Classified

(Yongning fourth year, End month, the twenty-fourth)

Query: Convict Wang, slept well lately?

Reply: Fair enough.

Query: It’s another New Year’s Eve, and, counting the dates, your wife and daughter’s death anniversary is near.

Reply: Appreciate the concern.

Query: It’s been two years since you slain your wife and daughter. Do you remain silent about your motive?

Reply: …

Query: Well, for this occasion, I merely inquire on behalf of routine. Since you are available, Master Wang, why don’t you entertain this old man with some personal chitchat?

Reply: You amuse me, Master Gu.

Query: Yongle eighth year, the Seventh month, the fourth. Does Master Wang recall this date?

Reply: I do not.

Query: Oh?

Reply: I’ve been eating prison food for some time — not quite well in my head.

Query: Augh… this old man had hoped, but could never forget. That was the year of the Hundred Flower Banquet which my pitiful son gained His Majesty’s recognition and received the title of Tanhua¹ in the imperial examinations.

Reply: …

Query: My pitiful son has always been competitive, yet he was well convinced in this defeat because that second-place recipient really is a somebody. This individual, only sixteen, stood in front of the banquet with a simple smile, and all hundred officers beneath the Prime Minister knelt and bowed to him. We have had tens of thousands of scholars since the founding of our dynasty, but there was never a sight such as this.

Reply: …

Query: This promising young lad, surname Shen, first name Ziwan, courtesy name Lianbi, native of Chang’an, inherited the family Marquessate at fourteen, and received the title Marquess of Idyll². Also known as Mister Shen Qi³, who was renowned across the capital for his graceful countenance and liberal temperament.

Gifted since youth, they selected him to join the crown prince’s study. And within three days of entering the palace, the crown prince was so impressed with him that he dismissed all other accompaniments. Even the grand tutor commended that: “Never have I encountered a gift such as Mister Shen.”

To be the classmate of the son of heaven is a dream one could only imagine, but he does not mind it being significant at all. As the banquet began, his peer fellow His Highness rejoiced, raved, cheered on all around, and seemed even happier than he was. Fortunately, this old man’s credit still managed to support his pathetic son, who at least received some calls and greetings. Pity that champion scholar, despite winning first place at the age of weak crown⁴, was deserted of attention, and all the limelight of the gold embossed title was stolen clean…

Reply: …

Query: Yet who would’ve thought this most unfortunate champion scholar would be blessed in romance? In the First month of the following year, he married the prime beauty of the capital, the Pearl of House Shen—Lady Xuan. Although the lady was raised behind scarlet walls and one could not glimpse her face, considering her brother’s bearings, one could very well imagine the sister’s fine countenance. Then at once, the name of the new Groom took flight in renown, and not one of the Capital’s bachelors was not bitter with jealousy.

To be frank, this old man had also considered this match for many years and tried to make this marriage for my poor son. Being cut in line like such does not make it easy on the heart. To think this powerless lad from no house, how did he gain the attention of House Shen, and be granted with the marriage of their precious daughter? It baffled this old man to a hundred speculations, until I finally enquired over drinks one day, and Shen Qi only smiled. “I too am full of admiration. It’s not House Wang’s fortune, but A’xuan’s blessing.” I wonder, when he received the fatal news of his precious sister, and the murderer being his much-approved brother-in-law, did he have any regrets?

Reply: He was clearly blind. It can’t be helped.

Query: What clear blindness! Master Wang certainly has no love of brother-in-law-hood. Let me ask you, was that the first acquaintance between you and Shen Qi at the Hundred Flower Banquet?

Reply: Yes.

Query: You two have no previous interactions, no official dealings, and only met briefly. How did you impress him on the first encounter?

Reply: Nothing much. I merely told him the most ridiculous joke under the sun.

Query: Oh?

Reply: This joke comprises only eight words — “Annihilate chaos with might, prosper governance with culture.”

Query: … To think Master Wang endeavors such grand aspirations, please excuse my impertinence. However, to this old man’s knowledge, Master Shen studied under the Taoist Grandmaster, Zhou Hongpu, who practices the school of Peripatetics⁵ of unfettered idleness, which departs ten thousand li from your proposition.

Reply: What aspiration, merely fleeting madness.

