Chapter Ninety-Two: Meeting an Old Acquaintance Again

High Minister Gao looked up at the tiny yet dazzling newborn Vermilion Bird, his expression complicated, touched by longing, by remorse, by regret.

He lowered his gaze and swept it across Cui Zhongshi and the others, then said in a low voice, “The few of you remember this well: tonight, you saw nothing.”

The bearers did not even know what it was. Lord Lu and Cui Zhongshi kept knocking their heads to the ground, babbling that they had seen nothing.

High Minister Gao smiled. “I am not forcing anything on you. I am saving your lives. Even so much as seeing this Vermilion Bird Dao Seal would have been enough to get you all killed.”

What Gao said was no falsehood. A cultivator who formed the Vermilion Bird Dao Seal and bore the bearing of an emperor would ensure that any witness met the same fate, silenced without exception.

“Yang Yuhuan, if you do not wish to cost this boy his life, then come with me into the palace,” Gao said when Yuan Lang remained stubborn, turning instead to Yang Yuhuan in the carriage.

Worried for Yuan Lang’s safety, Yang Yuhuan hurriedly lifted the carriage curtain. Realizing her manner had been a little flustered, she quickly pretended to compose herself and walked forward at an unhurried pace.

Yuan Lang reached out to stop her.

“All right, Yuan Lang. Let Yang Yuhuan go with the Grand General Gao. With him protecting her, no one in the imperial city will be able to touch her. There is no need to rush the audience with the emperor; the time is not yet right.”

The voice made Yuan Lang freeze. When he understood, his face lit with delight. “Du Fu!”

The figure stepping out from beside the wall was indeed Du Fu himself. Three years had passed since they last met, and his smile was as easy and free as ever, though a few more strands of white had appeared at his temples.

High Minister Gao gave a light cough. “If I were not doing Du Zimei the courtesy, I could not be bothered to waste so many words with you. I would simply have taken the person away.”

With Du Fu personally vouching for him, and with Yuan Lang’s own observations of Gao, he finally resolved to let Yang Yuhuan enter the palace with him.

Watching the sedan chair pass through the Vermilion Bird Gate and into the imperial city, Yuan Lang felt as though his heart had been soaked in the deep sea. Once inside the imperial city, everything could only depend on Yang Yuhuan herself. He did not know whether what she had learned in half a month at Little River Village would be enough to face the endless struggles and traps of the deep palace.

After Gao had gone far enough, Xue Wenyang and Xie Zhiqian bowed to Du Fu. “Teacher Du.”

Du Fu waved a hand. “I gave up the title of roaming instructor from the Moon-Washing Academy long ago. Still, if you insist on calling me that, I suppose it will do. Come, let’s go to my place. The curfew checks are strict tonight. If you get caught, I’d still have to spend money to get you out. Follow me.”

Du Fu led the group through the West Market, whose gates were shut tight, and on to Chonghua Ward.

The neighborhood guard at the entrance of Chonghua Ward was on very good terms with Du Fu and asked no questions before opening the gate for them. Du Fu’s residence was a courtyard within Chonghua Ward. Though it could not compare with Yuan Lang’s house in Yangzhou’s Xianmen Quarter, it was still exceedingly rare. In the capital, where every inch of land was worth gold, owning such a decent residence was already no small thing.

They had been traveling hard, with barely a few decent nights of sleep, and had just been pressed down by Gao’s overwhelming presence, draining much of their strength. Xue Wenyang, Xie Zhiqian, and Obaba were all asleep almost as soon as they touched the bed.

Only Yuan Lang and Du Fu remained awake, chatting by lantern light at the stone table in the little courtyard.

Du Fu was like a curious child, chasing after Yuan Lang with questions about the past four years. Yuan Lang trusted Du Fu deeply, and so he recounted the years’ events to him in as much detail as he could, concealing only the matters involving the Northern Underworld Realm. After all, the exposure of that identity was something Yuan Lang could never accept. The other three hundred or so boundary-breakers were all watching him like hawks; if he showed even the slightest flaw, he feared he would be hard-pressed to escape destruction.

