Xie Jing tucked the small cloth tiger back against his chest and suddenly said with a hint of confusion, “You don’t seem like a person.”
Lu Lingcong asked, “How so?”
“People say that husband and wife are like birds of the same forest, flying their separate ways when disaster strikes. I truly do not know why you would go to such lengths for me, and I truly do not know if I am even worth such devotion either. Zifeng, you are so good to me that it actually makes me a little afraid.”
At these words, Xie Jing’s eyes abruptly flew open. Wearing an expression, and speaking in a tone of guileless innocence that had not appeared on his face for an exceedingly long time, he asked with uncertainty, “Do you truly like me that much? Am I really so worthy of your affection? If that’s the case, then I suppose it can be counted among my greatest accomplishments.”
This remark made them both burst into laughter. Lu Lingcong laughed with high spirits, looking just like the dashing youth he was when they were newlywed. He nudged Xie Jing, who was sitting on his lap, “I want to give you a hug.”
“Aren’t you holding me right now?”
“Not like this.”
Left with no other option, Xie Jing rose to his feet. Lu Lingcong lifted him as if cradling a daughter, seating him on one arm while the other curved around his shoulders, holding him firmly within his embrace. Xie Jing had to wrap both hands around Lu Lingcong’s neck for support. His slender frame was effortless for Lu Lingcong to lift; he childishly spun Xie Jing around several times, the latter’s laughter fluttering like the hem of a robe. They both savored this conversation about “liking or not liking,” which really shouldn’t have been happening between a couple married for over ten years.
After a long moment, Lu Lingcong finally came to a stop. He looked up and asked, “Years ago, I once overheard some idle chatter in Shenlong Hall. Mother was complaining to Emperor Father, saying she didn’t know what kind of love potion you had given me to make me want to take you everywhere I go. Tell me yourself, is it true?”
“Do I even need such tactics?” Xie Jing arched his eyebrows to look down at Lu Lingcong from his higher vantage point. He made a move as if kissing Lu Lingcong’s forehead but stopped just a fraction of an inch away. “Hmm? Fujun[mfn]Husband/hubby.[/mfn]?”
In the privacy of their bedchamber, Lu Lingcong would often address Xie Jing as “Beloved Consort” or “Wife,” yet Xie Jing seldom; almost never, called him “Fujun” to his face. Only occasionally, when they were concealing their identities and speaking to others would he use the term for Lu Lingcong. The reason was that he disliked the implied notion of “the husband as the wife’s guiding authority” embedded within it; much like the phrase “treating each other with the courtesy of guests,” it made him feel a sense of distance and estrangement.
“Is this not a love potion?” Lu Lingcong tightened his grip on the small of Xie Jing’s back. Their holding position made Xie Jing slightly taller than him, so he buried his face against Xie Jing’s chest. Pressing against the smooth fabric felt even more suggestive and enchanting than touching delicate skin directly; like a melody partially hidden behind a lute.
Even if Xie Jing was doing it merely to please him; much like the yearning and reliance he often revealed after their reunion, it was not truly necessary. Rather, it was to correct the “mistake” made at seventeen, when he had constantly wanted to set the other free. It was to give both himself and Lu Lingcong a formal sort of reassurance, a mutual reminder: You need each other very, very, very much; you must cherish one another and never easily let go.
“I’m not as good as you think.” Lu Lingcong finally set Xie Jing down. “I simply had the wicked intent but lacked the nerve. For instance, back then, if the Imperial Court hadn’t discovered your whereabouts and summoned you by name back to the capital, I wouldn’t have wanted to let you go to the Prime Minister’s Mansion alone to endure such humiliation, nor did I want you to be stained by the blood of revenge. My original plan was to sneak you into the Tiger Division, bring you back to Jinling, and hide you in the backyard of the Prince’s Mansion. You wouldn’t have had to do anything but wait for my return, and I would have hacked off the head of every single enemy and brought them to your bedside.”