Query: No need to speak less of yourself. I understand Master Wang is well accomplished in both literacy and warfare. Even though this old man works under the Court of Judicature and Revisions, I have heard as much. Han Sizong, the former Minister of War, regarded you most highly. That old man sung abundant praises of your talents of strategies on the horse and manner of speech on the ground. He nominated you to be the Governor General of Infantry, cursed violently when they rejected his proposal, and banged the door of the Ministry of Rites three and five times, demanding for his man.

And in Yongning second year, Seventh month, when Han Sizong went on a diplomatic mission to the Great Northern tribe Chienye, he insisted on bringing you on. But who would’ve thought the moment you returned to our country, you murdered your wife and daughter… Is there any connection between these two matters?

Reply: …

Query: Master Wang, to speak privately, the six Northern tribes are dominating, and our dynasty has no power to mitigate the threat — “The Zhou House sways within troubled times,” for there is nothing we can do about it. Besides, we have signed many treaties in the recent years, the flames of war have quelled, and they only requested annual tributes of some silk and silver. And even if the barbarians have southbound ambitions, we have so many men we can overfill the entire Huai River. What is there to fear?

Reply: Someone else also said the same words.

Query: Who?

Reply: My four-year-old daughter.

Query: …

Reply: Master Gu, you do not need to investigate any further. My actions have nothing to do with Shen Ziwan or Han Sizong. These years, everyone believed me to be a cold-blooded lunatic, and I could only think of myself as such. Haha, if I could truly be mad, that would be infinitely better than suffering this relentless lucid torment. My wife and daughter are my most treasured individuals in the world. I killed them not because of spite, but because of… the sincerest love from the marrow of my bones.

Classified ·Destroy

(Verbal account from the previous Minister of Rites, Wang Zhang)

That day before sunrise, I was awakened from my borrowed boat, hastily thrown on gowns, and urged along the entire way until I arrived in front of the forbidden palace. I, a scholar of humble stock, had never entered the palace, knew none of the manners, but I wasn’t afraid at all. For I knew the number one test paper from back-to-front, of which I had embedded all into my heart, and no matter how the examiner would question me, I could answer accordingly.

The palace exam began. In the front I stood, and the most esteemed individual in the world was less than twenty feet from me. I couldn’t even breathe; I only held my hands in reverent salute and waited for him to question me.

His majesty was cordial. He first granted words of encouragement, spoke of the common’s livelihood, and then finally came to the exam subject. He challenged Kong Shengqing and Ma Yuanhui on Great Learning and Spring and Autumn Annals, inquired Shen Ziwan on “To rule all as one”, and mostly he asked about Gu Tingyu’s “Benevolence, righteousness and love, and to govern akin the morning dew.”

Until I heard the Superintendent Examiner singing:

“The Premier Scholar, Zhuangyuan, of the year — Wang Zhang — Accept the honor —”

It was as if awakening from a groggy dream. I, the Champion Scholar! The Zhuangyuan who did not speak a single word during the entire palace exam.

I nearly laughed out loud, only if my weary throat could crack a sound. Leaving the grand palace, exhausted with vertigo, I could move not another step. And as the Hundred Flower Banquet began, I drowned myself with the hardest liquor I could find. People talked around me, saying how the Marquess Idyll and Gu Tingyu are such distinguished talents; only the state is maintaining discretion to avoid suspicion of favoritism, hence they picked me to be the Champion Scholar. I sat with my back to the crowd, pouring and drinking by myself, and rather wished to be dead of intoxication on that very feast. It would have been more pleasant than hearing all that banter.

However, someone raised a mossy green lotus leaf teacup and clinked the edge of my cup, and spoke in a drawn-on voice:

“With thou I shall dismiss the ancient woe —”

I focused my gaze, who is it but the unfettered, carefree Mister Shen. I let myself laugh. If all the heads under heaven turned gray from their troubles, it wouldn’t be him! He regarded me with great interest, and I politely downed my drink with all due respect. Then he asked me some lines from the Tactics of Jiwu, and I answered perfunctorily. After a long sip of his tea, he suddenly inquired：

“Brother Changhui⁶, what is your pursuit?”

