The fifth day of the fourth month, first year of Kaiyuan. Chang'an. Imperial Medical Bureau.
Sixteen days after the explosion, An Lushan had already returned to Fanyang with the decree of promotion. The locust flowers in Chang'an were still blooming, the camel bells in the West Market still ringing, and people still queuing at the Chongren Ward dental clinic. Everything looked the same as before. But some things were different. The pharmacy of the Imperial Medical Bureau was filled with the bitter smell of white root and notoginseng, mixed with the curling blue smoke from the agarwood burner, like an invisible net slowly closing.
I stood before the medicine cabinet, with three things laid out before me: a jar of medicinal powder, a piece of dried ration, and a document. The powder was scraped from the bandages used by wounded soldiers from the Fanyang army; the ration was requisitioned from the Fanyang army's supply depot; the document was unearthed by Li Rizhi from the Ministry of Justice's old archives. Three things that seemed unrelated. But they all pointed to the same person.
"Empress," the pharmacy assistant of the Imperial Medical Bureau stood beside me, asking cautiously, "Why are you investigating these things?"
"To treat an illness."
"Treat an illness?"
"Mm." I poured some powder onto a piece of white paper, lightly rubbing it with my fingertips. "To treat the Great Tang's illness."
The Medicine
The powder was light yellow. I picked up a little with my fingertip and placed it on my tongue. Bitter. Very bitter. White root, notoginseng, garden burnet—common medicines for stopping bleeding and promoting tissue regeneration.Qianjin Yifang records that white root is slightly cold in nature, mainly for abscesses and sores; notoginseng stops bleeding and disperses stasis; garden burnet cools blood and detoxifies. These three herbs combined are a common military wound remedy. But one thing was missing.
"How is the Fanyang army's wound medicine different from other armies?" I asked the pharmacy assistant.
He thought for a moment, then took a handwritten booklet from the cabinet. "According toQianjin, honey is an adjuvant for all medicines, can moderate medicinal properties, and harmonize all flavors. The Fanyang army's wound medicine has honey added; other armies don't. With honey, the medicine is milder, wounds heal faster, but the cost is higher. The Fanyang army is the only one that adds honey. General An says the soldiers' lives are more valuable than honey."
"Do all Fanyang army wound medicines have it added?"
"Yes. All. General An personally set the rule."
I pushed the jar of powder toward him. "Then look at this. Is it added?"
He looked down, then picked up a little with his fingertip and placed it on his tongue. His expression changed, his brows furrowed tightly. "No. This doesn't have honey. This—this isn't right. Medicine from the Fanyang army can't not have honey."
"What medicine is this?"
"Just ordinary military wound medicine. White root, notoginseng, garden burnet. No honey. Any army's military doctor can prepare it."
"Would the Fanyang army use medicine without honey?"
"No. Fanyang army military doctors only prepare medicine with honey. General An says medicine without honey is too bitter, too harsh; wounded soldiers can't stand it." He paused, "But there is one exception."
"What exception?"
"If you don't want people to know it's Fanyang army medicine. Without honey, it can't be recognized."
I nodded. The medicine scraped from the Fanyang army wounded soldiers didn't have honey. It wasn't prepared by Fanyang army military doctors. Someone was using another army's medicine. Or—someone deliberately wasn't using Fanyang army medicine, afraid of being recognized.
The pharmacy assistant took an account book from the cabinet and opened it. "Empress, there's one more thing. The medicinal herbs purchased by the Fanyang army last year were thirty percent more than the year before. White root, notoginseng, garden burnet—all increased by thirty percent. This subject checked; the number of wounded soldiers in the Fanyang army didn't increase. But the amount of purchased herbs increased. The extra herbs are recorded as 'loss' on the books."
"How much was lost?"
"Thirty percent."
Thirty percent of the herbs, lost. No one knew where they went. But I knew. Those herbs were made into medicine without honey. Used on people who shouldn't have been used on. Hidden where they shouldn't have appeared. I closed the account book, my fingertips pausing on the cover for a long time.
"Empress?" The pharmacy assistant looked at me. "Are you suspecting—"
"I don't suspect." I put the account book in my sleeve. "I'm just treating an illness."
The Grain
In the afternoon, I went to the Bureau of Finance in the Ministry of Revenue.
The hall of the Bureau of Finance was piled high with documents; the smell of paper and ink was thick and suffocating. Vice Director Du sat behind his desk, with a thick account book spread out before him. Hearing that the Empress wanted to investigate the Fanyang army's grain and supply accounts, his face changed, and cold sweat dripped from his temples.
"Empress, this—this doesn't follow protocol—"
"Protocols are set by people." I looked at him. "Vice Director Du, how much more was the Fanyang army's grain and fodder last year compared to the year before?"
His hands trembled as he flipped through the account book. "M...more by twenty percent."
"More soldiers?"
"No more soldiers. But General An said he needed to store grain. Said the north has long winters, afraid the Turks might invade, so he needed to store more grain. His Majesty also approved it."
"How much was stored?"
"Enough...enough for half a year."
Half a year. A military governor storing half a year's worth of grain. Not afraid of a Turkic invasion. He was preparing. Preparing for what, I didn't know. But a person who needs to store half a year's grain isn't guarding the border. He is waiting.
"Where did this grain come from?"
"Allocated by the Bureau of Finance."