Seeing Xie Jing’s dumbfounded expression, Lu Lingcong continued: “There’s even worse—I even considered persuading you to abandon thoughts of revenge and simply live well, just as your father and brother urged you to do from prison. I wanted to keep you confined at my side, never letting you stray even an inch. I was utterly sick of dreaming, day after day, that your secret had been exposed and you had met a tragic end, only to wake and find you gone. Who isn’t self-serving? Who isn’t selfish? It was only my sense of propriety and honor that restrained me, so I could do nothing but pretend those thoughts had never existed.”
Xie Jing remained silent for a long while, simply nodding: “It’s alright—I understand. If I were in your place, then compared to the dead who were not my closest kin, in my heart, remaining with the living would matter more.”
“What I am most grateful for is that back then, you weren’t ‘snatched as a son-in-law’ by the various families in the capital but were instead ‘snatched as a daughter-in-law’ by Emperor Father. For that alone, I will be grateful to him for a lifetime; it even settles my thirty years of resentment and indignation toward him. However, Zhiwu—I don’t want to spell it out, but you must know best what my ‘gratitude’ was built upon and what kind of consequences it brought upon you.”
Lu Lingcong stopped there, and Xie Jing naturally understood. This was perhaps what Lu Lingcong had always been most reluctant to let him know—that he was glad Xie Jing had become Princess Consort Zhao, yet being Princess Consort Zhao had brought total annihilation to the Xie clan of Chen Commandery. One can never find a path of perfect balance between one’s kin and one’s lover.
Xie Jing pondered for a long time before saying, “Zifeng, there is something that has been a knot in my heart, it was something unpleasant, so I have never told you. On the night before our wedding in the eighth year of Zhenyou, my father called me into his study. He used the historical precedent of Yang Jun from the Jin Dynasty to tell me bluntly: ‘To marry into the Imperial family is to inevitably face the destruction of one’s clan; it is only a matter of time.'”
This was, in truth, the first time Lu Lingcong had heard of it. Startled, he furrowed his brows and waited for him to go on.
“I was naive then, stubbornly defiant, and in my heart, I refused to believe it. I didn’t understand at all that ‘wanting to do something’ does not, by any means, mean that I ‘can accomplish it’; that’s simply not how things work. My father said I wouldn’t grasp those words until I was thirty, and sure enough, I only came to understand them upon turning thirty. You, me, the children, the measure of control any of us truly has over our own lives is only…” He made a small gesture with his hand, “Only this much.”
“I am being honest with you today—at certain times, especially before the gates of the Palace, no matter how much I knelt, cried, or begged, no one paid me any mind. No one cared whether my kin lived or died. In those moments—I truly regretted it. I truly wished I had never been Princess Consort Zhao.
“Even if the Xie family had been forced to step into the struggle for the throne as advisors, perhaps we could have traded that for the new emperor’s magnanimity and had our past grudges forgotten. But as imperial in-laws, it was a path of certain death.”
Hearing this, Lu Lingcong gave a bitter smile. “So, after the Xie family’s downfall, I never dared to tell you how happy I was that you became my Princess Consort again.”
Xie Jing, however, shook his head. “No, I am not telling you this because I still regret it today. I want you to know that to me, ‘Princess Consort Zhao’ and your wedded wife are not the same person. Your wedded wife has never once regretted marrying you.
“Old habits die hard; I might still be so muddled or stubborn as to get stuck in a rut again in the future. I need you to pull me back. Whether you shut me away or lock me up; whatever it takes,.you must pull me back. Otherwise, I will truly have regrets. I know I certainly would.”
Not long after Prince Zhao returned to the capital, the first major event of the fifth year of Jingyu occurred. The Grand Empress Dowager of the Xiao clan, who had spent many years in seclusion at Jiming Temple devoted to Buddhist practice, did not survive the spring. After being bedridden for several days, she passed away at the age of eighty-two.
Since her maternal clan moved north, Lady Xiao had spent over twenty years in a state of near imprisonment within the remote temple, detached from all worldly affairs. Although her status in life had been awkward, the honors due after death had to be fully rendered; this was a matter of ‘face’ most valued by a court that prioritized benevolence and filial piety. However, given that Lady Xiao was “devoted to Buddha” and that Jinling had only just caught its breath after a bitter winter, a lavish ceremony was deemed inappropriate. The court ordered twenty-seven days of national mourning and a burial at the Imperial Mausoleum at Zijin Mountain.
