you yourself are not resigned to it, but why bother cheering them up for nothing.”
Lin Chen threw the cloth and glared at him, mustering, “well, you have truly turned into half a doctor from your long illness!”
Mei Changsu knew his mind, and did not wish to speak further. Lin Chen reached over to read his pulse, diagnosing him in detail for a period. “Better earlier than later—I will go test the red alga’s properties shortly, then test it on you within the next days.”
But Mei Changsu retracted his hand and shook his head. “No, the war is not yet over, we cannot take this risk. I can still sustain myself for now; we can test later.”
“Am I so untrustworthy as this?” Tongue-tied, Lin Chen stared at Mei Changsu’s worried mien, then came to a sudden realisation. “I knew it, what rites at the northern front—you’re still concerned with the remaining twenty thousand Da Yu forces, aren’t you?!”
His secret thus exposed, Mei Changsu fell into deep contemplation—with the two victories in recent days, even Meng Zhi found it fit to leave his battle formation and visit him; it was evident that the army felt like they had achieved success, and did not wish to exterminate the rest of the Yu. Of course, he understood the principles of not pressing a desperate foe, not to mention the Liang army was hastily marshalled together and unused to the brutal chill, and their victories did not come easily. The Yu army would have no choice but to fight to the death, backs against the wall, and though they could be sure of success with a head-on skirmish, heavy losses would be unavoidable.
But he could not help but plan far ahead. These twenty thousand were theirs for the taking now, and letting them go would surely cause a menace in the future. Although this war re-established Da Liang’s military might, it would be quite an undertaking to restore the defences of the northern border—if another danger presented itself in the next few years, Jingyan would not be able to lead an expedition as the new sovereign, and who in the court would be able to take on this duty?
Every time his thoughts fixed on this, Mei Changsu felt an anxious fire in his heart. “The canyon geography is complex with its network of ridges—I only want to see it for myself; if there is an opportunity, what harm is there in trying?”
Lin Chen’s eyes glittered. “I do not know whether the Liang army has an opportunity, but I am afraid that you do not. You may not be able to last through the exertion of the three hundred li trip there and back alone, to say nothing of climbing up to look out.
“If Xiao Jingyan knew you are to risk yourself at this moment for that minute remnant and possibility of future trouble, how would he feel? Since you are thinking of him at every turn, surely you must know the relative importance of you versus that twenty thousand, for the country, and for him?”
Mei Changsu knit his fair brows, his expression seemingly fluctuating in hesitation. So Lin Chen added, “now that we have the red alga, if you are willing to listen to me, I can ensure you safe passage back to Jinling—at least to see him one last time.”
Mei Changsu looked up in astonishment at him, dazed for a while, then lowered his head and gripped his sleeves in silence. The night passed without further speech, but on the second day, when Meng Zhi passed through the tent again on the way to the north, Mei Changsu only entrusted military and ritual matters to him, without mentioning the possibility of going there personally. The year-end ritual day was three days later; Feiliu and Lin Chen were concocting medicine while Zhu Shouchun supported Mei Changsu up the watch-tower again to worship toward the distant northern mountains, and then they leaned once more against the parapets to look out for a long while.
Zhu Shouchun only felt the sickly frame upon him turning ever heavier, and so he urged out loud, “Sir, the wind is high here, and we should not linger; I shall take Sir back.”
“Galloping Horse Brook.” Mei Changsu looked afar at the dimly discernible place where the most brutal battle of days back took place, but in his eyes coalesced a glaze of tenderness. “Meiling is covered in snow nearly all the year round—there are only two months a year when the snow will melt there to reveal a deep and narrow gorge.
“By then, small yellow flowers would bloom in the wild needlegrass all around, and the melted snow would tinkle down, limpid as crystal, and even the broken stone cliffs would be picturesque in that light. If you rode a horse at dawn and let it free on its reins, when the flowers and leaves were laden with dew, the horse would run there itself.
“That year, the Chiyan Young Marshal was seventeen, and the Highness to all of you now was only nineteen himself—they often arranged to frolic together with horses there. Meiling was full of talented generals then, but only the two of them could ride their horses and cross the brook in one leap.”
Looking from the watch-tower now, one could only see a mottled plain of snow, and the clear midsummer mountain stream that once belonged to those two galloping youths was now a burnt piece of ruined earth, without any hint of its former beauty. Zhu Shouchun listened quietly, tears urging to fall for some unknown reason, and it was Mei Changsu who said, in the end, “Let’s go back.”
Zhu Shouchun supported him down the tower, and before the tent, they stopped to glance briefly at the incense altar offering to the soldiers buried far away. But who knew that after entering the tent, before Mei Changsu could sit down properly, he would suddenly sway on his feet and collapse, as if nerveless. Zhu Shouchun only felt that the person in his arms was too insubstantial to be properly held on to, nearly slipping away from him, and he yelled repeatedly in fright, “Young Master Lin! Young Master Lin! Someone! Help!”
The attending soldiers before the tent had already descended into hasty disorder, and just as they carried Mei Changsu to the bed, Lin Chen had lifted the tent opening and rushed in. Mei Changsu’s cheeks were flushed, and a fine layer of sweat was upon his deathly pale forehead, his jaw clenched and quivered, and though his eyes seemed to have reached a decision, they were inexplicably sorrowful as they fixed, without moving, upon Lin Chen’s.
Lin Chen stared back, the joints of his fingers turning white as he clenched both hands without realising. Feiliu flew in then, rushing over to embrace Mei Changsu, and only then did he come to his senses. “Don’t touch him! Feiliu! Don’t touch his meridians!”
Shocked and fearful, Feiliu dared not touch Mei Changsu any longer, kneeling down straight before the bed. “Not dying! Not dying!”
Mei Changsu attempted to force out a smile; Lin Chen walked up to him, pulling his wrist to take his pulse quickly, then sealed his major meridians with his hand without administering needles or medicine, finally letting Feiliu up on the bed to hold him.
Leaning in Feiliu’s arms, Mei Changsu seemed to recover a little of the colour in his face, his gaze already back to the usual cool detachment as he nodded lightly at Lin Chen. Lin Chen could not bear to look at him, and walked out after giving Zhu Shouchun a few orders.
Zhu Shouchun added a braziers and felt curtains, as per instructions, and then gave orders to prepare carriage and supplies, gathering the attending soldiers to report to the commander’s camp and arrange for their return trip to Jinling—before he had left, His Highness had instructed him gravely that Sir Su would not easily go back to the capital unless his limits were reached, and the return trip would be one of utmost danger: there must not be any mistakes or negligence in his care, take heed, take heed.
Zhu Shouchun’s state of mind had long been clear, to have come this far, and he was flooded with mixed emotions. Upon returning to the tent, he walked up to the bed, seeing Feiliu holding tight to Mei Changsu’s hand, and Mei Changsu holding tight to a bloody cloth. He hurried to bring tea, but Mei Changsu shook his head, his voice nearly imperceptible as he said, “General Zhu, come closer; I have a few matters to hand over to you.”
Zhu Shouchun knelt down before the bed in wait, only hearing Mei Changsu say quietly, “with the present situation, Da Yu no longer has potential for recovery; before year-end, the instrument of surrender will surely reach our camps. Though Da Yu has lost sixty thousand soldiers, it oft harbours a lupine ambition; when we accept their surrender, we must be ruthless in our deterrence and seize significant rewards. Take heed.”
Mei Changsu could not breathe smoothly, and he had to cough in spasms between every phrase or two. “One more thing: though the fighting has ceased this time, the northern border is still weak. Along this trip, I have seen and analysed clearly the pros and cons of military reforms, the standards of provision allocation, along with the deployment of major fortifications along the border, and how to reorganise forces and rotate personnel deployment. To rebuild our border defences is a most crucial task of our nation, and we must make haste to request an edict to do so. Take heed.”
A deathly pallor had come over his face by now, and he panted low. “Those two matters I have just spoken of: I have written them down into documents, but have not had the chance to present them—they are inside the pear-wood box. Make a duplicate to send to Marshal Meng, then let someone hasten it to His Highness. The box also contains a personal letter—hand it for me to Miss Gong Yu, on the southern line, who will forward it.”
At this, Mei Changsu finally seemed to have finished his instructions; he coughed heavily a few times, curling up as if bearing pain, then struggled and coughed out another mouthful of blood. Tears finally ran into Zhu Shouchun’s beard, and he joined forces with Feiliu to hold Mei Changsu up, carefully covering him with the thick quilt.
Fine sweat beaded across Mei Changsu’s face, and the colour of blood remained at the corner of his mouth, though his expression seemed to be more relaxed as he lay in Feiliu’s arms with the quilt over him and smiled mildly at Zhu Shouchun. “General Zhu, you are of great military talent, but you have been trapped at my sick-bed this expedition—I am sorry for all the trouble.”
A storm of emotions swelled inside Zhu Shouchun as he bent down and saluted in tears. “To come to know Sir this trip has taught this humble general what a great commander’s spirit ought to be. I am grateful to Sir’s personal instructions, these two months at your side: what I have learnt shall benefit the rest of my life!”
Mei Changsu’s breath hung on by a gossamer thread, and he seemed to be both looking at the person before the bed and far into the distance. “You will surely be a pillar of the new court one day, General; this one is glad to have enough remaining good fortune to be of slight help to Sir.”
Zhu Shouchun could bear to hear no more, raising his head to look urgently upon Mei Changsu. “How can you say this, Sir! How can His Highness and the new court not have Sir! This humble general promised His Highness I would protect Sir back to the capital, safe and sound!”
“Then I am much obliged to you, General.” Though Mei Changsu spoke ardently, the light in his eyes gradually dimmed. “I promised His Highness, also. If something were to happen on this trip, General, remember to say a few words in my defence: I was never untrue to His Highness.”
As Mei Changsu finished his quiet words, his eyes shuttered, and he fell unconscious without a sound.
Notes:
Translation Footnotes (click the numbers to return to the text in-place):
[22] [23] Like the title of the story, these two lines are lyrics from Blood of Chiyan Enduring/赤血长殷, the song Wang Kai sang for the Nirvana in Fire OST.
[24] In many wuxia novels, the antidote is found within the vicinity of the source of the poison, often of an opposing type: a poisonous snake’s habitat would grow grass that cures its venom, for example. This comes from the belief of yin-yang dualism and that there is balance in all things.
Chapter 9: Righteous Way
Notes:
————Let’s aim the camera back toward Jinling———————
———When watching the Bingxu grass part of the show, this one also had the same question: why must we choose only one between life and righteousness? Why can the ones only thinking about their own lives survive, but the ones with principles and honor have to die? Is there no such thing as fairness in this world?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
When two handwritten volumes, two cold jade capsules of medicine, one pulse diagnosis, along with one military brief all raced into the East Palace on a speeding horse, it was the first day of the second month of Yuanyou Era, Year Seven. The month that had just passed was perhaps the bleakest first month of the imperial city on record; it was yet the mourning period, the aged Emperor was heavily ill, and the Crown Prince Regent had not the hint of a smile in two months, and though from the red walls and dark tiles hung festive lamps and colours, they only swayed desolately in the cold north wind.
Xiao Jingyan had another nightmare deep in the night and did not sleep for the rest of the night; at dawn, when the attendant entered the palace hall and saw him sitting upon the steps, robes loose, feet bare, cleaning the old bow, it was but a familiar sight. After he finished attending court in stead at Chaoyang Palace, the winter sun was already high in the sky, and so he went to Zhiluo Palace in his court clothing to pay proper first-day-of-month respects without a hair out of place.
Her Ladyship Consort Jing had already prepared a table full of breakfast for him—though they saw each other every day recently, they did not always have the chance to sit down and share a meal together. After Xiao Jingyan finished saluting, she bade him sit close, and ladled soup and served food for him, putting a delicate, translucent cup in his hand. “Quick, drink some shenqi[25] soup to replenish your qi—you have looked ever more tired as of late.”
Though this pair of mother and son were already of the highest echelon of society, they were not aloof with each other like the forbidding towers of the palace. Xiao Jingyan took a sip of soup and seemed to feel slightly more at ease. “I can sustain myself; you should take care, Mother. First it was the business and bustle of the new year in the palace, then the red snow alga is yet another cause for your worry.”
Consort Jing looked with a distant gaze upon the shinan tree in the courtyard, sighing on the inside. The medicinal properties of the alga were difficult to predict—if this sliver of hope were to be dashed again, perhaps Xiao Jingyan would find it even more difficult to bear.
Seeing how she was lost in thought and did not speak, Xiao Jingyan felt slight apprehension, and worried at the same time that his mother had overexerted herself. “Has the imperial physician come to-day?”
He stopped here, for a slightly flustered palace maid had come in, sent through by the manager of Zhiluo Palace. “Reporting to Your Ladyship, the head imperial physician is outside the palace and requests an audience.”
Immediately Xiao Jingyan’s heart beat as a drum; the physician hurried in, raising high a stack of documents before he even finished saluting. “Your Highness, Your Ladyship, I have just received the medical record with pulse diagnosis: the patient is drained of vigour, his meridians fully ruined, and he fell comatose ten days ago when the poison manifested.”
The sweet taste of iron welled up Xiao Jingyan’s throat, and with a clatter, the thin jade cup shattered in his grip, blood blooming across his entire hand all of a sudden. Consort Jing did not have time to attend to him, but asked instead, “is his pulse floating or sunken[26]? How perilous is the state of his internals?”
“The pulse sign is nearly gone, and its buoyancy has strange fluctuations.” At this, the imperial physician looked at Xiao Jingyan’s possessed mien from the corner of his eye, then decided to say evasively, in sorrow, “Your Ladyship knows.”
Xiao Jingyan turned his head slowly, his already blood-shot eyes fixing blankly at her. “What does Mother know?”
Consort Jing came to her senses, and hurriedly grabbed his arm once she saw he had broken the cup in his hand, though she could not stop her own tears from raining down when she lowered her head. “Do not worry, it was inevitable that his meridians should come to ruin; all will be well, all will be well.”
Xiao Jingyan fell to sit at the side from her pulling; his eyes, still fixed upon the imperial physician, nearly started from their sockets in ire. The physician quivered in his sleeves, only then realising that his hands were still holding the petitions. “This servant has transcribed the diagnosis. The red alga and snow mites mentioned by the pigeon message days ago have arrived, as well. And, and—General Lie heard of the anomaly in the diagnosis, and told me to forward this confidential missive and attached documents to Your Highness for quick perusal.”
Xiao Jingyan stood up from an unknown source of energy, but then took a false step and nearly tumbled down the steps full-bodily. The attending maids prostrated in terror, but thankfully, the physician helped him by the arm. “Be careful, Your Highness!”
Only when he held onto the physician’s arm with one hand and used his other to take the petitions did he realise that his hand was covered in blood. He did not care for his injuries whatsoever, merely taking over the documents carefully to prevent bloodying them, then sat down right before the steps and forced himself to concentrate on reading. Above him, Consort Jing dismissed the physician and attendants with a wave of her hand, then received the pulse diagnosis handed by him, heaving a lengthy sigh after scrutinising it for a while.
Xiao Jingyan, on the other hand, fixed himself in front of the steps like a sculpture cast from iron and bronze; the secret missives and briefs had become increasingly lengthy over the past two months, and though this one was yet the calligraphy of a warrior, it looked more like tears and blood had poured over the page. Beneath the brief was two petition texts, which ought to be Mei Changsu’s strategies for the nation; the blood in his hand stained the brocade seal, but Xiao Jingyan did not dare to take even a cursory look—what was on those pages was not ink characters or strokes, it was the life-blood of that person poured forth and distilled, his shattered fighting bones rendered illumination from ashes.
His erect back shook helplessly, a sheer unimaginable force of will keeping the aggrieved sorrow and fury inside him at bay. Much later, Consort Jing descended the steps slowly, supporting him to sit down, and taking a silk handkerchief to wipe gently the bloodstains that had spread to robe sleeves.
His head glistening with cold sweat, Xiao Jingyan bent down to see blood had soaked through the brief and loosened his grip in a panic; his tears also streamed down like pearls. “I knew all along this day would come—he can truly be as cruel as this.”
Consort Jing had got an inkling from a cursory look at the brief in his hand, just now; she slowly pulled the petitions out and placed them upon the robe fabric for him, wrapping his hand with the silk kerchief. “Jingyan, what he wishes you to do is distinctive from others, after all.”
Distraught and teary, Xiao Jingyan muttered low after a long while, “he wishes me to overturn the case and take the throne, to become the wise ruler of an era—I will absolutely not let his painstaking efforts go to waste. But I, my only wish for him is that he is alive and well.”
Even Consort Jing could not come up with words of comfort then; the two of them only pressed against each other for support before the steps as their tears fell silently. Some unknown time later, the advising minister attending to Xiao Jingyan knelt in salute outside the hall. “Reporting to Your Highness: it is now the ninth hour. Please to move to Wuying Hall to meet with the cabinet ministers.”
With matters of the nation pressing heavily on his shoulders, Xiao Jingyan raised his eyes and dabbed them with his robe sleeves, rising to salute to Consort Jing. “Your son is going now.”
When Lie Zhanying received Xiao Jingyan outside the inner palace gates, he looked upon his expression carefully. He wore the same heavy gloom as always, and save for the bloody silk wrapped on his hand, he seemed utterly unshaken.
And so Lie Zhanying assumed that Sir Su perhaps only experienced a medical scare without being in actual peril, but Xiao Jingyan would spend the next half-day spiritless, barely answering the questions during the meeting, and when he wandered aimlessly out the palace gates afterward, Lie Zhanying could not resist asking, “where is Your Highness going? To-day is the first of the month, and the imperial clansfolk[27] are waiting for you to pay respects and speak with them.”
Xiao Jingyan paused in a daze at the entrance, as if suddenly awakening from a dream. The walls were grave and weighty, as were the shadows cast by the palaces and gates, and he stood there amidst it all, a solitary figure, the bitterly cold wind blowing upon him—in this moment, even he himself could not answer where he was meant to go, where he could go.
And so he turned around in silence, led back by Lie Zhanying like a puppet on a string. The clansfolk and high dignitaries were already waiting in the warm chamber, and once the introductory salutes concluded, Xiao Jingyan sat there with proper posture, looking lost and despondent, causing Grand Prince Ji to stroke his beard and ask, “the fighting on the borders has been successful, and all is well with the court and state: Your Highness Crown Prince seemed slightly at ease for a while before the new year, but what has happened now for you to be so silently burdened?”
At year-end, the news of the great victory at Meiling and the red snow alga had arrived at the capital in a rapid succession of messenger pigeons, and during that time, Xiao Jingyan had only assumed that Mei Changsu would soon return and be cured. He forcibly gathered himself to make a reply to his clansman’s question, but before he could speak, Shen Zhui, in the distance, had an inkling of his mind and helped cover up for him. “His Highness is purely filial, and must have just discussed how His Majesty’s illness is difficult to heal, thus becoming especially anxious and worried as such.”
Grand Prince Ji sighed. “Your Highness has already strictly ordered the most outstanding members of the imperial academies of physicians and scholars to be stationed in the East Palace and search for methods to extend His Majesty’s health, and you personally summon them officially for inquiry every night, without a break, for two months; all are witnesses to this testament of your filial piousness…But Your Highness ought to know also that there are limits to human capacity, and should not be critical of yourself beyond reason.”
Yan Que had been sitting straight silently to the side, and advised after hearing this, “precisely: even though healers can replace skeletons and reconstruct meridians, there are still limits to what is possible.”
Lost in his trance, Xiao Jingyan felt, for some unknowable reason, that only Marquis Yan’s voice cut clear through his daze, and his impossibly pained mind jolted awake. “Marquis Yan, what did you say?”
Yan Que had spoken casually, and did not expect him to rouse himself and enquire after it further. “Your Highness? I said—there are still limits to what is possible.”
Xiao Jingyan’s gaze was apprehensive yet ardent. “Marquis Yan, you said healers can—reconstruct meridians?”
Yan Que exchanged a glance with Grand Prince Ji. “Only rumours from past courts, is all; the imperial physicians must have told Your Highness that once meridians are damaged, they are difficult to repair.”
“What rumours from previous courts?” Xiao Jingyan nearly leaned out of his seat; since the Elder Langya Hallmaster could flay Lin Shu’s skin and splinter his bones, perhaps reconnecting the meridians was not only the stuff of rumours and tales. “Pray tell me all!”
Misgivings showed on Yan Que’s face, but Xiao Jingyan fixed his earnest and urgent look upon him, his fists curled against the table. Prince Ji hurried to diffuse the situation. “No need to be anxious, Your Highness. It was a story only known inside the palace, and probably even Marquis Yan does not know the details. I only heard of it myself when I was little: a consort of the late Emperor had been poisoned in her youth, her meridians destroyed, and was fortunate to have an imperial physician from the He family to heal her, even living to a natural old age.”
Xiao Jingyan fell back to his seat, astonished for a moment; it would be an affair from three courts ago, by that reckoning. “Healers oft pass their skills on to future generations—did this physician named He have any descendants at court?”
Grand Prince Ji stroked his beard, thinking without producing an answer, and Yan Que only shook his head in silence. Xiao Jingyan desired to give Lie Zhanying an emergency order to post searching notices, when Shen Zhui sighed all of a sudden. “Though I have never heard of this old tale, my mother’s family have had some relationships with the He family of imperial physicians.
“His eldest son and descendants did not inherit the family art, and that branch was tragically put to death as consequence of Prince Qi’s case. His younger son once held office at the imperial academy of physicians, but did not wish to follow the tide of public opinions, and relocated his family out of the capital long ago, fading from view entirely.”
Xiao Jingyan’s mood rose and fell with Shen Zhui’s words, his feelings ineffably mixed—how many more people were in this world that stayed loyal and true to their principles, but suffered the cruel storms and frosts of misfortune. And now, since past injustices had been righted, would fate be so kind as to give the virtuous ones a new chance?
Three days later, his bitter question had an answer. When Xiao Jingyan returned to the East Palace that day, the descendent of the imperial physician named He was already waiting at the steps of Changxin Palace along with several aged book-chests. “This commoner, He Zhengming—”
Without any of his depressed airs from the previous months, Xiao Jingyan strode close with majestic power and interrupted, “a few days ago, I heard my elder clansfolk discuss past matters, and that your grandfather once reconstructed meridians for a palace consort: does He-qing know of the details?”
He Zhengming did not look to be over thirty, his face pale and lightly moustached, and though he was in commoner clothes, his bearing was quite upright and honest. Unruffled, he saluted deeply before answering, “reporting to Your Highness Crown Prince, this commoner’s late grandfather did indeed use the traditional art of our family to repair the meridians of the consort of a previous court. But the occurrence was many years ago, and the surviving numbers of my family are scant—I am too young to know of the details therefore.”
Xiao Jingyan turned anxious, and looking at the chests of books beside him, he asked a different tack, “since it is an art passed down through your family, are there medical manuscripts and records handed down?”
He Zhengming contemplated for a moment. “The method to repair meridians is indeed recorded, though the medical record in question, since it involved secrets of the inner palace, was not passed down, and my grandfather only made a few annotations upon the original manuscript.”
“Good! Good!” Xiao Jingyan could not help but stamp his feet in joy, then held out his hands in a sudden salute. “I have an old and intimate friend who is afflicted by an extraordinary poison, his meridians destroyed as a result. He-qing’s family art is unfathomable and ingenious: I earnestly request that you try your utmost to save him on my behalf!”
He Zhengming avoided the salute and kowtowed low in panic—he was a mere commoner, and how could he deserve such courtesy from the Crown Prince Regent. When his head rose back up, his eyes were already laden with hot tears, and he said sincerely, “Please to allow this commoner to say a few words from the bottom of my heart, Your Highness.
“Though my family is one of physicians, for generations, we have been also educated in the literature of sages. My late elder uncle once served at Prince Qi’s Manor as a clerk, and true to honour, he gave his life following in his lord’s footsteps. My late father was a physician with a trifling title, suffering much rejection and dismissal, and finally relocated his entire family out of the capital and passed away in resentment. I have been tending to the poor parcel of family land in the outskirts of the city, passing similarly meagre days, and did not expect to see Your Highness’s rise, for old grievances to be redressed, and for the light of righteousness to be shine in the world once more!
“This commoner has long harboured the notion of serving Your Highness to repay these debts, but being as insignificant as a glow-worm, I had no hope of ever being in the presence of your sun. Having received Your Highness’s sudden summons, I did not know what purpose I could serve, and so brought all of the manuscripts, texts, and medical records of the family with me, in hopes of returning but a fraction of Your Highness’s good deeds. Since Your Highness has an order for me, though I am untalented and unlearned, how can I not make every effort? Pray do not be too courteous, Your Highness: if Uncle and Father knew from beyond, they would surely be greatly distressed.”
Xiao Jingyan looked down at this young commoner, then raised his head, filled with emotions—the spirits of Prince Qi and Marshal Lin must also be watching, and know that it was the righteous way, honour and loyalty, that would endure in the hearts of this world, in the end.
He helped He Zhengming up. “The person I require you to save is precisely the one who has been tortured by his poison for thirteen years, causing his meridians to be destroyed, but who remained faithful and devoted through it all to finally overturn the Prince Qi and Chiyan case.
“He-qing must know my heart, then pray do me this favour.”
Notes:
Here’s a doctor OC named after “celebrating the righteous light in the world.”[28]
Even if the beautiful tragedy of this ship is that you can’t have both life and righteousness (this one refuses to accept it).
Translation Footnotes (click the numbers to return to the text in-place):
[25] Shēnqí soup/参芪汤 is named after its two main ingredients, ginseng/人参 and milkvetch (Astragalus propinquus)/黄芪, and meant to supplement the qi and boost kidney function in traditional Chinese medicine.
[26] The buoyancy of a pulse is one of its diagnostic properties: it can be either floating/浮, meaning easily sensed without applying pressure at the pulse-taking point, or sunken/沉, where you have to press hard to feel the pulse. These correspond to different balances of internal and external forces in the body and require different treatment.
[27] Clans are patrilineal, so these clansfolk/宗亲 are imperial family members who have the Xiao name.
[28] Hè zhèngmíng/贺正明 is literally “celebrating righteous brightness” and is the short form of the whole phrase here, 庆贺人间正道光明.
Chapter 10: Returning Journey
Chapter Text
After Xiao Jingyan finished speaking with He Zhengming, he personally escorted him to the study in the side hall west of the palace, where the imperial physicians and doctors were convening. The humble doctor Xun Zhen had received Mei Changsu’s pulse diagnosis three days ago, and was stretched upon tenter-hooks ever since, causing Doctor Yan and the crowd of imperial physicians to be anxious as well, stroking their brows and beards and sighing against the stalk of red snow alga all day.
It was exactly as Mei Changsu said: though the alga was a singular and extraordinary medicine, his meridians certainly could no longer survive the destruction it would bring. The Frostfire Poison had its root extracted and exterminated via skin flaying and bone splintering, and the remaining poison would not ordinarily be lethal. But he was left weak and infirm from the procedure, his longevity curtailed, and even a fraction of the remnant poison recurring wreaked havoc on his body precisely because his meridians and core were so damaged.
These past few months, Xiao Jingyan had lost count of how many times he had heard this simple yet hand-binding principle. When he had told the physicians, days ago, that there was a way to repair meridians in a previous court, they only half-believed his words. And now, He Zhengming brought his manuscripts and records to stand before them, his analysis clear and detailed, his medicine incandescent in brilliance—only now did the physicians show excitement upon their faces and begin discussion in earnest.
Xiao Jingyan listened for a moment to the side: the physicians each held fast to their own opinions, raising doubts and questions, and so he left the hall—these past two months, he often found these discussions impossible to finish listening to; even someone completely ignorant to the art of healing, as he was, could tell how dangerous and complex Mei Changsu’s illness was. And every time, quietly hearing their talk but unable to do anything himself, he felt as if his heart was being branded by hot bronze and dismembered, the pain difficult to bear for long.
Even now, with the red snow alga and the way to repair meridians, though there were still many misgivings and obstacles ahead for the physicians, they had at least a possible path forward and a possible method to consult. But for some reason, Xiao Jingyan felt more anxious than ever that he might lose him, his emotions churning in turmoil. At first, in the vast hopelessness, it seemed that all he had was his unwillingness to accept fate, but now the heavens had granted him both healers and medicine, and if he still could not keep him, then how could he endure the rest of his life.
He stood all alone before the palace gates for a long while, his hand full of wound scabs tucked inside his sleeve. The crescent moon was as a hook, and the courtyard lanterns were festive and aglow, but it was a far cry from the night before Mei Changsu went on expedition, when the flood of moonlight seemed to reflect both their hearts. He counted the days carefully; Mei Changsu could be resting at the border garrison by now—could the same curve of moonlight over those towers do its part to pull him back to him[30]?
But at this time, the true state of affairs at the border garrison was one of violent snow and wind, dark clouds billowing over the entire sky; Mei Changsu’s procession was slow and winding against the storm, and had finally reached the gates outside the garrison towers.
They had been on the return journey for nearly a ten-day; the first few days had clear and bright skies without storms, and Meng Zhi had led fellow generals while holding the article of surrender from Da Yu at the Ganzhou city towers, watching as the four hundred light cavalry escorted that large swaying carriage, holding the army supervisor who had drained his life-blood for the country, on his returning journey. On the watch-towers all around were gathered some soldiers of their own accord, also silently seeing them off into the distance. Zhen Ping of the southern line even led some of his own troops to escort the carriage personally—though he knew that were Mei Changsu awake, he would surely reproach him, he was deeply afraid that this would be his last opportunity to do so.
The solemn procession traveled in structured order, but just as they were about to exit the mountain ridges of Meiling, a huge gust of wind suddenly lifted from the vast snowy plain, howling with the easy strength to destroy what was already hanging by a thread. The light cavalry up front, hoisting banners, were nearly blown off their feet, and all soldiers had to lower themselves upon their saddles and cover their eyes, the entire procession stopped by the wind.
Zhen Ping and Zhu Shouchun leapt off their stirrups and jumped up the carriage shaft at nearly the same instant, expending all their strength to keep the felt curtains of the carriage in place. Though the frame of the vehicle was sound, its canopy was tall and catching the wind, and even the double shaft and four horses were no match for the strong gusts swirling across, the carriage tottering and threatening to plunge backwards.
Squinting, Zhu Shouchun bellowed for soldiers to descend their horses and be on guard, to take ropes and felt fabrics to secure the vehicle, while Zhen Ping bent his arm to protect his face and yelled anxiously against the curtain, “Young Hallmaster Lin! Young Hallmaster Lin! How is our Chief?!”
Lin Chen was huddled up in the corner of the carriage, steeping medicine, and the sudden wind, even through the curtain, had nearly extinguished his coal fire. Feiliu had been half-holding Mei Changsu, and he rose to his knees now, protecting Mei Changsu’s face and head with his body as he stared anxiously at Lin Chen. “Wind! Cold!”
Lin Chen opened his mouth, but then heard the pressing sounds of the wind, the creaking of the carriage frame, and the cries and neighs of people and horses about. Zhen Ping and Feiliu were both yelling incessantly, but Mei Changsu, in his pile of furs and quilts, was yet oblivious to it all.
Lin Chen said nothing, in the end; he bent over and dove out of the curtain onto the shaft, where he was greeted by an endless plain of white, the swirling wind ambushing them with clumps of snow and grass, and there was no place to take shelter for tens of li. A dozen or so attending soldiers were desperately holding on to ropes around the carriage to keep it in place, and Zhu Shouchun’s hands, not wearing gloves, were already covered in blood; Zhen Ping pressed his full body against the curtain seams, roaring at Lin Chen with the gale between them, “storm-winds like this in the north can blow for a whole night—”
Before he could finish, the horses jumped up in fright, perhaps from gravel hurled by the wind, and the soldiers fell down in droves, the carriage dragged until its side faced the wind. Caught unaware, Lin Chen was thrown off the carriage shaft, and when he fixed his eyes upon the vehicle again, its window curtains had already been ripped far away by the wind in a blink.
The strong gale tore through the coach openings, and upon the desk, the medicine bowls with a stack of written recipes underneath were scattered everywhere instantly. Everything was hopelessly flung about in chaos, and before Lin Chen could get closer, he watched as his recipe papers fell into the coal brazier, igniting into bright flames all of a sudden and floating to the brocade curtains hung on the side wall.
In the dry coldness, the fire was aided by the high wind, instantly growing taller than men. Upon the shaft, Zhen Ping only saw the flames now, and he quickly lifted the entrance curtain for Feiliu to swoop out with a bundle of furs and blankets on fire, the violent wind blowing him to tumble and roll across the snowy plain miserably.
Zhen Ping dove over, inspecting Mei Changsu all over in a panic; the flames on the fur and blankets had already been extinguished by the movements, and the layers were now full of snow and gravel, flapping about in the wind as soon as he opened them. Attending soldiers swarmed over to form a protective half-wall, and Zhu Shouchun took off his own cloak to drape it over Mei Changsu, who was finally barely covered again.
Most of the carriage close by had been engulfed by smoke and fire by now, red flames reaching the clouds in the strong gust, as if yearning to surge into the skies. Facing this sight, Lin Chen stood in nameless terror, suddenly imbued with the notion that the very heavens were against him—perhaps the north, Meiling, and the noble Chiyan souls sought to keep Mei Changsu here for his eternal repose.
At this thought, Lin Chen stared blankly at Mei Changsu. He was set a-flame then blown across the snow, and was now in a sorry state, wind and frost strewn across his hair, but as expected, he still had not the slightest hint of awareness—ever since he was informed of the Da Yu instrument of surrender on the day they set out on the journey, he fell comatose like this, and though each day, there were a few hours when his jaw would unclench slightly for them to feed food and medicine, he never awoke once.
Though Lin Chen knew this state of deep unconsciousness would not hinder their work, he could not help but be increasingly troubled at heart—in the past, Mei Changsu would often have nightmares while ill, and mutter endlessly in his sleep, but now he lay there, serene and still, as if the storms of the mortal realm were no longer matters of his concern.
It seemed the heavens did not wish him to live, and the man himself did not shun his death, either; Lin Chen’s ears were roaring from the violent pounding of the wind until Zhu Shouchun fell to his knees before him. “Young Master Lin, you promised His Highness! And promised Sir! Young Master Lin!”
Lin Chen stumbled from being tugged and came to his senses abruptly—though he had already lost hope, he had made those vows, after all.
“Bring a horse.” Lin Chen forcibly girded himself and pulled Zhu Shouchun up with one hand. “The largest horse!”
Zhu Shouchun raised his head, wiping off a full face of snow to see that Lin Chen had recovered to his usual state to give a quick command, and hurried to bring his own steed over. He followed more orders, directing the attending soldiers to unload supplies and equipment from the flat cart and stopping it by the side of the horse, then turned to block the wind and burn coals in preparation. Lin Chen removed the saddles and stirrups from the horse, gave its mane and neck a pat, then lightly flipped on top of it in one swoop with aid from the wind. Before anyone could see it clearly, he somehow had a thorn in his hand that he drove precisely between the ears of the horse.
The limbs of the tall and strong horse went soft as it knelt down without a struggle. Lin Chen leaned to his left, using the momentum to heave the horse down on to the side of the flat cart. The attending soldiers had many years of army experience, and all knew his idea by this time; without words, they moved to lift the horse on to the cart and handed Lin Chen a curved blade.
Lin Chen moved his hand in a nimble motion to slice open the belly of the beast, and though the steed made no sound or struggle, it was yet an exceptionally grisly sight in this wind and snow. His robes dripping with blood, he held the coals with tongs to cauterise the wound and staunch the bleeding, and only a long time later did he command men to bring Mei Changsu near, strip off his snow-drenched layers, and tuck him, fully clothed, inside the horse.
Even the fierce gale could not sweep away the scent of the frosty blood, and the attending soldiers, previously linking their arms around each others’ shoulders to block the wind, now all lowered their arms and heads in a moment of silence. Zhen Ping knelt beside the cart, still grasping on to Mei Changsu’s wrist, until Lin Chen clapped his shoulder heavily. “Raise the flag for our triumphant return!”
Zhen Ping pulled a dark red battle flag out from his breastplate; the tassels he stuffed in Mei Changsu’s hand, and with a long look at his blood-soaked face and a round of kowtows, he finally hid Mei Changsu fully into the belly of the horse. The attending soldiers walked near to cover it securely with furs and blankets, then harnessed their horses and pushed carts to reform the procession, and with a solemn strike of their armour, they leaned forward, against the wind, to continue the journey.
It had begun snowing some unknown time ago; Zhen Ping was crouched on the cart shaft, steadfast and unshaken in the face of snow and wind, and raising the Chiyan battle pennant high. The biting gale did not rest, the setting sun was dim and dolorous, and in the vast desolation there seemed to be a convergence of heroic souls, a war elegy from the underworld howling, heavens and earth sighing in joined lamentation—O, but who could escape death, alas, alack and woe[31]! Fighting bones shattered, burial in horsehide this way returns.
Notes:
The burial in horsehide at the end of this chapter is one of two scenes I wanted to write from the very beginning of conceiving the story:
- The first is the night before going on expedition, Xiao Jingyan in red robes, gold guan, embracing Mei Changsu from the back and drawing Lin Shu’s old bow together with him. That’s how the story starts.
- The second is on the way home from victory, the snowstorm wreaking havoc, the heavens wanting to take him, but the former Chiyan men raise their battle banner high and bury him in horsehide, seeing their Young Marshal off in the wind and snow one more time.
After writing, I discovered I couldn’t fully express the idea in my head (alas).
Translation Footnotes (click the numbers to return to the text in-place):
[29] Burial in horsehide/马革裹尸 is an expression originating from Mǎ Yuán/马援, famed general of the Han Dynasty, who was recorded in Han histories as saying, “a man should die at the borderlands, his corpse returned for burial wrapped in horsehide, not in a bed surrounded by his family”: 男儿要当死于边野，以马革裹尸还葬耳，何能卧床上在儿女子手中邪, meaning one should die fighting for one’s country without pageantry and not cowardly seek safety.
[30] The moon evokes home and reunions in Chinese culture. Loved ones who are separated would look at the moon and think of each other, because it’s the same moon over both of their heads, and the one thing that they share despite being apart.
[31] The original uses 噫兴, which was chanted three times in ancient funerals before the start of the burial to express grief and to awaken the soul of the dead (and used in Nirvana in Fire 2, but I won’t spoil it).
Chapter 11: Spirit Dreams
Notes:
—————Again my spirit dreams of being reunited with you[32]———————
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Only after they reached the garrison and secured Mei Changsu did Lin Chen dare to reach into that pile of bloody clothing and feel his pulse—it was steady, miserable by ordinary standards, but also peaceful and without immediate danger, and finally, he had left the haunted north shaken, but out of mortal peril.
The attending soldiers brought over wooden buckets of warm water, and Zhen Ping washed all of the blood off Mei Changsu himself, carefully placing him on the bed and covering him with fur and quilts once more. Zhu Shouchun stood at the door, deploying soldiers and resources, and Lin Chen had finished cleaning himself as well, and was leaning by the side of the table, fanning the steeping medicine, when Feiliu, lying at the head of the bed with two hands propping his own head up, suddenly yelled, “Su-gege!”
The entire room jolted in shock and gathered at the bedside. Mei Changsu’s eyes trembled, his lashes gave a flutter, and quite a while later, his eyes opened—his vacant and hazy pupils gradually brightened as he looked at Zhu Shouchun, at Zhen Ping, at Lin Chen, then stopped upon Feiliu’s face, and he smiled a little, as if waking from a long dream.
Anguished, Zhen Ping sought to throw himself at him, but Lin Chen pushed him away with one move and sat down by the bedside to examine his mien in detail, finally exclaiming after a long moment, “truly, the soul has re-entered the body, and the dead has returned to the living!”
Mei Changsu closed his eyes again. He had not gone to the hellish fires of the underworld this time, though he had returned to this world, in the end. The sights and sounds of those from his past still appeared before him; that day, he slept alone for a long time in a primordial state of boundless chaos, then suddenly felt the coldness disappear, his senses regaining full faculty, and when he opened his eyes, he found himself lying upon the Lin Manor bed of yore.
Grand Princess Jinyang was sitting at the foot of the bed with one curled knee, idly rearranging the sword tassel in her hand. Mei Changsu greedily took in the beautiful sight of her, and softly called after a while, “Mother.”
She lifted her face and long brows, her starry eyes turning, and leaned over to caress his face, wiping off the tears at his eye corners. Lights and shadows shifted then, and Prince Qi strode up to the bedside, a worried look upon his face. As soon as Mei Changsu called “Jingyu-gege”, he saw Her Ladyship Consort Chen, in full palace attire, support the tottering Grand Empress Dowager to walk up to him.
“Auntie, Great Grandmother.” Mei Changsu struggled to reach for the Grand Empress Dowager’s hand. And then there was a movement at the door, and Lin Xie returned from training, in short robes, with sword, also pausing at the bed to look down at him. “Xiao-Shu, you are finally awake.”
In a trance, Mei Changsu felt it a dream from his youth at times, or a rebirth into a new world at others. It did not seem necessary to scrutinise this amidst his haze; surrounded by his most loved ones, his body free from sickness and pain, sometimes he lay upon his mother’s knees and let her braid his hair, or went to the training grounds and barracks to spar with his father, or debated with Prince Qi and company at his manor, or crouched obediently in front of his great grandmother’s bed as she took her afternoon nap, waiting for his aunt to visit so he could pay respects, and for her to coax him to rise and eat desserts.
Days like these drifted by as fantasies, or perhaps the fleeting waters of a swift river. The imperial city was a bustling centre of peace, Prince Qi’s Manor full of distinguished guests that talked with him cheerfully, the Chiyan Army overflowing with great generals who were also hearty and dear to him. Once he rode his horse aimlessly about the alleyways, and even ran into his beloved mentor, Li Chong—the venerable gentleman lifted his carriage curtain and scolded in jest, “go read your books post-haste! Or you will talk another great deal of your nonsense at the imperial academy debate to-morrow!”
And so he turned his horse and sped back to the academy; the courtyard was deserted and still, not many classmates about, and he turned and ran out. The imperial gardens were thick and forbidding, and he suddenly saw Xie Yu standing at the end of the palace path, pushing his hands out for a salute, and then the black-and-gold dragon robes of the Emperor flashed past and dissipated as smoke.
Mei Changsu was stricken upon the spot; lingering in this place for so long, he finally understood why he still felt a hollow solitude from time to time—this world did not have Xiao Jingyan, the one who was as dear as his parents to him, as close as the palaces and Chiyan, that most intimate person with whom he was once as inseparable as body and shadow: he was not here.
Where was he? With this thought, the scene before him followed his intent and shifted from red walls and dark tiles to blood and smoke. The air now held a hint of slaughter, a blade was at his waist somehow, and a fierce, unsaddled horse brushed his shoulder and went past: he leapt on it without thinking, holding to the mane tightly, and was brought to the city gates nearly instantly.
The gates towered into the sky, and he somehow could not tell, in this moment, whether they were of the capital city or the border garrison; he could only see Xiao Jingyan, in red robes and golden armour, clad in the Emperor’s crown and outer-wear, standing a-top the tallest point of the walls, proud and soaked with blood—there was the devastation of war everywhere, and the clash of wind and snow, blades and axes, fell toward him without end, but he stood there as if cast from iron and bronze, a solitary and silent figure, eyes devoid of sentiment.
“Jingyan!” Mei Changsu screamed hoarsely, but his voice scattered to pieces in the sound of wind and flames and skirmishes. He jumped down the untamed steed and climbed up the sieging ladder with the wind and without regard for himself, unable to dodge the sharp arrows and fiery oil raining down upon him, finally flipping over the walls and bounding to Xiao Jingyan’s side.
Xiao Jingyan was drenched in blood, too; the civil and military officials about him were each poised and ready, but glaring spears and hidden arrows wounded him again and again. Mei Changsu did not think as he threw himself at him—but his arms only encountered air as he fell through Xiao Jingyan’s body without resistance.
He sprawled upon the ground in shock, turning back to see Xiao Jingyan standing there still, proud and stubborn. The thick scent of slaughter permeated the air to the point of warmth, and there seemed to be someone singing the Chiyan battle song in the tall wind; Xiao Jingyan swayed as he heard and finally plunged forward.
And now, the civil servants and military generals swarmed up, passing through Mei Changsu without notice, and propped Xiao Jingyan upon the red pole of the imperial flag, then raised him on the highest wall of the city once more. He seemed to be his previous self again, majestic and proud, watching the distant flames of war without joy or sorrow.
