First Chapter Translations

King Helü of Wu’s flotilla swayed toward to the newly constructed Pan Gate amid unflagging cheers from either shore. The river water had just recovered a touch of life after the winter, carrying peachblossom petals in its shimmering ripples, and the melon peels and nut shells thrown in carelessly by the crowd on either side, as it tapped softly at the ships’ prows. Helü felt somewhat drowsy.

His black eyes, narrow and seductive, gazed left and right. Too much blood had precipitated down into the abyss of those eyes, leaving only languor to drift at the surface.

The crowds of commoners cheering and hailing him from either shore, the interchangeable praise and acclamation in endless waves, had grown more and more tiresome to Helü.

Boredom plumed up like wine from his body’s depths. Before he knew it, it had engulfed his flesh, so that every nerve sprawled out languidly to welcome even the tiniest prickle of aggravation.

“Xu.” Helü suddenly called out idly to the tall, slender figure standing behind him in the shadows. “Why’s the water so filthy?”

The figure stepped forward, leaning a little into the unruly sunlight of early spring, lending it too his elegance.

Long, colorless hair, tied with an azure ribbon and a black clasp engraved with gold, cascading down to drape upon an azure sleeve— surprisingly clean and sober in appearance, but giving no sign of rank or title.

“King, the Great City of Helü is notable for its canals, eightfold horizontal and vertical for a total of sixty-four. The commoners of Gusu draw water from them for their daily washing. Some fouling is unavoidable.” The voice was so quiet it was difficult to distinguish any emotion, and yet it seemed to be repressing deep feeling with all its might.

“How could I let the city you built for me be dirtied like that?” Helü laughed lightly, and then the humor disappeared swiftly from his face. Hard, murderous intent flashed from the corner of his beguilingly slender black eye. “Designate the sixteen canals emerging from the inner city for royal use. Execute any who draw water from them!”

The white-haired man started, lifting his gaze. It was in fact a very young, very clean-cut face, even though for some reason the hair had turned white.

But Helü’s gaze had already tilted elsewhere.

“I’m only here to see the newly completed Pan Gate. Why are there so many people?”

“The people of Gusu are accustomed to simple and humble things. Pan Gate is the last to be completed in the construction of the Great City of Helü, and the common people sincerely hail Your Majesty, from the bottoms of their hearts, for the opportunity to witness the creation of a city unprecedented in history,” the white-haired young man answered deferentially.

Helü seemed to at last be satisfied, slouching down once more. A moment later, he suddenly began to laugh shrilly. “Wu Zixu, oh, Wu Zixu. You nearly fooled me again.”

His gaze flicked slantwise out of the slender corner of his eye, no longer hard, yet possessed of an odd feyness, toward the white-haired man.

“All that talk of grand deeds unprecedented in history. You built the city. You manage the people. And in the end it all goes under my name. What are you trying to do? Invite future generations to mock me for stealing my subordinate’s deeds?”

“You overthink, Your Majesty. Since your ascendancy, you’ve slain King Liao and broken the Chu armies, all great deeds to be remembered by history.”

The answering man was none other than the legendary figure of their era, Wu Zixu.

He was originally from Chu.

The King of Chu, seeking to depose his crown prince on the basis of slander, had first disposed of the Wu clan serving the crown prince. Wu Zixu’s father and older brother were murdered, while he alone escaped and, after various travails, arrived to Wu. He’d raised Helü to ascendancy, and mustered an army to invade Chu. Avenging his family, he’d dug up the King of Chu’s corpse and whipped it three hundred times.

On the pages of history, sprawling as seas, this dramatic tale of love and vengeance filled only a few scant lines of text. All the blood and fire had precipitated to the deepest reaches of history, obliterated without a sound. There only remained the hair that had turned white in the span of a single night, never to return to its crow-black luster, to stand as the best commentary for the heart-wrenching events of his past.

“You always make it sound so nice.” Helü seemed at once laughing and mocking. “You killed King Liao of Wu with your schemes, my condolences to the assassin Zhuanzhu. You helped me onto the throne, and your strategies ravaged Chu. And me? All I have to do is sit comfortably atop your plans and find ways to amuse myself. Isn’t it so, my—dear—minister?”

