#35: The Moon Before Its Time (II)

Luo Wei was unaware of the countless calculations in his mind. She simply rested quietly against his chest when, suddenly, she felt how rapidly his heart was beating.

Each beat thudded like a drum, as if it might leap out of his chest.

She found this amusing. This man dared to covet the Empress’s position, was audacious and flirtatious, and possessed a handsome face—surely no stranger to romantic entanglements. Why did he now resemble an inexperienced youth whose heart raced with infatuation?

Perhaps this was all an act.

But it didn’t seem so. She had heard the sound of young hearts before.

Thus, Luo Wei swallowed her teasing remark and instead asked: “Why is your heart beating so fast?”

Ye Tingyan fell silent for a moment in the pitch darkness, then murmured softly: “Your heart, on the other hand, remains calm.”

At times like this, his words were unlike him—no sharp edges, no probing pretense. Each word carried the weight of genuine surrender. She had once mistaken his voice for that of an old acquaintance. Now, unable to see his face and hearing only his voice, the sensation grew even stronger.

She had no reply. She only wished to linger a little longer in this fleeting space between reality and illusion.

Ye Tingyan held her close, and she nestled into his embrace. For this moment, they resembled an intimate pair of lovers. Yet, she knew their two hearts, though beating differently, were separated by vast distances.

If only he could be as calm as she was.

Without the sound of drums, she would know this was merely another commonplace indulgence in pleasure—a pursuit of desire over love, safe and straightforward.

But his restlessness left her somewhat at a loss.

She inhaled the scent of jasmine tea, straightened herself, and withdrew from his arms. With both hands, she returned to the glass bead at his nape, intending to fasten it back.

Ye Tingyan grasped her wrist, halting her movement, and asked gravely: “What is this, Your Majesty? Do you regret it now?”

Just moments ago, he had called her “you,” not “Your Majesty.”

His earlier words had been filled with surrender, but now they turned cold.

Luo Wei, however, sighed in relief: “Of course not. It’s just late, and I worry about inconveniencing you.”

As soon as she finished speaking, she felt a cool touch land on the back of her hand.

Ye Tingyan turned his head and kissed her hand. Whether it was her imagination or not, this kiss carried more sensual intent than their earlier lip-to-lip contact.

After the kiss, he pressed her hand against his chest, half-complaining: “Then, Your Majesty, when will you find a free moment for me? Or… perhaps allow me to visit your Qionghua Hall?”

His tone was playful, but his voice was hoarse. She could barely discern the truth behind his ever-changing expressions. To cover, she smiled and teased: “Lord Ye wishes to come to my Qionghua Hall? That may prove difficult. How about… after you’ve castrated yourself, you can come serve as my eunuch. Then you’d have unrestricted access, and I’d be able to see you every day. With such pleasing looks, I’d surely be delighted.”

Ye Tingyan tightened his grip in irritation, causing her slight pain, but she only laughed more brightly: “What’s this, Lord Ye doesn’t wish to comply?”

She pushed against the bed to stand, only to realize she had dislodged a golden hairpin during their earlier scuffle.

He still refused to release her hand, so she leaned closer, reaching behind him to retrieve the pin—an unintentional embrace.

Ye Tingyan shamelessly accepted the gesture, using his other hand to pull her waist tightly against him. Pretending ignorance, he asked: “What is Your Majesty doing? If my injuries truly haven’t healed and I lack strength, wouldn’t you have pushed me flat on my back?”

Luo Wei held the rose-gold hairpin in her hand and nearly laughed at his feigned innocence: “Lord Ye speaks so innocently. Perhaps you should release my hand first—or else…”

The tip of the rose-gold pin had been sharpened. Holding it lightly, she traced a faint line along his neck.

The skin there was delicate; even the slightest pressure left a shallow blood mark. “Or else… you’d best be careful.”

Ye Tingyan chuckled and obediently released her, raising his arms in mock surrender: “Your Majesty spares my life. Forgive my disrespect.”

Yes, he thought. Between them, she always held the blade.

Luo Wei tucked the pin back into her hair, steadied herself against his body, and stood. With one hand, she drew aside the blue canopy.

Ye Tingyan reclined on the bed. The sudden intrusion of dim light—even faint—caused him to instinctively raise a hand to shield his eyes.

“Forgive me, Lord Ye’s eyes are sensitive, and I forgot again,” Luo Wei said insincerely upon seeing his reaction. “With summer approaching and sunlight growing stronger, how will you manage then?”

Ye Tingyan rubbed his eyes and stood beside her: “Thank you for your concern, Your Majesty.”

Inside and outside the canopy seemed like two separate worlds. In the dark, they had shared tender intimacy, but under the light, they reverted to their former aloofness. Luo Wei adjusted her clothing and asked: “Lord Ye has yet to answer my question. After today, what do you plan to do?”

Ye Tingyan straightened his skewed collar: “Regarding the case we discussed earlier, Your Majesty must already have a thorough understanding. No need for further explanation. I, too, would like to ask Your Majesty: what do you intend to do?”

Before Luo Wei could respond, he pressed on: “Is the rhyme ‘False Dragon’s Roar’ spreading through Bianjing’s streets commissioned by Your Majesty?”

Luo Wei had already reached the door, opening it slightly. Golden sunset light spilled in, falling directly onto his face.

It didn’t reach his eyes, so he remained motionless.

“Naturally not,” Luo Wei replied slowly. “My actions against Grand Tutor Yu are solely to help His Majesty reclaim power from the Chancellery sooner. Why would I gamble with His Majesty’s reputation? Lord Ye’s suspicions place me in an unfaithful, unworthy position.”

