#34: The Moon Before Its Time (I)

In recent days, the streets of Bianjing were filled with the sound of tinkling copper. Even the Fengle Tower had hung a string of copper bells high up.

The rhyme mocking merchants who passed off copper as gold was catchy and widely sung by shopkeepers to demonstrate their honesty and integrity.

No one thought much of it until one day, a squad of soldiers appeared, confiscating copper wares and bells from the streets, forbidding further singing of the rhyme.

A long rope strung with copper bells suddenly fell before Chang Zhao’s eyes. He paused mid-sip, glanced down at the fallen rope, and shook his head: “His Majesty is still too young. Xunzi said there are three ways to offer loyalty: prevention, rescue, and admonishment. What does Lord Ye think?”

Ye Tingyan sat opposite him, delicately sniffing his wine cup. At this question, he replied earnestly: “Prevention means stopping trouble before it arises, rescue means halting it once it has started, and admonishment means punishing after the act—prevention is best, rescue second, and admonishment last. This originally referred to ministers advising the emperor. After some thought, Scholar Chang implies that His Majesty failed to prevent or detect early, and now his punishment is too harsh. After the sound of copper disappears in Bianjing, even more people will understand what ‘false dragon’ means.”

Chang Zhao glanced at the tightly shut door: “Lord Ye has quite the boldness.”

Ye Tingyan chuckled: “Likewise.”

The two sat drinking on the third floor of the Fengle Tower, surrounded by the overwhelming sound of copper bells. Ye Tingyan raised his hand to pour another cup for Chang Zhao: “Speaking of which, I should thank Scholar Chang. You helped me first with the arrow at Muchun Field, then with the public trial. Scholar Chang is a clever man…”

Before he could finish, Chang Zhao interrupted: “It was no trouble, Lord Ye flatters me. My courtesy name is Pingnian.”

Ye Tingyan smoothly responded: “Endless radiant suns, forever shining on years of peace—what a fine character, truly.”

Chang Zhao nodded slightly in acknowledgment.

Ye Tingyan stared intently at him, asking: “But I am curious—why did you choose to help me?”

Chang Zhao set down his wine cup, avoiding his gaze, his tone casual and composed: “I know you’re not Ye San.”

At these words, even Ye Tingyan’s smile faltered momentarily. Instinctively, his hand moved to grip the hilt of his sword: “Oh?”

Chang Zhao noticed his movement and sighed faintly: “Why would you be so tense, Lord Quhua? If I meant you harm, why would I have brought the second witness to the imperial court as you wished?”

“Quhua” was the elegant name Ye Tingyan used while wandering Youzhou before assuming Ye San’s identity. By addressing him as such, Chang Zhao clearly knew that “Quhua” and Ye San were not the same person.

Perhaps he was an old acquaintance from Ye Tingyan’s time in Youzhou.

Relaxing his grip on the sword, Ye Tingyan picked up his wine cup again as if nothing had happened: “As I said, Pingnian is a clever man. Since you’ve seen everything clearly, why did you choose to help me? If you had reported all this to Grand Tutor Yu, perhaps you’d have gained more of his trust.”

Chang Zhao rarely smiled, but at this, a faint smile appeared on his face: “Even if I had done so, wouldn’t Lord Quhua have contingency plans? I don’t want to bring stones crashing down on my own feet. It’s better to do you a favor, after all…”

He raised his wine cup with both hands and added: “How do you know we don’t share the same enemies?”

The cup held Mei Shou wine from the Fengle Tower, a recipe worth a thousand pieces of gold. Its aroma wasn’t rich or fragrant but carried a unique crispness.

When the copper bells fell, soldiers collected them into sacks and confiscated them. Chang Zhao raised his cup, gazing into it with an expression somewhere between regret and admiration: “The once-famed Jintian Guard, reduced to confiscating and investigating petty items like these.”

After the public trial, Song Lan ordered Zhuque to thoroughly investigate the Jintian Guard. As Luo Wei predicted, nothing incriminating was found. Coincidentally, it was during the time when the tassels were being replaced—every member could potentially be implicated.

After much deliberation, Song Lan finally decided to transfer the Jintian Guard out of the palace, replacing the city patrol with them.

The Jintian Guard had previously rotated duties within the palace, including guarding Prince Chengming’s Tinghua Terrace. Now, they readily accepted the emperor’s orders.

What Song Lan didn’t realize was that the golden tassel had been stolen by Yuan Ming from the Changfeng Hall.

Song Lan harbored deep suspicions about the Jintian Guard, trained by Song Ling, yet his trusted covert agents in Zhuque remained undetected. His lack of vigilance was understandable.

Ye Tingyan rubbed the banana leaf-shaped cup beside him and asked softly: “Who are you, and what grudge do you hold against Grand Tutor Yu?”