His last words lilted upwards insidiously. The corner of Wu Zixu’s eye faintly twitched.

Helü was still watching him. “I only want one thing,” he continued. “And that’s to outlive you.”

“Even with me around, you can still do anything you want,” Wu Zixu said mildly. “Or, you could kill me right now, as a blood sacrifice for the city.”

Helü’s hand shot out, directly above his own head, and gripped the white-haired man by the chin.

“Where is your mind wandering.” Suddenly a strange combination of anxiety and mockery appeared in the long, thin corner of his eye, an expression that made this black-clad king at last look a little like a mortal. “I only mean that, while I trust you so dearly, my successor may not be able to make room for you.”

“So it’s best if you die before me.” Helü’s voice faded, as if from drowsiness. “But, once you die, I’ll be terribly bored.”

In Wu Zixu’s clear gaze, some sediment seemed to be rapidly collecting.

Suddenly a shadow rose in front of them. Tall and majestic, the emblem of the Great City of Helü’s completion, Pan Gate was already within sight.

Situated south-of-the-River, Gusu, alongside nearby Wuxi, had long been the heartland of Wu.

In the chaotic Spring and Autumn Era, the lands south-of-the-River, guarded by the mighty Yangtze, blessed with abundance in fish and rice, nourished an easy existence on the periphery. Among the south-of-the-River states, Wu was mightiest. A Prince Guang had offered shelter to the exiled Chu noble Wu Zixu, plotted King Liao of Wu’s assassination, and ascended the throne under the king name Helü. With the state growing increasingly prosperous and powerful, the city of Gusu was rebuilt, eight gates constructed atop the sixty-four intersecting canals, and renamed the Great City of Helü.

Pan Gate guarded the city by both land and water, embodying the collective genius of the artisans of Wu. The land gate and the water gate were set at angles against the crisscrossing approaches, and the threefold city wall did not only forbid assault, but concealed barbicans that would kill without a trace. The slate-colored gate towers of alternating heights were elegant in their simplicity. None knew that amid this grandeur and elegance, under walls the color of bronze patina, in prayer that the fate of the state might run long, that the city gate would never fall, they had slain ninety-nine convicts and buried them deep under the earth.

The completion ceremony for Pan Gate would mark the completion of the entire Great City of Helü. Helü had wanted to simply ride his fine new northland horse along the land road for a turn, but Wu Zixu had thought this would provide overmuch opportunity for assassins, and insisted on the water route. And so Helü, nearly drifting off amid the sway and splash of water, came closer and closer to the shadow of the city gate upon the waves.

One could already see the hundred-foot-tall sluice gate overhead. Gazing ahead, beneath the massive arch, only a few rays of sunlight could be seen slanting upon the waves in front of the boat. Away from the sun’s brilliance, the water grew increasingly dark in color. Helü was faintly displeased. 

Massive, heavy iron chains hauled upward with reluctant creaks, raising the monumentally heavy sluice gate. Clinging water poured from the surface of the gate, the impact faintly rocking the boats. The distinctly aquatic smell of faint decay assaulted the nose.

Helü raised a hand to cover his nose. His hands were long and slender, seemingly unable to bear the weight of all their heavily bejeweled rings. The neurotic joints of his fingers were as thin as a woman’s.

“I smell blood.” Helü’s gaze wandered backward with some excitement. “What’s this?”

With the raising of the sluice gate, the body of the boat had traversed the city gateway, sunlight gradually falling upon its prow. Amid the dappled light and shadow under the gateway, Helü discovered that the brick surface to one side of the gateway was interrupted by a recessed stone chamber, half-submerged. A locked metal grille spanned the side of the chamber facing the waterway.

Now pale, frail, dirty hands stretched from between the metal bars. “Long live the King! Mercy, Your Majesty!” they wept shrilly.

“What’s going on?” Helü eyed the man behind him, finding this all quite interesting.

“During the construction of the gate, I reasoned that the space underneath the gateway might as well be put to some use, so I had a chamber built here. In times of war, it can hide soldiers for an ambush. For now, it’ll temporarily serve as a water prison.” There was nothing that could be called pity in the white-haired man’s expression. “These are criminals awaiting execution from Your Majesty’s cells. After the ceremony, they’ll be sacrificed in offering to the city.”