Terrified, Mei Changsu shouted in rage and sorrow until his mouth was full of the taste of blood, and still no one paid him any heed. An unknown time later, he felt his organs were at the point of breaking, utterly drained of vitality, and he closed his eyes to fall into a dead faint.
And it was yet another unknown time later when the essence of blood had receded, when he opened his eyes and was back to the mortal realm—this world was full of bitter solitude and a thousand pains, but Xiao Jingyan was still here, always.
It was himself who pushed him with his own hands upon that most solitary and dangerous of places—how could he bear to leave him there, all alone, to face the hails of spears and arrows, those firestorms and frosts.
“Jingyan.” Mei Changsu looked toward Zhu Shouchun, his voice so hoarse it was nearly imperceptible, and only his ghastly lips could be seen moving. “Think not of me, think not of me.”
It was as if he woke up expressly to make this declaration; before anyone could reply, he fell unconscious once more. Lin Chen had been monitoring his pulse the entire time, and he release his hand at this point, asking Zhen Ping to bring the medicine upon the table, remaining calm and unruffled as he fed it to him—this red alga was gentle and effective as a medicine, and it prevented the bitter cold poison from ravaging his body. Furthermore, since Mei Changsu’s heart was attached to someone and unwilling to let go, the risk of this return trip was again reduced.
Zhu Shouchun gave his own face a wipe and turned to leave and write to Jinling. When Xiao Jingyan received the letter a few days later, he was seeing Doctor Yan and He Zhengming off on their journey to meet the procession midway—after reading, he fell silent for a while, then exhorted the healers, “please to take actions as you see fit. If Sir’s condition is poor and unlikely to survive the trek, it is even fine to divert to Mount Langya for emergency treatment there.”
The healers glanced at each other; these two months, Xiao Jingyan had yearned desperately on tip-toe with eyes that bore holes, but now, that person was on the way back, yet he was willing to spare further delay. In the end, it was He Zhengming who bowed and said, “Us humble servants know that Your Highness has been waiting ardently for this reunion, and every moment passes as years—why has this new notion come up?”
Xiao Jingyan gripped the brief in his hand tightly at those words. “I am afraid that Sir…Sir and all of you will worry too much over me, and rush the returning trip without regard for his condition.
“You are all healers: pray consider only the state of Sir’s health—no need to think of me.”
Xiao Jingyan turned to look out the hall, hands behind his back, gaze distant as he said, seemingly to himself, “of course I trust that, even if we are worlds apart, our hearts are attached as one.”
Notes:
Only realizing how tragic Mei-laoshi[33]’s life was after writing this.
They were all babies back then *cries*
Translation Footnotes (click the numbers to return to the text in-place):
[32] Quoted from a poem set to song 鹧鸪天 by Song Dynasty poet Yàn Jǐdào/晏几道, which depicts a romantic meeting, separation, then dreams of being together again: 几回魂梦与君同.
[33] Lǎoshī/老师 is teacher, but also a title of respect for someone worth learning from that doesn’t quite have an equivalent in English.
Chapter 12: Together Again
Notes:
————Successful (?) end to the northern campaign——————
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The healers journeyed day and night from Jinling, finally meeting up with Mei Changsu north of Langya. When Doctor Yan boarded the carriage, he saw that Mei Changsu had none of his previous bright-moon-and-fine-breeze airs of elegance, and was now only a gaunt set of skin hanging off bones; he pulled Lin Chen to him on the spot, tears falling down his aged face. “I entrusted a whole person to you—”
Lin Chen broke free from him impatiently. “Since when has he been a whole person?”
Doctor Yan had no reply to that, only huffing and glaring as he left with a swing of his sleeves, and then it was He Zhengming who squeezed on to the carriage with his medicine chest. “This junior, He Zhengming, salutes Langya Hallmaster Lin. I have come at the behest of His Highness the Crown Prince to treat Sir Su—may I be permitted to take his pulse?”
Lin Chen leaned against the carriage wall, cross-legged and hands leisurely tucked inside sleeves, as he gave a good look up and down this most serious young doctor. “You are the miraculous healer with the family art of reconstructing meridians, Doctor He?”
He Zhengming felt most unnatural from being inspected thus, but he still saluted with his hands, neither too humble nor haughty. “Hallmaster Lin is too kind.”
Lin Chen said no more, and let him walk up and take the patient’s pulse. He Zhengming’s face immediately darkened as soon as he walked closer and took a look at Mei Changsu, and a thin layer of sweat actually gathered on his forehead after reading his pulse for a while—he had already memorised the pulse diagnoses from past months, but only now, face to face, did he fully comprehend the critical danger between those written lines.
It was no wonder, then, that His Highness seemed to bear the weight of a toppling nation upon his shoulders whenever he spoke of Sir’s condition—most people would already have long left this world with this sort of illness, but this Sir Su, suspended most precariously from a single thread of life, somehow went to the north in bitter winter, eradicating sixty thousand Da Yu elites in one fell swoop and returning in triumphant victory. Upon further contemplation, he felt the last thread of life to be even more grave in its fragility, and could not help but lose some of his confidence he had before arrival.
Lin Chen was about to speak, but then he saw Mei Changsu’s eyes tremble and open as he somehow came back to consciousness—since leaving the north, he had been awakening slightly once every one to two days, as if calculating the length of the return trip; once he calmly learnt which province or government estate they had traveled to, he would nod his head minutely and return to a deep sleep.
He fell into something of a confused haze at the sight of the stranger inside the carriage box; when Lin Chen told him that this was “the doctor sent by Xiao Jingyan”, he seemed to gather his thoughts and scrutinise He Zhengming for a moment, then closed his eyes again wearily. He Zhengming’s eyes were seeing his utter tranquility, but the pulse beneath his fingers had already been in chaos for a while; cold sweat streamed down his back without notice as he turned and asked Lin Chen urgently, “For Sir to be hanging on by a precipitous thread like this is much too dangerous! It is not far to Langya from here, can we change course out of expediency and divert to—”
Lin Chen had already knelt half-way up and clasped Mei Changsu’s other hand, and now he interrupted him with a shake of his head. “You do not yet know where this thread of his is attached to—we must make haste for Jinling without delay.”
And so the procession sped toward Jinling, day and night. Along the way, the three doctors watched over Mei Changsu and periodically monitored his pulse, discussing all the while, and when they were five days away, they gave him a dose of strong medicine that sealed all of his meridians. Firstly, Doctor Yan was worried that the tossing and rocking of travel would damage them further; secondly, He Zhengming needed to make preparations in advance; and thirdly, Lin Chen had a lingering fear from the pulse sign days before—he was most afraid that once Mei Changsu saw Xiao Jingyan, the last he was hanging on to, he would let go and perish on the scene.
The carriage curtains were raised high; though the north wind was not as cold and violent as it was on the border, it seeped chills into all of their hearts. Hundreds of attending soldiers rested and prepared themselves and their horses in the forest, and in the quiet there was naught a sound from nature. Feiliu laid by the carriage window, observing quietly—Doctor Yan fed medicine, He Zhengming applied acupuncture needles, Lin Chen monitored his pulse, and after a half-day, Mei Changsu lay there openly, his whole body covered in glittering silver needles, so peaceful that even he could not hear his breathing.
“Su-gege,” Feiliu called, though his eyes were on Lin Chen.
Lin Chen gave his hair a gentle pat. “If Su-gege can wake up, he shan’t be sick any longer.”
Feiliu nodded, half understanding, and lightly tented a thin sheet on top of Mei Changsu. From then on, the carriage had no need for furs and braziers, and they resumed their journey toward Jinling in this cold quiet. The watch-posts and courier stations along the trip had all received orders to receive and resupply them well, and so the large carriage holding Mei Changsu continued smoothly until they were tens of li from Tiger Hill[34], at the outskirts of the capital, when a detachment of light cavalry screamed in and pierced the stillness.
The one galloping swift as lightning was precisely Xiao Jingyan—he raced his horse to the lead, rushing past the guards in front as if breaking formation in battle, though he suddenly pulled in his reins when he caught sight of the carriage roof; his steed threw up its hoofs and neighed long, stopping just before the vehicle. Feiliu had already rushed out to stand upon the carriage shaft, and he saw Xiao Jingyan, in red robes and full meticulous regalia, nearly fall off the saddle in his haste, asking, as if to himself, “xiao-Shu—Sir, how is he?”
Feiliu looked down from his spot in confusion, and Xiao Jingyan, too, seemed like he was shrouded in a trance as he stood there. Zhu Shouchun had already rolled off his horse to steady Xiao Jingyan’s, He Zhengming ran over from his carriage, and now, Lin Chen lifted the curtains. “True to his promise, he lives still.”
Only then did Xiao Jingyan jump up the shaft, as if awakened from a dream, yet he still hesitated for a long while, holding the curtain, before bending down to enter the carriage box. A heavy, bitter scent hung in the air, and the one haunting his dreams for months lay before him, without sound or breath, the colour of withered paper, studded full of silver needles: in the dim light of the carriage, he looked as wilted plum blossoms buried in old snow, a hint of life nowhere to be found.
Xiao Jingyan’s eyes widened; he dropped to one knee, and his tears streamed forth on to Mei Changsu’s hair. He reached out in dread, but before he could touch him, he saw that even in the dull hair by his temples there studded a few needles, piercing his eyes with silent mourning. He could bear to watch no more, and his extended hand, having no place to go, shook in mid-air for a long while before he formed it into a futile fist and hammered it upon his own chest.
His heart was withered as paper and needled all over, too, collapsing into a broken hollow from this single blow, but still densely brimming with pain. He hunched over, most delicately lifting Mei Changsu’s needle-covered hand, and touched his forehead against those thin and pale finger-tips, but he could only feel their ice-cold stiffness, without a hint of tender comfort.
His eyes closed, and tears flooded Xiao Jingyan’s entire face without him realising it; all of his grief and melancholy, his worry and indignation, seemed to be in vain against the bitter wind, and he was not even capable of emitting a single sound of sorrow. Some time later, the curtain was down again, the carriage continued its unhurried pace, and he only continued to hold that shrivelled hand loosely, letting those finger-tips freely sway and brush against his own brows.
From here, the trip to Tiger Hill was only a half-day; Xun Zhen had already brought half of the imperial academy of physicians with him, waiting expectantly at the hot springs in plain, short robes. At night, the procession finally rolled slowly and gravely into the front courtyard, and the carriage, un-yoked of horses and harnesses, was directly pushed into the back hall; Xiao Jingyan carefully bent down and picked up Mei Changsu, moving him in trepidation, as if treading on thin ice, on to the rattan bench, where he held him still.
The physicians swarmed forth around him; Xun Zhen bent down to grasp Mei Changsu’s wrist, and Lin Chen saluted casually then stood to the side, discussing with him in earnest. He Zhengming had already knelt down at the other side to hold Mei Changsu’s other hand, and as soon as Xun Zhen gave a nod, he instantly rose and indicated for the doctors to move together, removing the needles from Mei Changsu and massaging his body.
Xiao Jingyan loosely held the thin frame in his arms with unease; the way Mei Changsu half leaned against his chest, without any hint of wakefulness, hurt his very viscera, his breaths coming in spasms. The physicians worked cautiously; Xun Zhen monitored Mei Changsu’s pulse with his eyes closed, until suddenly his brows constricted in shock, and before he could speak, Mei Changsu stiffened and began to struggle, as if in great pain.
Terrified, Xiao Jingyan watched with rounded eyes and stiff arms as He Zhengming inserted a needle into Mei Changsu’s tianchi point[35], and then Lin Chen snatched him into his own arms, exchanged a look with Xun Zhen, and ran toward the medicinal pool in the back room. The physicians all took up their chests and medicines and left in a drove, and a moment later, the hall had only Xiao Jingyan, arms open in futile emptiness, so very soulless as he sat upon the bench amid complete disorder.
To lose him and regain him, but then to lose him once more, this soon; before Xiao Jingyan could come to his senses and give the one haunting his dreams a firm embrace, that person was again on the verge of life and death—it was as if the whole world were turning wildly on its axis; he nearly collapsed, but forcibly gripped his knees, sat up straight, and closed his eyes in despair.
Notes:
Translation Footnotes (click the numbers to return to the text in-place):
[34] Tiger Hill/Hǔqiū/虎丘 is the canon location of the hot springs Yujin is so fond of. There’s a real Tiger Hill that’s a popular tourist site in Suzhou, Jiangsu Province, though it doesn’t have hot springs.
[35] The tiānchí point/天池穴 is an acupuncture point on the breast, primarily for treating ailments of the thoracic cavity and lungs.
Chapter 13: First Rousing
Chapter Text
An unknown length of time later, the candles in the hall had long been lit, but it was yet a scene of sombre bleakness. Lie Zhanying and Zhu Shouchun stood in attendance to the left and right, both with lowered gazes and bated breaths, as they silently watched their spiritless and stricken Highness.
Xiao Jingyan was still at a loss, sitting upon one end of the rattan bench, thick brows slightly furrowed, eye corners pink, mind out of his body, as he held onto a fallen cloth belt and waited in a dejected, soulless stupor. Suddenly, hurried steps sounded from the back colonnade, and the head of the imperial physicians, bringing with him a medicine-scented cloud, approached and saluted. “Reporting to Your Highness, Sir Su has had his meridians strengthened with acupuncture and medicine, and has been placed in the pool as per the method of consensus.”
Xiao Jingyan came back to awareness and rose up, asking while startled, “how do you mean?”
The physician saluted again with his hands. “Though Sir Su remains in grave condition, his meridians have been reformed, and the large and small qi circuits are flowing without obstruction; he has passed the first critical juncture.”
The swaying candle flame shone deeply in Xiao Jingyan’s eyes; his lingering fear seemed to be preventing him from taking the physician at his word, but he could not think of a pertinent question to ask, either, so he only stood there in a daze. Seeing his expression of shock and uncertainty, the physician added, “we have already finished our work in the back room, Your-Your Highness can visit in person.”
Xiao Jingyan spun around and left as soon as he heard, striding rapidly through the colonnade and past the pavilions, straight into the bathhouse in the back courtyard—it was shrouded in steam, a peculiar fragrance assailed the nose, and skylight tiles and bright lanterns were up high all around. Physicians were walking back and forth, each busy on their duties; Xiao Jingyan walked near a medicinal pool of gleaming reflected rainbow light to see a jade cot with curved back had been placed there, on which Mei Changsu lay peacefully; the needles had been removed from his body, he wore robes white as moonlight, and his dark hair was loosely coiled, the ends dipped in the water and swaying to and fro gently.
Xun Zhen and Lin Chen were both soaked head to toe, and stood by the side of the pool with solemn expressions. Seeing Xiao Jingyan approach, Xun Zhen spoke, “the meridians were first sealed then reconstructed, then forcibly recirculated using the Bingxu pill; they are near utter ruin, and cannot sustain the slightest bit of damage. Fortunately, the fire poison has not manifested, and the frost poison is under control for now, but if they recur—”
Xun Zhen sighed at this, and Lin Chen continued the conversation. “Indeed, we are gambling whether the meridians can be repaired before the poison recurs. This is the utmost we can do as healers, and the rest is up to fate.”
At this, Xiao Jingyan straightened himself and saluted respectfully to the two healers—these months, listening to the physicians discuss the case each night, he already knew well the method of repairing meridians; first, using acupuncture to put the illness in order, solidifying damaged channels, then soaking and steaming with medicine to induce qi and blood to permeate through bone marrow, and encourage regrowth of the meridians.
The method sounded most supernatural and extraordinary, but it certainly could not be accomplished in a day. Even with the miraculous skill of the healers, meridians and vitals need time to heal and recuperate. But the Frostfire Poison had been waiting to pounce like a tiger, and even with the Bingxu pill and red snow alga defending in unison, the danger still hung over them like a sharp, frightening sword.
It was all clear as the day to Xiao Jingyan now—the limits of the healers were thus, and Mei Changsu’s promise was also no more than this: the rest would be decided by his own fate.
If fate were not favourable to him, then he would lose him again, the rest of his life beyond redemption. If he were fortunate, his long-cherished wish would be fulfilled, and he would never be alone again.
After saluting, Xiao Jingyan walked down the stone steps into the pool and toward Mei Changsu slowly. Covered in sweat with face all flushed, He Zhengming was yet at the cot-side, monitoring Mei Changsu’s pulse. “Your Highness, the medicine in this pool is too strong, unsuitable for an ordinary person—pray leave quickly!”
Xiao Jingyan acted as if he hadn’t heard and knelt down by the side of the cot, gently grasping Mei Changsu’s hand. Even soaked in this warm pool of medicine, his hand was as cold and smooth as jade, not even filling his grip, as if it could slip out any moment.
And so Xiao Jingyan spread all five fingers and intertwined them with Mei Changsu’s, locking their palms tightly together. For the first time in months, he felt his mind slightly at ease as he quietly huddled at Mei Changsu’s side.
Seeing that Mei Changsu’s pulse was stable, He Zhengming exited soundlessly—only the two of them were left in the pool then, together with each other, side by side, their red sleeves and white robes floating lightly in the water and entangling like smoke. When the hour neared deep night, Lie Zhanying came to kneel by the pool and invited the Crown Prince back to the palace to attend court, and only then did Xiao Jingyan slightly organise Mei Changsu’s clothing and rise from the water, still reluctant to part.
He Zhengming had already prepared a draught to disperse the medicinal properties of the pool, which Xiao Jingyan drank in one gulp without much care, and the matters he repeatedly exhorted when changing clothing were all regarding Mei Changsu. At the guesthouse gates before departure, he said more, ardently, “Sir’s pulse diagnosis and condition must be delivered to the East Palace every morning and night, without delay.”
They all agreed, of course, but no one expected that next day, near midnight, before a full day had passed, Xiao Jingyan would ride quickly here again in the darkness, and once more enter the pool and keep vigil there, only leaving hastily after the eleventh hour. This became nearly a nightly habit, and it was never more than two or three days before Xiao Jingyan would ride in again, personally asking after his condition then watching over him.
Tiger Hill was over a hundred li from the capital; when noble families came here to vacation, their opulent carriages often took a full day to make the leisurely journey. Each time Xiao Jingyan quietly left the palaces before dusk, he raced his horse as if under emergency military orders, crossing through forests and jumping over brooks in the chilly night, and thus he could speed straight to Mei Changsu’s side in four hours.
Nevertheless, what these travails brought him was no more than bitter waiting; Mei Changsu still slept on, serene and still, through days and nights, soundless and stirless, letting himself be soaked in the pool or set over a steaming frame for treatment. Xiao Jingyan was completely absorbed in attention by his side, never finding it dull, and whenever he had fully exhausted himself, he only pillowed himself upon Mei Changsu’s robes and dozed for a brief moment before galloping back to the capital in a hurry to attend court and govern the country.
As the days passed, news of this spread from mouth to mouth. One day, as the head of the imperial physicians delivered the pulse diagnosis to Noble Consort Jing, he could not resist offering his opinion. “His Highness may have the vigorous spirit of a dragon and the strong character of metal, but I am afraid he cannot sustain this for long. Before, he had already been busy, from before dawn to after dusk, with countless state affairs, and now he rides overnight every two or three days without rest—this toil alone is enough to damage his precious health, not to mention being immersed the strong medicine.”
Her Ladyship dropped her gaze down toward Mei Changsu’s diagnosis and sighed softly after a while. “Even if we could imprison him in the palace, I’m afraid it would be even harder on his health that way—that child is used to being roughly knocked about anyways, let him do as he wills.”
And so Xiao Jingyan continued this arrangement as if he did not know fatigue; one day at dusk, icy rain began streaming down all of a sudden, but he only donned a felt coat and persisted out of the city. The usual mountain path had turned into mud in the rain, waterlogged tree branches dripping directly down, the horse’s mane laden with frost, and progress was impossible.
He gave his wet eyes a wipe and descended the saddle to lead the horse on foot, a step at a time against the rain. It was already near midnight when he arrived at Tiger Hill: he stood at the doorway, drenched in water and mud, and only spoke a few sentences with the physician on duty; after getting a solid look at the one sleeping peacefully in the pool from afar, he turned and re-entered the freezing night of rain.
Perhaps the heavens were moved by his dedication: Mei Changsu’s condition was stable, his poison did not recur, and his meridians strengthened by the day. After over a month, the weather had gradually warmed into the sunlit spring of the fourth month, and Mei Changsu no longer needed constant soaking in the pool or medicinal steaming, though he continued to sleep without waking, dead to the world.
Though Xiao Jingyan was still anxiously upon tenter-hooks, he felt much more secure in heart than the days when his soul was tied to the north. Qingming was upon them, and by protocol, he had to worship ancestors at the imperial mausoleum on Mount Wei, a journey there and back of nearly seven days. The night before setting out, he visited in person, as usual, and clasped Mei Changsu’s hand in one while his other hand massaged him with great fluid familiarity, as per the physicians’ instructions.
Mei Changsu had recuperated well in recent days, the muscles and bones of his arms regrowing to the point that they were no longer frightening to the touch. Xiao Jingyan felt slightly comforted, and as he finished massaging one arm and lightly placed it back, he took the chance to say in a low voice while bent over, “I am off to worship Great Grandmother to-morrow, and will be sure to implore her—she has kept you for so long; as much as she cannot bear to part, she ought to return you to me.”
Mei Changsu made no reply, of course; holding his hand, Xiao Jingyan looked around, saw no one was around, then lowered his head to give him a nudge and kiss. “I will return in six days; you should not take too long, either.”
He lingered for a good while, and only until Lie Zhanying knocked upon the door to ask him to leave, did he rearrange clothes and reluctantly head back to the city overnight. On the next day, he of course performed the rites according to protocol, and after six days, having completed his duties, he used the excuse of inspecting the riders of the Imperial Guards stationed at the outskirts of the capital to journey directly to Tiger Hill from the Mount Wei mausoleum. When he arrived at the guesthouse gardens, it was already past noon; Mei Changsu had not had his acupuncture and medicine, and was peacefully lying on his side in the plain silk bed by the window.
Xiao Jingyan only approached the bed after he took off the outer robes that were fully damp with spring chill—tree branches of the season were swaying shadows against the window, gauze screens half-enclosed the peculiar fragrance, and Mei Changsu slept in pale robes and a flowing quilt, warm motes dancing over his black hair and thin frame, a sight like the pure radiance of spring[36] itself.
He could not help but be spellbound by the sight, sitting there by himself, dazed for a long moment and feeling himself in a trance, so he leaned down to join him upon the bed. All was quiet this afternoon, and he curled up on the side of the bed, far away, carefully grasping Mei Changsu’s fingertips that slightly peeked out of his sleeve. As he watched him, lovesick, his eyelids grew heavy unconsciously, the exhaustion accumulated over the days swelled up, and he fell into a deep sleep as soon as he closed his eyes.
The spring light was pleasant in its gentle, blanketing warmth, and as sun-cast shadows floated past, the soft glow gradually faded without notice, and thin shades of twilight approached. As if tugged by something, Xiao Jingyan woke from his short dream with a jolt. Still muddle-headed, he took the opportunity, while indolently lazing, to slowly close his palm and lightly grip Mei Changsu’s hand.
Those fingertips, pale and delicate as jade, were still slightly cold, but no longer innocent in their stiffness—when his hand wrapped around them, they softened against his scalding heat, then gave a tiny flick, like light glancing on a feather, as if reacting to his thoughts.
In response, Xiao Jingyan’s heart felt like it received a great blow, and it began beating wildly. He tightened his grip at once, though his eyes only opened gradually. The spring light was beginning to dim outside the silk window, and the sparse scene could still be seen clearly—Mei Changsu’s eyes were open and shining, full of sublime joy and sorrow, and gazing deeply upon him.
Astonished, Xiao Jingyan quietly closed his own eyes and re-opened them slowly, seeing Mei Changsu’s long lashes flutter, tears rolling down in an instant, and those eyes were still sparkling clear when they opened again, filled with a slight smile.
Only then did Xiao Jingyan feel his own intermixed joy and sorrow swell forth; he tightened his grip around the precious fingers in his hand, leaned in with a trembling frame, and took him wholly into his arms. The thin body filled all of his embrace, and he nuzzled the hair by Mei Changsu’s ear with his face, his long misery and suffering transmuting into a flood of hot tears as he choked out a murmur, “you have finally come back.”
Mei Changsu’s wet lashes brushed lightly against the quivering prominence on his throat, and after a long while, a tremulous, shaking kiss landed on his neckline.
Notes:
Wasn’t Yanyan’s Su candy sweet? 😁
Everyone said last chapter was too painful to take.
Actually I felt the same so I delivered fluff, pronto!
Translation Footnotes (click the numbers to return to the text in-place):
[36] The radiance of spring, or spring light/春光, is a euphemism for amorous passion in addition to its literal meaning.
Chapter 14: Long Awakening
Notes:
Translator’s Note: The original titles of last chapter and this chapter are 复苏 (regaining consciousness) and 长醒 (awake for a long time), which together allude to the name Changsu/长苏 (also meaning a long awakening; awakening here also means dying and coming back to life).
—————The touchy-feely mush during first waking——————
Chapter Text
Mei Changsu curled weakly in Xiao Jingyan’s embrace; unconscious for months, he had a difficult time even moving his fingers in these first moments. The crook of Xiao Jingyan’s arm was solid and hot, and he was dizzy from the scalding heat, feeling something of a state of being reborn; with his head tucked against Xiao Jingyan’s chin, he fell into another deep sleep.
Xiao Jingyan held him for a long while, savouring their closeness, and when he loosened his hold and examined him, he found Mei Changsu in a dead slumber as before. He rose in a panic, and his heart and comportment only calmed when he saw that Mei Changsu was gripping on to his belt with his fingertips, and his waking was not fantasy, but fact.
He clutched his hand, rubbing it for a good while before letting go gently, putting him back into good order, then rising to call for someone. As soon as he finished his words, Feiliu surprised him by throwing open the doors and flying to the side of the bed, his shining gaze fixed upon Mei Changsu. “Awake!”
Lin Chen stood at the doorway with both hands in sleeves and seemed to have been waiting for a long time; he softly snorted in laughter at the present sight of Xiao Jingyan. “Allow me to take his pulse—I will not delay Your Highness’s reminiscing, for certain.”
The tips of Xiao Jingyan’s ears turned pink, but he still stood up straight with magnanimity and dipped his head. “Much obliged, then.”
And so Lin Chen walked to the bedside and gave him a cursory examination—with the weather improving, Mei Changsu’s pulse had been good and stable in recent days, with promising signs of waking soon. And now he had, and did not suffer any other setbacks. The most dangerous period had finally passed without major incident, and if his health were carefully nursed in the future, even if a trace of poison remained, it would not threaten his life.
Lin Chen felt a swell of emotions, and spoke a few words to Xiao Jingyan, unexpectedly causing him to lose all of his heroic, dignified poise and bend over at the bedside, crying and laughing. Lin Chen watched from the side; to have been an intimate friend of Mei Changsu’s for nearly a decade, he never expected he could witness such a blessed sight, and he could not help but choke up speechlessly as well, joy and sorrow ebbing and flowing inside him.
In the midst of it all, Feiliu only paid attention to Mei Changsu, his bright black eyes brimming with happiness as he said loudly, “awake! Never sick again!”
After his brief wakefulness, Mei Changsu slept soundly until it was nearly midnight, when he woke slowly. As soon as he opened his eyes, he saw Xiao Jingyan, medicine in one hand and a silk handkerchief in the other, about to sit cross-legged at the small table by the bed, seemingly wanting to feed him medicine.
As soon as he bent his knees and sat down, Xiao Jingyan lowered his head to see Mei Changsu’s smiling clear eyes; he hurriedly put down the things he held and rushed over, surprised and delighted. “You’re awake? How do you feel?”
Mei Changsu watched him in an enamoured daze; he hadn’t seen the person before him in months, and under the candles and gold guan, he seemed to be missing some of that stately mien when he was the newly coronated Crown Prince, for some unknown reason; he was hunched by his side now, and those large round eyes were glowing like gems, somehow with a bit of that absolute sincerity from his youth hidden inside.
Not having spoken for over a month, Mei Changsu cleared his dry and husky throat, first pursing his thin lips into a slight smile, then after the prominence of his throat wavered up and down for a long while, he called hoarsely, “Jingyan.”
Xiao Jingyan seemed to be on the verge of laughter and tears again, and perhaps he felt embarrassed, for he leaned in to embrace Mei Changsu, burying his head into the side of his neck, and nuzzled him over and over, as if aggrieved. Mei Changsu turned his head to sniff his hair delicately, and after a while, said softly, “help me up.”
Xiao Jingyan hurried to rise, scooping him up while he was at it, then pulled over a backrest pillow, patting and cleaning it then carefully cushioning his back with it. Mei Changsu’s muscles and sinews were powerless after his long sleep; the scene before him felt odd, as if an entire lifetime had passed, and he only stared at Xiao Jingyan thoughtfully.
Xiao Jingyan stared back thoughtfully as well, and somehow they had nothing to say to each other at this moment; in the end, it was Xiao Jingyan who recovered first. “Oh yes, medicine, I am to feed you medicine.”
Mei Changsu gave a small smile and a light nod. Xiao Jingyan quickly brought forth the bowl of medicine again, briefly tasting the liquid in the silver spoon before leaning over to feed it cautiously to him. The medicine to reform meridians was bitter, with a peculiar fragrance, and Mei Changsu drank it a sip at a time while Xiao Jingyan chatted gently about the goings-on of recent days; he gradually felt his flesh and bones warm through and his throat moisten, and when he heard that his life would no longer be in danger, and he could live to a natural old age, he could not help but be stunned.
He was over thirty years of age now; in his youth, he was wealthy and wilful, leading a high-spirited life of luxury, but sudden upheaval transmuted it all into a vast crimson sea of grievances. He was blessed with the birthright of a military general’s aristocratic family, suffered the pain of his kin’s tragic deaths, possessed the fortune of charging across battlefield with abandon, and endured the agony of flayed skin and splintered bones; he levelled armies and stirred up storms, overturned the court and helmed Jianghu power—this life of his, thus far, was one of red flames surging against snow-storms: he never seemed to have even imagined he could live out the rest of it in peace, and enjoy the long years of an ordinary person.
Turmoil swept through his heart and mind, and tears trickled down at once. Xiao Jingyan put down the bowl then, leaning in and hugging him to himself tightly. Mei Changsu only felt his whole body warmed through from Xiao Jingyan’s solid heat, and that this, right here, was the real human world, certainly not another bleak and insubstantial dream.
He leaned against Xiao Jingyan’s shoulder, his tears falling ever more rapidly, and finally he could not endure the heaving of his breaths any longer and broke into loud wailing.
Xiao Jingyan held him like this, just so, and softly patted his gaunt back; gradually, the sound upon his shoulder faded to hushed weeping, and he buried his own face, also fully wet with tears, into that soft hair. Mei Changsu had perhaps never had a chance to release his grief out loud like this, and now, in the arms of the one closest to him left in this world, he cried like a newborn babe, without scruple, for a long time.
Only until his heavy shoulder was cold and damp, and Mei Changsu’s breathing had turned slow and steady, did Xiao Jingyan gradually loosen his arms. The one who just awakened seemed to have drained all of his reserves, and he leaned in complete exhaustion upon the crook of his shoulder, with occasional sobs and sniffles that turned the heart tender and sore to hear.
Xiao Jingyan placed the already drowsy person back on the pillow; Mei Changsu’s eyes were wet and swollen, his nose tip bright red, and though his appearance had changed drastically, his expression was still of the young Lin Shu who would cling to him, crying and fussing. He reached out his hand, his palms full of calluses from years of fighting, to wipe his tear-stained face with especial gentleness and smooth his cool hair, then lowered his head and kissed away the tears still clinging to his long lashes.
“Sleep now, sleep now, the nightmare is past.” Xiao Jingyan intently watched the one who was falling back into a deep slumber, tucking the quilt around him, then sat there quietly for another long while. “And never will there be more.”
He kept vigil until Mei Changsu was well asleep, then called for He Zhengming, who was on duty, to enter quietly and take his pulse; only after he exhorted him, over and over, not to lower his guard did he leave for the capital overnight. And not two days later, he sped here in the dark again as usual, asked the physicians of his condition, then stayed by Mei Changsu’s side again.
Another half month passed thus; Mei Changsu stayed awake for longer each time, and on a fine afternoon, he even sat by the window, arranging newly-picked flowers and willow sprigs with Feiliu. The healers devoted their efforts to nurse his health, and afraid of this initial waking from a long slumber leading to disorderly rhythms, arranged for his rests, medicines, and meals to be on a strict schedule, and after his soaking and steaming with medicine at night, urged him to sleep upon the bed.
And so when Xiao Jingyan would come again at night, Mei Changsu would be sleeping, as usual, and even the candles that were lit for the night before would be doused, though he did not mind the utter dark and quiet. Since Mei Changsu was not in danger, he would also lie with him, fully clothed, at the other side of the bed, and quietly rest for a moment or two.
Mei Changsu had already heard that Xiao Jingyan had been making his tiring journeys for more than a month, and one night, when he woke suddenly, he saw Xiao Jingyan, hair still tied up, long limbs curled, huddling inside a thin quilt at the far edge of the bed and sleeping fairly sweetly. He could not help but watch him in a trance, with a faint smile at times and a frown at others, his emotions fluctuating, and he was still examining him thoughtfully when Xiao Jingyan woke abruptly.
Xiao Jingyan was yet dazed from exertion and deprivation of sleep, and he thought he saw Mei Changsu awake when his eyes opened; he nearly panicked, then he remembered that the zone of danger had passed, so he propped himself up and leaned closer—Mei Changsu was indeed awake, and he gave a small laugh in joy. “Why are you not sleeping?”
Mei Changsu watched his sudden approach, a pair of eyes dark and large against the lone light, the slight hoarseness of his just-awake voice not disguising his joy; he laughed back at him. “Jingyan, why are you sleeping here?”
Hearing his name, Xiao Jingyan approached even closer, pressing his brow to his, soft lashes fluttering against the bridge of Mei Changsu’s nose. Mei Changsu closed his eyes in response to the itch, and said in a quiet voice, “I am much better now; you should put your heart at ease, and not exert yourself so.”
Those adoring eyelashes stopped their motion, then Xiao Jingyan nuzzled him again, as if he did not hear, before rising up to sit at the bedside, with his back to Mei Changsu, answering low as if speaking to himself, “I can only briefly sleep well here, anyway—I will go now, and you should sleep more.”
As Mei Changsu quietly watched his straight and tall figure from behind, Xiao Jingyan slightly rearranged his robes at the bedside, rose up, and left on his own without looking back.
Chapter 15: Tiger Hill
Notes:
————Not sure what to name this, let’s go with daily life in recovery on Tiger Hill—————
———Both because Sir Su hasn’t decided yet and because I want to play with the Your Highness & Sir trope———
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
After Xiao Jingyan left, he indeed did not return for several days. Mei Changsu could already walk a few steps with another supporting him, and after his morning soak in the pool, he wore an imperial silk gown with fine embroidery and followed Doctor Yan’s instructions, strolling slowly in the courtyard with Zhu Shouchun’s arms for assistance.
It was nearly the end of the fourth month, and late spring was at its tail; under the gentle warm breeze, crab-apple, peach, and spring plum blossoms[37] were at their flowering peak, colourful petals drifting down in the courtyard garden like rain. Mei Changsu forced himself to walk with support for a few moments, only allowing Zhu Shouchun to help him to the stone bench after he became drenched in sweat from his qi deficiency. The stool had already been prepared with a thick mat for sitting, and as soon as Mei Changsu sat securely, he sighed and said, “there truly exist healers with a touch this divine—even I can feel my meridians healing.”
Upon hearing, Zhu Shouchun was beside himself with joy; he raised his head to see, in the distance, Lin Chen leaning against the red pillars of the waterside pavilion, a book of medicine in his hand as he debated He Zhengming. He Zhengming bent over, pointing at the book as he gave a comprehensive answer, but no one expected Feiliu would burst through the colonnade then, bored of chasing flowers and butterflies, and splash Lin Chen’s head full of fallen petals he had collected with the front of his robe.
Lin Chen reacted quickly, considering the circumstances, snatching Feiliu’s robe with one hand and flipping him down on the ground littered with blossoms. He Zhengming jumped in shock, not knowing whether to hide or talk him out of it, and his panicked pair of divine healing hands hung in the air at a total loss.
Zhu Shouchun observed the proceedings with amusement, and looked down to see Mei Changsu watch the pavilion with something like a smile, as well, though his thoughts also seemed to be elsewhere—ever since he woke at the start of the month, Mei Changsu had been often absent-minded like this. He had assumed, at first, that this was due to his illness limiting his mental energies, but after careful observation in recent days, he knew that he must have a weighty matter on his mind that was vexing him with its difficulty.
Zhu Shouchun dared not ask any rash questions; in his hesitation, he thought of the recent news from the army, and reported it to Mei Changsu—Da Yu agreed to pay tribute in surrender, and the first batch of gifts were being escorted by Yujin, son of Marquis Yan, and due to reach the capital shortly; the northern fortifications were also seeing the first signs of success, the reorganisation of military forces proceeding smoothly step by step, with the initial reports submitted to the Ministry of War for discussion.
These two grave matters were constantly on Mei Changsu’s worried and exhausted mind in those days, even as his life was hanging by a thread. And now, he was much recovered, and the pair were being carried out successfully, as per his proposal, but he only listened mildly, as if they were no longer weighing on his mind. As he spoke, Zhu Shouchun dropped his voice lower and lower until he awkwardly stopped speaking, secretly thinking that he should not have added to his burden with these military matters while he was still in recovery.
Mei Changsu did not comment; Zhu Shouchun was hesitating again when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Xiao Jingyan, who had somehow appeared, standing gallantly tall in his straight-sleeved robes before the moon-shaped gate at the rear corner of the courtyard, his hand raised to indicate that he should not say a word. Mei Changsu did not notice, and suddenly opened his mouth to ask, “how is Jingrui of Liyang’s manor?”
Zhu Shouchun hurried to answer, “Young Master Xiao, like Young Master Yan, was exemplary, fighting bravely to be the best on the battlefield and contributing greatly during the peace talks with Da Yu—but Young Master Xiao did not return to the capital this time, perhaps because he has some other duty.”
Mei Changsu nodded slightly, his mind already comprehending all of his difficulties—to have your name and identity toppled, and though you could not shirk your duty to the country in its time of need, how could you find your own place in life once returning to old haunts?
Feiliu barely struggled out from Lin Chen’s grasp then, and dove headlong into Mei Changsu’s lap. Only now did Mei Changsu come back to his senses and shield him, and then Lin Chen leapt before him, reaching out to grab Feiliu. “You think your Su-gege can protect you just because he’s awake?”
Mei Changsu patted Feiliu’s head full of fallen petals and blocked Lin Chen with his hand, while he was at it; Lin Chen did not shrink back, either, but seized Feiliu and smiled at him. “The honoured guest is here again; you should attend to your own business.”
After those words, he turned and left with Feiliu in his arms; Mei Changsu looked back in shock to find that Xiao Jingyan, arriving some unknown time ago, had already lightly walked close to him. Mei Changsu felt his face heat up inexplicably, and he only came to his senses with a shock when that person came to stand before him; he struggled to rise as he propped himself up with Zhu Shouchun’s arm. “Your Highness.”
Xiao Jingyan quickly moved to help him. “What ever are you doing?”
Mei Changsu was still borrowing strength from Zhu Shouchun, and perhaps he was in pain from rising quickly, because he hunched his shoulders and bowed his back to evade Xiao Jingyan’s hand. “This one is ill-mannered due to my ailment, and cannot complete my full salute; I ask Your Highness’s pardon.”
Xiao Jingyan’s extended hand froze in mid-air, and after a pause, he could only retract it. “Why so formal, Sir, you make Jingyan ill at ease.”
Hearing him use his own name, Mei Changsu lowered his head and dared not answer, only gesturing open-handed toward the hall to invite him for tea service. Taking into account his difficulty, Xiao Jingyan entered and sat down at the seat of honour first, then watched as Mei Changsu walked slowly to the opposite place setting and sat down, before saying, “Sir looks improved, again; how do you feel these days?”
Mei Changsu bowed slightly. “Thanks to the blessings of Your Highness, the healers’ great skill, and General Zhu’s thorough care, this one is much better.”
Xiao Jingyan fixed his gaze upon him, nodding as he heard. Zhu Shouchun arrived with tea at this time to hear Mei Changsu add, “Your Highness is most occupied with myriads of state affairs: was there an urgent matter that required you to come personally to-day?”
Xiao Jingyan knew he was waiting to admonish him with a stern lecture on propriety, so he forestalled it with, “to-day happened to be a day of fasting[38] and court recess; in the morning, I reviewed the memorandums from the Secretariat[39] and Cabinet, paid respects to Emperor-Father and Consort-Mother, then happened to see, under the radiant spring light, the plants of the imperial garden being tended to by the palace servants, and I remembered this is a peak time for farming—the spring planting is of paramount importance to the health of the national economy, so this prince headed to the outskirts of the city to inspect in person, and stopped by to visit Sir along the way.”
Mei Changsu did not expect this prepared justification, and fell silent for a while in front of Zhu Shouchun. “Your Highness is thoughtful.”
By now, Zhu Shouchun had finished serving tea and saluted to leave, and the hall was only the two of them again, but Xiao Jingyan asked, on purpose, “does Sir have any further instructions for me?”
Mei Changsu smiled faintly. “This one dares not.”
Xiao Jingyan sighed. “What ever is this for? Just able to get up, and you must play-act as Your Highness and Sir again.”
Mei Changsu had just lifted his cup of tea, and answered in all seriousness, “Your Highness is the exalted successor to the throne and the regent ruler; your every action is paramount for the nation—how can it be taken as lightly as child’s play?”
Xiao Jingyan shot him a most meaningful look. “Sir is correct in your instructions—this prince spoke improperly.”
Mei Changsu seized the opportunity to continue, “it already deeply troubles this one to occupy imperial land during my convalescence; Your Highness’s disregard of court duties, riding in danger at night to visit in person, further adds to this one’s great unease. Your Highness ought to consider the significant stature of the East Palace in coming days, think not of this one’s ill health, and take no more reckless actions in impulsiveness.”
Xiao Jingyan only watched as he finished speaking; he opened his mouth, seeming to have something to say, but then only lifted his cup and looked down in contemplation for a while before saying in a low voice, “I naturally have my official pretexts for leaving the palace and city. I will not defend myself with those now solely because I am considering your worried feelings for me.
“But you should consider my feelings, also—do you know how I felt every day, consumed with worry, on pins and needles? When your life was hanging by a thread, the outcome uncertain, how could I have been indifferent?”
Mei Changsu’s ears burned at this sincere speech, how it was utterly without pretence; he sampled his tea in silence—he certainly could no longer answer along the likes of this one is merely a strategist; after a long moment, he said only, “I can already walk about, and have long been out of mortal peril; you should set your heart at ease from now on, and not run about helter-skelter—it is truly improper.”
Xiao Jingyan’s eyes shifted in a way that suggested he did not find it improper. “Whenever you are completely well, without the need to soak and steam in medicine any longer, and move back to live permanently in Jinling: then I shall naturally not run helter-skelter.”
Mei Changsu found those words absurd. “If I had been diverted to Mount Langya, would you really then have visited Langya on the regular? And furthermore, who told you I shall be moving back to Jinling permanently after recovery?”
Watching his expression, Xiao Jingyan chose not to debate the point. “The past is set in stone, and the future cannot be known. I merely made an off-hand remark—you can do as you wish.”
Mei Changsu was powerless against that; Xiao Jingyan was full of conviction, and his frankness and magnanimity sprung forth naturally. He did not know what he would do or where he would go in his coming days, and somehow could not think of a response. Xiao Jingyan did not pursue this line further, but changed the topic and said, “since border conflicts have ceased on all fronts, military reforms are in progress; these days, I have been following your strategies from a while ago and inspecting the progress of the garrison reforms around the city—since you are better now, I have some details I wish to discuss with you.”
He could only reply, “please proceed, Your Highness.”
And so the two of them discussed military matters in their respective seats for a good while; Doctor Yan came to the front courtyard several times, and seeing that Mei Changsu was not only not slowly strolling, but was sitting for an extended period and taxing his mind, he finally could not resist standing before the hall and coughing loudly twice. Xiao Jingyan was even more fearful than Mei Changsu upon hearing, and stopped his talk instantly. “I have disrupted Sir’s convalescence.”
He was about to reply with another formality, but Xiao Jingyan unexpectedly said in a low voice as he rose, “I shall support you to walk around the courtyard some more.”
