Chapter Text

Chapter 3

They left half the tents in the camp, having filled them with hay and gunpowder for fireworks. The gathered tents were taken to the Hunting Palace, and now anyone who could hold a needle and was not busy dragging rocks and logs, hurriedly sewed nets from that fabric.

The emperor along with Consort Jing, his sons, and the nobles had all left for the palace. Meng Zhi rode out with a thousand cavalry to fray the front ranks of the Jingli Army.

Changsu surveyed the abandoned camp from yesterday’s bench and strained to think of what else he could put into effect. No matter what – it seemed like there was nothing else for him to do. The Hunting Palace, built into the cliffside at the junction of two rivers, was a fortress capable of withstanding a serious onslaught – but three thousand against forty… Yesterday, he had comforted Prince Yu, insisting that it was not hopeless. And perhaps he did not lie: there was, indeed, a certain hope.

Tiny, like the light of a candle in an empty field.

If Jingyan didn’t make it in time… Changsu frowned. He remembered that in his youth, Jingxuan was inclined to tearing the wings off of flies, but still limited himself to minor dirty tricks. But Jinghuan spoke of the former heir with such a tone, that at times it seemed as though he would be sick from horror. What couldn’t spies and gossips find out about the Crown Prince? Perhaps, there was another well full of human bones somewhere else in the capital, awaiting its time?

But now it was no longer worth thinking about. If Jingyan didn’t make it in time, everything would be in vain. It also wasn’t worth thinking about how, expecting foul play from Prince Yu’s side, he’d missed the rebellion of Prince Xian. Later. All that for later. Now, they had to deal with the Jingli Army.

Nearly imperceptibly, the ground shook. And there, dust began to rise… Meng Zhi was returning – if, of course the guardsmen hadn’t suffered a loss, and someone canny among the enemy commanders had the sense to take their banners.

Changsu ran a hand over his face. If only he didn’t outsmart himself, trying to predict what the opponent was capable of!

Fei Liu appeared at his side with a questioning look.

“They’re ours,” Changsu said. Some thoughts could simply not be allowed. For instance, that Brother Meng could…

He couldn’t: there he was, red horsehair fluttering on his helm. Everything was alright. Everything was going as planned.

“They’re making camp!” Meng Zhi shouted from his saddle. “The first rank is gone!”

Thirty-five thousand, the thought flew through his mind. Thirty-five against…

“Are your losses great, Brother Meng?”

“A hundred and fifty men will not be getting into formation neither today, nor tomorrow.”

“Set out an ambush at the slope of the mountain until dawn. They will try to go around us from the rear.”

“There’s no-one to go around.”

“Even still. We will have a chance to cause them damage without losing people. An ambush on the slope, and another – here, with coals in pots, as we agreed.”

“It will be done. And you…” Meng Zhi looked around and lowered his voice. “Xiao Shu, you’d better retreat to the palace, too. If anything were to happen, you wouldn’t be able to ride out of here on horseback.”

“Fei Liu will take me away.” Changsu smirked sadly. “But you are right, I have nothing more to do here.”

The Hunting Palace hummed like a disturbed beehive. People plied back and forth along the road, dragging arrows and spears, boulders and logs. There weren’t many arrows, Changsu thought. Only enough for a few volleys. After, hope would lie with the nets and the oil…

“Master Su,” came a call. Changsu turned and was struck dumb: Prince Yu himself was catching up to him with a bundle of throwing-spears on his shoulder.

“Your Highness… You’re here?!”

“Brother Huai, too,” Jinghuan grinned, “And Brother Ning wanted to, but can’t, so he’s sitting and playing weiqi with Uncle Ji. You look as though you’ve seen a phoenix in a sycamore, Master Su! I would have been driven mad in the palace, trying to keep face before my imperial father. Better that I carry some weight, and then fall asleep quickly… After all, we do not expect attack today, right?”

Prince Yu’s display of bravado could not fool Changsu: at times he’d seen it on every other new recruit on the eve of battle. But this was far better than the debilitating fear that he’d also had the chance to see… And besides, princes preparing for defense shoulder-to-shoulder with soldiers was good for morale. It was noticeable that those who recognized Jinghuan, and a little further, Jingli, sped up their step and straightened their shoulders. And they were recognized by many – after all, this was the Imperial Guard.

“Only don’t strain yourself, Your Highness. Your Highness is unused to heavy work. Yes, until tomorrow morning, Xu Anmo will not come to siege the palace.”

“Glad to hear it.” Prince Yu wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, leaving behind a dirty stripe. His eyes glittered feverishly. “And don’t you tire yourself out either, Master Su. Otherwise, Seventh Brother will be furious.”

“One will try not to give Prince Jing reason for fury!” Changsu bowed, and continued on his way into the mountain.

He did not expect such a thing from Jinghuan – however, given the choice of suffering uncertainty and helplessness beside the emperor, or taking up soldierly labor – anyone’s preference would be obvious. Even Prince Huai – poet, idler, a youth who flowed with the winds to the point that even Yujin would be embarrassed – also jumped to help with wrapped packs and arrow-quivers. Likely, too, that some of the young courtiers had taken to work: for one is not as afraid when one is busy.

Yan Yujin showed up to meet him already in the palace.