“What a murderous nature you have.” Laughing, Helü pinched between his fingertips a strand of white hair that had drifted before his eyes. “Interesting. I can’t help but want to see what you’d look like, thrown in there with all the filth, you with your obsession with cleanliness.”

“Your Highness could order me thrown in right now.”

Helü chuckled coldly. “You know perfectly well I wouldn’t.” His fingers tightened. “You really are a cunning fellow.”

His gaze aimlessly swept across the piteous, pleading figures in the water prison, when it suddenly seized upon something. He focused, observing more closely.

Behind some prisoners who’d desperately squeezed their way in front of the metal grille, their arms extended in supplication, sat a youth. His clothes were ragged like the others’; filth and bruises covered his body like the others’. The disheveled bangs in front of his forehead covered his eyes, hiding his face.

What had drawn Helü’s attention was the way that he, in his silence, had somehow a stronger sense of presence than the shrieking, begging prisoners in front. Rest. A vaguely familiar sense of rest.

His hands, carelessly set atop his knees, were extraordinarily graceful. A few peach petals that had come in with the water stuck to his unruly hair, giving an unexpected impression of cool feyness.

“Who’s that youth there?”

Wu Zixu raised a brow. Why was his king suddenly interested in a prisoner? He turned his gaze and searched through his memory for a moment.

“He should be… the younger brother of Consort Miao, a lady Your Majesty had favored once.”

“Consort Miao?” Helü’s narrow black brows conflicted for a moment. Many were the beauties south-of-the-River, and it must be admitted too many of them had gone into his harem. He truly couldn’t remember which one was Consort Miao.

“The one who went mad, three years ago,” Wu Zixu clarified methodically. “Originally a daughter of the Shen clan of Gusu.”

“Oh…” Helü sighed regretfully. “That was a real beauty. Then she died?”

“Has Your Majesty forgotten? Consort Miao became jealous in the harem, and soon went mad. She burned down Qing Tower, which you’d bequeathed her, and you had her executed. Your Majesty flew into quite a rage at the time.”

“I suppose I recall something like that.” Helü gazed at the youth, deep in thought. “Then I ordered the full clan executed, yes?”

“Yes.”

Helü tried to recall what Consort Miao had looked like, but couldn’t remember at all. When he’d first obtained her, he believed he’d quite adored her, but as with all the other times, he’d soon grown tired of her, and used her to entertain guests. So she’d gone mad.

Afterward?

In the moment, he couldn’t remember.

If he’d forgotten, it was either something extremely unhappy, or something of no consequence. Therefore he quit his remembrances and inclined his head to ask, “Then why is this one still here?”

“At the time he was still a minor, and by law could not be executed.”

“Oh? So he’s been locked up in prison for three years?” Helü suddenly laughed. “To be executed once he came of age? You’re a cruel man.”

Because you like the taste of fresh blood, Wu Zixu very much wanted to say. The words were almost past his lips before he forced them down.

After all, it was better to maintain some distance, no?

The boat had now proceeded out of the gateway, the cheers from either shore immediately growing clearer. Helü narrowed his eyes against the brightening sunlight.

Ji Guang gathered his long cloak, unfastened his sword, and leaned on the railing of vermilion at the boat’s prow, observing.

In the current were ripple after ripple of peach blossoms.

A smear of sensual spring color.

As Wu Zixu descended the stairs, the rustle of silk on silk flanked him. The sound brought him a touch of displeasure.

The Wu clan produced lovely girls. Now these lovely female clan-sisters and clan sister-in-laws and clan-nieces were charging downstairs with their skirts lifted in their hands, their chatter full of high spirits.

“The boat from Wu is here!”

And what did it matter, that the boat from Wu was here?

They merely brought foreign spices and silk.

What use were they, other than decorating the girls’ clothing?

He only felt powerless.

This latest skirmish between Wu and Chu had ended in casualties on both sides. But if he had been there, he believed he could’ve taken half the state of Wu.

Right, it seemed that the King of Wu, Zhufan, had died in battle.

He tilted his head and asked his older brother beside him, “The arriving envoy. Who is he?”

His brother’s brow wrinkled a little, then relaxed.

“Zhufan’s son, Ji Guang.”

The two brothers were silent for a while.

“He’s the crown prince. Why send someone so important as envoy?”

