Embedded Files
Psst! We're moving!
That night, Song Lan stayed alone in Qianfang Hall. Luo Wei retired early, but deep into the night, when the hall was utterly silent, a sudden gust of wind and rain splashed tiny droplets onto the window paper, sounding like a cacophony.
The last flowers of spring fell with the rain, and by morning, scattered petals would likely cover the ground.
Luo Wei awoke to the sound of falling flowers, only to see a figure sitting by her bed.
The wind swept into the chamber, causing the bed curtains to flutter. He wore a pearl-white robe, its intricate patterns faintly illuminated by the dim candlelight—clusters of interwoven vines.
She suddenly recalled how, in her youth, she had touched the sleeve of this young man, asking him what pattern it was. She hadn’t seen it before—why wasn’t it cloud motifs? Why not lotus or peony? Or dragons, or pythons, or the eternal waves symbolizing an unshakable empire?
He had taken her hand, tracing the continuous patterns softly. “This is wan shou teng —the ‘everlasting vine,’” he explained. “Today is the Lantern Festival and also my birthday. This motif represents unending life, celebrating enduring blessings.”
Her cheeks flushed at the casual touch. She tried to withdraw her hand discreetly but noticed his face reddening suspiciously as well, though he feigned nonchalance.
This discovery amused her mischievously, and she took the initiative, guiding his hand over the patterns again and again.
The elegant, sinuous vines intertwined endlessly. Leaning close to his ear, she whispered teasingly: “I’m reminded of an ancient poem—’You shall be the rock, I shall be the reed; the reed is resilient as silk, the rock immovable.’”
The words felt ominous once spoken.
Now, reflecting on it, this tender phrase had become a prophecy. Perhaps from that moment, their fates were sealed—bound to separate like branches falling into different lakes.
Quickly amending herself, she envisioned aloud: “If we were in a poem, we’d be two stones cast down together when Nüwa mended the heavens, striking sparks of gold and fire—so dazzling, so eternal!”
But her attempt to mend the curse proved futile. It had already taken root.
Thinking of these memories, Luo Wei instinctively reached out and grasped the sleeve of the person before her, murmuring dreamily: “Have you come to see me?”
Feeling her awaken, he pulled her into his arms: “Did you have a nightmare?”
The overwhelming scent of dragon’s breath incense jolted her fully awake. A chill ran from her spine to her fingertips—their silhouettes sometimes looked so alike. In her half-dreaming state, she couldn’t tell them apart.
But she should have known better. He had never entered her dreams. The visions that haunted her were always of the past—of who they used to be. She watched shadowy figures, imagined fragments of former days, and wanted to ask, “Do you hate me?” But the words wouldn’t come.
No question was asked, yet an answer came—a pitch-black nightmare that night, without a figure, only a voice echoing: I hate you, hate you, hate you.
But she no longer feared such words. Upon waking, she could reassure herself: It’s fine, it’s fine.
When I’ve finished everything, I’ll go find you.
On the last spring night of the fourth year of Jinghe, the flowers had all fallen. Luo Wei quickly collected herself and murmured: “Not a nightmare—it was a good dream.”
Even hearing a voice in a dream, even if it said, “I hate you,” was still something.
She let go, leaning against the armrest, wiping the sweat from her brow with a handkerchief. “Zilan, why have you come at this hour?”
Song Lan replied indifferently: “Today, the Lin family was dealt with. I couldn’t sleep, feeling restless, so I came to check on you.”
Two days after the public trial, Hu Minhui had obtained Lin Zhao’s signed confession—whether it was true or false didn’t matter. What mattered was that the emperor had already made his judgment. Moreover, Grand Tutor Yu had remained silent during these two days, leaving Hu Minhui no choice but to act according to the emperor’s wishes.
As Ye Tingyan had casually mentioned to Song Lan that day, the treasury was empty, and the Lin family had conveniently offered themselves up as the perfect excuse.
Ye Tingyan had only spent three days in the Ministry of Justice. Apart from the feathered wooden arrow, he had no other substantial evidence against him. Initially skeptical, Hu Minhui personally interrogated him, hoping to catch him off guard in his weakened state.
To everyone’s surprise, Ye Tingyan endured like an unbreakable statue. For three days without sleep, subjected to beating and locked in total darkness, he remained composed. When questioned harshly, he responded with calm eloquence. Upon learning of his release, his only request was for a fresh set of robes—”A gentleman shouldn’t appear disheveled.”
The Lin family members held no official positions, sparing the effort of removing them. After the trial, Song Lan ordered their assets seized. It was rumored that Lin Kuishan caused a scene outside Yu Qiushi’s residence, but Yu invited him in without petitioning to spare the Lin family.
Luo Wei understood—Yu Qiushi knew well that Ye Tingyan’s evidence was meticulously crafted. If he petitioned for mercy, rumors would quickly spread: The prime minister, dissatisfied with the emperor, conspired with relatives to assassinate him, plotting rebellion. History was filled with such stories. He couldn’t risk being caught in such a whirlpool.
In the end, he merely had Yu Suiyun subtly influence Song Lan, requesting leniency only for the Lin daughters who were already married. Song Lan neither confirmed nor denied it but refrained from arresting them, tacitly agreeing.
The testimony Hu Minhui initially obtained claimed that Lin Zhao, while drunk recently, had committed murder. The victim’s family, also influential, sought justice. Lin Kuishan tried to suppress the matter with bribes but failed. Hoping his son would win favor at the spring hunt, he planned to mitigate consequences later.
However, Lin Zhao, aware of his strained relationship with Song Lan, saw no way to reverse it. Bold and reckless, he orchestrated what he believed was an undetectable assassination.
