Chapter 100: On the Three Lives Stone (Part Two)

A memorial submitted to the imperial court in the morning, only to be demoted to Chaozhou Road by evening—such is the truth.

Xu Yougong ultimately failed to advance his philosophy of law enforcement; he never even received the opportunity to execute it. Upon the memorial impeaching the Minister of Rites, Li Ruochu, being presented at the Phoenix Pavilion, Prime Minister Cen Changqian and Counselor Wu Chengsi conferred and jointly signed a petition. They praised Xu Yougong as a capable and benevolent administrator who promoted the court’s virtue, requesting his transfer to the Protectorate General to Pacify the West as a civil officer to pacify the newly submitted Western Turkic peoples.

Empress Wu approved the decree, exempting Xu Yougong from formal farewell ceremonies and ordering him to depart immediately without delay—indeed, she did not wish to see him even once.

Meanwhile, Quan Ce also submitted a memorial. His petition retained the unique style he had since becoming an imperial censor: praising others without criticism, filled with songs and dances extolling the world and its customs. Yet this time, he was somewhat shameless, honoring his close friend, the scholar Ge Hui of Luoyang, describing him as warm-hearted and sincere, upright in character, helping others without seeking reward, treating wealth as dung, eloquent and florid, freely lavishing compliments as if they were without cost. The key was the last line: “Among the common people of Luoyang, many are like Hui—too numerous to count. The ancients said that when granaries are full, people know etiquette; truly, this does not deceive me. Luoyang, flourishing and splendid, its people possess the demeanor of city dwellers, exemplary throughout the realm, a world apart from the past—truly remarkable.”

The memorial read less like a petition and more like a character sketch, entirely devoid of political matters. Empress Wu read it with great delight, her face radiant. She praised Luoyang’s people and city alike, attributing the transformation to her own presence and benevolence. The flattery was subtle and effective, leaving her feeling refreshed and pleased. She decreed Quan Ce’s promotion to Deputy Chief Censor, filling the vacancy left by Xu Yougong.

At the Censorate, all twenty-three censors from the tribunal, the palace bureau, and the inspection bureau assembled to greet the new superior.

This young man, who had been on the job for barely two months, skillfully sidestepped heavy matters and never meddled in cases. He wandered through the grim bones of the Censorate, yet not a hint of guilt or wrongdoing clung to him. Merely by babbling some irrelevant idle talk and acting aloof, he somehow rose above everyone else—even among royal relatives, he stood out annoyingly.

Moreover, he wore a surprisingly reluctant expression, which only fueled others’ irritation.

Even Fu Youyi, a smooth operator who always smiled at everyone, found his composure cracking. Forcing a smile, he was the first to offer congratulations: “Congratulations to Deputy Chief Quan, congratulations indeed. I look forward to your guidance in days to come.”

“Congratulations to Deputy Chief Quan, congratulations to Deputy Chief Quan.” The situation was overwhelming; all the censors bowed deeply in a formal salute to their new superior—even the ostentatious Yan Baili had to lower his head.

Among the guests, none felt more disgruntled than Lai Juncheng, who had been pushed out by wolves at the front gate only to have tigers enter at the back. He cupped his hands politely, exchanging greetings with Quan Ce, his eyes flickering with unreadable thoughts. After a brief formal exchange, unable to contain his bitterness, he muttered a few words and swept away, sleeves billowing.

“Colleagues, may I say a word? It is only fitting to celebrate the new Deputy Chief’s appointment,” Fu Youyi enthusiastically arranged the gathering, standing beside Quan Ce with eyes sparkling, becoming his unofficial spokesperson. “Everyone present, not a single one of you can be missing tonight. We’ll gather at the Yishui Pleasure Boat. The Deputy Chief must host the event and spare no expense.”

Quan Ce smiled quietly and remained silent, bitterness welling inside. God have mercy—he truly had no desire to be promoted now, especially within the censorate. Though he was stifled by Lai Juncheng’s covert attacks, being promoted to become his greatest thorn was far from pleasant. His gaze swept toward Fu Youyi, who was bustling nearby. Eyes narrowing with a strange meaning, he laughed heartily, “I appreciate your kindness, colleagues. Tonight, I will be the host. Conveniently, I’ve heard new attractions at Yongfeng Lane—new melodies, new instruments. All of you are talented; let us appreciate them together. If truly excellent, we shall proclaim it widely. If not, we shall promptly spoil the show.”

