Chapter 78: The Captive Traveler (I)

◎ The Wind-Up Toy ◎

Song Chang summoned only Zhou Tan and Chu Lin into the palace, so Qu You did not accompany them. Chu Lin left her with a squad of guards to ensure her safety.

Qu You rode in a carriage to see Zhou Tan off at the eastern gate. Lifting the curtain, she caught sight of the towering Candlelight Tower. She had once been awestruck by its presence without understanding its significance, but now, looking at it again, she felt a flood of emotions.

Zhou Tan gave her some concerned instructions. “Take the guard Chu Lin left you and return directly to the residence. Close the gates tightly and wait for me to come out before we discuss further.”

“I plan to return to my family’s estate first,” Qu You replied. “My father is a historian, and Xiangwen is now in the Ministry of Rites. With the Emperor still alive, the Crown Prince wouldn’t dare make a major move against my household. If I were to return alone, it would give him an opening.”

Zhou Tan furrowed his brows, deep in thought. Hearing Chu Lin call for him outside the carriage, he hastily said, “Alright, be careful.”

Qu You smoothed the creases on his crimson official robe. It had been a while since he last wore it, and now that she saw it again, she thought how well it suited him. “You too.”

She watched as Zhou Tan’s figure disappeared amidst the vast pavilions before sitting back in the carriage. Perhaps due to the Emperor’s critical condition, there were significantly more guards stationed at the eastern gate than during her last visit.

The escort left by Chu Lin followed her orders, heading toward the Qu residence after leaving Imperial Street. Sitting inside the carriage, Qu You could hear the heavy clinking of armor from outside the curtains.

Feeling weary, she dozed off in the carriage for a short while—about the time it took for an incense stick to burn. Suddenly, the sound of horses neighing startled her awake. Before she could fully register what was happening, she heard one of the guards speak in a low voice, “Madam, there are soldiers from the Crown Prince’s residence blocking the entrance—about fifty of them, clad in golden armor and wielding iron spears. Their intentions seem hostile.”

Song Shiyu was no fool; he must have calculated that she would head straight to the Qu residence upon returning to Bian capital.

But just as she’d told Zhou Tan earlier, with Song Chang still alive, Song Shiyu wouldn’t dare cause a major disturbance. Blocking the gates here likely meant he was targeting her specifically. Otherwise, they wouldn’t merely be standing guard—they’d have stormed the gates already.

The Qu residence, inherited from her paternal ancestors, was located in a bustling part of Bian capital, frequented by many passersby. She had thirty elite soldiers under Chu Lin’s command at her side. If push came to shove, they stood a good chance against Song Shiyu’s men.

With this reassurance, Qu You felt slightly more at ease.

Just as she prepared to lift the curtain and step out to deal with the Crown Prince’s soldiers, the previous guard returned cautiously, bringing someone along.

From outside the curtain came a polite voice. “Lady Zhou, His Highness requests your presence at Fanlou. Please follow us.”

The Qu residence wasn’t far from Fanlou. By choosing such a busy location, Song Shiyu was signaling that he didn’t intend to kidnap her to threaten Zhou Tan.

So why did the Crown Prince want to see her?

One of the guards expressed concern. “Madam, even at Fanlou, we cannot let our guard down…”

But Qu You suddenly opened her eyes wide. “Turn the carriage around. To Fanlou.”

The guard wanted to dissuade her but, seeing the heavily armed soldiers stationed outside the Qu residence, decided against it. With a shout of “Drive on,” they headed toward Bian River Street.

Sitting inside the carriage, Qu You heard the familiar clamor of Bian River Street, which she hadn’t experienced in a long while.

Song Shiyu had deliberately avoided Zhou Tan and invited her to a banquet at Fanlou—a place teeming with people—for a reason known only to him.

Whatever his intention, if he dared invite her, then she would dare to go.

________________________________________

In the dimly lit halls of Shengming Palace, Zhou Tan stepped inside. The palace maids and eunuchs seemed to receive an unspoken command, bowing their heads and silently retreating from his sides, their footsteps barely audible.

For a moment, the clearest sound in the room was the dripping of candle wax.

Zhou Tan turned to watch the towering palace doors close behind him, feeling somewhat dazed.

He had spent so long in Ruozhou that he hadn’t seen these servants—who were trained to act like objects in motion—in quite some time. Strangely, he hadn’t noticed this before. But after Qu You described her first visit to the palace, he began reflecting on these thoughts occasionally.

“In the West, there’s a kind of toy called a wind-up toy—a clever little mechanism. When the owner turns the key, triggering the mechanism, the toy repeats a fixed action according to its predetermined settings. On the day I went to meet you at the eastern gate, all the palace servants I saw were like those wind-up toys.”

She had explained it as feudal absolutism’s cruelest form of dehumanization—forcibly implanting willpower into beings and stripping them of thought.

She also mentioned that her initial refusal to accept kneeling obeisance from servants stemmed from fear of becoming an oblivious power-wielder herself. Once one uses power to control others, they are inevitably controlled by it in turn.

Holding him in her arms half-asleep, she whispered repeatedly, vowing never to become a puppet of the feudal system, always remembering where she came from.

Though much of what she said was unclear to him, these words lingered in his mind. He never asked for clarification.

