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◎Affection and Righteousness◎
On the sixth day of the sixth month, Bai Shating held his wedding.
Though he had been exiled from the capital years ago due to his involvement in the Spring Bright Poetry Case, his reputation as a wandering poet had left many courtesans heartbroken. It wasn’t until Song Shixuan gifted him the phrase “spring breeze” that people realized his bride was none other than Chun Niangzi, who had left the capital years ago.
Before the closure of Chunfeng Huayu Pavilion, Ye Liuchun had been a celebrated figure in Bian Capital, known as a master of her craft. With the emperor’s personal endorsement, her status reached new heights.
Ye Liuchun’s departure from Bian Capital coincided with Bai Shating’s exile. Upon reflection, people connected the dots—Chun Niangzi, long considered Bai Shating’s paramour, had followed him into exile despite the risks. Touched by her devotion, Bai Shating immediately sought imperial approval for their marriage upon his reinstatement.
Many courtesans envied her. Though Bai Shating’s early reputation was less than stellar—he once sold lyrics to make ends meet—his rise in officialdom was unexpected. Now, with both talent and rank, he was considered an excellent match in Bian Capital. Ye Liuchun, though renowned, was originally from a brothel, yet he married her as his lawful wife.
When the gossip reached the bridal chamber, Ye Liuchun merely smiled. Gao Yunyue, sitting beside her and selecting hairpins, scoffed, “Chuntian Sister and Sir Shisan have known each other since childhood—it’s not about his fame or wealth. These people are just bitter.”
The scars on her cheeks had healed significantly, leaving only faint traces.
After the deposed Crown Prince fell to his death, Gao Yunyue avenged her family. Unafraid, she gathered his shattered remains at the foot of the city wall, burned them, and abandoned the ashes in the wilderness.
Though her family was destroyed, she knelt before her parents’ graves for a day after avenging them and no longer showed her former melancholy. Qu You had been deeply worried that she might never recover, but after Ming Emperor ascended the throne, Gao Yunyue sought out Ai Di Sheng.
“When I was in my father’s household, pressured into marriage, I often imagined—if I were just an ordinary girl, and marriage wasn’t a political tool—I would open a shop on the streets and be the proprietress. If my husband proved useful, he’d be a clerk; if not, he could live off me.”
She rested her chin on her hand, sitting beside Qu You, earnestly saying, “You needn’t worry about me. Now that I’ve avenged my family, I’ll honor my parents’ wishes and live well. It was the deposed Crown Prince who framed my father. Even if I encounter noble ladies from my past in Bian Capital, I’ll face them without shame—it wasn’t my fault, and I won’t punish myself.”
A maid called Gao Yunyue out to choose handkerchiefs. Qu You took the gold hairpin Gao Yunyue had selected and pinned it onto Ye Liuchun’s hair, smiling. “I wish Chuntian Sister and Sir Shisan a lifetime of happiness.”
Ye Liuchun gazed into the bronze mirror and sighed bitterly. “I never thought we’d grow old together.”
Qu You looked at her reflection in the mirror, recalling the song she sang in Gao’s garden. She almost asked more but ultimately kept silent.
Ye Liuchun smoothed the creases on her shoulder and gripped Qu You’s hand. “Enough. A prodigal son may return with hope still alive—I’m willing to give it another try.”
Four days earlier, Zhou Tan had just become Chancellor, pushing the debates in court to a fever pitch.
His previous accusations of favoritism had made his relationship with Bai Shating somewhat awkward, yet he still attended the wedding banquet.
Su Chaochi sat across the table, raising his cup awkwardly when their eyes met. He didn’t say much.
On the first day Zhou Tan received the chancellor’s seal, he summoned the other three chief ministers and six cabinet members to the main hall, bluntly stating, “I intend to reform under the guise of abolishing the Tanghua Law. I hope all of you will assist me.”
This came as a surprise, even to Su Chaochi.
He carefully examined the draft of laws Zhou Tan had prepared. Using the abolition of the Tanghua Law as a pretext, Zhou Tan had implemented sweeping reforms, adding twenty-four clauses to the Dayin Code, with the most significant changes affecting governance and military systems.
Each clause addressed pressing issues, innovative in approach and painstakingly crafted. A glance told Su Chaochi how much effort Zhou Tan had invested.
But…
After everyone had left, Su Chaochi gasped sharply in the Hall of State Affairs, slamming the document onto the table. “Do you realize that if you want to reform, you can’t use these terms?”
Reformers throughout history always faced immense challenges.
Any reform would inevitably challenge the interests of old aristocrats and noble families. They cared little about who ruled the dynasty, focusing instead on tangible benefits. In a newly established dynasty, anyone daring to take the lead would surely be dragged down and trampled by the masses.
The blood of predecessors had barely dried.
Zhou Tan’s eyelashes trembled slightly as he feigned ignorance. “Why?”
