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◎The Wheel◎
When Zhou Tan encountered Song Shiyan, both were in a state of disarray.
The city walls were already engulfed in flames. Yan Fu led his forces in a fierce assault. Though the city’s defenses were few, Bian Capital was naturally fortified and difficult to breach, making the battle far from easy.
Still, it proved easier than anyone had anticipated.
Arrows rained down from the sky, and cries of battle and the clamor of troops filled the air. Zhou Tan had been escorted by several guards toward the city walls, but they soon became separated.
Seeing his frail figure, soldiers charged recklessly at him. Zhou Tan coughed a few times, clutching his chest, then unsheathed the white jade scholar’s sword from his side with one hand.
This sword, along with the white jade thumb ring, was the only memento left by his teacher. He always carried it with him, yet no one had ever seen the blade drawn. Many assumed the sword within the white jade scabbard was merely decorative, without an edge.
But it could kill.
Blood splattered onto his face. Zhou Tan continued forward, mercilessly dispatching anyone who dared block his path. Song Shiyan watched as he executed a graceful flourish with the sword, emotionlessly slaying the last of his shadow guards.
Crimson blood dripped steadily from the blade. Zhou Tan, appearing to have little strength left, dragged the sword toward him, its tip scraping across the dark red-stained stone bricks with a sharp sound.
“So you know how to wield a sword.”
Song Shiyan looked up at him. The dusk cast deep shadows over his face, yet the vivid streaks of blood remained striking.
Zhou Tan pressed the sword against his throat.
“Where is my wife?”
Song Shiyan ignored the question. “When I first met you, I thought you were different from those scheming courtiers. Back then, you had just been named the top imperial scholar, attending the Qionglin Night Banquet. Though you carried the air of poverty, I could tell what you desired…”
Zhou Tan crouched before him, gripping his collar almost irritably. “I’m asking you—where is my wife?”
“She’s dead,” Song Shiyan replied with a laugh.
“Impossible! I clearly saw her on the city walls just now!” Zhou Tan lost his composure, pulling him closer, barely restraining his fury. “I’ll ask you again—where is she?”
“If you saw her from the city walls, then it fits perfectly,” Song Shiyan drawled, smirking. “I threw her off the wall. By now… she’s probably been trampled into a bloody pulp by your troops.”
Zhou Tan coughed twice, his face pale. The longsword carved a line of blood across Song Shiyan’s throat. Before he could speak, Song Shiyan continued, “… I heard that after our parting at the ferry, you tried several times to return to Bian Capital alone, enraged and grief-stricken, falling so ill you couldn’t rise from bed. Today, I didn’t expect to see you.”
He expected Zhou Tan to press him further, but instead, Zhou Tan lost interest in speaking to him altogether. Releasing his grip, he rose shakily, just as Zhou Yang hurried over to steady him. “Brother!”
“Take some men and escort the Crown Prince back,” Zhou Tan said wearily. “I’ll go into the city to search for her.”
Zhou Yang pleaded urgently, “Brother looks unwell. Let’s take the carriage to find His Highness first. I’ll search for her on your behalf.”
Zhou Tan shook his head. “No need.”
This battle had proceeded unexpectedly smoothly. Within an hour, Yan Fu sounded the retreat, beginning to tally prisoners and tend to the wounded. Song Shixuan’s carriage arrived at the palace gates, even receiving a warm welcome from some bolder citizens lining the streets.
Zhou Tan took a few steps when he noticed two soldiers carrying a wounded man past him, sparking suspicion. Turning around, he saw Song Shiyan pick up the sword beside him. “Where is General Li?”
“Hahahaha, I thought you’d forgotten about him,” Song Shiyan supported himself with the sword, struggling to stand. “Zhou Tan, this battle was too easy. Do you really think capturing me solves everything?”
Zhou Tan’s expression shifted, and he immediately called out sharply, “Someone come!”
A soldier rushed over. “Master.”
“Find your general and tell him, on my orders, to take men to the other three gates of Bian Capital immediately—especially Chenghua Gate near Tingshan. Search Tingshan thoroughly if possible… Also, guard the northern and southern ferries. Someone might try to sneak out or launch an attack while we’re entering the palace.”