Though absurd, Song Lan didn’t fully believe it. Yet, needing the Lin family’s wealth to fill the treasury deficit, he concluded the case accordingly. When he instructed Zhuque Prison to severely interrogate the horse trainer, nothing emerged. Pretending to exile him, Song Lan hoped to lure out the real culprit. If unsuccessful, the trainer would be killed en route.
A masterful plan hitting two birds with one stone.
Ye Tingyan’s investigation provided witnesses and evidence, making him a natural suspect. However, implicating himself in the prison only reinforced Song Lan’s belief that both Ye Tingyan’s and Chang Zhao’s evidence might have been staged.
Who could orchestrate such a grand scheme and drag Ye Tingyan into it?
During the Lin family’s confiscation, Lin Zhao’s drunken murder and Lin Kuishan’s past atrocities came to light—messes mostly cleaned up by Yu Qiushi.
Reflecting on this, Luo Wei finally understood Ye Tingyan’s intent.
Muchun Field’s absurd assassination wasn’t about the Lin family—it was about letting Song Lan infer the mastermind behind the scenes.
Yu Qiushi had supported Song Lan’s rise, and Yu Suiyun had no sons. Logically, he wouldn’t truly plot against the emperor.
But what if, under the guise of an assassination, he quietly removed allies like the Lin family and political rivals?
Though Song Lan wasn’t injured, becoming Yu Qiushi’s pawn without evidence left him uneasy.
Hugging her, Song Lan fell silent for a long time before speaking: “Lin Zhao retracted his confession in prison.”
Luo Wei was startled: “Oh?”
Song Lan released her, caressing her cheek with a faintly mocking smile: “He claims it was all orchestrated by Yu Qiushi.”
Luo Wei feigned astonishment: “How could that be?”
Song Lan replied: “I don’t believe it either. I ordered him silenced with lacquer poisoning.”
Without waiting for her response, he continued: “I’ve postponed the Lin family’s execution until autumn.”
These cryptic words left much unsaid, but Luo Wei pieced together the final #of Ye Tingyan’s plan.
The initial confession meant Lin Zhao’s retraction couldn’t implicate the prime minister—it would only seem like desperate slander.
Yet, in Song Lan’s mind, it became Lin Zhao’s realization of who had framed him, leading to mutual destruction.
Postponing the execution tested Yu Qiushi’s reaction. Any inquiry from him would turn this headless case into Song Lan’s greatest suspicion against Yu Qiushi.
A brilliantly ruthless psychological blow.
Luo Wei reflected—she doubted even she could devise such a meticulously cruel yet untouchable scheme.
Concealing her smile, she changed the subject: “Summer is approaching.”
Song Lan relaxed slightly: “Yes.”
He glanced outside: “From Qionghua Hall eastward lies Linghu Lake. Behind the hall is a small pond fed by the lake, full of lotuses. Over the past few years, we’ve been too busy to admire them together. This summer, we must hold several banquets in your palace, using lotus leaves as green plates.”
Luo Wei tersely replied: “Very well.”
Song Lan rested his head on her lap, eyes closed, reminiscing: “I remember… when Sister was in the palace, she and Shu Kang rowed on Linghu Lake, filling the boat with lotuses and bulrushes. Returning at sunset, her hair unadorned, I watched you from the shore—you were so beautiful, so beautiful.”
Drowsy, he soon fell asleep. Luo Wei gently laid him on the jade pillow, then lost all sleep herself.
She rose, wrapping her robe, and walked to the window. In the late spring, early summer, she heard cicadas chirping intermittently amidst the drizzle.
She remembered the scene Song Lan described.
Only what she remembered was the entwined vines in the evening breeze beside Song Lan. The sunset stretched endlessly, timeless. She cradled a large lotus blossom, seeing only one person.
Just as he could only see her.
•
At the start of summer, rain finally fell in Jiangnan. Though too late to alleviate the spring drought, Bianjing still celebrated this distant, belated rain. Some officials submitted memorials praising the emperor’s sincerity, while others proposed the emperor and empress visit the ancestral temple to thank their ancestors for the rain.
Song Lan readily agreed, ordering the Ministry of Rites to select an auspicious date.
However, before their departure, a children’s rhyme spread throughout Bianjing faster than their plans. Familiar to every child in the streets, it soon reached the ministers’ ears.
Everyone pretended ignorance, unwilling to report it. Only scholars understood its meaning.
Yu Qiushi investigated discreetly, discovering it originated from an out-of-town merchant selling gilded cups in Bianjing. His wares, beautifully engraved and inexpensive, became popular.
Soon, however, buyers returned, accusing him of fraud. The “gold” cups weren’t gold at all—they peeled and corroded, revealing their copper base beneath a thin layer of gold foil.
The merchant refused to admit wrongdoing, so people smashed the cups with stones, calling on passersby to judge by sound.
Thus, the rhyme spread:
“False dragon’s roar, false dragon’s roar,
Wind rises, clouds move, no rain comes.
Dragon lies submerged, claws hard to find.
Moss isn’t green—how can it be bamboo?
Lotuses fled their land a thousand years ago;
Rain brings iron’s stench, still lingering!”
Song Lan heard the rhyme the day before visiting the ancestral temple.
The young emperor sat in the dim Qianfang Hall. From behind a screen in the front hall, Luo Wei listened as Ye Tingyan recited the rhyme word by word. As soon as he finished, Song Lan’s anger flared, sweeping the chaotic pile of memorials off his desk.
Luo Wei exchanged a glance with Yan Luo, raising an eyebrow slightly.
The young minister’s gentle voice seemed to linger in the hall, repeating softly—
“False dragon’s roar, false dragon’s roar…”
Google Sites
Report abuse