Mei Changsu was at a loss for words—he could not control himself during his illness, of course, but now he had been active for long, and the courtyard was full of physicians and attending soldiers: how could he trouble the Crown Prince Regent to help him personally. Xiao Jingyan closed in, but he did not reach out his hands to help him; instead, he looked upon Mei Changsu’s alarmed expression with great interest and nuzzled his face, swift as lightning, with the tip of his nose.
Before he could react, Xiao Jingyan had already stood up, tall and lofty, as if he had just now risen normally, without any impropriety. Mei Changsu’s face burned, and he did not know what expression to put on; he only watched as Xiao Jingyan called for an attendant most seriously. “Come, support Sir to walk some more.”
Notes:
Translation Footnotes (click the numbers to return to the text in-place):
[37] These plum blossoms are Chinese plum/lǐ/李 (Prunus salicina), not to be confused with the other plant known in English as Chinese plum, the méi/梅 (Prunus mume) in Mei Changsu’s name, which often blossoms in mid-winter.
[38] Days of fasting/斋日 in Buddhism occur several times each month and are for self-reflection, good deeds, and abstaining from eating meat.
[39] The Secretariat/Zhōngshū/中书, responsible for drafting and proposing policy, is one of the Three Departments/三省 central to imperial government.
Chapter 16: Solitary Heart
Notes:
———Xiao “road paver” “if our love is meant to be forever”[40] Yanyan is now online————
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Ever since discovering Mei Changsu was Lin Shu, Xiao Jingyan had made the firm resolution to go through his journey to the edge of life and death once more; by now, he was no longer greedily counting every single trifling day—since Mei Changsu was having difficulty deciding, then he would let him take his time to deliberate: after all, his own goal was for them to be together, for long, for good.
And so he accompanied Mei Changsu as he walked around the courtyard, and after using lunch, saw that Mei Changsu had fallen into a sound nap, so he went to the capital outskirts to inspect the garrison, and only returned to Jinling at night. Having heard he left the capital in early morning once more, Noble Consort Jing summoned him upon his return and asked, “is that child better now?”
Xiao Jingyan sat, prim and proper, opposing the seat of honour. “Much better, already moving about in the courtyard. Mother’s care has not gone to nothing, at least.”
Her Ladyship was comforted, of course, but she frowned as she took in the sight of his red robes and gold guan. “In that case, you should put yourself at ease. Your anxious dashing about these days instilled great fear in the onlookers, as well.”
Xiao Jingyan understood the meaning in her words. “I left the city to-day originally to inspect the garrison on the outskirts, and encountered some troublesome minutiae, so I visited Sir, along the way, to ask him for advice.”
She could not easily voice all of the worries filling her heart, and said only, “summon Imperial Physician He into the palace to see me on the morrow—since that child can move again, it would probably do to move back to Jinling.”
Xiao Jingyan reacted with some slight shock. “There is no rush. He lives more freely in the outskirts; if he is willing, he will naturally return to Jinling.”
Consort Jing sighed. “As your mother, I am merely worried for the strain on your heart. The weight of the world, how people can talk: even if your heart is determined, it is hard to fulfil both sides, trapped as you are in a difficult quandary.”
Xiao Jingyan did not expect his mother to lay it all bare with her words, and could sit in peace no longer, so he rose and saluted again. “By Mother’s words, you must know what I am determined to do—your son apologises in advance for committing any sacrilege that risks the condemnation of the world in the future, and hope Mother can forgive me.”
He pressed his forehead heavily to the ground and dared not move for a long time. Consort Jing, sitting upright at the place of honour, gazed deeply upon his back. “You will be the Emperor one day, the heavens and ancestors above you, the officials and people below: if you are determined to pursue your own solitary course wilfully, how will you find a place for yourself.”
He raised his head, his eyes teary but shining bright. “No matter what happens this life, Jingyan only wishes for a clear heart in good conscience.”
She looked down with wet eyes, then raised her graceful head slightly after a long moment to gaze afar at the shinan tree in the courtyard. The palace lanterns were overflowing with lustre, and the fleeting events of past years seemed to drift across the tableau, all blurry lights and passing shadows. Her tears fell in the end, and she said softly, “as you will. No matter what happens, you are only my child, after all.”
Tears stained Xiao Jingyan’s robes, too. He rose and bowed thrice, pushing his hands forward. “Your son is not filial. Thank you, Mother, for your sanction.”
He spent some more time with his mother in idle chatter, received many of her whole-hearted exhortations, and only returned to the East Palace deep into the night. How fortunate he was, to have such a loving mother, and Xiao Jingyan felt his solitary heart comforted, his behaviour turning much steadier. Since the recovering Mei Changsu had pleaded with him to no longer visit, he did not leave the city without good reason again; soon it was the fifth month, and Yan Yujin’s procession entered the capital with Da Yu’s tribute items, and the audience hall was as warm the early summer weather, booming with fervent excitement.
After experiencing the flames of war, Yan Yujin became much more mature and worldly in his conduct. Before the court, he presented his petition and report with capable clarity, to great effect and praise. Xiao Jingyan watched him with a smile and said, “Yujin left a dashing gentleman, and returned a consummate professional: evidently, the battlefields of Meiling were a great trial for one’s character.”
Yan Yujin saluted. “The arduousness of the north demanded heroes, and our sons of Da Liang equalled the challenge with our spirit. Sir poured forth his life-blood in utmost devotion, and our warriors braved blades and arrows to vie for battlefield merit; though Yujin is unruly and immature, I could not help but be inspired with admiration to exert myself and hone my character.”
Xiao Jingyan’s smile deepened. “Sir’s grave illness is healing, and our warriors are returning in victory one by one: these are heavens’ blessings upon Da Liang. When Grand Commander Meng returns with the fully reformed army, we will be sure to sing our paean loudly in celebration of victory, and reward everyone handsomely according to their merits.”
A litany of praise filled the hall. After the meeting had concluded, Xiao Jingyan kept Yan Yujin to talk with him further, in order to express his respect for this meritorious junior with close imperial ties. Yan Yujin, as a child, had had his share of antics with Xiao Jingyan, but the changing times brought ever-widening distance: they were now more ruler and subject, and their interaction naturally more reserved.
Xiao Jingyan did not note that, of course; after he asked after matters of fighting, the surrender, returning to court, and assuming a position, he briefed him on one last item. “Sir is recovering at the imperial gardens on Tiger Hill; since you are back, you ought to pay him a visit.”
“Naturally; I owe much of this expedition to Sir’s painstaking efforts and extra care.” Yan Yujin added, “not to mention that Sir and I have been friends since years ago, so I will of course visit him.”
At this, Xiao Jingyan smiled slightly. “You were just a child then, and could not be considered his friend.”
Even Yan Yujin’s clever mind could not make head or tail of that statement. He asked politely, “what does Your Highness mean?”
Xiao Jingyan gave him a mysterious look, then smiled away the matter. “Nothing, you should go home now, and spend some good time with Marquis Yan.”
He dared not question further, and could only salute and leave. Marquis Yan was still waiting for him in a carriage stopped before the palace gates, and Yan Yujin was overjoyed to see him, giving his father a proper salute right at the gates and returning with him on the same carriage back to their manor. Not having seen each other for months, father and son talked gaily along the way, and after returning home, Yan Yujin was even more radiant with exuberance, describing the battles and peace negotiations most vividly and true to life.
Marquis Yan beheld him with smiling eyes, and nodded after he retold how he had convinced the Da Yu envoy to surrender following Su-xiong’s instructions, distilled from the last bit of his vitality. “Sir Su’s Qilin talent was obvious from the start, but I did not expect him to be of such spirit.”
Yan Yujin took the chance to drink some tea, then suddenly recalled Xiao Jingyan’s unexpected remark, and conveyed it along. “Father, what does His Highness the Crown Prince mean by this?”
Marquis Yan fell into deep contemplation; the various paradoxical acts of Mei Changsu in recent years, the rumours throughout the palace in recent days—all surged through his mind. The subtlety in Xiao Jingyan’s words seemed to cast a stone into his fathomless pond; struck by a sudden bolt of revelation, he muttered under his breath, “xiao-Shu, could he be xiao-Shu?!”
Yan Yujin blinked in confusion. “Su-xiong? Lin Shu-gege?”
The Marquis had been disillusioned with this world for half his life; now that he had connected the karmic causes and effects of the past and present, he could not help but be moved beyond measure, emotions surging as he discussed old matters and new with Yan Yujin in detail. Father and son sat opposite each other in talk until sunset, when Marquis Yan sighed and said, “Lin Xie-dage, Mei-xiong: with a son like this, your spirit lives on in him.”
Tears fell from Yan Yujin’s eyes, and sleep did not come easily to him at night; the next morning, after worshipping his ancestors, he immediately galloped toward Tiger Hill. His riding skills were not comparable to Xiao Jingyan’s, after all, and he arrived at the guesthouse courtyards after noon; Mei Changsu had just risen from his nap, and was greatly surprised and pleased to see him. “Yujin is here, come and sit quick.”
Yan Yujin pursed his mouth, nearly throwing himself at Mei Changsu to have a good cry—in his youth, he was always teased and bullied by Lin Shu, and every time he could bear it no longer and had no solution, he would rush over to hug his waist and wail. And though Lin Shu would fume and tweak his face, trying to prevent his tears and snot from sticking to him, in the end he would heft him on to his shoulders in one move and sloppily amuse him for a while, finally stuffing a piece of candy into his mouth.
But the person before him wore loose robes with his hair half up, and sat with his tea like the bright moon in a fine breeze, without a hint of his radiant pride of yore. And so Yan Yujin did not throw himself at him, in the end; he first gave a proper salute, then called him with tears in his eyes, “Lin Shu-gege.”
Slightly taken aback, Mei Changsu smiled in response. “These days, I often hear of your dashing valour during the peace talks at the northern front. But it would seem to me that you still appear a child.”
He was both touched and embarrassed, and after he sat down and recovered his emotions somewhat, he detailed all of his experiences at the north to Mei Changsu and asked for his advice. And now Mei Changsu was no longer cold and aloof, but analysed the situation with him in cheery animation, instructing carefully one item at a time.
Yan Yujin was entranced by his words but dared not task him further. An imperial physician happened to enter and deliver medicine then, so Yan Yujin asked after his condition in detail, then sighed and said, “when will Su-xiong be fully recovered? I really hope you will come back to Jinling soon.”
Mei Changsu smiled lightly. “What would I do back in Jinling? Court affairs have been set right now, and Jinling no longer needs a strategist stirring up storms like Mei Changsu.”
Yan Yujin could not be more stunned. “Why would Su-xiong say this? You are the Qilin Talent, your keen and fiery insight aiding His Highness the Crown Prince to eradicate wicked conduct, break up factional in-fighting, rectify corrupt administrations, and usher in integrity. The court is now full of virtuous officials loyal in service, and which of us does not hold Su-xiong’s political prowess in high esteem?”
Mei Changsu appeared surprised, then smiled mildly. “These are all the Crown Prince’s achievements; how can this one claim undeserved merit.”
Yan Yujin argued back, “why must Su-xiong be much too humble? This time, Su-xiong travelled to war while gravely ill, eliminating sixty thousand of the Yu imperial army, still draining your life-blood even at the verge of death to leave two pearls of treatises for the nation. How could this sort of merit be undeserved? Even my father, so oblivious to court affairs, exclaimed that Sir is not merely the Qilin Talent, but also has a commendable spirit.”
Mei Changsu only smiled it away, teasing him instead with, “oh, Yujin has become ever more eloquent with your words after these trials; the elegance and power of your speech is quite in the style of your father.”
Yan Yujin knew he could not persuade him, and said in haste, “Lin Shu-gege, you are a Jinling man, your home is here in Jinling.”
He regretted those words as soon as they left his mouth, and hurried to amend with, “we all hope for your return.”
Not unexpectedly, Mei Changsu replied, “The Chiyan Marshal’s Manor has been turned into the Lin ancestral shrine, and Lin Shu has returned there. The past has been resolved, Yujin: you need not cling to it.”
Yan Yujin hung his head in silence. He was a most clever and open person to begin with, and now he said with a sigh, “if you choose neither to be the Chiyan Young Marshal, nor to be the Qilin Talent, and live free of the world from now on, abandoning yourself to mountains and waters, care-free for the rest of your life—it would be a most admirable thing.”
But he added after the sigh, “though to live in this world is to be bound to its causes and effects. Who can truly have a heart free of attachments, and drift like a boat unmoored.”
Mei Changsu did not reply; he lifted his bowl and drained his medicine, then picked up a piece of pairing candy and stuffed it gently into Yan Yujin’s mouth.
Notes:
Your Yanyan will continue to pave the road for your ship’s romance.
Translation Footnotes (click the numbers to return to the text in-place):
[40] This is the first line of a famous couplet: if our love is meant to be forever, what need do we have for the day-to-day/两情若是久长时，又岂在朝朝暮暮, from the Song Dynasty poem 《鹊桥仙·纤云弄巧》 by Qín Guān/秦观. The poem’s subjects are the cowherd and weaver girl from mythology, two separated lovers who are allowed to reunite one day a year. The expression refers to a great love persisting between two independent people, without the need to be physically together all the time.
Chapter 17: Known Meaning
Chapter Text
The candy in Yan Yujin’s mouth was of a refreshing sweetness, but for some reason, he felt a degree of bitterness in his heart. After sitting for another while, he did not want to disrupt more of Mei Changsu’s rest, and took his leave back to Jinling, straight to the East Palace to ask for an audience with Xiao Jingyan.
It was already dark, but Xiao Jingyan was still administering state affairs; seeing him enter in his riding apparel, he put down his red ink brush and asked, “back from Tiger Hill?”
Yan Yujin saluted. “Yujin also has an intimate friend whose world was suddenly inverted, leaving him uncertain of what path to take. I cannot bear to be worlds apart from him, therefore I know Your Highness’s misery.”
Xiao Jingyan did not expect him to say words of comfort, and could not help but smile. “You only have to mind him; I have my own resolve.”
Yan Yujin naturally agreed. After a few days, he brought Marquis Yan to visit Tiger Hill with him, and conversed in depth with Mei Changsu for a long while. Xiao Jingyan indeed did not visit again, but people and things big and small, ranging from Shen Zhui and Cai Quan to fruits and pastries, were sent there nearly every day without fail, each carrying his earnest sincerity.
Mei Changsu understood his meaning, of course; he revealed his identity to the Yans, and sent important officials to visit, all to pave a smooth path for his return to court affairs in Jinling. But every time Mei Changsu imagined that scene, he could not help but feel its absurdity—neither a reborn ghost nor an underhanded inner circle minister ought to appear in the pure golden light of the new court.
The Yan father and son, Shen Zhui, and Cai Quan each attempted to persuade him, but Mei Changsu smiled them all away without giving a firm answer. Even if this sort of situation were not worthy of regard, he had a heavier burden that could not be told to others, weighing deeply at the bottom of his heart.
Xiao Jingyan had the same weight on his mind, but he was naturally forthright about it—one afternoon, the Imperial Guards carried a letter there, and the seal upon the thin paper was of Prince Jing’s old design; when opened, it was a plain piece of fine white paper, without a single written character and only splashed with a few dots of red ink, eye-catching in its disorder.
Mei Changsu’s heart suddenly beat as a drum, and his face burned furiously—one year, several princes accompanied the Emperor on an inspection tour, and did not return for nearly a half-month. He was lonely and companionless, and still lingered in Prince Jing’s Manor from time to time, occupying it as his own, to alleviate his bitter longing. That day, he had finished writing a treatise in Xiao Jingyan’s study, and raised his red ink brush to punctuate the phrases[42], suddenly recalling the red beans[43] currently bearing fruit in the imperial academy courtyard, their shapes just as round and exquisite as these marks. He was touched by this thought, and dropped his head to the desk to calm the yearning in his heart; in this moodiness, he somehow fell asleep whilst holding the ink brush.
When Xiao Jingyan returned to his manor, he saw Lin Shu sleeping sweetly over the desk, brush clutched in hand. Silently approaching closer, he saw his hand over a piece of paper, white in its vastness without a single trace. He found it both adorable and amusing, and reached out to take the brush, but who knew that Lin Shu had gripped it quite tightly, and in their tug of strength, red ink splashed across the entire paper, several drops even falling on Lin Shu’s cheeks.
Lin Shu startled awake, staring down at the exquisite redness filling the paper with mouth slack and open, then stared at Xiao Jingyan, who was full of smiles in his scarlet robes and armour. Xiao Jingyan put down the brush in his hand and leaned over to kiss the red stains all over his face, laughing low in his ear. “Red beans carry yearning, know ye of my meaning[44]?”
And how could he not know? How deeply he loved him all this time, but now they must stop at the propriety between ruler and subject. He had never doubted Xiao Jingyan’s heart, pure and true, and his own threatened to set all of himself a-flame—but if he took one step farther, breaching the ruler-subject bounds, he worried their reputations would be destroyed utterly by public judgment, and both would be doomed to eternal damnation beyond redemption.
Since Xiao Jingyan would occupy the highest seat of the imperial court, he should act wisely and keep his distance in the Jianghu. He held the red-splashed paper and sat, spiritless, under the colonnade until night had fallen and Lin Chen came to find him, asking with a laugh, “what a head of the Langya List you make—what are you flagellating yourself for this time?”
Mei Changsu smiled in response. “The worldly burdens of name and reputation are difficult to escape.”
Lin Chen bantered with frivolity, “the sixth month is nearly upon us, and Jinling is dry and scorching; why not return with me to Langya, that wondrous divine land which births great talents, and evade this stress-inducing heat? Just as we had agreed upon, last year, to see all the sights along the way and enjoy ourselves thoroughly.”
Mei Changsu glanced at him, a not-quite smile on his face. “I am still recuperating, and probably unsuited for distant travel.”
Lin Chen chortled. “As I see it, you are trapped by love, therefore unsuited for distant travel.”
Mei Changsu did not become irritated, reaching out his hand instead for Lin Chen to come over and support him into the house to rest. He knew his anxieties did not help matters, and so for the time being, he continued to recuperate in the passing days; when the fifth month was half passed, Xiao Jingyan came once overnight, and seeing that he was in peaceful slumber through the window, he only examined him in secret for a moment and somehow left quietly without entering.
The next day, Mei Changsu found out and did not pursue the matter further. Then the sixth month was upon them, and the Tiger Hill guesthouse was still a pleasant, scenic site, but a hidden storm had began surging within the walls of the East Palace—the first of the new month would be the Crown Princess Consort’s seventeenth birthday, and the Inner Court Bureau asked Xiao Jingyan for the edict to prepare a gift, as was standard procedure; unexpectedly, Xiao Jingyan contemplated for a moment. “Prepare also a private banquet; I am to have words with her.”
The unspeakable thoughts of the entire palace welled up at once—it was yet the period of national mourning when the Crown Princess Consort was invested, last year in the seventh month, and thus they only completed half of the wedding rituals and lived in separate palaces; who expected that three months later, when the Inner Court asked for an edict to complete the full ceremony, it would be a time of war on all fronts, and Xiao Jingyan held the item and did not take heed. The matter became widely discussed among the court, the public, and inner palace, and the Inner Court asked again for him to issue an edict several times, but not only did Xiao Jingyan have some ulterior motive for the delay, Noble Consort Jing did not explicitly hasten him, either, leading to great suspicion in the minds of all.
The Crown Princess Consort, of high-born prestige and delicate refinement, was like a flower on the verge of blooming, but forgotten deep in the palace before unfurling, only taken out during ceremonial occasions, like a ritual vessel, a decorative symbol trailing behind the Crown Prince’s heavy ceremonial robes. Though she was afforded her full deserved reception, and was calm and composed herself, without committing a hint of any misdeeds, the dark cloud of all not being well in the East Palace had been swirling within the tall palace walls for long.
And so when news spread of the Crown Prince seeking to hold a private banquet to celebrate the Crown Princess Consort’s birthday, rumours immediately went from mouth to mouth, and the Crown Princess Consort herself was quite uneasy. On the first of the sixth month, she followed protocols and went first to Noble Consort Jing’s palace to pay respects; Her Ladyship grasped her hand. “That day, when you were preparing to be married in, I promised Jingyan would treat you well. But fate makes fools of us, and you have suffered as a result.”
Though she was young, the Crown Princess Consort was dignified in her conduct and comportment; she only hung her head and replied mildly, “Why do you say this, Consort-Mother? His Highness has not ill-treated me; this servant concubine is without luck to begin with, is all.”
Her Ladyship sighed. “You are yet young, and must not harbour such bitterness. Though Jingyan is unlikely to be deeply devoted in love with you, you ought to have some trust in him, that he absolutely would not cause you to be without luck.”
Eyes clear, the Crown Princess Consort nodded lightly—in the palace for nearly a year now, besides her marriage not having been consummated and the rituals incomplete, she had been well-treated, thanks to Her Ladyship’s ardent care. She knew that this pair of imperial mother and son were not cruel people; she herself was not without luck, perhaps only not fated.
She was yet anxious until that night, when the skies wept a sudden rainstorm, and Xiao Jingyan’s attendants came with a litter upon their shoulders to invite her cordially into his personal palace hall. This was the first time she had entered his private hall, and before the window was a full banquet of exquisite dishes; Xiao Jingyan was in everyday robes, without the tall guan, and was leaning idly against the window, watching rain hitting the roof absent-mindedly—compared to the majestic and stern Crown Prince she had always seen before, he seemed to show some palpable tenderness in this moment.
The Crown Princess Consort was a girl at heart, after all, and her face already flushed when she looked down and prepared to salute, but was stopped by his gentle voice. “No need for formalities, come over and sit.”
The attendants retreated silently, and she sat down slowly at the opposite end of the banquet. Xiao Jingyan lifted the wine kettle to pour her wine personally, examining her thoughtfully for a moment as he did so. It was obviously the first time he had ever sat this close to her—the Crown Princess Consort held her cup with delicate fingers, her movements graceful and deferent, though her jade-white cheeks were a tender pink, her gaze unfocused in confusion, and her girlish moods difficult to disguise.
He looked away when the cup had filled, his own heart full of misgivings. What he planned and sought was no less than a cataclysmic shift for her—and she was only a child of seventeen, raised deep in the inner manor chambers, pure and innocent, without having taken a single step out of line, and could not expect to be implicated thus.
“Miss Liu, you have been in the palace for nearly a year now.” He put down the kettle and slightly dipped his head. “It has been a year of many troubles, and I have not been attentive to you, causing you suffering.”
She was shocked upon hearing, “this servant concubine” stammering out between scarlet lips and pearly teeth, but she did not know how to reply. With guilt upon his heart, Xiao Jingyan lowered his head and sighed. “At such a young age, you have the burdens of your lineage’s reputation and your family’s hopes upon your shoulders, entering this sinister storm of a place alone as the entire court watched, without the slightest room for error: I expect you must have endured much hardship. I should have looked after you—I have indeed been negligent.”
The Crown Princess Consort did not expect such a speech from him that imagined himself in her place, and her clear eyes faintly glowed with the hint of tears, though her voice was still steady and magnanimous as she spoke. “This servant concubine was high-born in the inner chambers, into a family gifted with imperial blessings for generations; to be married into the East Palace brings great honour to my family: I must exert all of my meagre efforts to be filial to my family, and speak not of hardship when I must do my duty as a subject to the state.”
Xiao Jingyan could not help but see her in a new light. “Miss Liu is truly the daughter of a noble, illustrious lineage—this honourable shouldering of filial loyalty is no less the lofty spirit of the greatest minds of the nation.”
The Crown Princess Consort only dipped her head at such glowing praise; she already sensed a hint of what was to come from him addressing her as Miss at this private banquet. “Say what you please, Your Highness: this servant concubine awaits your orders.”
Xiao Jingyan had pitied her youth, at first, but now knowing of her high-minded bearing, and not being a man of feigned civility himself, he simply sat straight in proper etiquette and said, “since you are of such character, Miss, I shall tell it straight—the world works in unexpected ways, we have completed half of our wedding, and so I must speak of what is in my heart; I hope Miss will not fault me for the incivility, and hear my words.
“I am thirty and three this year, and nearly twice of you in age; though I am a prince, I consider myself to have experienced the full warmth and cruelty of human existence, the outrageous slings and arrows of fortune.
“When I was your age, my heart had already found its owner—but who knew that the world would invert itself in an instant, and everything would be taken from me and ruined; I once thought he[45] and I would be forever separated by life and death, never to meet again, but now, unexpectedly, I have regained him for the rest of our lives.
“After such troubles for half of a life, since he can return to this world, I, Xiao Jingyan, am only willing to be together with him for the rest of my life, to never be untrue for all our days.”
Though Xiao Jingyan spoke modestly and slowly, his face was full of resolve. At this, his gaze flickered as he touched hands to forehead in grave apology. “Miss Liu, we are not destined this life, and I am afraid our marriage cannot be consummated: I hope you can pardon me.”
Notes:
OOC is mine.
Translation Footnotes (click the numbers to return to the text in-place):
[41] This is a near-quote of a lyric from the 1991 hit song Love/爱 by the Taiwanese boy band Little Tigers/小虎队.
[42] Ancient Chinese was usually written and printed without punctuation, and learning to parse phrases was a skill taught in school. Readers would often mark phrases with their own brush, using a dot for pauses within a sentence and a circle at the end of sentences, that eventually evolved into the modern Chinese enumeration comma (、) and period (。).
[43] Though red bean/红豆 in Chinese most commonly refers to the edible adzuki bean/赤豆 (Vigna augularis), it also refers to red legumes in general, such as the yearning bean/相思豆 (Adenanthera pavonina), a traditional symbol of love. In one legend, a woman cried yearning tears of blood under a tree because her beloved did not come back from war, and these tears turned into red beans on the tree.
[44] Jingyan’s couplet here (红豆寄相思，问君可知否？) is reminiscent of many poems written on the subject of red beans and longing.
[45] In ancient times, 他 acted as the third person singular pronoun regardless of gender, and nowadays there are gendered pronouns but all pronounced tā, so the gender in this dialog is ambiguous to the listener regardless of era.
Chapter 18: Fated Nemeses
Notes:
Translator’s Note: Implied underage content in this chapter.
————Ah, marriage ties the wrong ones together, and fated nemeses[46] are doomed to meet again——————
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
As exceptionally sweet-tempered, steady, and broad of mind as the Crown Princess Consort was, she could not help but be stricken with thunderous dismay at this moment, and her tears fell like pearls. Xiao Jingyan was in great distress and shame in turn, and his words came out somewhat incoherently. “Do not be afraid—I know you are an innocent in this, and will absolutely not disgrace you further to serve my own selfish ends.”
She gripped her robe sleeves and held back her emotions for a long time, her thin frame trembling as a butterfly’s wings, then somehow bowed down to return his salute. “This servant concubine understands, and thanks Your Highness for stating it plainly.”
Xiao Jingyan rose against the mat, hesitating again and again with hand extended, but did not help her up, in the end. Her youthful face was already full of tear stains when her head rose, and after freezing spiritlessly for a moment, she bent down to salute once more. “This guilty woman has been unvirtuous, to be rejected so after marrying in, and will return to my palace in humility and wait for my sentence[47].”
Xiao Jingyan hurried to stop her. “I did not mean this whatsoever—this is solely my own fault, and I dare not implicate Miss to suffer any disgrace.”
She gave a tragic smile. “Your Highness’s words are without reason.”
He said sincerely, “Miss Liu, I know this is preposterous and against principles, and you are left at a loss as a result.
“I am much older than you solely by counting years; if you are willing, we can certainly address each other as brother and sister. I will of course go before Consort-Mother with you and tell her everything clearly, and have her be a witness—I will treat you well, as a brother to his sister, and find another good path for you, one that will be sure to keep your virtue and the honour of your family.
“Were you to have other requests, you can name them directly; with the exception of not being able to complete our marriage, any other matter that does not go against righteousness and morals, I am willing to do for you.”
With her head lowered, the Crown Princess Consort’s tears continued to fall ceaselessly from wet lashes and hazy eyes. Xiao Jingyan sat in kneeling nearby, frowning as he watched the young woman hold back her sobs; though they do not have a relationship, they are half-married in name, and he truly was uncivil to treat her so. But if he continued down the wrong path, and trapped her deep in the inner palaces to waste the remainder of her life, how would that be fair and just to her, either? His thoughts turned in a daze for a while, then he suddenly asked in a low voice, “what is your name?”
The Crown Princess Consort dabbed at her tear stains, answering at a loss, “my maiden name is Xinyue, the new moon, and my courtesy name Wangqing, hope for thee[48].”
“To place hopes on the new moon,” Xiao Jingyan recited in full. “A good name, from which it is evident the love and expectations of your parents and family.
“I know you are from a most affluent house, and the burden of hope placed on you cannot possibly be light. To experience such a sudden deviation from your path must come as an enormous shock.
“You are only seventeen, like the new moon in your phase of life, and you must know that the path ahead is long, the world is vast, and circumstances ever-changing. You have a name, flesh and blood, loves and sorrows, and you ought to live truly in this world, not be trapped in these unfeeling palace walls, encumbered by a false title, and let your entire life slip away like a puppet upon a string.
“Xinyue, I hope you can be like me and encounter the one you truly love, and experience together all the joys and sorrows, unions and separations of life, just as the phases of the moon.”
Tears pooled in Liu Xinyue’s clear eyes as she looked up keenly at Xiao Jingyan—the Crown Prince was majestic and awe-inspiring in his everyday poise, but now his eyes were round in their gentleness, full of an earnest tenderness. In her disordered state of mind, she could only lower her head and speak haltingly, a long while later, “this servant concubine understands.”
Xiao Jingyan naturally would not press her at this point; since he had said it all, he spoke to Liu Xinyue a few more warm sentences of comfort, then ordered eunuchs to see her back to her palace and to look after her with extra care. Once more he was alone in the inner hall, an entire banquet of food and drink untouched; he went to stand before the window again, looking up at the weeping night sky.
The sound of Liu Xinyue’s sobs were still drifting around his ear, as if carried by the outside rain; he thought it all over again, but still could not devise a faultless plan. His scattered mind suddenly recalled his first marriage—Prince Qi-xiong weighed the choices with great care and selected for him a princess consort of noble birth, but her appearance was quite young, and though he himself was only seventeen then, she looked to him yet a child.
He was only a child then, too, and compared to the solid satisfaction from establishing his own official residence, his wedding seemed more like one of the countless rituals of the imperial family, utterly meaningless to him despite being incomparably stately and grand. The day before the wedding, Prince Jing’s Manor was full of bustling people coming and going, and the inner courtyard was being ceaselessly draped in festive reds for the occasion, though no one paid any attention to him as he lazed in the outer courtyard study, wiping clean those precious bows he had acquired on the battlefield one by one.
Lin Shu was pillowed on a rolled-up bow case, quietly lying beside his leg while playing with a whistling arrow with golden fletching. As Xiao Jingyan finished wiping the body of the bow, he began oiling the bowstring, and when he was finished with the whole bow, his entire hand was covered in grease, so he nudged Lin Shu with his knee. “Get up, hand that horned bow to me.”
Acting as if he hadn’t heard, Lin Shu had one leg dangled over the other and did not budge. So Xiao Jingyan extended his foot and gave him a kick. “I’m talking to you.”
Lin Shu clicked his tongue in impatience. “Whatever your orders are, wait until that princess consort of yours is married in tomorrow, then order her around—don’t bother me.”
Stunned, Xiao Jingyan leaned down and asked, “Lin Shu, is it a beating you want?”
Before his words even finished, Lin Shu struck out with his arrow. Xiao Jingyan blocked it instinctively with his arm, but the shaft was quite long, and the sharp fletching swept past, grazing his cheek.
Xiao Jingyan did not take the chance to dodge, suddenly flipping himself over explosively instead, one knee pressing down against Lin Shu’s evil-doing hand, and the other grabbing the horned bow to the side to block Lin Shu’s brandished fist with its arc. He was very familiar with Lin Shu’s fighting style, but afraid of the bow slipping from his greased hand, he leaned down to wrestle him into submission; he did not expect Lin Shu to raise his knee and strike him viciously, instantly collapsing him downward with pain.
Lin Shu slipped out from his grasp and began pushing him off himself. Impatient with anger, Xiao Jingyan bit the side of Lin Shu’s cheek while he was curled up in pain. Lin Shu struggled in his own pain, then grabbed the body of the bow in his haste and swung it at him, but unexpectedly the bowstring wound around his arm, and Xiao Jingyan tilted his head to dodge it, returning the attack by twisting his hand to press the end of the bow toward his throat.
How could Lin Shu admit defeat yet; his arm was still tangled in the bowstring, and he strained against it forcefully until his finger joints had lost all colour, furious in stark white, then suddenly snatched the bow body and violently struck toward him again. Xiao Jingyan could tell that the other had bottled vehement anger inside, and he straightened his chest to take the heavy blow squarely, only then roaring low, “had enough yet?!”
Lin Shu did not expect that he would really not evade, and it was too late for him to stop the motion, nearly breaking Xiao Jingyan’s collar-bone and involuntarily frightening himself to stillness in the process. Xiao Jingyan took the chance to seize the bow and bind both of Lin Shu’s hands tightly to his chest with a twist, then reached down with his other hand covered in grease to take ruthless revenge.
Lin Shu struggled with all his might, but how could Xiao Jingyan let him go then, and he pulled out his hand hastily to nail him down with the real weapon. It was a habitual activity for the two of them, but this time was wild and painful, neither willing to yield to the other. After they had finished their rough-and-tumble bout, Lin Shu’s face was fully drenched with an unknown mix of sweat and tears—Xiao Jingyan watched as he flipped over and fixed his robes, gave his face a hasty wipe with the back of his hand, then walked away without ever looking back.
Xiao Jingyan sat there with long legs extended, in a daze, and not long after, a wave of dull thuds sounded from outside, followed by shocked exclamations and voices. He looked up to see the festive tent in the front courtyard, erected to welcome wedding guests, had one of its bowl-thick pillars broken, pulling a string of beautiful decorations to plunge straight down, and likely many of the betrothal gifts on display inside the courtyard would be smashed.
Indeed, a series of crashing sounds ensued, followed by endless clamour. Xiao Jingyan listened with a tilted head and could not resist laughing out loud—who else but his Lin Shu could have this intrepid passion, fierce as fire.
When he saw Lin Shu again, it was already dawn of the next day; the inner courtyard staff had prepared for the new bride, not yet of age, an exquisite area of her own, and the entire courtyard was festooned with decorations, the main room even more incandescent with red candles and very lively. It was about to be the hour for the manor to open and for him to ride to the shrine and worship[49], and a group of close family members and womenfolk surrounded Xiao Jingyan, all trying to get him ready—Lin Shu had already changed into robes for the bride-receiving procession, and he walked over with Grand Princess Jinyang, standing behind the half-partition meekly and silently while clutching his sleeves, not attracting any notice.
Prince Qi’s consort personally tidied Xiao Jingyan’s collar, and scolded him worriedly while taking out a silk handkerchief to wipe the wound on his face, “what a child you are, making such trouble even on your wedding day!”
With arms spread, Xiao Jingyan blinked his round, bright eyes innocently, and pursed his lips while looking at Grand Princess Jinyang before him. She gave him a glare. “You two idiots, a pair of fated nemeses[50]!”
Xiao Jingyan smiled softly, light flowing in his eyes as he looked toward Lin Shu, who was wearing not-quite-a-smile in the shadow of candlelight—actually, he had never seen clearly his expression then, but now as he thought back, he vaguely saw Mei Changsu’s lowered head and faint smile.
Xiao Jingyan’s heart suddenly seized in pain; he had returned from hell for three years, but how could he not recognise him? He stumbled back to sit on the bed; after sitting idly for half the night, he finally lay down crookedly in extreme exhaustion. In his daze, the past entered his dreamscape; Lin Shu was still wearing red under-robes, a candle and brush in hand as he copied the Book of Rites for his punishment—if not for not wanting to disturb the Grand Empress Dowager on this celebratory day, Marshal Lin would probably have kicked his leg bone in two for breaking the pillar of the festive tent and half the betrothal gifts.
And now Xiao Jingyan flipped down from the roof and into the window, but Lin Shu only gave him a cool look. “You dare to intrude into the Chiyan Marshal’s Manor at night dressed like this: afraid I haven’t been punished enough already?”
He had come under the cover of night, flying over eaves and running on walls, though his opulent wedding gown was still in good order, without a thread out of place. Perhaps he had had wine, for his round eyes had a slight drunken smile in them and looked especially bright, and when he opened his mouth, his speech was clumsy, the scar on his face pulling as he smiled. “One has to be in festive reds to be a groom.”
Lin Shu ignored him, his ink brush still flowing fluidly. Xiao Jingyan neared, propping his chin on his shoulder and nuzzling against him for a while, then embraced him from behind—the extravagant heavy brocade half-blanketed Lin Shu in his arms, and Xiao Jingyan’s scalding breaths turned his ear red through and through.
Lin Shu’s brush stopped. “What are you doing?”
Xiao Jingyan took the brush from his hand, then massaged his palm and fingers while he was at it, finally interlocking their ten fingers together with great tenderness. “Rest now? However much punishment is left, I shall just take it myself.”
With the dream drifting to this point, the heaviness in Xiao Jingyan’s heart settled, and he fell asleep gradually. The past and future were the same: no matter what, however much punishments and difficulties lay on the path ahead, he would shoulder it all himself, and never let any hardship befall that person again.
Notes:
Happy holidays everyone ❤️
Won’t be updating over the short break.
Will be thinking of them and all of you.
Translation Footnotes (click the numbers to return to the text in-place):
[46] [50] Fated nemeses here is 冤家: it can mean both your enemy, and your destined love who brings you trouble but you can’t help but love anyways.
[47] Consorts await punishment when they’ve committed a crime/脱簪待罪 by undoing their hair, removing all jewelry, and kneeling in plain robes with feet bared, more severe than what Empress Yan did in the show. Women were not supposed to expose their feet lightly, and this would be humiliating.
[48] A woman’s courtesy name/字 is typically given at her coming-of-age hairpin ceremony/笄礼 at age 15 by her parents, if she has already been betrothed. Courtesy names are meant to form a complementary pair with the maiden given name/名. Here the new moon/Xīnyuè/新月 is a symbol of hope and beginnings, and it’s paired with her courtesy name Wàngqīng/望卿, where 望 means both hope and the full moon. Historically, women’s names were only known and used by close family members and often not recorded.
[49] In a traditional wedding, as per the Book of Rites, the groom goes to the bride’s family’s ancestral shrine with a wild goose, a symbol of yin-yang order (because of its regular migrations) and fidelity, to worship there and receive the bride from her parents, and then completes the rest of the ritual at the groom’s residence.
Chapter 19: Homesick Blues
Notes:
————Feiliu vs. Tingsheng————————————
————Which family doesn’t have a stepchild, really———————
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Yuanyou Era, Year Seven was nearly half past; the sixth month began thus with Xiao Jingyan’s grave determination. Jinling was sweltering under the summer sun, and the palaces were stifling in their heat also. The old Emperor was deep in his stupor, to the point of being nearly unable to take in food and drink, and all was kept quiet in the severe inner palaces. The Crown Prince was swiftly pushing for military reforms at court, and the young Crown Princess Consort made no appearances outside of her palace, claiming illness—one day, at high noon, Gao Zhan, the Director of Inner Palace Affairs, stood before Yangju Hall and felt the surroundings utterly windless, his ears as if full of the oppressive thrumming of cicadas.
The imperial gardens at Tiger Hill, on the other hand, were still cool and splendid; proper recuperation of meridians ought to follow the rhythm of the natural world, and every day, after acupuncture, Mei Changsu rested under the shadows of lush foliage deep in the gardens. The half brazier of medicinal herbs under his bamboo cot steamed to not only invigorate his meridians, but also made mosquitoes and insects scarce; at first, it was only Feiliu who kept him frequent company before the cot holding his sweet melons, but then even Lin Chen came with his tea table, reading letters and books while steeped in his medicinal aroma.
“Oh-ho,” Lin Chen gave one of his occasional exclamations, wagging his head and clicking his tongue, “Yuwen Xuan has gone to Yunnan; I wonder if he will bring Mu Qing some Chu embroidery sewn by his own hand.”
Since the war with Yeqin was over, it was not an unexpected move for Southern Chu to send an envoy with a request. Mei Changsu found his words funny. “You know of this too? The tale of His Highness Prince Ling amusing himself with embroidery.”
“Langya Hall knows all, naturally.” Lin Chen raised his head with an abrupt smile. “I also know that once, Mu Nihuang was forced to do girl’s needlecraft by the old servant woman, and Lin Shu could not wait for her to leave the palace any longer, even embroidering for her—”
Now Mei Changsu looked up from his book, mouth fairly agape. “Who told you?”
Lin Chen was quite gleeful. “To ask Langya Hall a question comes at a cost.”
He glared at him for a while, then decided in the end to not mind him, but just as he looked back down, Lin Chen began again, “And then, Xiao—”
Mei Changsu’s book flew over instantly, cutting short Lin Chen’s cheery talk—and then, Xiao Jingyan had burst in, and only hid that fan sleeve inside his own robe sleeve without saying a word. But things would go wrong later: because neither of them were of the cultured fan-waving crowd, that fabric sleeve came to other uses in the bedroom.
With both hands empty after throwing his book, Mei Changsu decided to pillow his head on them and lie facing up, idly watching the branches quiver overhead. His youthful past was as a dream, and his present somehow no longer had that bitter pain from ice crossing fire, but it only caused him to be at a loss, floating along as if not knowing his place.
With past grievances settled and the rest of his life possibly long, Mei Changsu half-closed his eyes, and somehow fell asleep after a moment. Lin Chen did not disturb his drifting dreams, of course; Feiliu raised his head to look at him, then took out from the jade bowl a sprig of water lily sent from the Jinling palaces this morning, gently placing it upon the mussed hair on his shoulder.
Mei Changsu never seemed to have such a leisurely time; even in his worry-free youth, he was as expeditious as wind and fire, unable even to wait a moment for Nihuang without turning impatient, taking up needlework just from his bit of experience with sewing battlefield wounds, so he could take the opportunity to both show off and save some useless talk. But now he was truly as idle as floating clouds and wild geese, and Lin Chen’s extraordinary anecdotes from the world over delivered by his flying pigeons did not escape his indifference, either; this continued until the sixth month was half past, when Li Gang and Zhen Ping returned from the north and surrounded him constantly with nagging, at which time he felt the worldly concerns of the mortal realm was truly too noisy.
“You both should return to Langzhou.” Mei Changsu could not take it after a few days. “Since you are unwilling to stay in the army, you can helm the matters in the alliance—dignified men with aspirations cannot feast and vacation every day like this.”
Li Gang and Zhen Ping watched him simultaneously, as if wanting to say something but finding it difficult to open their mouths; Mei Changsu narrowed his eyes. “You are not trying to contest the point by comparing with me, I hope? I am someone who has escaped death yet another time, and am allowed a few days of carefree leisure.”
The two of them exchanged a glance—their own hearts were a-flame, watching him burn his candle at both ends for years; but now, seeing him with utterly no concerns, they somehow felt hollow inside, too. Li Gang gave Mei Changsu a glance and a sorrowful face. “Chief, you have not asked after alliance affairs for nearly a year; there are so many matters, large and small, postponed there, and they need a resolution.”
Zhen Ping echoed immediately, “you are our Jiangzuo Chief, after all—this Jianghu needs you back as its lord.”
There was a flicker in Mei Changsu’s deep eyes, and he somehow could not think of an excuse in the moment, so he raised his book high and prepared to ignore them instead, but unexpectedly Feiliu descended out of nowhere to land before him. “Back to Langzhou!”
Mei Changsu asked with a smile, “Feiliu wants to go back to Langzhou?”
His eyes shone without a hint of darkness, full of hope as he watched him. “Ay! Su-gege back!”
Mei Changsu reached forward to part the sweat-soaked hair on his forehead. “Why does Feiliu want to go back to Langzhou with Su-gege?”
Feiliu answered crisply, “go home!”
Mei Changsu was taken aback briefly; he lived a separate identity in Jiangzuo for nearly ten years, painstakingly operating it solely for the purposes of redressing the vast crimson sea of grievances. Though all knew of his famed reputation in the Jianghu, alliance members and friends were found across the land, and the fourteen cantons of Jiangzuo flourished everywhere, it all seemed accidental boons to him, and never a source of self-satisfaction—Mei-lang of Jiangzuo was only an elegant disguise of his, but upon careful thought now, was it not his real livelihood in this world?
He looked at Li Gang, at Zhen Ping, then patted Feiliu’s hair again. “All right, let Su-gege think on it.”
