◎Companions◎

As soon as they exited the Candlelit Pavilion, they saw a woman in plain clothes with her hair loose, kneeling at the foot of the steps. Qu You was slightly surprised to recognize Consort Zhao, bending slightly to greet her: “May Her Highness be well.”

Fu Mingran ignored her, glaring at Zhou Tan with cold fury: “You? It’s you?”

“Your Highness should avoid reckless words,” Zhou Tan looked down at her with a faintly pitying gaze. “His Majesty is paying respects to our ancestors. For Your Highness to kneel here awaiting punishment risks disrespecting our forebears. It would be best for you to return soon.”

Fu Mingran’s face betrayed a flicker of sorrow. She knocked her head forcefully against the ground, a visible bruise forming on her forehead. “Your Majesty, my father has always been loyal—surely he was framed by villainous men. Please investigate, I beg of you!”

Zhou Tan shook his head and walked away, still holding Qu You’s hand. Qu You glanced back, whispering: “What will His Majesty do to the Consort?”

“He won’t take her life,” Zhou Tan replied simply. “Even if Chancellor Fu is sentenced to death, Consort Zhao is the mother of the ninth prince. For the prince’s sake, she’ll likely be spared. However, her past schemes… they are no longer of any use…”

He trailed off, suddenly recalling something. “That day when you went to see Consort Zhao, did she trouble you?”

Qu You clung to his arm: “I only knelt a little longer—it’s nothing.”

Zhou Tan ignored her response, pressing further: “How long did you kneel?”

Qu You hesitated: “Ah? Perhaps for the length of two incense sticks—I can’t quite recall...”

Zhou Tan glanced back coldly, muttering: “Though His Majesty may spare her life, if she were wise, she’d realize... Enough, let’s go.”

Before Qu You could fully process his words, he tugged her away.

________________________________________

Three more days passed before the Three Departments and the presiding official finalized the verdict with the Emperor.

Fu Qingnian was not only implicated in conspiring with Liu Lianxi to frame Zhou Tan and massacre the son of an official but also linked by Minister Cai Ying to several unresolved cases from years past.

It wasn’t just the falling girl’s case—many others were involved, too numerous to recount. Even Cai Ying was shocked upon learning the full extent. However, several cases Zhou Tan had investigated during his time at the Ministry of Justice were tied to Fu Qingnian, saving considerable effort.

Emperor De showed mercy, granting Fu Qingnian a dignified death—poison after confiscation of his property, without implicating his family.

Du Hui, due to his son’s reckless actions and his collaboration with Fu Qingnian, was sentenced to exile in Lingnan. But Qu You knew that, having exposed the truth about Zhenru Palace, Du Hui’s life was unlikely to be spared. Whether he realized this and arranged a false death for himself depended on his own fate.

The Emperor indeed found a minor offense for Zhou Tan, citing his usual misconduct and involvement in Eastern Palace factionalism, demoting him to serve as a magistrate in Ruo Prefecture. This charge was partly to warn the Crown Prince not to assume all was settled with Fu Qingnian’s demise.

The case was finally resolved.

In the imperial dungeon, Fu Qingnian sat motionless until he heard movement behind him.

Turning, he saw Zhou Tan overseeing the placement of a chessboard before him. Zhou Tan’s expression remained neutral—neither victorious arrogance nor pity—as it had been during their previous match at Fu Qingnian’s residence.

Thus, Fu Qingnian smiled: “Xiao Bai, you’ve come.”

Zhou Tan said: “I’ve come to play another game of chess with you.”

This time, Zhou Tan played black while Fu Qingnian took white. They played calmly, though Zhou Tan’s style differed markedly from their last match—he was far more cautious with each move. As they played, Fu Qingnian chuckled: “So that previous game was deliberately lost by you, Xiao Bai.”

Midway through the match, he suddenly remarked: “Do you know why I hated your teacher so much?”

Zhou Tan placed a piece heavily, his breathing growing labored, but he said nothing.

“I knew you came to hear this,” Fu Qingnian laughed bitterly, leisurely pondering his next move. “When your teacher was promoted to Minister of Personnel, it was the first year of Pingxi... Do you know why the late emperor changed the era name to Pingxi? That year, the Yellow River flooded, killing many. Both your teacher and I were newly appointed officials then...”

Zhou Tan grunted: “I know.”

“Yes, your teacher repaired the river embankments and quelled the floodwaters, earning promotions quickly. He rose faster than both me and Gao Ze.” Fu Qingnian rubbed the chess piece in his hand. “Your teacher was an upright minister. During the repairs, he uncovered a corruption case within the Ministry of Personnel, showing no mercy. He reported it, and the late emperor acted decisively—many families were ruined that year, much like mine today.”

