Chapter 11

The government hall in Jinguan City was shabbier by far than even the one in Yiyun Town outside Mount Zou’ao.

Luo Jiao looked around as she walked in, and on a Taishi Chair spied a figure in brilliant red.

Seeing Luo Jiao, the red-robed woman curved her lips and raised her teacup toward her in a silent salute:

‘We meet again.’

Luo Jiao tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Wasn’t that the truth…

Only a few days, and we’ve met twice, she thought. Aside from Xu Liangdi, this Eldest Princess is who she’s run into most often. And that Female Prince Consort…

Luo Jiao glanced around on reflex—and found the blue-robed Vice Minister absent from the hall.

Seated beside the Eldest Princess were the Bald Donkey who had attacked her, plus a man with a perfectly round belly who was, apparently, the county magistrate.

The three men of the Youjian Teahouse knelt in a row on the floor, while Luo Jiao had been handed a rush cushion by a maid and lounged insolently to one side.

The waiter raised an objection: “Lord Magistrate, why does she get to…”

“Save the feigned respect,” Luo Jiao cut in irritably. “Let’s begin.”

The county magistrate coughed abruptly.

He stole a glance at the Eldest Princess and asked for her opinion in a wheedling voice. “Eldest Princess…?”

The Eldest Princess gave him a look, then suddenly sneered and said softly, “Save the feigned respect. Let’s begin.”

“E-Eldest Princess?!” The magistrate sucked in a cold breath and shot up from the Taishi Chair so fast that his bulky frame nearly toppled over backward, chair and all. “Eldest Princess, what—what do you mean by that?”

The Bald Donkey played innocent nearby; on her cushion, Luo Jiao looked up and watched the farce with great interest.

The Eldest Princess lifted her chin toward herself.

“Nothing. Lord Cui, no need for alarm.” The Eldest Princess smiled. “I found that young lady’s words amusing, so I tried them on for size. Not directed at you.”

But Magistrate Cui was clearly terrified out of his wits, shaking like a sieve. “Ah—yes—this—ah…”

The Eldest Princess, however, was all smiles.

She looked toward the Bald Donkey on the left. “Lord State Preceptor, in my view there’s no need to hear these four prattle on any further. Shall we simply begin? At noon I’ve engaged a person of note at a restaurant. I have other matters to attend.”

State Preceptor?

Luo Jiao’s head snapped up as she stared at the Bald Donkey of Lanjie Prefecture, her expression indescribable.

A hundred years ago, Lanjie Prefecture had styled itself aloof from the world—yet even then harbored designs on court politics. Now, at last, proof.

She didn’t know this man, but she could never mistake the aura he carried.

He was of Lanjie Prefecture’s “Golden Crow” lineage; as for his position, likely Lineage Head or above.

Luo Jiao glanced around the government hall again.

An Eldest Princess and a State Preceptor—the pair of them looked hopelessly out of place in this cramped little office.

She watched the State Preceptor perform a Lanjie Salute to the Eldest Princess and draw the Wooden Fish from his sleeve.

DONK!

The Bald Donkey State Preceptor faced the three from the teahouse and lifted his chin toward the ugly burly one. “Name?”

“Lu Dazhuang!”

The voice was so loud, so robust with qi, that it actually startled Luo Jiao.

State Preceptor: “Where do you reside? How many in your household?”

Lu Dazhuang: “Southeast of Jinguan City! My parents are aged—no one else in the house!”

Luo Jiao watched him, neck straining, veins standing out on his face, and couldn’t fathom what there was to get worked up about in answering such questions.

The Bald Donkey State Preceptor continued: “Your occupation?”

“I run a stall at the city gate selling vegetables! The vegetables I snatch from Granny Chu outside the city. She runs the moment she sees me—her fields are mine to pick. Sometimes I go to the pawnshop at the market—steal! Or rob in broad daylight!”

The magistrate: ?

The Eldest Princess: ?

Luo Jiao: ?

Luo Jiao soon understood—this wasn’t agitation at all.

Because with every question the State Preceptor fired off, Lu Dazhuang’s answers were practically shameless confessions!