Feiliu made a sound of assent then leapt away in one jump. Mei Changsu’s talk did not seem to be empty, either; a few days later, walking in the gardens with Zhu Shouchun, he said to him, “it is nearly the seventh month, and General Zhu has been delayed at my side for over half a year. My health has been improving day by day, and you should be off to your real duties.”
Zhu Shouchun was beside himself with shock. “Sir? Has this humble general been inadequate in my care? Please instruct me then, but you must not send me away!”
Mei Changsu no longer needed constant support at this point, and stood firmly now, giving him a warm smile. “Why do you say this, General? The conflicts are over, I am back near the capital, and have no deficiency in attendants: how can I burden you any longer? I know the court’s military reforms are in full swing, and you must not throw away your future in vain.”
Zhu Shouchun wanted to reply, but stopped himself; Mei Changsu reminded him so, naturally because he had higher expectations of him; though he did not wish to and could not leave, he was also afraid of letting down his thoughtfulness. Mei Changsu knew his mind, of course. “No need to trouble yourself over this, General, I will say it clearly to His Highness.”
With only this one sentence, Xiao Jingyan seemed to have been summoned by an emergency military token, and came in person to Tiger Hill in the evening of the next day, nearly a month after the last visit. But this time, His Highness the Crown Prince definitely could not be said to be traveling lightly; besides Qi Meng and Ouyang Chi as armoured guards, following him in the procession were the High Minister of War, Li Lin, High Minister of Revenue, Shen Zhui, and several deputy ministers and registrars from two other cabinet ministries, in addition to personal attending soldiers as retainers: the entire mighty procession exited their horses and carriages before the imperial gardens guesthouse.
Mei Changsu was enjoying the cool open air on the back veranda with hair down and robes loose, holding a bowl of medicine as he debated vigorously to Zhu Shouchun that wine was the proper supplement to medicine at this season. Lin Chen could hardly continue listening, and was about to interject and chide him when Li Gang ran over to report the grand scene at the front—Mei Changsu shut up instantly at the news, and after a silent moment of worry, rose and let himself be changed and dressed properly.
By the time he had been put into good order and walked to the guest hall, Xiao Jingyan was just majestically striding into the courtyard in his meticulous imperial robes—Tingsheng was beside him, nearly up to his shoulder in height already. Mei Changsu fixed his gaze upon them, and when the attendant guards and important ministers filed in, he pushed his hands forward and bowed low to the ground. “This servant, Su Zhe, salutes His Highness the Crown Prince.”
Xiao Jingyan rushed up in a few strides and held up his arm with one hand, then helped him up with both hands with utmost respect. “No need for formalities, Sir; it has been a long time: is your health any better?”
They exchanged courtesies as ruler and subject, two paragons of virtue, for a few sentences, then politely let each other into the inner hall. Xiao Jingyan sat down at the place of honour, and insisted on making him sit at the host seat and the others as guests; Mei Changsu was still in the middle of politely declining when Tingsheng knelt in front of his seat, bowing down most properly. “Tingsheng salutes Sir.”
Mei Changsu hurriedly sat down and helped Tingsheng up, giving him a close look while he was at it. Not seen for a few months, the child had lost some of the apprehensive forbearance on his face, and now had some of the peerless grace and style of Consort Chen and Prince Qi, back in those days—melancholy struck his heart as he patted his hair. “Feiliu-gege is in the back, go play.”
Tingsheng looked at him, unwilling to part, though Feiliu had already landed silently before the hall, and when he went with him he still looked back with every step. By now the two high ministers and subordinate officials had already taken their seats, and after a round of exchanged courtesies, Xiao Jingyan spoke, “military reforms at court are near completion, already to the crucial juncture, and Li-qing and Shen-qing each have a few important matters concerning their success that they wish to trouble Sir for counsel.”
Mei Changsu dipped his head silently, and hearing Li Lin’s first few detailed sentences, he already had the entire strategic picture in mind—the reforms began at the northern border and were introduced throughout the country, ranging from new policies of horse administration to the equal-field system[51], and had the goal of long-lasting benefits for the nation. This initial implementation could not avoid a few difficulties due to the quick schedule, and Mei Changsu felt himself duty-bound to expound to the two high ministers with his full concentration.
Shen Zhui had already sought his counsel a few times before, and was the only one who could still exchange conversations with him; Li Lin and the other officials only looked at each other after several in-depth talks, listening to Mei Changsu’s tireless instructions in awed silence.
Mei Changsu had held the full plans for these reforms in his mind for long; because he now harboured the idea of leaving, he was afraid of not being thorough enough, explaining every detail from beginning to end, without reservation, to the heads of the two ministries until the night watch began sounding, and He Zhengming came in to ask on his knees to serve medicine; he apologised then to the room with a dry smile, “this one is sickly and of shamefully little use—the hopes of spurring along the reforms rests on your shoulders, Ministers.”
Shen Zhui immediately heard the implications and wanted to urge him to stay, but Xiao Jingyan unexpectedly raised his hand to stop him. “We have bothered Sir for long today, and you must be weary. Shen-qing, Li-qing, you all take off first, and draft a memorandum according to Sir’s counsel. This prince has further matters to discuss with him.”
And so the crowd of officials exited promptly in accordance, Qi Meng and Ouyang Chi went to stand in wait outside the hall, and the room was empty again, only leaving the two of them watching each other from their distant seats. Mei Changsu watched with raised head at the one sitting loftily in the place of honour, so distinguished even in this hall of leisure that it was almost difficult to look at him directly.
“Jingyan,” Mei Changsu said softly.
Xiao Jingyan was born with tall bearing outstanding and heroic, save for his pair of especially tender and sentimental eyes. At the sound of Mei Changsu calling his name, those deep eyes suddenly brightened in their light. “Ay.”
Mei Changsu only watched him in a trance—he had felt his interests waning, tentatively deciding on leaving, but now, questioning himself under Xiao Jingyan’s gaze, his heart seemed to harbour guilt.
As they regarded each other, it was Xiao Jingyan who broke the silence first. “In your teens, you often said the army had many systematic ills, and aspired to reform it; now the reforms have been implemented to this state, and your opinion must be consulted, in the end.”
Mei Changsu drooped his gaze, his purposefully tied jade guan coolly reflecting the flickering of candlelight; a good while later, he said low, “Jingyan, you must know my heart.”
Xiao Jingyan rose, walking up to him slowly, and took out an old jewellery case from his broad sleeves. “Since I know your heart, and am willing to follow your mind, you ought to put yourself at ease.”
Hands clutching sleeves, Mei Changsu forcibly held back his churning emotions—what could be inside the box but that pearl, the size of a pigeon’s egg, that Xiao Jingyan had found for him from Donghai, waiting an entire thirteen years to be gifted.
That day was also one before the completion of a great task; Xiao Jingyan had questioned whether he was to leave the capital, and he knew he was not long for the world, but forced a smile and said he wished to travel and be carefree. Xiao Jingyan was noncommittal, only discussing Tingsheng’s future with him, and let him flee with the pearl in a panic. But who knew conflicts would arise at the borders at the blink of an eye, and when he received the Crown Prince’s gold token as the army supervisor, he placed this pearl at his own shrine, as tribute.
The pearl was a faithful heart’s vow rendered solid, inscribed with a mind’s knowledge of eternal separation: Xiao Jingyan caressed the box once, then leaned over to place it lightly upon the hem of Mei Changsu’s robes.
A strong wind had started in the courtyard some time ago; Xiao Jingyan walked to the front of the hall, looking up at the gloom of the waning half moon, then down at the small groups of people formed in the courtyard—Zhu Shouchun, Qi Meng, and Ouyang Chi were standing in attendance before the steps, Li Gang and Zhen Ping were keeping watch at the window, He Zhengming and Doctor Yan were leaning against colonnade posts, and Feiliu and Tingsheng had already returned to the scene, two little faces looking upward before the courtyard gates, in a daze.
And now Mei Changsu shuffled slowly near, and Xiao Jingyan tilted his head to say, “Shouchun I shall take with me to put his talents to use; will you choose another between Qi Meng and Ouyang Chi?”
Before he could reply, Xiao Jingyan already laughed lightly in self-mockery. “I know you are unwilling, of course—I will also take with me the soldiers from Prince Jing’s Manor that came back from the north with you, save the ones with duties here.”
Mei Changsu stood with hands in sleeves before the doors, his robes swaying in the night wind, and only drooped his head heavily. Zhu Shouchun had already prostrated before the steps, but then Tingsheng ran over from afar, saluting with his hands. “Your Highness, may I stay here with Sir?”
Xiao Jingyan and Mei Changsu both looked over, but with different expressions. Tingsheng aimed his ardent gaze at Mei Changsu. “Sir, I also have many questions I wish to seek your guidance on.”
Xiao Jingyan added, “when you were yet not awakened, this child constantly asked to see you, but it was I who came and went in a rush each time and did not trust handing him to others, and hence he was delayed for so long.”
How could Mei Changsu not know his meaning; and how could Tingsheng not be a source of attachment that he wished to keep and teach more, and so he could only assent, “if Your Highness would be at ease, you can leave Tingsheng here.”
And so Tingsheng settled down at the Tiger Hill gardens without a hint of laziness. He practised martial arts at dawn, listened to lectures on Confucian classics in the morning, learned the art of war in the afternoon, and discussed statecraft at night—in his every action, he observed the proper rites for a mentor toward Mei Changsu, who was also captured by him, hair up and robes neat every day, sitting properly as he taught by words and example with patience and skill.
Half a month passed thus for this pair of mentor and disciple; one day Lin Chen slept off his wine until the afternoon, when he staggered by the study, saw Mei Changsu sitting most properly as he poured forth his full knowledge, and could not help clapping and exclaiming, “ah, this is truly—as they say, sewing every stitch thickly before parting, in fear of a late return[52].”
Mei Changsu was re-analysing the Third Month Cutlass[53] with Tingsheng, and hearing this inappropriately wrong-pitched remark, he did not know whether to laugh or cry in response, though he brooded on the inside. Tingsheng gazed at him, and seemed to muster his courage as he asked, “is Sir truly leaving?”
Mei Changsu looked toward the battlefield of yore on the map. “Tingsheng, you may experience such a situation in the future—to preserve the reputation and integrity of ruler and subject, you must know to sheathe your skills and retreat when the time is right.”
Tingsheng was aghast. “His Highness would never cast Sir aside once your purpose has been served!”
Mei Changsu smiled, and was about to praise his progress when he saw that Zhen Ping was sprinting in from the courtyard, nearly circulating his qi to aid his speed, and burst into the room against the haughty seventh-month sun. “Chief, the palace sent an urgent horseback report!
“To-day at ninth hour, the Emperor passed away!”
Notes:
After a double update from the break I’m all out again.
Heading in both plot and leisurely domestic directions (might edit in the future).
Vacation is over for both Mei-laoshi and I.
Wish us both good luck at work 🤣🤣🤣
Translation Footnotes (click the numbers to return to the text in-place):
[51] The equal-field system/均田制 was a feudal land allocation policy used from the Northern Wei to Tang Dynasties, where land was owned by the government and distributed to individuals according to their farming ability; when the individual died, their land would be reclaimed by the government and reassigned. In contrast to previous land policies, such as the well-field system/井田制, where aristocrats owned the land and took one-ninth of the harvest, this policy was meant to reduce ruling class power and give each individual farmer a sense of ownership.
[52] Lin Chen is quoting the famous Tang Dynasty poem 游子吟 by Mèng Jiāo/孟郊: “The mother’s thread in hand becomes the clothes upon the traveling child / Sewing every stitch thickly before parting, in fear of a late return / Who dares say the child’s filial piety, feeble as grass, can repay the mother’s spring sun.” Comparing Mei Changsu teaching Tingsheng to the tender love of a mother to a child is of course something Mei Changsu would find ridiculous.
[53] The Third Month Cutlass/三月弯刀, given its name in NiF2 canon, refers to the conflict before the start of NiF canon where Da Yu, Northern Yan, and Donghai attacked Da Liang together, their formation shaped like a cutlass, and young Marquis Yan was sent as a peace envoy and saved the country.
Chapter 20: Redeemable Margin
Notes:
———🔔 Xiao “climb every mountain ford every stream” Yanyan now online———
———🔔 Xiao “magical love token” Tingsheng now online———
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Mei Changsu shivered lightly, tilting his head to look up at the sky, clear and cloudless as far as the eye could see—old debts and grievances had been settled once and for all, and everything was new again: a golden era belonging to Xiao Jingyan had officially begun.
At the same time, bells were tolling within the palace walls, and the procedures for national mourning, long prepared, began their execution in perfect methodical order, just like the court affairs of Jinling. The passing of the old Emperor seemed merely a wisp of a mid-summer cloud, its gossamer shadow hovering weakly above the proud sun, incapable of causing any more storms.
The outskirts of the capital were even more peaceful, except that on the next day, Lie Zhanying led two light cavalcades of Imperial Guards out of the city, arriving at Tiger Hill while it was still morning. Armoured and equipped, he gave Mei Changsu a military salute. “By imperial decree, this humble general is here to receive Sir back to Jinling post-haste!”
Mei Changsu hurried out to greet him with Tingsheng as support, still with a book in hand as he stood at the top of the steps. “How is the situation inside the palaces? Is there any abnormal activity within the capital?”
Half-kneeling, Lie Zhanying dipped his head. “All is peaceful, and there are no anomalies.”
Though the state of affairs was as he had calculated, Mei Changsu still had to ask, and now his brows relaxed as he invited Lie Zhanying to rise and converse in the hall. But Lie Zhanying stayed motionless and kneeling, only looking up with a pair of ardent eyes, lips quivering, the hint of a “Lin”-like syllable threatening to fall out.
Mei Changsu knew what this man from his past must be feeling, of course; he stopped him with a raised hand, then asked, “did His Highness have any further instructions?”
Lie Zhanying lowered his head again. “His Highness only instructed this humble general to come take Sir.”
Mei Changsu dipped his head; Xiao Jingyan did not need to say more, precisely because he knew his heart and mind. “Wait for a moment, General Lie, and let me organise my things, then I shall go with you.”
Not expecting him to assent so easily, Lie Zhanying rose in one light leap of surprise and delight, and turned to gather the attending manor soldiers. Mei Changsu called over Li Gang and He Zhengming, giving them appropriate instructions, then departed at midday with Lin Chen, bringing along Tingsheng and Feiliu in a light carriage and procession behind Lie Zhanying as they journeyed back to Jinling.
At the city gates, the banners of national mourning had already been raised up high, and the tolling of temple and monastery bells could be heard from all directions. Lie Zhanying halted his horse to ask briefly after matters regarding the city garrison, and so Mei Changsu’s conveyance paused before the gates as well. Lin Chen hooked the carriage curtain upward with his hand, looking up at the lofty inscribed sign of the city. “Changsu, you have come back, after all.”
The carriage resumed its slow rolling, and Mei Changsu held Tingsheng in the crook of his shoulder, his gaze never wavering—even if he had already gone into reclusion in the Jianghu, he would have come back for this dawning of a new age.
He wanted, so desperately, to see with his own eyes Xiao Jingyan in beaded crown and ceremonial robes, ascending to that lofty summit of utmost imperial power, step by step.
And so he settled down in Su Manor once more; though the residence had already been cleaned and prepared in advance, Lie Zhanying still waited until dusk, when Li Gang, Zhen Ping, and the physicians came in succession with luggage and medicine, to bring Tingsheng back to the palaces and fulfil his duty. And inside the palace hall of filial piety, millet stalks were burning, and the dusk mourning rites had completed; Xiao Jingyan was not lingering inside, but was speaking in hushed tones with Grand Prince Ji in the side hall.
Tingsheng was brought in then and saluted, but Xiao Jingyan’s eyes were fixed only on Grand Prince Ji’s face. This Imperial Highness had spent his entire life in luxury and leisure, with neither official duty nor authority, but among the imperial clansfolk, he now played a decisive role: after a long while with brows furrowed and eyes half-closed, he stroked his beard and sighed, nodding his head silently.
Only then did Xiao Jingyan look down, with black eyes of distilled light, at the oblivious youth beneath the steps, before giving orders to the attending eunuch. “Send Xiao Tingsheng into the care of Her Ladyship the Noble Consort—the imperial clan has decided for Xiao Tingsheng to observe the rites for an imperial grandson, and to fast overnight within the palace hall as per mourning protocol for the late Emperor.”
Xiao Tingsheng watched him with astonishment; he had faintly guessed that his identity might be unusual, but did not expect such a sudden elevation. In the corners of the hall, the eunuchs and attendants from the Ministry of Rites also silently exchanged glances with each other—they did not yet know the temperament of this soon-to-be new Emperor, and with approximately a month of the mourning period remaining, it was far from when decrees needed to be handed down: he surely did not need to break tradition so abruptly at this very moment.
But Xiao Jingyan had been waiting precisely for this occasion—thirty days of heavy national mourning, when the government was in recess as per protocol, the inner court not issuing imperial edicts, the outer court not receiving remarks from the Emperor: at this chaotic time of old crossing over to new, many matters now had margin for redemption. He nodded at Xiao Tingsheng, watching him take his leave, then ordered the eunuch again, “go out front and summon Secretariat Director Liu Cheng to come see me in Changqiu[54] Hall of the East Palace.”
Changqiu Hall of the East Palace was the residence of the Crown Princess Consort; ever since the private banquet on the first of the sixth month, Liu Xinyue had been shut in her palace and claiming illness, and even when the Liu Manor submitted another petition to pay respects one month later, requesting permission to visit, she refused, sending back instead a gift in consolation. At that time, Xiao Jingyan went to visit her in person, and saw her with face and hair unadorned, eyes clear as water, and expression cool and courteous. “Your Highness’s plans are astounding in the face of societal conventions: for the peace of the court and family, this servant woman will naturally maintain a cloistered silence, and heed Your Highness’s orders.”
Xiao Jingyan only asked, “what are your own plans?”
Liu Xinyue dipped her delicate head. “This servant woman thanks Your Highness for your regard—if I have any fortune left this life, I wish, as Your Highness said, to experience the joys and sorrows of the human world, and be true to the phases of the moon.”
And so Xiao Jingyan knew what to do, and for a highborn lady of Jinling to have such spirit and wisdom was truly moving. Tonight he brought only two attendants with him, and strolled under the cover of night to Changqiu Hall, where he found an incense altar set in the courtyard; Liu Xinyue was clad in mourning clothes as per protocol for a woman subject, and on the veranda, her pale hand was copying Buddhist scripture by the light of the clear moon, several tidy scrolls already stacked by the altar as offerings.
Xiao Jingyan’s entrance shattered the watery moonlit scene with a single step; the courtyard attendants all fell down prostrating in a panic, and only Liu Xinyue rose gracefully and saluted with calmness; Xiao Jingyan walked up slowly and reached out to help her up. “This is thoughtful of you.”
When Secretariat Director Liu Cheng walked to the palace courtyard gates, he saw precisely this sight of mutual reverence, and a great weight was lifted from his heart as tears threatened to fall—his own granddaughter had married into the East Palace but without the completion of the wedding rites, and had seen no imperial favour this past year; after receiving a sudden banquet on her birthday in the sixth month, she claimed illness and shut the gates to her palace, without a hint of news or even sign of life.
The Liu Manor was alarmed and apprehensive from top to bottom, especially during the late Emperor’s funerary rites, when she was absent against protocol for the placing of the body in the casket and the installation of the memorial tablet, continuing to claim illness. Liu Cheng had wanted to confer with his younger cousin, High Minister of Rites Liu Ji, whether they should formally request to meet with the Crown Prince so he could declare her wrongdoings, but then Xiao Jingyan unexpectedly summoned him now, with seemingly ulterior motives.
The attending eunuch came forward and bade him to approach and salute; when he looked back up at the Crown Prince and his consort, both had nothing unusual in their clear expressions, and he heard Xiao Jingyan say, “Xinyue has been in the palace for nearly a year, and her family must be burdened with longing and concern. Before this prince is enthroned, I want to explain her matter clearly to Liu-qing, so as to not dampen the spirit of such a renowned and meritorious family.”
The experience of three court eras could not save Liu Cheng from bewilderment in this moment. As he followed Xiao Jingyan inside the hall and stood firm, he heard him continue, “Xinyue is graceful and refined, with the elegant bearing of a phoenix[55], and naturally is an excellent match for this prince. However, in recent times, we have seen troubled court affairs, turmoil on the borders, the passing of the Grand Empress Dowager, and then the grave illness of the late Emperor. With the approval of the late Emperor, I had announced at the year-end rites, performed in stead for him, to the imperial heavens and earth—I, Xiao Jingyan, will use my body as vow, and observe the austerities[56] for three years, to seek blessings for the late Emperor’s health.
“And although the late Emperor has now taken his eternal leave, this divine vow clearly cannot be broken. But Xinyue is still young, and I cannot bear for her to endure the brunt of even more heinous rumours—fortunately, the marriage rites were not complete, and there is margin yet for this prince to seek another path for her, one that shall bring her recognition and favour without any disgrace to your family name.”
Liu Cheng was stunned to complete speechlessness, eyes bulging and mouth agape—speak nothing of the regent ruler investing his principal consort, already having announced their union to the ancestors and completed half of the ritual, even ordinary folks who have arranged a pact of marriage certainly cannot annul it without extraordinary reason. And even if there were unexpected circumstances such as the mourning period, they ought to observe rites as per protocol: how could he speak of other paths?
He shook out a silk handkerchief with trembling hands and wiped his forehead, taking a look at Liu Xinyue beside Xiao Jingyan before uttering with difficulty, “how could Your Highness say such a thing? Perhaps this servant has become decrepit and muddled in my old age, for I have never heard of such a reasoning!”
Xiao Jingyan knew of his own absurdity, and was about to say more words of consolation, but Liu Cheng, face alternating dark and pale, unexpectedly shook his sleeves and gave a hasty salute, interrupting with, “this servant first thanks Your Highness for his words of sympathy; if I am only concerned with the Liu family’s rise and fall, then I would of course obey these commands, so as not to incur suspicion and mistrust—but what Your Highness is planning not only disobeys the code of rites and clan laws, but disrupts the peace of the new court; since I am fortunate to be the unworthy head of the Secretariat, I would never dare to second the motion!”
With eyes lowered, Xiao Jingyan listened to Liu Cheng’s persuasion on the grounds of moral virtue. This senior minister had always been just and loyal to the country, and conducted affairs with reliable meticulousness; to be so staunchly against him now, it made Xiao Jingyan sit still without any more preposterous words—Liu Cheng might have a private stake in the matter, but what he had more was the rule-abiding backbone of a principled noble family in high government. And in the coming days, were this matter to be announced in imperial court, the audience hall would surely be embroiled in as much consternation and criticism as this present scene.
He waited calmly for Liu Cheng to finish speaking, then rose and saluted lightly. “This matter is due to my own moral failings, and preposterous to the extreme. Liu-qing’s every word is of utmost moral character and sound reason; this prince had told you the truth out of my respect for you, but I am now even more filled with admiration. It is not that I do not understand the proper protocol, but I have long made my choice for my own reasons, and I shall persist on this solitary path without regret—when this matter sees the light of day in court, Liu-qing can maintain your character, and publicly criticise me without fear; though my mind is made up, I will naturally allow a wide range of opinions, and absolutely not restrict the freedom of speech.”
When he was finished, he glanced again at Liu Xinyue. “You two dear flesh and blood have not seen each other for many months; I shall disturb your conversation no longer.”
As he spoke, Xiao Jingyan took his leave, strolling slowly back to the hall of filial piety. Important civil and military officials of the third rank and above emerged from the hall in succession, having completed their ancillary rituals, and the imperial clansfolk and family fasting inside the hall had mostly gone to rest in exhaustion; as he looked up at the sombre casket behind flickering candles and incense, he felt keenly that he seemed to be the only one kneeling before the departed soul, and a sudden mournful pain cut into his heart.
Though he and the late Emperor were not the closest father and son in their time, he inherited country and society from him, the weight heavy upon his shoulders. He of course aspired to be a virtuous ruler of an era, to inaugurate a golden age, but this paramount position had already pressured his innate heart[57] with its might, leaving him anxious and ill at ease—soon, when he would ascend to the throne, the storms of the court would descend upon him, and what to do with his heart, what was right and wrong, and what ought to be upheld and abandoned all seemed somehow nebulous and unclear.
Some time later, he felt a silent presence as someone quietly knelt down behind him and to the side. Xiao Jingyan looked back, and Xiao Tingsheng was there in the regalia of an imperial grandson, silver guan and jade-inlaid forehead ribbon, white narrow-sleeve serpent-embroidered robes[58] draped with coarse plain mourning vestment, and he even more presented a striking likeness to Prince Qi, that brilliant quintessence shining forth.
Xiao Jingyan felt it impossible to untangle their relationship at this moment, and when he asked his question, he seemed to be simultaneously asking his elders, his successors, and himself, “perhaps you will also encounter such a situation one day, when the throne before you cannot tolerate your true heart—do you know how to not fail both society and your personal loyalties?”
In hazy half-understanding, Xiao Tingsheng looked at Xiao Jingyan’s side profile, still handsomely distinguished but also seemingly suffused with sorrow. He attempted to answer as he looked on, “Tingsheng is yet young, and does not comprehend the vast abstruseness of this world. But Sir once taught me the way of a noble principled man: to establish oneself in the world must begin with establishing one’s own heart…Sir also hoped that I can be like Your Highness, innate pure heart enduring no matter the circumstances.”
Upon hearing these words, Xiao Jingyan was actually comforted beyond measure, a sudden thin tear trail falling as he smiled faintly. “Very well said; you and I ought to follow Sir’s wishes.”
Notes:
Translation Footnotes (click the numbers to return to the text in-place):
[54] Chángqiū/长秋 Palace was the name of the Empress’s residence in the Han Dynasty, and Changqiu later became a name associated with the Empress. Its meaning is a wish for longevity, one of the typical patterns for an imperial place name.
[55] Phoenix in this work refers to the fènghuáng/凤凰, the five-colored mythological bird and auspicious symbol associated with imperial power, with the feng being the male and huang being the female. The feng, used here in the original, is also particularly a symbol for the Empress, in which case it’s referring to the whole species as a counterpart to the Emperor’s dragon (not meaning the Empress is male).
[56] For the purposes of self-cultivation or seeking divine blessing, there are a number of different austerities/戒 one can observe in Buddhism, such as not eating meat or not lying, but Jingyan is clearly referring to celibacy here.
[57] Innate or pure heart/赤子之心, literally the heart of a newborn, is a central motif in canon. There’s a famous quote by Mencius, “a great person is one who has not lost their innate pure heart”/大人者，不失其赤子之心者也. 赤 also means red and is intentionally the first character of Chiyan/赤焰.
[58] The imperial mourning regalia here is one of many nods in this story to Dream of the Red Chamber/红楼梦, where characters wore similar attire and forehead ribbons in mourning, and the white narrow-sleeve serpent-embroidered robe/白蟒箭袖 was a notable outfit. Historically, serpent-embroidered robes/蟒袍 were worn by important officials and imperial family members in Ming and Qing dynasties, and the serpent/蟒, a lesser dragon instead of the modern meaning of python, looks quite similar to the Emperor’s dragon except for a different color and having four digits per claw instead of five.
Chapter 21: The Coronation
Chapter Text
Mei Changsu knew nothing of the hidden storms brewing within the palace walls—with the late Emperor gone, the new Emperor not yet installed, officials participating in rites, and commoners observing mourning, Jinling was effectively at a standstill, families staying indoors while the palaces and city gates were strictly guarded, like the peaceful silence when the dark night was at its end, all waiting patiently for the dawn of the new era.
He himself was especially longing expectantly for this; every day he sat on a bamboo bed-couch placed in a remote corner of his courtyard, so that he could look up across the roof of the old Prince Jing’s Manor to see the flying eaves of the palace watch-tower, golden signalling drum hung aloft. As Lin Chen served him medicine, he could not resist mocking him once more, “Changsu, drinking medicine while watching the palaces every day—how sweet does your heart feel in contrast with your bitter mouth?”
Mei Changsu shot him a glance, neither hot nor cold—his heart was not sweet, per se, but it felt some measure of relaxed comfort. Once he saw Xiao Jingyan off to the height of imperial power, his grand task would be complete, and he could return to the remoteness of the Jianghu. And then he and Xiao Jingyan would each occupy his own place, coexist from afar, and they would always have the precious time[59] they had together as lord and subject.
At this thought, he could not help but envision the prosperous new era, the court full of virtuous public servants, the common people living and working in peace, and perhaps it would be exactly as he said before, that every three or five years he would come back and give him a visit.
The future could not be known, but those virtuous public servants somehow returned from the borders to swarm his back courtyard—first, Mu Qing brought his elder sister’s personal letter along with him into the capital as he attended the mourning rites, and then Meng Zhi and Wei Zheng, having completed their grand task of reforming the northern defence line, also took the opportunity of the mourning period, with the army on service break, to return to the capital and report on their accomplishments.
Mu Qing saved him time, at least; after taking a detour to Su Manor to deliver the letter and Gong Yu, he embraced Mei Changsu and sobbed twice, then rushed into the palace to fast and mourn. But Meng Zhi and Wei Zheng only needed to worship at dawn and dusk, so they surrounded him the rest of the time, brandishing their emotions in every possible method of persuasion, determined not to rest until they had convinced him to stay in Jinling.
Mei Changsu only felt his troubles multiply; after much cajoling and wheedling to send Meng Zhi into the palace, there was still Wei Zheng, stuck in his house with nowhere to go. After a short moment of quiet, Wei Zheng wanted to unload his garrulous nonsense again, and so Mei Changsu took the opportunity to say first, “the northern army reforms have seen its first success; to achieve an impenetrable defence still requires another three to five years. You have a family and life in Xunyang, and I did not want to manage your coming and leaving, at first. But hearing your most ardent worries for the nation and people these days, your Chiyan blood must course hot through you yet—if that is so, why not go guard the northern border for another three years?”
Wei Zheng knew now that Mei Changsu had many years of life left in him, and so he did not yield respectfully as before, instead regaining some of those unrestrained airs from their youthful camaraderie. “Wei Zheng will follow Young Marshal where ever you go; since you are going into seclusion, why should I toil and exert myself?”
Mei Changsu inhaled sharply from that defiance, and was about to scold him when he avoided his gaze and muttered in a low voice, “Wei Zheng is a boorish soldier, and naturally thick-headed and unenlightened—Young Marshal should tell those grand principles of guarding the borders and protecting the people to yourself.”
Speechless, Mei Changsu watched with wide eyes as he left the sitting mat and saluted, then fairly ran away. At this time, Yan Yujin’s voice rang out in the courtyard. “Su-xiong, Su-gege! The programme of rites for the coronation ceremony has been drawn up: would you like to have a look-see?”
He walked in as he spoke; ever since finding out Mei Changsu’s identity, his term of address for him changed thrice daily. Mei Changsu watched with a smile at the imperial letter paper swinging about in his hand. “How ever did you obtain such an important document?”
Yan Yujin sat after saluting and smiled slyly as he presented the document with both hands. “Do not ask me, Su-xiong; I have come on someone’s behest, of course.”
And so he truly did not probe further—the coronation ceremony was in five days, and he could likely only watch it from afar, so he might as well peruse it in advance now. The paper unfolded page by page in his hands, and the solemnity of the grand inauguration rituals presented itself before his eyes, each procedure reverent to the heavens and appeasing to the people, the rites properly lavish, but not wasteful, and most appropriate.
As he finished flipping through the document, his eyes were suddenly filled with Xiao Jingyan’s shadow—the boy tottering in robes, raising on tiptoe to break off a sprig of red plum blossoms he wanted. The high-spirited youth on the fine steed, horse whip raised high as he led him through the battlefields of the north. And reunited after the cataclysmic change and far-flung separation, even his cold words and angry gestures somehow brought himself comfort, from time to time.
Despite the torment of heavy storms, that man’s pure heart stayed true, and he turned ever more formidable and steadfast—in a daze, Mei Changsu wondered how imposing and majestic he would look when enthroned.
Yan Yujin saw him lost in thought and darted his head in close. “Her Ladyship of the inner palace has issued a decree: you and Jingrui have performed meritorious military service not yet rewarded, and so are specially allowed to attend the ceremony along with family connections—Lin Shu-gege, Marshal Lin and my father were sworn brothers, and Grand Princesses Jinyang and Liyang were even more blood sisters, both our families connected to you, so the only question that remains is: will you choose me or Jingrui?”
Mei Changsu could not help but be teased to chuckling, and he agreed casually to choose him, though on the day of the ceremony, as the audience gathered at the ancestral temple and arranged according to gender, family, and age, Xiao Jingrui was also placed by Mei Changsu’s side—he had been in strict observance of mourning rites with his mother since returning from the north and did not yet visit, and now, next to Mei Changsu, he secretly wiped the tears from his eyes a few times.
But Mei Changsu only watched the one in the distance with beaded crown and black robes, unwilling to miss a single moment. The place he stood at was Lin Shu’s—had storms not overturned his life, and his parents yet lived, he should be standing with Xiao Jingrui and Yan Yujin also, looking up at the new Emperor from this exact spot. Marquis Yan stood up front and to the right, leaving an absent place of honour at his left, and so Mei Changsu stood behind that, and his view was exceptionally clear—Xiao Jingyan carried the noble poise of a dragon, his every move steady and sure, full of the majesty of a monarch, such that you could not help but gasp inwardly in admiration.
The coronation ceremony was complex and lengthy, such that when the time came in the afternoon for him to enter the palace hall and be enthroned, Mei Changsu already felt himself dazed, as if in a dream. Finally the ritual bells and music swelled close by, and the eunuchs and ritual officers bearing incense and imperial seal entered the palace in order; he lay prostrate along with other officials at the side of the hall, only seeing after a long while those black robes and gold tassels of the Emperor flow by slowly with Xiao Jingyan’s sure steps, pressing forward with indomitable spirit toward the most revered position of the land.
When Mei Changsu raised his head again, tears already streamed down his entire face heedlessly—Xiao Jingyan’s figure, striding toward the towering throne, was even more distant in his superiority than he had imagined, even more out of reach. Dragons soared and danced on the heavy robes of the Son of Heaven, surrounding Xiao Jingyan as he ascended the steps one at a time to receive his heavenly mandate.
As he reached the golden dais for the throne, Xiao Jingyan turned around slowly, the beads on his imperial crown swaying, his handsome bearing heroic and imposing as he stood forbiddingly at the Emperor’s apex of power, the entire country at his feet. With a deep melancholy, Mei Changsu looked up at his Emperor and lord sitting upon his throne, an unmovable mountain, a fathomless pool.
Bells and chimes rang out before the hall, and the ritual officers chanted loud and clear—now it was time for the imperial clansfolk and important officials to shout long live Your Majesty and perform the three kowtows, rising in between, the full rites between ruler and subject. Mei Changsu followed suit among the crowd, saluting again and again with proper solemnity.
The first bow in gratitude to his old friend, his innate pure heart staying true in the face of over a decade of storms and tribulations, winning the throne and redressing grievances.
The second bow in farewell to his dearest beloved, their feelings coursing deep inside knowing hearts half their lives, that love now to endure apart but together in Jinling and the Jianghu.
The third bow in felicitations to his lord Emperor, only wishing for him to usher in a peaceful golden age of civil and military prosperity, and leave his illustrious name behind for all time.
His three salutes complete, Mei Changsu lay prostrate for a long while, feeling blood roiling inside and a steady unceasing regret—though the greatest wish of his life was already fulfilled and the rest of his days might be many, alas, he was not fated to be by his lord’s side.
The coronation ceremony lasted for an entire day; at night-time, the new Emperor paraded around Jinling in his dragon carriage to meet the people, and whole families came out in droves, shoulder to shoulder, eagerly gathering at the sides of streets to pay their respects. Mei Changsu had already returned to Su Manor by now, and the physicians, after a rare day of rest, now hurried to administer medicine and treatment; the sudden sound of percussion and pipes sounded outside, followed by the faint earth-shaking sound of the public shouting long live Your Majesty.
The attending soldiers and alliance members echoed that call, loud and clear, in the front courtyard; Wei Zheng had been chatting merrily with Li Gang and Zhen Ping beneath the veranda roof, but now they all stood solemnly, aiming their gazes into the distance, and from the back courtyard rang out the strumming and drumming sounds of lofty mountains and flowing waters[60], perhaps Mister Thirteen and Gong Yu performing a duet. Mei Changsu lay down like this, with a small smile, among the enthusiastic celebrations, then Feiliu came from places unknown to throw himself down most joyfully before his bed, spreading open his palm toward him as if presenting a treasure. “Here!”
Upon Feiliu’s palm, Mei Changsu saw an exquisitely made golden bead festooned with imperial red ribbon, which must have been the imperial procession’s commemorative gift tossed to the crowd when it stopped at places. He picked it up, smiling knowingly in a trance. It was as if all of the blessings of the new era were distilled into this tiny pearl, and he clutched it tightly and held it to his heart—his body half curled, he fell asleep like this, solid and content, in the grand distant light of the new reign.
On the next day, the new Emperor presided over court, and Mei Changsu also rose early to dress properly so he could enter the palace and pay respects to Her Ladyship Jing, about to be installed as the Empress Dowager. The inner palaces were also a scene of lively excitement; as a man with only a military post but no title of nobility, he expected to wait a long time, but he was summoned immediately and brought before the Empress Dowager.
She was strict and rigorous in her management of the palaces, and as soon as she sent off the attendants, the hall was utterly silent. Mei Changsu saluted most properly, and when he raised his head again, he saw that her tears were already falling as rain, her throat too choked up to speak. He walked up slowly to kneel before her feet, muttered “Aunt Jing” once, and then could not form further words either.
The Empress Dowager stroked his hair, nearly wanting to have a good cry in each other’s arms, and it was a long while before her emotions recovered. Mei Changsu dabbed at his tears with his sleeves, and was about to speak when she tugged his hand. “Xiao-Shu, say no more, and think no more; only concentrate on your recovery, and let Jingyan take care of everything else…good child, Aunt Jing has no other wishes for you: I only hope for the rest of your life to pass in peace, with no more hardships.”
Nestled up against her, Mei Changsu nodded meekly. With his grievances redressed, his great deed complete, he had no other concerns to begin with, and as long as Xiao Jingyan had no obstacles in his way, he could be off to his care-free life—the two of them spoke in hushed tones for a long time, close as mother and son, and after she earnestly gave him her reminders and advice, the Empress Dowager endowed him with rare and precious medicines as well as household sundries, and only then did she unwillingly command servants to send him out of the palace with good care.
Sitting in the litter, with a box on his knees of taishi cake[61] the Empress Dowager made by hand, Mei Changsu languidly gazed upon the towering yet all-peaceful imperial city, without a hint of knowledge that at the tallest, grandest point of the palace complex, several imperial decrees issued by Xiao Jingyan at his first court session had already been duplicated and announced to the world:
The new Emperor has ascended to the throne and assumed full power, and the era name is to be changed to Linhua[62], the Qilin’s enlightenment; amnesty is granted by the crown to the entire country[63].
Noble Consort Jing, the Emperor’s birth mother, is to be reverently conferred the title of Empress Dowager and reside in Ci’an Palace[64]. Lady Liu of Changqiu Hall is to be conferred the title of High Minister of Chonghua Palace[65], the top woman official of the first rank, and salaried as the Chief High Minister, henceforth to be in command of all matters concerning the inner palace[66].
Court affairs are tranquil and the borders are at peace; civil and military officials each have laudable exploits, and the Secretariat and Ministry of Personnel are to deliberate and bestow rewards according to merit.
Notes:
all_the_feels.gif
Show my coronation ceremony some love.
Translation Footnotes (click the numbers to return to the text in-place):
[59] The original uses 良缘, also meaning a fine marriage match, which is an interesting choice of words from Mei Changsu’s mind.
[60] Lofty Mountains and Flowing Rivers/高山流水 is one of the most well-known pieces of traditional music. It was what a musician was playing on the guqin when a woodcutter passed by and could hear the mountains and waters in his sound, and from this tale came the zhījǐ/知己 and zhīyīn/知音, someone who truly knows you(r music). The piece also symbolizes a high state of enlightenment.
[61] Tàishīgāo/太师糕, literally imperial tutor’s cake, is what Feiliu ate in canon from Consort Jing’s box of sweets. It doesn’t seem to be a real food, but there’s the similarly named Tàishībǐng/太师饼, a flaky, salty-and-sweet pastry made with flour, lard, and different sweet or savory fillings that was invented by an imperial tutor in legend.
[62] Era names are changed to mark important occasions, such as the ascendency of a new Emperor, and are generally chosen to express divine providence, auspiciousness, or to promote virtue. For example, the canon era name Yuányòu/元祐 means a new divine beginning. In Jingyan’s era name Línhuà/麟化, Lin is the Qilin/麒麟, and 化 is enlightenment/教化 (in history, there have been similar era names such as 麟嘉, the Qilin’s excellence). Here 化 also means transformation, and Linhua has a second hidden meaning that Lin Shu transformed and sacrificed himself to bring forth this new era, as Jingyan continues to name everything after his favorite person in as many fancy ways as possible.
[63] It is usual for the newly crowned Emperor to pardon criminal offenses as a way to show the benevolence of the new regime and win the hearts of the people. The most severe crimes, such as plotting rebellion or murdering your parents, are not pardoned.
[64] The canon palace hall where the Grand Empress Dowager resided, Cí’ān/慈安 means motherly mercy and peace, and was also the title of Empress Dowager Ci’an who was joint regent with Empress Dowager Cixi in the late Qing Dynasty, when the Emperors were young boys.
[65] Chónghuá/重华 means accumulating prosperity. There’s a real Chonghua Palace inside the Forbidden City that was built in the Ming Dynasty, with the official translation Palace of Many Splendors.
[66] There is a long history of woman officials serving in the inner palace; Lady Liu’s position here is that of the highest woman official/内司 in the Northern Wei Dynasty, which was also the inner palace equivalent of the Chief High Minister/尚书令, who was in charge of the Department of State Affairs/尚书 (containing the Six Ministries/六部 each with its own High Minister). But a consort becoming a minister would certainly have been unheard of.
This is also another nod to Dream of the Red Chamber, where Jia Yuanchun/贾元春 was simultaneously an imperial consort and High Minister of Fengzao Hall/凤藻宫尚书. There are various interpretations of this, including foreshadowing of her eventual fate and the author getting around censorship by purposefully using unhistoric titles (the book was believed to be banned in the Qing Dynasty because of the subtle ways it referenced secrets of the imperial family).
Chapter 22: Court Affairs
Chapter Text
Mei Changsu only found out about these decrees the next midday. The inauguration of a new Emperor always came with the usual host of edicts, so he did not ask after them explicitly, but after waking up, acupuncture, medicine, and flipping through half a volume of histories, he looked out to see an utterly empty courtyard, and became suspicious why he had heard not a whit of news regarding the new reign this entire morning.
Li Gang and Zhen Ping, of course, went to the palace gates early morning to see the imperial decrees, the outcome being that they then looked at each other with strange expressions on their faces. The common people shoved and squeezed around them, and were much more straight to the point. “This new Emperor of ours—why hasn’t he installed Her Ladyship the Empress?”
Li Gang and Zhen Ping had the same question, but they would never dare to voice it out loud; they hid at the front courtyard gate-house for half a day, watching Aunty Ji prepare lunch, and she said amidst the chaotic thuds of her knife against cutting board, “didn’t he give her that first-rank woman minister title? Perhaps he’s waiting for an auspicious day to install the Empress, you don’t know that.”
The two of them exchanged another glance, and were even more afraid to open their mouths. For some reason, Lin Chen leapt down into the courtyard now, having chased Feiliu across various wall-tops, and yelled for food and drink immediately. Li Gang attempted to probe the meaning of the decree, and was mocked by Lin Chen in response. “What does whether or not that one installs the Empress have to do with you? Are you done packing the luggage to return to Langzhou?”
Li Gang could not win a war of words with him, of course, but he steeled himself still and wanted to return some words in kind, but then Feiliu flew down to the ground with taishi cake in his mouth and shouted while spraying crumbs, “wants you! Come in!”
Li Gang and Zhen Ping hesitated for a while, but they could do nothing but enter the inner courtyard and present the copied decrees to Mei Changsu. Shuffling his wooden sandals, Mei Changsu held a cake in one hand and the decrees in the other, but after reading through once, he put down the cake in a daze, then held up the paper with both hands and read it carefully once more.
