The men of the Pei family followed the Hu merchants’ carts all the way, watching them gallop through the night until they had reached a place a full hundred li from Chang’an. Such desperate flight—if they were not fugitives, what else could they be?
Seeing them finally halt in exhaustion, the hidden, well-trained Pei family men exchanged meaningful glances.
The Hu merchants, wealthy and arrogant, rented out an entire inn and secretly carried their chests into its courtyard.
The trackers waited until nightfall before daring to slip inside. They saw that all the dozen chests had already been opened—empty.
Zong Huo, concealed within, was naturally hidden somewhere else in the inn.
From the kitchen, the inn’s servants continually carried platters of fish and meat to one particular room. Inside, Zong Huo, who had been hiding for so long, now sat at the table devouring food.
Guards surrounded the room on all sides. The inn servants only dared to place the dishes at the doorway, leaving them to be taken inside.
Zong Huo tore at the meat with his teeth, his face flushed red: “Now this—this is real meat! More! Bring me more!”
He seemed half-mad. Anyone confined underground in darkness would begin to lose their mind. Now, after so long without meat, he pounced on it like a starving beast.
“Though we are already a hundred li from Chang’an, we must remain cautious,” one leader said coldly. “Until the young master is delivered safely to Jiangnan, we cannot relax.”
Several men were stationed to guard Zong Huo’s courtyard. Their skill was evident—they were clearly handpicked by Zong Chuke to protect his son.
The Pei family men remained cautious. One followed the inn servant as he opened the door to deliver food, catching sight of the figure feasting inside.
“It is indeed Zong Huo.” The Pei men exchanged glances.
Their mission was now confirmed.
At midnight, when all had fallen asleep, someone released a purple signal flare. Seeing it, the Zong family men exchanged knowing looks.
“The young master has safely left the city,” an aide in the study said with a smile to Zong Chuke.
Zong Chuke also saw the flare in the sky. His dark eyes glinted with coldness: “Until he reaches Jiangnan, that unfilial son must be kept in line.”
The aide said nothing. The signal, fired from a hundred li outside Chang’an, meant the mission was certain to succeed.
No one knew a son better than his father. Zong Chuke understood Zong Huo’s nature all too well. Faced with the temptations of the outside world, Zong Huo would likely succumb to indulgence before even reaching Jiangnan.
At dawn, Pei Tan opened his door and saw Pei Xian, who had kept watch all night. He had brought no maids from the Pei household, only this one attendant. Besides serving as his bodyguard, Pei Xian was, in truth, the only person in the Court whom Pei Tan could trust and rely upon.
Pei Tan asked: “How is it?”
Pei Xian’s gaze was deep: “My lord, last night someone released a signal flare.”
As a trained Pei family guard, Pei Xian recognized the unique kind of flare. Last night’s smoke was almost certainly connected to the Zong Huo affair.
Pei Tan said calmly: “Can you determine the exact location?”
Pei Xian replied: “Only that it was at least a hundred li away. The precise spot cannot be discerned.”
Such flares were designed to mislead, never revealing the true launch site.
Pei Tan said: “To flee a hundred li in a single night—that is the desperation of fugitives.”
The Zong father and son had defied the imperial command. Now, carrying a forged pass to leave the city, they had severed all bonds of loyalty—neither subjects nor servants of the throne any longer.
Although Zong Chuke held the exalted rank of First-Class Minister, the Zong family itself was not like the Seven Clans and Five Surnames with their deep foundations. Zong Chuke was of humble birth, a commoner who had risen through the ups and downs of officialdom to reach his current position. That he dared commit such a crime of deceiving the emperor showed he had completely provoked the monarch’s wrath. What Zong Chuke did not understand was that it was he himself who had driven his son and himself into this desperate situation.
Emperor Zhongzong’s order to execute Zong Huo was a warning to Zong Chuke. Yet Zong Chuke—perhaps precisely because he understood this—still risked everything to save Zong Huo.
Between his son and the emperor, Zong Chuke chose his son. That choice doomed him to lose even his son in the end.
Pei Tan said: “Make preparations. I must enter the palace.”
As his carriage traveled through the streets of Chang’an, a gust of wind lifted the curtain. He saw outside the residence of Minister Su, where he had once attended a wedding banquet. He recalled the groom, Su Shouyue, who had married a daughter of the prestigious Cui clan of Boling—a leap to the heavens.
Even the Pei family, a noble lineage, would need a rare fortune to marry into the Cui clan of the Five Surnames and Seven Clans. Yet such fortune had favored a lesser family.
Suddenly, Pei Tan realized what he had overlooked.
Palace maids outside the palace obeyed Jing Wan’er’s commands and could linger near the Court of Judicial Review and gather information. Zichan’er, once imprisoned in its cells, had the opportunity and time to memorize its layout and send it back to Jing Wan’er in the palace. But what of the Su family?