“Brother Su! The Noble Consort instructed me to count all those that could hold a weapon and report to you. I counted them. Thirty and a few people from the personal guards, and servants. Although, not everyone will be able to find breastplates. They never kept a supply of armor here…”

“Thank you. Arrange it so that everyone who can, is supplied. Go to Meng Zhi, he has wounded after today’s outing. Let them give their armor to those who can fight in their place.”

“It will be done!” And Yujin rushed away, concentrated, in no way at all reminding Changsu of the careless youth who had only recently been traveling with his best friend around the Jianghu.

It was good that Jingrui wasn’t here. Bad – he was a fighter out of the very best – but good.

Changsu spent the evening with Tingsheng. The boy was also putting on a brave face; despite all the troubles that had befallen him, he could not imagine a war at all, and there was a fear that he would be drawn to heroics. So Changsu tried to firmly impress upon the young valiant that his place was in the very last line of defense.

Half a watch after sunset, a messenger rushed in with news that the attempt to get to the abandoned watchtower by the hunting trails had been repelled. And after the passing of the Hour of the Bull, the ravine below lit up with fire. The gunpowder ambush had worked.

“They have many wounded,” reported Meng Zhi. His face, though weary, shone with a savage joy. “And I doubt that they will mount an incursion until dawn comes. Scouts say that morale is low in their camp. They don’t know that Prince Jing isn’t here, and they curse his devious traps, ha-ha!”

“A pity Zhen Ping isn’t here,” Changsu remarked inopportunely. “Or, perhaps, Xia Dong.”

“Why?!”

“They could have been sent to organize a panic in the enemy’s camp itself. Or, by the grace of Heaven, kidnap Prince Xian or Commander Xu… But you don’t have such people, Brother Meng?”

Meng Zhi sighed heavily.

“I command the Imperial Guard, not a border army. Where am I to find such gifted infiltrators? But, Xiao Shu, what of your lady Gong Yu?”

Changsu shook his head. “On the street or in a home she operates well, but not in an army camp. She’d be able to remove the watchmen, and nothing more. Well, let us stop with empty wishes. Go and rest, Brother Meng. Tomorrow will be a hot day.”

“And don’t you dare stay up and not sleep!” Meng Zhi jokingly threatened him. “How am I to fight at full strength tomorrow if you don’t rest, ah?”

Changsu certainly also understood that he needed to rest. But sleep would not come to him, no matter how he tossed and turned, trying to settle on the cot he was unaccustomed to. It was already getting light when he finally succumbed not so much to drowsiness as to fatigue. And it was as though just at that moment, sunbeams shone into his eyes…

A sound came from outside, in the courtyard – quiet, monotone, and strangely familiar. Changsu splashed water into his face and went out onto the gallery, squinting in the bright light.

In the courtyard, Prince Yu sat with his back against a tree trunk. Having closed his eyes, he plucked at the string of a large bow, listening to its sound.

“Your Highness?”

“Master Su.” The prince threw his head up, startled, as though he had sung himself to sleep with the hum of the bowstring. “Did I wake you?”

“No, that was the sun’s doing. Allow one’s curiosity, what is Your Highness doing?”

“Testing my bow. I will have no time to change the bowstring today – I want to ensure it has no flaw.”

“Prince Yu, Your Highness, are you mad?! You wish to go to battle?”

“And why not?” The prince rose lightly, showing that he had entirely recovered from the consequences of yesterday’s frenzied ride. “Do I not compare to Brother Jing?”

“Prince Jing is military, half his life was spent with an army, and you… Forgive me this impudence, but has Your Highness been in battle, even once?”

“However surprising it may seem – yes! Three times. Occasionally, inspection trips offer such an opportunity. Bandits, you know, completely lack esteem when they sense profit.” Prince Yu snorted. “No, Master Su, don’t think that I wish to compare myself to Jingyan in gallantry. But I am not a bad shot, and the arrow itself doesn’t care whether it flies at a doe or a man.”

Changsu didn’t like something about Jinghuan’s tone. Something reverberated in his voice like an alarm bell.

“A stray arrow, and Your Highness will be in place of the doe. The emperor has no extra sons…”

“Oh really? Enough, Master Su. The emperor turned to me yesterday as though all this was my fault: that Jingxuan had rebelled, that Consort Yue is an ungrateful beast, and Xu Anmo is power-hungry and corrupt… In the evening, Noble Consort Jing had to calm him and give me signals to disappear quickly from his sight.”

“That is no reason to court death, Your Highness!”

“I don’t court it.” Jinghuan leaned his bow against the tree trunk and came to the porch. “I will not hide that it is pleasant to see you worry for me, though I see no reason.” He smiled for the first time during their conversation, and the sun in the morning mist crowned his head with a glow. “But truly, Master Su, I don’t at all wish to die today. I want to survive, victorious – to return to the capital, greet my mother and my wife, to visit your house… You see, I have grand plans for my life. It’s just that I’m afraid if I remain beside the emperor while the Jingli Army is besieging the palace… I’ll surely say or do something inadvisable. That is why I am determined to be outside – and of course, not to just stand around.”

Changsu gave a short sigh. In general, Jinghuan was right: in Mei Changsu’s plans there was no significance to whether Prince Yu lived or died. Of course, in the role of an ally to Jingyan he was an excellent acquisition, but there would be no difficulty in going without him.

