Chapter Text

Chapter 5

All was well at home.

News of the Jingli Army’s defeat and Prince Xian’s capture reached the capital together with Meng Zhi – and when Mei Changsu’s carriage came through the gates of his residence, he was met without that hysterical joy that accompanied relief from some grave disturbance. Everything that was packed and hidden was returned to their previous places, dinner was cooking, the house smelled clean, and only Zhen Ping sported a bandage on his arm, almost the same as Gong Yu.

“Not soldiers,” explained Li Gang, “Marauders. There were no battles in this part of the city, though everyone who wanted to catch some fish the muddied waters did crawl out. Some ragamuffins from the city tried to break in.” He smirked, and it was clear exactly what opinion that veteran of the Chiyan army and warrior of Jiangzuo held of the unsuccessful bandits’ intelligence.

“What did you do with the bodies?” Mei Changsu asked.

“Well, Commander Meng ordered all the unidentified dead to be taken to the Ministry of Punishment. So we did.”

“Poor Cai Quan,” muttered Mei Changsu, without much sympathy. In the end, rebellions don’t happen every day – and the newly-minted Minister of Punishment now had the opportunity to show his quality.

He didn’t want to eat after a long journey, but he had to: his habitual absence of appetite could send him to the grave before his time, and Changsu long had learned to force himself to swallow something during any meal. Honestly, both Lin Chen and Doctor Yan insisted on a more abundant diet – but Changsu cleverly (at least he hoped so) fed extra pieces to Fei Liu.

He oversaw Nie Feng’s settling in, and was going to arrange for dinner, when a perplexed Li Gang looked in:

“Chief, Prince Yu and Prince Jing have come.”

“What, together?”

“U-uh, yes! They’re chatting… I mean, talking.”

Changsu rubbed the bridge of his nose. He had truly been tired out over the course of the day, but… Both brothers at once? An unprecedented event.

“Invite them in. And tell Auntie Ji that the guests must also be fed.” Under no circumstances could the princes have had the opportunity to eat after their arrival, unless they’d done so in the nomadic tradition; a piece of dried meat on horseback.

They came in – better to say, tumbled into the room shoulder-to-shoulder, gray from exhaustion and in the same outfits they had rode in from Jiu’an Mountain – yet both seeming equally satisfied.

“Forgive us, Master Su, we shall not burden you with our presence for long!” hurriedly said Prince Jing – and Changsu involuntarily admired him: he was quite splendid in his gilded armor, with a sharp and attentive gaze… In a year, he had turned from a shut-in, disappointed general who expected danger at every turn – to a brilliant statesman, inspiring a certain trust even with his appearance.

Prince Yu bowed easily, as if to confirm his brother’s words. Had he ceded the right to speak to the younger? Or simply didn’t bother correcting this breach of etiquette?

“Your Highnesses, one asks, and is ready to insist that you share my dinner. It wouldn’t do for Your Highnesses to fall from hunger on the road home.”

Prince Jing looked ready to object, but now it was Prince Yu who got ahead of him:

“If it gives Master Su pleasure, we will gladly keep you company.” He gently elbowed his brother in the side as if to say, ‘don’t contradict me!’

And Jingyan, hesitating for a moment, nodded in agreement.

An allowance for such gestures, this unexpected warmth between brothers, elicited a short pang of pain in his heart for some reason. Changsu bowed, thanking the princes for the honor, hiding his face: his guests probably shouldn’t see his expression now.

After all, it had been his suggestion to Jingyan. He had decided that Jinghuan would be convenient and useful if he managed to awaken brotherly feelings in his heart.

What was this, jealousy? Or longing – for what he could not allow himself: even a respectful touch – not to speak of jabbing him with an elbow? And if all went well, then he never will…

“We have not yet reported to the emperor on Consort Yue’s death, and the circumstances of that death,” Prince Jing began. Not the most proper – to speak of death first thing, at the dinner table, no less – but no-one present could shed a tear for that woman, either from the heart or from a sense of duty. And there was little time for talk. “Minister Cai sent some men, and we expect a report on the morning after tomorrow.”

