On the twelfth day of the sixth month, it was the eleventh day since Vice Minister of Personnel Ji Minzhong had reported himself ill.
The illness he had cited was “summer heat attacking the heart, causing dizziness and blurred vision.” The Imperial Medical Bureau had left a medical record, and the prescribed remedy was a standard Wendan Decoction for clearing heat and dispelling dampness. The pulse record noted a red tongue with greasy coating and a slippery, rapid pulse. On paper, it looked no different from an ordinary case of summer damp-heat.
Yet Ji Residence’s steward had submitted another petition to the Office of Transmission requesting an extension of leave. This was already the second extension.
According to protocol, any capital official of the third rank or above who remained on sick leave for more than ten days was required to undergo examination by the Imperial Medical Bureau. Failure to pass the examination would be reported to the Evaluation Office under the Ministry of Personnel and entered into official records.
But Ji Minzhong himself was the Vice Minister of Personnel. The Director of the Evaluation Office was one of his own protégés.
Naturally, no one rushed to conduct the examination.
And when no one pressed the matter, no one knew whether he was truly ill or merely pretending.
Ji Residence stood in the northeastern quarter of the capital, only three streets away from Northern Pacifying Marquis Mansion.
The estate was neither large nor small, and its exterior was unassuming—gray walls, black tiles, and stone steps polished smooth by years of use.
There were two more guards at the gate than usual. Both were unfamiliar faces. They stood straight-backed and expressionless.
Wu An emerged from the side gate carrying a food box.
The box was an ordinary three-tiered bamboo container covered with coarse indigo cloth. At a glance, it looked no different from what any household steward might use to purchase kitchen supplies.
But instead of heading toward the marketplace, he followed the wall through two narrow alleys and turned into the passage behind Northern Pacifying Marquis Mansion.
The side gate of the marquis residence stood slightly ajar.
An elderly woman in a gray work jacket sat outside sorting vegetables.
As Wu An approached, he neither slowed his pace nor glanced at her. Only at the moment he passed the gate did he set the food box down on a stone pedestal beside it.
The woman never looked up.
Only after his footsteps had faded away did she set aside the half-cleaned chives, pick up the food box, and carry it inside.
At the same time, a small sedan chair draped with blue curtains departed from the main gate of Ji Residence.
The curtains hung low, concealing whoever sat inside.
The four sedan bearers moved with heavy steps, and the grooves worn into the carrying poles testified to years of labor.
Instead of heading toward the Ministry of Personnel, the sedan traveled north along the official road toward Qingfeng Academy.
None of these movements escaped the eyes watching from behind a window in the Censorate.
Ye Xian sat behind the desk in the Supervising Censor’s office.
Spread before him was a patrol log recently obtained from the Military Patrol Office.
The log recorded every carriage and horse entering or leaving the vicinity of Qingfeng Academy during the previous ten days.
One entry had caught his attention.
On the ninth day of the sixth month, at the third quarter of the You hour, a blue-curtained sedan chair had emerged from an alley near the academy’s rear mountain and traveled northward.
The sedan carried no lantern and displayed no household insignia.
But the patrol soldiers recognized one of the bearers.
His surname was Ma.
He worked as an outer-courtyard servant at Ji Residence.
Originally from Shandong, he had served there for six years.
Ye Xian closed the patrol log.
Picking up a brush, he wrote several lines on a plain sheet of paper, sealed it, and handed it to the personal guard waiting beneath the corridor.
The guard accepted the letter and hurried away.
Just then, Xu Jingting arrived from the archives repository.
Brushing past the departing guard, he pushed open the door and said,
“That blue-curtained sedan from the Ji family went to the academy again yesterday? How many times has that been now? For a man on sick leave, his sedan seems busier than ever.”
“The third time,” Ye Xian replied calmly.
“The first was on the third day of the sixth month. The second was on the seventh. Yesterday was the third.”
“The trips are spaced three or four days apart. More regular than Wu An’s visits to Tongzhou Wharf.”
“He’s moving something.”
Xu Jingting sat down and drained a cup of lukewarm tea.
“That lacquer box is still sitting untouched in Northern Pacifying Marquis Mansion. What else is he hiding at the academy?”