Yet still, Changsu did not want to see him dead. Previously, he hadn’t wanted to, either, but now…

“At least find some armor,” sighed Changsu – deciding that later, if all turned out well, that he must carefully examine the roots Xiao Jinghuan had laid down in his heart, and to determine whether he should rip them up, before it led to disaster.

“I’ll even put a helmet on. I’m not such an idiot as I might seem to you, Master Su.”

“Your Highness! One could never…” here Changsu involuntarily cut himself off because Jinghuan had leaned forward, caught his hand, and quickly kissed his fingers. Not even with his lips, only with breath – after which he quickly turned and left, taking up his bow on the way.

Changsu stood there for another few minutes, thoughtfully looking over his own hand, as though the warm moisture of a breath could leave some sort of trace upon it. Then he heard a fast-approaching step – he recognized Meng Zhi’s gait. He returned to the room with a shake of his shoulders, only now realizing he’d become chilled.

***

When the snaking line of the first regiments began to crawl into the gorge leading up to the palace, and the command was given to shut the gates, Mei Changsu went into the reception hall and immediately stepped behind a column, pulling Tingsheng to himself. He was noticed, but the attention of those gathered was directed at what was happening outside. The last to run in was Prince Huai – he had been doing something in the courtyard – had he really been distributing arrows to the last?

The united stamp of thousands of feet could just barely be distinguished. In the courtyard, cries were heard: they were taking the last of the stones up onto the ramparts, helping one another to tie on their armor, determined their places in the formation.

In the hall there were sighs, the sounds of steps from foot to foot, the rustle of clothing. The third prince breathed heavily, and fingered something against his chest. On regular days, it was easy to forget that he had been sickly from childhood, but now, his condition had worsened from distress. Hopefully he would’t collapse before everything got really serious…

Consort Jing sat straight-backed beside the emperor in a saffron-yellow robe. With all her poise she expressed both concern (the emperor clutched at her sleeve, not from fear, in all likelihood, but simply because he didn’t seem to know what else to do with his hands) and unwavering steadiness. Just a little further, Marquis Yan stood as a similar pillar of calm – and on the other side of the throne, like a counterpart to the old daoist, Prince Ji huffed and puffed unevenly, having never in his life spilled anyone’s blood.

The ministers gathered into a tight knot, the eunuchs crowded at the doors – a mistake, to be there, the only protection being a layer of paper… When the arrows began to fly, it would be dangerous. But Mei Changsu couldn’t give a warning about this. Master Mei was a strategist, a scholar, not a warrior who definitely knew where to stand during an attack. He was just more comfortable in the corner behind a column, when the hall was full of the highest nobility.

The minutes dripped by, thickening and roughening the air. The courtyard outside became quiet, and like an approaching storm, the rhythm of soldiers’ boots reverberated in the ravine.

“Two hundred steps!” came the shout from the watchtower above the gate. Someone in the hall either hiccuped or sobbed. In the general hush, it sounded very loud, and people shuffled, glancing around, even beginning to smile…

“Where is Jinghuan?” suddenly asked the emperor. He glanced around also, looking to find that quite distinctive one of his subjects. “Where did he go?”

Another wave of exchanged looks – as though it wasn’t immediately obvious that Prince Yu wasn’t in the hall.

The emperor slowly paled.

“What… Did he run?!”

It was nearly a whisper, but, of course, everyone heard.

Changsu noticed how Prince Huai gave a start, made a step, intending to kneel before the throne, but from outside there suddenly came the cry of:

“One hundred and fifty steps!” And right after it, thundering over the walls and echoing down into the gorge:

“Soldiers of the Jingli Army! Any of you who dare attack the palace will be guilty of treason!”

The emperor half-rose from the throne, clenching his fists.

Beyond the ramparts, a weak, but distinct murmur could be heard; the words were not distinguishable, but Changsu held his breath. He knew that intonation, that dangerous combination of rage and fear – happily, Lin Shu had never had to hear that sound coming from his forces, but what happened afterward to others…

“Those who stand against the emperor commit an unforgivable crime! Three generations of family are executed for treason! Those who throw down their weapons now, may yet be pardoned. For the rest, death awaits. Whether in battle now, or on the scaffold, after.”

The murmur rose in a stormy wave, muffling the menacing warning. Prince Yu’s voice was strong, but one man couldn’t out-shout a whole army.

Another two or three phrases, barely perceptible over the roar of the crowd – then came the sounds of shouts and the clank of weaponry.

Changsu understood what was happening without even seeing what was happening beyond the wall. Prince Yu was recognized on sight – perhaps not by every soldier, but the officers almost definitely. The Jingli Army was constantly stationed not far from the capital, and the greater part of inspections were overseen precisely by the Fifth Prince. That he was here, and not Prince Jing (who had supposedly taken the emperor hostage!) and was threatening execution for treason, would have told many that the stated reason for their campaign may not have been truthful. And, of course, some of the soldiers wavered – some tried to leave formation, others to stop or destroy the deserters… If they were lucky, if the panic seeded by Prince Yu was strong enough, the Jingli Army could chew itself up quite nicely before it turned to attack the palace.

