CT - 79

Ye Tingyan’s room had many white gauze curtains to block the light, so it wasn’t particularly bright even during the day. After Luo Wei closed the door, she first caught a strong scent of ink.

She fumbled her way into the room.

Ye Tingyan was a refined person, and the ink was mixed with the scent of his incense, which strangely gave her a familiar feeling for a moment.

But this feeling, like the bloodstain she saw on the back of her hand earlier, was elusive.

Many calligraphy and paintings hung around. The five-panel plain screen in front of the window and the surrounding white gauze used for shading were all covered with writings. Luo Wei first saw a painting laid out on the table—it was the painting of the longing woman she had drawn earlier in the palace. Ye Tingyan had even added a few lines next to her poem.

The room was too dim, she couldn’t see clearly, so she had to take the scroll and walk towards the window where there was some light.

Luo Wei pushed open the round moon-shaped floral window and found that directly facing it was a begonia tree.

She wondered who owned this residence before Ye Tingyan moved in. The tree looked quite old, Luo Wei thought, and then sat down on the long bench beside her.

There was even a thin blanket and a hand warmer on the long bench. Did Ye Tingyan often rest here?

She held the fuzzy hand warmer and looked out the window, past the sparsely leaved begonia tree, vaguely seeing the small pavilion where she currently resided.

For some reason, Luo Wei suddenly felt a profound sense of peace. The afternoon sun made her feel languid, and as the long bench swayed slightly, she began to imagine what this place would look like in spring—the flowering trees she had personally planted at the Su family residence were probably this tall by now.

A tree full of blossoms, falling petals, it must be a captivating beauty.

She looked down at the painting in her hand. The “Gaoyang Terrace” poem she had started earlier was incomplete; he had finished the lyrics, but the meter became chaotic towards the end. Did it reflect his mood at the time?

“The boundless scenery of separation remains. The imperial carriage is cold, Old joys and new grievances, how can they be dispelled?”

“Ting Mountain is far, Yan Mountain is far, separated by a thousand perilous peaks. A lonely soul dares not linger with old acquaintances, in the water-lily mirror, you have grown thin.”

Luo Wei read it twice, but still didn’t understand the meaning of the poem.

She rolled the scroll back up, turned around, growing more and more puzzled, and then looked at the writing on the white gauze hanging behind her—what exactly did Pei Xi want her to see by insisting she come in?

What did Ye Tingyan want to tell her when he grabbed her sleeve after spitting blood?

________________________________________

Using the light from the window, she looked at the pieces one by one.

The handwriting was a messy running script, seemingly written in moments of intense emotion, sometimes distorted, sometimes chaotic. Luo Wei didn’t know why she could read it so smoothly.

These sentences were very familiar, as if she had heard them somewhere not long ago.

Alas, those conscripted men, with no leisure day or night... Since I saw you not, it has been three years. Affectionately tying her sash, ninety are her rituals. How excellent is the new one, but what about the old?

My gaze extends a thousand li, my spring heart broken. Spirit, return, alas Jiangnan.

Watching the white cranes silent, the dark clouds at rest, the otherworldly comings and goings... A thousand cups of fine wine, a full hall of fragrance in one tune!

The old one has ridden the yellow crane away, this place is left with only the Yellow Crane Tower.

Withered orchids bid farewell on the Xianyang Road, if Heaven has feelings, Heaven too shall age.

...

Luo Wei parted the layers of white gauze, as if seeking a path through flowers.

On the plain screen in front of the window, inscribed was the “False Dragon’s Roar” that had circulated in the marketplace. Ye Tingyan seemed very puzzled by the meaning of this ballad, writing it many times.

Especially the line “The lotus has left the country for a thousand years,” which was repeated over and over again at the end of the plain screen.

Lotus, leaving the country.

Luo Wei suddenly had an absurd conjecture, a conjecture that almost instantly made her break out in a cold sweat.

Even when she had initially guessed that Ye Tingyan might be an old acquaintance of Song Leng’s from his inexplicable distress, she hadn’t felt this insane.

If her current thought were true, wouldn’t it be a thousand times crazier?