“Previously, this matter would have been assigned to the Xuanjing Bureau,” Prince Yu added. “But Xia Jiang is on the run, Xia Dong is in prison, and the lower ranks are laying low. And it is unclear how long all this will last.”

“Is it not dangerous to stretch this out?” Changsu thoughtfully sipped his tea. “The emperor could lose his temper when he realizes that he was not informed of Consort Yue’s fate for three days.”

Prince Yu smirked:

“She was seen only by four guardsmen, and recognized by me alone. She was in a traveling outfit, quite modest: obviously a noble lady, but rank unclear. I recognized her hair-piece, it was given to Consort Yue by Mother, about six years ago – but the emperor doesn’t know I’m aware of that. Besides, the bodies were already… Beasts, the sun, you understand… And I can always say that I didn’t recognize her face. Meanwhile the people from the Department of Punishment will need time to discover exactly who they are dealing with.”

Prince Jing looked doubtful and displeased.

“Your Highness?”

“We will be lying to the emperor,” he muttered. “I understand the necessity, but…”

“Calm down, little brother. I will be lying to the emperor, if need be. And I have that right, don’t you agree?”

Jingyan grimaced and shrugged:

“I did say I understood.”

Dinner in the Su residence today was modest, but seeing as the one thing keeping two healthy young men from gobbling their food down without chewing was decorum embedded since childhood, Changsu felt a quiet tranquility. There was something of his previous, real life here: when you pay no attention to what you’re eating, eagerly sharing your impressions and thoughts with others… A pity that he could no longer do so, Changsu thought, and upon lowering his eyes to his little table, found with some surprise that apparently the others’ hunger was contagious: there was almost nothing left in his bowls.

“In other news, the emperor expressed the intention to name a Crown Prince.” Prince Yu indicated Prince Jing with his eyes, and he shrugged again:

“Yes, and to allow you back some small part of your pearls.”

“It’s just that he’s excited he returned, still emperor. The day after tomorrow his mood will spoil again. Or maybe tomorrow, when he reads Brother Xian’s testimony.”

Changsu quietly added:

“But if he spoke about appointing a crown prince before witnesses…”

“Oh, yes. In front of everyone,” Jingyan sighed. “Fifth Brother is right, it was out of excitement. Imperial Father was very anxious, riding through Jinling, and came to himself only when he arrived at the palace to convince himself all was well there.”

“Did he see something along the way which disturbed him?” Changsu clarified.

“Ah, yes,” Prince Yu suddenly remembered. “You turned away from the procession almost immediately, and here, the city hasn’t suffered at all. You just haven’t seen what the surroundings of the Great Road have turned into yet, Master Su! As I understand, half the city didn’t burn down only due to the garrison.”

Prince Jing sighed shortly. He had to deal with this, too.

“First a flood, now fires in the upper city,” he said through his teeth. “And accidental deaths in the fighting. I think that appeasing the people will take a long time, and hopefully another disaster will not fall on us in the meanwhile.”

“You’d better not portend misfortune, little brother.”

“I doubt my word has any weight in the Heavenly Chancellery!”

“Incidentally, Prince Jing,” Changsu cut in; his heart ached again from this little skirmish in which he could take no part, “What made Your Highness think of sending not soldiers to scout, but His Highness Prince Yu? From the outside, it seemed strange.”

The brothers exchanged a glance – if he had not been observing them, he would have missed it.

“From the third outpost the road to Jiu’an Mountain is always sparsely frequented, if not to say barren,” Jingyan began. “There’s nothing for bandits to do there, and there are few settlements nearby. That’s why, seeing the crows, I thought that there might be something… Of greater importance in the ditch – something to do with the passing of the Jingli Army, earlier.”

“That is to say, to do with Prince Xian’s rebellion,” Changsu prompted quietly.

“Yes. I couldn’t imagine what, exactly. A messenger with letters? Officers who did not want to follow false orders? It could have been anything.”

“Your Highness could have sent General Lie.”

“Zhanying is clever and observant, but does not wield complete knowledge of court matters. Besides, he was overseeing the rear of the procession.” Jingyan snorted tiredly. “I didn’t want to attract attention, calling him away. And Fifth Brother distinguished himself just the other day at the head of the express squadron,” he offered a quick bow in Prince Yu’s direction, “And I thought it appropriate to cement that success. Though,” here Jingyan grimaced, “The result was two-sided.”

