Late at night, the heavy rain had only just stopped less than an hour ago; barely enough time for it to wash away every trace of blood that had soaked Jinling City during the three days of massacre.
The households near Zhuque Bridge kept their doors bolted tight, not daring to make the slightest sound for fear that a momentary lapse might lead to a rebellion. This was not only because the emperor had just passed away, but more so because of the chilling executions that had taken place by the bridge at dusk.
And the “survivor,” Xie Jing, who had watched his father and elder brother being beheaded with neither grief nor expression, only a cold numbness, still lay solitary beneath the bridge, motionless, leaving observers to wonder whether he was dead or alive.
Yet, in the midst of the silence, a simple and ordinary carriage with no distinguishing marks galloped toward the bridge. It paused briefly beneath the structure; a figure drew back the curtain and helped Xie Jing inside, then the carriage set off again as swiftly as it had come.
The carriage circled more than halfway around the Qinhuai River before heading toward a hidden and secluded corner gate on the western side of Prince Zhao’s Mansion. Several charcoal braziers burned inside the carriage, leaving both Lu Lingcong and Yin Chou with beads of sweat on their brows, while Xie Jing’s body remained persistently cold. Under the combined weight of exhaustion, hunger, cold, and massive psychological trauma, he remained in a deep coma from which he could not wake.
Lu Lingcong stripped away Xie Jing’s wet and filthy clothes, using hot water and cloth to wipe him clean. After changing him into sleeping robes, he gathered him completely into his own embrace to warm him with his body heat, covering him further with a layer of heavy furs.
Yin Chou had already poured the medicine down his throat. Looking at Xie Jing’s bloodless lips, she said worriedly, “His life is not in danger, but the cold has seeped into his body. It is even riskier than during the confinement period; he must be nursed with great care; otherwise, it will be disastrous if he develops a lingering illness.”
Lu Lingcong nodded and said softly, “In the days to come, I must entrust you with the care of him and the children.”
“That goes without saying,” Yinchou answered without a second thought, but then she suddenly sensed something was amiss. “Your Highness means… where are you going?”
Lu Lingcong met her gaze and said with difficulty, “I must leave Jinling.”
Yin Chou was greatly shocked. “The Xie family has only just suffered this calamity, and the Wang family will surely make further moves after installing the Second Prince on the throne. If you are not here, who will support Prince Zhao’s Mansion?”
Lu Lingcong looked toward the flickering, hazy firelight and let out a sigh. “It is precisely because Emperor Father has passed and Lingzhang has ascended the throne that I can no longer remain in Jinling. Within the capital, there will be countless eyes watching me, watching Qing’er. The Prime Minister’s Mansion will never rest until Prince Zhao’s Mansion is completely eradicated.”
“The new emperor has only just been established, and since Emperor Father guarded heavily against the Prime Minister’s Mansion while he was alive, the vast majority of military power has been divided among different clans. For the Wang family to seize total control is not something that can be achieved overnight. Moreover, the prefects of the various commanderies all harbor their own secret motives; with the Prime Minister’s Mansion’s current level of influence, it is impossible for them to command universal obedience. They cannot gather a force sufficiently to eliminate all those with dissenting hearts.”
“Therefore, I must seize this time. I must exploit this opening. As long as I can develop the military forces in my hands before the Prime Minister’s Mansion secures its footing, they will never dare to lightly move against my kin in the capital.”
“Moreover, taking command of military power is something that must be done sooner or later. Without a blade at one’s waist, how could one hope to avenge today’s hatred in the future with bare fists alone?”
His gaze fell back upon Xie Jing’s face. “I have already learned my lesson once. The price was too bitter; I will not make the same mistake a second time in this life.”
Yin Chou fell silent for a while after hearing this before finally saying, “…But how long will that take? Blades and spears have no eyes; if by any chance—”
Lu Lingcong knew what she was leaving unsaid. He merely gave a bitter smile. “If it truly comes to that, it is simply my destiny. If I am no longer around, perhaps no one will look upon them with such predatory eyes, eager to drive them to their deaths anymore.”
The atmosphere within the Prince’s Mansion was heavy. Most of the servants had not yet retired to bed, worrying about the future fate of their masters and themselves. Lu Lingcong carried Xie Jing all the way back to the bedroom. Yin Chou brought her medicine chest over, preparing to use acupuncture to dispel the damp, cold energy from his body.