“He’s not the crown prince.”

“Oh?”

“Shoumeng, who was king of Wu, ordered his sons Zhufan, Yuji, and Yimei to pass the throne from older brother to younger brother, so that the throne would come to Shoumeng’s youngest son Jizha.

“Oh…”

Wu Zixu only sighed.

He thought, for many years to come, Chu won’t have to worry about the state of Wu.

Wu’s method of succession was sure to incite internal turmoil.

Power intoxicated; approach it, and one would fall.

He did not believe the four brothers in Wu would pass the throne over as they would a dish at the dining table.

It also occurred to him that this Wu prince Ji Guang was now utterly expendable.

That was why he could be sent as envoy.

He could be seized, imprisoned, executed, and Wu would not mind terribly.

As for he himself?

Did he mind?

His older brother was watching him again.

A trace of concern in his gaze.

He was used to being looked at in this way. He didn’t know when it started, but his esteemed, beloved father and brother would often look at him so.

They often said this to him, too:

The harder the iron, the easier it snaps. The soft and yielding endures.

You must do your duty to the country, but not exert yourself fully.

You must hide the sharpness of your edge, to preserve the Wu clan.

Too much talent in you, too much ambition, is not necessarily a good thing.

So on, so forth.

He was sick of hearing it.

This battle between Wu and Chu was only a skirmish, but by chance they’d slain the enemy king. If he’d commanded the Chu forces, there were many strategies he could’ve executed.

The poor: victory on the battlefield. Announce the news of King Zhufan of Wu’s death to strike at enemy morale, and smoothly take the city.

The middling: victory in diplomacy. Use Chu’s position to force down Wu. Strengthen the lords of Wu and incite them into civil war.

The best: one could even install a puppet king, such as…

Such as Zhufan’s son, Ji Guang, now disembarking the boat. His bloodline was pure, his birth high, yet he would have nothing to do with the throne. If he were anything more than mediocre, he must be burning inside with a fire that could burn Wu’s citadels to ruins. And if he were truly mediocre, that was even better. Puppets didn’t need to speak.

But the Chu commander had done nothing!

He had concluded the battle and smugly brought the heads of a few dozen enemy generals to show off at court.

And then both sides had sent envoys. Peace under heaven.

If it were him on campaign, if he were the commander…

Wu Zixu felt powerless, because all this strategy could only churn about in his head.

Every time he closed his eyes, he felt like heaven and earth were only a vast, empty void, with only his mind in between. Like a banner whipped about every which way by the wind, it struggled without rest.

Ji Guang slowly strode into this city.

Ancient, but not, in fact, imposing.

This city had too long a history.

One could even trace it to the time of the Shang.

Chu was too romantic a country.

The vines on the city walls were so green they enthralled the eye, decorated everywhere with bits of silk embroidered with the countless gods, a vision of spring.

Truly beautiful.

But give him three thousand soldiers, and he could conquer this city.

He thought. No more, no less. Three thousand was enough.

The walls were too low. Easy to prop up siege ladders.

The river entered the city without any obstacles in its way. A vanguard diving underneath the water could infiltrate the city before the defenders even realized!

And this capital’s streets were overly broad. Once the enemy entered the city, they could easily charge through without becoming embroiled in arduous street-to-street fighting!

But he didn’t have three thousand soldiers.

He only had himself. He’d even left his sword on the boat.

If Chu with all its might wanted to obliterate one person, what difference would having a sword in his hand make?

Maybe the difference was only whether he could choose an honorable death.

Ji Guang smiled faintly.

He was making a bet.

He bet that Chu wouldn’t do anything to him.

He bet that he had no value.

The throne wasn’t his, though Zhufan the dead king of Wu was his father.

He’d lost his value, and so he’d become safe. The thought made him feel a deep pain.

It tore at his chest.

If he had an army, everything would be different.

In that moment Ji Guang approached the tower.

And Wu Zixu looked down.

Neither of them knew how fate would turn.

Ji Guang didn’t know that one day, he really would trample this city under his feet, tormenting it at his whims.

And Wu Zixu didn’t know that one day, he really would lead a mighty army, plotting the fate of the land from his campaign tent. But it would not be to preserve Chu.

