Yang Wangjing’s body trembled uncontrollably from the cold, yet he still forced himself to keep his back straight. His fists hung stiffly at his sides, sleeves draping down to cover half of his hands, already frozen purple.
Hearing Cheng Yun’s voice, he lifted his eyes toward the towering, solemn Hall of Supreme Harmony, staring at the unmelting snow clinging to its eaves. His young voice carried a weight far beyond his years.
“Cheng Yun, you will face retribution.”
Cheng Yun inclined his head. “Then let it be so. That’s a matter for the future.”
Yang Wangjing’s gaze flicked across Cheng Yun’s calm face, then turned away in fury. “Traitor! You’ve ruined the dynasty. If one day I rule, I will see your clan exterminated and your body torn apart by five horses!”
Cheng Yun chuckled. “Is that so? Then I truly look forward to that day.”
He walked a few steps, then paused. “Your Highness seems spirited enough. If you still have strength after this punishment, why not pay a visit to the imperial prison and bid farewell to Minister Xu?”
Yang Wangjing’s rigid spine stiffened further. His frostbitten face flushed purple, and his voice squeezed through clenched teeth, eyes reddening. “Cheng Yun! Minister Xu devoted his life to the nation, loyal and tireless. And you will die a miserable death!”
“Ah, but who will die first, I wonder—me, or Xu Da’s concubines and children?”
“Cheng Yun!” Yang Wangjing roared. He tried to rise, but his numb legs gave way, sending him crashing to the ground. His palms scraped raw against the frozen earth, yet he felt no pain—only hatred twisting his youthful features.
“Minister Xu lived with integrity. Even if you force charges upon him, they should never amount to the crime of confiscating his household.”
The wind rose. Cheng Yun pulled his crane cloak tighter, shutting out the chill. He turned back, looking down at Yang Wangjing from above. “And what of it? If I wish to confiscate, I will. Unless— you beg me? Your Highness, kneel here before the Taihe Hall, plead with this so-called traitor for mercy, and perhaps I’ll consider sparing Xu Yi’s family.”
Yang Wangjing’s eyes widened, his face frozen, silent as a statue.
Cheng Yun was in no hurry. His gaze drifted past him to the towering hall.
Beyond the Taihe Hall lay the Zhonghe Hall, then the Baohe Hall, and further still, the Inner Court. The Qianhua Palace was where the emperor most often handled affairs of state. Cheng Yun had once followed the former Prime Minister, Zhang Songqing, there for the first time.
He was cowed by the majesty of the royal court, not daring to lift his head, not daring to speak. He thought he would see the Son of Heaven seated high upon the dais, toiling over affairs of state. Instead, he saw only a floor littered with undergarments and stains, winding like weeds toward the curtains beyond. He froze for a moment, thinking: even the lowest brothels are no worse than this.
So this was the royal house. This was the emperor.
Confronted with such grotesquery, he dared not move a step forward and could only look toward his teacher.
Zhang Songqing’s expression remained calm, as though long accustomed to it. He lifted his foot and stepped over the discarded garments, stopping outside the curtain. Within, all was quiet.
Scattered beneath the curtain’s hem lay neglected memorials, while beside them stood the eunuch Gao He, his face wrinkled like an eggplant, offering Zhang Songqing a bitter smile.
“Yesterday, His Majesty acquired a new dancing girl. She is quite skilled, and greatly pleases the dragon heart…”
Zhang Songqing nodded, glanced at the papers on the floor, and said softly: “Gather these up and send them back to the Inner Cabinet. From now on, there’s no need to deliver them to Qianhua Palace. His Majesty is weary—his health must come first.”
“This…” Gao He caught Zhang Songqing’s gaze and immediately bowed. “Yes, my lord.”
Zhang Songqing turned to leave. As he passed Cheng Yun, he pressed a hand to his shoulder. “No need to go in. Come back with me.”
Cheng Yun lowered his head and followed his teacher out of Qianhua Palace. Walking along the palace road, he paused to look back. The blazing sun hung high in the sky, gilding the palace roof in dazzling gold, its red walls and green tiles resplendent.
Such splendor—who would imagine the filth within?
When he came back to himself, his teacher was already far ahead, his dark official robes like a thin shadow fading in the sunlight. Cheng Yun’s heart tightened, and he quickened his pace to catch up.
“Cheng Yun.”
The boy’s voice pulled him back from another time and space, grounding him once more.
Yang Wangjing lay on the ground, his thin clothes unable to shield his trembling body. His hands pressed against the frozen earth, swollen and purple from the cold.
“I beg you, I beg you… spare Minister Xu’s family, spare their lives…”
The cold wind carried Yang Wangjing’s sobs into Cheng Yun’s ears. He looked at the boy before him and remembered the first time they met—kneeling outside Qianhua Palace, begging for an audience with the emperor. From sunrise to the star-filled night, the emperor never appeared. The boy collapsed with fever upon the ground and was carried back to the Eastern Palace by attendants.
Drawing back his gaze, Cheng Yun spoke slowly: “Since His Highness has spoken, I shall obey.” He turned and walked away, boarding the carriage. It rolled past Yang Wangjing, whose frail body lay crumpled on the ground, as if crushed beneath its wheels.
Qianhua Palace no longer held such absurd scenes. Ever since Cheng Yun had overseen the renovation of the Chenghuan Hall, the emperor had moved there instead.
The Cheng family carriage stopped behind the Baohe Hall, then continued by sedan chair through the Moonlight Gate into the Chenghuan Hall.
Palace servants were carefully sweeping away lingering snow from the corners outside. When they saw his sedan approaching from afar, they immediately dropped their tasks and knelt by the roadside, not rising until the tall, dark figure had entered the hall.