“During the late emperor’s reign…” Su Chaochi hesitated, swallowing his words. “Everyone knows the deep-rooted problems today, but if you want to change things, you must proceed cautiously. Build momentum, test the waters, placate the nobility, grease palms… You’re no stranger to court politics. Don’t tell me you don’t know these tactics?”
Zhou Tan gazed deeply at him, a faint smile forming. “Of course I know.”
“Then…”
“But, Chaochi, do you realize that the common people no longer trust the government?”
Zhou Tan coughed and continued, “During my time in the Ministry of Justice, I handled numerous cases—for instance, the shocking case of the falling prince. Hundreds of officials were implicated, but how many were actually punished? When notices were posted, the public mocked and ridiculed them. Lady Qu also mentioned that when calamity strikes, they no longer think of reporting it to the authorities.”
Su Chaochi fell silent.
“Proceed cautiously? But how far should we compromise? Should we sacrifice the interests of the common people for the support of the nobility? Without such decisive laws, do you believe this deeply entrenched corruption can be reversed?”
Zhou Tan leaned over the desk, hands braced, and stared at him. “Aside from you, most elders in the Hall of State Affairs believe in non-interference and maintaining the status quo. Even if they could be persuaded, I don’t have that kind of time.”
Su Chaochi was stunned. “What do you mean?”
“No hidden meaning,” Zhou Tan straightened up, avoiding his gaze. “I’ve already considered everything you said. Now that the realm is just stabilized and the law is lax, prices are soaring in the east, floods plague the south, and Xishao remains restless despite paying tribute… The emperor is young, and the lords outwardly comply but inwardly scheme. Can this empire afford to wait?”
“Injuring a thousand enemies while losing eight hundred of your own,” Su Chaochi felt his voice tremble. “If this fails, have you thought about the consequences?”
Zhou Tan calmly replied, “Some things must be done by someone.”
Su Chaochi slammed the paperweight on the desk. It was made of white jade, and shards scattered as Zhou Tan took a step back, suddenly laughing.
Su Chaochi asked, “What are you laughing at?”
The Hall of State Affairs was filled with ancient scrolls and memorials from past dynasties, mountains of paper and ink. Zhou Tan raised his hand, pointing to a wall of books behind him. The wind blowing through the open lattice window billowed his wide sleeves. “Dayin has always valued scholars over soldiers. You, all of you—the scholar-officials recorded in history, the bureaucrats scheming tirelessly in the Hall of State Affairs and the imperial court—what do you seek?”
Su Chaochi had never seen Zhou Tan in such a state and was momentarily at a loss for words. “I…”
He recalled the banquet at Qionglin years ago when Gu Zhiyan had asked the same question. After Zhou Tan’s answer, the entire courtyard had laughed.
“Young scholars are always like this.”
“It reminds me of when I first entered the court, full of innocence…”
The banquet hall was filled with blooming flowers, serene water reflecting the daylight.
Su Chaochi suddenly forgot his own answer at the time, but Zhou Tan’s reply remained crystal clear.
“I’ll answer for you,” Zhou Tan lowered his hand, a faint mockery rising in his eyes. “Scholars seek fame in life and legacy after death.”
“During the late emperor’s reign, the Office of Censors was neglected. Now that Ziqian has ascended the throne, it regains its former prominence. The Counselors close their eyes, ignoring the cries from all sides, fixated on the emperor and power, even longing to one day die in protest, staining the pillars with their blood and etching their names into history!”
This was the first time Su Chaochi witnessed Zhou Tan so bluntly and sharply display his disdain for such lofty ideals. A flood of emotions overwhelmed him, leaving him unsure how to respond.
“What are fame, power, wealth, and salary?” Zhou Tan looked at him again, his eyes tinged with self-pity yet burning fiercely. “At the Qionglin banquet years ago, I said I wanted to establish the heart of heaven and earth, secure the destiny of the people, continue the interrupted teachings of the sages…”
“…and bring peace to future generations.” Su Chaochi softly completed the sentence.
“I’ve fulfilled the first three pledges with no regrets, and only the last remains…” Zhou Tan smirked. “You could call me selfish, but to me, fulfilling my promises is more important than anything else.”
“All right, all right…” Su Chaochi nodded unconsciously. Without hesitation, he retrieved his personal seal from his sleeve, intending to affix it to the decree.
But Zhou Tan moved faster, snatching the document back.
Decrees issued by the Hall of State Affairs required four seals before being stamped with the imperial seal.
“Chancellor Cai and Chancellor Luo will certainly not approve,” Zhou Tan said calmly, lowering his voice. “Nor should you.”
Su Chaochi finally grew angry. “If they already knew they wouldn’t approve, then what’s your intention? Why refuse even mine?”
Before Zhou Tan could explain, a timid eunuch appeared at the door, summoning him to Xuande Hall. Immediately, Zhou Tan fell silent, clutching the decree and turning to leave.
The two parted on bad terms, and from then on, never spoke again.
Su Chaochi closed his eyes and drank a cup of wine from the banquet.