She reached up to wipe the cold sweat from her forehead, pushed through the plain screen, and walked towards his desk.

On the desk lay an unfinished game of Go. Behind the chessboard hung the largest scroll in the room, hanging from the ceiling to the desk, almost as tall as a wall.

Luo Wei couldn’t make out the words on the scroll, only that it was written in red ink, and from a distance, it appeared bold and unrestrained, as if written with blood.

This was not even the most startling thing.

“Drip,” a drop of cold sweat fell onto the back of her hand.

Luo Wei awoke as if from a dream. She stumbled and brushed aside the gauze curtain, wanting to go out and find a lamp, but before she could reach the door, she accidentally kicked over a pot of flowers behind the door.

It was called a flower, but it was actually just a dry, ugly branch.

She knelt down and helped the sickly plum blossom pot upright. Her fingers brushed over the broken parts of the branch, trembling uncontrollably.

She had an identical pot of sickly plum blossoms.

It was as if it were still the past. She was napping in Song Leng’s study, and when she woke, she happened to see a potted, sickly plum blossom in front of her. The plum’s branches were gnarled and lifeless, but when she leaned closer, she saw some faint new green emerging from beneath the pruned scars.

Luo Wei rested her chin on her hand, looking at the plum tree, and asked curiously, “Second Brother, why do you put such a plum tree here?”

Song Leng, who was handling state affairs at his desk, glanced at her upon hearing her question and replied with a smile, “Don’t you think it resembles a twisted...”

He pondered for a long time before continuing, “A twisted enemy.”

It was a strange analogy, but Luo Wei strangely understood his meaning: “So you want to straighten it out?”

“Yes, I saw it in the flower room that day and brought it back. But to prune a sickly plum, you don’t forcefully straighten the main trunk. Instead, you patiently prune away its unruly branches, allowing the new growth to guide it back to its proper path.”

“It has sprouted! It has new life!”

“Yes, let’s wait for winter to pass and then see how it looks.”

________________________________________

Luo Wei stood up and pushed the door open, seeing Zhou Chuyin standing silently outside, holding a candlestick.

If her suspicion had been minimal just now, seeing him there, Luo Wei almost lost her footing. She snatched the candlestick and ran back into the room. By the light of the flame, she finally clearly saw the scroll.

—”Elegy for Jintian,” written in red ink.

The handwriting was no different from that on the plain screen and white gauze. The scroll bore two seals, an introductory seal at the beginning and a name seal at the end. The first was a small red lotus, and the last...

Though Luo Wei had leaned close just now, she hadn’t dared to believe it. Now, holding the candlestick to illuminate it, she clearly saw the two characters.

This was the name seal she had carved for Song Leng, crescent-shaped, with the characters “Ling Ye”.

What was she to see?

What was he to say?

The answer was almost obvious.

The confusion that had long plagued her dissipated in an instant—he was Song Leng’s old acquaintance, yet knowing their engagement, he still approached her. Was it truly just to test her? His affection didn’t seem feigned, nor had he deliberately hidden it. Did Zhou and Bo truly know nothing at all? If they knew, then why were there no words, such implicit trust?

Those moments of losing composure, that uncontrollable affection, his closed eyes when she drew her bow to shoot and personally handed him a knife, the hatred forced out by her words “rebel traitor.”

Once the spark was lit, it became a raging wildfire.

Luo Wei, pale-faced, suddenly grabbed Zhou Chuyin’s sleeve.

Zhou Chuyin looked by the candlelight and saw that her expression held no hatred, no resentment, not even confusion. She stared intently at him, her eyes filled only with pleading—just seeking confirmation.

Zhou Chuyin lowered his eyes and nodded almost imperceptibly.

And so, that pleading transformed into a start of ecstatic joy.

Luo Wei released his sleeve, took a few steps back, and leaned against the “Elegy for Jintian” scroll. She turned around and caressed the crescent-shaped name seal. For a moment, her mind was blank, only one thought repeating: he’s alive, he didn’t die, he’s truly alive!

Zhou Chuyin heard her kneel before the painting and laugh softly, then louder and louder, laughing uncontrollably and sobbing. She nonchalantly wiped away her tears, her moist fingers rubbing the name seal until it was a deep red.