When the subject turned to the tragedy at Zhang Chengxing’s wedding banquet, Du Fu’s face filled with sorrow. “That child was straightforward, prone to digging himself into a corner. If it had not been for Zhu Yiming stirring the flames, matters would never have come to this. If only I had known then, three years ago…”

He trailed off. Four years ago, crippling Zhu Yiming’s dantian had already been the utmost penalty; any further punishment would have bordered on going too far. That Zhu Yiming, with a ruined dantian, could still achieve such accomplishments within four years was in fact a model of rising anew from ruin. He had once been a talent worth shaping. In this tangle, there was no true right or wrong. They were all just pitiful souls.

Yuan Lang had originally meant to tell Du Fu about Sister Xian’er’s death, but in the end he held back. Du Fu already had too many things weighing on his mind, which was why he seemed older than ordinary men. If he learned of Sister Xian’er’s death, Yuan Lang feared he might grieve himself sick.

At last, in a low voice, Yuan Lang told him about Yang Yuhuan’s death in Little River Village and how the maid Hongchou had been used as a substitute. Du Fu nearly failed to hold the teacup steady in his hand. “You boy truly have guts that reach the heavens. You dare to commit such a crime of deceiving the sovereign? If this were exposed, do you know what the consequences would be?”

“Either way, it would end in death. Failing to escort Yang Yuhuan alive to Chang’an in the first place was already a capital offense. As for now, even if His Majesty were enraged enough to order the extermination of my entire clan, in the end he can still only kill me alone.”

Only one person left of the nine clans. It was then that Du Fu finally realized how solitary Yuan Lang was. Without Qingqing beside him, he was, one might say, utterly and completely alone in the world. Du Fu himself also wandered alone, but he was born of the Jingzhao Du clan, one of the great northern families with abundant heirs. Perhaps it was precisely the difference in their origins that shaped them: Du Fu, though unconventional in his conduct, was always restrained by something and could not give full rein to his will; Yuan Lang, with only himself to feed, could dare to take bold and desperate risks again and again, seeking a sliver of life in the cracks.

“What about your Grass Hall Inn? A while ago Li Mi sent you silver, didn’t he? Is the business still doing well?”

“When you look at the white at my temples, you probably have your answer. I offered lodging and meals for free to scholars who came to the capital to study, and that offended quite a few people’s interests. At first they sent a whole gang of ruffians and loafers disguised as scholars to slip into the inn and harass the other students. Later, they tried every possible means to make things difficult for me and force me to spend money. I fought them off more than once, and with the help of my friends, I could barely keep the place running. Who would have thought those men, cornered and desperate after losing badly, would buy off several Censorate officials to file a joint complaint before the emperor, saying I was disrupting market order and that my inn serving only scholars was slandering the common people and undermining stability within Chang’an…” Du Fu was never a man skilled at dancing through social currents. Though he did his utmost to deal with the criticism, he still could not turn the tide.

“So the Grass Hall Inn was forced to close?”

“That’s right. Several branches in the Two Capitals region shut down too, and a few creditors came demanding payment. If Gao hadn’t put up the silver to cover my accounts, I’m afraid tonight I would have had to take you all to sleep under the open sky.” Du Fu’s face was full of gloom. He had come to Chang’an to unfold his ambitions, yet there was not the slightest air of triumphant vigor about him, only an endless rain of open attacks and hidden arrows.

“Is High Minister Gao really a good man?” In Yuan Lang’s fixed impression, eunuchs of that sort were usually treacherous petty villains who delighted in seizing power. Tonight’s encounter had been entirely beyond his expectations.

“You must not look down on him merely because he is a eunuch. In the days when the Empress Dowager was still alive, he enjoyed the imperial favor greatly. For His Majesty to ascend the throne, he relied on two powerful arms: one was the Sword Saint Pei Wen, the other was Gao Lishi. He is a man of great ability and immense wealth, yet he is no power-mad schemer. He acts with something of a knight-errant’s spirit and has helped many a gentleman in distress.”

Yuan Lang nodded. “Old Du, I have always trusted your judgment of people.”

“Chang’an is not like Yangzhou. You must be careful in your conduct here. By yourself, you will never get the better of things. Choosing the right allies is of utmost importance.” Du Fu gave Yuan Lang a meaningful look. “It’s late already. You’ve had a hard journey and should rest properly. We can talk again tomorrow.”

That night, with no moon in the middle heavens and stars blazing bright, was the first night Yuan Lang spent in Chang’an. He did not know what had become of Hongchou in the deep palace, or whether she could fool the eyes of Emperor Xuanzong. No matter what, after Qingqing, the debt he owed Hongchou was likely one he could never fully repay.