Chapter 1

On payday, you go to the market after work, planning to buy some inexpensive food. By now your salary can be termed impressive, but likewise your expenses are considerable. You need to save some money in preparation for next month’s Mass. With your gaze fixed forward, you enter West District, but just as you’re about to arrive at your destination a salesman blocks your way.

That’s the problem with West District. It has the cheapest discount and secondhand goods, but also the most annoying shopkeepers. Even in your priest’s robes, you can’t always avoid getting accosted for a sales pitch. You stand there wordlessly, listening to the salesman market his product with no end in sight. “Practically good as new!” he says. You know every secondhand seller says this, but the smile stays on your face.

Only the oblivious could call the product he’s pushing “good as new.” It’s missing a horn and covered in injuries. There’s an obvious wound on one nipple; probably a nipple ring used to be there, then got yanked out. There’s an unclean air about him, unclean in every sense. Dried filth crusts its bare skin; the stench of blood and photinia clings. And, of course, it’s a demon, an inexpensive mixed-blood. A pureblood demon wouldn’t have so many fresh injuries, couldn’t be bound by a few enchanted silver chains, and certainly wouldn’t be found here.

Your expression is making the shopkeeper a little uncomfortable. “Just delivered this morning! No curses, diseases, or pollution, I swear! Its current condition just goes to show how strong its life force is!” he hurriedly says, hoping to salvage the situation, slapping the demon’s back like he would a healthy horse. “And it’s very cheap! One silver a pound!”

It really is very cheap, but as an additional expenditure, the total cost is still too high. The demon kneels hunched over on the ground, but you can still make out its tall, powerful build— a racial trait. Even if you starved one to death, a mixed blood demon would still look strong and healthy up to the second before it died. You look its body over, mentally calculating the total price, then shake your head.

“That’s pretty much the price I bought it at, I can’t lower it anymore, Father!” the shopkeeper says unhappily. “It can do work, and it’s a great educational tool. Whether you want to give the disciples some practice or test out some weapons, it’ll make an excellent target. Else why would I be recommending it to you, Father?”

But aside from you, there’d be few others in this area willing to buy a whole demon at this price. The shopkeeper didn’t mention its innate powers, probably because it doesn’t have any. It’s male in appearance, not friendly-looking enough for the ladies, not tasty-looking enough for those with unusual preferences. If this were a man, you’d say you quite like his looks, but it’s only a mixed-blood demon.

You express your desire to extricate yourself as politely as possible, but the shopkeeper seems like he’s committed to you. “If the total price is too much, you can buy a piece separately!” He grits his teeth. “Which part do you want?”

The shopkeeper looks understandably distressed. Mixed-blood demon meat can only sell for less than a silver a pound; the stuff is barely edible. You think for a moment, then say, “Leave the head and torso.” After all, you don’t plan to keep the demon to do chores. The limbs aren’t important.

It should reduce the cost by half.

The shopkeeper nods. He walks behind the counter, pushes out the table with the knife and cutting board, and pushes the demon on top of it. The creature, which had kept its head down all this time, finally moves. You look at it, suddenly curious what expression it will display.

Its eyes are deep brown, terribly ordinary on a creature of magic. Its face is shoved against the cutting board; its eyes follow the edge of the upraised knife. You thought you’d see fear, rage, or pain in them— you’re not sure if you do. Its eyes are numb, its expression hollow. Any emotion in there would seem to be in trace quantities. It looks at the knife; you look at it. Its chest heaves once before the knife descends— it inhales, a spark of hope flashing in its eyes.

Bam!

The shopkeeper is hollering, because that otherwise docile, obedient mixed-blood had suddenly lurched itself backward, stretching its neck toward where the knife would have landed. The demon makes a single gravelly, mournful cry, perhaps because the shopkeeper kicked it hard in the chest after that, perhaps because you’d grabbed the knife first. The demon’s head should have left its body in the place of its arm. A pureblood demon would have a hard time living with its head severed; a mixed-blood would die for certain. But right now it’s alive, for now alive and whole.

Gu Bing sat at the very corner, listening to several well-known young talents compose poems at the scene, practically unable to raise his head. Zhou Qi saw his silence and came over to show him a bit of attention. “Mianzhi**, why are you so quiet?”

