The first day of the fourth month, first year of Kaiyuan. Chang'an. Xuanzheng Hall.
The twelfth day after the explosion, morning court was held as usual.
The golden bricks of Xuanzheng Hall were polished to a mirror shine, showing no trace of where people had knelt and shouted "Protect the Emperor" twelve days ago. The ministers wore their court robes, standing in two rows as before. But everyone knew in their hearts—today, there was a major event. The incense burner in the corner of the hall burned agarwood; blue smoke coiled in the morning light, like an invisible net.
"Your Majesty." A young eunuch from the Palace Attendants' Department stepped forward, holding a document. "An Lushan, the Military Governor of Fanyang, submits a memorial pleading guilty."
The hall fell silent. He sat on the Dragon Throne, unmoving. "Read it."
The eunuch unfolded the document and began to read. An Lushan's handwriting was large, the force penetrating the back of the paper, just like the man himself. "Subject An Lushan, kowtows and bows again. Subject is foolish, incompetent in military governance, causing the supply depot to be robbed of gunpowder, startling the Imperial carriage, deserving ten thousand deaths. Subject requests to be stripped of rank, to hand over military command, and to retire in Fanyang. Subject kowtows, kowtows again, kowtows a third time."
The eunuch finished reading; the hall became even quieter. An Lushan knelt in the hall, his forehead pressed against the golden brick. His back was very straight, his shoulders very broad, like a wrongly accused loyal subject bearing an undeserved humiliation. His breathing was steady, as steady as a hunter who had lain in ambush on the steppe for three days and three nights.
He sat on the Dragon Throne, not speaking immediately. The hall was quiet for a long time. So long that people began to shift their feet uneasily. A burner of agarwood in the corner had burned out; a eunuch quietly replaced it with a new one.
"An Lushan."
"Subject is here."
"You may rise."
An Lushan didn't move. "Subject is guilty, dare not rise."
"I said, rise."
An Lushan slowly stood up. His face was flushed red, his eyes also red. His lips trembled, like someone about to cry. His fingers by his side curled slightly, the tips turning white. The kind of white that comes from using too much force.
He looked at him, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. Just for a moment, quickly retracting. "How many years has the General been in Fanyang?"
"Replying to Your Majesty, five years."
"Five years. The Turks dare not invade the border; the people live and work in peace. Whose achievement is this?"
"It is due to Your Majesty's holy virtue—"
"It is your achievement." He interrupted him. "I know. The whole court knows. The people of the north know."
An Lushan's eyes turned redder. His Adam's apple moved, as if swallowing something. "Your Majesty—"
"General, you have worked hard and achieved great things. This matter has nothing to do with you. The gunpowder was stolen by someone; the General is also a victim. I trust you, General." He stood up and walked to the center of the hall. The beads of the crown swayed gently before his forehead; sunlight from the skylight on the hall's ceiling fell on him, casting his shadow very long. "Transmit the decree."
Everyone in the hall knelt down.
"An Lushan is promoted to Imperial Censor-in-Chief, Military Governor of Fanyang, and Military Governor of Pinglu. Increase troops by thirty thousand, bestow one brocade robe, one gold belt, and ten fine horses. From today, the supplies for the Fanyang army will be directly allocated by the Bureau of Finance, bypassing the Ministry of War."
A commotion rippled through the hall. Imperial Censor-in-Chief, from the third rank. Military Governor of Fanyang, Military Governor of Pinglu—Governor of two commands. Thirty thousand more troops, supplies directly allocated. This was immense power. Someone gasped, some began whispering, others lowered their heads, not daring to look again.
Song Jing stepped forward. "Your Majesty!" His voice was very hard, hard like iron, echoing in the hall. "An Lushan's supply depot was robbed, causing gunpowder to fall into the hands of thieves, startling the Imperial carriage. This subject believes that not punishing him is already a heavenly grace, to further promote and increase troops—"
"Song Qing." He looked at him, his gaze calm. "The Fanyang army's gunpowder was lost; someone stole it. It wasn't used by An Lushan himself. A general who has guarded the north for me for five years, should he be punished for losing something? Who would dare to guard the border for me in the future?"
Song Jing opened his mouth, but no words came out.
"Or does Song Qing have evidence proving An Lushan used the gunpowder himself?"
The hall fell silent. Song Jing stood there, his lips moving, but he didn't speak. He knew, he knew everything. But he had no evidence. He retreated, clenching his fists. His knuckles turned white, the joints protruding, as if about to break through the skin.
"Is there anyone else who objects?"
No one in the hall spoke. Yao Chong stood at the head of the civil officials, expressionless. His gaze fell on An Lushan, paused for a moment, then moved away. His fingers in his sleeve lightly pinched something, as if calculating a bill. Guo Ziyi stood at the end of the military column, head bowed, his expression unreadable. His hand hung by his side, fingers slightly curled. There was an old scar on the back of his hand, a knife wound that had healed long ago.
"Court dismissed."
Outside Xuanzheng Hall
Court dispersed. Ministers walked out of Xuanzheng Hall in twos and threes. Song Jing walked at the very front, his steps very fast, the hem of his robe trailing in the wind. Yao Chong walked behind him and called out. "Imperial Censor Song."
Song Jing stopped, not turning around. His shoulders were slightly tense, like a fully drawn bow.
"Imperial Censor Song, you shouldn't have spoken just now."
Song Jing turned around, looking at Yao Chong. His face was still hard, but there was an indescribable look in his eyes. Not anger, but disappointment. "Chancellor Yao, can't you see what he's doing?"
"See what?"
"See that he is raising a tiger. He is feeding a tiger that will eventually bite people."
Yao Chong was silent for a moment. The wind in the corridor blew through, fluttering the hems of their robes. "I see it."