He asked, “Aren’t you worried I’m deceiving you?”

After a long pause, he heard only one sentence.

“I should have thought of it earlier...”

Those melancholic eyes and his scent reminded her again and again, but until today, she had never dared to harbor such a delusion—she truly hadn’t even dared to imagine that he could escape from that dark abyss, from under Song Lan’s grasp.

Through all the darkness and pain in the world, even past suspicion, apprehension, and entrenched hatred, he had returned whole to her side.

________________________________________

Ye Tingyan pushed open the heavy wooden doors of Qionghua Palace.

Song Lan, infuriated by Luo Wei’s sudden disappearance, had lingered for a long time before returning to the capital from Guyou Mountain. After returning, he feigned illness and refused to see his officials. Memorials piled up in the rear hall of Qianfang Palace, and morning court had been suspended for three days. Song Lan, utterly vexed, had no choice but to summon Ye Tingyan to the palace to discuss countermeasures.

Halfway through their discussion, he suddenly ordered him to search Qionghua Palace.

Returning to Qionghua Palace this time, his heart was a mix of emotions, unsure where to look. Song Lan had sent him to meticulously search every inch of the palace’s bricks and tiles, instructing him to report back immediately if he found anything amiss.

The Vermilion Birds moved through the now empty Qionghua Palace. They acted with great precision, almost damaging nothing during their search—Song Lan also forbade moving anything. He wondered what Song Lan was truly thinking now.

Ye Tingyan walked through the palace, seeing all her familiar things, as if he could imagine how she had lived in this palace all these years.

None of her teenage dresses remained; pink and white were almost extinct. The cabinets contained only dark formal robes, not meticulously cared for.

Though there were many hairpins and combs, neatly categorized, it was clear at a glance which crown was for imperial banquets and which hairpin was for asserting authority during meetings with foreign officials. She had no cherished personal belongings, and while many rouges and powders were accumulated, she seemed to have no interest in decorating herself.

Plum blossom water diffused a faint rose scent, and the combs were oily and smooth, likely the most frequently used items.

Song Lan had apparently sent people earlier to collect her incense boxes; the most common ones had been taken, leaving only sandalwood, jasmine, and begonia incense tablets, along with homemade lotus incense tablets.

She had a cabinet full of them, but rarely lit them.

He walked step by step, his heart twisted as if by a knife.

________________________________________

Before reaching the inner chamber, Yuan Ming saw his face illuminated by the candlelight and called out worriedly, “My lord...”

Ye Tingyan softly instructed him, “Don’t let anyone in.”

This inner chamber was narrow and cramped. He had been here so many times, yet had never meticulously observed it—why did she bow to all three (Confucian, Buddhist, Taoist deities)? Why did she confine herself to this enclosed space? The rosary beads, rubbed one by one, had lost their luster. There were even tear stains on the zither—with what feelings did she kneel here, spending one dark, endless night after another?

His heart constricted slightly, and he approached, his face pale, only to discover that the portraits hanging in the room were gilded with a shimmering golden edge.

Buddhist statues are not adorned with gold leaf, so why was this?

Ye Tingyan reached out and took down the portrait, spreading it out on the desk covered in incense ash.

He recalled that in Juhua Temple, he seemed to have seen such a portrait—an old monk squatting by the temple gate lazily telling them how they smuggled out Buddha portraits from forbidden Buddhist lands, disguising them with gold leaf depicting the Three Pure Ones to deceive everyone.

His eyes were bloodshot, and tears flowed heavily. His hands incessantly rubbed the gold leaf on the edge of the portrait, forgetting even to ask for a knife.

After peeling it off, he indeed saw his own portrait from before.

After the three deities—Confucian, Buddhist, and Taoist—were all portraits of the Crown Prince of Chen Ming: in his vermilion robes and scholar’s cap from his twelve-year-old investiture ceremony, in the coarse linen clothes from his return from Xuzhou at fifteen, and in his battle armor from the southern campaign at seventeen. Over the years, she had long ceased to believe in gods and Buddhas, kneeling in this place solely to worship the only deity in her heart.