He turned to Zhou Yang. “Take men into the palace to protect Ziqian.”
Zhou Yang hesitated. “What about Brother?”
Zhou Tan pointed. “He’s no longer a threat and has no intention of resisting. Go.”
Song Shiyan continued to smirk, muttering to himself, “Did you know? In the Ministry of Justice, your wife willingly submitted to me to save her life. She has a red mole on her shoulder, quite beautiful…”
Of course, he was lying—he didn’t enjoy forcing others. He only wanted Qu You to submit completely to him. But even when he broke her leg bones, she struggled to lift her head, her eyes burning with the same flame that had startled him since their first meeting.
Under the dim candlelight in the prison, Song Shiyan gazed at Qu You’s soaked shoulders, feeling a twinge of jealousy. It wasn’t that she didn’t fear pain or death—it was simply that she could endure anything.
Zhou Tan’s brow twitched slightly. Suddenly, he kicked Song Shiyan’s knee, knocking him down, then viciously pinned his left hand to the stone bricks with the sword.
The previously injured palm bled anew, and Song Shiyan instantly broke into a cold sweat. Unable to pull the sword free, he was left sprawled awkwardly on the ground.
“If you utter another word defiling my wife, I’ll cut off each of your fingers, one by one.”
A flicker of crimson hatred passed through Zhou Tan’s pale pupils, yet he revealed a gloomy smile. “I’ll ask you one last time—where is she?”
“Your Highness, do you know how I conducted interrogations in the Ministry of Justice during Yongning Year Fifteen? Every trick and technique of the thirty-two hand grips I read about in ancient texts and personally tested on them… Oh, I forgot—you’re an expert in this field, far more familiar than I. I wonder if these tortures would be more effective on Your Highness?”
“Hahahaha,” Song Shiyan gripped the blade of the sword with his other hand, pulling it out forcefully. Blood flowed freely, yet he laughed with increasing excitement. “To be honest, I’d like to give them a try. Xiaobai, come and personally administer my punishment.”
Zhou Tan belatedly realized that whether it was earlier insults about Qu You or now his reckless provocations, Song Shiyan was deliberately goading him—trying to anger him into killing him.
Yet Zhou Tan still had many unanswered questions. Why was Song Shiyan here on the city walls now, instead of staying safe in the palace? Where had Li Wei, the Li family’s army, and the Xishao forces they fought earlier gone? If Song Shiyan had let the Xishao forces into Bian Capital, did they have a contingency plan?
With the Li family and Xishao armies, Song Shiyan clearly had a fighting chance. Even Yan Fu had prepared for a grueling battle. Why had he withdrawn his troops, succumbing to despair and seeking death?
But Zhou Tan’s mind was solely occupied with finding out where Qu You was. There was no room for anything else.
Since the day Qu You devised a way for them to escape safely, he had woken up late to find himself slapping Zhou Yang, spitting blood, and falling gravely ill. Several times, despite his weakened state, he had tried to return and rescue her but failed.
Finally recovering somewhat, he rode ahead of the army from Lin’an, clearly spotting her on the city walls and calling her name.
But she vanished abruptly from his sight, like an illusion.
Then the battlefield and artillery engulfed the area.
He was too late.
As Zhou Tan thought of these words, a faint metallic taste rose in his throat. He sheathed his sword, turning dazedly to leave, just as a guard came to report: “Master, we found no female bodies at the city gates. The moat is shallow, so bodies wouldn’t float long. We’ve already sent people downstream to search.”
The guard spoke respectfully, then suddenly raised his eyes, exclaiming, “Master!”
Song Shiyan had climbed onto the city walls.
He stood unsteadily atop the high walls, dangerously close to falling, yet he paid no heed, laughing wildly and pointing below.
“From the Imperial Palace, Tingshan, Xiugqing Temple, to Fanlou, Bian River, Nanxie Street, the western water gate, Doumou Temple… and beyond these walls, Jinghua Mountain, Muchunchang, Ji Wangjiang… How laughable! My empire can’t even hold me!”
Zhou Tan silently watched him, waiting until his laughter subsided before calmly saying, “Great mountains and rivers can only accommodate destinies of integrity.”