Li Gang and Zhen Ping awaited in solemn respect, afraid to even breathe too loudly—Mei Changsu’s face alternated dark and pale, and the paper in his hand shook and fluttered endlessly, though there was no wind on this summer day. It was Lin Chen, in the end, who carried in a cup of cool tea and tore the paper away from him. “Look at you, losing your temper over some small thing again.”
It was as if he had torn away his thoughts as well, and Mei Changsu sat there, head hung in a daze, only discovering after a long time that his hands were still spread, so he collected his fingers blankly and placed them on his legs. The summer heat was still thick, and the sun blazed everything in white, but he only saw a black cloud before his eyes, thunder roaring in his ears—how could the principal Crown Princess Consort, appointed to the Crown Prince and announced to the heavens, earth, and ancestors, with half the marriage rites complete, not be elevated to the Empress for no good reason, but invested as a woman minister instead? How utterly absurd and unprincipled, flagrantly violating clan rules and the code of rites, heedlessly abandoning the dignity and integrity of the throne.
How could Xiao Jingyan commit such sacrilege and risk the condemnation of the world like this? How could he? How dare he!
Mei Changsu felt his mind rattled, body drenched with cold sweat, and struggled upward, seeking to rise forcibly. Lin Chen saw from the side that his face was ghastly white, his breathing quick and disordered, and hurried to put down the bowl of medicine and grasp his wrist, half for diagnosis and half for support. Mei Changsu stood up with his help then pushed away his hand in one move, but did not seem to know where to go, either, until Feiliu tossed his own dessert and came over to lead him, and he followed blindly, returning indoors with his support.
Lin Chen did not pursue, of course, and Li Gang and Zhen Ping only exchanged glances without daring to move. A while later, Wei Zheng came back from court and brought in food and medicine, kneeling before him as if urging to speak; Mei Changsu only gave him a glance and a light shake of the head, so he dipped his head in salute and exited silently, pulling Feiliu out with him; the large hall was left with only Mei Changsu, twisting the belt of his robes in his fingers, lost in thought as he watched the pure sunlight pouring over the eaves.
Nearing noon, the day was clear and quiet, not a cloud in sight; Mei Changsu seemed to be simultaneously in deep contemplation and a dazed trance. Ever since he had gone to the edge of death and returned for Xiao Jingyan, many matters needed not be pondered nor spoken out loud. These months, without much to do as he recuperated, his thoughts lingered, more or less, on the flourishing sight of the new era, its clean golden light—even if Lin Shu could be posthumously recognised, and Mei-lang could be elevated in status, the throne must not be marred with even a hint of the shadow of private intimacy that would tarnish Xiao Jingyan’s eternal good name.
He was not afraid to live, nor was he fearful of death, but it was this anxiety that consumed him. Growing up with Xiao Jingyan, their extraordinary feelings for each other emerged long ago and rooted deep in the bone marrow. When he was young and bold, he was unafraid of rumours, unafraid of family and imperial discipline, standing shoulder to shoulder with Xiao Jingyan, head held high, but who could predict that the vagaries of fate would flay his skin and splinter his bones, leaving him so thoroughly drenched with filthy carnage that he could only willingly hide in corrupted darkness and lift Xiao Jingyan to that place of glory high above, without the opportunity or audacity to be near him again.
And now, the bloody sea of grievances no more, corruption cleared and virtue in its place, he no longer needed to bear the burden of two houses of innocence wronged, seventy thousand heroic souls. He was already gifted a new life, his ill health improving by the day, and he could devote himself to serve the splendour of the new court—but at the brink of life and death, it was love that pulled him back by the heart, and it was clear as day that with the passing of the winter frost, the radiance of spring had germinated that seed inside him, his burning feelings no longer under control.
But the bounds between ruler and subject were clear; besides sending himself far away to live out his days, what other place can he find for himself this life? He knew he could barely restrain his heart at present; if one word or action passed the boundary of propriety, he would fall to eternal damnation alongside Xiao Jingyan.
And he had thought, at first, that Xiao Jingyan knew his heart, that he knew the gravity of country and society weighed against private attachment—but with this one imperial decree proclaimed to all, Xiao Jingyan indeed did not breach the bounds between ruler and subject, but rather risked the condemnation of the world all by himself.
At this thought, it was as if hazy clouds descended on Mei Changsu’s clear eyes. What Qilin Talent, head of the Langya List—he huffed a quiet laugh in self-mockery after a long while, for he truly did not know what to do, what path to follow.
Only when the sun’s silhouette drooped in the west, painting roofs and eaves through with crimson, did Lin Chen bring in food and medicine for the night, taking the opportunity to diagnose his pulse at the same time. Upon the desk, the lunch-time meal and medicine was completely untouched, and Lin Chen only wished he could fling it all in the air. “You, fellow named Mei, what are you making these faces here for? If you dare, go in the palace and show this face to the one who ought to see it!”
Mei Changsu wanted to counter-attack with words, but his ears filled with roaring when he opened his mouth, his circulation weak, so he could only stay quiet and drink his medicine, and was helped by a succession of healers to the bed. He Zhengming leaned against the bedside as he took his pulse, face turning grave immediately as he opened his pouch of needles; Doctor Yan glared furiously, beard trembling as he added medicine to the steaming basket, castigating him all the while, “I’m telling you, don’t think you can recklessly do as you wish again simply because you’ve improved a little these months!”
Mei Changsu only kept his eyes closed as the medicine took effect; cold sweat came out in waves, and the voices of the healers turned increasingly distant; the familiar peculiar medicinal fragrance swarmed his senses, and his head turned murky, falling deeply unconscious without a sound.
His sleep was not peaceful; though he did not experience night terrors or rave and rant as before, his pulse sign was constantly unstable. The physicians kept vigil for half the night before finishing their administrations, and then He Zhengming used the desk by the bed to write the symptoms of his illness in great detail. Though Mei Changsu had recuperated properly according to expectations, his meridians were yet only a fraction of a normal person’s strength, not to mention the lurking threat of residual poison and his chronic illness and overwork—He Zhengming only felt lingering fear as he thought of all this, feeling keenly that they needed to continue careful treatment without any negligence.
Lin Chen watched him with hands tucked in sleeves and suddenly snorted lightly in laughter. “His Majesty will not comprehend it anyway: there is no need to record it so thoroughly.”
He Zhengming could not help blushing. Though the Emperor issued an edict that Sir Su’s condition must be immediately reported, without delay, at the slightest sign of change, he was also ashamed to act as his eyes and ears. Thankfully, on the second day, when he presented the diagnosis in person, the Emperor only ascertained that his life was not at risk, instructing him to report everything in great detail, then set the matter aside without endless questions as before.
Mei Changsu had no clue of these goings-on, of course; his strength of mind, recuperated with much effort after these months, went slack all of a sudden, and he was unconscious for some two or three days before slightly coming around. Though the remaining poison did not recur, his meridian circulation continued its fluctuations, and He Zhengming could not help but ask, “Sir could return from the most dangerous brink between life and death not merely due to the medicine and acupuncture, but more due to your strength of mind, your courage and determination. Why is it now that you are suddenly depressed and anxious to this extent?”
Behind the curtain of medicinal steam, Mei Changsu gazed thoughtfully at the silver needles upon his arm. “Imperial Physician He, if one day, circumstances were to change, and this one were to bring dishonour upon the reign and endanger society, would you also deeply regret bringing me from the precipice of life and death back into the light of day?”
He Zhengming was aghast. “What ever caused Sir to say this?!”
Mei Changsu gave a mild smile and did not wish to answer by any means. After a long while, He Zhengming suddenly replied, “though I do not know what matter has troubled Sir so, I shall make a feeble attempt to answer—this junior was unworthily entrusted by His Majesty, carrying on the wishes of my late ancestors, and in admiration of your spirit to expend the utmost of my familial knowledge and abilities in aiding Sir to your return to this realm. My conscience has been clear thus far.
“The future cannot be known, and you must excuse this junior for being unwise and unable to think ahead; if the unthinkable were to occur in the future, then I will have to make a decision then. For now, I will only regard what is before my eyes, and do my utmost, such that I leave no regrets.”
Mei Changsu’s eyes flickered upon listening, and he seemed to be lost in thought for a good while before replying slowly, “then I must burden Imperial Physician He to do all you can—this one wants to enter the palaces as soon as possible, to meet with His Majesty.”
He Zhengming gave a slight salute, then resumed his doctoring, only settling him into sleep deep in the night after half a day of needles and medicine, and sent the pulse diagnosis and letter into the palace. On the second day, Mei Changsu’s condition had stabilised, and he could rise and stroll briefly in the courtyard, so he sat before the desk and began writing a petition. When it was near noon, Wei Zheng returned with Meng Zhi behind him to visit the patient, and seeing that he was writing in earnest, Meng Zhi nearly jumped in fury. “You mind nothing of your own health, but you should at least mind our distress! Do you know, when I came yesterday to find you unconscious again, how my heart felt—”
“Meng-dage,” Mei Changsu hurriedly interrupted, then put down the brush and consoled him with sincere words; after commanding Wei Zheng to replenish the tea, he changed the subject. “It is now the sixth day of the new Emperor’s court: have there been any unusual activities in Chaoyang Hall?”
Meng Zhi seemed to harbour misgivings, and after some swallowed muttering, he began detailing recent events—since the start of the new court, various orders of good governance and sound reforms have been issued, and the court was naturally diligent in attending to state affairs, but the decree that did not install the Empress nevertheless stirred up its own hidden storm. Liu Cheng and Liu Ji, as the heads of the Secretariat and the Ministry of Rites, used their own seals on the decree that was posted to the imperial bulletin and duplicated across the nation, and made no sounds of protest in response, and so the Censorate[67] also decided to wait and see, only drafting a petition to the throne that the Empress was paramount to the stability of the nation, and asked respectfully for investiture according to protocol without remissness.
But the powerful aristocratic families[68] of Jinling still became restless, debating the matter fiercely in private. The previous court had already seen reduction of nobility titles and stipends; in the new reign, the equal-field reforms were about to be put into practice, and now the Emperor decided not to install the highborn daughter of an aristocratic family without obvious cause, perhaps as a tactic to further decrease the power of the ruling class and establish his own might. On this matter, both Great Grand Prince Ji and Marquis Yan were tight-lipped, though Shen Zhui entered the palace to analyse the risks with profound candour, and then was unafraid to risk offence by stating directly, “the lineage of noble houses has already grown too powerful to be controlled: Your Majesty must not act with undue haste. Not to mention, the Ducal[69] House of Liu is a renowned family of Confucian scholars, and has always been dedicated to public service, unlike those who live off their riches and contribute nothing: Your Majesty should not slight them without cause.”
Xiao Jingyan only replied that his heart was set on this matter, and it had nothing to do with the Liu family, and then only focused on talk of agricultural reforms. The aristocratic families turned all the more perturbed, increasingly petitioning him to install the Empress, and the situation was threatening to boil over into a public scene in the audience hall of the court any day, but Xiao Jingyan continued his seeming indifference, not speaking a word on the matter.
Mei Changsu listened to Meng Zhi’s detailed account with a tilted head, his pale fingers rubbing slowly—the Ducal House of Liu was thrust into the eye of the storm, and their loyalty to the throne was yet another sign of their selfless service to the country. The other aristocratic families were a motley crowd, each with their own private thoughts; the loyal ones perhaps felt quite confused, tentative, and in low spirits, and the treacherous ones were surely harbouring malicious thoughts, intending to take advantage of this opportunity to cause trouble.
At this thought, Mei Changsu’s fingers stopped as he inquired after the details of several prominent families with long legacies of serving in court, increasingly feeling a hidden storm was on the horizon as he listened, his fear difficult to assuage. Meng Zhi discussed with him for a good while, and he began formulating a plan in his head, asking after a long contemplation, “was there anything else of note in court as of late?”
For some reason, Meng Zhi gave a glance at Wei Zheng, who shrunk into himself and pretended not to hear. Mei Changsu was in a keen state of mind, and his eyes instantly narrowed as he asked with a fox-like suspicion, “Meng-dage, what are you hiding from me?”
Meng Zhi already knew that he would not be able to conceal it for long, peering cautiously at Mei Changsu only to see him turn toward Wei Zheng and say gravely, “Wei Zheng, you tell me.”
Wei Zheng dared not stay silent, but dared not say it all, either—in recent days, as per imperial decree, Chaoyang Hall evaluated the merits and accomplishments of each official, and the Secretariat and Ministries of Personnel and War submitted a joint petition, which included mention of Mei Changsu’s aid to the Emperor in pacifying the borders. There was no dissent in the audience hall, but Xiao Jingyan passed over the matter and did not express his opinion; after the topic of discussion turned to bringing peace to the north and the accomplishment of re-fortifying the border garrison, Xiao Jingyan personally set out the imperial stationery and loaded the brush with pine ash ink, writing Changlin Army to bequeath a name to the newly reformed army in the north.
Meng Zhi, who served as the commanding marshal, led a host of generals out in a procession, giving the Emperor military salutes inside the hall and shouting long live Your Majesty. Afterwards, Xiao Jingyan discussed again the matter of granting titles and rewards, but Meng Zhi declined forcefully. “Last year’s expedition extinguished the sixty thousand strong imperial army of Da Yu, giving our all to save the ten cantons of the north from peril; there was not a person in the entire army, top to bottom, who was not dedicated to serving the country, and this humble general dares not appropriate most of the recognition—please pass fair judgment, Your Majesty: when it comes to military accolades at the north, the foremost one must be Army Supervisor Su Zhe, who exerted himself to the utmost to devise winning battle strategies!”
Behind him, former vanguard commander Wei Zheng also expressed to the fullest how Sir had served the country in its time of peril, conscripting soldiers and requisitioning supplies along the journey to the border, organising defences over a vast distance and supervising military operations. His sincere speech of what he personally witnessed, utterly without artifice, moved the entire hall visibly. But unexpectedly, Xiao Jingyan only gave a mild smile. “No need to be humble, you two generals. Sir held the token of authority in supervision and control of the entire situation, and the soldiers also fought bravely, defeating the enemy at the risk of their own lives: this is the accomplishment of the entire Changlin Army.”
But Meng Zhi declined rewards yet again, and the military officers below Wei Zheng also each said their piece; Yan Yujin also spoke fervently, admiring how Sir went to the border for duty, risking his own life without flinching, and thanking his governing of the armed forces and teaching of strategies, the leaving of the treatise that induced enemy surrender; this lead to the High Minister of War, Li Lin, reporting that Su Zhe still dedicated himself to the country during his grave illness, writing the treatise of military reforms, and then Shen Zhui seconded as well, detailing his merits in serving the new Emperor.
Xiao Jingyan gave a slight sigh. “Sir has expended his life-blood for years in aid to this Emperor, and is both mentor and friend to me—how can I not know what you all are speaking of? But his lofty spirit is beyond material gains, and though he harboured the ambition of rectifying the court and bringing peace to the borders, he does not crave the fame and fortune of an official’s career. Not to mention that Sir has drained his poor health to the utmost for the country and people, and I truly do not wish to go against his will and burden him—minister and generals, since you all admire Sir’s spirit, you ought to uphold his true principles along with him, whether high up in court or far on the borders.”
Meng Zhi heeded his words, of course, but he still declined to be rewarded. At this time, Marquis Yan swept out and saluted with ease. “Sir Su has the talent of the Qilin; as one of the greatest minds and spirits of the nation, he is admired by no less than the entire court of officials, civil and military, and the respect he commands is evident. Though he himself does not seek power and fame, Your Majesty ought not to treat him thinly either, to prevent the spirits of capable officials and generals from dampening.”
Xiao Jingyan replied then, “most well said, Marquis Yan—since Sir has such exceptional merits and virtues, by special decree, he is to be privy to Court Permissions, to be bequeathed the Order of Special Merit, to await summons in the Phoenix Pavilion, and to wield the token of authority of the Changlin Army.”
The audience hall fell utterly silent at the sound of the imperial edict, and even Mei Changsu was stunned to sudden unease as he heard it recounted—Court Permissions, usually given to idle officials, nevertheless allowed him to participate in politics[70]; with the Order of Special Merit, he would be ranked just below the Three Dukes in the court audience hall[71]; awaiting summons in Phoenix Pavilion[72] was a privilege of an official of the inner circle, allowing him to reside in the palace chambers overnight to provide counsel as needed[73]. And to hold the token of the Changlin Army was a sign of trust like no other; under the military code of the new court, the border forces were directly under imperial control, and to command them required an imperial edict and both halves of the tiger token[74]: only in war-time were the provincial military governors given emergency powers to command the army.
And so this edict gave him elevation and recognition, but no rank or salary, no title or subordinates—though of great honour, it simultaneously had no effect on court affairs. Even helming the Changlin Army token would only be of concern at a time of war, and not to mention this Sir was famously of poor health, and certainly could not endure the battlefield for long; therefore there was no dissent in the audience hall, only the sound of loyal acceptance.
Meng Zhi wished to speak now, but Mei Changsu stopped him with a raised hand. In front of the entire court, Xiao Jingyan recognised him to have served him for years, as both mentor and friend; to have corrected the corruption in the court, ended war, and brought peace; in front of the entire court, he invited him to advise in court politics, to await summons as a counsellor, and entrusted him with the army token and war-time powers—so this was what Xiao Jingyan meant by knowing his heart, following his mind.
Undefinable emotions surged inside him. Lin Chen had been sunning medicinal herbs under the veranda, and heard their talk clearly through the window; with the room having descended into sudden silence, he walked around through the doors, hands in sleeves, to ensure Mei Changsu was not overtaxing himself into illness again, and saw him look upon Meng Zhi and Wei Zheng and say with a long sigh, “you really are loyal subjects and virtuous generals, to create such a state of affairs with him!”
Meng Zhi and Wei Zheng did not dare to respond, of course, but Lin Chen found it amusing. “What, you only like to overturn court affairs, but you don’t like it when court affairs overturn you?”
Mei Changsu huffed a self-mocking laugh; he did, after all, deceive friends and family when executing his plan for justice and the throne, and now he was getting his deserved comeuppance; moreover, compared to the matter of his own advancement or retreat, he was now more concerned about the activities of prominent families. After seeing Meng Zhi off and dismissing Wei Zheng, he took food and medicine as per doctors’ orders, then leaned against the bamboo bed-couch in the courtyard corner, looking afar at the eaves of the palace for a long time without ever closing his eyes, and then returned to the house, setting out ink and paper to write a new petition.
The late-summer afternoon was quiet, and the golden incense burner was leaning against the gauze window cover, draping the desk area in warm, fragrant mist. Feiliu reclined quietly to the side, folding paper with raised arms and creating a series of rustling. Utterly focused, Mei Changsu moved his brush in a vigorous dance, when suddenly a human shadow seemed to move across the window gauze in the corner of his eye, and Feiliu flipped up into sitting and cried out while looking at him, “Water Buffalo!”
Mei Changsu’s heart gave a swift light stutter, and when he raised his eyes he saw his new Emperor, the one who had been on his mind day and night, in black dragon embroidery, gold hairpin and jeweled tassels, step out of the bright sun with a single stride and stand before him, tall and majestic, close enough to touch.
Notes:
Super busy recently, always putting down one thing only to pick something else up.
800 things on my mind.
So it’s really hard to get some quiet time and clean up all the tangled things weighing on my Mei-laoshi’s mind.
Just a rushed update from a bit of free time these last few days.
If there are mistakes, will fix later when I get the chance.
Translation Footnotes (click the numbers to return to the text in-place):
[67] The Censorate/御史台 was a government agency beginning in the Han Dynasty that acted as the Emperor's eyes and ears, supervising the governmental atmosphere and reporting wrongdoing to the Emperor.
[68] The Northern and Southern Dynasties NiF is loosely based on were particularly known in Chinese history as a time when these aristocratic families/世家 had a stranglehold on political influence, such that the entire bureaucracy was filled with those from rich, influential backgrounds. It would have been very difficult for a commoner like Mei Changsu to have a significant position in government.
[69] There are five ancient levels of peerage/爵 that roughly correspond to European nobility, in descending order: 公/duke, 侯/marquis, 伯/count, 子/viscount, and 男/baron. These titles were granted by the Emperor to imperial family members and important officials.
[70] Court Permissions/朝请 is a special right granted during Han and Jin Dynasties to allow someone to attend court, usually given as a courtesy to people without much actual involvement in politics, such as imperial family members.
[71] Originating in the Han Dynasty, the Order of Special Merit/特进 is not a position, but a special honor conferred for outstanding public service. The Three Dukes/三公 are the three most prominent ministers in ancient bureaucracy, and the positions changed throughout history; book canon mentioned their existence but did not specify the exact three roles in Liang government, though one possibility is the Imperial Tutor/太师, Imperial Preceptor/太傅, and Imperial Guardian/太保.
[72] The Phoenix Pavilion/凤阁 is a general name for a lavish pavilion inside the palace complex, and also the name of the Secretariat under Emperor Wu Zetian (the only woman emperor); palaces/宫 are for living, halls/殿 are for state affairs, and pavilions/阁 are freestanding buildings smaller than both. In show canon, Mei Changsu recommended Cheng Zhiji of the Phoenix Pavilion for the official selecting candidates for the bureaucracy, and the pavilion seems to be a place for hosting senior and retired officials. Phoenix here is feng again, though it does not mean the Empress in this context, but rather imperial power in general (throughout the original, Mei Changsu is described as having feng eyes/凤目 as well, an expression for beautiful eyes).
[73] Originating in the Han Dynasty, counselors awaiting summons/待诏 were not official positions but could be called on by the Emperor at any time, and were often elite intellectuals at the top of their specialized field such as literati, painters, diviners, philosophers, and qi players.
[74] The tiger token/虎符 is made up of two halves of a tiger, the army commander and the Emperor each holding a half, and the army is instructed to not mobilize without seeing both. This is a method of authentication, since most people don’t know what the Emperor looks like, and prevents the army commander from rebelling.
Chapter 23: Breaching Bounds
Notes:
Translator’s Note: Moments of dubious consent in this chapter.
———————Live at the scene of major defense-breaching————————
Chapter Text
Mei Changsu looked upon Xiao Jingyan in a daze, only dropping his ink brush in a near panic after a good while, reaching out and calling to Feiliu to help him, then rising with a struggle. By now, Xiao Jingyan had walked right before him, wanting to take over the role of support from Feiliu, but Mei Changsu pushed him away slow and firm, dismissed Feiliu, then rearranged his robes and stood firm, making a proper salute from subject to ruler, prostrating to the ground with humble reverence. “This servant, Lin Shu, salutes Your Majesty.”
Xiao Jingyan looked upon that thin back and spine, eyes burning without realisation, and stood tall and firm, accepting his obeisance, before bending down and extending his hand. Mei Changsu looked up, seeing those fingers reach toward him from the dragon-embroidered sleeves, long and strong, joints well-defined with rough calluses, looking quite trustworthy and impossible to resist.
Xiao Jingyan waited quietly for a long while, until Mei Changsu reached out to make delicate contact with his fingertips, and then he clutched his hand without further delay. Mei Changsu seemed to shrink back for an instant, but before he could respond further, Xiao Jingyan had already gathered all of him into his arms—he leaned down, half kneeling, embracing him fiercely as if wanting to embed him into his very bones, until he heard his own rapid heartbeat thunder against Mei Changsu’s sternum, and then hot tears rolled down swiftly as he sighed against endured pain.
With his head on Xiao Jingyan’s shoulder, Mei Changsu’s cheek was pressed against the dark and delicate stitches of the embroidered dragon, fairly burning his face red and setting his ears full of roaring. In this trance, Xiao Jingyan’s iron-clad arms loosened slightly, followed by a hot callused palm clasping his nape, cool and strong fingertips thrusting into his hair, and then Xiao Jingyan crushed his mouth to his without room for resistance.
Mei Changsu’s mind wanted to struggle, but his body could not muster any strength, so he closed his eyes in spiritless surrender, permitting Xiao Jingyan to embrace him, hold him, kiss him again and again, crude yet tender. The boundaries stoically abided for months, nay, years were breached in an instant, and their noses bumped against each other as they turned and tilted to kiss deeply, their intermingled tears smearing over both faces, and it could not be distinguished whose panting, whose weeping, were devoured between locked lips and clashing teeth.
Xiao Jingyan supported Mei Changsu’s nape with one hand, thumb caressing the soft and faintly sweating place behind his ear, mouth sucking hard and biting at his tongue, full of that rare and peculiar medicinal fragrance, and still it seemed the one in his arms would slip away from him. Intermingled desire and unease swelled up inside, and his other hand spread unconsciously, wandering up and down that thin back with tenderness.
Mei Changsu had begun gasping and gulping under his ministrations, and even his ears were blooming bright red. The heat of Xiao Jingyan’s palm passed through his thin robes and burned indistinctly, straight into his bones. With his condition fluctuating in the past few days, the administered acupuncture and medicine acted to supplement and warm his meridians, and now his invigorated qi and blood surged; he felt as if he were a-flame, his limbs slow and heavy, and in this uninhibited daze, his half-lidded eyes suddenly saw clearly the fierce dragon scales upon Xiao Jingyan’s robe hem, and he could not help but start in alarm, coming back to his senses instantly and struggling with trembling hands.
But by now, how could Xiao Jingyan allow him to escape; Mei Changsu put up a bent arm to reject him, turning his head down and to the side in evasion, his eyelashes fluttering along with his sleeves; thus provoked, Xiao Jingyan caught the pair of thin pale wrists in one motion and landed his mouth on the curve of that drooping neck.
Mei Changsu shook in apprehension, and when his body stiffened, Xiao Jingyan hefted him with brute strength, scooping all of him up into his arms, then rose and strode toward the bedroom. Mei Changsu’s eyes rounded, his limbs curling in shame—he was a man with dignity, too, but now he was being carried like this, with utterly no strength to struggle, as he gripped Xiao Jingyan’s robes and was gently placed in the centre of his own bed.
A thick backrest was still upon the bed, but Mei Changsu dared not lean against it, instead scrambling in a panic to fold his legs and kneel up, but Xiao Jingyan leaned over and grabbed his ankle. Mei Changsu did not know where his gaze should fall—the contour of the person before his eyes was obviously still handsome and gallant, with his round and tender eyes, the same familiar expression, but in his golden imperial hairpin, his dragon-embroidered black robes, he displayed more imposing grandeur than before. And so Mei Changsu looked only at that pair of warm and ardent eyes, swallowed hard once, then rasped with difficulty, “Your Majesty.”
Xiao Jingyan only examined him thoughtfully, his palm climbing a steady path up his ankle, slowly and surely feeling inside the hem of his robes. Mei Changsu froze all over, his low and tight voice unable to disguise his anxious pain. “Your Majesty!”
His palm had already caressed past his slightly cool calf, and it paused at his voice for a bit before turning to touch the inner side of his thigh. And now Mei Changsu could no longer do nothing, and pressed down on to Xiao Jingyan’s hand through his robes. “Your Majesty—
“Please, Your Majesty, do not disgrace yourself! This servant’s frail sickly frame is unworthy of regard, but Your Majesty absolutely must not be trapped by this deplorable impropriety.”
Xiao Jingyan’s eyes flickered, his hand tightening simultaneously as if holding back pain and speech, for a long while, before he said in a low voice, “deplorable? Impropriety?!”
Mei Changsu took the opportunity to curl his legs and kneel up hurriedly, and though that searing palm was still upon his thigh, he bent down, hunching in prostration as he pleaded, “Your Majesty! If Your Majesty breaches the proper bounds between ruler and subject to-day, your name risks being disgraced for all future generations in eternal damnation!”
Face dark, Xiao Jingyan’s entire body was full of barely controlled fury; Mei Changsu looked up mournfully to watch his expression, and it was finally enough agitation for his rage to overflow; he wrenched Mei Changsu’s knee to inverted him down on the pillow in one move, then said with gritted teeth, “since you think this Emperor is already deplorably improper merely by being close to you, then let my name be disgraced in damnation for all time!”
As he finished speaking, he flipped himself on to the bed, one hand still lifting Mei Changsu’s knee up high, and the other beginning to pull open his clothing. Mei Changsu’s loose robes fell wide open with ease, baring his body, and he half leaned against the backrest, his face red and teary, chest thin and pale, his belt strewn across the crucial place as he begged, as if with the lamentation of the dying, “Your Majesty, Your Majesty.”
Beckoned closer, Xiao Jingyan bent his own knee to push Mei Changsu’s legs wide open, then loosened his belt, undid the front of the robes, and pulled down his under-clothes, bending over to land a kiss on his shoulder—after his flayed skin and splintered bones, the frequent submerging and steaming in medicine, Mei Changsu’s entire body was delicate and pale, lukewarm to the touch, as if a flawless piece of white jade, dispersing a rare fragrance that made one’s blood boil.
At this juncture, Mei Changsu had lost all capacity for thought, and with no place to hide, he covered his face with his arm, neck tilted back as he let Xiao Jingyan have his way. Xiao Jingyan kissed him from his shoulder to clavicle, then licked from clavicle to chest, gently nibbling and sucking on his nipple; after his wanton dallying, he went further downward, his tongue tracing his navel, and he felt what was below already half raised, nudging the hollow of his neck, wet and cool.
And so Xiao Jingyan gripped it with one hand; the firm massage of his callused fingers, gripping and kneading, amounted to no less than a secret torture, causing Mei Changsu to arch up and squirm continuously. Xiao Jingyan did not mind him, raising his gaze instead to find the ointment frequently at the bedside for his massages, taking it and thumbing open the lid, dipping in his index finger until well-lubricated and pushing it toward Mei Changsu’s opening.
By now Mei Changsu could take it no longer, his mind inflamed, body blazing, and when he raised his arm and looked again, he saw himself bare from chest to abdomen, covered with obscene wetness, and Xiao Jingyan was still in his orderly imperial black robes, eyes teary, thin lips red, kneeling most properly between his legs, one hand holding Mei Changsu’s erect cock, and the other could not be seen, but could be felt, as a long finger entered his passage, firm and slow.
The sensation of foreign intrusion nearly forced Mei Changsu to cry out; after that overnight cataclysm, he often felt ashamed of this frail and sickly body, unwilling to expose himself in front of Xiao Jingyan. Not to mention Xiao Jingyan’s forbidding majesty of imperial robes and hairpin, and the ruler-subject bound a thorn obstructing his heart, and so he found himself increasingly unworthy of being seen. But Xiao Jingyan stubbornly fixed his gaze upon his abashed squirming, his second finger feeding inside him, slow yet unrelenting.
Mei Changsu began struggling, after all, curling his body and reaching out to grip Xiao Jingyan’s wrist, his mouth coughing and panting, a pained “Your Majesty” tearing out from his throat. Xiao Jingyan was provoked to laugh in extreme anger, one hand capturing his hands and the other slipping out from the lubricated entrance to lift his own robes and pull down his own pants, revealing the Emperor’s member, purple and swollen and pulsing, and he leaned down to hold himself against that entrance, giving Mei Changsu’s hands a hard squeeze so his eyes rounded in pain. “Your Majesty?! Then look carefully, and see exactly what you are doing with this Majesty of yours!”
Mei Changsu exclaimed in shocked pain; Xiao Jingyan had already pressed in, cool and large and unstoppable, and Mei Changsu cried out unbearably, all his grievances channeled into one hoarse sound, “Jingyan—”
Xiao Jingyan started, his cold anger suddenly vanishing without a trace. He released Mei Changsu’s hands and took off his own outer robes, leaning down to embrace him, then pulled loose his black inner robes and shielded Mei Changsu within it, pressing him against his own bare and sincere chest. And Mei Changsu finally reached out to embrace him tightly, burying his tear-soaked face in the hollow of his neck, his hesitant, brooding heart as if a boat unmoored in fearsome waves that finally anchored at a harbour, safe and sound.
“Don’t be afraid.” Xiao Jingyan cupped his trembling nape, landing soft coaxing kisses at his ear, his legs gradually straining to push his large erect cock, gently and firmly, inside Mei Changsu. “It’s Jingyan, don’t be afraid.”
After his flayed skin and splintered bones, damaged vessels and severed meridians, Mei Changsu had not done such things in over a decade, long having lost all interest. Xiao Jingyan was in his healthy prime, but had also not done this for a long time, and he held himself back, forehead full of veins and dense sweat, focusing instead on continuing to caress Mei Changsu’s trembling leg crook in careful reassurance. Lin Shu was the greediest of them all when he was young, every time entwining himself with him, endlessly begging for more and unwilling to let go, and now, this man was trembling in pain, but the arms clutched across his back also did not let go.
Xiao Jingyan’s heart constricted in tender pain, and he dared not move rashly, only staying buried all the way and making tiny ceaseless motions, to and fro. Perhaps Mei Changsu felt a throbbing pain, for his whole body clung about him firmly, and his passage also clenched tight around him in waves; Xiao Jingyan only felt his entire self melt and soften in these bindings, and he held on with all of his lovesickness undying.
After a long while in a seeming deep dream, he felt a sudden tingling surged up and down his spine; he tightened his arms around Mei Changsu and thrust desperately once, then the warm and soft passage constricted hard around him abruptly, draining all of his hot and wet essence utterly. The man in his arms moaned out loud as well, and he tilted his head to kiss him deeply, rocking a few times with cocked hips before feeling Mei Changsu’s body relax, both inside and out, and turn docile and intimate in his embrace.
Without withdrawing himself, Xiao Jingyan reached out to shift the backrest away, then turned the both of them sideways, pillowing Mei Changsu on his arm, and fit him wholly in his embrace. After his release, Xiao Jingyan was drenched in sweat, slippery and sticky, and Mei Changsu seemed to find their hold insufficient, his limbs twining around as he kissed him again and again.
And so Xiao Jingyan entwined their tongues in return, lingering and deepening, their savouring of each other audible, and one of his hands reached about to dab some ointment again, then held Mei Changsu’s yet half-raised cock and rubbed it slow and steady, as if cleaning a bow. The calluses on his palm, coated with ointment, were both velvety and rough, even more difficult to bear than earlier, and the times where his thumb passed over the dewy crown, Mei Changsu nearly could not resist whimpering, his hips and legs quivering against him.
Xiao Jingyan opened his eyes to see tears fluttering down from Mei Changsu’s long lashes, the corners of his eyes burning red, entrancing like the trembling beauty of winter plum blossoms braving the wind. So he added more dabs of colour to the picture, and his own instrument, buried in that warm valley, gradually swelled again to fill the utterly drenched hollow.
Mei Changsu was already dazed and muddled from the surge of intense arousal, his first in a long time; Xiao Jingyan had pressed tightly against him, and with their hold shifting to loosen slightly, he only realised now that the cock inside him had re-grown stiff and large to such extent, and he gazed, wide and fearful, at Xiao Jingyan. With eyes round and brimming, Xiao Jingyan beheld those glittering beautiful eyes, captivating red lips, how his hidden passage convulsed under difficult strain, and so he thrust forward, burying his weapon furiously up to the hilt inside that body.
Caught by surprise, Mei Changsu moaned out loud as the turbulent pleasure swept through him; helpless against the thrusts, he felt in a daze that the constant rises and falls were almost like riding a wild horse, endless in its dangerous thrills. Only an instant later, he could not help but clamber on to Xiao Jingyan deathly tight, tears falling like broken strands of pearls against the intolerably intense and heavy attack, feeling himself nearly dissolving in overpowering pleasure.
Xiao Jingyan still trapped him unyieldingly in his arms, and hearing his whimpering in snatches, his shivering fingertips even turning cooler, only now did he slow his invasion, pulling himself out entirely out of the hot clinging place and then thrusting all the way back in, slow and ruthless. Slightly relieved from the tempest, Mei Changsu seemed both aggrieved yet pliant as he tilted his head, nudged him with his lips, and sought the comfort of his kisses.
So Xiao Jingyan caressed the soft burning contour of his ear as he kissed those dewy red lips, alternately romantic and wanton, and brought him to ebb and flow together; some time later, their cascading pleasure had spiralled into another storm, the torrent flooding from inside out, and they climbed to the summit of climax as one, to their hearts’ sublime content.
And then it was all muddled chaos, and Mei Changsu fell asleep with his forehead in the crook of Xiao Jingyan’s neck, mind blunted and vacant. Some unknown time later, the hot and clammy feeling around him gradually faded; he then felt something foreign enter that swollen, tender place again and could not help but shiver, and when he came to his senses, he reached back to tug on Xiao Jingyan’s arm. “Don’t move.”
Xiao Jingyan stopped his finger as instructed, and his other hand pulled his own under-robes to cover Mei Changsu hastily then shielded his eyes. “Don’t be afraid, I am only cleaning for you.”
Mei Changsu seemed to bear it for a moment, then struggled again, wanting to pull out his hand. Xiao Jingyan felt a pang in his heart; each time they finished when they were young, Lin Shu always parted his own legs with a swagger, commanding him to clean the filth he had left. At this thought, Xiao Jingyan forced a laugh. “You were like a mud-skipper when little, always hot and sweaty, but demanded to be clean when it came to this every time. Now you are of pure and spotless character, but you won’t allow yourself to be tidied?”
Mei Changsu knew he sought to console him, and turned ever more melancholic. Xiao Jingyan kissed him upon his hair; young Lin Shu was like a fresh ripe fruit, every satisfying bite succulent and sweet, and though he did not expect him to grow up to become this cool and distant plum sprig, he found this, too, fairly enchanting, the striking sweet fragrance enthralling his soul. “When you were back from the north, in your long sleep, every few days I cleaned and massaged your body; there is nothing I haven’t already seen and touched.
“Even if you are covered in burns and scars, tumours and furs, I would think it wonderful as long as you could be by my side, let alone what you look like now.”
“Xiao-Shu, you must know my heart: we are far more than amorous bedfellows. And not to mention, the Mei-lang of present-day is like the bright moon in a fine breeze, crystalline pure as jade, sweet and pliant, how can you not compare to—”
Mei Changsu bit Xiao Jingyan upon the undulating knot on his throat, stopping him before he could continue that sentence further down its peculiar direction; he pulled out his finger with force, and mumbled after a while, “just leave it there. Don’t trouble yourself.”
So Xiao Jingyan wiped the musk off himself as best he could in passing, with the mess that was the quilt, then held Mei Changsu in his arms again, falling asleep for a short while in their tenderness, and when his eyes opened again, the sun had already set outside the window; as he looked down, Mei Changsu was surprisingly awake, finger hooked in his dragon robe belt thoughtfully, a look of pensive contemplation on his face.
Xiao Jingyan did not ask him out loud, but he saw Mei Changsu tilt his head up to kiss the corner of his mouth, his eyes clear and cold. “Jingyan, you ought to go back.”
He made a vague sound of agreement, then rubbed against him for a good while before rising, sitting with his back to him at the bedside, then saying in casual understatement, “your meals and medicine must have been delayed; I will call someone in.”
Mei Changsu rose too, putting robes back on hastily, then picking up Xiao Jingyan’s black robes and dressing him with utmost care—when he was young, he had often helped Xiao Jingyan dress in robes and armour just so, and he did not feel out of practice now, either, each layer donned prim and proper, and at the end he took the cloth belt, wrapping himself about Xiao Jingyan’s waist to tie it at his back with two exploring hands.
Xiao Jingyan also took the opportunity to raise his arms and embrace him, heart to heart. They held each other for a good long while, unwilling to part, and Xiao Jingyan asked in a low voice, in the end, “xiao-Shu, are you willing to stay, can you…not go?”
Mei Changsu was similar to him in stature, the sides of their heads and hair rubbing each other, his chin propped against his shoulder. At this query, he seemed to ponder for a moment, then lightly dipped his head once, but finally shook it soundlessly.
And so Xiao Jingyan asked no more; after a long while, he pushed him away gently and retrieved a military token of black iron from the pocket in his sleeve, scrutinising it for a moment, lost in thought, before passing it to him with both hands. Mei Changsu received it with head lowered, seeing the icy, fire-quenching light of the iron token, biting in its chill, with Changlin inscribed on the obverse and the Emperor’s seal on the inverse, as weighty to the touch as the iron-clad spirit of the tens-of-thousand-strong army.
His countenance could not help but turn solemn, and Xiao Jingyan gave him a deep look as he entrusted ardently, “if the country should come to peril, return swiftly when you are summoned.”
Mei Changsu clutched the token tightly and half-knelt in a grave military salute. Xiao Jingyan leaned down to kiss him softly upon his brow. “When you’ve decided on the leaving date, at least give me a notice.”
As he finished speaking, Xiao Jingyan forced himself to stand up straight, his usually erect posture fairly stooped with apparent great sorrow. He fixed his gaze once more upon the thin, seemingly-quivering man at his feet, then left without another word.
Chapter 24: Bidding Farewell
Notes:
————Mei-lang of Jiangzuo’s grand farewell speaker circuit—————
——————It’s my Nirvana in Fire ensemble cast———————
—————Mei-laoshi’s Yanyan is such a (Mary) Su[75]————————
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
With head lowered, Mei Changsu watched the heavy hems of Xiao Jingyan’s robes sway as he left his sight, duty-bound to forge forward without looking back. The room was utterly quiet, and it seemed he could hear those footsteps stride over the door threshold, cross through the colonnades, then gradually disappear in the courtyard of Su Manor.
Mei Changsu finally slumped to the ground from silently kneeling; he took a deep, trembling breath against the pain that surrounded him everywhere, inside and out. Having indulged in fleeting pleasure, in this aftermath, it nearly felt like his bones had been splintered and skin flayed anew, his body and heart as if stripped apart, raw and bloody, like the final sacrificial offering to that man, now nearly all rendered to ashes.
He endured the pain for a long while, finally hefting himself to stand with the desk for support, and walked to the bed, fumbling for the mess of a quilt to drape it over himself, then sat down before the bed, hugging his knees. Traces of Xiao Jingyan’s scent still lingered here, warm and precious, giving him an insubstantial wisp of comfort.
Movement sounded outside the veranda some unknown time later, and then Lin Chen walked leisurely in, placing his candle far away at the entrance, and approached him to hand over a bowl of medicine. “Not that I mean to disrupt your sweet after-event remembrances, but it is late, and the medicine can be delayed no longer.”
Mei Changsu gave a small bitter smile, then looked up at the draught, dark as ink, and felt a sudden weariness. He sighed despite himself and said, “that day, at Meiling: why did you have to save me?”
Lin Chen retracted the bowl; he tried to discern Mei Changsu’s expression via the distant candlelight, why ever he would say such a death wish of a thing out loud, but he could not see clearly after a long moment, and laughed instead. “Changsu, you think too highly of me—before, when the fierce winds of Meiling sought to keep your soul there, it was you yourself who struggled back to life.”
Mei Changsu was silent for a long time upon hearing, and in the end, took the bowl and drank it all in one tilt of the head. Lin Chen watched with smiling eyes, and gave him a bottle of heart protection pills as he handed back the empty bowl. Mei Changsu did not demur, either, swallowing one pill then rolling the bottle in his hand as he said, “it will be a month since Jingyan’s coronation on the seventeenth next month. On that day, then: we should go back to Langzhou anyhow, and it will be too cold if we wait any longer.”
Lin Chen made a vague sound of agreement, only urging him to lie back on the bed; the draught was mixed with medicine to calm the mind and induce sleep, and the unknowing Mei Changsu drifted into a deep sleep not long after. Lin Chen did not deal with the dishevelled bed either, gingerly approaching to take his pulse, then called Wei Zheng to come in and keep watch before swaggering off in his usual manner.
The Su Manor inner courtyard continued in its unlit tranquility. At the same time, though the gardens of the imperial city were brightly glowing, Yangju Hall was also desolate and silent, without a single hint of sound or movement. Meng Zhi was on duty to-day; after declining the position of Changlin Marshal thrice, he re-assumed command of the Imperial Guards, reorganising palace defences into order, but also acted as both thief and constable to-day, sending the Emperor out of the palace on the sly, and waited until dark to secretly receive him.
As he watched Xiao Jingyan sit down properly with a dark expression, picking up the imperial brush without a word and beginning to remark on petitions and memoranda, as if he did not know joy or sorrow, Meng Zhi thought that this trip was unlikely to have fulfilled its purpose. From his far place by the gates of the hall, Meng Zhi suddenly recalled Mei Changsu once called him lonely, and now, looking back, that youth who frolicked wild across Jinling with Lin Shu like a flourishing tree in spring—when had he turned so hard as stone?
With his honest and frank disposition, Meng Zhi could stomach this no further, and he exited to inspect the stationed palace patrols; when he returned to Yangju Hall, he saw the lights dimmed inside and expected Xiao Jingyan to be asleep, but at the third night watch on midnight and the changing of the guards, as he entered the hall for his typical inspection rounds, he saw Xiao Jingyan, clothes draped casually, squatting before the bed, that old bright red bow in his hand as he gazed upon it against a single light, lost in thought.
