Chapter Thirty-Four: Scorching Sun, Burning Heart (Part One)

The work of the Palace Attendant Recorder was endlessly dull—following the Empress, recording her words and deeds. Sometimes, half a day would require but a few lines; sometimes, a moment would demand a thousand words. Quan Ce quickly grasped the essence: he was to be a device, part gramophone, part camera, devoid of personality or presence, a silent observer whose existence must be diminished to the barest shadow. He would find the most inconspicuous corner to sit, write when there was something to record, and close his eyes in repose when there was not, never looking or moving more than necessary.

“…On the twenty-sixth day of the twelfth lunar month, Her Majesty resided in the Penglai Hall. Assistant Minister of Autumn, Zhou Xing, was granted an audience and spoke of the princes’ audience at court. The noble families had all gathered at Longmen Relay Station, not daring to enter the capital without an imperial edict. He impeached Li Shangjin, Prince Ze, and Li Sujie, Prince Xu, accusing them of conspiracy and rebellion, and requested that the authorities apprehend and punish them. Her Majesty glanced at her attendants and ordered the Recorder to respond…”

Quan Ce’s heart tightened. So the arrow aimed at his uncle, Li Sujie, had finally been loosed. He remained silent, his pen moving to record, Adam’s apple bobbing, face impassive.

“My Recorder—can he only write, and not speak?” came the Empress’s teasing voice. Having served long by her side, Quan Ce had come to know this illustrious woman better: erudite, keen-witted, not without a sense of humor, though only so long as one didn’t offend her.

Only then did Quan Ce realize she addressed him. He rose and bowed low. “Your Majesty, it is my duty to record, not to speak of state affairs.”

“I order you to speak,” the Empress’s tone was soft, yet brooked no dissent.

“I have heard, in the days of Duke Zheng, he endured in silence, vanquished Kuan Duan at Yan, and only then was able to win the hearts of men,” Quan Ce mumbled, unwilling to say more.

The Empress scoffed. “Your writing is unremarkable, but you’ve certainly caught the airs of a pedant.” She tilted her head slightly and glanced behind. Shangguan Wan’er knelt to salute. “This servant believes that Her Majesty’s reputation is weightier than Mount Tai, especially now. To temper mercy with sternness is the best course—bind the loyal, chastise the rebellious, so as to awe the wicked without harming the faithful.”

The Empress mused for a moment, then reached out and gripped Quan Ce’s chin, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Su Jie is your uncle. If he is guilty of treason, what will you do?”

“I would execute him with my own hand,” Quan Ce answered, lowering his eyes in submission.

“Very well,” the Empress released him with a flick of her sleeve. She ordered the Ministry of Spring to treat the princes with cold indifference, granting them no audience. Zhou Xing and Hou Sizhi were to monitor the Longmen Relay and its environs closely, but not to act rashly—proof must be in hand. “Su Jie’s fate is not yours to decide. Should he show the least conscience, Quan Ce shall receive him on my behalf. If he is utterly heartless and seeks his own death, Quan Ce shall carry out the sentence.”

Zhou Xing was dissatisfied. As a cruel official, he excelled at turning black into white and at forced confessions; surveillance was not his strength, and it would only benefit Hou Sizhi. He hesitated, then tried to find something to regain his standing. “Your Majesty, former Captain of the Left Guard Liu Tong has fled. I request leave to apprehend him.”

“No need. Lord Lai is already investigating his associates. We shall have news soon. You may withdraw.”

Zhou Xing opened his mouth, but dared say no more. “Your servant takes his leave.” He shuffled backwards out of the hall.

At sunset, Quan Ce was dismissed. Shangguan Wan’er accompanied him out of the palace. They walked in silence, but as they parted, she asked quietly, “Are you afraid?”

Quan Ce forced a smile. “Whether I am afraid or not, the danger remains. I am indebted to you for your help today. If I live to see another day, I shall repay your kindness.”

He had once more played a dangerous game, buying time—a stay of execution for Li Sujie, yet drawing himself into the storm. If Li Sujie’s guilt were truly discovered, would he be able to kill his own uncle? Even if he did, would the Empress believe him? If he lost her trust, would Zhou Xing and the others spare him?

This was a game of life and death.