"Then why didn't you speak?"
"Because speaking is useless." Yao Chong looked at him, his voice very low, so low only the two of them could hear. "His Majesty has already decided. You object, he rejects. You object again, he still rejects. You have no evidence; what do you have to object with?"
Song Jing clenched his fists. The knuckles cracked. "So what? Just watch?"
"Watch." Yao Chong's voice was very low, so low it sounded like he was saying something he shouldn't. "Watch, wait. Wait until he grows big, grows fat, grows until everyone can see it—then we close the net."
"How long must we wait?"
"Wait until he has evidence." Yao Chong turned and walked away. After a few steps, he stopped again. He didn't turn around. "Imperial Censor Song, you have impeached many people. People from Princess Taiping's faction, people from Empress Wei's faction, corrupt officials, dirty officials. Do you know what kind of person is hardest to impeach?"
Song Jing didn't speak. The wind in the corridor stopped; the entire area outside Xuanzheng Hall was as quiet as an empty city.
"The person who hasn't made a mistake yet." Yao Chong walked away. His back was very straight, his steps very steady, his gray robe shimmering slightly in the sunlight. Every step was taken at the same distance, like someone who had calculated every step.
Song Jing stood in place, watching Yao Chong's back disappear at the palace gate. The wind blew, carrying the sweet scent of locust flowers and the sound of camel bells from the distant West Market. He stood there, for a long time. Then he lowered his head, looking at his hands. The white marks on his knuckles hadn't faded. He slowly opened his fists, one finger at a time, as if letting go of something.
Fanyang Guesthouse
When An Lushan returned to the guesthouse, his deputy general was waiting for him at the entrance. The deputy general's face was very grim, as if he had waited for a long time.
"General, how did it go?"
An Lushan didn't speak. He walked into the room and closed the door. Then he sat down, picked up the teacup, and drank a sip. The tea was cold; he didn't frown. His hands were trembling. Not from fear, but from excitement. A long-suppressed excitement that could finally be released.
"General?"
"Promoted to Imperial Censor-in-Chief. Military Governor of Fanyang and Pinglu. Thirty thousand more troops. Supplies directly allocated." He put down the teacup, the corners of his mouth slowly lifting. "His Majesty said—I trust you, General."
The deputy general was stunned. "General, this—"
"This is immense power." An Lushan stood up, walked to the window, and pushed it open. Chang'an's spring was very blue, the locust flowers very fragrant, sunlight falling on his face, making his smile very clear. "His Majesty trusts me. The whole court opposed it, but His Majesty trusts me. Song Jing stood up, Yao Chong didn't speak, but I know he also opposed it. They all opposed it, but His Majesty trusts me."
The deputy general looked at him, not speaking.
An Lushan reached out and caught a falling locust petal. The petal landed in his palm, thin, white, like a piece of torn paper. "General, then we—"
"Do nothing." An Lushan placed the petal on the table, watching it slowly curl and wither. "Wait. Wait for His Majesty to trust me a little more. A little more. A little more. Trust until—" He didn't finish. He turned his head, looking out the window. Chang'an's spring was truly good. Better than he had imagined.
"Chang'an's spring smells so good." He took a deep breath; the sweet scent of locust flowers filled his chest.
The Bedchamber
In the evening, he returned. He removed his crown, let his hair down, leaned on the couch, and closed his eyes. His brows were furrowed, exactly like when he had a toothache in the past. But this time, it wasn't his tooth that hurt.
"Longji."
"Mm?"
"I heard about what happened in court today."
"Mm."
"You gave An Lushan a lot."
"Mm."
"Aren't you afraid he'll grow too big?"
He opened his eyes, looking at me. Moonlight from the window fell on his face, making his eyes very bright. "Afraid. But I need him to grow bigger. Grow until everyone can see it, grow until he can't hide it, grow until—when I move against him, no one will say I'm a foolish ruler."
"Then how long must we wait?"
"Wait until he has evidence." He took my hand. His palm was warm, just as warm as when he held my hand on the dental clinic's treatment bed in the past. "Song Jing said a sentence today."
"What sentence?"
"He said—'You are raising a tiger.'"
"How did you answer?"
"I didn't answer." He smiled, a very light smile that didn't reach his eyes. "But I said in my heart—yes. I am raising a tiger. But I also know when to close the net."
Outside the window, the moon over Chang'an rose. Shining on Zhuque Avenue, shining on the entrance of the Chongren Ward dental clinic, shining on the West Market's Hu wine shop. The moonlight was very bright, as bright as day. Shining on the empty chairs in Xuanzheng Hall. No one sat there, but those chairs seemed to be waiting for someone. Shining on the courtyard of the Fanyang guesthouse. An Lushan stood in the courtyard, looking at the moon, smiling. His shadow was very long, cast on the ground, like a giant. Shining on the window of Song Jing's home. Song Jing stood by the window, looking at the moon, clenching his fists. His hands had already opened, but his brows were still furrowed. Shining on Yao Chong's study. Yao Chong sat under the lamp, flipping through files, writing lines of small characters. His characters were very small, very dense, like a net being woven. Shining on the empty ground of the military camp. Guo Ziyi sat in front of his tent, wiping his sword. The sword was already very bright, but he was still wiping it. Moonlight shone on the blade, reflecting a cold white light.
He was raising a tiger. But the net was already set. When the tiger grew up, it would be time to close the net.
"Longji."
"Mm?"
"When will the net be closed?"
He was silent for a moment. Moonlight shone on his face; his eyelashes cast a fine shadow. "Soon." He tightened his grip on my hand. "Soon."
Outside the window, Chang'an's night was very quiet. The moonlight shone on this city, shining on everyone who was waiting.
(End of Chapter 33)