According to Lady Xiao’s final wishes, her body lay in state at Jiming Temple. The Son of Heaven, presiding from within the Forbidden City, could not go there daily. Wang Chu’s “lingering illness” miraculously cleared up as soon as spring arrived; he and Wang Qi returned to the official circles in high spirits, originally intending to take full charge of managing the funeral rites. However, Lu Lingzhang, with a casual remark: “Uncle is getting on in years; it would be better for him to rest a couple more days”, ended up passing the task to Prince Zhao and his son, who were equally legitimate grandchildren.
The civil and military officials were required to take turns keeping vigil for the imperial coffin. Everyone knew the Xiao clan of Lanling had long since lost its power and that the imperial family did not care about the Old Empress Dowager at all; consequently, they frequently arrived late, left early, or slacked off, knowing Prince Zhao would not interfere. Only Xie Jing went to Jiming Temple punctually every day, even filling in for reluctant colleagues when he wasn’t on duty. The ministers were tongue-tied, thinking that the Empress Dowager Xiao must have bestowed some monumental kindness upon him.
Xie Jing had no impression of Lady Xiao and felt neither like nor dislike toward her. He could perform a fake sob, but he couldn’t conjure real grief; instead, he was secretly happy because he could see the children often.
Inside the Great Hall, monks chanted sutras throughout the night, while the faint snoring of officials echoed nearby. Around the second watch, Xie Jing quietly got up, carefully lifting the hem of his robes so as not to make a sound, and slipped into the rear hall. The hall was deserted, the candlelight dim, and the door was left slightly ajar. Lu Shuning was curled up on a couch, asleep.
As soon as Xie Jing approached, she opened her eyes blearily. Seeing who it was, she complained in a low voice, “I’m so sleepy, Mother.”
Seeing the deep exhaustion on her little face, Xie Jing felt his heart ache so much that he felt restless. “Look how they’ve worn you down; come here, let Mother kiss you.”
He cradled Lu Shuning, pacing back and forth in the room while gently rubbing her back to soothe her. A moment later, Lu Lingcong entered from the veranda while carrying a steaming bowl. “This is all the vegetarian food there was. The vegetable dumplings is quite tasty and clean.”
Since Xie Jing’s hands were occupied, Lu Lingcong picked them up one by one to feed him. Xie Jing muttered indistinctly, “I’m starving. Where is Qing’er? I haven’t seen him since evening.”
“He knelt all day during the daytime until his knees turned purple. After the mourning ceremony tonight, I quietly let him go back.”
Prince Zhao and the Heir Apparent only needed to be present for the morning and evening mourning rites, so Lu Shuqing’s absence was of no great concern. Xie Jing frowned, and while smoothing Lu Shuning’s hair, he shot an extremely displeasing glance outside the hall. “They are all nothing but rotten-hearted filth for making such a young child fulfill filial duties for others day after day.”
He did not know exactly whom he was cursing; perhaps he was even including himself for giving life to the two children and making them unfortunate enough to be born into the imperial family.
After finishing the midnight snack, Lu Lingcong picked up a lantern and said, “I’ll take you to see a place.”
Xie Jing had intended to put Lu Shuning back on the couch, but she refused to leave his arms. He had no choice but to take an outer garment and drape it over her head to shield her from the night wind.
Last year, during the late emperor’s birthday when Lu Lingzhang led the court officials to Jiming Temple for the sacrificial rites, a monk had guided Xie Jing to a wing room to see Lu Shuning, who at the time was completely unable to adapt to life without him. Later, Xie Jing deduced that Lu Lingcong likely had his own people inside the temple, which was how he had managed to move about without being seen.
Lu Lingcong led them all the way to the silent, pitch-black backyard. He gave a soft whistle, and a night-watch monk immediately emerged from the shadows. The monk simply handed a key to Lu Lingcong without a word.
Finally, they stopped at the most secluded corner, where the wall bordered on the mountain rocks. Lu Lingcong turned back to look at Xie Jing through the dim night. “The things inside… you need to be prepared.”