Gu Bing struggled to smile.”You know I’m no good at poetry.”

Zhou Qi raised an eyebrow. “It can’t be! If you’re no good at poetry, how could you have gotten such a high placement?”

Gu Bing, already feeling embarrassed and awkward, hesitantly said, “To be honest, I can’t quite believe I was chosen. My essay and classics sections must’ve chanced across a sympathetic eye, some grader who thought it wasn’t all nonsense here and there.”

Zhou Qi came to sit at his side, brushing aside a few bits of willow catkin. He wore water-blue, and sitting amid the misty waters and green willows, with his handsome features and leisurely spirits, his every gesture seemed to take on an ineffable ease and grace. Gu Bing’s features could be called elegant and refined by a kind observer, or flavorless and forgettable by a more direct one. Combined with his silence and plain dress, he looked like a lackey for carrying someone else’s books next to Zhou Qi, hardly someone extraordinary. Several older ministers watching surreptitiously nearby couldn’t help but shake their heads.

“I’m going to the northlands,” Zhou Qi said suddenly, startling Gu Bing.

Thus an awkward silence descended.

Zhou Qi then looked at him teasingly. “I only remember seeing two expressions on your face. One is the lack of all expression, and the other is this one.” He gave Gu Bing’s face a pinch as he spoke, then gave his conclusion. “Dumb as a wooden chicken.”

The pinch woke up Gu Bing, who urgently grabbed  Zhou Qi’s sleeve. “You shouldn’t have. Your family is powerful and influential, full of high ministers. Even if they didn’t give you special help, you shouldn’t have been sent to the northlands.”

A laugh escaped Zhou Qi. “This is the first time I’ve heard you say something other than polite speak.”

Gu Bing felt urgency for him. “Brother Zhou, you shouldn’t give in so quickly. The northlands are a harsh, desolate place, populated by  barbarians and sealed in ice. You’ve lived since birth in a land of warmth and plenty. If you go there, I worry that…” His next words were too inauspicious to speak.

The Tianqi Dynasty had stood for nearly a century, calling itself the true inheritor of China. But despite several generations of emperors’ wars, the imperial court’s hold was weak. Even south of the Great River, Lingnan and Aobei were held by barbarians, while north of the river, the two provinces Longyou and Youyan were controlled by governors from the nomad tribes. Most shamefully, the late emperor Xuanyuan Hongyi had personally left a campaign against the Turkics of Longyou, only for the entire army to be nearly wiped out. The late emperor himself was nearly captured, and ultimately died in despair, earning himself the neutral-leaning-derogatory posthumous name of Min. Meanwhile, the crucial area surrounding the capital, Fengxiang Prefecture, had practically been razed to the ground. The current emperor Xuanyuan Jian took a lesson from his father and governed with a gentle hand, resting and nursing the land back to life. Combined with the fraility of his body, he’d given both internal affairs and external business to trusted officials, until the ministers were stronger than the ruler, and their entangled cliques became a chronic disease.

The northlands Zhou Qi was going to was Longzhou, at the very northwest of Tianqi’s borderlands, allying west with the Uighurs to resist the northern Turkics, a sandstorm-wracked and desolate land. After the great battle, Xuanyuan Hongyi had given Longzhou to his least favorite son to garrison, enfeoffing him and his line as Prince of Longxi. The first Prince of Longxi had taken his family and followers across the mountains, then died not long after he arrived. The court memorial had said that he’d spent all his strength living up to his loyalty toward the nation, but everyone knew inwardly that, provided his death didn’t involve anything unsavory behind the scenes, it was probably just unfamiliar climes combined with pent-up unhappiness.

Gu Bing and Zhou Qi didn’t really qualify as fire-forged friends, but after all, they’d tested up from Jiangnan together, and he had a kind, mellow nature. His heart twinging, Gu Bing held onto his sleeve wordlessly.

Zhou Qi was somewhat moved as well. Patting his shoulder, he said, “I’m going to be an aide for the Prince of Longxi, not charging onto the battlefield to slay enemies, Mianzhi. You don’t have to be sad for me. People’s bonds are like paper, each sheet thin; the world’s affairs are like chess, each game new. Neither of us know how these things will turn out. Don’t worry about it.”

