Chapter 130: Lament of the Four Seasons (Part II)

Quan Ce was not away from the city. In fact, he had not even left Luoyang, spending his time wandering among the hills and ancient temples surrounding the capital. He busied himself with meticulous comparisons of the Daoist sanctuaries of the Three Pure Ones and the Buddhist shrines of the Three Lifetimes, muttering to himself with great seriousness. Beside him were senior officers of the Plum Blossom Inner Guard, as well as an outsider: Xue Chongyin.

This young man, having observed the brewing process of Jiannan Shaoshun wine and the ceramic glazing techniques of the local kilns, and having tried his hand at a clay flute, now viewed Quan Ce as a figure of divine talent. Completely won over, he had informed his mother, Princess Taiping, and then effectively run away from home, following Quan Ce like a shadow. He lacked the complex schemes of his cousin, believing simply that they were out enjoying the scenery.

The place before them, known as Yu Mountain, lay just beside the northwestern walls of Luoyang. It was not high, rising only a few hundred meters, but the scenery was peculiar. There were no pines, cypresses, or bamboo, nor any flowers or grass; it was covered entirely in deciduous trees. In summer, they offered lush green shade—monotonous, perhaps, but tolerable—but come autumn and winter, the trees stood bare, creating a scene of desolate, withered bleakness.

For this reason, Yu Mountain was unknown to the world. Not only did no scholars or poets come to admire the view, but even the local commoners rarely set foot there.

On the mountain sat a Daoist temple named Yucang Temple. Originally planned on a grand scale, intended to encompass the entire hilltop, it had been abandoned mid-construction due to unforeseen circumstances. Only the main hall had been completed, and it had since fallen into disrepair, presided over by a single deaf and hunchbacked old Daoist. The materials used for the finished hall were of such high quality that even after years of neglect, it could not hide its majestic aura.

"Strange, this place looks somewhat like the Zhanlu Hall," Xue Chongyin remarked, his tone listless and uninspired. After wandering for more than half a month, even the finest gardens had lost their charm. "Cousin, when are we returning to the city?"

"Patience, Chongyin. It shall be within these two days. We have a connection to this place, and this Daoist is quite pitiful, so let us have it swept and cleaned as a gesture of kindness," Quan Ce said, the corners of his mouth curling into a leisurely smile. "You are a grown man now and should learn to act independently. Shall I leave this to you?"

Xue Chongyin’s eyes lit up. At nine years old, he had never been entrusted with an independent task. "Don't worry, Cousin. I will certainly handle it without a single flaw."

Once he hurried off, Quan Ce found a rock overlooking the cliff and sat down, murmuring, "Zhanlu Hall... a fine place indeed."

Zhanlu Hall was the main hall of the imperial retreat, the Suyü Palace, and served as the private residence of the Emperor and Empress.

The Lady of the Green Snake stood behind him. After a moment of silence, she sighed, her words trailing off without context, "He is never particularly considerate or loving toward his wife in daily life, yet once he loses her, he views the 'theft' of his wife as an irreconcilable grievance. He would sacrifice anything, even his own life, just to get revenge. It is truly laughable."

Quan Ce faced the mountain wind, eyes closed, and smiled. "His so-called grievance over a stolen wife has little to do with the woman herself. What he hates is merely the fact that his masculine pride has been trampled upon. At its core, it is nothing but possessiveness at work."

"Is the Commander the same?" the Lady of the Green Snake asked, stepping closer and lowering her voice.

"I am a man, of course," Quan Ce chuckled. "As for whether I am like that, you should go ask Fuqu."

The Lady of the Green Snake remained silent. Having been ordered to protect Fuqu, she naturally knew how fortunate that brilliant and graceful woman was; there was no need to ask.

"Commander, the guest has arrived," an Inner Guard reported, bringing the unproductive conversation between the two spymasters to an end.

The black hood was pulled away. The guest was the newly appointed Luoyang Sima, Wang Lu. Originally a garrison commander in the Anxi Protectorate, he had been scouted by Lou Shide and promoted to the capital. He looked powerful and rugged, with a leopard-like head, round eyes, and a thick, unkempt beard—truly the image of a warrior. The Plum Blossom Inner Guard had gone to great lengths to bring him here.

"I am Quan Ce."

Wang Lu shook his head to adjust to the dim light of the room, gave a simple, honest smile that revealed his white teeth, and bowed deeply. "Greetings, Master Quan."

As a man in Lou Shide’s circle, though his rank was not high, he was privy to much information.

"Sima Wang, you are responsible for the safety of Chancellor Fu. It must be exhausting," Quan Ce said, not beating around the bush and speaking with righteous formality. "As the Divine Capital has only recently become the seat of the nation, the number of constables and yamen runners is insufficient. Maintaining order is already a struggle, and having to divide your attention to protect high-ranking officials makes it inevitable that your efforts will fall short. I intend to send men to assist you. You should make the arrangements to hand over the Chancellor's security to them."

"It is my duty, Master Quan; I would not dare call it exhausting. I am deeply grateful for your offer of assistance. However, the Chancellor’s safety is a matter of great concern to His Majesty; the implications are immense, and this..." Wang Lu’s mind was not as crude as his appearance suggested.

"I shall bear the responsibility," Quan Ce said, finding the rough man's caution rather amusing.