Ye Tingyan gazed at her, but she stood bathed in radiant white light,

her backlit form obscured from his view. Unable to see clearly or look too long, he withdrew his gaze: “After the Muchun Field incident, the Grand Tutor suffered a setback. He failed to save the Lin family, with whom he was close, and now bears the Emperor’s suspicion without recourse. He’s no lamb for the slaughter and will undoubtedly take action during this time. Instead of asking what I plan to do, Your Majesty should consider what the Grand Tutor intends. Preparation is key.”

Luo Wei suddenly asked: “Why doesn’t Lord Ye suspect that ‘False Dragon’s Roar’ was orchestrated by the Grand Tutor?”

Ye Tingyan blurted out: “It wouldn’t be him.”

Realizing how certain he sounded, he quickly added: “The Grand Tutor hasn’t yet recovered from the Muchun Field assassination case. If he acted now, it would be too foolish.”

Luo Wei gave him a deep look, her lips curling into an ambiguous smile.

•

That night, Pei Xi entered Ye Tingyan’s study holding a lantern and found him writing by candlelight near the window.

The single flame cast a dim glow in the room. The curtains were drawn, completely blocking the silvery moonlight outside, which suited the owner perfectly.

Pei Xi set down his tea and leaned closer, observing Ye Tingyan repeatedly practicing the character “見” (to see) from a traced model.

After a glance, Pei Xi sat across from him and addressed him: “Master.”

Ye Tingyan glanced up briefly and asked: “Where is Mr. Zhou? Why have you come alone?”

Pei Xi replied: “Mr. Zhou said tonight’s elegance was perfect. He took two jin of apricot wine and went with Physician Bai to pay respects on a hill outside the city. He wouldn’t say who they were honoring.”

Ye Tingyan chuckled and shook his head: “Very well, let’s not concern ourselves with them.”

The long drone of cicadas drifted in from outside. Pei Xi glanced toward the sound and reported: “Mr. Zhou and I searched all of Bianjing but couldn’t trace the origin of ‘False Dragon’s Roar.’ We also sent men into the palace, but found nothing. Apart from the Empress and the Grand Tutor, I can’t think of anyone else capable of orchestrating this. Yet, why are you so certain it wasn’t the Grand Tutor?”

Ye Tingyan didn’t answer directly but countered: “In your view, what does the Grand Tutor seek?”

Pei Xi replied without hesitation: “Glory for the Yu family, wealth, fame, power—the usual pursuits.”

Ye Tingyan gestured with his brush in the air but didn’t write: “Why did he choose Song Lan over me? First, because Master Su was still alive then. Master Su and he weren’t aligned, and with the Su family holding sway, there was no chance for him to enter the central government. Second, he believed Song Lan would be easier to control than I. Unfortunately, after ascending, Song Lan proved otherwise.”

“But that doesn’t matter now. With power firmly in his grasp and the Yu family’s prominence, and the Empress wielding authority, as long as he avoids overstepping, Song Lan will tolerate him for the sake of balance and past alliances, ensuring a peaceful end.”

Pei Xi exclaimed: “So…”

“So before I came to Bianjing, observe how openly the Empress and the Grand Tutor clashed—did Song Lan ever intervene? Honestly, if he truly wanted to rule personally, he wouldn’t have waited until now. Waiting means he’s cultivating loyalists while they fight for his favor. Seeking favor, why would either release ‘False Dragon’s Roar’?”

“I understand your meaning,” Pei Xi pondered carefully. “Even though the Grand Tutor wields power externally, apart from serving Song Lan, he has no other path. Thus, your design of the Muchun Field incident shouldn’t be too blatant—just enough to plant doubt in Song Lan’s mind, making him question whether the Grand Tutor harbors other intentions. As for the Empress, you once told me she chose her path not out of affection for Song Lan…”

He paused, then cautiously continued: “You once said you thought her choice stemmed from feelings for Song Lan, but now you realize it wasn’t so.”

“Compared to Song Lan, she seems to love power more,” Ye Tingyan murmured. “She believes he can give her what she desires—I cannot.”

He chuckled bitterly: “Or perhaps she thinks I’m harder to contend with than Song Lan? A grave miscalculation.”

Pei Xi noticed his melancholy and quickly changed the subject to comfort him: “If the Empress orchestrated it, she wouldn’t admit it to you. ‘False Dragon’s Roar’ insults Song Lan but praises—”

Ye Tingyan cut in coldly: “Chengming is long dead. What better use for his memory?”

He pressed his temples, exhaled, and said wearily: “But all this is speculation. Let’s wait and see.”

After Pei Xi left, Ye Tingyan set down his brush, hesitated briefly, and finally rolled up the bamboo blinds.

He saw a perfectly round moon on the seventeenth night—still so full, so large, even more beautiful than on the fifteenth or sixteenth.

Sitting by the window, he felt his eyes sting, but this time, no tears came.

•

Under the same night sky, Luo Wei, wrapped in her robe, reclined by the flower-patterned window, admiring the moon.

Several fine wines rested on a small table. Lost in thought, she reached for a cup but accidentally knocked over a jade pot. Fortunately, the pot contained little wine, and its spill only dampened her skirt slightly.

A pungent, fragrant aroma spread. After inhaling some, Luo Wei felt dizzy and collapsed drowsily onto the window frame.

Yan Luo fanned away mosquitoes and heard her murmur abruptly in her haze:

“Crown Prince… Happy Lantern Festival.”