Inside, golden charcoal burned brightly, perfumed with rare dragon musk. Mist curled upward like a veil of immortals descending to earth.
As Cheng Yun stepped in, laughter rang out. Emperor Yang Sheng, dressed only in inner garments, blindfolded, charged about the hall like a bull, arms outstretched. Five or six lightly clad consorts shrieked with laughter as they darted around him. Their robes half-slipped, sweat glistening, bare feet slapped against the stone floor with sharp sounds—more scandalous than any bawdy song.
Seeing Cheng Yun enter, the consorts restrained themselves somewhat. A few cast shy glances his way while hastily snatching gauzy veils from the floor to cover their exposed chests.
Through the blindfold’s sheer fabric, Yang Sheng glimpsed the figure at the doorway. He chuckled and lunged forward, wrapping his arms around the newcomer.
“Let me see which foolish beauty I’ve caught—”
His words drew another round of girlish laughter.
“Your Majesty,” Cheng Yun said calmly.
Yang Sheng tore off the blindfold, his excitement fading as he released him. “My beloved minister, you should have spoken sooner.”
“It was my fault, I feared disturbing Your Majesty’s pleasure.”
“You already have,” Yang Sheng tossed the blindfold aside. “I was just in the midst of it.”
Cheng Yun cast a glance at the young consorts who were blushing shyly at him, signaling them to withdraw.
Only after they had all left did he speak: “The Daoists of Xuanye Temple have sent word. They recently refined a batch of superior Purple Elixir and delivered two pills to my residence. I had them tested—there were no adverse effects.”
Yang Sheng brightened. “That is good news. Have them send it into the palace.”
Then he looked at Cheng Yun with a smile. “Shall I have some sent to you as well? You’re in the prime of life—why is your household without women? You look so austere; even Zhang Songqing was better. He was nearly fifty and still kept eighteen concubines in his estate.”
Cheng Yun bowed. “I thank Your Majesty for the kindness, but I have no interest in such matters.”
Yang Sheng clicked his tongue. “Ah, Cheng Yun, you are truly a dull man. You understand my heart so well, yet you never indulge yourself. No love for gold, no love for beauty—I hardly know what reward to give you.”
“I am Your Majesty’s servant. All I do is for Your Majesty. If Your Majesty is pleased, then I am content.”
“Zhang Songqing was a clever man. Before his death, he recommended you to me, and you are even more clever than he.”
Yang Sheng’s tone shifted. “The Purple Elixir is fine, but the beauties in this palace no longer excite me. They no longer satisfy.”
“I can arrange for more—”
“No need. I have an excellent idea, ha ha… you will surely agree!” Yang Sheng clapped his hands, eyes gleaming as he leapt up.
“The women you’ve sent are beautiful, yes, and skilled. But they are like rare delicacies—eat them every day and one grows weary. Instead, one longs for a simple bite of greens and tofu. That’s right, I crave greens and tofu now.”
Greens and tofu? Cheng Yun’s brow furrowed ever so slightly before smoothing again. “I understand. I will have them gathered from among the common folk.”
“No, the common folk’s fare is too bland, tasteless.” Yang Sheng strode carelessly to the couch and lay down, his inner robe half open, his body resembling a piece of dried meat.
“Prepare a grand selection for me. All officials across the land must send their daughters above the age of fourteen to participate—especially those who can read and write. Not a single one is to be left out!”
*
Su Xianjin lay with her eyes closed, her mind replaying the dream’s scenes like a lantern show, until at last she woke. The familiar canopy above her bed gave her a sense of reality and safety. She sat up and rubbed her eyes.
The dark chamber… Cheng Yun… She sorted it out. The dream had been vivid, yet ultimately beyond her control. Just when she longed to see the world beyond the darkness, the dream ended.
What a pity.
Still, these two dreams—she might as well call them lucid dreams.
Yesterday,, she had looked it up online: when one is aware in a dream that it is a dream and can move freely, that is called a lucid dream. But other people’s lucid dreams often allow them to control the dream itself, even to realize grand human fantasies like flying or vanishing at will. Hers seemed different.
Su Xianjin checked her phone—it was nearly eleven in the morning. She had slept long. Yet she was still drowsy. She yawned, quickly washed up, and grabbed a piece of bread before heading to the library.
Around noon, Chen Qing messaged her: [Do you have plans this weekend? Don’t tell me you’ll be holed up in the library again (disdain)]
[What’s up?]
[Come out and play! My boyfriend’s driving—we’re going to the old town in the neighboring city.]
[Being a third wheel is asking for lightning to strike.]
[My boyfriend’s just the driver, don’t mind him.]
[Not going, not going.]
[Fine then. I won’t be back for your birthday. I’ll order you a small cake. Oh, how’s that art album? (dog head with flower)]
The album… Su Xianjin twirled her pen, recalling that pale, jade-like face.
[Not bad.]
[(Hahaha) I knew it.]
Closing WeChat, Su Xianjin found herself unable to focus on studying. She checked the time, packed her books, and headed to the cafeteria. Her distraction nearly caused her to bump into someone at the doorway. She picked up the phone she had knocked from his hand and quickly apologized: “Sorry! Please check if it’s damaged—I’ll pay for repairs if needed.”
“No need.” The boy wore a baseball cap, spoke only two words in a low voice, and took back his phone before walking off.
“Hey—should I at least give you my WeChat…” Su Xianjin stared, dumbfounded, as he left without looking back.
Forget it. He was probably just rushing to grab a seat before the lunch crowd. Still, why did she feel a strange sense of familiarity just now?