Shangguan Wan’er’s eyes grew distant, her gaze veiled in mist. “I only went along with the tide. I did not mean to help you, nor could I have. You need not have involved yourself in all this.”

Quan Ce’s smile faltered, sorrow swelling within him. He forced his lips into a grin, cupped his hands, and bowed. “Lady Waiter, this is the fate I was born to bear. What must be shouldered cannot be escaped.”

Shangguan Wan’er sighed deeply. She had witnessed countless partings of life and death, and sorrow touched her little.

Quan Ce’s heart settled. Life and death, he now viewed with detachment. He smiled and recited softly, “In life, there is always a parting; in death, what harm in returning to the underworld? The mortal world and the afterlife are much alike; both are but places for a wandering soul.”

Shangguan Wan’er gazed wistfully at his figure as he departed. By age, she was seven years his senior, yet he seemed to carry a weathered, mellow air—his casual verses full of clarity and transcendence, as though he were some strange legend, the deeper she looked, the less she understood.

Quan Ce mounted his steed and let it amble as it pleased. Before he reached home, he ran into Quan Zhong, who looked anxious. “Young Master, the Wang family’s son has fallen from his horse and is gravely injured. Please come quickly!”

The Wang family’s son—Wang Hui? Startled, Quan Ce turned his horse and hurried to the Princess Gao’an’s residence.

His aunt, Princess Gao’an, was the full sister of Princess Yiyang. They had suffered together in the palace and shared a deep bond. Seeing Quan Ce arrive, she hurried out, sobbing and berating him for his lack of filial piety—how he seldom visited, had moved far away to Luoyang, gone off to war, risking his life, all most upsetting.

Princess Gao’an was three years younger than Princess Yiyang, nearly forty, yet looked much younger, like a woman in the prime of life. Quan Ce, wrapped in her arms, felt ill at ease but was reassured—the fact that his aunt could still scold meant Wang Hui’s injuries were not severe. “Aunt, I heard my cousin was hurt and came to visit.”

“Hmph, if your cousin hadn’t been injured, I doubt you’d be here at all,” she chided, poking his finger, then led him inside by the hand. “Your cousin is always a worry—he twisted his leg, but the imperial physicians say it’s nothing serious. Still, he insists on seeking treatment in the eastern capital, and your uncle wants to accompany him. It’s the New Year, yet the house is empty. You’re alone in the city—tomorrow, come live here with me, so your mother won’t worry about you. Remember that?”

Quan Ce quickly agreed. His aunt’s nature was the opposite of his mother’s. The latter, the eldest sister, kept her troubles hidden, cold and reserved. His aunt, on the other hand, was open-hearted and talkative; the sisters complemented each other.

“Cousin, how are your injuries? How did you fall?” Quan Ce asked Wang Hui, who reclined on a couch, his leg wrapped in gauze.

“Young Master, it’s nothing—I simply lost my balance for a moment,” Wang Hui sat up, flexing his knee. “You were put to hardship in Bianzhou. If anyone dares mock you, let me know and I’ll take care of them for you.”

Quan Ce only smiled, saying nothing. Wang Hui still saw him as the timid younger brother of old.

Wang Hui went on, “This job as Recorder can’t be any fun. You’d do well to get out of it soon. The other day, there were unsavory rumors—something about being a court favorite, disgusting stuff. Liu Tong and the others even said you were a traitor… well, that’s what I heard.” He caught himself, having let slip more than he intended, and glanced nervously at Quan Ce, but saw nothing in his expression.

“Cousin, I heard from Aunt that you’re going to the eastern capital. Is your injury fit for such a journey?”

“It’s nothing,” Wang Hui waved it off.

Quan Ce nodded with a smile. “Good, then.”

A visit to his aunt’s home meant he could not leave without joining them for dinner. Princess Gao’an sat with him, one arm around his back, the other serving him food, pouring water, wiping his mouth—fussing over him as if he were an infant.

Uncle Wang Xu and Cousin Wang Hui took no notice, eating quietly on their own; no one mocked him.

Late into the night, Quan Ce, laden with gifts, took his leave.

“Uncle, cousin, the year’s end is cold, and the road to the eastern capital is long—please take care.”

“Haha, don’t be sentimental, lad—it’s only a trip to see a doctor, nothing will happen. When I return, I’ll teach you to play polo.”

Quan Ce bowed deeply.