Chang Zhao replied: “We use each other for mutual benefit. Why ask so many questions? I never asked who you truly are, either.”

Previously, Ye Tingyan had sent men to investigate Chang Zhao. All they found was that he hailed from the north, older than Ye Tingyan, with a father who had served as governor of Yan Prefecture. His family fell into ruin due to some entanglement, and he came to Bianjing with his wet nurse a few years ago. Last year, he passed the imperial examination and became a minor scholar in Qiongting Pavilion.

Other than that, his background was clean.

Could his family’s downfall be related to Yu Qiushi?

If Ye Tingyan could uncover this, so could Yu Qiushi. If Yu trusted Chang Zhao, it must mean there was no significant connection.

That left only one possibility… Chang Zhao, like Ye Tingyan, had assumed someone else’s identity.

Ye Tingyan carefully lifted his wine cup and asked: “Pingnian joined Grand Tutor Yu’s faction, but shortly after, the Lin family you introduced was utterly destroyed. If I were you, I might find it hard to believe.”

Chang Zhao replied without hesitation: “You’re too close to the situation to see clearly.”

He leaned forward, clinking cups with Ye Tingyan: “How could you not know? Those in high positions control their subordinates by keeping them clever enough but not overly so, ensuring indecision in major matters. Thus, they feel secure—the second witness you prepared for me was already known and approved by the Grand Tutor before the public trial. Your superior strategy deceived the Grand Tutor, and I merely played along.”

He finished his wine, stood, and took his leave: “No matter. One day, you’ll see my sincerity.”

Ye Tingyan watched him take a few steps, then called out: “Wait.”

Coincidentally, Chang Zhao also stopped and turned, asking simultaneously:

“The rhyme spreading through the streets—is it your work?”

“Ye San uses ‘Tingyan’ as his courtesy name. Who gave it to him?”

Chang Zhao hesitated, countering: “Who do you think wrote it?”

Ye Tingyan raised his cup and drank. A cold sensation slid across his tongue, sharp enough to redden the corners of his eyes: “Tingyan… is my courtesy name. He left in haste, without one.”

Chang Zhao lingered at the door for a moment before gently pushing it open and leaving.

Ye Tingyan set down his cup and looked outside. Someone below passed by holding a copper mirror, its reflection casting sunlight onto the courtyard, creating flickering patterns that briefly flashed past his eyes. He quickly turned away, avoiding the glare.

•

Luo Wei saw Ye Tingyan again three days later, at dusk.

After hearing the rhyme, the trip to the ancestral temple to thank the heavens for rain was canceled. Song Lan had ordered the confiscation of all copper bells in the city and launched an investigation into the rhyme’s origin.

However, the merchant who initially sold the copper wares had already fled the capital. Rumors swirled, and no one knew where the rhyme originated.

Under the emperor’s wrath, the sound of copper bells temporarily disappeared, and fewer people sang the rhyme. Yet, paradoxically, more and more people grew curious about its hidden meaning.

What was the true dragon? Prince Chengming once renowned throughout the land had tragically died in an assassination. Today’s emperor ascended with the support of the empress and prime minister. Despite prayers, no rain fell in Jiangnan. Did heaven deem the current dynasty unworthy?

What was the hidden iron? The culprit behind the prince’s assassination was carved into a stone statue and suppressed. How could the murderer still exist in Bianjing? Was it the empress? Or the prime minister?

These speculations, lurking in private whispers, naturally never reached Song Lan’s ears. They were like undercurrents beneath calm waters—unseen unless disturbed.

Luo Wei entered the old hall and closed the door behind her.

Not a single candle burned inside. Only fragments of sunset light filtered through the carved wooden doors, casting eerie shapes on the ground.

This time, Ye Tingyan didn’t sit with his back to her. Instead, he removed his official hat and toyed with a jade-white porcelain bottle. Seeing her enter, he looked up and smiled: “Your Majesty has arrived.”

Luo Wei approached and asked: “What is that?”

Ye Tingyan replied: “Medicine His Majesty obtained from the Imperial Hospital for my injuries.”

At the mention of medicine, Luo Wei immediately recalled Ye Tingyan’s gaze during the public trial after Chang Zhao’s testimony.

Strangely, though he hadn’t looked at her then, she vividly remembered that gaze. It reminded her of their first meeting at Dianhong Platform when Yu Qiushi asked if she had seen him before, and she denied it. Ye Tingyan stood alone, calmly looking at her—a profound, ancient stillness.

She knew he meticulously calculated every detail, predicting everyone’s reactions—even knowing she couldn’t and wouldn’t speak for him in that situation.

Yet, in these two similar scenes, he seemed to harbor a peculiar longing for her.

Yes, she called it a peculiar longing. What unsettled her most was that she couldn’t forget his gaze, which disrupted her thoughts.