He asked this question with great earnestness, and in a fit of madness, I responded with those eight words. He listened, contemplated me for a moment, put down the teacup, and pronounced in a low but decided voice:

“I shall give Brother Changhui a hand.”

What happened afterward was like a dream. I married Miss Shen Zixuan, the premier socialite of the capital, and the dowry she brought filled an entire avenue. Hundreds of calling cards from every state department flutter in like snow petals, and people began to direct me with looks of ingratiation. However, none of the above could compare with Miss Shen herself — she was the most beautiful and intelligent lady in the world — for she was the walking moonshine. We talked about everything; we were devoted in love, and promised each other to be together for this life and all that beyond. The year after, she gave birth to our daughter, who had her features, and I was overjoyed above all. On our daughter’s full moon festivities, I invited an extended banquet of guests. The Marquess of Idyll also sent gifts. It was a horse and a fox pelt, and the congratulatory card read:

“Sincere wishes with this five-colored mare, and this thousand-gold fur, forget not thy wish. ⁷”

“My heart’s desire always,” I replied with a laugh.

And at that time, I became acquainted with Han Sizong. We met and ripened to great friends at once. We discussed martial tactics over countless long nights; dreading the tigers and wolves occupying the North and our powerless military, we both became sleepless with anxiety and dread. It’s ridiculous, these two pathetic native Southerners; none of who had seen any actual combat with actual swords and spears. How did we conjure up all this intense fervor!?

At the beginning of winter in the Tenth year of Yongle, an exiled shaman sought an audience with old Han.

“Do the two magistrates know about the Chienye Ghost Army?” he said mysteriously.

We looked at each other, aghast. Chienye is the strongest Northern tribe; they are the most fearless and merciless alpha wolf of the steppes. And the Ghost Army is the most sinister and bloodthirsty cavalries of Chienye. Everyone under their leader, Yujien Tianhung, covers their face with a bronze mask. They appear and disappear like apparitions, and slaughter like demons. Hundreds of sieges went down with  ropes of heads on their soldier’s belts. Every flicker of flame on the frontier and every treaty of towns and land involved their phantom figures! The Empire fears them so much that they won’t even mention their name. The shaman saw through our reveries and came forward.

“I have someone that can help my lords raise a million strong soldiers,” he professed in a low tone.

The Shaman explained the ghost army’s method of selection. In the height of summer, during the Seventh month of the year, they would cast thousands of prisoners of war, slaves, poor nomads, and hundreds of hungry wolves into a deep crater for sixty days, and those who survived to the end could become a ghost soldier. Due to the atrocious nature of the pit, the survivors often lacked facial features, or became weirdly disfigured about their bodies; and the custom of masks for the ghost army was likely due to such a reason.

In the Tenth month of that year, he rescued a young man by the water. The youth told the Shaman he came from the pit, which The shaman did not believe him at first, but that youth was indeed odd. He had abnormally long nails, moved like a phantom, and could slice through any meat regardless of the thickness. And one morning, as the Shaman lifted the flap of the yurt, he nearly fainted upon seeing the youth soundly asleep with a huge wolf in his arms.

The Shaman was terrified to death, turned to run, but found himself unable to move an step. Fortunately, the youth woke and gestured at him not to be afraid. It turned out the youth was abandoned since birth, and a pup-less mother wolf took him back and raised him in her den. He grew up playing and hunting with the other wolf pups, and never felt that he was any different. When he was about ten, the tribe found him, took him back, and taught him speech, bath, and consuming cooked meat, and so it was for five or six years. Then one night, the wolf pack came howling around the camp, fearless of fire, arrowheads, and crossbows. They just wanted to take him away. The attachment of the wolf pack moved him. Although he no longer walked on all fours nor ate raw flesh, he forlornly left the tribe and went wandering with the wolves. Later, Chienye captured him and flung him into the crater, in which the wolves noted his scent, for they not only did not devour him, but shared the dead and spoils with him. And when others attacked him, the wolf pack defended on his behalf. In the end, he was the only one that survived. As the ladder of the pit dropped, he ran away with the wolves.

The youth’s walk and run were bizarre, yet exceptionally agile. The shaman discreetly imitated his movements, and really gained acuity in his hearing and eyesight and lightness on his feet. He reckoned in his jubilations: if I send the boy into the military and have soldiers imitate his exercises, would it not make troops ten times more terrifying than the Ghost army?

