To Embers We Return — Chapter 29
***
Shen Ni dutifully tipped some of the water from the cup onto her side of the bed. Bian Jin, who was doing up the ties of her cloak, watched her covertly. Nearly half a cup of water? Bian Jin wondered. Isn’t that far too much?
She was about to ask the question out loud, but stopped herself before the words could leave her lips. I don’t really want to know, she thought.
Shen Ni was still not done. She brought out a hair-dryer and blew hot air all over the wet patch until it was merely damp, then crumpled that part of the sheet to create the impression that someone had been lying on and rolling about on top of it. Finally, she poured the rest of the water onto Bian Jin’s side of the bed.
Bian Jin eyed her dubiously.
‘We’re such a loving couple,’ explained Shen Ni. ‘There’s no reason we shouldn’t be able to muster up enough… lubrication between us to fill a single cup.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’
Shen Ni put her own cloak around her shoulders in a leisurely fashion. ‘You seem very curious about it.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Ah, I spoke out of turn then,’ said Shen Ni, peering through a crack between the curtains.
There was a maidservant in the courtyard outside, bent over a flowerbed. She was removing the plants that had been crushed by the most recent snowfall and replacing them with new ones.
The woman had already been there when Shen Ni walked into the bedchamber nearly an hour ago; her task should not have taken her so long. She had also put in the new plants haphazardly, cramming them into a corner of the flowerbed. Shen Ni doubted they could even survive under such cramped conditions — and if they did, they were bound to grow into an eyesore, their branches sticking out every which way.
How could such an incompetent gardener ever earn a place in a marquess’ household? Didn’t Li Ruoyuan at least make sure her spies had some on-the-job training before sending them off to infiltrate their respective targets?
Between Bian Jin’s condition and the threat of the Black Box virus, Shen Ni had been too busy to keep a close eye on her household staff. Now, she decided, it was time for some spring-cleaning.
Bian Jin opened the door of their bedchamber. The maid crouching over the flowerbed heard the creak of the hinges behind her, and knew that the two of them must be coming out. She lifted her face, and her red-and-black prosthetic eye extended slowly from its frame. It tilted backwards, whirring slightly, until she could see the open door. Her ear concealed the movements of the prosthetic from view.
The maid knew that high-definition surveillance cameras had just been installed around the courtyard. But she was careful to keep her motions stealthy, and she’d calculated the angles precisely so as to maximise her chances of concealment. Not even the most powerful camera, she thought, would necessarily be able to capture what she planned to do next. She aimed her prosthetic eye at Bian Jin and Shen Ni.
Bian Jin looked down and pretended to brush some dust from her cloak. This hid her lips from view, so no one would be able to read her words from their movements. ‘She’s recording us,’ she murmured.
Shen Ni had noticed that too. With a little cry, she tripped deliberately over the doorframe as she crossed the threshold, and fell right into Bian Jin’s arms.
Bian Jin had not been expecting this. Reflexively, she reached out to steady Shen Ni. She could already tell that her shimei was up to some mischief, but the warm weight of Shen Ni in her arms still made her feel a little dazed, as if she were in a dream.
Shen Ni wrapped her arms around Bian Jin’s waist and snuggled close to her, like a cat that was particularly attached to her mistress. It was all part of a deliberate — and rather obvious — show of affection. She was certain Bian Jin would know it was all part of a ploy, but it was unlikely that an outsider would be able to tell that.
Bian Jin knew full well what Shen Ni was up to. But all the same, she’d never seen her shimei gaze up at her quite so captivatingly before. Was this how Shen Ni was with her lovers?
A unfamiliar sense of possessiveness surged up suddenly within her, and she felt a sharp pang.
After clinging to her shijie for a few moments, Shen Ni was just about to let go when, unexpectedly, Bian Jin put an arm around her shoulders. Her thoughts froze momentarily.
