Chapter Twenty: Paths of Life and Death

“For the sake of your future, I urge you to think thrice and lend me your aid.” Fourteen characters, fourteen mountains—Quance wrote them on a slip of paper, and the more he looked at them, the more powerless he felt. Quan Yi was no ordinary man; he was a son-in-law of the Li family, son-in-law to Consort Xiao. Even if he stood upright and motionless, guilt seemed to weigh on every part of him. To have uttered those words, and to have said them to the general in command—how could he escape death?

Chrysanthemum entered, light-footed, to change his bandages. Seeing him lying facedown, complying with every small request, she felt a poignant ache. The wound was on his hip, and the eldest young master was always shy; usually, he would argue with her before submitting, but now all the vitality had faded from him. “If the young master is troubled, why not seek advice from the master?”

A bitter smile touched Quance’s lips as he sighed, “Father…”

Chrysanthemum heard his reluctance and, after tidying away the ointment and helping him turn over, said earnestly, “The master may seem distant, but he cares deeply for you. Just yesterday, he called me and Pomegranate in to ask after your condition, fearing you might be left with lasting ailments.”

Quance rubbed his face, steeling himself. “Father’s affection, I know well… Help me up, and summon Quan Zhong to see me.”

“What are your orders, young master?” Quan Zhong entered soundlessly.

“Do you have anyone skilled at delivering messages by night?” Quance leaned against the desk, his gaze drifting far.

“Young master, I have twenty-four men under me, accustomed to mingling with the city’s riffraff, doing petty thefts and bullying the weak to cover their tracks. Each has his own talents, all under the command of Shazha Shu. However you wish to send your message, I will arrange it at once.” Quan Zhong spoke at length, laying bare the resources at his command.

Quance was surprised, turning his head. “Gathering so many skilled men must have come at a great cost?”

Quan Zhong nodded, somewhat ashamed. “With the twenty thousand coins you gave, Quan Li managed the funds. Even with my extravagant spending, he doubled the principal before handing it to me. Now, it’s just enough to keep us going. I truly lack business acumen—perhaps you should bring Quan Li back.”

Quance gave a wry smile, shaking his head. “The time is not yet ripe.”

“At midnight tonight, send someone to Qu Chongyu’s residence.” He could not stop the letter from reaching Qu Chongyu; the only option was to keep Qu Chongyu silent, to buy time.

After a moment’s thought, Quance took up his pen and wrote: “The Demon Empress knows. Destroy the evidence at once.”

He looked at it, then changed it: “The Demon Empress knows. Submit the evidence and sever the trail to save yourself.”

He paused, considering, and changed “Demon Empress” to “Heavenly Empress,” giving due respect to Empress Wu. This contradicted the anti-Empress Wu efforts—it looked more like the Empress’s claws fishing for traitors. As long as Qu Chongyu harbored doubts, he would not act rashly.

“Take it.” Quance handed the letter to Quan Zhong, then called for Pomegranate and Chrysanthemum and left the courtyard, collecting his younger brother Quan Zhu and little sister Quan Luo, and together they went to visit their mother.

The three siblings each had their own quirks. Quance, wounded, walked with a limp; Quan Zhu, still unsteady on his feet and bundled in thick clothes, waddled like a fat penguin; the youngest, Quan Luo, could not walk or be exposed to the wind, swaddled in a soft blanket, fast asleep in Chrysanthemum’s arms, her cheeks rosy and endearing.

“Big Brother, where in the Eastern Capital do the rivers freeze over?” Quan Zhu clung to Quance’s hand, mumbling as they walked.

“North of the Shanglin Ward gate is the Luo River. Why do you ask?” Quance replied offhandedly, then questioned in return.

“Nurse says, a dutiful child must go onto the ice to beg for carp for his mother,” Quan Zhu stammered. “Big Brother, do you know how? Do we need to set out an incense burner?”

“Second brother, be good.” Quance halted, patting his brother’s head, his heart twisted with joy and sorrow. “In future, show your mother all the filial piety you can—blessings will follow.”

Quan Zhu nodded vigorously, half understanding. “Yes, I’ll be dutiful to Mother, and to Father and Big Brother too.”

