Chapter Seventy: Hidden Perils Within the Household (Part One)

Quan Ce made an inspection tour of the neighboring cities of Ruzhou and Songyang Guild Hall, offering cordial greetings to the foreign merchants residing there. By the time these duties were complete, dusk had already fallen. He spent the night at the Songshan Retreat and departed from Mount Song at dawn the following day.

Traveling swiftly, he arrived in Luoyang, where he returned to the Princess Yiyang’s residence in Shanglin Lane to pay respects to his mother. As previously arranged, he joined Lu Zhaoyin, Zheng Zhong, Han Zhai, and others for a banquet. Since the gathering consisted entirely of men, they chose a well-known establishment in the southern market famous for its unique meat dishes.

During the meal, Quan Ce produced an official appointment document and handed it to Lu Zhaoyin. “Master Lu,” he said, “your virtue is illustrious, your conduct principled, your knowledge vast and your understanding of history profound. It is truly unseemly for such a man to remain secluded in the countryside. The other day, I petitioned Doulu Qinwang, the Grand Herald, to recommend you for office at the Office of Ceremonial Rites. Though the position is but a sixth-rank official in charge of ritual affairs, at least it allows you to put your learning to good use, pursuing the proper path of benefiting the common people.”

Lu Zhaoyin received the document with both hands, his face alight with joy. “In the past, I have been indolent and held no ambition for office. Recently, however, I received a letter from my son, and his words about loyalty and service to the nation deeply moved me. I was just contemplating seeking a post from the lowest rank, and now, Master Quan, you have already arranged matters for me. I accept this appointment with a sense of unworthiness.” He repeatedly clasped his hands in thanks.

“No need for such ceremony,” Quan Ce replied, helping him up and speaking openly of his own difficulties. “I am also in need of capable people. The Office of Ceremonial Rites employs many, but most are empty talkers, few are truly practical. You will be called upon to shoulder extra burdens in the future.”

Lu Zhaoyin thumped his chest. “To serve you, Master Quan, is as it should be. Just give the order and I shall do my utmost.”

“Congratulations, Master Lu! Let us drain this cup!” Zheng Zhong raised his glass in a toast and called for two more platters of smoked donkey meat. “Your son Lu Jiong serves as a captain in the Right Guard, and now you too will be an official in Chang’an—a father and son reunion!”

“Haha, my son will do his duty as a captain,” Lu Zhaoyin laughed heartily, full of bold spirits. “But I shall advance and retreat with Master Quan. As for these sketching techniques, until I surpass the master, I shall not rest.”

Quan Ce waved his hand modestly. “Master Lu, your dedication to study brings daily progress. You have already mastered the techniques; all you lack is experience with time. My own heart is distracted—before long, I shall be left far behind.”

Lu Zhaoyin, pleased, raised his cup with both hands and toasted Quan Ce, humbly protesting that he did not deserve such praise.

Han Zhai joined him in a drink, already slightly tipsy, gnawing on a chicken leg. “I regret not going to war with the eldest son. Brothers like Lai Chong and Lu Jiong are all captains in Chang’an, while I’m stuck here in the Eastern Capital, serving as a mere palace guard. It’s truly shameful.”

“No need to fret, Brother Han,” Quan Ce said with a smile, chewing on a large, translucent piece of venison tendon, its texture crisp. “Life in Chang’an is not easy. Luoyang, being a crossroads, is well connected in all directions. Who can say what the future holds?”

Han Zhai slouched in his seat, drinking straight from the wine jug. “Master Quan, you like to joke. Living in Chang’an is hard only for commoners. The city is full of nobles and wealthy merchants—they have nothing to worry about.”

Quan Ce only smiled in response. Zheng Zhong fell silent, pondering. He trusted Quan Ce deeply and had once considered relocating, but now dismissed the idea. Better to stay dutifully in the Eastern Capital—who knows, perhaps one day Luoyang would outweigh Chang’an.

Lu Zhaoyin, chewing slowly, was unconcerned with economics or such matters. For a man like Master Quan, well-versed in the ways of the wealthy, he must have heard some news or rumor.