“That night at dusk, I saw a little miss enter the teahouse alone. Lust rose in me, but I hadn’t the nerve. Luckily the waiter and I are old acquaintances, so I had him go ask around—where this little miss came from, where she was headed. The wait—”

“LU DAZHUANG!!” Before the burly man could finish, the waiter lunged forward, clamped a hand over his mouth.

“Fool! Stop talking! You—you—” He dropped his voice as if his fury were strangling him. “Do you want us DEAD?!”

But Lu Dazhuang was still mumbling: “…Past thirty, and never once has a woman favored me. I…”

Another DONK on the Red Wooden Fish.

The sound made Luo Jiao’s scalp prickle.

In her past life she had dealt mostly with Lanjie Prefecture’s “Kunpeng” lineage, and knew little of this “Golden Crow” line—only that they possessed one wondrous art that could make the dead speak and the living tell the Truth-Telling Art; in its strangeness, it was a match for the Phantom Heart Art.

And yet the world insisted the former was righteous technique and the latter crooked sorcery.

Luo Jiao didn’t much care either way. She wasn’t the sort to abandon her arts because the world wagged a few fingers; as for what she herself was doing, she always knew in her own heart.

She was only surprised—a hundred years ago they’d said the ‘Truth-Telling Art’ had no living practitioner, and now, a hundred years on, a master had emerged. And today of all days, she’d run into him.

Perhaps sensing Luo Jiao’s gaze, the capable Bald Donkey State Preceptor turned and faced her. “You. Do you affirm what he has said?”

“I affirm—!”

The words left her mouth before Luo Jiao could clamp a hand over it. She couldn’t control her own voice!

You Bald Donkey!! she roared inwardly, furious. How dare you use that trick on ME!!!

In the hall, the Bald Donkey State Preceptor asked again: “Your name?”

Luo Jiao’s mouth moved of its own accord: “Luo… Luo…”

This time she held it in.

She bit down hard on her own tongue, her face a mask of strain.

She squeezed her eyes shut with effort—and heard the red-wooden Wooden Fish sound yet another DONK.

Then a clear, ringing laugh rescued her from the fire.

“—Hahaha! State Preceptor Wuwang.”

At the front of the hall, the Eldest Princess abruptly tossed her command arrow onto Lu Dazhuang, then narrowed her eyes and smiled at the Bald Donkey. “Look at that—you’ve frightened the poor girl into biting through her own tongue!”

Hand over her mouth, Luo Jiao looked up hopefully.

The Eldest Princess didn’t meet her eyes. She merely rapped the table again. “Since this Lu Dazhuang has confessed his crimes, punish him by law. The other two… treat them as accomplices. And as for this young lady…” The Eldest Princess finally looked at Luo Jiao. “Fate has brought us together. Release her.”

Before the State Preceptor or the magistrate could respond, the Eldest Princess rose abruptly, ignoring everyone’s astonished stares, and yawned languidly.

“It’s noon already. I have other business. Gentlemen—until we meet again.”

When the afternoon sun stood high and the Eldest Princess intercepted her outside the government hall, Luo Jiao wasn’t surprised.

She still asked the obvious: “Didn’t Your Highness have business to attend?”

“I do.” The Eldest Princess nodded. “Business with you.”

“Would this person of note care… to keep me company for a while?”

She was the Eldest Princess, after all—if her hand weren’t generous, it would disgrace the imperial face.

So the Eldest Princess took Luo Jiao to the finest restaurant in the city.

Except the finest restaurant in the city… was still a tumbledown wreck.

No sooner had they sat down than Luo Jiao frowned at the dust-filmed teacup before her. “Jinguan City is at least a city, and Yiyun Town just a small town. How are the government office and this restaurant both this… this exaggeratedly run-down?”

The Eldest Princess looked up at her with the expression one reserves for fools. “Because of greed.”

Luo Jiao: “…”

The Eldest Princess: “See that magistrate’s belly? That kind of thing can’t be grown on anything less than ten years of mountain delicacies and seafood.”

Luo Jiao laughed sheepishly, thinking: This princess really is… refreshingly blunt.