Ministers began to whisper, the emperor sank back onto his throne, catching his breath. He stared at the hall doors, waiting for Prince Yu to come in – to report, to bask in the attention…

The doors remained still and there was no sound of steps on the stair.

“Father, allow one to say,” Prince Huai finally made up his mind, “Brother Yu has decided to participate in the battle.”

“Well he… Who allowed him!” The emperor banged his fist against the arm of the throne. The flame of the candle in the nearest sconce wavered. People froze again, not knowing what to fear most of all: the enemy beyond the gates, or their sovereign’s wrath.

However, that fury ran dry just as suddenly as it had burst out.

“She raised him well, didn’t she, your sister?” the emperor grumbled at Marquis Yan, who twitched very slightly with unease, and gave a short bow.

Meanwhile chaos behind the gate grew. The noise became deafening, then suddenly began to abate. It seemed, Changsu understood, that someone of the higher-ranking commanders with a personal guard and a heavy hand had made order… A pity that he could not be brought down with a well-aimed arrow. One hundred and fifty steps were far even for archers in the tower, and the ballasts, too, would surely miss.

He tried to calm his quickened breath. How much time had Prince Yu won them? A quarter of a watch, or a little less… Would Jingyan make it in time? And if he made it – would the company, exhausted with a headlong charge, have enough strength for a strong attack from the rear?

Silence fell, and the ground was once more pounded by heavy footsteps.

“One hundred steps!”

“Archers!” Meng Zhi’s roar covered the courtyard.

And the arrows began to sing.

The sounds that carried up were something like a map of the battle for Changsu. There, had begun the answering shooting, and there were the fire arrows. One of the eunuchs fell – a wonder that it was just one – and the others hurried to step back into the hall, closing the inner doors. They rushed to douse what they could. The Hunting Palace was built well, and the wood was impregnated with something that prevented fire: the thick beams of the doors, though they were licked by flame, didn’t even begin to smoke.

The gates were steadily being beat with a ram, after which Meng Zhi ordered, ‘To the walls!’ meaning that the besiegers had put up ladders. The tone of the shouts had changed, the guards had engaged with the enemy in close combat. Drawn out yells – those were the ladders falling with those upon them…

There was Brother Meng calling, ‘Nets!’ They’d managed to sew together a dozen, but large ones. There were no experienced fishermen who would have been able to cast the nets properly, among the guardsmen – however, from a great height, even novices could manage.

Again, a change in the tone of the shouts: the nets had fallen on the heads of the soldiers, at least half had worked as it should. And immediately after, the command, ‘Oil!’

Changsu felt a metallic aftertaste in his mouth. War was frightening, even if one knew how to play by its rules. Right now, oil would fall upon the heads of the people tangled in the thick fabric, then – fire.

He had, perhaps, squeezed Tingsheng’s shoulder too tightly: the boy squeaked quietly.

He didn’t want to remember. Didn’t want to remember the fire at Meiling. He listened to the battle. Soon, Jingyan would come.

Everyone in the hall shuddered at the terrible howls. Thankfully, the wind didn’t bring in the smell of burnt human flesh through the wall…

And again, the battering ram.

There was Meng Zhi, rallying the soldiers, and they answered him with furious shouts… Changsu thought he heard Yujin’s raised voice, and Gong Yu’s cry. Of course he was just imagining it. And of course, Fei Liu was silent, and Jinghuan, probably, too.

With a terrible crunch and creak, the gates fell. A moment of dead silence… And it began.

As for the courtiers’ frightened shouts, Marquis Yan’s fiery speech and the emperor’s answer – Changsu only barely heard any of it. He only listened, trying to catch the distant rumble of hooves beyond the din of battle. Impossible, of course. And yet…

He definitely began to distinguish voices. Gong Yu’s desperate shriek, with which, it seemed, she had brought down her sword onto her opponent’s head. Meng Zhi’s triumphant roar – he, likely, already had put down a whole mound of bodies about himself. He even heard Yujin’s shout – and managed to grab Marquis Yan, who had also seemed to hear it.

And – the rhythmic, low hum of the bowstring near the paper doors. The short howl accompanying every arrow before it embedded itself in flesh with a squelch. Someone was likely covering Jinghuan, so that he could shoot without stopping, not distracted by repelling attacks against himself.

Then Changsu heard the echo of an entirely different noise.

“Soon,” he breathed out. He received some sidelong glances; these people who gripped their swords – half of them barely remembering which end to hold the weapon from – even one short word seemed to them a harbinger of rescue.

But there, in the ravine… Something was happening.

The bowstring’s song stopped. Had the arrows run out?

Below, from the gorge, the wave of a victorious cry had risen. And the frenzied yells of those who fought in the courtyard came in answer.

And then, over the noisy ruckus, rose a clear voice:

“With apologies, Nihuang has come late!”

And Changsu forced himself to unclench his fingers from Tingsheng’s shoulder.

***

The paved courtyard was flooded with blood – one had to look carefully underfoot in order not to slip and stumble against someone’s body. Jingyan shuddered at the thought of what kind of terrible battle had happened here.

He lifted his eyes only when he had reached the steps, and saw Mei Changsu nearly right before him: pale, with sunken eyes, but definitively whole and unharmed.

“The emperor, the noble consort, the princes, and the ministers did not suffer,” Master Su said and gave a short, tired smile. “Your Highness is prudent and punctual.”