Zhou Tan’s hand paused, lost in thought.

“I married earlier than Gu Xiang and Gao Ze. My wife was the daughter of my mentor,” Fu Qingnian continued without looking at Zhou Tan. “My mentor was implicated in the corruption scandal. Except for my wife, his entire family was exiled. After the floods came a great plague. Despite my efforts, they all perished along the way... My wife had just given birth to Mingran then, and her health deteriorated. I hid the truth from her for as long as I could, but she understood. Though she rarely spoke of it, her grief consumed her, and she passed away prematurely.”

Zhou Tan’s hand trembled slightly. He murmured: “It wasn’t my teacher who forced them into corruption… What they stole was the blood and sweat of the common people.”

“I know, I know,” Fu Qingnian said. “But my wife is dead. Mingran told me your new bride adores you deeply. If it were you, Xiao Bai—if your wife were killed by someone, even unintentionally, even for a righteous cause, could you forgive them?”

Zhou Tan didn’t answer.

“I once intended to marry Mingran to you, but later sent her to the palace—not solely for power, but because… I knew I caused Gu Xiang’s death, and this day would inevitably come.” Fu Qingnian placed a piece, his beard trembling, laughing openly. “At least in the palace, she might survive... I only had one daughter. After my wife’s death, I never remarried. Now I can join her. But I’ve lived poorly, grown old, my face covered in dust, my temples streaked with frost. The tall trees in my courtyard now shade everything—she probably wouldn’t recognize me anymore.”

Zhou Tan continued playing absentmindedly, making a mistake that allowed Fu Qingnian to capture a cluster of pieces.

“I know your teacher was a good man, a saint. I also know my deeds over the years have been despicable, leading to this inevitable end.” Fu Qingnian laughed loudly. “But life is like chess—once a move is made, there’s no regret. When I chose to oppose him, I had to forsake certain things.”

“Do you know?” Fu Qingnian paused. “That day when he left the capital, I personally led men to pursue him. By the banks of Qingxi River, he asked me: ‘We once served together, young and full of ambition, wanting to change the world. Those words still echo—why have we changed?’ I told him: ‘These fleeting dreams pale compared to the smile of those close to us. My late wife never visited my dreams. Even if you’re a saint to the world, you’re my enemy.’ That day, as he leapt into Qingxi, I thought: ‘If the river stains you, you stain the river.’”

Zhou Tan’s breath grew heavy. He overturned the chessboard as Fu Qingnian had done that day. Fu Qingnian burst into laughter, his twisted cackling echoing even as Zhou Tan walked out of the dungeon corridor.

Gao Ze waited at the entrance, his expression complex. He hadn’t overheard their conversation but sighed: “Chancellor Fu was once a good man.”

Zhou Tan walked silently beside him, the sunset casting a reddish hue over the sky. A guard carrying poisoned wine brushed past them.

“The Emperor, in his mercy, has allowed you to remain in Bianjing a little longer before departing for Ruo Prefecture,” Gao Ze remarked. “Your wife is close to Yun Yue. Before you leave, visit her at the residence.”

Zhou Tan nodded, adding: “When I was in the Golden Hairpin Pavilion, I had my wife ask you a question. You answered that loyalty to the sovereign surpasses self-love...”

“When Shiyu was six, the Empress fell out of favor, and he suffered alongside her,” Gao Ze shook his head, sighing. “I watched him grow up. Though he’s the Crown Prince, I understand his heart. The Emperor has no other worthy heirs; the prince’s succession is natural. I wanted to ask you, Xiao Bai—why do you distrust the Crown Prince so much?”

“Chancellor Fu clings to old sentiments, unaware that people change,” Zhou Tan avoided his gaze. “Enough. There’s no point in saying more. In the future, consider yourself carefully when acting. Don’t trust the Crown Prince too much... You were close to my teacher. If you ever need help, Xiao Bai, even from Ruo Prefecture, I’ll do my best.”

Gao Ze acknowledged this but remained indifferent, clearly dismissing Zhou Tan’s warning.

They parted ways at the eastern gate. After a few steps, Zhou Tan turned back: “When you have time, look into the Su family’s old case.”

This time, Gao Ze’s expression grew serious. Without another glance, Zhou Tan boarded his carriage, where Qu You handed him a warming brazier.

Their carriages split paths at the eastern gate.

“You finished quickly,” Qu You remarked. “I thought you’d play several more games with Chancellor Fu. I was about to take a nap.”