Gu Bing looked at him, thinking that this business smelled fishy all over, but it was the wrong time to say anything. He could only grimace and pick a cup up from the winding waters. “Brother Zhou, I wish you peace, prosperity, and life, and that everything will go smoothly there.”

Zhou Qi gazed steadily at him, also raising a cup of wine. He raised his head and downed it in one go, and said, “If I’m already calling you Mianzhi, you don’t have to be so formal. Call me by my courtesy name. Not many people know it— you might be the only one in the capital.”

Gu Bing nodded, looking attentive.

Zhou Qi cleared his throat, feeling awkward for once. “Fengyi.”

The corner of Gu Bing’s mouth twitched, but he spoke, “Brother Feng.”

Zhou Qi stared heavenward. He was about to say something when he heard someone clap behind him. A rather careless voice followed, “Since this brother picked up the cup just now, he should compose a verse for us to appreciate.”

Zhou Qi reacted quickly, looking at Gu Bing. Gu Bing looked down too. The cup in question was baked from fine white porcelain and painted with a small red lotus flower, a lightweight little shallow disc that could float upon the viridian waves. Whoever picked up this cup, by the rules, would have to compose a poem in front of everyone else. Gu Bing felt his heart thumping like a drum, a sheen of sweat forming on his forehead. Even with his head lowered, he could feel gazes either curious or malicious focused on him from every direction.

Gu Bing sighed and bowed. “Apologies, brother, I picked up this cup by accident. I’m no good at poetry, and if I force myself I fear I’ll give everyone here a laugh. I’d better not.”

The man only laughed lightly. WIth his head lowered, Gu Bing could see the fan in his hand, the clouds and palace traced on it with gold.

“Everyone here is an incoming official. If I remember correctly, poetry is on the exam, is it not?”

Gu Bing was silent, standing there rigidly, ironic cheers sounding around him already. Unable to take it anymore, Zhou Qi spoke with brows drawn. “My brother here has been the quiet sort from childhood. He really is clumsy at verse, but he has far-seeing insights, and his essays earned him his spot in the rankings. Do you have a problem with that?”

The man continued to look at Gu Bing but addressed his words to Zhou Qi. “Zhou Qi, second son of the Inspector of the Jiangnan Circuit Zhou Duan, maternal grandson of the retired Chancellor of the Central Secretariat Wang Bo. Of the families of the capital and the great houses of Jiangdong, none can surpass yours. And yet you’re going to the prince of Jingxi to serve as an aide. Even a third-tier examinee shouldn’t be displaying such self-loathing.”

Zhou Qi felt the talk of self-loathing like a thorn in his ear. His expression darkened in preparation to snipe back, but Gu Bing tugged on his sleeve and shook his head. He looked at the man and said, “No need, I’ll do it. But my verse is crude, I hope you’ll forgive me.”

The man inclined his head minutely, attentive.

Gu Bing looked at him. Like his voice, his appearance was too extravagant, to the point of hurting his eyes a little. He wore luxurious brocade, and each of the jade ornaments hanging from his belt was worth a hundred more times than his life. Gu Bing was no high-born princeling; there wasn’t much dignity or face he couldn’t bear to part with. Then again, though the man was overly willful in attitude, none of what he said was wrong.

Gu Bing’s voice was a little rusty, but he began, standing stiffly. “Format: Phoenix on the Hairpin’s Head***. Dawn winds gust, old flowers fall. Weary I cover yellow scrolls and listen to rain. I cannot sleep, the night has passed. How many turns of heat and cold, only the east wind knows. Silent, silent, silent. The clear night is cold, the thin quilt is chill, the youths and boys are made old by the world. The horizon is far, the face is thin. The familiar earth remains, but the oceans are hard to cross. Wrong, wrong, wrong.”

Even before he’d finished, many people were starting to make fun of him, their shushes blending into one. Gu Bing lowered his head, all his feelings hidden behind his wooden expression. He knew that in this situation, as long as he let them laugh without giving any response, they’d have their fun, get bored, and go away on their own.

It really was very messy and ordinary a poem, using many preexisting lines. After hearing it once, there were barely any lines memorable enough to stick. Hearing “the horizon is far,” Zhou Qi felt grief in his heart. He eyed the instigator coldly. “You really have nothing better to do. Come, Mianzhi, we’ll find a place to talk.” He went off, pulling Gu Bing behind him.