Prince Yu narrowed his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

Jingyan turned a questioning look to Changsu, and he got the note from Consort Jing out of his sleeve.

“The emperor’s attention is not always beneficial, Your Highness.”

Prince Yu snatched the strip of vellum from the advisor’s fingers and glared at the grayish strokes of the characters. His lips pressed together and his nostrils flared in fury.

“Not thirty years have passed,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “Since he noticed the resemblance!”

Changsu sighed quietly and hid his hands in his sleeves: he did this now to conceal from Jingyan’s sight his ineradicable habit of rubbing fabric between his fingers.

“Your Highness, one begs, do not give in to wrath. The emperor remembered not Concubine Xian, but Princess Linglong, and this truly could threaten you…”

“Father’s disfavor?” The Prince laughed joylessly. “I suppose I still can fall further… Oh yes,” he put the note on the table and, as if unaware, began to slowly smooth it out with his fingertips, “Seventh Brother, we need to have a quarrel.”

Jingyan, who had been drinking at that moment, snorted into his cup.

“What?!”

Changsu mentally scolded himself for his carelessness. He’d come home, relaxed, admired Jingyan, and nearly missed that truly important moment.

“Prince Yu is entirely correct, Your Highness. Your Highnesses must quarrel. Better for minor reasons, but good and loud.”

For a few moments, Jingyan’s eyes filled with confusion and even slight grievance – then lit up with bitter understanding.

“Balance at court.” He nodded. “Imperial Father would not tolerate our closeness.”

Changsu leisurely raised his cup to his lips. He needed to drink something hot, because an invisible icy hand had gripped his throat.

He experienced satisfaction, seeing how quickly Jingyan learned everything that a ruler should know. He entirely approved the appearance of new people beside him – intelligent, competent, with a developed sense of duty – those who could be depended upon in government.

But when Jinghuan appeared right at Jingyan’s side, when Jingyan himself unhesitatingly said the word ‘closeness…’ It was too fast. Too sudden. Too… Suspicious? The Fifth Prince was not at all like Shen Zhui or Cai Quan. His upbringing, habits, tendency to recklessly rely on others… A person like that could be useful later, when Jingyan’s position became firm enough that nothing could shake it. Not now.

But it was he himself who had told Jingyan: if in the nearest future Prince Yu does not become a loyal ally, then later he will have to be fought to the death. The Fifth Prince had been stunned, lost, betrayed; he had allowed himself to believe in his younger brother; and who knew what would happen if he was pushed away just because they could not be sure of him? The emperor was concerned today with the similarity of his son to his mother. In the past months, Changsu had gathered all the information that was accessible to him about the Hua kingdom, and its last rulers, Linglong and Xuanji. Fair as heavenly fairies, sly as foxes, and fierce as tigers – that is what was said of them by witnesses. Princess Linglong had felt herself betrayed and threw herself into war – perhaps a suicidal one. But the Hua uprising, the Hua who had been already subdued and half scattered, had shaken the empire like an earthquake. What would happen if Jinghuan felt himself betrayed again?

Better not to test it.

But with such bad timing… And he had suggested it himself.

He was torn from his thoughtfulness by Prince Yu’s words:

“…won’t know in advance. And you, no offense, little brother, are a terrible actor.”

Jingyan frowned and straightened his shoulders – and then immediately relaxed with a discontented chuckle.

“That’s what I wasn’t trained for…”

“And that’s why,” Jinghuan continued smoothly, “You can just leave it to me. I’ll find a reason to enrage you out of nowhere, and then you won’t have to hold yourself back.” He hesitated and then suddenly added: “Only later, remember, it was just for show.”

Jingyan shrugged, as if to say of course he’d remember. But Changsu shivered. The Seventh Prince was raised in devotion to the law and moral duty. Sympathy was not foreign to him, though in nature (the further he went, the more obvious it was) he was quite alike to his father, the emperor. Stubbornness, a short temper, an unwillingness to give in, even a little when it came to something important, or those close to him. He’d already had to experience it himself. If Jinghuan accidentally happened to get his brother where it hurt – would he truly remember that it was done for his own well-being, and that it was discussed in advance?

