At dusk, a fine rain began to fall discreetly, enveloping the flourishing capital in a light veil. Water droplets hung from the eaves; the lights, seen through the rain, seemed woven, hazy, and soft.
On the way back, riding in the rain, the world seemed reduced to the intertwined sound of horses' hooves and water, as if outside of time.
Zhang Huaiqian led his horse alongside Chu Jin. His gaze inadvertently fell on the latter's half-lowered sleeve, and he saw his fingers lightly brushing something. The wind lifted the hem of his garment, and a fine gold dust slipped discreetly from between his fingers, scattering rustlingly in the wind, disappearing in an instant.
Chu Jin's horse moved very slowly, his hand holding the reins seemed almost strengthless, his knuckles slightly white.
"Your Highness?" Zhang Huaizian called in a low voice.
Chu Jin raised his eyes slightly, his gaze vacant, his face pale as snow, his figure swaying slightly on his mount.
Zhang Huaizian's expression darkened. He immediately dismounted, supported him with one hand, took the reins, hoisted him firmly onto his own mount, then remounted, holding him close, his arm supporting his back, his voice grave: "Your Highness, has your heart ailment recurred?"
Chu Jin nodded weakly, as if even this movement was imbued with a certain slowness.
"Shall we find a place nearby to shelter from the rain, so you can rest a little?"
"It's nothing serious, I want to return to my residence quickly."
"Qingxuan, lead the way in front," Zhang Huaizian ordered, turning around.
Nangong Bo, hearing this, complied at once and quickened his pace, leading the group.
The rain intensified; the mist in the forest grew thick.
Prince Rui, leaning against Zhang Huaizian, finally seemed relieved of a heavy burden. He closed his eyes, but the furrows between his brows had still not smoothed.
"Your Highness, a little more patience, we'll be there soon," Zhang Huaizian reassured him in a low voice.
Prince Rui did not answer, as if he had fallen into a deep sleep, his breathing faint and light.
In the wind and rain, the horse's back swayed. Zhang Huaizian tightened his embrace slightly.
He looked up at Nangong Bo in front of him and asked in a low voice: "Are you alright?"
Nangong Bo turned slightly and said: "I'm fine. It's just that... today's events..."
"Qingxuan, if you truly wish to stay in this flourishing capital, you will see many more such things sooner or later," Zhang Huaizian said in a calm tone. "Human life, in the Imperial City, is the most contemptible thing there is."
The handle of the umbrella in Nangong Bo's hand trembled slightly, a glint of melancholy appearing in his eyes: "That Su Jing... was merely a qin musician; how did he get involved in such turmoil?"
Zhang Huaizian remained silent for a moment, then finally said in a neutral tone: "One can establish oneself through one's art, but it is difficult to escape misfortune through one's talent."
Shortly thereafter, they arrived at Prince Rui's residence.
Chu Jin insisted on dismounting himself but ended up unable to hold on. His steps faltered, his figure swayed; fortunately, Zhang Huaizian, quick and nimble, supported him firmly.
"Your Highness!"
"It's nothing," Chu Jin said, short of breath, his face like paper. "Go fetch the physician."
Without waiting for orders, a servant had already rushed inside.
Zhang Huaizian supported him as he entered in the rain, ordering along the way for a hot bath and clean clothes to be prepared. Nangong Bo wanted to step forward to help, but Chu Jin stopped him with a slight wave of his hand.
"Qingxuan, you've been tired all day; go home early," he said gently, but his gaze remained as clear as usual.
Nangong Bo opened his mouth but ended up bowing: "Please take great care of yourself, Your Highness."
After his departure, Chu Jin's steps became even more unsteady. Rain slid down his temples, wetting his collar.
The residence physician arrived quickly, took his pulse, prepared decoctions, and burned incense. Everything was done. Outside, the fine rain fell like a weave, the lantern shadows flickered, making the figures somewhat blurry.
After the physician left, Zhang Huaizian stood under the gallery, removing his cloak. The hem of his clothes was already soaked, water dripping from his fingertips.
The old butler approached discreetly, handing him dry clothes, and asked hesitantly: "Lord Zhang, tonight... are you returning to your residence?"
"Let's wait for the rain to stop," Zhang Huaizian replied, taking the clothes, his tone neutral, glancing inside the room.
On the bed, Chu Jin's face was pale, but his breathing was gradually becoming regular.
Hearing footsteps, he opened his eyes, his voice hoarse: "...You haven't left yet?"
Zhang Huaizian, having changed his clothes, entered and replied with a smile: "It's still raining. I'm waiting a little longer."