Meng Zhi could not help but walk in heavily, kneeling low and asking in earnest, “Since Your Majesty has already committed to the decision, why must you be hard on yourself so?”
Xiao Jingyan stroked the body of the bow, huffing lightly in laughter as he heard. “I have only committed to the decision with my own self.”
Meng Zhi did not understand their sorrow-laden hearts, and bursted out, “xiao-Shu thinks heavy thoughts, but because his mind is tied to Your Majesty! Since Your Majesty has decided, you ought to say it to him clear—how can he not regard Your Majesty’s heart?”
Xiao Jingyan stood, placing the red bow, oiled as new, back on the stand before the bed, then looked vacantly around him with hands clasped behind his back, his gaze dark toward this most shielded yet utterly empty space of the hall. “Meng-qing, look at this hall, how desolate and barren it is despite its lofty grandeur. Here is to be the prison of my own making for the rest of my life—this Emperor had no other choice, and shall harbour no regrets, but he does not have to endure this misery.
“Far away from this imperial city, he is still the head of the Langya List, Mei-lang of Jiangzuo, lord of the largest alliance in the world, living a dashing, unrestrained Jianghu existence, and worshipped by thousands. Even this court will remember his courageous retirement at the proper time, his grand selfless spirit, and rely on his command of the army token, his swift return in times of peril; the annals of future histories, too, will be most generous to his good name.
“How is this unkind to him in any way? Better than staying with this Emperor, devoting his energies, draining his life-blood, meanwhile suffering glaring spears and hidden arrows, slanders and rumours—he told me bitterly today of the ruler-subject bounds, and how can I not know that if we breach those bounds, it matters not much for me, but it is him whose good name would be tarnished, who would be consigned to eternal damnation.
“Though I have redeemed matters best I could, emptied palace chambers, built for him steps of advancement, I cannot—dare not—keep him.
“I...can only let him be.”
Meng Zhi’s fierce eyes burned red at those words; he gritted his teeth and stiffened his neck against his emotions for a long while, forming a fist and hitting his own leg in fury, then turned and left. On the next day, Xiao Jingyan attended court as if nothing was amiss, and Mei Changsu also finished his petition, clearly analysing the hidden motives of each noble family in Jinling, as well the method to hold each in thrall, then wrote some language at the end along the line of advising for divine providence and moral laws to be followed by installing the Empress soon; after ordering Wei Zheng to relay it to the Emperor, he began arranging the matters for his return to Langzhou.
When he had left for the north last year, Su Manor had already been cleaned, and only odds and ends remained such as the luggage and vehicles, assigning people to posts, tasks that Li Gang and Zhen Ping were long used to doing; Mei Changsu only had one thing that slightly clung to his mind. One day, when He Zhengming came in to serve medicine, he said to him in low peaceful tones, “Imperial Physician He, Lin Chen is indebted to you as the recipient of your unreserved teachings, and can already treat this one’s condition; now that my date of departure has been set, I thank you very much for your care over this long time.”
He Zhengming was not surprised; that day when the Emperor stealthily arrived here, the inner courtyard dismissing everyone, a full night without lighting, and then seeing the marks all over Mei Changsu's body the next day, he already knew this talk was coming, and saluted at once. “Sir, this junior is slow and simple, but not foolish. When you were in your deep sleep at Tiger Hill, I observed how His Majesty treated Sir, and already knew a thing or two.
“This junior does not know the past between His Majesty and Sir, but I know the strength of your spirits. Not to mention I am a physician, not an imperial censor, and even less an official historian: my only duty is to heal patients, not to pass judgment on virtue.
“Please do not hold scruples over this, Sir; Before you are fully healed, this junior will follow you where ever you go.”
Mei Changsu did not expect this talk, and nodded silently after a while of being lost in thought. With this matter resolved, the ninth month approached, and its first day was once again that of imperial clansfolk and family entering the palace to pay respects. Mei Changsu had already ordered some precious medicines prepared, and was planning to enter the palace in the afternoon, when the nobles had dispersed, to pay respects and bid farewell to the Empress Dowager.
Lin Chen had eyed this opportunity to open his own medicine chest and fairly price the items therein for the customer, letting Mei Changsu choose freely. Mei Changsu selected the most rare and precious of ready-made medicines, but not only was he unwilling to pay at the end, he would not even write a single stroke of a promissory note. “This time you’ve learned the art of repairing meridians: how much should you be paying instead?”
Lin Chen did not expect this turn, and Feiliu had already hugged the hand-selected box of gifts and leapt away, so he could only grab on to Mei Changsu with his hand. “Really, you—did I somehow learn the secret family healing art of the Meis?”
He Zhengming and Doctor Yan watched from the sides with hands in sleeves, laughing at their bickering. But at the same moment, Meng Zhi and Lie Zhanying were watching with knitted brows, hands on their weapons, at the imperial clansfolk and top officials filling the audience hall with an uproar—the matter of installing the Empress had finally erupted in public, on the first new moon of the Emperor’s reign; the clansfolk and aristocrats who were most negatively impacted by the new court’s reforms naturally came prepared, and used the matter of the Empress as a pretence to create a commotion, condemning Xiao Jingyan, both out in the open and in thinly veiled terms, for flouting the code of rites and established laws, and stating that this would surely breed chaos and invite disaster.
Certainly no meek coward, Xiao Jingyan snorted coldly at once. “Who is breeding chaos? From whence is disaster invited? This Emperor wants to have a good look!”
The sound of harboured ulterior motives within the hall suddenly wilted by half. Several branches of clansfolk, long having organised in private, now exchanged glances at each other, then someone spoke some words of conciliation, but in the end, the monarch and his subjects parted on unhappy terms. Xiao Jingyan had already communicated the matter of not installing the Empress during in the mourning period to his most entrusted clansfolk and subjects, and although he did not have their approval, neither would they be the origin of troubles; the ones clamouring to start things now, whom he had observed with cold eyes, must have also planned this for a long time.
When Mei Changsu entered the palaces to pay respects to the Empress Dowager, he did not detect any anomalous activities within the walls. The palace attendant went in to announce him, and Xiao Tingsheng came out first in welcome—although he did not yet have an official title and status, he was under the personal care of the Empress Dowager, and had become ever more tall and upstanding, graceful and striking, obviously imbued with the stateliness of an imperial family member.
Mei Changsu brightened on the inside, and brought him before the Empress Dowager with a smile. Before he even finished his ritual greeting, she hurried to call him closer, and asked after his condition in great detail, sighing at the end, “oh, you child! How can I set my heart at ease.”
He leaned in closer. “With the Empress Dowager’s heart minding this servant, my sickly frame will surely improve day by day.”
He knew how to win the favour of the late Grand Empress Dowager ever since he was little, and now applied his full filial abilities to cheer up his elder, to great effect, and the Empress Dowager talked with him jovially for a while before instructing the attendant, “go out and have a look at what the Emperor is doing. If he is not busy, say that Sir Su has come and ask him to come have a chat.”
Mei Changsu hurried to stop her. “His Majesty is most busy with state affairs, and how can this servant dare disturb him…in fact, I came in to the palace today with a matter to report to the Empress Dowager.”
And so she dismissed the attendants and Xiao Tingsheng, her dark brows wrinkling as she asked, “what is it?”
He dared not raise his head, and prostrated in a salute. “His Majesty has been enthroned for nearly a full month, and court affairs are tranquil, the country at peace. This servant has resolved various matters at Jinling, and ought to return to seclusion in the Jianghu.”
Before the Empress Dowager even finished hearing his words, her pearly tears already streamed down, and she stood from the mat with her back turned, covering her face as she wept quietly. Mei Changsu kowtowed anxiously. “Please do not be sorrowful, Empress Dowager; you are most wise to what is right and proper, and what the correct choice must be!”
She only recovered after a long while, murmuring, “if I were only the Empress Dowager, I would of course thank you for observing the fundamental virtues[76]. But I am also Jingyan’s mother, and your Aunt Jing—how can my heart not be saddened by this state of affairs!”
Mei Changsu had nothing to say in reply, and could only kowtow again. “Aunt Jing, please forgive Lin Shu for being unable to serve at your side and perform my filial duties, in repayment of the debt of gratitude owed.”
The Empress Dowager could not bear to turn back, and called the attendants to grant him a shoulder litter for sending him off. Mei Changsu saluted once more, lifting his sleeve to dab hastily at his tears, then left in silence. Before the gates of the palace hall, the litter approached from afar, and the newly-relieved former Director of Inner Palace Affairs, Gao Zhan, held a box of desserts in his hand, a procession of eunuchs with gifts after him, all appearing to have been waiting at the steps for long.
“Gao-gonggong[77].” Mei Changsu dipped his head in salute, and suddenly saw that the box in his hand seemed old and familiar; amidst his perplexity, Gao Zhan opened it to reveal a pair of exquisite longevity peach[78] desserts, most well-made and pretty. Mei Changsu froze on the spot as memories flooded his mind; in those days, it was only the Grand Empress Dowager’s palace that supplied these peach pastries, exceptionally fresh and sweet; he grabbed and devoured them whenever he had the chance, and sometimes when that was not sufficient, he would even sneak into the preparation area of the attendants and plunder the entire reserves.
Gao Zhan lifted the box up high, and without looking up at his expression, said in a low voice, “every time longevity peach pastries were presented in the palaces, the late Grand Empress Dowager would always instruct, ’save two for xiao-Shu’…to encounter Sir here today, this slave will consider the task done.”
Mei Changsu received the dessert box from him, his throat too tight to make words for a long while. Only when the shoulder litter approached, and he had ascended and sat down, did he entrust one last thing to Gao Zhan. “Gonggong is most thoughtful. I hope that you will be equally thorough in attending to past and future matters in these palaces, going forward.”
Gao Zhan saluted as he heard, and watched as he slowly disappeared into the distance. Mei Changsu gazed upon the majestic walls of the palace, inexplicably feeling a shred of longing. Not long after, the litter somehow travelled past Yangju Hall; he looked into the distance, seeing that a full host of inner palace ceremonial flagstaffs were raised before its gates, and upon closer examination, it was unexpectedly the ritual protocol afforded to unmarried imperial princesses.
Xiao Jingyan had no children, of course, and the grand princesses from the late Emperor had all opened their own manors and resided elsewhere, and could not bring these ceremonial staves with them when they entered the palace, per protocol. Mei Changsu was observing with a keen gaze when Lie Zhanying, on duty before the steps of the hall, also saw him with a keen gaze, and rushed over to chase his litter. “Please wait, Sir! Since you have entered the palaces, why do you not come to Yangju Hall?”
Mei Changsu smiled from his higher vantage point. “His Majesty must be occupied—General Lie can just help this one express my sentiments.”
Lie Zhanying hurried to answer, “His Majesty does not have a crucial matter; it is just that the grand consorts have finished moving their residences, and Her Ladyship High Minister Liu of Chonghua Palace is reporting on the completion of the task.”
Hearing this rather odd mouthful of a title, Mei Changsu did not know what expression to react with, and wondered also what the interactions between those two were like, inside the hall—Xiao Jingyan naturally did not know of this occurrence, and still addressed her by her given name in person. “Xinyue, I have another task to entrust to you.”
Liu Xinyue was clad in the robes of a woman minister; though the outer court was engulfed by waves of chaos, the inner palaces were in perfect order, and as she bestowed the grand consorts their new ranks and moved them to new residences, she was entrusted with great responsibilities by the Empress Dowager and Emperor; with her mind now settled at ease, her comportment was ever more evidently refined and proper. “Please give your instructions, Your Majesty; this servant woman will be sure to do my utmost.”
And so Xiao Jingyan spoke with her on the matter of consolidating the palaces; besides what was in use for the Empress Dowager and various grand consorts, the remaining unoccupied palaces, furnitures, and items were to be cleaned and sealed for safe-keeping, and entered into a registry by the inner court, to be reported to the Ministry of Revenue in case eventual contingencies were to arise. The eunuchs, maid-servants, and workers of miscellaneous jobs, regardless of background or age, were to be each asked of their aspiration; if they wished to leave the palace to find another livelihood, they would be sent away with a sum of money; those who wished to stay would be compiled by the inner court, and each would be evaluated for their abilities, carry on practising their best craft, and put to use where appropriate.
Liu Xinyue felt increasingly bewildered as she listened on. “What is Your Majesty’s deeper meaning? This is neither the way of managing palaces, nor is it the method of vitalising the harem.”
He smiled at her words. “These palaces do not have an installed Empress at present, and never will, to speak nothing of a full harem or imperial descendants—this Emperor has no deeper meaning, but all of these apparatuses and servants are truly unneeded. It is a good opportunity for you to expend some further effort to attend to this now, such that when I confer you with rewards and titles later, it will count as one of your meritorious accomplishments.”
Her mind was stunned; before, her girlish heart could not help but belittle herself, but now she understood deeply that this entire matter had nothing to do with her, but that Xiao Jingyan truly loved someone else, enough to flout the ancestral rules, enough to stay true and solitary for life. She froze for a moment, then asked suddenly, “The one of Your Majesty’s heart: is he the one in the imperial hall, on the day of the proclamation of grievances, whom Your Majesty shielded with your body—Sir Su?”
Xiao Jingyan was shocked at first, though when he heard her say the proclamation of grievances, he could picture Mei Changsu’s heroic valiance, like a sharp blade hidden in a sleeve, as he attained nirvana out of the blood-stained darkness. The scene was both reality and fantasy in his mind, but somehow not absurd as he considered it, and he could not help but smile softly. “It is him indeed.”
To give the rest of his life for this man—what was there to regret, what was there to fear? Xiao Jingyan sent Liu Xinyue off, then saw that Xiao Tingsheng was already waiting in front of the palace hall. “Sir has set the seventeenth of this month as his departure date: is Your Majesty truly not keeping him?”
Xiao Jingyan fell into a dispirited trance for a moment. “In that case, you ought to go to Su Manor more frequently these days, and ask Sir for more of his teachings.”
Xiao Tingsheng gaped, tongue-tied, and fairly heaved a deep weary sigh despite his young age. He could do nothing but visit Su Manor from time to time as per those words, but Mei Changsu was not as unoccupied as he was in those Tiger Hill days; before his departure, besides duties for the alliance’s capital presence, court affairs, and national matters that needed careful planning and preventative measures against future storms, there also were several houses of old friends that he needed to pay respects to in person.
Though when he visited Great Grand Princess Liyang’s Manor, she was not there, and Xiao Jingrui saw him in and personally prepared tea for him. “Mother had gone to pray at the Buddhist temple outside the city on the first of the month, and will not return until halfway of the month. Su-xiong has just recovered your health somewhat; what brings you to this manor today?”
So Mei Changsu expressed his intent openly. “I have greatly disturbed Great Grand Princess over the course of my years in Jinling, and so I came today to bid farewell in person.”
Xiao Jingrui was silent for a good while at those words, finally sighing, “after a great upheaval, it is difficult to return to old ways.”
And how could Mei Changsu not know his mind. “Jingrui, there is no making without breaking, no flow without obstruction; the circumstances of our births are not up to us, then why must you be hard on yourself? We once spoke of how a clear stream flows from a pure source; you are one of a pure heart, and embarking on a new journey now, your path forward shall certainly be as broad and peaceful as your person.”
Xiao Jingrui gave him a deep look with his gentle eyes. “Lin Shu-gege, I also hope for your path forward to be peaceful, and without any more waves.”
Mei Changsu nodded with a smile. By the time he said his good-byes and walked to the gates of the manor, he said once more to Xiao Jingrui, “pass on my farewells to Great Grand Princess, and please tell my aunt—no matter where you and your brother end up, at court or in the wilds, I will be sure to protect you two to my utmost.”
Xiao Jingrui saluted deeply to him, and Mei Changsu hurriedly helped him back up, patting him on the shoulder affectionately. A few days later, he went to Marquis Yan’s official residence, where both Yan father and son were present; after hearing his bid of farewell, Yan Yujin turned anxious. “But what ever is this for? Lin Shu-gege, you had spoken of the possibility of public criticism from the court, but do you really see any risk of it now?”
Mei Changsu smiled with head lowered. “I am indebted to dear friends for their painstaking troubles taken to help me pave a smooth path of advancement. But though the past is not sufficient cause for worry, the future cannot be known, and only by preventing danger at the root now can there be no risk in the long run.”
Yan Yujin kneeled up in his anxious urgency, but his counter-argument seemed obstructed in his mouth, his stifled face turning red. Marquis Yan was silent until now, finally saying slowly, “in those days, was I also not honour-bound by the ruler-subject morality, to watch helplessly as the person I loved went alone to that place of danger and hardship.
“Xiao-Shu, though I should not persuade you so, whether on public or private grounds—but your grave illness is gradually recovering, and your remaining days are many; I truly cannot bear seeing you, one day, suddenly look back upon your entire life and be like me, finding only bitter regret.”
Sadness welled up inside Mei Changsu, and he gave a tragic smile after a long time. “Even then, Elder Uncle, did you not know well that you would regret it for the rest of your life? But your spirit would rather endure true, and some actions are not meant to be taken.”
Marquis Yan had no more to persuade him with, and Yan Yujin also hung his head in silence; with sorrow in his heart, Mei Changsu did not linger long, but quickly took his leave. Soon the halfway mark of the month approached, and with but a few days before his departure, he brought Xiao Tingsheng with him to the Mount Wei imperial mausoleum—the imperial family typically worshipped on the fifteenth, the day of the full moon, so to avoid crossing paths, he purposefully left two days earlier, but who knew that Xiao Jingyan would also leave early on light cavalry, and so the both of them took Xiao Tingsheng together, on the morning of the fourteenth, to worship at the late Grand Empress Dowager’s shrine.
Xiao Jingyan officiated the rites, Mei Changsu was ancillary officiant[79], and Xiao Tingsheng worshipped alongside them; after the solemn rites were all complete, the ritual officers exited the grand hall, and Xiao Jingyan and Mei Changsu continued to look up at the memorial tablet, each silently expressing their wishes in observance of protocol. A good while later, when Xiao Jingyan turned his head back, first looking at the absent-minded Xiao Tingsheng, then back at Mei Changsu, he saw the latter give a slight nod.
“Come up here,” Xiao Jingyan called to Xiao Tingsheng, ordering him to kowtow again at the host of shrines in the hall, and when he was done, he told him the whole truth without concealment. “Tingsheng, you are the imperial grandchild of the late Emperor, the son of the late Prince Qi Jingyu, and of the principal lineage of the Xiaos of Da Liang—these generations of shrines in this hall, each and every one, are your ancestors and forebears.”
Xiao Tingsheng was stunned beyond words, and when they were finished and exited the hall, Mei Changsu brought him to stand at the balustrade in the corner, speaking to him of everything quietly. After a long while, Xiao Tingsheng saluted, wiped his tears, and turned to leave; Xiao Jingyan walked near, standing shoulder to shoulder alongside Mei Changsu, and they threw their gazes into the distance to look upon the lofty skies and pale clouds, the vast unbroken chain of mountains rising and falling while the autumn wind blew, sparse yet free, all serving to broaden the mind and ease the heart.
“This weather is clear and bright, perfect for long journeys.” Mei Changsu smiled. “Next year this time, if circumstances permit, I shall come back and pay you a visit.”
Xiao Jingyan smiled as well. “No matter what unfolds in the future, come back whenever you want to.”
And so the two of them parted thus. Xiao Jingyan remained at the imperial mausoleum for the rites on the fifteenth, and Mei Changsu returned to the capital to perform his full filial rites at the Lin ancestral shrine. When he returned to Su Manor on the sixteenth, all manner of luggage and affairs were taken care of and at the ready, and Li Gang and Zhen Ping reported on the arrangements and itinerary, asking in addition, “Nie Feng-dage and his lady wife will have finished their tour of duty and returned to the capital at month’s end; will Chief really not wait for their return to see them once more?”
Mei Changsu smiled and shook his head, turning to instruct Mister Thirteen and Gong Yu of some alliance tasks at the capital. He had only begun saying a few things to the both of them when a commotion broke out in the front courtyard, and just as Li Gang and Zhen Ping stood up, Feiliu made his entrance by stepping across the walls, carrying in tow someone in imperial guan, serpentine belt, silver robes, and golden armour, and shoving him toward the front of the hall.
Rising to walk under the eaves, Mei Changsu fixed his gaze to look over, and who else could wear the most dignified clothing and a most contorted expression but Mu Qing—his forehead was coated in sweat, and he spared no time to reason with Feiliu, saying instead to Mei Changsu anxiously, “there’s trouble! Something’s wrong at the Wei Mausoleum!”
Notes:
Wouldn’t our good fellow Mei-laoshi lose a lot of face if he made such a huge fuss and suddenly doesn’t leave after all?
Translation Footnotes (click the numbers to return to the text in-place):
[75] Jingyan is called sū/苏 here, which in modern slang is a loanword derived from Mary Sue, and means someone perfect and irresistible in every way. It’s generally much more positive in connotation than the English usage, though it can certainly be used in a mocking way (not here).
[76] The fundamental virtues are 忠孝节义, or loyalty, filial piety, abstention, and righteousness, a common phrase for bedrock moral principles of feudal society that everyone should strive for.
[77] Gōnggōng/公公 is the respectful title to address a eunuch and is also generally a respectful title for older men, in particular your father-in-law or grandfather. The etymology of this title has several explanations, including affirming the masculinity of the eunuch out of respect.
[78] Peaches are a symbol of longevity, and longevity peaches/寿桃 are both legendary fruits that grant long life and real sweets made in the shape of peaches, usually made with a rice flour base and often gifted at birthdays.
[79] The highest status of those present at a sacrificial rite acts as the main officiant/主祭, who has the most responsibilities, which depending on specific version of the ceremony may include reciting the elegiac oration and pouring the sacrificial wine, and the ancillary officiants/陪祭 aided them with performing the protocols, while the ritual officers/礼官 delivered items used in the rites to the participants and managed the flow of the ceremony. Some steps, such as kowtows, are done by all rite participants.
Chapter 25: Entering Court
Notes:
—————Mei-laoshi’s long and winding road to go to work——————
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Mei Changsu’s eyes gaped wide at those words, and Li Gang and Zhen Ping rushed over from the left and right to support him, but he stood quite firm, looking down from higher ground and questioning Mu Qing sternly, “and Jingyan?”
Stunned momentarily, Mu Qing answered in haste, “His Majesty is safe and well! Do not worry.”
Only then did Mei Changsu sway a little, and waved at Li Gang, while being supported by Zhen Ping, to indicate he should bring Mu Qing inside; he himself walked back to the desk and sat again, and Mu Qing said, “I’ve sped back to Jinling along with Marquis Yan, carrying His Majesty’s oral decree; Marquis Yan’s procession is still on the road, but I rushed here first to get some ideas from Sir!”
Hearing that the Emperor was well, Mei Changsu felt much more settled inside, and waved for Mu Qing to sit down. “Do not panic, and tell me of it slowly.”
Mu Qing took his seat and wiped his sweat, proceeding to give a detailed account of the occurrences at Wei Mausoleum yesterday—on the fifteenth, the imperial ancestral rites proceeded step by step according to protocol, and in the afternoon, the rear side hall was set up for the traditional lecture to the Emperor on imperial ancestral statutes, with the High Minister of Rites and company orating on the code of rites and clan laws; the clansfolk and high officials who participated in the rites also attended the lecture, as per protocol, and nothing out of the ordinary had occurred so far.
Mu Qing was also attending to the side, and was threatening to fall asleep from sheer boredom when coughing suddenly sounded inside the hall. When he looked up, a trembling white-haired old man stood up among the Xiao clan while hacking and coughing, supporting himself with his cane, a pair of murky eyes fixed upon Xiao Jingyan. “Did Your Majesty hear those traditional statutes of our ancestors? The late Emperor had selected Your Majesty’s wife for you, and since you had performed the full wedding rites, you were to complete the marriage at the ancestral shrine in three months’ time[80]! The postponement besmirches the names of our ancestors!”
At a loss, Mu Qing watched him with mouth open, knowing neither the origin of this man nor his words. Sitting properly at the top, Xiao Jingyan narrowed his eyes with a complicated expression on his face, clearly also mystified as to which distant branch this clansman was from. In the end, Great Grand Prince Ji sat up, his small eyes scrutinising the man carefully; it was unclear whether he recognised him, but he shook his sleeves and called for an imperial physician. “Oh dear, this imperial uncle is in his spell of hysteria again, quickly, come help him to…receive treatment!”
A few burly attendants came over to seize the clansman, whose cane was lost, robes became dishevelled, and yet he still braced himself and yelled, “how can the statutes of our ancestors be so easily disregarded! How can the code of rites and clan laws be so casually abolished! This aged servant is going to the shrine to weep in protest to our ancestors and forebears—”
The sound of yelling gradually weakened outside the hall, while whispers grew ever stronger inside; not a moment later, there was indeed someone who could not suppress it any longer, and took the chance to continue the clamour of criticism. Now the matter of the Empress became an opportunity to launch an attack: the clansfolk talked ceaselessly of the enterprise of the ancestors, continuing the lineage, and their meaning between the words referred to no other than being in the same clan, to their titles of nobility and fiefdoms, nearly threatening Xiao Jingyan to recognise their reasoning as authoritative and incontrovertible before the imperial shrine.
Xiao Jingyan watched it all with cold aloof eyes: these decadent clansfolk had already exposed their true forms today; of course, there were loyal subjects who braced themselves in counter-argument, such as Cai Quan, being of a humble background and a fiery honourable disposition, who nearly wielded his tongue as a sword, fists in his sleeves. Amidst the heated dispute, there was someone who even proposed a formal court debate on rites; the High Minister of Rites, Liu Ji, could not control the crowd from his speaker’s seat, and was sneered at by Marquis Huaiyi. “The Ducal House of Liu was once truly a distinguished Confucian family, but now you have become sycophants, pretending to be loyal and glossing over faults, without a hint of the lofty character you ought to have!”
At this, Xiao Jingyan slammed his hand onto the desk in a rage. “The Ducal House of Liu is devoted and selfless, their spirit broad and generous: how dare you lot of shameless opportunistic egotists falsely accuse them—Marquis Huaiyi, since you are such an expert of the traditional statutes of the ancestors, this Emperor asks you, which traditional statute says a first-rank marquis general can privately possess land for a horse stable? Which traditional statute is shirking from your duty in the face of war?!”
Marquis Huaiyi turned mute in an instant, and the hall fell into silence; Xiao Jingyan’s gallant bearing was stern and thunderous as he scolded, “a court debate? Protesting to ancestors? It is all of you clansfolk, indolently resting on your wealth, who have not a single contribution to the army or government, but have endless talents when it comes to threatening the throne! The ancestral shrine is right before this hall, and any one of you who wants to protest, go right on ahead—the ancestors and forebears watching from the heavens must be of the same mind as this Emperor!”
By then, the monarch and his subjects clashed as fire and water, and when the lecture dispersed, a group of loyal subjects remained, awaiting Xiao Jingyan’s instructions. Secretariat Director Liu Cheng was among them, and spoke now after saluting, “If I may, Your Majesty: because the investiture of the Empress affects the Ducal House of Liu, my cousin and I recused ourselves and did not speak. But we are now at a state where certain villains have used it as a pretext to cause great strife, improperly discussing wrongdoings of the throne: this discord is truly damaging to the country and reign. This servant’s family is an unworthy recipient of the throne’s favour, and has no other means of serving the country but to shoulder the blame willingly—Your Majesty, please decree that Lady Liu has violated the womanly virtues and cannot be installed as the Empress, and dismiss her from the palace with punishment, to calm the criticism in court.”
Xiao Jingyan hurriedly ordered Liu Ji to support him back up. “What does Liu-qing take this Emperor for? These clansfolk are hardly starting this conflict over the investiture of the Empress…If the unrest goes past the point of no return, this Emperor will then issue a decree of self-recrimination[81].”
Liu Cheng sincerely pleaded, “Your Majesty, it has already come to that! The new reign is not yet a month old, and the imperial clansfolk are seeking to protest at the ancestral shrine: how would this news sound were it to spread to the public? The military reforms are near completion, and agricultural policies are in progress: these delinquents with sinecures whose bastions of wealth are destroyed as a result, who can know what desperate strike they will risk on their last breaths?”
Before Xiao Jingyan could speak, Shen Zhui hurriedly cut in. “It is hardly the first time that the underhanded schemers of the court have colluded in private; if Liu-daren[82] knows of the full story, please detail it all to His Majesty!”
By now, those present of keen and alert minds had already seen an inkling of what was to come. Hearing the retelling up to this point, Mei Changsu also had a plan at heart. That man who dared to go as far as causing a public incident, offending the might of the throne, must have others behind him, inciting him on; as for taking the opportunity of the new Emperor’s first time leaving the capital for worship to stir up unrest, this could nearly be reckoned as an attempt to incite rebellion, punishable by death.
Fortunately, Xiao Jingyan had always managed the army personally, and the Imperial Guards, a hundred thousand strong, were firmly under his control, and could keep the capital and its surroundings secure. But since these disloyal subjects had already mutinied to such extent, they might have their own hidden schemes—the capital must not fall to unrest: they must take heed of all things, and do their utmost to quell any sign of uprising until Xiao Jingyan returned.
At this thought, Mei Changsu laughed coldly. “These clansfolk wallow in luxury while contributing nothing, but now that they vie for power, they have become suddenly loud and diligent—these corrupt winds must be halted; the light of the new court is pure and bright, and has no room for their clouds of collusion.”
Mu Qing clapped his hands in glee; before he set out from the mausoleum, Marquis Yan had instructed him to head straight for Su Manor, and to first speak from a place of haste, so that Sir does not slight the matter, but then to explain from a place of restraint, so that Sir does not criticise him for his rash action. Mu Qing heeded his advice, of course, though he was still apprehensive to some degree; now that Mei Changsu laid no blame on him, he hurriedly asked, “then whatever shall we do now?”
Rubbing his fingers, Mei Changsu made a low sound under his breath, then suddenly smiled. “Go into the palace and request a decree from the Empress Dowager, saying that she happens to have fallen ill, and that all imperial clansfolk, any men and women with titles or peerage, must enter the palace to pay respects and await her recovery. Those clan branches you spoke of just now, send the Imperial Guards along with the eunuchs to announce her decree—since they want to cause a pandemonium, then we may as well join the fray.”
Mu Qing received the order and carefully listened to Mei Changsu’s analysis of vital strategies, then saluted to leave, but was stopped by his stern words once more. “Mu Qing, you have succeeded your title of peerage for three years already; if you ever become overwrought and make such a big fuss over matters again, I will be sure to petition His Majesty and the Commandery Princess to punish you.”
He answered with an impudent grin, “His Majesty and my sister will surely not blame me for what happened to-day—thank you, xiongzhang, for your counsel, Qing-er’s leaving!”
Mu Qing quickly fled as soon as he spoke. Resigned, Mei Changsu watched him run far into the distance, and then called Feiliu to him. “Go find Lin Chen-gege.”
Feiliu was off in response, then Lin Chen entered not a while later, holding a bowl of food and also making a fuss. “Jinling’s sweet taro stew[83] is really quite delicious—Changsu, you really won’t eat some before leaving tomorrow?”
Feiliu swooped in as he spoke, another bowl of the stew steady in his hand, and presented it to Mei Changsu. “Here!”
Mei Changsu wiped the flecks of sugar from the corner of Feiliu’s mouth, then Lin Chen approached to cut him off and take the bowl. “I forgot, Imperial Physician He does not allow you to eat sweet stews in this season.”
Mei Changsu snatched it back from him and handed it to Feiliu, then said, “you are not allowed any more, either—have you had news from Xianzhou recently?”
“Xianzhou?” Lin Chen sat down with crossed legs. “Xianzhou is quite peaceful, though the road between the capital and Xianzhou, oh-ho, now that is truly an endless stream of horses and carriages, quite a scene.”
Mei Changsu frowned. “Why did you not tell me?”
“What does it have to do with you?” Lin Chen sounded surprised.
Mei Changsu had no reply to that, only watching him quietly. Lin Chen focused on finishing the stew in his bowl. “Since you have no other matters, I shall go out and have a stroll. To have to leave this bustling capital city tomorrow, I may actually…miss it a little.”
He put down the bowl as he spoke, but when he was about to rise, Mei Changsu grabbed him with his arm. “No going out until you’ve explained the Xianzhou matter!”
Lin Chen gave him quite a significant look, then closed in to say, “Whether or not I go out is of no real importance. But Changsu, within the lofty imperial towers, beneath the vast heavens, there is not a single day of true peace and tranquility. If every matter still tugs at your heart so—you will never leave Jinling.”
Mei Changsu looked down. How could he not know this reasoning? But had Xiao Jingyan not regarded his last thoughts while in mortal danger, he never would have implemented military reforms with such lightning speed and fervour; had Xiao Jingyan not minded his apprehension over his place in the world, he never would have flouted clan laws and rite codes by refusing to install the Empress. These present perils all arose because of himself, but he was selfishly concerned with his own freedom and coming and going earlier, and did not devise suitable strategies for Xiao Jingyan, leading to the current plight; if he left like this, without dealing with the situation—to speak nothing of the ruler-subject loyalties, would he not be utterly heartless?
He spoke in a low voice after a long while, perhaps to Lin Chen, or perhaps to himself, “this happened because of me, and His Majesty is not in Jinling, I…will only mind this one matter, and then let go.”
Lin Chen did not disguise his snort of laughter whatsoever; after swinging his sleeve out from his grasp, he walked outside while yelling, “Li Gang! Go unload my luggage and take out the recent pigeon reports for your chief to have a look-see.”
Li Gang ran over from the front courtyard at his words, and seemed to have asked another question, for Lin Chen’s voice ran out again, “oh dear, just unload it all!”
Li Gang looked into the distance at Mei Changsu, hidden in the shadows of the hall, to see him nod slightly, and he ran away to rearrange matters, appearing to be actually somewhat happy. And so the already desolate Su Manor became a bustling and chaotic scene again, and Yan Yujin arrived on light cavalry after noon, spoke with Mei Changsu for a long while, and also left solemnly with instructions—by nightfall, it seemed as if a wind heralding a storm[84] had swept over the entire city of Jinling.
Mei Changsu only stood tall under the eaves, thoughtfully watching the shadows of trees swaying and rustling ceaselessly beneath the moonlight. Lin Chen returned from the streets then, handing him a rolled-up message via carrier pigeon, and could not help but blather more. “Chief Mei, this feeling of stirring up Jinling storms—do you perhaps enjoy the ease of navigating such well-trodden territory, ready for your talents to be unleashed once more?”
Mei Changsu carefully unrolled the piece of paper, smiling as he read it. “Since the tree seeks peace, but the wind does not cease: rather than others stirring up this storm, I may as well be the one at the helm.”
And so on the morrow, when Xiao Jingyan’s imperial procession made its return, he was greeted by a comfortable autumnal breeze—the city garrisons were strict and thorough, and the streets and alleyways were all in good order, save for some persimmon trees in the courtyards of certain wealthy manors whose frosted fruit were on the verge of tumbling down.
Even the climate within the palace walls was temperate—the clansmen and women detained in the palace stayed in separate rooms at the pavilions adjacent to Ci’an Palace, and all was tranquil inside the halls; the Empress Dowager was doing needlework in leisure with Liu Xinyue when she saw Xiao Jingyan enter, still clad in full armour and robes, to pay respects and ask forgiveness; she only said, “I am undisturbed, and the matters within the palace are also well. The Emperor must not think not of this, and go attend to your matter.”
So Xiao Jingyan saluted and took his leave, convening officials for a discussion in Wuying Hall on the situation within and without Jinling. He had already deployed troops to strategic capital locations while at the mausoleum, re-establishing defences and sentries; within the city walls, Mei Changsu’s lighting-fast methods and Marquis Yan’s calm steadiness temporarily suppressed those with hidden motives. Though the trouble was not resolved, the state of affairs was presently under control, and before they had finished their discussions, there were already clansfolk seeking an audience, no doubt wanting to probe the intentions of the Emperor so that they could better strategise in this swiftly changing atmosphere.
Xiao Jingyan had no desire to contend with them at this time—there was no room for debate on the matter of the Empress, and they could still use this pretence to cause trouble; it was the fault of his own virtues to begin with, and to go head-to-head now would only give his opponents more fodder for condemnation. He knew long ago that he had chosen a difficult path, but he did not expect the clansfolk to seethe and rage thus, only a tiny fraction of the discord due to traditions and values, and the rest all originating from their fear of the reforms. These new policies were crucial to the welfare of the common people as well as the health of the state, and must be carefully managed over the long run.
Suddenly he felt the difficulties of ruling, the heartlessness demanded by the throne—if he were willing to be an unfeeling monarch, to install the Empress, expand his harem, and reward the elites of court with familial ties to soften the blow of reforms, then court affairs would have been at a tolerant harmony, each side sheathing their abilities[85], and it would not have come to this, struggling to shoulder the weight of the entire country and reign on his lone courage and handfuls of loyal officials.
Shen Zhui observed from the front that Xiao Jingyan seemed to be lost in thought, and took the chance to advise, “to cast out corruption and usher in justice, to constrict the ruling class while benefiting the people: these are enterprises of grave risk and difficulty. At these times, great haste makes great waste, and Your Majesty must think thrice before acting.”
Other officials seconded the motion, then Mu Qing added, “Sir Su yet lingers in the capital, why not invite him—”
Xiao Jingyan raised his hand in interruption. “Since this Emperor has already returned, do not disturb Sir’s peace any longer—this has nothing to do with him.”
He was determined to go into danger by himself to begin with, and though he had no choice but to bother Mei Changsu out of expediency earlier, he did not want to further drag him into this trouble. After the discussions had finished for the night, Xiao Jingyan sent Meng Zhi to Su Manor to visit and pass along word, so that man would not be worried for him; when Meng Zhi returned to report later in the night, he only brought along some earnest admonishment from him, and no one could predict that, on the next day, when morning court once again descended into a locked quandary, the Emperor’s chamberlain would suddenly enter the hall to announce, “Su Zhe, member of the Order of Special Merit, holder of the Changlin Army token, asks for an audience.”
It was as if enigmatic clouds of change billowed across Chaoyang Hall; in the midst of fighting for the upper hand, now the sound of a dropped needle could be heard. Xiao Jingyan sat high upon the imperial throne, the heavy bead curtain of his crown disguising his expression, and after a moment, his voice rang out in the utter silence, without exhibiting a trace of joy or sorrow, “summon him.”
The chamberlain saluted and left, and then there was only the dazzling light of day beyond the gates of the palace hall. The monarch and his subjects fixed their gazes into the distance, watching with rapt attention, and in a moment the tableau outside the hall shifted, as if the light of the sun hardened into physical form and emerged from the scene, slowly yet surely: Mei Changsu, in white narrow-sleeve serpent-embroidered robes, pearled guan and jade belt, the Changlin Army token upon his waist, set foot into Chaoyang Hall.
Notes:
Written in bits and pieces in my spare time and somewhat messy, don’t think too hard about it, basically advancing the plot.
Translation Footnotes (click the numbers to return to the text in-place):
[80] The ancient practice of waiting three months after the wedding to worship at the ancestral shrine/三月庙见 before consummating the marriage and making it official originated from the Eastern Zhou Dynasty, when women had a lot of freedom to have sex before marriage and remarry. It was thought that the aristocracy implemented this rule to make sure their bloodlines stayed pure, and the three months was a trial marriage period to ensure the woman was not pregnant from premarital sex.
[81] Since the Han Dynasty, Emperors have at times issued decrees of self-recrimination/罪己诏 to announce their wrongdoing to the world, usually when they considered themselves to have governed poorly, or when there’s a natural disaster indicating that the heavens are angry at the reign.
[82] Dàrén/大人, literally big person, is a title or standalone honorific for someone in a high position or senior to you, and was commonly used to address someone serving in government. When not used in that manner, it also means an adult or someone of noble character.
[83] Sweet taro stew/糖芋苗 is a famous traditional dessert of the real Jinling (now Nanjing), and is made with baby taro roots stewed in osmanthus sugar and lotus root powder.
[84] The original references the expression wind blowing through towers to herald a coming storm in the mountains/山雨欲来风满楼, which came from the poem poem 咸阳城东楼 by Xǔ Hún/许浑, and now means the tense atmosphere before a significant event. Nature being a metaphor for human activity is a much favored Chinese literary device.
[85] The original is a quoted saying from the Book of Jin/晋书 that derives from the Dao De Jing/道德经 by Laozi: 和光同尘，与时舒卷, which is more literally to show your light harmoniously, to coexist with mortal dust, to adjust yourself to the times.
Chapter 26: Protection Returned
Notes:
————Striding boldly toward the happy ending after sweeping the battlefield clean————
—————Just asking, does going down on one knee count as a marriage proposal (?)————
——————Revised version December 4 2021———————
——————You protect me and I’ll protect you———————
—————Congrats to Mei-laoshi for winning a Yanyan wolfhound puppy[86]—————
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Only one month after the enthronement of the new Emperor, this Qilin Talent, famous the world over, entered the arena of the new court grandly thus, marching in until he was before the throne. After an unhurried salute, he did not join the rank of civil officials, but rather clutched the Changlin Army token with deference and took his place by Mu Qing’s side—as per the army code of Da Liang, in times of war by imperial decree, military governors holding the army token were ranked above marquis generals of the first rank, and at present, besides Mu Qing who inherited his title of commandery prince, no one of the full court out-ranked him.
Even Mu Qing dipped his head in salute, only wishing he could push him forward to the head of the pack. But there were clansfolk who found him a useful target, looking upon the imperial censors as they took the opportunity to start trouble. “Though Su-daren has been graced with much favour by the court, with Court Permissions and Special Merit, you neither have a real position nor a title of nobility. The country is at peace and it is not war-time: I am afraid it is improper for Su-daren to be in your current place.”
Mei Changsu slightly tilted his head backward, and though his comportment was neither haughty nor boastful, for some reason, there appeared to be utter disdain in that gaze as he looked over. “Although it is a time of peace for the country, this court is hardly at rest. This lowly official was idly unemployed at home, yet the sound of warring tongues and clashing words still rang unceasing into my ears. Since I am the unworthy holder of a military token, how can I sit and watch as the Emperor enters the battlefield himself?…And so I asked for an audience to-day especially to relieve the throne’s burdens and troubles.”
Chaoyang Hall broke into immediate uproar. There were sharp blades hidden in Mei Changsu’s speech, implying that the state of condemnation in court was akin to war, and was well on its way to plotting against the throne duplicitously. His words struck at the heart of their ulterior motives, and could not be treated lightly; instantly, someone emerged from the ranks to say, “What does Su-daren mean by this? The new court is pure and true, we officials concentrating on governance, each expressing our own opinions, and our questions and doubts are all raised with the public at heart!”
Mei Changsu smiled at those words. “Those who are high-minded coexist in harmony with diverse views, whereas those of poor character are like-minded in their discord[87]. If everyone upon this court hall is wholeheartedly devoted to public service, then there should have been concord long ago: where has all of this endless unrest come from?”
These words even more struck straight at the heart of those with poor character, and the sounds of challenge rose in droves. “To watch the throne commit wrongs without raising criticism is to take the survival of the reign lightly, and not something a loyal subject can bear to do! His Majesty slighted clan laws and rite codes, leaving the position of Empress in suspense without cause, depriving imperial clansfolk and noble families of guidance, and introducing fear and unease—”
Mei Changsu did not allow him to finish. “The rites from the Spring and Autumn period tell us the marriage must wait three months to be announced to the ancestors for full consummation. When His Majesty was not yet to the throne, though he was betrothed by imperial edict, after the loss in the imperial family and period of national mourning, he scrupulously abided to the rites of filial piety, remaining unmatched, and up until the present, has not completed the full ritual of announcing to the ancestors. Since His Majesty did not consummate the marriage, he does not have a principal match. Without a principal match, from whence comes the notion of the Empress?”
The Liang ritual laws were many and complex; there was no precedent for the Son of Heaven completing half of a marriage, and a detailed discussion could not avoid a host of different interpretations and opinions. It was only that before, Xiao Jingyan was considerate of the Lius, and would rather endure the censure himself rather than allow elaborate debate. The clansfolk were therefore used to wielding their language as a threat, but now that Mei Changsu asked head-on, they fairly exchanged glances at each other and started another round of raucous rebuke after a while.