We listened with suspicion and had the Shaman call in the boy, and with a single look we knew he wasn’t wrong. A youth with a slightly hunched back came riding on a male wolf. His gaze was unfocused, as if not understanding his whereabouts. When I saw him, I instinctively backed two steps. Old Han was more composed than I, but he also shifted his hand over the saber hilt. The youth carried on him the killing intent of a wild beast, and in comparison our soldiers stood listless like dogs.

At that time, our hearts churned with ardor and wouldn’t let go of any flicker of hope. Old Han forthwith selected three thousand infantry units to practice with him. The youth was called Ahle. He was not fluent in speech and behaved rather indifferent towards us, and responded only when the Shaman beckoned him. The shaman made him run, climb, slither, and ordered the three thousand soldiers to follow him, and those that could catch up could partake in close combat with him. During the first half year, none could catch up. And for another half a year, only one or two out of ten could run beside him, but none could match up in combat. Even until the third year, there wasn’t anyone who could spar over ten strikes with him.

However, it all seemed different in my eyes. Those three thousand soldiers who started out with lackluster eyes and loose manners had become as light as swallows and as swift as lighting. They used to resent carrying buckets, now they can lift braziers with ease. They used to faint under the sun, and now they can haul twenty kilos of impediments across a hundred li under the torrid rays. Even if they’ve never been on a horse, nor do they know archery, I was certain that if they started now, they would be better than any rider or bowmen in the corps; Their gaze had turned wolf-like; ferocious, and savage.

In Yongning second year, Fourth month, the Bi’ro tribe invaded Yidong⁸. The three thousand soldiers joined the Cangzhou guards, defending against the assault. Me and Old Han couldn’t contain our excitement and observed the battle from high above. Under Ahle’s lead, the three thousand soldiers in red charged into the Bi’ro army, like water breaking bamboo, brilliant and unstoppable, and invincible as a sharp sword, slicing anew the willow branches of spring.

I watched on top of the battlements and felt my tears running down my face. Never before this moment, in my entire life, have I ever wholeheartedly believed in our ultimate victory; for we shall defeat the northern barbarians and rekindle the glory of our great empire. In Old Han’s eyes, I saw the same ecstasy and tears of joy.

Soon, Old Han conducted the envoy to Chienye on official orders to deliver tribute in the Sixth month. Riding on the coattails of victory, we secretly deliberated a stratagem to intimidate the savages; to show them that the Southern Empire also had plenty of able and valiant warriors. Old Han called forth the Shaman, Ahle brought along his wolf, and we selected a hundred and eighty of the bravest warriors to accompany us northward.

In the Chienye palatial ger, in front of the sheep dung-reeking grassland nobilities, Ahle led our proud soldiers to perform a sword dance of the “Song of Guanhe⁹”. The soldiers could not carry weapons, so they used bamboo sticks as replacements. Nonetheless, the wind shear from the bamboo sticks could be felt on the skin, and the wine-serving slave girls shrunk away from the forces. At the finale, all hundred and eighty soldiers held their hands above their heads, snapping the bamboo sticks in unison, and the wolf howled in accord.

“Warriors! Grant them wine!” praised King Andai.

My heart thundered. In the corner of my eye, I saw Old Han bunglingly raise a bowl of liquor, his hand trembling uncontrollably; it was the trembling of suppressed euphoria.

King Andai poured a bowl of wine with his own hands and ordered it be sent to Ahle. He looked around the room. “Who can challenge this wolfen warrior?” he bellowed.

The Chienye Crown Prince Allonby drew out his saber and stood up. “Your loyal son wishes to battle!” he grunted.

The prince was young. The scarlet cape on his back carried the embroidery of a golden sun, the symbol of the Chienye royalty. From the terror-stricken accounts from the frontier soldiers and the obsequious testimonials of the state officials, we already saw this symbol hundreds and thousands of times.

If we could put down this sun, we would have no regrets even in death. Old Han passed me a glance, a smile glinted in his eyes.

Just then, a sneer started from the left prime seat of honor.

“Chiu Lyn!” The prince glared. “What are you snickering about?”

