#37: The Moon Before Its Time (IV)

Beneath such a moon, Luo Wei held Song Lan’s sleeve as they walked down the Imperial Street—once a path she thought she could never traverse again.

The surroundings were deathly silent. The city patrol guards had been redeployed elsewhere, leaving the street strewn with debris untouched. Though only two days had passed since the Lantern Festival, every household remained tightly shut, as if anticipating turmoil within the palace and fearing involvement.

At the end of the Imperial Street stood the eastern gate of the imperial city, through which ministers usually entered for court sessions.

From outside the eastern gate, one could faintly see the largest ceremonial hall in the palace—the Candlelight Tower. Known for its perpetual illumination, the previous emperor had bestowed the gate with a plaque naming it “Bright Light Gate.”

Now, however, the Candlelight Tower was dark, unlit. Upon hearing the news, officials from the Chancellery had gathered before the Bright Light Gate. Imperial guards and forest troops stood armed on either side.

Before Luo Wei arrived, the noble families aligned with Yu Qiushi were embroiled in heated arguments with the literati faction led by the censors.

The Bian River’s swift currents, combined with the winter chill, had made it impossible to recover the Crown Prince’s remains even after two days of searching. With no hope of survival, and the sudden death of the emperor without a will, deciding the successor became the most pressing matter.

Thus, there was no time to deliberate on funeral rites for the late emperor or Crown Prince; everyone convened at the Bright Light Gate.

Succession was a matter of national importance, and the officials understood that any misstep could trigger a bloody coup d’état.

The eldest prince had long been dispatched to his fiefdom. The second-born, Crown Prince Chengming, was deceased. The third prince, Song Yi, whose mother hailed from an aristocratic family and who had married into another prestigious clan, was deemed the rightful heir based on seniority and lineage. Consequently, the titled nobility advocated strongly for the third prince to ascend the throne.

However, the third prince lacked talent in literature and governance, having shown mediocrity during his studies at Zishan Hall, earning him little favor among his tutors. Dissatisfied, the literati faction argued that the fifth prince, Song Qi, was more suitable due to his intellectual brilliance and exceptional talents.

As for the fourth prince, he was a dissolute playboy obsessed with beauty, repeatedly reprimanded by the late emperor. The seventh prince was too young, and thus no one considered him seriously.

One side claimed the third prince was mediocre, unfit to govern. The other countered that the fifth prince indulged in calligraphy and painting, indicative of frivolity and lack of ambition.

The debate raged until Yu Qiushi, who had ascended to the position of prime minister after Su Zhoudu’s death, suddenly interjected. He stated that though the sixth prince was young, he was the closest brother to the late Crown Prince Chengming. His quiet demeanor at Zishan Hall was merely a strategy to hide his abilities.

Yu Qiushi had once been Song Lan’s early tutor, and his endorsement immediately swayed some to his side.

A censor in the crowd sneered: “With the late emperor barely cold in his grave, the prime minister already seeks to emulate Zhao Gao and Li Si, manipulating a young emperor for personal gain. What are your intentions?”

Some aristocrats chimed in mockingly: “Though the prime minister favors his own student, he should still consider his reputation.”

Enraged, Yu Qiushi retorted: “I merely taught the sixth prince in his youth and have had no interactions since. Lord Xiao’s words are slanderous!”

Whether this statement aimed to shield others or genuinely supported the sixth prince while seeking future power-sharing, it effectively turned Song Lan into Yu Qiushi’s sacrificial pawn.

Those in the court harbored their own agendas and dared not risk anything.

Within just two hours, Song Lan faced three assassination attempts.

Finally, under the protection of the Jintian Guard, he escaped the palace and sought refuge at the Su family’s ancestral hall.

When Luo Wei arrived at the Bright Light Gate wielding the Emperor’s Sword, the dispute between the factions remained unresolved.

Amidst the chaos, she drew her sword and swiftly executed a military officer who had taunted her.

The officer had moments earlier shouted: “Though the Su family has produced three chancellors over two generations, the Crown Princess is but a woman. How dare she wield the Emperor’s Sword? A hen crowing at dawn—disrupting propriety and usurping authority. Is this the esteemed upbringing of the late Wen De Gong? This illustrious reputation is nothing but hollow pretense…”

Warm blood splattered onto Luo Wei’s face. She calmly wiped it away, oddly wondering why her hand still trembled despite not being her first kill.

Someone snapped out of their shock and prepared to berate her when they suddenly realized Yan Lang had surrounded the forest troops and imperial guards with his soldiers.

He approached slowly, tapping the hilt of his sword twice behind Luo Wei.

Silence fell instantly. Luo Wei raised the scorching Emperor’s Sword high above her head and knelt before Song Lan.