Mei Changsu had no intention of joining this ceaseless conflict, and as the court was agitated to new heated heights from his words, he only stood silently by Mu Qing’s side, coldly observing the fighting from the ramparts—though he had heard second-hand accounts of the hideous state of these exploitative creatures, he after all did not personally witness it until now, and as his keen eyes took in the entire scene, the Changlin Army token slowly twirled in his fingers, and soon the state of court affairs became as clear to him as his own palm.
With a plan brewing in his mind, he looked up half-intentionally at Xiao Jingyan, seated on the lofty throne of power—from this spot, he did not seem as out of reach as during the coronation, and Mei Changsu could even see the tightly pursed line of his lips, but he could not discern whether it was rage or sorrow in those eyes behind the heavy beaded crown.
Mei Changsu was struck with unease; when he had looked upon him with a hungry gaze before, though he appeared half-real and half-illusory, that man had never felt so untouchable; even as he stood in court before the throne now, even if he gave it his all with no regard for himself—could he truly shield Xiao Jingyan from harm, and bring him some measure of comfort?
The storms of the court swiftly churned in unpredictable ways; before Mei Changsu could answer his own question, he saw the highest ranked civil official, Liu Cheng, step out of the array with alarm. “Your Majesty! This aged servant knows well that Your Majesty is holding back on detailed discussions of rites out of care for the reputation of the Liu family, and I cannot be at peace that it has come to this much unrest—please, Your Majesty, think not of the Lius, and allow the request of my fellow officials to hold a court debate, so as to set the record straight.”
Liu Ji also joined him. “Because the conflict over the Empress affects this servant’s house, I meant to recuse myself, but I have become negligent of my duties in the process—as the unworthy High Minister of Rites, I ask for permission to preside over a court debate, and hope for Your Majesty’s sanction.”
Mei Changsu was immediately moved by the admirable spirit of the Liu family, willing to sacrifice their reputation to quell the conflict in court despite having done nothing to incur these troubles. How could such loyal civil servants be allowed to suffer: he took a step forward, standing tall, and swept his cold gaze over the embroiled court, over each and every person harbouring ill intent, before speaking with a mysterious half-smile. “No wonder the outskirts of the capital were swarming with activity in recent days, horses and carriages shoulder to shoulder, and many noble families have sent envoys with messages and gifts out of the capital.
“This lowly official had been wondering why, when Xianzhou is located in the plains west of the capital, that the envoy named Zhang from Marquis Huaiyi’s Manor had slipped out from the north gate—now that I think of it, perhaps it is to invite renowned scholars for a potential court debate?”
Mei Changsu’s words cast a block of ice into the boiling cauldron that was the court, and the caustic heat instantly dispelled into a watery abyss, silent and still for a long while. Marquis Huaiyi had been eager for the clamour just moments ago, but now it was as if his bones had dissolved, and he fell to sit on the ground with shaking legs, face the colour of dirt, his murky eyes flaring deathly white as he glared at Mei Changsu.
Many of the officials were as Marquis Huaiyi, not having encountered head-on this Mei Changsu of legend until the current moment—the one who dove behind the scenes of the previous court, then surfaced in the fog of war at the northern border; the head of the Langya List, Mei-lang of Jiangzuo, bearing the Qilin’s talent and one of the greatest minds of the nation; the one who overturned the court, exonerated the innocent, placed his lord on the throne, defeated the enemy while ill, and left treatises for the nation as his will and testament: rumours of all kinds abounded, and now he was fully before their eyes, yet they could not discern his true form no matter how hard they tried.
Mei Changsu gathered his fingers in calm composure while still wearing that not-quite-a-smile on his face, light collecting in his eyes as he openly met various gazes, either guarded, fearful, or sinister and vicious. These demons of the court only dared to browbeat the new Emperor step by step because of his forthrightness and avoidance of ruthless schemes—it was indeed time for them to see that behind Xiao Jingyan’s brilliant splendour, he was there mastering the storms.
All those with ulterior intentions no longer dared to speak out against him now. So Mei Changsu withdrew his gaze that seemed to see through it all, and turned to salute the throne. “Your Majesty, since several houses of clansfolk and nobles have long prepared for the court debate, it would appear it is indeed proceeding; though this servant is untalented, I have been the unworthy head of the Langya List, and ask to participate for Your Majesty—”
“Thoughtful of you, Su-qing.” Xiao Jingyan had been silent until now, and suddenly spoke in a deep voice. “This Emperor has clearly wronged the Lius on the matter of the marriage match—what need is there for further debate? If you have all invited renowned scholars, then they should hold a good discussion on how to benefit the country and people, and how to serve society selflessly!
“The court has been mired in controversy as of late; this Emperor owes it to forthright officials for their honest criticism on my moral failings, and am willing to announce them myself publicly…From this day forth, whoever dares to use this cause as pretence once more, abusing it to disrupt the new reforms: do not be surprised at punishment most severe and proper.”
The diseased boil that Mei Changsu had lanced with his blade was briefly mentioned in passing with Xiao Jingyan’s light words, and not a drop of blood was shed. Seeing the Emperor admit to his own wrongdoing, effectively taking a large step in retreat without unleashing his rage, those with evil intent naturally stayed silent, and those waiting to see which way the wind would blow also chose peace; after nearly a month of unrest, the court fairly quietened down.
Then the rite-observing eunuchs announced the end of the court session, and the ruler and his subjects parted thus; Mu Qing attended upon Mei Changsu, following his every step, and they saw Meng Zhi already awaiting as soon as they exited the grand hall. Because he was yet in the presence of the outer court, Mei Changsu declined the shoulder litter with thanks, and strolled slowly with Meng Zhi; as soon as they were far away, he heard Meng Zhi say, “today was a prime opportunity: why did His Majesty not properly deal with those treasonous villains!”
Mei Changsu smile mildly as he looked up at Yangju Hall, gradually coming into view in the distance, and fairly felt a degree of comfort at heart—Xiao Jingyan had spent an entire year overseeing the government as regent, then ruler, and was increasingly steady and seasoned in his actions. If he had relentlessly pursued the matter to its end today, and dealt punishments to the offenders in court, then bloodshed could not have been prevented; better to wait until the criticisms have ceased, and for a better opportunity for justice to arise in the future.
From this matter, one could see both the Emperor’s political skill and temperament. He was absolutely right about Xiao Jingyan—even though that man was wilful and reckless, refusing to install the Empress or abide by proper monarch behaviour, he maintained his fair and just heart amidst the storm, did not bring harm down upon his subjects to preserve his own reputation in the least, and did not turn the tables selfishly to exact the slightest revenge; his anger was measured, his might controlled, such that one’s heart could not help but breed veneration.
And Mei Changsu’s heart was in flux with surging joy and sorrow; he walked for a good while before reaching Yangju Hall, entering the inner warm chamber to give the proper subject-ruler salute to Xiao Jingyan, and then watched him with head tilted up, seeing how he was still in his beaded crown and ceremonial robes, his dragon-like poise indescribable in its majesty, and his own loving heart could not help but be overwhelmed by admiration too great for words—the attendants silently filed out, and as Mei Changsu’s trance continued, Xiao Jingyan took a large stride toward him and gathered him tight into his arms.
The crown’s jade beads brushed past Mei Changsu’s nape with their icy burden, and he shivered in fearful shame, the emotions he had forcibly suppressed in the past days swelling to the forefront, rendering him unable to move. Xiao Jingyan lifted him, retreating a few steps to secure him at the edge of the sitting mat, and then somehow took the opportunity to lift his own robes reverently and go down on one knee.
“Your Majesty!” Mei Changsu called urgently; his two hands were grasped by Xiao Jingyan’s one and unable to free themselves. In his helpless panic, he could only see Xiao Jingyan flip off his swaying crown with one hand, then make direct eye contact without concealment, saying anxiously, “who asked you to come?!”
Mei Changsu froze on the spot. The Emperor before him, dragons spiralling about his body, was erupting in fury, but that dark hair and long brows, those bright black eyes, clearly belonged to his Jingyan—joy and sorrow intermixed inside him at once, and he smiled mournfully. “It was clearly you who disrupted court affairs so, yet you question who asked me to come?”
Seeing that smile through grief, Xiao Jingyan felt the height of wrath invade his heart. “Though there were waves of unrest in the court, I had the situation under control, and knew the appropriate measure! And now you suddenly enter court and break their scheme with ease: that villainous crowd having suffered such a set-back, how can they not envy you and despise you? Do you not remember how Xia Jiang’s murderous intent toward Imperial Brother began?!”
Mei Changsu gently shook his head, gaze fixed upon that ardent sincerity in Xiao Jingyan’s eyes. “How can you be mentioned in the same breath with the likes of the late Emperor when your temperaments are utterly divergent? I know you are pure and honourable, fair and just in your punishments, and shall never be influenced by the insidious and underhanded.”
These words knew him and his heart well, and Xiao Jingyan loosened his grip, but could not prevent tears from staining his robes as he lowered his head. Mei Changsu withdrew his hands, his fingertips hesitating for a moment before gripping Xiao Jingyan’s hand once more. “Jingyan, if you want to eliminate deep-rooted ills, to strengthen the nation and defend the people, to be a wise Emperor, honest and selfless, then you must uphold virtuous principles and your own integrity—do you still remember these words I once said to you?”
How could Xiao Jingyan ever have forgotten, but he knew why Mei Changsu asked this now, and stayed silent, unwilling to answer. But Mei Changsu’s slightly cool hands held his in his calm, patient grasp, and after a long while, he could only nod in assent, and indeed he heard Mei Changsu admonish once more, “the wise ruler for the people knows to be content with what he has at the first sight of an object of desire, knows to restrain himself at the first notion of building a new enterprise[88]. As the Emperor, you must not behave so wilfully ever again.”
“I will never be greedy and wasteful, nor will I ever harm others to benefit myself.” Xiao Jingyan answered with lowered head, then looked up with fiery grief, unwilling to yield, and said bitterly in the end, “why must you press me so? You ought to know that all my desires and actions are only for a clear heart in good conscience.”
Mei Changsu’s own heart was seized with guilt and pain, but the righteous path shone before them, and he was forced to announce the way, “a ruler must hold the entire country in his heart, not restrict it to the realm of private attachments.”
Xiao Jingyan’s eyes widened as he half rose, reversing grip to grab Mei Changsu’s hand and press it to his own pounding chest, interrogating in pain, “xiao-Shu, you only care about the ruler’s heart, but do you remember that I, Xiao Jingyan, still have a true heart?!
“Sir, are you asking me to sacrifice this true heart, and henceforth become an unfeeling, faithless Emperor utterly without loyalties?”
Acute agony caused Mei Changsu to pale, and with no capacity for further thought, the words of justification he had told himself these days fell from his mouth. “A ruler must sacrifice the personal for the public good; not to mention, how can the faithful loyalties between you and I be lost by honouring the ruler-subject ways?”
Xiao Jingyan looked up at him in utter disbelief, his hand applying full force, but it seemed he could still not hold on to Mei Changsu’s thin wrist even if he gripped it into pieces. Mei Changsu himself could no longer distinguish between pain inside and out, and he could only see Xiao Jingyan’s jet black eyes dim as he finally let go.
Suddenly released so, Mei Changsu’s hand plunged powerlessly; Xiao Jingyan muttered to himself as he hunched his own back, “what use does this Emperor have for your sort of faithful loyalties?”
Overwhelming grief surged inside Mei Changsu, and it was as if blazing fire and bitter frost crossed his body, rendering him unable to move or speak. Xiao Jingyan propped his own kneecap to stand back up from kneeling, as if gravely wounded, struggling for several bouts before barely rising to his feet, and tottered toward the throne sitting on top of the mat. That seat was high up above; he took a small stride up, but it seemed he could not finish climbing the half-handspan-tall step, and he reached out to grip the arm of the throne in a daze, saying low after a long moment, “This Emperor has no fear or regrets this life; and you, can be at ease.”
Mei Changsu turned his head at the sound, and seeing the sway of Xiao Jingyan’s robes as he staggered upward, he rose up nearly before he could hesitate, fairly scrambling over on hands and knees to clutch Xiao Jingyan’s leg in his arms. Ever since his meander between life and death at Meiling, he had harboured this intense terror, and the sight he feared was unbearably before his eyes now—he was deeply afraid that Xiao Jingyan would sit alone upon that lofty throne, a singular silhouette against storms and blades, and he himself could do nothing to protect him in return for evermore.
Xiao Jingyan toppled down onto the throne because of him, and turned back to see him quivering and prostrate on all fours; in a panic, he lowered himself to gather Mei Changsu into his arms, saying in desperate pain, “what ever is this for now!”
He could make no reply as he shut his eyes and held on to Xiao Jingyan with his life; the magnificent robes seemed to sear his face, and so he tilted his head and plastered it against Xiao Jingyan’s. Then there was only the tenderness of warm comfort, and he said softly, after a good long while, “you are so stubborn in your ways: how can I set my heart down at ease.”
Xiao Jingyan breathed in deep; half curled on the throne, he embraced Mei Changsu tight like a precious pearl. “This Emperor will be the wise ruler you had hoped for; I will for certain eliminate corruption with my own hands, purify the court, and not cause you to be stained by filth and pretend to be that stirrer of storms.”
Mei Changsu already shook his head slightly at this. Xiao Jingyan nuzzled the side of his head with his own, and tears fell all of a sudden. “I know these are not what has your heart suspended, but I have no room to think of other matters. Do not blame me for being wilful, I…truly wish you do not set your heart down this entire life.”
Mei Changsu did not respond, and sighed a long time later, as if in resignation; he spread both arms and embraced Xiao Jingyan with all of himself, meekly resting his head upon his shoulder.
Notes:
Though I like the revised version better, I still kept the old version as an easter egg for reference.
Translator’s Note: If you want to read the translation of the older version of this chapter, I've put it on my Tumblr.
Translation Footnotes (click the numbers to return to the text in-place):
[86] A wolfhound puppy/小狼狗 is slang for a boyfriend who’s aloof toward outsiders and protective, possessive, and loving toward his partner, making them feel safe while being a little wild at the same time.
[87] This is a quote from Confucius, illustrating that people of noble character both think independently and respect each other’s viewpoints, whereas people of poor character adopt a mob mentality, and their agreement with each other is meaningless because no critical thinking is involved: 君子和而不同，小人同而不和.
[88] Adapted from forthright politician and historian Wèi Zhēng/魏征’s admonishment to Emperor Taizong of the Tang Dynasty, written when the latter became arrogant in his prosperous reign and began spending lavishly on construction projects: 君人者，诚能见可欲则思知足以自戒，将有所作则思知止以安人.
Chapter 27: Awaiting Summons
Notes:
———Thought this would be the last chapter but you two have so many tricks up your sleeves———
————Don’t be afraid Yanyan, you can loudly say what kind of “su”[89] you want to eat——————
———Mei-laoshi fainted in Yangju Hall, what to do? It’s an emergency! Plz help————
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Neither ruler nor subject spoke any more of the future, or of which course to follow. The next day, Mei Changsu did not attend court, but waited in Wuying Hall from early morning, and after court was dismissed, he carefully listened to the cabinet, the Secretariat, and the Ministry of Revenue discuss details of the agricultural reforms.
To-day’s discussions were not tainted with mud as before; Mei Changsu sat to the side, upon the seat granted to him, and evaluated it all with cool detachment: the reform policies were truly well-planned in every detail and feasible in execution, unlike what he had feared, that oversights would result from rapid implementation; after listening in scrupulously for the next several days, he felt ever more that everything was in its place, the clamour in court was only superficially dangerous, and the critical junctures had already been strategised appropriately.
It was he himself, on the contrary, who acted too hastily out of worry, and only skimmed that boiling cauldron to quench the conflict. If he had waited patiently for a few more days, perhaps the bigger vermin would have floated to the surface.
Alas, it had already come to this, so he could only continue the campaign to its end, pruning the undesired from top to bottom, with Marquis Yan and Cai Quan, so that the agricultural reforms would proceed smoothly. One day, when he had finished reporting in Yangju Hall, Xiao Jingyan then said, “Sir Su should stay; this Emperor has a matter to discuss with you.”
And so Marquis Yan and Cai Quan saluted and left, and the attendants were also dismissed; Mei Changsu stood rooted to his spot, hands in sleeves, and only brought them out to salute when Xiao Jingyan moved closer. “What other business does Your Majesty have?”
Xiao Jingyan looked down at those delicate pale fingers pushed before him, wanting to grasp them, but did not want to be too forward, and so he could only resist temptation and clasp his own hands behind his back. “Sir has laboured hard these past days: what if we take our lunch in Yangju Hall to-day?”
Mei Changsu shot him a glance neither heated nor cool. “I thank Your Majesty for your tremendous favour…but the Empress Dowager has issued her imperial decree, that every bite and sip this servant consumes at the palace must meet with her approval, and I dare not act on my own authority; I hope Your Majesty can forgive me.”
After these words, he stepped back and saluted once more. “Allow me to take my leave, Your Majesty—were you to have other state affairs that require counsel, this servant shall naturally be awaiting summons in the Phoenix Pavilion.”
Xiao Jingyan dared not force him, of course, and watched with a smile as he swung his sleeves and left briskly—that man had always had this disposition since young; in the rare occasions when something did not go perfectly according to his liking, he would behave temperamentally, as if out of spite, determined to get his recompense.
And so those villains who had shown their true forms in previous days were swept clean by Mei Changsu, as if leaves in an autumn wind, and were all cleared up in under a month; the responsible parties were each punished according to their misconduct, and the rest were consoled and set at ease; the proceedings went smoothly, and the court gradually returned to a pure state. In the blink of an eye, it was half past the tenth month, and the chill in the Jinling air deepened; one day, near dark, Mei Changsu went to Yangju Hall to report on completed work before leaving the palace grounds, and when he exited the doors of the hall, he then found the still-bright sky swirling with fine white flakes of snow.
Xiao Jingyan had been watching that thin and elegant silhouette from his place standing within the hall this entire time, and seeing him now pausing and looking up, he could not help but follow him out—the first snow of this winter, in the light of dusk, drifted soundlessly across the entire majestic imperial city thus; the two of them stood shoulder to shoulder, watching while standing on top of the steps, until an attendant brought out a heavy brocaded dragon-embroidered fur cloak from the hall and delicately draped it over the Emperor’s shoulders.
Xiao Jingyan suddenly came back to his senses, taking the fox fur cloak off his shoulder and reaching out his arms to enclose Mei Changsu in the warm fur collar, then bending down to pull the cloak tight over him, wrapping him most carefully—Mei Changsu had already been stunned to stillness by now, and Xiao Jingyan did not knot the ties of the cloak, only using his hands to clasp it together tightly, and leaned over to ask low, “the night approaches and the snow has come, drink a cup with me[90]?”
Before Mei Changsu, gaze lowered, could realise what was happening, Xiao Jingyan had already tugged him back toward Yangju Hall. Inside the warm chamber, in-floor heating tunnels were burning well, coal braziers had been readied, and the attendants had finished serving meals and wine, but Mei Changsu, sitting properly in front of the table with the cloak draped loosely about him, was still absentmindedly watching the fine wine in his cup as if in a bewildered trance.
The last occasion he drank with Xiao Jingyan was before he went off to war; at that time, with his greatest wish fulfilled, he had decided to go to his death, his behaviour exceptionally unconstrained and free in response, but now he was under the yoke of ruler-subject proprieties, feeling quite at a loss, insecure in how to proceed, and sitting here, it seemed there was no place for him. Thankfully Xiao Jingyan moved in closer then, and reached out his hand—he leaned over, as if trying to escape, and fairly buried his face in the crook of Xiao Jingyan’s neck.
“What is it?” Xiao Jingyan had wanted to take off his fur for him, not expecting to get all of him instead, so he held and coaxed him tenderly.
A long time later, he heard Mei Changsu answer in a low voice, “Jingyan, things are different now: I may yet live for a long time.”
Xiao Jingyan understood his meaning, mingled joy and sorrow unspeakable, and after the knot in his throat trembled for a while, he answered, “of course you shall, and I still long to grow old with you, to be together for the rest of our lives. Xiao-Shu, don’t be afraid—when our hearts are as one, there is nothing to fear before us.”
Mei Changsu’s arms clung to his neck as he took in a deep breath, then sat back up straight a while later, seemingly embarrassed from being too overwhelmed by attachment. Xiao Jingyan fixed his gaze upon him, feeling amusement in his heart that he certainly dared not show; he only handed over chopsticks, and then each ate his own dinner normally, talking in low tones over wine for half the night.
Only after they had drained the entire pot of Royal Ruby did Xiao Jingyan take the wine cup from Mei Changsu’s hand. Mei Changsu had not touched wine in a long time, and took the chance now to grip Xiao Jingyan’s hand in his, a little tipsy. Xiao Jingyan smiled, wanting to hold his hand in return, but the reddened corner of Mei Changsu’s eye twitched as he shook his head and stood. “This servant must go now.”
Xiao Jingyan caressed his fingertips as he looked up at him for a long while. “It is warm in this hall, and you have just drunk wine, and cannot experience any chills now; I will ask for a warm carriage to be prepared—wait a little.”
Mei Changsu nodded, but withdrew his hand and turned to await in the front hall. Xiao Jingyan huffed a laugh to himself, then rose and followed him out, ordering servants to prepare a carriage—he was already overjoyed beyond expectations that Mei Changsu was willing to linger in the palace, and was afraid of being too untoward and proceeding too quickly, agitating him far away again.
And so, in the first snowy night of Yuanyou Era, Year Seven[91], Mei Changsu sat, surrounded by a host of warming items, bestowed by the Emperor for warding off the cold, as he rode slowly back to Su Manor. He Zhengming had already changed into official robes, preparing to enter the palaces and do his physician duties, and he happened to meet Mei Changsu as he came back in fox fur and snow cap, felted robes and wool boots, a white sable sleeve wrapped about his hands with a hand warmer inside; seeing the courtyard in a state of busy chaos, Mei Changsu asked, “why is everyone standing about in the snow?”
Zhen Ping had already come up to greet him with an umbrella. “When the snow fell at dusk, the Empress Dowager bestowed rewards here, calling them items for helping Chief pass the winter—we still have not finished organising them in this time.”
Mei Changsu was dumbfounded upon hearing, and as Zhen Ping supported him inside, he was further agape—these items were even more thoughtful and exquisite than the ones sent with him on campaign last year, and even Feiliu was dazzled by it all as he lay on a brocaded quilt embroidered with golden flowers, tossing and turning as he played with the imperial tassels at its corners.
Lin Chen was snuggling near the new gold-plated coal brazier and drinking wine, and seeing him remove his outer robes one layer at a time, still with a stunned face, he could not help but tease, “the betrothal gifts are all gathered here, I wonder when—”
The warming sleeve still in Mei Changsu’s hand flew over at once, temporarily stopping Lin Chen’s absurdity, though he felt a shameful fear inside. The next morning, he entered the palace early to give thanks to the Empress Dowager, and as he knelt before her feet, before he could say halting words, he heard her speak, “it is already snow season, and I definitely cannot let you travel the hundreds of li to Langzhou. With the state of affairs at peace everywhere, you are no longer allowed your wilful nonsense; listen to me—just settle down in Jinling for good.”
With head lowered, Mei Changsu murmured his assent after a long while. Only then did the Empress Dowager’s face relax in pleasure; she kept him in the palace for morning meal until court was dismissed, and Xiao Jingyan came in to pay respects, when she then handed Mei Changsu over to him. “The season has turned cold, and Sir comes in the palace every morning early for roll call[92] at great inconveniences to him. Imperial Son, you must look after him with care.”
Xiao Jingyan had already heard the context as he entered, and now, armed with this imperial decree, he became ever more bold and fearless. Mei Changsu was originally able to cross the restrictive palace walls with his Phoenix Pavilion privileges, and he scrupulously abided by all regulations, working diligently and without a hint of impropriety, but he did not expect to be so disrupted by the Emperor, and was most exasperated and flustered as a result. “The Son of Heaven ought to administer the country from the proper ceremonial halls! Even if Your Majesty has state affairs that need counsel, you should summon this servant to you: how can Your Majesty personally come to the Phoenix Pavilion every day?”
This Phoenix Pavilion was attached to the rear of Lingyan[93] Hall, and was originally devised for retired civil servants of outstanding meritorious service; the elderly officials on staff did not enter the palaces except to pay routine respects on the new year; the other officials awaiting summons were given this privilege in the last reign, and each had their own real titles, none coming here for roll call. And so this pavilion had only four secretaries taking shifts of duty, a rather leisurely job until Mei Changsu came here to conduct his business; his meals and medicine were all granted by the Empress Dowager, and now the Emperor himself came to visit in person daily, often staying for an entire afternoon each time, rendering this pavilion quite an important and classified locale.
Xiao Jingyan did not seem to be self-aware; in these winter days, he still wore thin robes and stood tall and straight, though he perversely rubbed his hands together now at the question. “This Emperor has no business to discuss, and even if I were to, I would not dare to trouble Sir to make a trek in this weather—I had just come back from Wuying Hall, and because it has turned quite cold now, I stopped by Sir’s place on the way to warm up and avoid the chill.”
It was hardly as if Mei Changsu could chase him away; the attending eunuch came in to place down a full load of petitions and letters from his arms and then left silently, and Xiao Jingyan did not need instructions, sitting himself down opposite Mei Changsu on the mat, by the window, and began writing comments on the petitions next to the remnants of Mei Changsu’s tea and ink.
Mei Changsu was helpless against him; his table half-occupied by Xiao Jingyan, and with there being no one else about anyway, he took up a book and leaned to the side for some idle reading, grasping a brush to add a few annotations when he read passages of interest, and unexpectedly causing Xiao Jingyan to ask, “that book from before, A Detailed Narrative of Travels[94]: what mysteries did it contain? This Emperor read it from end to end for days, but somehow could not understand its significance.”
Mei Changsu raised his head at those words, and thinking of Xiao Jingyan’s confused mien as he flipped through the pages, he could not resist a small smile. “This servant shall present the book to Your Majesty on the morrow; as they say, the meaning of a book reveals itself after a hundred reads, and Your Majesty surely can spend a few more days—”
Before he could finish, Xiao Jingyan had gripped his hand with one move. “You dare mock this Emperor?”
Mei Changsu struggled once, and did not manage to escape, of course, but was pulled even closer to the table, and still could not stop smiling. “This servant dares not; I mean to help relieve Your Majesty of your difficulties.”
Xiao Jingyan closed in, saying in a low voice with gritted teeth, “this Emperor does not care for that nuisance—thinking back on it now, ever since I borrowed that travelogue, I was never able to eat hazelnut pastries again.”
Mei Changsu nearly burst into loud laughter. “Then Your Majesty should go ask the Empress Dowager, and not this servant.”
With Mei Changsu firmly in Xiao Jingyan’s grasp, although the desk still lay between them, they were right before each other’s eyes, their breaths mingling. “I am asking only you: you are the one who ruined this Emperor’s supply of hazelnut pastries, and must compensate for it with another ‘pastry’[95] of some sort.”
Mei Changsu’s ears burned red, his eyes brimmed with laughter, and his mouth continued to talk back, “whatever pastry Your Majesty would like to eat, you can of course call for someone to bring it.”
Upon hearing, Xiao Jingyan raised his brows and voice to call, “servants!”
Only then did Mei Changsu panic; though he could hear the attendant’s footsteps get louder, he was firmly trapped by Xiao Jingyan’s long and strong fingers, and could not struggle away. The circumstances had reversed, and Xiao Jingyan was now the one cool and composed whilst stifling his laugh—indeed, at the very instant the attendant reached out to push the door open, a sweet and hasty kiss landed shakily upon the corner of Mei Changsu’s mouth.
After this bout, Mei Changsu had learned his lesson—whenever he was unoccupied, he casually discussed politics in the cabinet, or went to the library to copy classic texts, and avoided Phoenix Pavilion for days as much as possible. Xiao Jingyan came away empty-handed several times, then finally said to the crowd at the cabinet, “it is already the depths of winter; there are too many events and people here, their coming and going bringing in too much chill: Sir should not stay here for long.”
Before Mei Changsu could answer, Cai Quan, who only wished Mei Changsu could help him constantly with all of the Ministry of Justice matters accrued after autumn, hurried to answer, “we have already set felt curtains and hand warmers for Sir in the warm chamber, and he is sure to not encounter any chill here.”
Xiao Jingyan seemed to have never encountered a virtuous civil servant so unperceptive and untimely, and immediately glowered at him. “Cai-qing, Sir entered the palace to remedy insufficiencies for this Emperor, not to hang around and rectify errors for you!”
Cai Quan gaped, not understanding the source of the Emperor’s rage. It was Shen Zhui who hurried to mediate with, “do not worry, Your Majesty: us servants dare not trouble Sir with every single matter—in the future, we shall certainly dispatch someone to enquire first, and only go to Phoenix Pavilion to seek Sir’s counsel when he is unoccupied.”
Only then did Xiao Jingyan snort coldly, and turn to give Mei Changsu a look with raised eyebrows; Mei Changsu had observed this exchange between ruler and subjects as if it did not involve him, and now he smiled mischievously. “This lowly official has no other business presently, and it is a good time to discuss the storage of grains from the autumn harvest that Shen-daren had mentioned earlier.”
Now Xiao Jingyan had truly become the loneliest person in the world[96]; after he swept a glare across these three crucial members of his inner circle, each wearing different expressions, he fairly stormed off with a swing of his sleeves. Mei Changsu did not mind his irritation, and even felt secretly amused; after saying some words of consolation to Shen Zhui and Cai Quan, he seriously discussed the matter of storing new grain and transferring the storage of old stores for a good while—by now, Shen Zhui had the procedure in mind, and tugged on Mei Changsu as he said, “Sir’s tenacity is admirable! I must trouble you to visit His Majesty together, and if he agrees, then I will draft the memorandum this afternoon for the Ministry of Revenue to do a detailed analysis.”
Mei Changsu rose and peeked out the window; it was near lunch-time, the winter sun was gentle and ever-present, the day peaceful and windless, and he was precisely looking for a reason to go and comfort that irritated Emperor’s heart. “Then let us go—a good opportunity to stretch our legs after sitting for this half-day.”
And so he put on a wide cloak of silver fox fur, and chatted amicably with Shen Zhui as they strolled toward Yangju Hall together. At the front of the hall, they ran into Meng Zhi, who had just returned from inspecting the palace defences and teased him with a smile, “Sir is in quite a good mood to-day, and actually has some free time to visit His Majesty?”
Mei Changsu gave him a glare, but did not reproach him further. Knowing he mis-spoke, Meng Zhi quickly ascended the steps to enter the hall and announce him. Xiao Jingyan had been dwelling in the inner hall, and upon hearing the news, rose to walk to the front, and as soon as he turned around the column, he saw Mei Changsu in his loose silver fur, tall with hands in sleeves, entering with eyes full of smiles.
That slight unhappiness inside him had long vanished without a trace. Xiao Jingyan walked near with hands behind his back, watching intently as Mei Changsu moved to salute unhurriedly, and reached out to make the motion of helping him up. But though he was quite used to ruler-subject etiquette by now, the hand Xiao Jingyan extended only passed through air this time—just as Mei Changsu was bowing his head and bending his back, he swayed suddenly and plunged to the ground before him.
Notes:
Translation Footnotes (click the numbers to return to the text in-place):
[89] [95] Pastry/sū/酥 is the same sound as the 苏 in Mei Changsu and Su Zhe (and Mary Sue), and it’s obvious what Jingyan is most interested in eating.
[90] Adapted from Tang Dynasty poet Bái Jūyì/白居易’s poem to his friend: 晚来天欲雪，能饮一杯无？
[91] Though Jingyan had announced the new era name upon his ascendance, the year didn’t immediately change to Linhua; typically, the year where the previous Emperor dies keeps its original era name, and the new era name will officially become in use at the next new year.
[92] Officials were supposed to go to their designated workplace between the hours of 5 AM and 7 AM every day for roll call/应卯, and those who did not show up without a reason would be punished.
[93] Língyān/凌烟 is literally soaring mist and metaphorically high aspirations. There was a real Lingyan Pavilion/凌烟阁 in the Tang Dynasty that housed portraits of outstanding officials.
[94] The title of Mei Changsu’s special book, Xiáng Dì Jì/翔地记, literally means detailed record of the land.
[96] It is often said that the Emperor is the loneliest person, without any true friends or confidants. Emperors used to refer to themselves with the self-deprecating title that is referenced here, 孤家寡人, meaning isolated and lacking virtue.
Chapter 28: Warm Winter
Notes:
—————Sorry it’s still not over yet——————
———Just wanted to give Mei-laoshi a warm winter————
———————Yangju Hall domestic life—————————
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The Frostfire Poison, submerged for long, finally re-erupted with a vengeance in this year-end wintry season. Mei Changsu was gathered into Xiao Jingyan’s panicked arms, and he could only force out a small smile of reassurance before descending into the hell of bitter frost crossed with blazing fire.
Xiao Jingyan’s vision blacked over as well; the exclamations from Meng Zhi and Shen Zhui seemed to come from a distant world, and only Mei Changsu’s weakening breaths ringing in his ear helped him compose himself. Attendants swarmed up from all around chaotically, but he dismissed them and carried Mei Changsu into the warm chamber of the inner halls himself.
Shen Zhui tugged on Meng Zhi as he was about to follow them inside, reminding him to order Imperial Guards to take physicians from Su Manor into the palace. Meng Zhi clapped his own head and ran off, but instead of the healers at Su Manor, it was the reigning Empress Dowager who received word and hurried in first—she diagnosed him carefully at the bedside, but her brows knitted ever tighter, and she somehow had no solution; by noon, Meng Zhi and Lin Chen rushed in, with He Zhengming nearly propped in their arms, and the healers surrounded the bed, observing and diagnosing, their faces turning increasingly dark as they discussed in low words.
Xiao Jingyan also stood at the bedside wearing a heavy expression, without ever taking a single step away. This morning, when the cabinet had finished its discussions, Mei Changsu was yet standing tall and elegant, eyes glowing bright with vigour, but not two hours later, he was back to this sickly yellow pallor, his breathing in shallow disarray—Xiao Jingyan clenched his fists in his robe sleeves until his own bones hurt, but still could not hold back that agony of losing him again which was threatening to erupt once more.
When Lin Chen and He Zhengming finished their diagnoses, they each rose and saluted once, reporting on Mei Changsu’s condition—the meridians, forcibly strengthened by medicine and acupuncture, had disguised the signs of manifestation of the remaining poison, hence they could not detect it earlier, and now, the resurgence of the poison was already to such a degree that his circulation was unsteady, his qi and blood clashing. In addition, the properties of the rare medicine for repairing his meridians were peculiar to the point of danger, and the Frostfire Poison’s reactions unpredictable; they had to be extremely cautious with treatment, though their hands were tied at the moment by the grave risk. “We servants can administer needles now, to temporarily stabilise his condition. As for the way of mediation and recovery, we must contemplate on it at length.”
Xiao Jingyan made no reply, his gaze still completely fixed on Mei Changsu. To the side, the Empress Dowager asked a few questions of the treatment and medicine, and only nodded her head after a moment of contemplation with furrowed brows. So He Zhengming retrieved the needles from his pouch and spread them out, and their silver glint pierced Xiao Jingyan like a thousand arrows through his heart; he turned and asked Lin Chen, “Hallmaster Lin, this Emperor is obliged to you for your honest disclosure before; and now, I still want your definite answer—this re-manifestation of his poison, is it serious or not?”
Lin Chen held a white candle for scorching the needles, and its swaying shadow flickered within the midday inner hall, casting a faint shadow upon his face. After a long silent while, he only shook his head ambiguously.
Xiao Jingyan did not pursue the subject further, either. The physicians began to find the acupuncture points and apply their needles, and so he turned around in silence and walked out of the warm chamber. Gao Zhan, who was in the Empress Dowager’s retinue, was keeping watch outside the doors of the inner hall with arms in sleeves, cutting off irrelevant personnel from the quiet desolation inside. Xiao Jingyan crossed the hall in a lost daze; because Mei Changsu would present himself here on occasion these past days, the heating tunnels were frequently burning, the Fujian tea often steeped, lending the tableau a comfortable domesticity, but now it was all too painful to recall; he stopped by Gao Zhan’s side. “Gao-gonggong.”
Gao Zhan was gazing absentmindedly into the distant outer halls, and came to his senses at his voice, turning to bow before hearing Xiao Jingyan say, “this Emperor has an important task to entrust to you.
“Gather a few impeccably suited candidates to come to Yangju Hall and serve Sir Su.”
Gao Zhan covered his mouth in shock, turning to look back at the only just quietened warm chamber in the depths of the inner hall, then raised his gaze to look at Xiao Jingyan, who was standing tall with hands behind his back, his gaze unclear in destination but full of staunch determination. Gao Zhan had administered affairs of the inner palace for three reigns, and knew well that this was truly a serious matter, such that he could not help but salute again. “Please think it over, Your Majesty.”
Xiao Jingyan hardly needed to think it over—he was already deeply regretting his previous intention of letting that man go so easily before, nearly looking on helplessly as he let him slip away from his grasp. What ruler-subject morality, what numerous days of the rest of their lives: looking back now, half of their lives had already passed in a hectic flash, and he himself, of all people, should know that in a blink of an eye, the world could turn upside-down, and these fleeting years must not pass in vain.
He and that man had journeyed here, each experiencing their own tempestuous storms, seas of blood and mountains of blades: the heavens had now blessed them with a world at peace, and why should they let any more time go to waste? Xiao Jingyan gazed down upon the worry-laden Gao Zhan, eyes self-possessed without a hint of hesitation. “This Emperor has made up my mind—just go do it.”
In the end, Gao Zhan saluted and turned around to make the arrangements. By night-time, the east warm chamber of the inner Yangju Hall had been put in order anew; Mei Changsu was secured in the large four-poster bed with thick curtains, medicine and burner were all at the ready, and a gold-lacquer, jade-green gauze partition[97] from floor to ceiling partially caged the medicinal fragrance within the room—Xiao Jingyan had originally been dwelling in the adjacent study to the south, and now the moveable door connecting it to the warm chamber was half open, and he stood before it with hands behind his back, supervising as Gao Zhan settled a host of eunuchs and palace maids into their places, then brought over the newly selected head eunuch.
This eunuch had taken Gao Zhan’s surname while under his tutelage years back, and the latter had already reported his background and details beforehand; he paid respect now to Xiao Jingyan. “This slave, Gao Yuan[98], salutes Your Majesty.”
Xiao Jingyan observed him coolly; the man looked to be around forty, his features delicate, with a red mole between his eyebrows, and his bearing could be considered fitting and steady. “Young Gao-gonggong, do you know how to do this job?”
Gao Yuan answered respectfully, “this slave knows. I will conduct everything with Sir as the highest priority, with utmost dedication and care, and ensure that no sign of this escapes here.”
Xiao Jingyan gave a slight nod. The palace was capable of holding its secrets; after the strict re-organisations of past years, the harem was no more, and hardly any imperial family on either side visited; if they took strict precautions, it was not impossible to keep this secret for at least a year, perhaps even three or five, preserving the reputation of both ruler and subject. As the attendants were temporarily dismissed and the healers withdrew, Xiao Jingyan kept vigil at Mei Changsu’s bedside, gently holding his needle-studded hand—he knew this was not a permanent solution, but he was willing to make an impulsive charge now, and fight for the chance to be there for each other through any hardship.
Mei Changsu slept on like a dead pool of water, occasionally muttering “Jingyan” in his sleep, and would fall back to unconsciousness when gently answered each time. In the next few days, the physicians experimented with several different prescriptions, none of which saw the desired outcome, until there was a fierce snow-storm one day, and Mei Changsu’s pulse sign was turning gradually sunken, when Lin Chen gritted his teeth and pulled out the Bingxu pill, saying to Xiao Jingyan, “the season waits for no one; this commoner asks Your Majesty for a medicinal inducement on Changsu’s behalf.”
Xiao Jingyan knew long ago that the Bingxu pill needed fresh blood to induce its effects, and understood his meaning immediately, bending down to retrieve the jade knife inside the medicine chest. From the side, He Zhengming hurried to shout at him to stop. “Your Majesty must not do this! How can Your Majesty’s most precious body be so easily damaged?! Even if blood is required as inducer, we physicians will naturally—”
Before he could finish, Xiao Jingyan had pushed back his sleeve and casually sliced open his arm. “Even if medically necessary, he would never wish—”
He paused to sigh, then continued, “only use this Emperor’s.”
Overcome with indescribable emotion, He Zhengming took over the half cup of crimson red. Fortunately, the Bingxu pill reacted swift and powerfully against the symptoms, and at night, when the candles burned bright, and the chamber was in comfortable peace, Xiao Jingyan was leaning against the backrest and flipping through a book of medicine when he felt the one beside him seemingly restless in his sleep; as he leaned over to take a look, Mei Changsu’s long lashes fluttered, and his eyes somehow slowly opened.
Two pairs of eyes met each other, and Mei Changsu looked dazedly at the one before him, still feeling himself inside a dream. But Xiao Jingyan bent himself closer, first to caress him with a hot palm, then to meet his mouth with wet lips, passing over a gulp of tea pure and warm—there was tender movement under the quilt as well, as Mei Changsu felt Xiao Jingyan’s solid long legs curl to his side, heat pressing against his abdomen.
Mei Changsu’s throat quivered; warmth seeped into his bones everywhere, and his consciousness gradually turned lucid; when he opened his eyes again, he saw the curtains were lowered, Xiao Jingyan half leaning to the side in a single black gown, his collar slightly loose, a roll of paper next to his hand, and in this moment he felt adrift in time and place.
“Your Majesty,” Mei Changsu tried his voice softly.
Xiao Jingyan answered with a hum and reached out to tuck the quilt securely under his chin. “Do you feel better now?”
Mei Changsu gazed deeply with glittering eyes at the one keeping vigil for him, and suddenly pearly tears rolled off into Xiao Jingyan’s palm. With an aching heart, Xiao Jingyan warmed and wiped clean those wet trails with his hot palm, burying his hand into the other’s hair, then bent down to take him into his arms. “What’s there to cry over? The worst of the storms and tempests have passed; from now on, even if there are waves ahead, I am here to weather them with you, both the good and the bad.”
Mei Changsu could hear the true heart beating inside Xiao Jingyan’s chest, and the bitter bone-cutting pain that accompanied every recurrence of the poison in the past years seemed completely dispelled as he leaned into that warm and solid embrace, falling asleep once more, heart and body safe and sound. When he woke early on the next morning, warmth still lingered in the quilt; Lin Chen was sitting before the desk in the distance, grinding medicine, and smiled as he found him awake through a fleeting glance. “You’ve passed another trial: congratulations are in order.”
Mei Changsu knew his words carried a secondary meaning; though his condition had improved, there was yet pain everywhere throughout his feeble body. In the silence, Gao Yuan brought in medicine, and Lin Chen also sat himself down at the bedside, describing some events of recent days. “Yangju Hall has tightened its security, inside and out, and none are allowed to loiter, without exception; even if my pigeons flew past from the imperial garden, they absolutely will not know you are here.”
Mei Changsu let Gao Yuan attend to him, drinking medicine from the silver spoon a sip at a time, and did not deign to answer those words. Afterward, he let Lin Chen take his pulse, then shrunk back under the quilt, curling with his back turned and falling asleep again—perhaps it was his mind-muddling illness, or perhaps the lingering warmth under that quilt, but in this moment, he did not want to think of those worldly concerns, his only desire to follow his heart and crave peace and comfort for another brief while.
After Xiao Jingyan returned from court, he saw this sight of utter indolence. He had already removed his cloak and outer robes in the inner hall, and still felt his collar and wide sleeves imbued with chill, so he stood far away at the burner for steaming medicine, reaching in to borrow warmth. He Zhengming was on duty in the chamber, and he approached to report on the patient’s condition in low tones; Xiao Jingyan listened, but his round longing eyes never wavered a moment from that peacefully sleeping silhouette inside the bed.
After he rid himself of all chill, he walked lightly up to the bed, seeing Mei Changsu’s breathing was steady, and his mien peaceful; he only tucked in the corners of the quilt for him, then walked to the study as if fully satisfied in mind and heart.
And so this tableau persisted in the east warm chamber of Yangju Hall for the next days—as winter solstice approached, Mei Changsu gradually stayed awake for longer each time, the heating tunnels burned constantly, the incense burner steamed medicinal herbs, and the plain vase upon the table presented branches of white plum blossoms, the entire chamber suffused with warm misty fragrance. Mei Changsu was rendered exceptionally lazy and sluggish from this illness, but Xiao Jingyan had his ceremonial court banquet, and brought the slight scent of wine back with him in the afternoon, to the sight of Mei Changsu curled up untidily with a quilt corner, sleeping in sweet contentment.