A dangerous game.

“Does it just seem that way, Master Su, or do you really not approve of this plan?” Jingyan inquired – evidently Changsu had not managed to keep doubt from his face.

“If Your Highnesses permit to add a certain small stipulation to the plan…”

“We are all attention.”

“If, Prince Jing, Your Highness, it seems to you that a real argument hides beneath the mask of the false one… One begs, before doing anything, consult with your honored mother. Or at least with me.”

Jingyan frowned again and shifted in place, as though it had become uncomfortable to sit.

“An excellent caveat, I think,” Prince Yu said with satisfaction. “If Seventh Brother agrees…” He raised his eyebrows, and Jingyan nodded sharply, obviously offended at the lack of trust, but understanding that he deserved it. “Before we finally leave Master Su to imbibe his well-deserved rest, there is one more small matter that I would like to discuss…”

Changsu silently sighed. He was tired, truly tired, and the princes weren’t made of stone either. Did it have to be today…?

“You asked of price, little brother. I thought of what to ask you for.”

Tiredness was forgotten in that moment. Jingyan, it seemed, even forgot to breathe, fixing his brother’s face with his eyes. Though it did not directly concern Changsu, he also tenses, ready for any surprise.

Prince Yu, unlike his younger brother, was an excellent actor. He took on a solemn pose, fixed an official expression to his face, held out a pause, and…

“Seventh Brother, I ask for your permission to openly strive for the favor of the man you know as Mei Changsu, or Su Zhe – your advisor.”

And even the wide, mischievous smile that bloomed across his face as he finished entirely didn’t make his words seem joking – not to any extent.

The silence that fell then was such that they could hear the embers crackling in the brazier, and the wind whispering tall grass by the little pond outside the window.

For the first time in probably many years, Changsu had no idea what to say. Or rather, he wasn’t even being asked: Jingyan was. And he had already opened his mouth three times like a large fish, and then closed it, without the strength to say a single word. Finally, he managed to gather himself:

“Fifth Brother, wouldn’t it be better to ask Master Su himself?!”

Prince Yu beamed.

“Of course not. I intend exactly to strive for a positive answer from Master Su – that is the point. And I ask you because Master Su is your man, and it is within your power to forbid him… And soon enough you will have the opportunity to forbid me.”

Changsu could hear no false notes, no mockery in Jinghuan’s voice, not even in his final words – here, he spoke of Jingyan’s future title of Crown Prince. But Jinghuan knew how to hide his feelings so deeply that they could not be unburied, having spent his whole life around the throne… Especially if he had thought in advance of his performance and managed to not only talk it through in his mind, but calculate the answers.

Jingyan cast a helpless look at Changsu. ‘Well, advisor, advise me!’ he seemed to say, yet here was the problem: right now, Changsu was entirely deprived of the ability to speak, and besides, still didn’t know what to answer.

Jinghuan didn’t look at him – only at Jingyan, piercingly and steadily.

Under that gaze, Jingyan began to concentrate. Changsu saw as his back straightened, his fists clenched – not from anger, but in the attempt to gather his thoughts. The Seventh Prince was a military commander from his early youth, and knew how to be in charge of people’s fates. And now, the same was required from him, only in an unusual circumstance.

“Master Su is a fully-grown, wise man – and I do not doubt in his capability to independently build any sort of relation to you,” he began thoughtfully, “If not for the difference in your stations. Master Su does not have even a courtly rank, only the title of an invitee advisor, and you are a qinwang. This makes me uneasy – disregarding the fact that I dare not doubt in the virtue of your intentions, Fifth Brother. Can you tell me something that would offset this concern?”

Now, Jingyan also very carefully didn’t look at Changsu, and he felt himself like an item being bargained over: a rare scroll, or, say, a jade statuette. Never in his life… But no, it had happened before that his opinion worried no-one, and he was little more than an object upon which certain matters had to be enacted. Long ago, on Langya Mountain, when the masters of the Archive had been determining methods of healing…

It was a strange feeling – when nothing depended on you. Unfamiliar – then and now.

“Imagine, little brother, that a certain person was asking for permission to pay court to your sister,” started Jinghuan in a sing-song tone. “Your sister is older than you, by quite a bit. She is excellently educated, and you often receive helpful counsel from her.”