That was the only son of Prince Chiu Sharraugh, a youth no older than sixteen or seventeen. His long gown was composed of all sorts of pelts and seamed at the hem with gold threads, bearing an embroidered red cloud. He wore a dozen pearls and gem-studded gold bracelets on his wrists, displaying a look of ostentatious opulence.

The prince’s ire did not frighten him at all. He nonchalantly swung his legs and said, “Hasn’t my royal prince brother heard of this person? He is the wolf child exiled by his tribesmen; his status is inferior to the ants on the ground. How can my Royal Prince brother’s golden saber be drawn for this sort of person?”

The prince humphed. “Then what do you say?” he asked.

Chiu Lyn explained leisurely:

“Three years ago, General Yujien crossed the frozen Lii Waters and landed on the Syr tribe’s tiny territory. He cut off the Syr King’s head, and brought back innumerable glamorous gems, countless silvers, and three hundred slaves—people who lived on the frozen red sands, who have no bother for frost nor heat, and whose running pace rivals the wind and bodies lighter than panthers. And as soon as the news of his return spread around, the people who went for inquiries trampled flat the mountain gates at the City of Ghosts. I arrived too late and only claimed the youngest one. But he is still very good.”

Raising his toe as he spoke, he kicked the slave kneeling by his feet. It was a white clad youth who was there serving as his footstool.

“Chiu Fongning, show master what you can do!”

The white clad youth nodded in obeyance. His black hair washed over his shoulders like falling water, which he wore with a gold ring on his head. As he slowly stood up, the soft clothes on his body fell to the floor. The sheer muslin covering his arms held many folds to his wrists and had its ends braced to golden rings on his middle fingers.

He made two steps towards the center of the great ger, the bells on his feet chiming dingling, dingling… Ahle’s wolf let its tail droop on the ground, its ghostly green eyes focused on him and its throat released a low growl, but his face showed no sign of fear.

Ahle stared at him for a moment, “You, what, weapon, use?” he asked abruptly.

“No need!” said the white clad youth, smiling gently.

This youth was very young, no more than thirteen or fourteen. That smile made him especially innocent and adorable.

Now that I think of it, that is the most harrowing smile in the world! It’s been three years, and this smile still haunts my nightmares.

In a split flash, he had dunked a punch on Ahle’s chest, and a clear sound of bone fracturing rang across the air. Ahle arched his body and bowed down in pain. He raised his shaggy head in shock, with terror flowing out of his eyes.

I have never seen Ahle with this expression. During the drills of the past three years, no one had ever touched his clothes, and his eyes always behaved like wolves, cold, and elusive.

But he couldn’t escape the punch from the white clad youth. He pressed desperately on his chest and floundered to get up.

That youth dropped his hand, and the side of his lips curved up, showing again that mischievous smile.

When Ahle fully stood up, his opponent backed up two steps, and then abruptly returned a crescent kick, firmly landing on Ahle’s skull.

That kick sent Ahle tumbling backward, leaving a trail of blood on the snow-white carpet. He struggled to raise his face. It was awfully deformed, and the bridge of his nose had contorted terribly. This time the white clad youth didn’t give him a moment to breathe and immediately followed with another direct kick to his face, and Ahle raised his arms in defense — a “crackle” clacked — the arm bones also snapped.

The Ahle worshiped as a god by our soldiers was being kicked and boxed like a defenseless child. The brutality of the scene was unbearable. Even when I closed my eyes, the sound of tearing flesh still transpired untiringly into my ears.

It wasn’t a spar; it was a one-sided massacre.

The palatial ger was so quiet, there was not a single sound. The white clad youth’s naked foot mounted on Ahle’s chest, looking down at Ahle’s throat from above, his right hand raised slowly into a knifing gesture.

Ahle’s eyes could no longer see clearly, his back hunched, and he was looking around in a daze. I was standing in an amaranthine nightmare, unable to make any sound.

In that moment, Ahle’s wolf leaped in from the side and launched at that youth to protect its master. The wolf’s fangs, dragging along loose meat and blood crumbs, went straight toward his throat.

That youth’s frame was much smaller than the wolf, but he stood firmly in the raging current and looked as if he was embracing it. We couldn’t see his movements, we only saw the wolf shaking uncontrollably. Its fangs fingers away from him, but it didn’t bite down. A long drool streamed down its mouth and wetted his white muslin.

