Chapter Thirty-One: When the Wind Rises Again

Gentleman Attendant to the Imperial Household: when in the palace, he stands in attendance; when accompanying the sovereign on excursions, he follows; at grand court assemblies, he faces the Gentleman Recorders across from the dragon-headed balustrade. All imperial decrees, pardons, rituals, music, laws and statutes, reforms and abolitions, rewards and punishments, court audiences, appointments of civil and military officials, as well as matters of sacrifice, banquets, imperial tours, audiences, seasonal changes, auspicious omens from the four corners, increases or decreases in population, or the establishment and abolition of prefectures and counties—all must be recorded and submitted to the historiographers.

This is a technical post, requiring a tremendous amount of writing, demanding both quick wit and the ability to compose with speed and grace, lest one become an object of ridicule.

"In view of your triumphant return from campaign, you are granted seven days’ leave—spend it well, and practice your calligraphy. You may go, Wan’er…" The Empress Wu waved her sleeve impatiently, intent on dismissing her. Before she could finish, Shangguan Wan’er bent to gather the scrolls from the desk, busily absorbed in her task. The Empress, seeing this, changed her mind. “Yaohuan, you go and see him out.”

Xie Yaohuan accepted the order to escort Quan Ce from the palace. Unlike Shangguan Wan’er, she possessed little of courtly finesse; she merely angled her body to lead the way, remaining silent, only occasionally stealing a glance at him.

Knowing they would soon be colleagues, Quan Ce sought to bridge the distance, volunteering a story. “Lady Xie, I have had a strange encounter I wish to share with you. After I paid my respects at the battlefield of Ningping, I left Luyi and, along the way, came upon an old man hunting wild geese. He held a net, in which lay a dead goose. The old man’s head was tilted skyward, as if waiting for something. Not long after, another goose descended from the heavens, dashed its head against the mountain wall, and died…”

Xie Yaohuan did not pause in her stride. Surprise flickered across her fresh, clear countenance; after a moment’s restraint, curiosity won out. Her eyes grew round and bright, her lashes soft and fluttering, making her especially charming. “But why? Besides waiting for rabbits by tree stumps, can one also wait for geese by the mountain?”

Quan Ce gazed at her, his thoughts wandering. “I wondered the same. The old man told me those geese were a pair, husband and wife. The one who died was the wife; her mate could not bear to live on alone and chose to follow her in death.”

The curiosity faded from Xie Yaohuan’s face, replaced by sorrow. She was silent for a moment, then brought up another matter. “Um, Master Quan, everyone says that the poem ‘Longing to the Bone, Does She Know or Not?’ was written by you for Sister Wan’er. Is that true?”

Quan Ce shook his head and did not answer. Any response would be inappropriate—admitting it would be flippant, denying it would embarrass Shangguan Wan’er. He forcibly changed the subject. “Of all poetry that moves the heart, none comes before those born of true feeling. Like those geese who perished for love—when one witnesses such things, inspired verses are sure to follow.”

Xie Yaohuan let the matter drop, responding lightly, “Yes, Master Quan, you’re right. Those geese were pitiful indeed. Do you have a verse to console them?”

As they spoke, they passed through the Purple Palace Gate of the inner court. Xie Yaohuan was only required to see him this far, but she did not turn back immediately. Instead, she led him to the left, letting him glimpse the Phoenix Pavilion—the Secretariat, where, aside from his duties beside the Empress, his daily work would take place.

“Thank you, Lady Xie. As for a verse for the geese, I do have one. Whether it is worthy, I leave to your judgment.” Quan Ce cupped his hands in gratitude.

Xie Yaohuan tilted her head, signaling her readiness to listen.

“In all the world, what is love, that it drives souls to pledge life and death?”

“In all the world, what is love, that it drives souls to pledge life and death…” Xie Yaohuan repeated softly, entranced, momentarily forgetting her reserve. She tugged at Quan Ce’s sleeve and skipped twice. “That’s the tune for ‘Touching the Fish’! What comes next?”

Quan Ce smiled. These reactions—the genuine delight of a young maiden—were so much more alive than the practiced faces of the palace.

He shrugged. “Nothing yet.”

“What?” Xie Yaohuan frowned, her eyes full of reproach as she unleashed a volley of criticism. “There you go again, Master Quan, always giving just a line or two and never finishing. It’s disrespectful to the geese, to us readers, and not at all worthy of your own talents!”

Quan Ce shook his head calmly. “I have little talent. If these two lines allow us to become acquainted, that is enough. Farewell, Lady Xie.”

Xie Yaohuan was momentarily stunned, watching his tall, steady figure recede. Her thoughts were in turmoil. She stomped her foot and spun back toward the palace, her steps light, her skirts swirling.