Chu Jin looked at Zhang Huaizian's clothes: "I didn't think my clothes would suit you so well."
Zhang Huaizian, hearing this, gave a slight smile.
Chu Jin then coughed twice. After a moment of silence, he said slowly: "Today, you saw... the Crown Prince's state."
"The close advisors of the Eastern Palace are mostly relatives by marriage of the Empress, and Su Jing was his confidant. Now that his death is so evident, it's understandable."
Chu Jin closed his eyes and said in a low voice: "Su Jing chose precisely this day, this place, this time – the night rain, the wind in the pines, the night after the Girls' Festival, the river of lanterns..."
He raised his hand to cover his forehead, let out a long sigh: "He did it on purpose, for everyone to see." Saying this, he let his head fall back onto the brocade cushion, covered his forehead, his fingers slightly cold, the corners of his lips moving imperceptibly. "For three years, his feelings for the Crown Prince, although I never asked, I clearly heard them in his qin music."
He paused, then suddenly turned to Zhang Huaizian, as if remembering something, and said in a low voice: "That gold powder... you saw it earlier, didn't you?"
Zhang Huaizian's expression did not change. He simply smiled, his tone calm: "Since Your Highness is not trying to hide it, I will ask nothing."
Chu Jin stared at him for a moment, then slowly closed his eyes, letting himself fall back wearily onto the pillow.
He paused, his eyelashes trembled. "...Yesterday, when I entered the palace, Father Emperor, taking advantage of the Crown Prince still being hunting in the forest, summoned Su Jing. He initially wanted to grant him death."
"I begged Father Emperor," Chu Jin opened his eyes and looked at the bed canopy, his gaze dark and deep. "I begged him to let Su Jing leave the palace. Let him go, anywhere, as long as he never returned. But Father Emperor said nothing, just one sentence – 'Take care of this matter.' Then he turned and left."
He spoke very softly, but Zhang Huaizian heard him very clearly.
Zhang Huaizian sat on the edge of the bed, his voice gentle: "You initially wanted to save him from the palace?"
"As long as he left the palace, I could ensure his distant escape," Chu Jin's voice was faint.
Chu Jin placed his hand on his chest, which rose slightly. His tone was like a sigh: "I... placed the poison before him with my own hands. To leave, or to die, it was his choice. As a result... he chose both paths."
Zhang Huaizian remained silent for a moment, then finally said: "Your Highness did his best. If he truly decided for himself, to leave or to stay... it didn't depend on others anyway."
Chu Jin sighed, his voice dry: "This morning, I saw that box of poison in the forest behind – the Zhuyan Gai, placed at the foot of a pine tree, the lid open." He closed his eyes for a moment. "I didn't want to cause trouble with the palace, so I picked it up. But I didn't expect that coroner's hand to be so quick."
Both remained silent for a long while. Chu Jin suddenly asked again in a low voice: "Do you remember... my consort mother?"
Zhang Huaizian was surprised for a moment, then nodded slightly.
"She also died from the '朱颜改 Zhuyan Gai'," Chu Jin's voice seemed to come from a deep rain, soft and ethereal. "At the time of the Gu witchcraft affair, it was a setup by the Empress. Several imperial concubines were implicated; my consort mother was one of them. Father Emperor... although he knew her innocence, ended up granting her death."
He let out a small laugh: "That night, I knelt in the snow all night, begging him only to reverse his decision. As a result... my consort mother was not saved, and I caught a cold that left me with this heart ailment. How absurd..."
Zhang Huaizian lowered his eyes, silent.
Chu Jin, leaning on the bed, said in a hoarse voice: "Father Emperor, when summoning me to the palace yesterday... also asked me... my opinion of the Crown Prince."
Zhang Huaizian looked up: "And what did Your Highness reply?"
"I said that the Crown Prince had an ardent temperament, but that he was not disloyal," Chu Jin smiled slightly. "Father Emperor, after listening, only said: 'You, you protect him well.'"
Zhang Huaizian remained silent for a moment: "Does His Majesty... already intend to depose him?"
After a moment of silence, Chu Jin suddenly asked in a low voice: "Zijing – guess, the 'Zhuyan Gai'... is it painful?"
Zhang Huaizian turned his head, his tone calm but gentle: "The coroner said that after three breaths, one feels nothing. It shouldn't be painful."
"Good," Chu Jin closed his eyes, murmuring in a low voice, as if speaking to someone, or to himself.
His voice gradually weakened, and he eventually fell into a deep sleep, his breathing regular, but a slight frown lingered between his eyebrows.