“Either way—thank you for helping me in the hall today,” she said.

The Eldest Princess: “No trouble. I know you dislike that name. People in this world ought to have the right to choose their own names. Besides, you’re capable and proud-spirited—unwilling to say it in front of a crowd. Perfectly normal.”

Luo Jiao said, “I never asked for Your Highness’s name?”

The Eldest Princess said, “My name is Zhou Kong—’kong’ as in all thoughts emptied. My title is Qianjun: ‘qian’ as in a thousand people wearing one face, ‘jun’ as in thunderbolt of ten thousand jun.”

Luo Jiao nodded. “Both fine names.”

Zhou Kong arched a noncommittal brow, turned, and called over a maid—the same one who’d given Luo Jiao her cushion earlier. “Yu Wang, scald our cups with the tea.” Then she looked up at Luo Jiao, half-smiling.

The Eldest Princess began her “self-introduction.”

“The current court has four tumors. The first is the State Preceptor you met today, Master Wuwang. The second is roughly an Imperial Prince—Prince Ning of Zhou. The third is a remnant of the previous dynasty, also our Young General, Jiang Hua.”

“The fourth… is myself.”

“Of the four, the first is allied with the Ministers of the Six Ministries and holds court power. The second is allied with Imperial Father’s faction—though Imperial Father lies long abed with his authority hollowed out, so this Prince Ning of Zhou… holds the imperial power, in effect. The third, remnant of the old dynasty, keeps the Tiger Tally in his manor and holds military power. Oh, and he’s as close as brothers with the Crown Prince and the Third Prince—he’s even fallen for my little sister. Only ever had a sour face for me.”

Here Zhou Kong seemed to smile. “As for myself… no power at all. Just a heart for revelry and mischief.”

Luo Jiao thought wryly: You sound like the worst tumor of all.

But she didn’t dare say it.

She only asked, “And those powerful ones… what do they have to do with you?”

“Enemies. Fire and water.” Zhou Kong was perfectly frank. “They watch me like tigers eyeing prey. One careless step and I’ll be torn to shreds.”

Luo Jiao: …

Luo Jiao: Only someone done with living would pick your side!

With no answer for that, she changed the subject. “And your Prince Consort? Her Dali Court—which side does it belong to?”

“Her? Haha.” Zhou Kong suddenly laughed aloud. “Openly, Ah Yue still stands with the Dali Court’s chief minister’s faction. The beloved ‘pillar of the clean stream,’ adored by the people.”

“But… ever since she married into the Princess’s Manor, everyone’s rather pitied her. They think I forced her from the light into the dark.”

“In those days I got quite the reputation for gossip. Dull—but entertaining.”

Luo Jiao: “…You truly have the whole world in your heart, Eldest Princess.”

“If you think I’m shameless, just say so.” Zhou Kong laughed heartily.

“As I said, the State Preceptor is close with the Six Ministries—in cahoots with the Ministry of Justice especially, and at odds with the Dali Court,” she said. “Actually, Ah Yue’s post was originally in the Ministry of Justice. Imperial Father dangled a carrot, saying if she went there she might even rise to Minister.”

“But she refused. After all, the State Preceptor Wuwang and the Ministry of Justice are thick as thieves. In time, they’d be certain to discover she was a woman. Ha.”

Luo Jiao frowned. “And that State Preceptor… knows how to make people tell the truth. With an art like that, how could the Dali Court ever match the Ministry of Justice in trying cases?”

Zhou Kong smiled. “Some truths can’t be uncovered by words alone. And some truths… are led astray by words. But never mind—solving cases isn’t my forte. I’ll say no more.”

“I sought you out simply because I want your help.”

Luo Jiao laughed despite herself. “Eldest Princess, if everything stayed in the jianghu, all things would be simple. But once court politics are involved, it always turns ugly. Winners become kings, losers become bandits; life and death decided in a stroke. One general’s glory, ten thousand bleached bones. Someone like me—a nobody from the wilds—should never wade into court affairs. Besides… your tumor of yours only looks poisonous. In actual practice, I doubt it could take a single life.”