“The Su family wields the Emperor’s Sword and pledges allegiance to the sixth prince’s succession.”

The third prince, Song Yi, was a puppet of the noble families. The fifth prince, Song Qi, showed no interest in state affairs. Meanwhile, Song Lan, educated for years by Song Leng, was no fool. Yu Qiushi had only been his early tutor, with minimal personal connection. His endorsement was purely to install a puppet ruler for his own gain.

If she hadn’t intervened, Yu Qiushi would have acted with impunity.

If Song Lan failed to ascend the throne, he might not survive the night.

Luo Wei had considered all this clearly as she walked here. Song Yao Feng offered no objection—they both knew this was the best choice.

And as early as the day of the assassination, Yan Lang had received instructions from his father, secretly slipping out of the city to bring troops from the outskirts back to the capital.

Even if Luo Wei hadn’t made a decision, his mobilization ensured civilian safety amidst potential chaos.

Yu Qiushi observed Luo Wei kneeling before Song Lan and the wavering clear-stream faction, raising an eyebrow slightly.

Her and Yan Lang’s appearance added significant weight to this powerless prince. Together, they formed a new faction poised to challenge Yu Qiushi’s grip on power.

Yan Lang scrutinized Yu Qiushi’s expression, instinctively tightening his grip on his sword.

The fate of Bianjing now rested solely on the prime minister’s next move.

After a prolonged standoff, Yu Qiushi finally relented, bowing low with the noble families at the feet of the young emperor.

Back then, Luo Wei thought this gesture signified disappointment over the collapse of his puppet regime. Now, reflecting on it, it was likely satisfaction at everything proceeding smoothly.

As Luo Wei bowed, Song Lan exchanged a glance with Yu Qiushi. He gently accepted the sword she offered, his furrowed brows finally relaxing. His gaze lingered on the blood-stained blade, filled with melancholy yet tinged with triumph.

The seventeenth day of the first lunar month was traditionally the day to remove lanterns. But with Bianjing plunged into darkness, there was no need to extinguish them.

In the deep night, after the dust settled, palace attendants gathered the dragon lanterns from this year’s celebrations behind the Candlelight Tower and burned them.

Ashes rose with the flames. Standing beneath the vast sky, Luo Wei followed their ascent. Despite the heavy clouds, the moon—fuller than on the fifteenth—remained uncovered, suspended mid-heaven like a lucid, tearless eye gazing down at her.

The dream froze at this moment.

A gentle night breeze swept in, jolting Ye Tingyan awake. Dazed, he realized he had fallen asleep leaning against the bamboo blind.

Rubbing his eyes, he noticed the moon had already begun to set.

The flower trees outside cast long shadows under the moonlight, stretching endlessly into the distant, indiscernible depths of the night. Reaching to adjust the rolled-up bamboo blind, his wrist felt weak, so he steadied himself by gripping the window frame and standing up.

Basking in the scarce light, he noticed a faded scar on his right wrist. It had healed surprisingly well—he couldn’t feel a trace of pain even when touching it.

After the moon sets, shadows disappear. Yet, as long as the moon exists, it connects with the roots of the flower trees. No matter how far it stretches, the bond remains firm.

Standing by the window, he pondered deeply. If one loved the flower tree dearly, was it better to be the moon or the shadow?

________________________________________

The Ministry of Rites’ request for the emperor to visit the Grand Ancestral Temple originally aimed to enhance his reputation for piety. However, the rain in Jiangnan had arrived belatedly, and now this rhyme—”False Dragon’s Roar”—was spreading throughout the capital.

Because it mocked a false dragon, the heavens refused to rain despite the emperor’s prayers at the temple.

Though Song Lan hadn’t mentioned it during morning court, everyone knew the young emperor was enraged. Consequently, no one dared suggest revisiting the ancestral temple. In recent days, after deploying the Jintian Guard to confiscate copper bells, Song Lan also sent his trusted Zhuge agents to investigate, determined to uncover the source of the rhyme.

After more than half a month of investigation, they found nothing.

Before Luo Wei entered Qianfang Hall carrying a food box, she heard the sound of shattering porcelain.

Two Zhuge guards silently exited the hall, looking somewhat disheveled. Seeing her at the door, they nodded slightly in acknowledgment.

Unperturbed, Luo Wei waved for Liu Xi to dismiss the attendants.

Qianfang Hall remained unlit. The doors closed, cutting sunlight into scattered fragments. Stepping through this shattered brilliance, Luo Wei walked toward the empty hall without bowing.

Not ten steps in, she heard a low murmur: “Sister.”

Song Lan lounged on the soft cushions of the dragon throne, wearing a loose-fitting dark robe. His hair was tied in a messy bun. The table before him was piled with yellow-bound memorials, while shards of broken celadon littered the floor.