Having initially become indignant, Jingyan immediately calmed. Of course, it was one thing to imagine a trembling young beauty that someone was trying to hit on, and an entirely different matter to imagine a grown woman who knew perfectly well what she wanted, and what she could count on.

Changsu tried to imagine a female version of himself. A lady (a princess?) for some reason not having been given in marriage in her youth – and now, stale goods, who could only be given in reward to a distinguished official. No one was trying to marry her off anymore, and she, like a widow, was free in choice, activity, and companion.

The Mistress Su of his imagination was tall and thin, not very beautiful, always in gray, in almost no makeup. And she was always cold. Who would look at her? Although, likely, one could spend hours in conversation with Mistress Su about art.

…Ridiculous.

“Of course, you do not wish to give your sister away to anyone but the best man in the world. Maybe not even to him. And so, his task is to convince your sister to want him herself, for her to convince you. And your right – to chuck him out by the scruff of his neck if your sister complains. Does such an arrangement appease you, little brother?”

Jingyan couldn’t resist it, he smiled.

“Master Su, what of you? Will you take the patronage of this ‘younger brother’ in the sphere of relation with the Fifth Prince?”

‘You’ve already agreed,’ Changsu silently told him. Had not even realize that he had agreed, and was now asking only whether he was willing to calm his conscience.

The Hua princesses were as sly as foxes… And Jinghuan, clearly, favored his mother not just in his talent in the saddle.

“Only do not ask me to dress in women’s robes,” he joked out loud. “Yes, one will feel entirely safe if Your Highness will cast your shadow over me.”

‘Brother Crown Prince, Prince Yu is persistent in his suit – I beg you, reason with him!’ he imagined the agitated older lady in gray robes saying – and also could not resist a smile.

“If it is so,” announced Jingyan, “Then you have my consent, Fifth Brother. But you said it yourself: if my older sister complains…”

Prince Yu bowed ceremoniously.

And then Changsu suddenly remembered what this whole show was for. The consent given to Jinghuan was the price that he had asked for loyalty to Jingyan.

He became uncomfortable and chilled despite wearing two robes and sitting beside the brazier. What was this all about really? What profit did the Fifth Prince seek to gain from the attempt (only the attempt!) to conquer the heart of Advisor Su?

Changsu was unused to understanding nothing, and now he was uneasy.

“Meanwhile, we had promised not to burden Master Su for long, yet we spent a whole watch’s time on our visit,” Prince Yu remarked serenely. “Is it not time for us to finally depart from this most hospitable house?”

Jingyan immediately rose and stopped Changsu, who had been about to rise, with a forbidding gesture.

“Don’t even think about it, Master Su, you need not accompany us. We arrived without an invitation, took up your time, did not let you rest after the trip… Please, take care of yourself.”

At a different time, Changsu would have insisted on observing etiquette and the duties of a host, but his legs had fallen asleep and he was dizzy – so he only thanked the princes for the rendered kindness, and remained sitting while Li Gang escorted his quests to the exit.

However, even in bed, despite the leaden exhaustion that had gripped his body – he still couldn’t fall asleep for some time, remembering Prince Yu’s parting glance, cast from the doorway.

There was a promise in that gaze, but of what, exactly? He could not understand.

***

Today, it seemed that Wuying Hall was ready to burst from the sheer number of people filling in. Officials, officers, princes, even ladies who rarely visited governmental sessions – everyone quietly spoke amongst themselves, but even so, the rumble of voices rolled like waves beneath the ceiling.

It was the will of the emperor to reward those who had distinguished themselves during the siege of the Hunting Palace, and the rebellion in the capital. As yet, there was no talk of the punishments for those participating in the rebellion.

Gao Zhan took two steps below the throne with a decree in his hands. Eunuchs with scrolls and small chests. The emperor was in a blissful state of mind, and the courtiers quieted, ready to heed him and full of anticipation.

“On the eighth day of the fourth month, year of Chengping, the emperor deigns to give an edict!” Gao Zhan’s melodic and piercing voice fell upon the rows of people like a hunting net. Those less experienced froze, catching every echo and tone. The magic of an official speech affected those who had heard such things their whole life far less.