He had assumed he would forget those cryptic remarks, but today, standing in the hall, he clearly recalled the phrase “wind-up toy.” For the first time, he thought he understood what she meant.

On Jinghua Mountain and later at Fanlou, he recognized how different she was from everyone else. Qu You herself had admitted to coming from a world unlike theirs.

Perhaps it was a world she dreamed up after reading rare books and meeting Western visitors. Though she rarely elaborated, she often dropped hints unconsciously.

Such a wonderful place—one he could never imagine in his wildest dreams.

A fit of coughing from behind the curtains pulled Zhou Tan’s thoughts back to the candlelit hall of Shengming Palace.

The Emperor lay on his bed, attended only by an elderly eunuch—the same one who had escorted Zhou Tan out of the palace years ago.

“Xiaobai, you’ve come.”

Song Chang called out to him.

After only two years, his voice had aged drastically.

A mixture of pity and disgust welled up within Zhou Tan. He adjusted his robes and knelt three steps away from the dragon bed—not too near, not too far. “Xiaobai greets Your Majesty. How fares Your Imperial Majesty?”

“Qinggong, withdraw.”

The old eunuch bowed deeply and shuffled out of the hall. From what Zhou Tan could tell, the man hadn’t straightened his back once since he’d seen him.

Song Chang’s closest attendants had bent their backs serving him their entire lives, yet they believed being favored by the emperor was the highest honor. According to Qu You, this was nothing but “oppression.”

“It’s difficult for you to return from Ruozhou. Now that you’re here, General Chu Lin must be back as well. I can finally rest easier.” Song Chang didn’t draw back the curtains, speaking weakly. “Was life harsh on the border?”

“The lands our forefathers protected—how could they be harsh?” Zhou Tan replied indifferently. “I lived peacefully in Ruozhou. If not for Your Majesty’s urgent summons, I might have wished to stay beneath Gerila Mountain forever.”

He wasn’t lying.

Song Chang fell silent for a moment before suddenly saying, “Before you left the capital, you once asked me if I regretted anything… I didn’t tell you the truth then. In fact, I regret every single day.”

He stopped using “I” and reverted to “your humble servant.”

“My life has been absurd and tragic—friends scattered, elders passed away early, and my children disrespectful. In my illness, the only person I dare trust is Xiaobai, far away in Ruozhou… Today, let us speak frankly as kin. Xiaobai, tell me honestly—do you know about the Candlelight Tower case?”

So he finally asked about it.

Mocking thoughts flitted through Zhou Tan’s mind. Back then, Song Chang had acted too hastily in forcing Fu Qingnian’s death and retreated to Ruozhou. Song Chang probably hadn’t realized it or forgotten to ask more about the Candlelight Tower case.

The frail emperor extended a hand from behind the curtain, pulling it aside. There knelt the young minister before his bed, unchanged from when he left two years ago. The crimson robes brought no hint of gloom but instead highlighted his striking features.

A youth like bamboo—fresh, clean, carrying the scent of still water. Comparing himself to him, Song Chang could almost smell the decay of his own impending death.

He too had once been young, galloping across the northwest with Xiao Yue, singing in the daytime, filled with ambition and hope.

Then his friends were buried in the sands, and he became a rotting old man in the palace.

It was hard to say who was luckier.

Pity and disgust swirled stronger within Zhou Tan.

Clearing his throat, he kowtowed and avoided answering the emperor’s question directly. Instead, he spoke slowly. “Your Majesty, when Master Gu rescued me from the imperial prison, he recounted the late emperor’s final words in detail. Thinking about it now, this situation eerily mirrors the late emperor’s secret edict.”

When Emperor Xuan was gravely ill, he urgently summoned Gu Zhiyan. Inside the palace walls were guards with unclear intentions, and outside the city gates, the Crown Prince waited hungrily. Everything mirrored the past.

Song Chang forced a bitter smile, but Zhou Tan’s next words froze his expression.

“Your Majesty, do you know why Master Gu tried so hard to stop you from building the Candlelight Tower?” Zhou Tan raised his amber eyes calmly, a slight chill in their depths. “It was the late emperor’s last wish. He wanted the secrets of Zhenru Palace buried forever. Your Majesty, why do you think he did that?”

His voice softened, tinged with pity. “It was for you, Your Majesty. The late emperor knew everything but chose not to act while he was alive. On his deathbed, he entrusted Master Gu to prevent it, sparing you the anger and resentment. Even the matter of bloodlines—he no longer cared by the end.”

“Master Gu faithfully upheld the late emperor’s wishes, doing everything to dissuade you. Yet before he could explain, the Candlelight Tower case began. Now, I have one more reason to despise Chancellor Fu. Your Majesty should understand my heart, shouldn’t you?”

Song Chang remained silent for a long while, sitting dazed on his bed. After some time, he seemed to snap out of it, breaking into a violent fit of coughing. His trembling hands gripped the curtains beside him tightly.

“I’ve said all I needed to say. Allowing Master Gu’s words to not remain buried forever is perhaps my fate.” The candlelight flickered, and Zhou Tan’s gaze shimmered earnestly. “Now, Your Majesty urgently summoned me back to the palace. What is it you wish to say?”