Pretending not to notice, Luo Wei strode past without a glance.

Today’s robe was slightly oversized, layers of smooth silk folding at the cuffs. Setting down the food box, Luo Wei quietly knelt and smoothed the folds of his sleeves. As she reached the last layer, his hand covered hers. The cool jade ring sent a tingling sensation through her palm.

She remained silent, but Song Lan hesitated for a long while before speaking: “Sister, in the capital…”

He trailed off, unwilling to continue. Luo Wei’s gaze slowly swept over his face before she abruptly knelt before the dragon throne.

“Sister, you—”

“Zilan, do you suspect me?”

Song Lan hurried to help her up: “Sister, rise quickly. How could I ever doubt you?”

But Luo Wei refused to budge, staring steadfastly at him. “Since the rhyme incident began, you haven’t visited me once. When the Ministry of Rites petitioned to visit the ancestral temple, I considered your reputation. Who would have thought such rumors would arise, using this song to attack our hearts! Approving the petition was my mistake. But if you now doubt me because of this, then from today onward, I shall withdraw from the front hall and never interfere in state affairs again.”

Seeing tears glistening in her eyes, Song Lan’s resolve softened.

Aside from mourning Song Leng, she rarely cried. Today’s tears were shed for him.

Refusing to rise, Song Lan knelt beside her, pulling her into an embrace to console her: “Sister, I have never doubted you.”

Luo Wei wrapped her arms around his neck, her voice trembling as if choked with emotion: “When we went to the ancestral temple, didn’t you leave Censor Ye and Scholar Chang behind in the palace to watch over me?”

Song Lan loosened his hold slightly, watching a tear slide down her jaw, trembling on the edge, refusing to fall. He found it strangely pleasing and didn’t want to wipe it away, though he feigned concern: “…Sister, I was never the chosen heir. If not for you, I would have perished at the hands of the Grand Tutor and the courtiers long ago. My gratitude for you runs deep. Why wouldn’t you know that? I’m just so afraid… so afraid that one day you’ll abandon me—”

Luo Wei murmured softly: “We’ve been husband and wife for four years. Don’t you know my heart? After that year, you are my only remaining family.”

They exchanged heartfelt words, shedding a few more tears before calming their emotions.

Song Lan opened the food box and, seeing the mung bean cakes she had made, smiled: “Sister still remembers.”

Luo Wei sat at the desk, idly flipping through a memorial. In her usual manner, she picked up a brush and reviewed all the documents on the table—those he had read and those he hadn’t. Upon spotting a note from Ye Tingyan, she opened it curiously: “Censor Ye petitions Your Majesty not to punish the Lin family’s collateral branches?”

Song Lan grunted nonchalantly: “The Muchun Field incident was indeed suspicious, but Lin Zhao’s tyranny and brutality are undeniable. I initially intended to execute the entire Lin clan, but Tingyan’s reasoning holds merit. To preserve the court’s reputation, sentencing according to law suffices; no need to extend collective punishment.”

Luo Wei’s eyelashes fluttered slightly, but she remained silent.

As she left Qianfang Hall, Yan Luo handed her a handkerchief. Taking it, Luo Wei hadn’t yet wiped away her tears when she unexpectedly encountered Ye Tingyan coming to pay respects.

Seeing her condition, Ye Tingyan frowned slightly, intending to inquire. However, he ultimately performed a proper bow: “Your Majesty.”

Luo Wei gave him a meaningful glance, leaving before he could ask further. He only caught a glimpse of crimson lipstick lingering on her lips.

Watching Ye Tingyan’s retreating figure, Yan Luo remarked: “His Majesty increasingly trusts Lord Ye San. I hear the idea to confiscate copper bells originated with him. Though harsh, it achieved results. Now, with no bell sounds in Bianjing and no rumors reaching His Majesty’s ears, it’s undoubtedly a brilliant strategy.”

Luo Wei wiped her tears with a smile: “His trust in him is wonderful indeed.”

Noticing her smeared makeup, Yan Luo asked worriedly: “Will His Majesty believe your display?”

Luo Wei tossed the handkerchief back, biting her lip, clearly in good spirits: “Who cares if he believes? The more I act this way, the less he trusts me. But he enjoys it and refuses to expose me, so he sends Ye San to watch me. After ten years of acquaintance and four years of marriage, if I can’t see through this facade, neither can he. Closest kinship and utmost estrangement stem from mutual scheming. If…”

She paused, not continuing, and instead asked: “Have the lotuses in Huiling Lake bloomed yet?”

Yan Luo replied: “It’ll take another four or five days.”

Luo Wei nodded: “Perfect, perfect. Prepare some invitations for me. This time… remember to invite Ning Le and Shu Kang as well.”

Yan Luo solemnly responded: “Yes.”