The smile vanished from the Eldest Princess’s face.

She set down her long chopsticks, dabbed the corner of her mouth with an embroidered handkerchief, and narrowed her eyes.

Throughout their conversation she had smiled with easy warmth; now, tilting her chin slightly upward, she finally wore that haughty air of one who stood above ten thousand.

“You speak correctly. Everyone thinks so.” Zhou Kong gave a cold laugh. “My mother is gone; the inner palace stands empty. I am the loudest-named woman in the whole court—yet in the end, it only earns me a muttered, ‘all bark, nothing more.'”

“The State Preceptor’s court power was granted by Imperial Father—he was once Grand Tutor. Prince Ning seized the imperial power—Imperial Father’s own children are still alive, mind you, yet a man crawled out of some corner and seized control with scarcely a hitch.”

“As for Jiang—Jiang Hua’s military power passed down from the previous dynasty’s Madam of State. He isn’t the eldest; he had an elder sister above him. But in the chaos of war, their parents, to preserve their little son, gave the Eldest Sister away—offered her, sacrificed her.”

“Just like you. Just like… Xu Liangdi of Mo Fishing Village.” Zhou Kong enunciated each word. “That is their power. Do you dare want it?”

“How glamorous, isn’t it—climbing over women’s corpses and earning a respectful ‘Young General’ for it.”

Zhou Kong suddenly arched her brows and began to applaud.

But that smile sent a chill down the spine.

“No more talk of the old dynasty’s affairs. You need only know this: people like you number in the thousands upon thousands in this world. Whatever you choose, I won’t force you.”

Luo Jiao found it all suffocating, yet could only say, “Are these matters commonly known?”

Zhou Kong: “How would they dare? They’d feel guilty too, you know.”

Luo Jiao swallowed. “And you just… told me all of that outright?”

“If you want a partnership, you must show some sincerity.” Zhou Kong said mildly. “But I also know partnerships are built on interest. An exchange must benefit both sides. I don’t much care who you are or where you came from—I only want to ask: in this world, do you truly want for nothing?”

Luo Jiao lowered her eyes.

Beyond the lattice window, sunlight fell like a painting upon all things, gilding them gold.

After a moment’s thought, Luo Jiao spoke. “What do you need me to do?”

Zhou Kong: “You know that illusion set over Mount Sanqing? Broken this morning—your doing, I take it?”

Luo Jiao didn’t answer, only looked at her, signaling her to continue.

Zhou Kong: “Have you been to the Fengyi Sect? There’s a similar array there, wrapping that immortal sect into a peach-blossom realm cut off from the world. But that array is bigger, broader, deeper than Mount Sanqing’s… more captivating. Also Ye Qingzhou’s work—the method should be much the same. I want you to break it.”

Luo Jiao’s face scrunched involuntarily. “Hah? What does that Ye… what does the Fengyi Sect have to do with your court affairs?”

Hearing the request, her first reaction hadn’t been to complain about its impossibility, but to ask about the connection? Zhou Kong smiled inwardly.

She knew she’d found the right person.

“Naturally, there’s a connection. But seeing as you’re a master of breaking arrays, I thought to ask. Though, of course… that Ye Qingzhou is first in sword arts and first in arrays across all the Nine Provinces. Nameless nobodies like us naturally wouldn’t dare touch her illusions.”

Luo Jiao snorted. “Goading doesn’t work on me.”

Zhou Kong smiled. “That wasn’t my intent. Merely stating facts. After all, the other party is that ‘Elder Ye’ who starts swinging swords the moment a word displeases her.”

Luo Jiao’s brows knit faintly.

In her memory, Ye Qingzhou had been gentle and courteous, cool and polite, her features painted like a clear moon after rain; yet in the mouths of the world, she sounded like a hypocritical, arrogant, capricious madwoman, slaying without measure.

Luo Jiao sighed inwardly.

She leaned back against her chair and stretched her legs out boldly.

“Princess Qianjun, tell me more about Ye Qingzhou, then. Who knows… if I like what I hear, I really might grab my bag and come skipping along?”