◎Departure from the City◎

After the Lantern Festival, before Zhou Tan even gave instructions, Aunt Yun began organizing the estate and preparing for their move to Ruo Prefecture. Her husband had passed away years ago in a flood, and now, keeping company with Uncle De, she naturally intended to accompany Zhou Tan and Qu You.

Qu You sat at the desk in Songfeng Pavilion, resting her chin on her hand as she watched Zhou Tan mark up a map of the western territories.

She hadn’t understood before—why, after revealing his identity and planning to support Song Shixuan, Zhou Tan didn’t remain in Bianjing. At worst, he could simply sever ties with Song Shiyan, which would dispel Emperor De’s suspicions.

Now, observing his markings on the western map, she began to vaguely piece things together.

For some reason, Zhou Tan clearly didn’t want Song Shiyan to ascend the throne—perhaps due to something particularly vile the prince had done in the past, leading Zhou Tan to believe he was unfit to rule.

It must be said, Zhou Tan’s judgment was exceedingly sharp—after all, Qu You knew what would come next.

When Emperor De considered deposing the Crown Prince, Song Shiyan had immediately conspired with foreign enemies to launch a coup, willing to sacrifice the entire capital of Bianjing to achieve his goal.

A rare madman in history.

Over the years, Song Shiyan had harbored deep ambitions, while Emperor De grew increasingly suspicious. Most of the princes were raised into uselessness, either meek and ignorant or blindly obedient to the Crown Prince.

The once-prominent ninth prince, whose maternal family had been illustrious, had completely faded into obscurity following Fu Qingnian’s death, losing all chance to compete.

Over the past year, Zhou Tan had coldly observed that none of Emperor De’s heirs possessed the resolve necessary to inherit the empire.

In contrast, Song Shixuan, personally educated by Zhou Tan and Su Chaochi, and chosen as heir by Emperor Xuan, naturally carried Zhou Tan’s hopes.

After Fu Qingnian’s death, Emperor De, as Zhou Tan predicted, promoted Cai Ying to balance the court. However, Cai Ying was an upright minister who avoided involvement in succession disputes. Emperor Song Chang, confident in his ability to groom another contender to oppose the Crown Prince, felt secure in executing Fu Qingnian.

But Qu You knew Song Chang didn’t have much time left.

From the start of Yongning Year 16, he began suffering from prolonged illness. The fifth prince never gained enough influence, while Song Shiyan took the opportunity to eliminate several of his brothers.

As a result, the balance of power tilted further, eventually spiraling out of even Emperor Song Chang’s control.

In this situation, Song Chang recalled Zhou Tan to Bianjing—not only out of fear of death but also because he lacked anyone else he could trust or rely on.

Zhou Tan’s impassioned confession in Xuande Hall had clearly left some impression on the emperor.

Su Chaochi gradually formed his own faction in court, Ai Disheng controlled trade networks across Bianjing, Jinling, and beyond, and Zhou Tan held a legitimate imperial edict. Everything was in place except for one crucial element—military power.

The Crown Princess hailed from a military family; her father, General Li Wei, though no longer commanding troops after marrying into the royal family, still wielded significant influence. If the Crown Prince obtained the tiger tally, the garrison near Bianjing would rally to his call.

Chu Lin, constantly shuttling between Bianjing and the western frontiers, focused solely on repelling external threats. He likely wouldn’t side with anyone unless forced. Before the Crown Prince’s coup, Zhou Tan and his allies stood no chance of persuading Chu Lin to back Song Shixuan.

To sway opinions and secure military support, Ruo Prefecture was the key battleground.

Among the eleven western provinces, Ruo Prefecture was the largest and most populous. As a frontline fortress against invasions from Xi Shao, it enjoyed relative autonomy from the central authority. The stronghold was overseen by the Xiangning Marquis’ family, led by Xu Zhi, a former subordinate of Xiao Yue.

Since Xiao Yue’s death in the battle to pacify the west, his fiefdom had remained vacant, administered by loyal retainers. Xu Zhi had kept a low profile over the years, relocating his family to Ruo Prefecture quietly. While he occasionally deployed small private forces to protect civilians during Xi Shao incursions, he never interfered in Chu Lin’s campaigns in the west.

Over time, even Emperor Song Chang nearly forgot about him, only summoning Xu Zhi occasionally during tributary ceremonies.

No one outside the Xiangning Marquis’ household knew how many troops Xu Zhi commanded.

Yet when the Crown Prince staged his coup, Zhou Tan mobilized a massive army to reclaim Bianjing. Historical records omitted the source of his forces, merely hinting they originated from the western armies.

Qu You suspected Xu Zhi’s support played a critical role.

It seemed Zhou Tan had already planned for contingencies before leaving court. Even if he wasn’t certain of Xu Zhi’s military strength, his identity as Xiao Yue’s son allowed him to assess the western defenses and secure control over Ruo Prefecture.

