Yuanyou fourth year, mid-fourth month. The silver clue, I found it in the Inner Kitchen's ledger.
That day I was checking ingredients in the storeroom, flipped to last month's procurement record—five hundred taels of silver, bought twenty catties of dried scallops. However expensive dried scallops, not worth this price. I took the ledger to show Zhao Xu. He flipped through once, then again, fingers stopping on that page.
"Who handled this procurement?"
"A young eunuch from the Palace Domestic Service. Named Chen An."
"Where is he?"
"Three days ago asked leave to leave the palace, hasn't returned."
Zhao Xu stood up, closed the ledger. "Leave the palace."
"Now?"
"Now. Wait until the person runs, it will be too late."
We changed into casual clothes. He wore a blue scholar's robe, hair tied in an ordinary student's topknot, looking like a young gentleman out for study. I wore a light-colored skirt and blouse, hair simply pinned up, inserted a silver hairpin—he gave it last year, I had never worn it. He saw it, ears reddened, said nothing, turned and walked out.
The Imperial City Bureau's back door led to a narrow alley; at the alley's end was a small door, outside which was the Imperial Street. This was Zhao Xu's first time leaving through this door. Before when leaving the palace, always rode in a carriage, with attendants before and behind, through the main gate. Today only us two. He walked ahead, I followed behind. The Imperial Street was very wide, shops on both sides already put up their shutters, only a few lanterns still lit, swaying in the wind. His footsteps were very fast, I followed somewhat with difficulty. He suddenly stopped, waited for me to walk beside him, extended his hand, grasped my wrist.
"Stay close to me."
His palm was very hot, fingers long, encircling my entire wrist. I said nothing, walked beside him, quickly moving forward.
Chen An's residence was in Willow Lane in the outer city, a narrow alley only wide enough for two to walk abreast. On both sides of the lane were low tile-roofed houses, moss growing at wall bases, air carrying a damp musty smell. Zhao Xu found the house number, knocked on the door. No response. Knocked three more times, still no response. He reached out and pushed—the door wasn't locked, creaking open. Inside was very dark, only a thin line of moonlight leaking through window缝隙. He pulled a fire starter from his sleeve, blew it alight. The stove was cold, the water vat empty, bedding on the bed folded neatly. The person had already left, left for more than three days.
"Search around, see if anything was left."
I walked to the bedside, lifted the pillow. Beneath the pillow was pressed a paper, with an address written on it—Willow Lane, number seventeen. I paused, handed the paper to him. He glanced at it, brow furrowing.
"Willow Lane seventeen. We are in Willow Lane."
He raised the fire starter to the door, looking at the house number. This one was fifteen. Walk two steps south, sixteen. Walk two more steps—seventeen. The door was ajar, no light inside, no sound. He raised the fire starter higher, pushed open the door. Inside was darker than Chen An's place, windows covered with black cloth, not a thread of light penetrating. The fire starter's light shone on the wall; I saw characters on the wall. Not written, but carved with a knife. Dense and packed, an entire wall full. I leaned close to look—names. Behind every name followed a date and a sum of silver. I recognized one of them: Vice Minister of Revenue, three thousand taels. Another: Hanlin Academy Lecturer, one thousand five hundred taels. And another, characters scratched away, only leaving a deep knife mark.
"What is this?"
He didn't answer. His expression changed, not fear, but—that of seeing something one shouldn't see, taut, slightly pale. He extended his hand, pulled me behind him.
"Go."
Before the words fell, footsteps came from outside. Many footsteps, heavy, fast. Someone shouted: "This room! Search!"
He grabbed my hand, ran toward the back door. The back door led to another alley, narrow enough for only one person. We had just run out when the front door was kicked open. Someone shouted: "Someone! Chase!"
The alley was very dark, potholes underfoot, I stepped on a stone, stumbled. He didn't release his grip, pulled me up, continued running. His hand gripped very tight, knuckles grinding against my hand back, somewhat painful. But he didn't let go.
Running to the alley mouth, was another street. No one on the street, only a few lanterns swaying in the wind. He looked back once, pursuers hadn't caught up yet. He pulled me into an even narrower alley, then another, then another. I already couldn't tell directions, only saw his back appearing and disappearing in the moonlight, blue robe puffed by wind. Suddenly, a sharp whistle brushed past my ear—an arrow. Nailed in the wall behind, humming as it trembled. His footsteps paused for an instant, then gripped my hand tighter, ran even faster.