Her other motive for that little stumble had been to tease her stoic, self-possessed shijie, to see the look on Bian Jin’s face when Shen Ni’s arms suddenly went around her. She certainly hadn’t been expecting this.
Bian Jin was gazing off into the distance. ‘Since we’re supposed to be such loving wives,’ she said, ‘I couldn’t simply cast you aside.’
She made it sound as if it was perfectly reasonable for her to be holding on to Shen Ni — who was feeling weaker in the knees with every passing moment — so closely.
Shen Ni said nothing more; she simply relished the warmth of Bian Jin’s arm around her in silence. She leaned against Bian Jin as they made their way through the mansion towards the front gates, drawing admiring glances from the servants.
As the two of them settled into the coach, Shen Ni was mulling something over. Was her shijie simply being hyper-vigilant about making sure they kept up the appearance of a loving couple? Or was she motivated by some other feeling?
When the doors of the coach closed on them, Shen Ni was still nestled in Bian Jin’s arms. Bian Jin looked down into Shen Ni’s face, which was pressed closely against her chest. From this angle, the cast of her features seemed a little different from usual; she looked almost as if she were a child again.
Bian Jin had coaxed little Shen Ni to sleep so many nights in this exact pose. Back then, she had been Shen Ni’s whole world. And it had been the thought of Shen Ni that had sustained her through battle after bloody battle, as told herself over and over again: I must return home alive.
That had been so many years ago. And now, where were they?
Shen Ni had wanted to stay in Bian Jin’s arms until they reached the market quarter. Bian Jin, however, had other ideas. ‘Sit up straight,’ she said.
Shen Ni had no choice but to comply. She sat up, crossing her legs nonchalantly, then turned on her digital watch and projected a selfie camera from it. She drew it closer to her side of the coach and began taking pictures of herself in the soft natural light that filtered in from the windows.
Bian Jin leaned back against the soft cushions and glanced at Shen Ni out of the corner of her eye. ‘I think you’ve accidentally caught me in those pictures.’
‘I did that on purpose.’
Shen Ni looked through the three pictures she’d just taken. They featured her own face prominently, with Bian Jin’s profile just visible behind her. Had Shen Ni not given her direct confirmation to the contrary, Bian Jin would have assumed that her inclusion was entirely unintentional.
This was precisely the kind of artless, uncontrived effect Shen Ni had been aiming for. She selected the picture where Bian Jin just happened to be looking over at her, and composed a caption: An outing with my lady wife on this rare sunny day. Then she clicked post.
‘Where you have uploaded it to?’ asked Bian Jin.
‘The most popular social networking platform with young people on the extranet. The civil servants set up an official account for me there some time ago. The idea was that I should use it the post regular updates about my daily life, creating an air of reliability and approachability, so that the public would feel as if they were getting to know me better. It was likely motivated by the same kind of thinking as the one behind the Great Wheel of Fire — to create a sense of rejuvenation across the empire.’
Bian Jin smiled. ‘Yet instead of building a positive image for yourself, here you are, using it to put on a show of wifely affection. Isn’t that going a little too far?’
Shen Ni retorted, ‘Isn’t it also going too far for the emperor to put eyes all around our marital bed, counting how many times we tumble between the sheets?’
That second part of her question sent Bian Jin’s thoughts wandering in a different direction, and she did not respond.
By the time their coach had steered itself into a parking bay at the Eastern Market, thousands of comments had flooded in under Shen Ni’s post. This was the first time Shen Ni and Bian Jin had made an appearance together in public, and the people of Chang’an were brimming over with curiosity about the marriage that had rocked the empire just a short while ago. Many of them were surprised by the fact that Marquess Jing’an would choose to spend such a rare fine day as this with the woman who was only her wife by imperial decree. Perhaps relations between them were not nearly as strained as the rumours claimed.