"Does the Ministry of Revenue know?"
Vice Director Du was silent for a moment, his fingers clutching the corner of the account book, his knuckles turning white. "The Ministry of Revenue knows. But General An said His Majesty agreed. The Bureau of Finance only handles allocation, dare not inquire."
"Dare not inquire?"
"Empress," he looked up, an indescribable look in his eyes, "No one dares to inquire about Fanyang army matters. General An's memorials are all approved by His Majesty. Once His Majesty approves, who dares to ask?"
I stood there, not speaking. Outside the window, the sweet scent of locust flowers drifted in, mixing with the smell of paper and ink in the hall, creating an indescribable stuffiness.
"Vice Director Du."
"This subject is here."
"What you said today, don't tell anyone else."
His face turned paler. "This subject...understands."
The Letter
In the evening, I returned to the bedchamber and spread what I had found today on the table. Medicinal powder, account book, document. The landscape on the rosewood screen swayed gently in the candlelight; the flame on the glass lamp stand flickered, casting my shadow on the wall. Three things, all pointing to the same person.
He walked in, saw the things on the table, and paused. His crown had been removed, his hair let down, and there was fatigue on his face.
"What is this?"
"Fanyang army medicine. Fanyang army grain. Fanyang army accounts."
He came over and looked down. He looked for a long time. The candlelight flickered on his face.
"The medicine is wrong. Fanyang army wound medicine all has honey, but the medicine used by those wounded soldiers doesn't have honey. Someone isn't using Fanyang army medicine, afraid of being recognized."
He didn't speak.
"The grain is also wrong. The Fanyang army stored half a year's worth of grain. Approved by Your Majesty."
He didn't speak.
"And this." I picked up the document and unfolded it. "Li Rizhi found it in the Ministry of Justice's old archives. Volume 20, a three-year-old case. A Fanyang army military doctor, surnamed Liu, named Liu Shi'an. Originally from the Imperial Medical Department, later joined the Fanyang army's medical office. Died three years ago. Said to be from illness. But Li Rizhi checked; it wasn't illness. He was silenced. That military doctor knew what medicine An Lushan was preparing. Knew what soldiers he was raising. Knew what he was preparing for."
He took the document, unfolded it. He looked for a long time. His fingers were trembling, the tip of the brush paused slightly—I saw it. When he was approving that decree, his brush paused like this too. When he said "I trust you, General," the brush paused. When he said "promoted to Imperial Censor-in-Chief," the brush paused again. He knew everything, but still had to keep writing.
"Longji—"
"I know." He put down the document, his voice very calm, calm like a dead pond. "I have always known."
"Then why—"
"Because there's no evidence." He pointed to the medicinal powder, account book, and document on the table, his voice very light. "Is this evidence? The powder can be said to be a mixing mistake. The grain can be said to be for border defense. The account book can be said to be recorded wrongly. That military doctor died three years ago; the dead can't testify."
He looked at me. The candlelight flickered in his eyes, like two small flames.
"Qingyan, do you know why I had you investigate?"
"Why?"
"Because you are the Empress. What you find isn't evidence for the court. It's what you've seen with your own eyes, heard with your own ears, touched with your own hands. No one can say you're framing him. No one can say you're forming a faction. No one can say you're helping me. You're just treating an illness. Treating the Great Tang's illness."
Outside the window, the moon over Chang'an rose. Moonlight passed through the glass lamp stand, falling on the table, falling on that medicinal powder, account book, and document. The moonlight was like silk, shining on the unburned torches and falling flowers. Also shining on those places that can never be investigated. Shining on the Fanyang camp, where those soldiers with teeth rotted into the same shape were still eating moldy old grain, waiting for that military doctor who would never come. Shining on those lost herbs; they were made into medicine without honey, used on people who shouldn't have been used on. Shining on that military doctor's grave who died three years ago; no one burns paper for him, no one remembers his name. Liu Shi'an. From the Imperial Medical Department. Joined the Fanyang army's medical office. Died unjustly three years ago. His grave is probably already overgrown with grass.
"Longji."
"Mm?"
"An Lushan is preparing."
"I know."
"How much longer?"
He was silent for a long time. The wind outside blew in, rustling the documents on the table.
"Soon."
"How soon is soon?"
He didn't answer. He took my hand. His palm was warm, but his fingers were trembling.
"Qingyan, do you know, Song Jing came to see me today."
"What did he say?"
"He said—'Your Majesty, this subject requests leave.'"
"Leave?"
"Mm. He said he was ill. Going home to recover."
"What illness does he have?"
"He didn't say. But I know." He smiled, a very bitter smile, as bitter as that jar of medicine without honey. "He can't bear to watch. Can't bear to watch me raising a tiger. Can't bear to watch An Lushan's growing power. Can't bear to watch the whole court pretending to be deaf and mute. So he's ill."
"Did you approve?"
"Approved. I let him go home to recover. When he's better, he can come back."
"When will he come back?"
"When I close the net." He looked at me, the fire in his eyes flickered. "When he hears the net closing."
Outside the window, Chang'an's night was very quiet. Moonlight shone on this city, shining on the visible things, and also on the invisible things. Shining on those who will never speak. That military doctor who died three years ago, those lost herbs, that moldy old grain, those teeth rotted into the same shape. They can't speak. But they are all evidence. Threads on a net that is slowly closing.