Chapter Thirty-Two: Scorching Sun (Part One)

A certain banquet had ended in utter humiliation, becoming the talk of the capital, a laughingstock recounted by one and all. The reputation for literary and martial prowess that Quan Ce had arduously won in his eastern campaign was instantly shattered. So-called renown was nothing but a fleeting illusion, dazzling at a glance, yet utterly useless. What was a mere youth who had accomplished a handful of things by luck? He was far from worthy of great attention and had no right to parade his banners.

Zheng Zhong took up his post as General of the Imperial Guards, and began recruiting sons of landed commoners from both Eastern and Western Capitals. He wrote to the Five Great Clans and Seven Prominent Families, making it clear that he would not turn away any who came, even if they were of branches that had diverged from the main line. Rumors spread across the bureaucracy of the Eastern Capital that Quan Ce must have gravely offended some taboo; he had lost the Empress's favor and would likely never again enjoy glory—people shunned him as if he were plague.

The holiday was brief, and Quan Ce had no intention of drawing attention to himself. He paid the required visits to notables such as Wei Yuanzhong, Wu Youji, and Xue Huaiyi, then used a recurrence of his leg injury as an excuse to confine himself at home. Other than diligently practicing his martial skills and spending time with his mother and siblings, he devoted himself to calligraphy. In truth, his calligraphy could not be called art at all—it was merely a by-product of his studies in traditional painting, picked up in passing, his brushwork frivolous and careless, lacking strength and structure. He had no ambition to become a calligrapher; mediocrity sufficed. He would have Chisu and Shuangli, two young servants, each write a few lines; whoever wrote better, he would learn from.

“Hm? Shuangli’s writing is better. Who taught you?” Quan Ce, without much thought, folded his own scribbles to conceal them. Placed alongside the two children’s work, his own looked even more unsightly. Chisu’s characters were neat and regular, as if printed by a machine; Shuangli’s script was lively yet contained, elegant but not lacking grandeur—just the style he favored.

A simple question, yet Shuangli’s face turned deathly pale; with a bang, she dropped to her knees and was about to speak, but Quan Ce waved her silent, his expression tinged with irritation. “No more slacking. From now on, you will teach me calligraphy.”

“Your servant is willing to attend you, young master,” Shuangli replied, tears glimmering in her smile. She hopped up, quick as a sprite, her mischief and carefreeness restored.

Quan Ce smiled and nodded. Some things were best left unexamined. These servants had all been gifts from Empress Wu; even if there were hidden secrets behind them, it was no fault of his. If the secrets involved the Empress herself, he had even less interest in knowing.

Chisu pouted in protest, but one glance at Shuangli’s wide, sparkling eyes, and she quickly conceded, slinking off to grind ink, crestfallen.

Shuangli taught with earnest care, and Quan Ce studied diligently. The three’s days passed in cheerful harmony.

From outside came a servant’s announcement: “Young master, the master bids you to the study.”

The voice was familiar. Quan Ce rubbed his wrist. “I understand.” Exiting the study, he saw the messenger was Quan Li, whom he had previously dismissed. “You’re no longer in the accounts room?”

“I am, young master. The master sent me especially to fetch you,” Quan Li replied. He was a large man, taller than Quan Ce, yet he bowed so deeply his legs trembled.

“Especially?” Quan Ce frowned, then strode ahead, glancing back to see that Quan Li was limping badly—he had been gravely injured.

Much had changed here. There were more servants on duty; over the main hall hung a gilded plaque bearing two characters: “Accept Fate.” On the screen behind the desk was a poem, “Returning to Country Fields,” written in cursive. On the walls, one horizontal scroll read “Loyalty and Filial Piety Pass Down the Family,” another “Tranquility Brings Distant Aims.” Buddhist sutras filled the bookshelf, and in the inner room was a small brazier and a full set for tea.

Quan Ce allowed himself a faint, ironic smile, then bowed deeply. “Your son greets you, father.”

Quan Yi sat on a round stool, staring absently at two documents before him. He looked somewhat plumper than before. “Get up and sit,” he said, handing over an official gazette. Quan Ce took it and read carefully, though he already knew what it contained: his own dismissal and reassignment—no longer a general, he was to become an attendant historian.

Quan Yi studied him with a frown and asked, “Why couldn’t you have waited a few days before hosting that banquet? Why did you insist on courting humiliation?”

Quan Ce’s expression was relaxed. “Humiliation or disaster—between two evils, I chose the lesser.”

“Disaster?” Quan Yi nodded. “You are clever; I need not say more. Though you acted shamelessly, it’s of no real harm. It may even help you.” He paused, then continued, “It’s rare for a young man to view worldly matters so lightly.”