In the picture she’d posted, Shen Ni was all loveliness with a hint of girlish charm. Behind her, Bian Jin looked as cool and aloof as she had done in her few public appearances before. But although she was not smiling, there was a tender, inexpressible fondness in her eyes as she gazed at Shen Ni. Why, sighed the onlookers, they’re a match made in Heaven!
Shen Ni scrolled rapidly through the comments on her post just before she alighted from the coach. Bian Jin, sitting bolt upright in her corner, was sharp-eyed enough to catch a few key phrases as they flashed past. What a perfect match, said some of the posts. Look at that doting gaze! said others. She looked away again, tiny sparks of some unaccustomed emotion swarming to the surface of her heart. It felt rather like joy.
Shen Ni and Bian Jin stepped down from the coach one after the other. Despite the fine weather, the Eastern Market was nowhere as busy as one might expect one of the two largest marketplaces in the city to be — likely because half-formed rumours about the Black Box virus had, with Li Ruoyuan’s permission, begun circulating through the populace.
News of the box jellyfish’s attack on Chang’an had thrown the extranet into an uproar for days. Officials had come forward to quash public speculation, claiming that the jellyfish were explosives planted by a terrorist cell from an enemy kingdom, and had no connection whatsoever to the Black Box. By that time, however, the extranet was already flooded with close-up videos and pictures of the box jellyfish. In these, the jellyfish’s inner cores could clearly be seen oscillating wildly within their semi-transparent bodies — just like jade cores that had been infected by the Black Box virus. While most of the posts that had been deemed likely to spread alarm were soon blocked from further circulation, some of them still lingered on the extranet, and had successfully found their way into the public consciousness.
Whatever the palace wanted to ban, Shen Ni knew, could be erased without a trace. And by the same token, if the palace did want to fan certain flames, or allow some suspicion to ferment in secret, it could accomplish that just as easily.
Shen Ni could see that the passersby were no longer the same joyous crowds who had thronged the street on the night of the Shangyuan Festival. There was a kind of wariness to them as they hurried along on their business, and the streets had an air of cheerlessness that bordered on desolation.
‘There aren’t many people out here today,’ said Shen Ni somewhat regretfully. ‘It seems we’ll only have a very limited audience to watch us playing a loving couple.’
‘It’s all right,’ Bian Jin comforted her. ‘That post of yours has already spread the news far and wide.’
Shen Ni had no idea what to say to that.
The other reason the streets were less crowded than might be expected was that most passersby were clustering around a billboard that stood just by the entrance to the Eastern Market. It was made up of four massive screens, each thirty-five feet long. No one who walked past the Eastern Market could fail to spot it.
The billboard usually displayed a mixture of advertisements placed by merchants, governmental bulletins, and bounty notices for the capture of wanted criminals. One of the latter was emblazoned across the screens right now, with an offer of an impressive reward. Accompanying the notice was a short video of its target — a dark, blurry figure, who flashed briefly across the screen. The notice itself was written in Li Ruoyuan’s royal voice. It read:
Dangerous Criminal Wanted
Law is the bedrock of our great empire. Once enacted, it is imperative that the law be enforced against those who violate it.[1] Justice is a protective net woven around our prosperous society, unseen yet inexorable. A most dangerous criminal has latterly sought to challenge our laws, in response to which we are prepared to offer a generous reward for their capture.
Name: Unknown
Sex: Unknown
Age: Between twenty to forty years old
Description: Between six feet to seven feet[2] tall, dressed in close-fitting dark clothes designed for stealth. Likely to be a high-level Warrior.
Crime: Slaughtered all two hundred and twenty-two soldiers of the Ruifeng Battalion in the uninhabited buffer zone three miles northwest of Chang’an’s northern gate. The perpetrator was subsequently seen fleeing back in the direction of the city, and may have successfully smuggled themselves inside its walls.