Unfortunately, despite her honesty with Zhou Tan, Qu You hadn’t found the right moment to delve deeper into these matters. Discussing military strategy outright might startle him.

There was still time ahead.

For now, the priority was finalizing the household roster. Thanks to Qu You’s lenient and kind treatment of the servants, morale within the estate remained high. Despite knowing Zhou Tan’s demotion was real and that Ruo Prefecture was harsh and distant, many were still willing to follow.

Qu You meticulously reviewed Aunt Yun’s list, reducing the number of accompanying personnel. Those with families nearby, especially in Bianjing, were reassigned to manage estates and shops. Though Ruo Prefecture wasn’t unreachable, the journey was perilous, and she couldn’t guarantee everyone’s safety.

Emperor De hadn’t confiscated Zhou Tan’s properties, so she left a few trusted servants to maintain the estate. She entrusted the remaining businesses to Ai Disheng, who had sufficient manpower to oversee them.

Upon hearing Zhou Tan was heading to Ruo Prefecture, the Bai family offered financial assistance. Zhou Tan accepted only a few loyal servants, declining their money. Instead, he sent the jade token symbolizing household authority to Bai Shating—Ye Liuchun received it on his behalf, as Bai Shating was preoccupied chasing after Bai Ying.

According to Ye Liuchun, Bai Shating had recently reformed himself, intending to take the imperial exams—likely spurred by Bai Ying’s influence.

Qu You thought, Not bad. According to historical accounts, around the time Zhou Tan returned to Bianjing, Bai Shating would indeed pass the exams.

When news of Zhou Tan’s departure reached them, the Shuiyue family sent representatives to take Gao Yunyue home for marriage.

After repeated inquiries, Qu You confirmed the groom-to-be was Yunyue’s honest and kind cousin. Satisfied, she generously consented, adding silver to Yunyue’s dowry to ensure her livelihood. Qu You introduced her to Zhiling and Dingxiang, suggesting she could earn a living through other means under their guidance.

Hexing, a girl purchased from human traffickers by Aunt Yun out of pity, was orphaned and had nowhere else to go. Naturally, she chose to stay with Qu You. Though usually quiet, Hexing was steady and meticulous. If she wished, Qu You hoped to find her a good future.

As their departure date approached, Qu You finished packing the carriage luggage. To her surprise, Zhou Tan wasn’t in Songfeng Pavilion. Upon inquiry, she learned he’d gone to the Ministry of Justice.

Though she was officially attached to the Ministry, having handled only one case before leaving left her feeling regretful. With this in mind, Qu You donned men’s attire and rode her horse to the ministry—finally mastering riding under Zhou Tan’s tutelage, sparing her the hassle of arranging a carriage.

After tethering her horse in the garden, she headed toward the rear hall.

By noon, the courtyard was sparsely populated, almost devoid of people.

Pushing open the door to the rear hall, she spotted a familiar white-clad figure behind the screen facing the entrance. Zhou Tan hadn’t expected anyone to enter unannounced, and his pen froze momentarily.

Recognizing her, he relaxed slightly and resumed writing behind the screen.

Mr. Bai Xue.

Qu You watched his focused figure wielding the brush. Though momentarily surprised, she quickly understood—in some inexplicable way, she had always known it was him.

Who else in the blood-soaked Ministry of Justice would dare arrogantly call themselves “Bai Xue”?

Taking a step closer to the screen, her gaze fell upon the poem they had co-written:

—Clear windows filled with snow, idle affairs neglected; galloping horses and swords carve out a small jianghu.

When Zhou Tan first arrived at the Ministry, it was early spring. Outside the study stood a flourishing bamboo grove, its snow-covered leaves casting reflections on the flower-patterned windows. Qu You could almost picture him leaning against the window on a sunny day after the snow, lost in memories of his carefree days as a young noble. A bamboo grove became a jianghu, but those carefree times had long since dissipated like clouds and smoke.

—Youthful scholars in green robes drink wine freely; old men light candles and pore over ancient books.

The young officials newly arrived at the Ministry had yet to don their stern official robes, clad instead in green. Zhou Tan, not much older than them, felt worlds apart. Among these youths were sons of nobility, still untainted by bloodshed, carrying the fragrant scent of wine. Watching them, he felt as though his hair had already turned white.

Before the first candle was lit in the Candlelit Pavilion, his old friends had perished one by one in the dungeon. The books in the study still bore the seals of those departed friends, their handwritten notes preserved, but their authors would never return.

—One can listen to “Bai Xue” in the springtime, but laughter in Suzhou is lost forever.

Zhou Tan had once served in Suzhou, a time when he was still carefree and beloved by the people. Wherever he went, praise for his virtue followed.

Suzhou rarely saw snow. During his tenure, he never witnessed it. Only upon returning to Bianjing did he hear of a rare snowfall in Suzhou that spring. The snow covered old memories, and the commendations he’d once heard no longer carried the same warmth—leaving him to chuckle wryly at his own sentimentality.