“Not hiding.”
Ye Xian pulled out the small blue-cloth-bound notebook from a drawer beneath the desk.
Opening to the page marked with a dried purple bamboo leaf, he tapped the watermark-like symbol he had sketched beside it.
“He’s transferring things.”
“His sick leave isn’t for recovery. It’s to free up time to move items out of the private residence near the academy.”
“The patrol logs recorded the routes of those sedan trips. Every time they left the academy, they detoured through Desheng Gate, but never entered the city. They traveled halfway toward Tongzhou before turning back.”
“That isn’t transporting goods out of the city.”
“It’s reconnaissance.”
“He’s testing which route is safest.”
“The goods Wu An collected at Tongzhou Wharf and the items moved from the academy residence are all destined for the same road.”
Xu Jingting set down his cup, his expression turning serious.
“Shouldn’t we intercept a shipment now? Before he clears everything out?”
“No.”
Ye Xian cut him off and lifted his gaze.
His amber eyes reflected a faint cold light beneath the sun, like moonlight shining upon a frozen winter well.
“The more he moves, the more mistakes he’ll make.”
“Moving things requires people.”
“And people leave evidence.”
“Wu An is his trusted aide. The sedan bearers are servants from his outer courtyard.”
“I’ve already had the Military Patrol Office investigate them.”
“When he finally moves everything to a place he considers safe—that’s when we’ll strike.”
Xu Jingting nodded thoughtfully.
Just as he was about to speak again, hurried footsteps sounded outside the window.
A clerk from the outer offices of the Censorate came running.
Breathless and ignoring protocol, he pushed open the door and held up a sealed letter.
“Heir Apparent! An urgent letter has arrived from Lord Gu’s residence at the Imperial Stud. They requested that you read it personally.”
Ye Xian accepted the letter and broke the seal.
Heir Apparent:
At the beginning of the Si hour today, a messenger from the palace arrived with an imperial verbal decree summoning my father for immediate audience.
The messenger was Zhang He, a palace eunuch on duty at Qianqing Palace.
He said only that His Majesty requested my father’s presence and gave no explanation.
My father has already accompanied the eunuch into the palace.
Before departing, he ordered everyone in the household not to leave the residence.
My mother has taken ill again, and the household is uneasy.
Should any news arrive, I ask that the Heir Apparent kindly send word.
— Jinzhao
Ye Xian folded the letter and slipped it into his sleeve.
Then he rose to his feet.
“Jingting, stay here.”
“I’m going to Qianqing Palace.”
As he reached the doorway, he paused briefly.
“Have a horse prepared.”
“You’re riding?”
Xu Jingting’s eyes widened.
Ye Xian suffered from a heart condition.
The imperial physicians normally warned him against even walking too quickly.
He had scarcely ridden a horse in the past two years.
“Mm.”
Ye Xian had already stepped across the threshold.
The hem of his dark-blue robe flicked once beyond the doorway before disappearing, leaving behind only the sound of black boots striking the stone corridor as he moved farther and farther away.
Outside Qianqing Gate stood a row of north-south-facing waiting rooms.
Gray brick walls.
Black tile roofs.
Low lintels.
Officials awaiting audience customarily sat inside until summoned by eunuchs from the Directorate of Ceremonial.
Outside the rooms stood two Imperial Guard commanders with sabers at their waists.
Their faces were expressionless as they watched every movement beneath the corridor.
Gu Dezhao had not even had time to change into court robes when he was summoned.
He had only just returned home after morning court when the palace decree arrived.
After hastily giving a few instructions to the household steward, he had immediately followed Zhang He back to the palace.
Now he sat in the chair nearest the doorway of the waiting room.
A cup of warm tea provided by a eunuch rested in his hands, untouched.
He had served as an official in the capital for sixteen years.
For many of those years, he had occupied the position of Vice Minister of the Imperial Stud.
The Imperial Stud oversaw horse administration.
It was a clean office—far removed from personnel appointments and financial matters.
Ordinarily, its officials never came anywhere near the Grand Secretariat’s sphere of influence.
Since the Emperor’s accession to the throne, Gu Dezhao had never once been summoned for a private audience.
For such a decree to arrive today without warning—
It could not be a good sign.