“A shame I was not here sooner,” Jingyan answered. His left arm was injured, his boot squelched with blood that had run from a shallow, but nasty cut – and on top of it all, he had to report to the emperor that the traitor, Prince Xian, had evaded capture.

“You don’t look too good, little brother,” he heard right beside him – and Jingyan blinked. He hadn’t recognized Jinghuan in plain soldiers’ armor, sitting on the steps near a column. Nearby lay the remains of his bow, cloven in half, and several empty quivers. Dirt, blood, and ash gave the Fifth Prince an entirely barbaric look: as though he had purposely drawn many-colored stripes on his face, as did certain nomads, going on raids.

Not without difficulty, Jinghuan got to his feet and came closer.

“How is Fourth Brother? Alive and crying in chains, or died from fright on the spot?”

“Ran off,” Jingyan answered through his teeth. “Our horses were tired, we couldn’t catch up.”

Likely, the fires of hell resembled the flames that had risen behind Jinghuan’s eyes.

“Is that so,” he hissed, barely audible. “Well, he won’t get far.”

“Prince Yu,” Mei Changsu began, but Jinghuan had already sprang away, directly to Meng Zhi, who was discussing something with Nihuang by the gates.

Jingyan looked over the courtyard again. Evaluated the arrows, piercing through the bodies in the black armor of Jingli.

“I never would’ve thought,” he muttered, perplexed. “Master Su, did he, by himself…”

“Fei Liu covered him.” Mei Changsu’s smile widened.

“I thought Fei Liu couldn’t stand him.”

“‘His bow sings,’ is what Fei Liu said. For him that’s reason enough… He’ll take on a whole regiment to listen to the music he likes.”

“Sounds impressive,” Jingyan agreed, dazed. His arm ached, his knee throbbed, the knuckles of his hand had been rubbed raw by the reins. He knew for certain that he would find dozens more bruises and scrapes, and perhaps even some wounds beneath his armor – those not noticeable at first. As long as he wasn’t bleeding out, then all was well, and he could keep going. “I need to report to the emperor.”

“Perhaps,” remarked Mei Changsu, turning a frown at something to the side, “That could wait.”

All the same, his exhaustion and his wounds did no favors to his ability to pay attention: only having turned in that same direction, Jingyan noticed that a riding party was being hurriedly gathered at the side of the central pavilion. About twenty guardsmen, their russet horses – and a little further, the raven Lilong was cantering up, who Jingyan, like that latest watchman, would also now recognize out of thousands.

Prince Huai fussed and fumbled at the clasps to his own red cloak as he fastened it onto Prince Yu.

Jingyan diligently blinked a few times. It didn’t help.

Meanwhile, Jingli finally figured it out, let go, and Jinghuan clambered into the saddle with obvious effort.

The party began to move towards the gates, and Prince Yu rode up to the steps and said:

“Don’t report yet, little brother.”

“He’s ahead of you by half a watch, no less.” Jingyan hopelessly shook his head. “You won’t find him…”

“Ha,” only answered Jinghuan, and squeezed the raven horse’s sides with his legs. The stallion leapt forward with that same unbelievable catlike softness. The red cloak rose in a blaze of flame, and the party, reaching a gallop, dashed down the gulley.

“But he won’t find him!” Vexation burned so sharply that Jingyan startled himself. Of course it was a hopeless undertaking, looking for tracks of the small company, running for its life in an unknown direction, where the whole ravine was plowed up with boots and hooves. But even if his Fifth Brother, who could barely stand, wanted to go and chase shadows – who would forbid him, and why? The Jingli army was broken and scattered, he should encounter no ambushes, and those fleeing would be run down by the guard without even noticing. Jinghuan was no military commander, and when it came to bringing order after battle he wouldn’t be useful either – let him run off, looking for wind in a field!

But if he was convinced that Jinghuan would return empty-handed, then he needed to go and report to his father.

And if he gave in to hope, that a hunter’s sense would not betray his Fifth Brother after all… Then he needed to sit quietly and wait, wait for who knew how long…

Jingyan knew how to sit still and wait for the return of scouts sent out. However, to rely on Jinghuan’s vacillating fortune was… Unacceptable!

“If one would be permitted to give counsel,” Mei Changsu said, ingratiating, by his ear, “Then it surely wouldn’t hurt for Your Highness to be bandaged, and perhaps have something invigorating before visiting the emperor. The emperor heard with his own ears how furious the battle was, and will likely react with understanding to Your Highness preferring not to leak blood onto the floor before the throne during the report. General Lie, you wouldn’t be troubled to accompany Prince Jing to the healer?”

Jingyan would not have been able to realize at what point, even, Zhanying had appeared by his side and thus decided that he’d better listen to such high-handed counsel. Blood was all right, but appearing before his father was better done with a clear head, not when pieces of time and spaces were quietly disappearing.

Besides that, the visit to the healer would, to some extent justify the delay in the confession that he and Nihuang had missed Jingxuan.

It seemed as though Mei Changsu smiled at him as he went, but that was more likely his imagination: the advisor, as far as Jingyan knew him, was never generous with his smiles. Unless it was to Fei Liu.