Taking advantage of this brief interval, Lu Lingcong instructed a maid to pack a few changes of clothes for him. He then walked to the study in the front courtyard and brought out the letters he had exchanged over the years with officials, clans, and merchants both inside and outside the capital. He inspected them one by one; anything slightly sensitive or that could be exploited was immediately burned.
Occasionally, he came across a few letters Xie Jing had written to him—there were very few, countable on one hand as they had rarely been apart during these ten years. The forms of address in the letters were somewhat unique—at the beginning, he wrote, “To Zifeng Gege, as if meeting in person,” and at the signature, he simply added the two characters, “Younger Brother Jing.”
The letters were also devoid of overt romantic expressions. If an outsider were to read them, they would not easily recognize them as family letters between a husband and wife, yet Lu Lingcong could read Xie Jing’s affection within the many idle strokes that seemed to talk about everything but the point.
If he wanted to go out of the city for a spring outing with Lu Lingcong, he would write: “The fine steeds in the stable have grown quite fat.” If he craved the golden garlic sea bass Lu Lingcong cooked, he would write: “Tomorrow I am going fishing with such-and-such a colleague.” If he had composed a new qin piece and wanted Lu Lingcong to hear it, he would write: “I’ve changed to a new nursery rhyme while coaxing Ningning to sleep these past few days.” And if he simply missed Lu Lingcong, he would add a cover-up phrase at the very end—”As I face this letter, my heart is weary with longing; words cannot express all I wish to say.”
Lu Lingcong stared at those few thin pages for a moment, lost in thought. The stationery was embossed with delicate gold-traced ruyi patterns, resembling the post-rain sky at this very moment, imprinted with a few hazy, blue-gray traces of clouds.
Then, his hand dropped as he burned the letters.
The galloping steeds, the aroma of sea bass, and the crystalline notes of the qin were all curled into ashes by the tongues of fire in an instant.
After a long while, Lu Lingcong regained his senses and looked up only to find Lu Shuqing standing at the door wrapped in fox fur, having watched him for an unknown amount of time.
“Qing’er?” Lu Lingcong quickly ushered him inside, closing the doors and windows tightly, and draped his own outer robe over the boy. “You’re not asleep at this hour?”
Lu Shuqing nodded with his head hanging low, not lifting it for a long time.
Lu Lingcong pulled up a chair to sit before him and cradled the boy’s face in his hands. “Do you have something you want to say to Father?”
Lu Shuqing hesitated for a long while before finally steeling his resolve, saying all at once: “Grandfather passed away yesterday and bequeathed the throne to Uncle. The valedictory decree ordered the execution of my maternal grandfather’s entire clan and commanded Father to be the supervising official. Is that right?”
Lu Lingcong looked directly back at him. “Yes.”
“Why?” He asked with a trembling voice. “What did my maternal grandfather and uncle do to dissatisfy Grandfather? And what fault did Mother commit to dissatisfy Father?”
Lu Lingcong was stunned. He shook his head and murmured, “No, Qing’er, they committed no fault, and your mother did no wrong… If he had any fault, it could only be that back then his resolve was not firm enough; that he did not resolutely resist the marriage and did not refuse to marry me.”
Lu Shuqing’s voice broke into a near sob. “Then why did Father strip Mother of his position as Princess Consort? Why must you leave home?”
Lu Lingcong remained silent for a long time before finally saying, “Staying by someone’s side every step of the way is not the only way to protect them. Sometimes, being too close to a person only brings them harm.”
Lu Shuqing only half-understood, but he recalled how sending an invitation to his dear friend Ah Huang had instead brought the Prime Minister’s Mansion’s suspicion upon the girl and her mother. He could faintly taste the kind of stifling frustration his father was trying to express.
“Qing’er, being born into a family of our standing is both your greatest fortune and your greatest misfortune. I have no time to discuss the details of today’s events with you, nor is it possible for you to understand every intricate turning point right now. But there is one thing, you only need to remember this one thing—”
Lu Lingcong gazed into his eldest son’s eyes and said with the utmost gravity, “As long as Father and Mother draw breath, there is not a single thing in this world that you need to fear or worry about.”