Quan Ce exited through the Vermilion Phoenix Gate, where Juedi and Shazha Fu waited with the horses. The three of them rode slowly down the broad avenue.

“Hyah… hyah…” Suddenly, a chorus of shouts erupted as a large group of riders burst from the palace gate—some were civil officials, others military. After them came a mass of black-clad officers, rushing out with murderous energy. At the intersections of the city’s grid, mounted officials each led a team of officers, fanning out in every direction.

Quan Ce sat quietly astride his horse. His own fine steed, Wanyu Xuan, snorted in displeasure as it was overtaken by a rabble of common nags and mongrel horses, feeling its dignity wounded.

“Elder Brother,” Shazha Fu called softly when he saw Quan Ce’s distracted look. “Would you like to rest at the residence for a while?”

Quan Ce shook his head. “No need. Let’s hurry back to Luoyang.”

They left the city after noon. By the time they reached Lingbao, night had fallen, so dark one could not see a hand before one’s face, making further travel impossible. They stopped at a post station by the road. Quan Ce, whose official credentials had not yet been surrendered, still held the rank of General of the Fourth Degree, which entitled him to a small private room. He ate a simple meal, soaked in a hot bath, and lay down to rest. But his mind would not settle; before his eyes floated two boxes—the ones containing Li Zhen’s correspondence.

Pei Shoude truly deserved death; even being hacked to pieces would be too light a punishment.

Quan Ce pounded his fist heavily on the bed, restless and agitated, then rose to open the window for air.

This was a major route between the two capitals, with officials and travelers passing ceaselessly. Outside the window, below in the street, there was a constant clamor of voices and neighing of horses. People of every sort were talking at once, the noise so great it made Quan Ce’s head ache. Just as he was about to close the window, he saw an official sedan slowly approaching along the road, heavily guarded on all sides by black-clad escorts.

As the sedan drew nearer, the din of the crowd faded to silence. Quan Ce was curious—who could command such authority?

The curtain of the sedan was lifted, and out stepped a man dressed all in white, so bright he seemed to glow in the night—Quan Ce’s doubts vanished. It was Hou Sizhi, steward of Lijing Gate, White Impermanence himself.

Hou Sizhi looked around, lifting his gaze to meet Quan Ce at the window.

Quan Ce cupped his hands in greeting and moved to close the window, but Hou Sizhi suddenly spoke. “General Quan, you have returned victorious, and I have yet to congratulate you. Forgive my discourtesy.”

“Thank you, Censor Hou.” Quan Ce forced a smile. “Before I left on campaign, I made a promise that, should I be promoted or achieve merit, I would hold a celebration. Though the outcome is less than perfect, I cannot go back on my word. Now that I return to the Eastern Capital, I must see to this matter. I hope you will honor me with your presence.”

Hou Sizhi was momentarily surprised, then laughed aloud. “Ah, but how unfortunate! I am to leave for official business in Chang’an and must regretfully decline. My apologies.”

“The state comes first, Censor—no need for courtesy.” Quan Ce’s words were genial, but his heart was heavy. His worst fears were confirmed: Empress Wu, never satisfied with the number of harsh officials, was transferring Hou Sizhi back from the Eastern Capital. Chang’an would soon run red with blood once more.

“General Quan,” Hou Sizhi suddenly asked, head raised, “in the case of apprehending the traitor Prince Li Zhen’s family, one young son has disappeared without reason. Have you heard anything of this?”

Quan Ce’s expression did not change. He frowned. “Is that so? The complete eradication was overseen by Chancellor Zhang himself. I know nothing of it.”

“Hm, likely some greedy fool among those commanders took a risk for profit…” With a single sentence, Hou Sizhi swept aside a host of others, utterly unafraid. He fixed a cold gaze on Quan Ce for a long moment, then finally smiled. “General Quan is a man of talent—surely not one of the fools.” He turned and reentered his sedan, evidently to continue his journey through the night.

Back in Luoyang, Quan Ce sent out invitations far and wide, booking the famous Drunken Sky Pavilion for a banquet of thirty tables. Most high officials of the Eastern Capital sent their stewards or sons with gifts; few attended in person. At mealtime, not even three tables were filled.

His steward, Quan Xiang, fearing it would be too great a loss of face, wanted to remove the empty tables.

Quan Ce forbade it, instead making the rounds to entertain his guests, instructing Zheng Zhong and others on how to recruit and examine personal guards, conversing on history and philosophy with elder officials, and swapping tips on courtship with the scions of noble houses. Amid the empty, echoing hall, he moved from table to table, laughing and talking as if nothing were amiss.