We ran into a dead-end alley. Ahead was a high wall, on both sides tightly closed wooden doors. Footsteps came from the alley mouth, closer and closer. He pulled me to the wall corner, blocked me inside. His back pressed against the wall, my face pressed against his chest. I could hear his heartbeat, very fast, very heavy, like someone knocking on a door. His breath fell on my head, hot, damp. The footsteps at the alley mouth stopped. Someone said: "Not here. Go look over there." Footsteps grew distant, more and more distant, finally inaudible. But he didn't move. He lowered his head, ear pressed against the high wall, listening to the other side's movements. His lashes were very long, casting a small shadow in the moonlight. That small mole on his chin, slightly dark in the moonlight. I looked at him, looked for a long time. He suddenly lowered his head, meeting my gaze.
"Afraid?" he asked. Voice very light, as if fearing to startle something.
"Not afraid."
"Your hand is trembling."
I lowered my head to look at my own hand. Indeed trembling. Not from fear, from running. But if he said it was, then it was. He didn't release his grip, still holding my wrist. His fingers slightly tightened, pulling me closer to himself. My shoulder pressed against his chest, could feel his heartbeat slowly calming, one beat after another, like tides.
"A Heng."
"Mm."
"In the future, don't come out with me anymore."
"Why?"
"Too dangerous."
"Then you don't come out."
"I cannot not come. I am His Majesty."
"Then I even more cannot not come. You alone, I don't feel at ease."
He said nothing. Moonlight leaked down from the wall top, falling on his face, on his lashes. He lowered his head looking at me, very close, close enough that I could see the arc of his brow bone, could see my own reflection in his pupils. His eyes were very bright, with moonlight inside, with me, and a bit of—something I couldn't say. Like light in deep water, shining up from below, bright and dim.
"What are you looking at?" he asked.
"Looking at you."
His ears reddened. But didn't dodge, looked at me, mouth corners slightly rising.
"Good-looking?"
"Good-looking."
"Where good-looking?"
"Everywhere good-looking."
He smiled. That smile was very light, like wind passing over water surface. His fingers loosened from my wrist, slowly, one by one, as if reluctant. He withdrew his hand, hanging at his side. I lowered my head to look at my own wrist. Red marks left by his fingers remained, circle after circle, like moon halos.
"Let's go," he said. "Return to palace."
He turned and walked toward the alley mouth. I followed behind. Took a few steps, he stopped, extended his hand. Not grasping wrist, but palm open. I looked at his hand. Fingers long, joints distinct, palm had thin calluses—from drawing bow, from holding brush, from flipping dossiers. I placed my hand on it. He closed his fingers, grasped. My hand was small, enveloped by his entire hand. His palm was very hot, burning my chest tight.
We walked through narrow alleys, through long streets, through the Imperial Street. The moon followed us walking, shining on us, shining on our clasped hands. He walked very slowly, I also walked very slowly. Neither spoke.
When returning to the palace, sky was nearly light. He escorted me to the Inner Kitchen entrance, released his hand. My hand still had his temperature, dispersing bit by bit.
"Tomorrow, still come to the Imperial City Bureau."
"Good."
He turned and left. Took a few steps, turned back.
"A Heng."
"Mm?"
"Today's matter, don't tell the Empress Dowager."
"Good."
He smiled. Turned and ran. Coat hem trampling stone pavement, pa-pa-pa, same as when he was nine. But his hand, could already envelop my entire hand.
That night, I wrote on the note: Today left palace to investigate case. Was chased. He pulled me running. An arrow flew past my ear, nailed in the wall. He didn't release his grip. Ran into a dead-end alley, he blocked me inside. His heartbeat was very fast. Later slowed. His palm was very large, enveloped my entire hand. His palm was very hot. Now not hot. But still remember.
After writing, I tucked the note beneath my pillow. With those old notes. With that jade. With that wheat ear. And that silver plaque, engraved with the character "Investigate." Today, I investigated. Investigated not only the silver's source, but also those names on the wall. Vice Minister of Revenue, Hanlin Lecturer, and that scratched-away name. He didn't see it. But I saw it. That scratched-away name, very few strokes. Like "Liu." Also like "Gao."
I pulled the note out again, added a line on the back: "Names on the wall, I remembered. Vice Minister of Revenue, Hanlin Lecturer, and one more. Very few strokes. Like Liu. Also like Gao."
I folded the note well, tucked it back beneath my pillow. Moon outside the window. Round, bright. I closed my eyes. When he held my hand running through the Imperial Street, moon was very large. When he blocked me in the wall corner, heartbeat was very heavy. When he said "in the future don't come out with me anymore," I said "then you don't come out." He smiled. That smile, I remembered for a long time. Very long. Long until notes turned yellow, long until osmanthus bloomed and withered, long until he grew from nine to thirteen, from not reaching osmanthus, to blocking me behind him. Long until I finally knew, what that indescribable something was.
Tomorrow, still going to Imperial City Bureau. He investigates cases, I check ledgers. He holds my hand running. I follow him running. Run wherever, follow. But that name on the wall, I must clarify first. Before he knows. Before those people know.
[End of Chapter 26]