After soothing Lu Shuqing to sleep, Lu Lingcong walked back to the inner courtyard. He saw Lu Ai perched on the parrot stand with her head buried deep within her wing feathers as she slept. Her hearing was exceptionally sharp, and she also recognized the footsteps of her family; the moment Lu Lingcong stepped onto the veranda, she pulled her head out and flew gracefully to land upon his hand.
“How is it that even you are awake?” Lu Lingcong rubbed her downy feathers with his fingertip while whispering, “Are you cold? Go sleep inside the house.”
Lu Ai was a creature of keen intuition. Having seen the gloomy clouds of sorrow hanging over the household these past two days; noting that even Lu Shuqing, who usually loved to tease her, had not shown a single smile, she, too, had largely ceased her chatter.
She pecked at Lu Lingcong’s palm and followed him to the east wing. Since Yin Chou was busy tending to Xie Jing tonight, another maid had been assigned to temporarily accompany Lu Shuning; she was currently dozing off, leaning against the brazier in the outer room.
Lu Lingcong did not disturb her. He stepped inside with light, careful strides and came to Lu Shuning’s bedside. His young daughter’s hair was incredibly soft and piled fluffily against the pillow. Her breathing was long and steady, showing she had fallen into a deep sleep.
Lu Lingcong had long since noticed that, compared with himself, Xie Jing, and Lu Shuqing; the three people closest to her Lu Shuning did not possess those occasional, intense emotional outbursts. In other words, she did not possess a fiery temperament.
This was not to say she was cold-hearted or careless. Lu Shuning could delicately perceive many things, both good and bad, but her reactions were always restrained and peaceful. If things went her way, that was fine; if they did not, then so be it.
It was truly a distinct trait. They say you can see the adult in the three-year-old; he wondered if she would maintain this disposition as she grew.
Lu Ai flew onto the bedframe, standing on one foot like a loyal sentry, seemingly preparing to drift back to sleep.
Lu Lingcong said to her, “If you do not wish to go, then stay here and keep her company.”
With those words, he leaned over, took Lu Shuning’s small wrist, and cautiously kissed the back of her hand.
His wife and eldest son had spent ten years of intimate, inseparable days with him; his mother and sister had accompanied him for nearly half his life. But how long had Lu Shuning been by his side? Heaven had bestowed such a pearl upon his palm, yet he had not yet taken her to see the mountains and rivers her parents and elder brother had seen. He had not yet taught her of swords and wine or of chess and tea. He had not yet had the chance to watch her grow day by day.
There will always be another chance, Lu Lingcong consoled himself in his heart. Even if he did not have it, Xie Jing, Lu Shuqing, or Lu Lingzhen would be able to do these things in his stead.
Yin Chou had finished the acupuncture. Although Xie Jing’s body temperature had returned, his cheeks were flushed with an abnormal feverish glow; it seemed a high fever was inevitable.
Seeing Lu Lingcong return to the bedroom, she said, “I have had the kitchen prepare some easily digestible medicinal porridge. Your Highness should feed the Princess Consort and then keep him wrapped up to sweat it out.”
“You have worked hard; go and rest.” Lu Lingcong took over from Yin Chou and sat on the edge of the bed. He pulled Xie Jing’s upper body into his arms and fed him the medicinal porridge one spoonful at a time.
For these three days, Xie Jing had touched neither water nor rice. His lips were dry and cracked, and his throat strained as he tried to swallow. Even in his delirium, his brow remained tightly furrowed; he struggled in Lu Lingcong’s arms, tormented by the searing discomfort coursing through his body.
“Don’t be afraid. We are home. It’s all over,” Lu Lingcong whispered into Xie Jing’s ear while pressing his face close to his. “Those things have ended.”
He lowered his head slightly, kissing the “river” of frown lines etched between Xie Jing’s brows, then his eyelids, then the tip of his nose. He possessed a princess consort of unparalleled beauty; perhaps in Qinhuai Chun, he had looked at Xie Jing a few extra times simply because of that beauty. So much time had passed that Lu Lingcong could no longer clearly remember his thoughts from back then.
The late emperor who had bestowed the marriage upon them was dead. No one would ever again force the vine or compel them to stay together forever, yet they were, in every sense, inseparable now.
If this had been a mistaken marriage, if its beginning had been full of flippancy, desire, and the carnal nature of attraction, then why could its end not be equally light and casual? Why must it be filled to the brim with the most chaotic, difficult, and heavy word of all, “love”, leaving them unable to sever the bond even when it was time?