Jingyan looked around furtively. Third, Fifth, and Eighth Brothers stood across from him, while Sixth and Ninth were on his side of the hall. Thirteen-year-old Jingye took in the edict’s delivery with a mouth half-open in wonderment. Jingwei, Brother Jun, looked either sleepy or a little frightened – he had been yanked out of Fangcheng, where he was governor, for the sake of this grand occasion. Jingting stood quietly: if he was to be rewarded in this ceremony, then it would be a very small reward, the same as Jingli. As for Jinghuan, he was going to leave the hall with either five or seven pearls in his headdress – the emperor kept the mystery until the very end. He stood, looking distracted, and even gloomy. His appearance absolutely did not match with the festive anticipation. Perhaps he had fallen into wrathful jealousy again, that he would not be named Crown Prince? But no, he would be giving Jingyan that burning look, and not feeling out the carvings on the column with unseeing eyes…

Something at home? As far as he knew, the princes’ estates had not been touched during the rebellion, but Jingyan wasn’t entirely sure: too much information flowed to him and he just didn’t have time to comprehend it all. And then, even if Prince Yu’s house had suffered, the Court Management would be taking care of it.

On the other hand, if it wasn’t the house, but his people… Jingyan shrugged his shoulders, then tried to mask it as an attempt to stretch, tired from standing still. Besides, nobody was looking at him yet: the praises to the empress were being announced.

“The empress has been virtuous, brave, faithful to her duty, and has protected her household and her country! It is impossible to elevate her further than she is, and thus the emperor bestows upon her…” and the list of additional rights, precious gifts, and other things went on – Jingyan wasn’t listening. He knew the order of the ceremony and knew he would only be called upon later. Mother would also be rewarded, and Prince Yu, and some of the ministers.

Jinghuan came out to receive his pearls with an inscrutable face. Though, he spent the greater part of the edict’s announcement, just like all who gained the emperor’s favor, with his forehead against the floor – so it was unlikely that anyone could gauge the unusual grimness of the gloriously reinstated prince.

The hour came, and Gao Zhan summoned Xiao Jingyan, Prince Jing before the throne.

Listening to the praises to his person in a dead silence, barely interrupted with breath, Jingyan felt that he felt nothing. From the very moment that Mei Changsu told him, ‘I choose you!’ he came to this instant, knew his goal, learned, calculated, risked, fought, made mistakes and rectified them…

His goal had been achieved. And emptiness had settled within him.

No, Jingyan knew what he needed to do further. Yet, standing on the first conquered peak and seeing before himself an endless chain of those subsequent, he felt not joy, but exhaustion. At the very beginning of the path – exhaustion.

He knew how to win battles. Even wars, though not big ones. Every battle and war had an end.

Power had no end.

The day rolled on like a heavy, thundering wheel: congratulations, smiles, bows, fuss, duties that nobody had called off, and those that were oncoming. Jingyan nodded, answered, gave orders. He forgot nothing and made no mistakes – was polite and restrained, and only caught himself looking around for someone to lean on in the crowd a few times. Not literally: just to catch a glance, smile, nod, and throw himself back into the maelstrom with renewed strength.

There was no such person. Mother had withdrawn together with the empress, Zhanying had ridden away with a sheaf of errands, his brothers had gone their separate ways. Jingyan was alone in the crowd.

Mother had warned him that he had not been ready. And was afraid that he would never be.

He nearly ran into Jinghuan, enveloped in the deferential, yet merciless current of people. The Fifth Prince gave a perfect bow, seeming so nearly mocking that Jingyan feared their promised fight to occur here and now. But no, Jinghuan said no more. Clutching at a shard of reality that had nothing at all to do with his new position, Jingyan quietly asked:

“Elder brother looks concerned, is something the matter?”

“Brother Crown Prince looks weary,” Jinghuan answered just as quietly. “Don’t allow yourself to be overrun on the very first day – it would be, at the very least, disappointing.”

“Elder brother suggests I drop everything and head home?”

“Imperial Father, for example, did just that, if Brother Crown Prince hadn’t noticed.”