Thus, Luo Wei hastily left, regaining composure only when she no longer saw him. She couldn’t help but feel annoyed by his subtle manipulation.

She intended to mock him, but upon seeing her, Ye Tingyan, despite his earlier audacity, still knelt respectfully to greet her.

The movement likely strained his back injury. Luo Wei noticed a fleeting furrow in his brow, quickly smoothed away.

Her accumulated irritation vanished instantly. With a soft sigh, she allowed him to rise.

Unexpectedly, Ye Tingyan didn’t obey. Instead, he crawled closer to where Luo Wei sat and extended the porcelain bottle to her: “Please, Your Majesty, apply the medicine for me.”

Luo Wei glared at him. Ye Tingyan boldly teased: “They say the palace’s medicine is superior. After all these days of injury, I hope to recover soon. Besides, doesn’t Your Majesty appreciate my grand gift? If you do, some reward is in order.”

He looked up at her, noticing she was deeply observing him. For a moment, he was stunned, unable to utter another witty remark until Luo Wei stood, took the porcelain bottle from him, and walked toward the dimmer inner chamber.

Seeing him still kneeling dazedly, she frowned and called: “Come here.”

Ye Tingyan steadied himself against a redwood round table and rose. Behind her hung a blue-green bed canopy.

The canopy design was common in the palace, but its color was unusual. Most chambers favored peach pink, ivory white, or begonia red—colors imbued with subtle, suggestive meanings.

The blue-green was too austere. Already dim, the room would become pitch black within the canopy.

Lost in these thoughts, he followed her. Luo Wei lifted a corner of the canopy, sat casually, and gestured for him to join.

Ye Tingyan drew back the curtain and sat before her. Luo Wei leaned closer, seemingly absentmindedly pulling the canopy closed behind him, enveloping them in darkness.

Surprisingly familiar with such darkness, he now felt an odd sense of estrangement. Her cool fingers brushed his nape, landing on the glass bead at the collar of his crimson robe.

With focused intent, she unfastened the bead, her breath warm against his ear: “…I very much liked your gift. What are your plans next?”

Ye Tingyan steadied himself, not following her lead but instead saying: “A few days ago, I met Scholar Chang. He…”

Luo Wei undid the collar button at his neck, her fingers trailing over his shoulder. Uninterested, she murmured: “Oh?”

Then added: “The flogging wasn’t severe. Your wounds have healed, haven’t they? Why do you need me to apply medicine?”

Ye Tingyan couldn’t see her expression, only hear her low voice.

His vision was already poor, yet Luo Wei could discern his silhouette in the dimness, while he saw nothing.

Her voice floated, shifting between familiarity and strangeness. At times, it crisply called out “Second Brother,” at others, teasingly addressed him as “Lord Ye.” Which was real? Which was false?

He groped for a moment, cupping her face. Surprisingly, Luo Wei complied fully this time, as if rewarding his diligence. Leaning closer deliberately, she whispered against his face: “You haven’t answered. Your wounds have healed completely. What medicine do you need me to apply?”

Ye Tingyan kissed her, and Luo Wei wrapped her arms around his neck, neither resisting nor responding.

To her surprise, his kiss today was so moist, so gentle. The person who once kissed her regardless of her resistance now seemed entirely different.

This disconnection unsettled her slightly. Fortunately, the scents of jasmine tea and sandalwood lingered.

Human nature craves pleasure. When she prepared this blue-green canopy, she anticipated this moment. In total darkness, she wouldn’t see his face—only smell his scent, which was perfect.

But too much tenderness wasn’t ideal. There had to be boundaries. Beyond them, she feared losing herself.

Ye Tingyan held her face and kissed her, hearing her barely audible breath catch. Unexpectedly, his nose tingled, and the kiss meant to trail down her neck halted abruptly. He pulled her into a tight embrace.

What a pitiful pose of mutual dependence, he mocked inwardly. Yet, Luo Wei was astonished by his action. After a moment, she spoke: “Lord Ye, I know what you want.”

Ye Tingyan took a long moment to process her words, replying in confusion: “What?”

Her fingers lightly traced his back as she spoke sweetly: “Don’t you like blue and green? This canopy was prepared for you. I said, I know what you want. Why pretend applying medicine is necessary? If you can handle every task as skillfully as the last, I… can give you anything.”

He listened to her words, momentarily dazed, then abruptly snapped back to reality. His heart plummeted into an icy abyss, then blazed hot. On one side were gods, on the other, countless ghosts. He heard endless wails—what was real? What was fake? In this place—not just this place—had she spoken such words to others? What was once treasured, now irreplaceable, had become so cheap. She was, and so was he.

They tumbled through this absurd world, wearing masks, crawling forward, stained by all the evils of history, willingly descending into the abyss of intrigue and schemes.

Could they… still escape?