Suddenly, the wolf howled miserably, sounding in extreme pain. Then the youth pushed slightly, and the wolf dropped like a broken sack; there was a bloody hole in its chest, and it had dyed the fur on its belly scarlet. The youth held out a bloody mess in his hand; it looked as if it was still gently thumping.

— He had carved out the wolf’s heart.

He raised the wolf’s heart towards Ahle. Wind breezed in from outside, the sanguine blood flooded out of the cracks of his fingers, bit by bit, dripping, on his elbow, his trousers, his legs, and the bells on his feet gently ringing dingling, dingling….

Ahle’s whole body shuddered relentlessly until a loud thud — he knelt in front of him.

Applause exploded around the palatial ger. King Andai took off a pair of gemstone rings from his own hands and personally awarded the youth. He knelt in gratitude, and slowly crawled back to the young prince Chiu Lyn’s side, returning to his innocent composure. Chiu Lyn patted his head and jauntily received other’s praises.

But all of this isn’t important. Although life is still long, none of it mattered.

Master Gu, have you heard the story of the breaking of coral?

That day, my most precious coral tree broke. From the inside out, thoroughly and completely shattered.

Entire fortune sunken, an absolute catastrophe.

~

After the tribute count, I went to get some air on the hill outside. My three-year-old daughter in a pretty dress was playing in the flower fields by the water. Her curly twin tails, tied together with a pair of pink ribbons, jounced and bounced in tandem with her hops. Seeing this, I only felt an indescribable pain in my chest.

Until I vaguely heard a call of order booming from afar: “General Yujien returns—”

I raised my head and beheld, from the vast expanse of misty whiteness, tens of thousands of armored soldiers approaching in an ordered march. They wore black masks on their faces, and attired teal armor on their bodies. Even the horses they rode bore black coats. The entire formation proceeded silently, resembling an inky river flowing mutely across the verdant plains.

If it was a few days ago, I might have been wholly stunned with dejection by this sight. We never estimated the Ghost Army to have this many in number. In past battles that they took part in, no more than two thousand ever acted together.

However, now I only felt an incomparable weariness and just wanted to find a quiet place to drop into a deep sleep, so I simply let myself go and closed my eyes.

I woke up from an ominous scent. Searching around, I instantly found the source of ominousness.

It was a man clad fully in black, extremely tall, with his face donning a frightfully demonic mask, and a lance standing by his side. The entire length of the lance was in the shade of obsidian with a crimson sheen, and only the top portion was braced with a ring of ebony jade. The blade, as scarlet as blood, had a viscose red luminance flowing chaotically along the body, like a fire dragon’s exhale.

I knew this lance.

“Flowing fire,” measuring one zhang three chi and three cun¹⁰, weighting a hundred-forty-two jin¹¹, was cast whole from a meteorite from beyond the heavens, and blazing hot across its entirety, like a breath of flame. Its owner is the Chienye Warrior General — Yujien Tianhung.

The monster who eliminated an incalculable number of lives was standing quietly by my daughter’s side. She hadn’t yet reached the height of his knee, and appeared even weaker and more pitiful in comparison. She was hopping about, picking flowers and butterflies. By now, she stopped as well.

My throat was dry, my nose was bitter, and screams piled in my mind: “Run, run!” But how could I call out?

Then Yujien Tianhung opened his mouth: “What are you doing here?”

He spoke the Southern tongue. My daughter understood it and pointed up her chubby fingers.

“Butterfly, the butterfly is flying away!” she said in her baby voice.

I looked in a daze and saw, above the deep red blooms by the waters, a couple of enormous dark gold butterflies dancing in a circle. One of them, the size of a palm, had a silvery blue string dragging on its tail, and it was flying merrily about.

Yujien Tianhung watched apathetically, then slowly pulled out the lance by his side. My daughter looked curiously at the flaming luminance emanating from the lance, not knowing what he was about to do.

Without warning, his hand shifted forward by a slight, and a sizzling noise rose from the tip of the lance — it punctured through the largest and most beautiful butterfly.

He returned the lance, took off the carcass of the butterfly, and placed it in my daughter’s hand.