In response to the demand for something against fatigue and drowsiness, the healer’s face twisted, as though he’d chewed up a few pickled plums without rice, and instead suggested a poppy decoction. The impudence of army doctors, as always, was striking. On the other hand, how could they work, without insisting on getting their way…

Jingyan refused the poppy, received two orange pills with the instruction: when sleep once more began to threaten, not even to think of resisting it – and he left, limping and carefully holding his arm in a sling – only to run right into the commander of the cavalry from Ji Fortress with a whole heap of questions.

Then, he had to solve the problem of where to put the prisoners and what forces to guard them with, if the guardsmen numbered less than two thousand and the prisoners – fifteen thousand. Jingyan had to come back down into the ravine, where the blackened, charred skeletons of the tents still stood. He was aware of his own condition: the healer had gone over in great detail exactly what kind of unpleasantness awaited him if he disregarded his instructions and tried to put off necessary rest. Jingyan was ready to come to terms with a headache and bone pain, but loosening of the bowels seemed an excessive trial. Which is why, with the first signs of sleepiness, he intended to go up to the palace, to give an account to his father, and collapse to sleep somewhere on his mother’s traveling case.

The riders approaching at a trot were first noticed by the watchmen. Around the arrangements of troops, the cry went up, ‘Prince Yu returns!’ Jingyan shrugged his shoulders. So, he’d returned – it would be fine if he was tired and disappointed, if only he didn’t bother Jingyan…

“His Highness, Prince Yu ordered one to ask Your Highness where to put the traitor Jingxuan!” blurted out a guardsman, jauntily hopping from his horse at two steps’ distance.

Not believing his ears, Jingyan turned.

Jinghuan had already dismounted and held Lilong by the reins. Across the stallion’s back, the prisoner lay, originally taken by Jingyan for some kind of bundle.

“Get off, Fourth Brother,” Jinghuan ordered unkindly. “Get off, and no trouble, now.”

The ‘bundle’ miserably bleated and wiggled its legs.

“Too high? Alright… Lilong! Let down His Shameless Highness.”

The raven horse kicked his back legs up – at half strength, without fervor – and bent his head down low. The prisoner half slipped, half rolled down the horse’s long neck.

He was not tied up, but when he landed on all fours, he did not try to rise, even when Jinghuan briefly and cruelly kicked him in the side.

“You want to crawl? You can do that too…”

Still covered in dirt and blood, with stray hairs escaping from his topknot, Jinghuan bared his teeth – the sight was truly frightening – and stepped forward, ready to lay on another kick, harder. Jingyan came up as quickly as the tight bandage around his leg allowed and grabbed his Fifth Brother by the arm, above the elbow:

“Stop! What are you doing?”

Jinghuan slowly turned his gaze to him. A quiet madness smoldered in the depths of his eyes. Jingyan tensed: he’d met enough people who lost their reason after the first battle of their lives.

“You see, little brother? And you didn’t believe me. I can’t catch up to you in military matters, but on a hunt, I take my own…”

Jingyan’s left arm betrayed him, and he couldn’t roughly shake his brother – so he took him around the shoulders with his right, almost crushing the layered leather of his shoulder guard.

“Elder brother, you don’t need to beat him anymore, please. We’ll put your catch in a cage for you…”

Jinghuan slowly breathed out, and just as slowly and deeply sighed, then covered Jingyan’s hand on his shoulder with his own, gloved in an archer’s glove.

“I haven’t gone mad, little brother. But you’d better take him. Or I might really cause a scene with this… Cowardly slug.”

Jingxuan just clung to the ground, as if expecting that he really would be beaten. And he only began to squeal quietly when a few guards ran up, hoisted him to his feet, and dragged him to the quickly-constructed cage.

Momentarily forgotten by his master, Lilong, the raven stallion, came up and jealously nabbed Jingyan by the elbow with his teeth.

“Let’s ride to the palace,” Jingyan asked, hurriedly removing his arm. “Now we can report on our full victory.”

“You go.” Jinghuan tried to wipe his face, smudged it even further, and huffed in displeasure. “Report. You’re the hero today. And the princess.”

“What about you? It was you who warned us, you who caught Jingxuan. And I saw how many you shot in the courtyard…”

“Are you joking? A truly great feat – hitting a man from five steps!”

“You did what needed to be done.”

“Well, tell Father about it, if it comes up. I don’t want to see him today, little brother. And I don’t want him to see me either.”

“Perhaps I understand you,” Jingyan said, and suddenly yawned, desperately, almost dislocating his jaw. The first sign – he needed to hurry. “Will you spend the night down here, or come up?”

“If you don’t know that – you can honestly tell the emperor that you have no idea where I am.”

Lilong poked his velvety nose against Jinghuan’s cheek and he patted the marvelous stallion on the snout.

“Go, little brother. The sun is setting, you see? It’s time for all of us to rest.”

Jingyan nodded and gave a sign to be given a horse.

***

When he awakened around noon, Jingyan was immediately summoned to the emperor.

“Still not one word from the capital,” he raged, “What did they do, take it apart, stone by stone?! And finally, where is that hypocrite trash Consort Yue, if the Empress is in the palace?!”

“Sire!” Well-rested and full of strength, Meng Zhi seemed ready to take back the capital on his own. “Almost seven thousand guardsmen remain there! Surely, they continue holding the palace. If Your Majesty permits one to head to Jinling, one shall quickly return it under the arm of the law.”

