The twenty-sixth day of the third month, first year of Kaiyuan. Chang'an. Court of State Ceremonial.
Six days after the explosion, the Turkic delegation had not left.
Not that they didn't want to, but that they couldn't. Wang Jun, the Minister of State Ceremonial, stood at the entrance, a smile on his face, but his words were harsh: "Khagan, His Majesty said that once the matter is investigated, he will certainly send you back. For these few days, please endure staying here."
The Turkic Khagan sat on the couch, tea placed before him, untouched. He was a man in his fifties, his facial wrinkles like knife cuts, his eyes small but very bright. He had lived on the steppe for fifty years and seen too many storms. This situation couldn't frighten him. The sweet scent of locust flowers drifted in from outside the window, and he suddenly thought of the wind on the steppe. Not sweet, but dry, carrying the smell of grass roots and earth. Chang'an was good in every way, just too sweet.
"Minister Wang," his Chinese was slow, but each word was very clear. "This Khagan has one question."
"Khagan, please ask."
"Who recruited that guard?"
Wang Jun paused. "It was... a Turkic merchant in Chang'an. What was his name—" He flipped through the booklet in his hand. "Ashina Da. In the fur business. Has been in Chang'an for five years."
"Five years." The Khagan repeated. "A merchant of five years, introduces a guard to this Khagan. This Khagan used him. Then he ran. Then the explosion happened." He picked up the teacup; the tea soup had a few silver-white tips floating, new tea from before Qingming. He drank a sip. "Minister Wang, do you think it's a coincidence?"
Wang Jun's forehead began to sweat. "Khagan, this matter—"
"This Khagan knows." The Khagan put down the teacup; the lacquer bowl made a light sound on the table. "It wasn't your Tang Emperor. If he wanted to kill this Khagan, he wouldn't bury gunpowder under his own viewing stand. Nor would he send a wood repairman to do it. Too stupid."
Wang Jun didn't know what to say. The Khagan stood up and walked to the window. The spring wind of Chang'an blew in, carrying the sweet scent of locust flowers and the sound of camel bells from distant Zhuque Avenue. The hem of his robe was lifted by the wind, revealing the curved sword that had accompanied him for thirty years at his waist.
"Your Great Tang has someone who wants to kill this Khagan. Not a Turk, not a Tibetan, but your own people. Someone wants this Khagan to die in Great Tang. So the Turks will go to war with Great Tang. The north will be chaotic. If it's chaotic, someone will profit."
Wang Jun's face turned pale. "Khagan—"
"This Khagan won't say." The Khagan turned around, looking at him, a cold glint flashing in his eyes. "This Khagan will wait. Wait for your emperor to investigate clearly. Once it's clear, this Khagan will leave. If it's not clear—" He smiled, a smile on his lips but not reaching his eyes. "This Khagan won't leave either. Chang'an is quite good. Warmer than the steppe."
Fanyang Guesthouse
On the same day, An Lushan paced back and forth in the guesthouse.
His deputy general stood beside him, his face very grim. "General, the Ministry of Justice is still investigating the matter of the supply depot."
"Let them investigate." An Lushan's voice was very calm, completely different from his red-faced, vein-bulging appearance in court. He stopped, his fingers lightly tapping the table, once, once, and again. "They won't find anything."
"But the gunpowder did come from our depot—"
"That's why they won't find anything." An Lushan smiled, but there was no smile in his eyes. "The depot lost gunpowder; someone stole it. The person who stole the gunpowder sold it to fake Turks. The fake Turks bombed the viewing stand. What does that have to do with us?"
The deputy general paused. "General, you mean—"
"We are the victims." An Lushan sat down and picked up the teacup. The tea was already cold; he frowned and put it down. "Our depot lost gunpowder; we were also stolen from. This general has already said in court, asking His Majesty to send someone to investigate. Once it's clear, he is willing to accept punishment. Isn't that loyal enough?"
The deputy general nodded. "Then what should the general do now?"
"Do nothing." An Lushan leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. He thought of Fanyang. Thought of those soldiers training in the wind and snow, thought of those people he controlled completely, thought of those teeth rotted into the same shape. Soon. Wait a little longer. "Wait. Wait for His Majesty to investigate. Wait for His Majesty to find nothing. Wait for His Majesty to think—this matter has nothing to do with the Fanyang army." He opened his eyes, his gaze falling on the locust tree outside the window. "Then, go to plead guilty."
"Plead guilty?"
"Mm. The gunpowder was lost from the Fanyang army depot. No matter who stole it, this subject was derelict in duty. This subject will go to plead guilty. Kowtow. Cry. Say he deserves to die. Say he didn't manage the supply depot well. Ask His Majesty to punish him." He smiled, his fingertips lightly tapping the table. "The more loyal, the safer."
The deputy general looked at him, silent for a long time. Outside the window, the spring wind of Chang'an blew in, carrying the sweet scent of locust flowers and the bustle of the distant market. An Lushan took a breath and smiled. Chang'an's spring smelled so good.
Xuanzheng Hall
On the same afternoon, he summoned Yao Chong and Song Jing to Xuanzheng Hall.
The incense burner in the hall burned agarwood; wisps of blue smoke coiled in the sunlight. He leaned on the Dragon Throne, eyes closed. The crown was removed, his hair let down, the wrinkles between his brows deeper than usual.
"How is the Turkic Khagan?"