Quan Ce’s mind drifted. Since the reign of Emperor Gaozong, every spring and autumn the entire court would travel to Luoyang, often with retinues exceeding a hundred thousand. Both Empress Wu and Emperor Xuanzong spent over half the year in the Eastern Capital, each for their own reasons. For them, life in Chang’an was not easy either. Although the city was rich, its population kept swelling, and supplies could not keep up—money alone couldn’t buy what one needed. After the An Lushan Rebellion, the Guanzhong region was devastated, allowing the emperor to finally settle in Chang’an.

Not being men given to pleasure or debauchery, as soon as the meal was over, they parted ways. It was still early, and Quan Ce, sated, chose to walk through the southern market rather than ride, to help his digestion.

Passing by a jewelry shop, he realized he had never bought a gift for Fuqu. On a whim, he wandered in. He knew nothing of the materials or craftsmanship, but his sense for aesthetics was decent. Considering Fuqu’s features, her usual hair arrangement and attire, he selected a few pieces and gathered them aside.

The shopkeeper, seeing a generous customer, launched into enthusiastic sales talk, extolling gold, silver, jade, pearls, and coral in extravagant terms. But Quan Ce had his own principles; he merely smiled and nodded, unperturbed, and chose a complete set of hair and head ornaments—more than a dozen fine jade pieces—then paid the bill.

“The total comes to three strings of cash and five hundred twenty coins,” the shopkeeper said, eyes narrowed with delight at such a lucrative sale. “If you are not in a hurry, honored guest, please allow us to serve you tea upstairs.”

Sha Zha Fu handled the payment, while Quan Ce wandered upstairs, filled with emotion. The prosperity of the High Tang was due in large part to low prices—copper coins had great purchasing power. A bushel of rice cost just five coins. A single string was a thousand coins, enough to buy two hundred bushels, or about twenty-five hundred pounds of rice—enough to feed a family of four for two years. When Empress Wu rewarded him, it was often tens of thousands of strings—such wealth could not topple a nation, but it could rival a city’s worth.

The second floor was tastefully arranged, resembling a scholar’s retreat. Fragrant sandalwood smoke wafted through the air, soothing the mind. Quan Ce settled onto a foreign stool and sipped his tea.

Suddenly—a sharp whistling cut through the air. Quan Ce’s eyes widened in shock. The Absolute Shadow, always vigilant, leapt into action, drawing a soft whip from his waist to intercept the cold glint of metal. With a clang, the hidden weapon dropped to the floor.

Sha Zha Fu rushed to the window, scanning the surroundings. All he saw were open shops and warehouses, doors and windows flung wide, crowds bustling, and the marketplace abuzz—nothing seemed amiss.

Quan Ce ducked behind a corridor pillar and waited a while before stepping out to pick up the hidden weapon.

“Careful, master!” Absolute Shadow hurried to take the object, examining it closely—a willow-leaf throwing knife, with no trace of poison. Twisting the ribbon at its tail, he discovered something unusual.

“Master, something’s wrong,” said Absolute Shadow, pulling off the ribbon to reveal a small paper scroll, tightly rolled into a cylinder. He carried it a distance away and unrolled it, finding only a few words.

Quan Ce took the note. The message was clear: “There is treachery in the Censorate; disaster lurks within your home.”

“Honored guest, your items are packed and ready,” the shopkeeper called respectfully from outside the door, careful not to enter. “Shall we deliver them to your residence?”

Quan Ce closed his hand around the note and smiled, shaking his head. “That won’t be necessary. Farewell.”

Leaving the jewelry shop, Quan Ce returned to the residence to bid his mother goodbye, saying only that urgent official business required his immediate departure from Luoyang and a night ride back to Chang’an.

Galloping along the official road between the two capitals, Quan Ce halted midway and glanced toward the distant mountain valley, where a few lights flickered. That was the village with the Temple of Emperor Shun, where he had once given refuge to the Zhu family and young Zhu Ping’an.

The Censorate—so the note claimed—was harboring traitors, likely gathering evidence to persecute him, precisely as Shangguan Wan’er had warned. “Disaster lurks within your home?” He had already cleared out all his father’s old allies, and his uncle had just been warned—there should be no reckless moves.

If disaster truly lay within his home, it could only mean his own unnamed courtyard.