We are shocked and angered beyond measure by this brutal crime. To bring the perpetrator to justice, we offer the following reward. Any person who provides information leading to their capture shall receive one hundred taels of silver. Any person who captures them alive and brings them to the authorities shall receive one thousand taels of gold and be granted a noble title and accompanying fiefdom. Any person who deliberately conceals information relating to the perpetrator, shelters them from the law or alerts them of the movements of the authorities against them shall receive the same punishment as the perpetrator themselves.
It is our hope that the people of Chang’an will make concerted efforts to assist the officers of the law in bringing this criminal to justice, to uphold the laws of our great empire, and to ensure its peace and prosperity in the years to come.
This proclamation shall take effect from the first day of its publication.
Made by the imperial order of Li Ruoyuan
on the twenty-first day of the first month in the twenty-second year of Zhenguan[3]
Any other ruler would have written the entirety of such an important proclamation in their own hand. Li Ruoyuan, however, was probably aware of how poor her calligraphy was, so she’d had the whole of the notice typed out. Only the signature at the end was her own brushwork. The strokes were graceless and clumsy — as juvenile as she looked.
Shen Ni let out a low chuckle by Bian Jin’s ear. ‘They barely caught a glimpse of the killer, and still they’re offering a reward? Aren’t they afraid of becoming a laughingstock?’
Bian Jin was amused by the forthrightness of that comment. The corners of her lips curved upward slightly — then a cold, sneering voice rang out behind them.
‘If you truly have nothing better to do than stand around making snide remarks, Marquess Jing’an, may I suggest that you go and catch a few criminals yourself? Then you would be at least making some contribution to the safety of Chang’an.’
Shen Ni and Bian Jin turned to see Dou Xuanji and Fang Pan of the Lijing Bureau standing behind them.
‘Eh?’ said Shen Ni. ‘It’s only been a few days since we last saw each other, Mistress Dou, Mistress Fang. What’s happened to the two of you? Why do you look like that?‘
Her tone had something of a jibe to it, but it was also a genuine question. Dou Xuanji looked visibly thinner and much more worn, and there were heavy dark circles under her eyes. A leaf was stuck to her hair. Fang Pan’s face, meanwhile, was hidden by her veiled hat, but a huge mudstain was splashed prominently across the hat itself. Their uniforms, which should have been crisp and smart, looked damp and distinctly rumpled. Their appearance could fairly be summed up as ‘bedraggled’.
At Dou Xuanji’s mention of ‘Marquess Jing’an’, the bystanders who had been clustering around the billboard turned and stared curiously in their direction. As their eyes fell on Shen Ni, they realised that she really was the woman who had been broadcasting live from the Information Services Bureau just a few days ago — and she was even prettier than she’d seemed on their screens. The woman with her must, of course, be her wife Bian Jin. So the picture she’d posted hadn’t been just for show, the bystanders realised; the two of them really were on an outing together.
As the crowd studied them covertly, murmurs of ‘what a perfect match’ drifted over to Bian Jin; her ears turned redder and redder with each repetition.
Shen Ni’s question, meanwhile, had set Dou Xuanji’s teeth on edge. She of all people has the audacity to ask me that?
When it was first confirmed that the Black Box had descended upon Chang’an, the emperor had commanded all the officials of the Lijing Bureau to assist the Southern Garrison in rooting out every trace of the virus. They had been instructed to search every single household in Chang’an, going from door to door to door and leaving no stone unturned.
The Southern Garrison was more than ten thousand soldiers strong, while the Lijing Bureau had around a hundred officials; on the face of it, their numbers were considerable. However, the main duties of the Southern Garrison were the protection of the capital city, the defence of the imperial palace, and ensuring the personal safety of the emperor. Not all of them could be despatched to track down the Black Box. Besides, even if their number had been twice as large, the task of searching every single household in a city of some twenty million people would still be a complex and arduous one — and certainly not something that could be accomplished within a short time.