Zhang Huaizian rose silently, gently tucking the blanket around him.
Outside, the rain fell unceasingly. The night was deep, the lights dim. The smoke from the soothing incense swirled in the room.
The night rain had just stopped. Zhang Huaizian, walking on the damp blue bricks, slowly left Prince Rui's residence.
The moonlight, piercing through the gaps in the clouds, scattered silver reflections on the puddle-covered stone slabs. He reined in his horse and turned back. He only saw the lanterns in front of Prince Rui's residence swaying gently in the night wind, like an unfinished dream.
The courtyard of the Zhang residence was deep and secluded. Zhang Huaiqian had barely passed through the moon-shaped gate when he heard a clear and melodious qin melody. Following the sound, he saw Dugu Rong sitting quietly under a pear tree, her slender hands caressing the qin strings. The moonlight outlined the soft shadow of her profile, casting a delicate halo on the stone steps.
"That is..." Zhang Huaizian stopped, the qin music ceasing abruptly.
Rong stood up and bowed, her sleeve brushing a few dew-pearled pear blossoms.
"Young Master, you have returned." Her voice was soft, but it reminded Zhang Huaiqian of the solitary lantern drifting away on the river's surface the previous night.
He approached the qin table and saw a page of musical score spread out on it, the ink still fresh. "'Prelude of the Pine under the Moon'?"
"I was just trying to write down the melody I heard last night." Rong's fingertip pointed to a note. "Here, a yinrou (vibrato) is missing. If it were Master Su, he would certainly have prolonged a resonance here."
A pear blossom petal fell silently onto the qin strings. Zhang Huaizian reached out to remove it, his fingers touching the cold silk strings.
"Su Jing is dead," he said in a low voice, recounting the day's events. Rong listened in silence, without a word.
In the distance, the sound of the gu (鼓 night-watch drum) was heard. She put away the score, a silver hairpin in her hair sliding like a flash of pure light. "Young Master, it is time to rest." Her tone was soft, but she remained motionless.
"Tomorrow, the pear blossoms will all have fallen; I would like to watch them a little longer," Zhang Huaiqian smiled, but his tone was tinged with a certain melancholy.
Under the moonlight, his eyes were as clear as a pond, reflecting the tumultuous emotions deep within his gaze. The night wind lifted the pear blossoms strewn on the ground, like a brief, soft snow, floating between them.
Zhang Huaiqian remained silent, then walked slowly under the gallery and sat down beside her. In the courtyard, a silver frost covered the ground; flowers fell without a sound.
After a long moment, Dugu Rong said in a low voice: "I heard in his qin music that his heart no longer belonged to this world."
"Why?"
"A sound so pure and sublime, unstained by worldly dust. And yet, he finally left a melody, played very slowly, very lightly..." She paused, as if afraid of disturbing something, and continued in a low voice: "Like... a farewell melody."
Zhang Huaiqian looked at her, his expression calm: "Farewell to whom?"
Rong lowered her lashes: "Farewell to the spring lanterns, to the moon on the water, to the empty mountains, to the falling snow. Then his soul returns to the spring lanterns, to the moon on the water, to the empty mountains, to the falling snow."
A gust of wind passed, bringing a vague scent of flowers.
Heaven and earth were silent, motionless as a painting.
You squat down, put on gloves, and carefully take out the topmost roll of fine silk, which you gently unroll —
"霜月吟 Song of the Frost Moon"
双月悬天夜未央,银汉垂波洗秋霜.
青骢踏碎松间影,墨袍拂过荻花凉.
谁家素手调冰弦,一音惊破女儿妆.
灯河浮沉千愿去,独写游鱼归池章.
柳梢初凝夜露新,减字谱就断肠音.
七弦暗藏金粉泪,三叠明诉玉壶心.
山鬼笑抚湘灵瑟,水宫愁展鲛绡衾.
忽闻岩畔松风起,原是孤鸿辞上林.
晓雾迷离湿锦袍,林间犹带郁轮香.
断琴沉碧凝朱篆,残躯浮白染紫霜.
最是人间留不住,辞枝梨雪满回廊.
游鱼终向寒潭没,归雁空传旧苑声.
莫问瑶光宫里事,一弦一柱尽平生.
芦荻萧萧凝血痕,宫门昼闭月黄昏.
谁言储贰无恩义,自剪灯花拭泪痕.
Two moons in the sky, the night lingers; the Milky Way bathes the autumn frost.