Jingyan looked up – and truly, neither the emperor nor his flock of eunuches were no longer in the hall…

He was not offended at his father’s behavior – he simply could not be. The very ability to feel that feeling had entirely burned out with Xiao Shu’s death, the Chiyan Army, Brother Qi… He was not offended, he was only exhaustedly outraged. Just as now: abandoned his son to the abyss and left to rest? Well, that was the emperor’s right – to indulge in his own whims.

“I cannot allow myself.”

“You must.” Jinghuan’s face remained impassive. “You cannot solve all matters right now anyway, and you are obliged to take care of yourself, Crown Prince: it is your duty before the country and the emperor.”

They spoke very quietly, and even if someone of the courtiers had tried to eavesdrop, he doubted that anyone could catch even a word.

To take care of himself… Jingyan was bad at taking care of himself. Obviously, he worse armor to battle – but going to bed before the camp had been raised, for instance, was beyond him.

But power had no end, and never would – yet human strength did. Not without bitterness, Jingyan was forced to acknowledge that his brother was right.

“Elder brother is experienced.” He inclined his head. “I’ll take that advice.”

He had already taken a step away and nearly swayed, understanding that he truly was excessively tired – from talk! Only from talk! And, surprising himself, he called over his shoulder:

“May I ask, elder brother…?”

“The Crown Prince can order it,” Prince Yu said smoothly, offering another ceremonious bow.

Jingyan squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and slowly said:

“But I want to ask. And will not insist.”

Jinghuan came to stand beside him.

“Yes?”

And, feeling that he was stepping over some invisible, yet incredibly important border, Jingyan nearly whispered:

“Have a drink with me?”

The second that passed then, with no answer, seemed to him an eternity.

“Yes. Where?”

That simple answer caught Jingyan off-guard. Perhaps his surprise shone too clearly on his face, because Jinghuan’s posture became even more flawless – his shoulders straightened, face frozen in a half-smile. Anyone watching them would have thought that the brothers were exchanging barbs.

“How about Xongxiu Zhao?”

“I depend on my elder brother’s good taste and experience.”

“Go and get changed, and I’ll wait for you there.” Jinghuan bowed deeply and precisely, as one does when asking leave to withdraw, and Jingyan bowed carelessly back. He was left with the feeling that his brother was enjoying putting on this spectacle – though what enjoyment could there possibly be in playing at his own abasement…?

On his way home, Jingyan remembered that a move to the Eastern Palace was in order. His residence would remain his, but it was doubtful he could continue using it, too.

He changed his clothes and his hair-pin, made arrangements, and didn’t resist Zhanying’s suggestion of a doubled guard. Jingyan already lacked the strength to say anything superfluous. Perhaps he should have just gone to sleep, not drag himself to the pleasure-house. Maybe he really ought to.

“It seems I’ve started to scorn good sense,” he said to Jinghuan as he entered the room on the second floor of the ‘fun-house’. It was richly ornamented, with a view of the gardens, and curiously lit so that it was hard to see what was happening within, from the outside.

“Oh, no.” His brother nodded. Now he was certainly not intending to greet the Crown Prince so deferentially. “You must eat, otherwise you’ll have to see a healer in the morning.”

Jingyan only grunted in agreement, dropping down onto the pillows. He knew the insidiousness of the combination of wine with tiredness – though mostly by hearsay.

“Long live the Crown Prince,” Jinghuan announced in an undertone, lifting the cup with both hands.

‘Enough!’ Jingyan almost begged. His own title was ringing in his hears, and he could take Jinghuan’s exaggerated deference as nothing but mockery.

“I’m not joking,” his brother added softly. “I promised to help, so… To become emperor you need to live long.”

Jingyan drank silently, emptying his cup without tasting the wine; which hit him right in the sinuses. Not at all that gentle drink from Gao Zhan’s stores! He had to quickly eat something, whatever was closest – and that, too, was nearly tasteless.

He squinted suspiciously at the plate. No, they were regular pigs’-ears – they couldn’t have been unseasoned… Was he really that worn out?

“I shall have to hint to your honorable mother to watch out for what and when you eat,” Jinghuan said with some mild admiration, watching as Jingyan’s plates and bowls grew swiftly emptier, “As it seems you have been remiss in that matter.”

