Chapter Ninety: The Wind at the Tavern of the Mortal World Cut Like a Blade

The Emperor’s long-awaited Mid-Autumn feast ended in such spectacular fashion.

The court officials and imperial consorts were terrified out of their wits, but the Lady of Xindu, who stood beside Noble Consort Nanguo, remained calm and unmoved.

The Crouching Crane Guard captured the assassins and handed them over to the Imperial Guards for custody.

Fu Lanzhen, wounded and bleeding, made his way to the steps before the viewing platform. Prince Chu, Fu Xun, had already struggled free from Noble Consort De’s embrace and run to Fu Lanzhen’s side; even the Empress came hurrying over.

Only when he saw Fu Xun did the pallor on Fu Lanzhen’s face finally regain the faintest trace of color.

He pressed his right hand over the wound to slow the bleeding, raised his left hand with effort, and stroked Fu Xun’s cheek, wiping away the tears on his face. His smile was uglier than crying itself. “Don’t cry, Little Eight. Fifth Brother doesn’t hurt.”

Poor Fu Xun had been so frightened that how could he not cry? Seeing that Fu Lanzhen had survived the danger and escaped disaster, he only cried even harder.

By then, the Emperor had arrived, surrounded by guards, and several imperial physicians came tumbling along in haste as well. Everyone hurried to catch Fu Lanzhen before his body could collapse.

The physicians immediately gave emergency treatment, binding the wound with gauze to stop the bleeding, then ordered palace attendants to carry him away on a stretcher for further care.

After the chaos had been quelled and every assassin put to death, the Azure Phoenix Hall was scrubbed clean. The bloodstains that had marred the night were gone without a trace.

That night, the Empress was especially shaken. She could not help recalling that more than twenty years ago, at another Mid-Autumn banquet like this one, the father of the Prince of Huai’an had led troops to force the palace gates, and brothers had turned their blades against one another within the inner chambers.

So many years had passed. Had that sinister wind still not blown itself away?

When Fu Lanzhen was recuperating in the Eastern Palace, the Emperor’s carriage remained waiting outside the walls of the Eastern Palace, yet he did not go in. The autumn wind blew for half an hour, chilling the Emperor’s temples, before he finally began to understand.

That day in the Azure Phoenix Hall, when Fu Lanzhen saw the assassins appear, what had he been thinking? Had he been seeking death?

He was the legitimate son, the crown prince. He possessed a future greater than any other’s, and in the near years ahead, he would hold all under heaven in his grasp and rule over the world.

All that others rushed toward with such eagerness, he had treated with such indifference.

What did the Emperor feel when he realized this?

He thought of Fu Lanzhen as a newborn, his wrinkled little face only capable of crying; of Fu Lanzhen learning to speak, of Fu Lanzhen taking his first unsteady steps. Whenever the small child saw his father and mother, he would always hurry forward impatiently, stumbling as he ran toward them; if he fell, he would simply crawl up again. Whenever the Empress could not bear it and wanted to pick him up, the Emperor would stop her, smiling as he said, “My son is a wild horse that will gallop a thousand li, a true dragon destined to soar through the highest heavens. He must not be spoiled.”

Yet as Fu Lanzhen grew little by little, the distance between father and son only widened. The Emperor had always blamed it on Fu Lanzhen’s estrangement from him because of the Pei family.

Now, looking back carefully, it seemed the reason was not so simple. But what could he do?

He was the Emperor. He was the father. How could he bow his head to his own ministers, to his own son?

The autumn wind meddles in all things, reddening maple leaves and whitening men’s heads.

What should have been a splendid Mid-Autumn palace banquet had instead produced a band of assassins, and the crown prince had been wounded. Before the Emperor could even speak, Wen Litingshen, the chief commander of the Dragon Guard Bureau, stepped forward on his own to offer his services and shoulder the burden for His Majesty.

The common people could not help but sigh that this year’s autumn winds had brought turmoil, and that the imperial capital of Guangling was anything but peaceful.

Early that morning, the splendid residence of the Lady of Xindu was surrounded on all sides by layers of Dragon Guard Bureau sentries.

The Lady of Xindu, Fu Yujin, was the only daughter of the Prince of Xin and the Emperor’s own niece. The Prince of Xin had died young, and out of pity for his orphaned niece, the Emperor allowed the Lady of Xindu to inherit her father’s fief and manor, with an appanage of one hundred thousand households and a rank equivalent to a first-rank county prince.