Quan Ce laughed freely and glanced up at the scroll “Tranquility Brings Distant Aims.” “Like father, like son.”

Quan Yi cleared his throat, a trace of pity in his eyes, then handed over a sheaf of papers. “These are from Secretary Wu. Handle them as you see fit.”

Quan Ce glanced at them—Wu Youji’s dividends had arrived. There were no accounts, only remittance notes, redeemable in the banks of either capital. Not bothering to check, he pocketed them.

“Quan Li and his father both work in the accounts room, but their conduct is lacking. I punished him with the rod,” Quan Yi said coldly. “You’re nearly grown. It’s time you had some private funds. Take him back with you.”

Quan Ce was moved, sighing inwardly. “Yes, thank you, father.”

Quan Yi’s lips moved as if to speak, but he merely waved impatiently, signaling him to leave.

After sitting in silence for a while, he rose and retrieved several letters from behind the bookshelf. His eyes were cold as ice. The demon empress was growing ever more arrogant. The Duke of Dongguan, Li Rong; the Duke of Huang, Li Zhuan; Prince Han, Li Yuanjia; Princess Changle; Captain of the Imperial Guards, Zhao Gui… The long list of imperial Li clan members and their kin, all swept up in the Chang’an purge, now filled the prisons of Lijingmen.

He thought of the upcoming New Year’s feast. The princes of the Li family, including his own brother-in-law, would be entering the capital. This Spring Festival would be anything but peaceful.

He could not bring himself to order his eldest son to take action. Every time the boy left Luoyang, he was full of vigor; whenever he returned to Chang’an, he fell into apathy. His son’s struggle to survive was truly not easy.

What should he do? Quan Yi pondered bitterly.

In the southeastern outskirts of Luoyang lay a hamlet known as Shun Emperor’s Temple, said to be the resting place of Emperor Shun himself. Three families lived there, all surnamed Zhu, descendants of the god of fire. The men farmed, the women wove; their customs were simple and honest. Generations had passed and their numbers had grown into the hundreds.

One day, a troop of black-clad officers arrived, shattering the village’s peace. In the leader’s hand was a coiled dragon jade pendant. He demanded the villagers identify it—was it theirs, or had they seen it in anyone’s possession? One by one, the villagers stepped forward, but none recognized it. Frustrated and furious at their lack of progress, the officers lashed out with whips, injuring over a dozen men and women. Still unsatisfied, they accused the community of harboring a wanted criminal and threatened to arrest and torture them all.

The village elder organized a collection of twenty strings of coins, enough to appease the officers, who then departed for the neighboring Dragon King Temple village.

That night, peace returned to Shun Emperor’s Temple village.

“Uncle, Aunt, this fish is for you to recover your health,” a simple young man said, bringing a black fish to the middle-aged couple, both of whom bore fresh wounds. Not long after, the village elder arrived, hands clasped behind his back. He circled the house, glanced at the infant in the cradle, and sighed. “You two finally had a child—take good care. Our village is poor and remote, with little to offer. Tend to your wounds and move away as soon as you can.”

The couple gazed sorrowfully at their child and then at the elder. The woman’s face was filled with guilt—had she not given in to greed and tried to pawn the jade pendant, none of this calamity would have befallen them. The man, his voice heavy, made up his mind. “We’ll do as you say, uncle. We’ll leave tomorrow.”

“You’ll need an excuse for leaving. Say you’re going to the city to seek relatives. May fortune favor you,” the elder said helplessly as he left. Outside, he lifted his white-haired head to the dark sky. Suddenly, a sharp pain lanced through his neck. He felt himself soaring upward, farther and farther from the earth, until he plummeted down with a crash.

A villager, up at night to relieve himself, groggily looked up and saw the sky ablaze.

“Fire! Fire!” he shouted.

The villagers cried out in terror, banging pots and pans to raise the alarm. People rushed out to fight the flames, but the fire was too fierce. They could not save the homes; by morning, only scorched ruins remained. Sifting through the ashes, they found three withered skeletons—two adults and a child.

“That family suffered so much—finally had a child, only to perish in a fire.”

“Aren’t we supposed to be descendants of the god of fire? We’ve never had a fire here before—this is truly uncanny.”

“Isn’t it just?”

“And now the elder is missing too!”

The villagers of Shun Emperor’s Temple fell into panic. After much discussion, they could only conclude that some evil spirit had entered their midst. The child from the uncle’s family, they feared, was ill-omened. They hurriedly buried the little corpse in a spot meant to ward off evil.