“I don’t doubt it.” The emperor smirked: such fervor pleased him. “Take fifty thousand soldiers. I need my capital whole.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

“Now, what’s the situation with the rebels?”

“The traitor Xu Anmo was killed by the Princess Mu,” came Jingyan’s turn. “The rebel Prince Xian is being held in a cage under guard. Around fifteen thousand soldiers of the Jingli Army are captured, and the officers await their fate separately. Around twenty thousand were killed, the rest were scattered and fled.”

“Not bad, not bad.” The emperor nodded and gave the order: “The prisoners are all to be executed, of course.”

Jingyan’s stomach seized with cold. He threw a glance at Meng Zhi, whose face had also fallen.

“Imperial Father! The soldiers were following orders. The officers are guilty, and have been sentenced, but those under their command only did what they were told! Must we execute men for doing what they had to?”

“What’s this?” The emperor squinted. “Their families will not be executed, that’s already a mercy. Is that not so, Jinghuan?”

Prince Yu, silently and motionlessly standing nearby, made a step forward. At a loss, Jingyan looked from him, to his father. Yes, the law demanded to destroy the rebels together with their families, but why was confirmation of this demanded from Jinghuan?

“Answering Father. It would truly be a mercy to pardon their families, however today, one dares suggest the emperor consider Prince Jing’s words. Father, we have two times more prisoners than our forces. And all these may be without arms, but they are soldiers. If they understand that execution awaits them, they may begin to resist. Yesterday, the Jingli Army was not so enthusiastic in its attack. But backed into a corner, they may become truly dangerous in their desperation. If offered pardon because they knew not what they did, they would praise the emperor’s mercy, and there would be no threat of losing face.”

“Knew not what they did?! You explained quite intelligibly what, exactly, they were doing!”

“Only to the front lines, Imperial Father.” Jinghuan’s lips formed a brief, dark smile. “And they were all cut down before the walls – many facing far worse deaths than an executioner could have organized.”

Jingyan understood that he didn’t know something about yesterday’s battle, but hurried to add:

“One agrees with Fifth Brother! Besides, in this way, we will save many trained soldiers that will be even more loyal than usual – and there will not be rumors spread about the country that these people truly wanted to overthrow the emperor. One begs Imperial Father to reconsider!” He fell to his knees, and Meng Zhi followed him.

Jinghuan remained standing.

“Sounds reasonable…” the emperor muttered hesitantly. “Fine! However, the deserters must be destroyed. Jingyan, oversee it!”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

When both princes and the general came out into the courtyard, Jingyan couldn’t hold himself back:

“Fifth Brother, what was the emperor talking about? You explained something to the rebels?”

Jinghuan only waved him off, but General Meng immediately butted in:

“Oh, Prince Yu gave such a speech from the wall, when they had come within a shot’s distance with the battering ram! When the soldiers heard that they were traitors, that’s when it started! They nearly killed one another without any of our hel…”

“Commander, don’t blow it out of proportion,” Jinghuan sharply cut him off – and Meng Zhi quieted resentfully. “It was a stupid idea, and not mine at all – Jingli came up with it. And I somehow decided that I might be able to frighten the rebels. Maybe about ten of them. Ridiculous!” He huffed like an angry cat, turned on his heel and left, clipping Jingyan with his sleeve.

“Far more than ten,” Meng Zhi grumbled, perplexed. “Ying Gezhong had to get involved, Xu Anmo’s lieutenant, that was… Prince Jing, what’s with Prince Yu…?”

“I don’t know,” Jingyan answered, following Jinghuan’s rapidly retreating back with his eyes. “Does he have a reason to be displeased with himself after yesterday’s battle?”

Meng Zhi scratched the back of his head.

“Well, who can understand him? Perhaps he really thought he could tell them about treason and execution, and the whole army would turn and run?”

Jingyan only shook his head. The commander took his leave, and it was time to take reports, though he wanted to talk with Mei Changsu and Nihuang… His left arm still moved poorly, and his knee twinged painfully when he walked. Now even Brother Yu was frustrated, goodness knew from what – after all, they had so successfully stood up before their father…

Here, Jingyan shook his head and decided against the idea of chasing after Jinghuan to find out what was happening. Who knew why his mood was bad! Perhaps he was concerned for his mother in the capital, perhaps Lilong got colicky, or, perhaps, a grain of millet had fallen into his cot and didn’t let him sleep all night. Jinghuan would figure it out himself, after all, who was the elder between them?

Having already reached the steps of his assigned quarters, Jingyan suddenly realized that his mental grumbling came from his childhood – the same childhood where the worst of it was that sweet potatoes, his least favorite, were served for breakfast, and yesterday’s captured frogs escaped their basket. He stopped, so brightly had the desire arisen to stop Jinghuan and ask him what the matter was: definitely not sweet potatoes and frogs, they were grown, and affairs were quite a bit more serious… But he no longer could see his brother, and matters required his attention – and after several conversations, the capture of the hairy creature and Mei Changsu’s fuss with it, he somehow entirely forgot the little misunderstanding.

At night, the advisor’s condition worsened.