That palace maid disguised as a man had openly entered as a guest with a Su family invitation. Could Jing Wan’er truly possess such extraordinary means—not only learning that Pei Tan would attend the banquet, but even obtaining a formal invitation to enter the Su household as a guest?
Pei Tan’s palm clenched suddenly. Beneath the silk wrapping, the wound in his right hand throbbed faintly. Could a mere Jing Wan’er truly achieve such things?
Just as Pei Tan was struck with shock, his attendant Pei Xian’s voice called from outside, pulling him back to reality: “My lord, we have arrived at the Wenchang Gate.”
The palace guards demanded to inspect his token. After a moment, Pei Tan extended it from the carriage. At once, the guard lowered his spear respectfully: “Minister, please proceed.”
Pei Xian drove the carriage along the palace road. After a moment, Pei Tan said: “This time, stop the carriage outside the Xuanwu Gate. Then you may leave.”
Entering through Wenchang Gate meant he was already within the palace. Eunuchs walked with bowed heads, passing to and fro. Even at this unusual hour, no one looked up at the carriage.
Xuanwu Gate was still some distance from Emperor Zhongzong’s Zi Hall. Though surprised, Pei Xian obeyed: “As you command, my lord.”
At Xuanwu Gate, Pei Tan dismounted and walked alone. With his travel token, none dared obstruct him. He did this because he needed to think.
Alone on the quiet palace path, undisturbed, his gaze grew deep. He reviewed everything from the piece of human skin to every seemingly coincidental clue, filtering them one by one as though sifting impurities from tea. Afterward, he realized how many dregs at the bottom of the pot he had previously overlooked.
At this time, Emperor Zhongzong was overwhelmed with affairs. For a ruler who had spent half his life imprisoned, to erase the darkness of those years was impossible, no matter how much he wished it. He deceived himself.
Thus, Emperor Zhongzong was angry—angry at everyone intertwined with his past, even those who had supported him step by step through the shadows.
Pei Tan entered the palace at the hour of Wei. He wandered alone until the hour of You before finally allowing himself to approach the Zi Hall.
Emperor Zhongzong’s face was poor today. He asked: “Minister Pei, do you bring good news to me?”
Pei Tan, as always, knelt: “The good news is that I have confirmed—Zong Huo is indeed alive.”
Emperor Zhongzong’s face darkened. To him, this was no good news at all. Knowing that Minister Zong Chuke had truly defied his command was a slap to his face. “Where is he now?”
Pei Tan said: “Last night, he used a pass issued by the Commandant of Carriages to flee through the north gate, traveling a hundred li. My men are following closely.”
Emperor Zhongzong’s eyes grew icy: “These father and son truly astonish me.”
Pei Tan remained silent, kneeling, while Emperor Zhongzong paced the hall. He asked: “You said—who issued the pass?”
Pei Tan raised his eyes solemnly: “A fifth-rank Commandant of Carriages.”
So minor an office that even Emperor Zhongzong needed a moment to recall it.
Emperor Zhongzong’s face was stern: “A Commandant of Carriages—what ties could he have to the Zong family? To aid in such treason, even a fifth-rank official deserves death.”
Pei Tan paused, then said quietly: “I believe the Commandant may not be connected to Minister Zong. Precisely because he is unrelated, the pass was safest.”
Pei Tan solved cases without implicating the innocent. Zong Chuke had chosen a fifth-rank officer to avoid suspicion of his own involvement.
Emperor Zhongzong pondered for a while: “I understand. You mean the Commandant was merely a pawn, used without knowledge.”
Pei Tan said: “Yes.”
This Commandant of Carriages surely had no idea for whom the pass was being used. That way, it could never be traced back to Zong Chuke.
Because of Emperor Zhongzong’s concern and Pei Tan’s reasoning, the two—monarch and minister—talked together until midnight.
“Minister Pei, tonight you shall rest in the palace. I will have attendants prepare a residence for you.”
If he were to take a carriage back to the Court, by the time he arrived, the sun would already be high.
Pei Tan paused for a long while before saying: “I have long heard of the beauty of the Taiye Pool. Since tonight the wind is clear and the moon bright, I would very much like to take the chance to stroll there by night.”
The Taiye Pool lay within the Daming Palace. Tales of its splendor had long spread throughout the Tang realm.
Emperor Zhongzong’s gaze grew deep as he looked at Pei Tan: “Since you wish it, Minister Pei, you may wander freely in the palace for the rest of the night.”
With the pass token and the emperor’s words, Pei Tan now had five full hours until dawn to move about the palace as he pleased. His eyes reflected the starlight of the night: “I thank Your Majesty for this favor.”
At midnight, the palace lay silent beneath the moon, tranquil as the surface of the Taiye Pool—yet beneath, like a stone suddenly dropped into its heart, the depths were dark and perilous, as though a thousand waves surged unseen.