Before he opened his eyes, a familiar voice asked, “Lord Su… no, now you should be called Chief Minister. Where did you get this string of multicolored prayer beads?”
Qu You passed by, noticing the hand holding the cup.
Su Chaochi gestured for her to sit opposite him. Glancing aside, he saw Zhou Tan had disappeared once again.
“No need for formalities; just call me Brother Su. Sister Qu’s sharp eye has noticed—it was a gift from Xiaobai. He said Master Ji Yun gave it to him at Xiugqing Temple, and he later passed it on to me for my birthday.”
He clearly saw the fleeting astonishment in her eyes and was momentarily stunned. Though she knew of his friendship with Zhou Tan, why would she be so surprised by such a small gift?
Qu You’s gaze lingered on the multicolored prayer beads.
She had once pondered endlessly over the faded beads in the painting, searching through countless texts but finding no origin. The prayer beads Su Chaochi never removed and carried to his death were, unexpectedly, a gift from his supposed greatest political rival.
Whether laughable or lamentable, it was hard to say.
Slowly shifting her gaze, she listened to the clamor in the hall and murmured, “Though there was once affection, why does it inevitably end in desolation?”
Su Chaochi assumed she was asking him. Taking another sip of wine, he replied, “Most affections in this world are fragile. If there truly exists something tempered by fire yet unchanged, I, Chaochi, cannot believe it would end in desolation.”
He coughed lightly and asked in a low voice, “Sister Qu, do you know about the reforms in the Hall of State Affairs?”
To his surprise, Qu You smiled faintly. “Of course.”
Before he could respond, she continued, “Brother Su, what do you think of those decrees?”
“The decrees themselves are good, but… might they be too hasty?” Su Chaochi replied. “Xiaobai is stubborn, unwilling to compromise. Continuing like this, he may harm himself. I…”
Before he finished, Qu You interrupted, “Brother Su, if we’re speaking honestly, half of these reform decrees… were drafted by me.”
Su Chaochi jolted, sobering up halfway.
“Brother Su surely knows that gradual reform holds no meaning. This path is inevitable,” Qu You’s gaze swept across the lively hall before returning to him. “This is the path he must walk, even knowing it’s fraught with thorns. I cannot stop him, so I can only gamble. Even if we both perish on this path…”
One lifetime, two lifetimes, three lifetimes… She had never lived to see this moment.
The gods granted her wish but cruelly left her struggling in the gaps of history. Even in ancient texts from a thousand years later, she couldn’t find what happened to Zhou Tan after the reforms.
But even in the past, after her early death, he still persisted in completing this task despite losing all hope.
She didn’t know what to do after crossing the threshold, but she couldn’t disregard his unwavering ideals.
Even though deep down, she suspected this reform would be the root cause of his lonely, illness-ridden death.
Qu You asked herself—if she were Zhou Tan, even coming from a thousand years later, even almost foreseeing her fate, she would still choose this path.
If even she would make this choice, how could she let Zhou Tan abandon everything for his own sake?
Especially since this time was different. This time… she was here.
Su Chaochi studied the woman before him.
When they first met, he only found her radiant beauty striking. Later conversations, especially her solitary stay in Bian Capital, made him rethink his impression, understanding why Zhou Tan confided in her.
After this exchange, he fully comprehended.
In caring for her, he hoped she would remain unscathed.
But she understood him, knowing his ideals surpassed everything else.
With these thoughts, Su Chaochi sighed again. “In a few days, the Hall of State Affairs will decide on the abolition of the Tanghua Law. Chancellors Cai and Luo have always been conservative and will certainly oppose it. As for me…”
Qu You’s eyes flickered, and she sighed heavily along with him.
After the banquet, Zhou Tan and Qu You returned home by carriage. Passing Bian River, Qu You felt inspired and stepped out of the carriage, strolling slowly along the riverbank with him.
Bai Shating’s wedding banquet had been grand, and they exchanged many words with their close friends. Finally, Bai clung to Bai Ying, sobbing uncontrollably, causing quite a commotion. By now, Bian River Street was deserted, with only an imperfect moon hanging in the sky.
Qu You looked ahead at the misty expanse of Bian River.
The moon was obscured by clouds, turning the river into a murky black. The night was silent, save for the distant sound of patrol boats slicing through the water.
Meanwhile, deep within the imperial palace, lights still burned brightly.
Yet it remained deathly silent.
A eunuch bowed his head and closed the heavy palace gates. The young emperor emotionlessly burned the confession in his hand, though a drop of cold sweat slid down his temple.
Passing through the floating gauze curtains, he pushed open the palace doors again. The moon dimmed under the glow of the lanterns.
A pair of hands wrapped around his neck from behind.
Song Shixuan tilted his head back, not turning around. “Jiang Ting, do you believe there exists indestructible affection in this world?”
Luo Jiangting paused, smiling sweetly. “Why does Your Majesty speak such nonsense? Of course, it exists.”
He chuckled coldly, sweat dripping down his neck onto his pale golden robe, leaving no trace.
“I hope so.”
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