"According to protocol, I fear I must report this to my superiors. Would that be... permissible?" Wang Lu let out a long breath, probing carefully.

Quan Ce laughed, looking at him warmly. "You may do as you please. It is freezing cold these days; I simply cannot bear to see my men suffering while on duty at night."

The words were soft, yet they dripped with the scent of blood. Wang Lu felt a chill more dangerous than any battlefield and snapped to attention. "I dare not, I dare not."

Quan Ce patted his shoulder and turned to look out the window, where the corner of the eaves of the Yucang Temple's main hall was visible.

"Cousin, I have finished the cleaning!" Xue Chongyin’s excited shout rang out from outside, startling a crow on a withered branch into flight.

Quan Ce walked out leisurely. Under the narrow eaves, a sliver of winter sunlight shone down, illuminating one side of his eyes. Wang Lu glanced at him, then quickly lowered his head, silently resolving that he would tell no one of this matter, save for his patron, Lou Shide.

Late at night, everything was still. After his night of indulgence, Fu Youyi felt completely satisfied and drifted into a deep sleep.

Suddenly, a sharp, needle-like pain in his fingertip jolted him awake. The mountain wind howled, biting and cold. He found himself fully dressed in his official robes, complete with wide sleeves and boots. He shook his head vigorously, eyes squeezed shut, and looked around in a daze. All he saw were withered branches and dead leaves, with white mist swirling near and far.

"True Monarch, why have you not yet returned to your throne?" A distant, ethereal call drifted from the void.

Fu Youyi looked around, seeing no one. Following the voice, he stepped forward until he reached a grand hall. Its plaque was magnificent, and by the dim light, he could vaguely make out the characters: "Zhanlu Hall."

Fu Youyi froze in his tracks.

"True Monarch, return to your throne," the voice urged, haunting and urgent.

Fu Youyi looked down and was stunned to see that he was wearing a golden robe embroidered with dragons. Terrified, he scrambled to take it off, but he could find no buttons or knots; no matter what he did, he could not remove it.

"The True Monarch is the one destined by Heaven. Return to your throne at once!"

Fu Youyi was both terrified and overjoyed. He stepped through the palace gates, ascended the imperial throne, and sat down, looking out from above. Black smoke suddenly filled the hall. Just as he was about to call out, he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head and lost consciousness.

"Master, Master, wake up! Master, were you having a nightmare?"

Fu Youyi opened his eyes, recognizing his personal steward, Fu Liu'er, through the haze. He rubbed the back of his head, feeling a large lump, and instead of being afraid, he was delighted. "I had a dream... I dreamed I was wearing the dragon robe and had ascended the Zhanlu Hall. It was so real! They said I was the one destined by Heaven..."

Mid-sentence, Fu Youyi regained his senses and stopped abruptly. He turned to glance at Fu Liu'er, but the man was busy supporting him with one hand and wringing out a cloth with the other, clearly not having paid close attention.

"Cough, cough. You are not needed. Get out," Fu Youyi said, taking the cloth to wipe his face and shooing him away.

Fu Liu'er said, "Yes," and retreated. As he stepped over the threshold, he stumbled, scrambled to steady himself, and once he rounded the corridor, he could no longer contain himself; he bolted and ran for his life.

"Dog of a slave, so clumsy," Fu Youyi cursed. As he let two maids dress him, he suddenly realized something was wrong, and every hair on his body stood on end. "The base slave dares to betray his master! Guards! Seize Fu Liu'er at once!"

But it was too late. The Fu family guards chased Fu Liu'er all the way to the Chongguang Gate of the Taichu Palace.

"I wish to report a crime! I wish to report a crime! Fu Youyi is plotting treason!" Fu Liu'er shouted as he rushed toward the palace gate.

The guards seized him, but the Fu family guards claimed he was a runaway slave who had gone insane and demanded that the palace guards hand him over.

Hearing that they were family of Fu Youyi, the palace guards dared not offend them and, after a brief consultation, prepared to surrender the man.

*Swish.* An arrow whistled through the air. The target was elusive; everyone thought it was aimed at Fu Liu'er, but it struck a palace guard in the throat, killing him on the spot. The hot blood splattered across Fu Liu'er’s face and head, terrifying him so much he shrieked, "Help! Murder!"

The palace gates fell into chaos. A large number of soldiers surged from the palace to pursue the killer, but the assassin was a fanatic who sprinted all the way to the Luo River and vanished without a trace.

The situation escalated. Fu Liu'er was passed through layers of custody, and the news of Fu Youyi’s dream of ascending the Zhanlu Hall spread throughout the palace.

At the hour of the rabbit (5-7 AM), as the ministers stood in line waiting for the morning audience, Fu Youyi was stripped of his official cap and robes in public by officers of the Censorate, left only in his undergarments, and dragged off to prison.

No matter how enlightened or prosperous a dynasty might be, a feudal empire remains a feudal empire, governed by its own absurd political logic. Being wicked, power-hungry, corrupt, or cruel to the people—these were trifles. But the imperial throne? To touch it with even a single finger meant there was no possibility of a return.

Fu Youyi had been a legend in the official world, known as the "Four-Season Official." Within a single year, his robes had changed from green to blue, from blue to crimson, and from crimson to purple, just like the passing of the four seasons. Now that the noise had faded, all that remained was a sorrowful song and a vast, white, empty land—truly clean.