#29: Pure White, Unprepared (V)

Luo Wei frowned, puzzled by his words. After a moment of thought, she suddenly recalled Ye Tingyan’s expression when he mentioned Chang Zhao a few days ago. It was said that this man’s intelligence and strategies rivaled Ye Tingyan’s. If he were Grand Tutor Yu’s man, would that trouble him?

After making that cryptic statement, Ye Tingyan refused to elaborate further, instead rambling on about trivial matters.

At one moment, he spoke of the impending summer and how Jiangnan still hadn’t seen rain. The next, he recounted buying a bolt of azure-blue fabric from the eastern market, the buds forming on lotuses at Jinming Pool, birds flying over the capital, and scenes of young men and women enjoying leisurely outings. He passed through neighborhoods, overhearing whispered rumors. Zhang Gong’s illness had worsened; his speech was now incoherent…

He spoke with great enthusiasm, seemingly indifferent to her reactions. Luo Wei, sitting in the front hall with a hand propping up her chin, found herself growing increasingly exasperated. Yet, as she listened longer, an unexpected calm settled over her heart.

Perhaps she hadn’t realized it herself, but since the third year of Tian Shou, every step she took had been like walking along a precipice or treading on thin ice. Deep within the imperial palace, something unseen weighed heavier and heavier on her chest, accumulating with each passing day.

Like the time she traveled to Dianhong Terrace, wearing a golden phoenix crown adorned with a priceless pearl from the Eastern Sea—a dazzling sight, symbolizing unmatched nobility.

Such a crown was the dream of countless women.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t one of them. This golden crown, much like the imperial palace itself, brought her nothing but oppressive pain.

These mundane tales of everyday life—so ordinary, so worldly—hadn’t been shared with her in years.

Luo Wei sat dazed beneath the plaque inscribed with “Revere Heaven, Pity Mankind” in Zhang Pingjing’s front hall, listening patiently as Ye Tingyan rambled on.

When he finally grew parched and picked up a cup of tea to drink, Luo Wei, almost involuntarily, opened her mouth. She didn’t understand why she felt compelled to share this story, but at that moment, an overwhelming urge to speak consumed her: “I just remembered a story.”

Ye Tingyan looked at her intently, continuing to sip his tea without speaking.

Luo Wei didn’t care whether he was listening and simply continued: “It seems to be a tale recorded in some unofficial histories—I’ve forgotten where I read it. In the chaotic era before the founding of the Yin dynasty, there was a prince vying for the throne who fell in love with a female general. The general fought for him, risking her life to vanquish enemies. After he ascended the throne, she entered his harem.”

At this point, Ye Tingyan sneered and commented: “Fools.”

Whether he was mocking the prince who hid his prized general or the general who willingly clipped her wings, it wasn’t clear.

“Though the emperor retained affection for her after ascending the throne, the general was trapped in the palace, surrounded by cosmetics and silks. Her sharp wings were gradually worn down inch by inch, her armor stripped away. Deeper than any sword or spear, a profound pain began to surface. On the battlefield, a swing of the blade could repel invaders. But within these palace walls, the sovereign favored others, grew suspicious, and the general, deprived of her sword and bound by invisible chains, what weapon did she have left to resist?”

Ye Tingyan stared intently at her face, trying to discern her intentions in telling this story.

—Are you afraid of such a story?

“And then what happened?”

“Then… the general set fire to her own palace. The emperor couldn’t save her. Overnight, his hair turned white, and he descended into madness. From then on, he disbanded the harem and spent the rest of his life guarding her tomb, living in solitude.”

Having finished the tale, Luo Wei suddenly laughed.

Such a tragic story, yet she laughed as if hearing something amusing, unable to stop: “When love runs too deep, both parties are left in ruins. What a stirring, heartbreaking saga of passion and resentment! Lord Ye, do you like this story?”

Ye Tingyan lowered his eyes, his thoughts growing more uneasy with each passing moment. He wished he could pull her into his arms and silence that laughter.

In her words, he heard the decay of youth and vitality.

The blade in her heart sharpened to a piercing edge—a self-destructive resolve to burn everything to ashes.

Before returning to Bianjing, he had always assumed Luo Wei harbored feelings for Song Lan.

But if that were true, why did her words today carry such a heavy sorrow? In the story, he only heard despair from being trapped in the palace, betrayal by a loved one, and the desire to fight back with empty hands.

Could it be… Song Lan had betrayed her? Just as he had repeatedly warned upon his arrival—Song Lan was already a suspicious emperor. Though supported by many, he wouldn’t fully trust Grand Tutor Yu, let alone her.