Laughter erupted robustly, followed by lively agreement. Fu Youyi caught Quan Ce’s drift and hesitated theatrically, setting the tone: “If recommended by the Deputy Chief, it must be superb. I lack talent and would not dare embarrass myself; I shall study the matter carefully.”

Another round of uproarious laughter filled the blood-stained, grim halls of the Censorate, now infused with joyous atmosphere.

At the Yishui Pleasure Boat, the censors arrived en masse. Other guests were declined. The vast vessel, illuminated by red lanterns casting a rosy glow, was alive with fine wine, delicious food, and graceful singing and dancing, creating a warm and convivial ambiance.

Upon reaching a ferry dock, the music and dance paused as the boat anchored. The serving maidens gracefully withdrew to the wall, lighting twelve red candles arranged around, their flames brightening the room considerably. The intimate atmosphere vanished, replaced by a dim, pale yellow light that cast an ominous shadow.

The censors were puzzled and somewhat uneasy; the mood turned awkward.

“Ah, these candles are red?” Fu Youyi looked around curiously, seeking conversation. “Quite rare.”

The group marveled at this, and one censor from a wealthy family, having seen such before, explained, “These candles bear the elegant name ‘Auspicious Celebration Candles,’ symbolizing good fortune, joy, and prosperity—most fitting for joyous occasions.”

“Truly exquisite. I imagine they must be quite costly,” another censor said, eyes alight.

“This light fills the whole room. Gentlemen, cherish it. Over two hundred strings of silk and coins lavishly spent, beneath this clear moon and fresh breeze.” The censor mixed lofty and vulgar style, creating a grandiose blend.

Many censors murmured in amazement, but before further questions arose, the candlelight flickered, and a subtle fragrance wafted through. Twelve exquisite young performers entered, each holding a porcelain object. Clad solely in white gauze, their graceful figures were faintly visible beneath the sheer fabric. Each guarded a red candle, heads bowed, bringing the porcelain objects to their lips as a deep, rich, ancient sound rose.

The melody was initially mournful and plaintive, as if weeping and lamenting softly. The performers slowly circled the candles, their shadows flickering in the light that illuminated their delicate forms, revealing every contour. Many censors were distracted, indulging in the visual feast. Some gawked wide-eyed, drooling, exposing various unbecoming expressions.

Moments passed, and the music gradually grew more intense and intertwining. Though not heart-wrenching, it brought a deep, melancholic sorrow. The audience sank into an inexplicable world of love and hate, no longer noticing the exposed flesh, instead savoring every note. Some, moved, closed their eyes, tears streaming down.

As the music drew to a close, the tone lowered until the final echoes faded. It was a journey of twists and turns, words spoken yet meaning endless, conveying boundless grief, yet infinite hope.

The melody ceased for a long time. The twelve performers quietly withdrew, and silence settled, broken only by flickering candlelight.

After what seemed like ages, an elderly censor struck his chest and sighed, “Confucius once said, ‘The melody lingers for three days and its echoes never cease.’ Hearing this piece today, I am thrice blessed, thrice blessed indeed.”

“This instrument is no ordinary thing; it stirs the heart and ensnares tears. Its voice is lovely, but I cannot bear to listen again,” another said, wiping tears with his sleeve.

“Gentlemen, hear me: the maker of this instrument and the composer of this melody is none other than Deputy Chief Hou Sizhi of Lijing Gate,” Quan Ce said softly, reclining on his seat.

“Is that true? Surely a rumor,” one doubted.

“I’ve never heard of Deputy Chief Hou having such talent,” others expressed surprise. Hou Sizhi’s reputation was indeed poor.

“Since ancient times, nothing moves the heart like emotion. This piece, titled ‘On the Stone of Three Lives,’ reflects Deputy Chief Hou’s unrequited love, hence its sorrowful tone,” Quan Ce explained deliberately with a slight smile. Privately, he had advised Hou Sizhi to diet, yet the man alternated between gluttony and deep melancholy—a stark contrast ripe for gossip.

“I see. Emotion, indeed, holds boundless power,” Fu Youyi’s eyes gleamed as he immediately chimed in, “Friends, let us not forget our agreement. Such an instrument and melody, so moving, deserve poetic praise and fame, spreading this masterpiece across the realm to benefit all.”

The elder censor nodded repeatedly, instructing the maidens to prepare brush and ink. “Well said, well said. Those who do not shed tears upon hearing this are beasts. If I fail to write tonight, my soul shall be restless.”

Voices rose in response, inspiration flowing freely. They composed poetry and verses through the night, creating a magnificent anthology.