Chapter Fifty-Five: Return to the Boundless Sky (Part Four)

Midnight. Shangshan Lane. Along the banks of the Luo River stood the Langyuan Garden, its walls bordering the Four Directions Lodge, connected by a small corner gate. Though Langyuan was open to all, that gate was guarded by soldiers—guarding, of course, against the foreign envoys housed within the Lodge. Yet tonight, those guards had been lured away to hear the famed songstress of the Langqiong Edict perform, leaving the gate wide open and unguarded.

Two shadowy figures slipped through the gate and ducked into the dense grove along Langyuan’s wall. They exchanged a glance, then separated, each to their task. They hadn’t gone far before voices echoed from the gate—their accomplice had failed to distract the guards for long.

Panicked, the two flung their bundles away from themselves, then raced back toward the Four Directions Lodge. Not long after, another shadow crept from the eastern side of Langyuan, searching furtively through the darkness. This newcomer lacked any professional skill; though dressed in black, he failed to conceal himself, bending over clumsily and searching in plain sight, heedless of his own exposure. Driven by urgency, he finally produced a fire striker and lit a precious stub of candle.

The faint glow revealed his face: it was Quan Li. Sweat poured down his cheeks, betraying his anxiety. Banished by the Elder Lord for betraying his master, he had endured much before returning. Outwardly, he managed the Elder Lord’s business, wielding considerable authority, but the truth was known only to himself—he was never privy to the Elder Lord’s secrets. This was his first chance, and he could not afford a misstep.

With the candle’s help, Quan Li’s vision expanded. He searched from one end to the other, then retraced his steps, bending low and working with utmost diligence. “Found it!” he whispered, cradling a large, black bundle emitting a pungent sour stench beneath a fragrant yellow sandalwood tree. He blew out the candle at once—not out of newfound caution, but because the item was precious, traded only by foreign merchants in Chang’an’s western market and acquired from Tibetan dealers.

He straightened, sidling behind the tree as someone approached. The newcomer was even more brazen, swaggering with a wind lantern, easily locating another bundle, then leaving without pause.

“That man... why is he here?” A chill swept over Quan Li. He recognized the intruder—they’d had dealings before.

Returning to his inn, Quan Li washed and changed, his mind restless. His family had served the Quans since Tianshui, their roots entwined with the clan. Loyal to the Quans, he would follow them through fire and water. Yet, among the clan’s masters, choosing one to serve faithfully left him lost.

Sleepless through the night, the dawn revealed the bundle on his desk. He gripped it, steeling himself.

Taichu Palace, Fragrant Hall. Quan Ce knelt to thank the Empress for her grace, bowing three times and nine times knocking his head, the sound echoing.

Wu Hou reviewed memorials without expression, accepting the ceremony. After a long pause, she tossed her pen aside and stood, hands behind her back as she leaned on the railing. “The world believes I am cold and heartless. Emperor Gaozong visits me in dreams, resenting and blaming me; your grandmother gnashes her teeth, furious beyond measure. Yet, some persist in provoking pain and vengeance—what choice do I have?”

Quan Ce lowered his head, silent.

Wu Hou strode over, forcing his chin up. “If it were you, what would you do?”

“Your Majesty is extraordinary, and acts beyond ordinary measure. I dare not presume. Heaven has decreed your role; I only hope Your Majesty cares for yourself, spares your mind from trivial matters, and preserves the welfare of all.”

“Don’t mimic Sansi, with his honeyed words,” Wu Hou smiled faintly, releasing him, her thumb brushing his cheek as she swept her sleeve and turned. “What of the son of Gao’an?”

This was a boon, yet Quan Ce could not rejoice. “My cousin is honest and warm-hearted, courageous, but lacks resolve.”

Wu Hou laughed softly. “Go now.”

Quan Ce retreated and left the hall. Wu Hou watched his back, sighing.

No sooner had he passed through the Gate of Light than he encountered Abbot Xue Huaiyi and Wu Youji together. He hurried to greet them.

“Go, go, I’m bored lately, and your miserable look annoys me,” Xue Huaiyi flung his robe and strode away. Quan Ce was baffled—how had expounding the Dayun Sutra made him so irritable?