She had betrayed their decade-long bond, offering her loyalty, only to be met with suspicion—was this what tormented her, causing unbearable pain?

Her body felt torn in two. One half laughed wildly in the void, stomping her feet in glee, shouting, “You betrayed me, and you’re not happy either—this is your punishment!” The other half wept bitterly, repeatedly asking, “If you knew the outcome today, would you still make the same choices?”

Overwhelmed by these chaotic thoughts, Ye Tingyan could only vaguely respond to Luo Wei’s question, “Do you like this story?”: “Such stories evoke pity. Over the years, both parties gained and lost, leaving behind lingering pain. Love in this world is like that—no one can escape its grasp.”

After talking for so long, a physician finally knocked lightly on the door, announcing that Zhang Gong was feeling better and inviting Her Majesty inside.

Luo Wei stood up and, passing by Ye Tingyan lost in thought, suddenly stopped.

Ye Tingyan raised his head, realizing that the sadness and confusion that once clouded her face had vanished without a trace.

The physician was just outside, visible through the window. Beneath the plaque inscribed with “Revere Heaven, Pity Mankind,” Empress Luo Wei boldly placed her hand on his shoulder.

Before he could react, the scent of roses approached. Luo Wei wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning close to his ear in what appeared to be an intimate gesture, almost as if she were about to kiss him.

Yet her words were laced with mockery, devoid of any sorrow.

“Only men like you would say ‘leaving behind mutual pain’ or think the emperor in the story lost something,” she said. “What did that fool lose? He lost nothing. He merely sought comfort. I admire the general’s devotion, but if I were her, I wouldn’t let the flames burn only in my palace.”

She whispered these impactful words softly, then patted his shoulder, resuming her usual demeanor and smiling brightly: “Lord Ye, shall we go in together?”

Without waiting for his response, she turned and walked away. Ye Tingyan’s pounding heart finally calmed somewhat, and he exhaled in relief.

She was someone who had grown up before his eyes—beautiful, upright, bold, and radiant even in their first meeting. Even though she had restrained herself over the years, playing the role of a refined noblewoman, he knew deep down that she was still the same girl who, during the spring hunt, had eagerly learned swordsmanship upon receiving a blade, never hesitating to pursue what she desired.

Ziwei hadn’t withered in the depths of the palace. Her bloom was long-lasting, resilient even without sunlight—not fragile like a leaf that wilts upon being moved indoors.

At this thought, he couldn’t help but smile.

For this unchanging vitality.

He quickly forgot his earlier melancholy until late at night, when Ye Tingyan suddenly realized he hadn’t questioned her motive for telling that story—even for a fleeting moment.

—What was her purpose in casually recounting that tale?

She wasn’t the empress he imagined, harmoniously paired with Song Lan, occasionally using clever tactics only for self-preservation.

Today’s story hinted obliquely that she still harbored “flames”—their whereabouts unknown.

•

Before arriving at Zhang Fu, Luo Wei hadn’t expected Zhang Pingjing to be so gravely ill.

Not long ago, she had summoned him and vaguely asked him to exaggerate the seasonal deficit during the Hall of State Affairs deliberations. He had understood immediately, flashing her a sly smile.

Who would have thought he’d now be bedridden, struggling to move and barely coherent?

The fragility of old age struck her deeply. A single glance made her look away in discomfort.

Madam Zhang was seated beside him, gently wiping his hands with a handkerchief. She didn’t hear Luo Wei enter until Zhang Pingjing coughed twice. Turning her head, eyes red, she rose to apologize: “This humble woman greets Your Majesty.”

Luo Wei quickly reached out to steady her, guiding her back to her seat. Madam Zhang forced a smile and explained: “He had a similar episode once before, suddenly unable to speak. Only I can understand what he says now, so I must stay by his side.”

Su Zhoudu had often brought her here in the past, and Luo Wei was quite familiar with Madam Zhang. Now, however, she struggled to find comforting words and could only offer dry reassurance: “Master Zhang is blessed. He will surely overcome this adversity. Today, I came to ease your worries. His Majesty has approved Master Zhang’s retirement with full honors and additional rewards, currently under discussion with the Ministry of Rites.”

Madam Zhang merely smiled faintly, unconcerned.

As they spoke, Ye Tingyan entered and bowed again to Luo Wei and Madam Zhang.

For some reason, Zhang Pingjing became agitated upon seeing him, mumbling incoherently.

Luo Wei was puzzled, but Madam Zhang understood. Patting Luo Wei’s hand, she said: “Your Majesty and Lord Ye, please wait a moment. The old man has something to say to you.”

She rose, preparing to leave with the servants, but paused at the door.