In that instant, Quance was overwhelmed, tears stinging his eyes as he smiled and nodded. He thought of the burden the Princess of Yiyang’s household would one day lay on these children’s shoulders—resentment burned within him, but there was nowhere to vent it.

A wail broke the silence—Quan Luo had awakened, crying loudly.

Quance came back to himself; the attendants all watched him in silence, while Quan Zhu gazed up in confusion.

“Chichi’s upset. Let’s go greet Mother.” Quance took his sister in his arms, led his brother, and dragged his weary legs toward his mother’s quarters.

The three siblings lingered until nightfall, dined together, and then Quance rose to leave. The younger two, still small, remained to sleep in their mother’s rooms.

“Young master, a guest has been waiting for you a long while,” the little maid Shuangli peered in from outside and, seeing him emerge, hurried up and clung to his arm to deliver the message. Innocently cheerful, her nature unchanged despite serving in a grand household, she was entirely without guile.

“Who is it?” After a day with his family, Quance felt lighter in spirit, and smiled as he asked.

Shuangli blinked, cheeks flushing, glanced back at the Daoist-headed Chisu, who rolled her eyes. “Young master, it’s Master Lu, the artist.”

In the warm chamber of the reception hall, Lu Zhaoyin paced restlessly, hands tucked into his sleeves.

“Master Quan, are you well? I just returned from Fanyang with my family, only to learn of your troubles. It all comes down to the poor security in the Eastern Capital—imagine, an official of the court threatened by thieves in broad daylight! It’s outrageous.” Lu Zhaoyin helped him to a seat, his anger righteous as he offered advice. “You command an army and train your men well; it’s not my place to judge. But as a son, your body is your parents’ gift—how can you damage it lightly?”

Quance nodded repeatedly and clasped his hands in thanks. “Thank you for your counsel. It was thoughtless of me. It grows late and I am wounded, unfit for company. If you have no other business, perhaps you would excuse me.”

Lu Zhaoyin was taken aback. He had hurried back to Luoyang, and this was the greeting he received? He made no attempt to hide his disappointment, which Quance noticed, and he smiled apologetically. At this time, his household was not a place for guests; lingering would only spell trouble.

“In fact, there is one thing I must ask of you,” Lu Zhaoyin accepted the apology, a faint blush on his cheeks. “I’ve heard that your ‘Thousand Oxen’ guards are drilled with exceptional discipline, especially those assigned as bodyguards. I wish to have my son, Lu Jiong, transferred to the bodyguard ranks—might you allow it?”

Quance was greatly surprised. “The bodyguard post is rank eight, while the Thousand Oxen and their left and right aides are rank six. Why would you have your son demoted by two ranks?”

“Lu Jiong has grown complacent. If he is to achieve renown, it must be won on horseback and with discipline. If he is not severely trained now, who will guarantee his life on the battlefield?” Though Lu Zhaoyin had rebelled against his family and lived freely, he was at heart a loving father. “For the sake of his life and future, what is a mere two ranks?”

For the sake of his future—Quance’s eyes flashed. “Very well, let it be as you wish. I only hope Lu Jiong will understand.”

“Whether he understands or not is immaterial. The boy is rebellious, much like his father. I summoned him home to help refine my painting, and he refused outright.” Lu Zhaoyin spoke of his son’s disobedience with a face full of pride; the boy’s stubbornness mirrored his own, and even his frustration was tinged with pride.

After seeing Lu Zhaoyin off, Quance knelt for a long while in the warm chamber. Turning to look back, he saw the main study aglow with lamplight, his father’s silhouette thin and solitary, growing ever more frail.

Suddenly, with a crash, the door burst open and a black figure tumbled in.

For a moment, Quance thought the guards of Lijing Gate had come for him, but on closer look, it was only Quan Zhong.

“Young master, terrible news—Prince Li Zhen of Yue has rebelled!”

At the words, Quance stood frozen for a long while. Then a broad smile broke over his face. “Ha! Ha! Terrible news? It’s wonderful—marvelous!”

He laughed so hard that tears welled in his eyes.

Li Zhen’s road led to death, but for Quance, it was a path to life—though perhaps a lonely one.