Zhou Tan shook his head: “We had nothing left to say.”

The carriage swayed for a while, and the sun soon sank heavily below the horizon. By the time they reached the gates of the Qu family estate, darkness had fallen. Qu You sent a servant to announce their arrival, her expression tinged with worry: “I don’t know if Father will be willing to see you.”

Unexpectedly, the servant returned quickly, ushering them through the back door into the main hall.

Qu Cheng and Yin Xiangru sat before the flickering candlelight, flanked by Qu Xiangwen and Qu You’s two younger sisters. Upon entering, Qu You immediately knelt without a word, bowing deeply: “Father, Mother, forgive this unworthy child.”

Yin Xiangru flicked her handkerchief, while Qu Cheng frowned deeply: “When a husband is exiled, it typically does not implicate his wife. Women can remain in the household to care for their mother-in-law or, at the very least, return home to serve their parents. Do you understand this?”

Qu You stiffened her neck and replied: “I understand.”

Qu Cheng slammed the table: “Then why are you still going?”

Qu You whispered softly: “I have to.”

With that, Qu Cheng sighed repeatedly, continuing to pound the table. Yin Xiangru reached out to help Qu You up, but unexpectedly, Zhou Tan abruptly knelt beside her, offering a deep and proper bow to the couple.

“On our wedding day, I was bedridden, and the formalities were incomplete. Today, allow me to serve tea to my esteemed elders.”

There were no servants present in the main hall. Hearing this, Qu You hurried to pour tea for him, but Qu Jiaxi restrained her with a glance, signaling her to remain kneeling. Meanwhile, Qu Jiayu swiftly prepared the tea and handed the cup to Zhou Tan.

Yin Xiangru accepted the tea first, her eyes welling with emotion: “Good, good. If Lord Zhou is so considerate, he will surely take good care of A Lian...”

Qu Cheng remained seated, his face dark as he watched Zhou Tan hold the steaming cup steadily, not a single tremor in his fingers despite the heat rising in wisps of white vapor.

Finally unable to resist, Qu Cheng sighed, took the tea, and gruffly admonished: “Ruo Prefecture is not as harsh as Lingnan. If you must leave, consider it an opportunity to broaden your horizons...”

Qu You shivered slightly, pulling Zhou Tan down in a hasty bow of gratitude: “Today serves as our belated homage to our parents. From now on, we may not be able to fulfill filial duties, so please take care of yourselves.”

But they would return someday.

Qu Cheng snorted coldly.

Qu You knew that by accepting the tea, he had forgiven past grievances. He was aware of some details from recent court affairs and, seeing Qu You’s boldness in striking the drum of justice and Zhou Tan’s respectful demeanor, assumed the couple was harmonious. There was no need for further reproach.

They stayed until late into the night before departing. Qu Xiangwen sniffled, mentioning that he would soon take the imperial examination. In response, Zhou Tan gifted him a jade pendant, advising him to seek help from Su Chaochi if needed. He also named several upright ministers currently favored in court, leaving Qu Xiangwen’s eyes shining with admiration.

As for Qu Jiaxi and Qu Jiayu, they received numerous gifts of silver, jewelry, and adornments—items Zhou Tan had privately handed to Qu You beforehand, instructing her to prepare dowries for her younger sisters.

By the time they left, the streets were deserted, save for faint lights emanating from Fan Tower in the distance. Seeing this, they decided against taking the carriage. Noticing the deep smile on Qu You’s face, Zhou Tan couldn’t help but ask: “Are you happy?”

“Of course! Father has finally accepted you as part of the family. How could I not be happy?” Qu You playfully shook his arm. “You have few relatives, and now you’re about to leave the capital. With Chief Minister Gao and Su Chaochi watching over us, the Crown Prince won’t dare act rashly. Finally, we don’t need to keep our distance. Don’t you want your family to know how happy you are now?”

Zhou Tan’s expression blanked momentarily, as if struggling to process the meaning of “home” and “family” in her words.

Qu You stuck out her tongue teasingly: “What’s wrong? Are you moved?”

Zhou Tan slowly replied: “No.”

“When you say such things, I feel that you are truly by my side now. You know, I always felt distant from you before.”

Qu You was taken aback: “Why did you feel that way?”

Zhou Tan raised his head, his pupils reflecting the distant lights of Fan Tower.

“Let’s climb the tower,” he suddenly suggested.

And so, they ascended to the rooftop.

Fan Tower was the tallest structure in Bianjing, standing nine stories high. At its peak, one could gaze down upon the bustling world below or look up to the cold, moonlit sky above.