Pulling Luo Wei close, just as she had done before Luo Wei became empress, she said: “Vivi, I know you must feel that Old Zhang has grown distant since the current emperor ascended the throne. He’s a stubborn man, unwilling to speak his mind. After that incident years ago… after you became empress, he felt conflicted. Though he managed the Ministry of Revenue diligently, he always regretted it. If he offended you, don’t take it to heart.”

Madam Zhang’s words were vague, but Luo Wei understood them strangely well.

In his youth, Zhang Pingjing had possessed extraordinary talent in accounting. With just an abacus, he could sort out the Ministry of Revenue’s chaotic monthly accounts in an afternoon.

Whenever Su Zhoudu brought Luo Wei to visit, the sound of the abacus clicking could always be heard.

“Zhoudu, wait a moment. Let me finish calculating this month’s accounts before I entertain you.”

Back then, mischievous Luo Wei, bored while waiting, would playfully mess with the beads on Zhang Pingjing’s abacus. He never got angry, always glancing at her coolly before resetting the beads when he had time—something Luo Wei still couldn’t figure out how he did so precisely.

Later, Song Ling also visited often.

Zhang Pingjing treated Song Ling no differently than Luo Wei, always smiling warmly and serving fruit to entertain them. Su Zhoudu teased him as the slipperiest man alive, only to receive two barrels of fragrant oil delivered to his door the next day.

Over the years, Luo Wei had assumed that Zhang Pingjing distanced himself from her to avoid entanglement in her struggles with Grand Tutor Yu, seeking to preserve himself.

She never imagined his reasons were like this.

In the past, Zhang Pingjing often teased Luo Wei and Song Ling about their interactions, urging them to settle their marriage early. Luo Wei would stick out her tongue at him, and Song Ling would blush.

The garden was filled with drifting fluff, chaotic and irritating.

At twelve, Song Ling was named Crown Prince. The emperor openly favored him, never minding his interactions with court officials. Besides Su Zhoudu and Fang Hezhi, who taught him in Zishan Hall, Zhang Pingjing had imparted many lessons during their work at the Ministry of Revenue.

Luo Wei was profoundly shaken.

So… there were others like her, earnestly hoping for the future emperor to mature. Though Zhang Pingjing had lived a slippery, uninvolved life, he still harbored dreams of a wise ruler and virtuous ministers. That was why, when she married another without hesitation, Zhang Pingjing quietly distanced himself.

Thousands of words, yet silence prevailed.

Luo Wei closed the door, approaching the elderly man who had genuinely cared for her and Song Ling. Taking his wrinkled hand, she saw tears glistening in his usually sharp and smiling eyes.

She knew what he wanted to say and desperately wished to explain everything, but how could she begin?

Finally, she managed to choke out a vague phrase: “Master Zhang, rest assured.”

With great effort, Zhang Pingjing raised his hand, gently patting her hair. Then, looking at Ye Tingyan, he silently moved his lips. Unfortunately, his trembling was too severe, and despite Luo Wei’s careful observation, she only caught one word: “You…”

Ye Tingyan stepped forward, picking up a bamboo pen from the table.

He gently placed it in Zhang Pingjing’s hand and pulled the small desk closer.

Their interaction flowed naturally, as if they had known each other for a long time.

Zhang Pingjing took the pen, steadied by Ye Tingyan, and with trembling hands, leaned over to write on the rice paper.

His shaky handwriting was barely legible, but recognizable.

Luo Wei stared hard at Ye Tingyan, but his expression remained calm, neither panicked nor evasive.

She lowered her gaze, expecting him to write some final instructions. To her surprise, after much trembling, ink dripped from the tip of the brush, and he wrote only two lines:

—Eternal as the long night, eternal as the long night.

Later, as his strength waned, Luo Wei and Ye Tingyan bid farewell together.

Walking through the narrow corridors of Zhang Fu, white fluff drifted around them—whether poplar or willow, it was unclear.

At the end of the path, the empress’s white rattan carriage awaited. Like the servants of Zhang Fu, Ye Tingyan stood aside, bowing respectfully to see her off.

Luo Wei glanced back, signaling for him to come closer. In a voice only the two could hear, she asked softly: “When you first came to the capital and befriended the royal princes, especially Crown Prince Chengming, you corresponded with him after departing for Youzhou, didn’t you?”

Ye Tingyan blinked and replied: “No.”

“Lying,” Luo Wei quickly retorted. “During the battle of Youyun River, he pleaded on behalf of the Ye family, mentioning in his words that he corresponded with you. I remember you two were quite close back then. Has Lord Ye forgotten?”