“Thanks to my elder brother, the crown prince didn’t die of hunger today,” Jingyan joked awkwardly, gradually having gained back his sense of taste and a certain feeling of reality in the surrounding world. If he had been at home, he would have refused dinner and gone to bed hungry… And, of course, would have woken up – but that state of wakefulness would be no better than a bad hangover. “Allow me to return the favor and drink to your health and long life.”

Cups were lifted, somewhere in the depths of the house a pipa played – not likely for them, it was too far off – but it gave the evening a certain air of ease; and Jingyan realized that it had been a long time since he had been in such an establishment. How often he and Xiao Shu had visited the entertainment district – and then he no longer even wanted to look in the direction of the Willow Quarter, and the flower-boats…

“You looked grim today, elder brother.” He hurriedly banished reminiscences from his mind. “Everything alright?”

Jinghuan shook his head.

“Mother is ill,” he threw out. “It doesn’t seem dangerous, but the healer is dithering around – as though he doesn’t know what he’s treating her for.”

Jingyan frowned. The empress was present today in Wuying Hall – she had bowed before the emperor and received her accolades and rewards. Her face had been powdered with white and worn an incredibly rich phoenix head-dress – how only did her neck not break beneath its weight? But Jingyan had noticed nothing unusual in the empress’s voice, nor her movements. Perhaps, only an unusual glimmer in her eyes – but there was a reason for that: the emperor was boundlessly pleased with her, and she had gone from least-loved, to his faithful commander who had held down the fort. This was noticeable even on the very day of the return from Jiu’an Mountain…

And, yes, the empress had looked pale and tired on that day, but even that was understandable: was it an easy task for an older woman who had spent her life in the imperial harem to suddenly take on a general’s duty? And she had managed it!

“It would probably be stupid to ask Mother to take a look at the empress?” he remarked doubtfully.

“I’m afraid that Imperial Mother wouldn’t take Noble Consort Jing’s help, regardless. And your honored mother, likely isn’t burning with the desire to guard her health.”

“That’s true – as long as I remember, they had never been ‘good sisters.’ But, elder brother, the imperial doctor hasn’t killed anyone yet, it seems. I suppose everything will be fine. Remember that the empress was indisposed even before the New Year, and nobody could figure out what was wrong with her, and then it all went away…”

“Hopefully, it’ll be the same now,” Jinghuan poured for them both, “But Banruo has also disappeared.”

“Miss Qin? Your advisor? What do you mean, ‘disappeared’?”

“I don’t know. If I knew, I would at least understand where to look. They say that on the morning when the Jingli Army started taking the city, she left the manor, and was not seen since.

Jingyan frowned.

“Do you think…”

“I’m not thinking. Trying not to. She’s no simple girl – she could have escaped across the roofs if she needed to, and she could take an average soldier down… Yet, still,” Jinghuan sighed, turned his cup around in his fingers, and put it down, “It is a vile feeling, being able to do nothing but wait. For something.”

“I could…”

“No. That is why I tell you, even you can do nothing, Brother Crown Prince. It is not within your power to look beneath every stone in Jinling, maybe even half the country, looking for one Hua of humble origin.”

Oh, right, Jingyan remembered, Qin Banruo was Hua. Announce a search for her, and it would be the pebble to start an avalanche. After their uprising thirty years ago, and the following banishments, people considered the Hua anathema to this day. Better not unnecessarily draw attention to the shattered pieces of that unhappy people.

There was no end to power, but at times it was like a film of grease on the surface of the water – the bottom unreachable.

“Are you implying that I’m helpless, despite my title?”

Jinghuan blinked, perplexed.

“No,” he answered slowly. “That’s not at all what I… Have I offended you?”

The shadow of something flashed in his eyes – not just fear, panic. Jingyan suddenly felt it hard to breathe. Was that how it was going to be? What, now, even his Fifth Brother would be afraid of him? Would start to hold his occasionally poisonous tongue, keep to himself ideas that might scandalize the crown prince…

“Don’t,” he said hoarsely. “Elder brother, I was the one to call you out to drink… You don’t have to watch your words. I won’t take offense, I don’t want to take offense now…”

He said it, and realized he was completely drunk.