Qu You panted heavily from the climb, beads of sweat forming on her forehead despite the cool autumn air. She fanned herself continuously with her round fan, leaning against the railing to peer down. Just then, Zhou Tan spoke: “Before you married me, what did you seek in life?”

She froze, then answered hesitantly: “Back then... I didn’t seek anything.”

“Really?”

Zhou Tan shifted his gaze indifferently, letting out a soft laugh.

“Do you know what I thought the first time I brought you here to Fan Tower?”

“This city teems with people, noisy and prosperous. Standing atop Fan Tower, you gazed down eagerly, yet not a single figure reflected in your eyes.”

Qu You’s hand holding the fan froze.

“I felt so far away from you then,” Zhou Tan continued. “How strange—you were amidst it all, yet transcended the world entirely. You looked down on everyone here, including me, yet couldn’t help but sympathize with us.”

“The last time we were on Jinghua Mountain, surrounded by graves, you asked questions, and I answered without elaboration because I had a clear realization—you didn’t belong here. You belonged to a free, ethereal, and transcendent world—one that could accommodate your ideals and where you’d find like-minded companions. When you looked at me, there was admiration, yes, but more so a condescending pity.”

Clouds obscured the moon. Qu You leaned against the railing, watching Zhou Tan as he stared back unflinchingly. The wind brushed past his cheeks, then hers.

In this tranquil and candid exchange, she experienced a peculiar sensation—not the presence of him from history, but the awareness of her own existence in this era.

“Yes,” Qu You studied him, feeling incapable of lying at this moment. “I once belonged to such a place. Do you envy and yearn for it?”

Zhou Tan didn’t answer directly. Today, dressed in white, his lean frame stood stark against the night.

“You, as an inner-court lady, advocated for the lowborn and fought against the powerful. To save me, you spared no thought for reputation or danger, driven by anger and tears—for humanity itself. Do I envy you? Perhaps. But I cannot aspire to it, because I am here.”

Qu You fell silent for a long while before countering: “If I told you that everything you strive for is but a fleeting illusion in the vast world, that time passes like a white horse crossing a gap, and that our actions leave no trace whatsoever, would you still find meaning in what you persist in?”

Zhou Tan looked at her through the misty night.

“I am here. Are you not here too? Are those who moved you to tears not here? Since you’ve come to this place, how could you remain forever a mere observer? Look down at the people of Bianjing—if my efforts leave no mark, they are even more like dust. Why should humans pursue traces after death? What we must protect—are they not the people before our eyes?”

The observer wasn’t just Zhou Tan.

From the day she was thrust into this world—or perhaps even earlier, from the moment she first saw Zhou Tan in her dreams—she had already been swept up in the torrent of history, observing and exploring, while also being observed and explored.

Only now did she realize that she had never been an outsider to history.

Zhou Tan smiled faintly: “Now your eyes hold me, and they hold these people too. When I look at you now, it is entirely different from before—have you remembered what you once sought?”

“What I once sought...” Qu You pondered for a long while, her voice trembling. This felt like the first time since arriving in this world that she had spoken so candidly with someone. “It was a question—a puzzle, perhaps insignificant in the grand scheme of the vast world—but my mission was to uncover the truth.”

On her first day of graduate school, when she stood before a library shelf holding four hundred ninety-six volumes of the History of Yin , a peculiar sense of purpose welled up within her. All the intricate research, verification, and pursuit were part of a historian’s calling—to make history ever more truthful.

Yet, there were nights when, after finishing a paper, she would feel a sudden disconnection from the world within those pages. Perhaps, she thought, she might never glimpse the “truth” in its entirety in her lifetime.

But the road ahead was long.

So when she arrived here, her first reaction—beyond fear—was excitement. Now, she understood clearly that she was no longer merely observing but living within the truth itself. Not only could she restore the authenticity of history, but perhaps she could also shape it in some way.

“To uncover the truth—a noble mission indeed,” Zhou Tan said. “But even amidst it all, much remains shrouded in mist. Have you seen the truth?”

You don’t know how far I once was from the truth—so distant that even this small moment moves me deeply.

Qu You answered: “I see you.”

Because seeing you has given my pursuit its most profound meaning.

Zhou Tan gave her a faint smile. Since their absurd meeting, Qu You had never seen him smile so genuinely happy. She stared intently at him, seeing her own reflection in his pupils.

“This is what you once sought. What about now?”

“Now...”

Qu You lowered her gaze, pulling his wind-filled outer robe tighter around him.

“I don’t know. But at this very moment, I hope that henceforth, I can always walk the same path as you.”

“What you seek, my heart seeks as well.”