The pull sent Gu Bing stumbling after him, only for the man to say idly, “What family do you hail from, honored brother? What was your ranking?” Even as he spoke, several powerfully built men came to block his path.

Gu Bing sighed, but gave the proper answer. “Yours truly is Gu Bing, a scholar of Shengzhou, placed eighth in the second tier.” After his words, he gave a bow, and only then turned to leave.

*The Lanting gathering of famous literati, scholars, and statesmen put their wine cups into the river and took turns taking them out and composing poems.

**Style name

Gu Bing wrinkled his brow, reclining against the half-open window, somewhat blankly watching his cup of fragrant tea steam into a haze of anxiety and the feeling of departure. This was already his second time taking the exams. If he didn’t pass this time either, he considered that he might have to return to his hometown and look a job as a tutor. Otherwise, in half a year at most and a month at least, he wouldn’t be able to cover his food and shelter, let alone returning to the capital for another exam.

Nineteen-year-old Gu Bing meticulously tasted the words “The eyes clouded with grief, the ears unhearing*,” and couldn’t help but laugh painedly.

“Brother Gu!” Gu Bing looked up and found it was Zhou Qi. He was also from Jiangnan Circuit, albeit from Suzhou while he was born and raised in Shengzhou. He managed a smile and returned the greeting. “Brother Zhou.”

Zhou Qi’s smile lit up his peach blossom eyes. “Brother Gu, shouldn’t you be packing up?”

Gu Bing’s heart sank, reckoning he’d failed the exam again. Despite his daze he squeezed out another smile. “Looks like your name’s on the golden list. Your younger brother congratulates you.” Seeing Zhou Qi taken aback, Gu Bing calmed his emotions and said sincerely, “I might not have made it, but fortunately I’m young enough to take the exam again some other day, not a problem. You’re the one who should hurry and get your things in order.”

Zhou Qi stared, then suddenly laughed aloud. He pointed at Gu Bing and asked, “Brother Gu, did you even go look at the list?”

Gu Bing shook his head, somewhat embarrassed. After all, he didn’t yet wear the cap of an adult, and the exam was deeply complicated and abstruse. Very few made it to the top thirty. He was also somewhat timid and passive by nature, and so he wasn’t even brave enough to go to the front to look.

Zhou Qi sat across him, raised his cup, and looked somewhat teasingly at him. “Brother Gu, not only are you on the list, your ranking’s not bad at all, far ahead of your foolish brother here. And at your age! Once you’re grandly successful, don’t forget to give a brother a hand.”

Gu Bing felt as if his brain were buzzing. Elation, mourning, daze, and astonishment flooded his heart at once, depriving him of words. But on the surface he was still wooden-faced and unruffled, respectfully raising his cup toward Zhou Qi. “I’ve made a spectacle of myself and given you a laugh.” Gu Bing saw that Zhou Qi still didn’t look inclined to seriousness, and felt even more flustered. “I don’t know what roles the court will give us. Perhaps we’ll soon be mountains apart. No matter what, you and I should both take care. As your younger brother, I’ll substitute tea for wine and toast you.”

Zhou Qi’s smile dwindled. “Brother Gu,” he said seriously, “you’re eight place in the second tier, which is already considered very good. Going by the Ministry of Personnel’s habits, that’s more than enough to get you assigned to a prosperous area as a county head magistrate, whereas I in the third tier will probably have to rely some provincial governor or prince as an aide. In the future we’ll be a long journey apart. We’ll just have to both take care of ourselves.”

Gu Bing was inwardly preoccupied. He nodded knowingly, but he knew that in a few days the ranking examinees would symbolically meet the emperor, then be distributed by the Ministry of Personnel to the various circuits, prefectures, and counties, with only the extraordinarily fortunate allowed to assume a position in the capital. Zhou Qi’s family was powerful and deeply rooted, having served as high court officials for many generation. He with his humble origins couldn’t compare. The earlier talk of asking for aid was only politeness. Zhou Qi’s posting must have been arranged long ago, but where would his own future lead?

The route through officialdom was dangerous, the court always in flux. Gu Bing was of only moderate abilities and unimpressive character. He didn’t seek fame, only self-preservation.