Xie Jing had been guessing the whole way; in the entire household, the only connection to Jiming Temple was Empress Dowager Xiao. He truly could not imagine what Lu Lingcong could have hidden here for him to see.
The bronze lock was old but free of dust, evidently wiped clean regularly. Lu Lingcong unlocked it and pushed the door open but then stepped aside. As the lamplight swept across the pitch-black interior, in that single instant, Xie Jing saw clearly the sight before his eyes.
Coffins.
Four coffins.
In an instant, his entire body became ice-cold and his face went deathly pale. He didn’t even need to look at the names on the spirit tablets; the moment he realized the significance of the number “four,” he understood everything.
These were the coffins of his parents, his brother, and his sister-in-law—not cenotaphs for their personal effects, but their actual, gathered remains.
Lu Lingcong spoke softly behind him as if afraid of startling the dead, “Qing’er knows of this place. I bring him here every year to offer sacrifices, even if we can’t always make it on the exact anniversaries.”
Merely thinking about the sequence of events made it difficult for Xie Jing to breathe; a sharp pain pierced his chest. For years, he had repeatedly tried to avoid recalling those three days, yet the memories tormented him like a punishment—someone gripping him by the throat, forcing his eyes wide open, and etching every bloody detail, stroke by stroke, directly onto his retinas. He would never forget them until the day he died.
Whether it was Xie Yi and Xie Yan, who were executed at Zhuque Bridge, or Madam Xie and Lady Yao, who lost their lives in Wuyi Alley, Xie Jing had been standing just inches away watching with his own eyes as they died horrific deaths.
His father and brother had been decapitated, while his mother had been pierced through the heart by a flurry of arrows. Xie Jing had been present for every one of those moments.
The Xie family had committed the capital crime of deceiving the emperor and inciting rebellion, a crime punishable by the extermination of the clan. Even if they had been spared the ultimate humiliation of having their heads displayed in the marketplace, his kin should have shared the fate of the Xie family servants: counted by the Imperial Guard, carted off to a mass grave, and burned until their souls returned to heaven and earth and their bones were reduced to nothing.
Xie Jing didn’t even have to think about who had helped him recover the remains of his parents and siblings, sealed them in coffins, established their spirit tablets, adorned them with gold and silver, and seen them properly settled here in Jiming Temple for all these years.
He dared not even imagine how difficult it must have been—this was harder, more complicated, and more impossible than even rescuing Xie Jun.
Xie Jing looked toward Lu Lingcong like a wandering ghost. At that moment, before his brother’s spirit, Lu Lingcong truly fulfilled the role of the “brother” that Xie Jing had spent more than a decade calling him in jest. Like a true elder brother, he stroked the crown of Xie Jing’s head. “You wouldn’t be able to bear hearing the details of the recovery, so I won’t speak of them.”
“Lu Zifeng,” Xie Jing couldn’t say a word, only able to cry out Lu Lingcong’s name in a daze. “Lu Zifeng!”
Lu Lingcong reached out to pull him by the shoulder to support his swaying body, and asked, “Do you want me to help you pay your respects?”
Xie Jing tried to bend his knees several times but failed. Finally, in desperation, he brushed off Lu Lingcong’s arm, turned, and stumbled out the door. He rushed to the bottom of the steps and doubled over in a silent, agonizing howl.
The early cherry blossoms of Jiming Temple were in full bloom, covering the branches; their snow-white petals hung like funeral banners beneath the bleak night sky. With a strip of white cloth still bound around his forehead and dressed in mourning hemp, it was as though he had, at last and only briefly, assumed mourning for the departed of the Xie family. Yet, while he could weep rivers for the Empress Dowager Xiao, a woman he had never met; in the front hall, he could not let out even a single sob for his own flesh and blood in this corner.
The tip of Lu Shuning’s nose brushed lightly against his cheek, and she soothed him in her soft, ethereal, almost melodic voice:
“Gege said someone once told him that departed loved ones all live in a tiny kingdom inside the lamp wicks. As long as you light a lamp, they can see you; and even if you don’t light one, they will always be thinking of you…”