Li Ruoyuan had originally given the Southern Garrison and the Lijing Bureau a month to complete their investigations. That very night, however, Shen Ni had submitted a petition, requesting that she be allowed to use the stock of galactic chromium held by the Supreme Bureau of Research and Innovation to generate a temporary defensive barrier around the site of the planned fortifications. This would keep the Black Box virus trapped within the city, allowing the Southern Garrison and the Lijing Bureau to hunt it down. They would have to act swiftly; if the Black Box were to escape the city’s confines, it would be able to lay low until such time as a better opportunity for re-infiltrating Chang’an presented itself. Then it would be even more difficult to defend the city against it.
Li Ruoyuan had already rejected Shen Ni’s earlier proposal of making the Black Box’s presence known to the public; she could not very well say no now. Besides, Shen Ni was right: a month was far too long to wait. Who knew how many souls they would have lost to the Black Box by the end of that?
When she learned of Shen Ni’s designs on her store of galactic chromium, Li Shan had also petitioned the emperor that very night. In tones of great anguish, she pointed out that the quantity of galactic chromium held by Supreme Bureau of Research and Innovation was very small, and that it was an exceedingly precious substance that she had managed to obtain only at great risk to her own life. It could not all be handed over to Shen Ni, she argued, as that would make important future research impossible.
Li Shan was certain that, had she not been so determined to bar Shen Ni from the Supreme Bureau of Research and Innovation, Shen Ni would have been able to make far swifter progress on the city’s defensive fortifications. The foundations might even have been laid by now. It was she who was responsible for the delays to the project. And now, faced with Shen Ni’s plan, she found herself unable to muster up more than a half-hearted opposition to it.
Shen Ni knew she had the moral high ground, and this emboldened her to bargain ever more aggressively with Li Shan. In the end, she managed to extract ninety ounces of galactic chromium — nearly three-quarters of the Supreme Bureau of Research and Innovation’s entire stock of the metal — from Li Shan. This was enough for her to generate a defensive barrier around the city for seven days. In accordance with this, Li Ruoyuan had reduced the timeframe for the Southern Garrison and the Lijing Bureau to hunt down every trace of the Black Box from the original month down to seven days.
Imperial commands, once issued, had to be obeyed to the full. The upshot of this was that neither Dou Xuanji nor Fang Pan had slept in the last three days. Even the most stoic warrior was liable to be undone by such a bone-deep level of exhaustion. Dou Xuanji was sure that, if they carried on like this for much longer, they would all be at risk of imminent death from overloading.
The whole of the Southern Garrison and much of the Lijing Bureau were now bitterly resentful of Shen Ni. Any goodwill Dou Xuanji might have felt towards her after their encounter with Li Shan at the city gates had been completely wiped out by the relentless toil of the last few days. But Shen Ni’s proposal had come from a place of genuine concern for the safety of Chang’an; not even the Director of the Lijing Bureau could gainsay it, much less Dou Xuanji herself.
Now that she’d come face to face with the woman she thought of as a scheming fox, Dou Xuanji barely wanted to speak to her. She knew perfectly well that she was no match for Shen Ni’s sly, cutting tongue; why should she start a war of words that would only leave her humiliated? ‘It’s all thanks to you,’ she retorted in response to Shen Ni’s question, and left abruptly with Fan Pan in tow.
‘What did she mean by that?’ asked Bian Jin curiously, and Shen Ni told her all about the petition she’d made to Li Ruoyuan and what had happened thereafter.
‘Let’s hope we don’t run into Prince Yong today,’ was Bian Jin’s response.
Shen Ni, whose gaze had fallen on the words ‘Likely to be a high-level Warrior’ on the billboard, looked up. ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure Her Venerable Highness is being run off her feet at the Supreme Bureau of Research and Innovation at this very moment.’
The two of them wandered through the main marketplace for a little while, then decided to take a turn through the antiques market nearby. Once they’d done that, they would have completed their mission for today.