Seeing his mother’s worry, Jingyan himself was involuntarily frightened. He knew that Master Su’s health was fragile, that his illness gnawed at him from within and could rear its head at any moment. He saw great strain deprive Master Su of breath – and he suddenly remembered how Jinghuan had whispered, ‘Breathe, don’t waste your strength on words…’ – yet now the matter was far worse. Master Su’s medicine had run out, and Mother could not concoct the same, though she went thoughtfully over a few vials in her wondrous new medicine chest.

She applied acupuncture, and Jingyan sat nearby, catching every movement of Master Su’s lips, every indistinct whisper. A strange hope flared up within him: what if! So many coincidences! Then extinguished again, stifled with reasoning: it couldn’t be Xiao Shu, he didn’t look like him, not even one familiar feature, and what kind of scholar would Xiao Shu make, for heaven’s sake…

It seemed as though he had heard something familiar, but Mother didn’t even twitch, only shrugged in answer to his question – so he must’ve imagined it.

And in the morning, when the pale, exhausted, and yet gloriously alive Mei Changsu and his saddened, withdrawn mother had identically, yet unwillingly answered his question about the name of the elder Master Mei, his hope was extinguished entirely.

The day was empty and mournful, everything was brought to the appearance of order in the palace and in the ravine. The watch changed, the wounded were looked after, the prisoners were fed with their own rations. The emperor refused to speak with Prince Xian, and so he sat quietly in his cage – Jingyan didn’t approach. His leg flared up again from his walk to the soldiers’ encampment, and his heart was heavy. Jingyan decided to spend the evening reading, but quickly realized he could not concentrate. He utterly did not know how to do nothing, yet it seemed as though there was nothing more left to do. He couldn’t go to Mei Changsu to entertain each other with conversation, like they did in the capital; weakened after his attack, Mei Changsu slept for the greater part of the day, and he was best not be bothered.

Languishing in boredom, Jingyan came out into the courtyard, and immediately saw Prince Yu riding in on his raven horse through the gaping, torn-open gateway. He also noticed Jingyan, and in answer to his greeting bowed right from the saddle. That was something – a perfect bow was something Jinghuan could do better than most. Xiao Shu was also like that, in everything: as soon as he caught your eye, you could not look away…

“I see, Fifth Brother drove this stallion to the seventh sweat?” Remembering Xiao Shu drove such a dull pain into his heart, that Jingyan hurried to strike up a worldly conversation, just to distract himself.

“He drove me to my seventh sweat,” Jinghuan snorted, jumped down, and threw the reins to a guardsman. This time, Lilong, damp pelt shining on his sides and neck, easily gave himself into strange hands. “If I were to ride as much as he would like, my liver would fall out. Any news?”

“As yet, none.”

Jinghuan clicked his tongue in displeasure.

“It’s been more than a day and a half…”

“If someone in the capital thought of resisting, we won’t know anything at the very least until tomorrow. Qing Meng won’t send a messenger with the only news being that he had arrived. Only of victory.”

“I understand. Yet, still… And why are you so sour, little brother? How’s your arm?”

“My arm’s fine, my leg isn’t very…” Jingyan thought for a second, then said it out loud anyway: “Master Su fell ill.”

“When? Badly?!”

‘And where did demons drag you off to that you couldn’t even look in to say hello, and still don’t know what happened?’ Jingyan wanted to snap at him. But he held himself back, not knowing why.

“Last night. Badly. But he’s better now… Mother looked him over and said it shouldn’t get worse.”

Jinghuan’s face, which had darkened with alarm, brightened a little.

“Do you know whether he is accepting visitors?”

“He isn’t,” Jingyan answered, not without vengeful pleasure. “He’s sleeping. And what have you been doing, running around the forests and valleys since dawn?”

To his surprise, Jinghuan faltered and turned his gaze inward, exactly like Mei Changsu, when asked of his father. Unsure whether or not to answer, truly, where he had been…

“I wished to speak with Master Su, but since he is resting…” Jinghuan frowned strangely: as if something hurt, but he was unsure what or where. “Are you occupied tonight, little brother?”

“No. There’s nothing to do.”

“Have a drink with me?”

It was a request – unmistakeable, almost pitiful; Jingyan was so startled he lost the ability to speak for a few moments. What was happening to his brother yesterday, and today?

“Very well,” he answered, “If only the supply of drink here hasn’t all been used for cleaning out wounds.”

“Gao Zhan would not allow it.” Jinghuan laughed dryly. “Unless you suddenly like that terrible galolian swill the infantry carries.”

“How do you know it’s terrible?” Jingyan chuckled, having known it from an experience he had no burning intention to repeat.

“I smelled it. I didn’t dare taste it.”

“You did right. No, I prefer… Anything else, really, especially if it’s something from Gao Zhan’s household.”

“Come over in half a watch.”

“I will.”

And only as he watched his brother’s retreating back, Jingyan realized that he had forgotten to ask where exactly Prince Yu was billeted in the Hunting Palace.

“Zhanying?”

“Your Highness.”

“Find out where Prince Yu’s quarters are. I’ve been summoned to him this evening. I have no idea how long it will take, and how it will end, so be ready.”

“Yes, sir,” Zhanying answered, so careful not to show surprise that it almost lit up his face.

Jingyan would have laughed, but something told him that he looked exactly the same, when Jinghuan had invited him for drinks.