A person whom even princes and imperial grandsons would not dare offend had today found her home encircled by the Dragon Guard Bureau. It was practically the scene of a discovered treason!

“Your Majesty, the Lady of Xindu has confessed to arranging the assassins for the Mid-Autumn palace banquet in order to strike at Your Majesty and the Crown Prince,” Wen Litingshen reported. Even he had not expected the case to proceed so smoothly.

When he led his men into the lady’s residence, she had already tidied herself completely, as though waiting for the Emperor to send for her.

The Emperor remained silent, making only a faint sound through his nose. For he truly did not know what to do with these descendants of the Fu clan.

Back then, it had been his own brothers who rebelled against him, and he had even preserved their dignity by declaring that one after another they had either died of illness or died suddenly.

And now, it was the daughter of his elder brother who had sent men to assassinate his crown prince.

Could it be that once born into the imperial house, there was truly no trace of family affection left at all? Had he not been lenient enough with them? Had he not forgiven enough?

“Your Majesty, the Lady of Xindu has already been taken into custody by the Directorate of Imperial Clans. As for how she is to be judged, I ask Your Majesty to decide!” Wen Litingshen repeated. If the Emperor did not speak, his men could not withdraw. The Dragon Guard Bureau was the highest-level imperial guard of the royal house; for them to appear openly without the Emperor’s personal order was a matter of no small significance.

At last, after a long silence, the Emperor said, “Tell your men to withdraw for now. Leave the Lady of Xindu’s residence under the care of the Crouching Crane Guard. As for the lady... detain her first. Once the Crown Prince has recovered, then... let him decide.” It was time for the Crown Prince to begin learning how to face these matters of the family as well.

If Fu Lanzhen, lying unconscious in the Eastern Palace, had been able to speak, he would likely have cursed without regard for the pain: Truly, I am honored by Father Emperor’s esteem. This subject thanks Your Majesty for such boundless grace!

Such a fine arrangement, and indeed it should be left to the Crown Prince!

Wen Litingshen had always been cold-faced but warm-hearted. Though his expression remained cool as ever, inwardly he had already cursed on the Crown Prince’s behalf countless times.

Although Fu Lanzhen had managed to keep his life, the pain from the wound continued to tear at him day and night. Though the Eastern Palace no longer had a crown princess, it still had two consorts attending to his daily needs and care.

The passage of time grew indistinct. Beyond the vast, cold window lattice, the sun rose and the moon set; in the shifting light and dimness, day and night changed who knew how many times. The great hall was quiet as death, as though forgotten by time, standing silently apart from the world.

His vision had remained blurred for a long time. In the darkness, it felt as if even he himself had vanished, his hands and feet gone numb, his whole body drifting light and weightless in a warm, damp world, floating in a dazed stupor.

Fu Lanzhen lay ill in the Eastern Palace for a month because of his injuries, but unexpectedly, not a single matter of state had been delayed. Every other day a new stack of memorials was sent into the Eastern Palace; he merely kept his doors closed and received no outside visitors.

Inside the palace, Noble Consort Nanguo somehow took ill suddenly after the Mid-Autumn banquet and refused to see anyone who came to visit.

It was also said that the Emperor had criticized the Princes of Qi and Wei and docked them half a year’s stipend.

Thus rumors soon began to spread through Guangling City: the attempted assassination of the Crown Prince appeared to have been the work of the Lady of Xindu on the surface, but in secret it could hardly be separated from the Nanguo clan.

When Shen Yu told these things to Fu Lanzhen, Fu Lanzhen only listened quietly, nodding occasionally.

“Your imperial aunt the Empress said that this time it may really have had nothing to do with the Nanguo family. The Prince of Ningdu has been ill all this time, and yesterday the Grand Princess Roujia also entered the palace. Still, over the past half year, the Noble Consort has indeed grown somewhat closer to the Lady of Xindu.”

“What did Uncle say?” Fu Lanzhen asked.

“Uncle is still investigating. Yesterday I happened to see Wen Litingshen leave the capital, so I looked into it specially. He took a detour through Bo Prefecture and went to the Southern Frontier.”

Fu Lanzhen’s eyes gradually turned cold. The Southern Frontier?

After a long pause, Fu Lanzhen said to Shen Yu, “A Yu, next month, come with me to Lanzhou.”

Though he did not know why Fu Lanzhen wanted to leave Guangling at such a critical juncture, he knew the Crown Princess came from Lanzhou. As long as it could help untie the knot in Fu Lanzhen’s heart, Shen Yu was willing to go wherever his crown prince brother wished.