“This land belongs to Dayin, and Dayin belongs to all under heaven. You are blinded by selfishness, harboring secrets. Naturally, it cannot hold you.”
The biting winter wind blew fiercely from outside the city, nearly knocking him over. Song Shiyan closed his eyes, the wind cutting like a knife against his face, yet he felt an unprecedented sense of liberation.
“Xiaobai, you, like my teacher and Father, always preach righteousness, always towering above, pointing to the void, demanding I care for all under heaven. But what is this ‘all under heaven’? How has it treated me? No matter how much they talk, nothing touches me like the single tear your wife shed for a stranger atop Fanlou… If only someone had shed such a tear for me, recognized my differences early on instead of merely condemning and despising me, spouting moral platitudes… Perhaps today, I’d be entirely different.”
The wind whistled past Zhou Tan’s ear, his lashes trembling slightly as he murmured, “Who should you place your hopes in…? The world flows like a flood; before meeting companions, who isn’t self-reliant?”
Fortunately, on his thorny path home, he waited for someone to light a lantern for him.
“You’re right—I’m luckier than you. Xiaobai… After today, you’ll surely ascend effortlessly, becoming chancellor. Just remember my words: don’t let the ruler you serve wholeheartedly one day harbor such thoughts toward you.”
He sank down, his voice soft. “Do you know? If Uncle Xiao were still alive, you and I would call each other brothers.”
Before Zhou Tan could respond, Song Shiyan continued, “Never mind. Forget Uncle Xiao—he’s dead. As for me, I’m nothing but an impostor. Once Father learned of my origins, he immediately issued an edict to depose the Crown Prince… What virtue or talent do I possess to call you brother?”
Zhou Tan fell silent for a moment. “Before the Su case, I truly intended to assist Your Highness.”
Song Shiyan waved dismissively, gesturing for him to come closer, whispering, “Go find her. They’re on Tingshan.”
“Thank you.” Zhou Tan turned to leave but suddenly stopped, asking earnestly, “After your death, whom should I ask to prepare your body? The Crown Princess?”
“No need,” Song Shiyan answered indifferently. “Go to my residence and find an advisor named…”
He paused abruptly.
Zhou Tan looked back, puzzled, only to see Song Shiyan’s expression freeze momentarily before breaking into laughter. His laughter sounded especially desolate amidst the howling winds signaling an impending snowstorm.
He tilted his head back, laughing to the heavens, singing a tune commonly heard in Bian Capital’s streets.
“… I drift upon the great river’s waters, ascending to the capital under the bright sun, to the nine-tiered phoenix mountains… Immortals gifted me the Yongan Ode , guiding me like a distant star.”
Zhou Tan vaguely recalled—this was The Yongan Ode of the Capital in the Jia-You Year , written by Bai Shating upon his arrival in the capital.
Song Shiyan spread his arms, leaning backward and falling. Just then, a carriage carrying Yan Fu’s final load of military provisions approached along Jinghua Road outside Bian Capital’s gates. The carriage sped onward; even seeing someone fall, the driver couldn’t rein in the horses in time.
Thus, the speeding carriage mercilessly crushed the deposed Crown Prince, leaving a long trail of blood before rolling into Bian Capital’s gates, heralding a new era.
The sky grew dim, hinting at an approaching snowfall. Someone draped a white fox fur cloak over Zhou Tan’s shoulders. Without lingering, he mounted his horse and galloped toward Tingshan.
Only as he passed Fanlou did he recall, untimely, that during the Qionglin Night Banquet, Song Shiyan, clad in a pale gold-purple robe, had first met him, saying, “I feel as though we’ve known each other for ages.” Respectfully, Zhou Tan had replied, “Your Highness flatters me.”
Their wine cups clinked, droplets splashing onto a nearby flower branch. After finishing his drink, the Crown Prince turned and plucked a rose from the corridor railing, tossing it aside. After the banquet, Zhou Tan went to the corridor to sober up, only to find the rose trampled beyond recognition.
The sounds of music and fragrant flowers intertwined, floating through the air. The Qionglin courtyard was tranquil that night, with no one else around.
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