The long street lay blanketed in silver snow, and the mourners hesitated, faltering, unwilling to reveal the truth. Li Ce could only inquire patiently."Has his condition worsened?"The prince consort, severely injured in a fall from his horse during disaster relief efforts, was convalescing at home."No," the mourner lowered his head and replied, "His health had improved; he even attended the Mid-Autumn family banquet today."
Li Jing, anxious, leapt down from the carriage. "Was there an assassin? A thief? Or some unfortunate accident—did he fall into a latrine and die?""None of those," the mourner stepped back, ready to leave. Li Jing, desperate, moved to kick him, but the mourner dodged and wiped away tears."It was indeed a misfortune," he wept. "The prince consort was in good spirits today, took a bite of a red bean sticky rice mooncake, and… and…" He sobbed, "he choked to death!"
He choked. Even with the imperial physician by his side, timely aid was impossible. It was neither a natural calamity nor a human crime; he simply ate carelessly and choked to death. Li Jing stood frozen, mouth agape, speechless long after the mourner had left. Such an incomprehensible and scandalous manner of death explained the mourner's reluctance to speak. The royal family, mindful of their reputation, would surely claim the prince consort had succumbed to his injuries. Moreover, since he was hurt during relief efforts, the common people would feel respect and gratitude toward the crown.
"This…" Li Jing turned to Li Ce. "I feel both pity and a strange amusement.""It is not amusing," Li Ce said, gazing toward a certain part of the Zhao King's mansion, where the Daoist Wang Qianshan of Lishan resided. "I find it terrifying."
Is there truly someone in this world who can perceive the secrets of fate? Who can precisely calculate the time of a man's death?
The next day, at the princess's residence to offer condolences, Li Jing refused to go at any cost."Xiao Jiu," he said, dressed heavily despite early autumn, "take my condolences for me; I will not attend.""Why?" Li Ce asked. "Afraid out of your wits?"
Li Jing shrank into his cloak, voice faint:"I am merely shaken by the precariousness of human fate—not afraid of courting ill fortune. The last time I felt this way was seven years ago, when the palace fire claimed the life of the Dowager Consort who once gave me candy. See? I didn't even bring a Tai Shan stone; my heart is uneasy."
He lifted his empty sleeve, indeed without the Tai Shan stone, but from within fluttered two talisman papers. The yellow parchment, slightly larger than a palm, was densely inscribed with mystical symbols. Li Ce picked one up, but Li Jing snatched it away."Give it back! These were drawn by Master Wang! They ward off demons from all directions, repel misfortune from eight quarters, worth a thousand taels of silver!"
Mentioning Wang Qianshan, Li Ce's expression stiffened."Is he at the mansion?""No," Li Jing replied, "He said he was struck by lightning last night and fled early this morning."
But the sky was clear all night; where was the lightning? After the prince consort's death, Li Jing would believe even if told gold had fallen from the heavens.
Many guests had come to the princess's residence to pay respects. Li Ce's gaze quickly found Ye Jiao among the female attendees. Today, she wore simple yet elegant attire—a pale blue short blouse buttoned to the collarbone, concealing her snowy skin. Around her waist, a pale gray skirt with subtle floral patterns cascaded to her ankles, revealing embroidered shoes.
Ye Jiao was speaking with Shu Wen, the prince consort's daughter, clad in mourning clothes, her eyes swollen from tears. Ye Jiao held her hand and whispered comfort earnestly. Shu Wen nodded, moved.
Guests approached one by one to offer incense and kowtow. Li Ce's eyes lingered involuntarily on Ye Jiao until their gazes met. Her eyes suddenly brightened like a star at dawn. Li Ce nodded to her. Though glad to see him, Ye Jiao remained solemn, enmeshed in the mournful atmosphere.
Around them resounded mournful music, sobbing, and the polite exchanges of guests arriving and departing. White mourning robes, black coffins, fluttering soul-calling banners in the wind, yellow chrysanthemums accidentally crushed beneath feet—through the crowd, they exchanged a distant glance.
Ye Jiao's attire was grave; her headpiece understated. Gone were her beloved gold and Eastern pearls, replaced by a small silver comb with a round handle engraved with a crimson crescent, nestled in her raven hair. Her eyes bore a faint relief mingled with the frustration of a meeting where speech was forbidden.
