Hongzhi Year 18, First Day of the Second Month.
The note was passed out from the palace. Sent by Liu Jin, with just one line: "Wang Chang secretly memorialized last night, claiming the Jingying Camp epidemic is settled, requesting to stop the investigation."
Zhu Houzhao read it, didn't speak. Fingers pinched, the note shredded into snowflakes, falling rustling from between his fingers.
"He wants to close the case." I said.
"Mm."
"He knows we are investigating."
"Mm."
"He is afraid."
Zhu Houzhao looked up at me. That gaze was like dark undercurrents beneath a winter river, silent, chilling the back. Wind howled outside the door, the eaves lantern swayed, distant hoofbeats faintly—or maybe misheard.
"It's not afraid of us." he said. "It's afraid we'll investigate to the person above him."
"There's someone above him?"
He didn't answer, stood up. "Go."
"Where to?"
"Find someone."
I thought he'd go back to the palace to change, or at least bring a few people. But he wore that gray cloth short jacket, short knife at waist, and just walked. I followed him through the long corridor, thinking this Crown Prince investigates cases like hunting, preferring to go it alone.
Yang Tinghe was in the Grand Secretariat duty room, approving memorials. Seeing Zhu Houzhao, he put down his brush, stood up to bow.
"Your Highness."
"Wang Chang's secret memorial, did you see it?" Zhu Houzhao cut to the chase, no pleasantries.
"Saw it."
"What do you think?"
Yang Tinghe didn't answer immediately. He looked at the paper scraps on the floor—the note Zhu Houzhao shredded, didn't know when he brought it here. Then he spoke, voice neither high nor low:
"Jingying Camp epidemic, seventeen soldiers fell ill, four died. If truly an epidemic, why only these seventeen? Hundreds of soldiers in the same camp, why are others unharmed?"
He paused, looking at Zhu Houzhao.
"That batch of fake medicine Your Highness just found, I fear is not something a mere Liu An could pull off."
"There's someone above Wang Chang." Zhu Houzhao said. Not a question.
Yang Tinghe didn't deny. He took a roster from his sleeve, handed it over.
"This is what I have secretly investigated these past days. Ministry of War, Imperial Hospital, Ministry of Revenue, all implicated. But the person at the very top—" He paused. "Your Highness will know upon seeing."
Zhu Houzhao took the roster, opened it. I followed page by page. Liu An, Wang De, Zhao Cheng, Chen Zhonghe—these names were already in our files. Further down, bigger names. Vice Minister of Revenue. Director of the Imperial Hospital. Vice Minister of War.
Further down, nothing.
"Just these?" Zhu Houzhao asked.
Yang Tinghe was silent for a while. "Your Highness, the iceberg, what shows is always just the tip."
Zhu Houzhao closed the roster, tucked it into his sleeve. "Understood." Turned and walked away.
I followed out. Walking to the corridor, he suddenly stopped.
"Are you afraid?" he asked.
"Afraid of what?"
"That person above." He looked into the distance, voice very flat. "Yang Tinghe said, only the tip showed."
I thought about it. "What about you?"
He didn't answer. Silent for a moment, suddenly laughed. Not that back-chilling laugh, but another kind—mouth corner slightly upturned, like a kid seeing a fun toy.
"When I was little," he said. "One time I followed Father to meet ministers. That person stood at the very front, spoke loudest, no one dared make a sound. Father said, he is a pillar of the state."
He turned to look at me, sunlight shining on his face, eyes very bright.
"Father didn't tell me, pillars of the state also kill people."
I didn't respond. Wind blew through the corridor, making his clothes flap loudly.
"Let's go," he said. "Go see him."
I thought he meant going back to the palace to change, or at least calling Jiang Bin. But he wore that gray cloth short jacket, short knife at waist, and just went. I thought, is this person bold or reckless.
Li Dongyang's residence was east of the Imperial City, not far from the palace. Two stone lions squatted at the door, bigger than the Eastern Palace's. The plaque above the gate read "Li Residence" two characters, gold characters, shining brightly in the sunlight, bright enough to dazzle.
Zhu Houzhao stood at the door, looked for a while. Then stepped onto the stairs.
The butler at the door blocked him. "Who does Sir seek?"