The two secret chambers were already empty. These three portraits remained here as her deliberate provocation to Song Lan.

Ye Tingyan scrutinized his unfamiliar self in the painting, smiling through his tears, but the more he smiled, the more the tears flowed—how could those days of wearing masks make him fail to see this heart, unchanged from before, even more fervent?

He frantically rolled up the portrait, but accidentally knocked over a small wooden slip on the table. He bent down to pick it up and saw that the back of the slip was facing up, conveniently revealing a line he had written before: “The bright moon forever illuminates the spring night.”

________________________________________

Three days later, in the evening, Ye Tingyan finally emerged from Mingguang Gate.

Song Lan had dispatched thousands of his men, searching inch by inch in Guyou Mountain, at the Bianjing city gates, and at ferry crossings leading to the Jiangnan region, as well as the Shaoguan Pass to the north, but he never found a trace of Luo Wei.

Yan Lang had returned to the Youzhou military camp a few days prior. Song Yaofeng had already set off for his fiefdom as planned and had not yet arrived. The soldiers seeing him off were all his own people, and there were no suspicious individuals in the entire retinue. Aside from keeping a close watch, Song Lan had no sufficient excuse to force her back to the capital.

Within two days, the Emperor was forced into a state of erratic moods. The night before last, countless cicadas appeared from somewhere, chirping outside Song Lan’s sleeping quarters all night. He was driven to a splitting headache, smashed a porcelain vase beside him, and ordered all the cicadas to be caught and killed.

Ye Tingyan met Chaolan in the back of the palace. She had now returned to Yu Suiyun’s side, while Zhang Suwu had been dismissed back to the Imperial Library—he hadn’t followed Luo Wei for long and had some private connections with the various officials in the Library, thus avoiding Song Lan’s wrath.

Chaolan sighed deeply, saying that after Her Ladyship’s instructions, she had caught these cicadas for a very long time and had been keeping them in Qionghua Palace. She didn’t know who had released them, disturbing His Majesty’s peace.

It was autumn now, so where did the cicadas come from?

Ye Tingyan understood immediately. He was not at all surprised to see Zhang Suwu and a few eunuchs catching cicadas together in the forest.

After the cicada killing, the inner court was trembling with fear, and everyone knew the Emperor was very displeased these days. This news had not yet reached the outer court. After being pressured for several days, Song Lan finally decided to resume court in two days.

Ye Tingyan also finally got some breathing room and bade farewell to the palace.

He was impatient to see her, running all the way out of the East Gate, losing all composure.

Pei Xi, as usual, came to pick him up. Uncharacteristically, he remained silent in the carriage. Ye Tingyan was wondering why, when he suddenly heard him say, “I let her into the young master’s study.”

Ye Tingyan’s expression stiffened.

The desire was so strong, burning to this point, but what remained was the trembling trepidation of nearing home.

Pei Xi braced himself and continued, “I know, Young Master, you repeatedly warned me not to let anyone, especially her, enter. Mr. Zhou and Mr. Bo also repeatedly told me. But I truly couldn’t bear to see you two suffer like this. Your Highness, she has you in her heart!”

Ye Tingyan gripped the silk blindfold in his hand, rubbing it repeatedly. He neither rebuked nor offered his usual gentle, comforting chuckle. Pei Xi pursed his lips and continued, “Perhaps I was being overly meddlesome. Even if she went in, she might not uncover the secrets within the room...”

“She will know, as long as she has been inside,” Ye Tingyan finally spoke, his voice very low. “It’s fine, Chizhi, you didn’t do anything wrong in this matter. As it happens, I was also wondering how to tell her. Now, I don’t have to...”

He suddenly raised his voice, halting the carriage.

“You go back first. Ask her to come out and meet me... It’s already dusk. Song Lan barely fell asleep before I left the palace. We just need to avoid the main roads.”

He spoke each word slowly, as if he had pondered over it repeatedly.

Pei Xi then asked, “Where does the young master wish to meet her?”

Ye Tingyan’s eyelashes fluttered, and he replied, “Tinghua Terrace.”

“On Tinghua Terrace, beneath the golden statue. You go invite her. I... will wait for her to come.”