Today was filled with royals and grieving rituals; speaking together would breach etiquette and invite ridicule. Ye Jiao turned her head and signaled Li Ce to look behind her. Only then did he notice Ye Jiao's mother had arrived. Ye Jiao winked and, as Shu Wen released her hand, covertly gestured a shape. He understood:
—My mother is here. Are you here alone? How unfortunate that the prince consort died so. Take care of yourself; the ginseng is finished, but I have some left.
Li Ce looked at Ye Jiao and, despite himself, offered a faint smile. Barely a curve at his lips, the smile barely blossomed before retreating. Did Ye Jiao know what he wished to say? Amid thousands of unspoken words, he only longed to call her by her name—Jiao Jiao. The gentle "Jiao," the cherished "Jiao," the beloved "wife's Jiao."
After the condolences at the princess's residence, Li Ce glanced back; Ye Jiao still had not left. The Duke of Anguo's household had long been absent from public view, but since the princess had invited them, they must have much to discuss—essential social dealings that would benefit them.
Li Ce intended to wait longer when his attendant Qing Feng arrived with news that Wang Qianshan was found, hiding in an inn. Li Ce immediately sought him out. Wang Qianshan was sipping tea, his eyes evasive, face stiff."Ah, Your Highness the Prince of Chu," he greeted.
Li Ce came straight to the point."Daoist, what else do you know?"
"What do you mean, Prince of Chu?" Wang Qianshan's elegant face flickered with panic.
Li Ce dismissed the others, closed the doors and windows, and knelt opposite him."You said the prince consort's lifespan was set, that he could choke to death eating."
"You must have misheard, Your Highness. I never said that." Wang Qianshan stepped back but suddenly clutched his thigh, wincing in pain.
"What's wrong?" Li Ce asked.
Wang Qianshan stood and lifted his robe, revealing a purplish bruise above his knee."Struck by lightning." He sighed, "I thought the Zhao King's mansion had good feng shui, yet lightning still struck. At this rate, I'll become a wandering ghost before I become immortal."
Becoming immortal was always Wang Qianshan's deepest concern; Li Ce would not divert the topic."Daoist," he said solemnly, "I wish to ask you one thing."
With no one else in the room and doors shut, Wang Qianshan stood cautiously opposite, watching Li Ce's raised head and furrowed brow. Though he only sat, Wang Qianshan felt as if a tempest was rising beneath the ground, unsettling his spirit.
"How did you know the prince consort would die?" Li Ce asked again.
Wang Qianshan stood still but felt his heart, mind, and will stirred. Under this ineffable pressure, he confessed instinctively:"I once happened upon his birthdate and calculated his fate."
Li Ce nodded gravely. "Then I have one more question..."
Outside the room, Qing Feng stifled a yawn. What could they be discussing so long? The master had not slept well last night; neither had he. He tried to keep awake, leaning against the doorframe. The inn was modest and sparsely occupied, but the proprietor was thoughtful, binding bamboo tubes to pillars and inserting chrysanthemums. A few scholarly guests hurried past, snagging a blossom. The flower fell, petals shattering on the floor, instantly losing their delicate charm.
Flowers, like life, are fleeting and fragile. Qing Feng sighed as the door opened.
Li Ce emerged and turned to bid farewell to Wang Qianshan."Daoist Wang, you should return to your residence. It costs too much here."
"Thank you, Your Highness," Wang Qianshan replied. "I will pray diligently for you."
Li Ce expressed thanks and departed with Qing Feng trailing behind. Qing Feng looked up, sensing his master's steps unusually heavy today.
The day after Mid-Autumn Festival customarily required paying respects to the Empress. Having already visited the deceased, Li Ce returned home to bathe and change before entering the palace.
Li Jing had arrived early, kneeling at the Empress's feet, massaging her legs."Mother, mother," the nearly thirty-year-old man whined, "just give her to me."
The Empress cast him a disdainful glance."No matter how much you give, you cannot grant me a royal heir."
Li Jing had been married many years but remained childless."Mother, that dancing girl has a rather good figure."
"Then marry her yourself!" The Empress snapped back.
The scene could have been mistaken for a comedic skit. Yet for Li Ce, it was a mirror reflecting the sorrow of the empire's fading lineage, a private tragedy veiled by public spectacle.
As Li Ce prepared to leave for the palace, a sudden gust stirred the curtains. The wind carried whispers, but the prince consort's ghost had long departed, leaving only echoes of destiny's cruel hand.