"Li Dongyang."
The butler sized him up, gaze lingering on that gray cloth short jacket, then on the short knife at his waist. "Master does not receive outsiders—"
"Tell him, the Eastern Palace's little beggar is here to collect a debt."
The butler paused, hesitantly went in.
After a moment, the door opened. Not the side door, but the main door.
Li Dongyang stood inside the door.
He wore casual clothes, gray-blue long gown, washed somewhat faded. Looked older than that day in Fengtian Hall, hair graying considerably, but those eyes were still the same, deep, like an ancient well, bottomless.
Seeing Zhu Houzhao, gaze lingered on that gray cloth short jacket for an instant—I saw his mouth corner twitch slightly, not a smile, but an indescribable expression. Then he turned sideways and made a please gesture.
"Your Highness's attire," he said, voice neither high nor low. "I almost thought a medicine seller."
Zhu Houzhao looked down at himself. "Would a medicine seller dare come to your door?"
"So I opened the main gate."
I listened from behind, thinking these two, already sparring before even entering the study.
The study was large, three sides bookshelves, piled with scrolls and memorials. An unfinished document spread on the desk, ink still wet. A celadon vase in the corner held a few plum blossoms, already nearly withered, petal edges yellow, curling.
Li Dongyang sat down, gestured for us to sit.
Zhu Houzhao didn't sit. He pulled that roster from his sleeve, slapped it on the table. Sound not loud, but the teacup on the table trembled, lid making aka sound.
"These names," he said. "How much do you know?"
Li Dongyang glanced at the roster, didn't pick it up.
"Know them all." he said.
"When did you know?"
"When the first batch of medicine was sent to the Jingying Camp."
"Why not act?"
Li Dongyang was silent for a while. He stood up, walked to the window, pushed open the window sash. That old locust tree in the yard was bare, branches stretching toward the sky, like a withered skinny hand. Wind blew in, papers on the desk rustling.
"Your Highness," he said. "Who do you think owns this world?"
"The Emperor."
"Below the Emperor?"
Zhu Houzhao didn't answer.
"It is the officials." Li Dongyang said. "Six Ministries, Nine Courts, Grand Secretariat, Censorate, everyone is dividing this pie. Those who divided more don't want to give up, those who divided less want more. I stand in the middle, what I can do is merely keep them from fighting."
He looked at Zhu Houzhao.
"That batch of fake medicine was made by people in the Ministry of War and Ministry of Revenue. Making money from old medicine returned from the border, for three years. I knew, but I couldn't move. Because moving them, the court situation would be chaotic. Court chaotic, the Emperor is still ill—"
"So you just watched them kill people." Zhu Houzhao cut him off.
Li Dongyang didn't speak.
"Stabilize the world," Zhu Houzhao's voice not high, every word like a nail. "Stabilized with piles of dead bodies?"
Li Dongyang's eyelid twitched. Very light, but I saw it.
"Four died," Zhu Houzhao said. "Thirteen more lying down. Do you know their names?"
Li Dongyang was silent.
"Chen Er." Zhu Houzhao said. "From Hebei, enlisted last autumn. Leg wound, dragged by fake medicine for a month, rotted to the bone. Zhang Da, from Henan, took fake medicine, diarrhea nonstop, died of dehydration. Wang Wu—"
"Your Highness." Li Dongyang cut him off.
Zhu Houzhao stopped.
Li Dongyang looked at him. Those ancient well-like eyes suddenly had something else. Not guilt, not regret—a very deep, very heavy weariness, like a person walking in darkness for too long, already forgot what light looks like.
"I know." he said, voice very low. "I know it all."
The study was quiet enough to hear plum petals falling on the table.
"Your Highness," Li Dongyang said. "What do you want to do?"
"Investigate to the end."
"And after investigating to the end?"
"Whoever should bear responsibility, bears it."
Li Dongyang looked at him. Silent for a long time. Then he laughed. Not a polite laugh, nor a mocking laugh—another kind, like a person standing on a cliff edge for half a lifetime, suddenly seeing someone refuse to jump down.