Lu Lingcong’s kiss lingered at the tip of his nose, descending no further. He recalled Xie Jing’s old complaint that in the early days of their marriage, whether they were intimate or sharing a bed, Lu Lingcong had never once taken the initiative to kiss his lips. It was because of this that Lu Lingcong had secretly resolved that every time their lips met, he would make Xie Jing remember clearly; remembering that this was not a charity bestowed upon him but his exclusive privilege. As long as Xie Jing remembered it all, he would know that he could have as many kisses as he desired.
He leaned close to Xie Jing’s ear again, murmuring repeatedly while calling him by his courtesy name, “Zhiwu.”
Xie Jing clearly reacted to the call, shifting uneasily as his collar loosened, revealing the silver incense locket.
As if suddenly struck by a thought, Lu Lingcong gently laid Xie Jing back upon the pillow. He walked to the dressing table and found a small pair of golden scissors. He knew he owed Xie Jing a proper, mutual “hair-tying” ceremony; one held in the light and born of shared will.
But he only had time to compensate in this manner.
As Lu Lingcong cut a small lock of hair from each of their heads, he continued: “Gege must leave now. I do not know when we will meet again—or if we even can. But none of that matters anymore; I only want you to live. Do you remember what Lord Xie said? No matter what, you must live first. They are watching you from the heavens, and I am watching you from the world of men.”
Then, with somewhat clumsy fingers, he gathered the locks together. After a moment’s thought, he tucked them into a pocket sewn into the inner layer of his robes.
The lock of hair Xie Jing had tied on their wedding night was a covenant of inseparability in life; the lock Lu Lingcong tied this night was the proof of their undying bond after death.
With hair as witness, let heaven and earth be the judge.
The maidservants had already packed his belongings. Lu Lingcong changed into a light, travel-suitable narrow-sleeved round-collared robe, fastening his belt with a silver hook engraved with “Never forget each other,” and hung on it the piece of white jade Xie Jing had pressed into his hands a few days earlier.
He then moved to the desk, picked up a brush, and wrote several lines. After blowing the ink dry, he folded the paper and tucked it beneath Xie Jing’s pillow.
Having completed these tasks, Lu Lingcong cast one last, lingering look at Xie Jing. He then turned abruptly and strode out of the room with purpose.
Uncle Zhou was already waiting in the outer room. “Your Highness, a letter has arrived from General Li.”
Lu Lingcong took it and saw Li Qi’s message: Xie Jun, who had luckily survived, had been escorted out of the city by the Wu family. Zhong Zhao had also been brought under control and moved secretly out of the palace. The three thousand men of the Tiger Division were currently stationed by the riverbank, merely waiting for Prince Zhao to rendezvous with them and begin the march toward Huaibei.
He tucked the letter into his sleeve and spoke briefly to Uncle Zhou: “I am leaving now.”
Uncle Zhou said little in return. He had spent over a decade in Prince Zhao’s Mansion, watching his master grow from a youth into an elder brother, a husband, and finally a father. If Lu Lingcong had made a decision, he would simply let him see it through.
He merely asked, “Shall I bring Yi Yun to Your Highness now?”
Lu Lingcong shook his head. He strode through the front courtyard and entered the stables through a side door. Yi Yun had her own dedicated stall; the moment Lu Lingcong appeared, she nudged closer, pawing at the ground. She waited for him to lead her out as he had many times before to share a moment of affection before they rode together into the free-spirited wind.
This time, however, Lu Lingcong passed her by and selected a younger white horse.
Yi Yun stared at him with bright eyes, her expression both docile and aggrieved. Lu Lingcong explained softly, “Good girl, this journey spans a thousand miles with life and death uncertain. I cannot bear to take you with me. Stay here in Jinling and accompany them. Stay safe with the whole family, alright?”
Yi Yun let out a neigh, neither too high nor too low; perhaps a reproach for his unilateral decision, or perhaps a wish for his safe travels.
Lu Lingcong merely stroked her mane and smiled. Without lingering any longer, he mounted the other white horse and galloped out of the gates of Prince Zhao’s Mansion, carrying the night’s chill with him as he rode toward the outskirts of Jinling without once looking back.