The nights were longer than days now; worried that the other might not feel tired later, Xiao Jingyan changed into a single everyday robe, dismissed the physicians and attendants, then flipped himself on to the bed, taking him into his arms from behind. Mei Changsu was startled awake, and mumbled, still half-asleep, “Jingyan, the medicine is thick in the air here, don’t stay around so often.”
Xiao Jingyan moved in even closer, and said low, “I just took medicine to dispel the effects, don’t worry.”
Eyes closed, Mei Changsu tilted his head slightly to nuzzle the side of Xiao Jingyan’s head. “Is medicine something to take so lightly?”
Xiao Jingyan’s chin was pressed against the hollow of his neck, and he muttered tenderly, “the day you don’t need to take medicine any longer is the day I shan’t.”
Hearing those words while in those arms, Mei Changsu only felt a warmth that soaked straight through to the inside of his bones, to the bottom of his heart. Xiao Jingyan had wanted to coax him to rise, but who could expect that in this idle and comfortable winter afternoon, the scent of medicine would ambush him with its faint intoxication, and the one in his arms was like a piece of cool jade: he somehow joined him in a deep sleep instead. A good while later, it was Mei Changsu who broke out into a hot sweat from the embrace, and struggled out and over to kick Xiao Jingyan outside the quilt; the latter did not mind, either, only reaching back inside the quilt with one hand to grasp the hem of Mei Changsu’s robes, then slept for another half-hour before rising.
When both of them rose and re-arranged their clothing, the weak and brief daylight had given way to increasingly bright lamps outside the warm chamber. They had dinner, as usual, then Xiao Jingyan sat by the desk, reading and commenting on some petitions and memoranda, while Mei Changsu sat cross-legged, neither near nor far, as he tended to the vase of white plum blossoms—knowing the Su Manor crowd would be on tenter-hooks with worry, Xiao Jingyan not only allowed Li Gang and Zhen Ping to join the Imperial Guards and keep watch outside the palace hall, but also gave a jade plaque to Feiliu that allowed him to come and go as he wished.
Though Feiliu left the plaque at the corner of Mei Changsu’s bed the next day, branches of plum blossoms of the snow-twinned, gold-heart variety from the former Prince Jing residence still appeared from time to time upon the table in the study of the chamber. Mei Changsu gathered the branches together, trimming and arranging them with great care, and only returned to the bed when Gao Yuan came to urge him for another round of needles and medicine.
The evening passed in a flash thus, and when the first round of the night watch sounded, Xiao Jingyan returned with a roll of military reports in his sleeve, and extended his legs under the quilt to warm Mei Changsu, the two of them quietly discussing the state of the northern border army as he read. It was nearly the third watch of midnight when they had finished talking, candles flickering low beyond the bed-curtains, and the two exchanged a glance amidst the complete silence, both pairs of eyes clear and bright, somehow utterly without drowsiness.
Not daring to disturb Mei Changsu’s rest, Xiao Jingyan lay down and pillowed his head on his own arms, but he did not expect that after a long while of lying there in utter boredom, he only felt the wide-awake breathing of the one beside him. He tilted his face to look over, and Mei Changsu seemed to sense him, turning himself over so that their breaths mingled; Xiao Jingyan said with a soft laugh, “the night is long and sleep does not come—what if this Emperor helps divert Sir from the loneliness of the inner palace?”
As soon as he finished those words, Mei Changsu plastered his whole self to him and wrapped his arms around his neck.
Notes:
(There should be smut here, but I can’t post it anyways, oh well.
Basically, your ship once again makes sweet love.
After they do it, they find out it’s no big, not like the sky’s going to collapse or anything.
So they keep doing it and keep having a fabulous time.)
Translation Footnotes (click the numbers to return to the text in-place):
[97] Another reference to Dream of the Red Chamber, where these movable wooden partitions with intricate carvings and covered with jade-green gauze/碧纱橱 were set up to make temporary rooms inside a manor. The gauze kept out bugs and made the room private, such that those from the dimmer interior could see out, but those outside could not see in, and it was often used to house women apart from men.
[98] The Yuàn in Gāo Yuàn/高苑 means an enclosed garden with flora and fauna, and often refers to an imperial garden in particular.
Chapter 29: Chilin Pavilion
Notes:
————————Grand finale, part 1—————————
—————Your Yanyan has their wedding chamber all prepared——————
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
When Mei Changsu awoke the next day, Xiao Jingyan had already left to hold court. Lin Chen brought in Feiliu to change shifts, and after his pulse was diagnosed, those two, one big and one small, disappeared to places unknown. After he rose and performed ablutions, only Gao Yuan was left in the warm chamber, diligently tending to his dress and hair.
After an entire night submerged in deep passionate waters, Mei Changsu sat, unhurried and proper, amidst the bright daylight that seeped through the window, and could not help but harbour some shame at heart. But Gao Yuan’s manners were calm and composed, and when he gathered Mei Changsu’s loose hair to see a set of red and swollen teeth marks at the back of his neck, he only dealt with it most naturally, re-smoothing his robe collar by hand properly. Mei Changsu observed the eunuch’s movements in the mirror, and suddenly felt the red mole on his forehead striking to his eyes. “Young Gao-gonggong looks quite familiar; where were you of service before?”
Gao Yuan raised his head at the question to make eye contact and say, “You have a good memory, Sir; twenty years ago, this slave tended the plum blossoms in Qiongguang Garden[99].”
Mei Changsu’s eyes widened in shock, the light in the mirror seemingly flowing backward rapidly to his youth, the past suddenly appearing clear before his eyes—in those days, Consort Chen had been most favoured for years, and the late Emperor had specially built this Qiongguang Imperial Garden for her in the inner palace: its grounds were planted full of well-pruned, elegant plum trees, blossoms white upon white in the ice and snow, the most beautifully spectacular sight in the palaces during the depths of winter.
He was only twelve or thirteen then, the prime age of rebellious tomfoolery, and even the glazed tiles on the roof of the Emperor’s palace were no match for his audacity. That day, it happened to be snowing heavily as he entered the palace to pay respects, and the Grand Empress Dowager was sitting and chatting idly with various clansfolk and palace relatives around the braziers; while everyone was talking, he shot a significant look at Xiao Jingyan and snuck out of her palace.
Xiao Jingyan did not follow him out—on the way into the palaces, Lin Shu, arm dangled around his shoulder, was chattering incessantly, making a fuss about plucking himself a branch of white plum blossoms from Qiongguang Garden. The plum trees there were precious, and this snow-twinned variety even more so; in its flowering season, beside appearing as tribute in the palaces of the Grand Empress Dowager and Consort Chen, it was not even commonly found in the Emperor’s imperial study.
Lin Shu did not take any of that into consideration, of course; the snow-storm was raging in Jinling, the vast imperial city was devoid of outdoor presence, and he jumped on to walls and roofs, only clad in his indoor dark blue narrow-sleeve robe and nothing else for the cold, and disappeared into the wind and snow as soon as he exited the palace gate. Qiongguang Garden was at the north-west end of the inner palaces, not far from where he was, and after a few mighty leaps against the wind and snow, he landed at the eaves of the garden’s colonnade perimeter and went first to investigate the movements of the head eunuch there.
Just as he told himself that no one would be out and about in this blinding snow, he saw, from his vantage point crouched upon the roof, a young and thin eunuch kneeling in the snow outside the corridors, back hunched and trembling, shoulders fully laden with snow and frost. Astonished at the sight, Lin Shu pricked up his ears, immediately hearing verbal abuse and humiliation being hurled from the veranda house beneath the eaves.
Mei Changsu could no longer remember the cause of the eunuch’s punishment, only that he flew into a fiery rage after listening to a few sentences; the presence of a servant this evil and treacherous in this garden truly ruined its exquisite wintry scene. With a fire blazing in his heart, Lin Shu retrieved a roof tile and threw it into the window along a hooked arc; as expected, the sound of scolding moved outside of the eaves—before he could even take a good look, Lin Shu leapt down on to the shoulders of that man, shaking the hem of his robes free to cover his head, then wrestled him down to the ground with a twist of his hips.
These were all valiant and ruthless techniques of the Chiyan Army for riding in on horseback and slaying the leader; the last time he saw Nie Feng use it, he took the head of the enemy general in one move. Lin Shu had no blade in his hand, but he reached his hand back to seize the eunuch’s robes and belt, flipping it over to trap the man’s head inside along with the mud and snow, then tying him down until he was utterly trapped inside.
The head eunuch of the garden was both terrified and infuriated by this sudden ambush, high-pitched curses and screams still emanating from his mouth. Lin Shu was overjoyed, snickering in secret without speaking, and rose half-way to drag the eunuch by one leg toward the filthy pile of composting manure in the garden corner—at the same time, Xiao Jingyan had come out of the palace with a snow coat after all, and did not expect to see, after winding through half of the garden, a group of eunuchs huddled together like quails beneath the colonnades, their necks stretched as they peered toward a certain corner of the garden.
Xiao Jingyan knew immediately it must have been that person causing trouble again; indeed, as soon as he approached, he saw that half-grown child throw down the head eunuch tied like a sack of grains, make a gesture at him to keep quiet, then run up to him in rapturous spirits—Xiao Jingyan found it both outrageous and amusing, and seeing Lin Shu’s face, wholly ruddy from frost, he swallowed his words of reprimand and only helped him clap the frost off his entire body, taking off his own coat to cover him with it.
Lin Shu’s head was full of snow congealed with hot sweat; he leaned into Xiao Jingyan’s robes, then flung his head in one move and took the coat off and into his arms as he strode quickly back to the colonnade. That young eunuch was still kneeling in the snow, and Lin Shu lowered his voice to dismiss the crowd gathered there to watch before saying to him, “don’t be frightened, I know this is no place for you to stay…Just go inside first, and I’ll have the Seventh Prince request you for Prince Qi’s Manor to-morrow.”
The young eunuch forced his frozen neck to bend up, his eyes widening at Lin Shu’s words, frosty lashes trembling. Lin Shu was shocked too, because this man’s face was already blue from the cold, his teeth chattering ceaselessly, and only the red mole between his brows had any hint of liveliness.
The two of them looked at each other for a moment, and it was Xiao Jingyan, in the end, who walked over, taking the coat from Lin Shu’s hands and draping it over the eunuch. Lin Shu watched his act of compassion in a dreamy trance, and before he could react, Xiao Jingyan had taken his hand, coated with snow and mud. “Let’s go back.”
This young eunuch did not end up at Prince Qi’s Manor, after all—on the morrow, the wind and snow gave way to clear skies, and the incident made its way to Zhengyang Palace. The Empress Yan of yore was leading all the consorts and concubines of the harem to pay respects to the Grand Empress Dowager; not expecting to see Lin Shu kept overnight at the palace because of the snow-storm, she took the opportunity to rebuke him publicly. Lin Shu, nestling by the Grand Empress Dowager’s side, knew that she was scolding him more or less because he had beaten Xiao Jinghuan at the imperial academy two days before, and muttered with his head down, “who was the one using their powers for evil, and who was the true bully? This servant beat him up with only my own fists.”
Her Ladyship Consort Chen found it amusing from the side, and only chided him for a few sentences, but the Grand Empress Dowager spoke out in protection, “are the rules of the palace set for him only? Though this child is on the wilful side, what grave fault is that, really?”
With the past reappearing vividly before his eyes, Mei Changsu choked up with emotion, hanging his head that could not form words. His hair swept over his shoulder under Gao Yuan’s care, and it was like the Grand Empress Dowager’s protective, doting hand caressing him—what was there to fear within these lofty walls, back in those years? With his family shielding him all around, he naturally dared to be so bold and unrestrained.
In the end, it was Her Ladyship Concubine Jing who persuaded Consort Chen to ask for that young eunuch, afraid that if the news spread outside the walls, Lin Shu would have a martial beating coming to him; because the eunuch came from Qiongguang, he was named xiao-Yuan after the word for garden, and stayed in the palaces to perform manual labour and odd jobs—twenty years later, after so many rises and falls in fortune, Qiongguang Garden now lay in desolation, xiao-Yuan had become Gao Yuan, but the Young Marshal Lin and Seventh Prince who came on a quest for plum blossoms that day in the snow, their surge of righteous indignation and compassionate sympathy, was seared into his heart for evermore.
Mei Changsu was at a loss; perhaps because he did not end up at the receiving end of his Marshal-Father’s disciplinary cane, he fairly forgot this matter instantly, but now that he remembered all of a sudden, he fully felt the fleeting nature of life, like prints left in the snow, reflections glancing off water, mingled joy and sorrow welling up from places unknown—Gao Yuan had already finished with his dress and hair, and took a step back now to prostrate upon the floor in a grand salute. “This slave never dared hope for the heavens to look down upon me with favour once more, allowing me to repay in gratitude the smallest portion of the kindness you showed to me. My only wish now is that you can be at ease in happy contentment within these palaces, as you were before.”
Mei Changsu looked back into the mirror; now in a hairpin and loose robes, gaunt from his illness, he had long lost the pampered swagger of his youth, and how could he be as he was before. But the past still wound about his heart; he called for Gao Yuan to rise and help him, and strolled toward the outer palace hall—having stayed half a month in the inner depths of Yangju Hall, he had not set a single foot in the bright public light of the outer hall; after he paused for a moment to raise his head high, he walked up to the palace doors and stood firmly there.
Imperial palaces, overlapping near and far, all presented themselves for his view; this palatial city was hardly foreign to him: every courtyard and hall, every wall and roof, had lingering traces of his light and shadow from childhood. But looking afar at the grey bricks and black tiles, though they were all familiar, he still felt himself in a spirit dream among these lofty heights, visiting old haunts as a ghost.
He stood unmoving for a long while, until he saw the gates of the palace courtyard open at a distance, and Xiao Jingyan, in his beaded crown and ceremonial court attire, draped with a cloak of dark black, ritual flagstaffs before him and the imperial carriage behind him, walked in with his sweeping and exceptional gaze—looking afar to see Mei Changsu standing there, he sped forward majestically and bounded up the steps in a few long strides. “Why ever are you standing out here in the wind?”
Mei Changsu turned to give the hand warmer back to Gao Yuan and slowly saluted; he did not know where to begin, with his mind still far-away and in flux, and inexplicably avoided the question to say instead, “this servant respectfully welcomes Your Majesty back to the palace.”
Xiao Jingyan’s gaze turned slightly sly at his words, seemingly enjoying them greatly as the corner of his mouth curled upward; he answered softly with a laugh, “thoughtful of you, aiqing[100].”
By the time Mei Changsu digested the insinuated meaning in that reply, Xiao Jingyan had waved him politely back into the inner palace. After his crown and outer cloak were removed, the attendants swarmed out, and he tugged at Mei Changsu’s hand to hold it in his own. “Do you feel better today? Enough to be in the mood to walk outside, even.”
Mei Changsu smiled at that. “I chatted with Gao Yuan this morning, and thought of some things from the past, was all.”
Xiao Jingyan gave him a fixed look, then neared with a smile and said, “I actually have a new thing, would you like to hear?”
Mei Changsu could not help but smile back while examining him. “Then say it.”
“To-day Mu Qing presented a petition, asking this Emperor to grant the marriage between Nihuang and Nie Duo.”
It was a thing very much to be expected, of course; but Mei Changsu could not help but still be overwhelmed with emotions upon hearing. Xiao Jingyan watched his dazed look, and teased on purpose, “do not be stingy…this Emperor will recompense your loss of a noble lady of the phoenix[101] with a dragon son of heaven.”
About to jest back, Mei Changsu looked keenly at the one before him and only sighed in the end. “My fate from a previous life is no more, and I cannot help but feel a little wistful.”
“Well, it is too late for regrets: this Emperor has already granted the request in court.” Xiao Jingyan gazed steadily back at him as they held hands. “Let us only look forward, you and I.”
Mei Changsu nodded lightly; past ties were ended, old matters resolved, and even if the future was uncertain, he could only forge forward. Xiao Jingyan had no eyes for anything but him, and said warmly at this time, “come, I have another thing to tell you.”
So Mei Changsu followed him into the library, and saw him open the bureau beneath the partition shelf, taking out a painting scroll then pulling Mei Changsu to sit down, side by side, before the desk—the scroll unrolled slowly, silk white and new, ink strokes clean and neat, the inscription in the corner bearing the official seal of the Inner Court Bureau: it was a newly made map of the imperial city grounds.
Mei Changsu examined it all to see that the courtyards and palaces of yore were still there, not demolished or rebuilt, but upon close examination, many of the walls and colonnades were organised anew. The boundaries of the inner palaces had shrunk to the edge of the gardens, and the east and west palaces were now connected to the outer court. Mei Changsu was uncomprehending; “what does Your Majesty mean by this?”
Xiao Jingyan pointed a finger at the inner garden. “This Emperor’s inner palaces only has the Empress Dowager enjoying her years, and without the harem, there is no need for endless halls and chambers.
“However, it would be a shame for the legacy left by previous reigns to go to waste—the inner court has already cleaned it all and compiled an inventory, and this Emperor wants to put it to other use.”
Confounded, Mei Changsu did not dare to contemplate the implications too deeply in the moment. Xiao Jingyan’s well-defined finger skimmed over important points on the map, but his words were clear: the east garden could gather scholars for expanding the imperial academy, and the west garden could be converted to military training grounds—the south end still had Yangju Hall as its focus, with Chaoyang and Wuying Halls at the fore and rear; the east and west side halls were to become administrative offices, for various bureaus and important officials to attend on duty and confer on politics.
“The Secretariat and cabinet are both to move inward, and arrangements for the remaining departments are already being drafted up by the Ministry of Rites.” At this, Xiao Jingyan looked at Mei Changsu. “Though this Emperor has long chosen a place for Sir to assist me in governance.”
Before Mei Changsu could react, he saw Xiao Jingyan’s finger fall at the corner of Yangju Hall—a tiny pavilion adjoined it, fewer than a hundred paces in actual distance; Xiao Jingyan smiled as he looked at him. “The construction of this pavilion began at the founding of this dynasty; it was originally a side pavilion to the Emperor’s main hall, and a place for good books and scholars during the rule of Emperor Wen[102]. Though it lay in disuse for years in the previous reign, it is finally time for the Qilin to become its rightful master.
“The place is connected to Yangju Hall by a covered colonnade bridge, and the path is easily traversed even in rain and snow,” he added gently; “this Emperor already ordered it cleaned and organised, and visited it myself; though not as elegant as Su Manor, it is nevertheless fit for an important official’s residence—would Sir perhaps deign to live in this humble abode?”
Mei Changsu raised his stunned gaze, helplessly meeting Xiao Jingyan’s sincere and gentle eyes as his own suddenly blurred over. Xiao Jingyan picked up the red imperial brush on the desk and wrote a few strokes on the map, and by the time Mei Changsu’s eyes lowered and tears fell, he saw the Emperor’s calligraphy, vigorous and fine, iron hiding silk, forming the newly conferred name—Chilin Pavilion[103].
Xiao Jingyan placed down the brush, turning back to hold Mei Changsu, who had already leaned into his embrace—how could he not know that Mei Changsu constantly felt there was no place for him here in these forbidding palaces and old haunts, and so he had toiled hard this whole time to lay down a smooth path for him. “If you would like to establish yourself in court, then admit famed talents from the world all over, select and elevate the best as Grand Scholars[104] of Chilin Pavilion, and counsel me in court affairs and governmental duties.
“If you want to retreat, no matter; it is well-stocked with books, classics and histories, treatises of military strategy, that are not unworthy of a read. There is a quiet and peaceful life to be had here, and the scenery is splendid in the spring; if your interest lies in this, we can write poems and drink wine, sing our own ode as we behold the world together.
“Xiao-Shu, Sir…will you stay here for me, for good?”
His head laying upon Xiao Jingyan’s shoulder, Mei Changsu could only hear two hearts chime together to the same rhythm; their most intimate of bonds was a promise fulfilled: Xiao Jingyan knew him better than any other and treated him well beyond the height of love and loyalty, laying his own heart bare in utter devotion. Mei Changsu swallowed hard, holding back his fierce feelings with difficulty, and his hand, tightly clutching Xiao Jingyan’s robes, was gently grasped by the other and pressed to that thundering chest. “If only for this heart of mine—”
Mei Changsu fought free so he could embrace the other wholly, interrupting his sincere painstaking words. Xiao Jingyan only felt that thin chest press squarely against his own, and between the roaring drum beats of their hearts, he heard Mei Changsu answer, “I will.”
Wild joy instantly flooded Xiao Jingyan’s every faculty as he embraced the love of his life deathly tight, and then he held him up in a hasty panic a while later, his dark round eyes ardently peering into Mei Changsu’s, as if simultaneously wanting to ask a question but afraid of the answer; in the end, he neared Mei Changsu and kissed him on the cheek in disbelief. With heart aching, Mei Changsu reached out to encircle Xiao Jingyan’s neck, pulling him close again, and said as their heads touched tenderly, “I pledge my life to ye, to be together and true for all our days.”
Notes:
Translation Footnotes (click the numbers to return to the text in-place):
[99] Qióng/琼 means exquisite, jade-like, and metaphorically snow-covered in relation to trees; guāng/光 is light or scenery; so Qiongguang can be read as exquisite wintry sight.
[100] Àiqīnɡ/爱卿, literally like/love and -qing, means esteemed subject when addressed to an official from the Emperor, and a term of endearment akin to beloved when addressed to someone from their spouse.
[101] The huáng/凰 in Nihuang’s name is the female fenghuang, or phoenix.
[102] The Emperor’s posthumous name/谥号 is given by the new court as a reflection upon his legacy, and we refer to most Emperors by this name nowadays. Here Wén/文, literally civil, means benevolent to the people/愍民惠礼. It’s a commonly granted name for good Emperors, and so is its counterpart Wǔ/武, literally martial, meaning strong and just governance/刚强直理, as seen in Jingyan’s posthumous name from NiF2 canon, Wǔjìng/武靖 (jing is the same as in his prince title and means to bring peace).
[103] Chì/赤 is red or sincere, from Chiyan (and innate pure heart/赤子之心); Lín/麟 is from Qilin (and Linhua Era).
[104] Grand Scholars/大学士 are secretaries and counselors close to the Emperor, responsible for drafting imperial edicts and commenting on petitions.
Chapter 30: Linhua Era, Year One
Notes:
————————Yay it’s all done——————
——From now on Yanyan and Mei-laoshi lived happily ever after——
—————————Thank you everyone———————
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Mei Changsu did not swear vows lightly, and since he promised Xiao Jingyan, he had also made his firm decision at heart. On the first of the last month of the year, Xiao Jingyan led clansfolk and eminent nobles to the outskirts of the capital to perform sacrificial rites to the heavens, and so Mei Changsu moved out of the warm chamber of Yangju Hall, and went back to Su Manor to make a few arrangements; when the Emperor’s procession returned on the eighth, and Xiao Jingyan had finished paying respects and handling official business, he went back to Yangju Hall, heard Gao Yuan’s report, and crossed the colonnade bridge from the west tower to visit Chilin Pavilion in person.
The furniture and partitions had already been set up here, elegant and refined in all respects, with a faint medicinal fragrance in the warmth; upon the desk was an inkstone half-filled with pine ash ink, and a bowl of thick fermented milk was on the tea basket, as if it had been this lived in and comfortable for years—when he walked lightly into the warm chamber, he saw Mei Changsu sitting in bed, a bowl of eight treasures rice porridge[105] in his hand, and Meng Zhi and Director Huang of the Inner Court Bureau each in guest seats as they chatted about general business regarding the strengthening of palace garrisons.
Now it seemed as if Xiao Jingyan was the one interrupting their discussions; after the ruler-subject salutes, Meng Zhi and Director Huang took their leave, and he smiled at Mei Changsu and said, “According to the sage Confucius, one must cultivate oneself and put the family home in order before ruling the country and bringing about peace. But you first swept clean the country, placed the court under control, and now finally have time to manage our home.”
Mei Changsu shot him a glance; the small clay stove beside the desk was warming the porridge, bestowed by the Empress Dowager, and he ladled a bowl for Xiao Jingyan before saying, “all home-lands are Your Majesty’s homeland; this servant can only exert my humble all to help shoulder my lord’s burdens.”
Those words sounded cold at first, but harboured a warmth that revealed itself upon further contemplation. Xiao Jingyan received the bowl and had a sip, tasting the slight medicinal bitterness of ginseng, and sighed quietly. “If you are willing to cultivate your health, with no more illnesses and calamities, then I truly have nothing else to wish for.”
Mei Changsu smiled at that. “What nonsense is that now? Favourable weather for crops, a prosperous country, the people living in peace—Your Majesty ought to wish for much more.”
Xiao Jingyan did nod in agreement, though his deepest desire—to have Mei Changsu stay for good, watching over their homeland together—was already fulfilled, and naturally his heart was unclouded, his spirits high, and his ambitions grand. But it was the end of the year, and after the Secretariat, cabinet, and administrative offices of each ministry reported on their completed accomplishments and deserved accolades, the only large matter remaining was the year-end rites; there was an amiable serenity both in and outside of palace walls, and discussion on the agricultural reforms were temporarily tabled, waiting for the court to resume at the start of next year for the contest of wills to continue anew.
Mei Changsu spent most of his time on duty inside the palaces; Chilin Pavilion was close to Yangju Hall, and no one visited without good cause; his in-floor heating tunnels burned merrily as he tended to political affairs—Xiao Jingyan had set his mind on reforming the palace grounds and administrative offices, after all, which could be considered a meritorious undertaking, and so Mei Changsu cited precedence from classics, investigated the particulars, and weighed the pros and cons of each approach, beginning with drafting a detailed proposal for the organisation and regulations of Chilin Pavilion.
Xiao Jingyan paid him a visit from time to time; on occasion, he sat knee to knee with Mei Changsu across from the desk for long, and would strip down to a single robe and bare feet, casually chatting with him regarding court affairs and army business. One day their conversation was exceedingly intense and detailed, and Xiao Jingyan suddenly felt apprehensive at heart; as he walked to the doors of the pavilion, he turned to grasp Mei Changsu’s hands, warning in earnest, “Those things that displease others, I will naturally be the one to do them…The future cannot be predicted; if there is a contingency, there will surely be many who will take the opportunity to denounce you.”
Behind Xiao Jingyan were the lofty palaces, the whistling north wind; Mei Changsu also looked back ardently at the one before him, and took off the fox fur cloak draped upon his own shoulder to wrap Xiao Jingyan in an embrace—Xiao Jingyan worried bitterly for him, and he himself of course wanted to protect him in return with all his might; with his recent decision in mind, he said to Xiao Jingyan then, “the talk of others matters not when repaying my lord’s grace[106].”
Several days later, the founding charter of Chilin Pavilion was complete, and was delivered to the Secretariat and cabinet before the court recess; Gao Yuan handed over the memorandum, and returned with two imperial edicts—the first named Lady Liu of Chonghua Palace as the Empress Dowager’s adopted daughter: gentle and elegant, selfless in service, she was of much reassurance to the Empress Dowager, and was to be specially invested as Grand Princess Chonghua, to be conferred with a gold edict and jewelled seal, and territory to establish her own residence outside the palace; the second edict named Xiao Tingsheng as the son of the late Prince Qi and his principal wife, with Great Grand Prince Ji’s preserved genealogy record encased in gold[107] as proof, and his return to the imperial clan had been announced to the ancestors; on account of his familial loss at a young age, he was to be specially inducted into the imperial lineage as the eldest prince.
Mei Changsu read through the two edicts carefully and felt his own heart fairly comforted. Lady Liu had been an innocent party burdened in this matter, and thankfully the criticism at court had been laid to rest; she was now much favoured by the throne in compensation, and once she had a good marriage match, she would not be too unfairly wronged, in the end. As for Xiao Tingsheng, for him to enter the line of succession now as the primary lineage of Prince Qi was an unexpected boon.
Because Xiao Jingyan was to take Xiao Tingsheng to perform the year-end rites on the morrow, Mei Changsu hesitated in the warm chamber of Yangju Hall for a long moment before finally raising his head to ask him, “Tingsheng’s genealogy certifications: from whence did you obtain them?”
Xiao Jingyan was half lying down, a book held up in his hand, and at the question, he felt quite amused on the inside and lowered his head to look at the one in his embrace. “The supposed genealogy records and gold case are creations of the Inner Court Bureau, anyway…If the Son of Heaven orders them to create a new set, do they dare defy this Emperor?”
Mei Changsu was astonished to hear of this; though he knew the inner court’s Director Huang was used to acting whichever way the wind blew, and would not resist when both coercion and cajolery were applied, this was no small matter with its many implications, and it surprised him that Xiao Jingyan would be the one to scheme such a thing. “And His Highness Ji?”
Unruffled, Xiao Jingyan answered, “Imperial Uncle was willing to risk himself to save Tingsheng under those circumstances in those days…Now that the case has been overturned, the physical artefacts all present, he only has to make a single statement: why ever would he not?”
Hearing such a smug tone, Mei Changsu felt an inexplicable gloom; after asking over the crucial points in detail, he rose to pin Xiao Jingyan down. “When have you learned to be a cunning schemer such as this?”
With a smile in his round eyes, Xiao Jingyan flipped them over, trapping Mei Changsu firmly. “That strategist of mine was threatening to abandon me then—how can I achieve my goals without some cunning scheming?”
It was too late for Mei Changsu to escape. After a night of frenzied activity, Xiao Jingyan rose early at the fourth watch, not long after midnight, to attend to the Empress Dowager as they perform the year-end rites. Mei Changsu was sleeping soundly curled in that warm and sturdy embrace, and at the first stirring of the quilt, he mumbled, “Jingyan.”
Xiao Jingyan made a sound in response, rising then carefully tucking the quilt around him and giving a light pat. “Sleep now; I shall worship at the Lin ancestral hall in your stead, be back anon.”
And so Mei Changsu slept shallowly on and off for another while, and when he rose in the morning, he changed and left the palaces to make year-end arrangements at Su Manor—it was not as in the past, when the new year was a time of challenges; this year, besides discussion and assignment of Jiangzuo Alliance business, all that was left was to acquire some new clothing and coats for Feiliu.
Feiliu was almost the same size as Mei Changsu now; as he folded paper one afternoon, head pillowed on Mei Changsu’s knees, He Zhengming happened to come in to serve medicine, and Mei Changsu then asked, “my little brother was poisoned as a child, and likely his meridians were damaged as a result: could Imperial Physician He possibly attempt to diagnose and treat him? I do not covet change in his mental faculties; it would be good enough if he can live to an ordinary span.”
Lin Chen had deliberated this matter with him before; although they had not much assurance, it was not completely out of the question, either. Before He Zhengming could speak, Feiliu had put down the paper to look up at Mei Changsu with clear eyes. “No medicine!”
Mei Changsu caressed his head. “Be good, Feiliu: Su-gege will drink medicine along with you.”
Feiliu turned anxious at once. “No medicine!”
Mei Changsu understood at once. “All right, Su-gege will not be sick, and won’t need medicine—but if Feiliu listens and takes medicine, then you can come into the palaces with Uncle Meng and keep watch to protect Su-gege often.”
Immediately Feiliu flipped himself to sit up, his two bright eyes watching Mei Changsu, and as soon as he received an assenting nod, he turned to He Zhengming and reached out his hand. “Medicine!”
He Zhengming could not hold back a laugh, taking a piece of candy for pairing with Mei Changsu’s medicine and placing it upon his hand gently—after this weight on Mei Changsu’s mind was lifted, and by the time Xiao Jingyan and his retinue returned to court, the last day of the year was upon them.
The palace banquet was to be held on New Year’s Eve, as usual, and the Empress Dowager long issued an invitation for him, but Mei Changsu dared not accept—in the morning, he entered the palaces early to pay respects to her, and again knelt before her knees after his reverent salute; hearing her give the order once more, he insisted, “though it is a palace banquet, it is also under the eyes of the court, and as an outsider, this servant truly dares not violate rules and accept your kindness.”
Xiao Jingyan had also come early to pay respects, and he laughed from the side now. “This Emperor had reported to the Lin ancestors and forebears days ago—why consider yourself an outsider for this trifling banquet?”
Mei Changsu gaped, his ears turning red, and he forced his head down, not daring to look at the Empress Dowager—she, on the other hand, turned her head to give Xiao Jingyan a displeased glare, ordering him to kneel in front of her seat. Xiao Jingyan naturally obeyed attentively, and Mei Changsu hunched over even more, only wishing that he could stay prostrate upon the floor, but she reached over and held his hand tenderly. “Good child, I know it is all Jingyan who burdened you.
“You were so close with Jingyan ever since young, as unwilling to separate as body and shadow; you were of bold spirits then, and appeared fierce and wild, but as a mother, I knew…Jingyan was a stubborn child, and whenever something came up, it was actually you who yielded to him more.
“And it is even more so now; after enduring so many hardships, you can finally enjoy the rest of your life in peace, yet you are bound by this obstinate child and trapped in this difficult situation.”
Mei Changsu could not resist raising his head, feeling his face flushed and eyes hot, inarticulate words somehow tumbling out of his mouth, “Aunt Jing, I, this is not Jingyan’s fault, I am of course fully glad and willing, I—”
“I know, I know it all.” With tears in her eyes, the Empress Dowager smiled as she patted his hand in reassurance, then reached out to take Xiao Jingyan’s hand and place it most adoringly in Mei Changsu’s. “Don’t blame your Aunt Jing for letting him have his way: my heart can only be at ease when I hand him over to you.”
Mei Changsu held on to that hand, a host of emotions surging wildly inside, and he could only bend down in a full salute. Xiao Jingyan held on tightly to his hand, too, as they bowed shoulder to shoulder, again and again with all the heavens and earth and elders in witness of the full rites[108].
In the end, it was the Empress Dowager who wiped her tears and helped Mei Changsu up herself; seeing his face fully wet, she asked with a smile, “do you remember what you said when you were little?”
Nonplussed, Mei Changsu rose to return to his place by Xiao Jingyan’s side, and after a moment of casual conversation, he listened as she retold the story—that year, Prince Qi had just married his consort, and brought her into the palace to see the Grand Empress Dowager; she was from a famed house, her entire bearing most elegant and dignified; Lin Shu, five or six then, struggled out from the Grand Empress Dowager’s lap to walk up and tug at the sleeve of her robes.
The Grand Empress Dowager burst into laughter at the sight. “Our xiao-Shu wants to take a wife already?”
Lin Shu only coveted the opulence of the bridal gown, and answered, “I want robes just like these!”
The entire hall broke into laughter at that; Her Ladyship Consort Chen teased him with, “this is the wedding gown of a princess consort, only worn on someone marrying oneself to a prince[109].”
Lin Shu looked up at Prince Qi, and was then struck by a sudden stroke of genius, declaring loudly, “then I’ll marry myself to Jingyan-gege!”
Mei Changsu no longer remembered this, but Xiao Jingyan was seven or eight then, and retained a vague impression—he seemed to recall endless laughter in the room, and himself running out from his place at the junior end of the princes, scooping the helplessly bemused Lin Shu into his arms and giving the Grand Empress Dowager a kowtow.
Perhaps their fate was determined then thus; as Xiao Jingyan looked to his side at Mei Changsu, he still saw some of the same helpless bemusement from childhood. The two of them chatted more with the Empress Dowager about the olden days, until they had lunch and she was to nap, when Xiao Jingyan brought Mei Changsu to take leave—Mei Changsu was still overwhelmed by a surfeit of feelings; it was a beautiful day, warm and windless, and he mindlessly followed Xiao Jingyan a step behind, in a trance, until he realised the scenery seemed familiar, though he did not know where they were, and looked around to see only Gao Yuan was far behind them in attendance. “Where is Your Majesty going?”
Xiao Jingyan stopped at the sound, turning back to arrange Mei Changsu’s fox fur casually and whispering, “revisiting old haunts.”
Mei Changsu looked up, suddenly realising they were near the old site of Qiongguang Garden. Xiao Jingyan had already held on to him under the fur cloak, and he led him around a mountainous rock garden display; indeed, the moon-shaped gate of Qiongguang Garden appeared before them, beyond which were vigorous branches and slanting shadows in the cold frost; as they stepped into the world of plum trees, their sights were full of red flower buds near bursting to bloom, white blossoms emanating their elegance fragrance against the snow—lingering in this scene, the past no more but the new growth as thus, Mei Changsu felt himself adrift, as if he were thrust back in time.
“When Prince Jing’s Manor was first built, you implored the late Emperor and Her Ladyship Chen to transplant seven plum trees from Qiongguang Garden, and they have prospered into a forest in ten-and-some years. After I moved into the palace, I ordered Qiongguang Garden rebuilt, and transplanted the new plum trees back here.”
Xiao Jingyan was twin and shadow to him, and at this, he broke off a branch of plum blossoms, white as snow and gold at heart, and presented it to him most cherishingly. “…To await the return of the dearly departed[110].”
The pristine twinned white petals glowed proudly against the snow, their stamens fine flecks of gold; Mei Changsu looked upon the plum branch in his hand in a daze, twenty years passing in a pure flash of light, and when he glanced up again, he could see nothing but Xiao Jingyan’s gentle round eyes, his tall and tree-like bearing, still radiating the same utter sincerity as in his youth—he raised the branch in his hand to wrap his arms around Xiao Jingyan’s neck, planting a most cherishing kiss upon his brow in return.
When he left the garden, Mei Changsu fancied himself nearly floating—this man, this scene, felt both real and imagined, and no impossible fantasy of tender love he had in the last decade and more could equal what was before his very eyes. That night was the New Year’s Eve banquet; the Empress Dowager had considered that he had no family, specially inviting the Marquis Yan father and son for Mei Changsu to share a table with Yan Yujin; after several cups of imperial wine, Mei Changsu looked around the hall in a slight state of intoxication; the Empress Dowager and the Emperor sitting above, the many changes in clansfolk and noble houses all around, some families thriving and some waning, conjured quite a host of feelings in him.
In the end, it was the Empress Dowager’s personal attendant who bestowed upon him the new year dish while recommending him to drink no more; he hurried to rise and agree, receiving the plate with two docile hands—Great Grand Prince Ji saw it from afar, and smiled at Marquis Yan while stroking his beard. “This child is much more rule-abiding nowadays, not like when he was little, always making a fuss for more wine.”
Marquis Yan looked over at those words, only to find Mei Changsu sneaking half of cup of leftover wine into his tea, so he bade the attendants to collect all wine-related vessels—Yan Yujin had been occupied by banter with the neighbouring table, and turned around to find the wine kettle was no more, causing him to get a firm hold on Mei Changsu and whine incessantly.
Mei Changsu could not resist amusement, and both Marquis Yan and Great Grand Prince Ji shook their heads with a smile; even the new Emperor, from up on high, neared the Empress Dowager, leading her to look afar and smile at the goings-on. From time to time, onlookers in the hall aimed their glances in that direction—rumours had been circulating in the palaces for a while now that Mei Changsu was someone with past ties to Prince Qi, and some even said that he was the Chiyan Young Marshal, the Lins’ xiao-Shu.
And in the face of such a scene, perhaps the hearsay was not utterly unfounded; having detected the furtive looks from all directions, Mei Changsu remained unruffled—Lin Shu had not perished, Mei-lang was staying for good, and even Su Zhe was about to stride boldly into the bright light of court.
There was no music and dancing at the banquet, and though the clansfolk each harboured secret intentions in previous days, as the wine poured, they all appeared to be in good cheer. Mei Changsu had been sipping his mild tea and weak wine while looking around, and although the scent of wine gradually dissipated from his teacup, a drunken light, carrying a hint of undisguised lovesickness, came over his eyes as they settled on his majestic beloved upon that throne.
Xiao Jingyan’s eyes were all smiles, as well; the banquet was full of imperial clansfolk and aristocrats, magnificent opulence all around, but no one was like that man, pure as the bright moon, his brilliant light unmistakable in the palace hall—they looked deeply upon each other across their distance, and nothing else in the world mattered; when it was past the eleventh hour, the crowd paid their final respects to the monarch and the banquet dispersed, and Mei Changsu ascended the litter; the heavily felted and curtained imperial carriage turned round and round in the palaces, and somehow stopped at the side entrance to Yangju Hall in the end.
By now, Xiao Jingyan had doffed his heavy brocade and golden crown, and stood tall in his everyday robes, smiling as he extended his hand toward him. Draped in a fur cloak, Mei Changsu entered with hands in sleeves, and before he could finish his salute, Xiao Jingyan heaved him, bowed back and all, on to his own shoulder. The world spun about Mei Changsu as if he rode a dragon, and finally he was utterly consumed by the fact and fantasy of the present world.
The candles hung high in the palace hall, the thick curtains were lowered over the imperial bed, and the dragon and phoenix stirred up their own amorous storm inside. Mei Changsu clung to Xiao Jingyan as they rose and fell, their mountain path to climax long and winding through light and shadow, clouds and rain, and after this night of pleasure, looking back upon the half of his life, he felt utterly reborn from broken bones, and finally slept, in secure satisfaction, inside the curve of that familiar and sturdy arm.
The court would be in recess for New Year’s Day ceremonies; in Yangju Hall, lanterns and red candles lit bright the entire night, the ritual vessels having been arranged in the main hall, incense burning thickly in an atmosphere of solemn peace, but in the depths of the east warm chamber, the lights were dim, and a branch of plum blossoms gave off its delicate fragrance inside the jade-green gauze partition while the faint rising and falling of breaths in duet could be heard. As the time for the ceremony approached, Gao Yuan walked silently to the chamber door, a brand-new set of narrow-sleeve white serpent-embroidered robes in hand that he gently placed next to the Emperor’s attire, and then he knocked once lightly on the cloud-shaped announcing percussion.
Inside the four-poster bed were the dragon and phoenix tangled together. Mei Changsu woke leisurely, long lashes fluttering, feeling dim candlelight through thick curtains and dark shadows, and Xiao Jingyan in an intimate embrace, fully pressed against him and unwilling to part, his breathing deep and steady, warmth soaking through all of himself.
“Jingyan,” said Mei Changsu hoarse and low, “Your Majesty.”
Xiao Jingyan heard him and uncurled, the straight bridge of his nose nuzzling Mei Changsu’s lips then returning for a soft kiss.
Their breaths mingled, their bodies entwined, and in this tenderness, no one knew who said with a soft sigh, “it’s Linhua Era, Year One.”
Notes:
Translation Footnotes (click the numbers to return to the text in-place):
[105] Eight treasures rice porridge/八宝粥 is a traditional dish still popular today. Ingredients vary between recipes, but some popular ones include mung bean, red bean, peanut, jujube, longan, goji berry, and lotus seed, all added to the congee base.
[106] Adapted from writing by Ming Dynasty official Zhāng Jūzhèng/张居正: 欲报君恩，岂恤人言. He assisted Emperor Wanli to enact widespread reforms, strengthening the military and reducing corruption, which led to a prosperous age but angered the aristocracy; the reforms were reverted upon Zhang’s death.
[107] The genealogy records in canon are 金匮玉碟, literally gold case and jade disk; jade disk is a metaphoric term for paper imperial genealogy records, and the gold case is a nice box for important documents that was probably made of metal and colored gold.
[108] This is a reference to the three bows in the traditional marriage ceremony: one to the heavens, one to the earth, and one to the parents.
[109] The language of marriage is not symmetric. There are two verbs meaning to marry: 嫁, used here, for marrying yourself to another household (usually if you’re the bride), and 娶 for taking someone else into your household (usually if you’re the groom).
[110] Dearly departed here is 故人, meaning an old and dear friend who is either separated from you or dead, and could be either romantic or platonic. Plum blossoms are a symbol of unyielding spirit and faithful purity; gifting a branch of plum blossoms to your dearly departed (besides fulfilling Lin Shu’s childhood wish from a certain day) is an ancient tradition representing both longing and the lofty state of your relationship.
Translator’s Endnote:
This is the end, but also a beginning. The further stories of Linhua Era are coming up.
Tremendous, undying thanks to the author 杂粮太太 for reading the translation closely, answering my endless questions, pointing out my mistakes, and being a very lovely person who wrote a very lovely story!
Author’s Endnote:
Firstly I really appreciate Hal’s exquisite work! Many many thanks to dear Hal for giving me this unexpected chance and sharing my fan-fix to you all.
To see my fic become another language and read by people around the world was a really incredible experience. I was delighted and touched anew after carefully reading each English chapter and every single comment. The English zone of AO3 is new to me, and each new comment brings a new experience and perspective. So many readers quoting the text when sharing their feelings in detail made me feel like the fruit of my labor was being seriously tasted and reviewed—a heartfelt thanks to all of you in the comments section!
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