Bian Jin had been walking slightly ahead of Shen Ni, and now her footsteps quickened as if she were on her way to carry out a reconnaissance on an enemy base.
Shen Ni sighed. ‘My lady wife,’ she called towards Bian Jin’s receding back.
That term of address struck Bian Jin with the force of a command. She realised instantly that she’d been walking too quickly. She was far too accustomed to doing everything alone, and had not yet become used to keeping pace with another person by her side. She slowed down, falling into step beside Shen Ni.
Coming towards them was another couple — two women, dressed in matching ruqun. As they leaned close to each other, holding hands, they seemed like the most affectionate of lovers.
In contrast, there was a conspicuous gap between Shen Ni and Bian Jin, big enough for another person to squeeze through sideways. They seemed more like a pair of strangers who just happened to be going in the same direction, and were liable to part ways at any point.
Bian Jin caught sight of Shen Ni’s hand out of the corner of her eye, and her own fingers twitched. If she were to wrap her hand around Shen Ni’s now, her glove would probably shield her from any overly strong sensations, wouldn’t it?
Just as she was hesitating over this, Shen Ni reached out and took her hand. Warmth spread from Shen Ni’s palm to hers; the gap between them all but disappeared.
Bian Jin’s eyes drifted from the clouds in the sky to the tops of the trees, from the heads of the passersby to the roofs of nearby buildings. It was only now that she was walking more slowly that she finally realised Chang’an had changed in some ways in the years she’d been away.
And now she and Shen Ni looked like just like any other married couple, strolling idly through the streets of Chang’an on a fine afternoon, indulging in each other’s company.
They walked past an antiques shop. They had no intention of going in, but the shopkeeper caught sight of them, let out an exclamation of surprise, and stuck her head round the door. ‘My lady, what a coincidence!’ she said to Bian Jin. ‘I’ve found another one in the same style as the one you bought. Would you like to see it?’
Shen Ni glanced at Bian Jin.
Bian Jin had nearly forgotten all about the snow globe she’d meant — but failed — to give to Shen Ni as a gift. ‘Oh, there’s no need, thank you,’ she said uneasily.
The shopkeeper’s business must not be doing particularly well, because she only redoubled her efforts in the face of Bian Jin’s polite refusal. ‘It’s in the exact same style as the one you bought last time, and it’s brand new into the bargain! Didn’t you say you’d been looking for something like that for a long time, as a gift for your wife? I’m sure your wife will like this one even better!’
Before Bian Jin could say no again, Shen Ni was already stepping into the shop. ‘Let’s go and take a look at my gift.’
Bian Jin’s hands clenched into fists by her sides. With some chagrin, she followed Shen Ni inside.
***
Author’s Note:
Shen Ni: I want it! I want it!
Bian Jin: *sighs* *expressionless face emoji*
Once enacted, it is imperative that the law be enforced against those who violate it. — Wang Bo, ‘Petition to Chancellor Liu’
***
Footnotes:
- In the original text, 法立, 有犯而必施 (pinyin: fa li, you fan er bi shi). As highlighted in the Author’s Note to this chapter, this quotation originates from ‘Petition to Chancellor Liu’, a petition written and submitted by the Tang Dynasty poet Wang Bo (王勃) to then-chancellor Liu Xiangdao (刘祥道). The petition is written in the ‘parallel prose’ (骈文, pinyin: pianwen) style, which features regular lines arranged in couplets. [return to text]
- In the original text, 尺 (pinyin: chi). A traditional Chinese unit of length now standardised at around one-third of a metre (or one foot and one inch). The chi is divided into ten smaller lengths known as cun (寸), and ten chi are equal to one zhang (see footnote one to Chapter 3). [return to text]
- In Chinese, 贞观. In our world, the Zhenguan era, presided over by Emperor Taizong of the Tang Dynasty, is widely regarded as a golden age in Chinese imperial history, noted for its political stability and economic growth. [return to text]
douqi 随笔 