The dapple-gray horse treads on the shadow of pines; the ink-black robe brushes the coolness of reeds. Whose delicate hand tunes the icy strings? A single note startles the young girls' dreams.
A river of lanterns, a thousand wishes drift away; alone, she writes the chapter of the wandering fish returning to its pond.
On willow tips, fresh night dew condenses; the simplified notation composes a heart-breaking melody. The seven strings hide tears of gold powder; the three variations tell of a heart pure as jade.
The mountain spirit smiles, caressing the Xiang spirits' zither; the water palace sorrowfully displays the mermaid-silk quilt.
Suddenly, the pine wind rises near the rocks; it is a solitary wild goose leaving the imperial forest. The morning mist, hazy, dampens the brocade robe; the forest still carries the fragrance of Yulun.
The broken qin lies in the emerald wave, engraved with vermilion seals; the dismembered body floats, white, tinged with purple frost.
What the world holds least are the pear blossoms leaving the branch, snowing upon the corridor.
The wandering fish finally sinks into the cold pond; the returning goose in vain only transmits the echo of the old garden.
Ask nothing of the affairs of Yaoguang Palace; each string, each bridge, tells an entire life.
The reeds rustle sadly, stained with blood; the palace gate is closed in broad daylight, under the twilight moon.
Who says the heir apparent is without affection or righteousness? He himself trims the lampwick and wipes away his tears.
The calligraphy in regular script (Kaishu) is extremely neat; the paper is yellowed but not moldy.
You unroll another section: it is the qin score for "Prelude of the Pine under the Moon."
Qin scores from this era are extremely rare; this one uses a notation method that has long since disappeared. The melody remains, but no one can decipher it anymore.
Suddenly, at the end, a line of signature appears: "Thirty-second year of Yande, decade of the Frost Sleep. Dugu Rong."
You read in a low voice, with slight hesitation. "Dugu Rong... Is this a signature?" you murmur, as if to yourself. "Who is she?" Your gaze stops at the date.
You are stunned for a moment, then a light dawns somewhere in your mind. "...Thirty-second year of Yande, decade of the Frost Sleep."
You raise your head and look at Old Zhao not far away. "This is the year of Crown Prince Cheng's incident." Old Zhao turns upon hearing this: "Huh? What are you saying?"
"This matches the archives." You slightly lift the silk scroll and say in a low voice: "In the historical chronicles, there is almost nothing about the Eastern Palace revolt of that year... but this—" you gently tap the scroll— "looks like the intimate testimony of someone who lived through it."
Old Zhao frowns: "The one where the Crown Prince rebelled, where his body was later abandoned by the river, and no one even dared to retrieve his remains? Why he rebelled and all that, I don't remember very well."
"The books don't say much."
A gleam shines in your eyes—a story asleep for a thousand years slowly awakens on the silk beneath your eyes. You remain silent for a moment, then look away to observe the coffin before you. Nanmu wood is naturally prone to cracking, and with the abrupt change in environment, you see the edges of the outermost ancient scrolls begin to curl, the clay seals crack, the vermilion imprints fade.
Your heart tightens.
"We can't open it any further." You stand up, your voice low but firm. "The oxidation is too rapid. One more minute and all these documents will be destroyed."
"But we've already opened it," a colleague objects in a low voice, leaning on the side of the coffin. "Impossible to take it back as it is."
"Then let's seal it. Nanmu itself offers some insulation. We'll add a layer of airtight fabric, wrap it in aluminum foil, and we'll deal with it slowly once we're back at the institute." You strive to keep your voice calm. "The humidity and temperature inside the coffin are starting to become imbalanced. If we continue to open it, even the ink will dissolve."
Another young man frowns: "You know what kind of equipment we have at the institute. We can't even get a spot in the cold storage rooms; how could we preserve this?"
"What if we take photos? How many rolls of film do we have left?"
Old Zhao stands aside, hands behind his back: "Even with all our cameras combined, we won't have enough to photograph all these documents."
"We really don't have the means here," adds the other person.
"We can't just watch it deteriorate before our eyes, can we?"
You look at the bamboo and silk scrolls still rolled up in the coffin, take a deep breath, and turn to Old Zhao: "Then, let's first retrieve the surrounding artifacts and seal this coffin. Opening these documents now is just waiting for them to turn to dust in the open air."
Old Zhao finally nods, but without immediate approval. His gaze is still fixed on the artifacts in the outer layer.
"Jingwei," you call out without raising your head.
"Yes?" She has already approached, holding sealing nails and airtight rope.
You nod, and the two of you, with tacit understanding, begin to seal the gaps in the nanmu chest.