Wu Youji laughed, “Xue Master worries day and night, and under the watch of hundreds of monks has little freedom. Seeing your fresh face and vigor, he can’t help but feel envy.”

Quan Ce smiled wryly—was good health now a crime?

“Elder Lord, I’ll be returning to Chang’an soon. If you have time, let’s tour the painted barges on the Yi River and see how Fuqu is running things,” Wu Youji was eager for wine and women, masking it with official business.

Quan Ce agreed readily.

Back at home, he went straight to the study—a cramped room crowded with Quan Zhong, Shazha Shu, and the Astrologer, along with the silent bodyguard Jue Di. All the leaders of the Wordless Tablet were gathered.

With the Astrologer’s skill in disguise, their movements had grown easier, and Quan Zhong was visiting more frequently.

Shazha Fu sat on the steps outside, seemingly idle, eyes scanning all directions.

“Gong Siyi, born in the twenty-second year of the Zhenguan era, native of Jinyang, entered officialdom through family privilege. His grandfather served as governor of Xinzhou. At the end of the first year of Xisheng, he became Sima of Luoyang, where he remains. Slick and scheming, he lacks integrity, notorious for framing his subordinates—most distasteful. Since the Empress moved to the Eastern Capital, he’s grown close with the chief historian of the Langqiong Edict. The household has gained a cousin, Gong Siming, said to be a tea merchant…”

“Du Guanshan is rather peculiar. No information can be found about his origins, all rumors. Supposedly, he offended a superior and has guarded Anxi Gate for over ten years without change. Some say three years ago he was silently transferred, then returned six months later. Among gate officers, he’s the most senior, nicknamed the Gate Governor.”

Gone for six months?

Quan Ce’s mind reeled. He clenched his fist, ignoring Gong Siyi—Gong Siming was clearly a smokescreen, always calculating his own safety, not worth considering.

The focus was Du Guanshan.

He had believed his father’s actions were hidden, unlikely to be discovered. He had secretly aided him, thinking it would succeed. But if his father’s contact was itself a spy, it was laughable. Clinging to a shred of hope, he asked, “Du Guanshan, what of his family?”

“His parents died early. I’ve found no trace of wife or children. His residence in the Eastern Capital is rented, and he lives alone,” Quan Zhong admitted. “Fearing error, I sent the Fan Yu brothers to investigate—it’s true.”

Quan Ce’s body wavered, gripping the table corner, pain in his palm. He was nearly certain—Quan Yi’s efforts had reached the very gates of hell.

“Quan Li, what is it? You must not barge into the Elder Lord’s study,” Shazha Fu called from outside.

“Brother Shazha, let me in—I have urgent news for the Elder Lord, it’s a matter of life and death!” Quan Li was frantic.

Quan Ce rubbed his brow and called, “Let him in.”

Quan Li entered and knelt without looking at those in the study. “I was ordered to Langyuan to retrieve an item, but I discovered that Manager Panshan was there, taking a bundle.”

“Panshan? Who is he?” Quan Ce frowned.

“Panshan is the steward under the mistress, running merchant routes. When I worked in the accounting room, I saw him often. He frequently greets the mistress alone,” Quan Li’s voice shrank, curling up as he saw Quan Ce’s bloodshot eyes—like a beast about to devour him. Terror-stricken, he kowtowed repeatedly, the sound echoing. “Everything I say is true—I would never dare deceive the Elder Lord.”

Quan Ce’s face twisted, an odd smile creeping across his lips, his voice raspy as a night owl, harsh beyond measure. “Heh heh heh, such loyalty, such great loyalty.”

No wonder Quan Yi’s dealings with Gong Siyi went unnoticed—he’d used the mistress as cover. Everyone knew she was obsessed with wealth and cared for little else, making her an excellent shield. Yet to place his wife in such peril—did he not remember twenty years of marriage?

Visions flashed before him: the noblewoman and child from Renhe Lane, waving goodbye from the carriage, his rare comfort for ten days at a time.

Then Wu Hou’s cold face appeared: “Some wish for pain and vengeance. What would you do?”

Yes, what would I do?

“Ugh…” A sharp pain pierced Quan Ce’s heart. He vomited a mouthful of blood.