Yao Chong stood in the hall; his gray robe shimmered slightly in the sunlight. "He has superficially accepted it. But this subject sees that he doesn't believe it was the Turks. He said—" He paused, "'Chang'an is quite good. Warmer than the steppe.'"
"Of course he doesn't believe it. He was on the viewing stand himself." He opened his eyes, his gaze falling on the beam of the hall's ceiling. "Then what does His Majesty plan to do?"
"Do nothing." He sat up straight, his fingers lightly tapping the armrest. "Let him stay. Provide good tea and good food. Wait until it's investigated clearly, then send him away."
Song Jing stepped forward. "Your Majesty, this subject believes we cannot only investigate the Turkic guard. This subject wants to investigate the supply depot. The gunpowder went out from the Fanyang army depot; whose hands it passed through, who approved the requisition, who counted it—all must be investigated clearly."
"Investigate. You continue to investigate."
"Your Majesty," Song Jing's voice was very hard, like the man himself. "If we find something, what will Your Majesty do?"
The hall fell silent. The agarwood burned in the burner, occasionally emitting a faint crackle. He looked at Song Jing, not speaking immediately. "Song Qing, what do you want to say?"
"This subject wants to say—" Song Jing paused, his gaze falling on the stack of unreviewed memorials on the imperial desk. "Some people cannot be waited for. Today he dares to bury gunpowder under the viewing stand; tomorrow he will dare to bury it at the palace gate. If we wait, he will grow bigger and bigger. When he's too big to move, it will be too late."
He leaned on the Dragon Throne, looking at Song Jing. Song Jing stood there, his back very straight, his gaze very hard. He never flattered the emperor, and he never beat around the bush.
"Song Qing, do you have evidence?"
Song Jing was silent.
"You don't. You have no evidence, so you can't move against him. He has military achievements, military power, and the whole court speaks for him. If you move against him, people in court will oppose. The northern soldiers will be disheartened. The Turks will laugh." He stood up and walked to Song Jing, lowering his voice. "I need evidence. Ironclad evidence. Evidence that he can't overturn. Loyal words are easy to hear, but a deep net is needed to catch the bird."
Song Jing looked at him, silent for a long time. Then he bowed deeply. "This subject understands."
"Understand what?"
"Understand that Your Majesty is not waiting. You are setting a net."
He smiled, the corners of his lips slightly lifting. "You may withdraw."
The Bedchamber
In the evening, he returned.
He sat on the couch, removed his crown, and let his hair down. Eyes closed, fingers lightly tapping the desk. Moonlight from the window fell on his face, casting a fine shadow of his eyelashes.
"Longji."
"Mm?"
"I heard about what happened in court today."
"Mm."
"How is the Turkic Khagan?"
"He doesn't believe it. But he won't say." He opened his eyes. "He is waiting. Waiting for me to investigate clearly."
"What about An Lushan?"
"He is also waiting. Waiting for me to find nothing. Waiting for me to think it has nothing to do with him. Then—" He smiled, the smile not reaching his eyes. "Then he will come to plead guilty. Kowtow. Cry. Say he deserves to die. Say he didn't manage the supply depot well. Ask me to punish him."
"Will you punish him?"
"No." He looked at me, his gaze softening a bit. "I will comfort him. Say 'General, you have worked hard, this matter has nothing to do with you.' Say 'I trust you, General.' Say 'General, go back and guard the north well.'"
"Why?"
"Because the more loyal, the more dangerous." He stood up and walked to the window. The night wind of Chang'an blew from Zhuque Avenue, carrying the sweet scent of locust flowers. "A punished military governor will restrain himself. He will be afraid. He will tuck his tail between his legs. A comforted military governor—will be at ease. He will be bold. He will think I am easy to fool. He will think I know nothing."
Outside the window, the moonlight over Chang'an was very bright. Shining on Zhuque Avenue, shining on the entrance of the Chongren Ward dental clinic, shining on the West Market's Hu wine shop. Also shining on the guest room of the Court of State Ceremonial. The Turkic Khagan sat by the window, looking at the moon, thinking of the steppe. His curved sword was on his knees, his fingers lightly tracing the patterns on the scabbard. Also shining on the courtyard of the Fanyang guesthouse. An Lushan stood in the courtyard, looking at the moon, a smile on his lips. He reached out, caught a falling locust petal, and crushed it between his fingertips. Also shining on the empty chair in Xuanzheng Hall. Yao Chong sat at home, flipping through files, writing lines of small characters under the lamp. Song Jing stood by the window, clenching his fists, looking at the moon.
He stood by the window, looking at the moon. I stood beside him, looking at him. Everyone was waiting. Waiting for dawn, waiting for results, waiting for that person to expose himself. The Khagan was waiting for the truth. An Lushan was waiting for the emperor to make a mistake. Yao Chong was waiting for evidence. Song Jing was waiting for the emperor to speak. He was waiting for that person to make another move.
"Qingyan."
"Mm?"
"Do you know, Song Jing said a sentence today."
"What sentence?"
"He said—'Some people cannot be waited for.'"
"What do you think?"
"He is right." He turned around and took my hand. "But even if we can't wait, we must wait. Wait for the net to be set. Wait for the evidence to be solid. Wait for the right time." He paused, lowering his voice. "I will not wait too long."
Outside the window, Chang'an's night was very quiet. The moonlight shone on this city, shining on every person with their own agenda. The net has been cast. Whoever moves first, loses.
(End of Chapter 32)