“It can’t fly away,” he said flatly.

An entirely ebony warhorse dashed in and halted by his side. He mounted the horse with the lance, and like a shadow of hell, disappeared into the white mist.

The dark gold butterfly, already burned to a crisp, laid deathly in my daughter’s petite palm like a trodden, fallen leaf.

And so it was, we returned to our homeland. Old Han fell ill en route. Despite sitting in adjacent carriages, we did not speak a word.

After I came home, I could not fall asleep for night after night, and soon turned into neither human nor ghost. Zixuan worriedly enquired after me and I told her all those maddening things: the thumping wolf heart, the butterfly on the lance, and the bells chiming dingling, dingling…

She cried, and I cried as well. No one understood my ardor more than she did, and no one knew my despair more than her.

“If I died, what about my dears?” I asked her.

She held my hand and said: “I shall follow thee even to the depth of the lower spring, never depart from the promise for this life and beyond.”

“Our daughter?” I asked.

She smiled, like a cotton rose with morning dew.

“Can an egg survive a broken nest? Why should flesh and blood part?”

And I requested for the sharpest dagger and pierced through her soft bosom. My daughter was in a dream. She did not feel any pain either. I placed her in her mother’s embrace, sang her a small tune… and just as I was thrusting the dagger into my heart, hurried steps rose from outside the door.

Condemn me! Use the cruelest sentence to kill me in a hundred a thousand ways! I have nothing to fear. Because my heart had long died, it died in that inescapable, unforgettable, indelible ancient woe.

~

(Yongning fifth year, First month, the sixth)

A hand took the dossier out of his sight.

“Qiong Sir?” Shen Ziwan raised his eyes in surprise.

The young man in a dark red court dress took the dossier and folded it into a leather bag, bowing. “My Lord Father had ordered this file to be destroyed. Thy humble subordinate keeping it on his own accord is already out of the line.”

Shen Ziwan laughed. “We know Qiong Sir across the Capital for being strict in law and order, and never one for personal favoritism, but he broke the rules for me today.”

“This case is closely associated with my lord Marquess; it must be treated differently,” Gu Tingyu said in his bow.

Shen Ziwan signed. “This is hard for you.” After a pause, he frowned and smiled. “What’s with this quaint tone? It used to be Shen Qi this and that, now all this polite manner is making one feel unfamiliar.”

Gu Tingyu held his ceremony. “Thy humble servant is not trying to be difficult, only fearing that my indiscretion will induce the ire of another.” Passing a glance towards Yangxin Palace¹² as he spoke, the corners of his mouth lifted to a hint of tease.

Shen Ziwan knew who he meant and laughed dryly. “As long as you are fine with it, I wish to show His Highness this dossier as well. He always said I had been mistaken … for ruining A’xuan’s life,” he said.

Gu Tingyu watched him. “A’qi, your persistence in Wang Zhang, is it because of Ying…” he enquired abruptly.

“No.” Shen Ziwan stopped him.

Gu Tingyu remained silent and stared at his sealed lips. Wings flapped outside the drapes; a red-beaked parrot was alighting in its golden cage.

A sense of remoteness appeared in Shen Ziwan’s eyes.

“It is the mistake of my life. Do not bring it up again,” he said quietly.

“Yes, yet I cannot understand. Although Wang Zhang had talent, he was not the one for annihilating chaos with might, nor governing masses with culture,” said Gu Tingyu.

After a long silence, Shen Ziwan signed.

“His capabilities were superb, but as one makes through life, he fell on that intractable stubbornness. I knew the avidity in his heart but did not perceive the pitfall of his unbending character. As A’xuan laid dying, I do not know whether it was more of happiness in her heart, or pain and struggle.”

Gu Tingyu thought for a moment. “Before Wang Zhang’s execution, there were some words I believe were for you,” he finally uttered.

Shen Ziwan did not raise his head. “What was it?” he asked.

“… I wish to be the autumn grass that shares death, and not be a rootless flower in aimless flight.”

Shen Ziwan slowly read through these words, his fingers gently tapping on the snow-white rice paper on the desk, not saying a word, and fell into thought.

Gu Tingyu stood in the hall for long, finally bowing and announcing: “My lord Marquess, thy humble servant shall take his leave.”

---

---