The Emperor and Empress thought the same, and so Fu Lanzhen’s departure from the capital went very smoothly. The Emperor even gave him a generous pretext: pirate activity was rampant along the Jiangdong coast, and he was to go supervise the local commanders in suppressing them or bringing them over.

Jiangdong in autumn was damp and rainy, its climate heavy with mist. There was the joy of abundant harvests, and also the indifference of a sky nearing dusk.

Fu Lanzhen unexpectedly encountered Nanguo Mingchen in Lanzhou. With the Nanguo family now in such disarray, he had still managed to break away and make a trip to Lanzhou.

That night, once everyone had gone to rest, Nanguo Mingchen came to find him with two jars of strong liquor. The burning spirits scorched the inside of Fu Lanzhen’s chest like a roaring fire, yet he did not make a single sound of pain.

Nanguo Mingchen tipped back his head and drank a large mouthful in one go, swallowing it roughly before looking at Fu Lanzhen with a faint expression. “Your Highness’s tolerance for drink has improved since the days in Liaodong. In the past, one jar of Qingzhi wine would leave you drunk; now even a jar of this fierce spirit can be endured.”

Fu Lanzhen remembered those days when they had taken cities in Liaodong. Nanguo Mingchen had seen much of the world, and they had been... quite congenial in their conversations. Nanguo Mingchen had taken him to the cellar to drink. The first wine he had ever tasted was Qingzhi wine, fragrant, sweet, and crisp. He had liked it very much, praising it endlessly as excellent wine, but after only one jar he had fallen drunk.

Qingzhi was fine wine, a renowned vintage. But later, after drinking too much with the soldiers, he began to drink all sorts of nameless country spirits. They were sharp and scorching, and Fu Lanzhen had once described the sensation as though a red lotus flame had kindled in his chest and refused to die.

He actually did not know much about Nanguo Mingchen’s past, or about that period they had spent at True Purity Temple. He had always wanted a chance to understand it properly, yet when he saw him, he found himself unable to ask anything. Instead, it was Nanguo Mingchen who asked him first.

He asked what Pei Zhaojin had been like in his youth.

After hearing the question, Fu Lanzhen was stunned for a long while. He looked up at the crescent moon hanging on the horizon and laughed softly. The Pei Zhaojin he knew was... “wise and kind, quick-witted and lively, as beautiful as a painting, ardent and brilliant...”

The strong liquor burned his throat, and Fu Lanzhen could not help coughing hard. “...Having practiced martial arts since childhood, he liked standing up against injustice, liked crowding into excitement, and had the stubborn cleanliness and sharp tongue of a young nobleman...” But in Fu Lanzhen’s eyes, all of these were very fine and very precious qualities.

Fu Lanzhen was the phoenix child of the Guangling imperial palace, a peerless genius glowing like fine jade. Yet so long as he went head-to-head with Pei Zhaojin, nine times out of ten he would lose.

Such is Heaven’s arrangement, one thing subduing another, beyond anyone’s power to argue.

As Nanguo Mingchen listened, his expression did not change, but his eyes reddened. He thought of his little girl, living alone in the temple all those years, cold and desolate, with no one to care for her.

“When I was six, my birth mother died in a great fire. From that moment I had no home. When I had become a little beggar wandering the streets, an old Taoist from True Purity Temple took me in...”

Fu Lanzhen knew he had stirred up old memories, and even the sound of his drinking grew much softer, fearing he might interrupt him.

“On my first day at True Purity Temple, I was curious and wandered around. Then I saw, hiding behind a stone lion, a little girl much younger than me. I thought it was amusing, so I went over to tease her.”

“...Because she had been ill for many years, she was very frail. A single gust of wind would make her cough for half a day. She was timid, and also extremely prone to anger. Her temper was terrible, and every time she got angry, she had to be coaxed for days. I lived in the temple for ten years, and she... kept me company for ten years as well. In my childhood I had neither father nor mother and nowhere to return to. She was the only bond I had in this world.”

As he finished speaking, a line of clear tears slipped from the corner of his eye.

He was born under an isolated star, which is why his parents died early. For those more than ten years, only that one little girl remained by his side, year after year, day after day, speaking of warmth and cold, caring for him through every season.

Later, while he was in Liaodong, he heard that the third daughter of the Xu family had married into the Eastern Palace as crown princess. Though he did not think highly of the Crown Prince’s reputation, so long as his little girl was safe and sound, that was enough.

So long as she was safe, he was willing to clear away every obstacle for her, to help her live out her years in quiet wealth and peace.