"When I was young," he said. "I also thought like this. Investigate to the end, no matter who. But later I found, the world's matters are not solved just by investigating to the end. You investigate Liu An, there's Wang De. Investigate Wang De, there's Wang Chang. Investigate Wang Chang, there's me. Investigate me—" He paused. "There are others."
He picked up that unfinished document from the desk, handed it to Zhu Houzhao.
"This was sent this morning. Jingying Camp epidemic closing memorial, written by Wang Chang. Requesting Imperial perusal and approval."
Zhu Houzhao took it, opened it. Inside wrote "Jingying Camp epidemic settled, dead buried, sick recovered, related personnel dealt with." No fake medicine, no Ministry of War, no names. Clean, like nothing happened.
Zhu Houzhao closed the memorial.
"Do not approve." he said.
Li Dongyang looked at him. "Your Highness, if this memorial is approved, this matter is finished. Your Highness need not investigate further. Those fake medicine matters, just pretend never happened."
"I said do not approve."
"Your Highness—"
"You just asked me, what I want to do." Zhu Houzhao looked at him, voice not high, but every word clear. "Now I tell you. Investigate to the end. No matter who is above. No matter if the court becomes chaotic. Those people took fake medicine, got sick, died, cannot just be let go."
He pulled another paper from his sleeve, unfolded it, slapped it on the table.
It was a list. I recognized it—that day in the barracks, Deputy Director Sun wrote it down. Chen Er. Zhang Da. Wang Wu. Li Si. Zhao Liu. One by one, names annotated with origin, enlistment time, illness, life/death.
"These names," Zhu Houzhao said. "How many can you recite?"
Li Dongyang looked down at that list, didn't speak.
"There is one more," Zhu Houzhao said. "I don't know his name. He died, no one recorded his name. But his wound, I saw it. His hand was outside the quilt, fingernails were black."
He paused.
"I saw it, so I cannot pretend not to see."
Li Dongyang looked up, at him. For a long time.
Then he bent down, deeply bowed.
"Your Highness," he said, voice somewhat hoarse. "I am old. I have stood in this court for thirty years, learned one thing—forbearance. Forbear until the right time, forbear until able to act. But I forgot, some things, should not be forborne."
He straightened up, looking at Zhu Houzhao.
"This memorial, I will suppress. Your Highness wants to investigate, I will help you investigate. But one thing, Your Highness must know—"
He glanced at the door. Wind outside the window suddenly grew, blowing the window lattice rattling. That old locust tree's withered branches in the yard swayed in the wind, like a beckoning hand.
"Today Your Highness came to my place, someone already knows."
Zhu Houzhao didn't speak. He turned and walked out. I followed behind.
Walking to the door, he stopped.
"Grand Secretary Li."
"I am here."
"That person you spoke of—the person above—who is it?"
Li Dongyang was silent for a while. Wind gusted in from the window, blowing the papers on the desk rustling over. Those few plum blossoms finally fell, petals scattered on the table, yellow, curling, like pieces of paper written full of words then crumpled.
"Your Highness," he said. "You investigate further, naturally will know."
Zhu Houzhao looked at him, turned and walked away.
We walked out of the Li Residence main gate. Sky was already dark, street lanterns lit one by one, orange-red light spreading on the ground, like a river. A shadow flashed at the alley entrance—fast like an illusion. I turned back, nothing there.
Zhu Houzhao walked in front, pace neither fast nor slow. I followed behind, always feeling my back cold, like something watching from the dark.
"Do you feel," I whispered. "Someone is following us?"
He didn't turn back. "Know."
"Then you still—"
"Let them follow."
I paused.
He stopped, turned to look at me. Alley entrance light fell on his face, half bright half dark. Mouth corner slightly upturned, still that—like a kid seeing something interesting.
"Afraid?" he asked.
"Not afraid." I said.
"Really?"
"...A little."
He laughed. This time a real laugh, tiger teeth showing, eyes curved, like watching lanterns at the Lantern Festival.
"Let's go," he said. "Go home."
I followed behind. Moonlight stretched the two people's shadows very long, overlapping, indistinguishable whose was whose. Walked a few steps, I couldn't help turning back to look.
The alley was empty. Lanterns swayed in the wind, shadows shaking on the ground.
But that feeling remained—like an invisible thread, tied on the back, tugging lightly.
(End of Chapter 19)