As for the final lines of the poem—”a life of disdain” and “silent suffering in old age”—they likely reflected how Zhou Tan imagined his fate before meeting her.

Qu You felt her eyes grow moist as she stood behind the screen, reaching out to touch Zhou Tan’s cheek. Sensing her movement, he paused his writing and gently extended his hand, placing it over hers through the thin gauze of the screen.

Though separated by the fabric, their fingertips touched, and Qu You felt a surge of emotion unlike any she’d experienced before.

She glanced down at the line Zhou Tan had written earlier: “Meeting you feels like dawn breaking.” She realized then that she had found her soulmate.

This was it.

Knowing your celestial bones know no seasons, our reunion after a thousand years feels like mere moments.

She sat with Zhou Tan beside the screen for a long while, watching as he patiently replied to every plea written on the screens. Knowing it was his last time here, he wrote slowly, pausing often to lose himself in thought.

The rear hall door remained locked all afternoon, undisturbed. It wasn’t until dusk began to fall that he finally set down his brush and rose.

Claiming she wanted to stay a little longer to examine the writings, Zhou Tan left for the study with a resigned smile. Once he was gone, Qu You quickly pulled out the private seal she had stealthily taken from him earlier. On the first screen, before the poem he had originally written, she stamped it firmly.

After Zhou Tan’s departure, Mr. Bai Xue would not return.

Who knew how long it would take the Ministry of Justice to realize what had happened? Better she leave her mark now, sparing future doubt.

________________________________________

In early March, Zhou Tan and Qu You departed Bianjing with a modest entourage, heading west. The night before, they had bid farewell to everyone. Qu You even received gold bars from the Crown Prince and Princess—a last-ditch effort by Song Shiyan to keep Zhou Tan close. But Zhou Tan merely smiled, sealed the gift, and handed it over to Gao Ze.

Gao Yunyue waved her handkerchief from atop the city wall, and Qu You thought she glimpsed Ren Shiming and his parents in the distance.

Their traveling party was small: Uncle De, Aunt Yun, twenty or so trusted servants, and a few maids, along with a black-clad escort sent by Ai Disheng. The man was highly skilled in martial arts and tasked with ensuring their safety.

At the city gates, Zhou Tan lingered for a long time. Qu You knew he was waiting for someone—perhaps Zhou Yang—but he never appeared.

Not long after leaving the city, as they passed Jinghua Mountain, Ai Disheng and Bai Ying were already waiting with a letter from Song Shixuan. Unable to leave Qifeng Courtyard, he had penned a simple poem as a parting gift:

Riders crossed the river from the south, but how many truly wield the skills to govern? The elders of Chang’an, the scenery of Xinting—still pitiful as ever. Those like Yi Fu let the land sink; how often did they look back? Countless miles of peace achieved, fame and glory are the work of true scholars—do you understand?

Moreover, there are writings towering like mountains and shadows, beneath the clear daylight of a full courtyard. Born into this world, now see how风云奔走. Green fields, misty winds, the grasses of Pingquan, songs and wine of Dongshan. Wait till the day the affairs of heaven and earth are settled, and I shall wish you longevity.

After reading it, Zhou Tan offered a satisfied smile. He carefully folded the letter and handed it to Qu You for safekeeping, instructing Ai Disheng to relay the message: “Await my return.”

As their carriage disappeared beyond the walls of Bianjing, Zhou Tan drew back the curtain for one last glance. Above them, dark clouds swept across the sky, casting the city gates into shadow.

But ahead, the skies remained clear.

He fell silent for a moment, finally understanding the song Qu You had been humming all along.

“You’re singing a poem by Master Chang Ji?”

Qu You ignored him, sitting contentedly outside the carriage, gazing ahead as she continued humming.

“Flying light, flying light, let me offer you a cup of wine. I do not know the height of the blue sky or the depth of the yellow earth; I only see the cold moon and warm sun, shortening human lives. Eating bear makes one fat, eating frog makes one thin. Where is the divine ruler? Does Taiyi exist? To the east lies the Ru tree, beneath which the candle-dragon rests. I will sever its legs and chew its flesh, so it cannot rise by day or rest by night…”

“Thus, the old may live forever, and the young need not weep. Why seek immortality through gold and jade? Who has seen Lord Ren ride an azure donkey in the clouds? Liu Che’s mausoleum holds stagnant bones, and Qin Shi Huang’s coffin required pickled fish…”

Where is the divine ruler? Does Taiyi exist?

The poem was titled “The Brevity of Day.” Zhou Tan reflected.

Their late-night conversations felt as if they had happened just yesterday. But spring had arrived, and there was no need to lament the lengthening nights. As daylight grew stronger, even the darkest clouds would eventually part, revealing the sun once more.

Their journey—and their mission—had only just begun.