~Tea cools under cypress; whispers do not.~
-*-
The cypress threw green shade across the East Palace courtyard, and the steam from the tea tray rose straight in the still air, a silk thread thinning to nothing. Princess Rulan sat opposite Crown Princess Wei Lanyin, a breeze lifting the fringe of her sleeve.
"I wrote a couplet last night," Rulan said, smiling. "Mother will say it is too forward."
"Then it is exactly forward enough," Lanyin replied.
"Read."
Rulan dipped her brush and spoke as she wrote: "The plum bears frost without complaint; the phoenix drinks cold tea without a word."
"A warning and a prayer," Lanyin said. "The court will only hear the warning."
Rulan's smile faded a little. "They always do."
A maid poured, then withdrew. The courtyard settled into that rarest palace commodity: quiet.
"I was told," Rulan began lightly, "that the Minister of Rites sent his wife to the temple at dawn to atone for his sister's 'misstep.' He hopes Mother's patience stretches farther than the courtyard path."
"The path is long," Lanyin said, "and there are guards along it."
Rulan lowered her voice. "Consort Lin managed a letter to her brother anyway. She says the Ninth Prince 'humiliated the Emperor's grace.' She intends to raise the matter when the Emperor is in better humor."
Lanyin's expression did not change. "Then we shall ensure the Emperor's humor is always excellent."
A breath of laughter. "Sister-in-law," Rulan said, "you make treason sound like a social engagement."
"Not treason," Lanyin replied. "Timing."
They sipped. Cicadas began somewhere in the wider gardens, a thin rasping like a distant saw.
"Brother Jing will not ask," Rulan said, gaze dropping to the tea's surface, "but how is he sleeping?"
"As much as an heir ever sleeps," Lanyin answered. "He carries the sun in daylight and pretends not to notice the burn."
"And Brother Chen carries the winter at night."
"Between them," Lanyin said, "we have the seasons."
Rulan set down her cup. "Then I will be the calendar," she said, brightening. "I will tell the court when to be silent."
"You do that already," Lanyin murmured.
A maid's shadow crossed the threshold. "Your Highnesses, the Empress requests Princess Rulan at the Phoenix Pavilion."
"Go," Lanyin said. "Walk the long way; let people see you walk toward your mother. It calms them."
Rulan rose, tugging her veil into better order. "You calm them," she said. "I only look like spring."
"That is enough," Lanyin said, and watched her go.
***
At Jing'an Residence, the tea was stronger and the light colder. Murong Chen sat before an open window, his robe sleeve folded back from a bandage at his forearm. Yin Li stopped two paces behind him, hands clasped.
"The palace physician asked if Your Highness would take Heartfire Dew tonight."
"Tomorrow," Chen said.
"He also requested that I remind Your Highness the end of the month approaches."
"I do not forget my own calendar."
Yin Li bowed his head. "Yes."
A wintry quiet settled. From the courtyard beyond, the chop of bamboo echoed, a gardener cutting neat lengths like line breaks in a poem.
"News," Chen said.
"Consort Lin's family sent prayers to the southern shrine at daybreak."
"Efficient," Chen said.
"Also—" Yin Li hesitated. "At the inner court gate, Lady Zhao Huirou spoke with the Minister of War's secretary. Their words were too brief to be chance."
"Noted," Chen said.
"And the East Palace?"
"The Crown Princess shared tea with Princess Rulan under the cypress. They laughed."
Chen's mouth touched the idea of a smile. "Good."
Yin Li risked more. "Should I put eyes near the Ministry of Revenue ledgers?"
"No," Chen said. "Put ears at the granary doors. Grain lies better than men."
Yin Li inclined his head and withdrew.
Murong Chen reached for the cup and did not drink. His hand was steady; the porcelain was warm, but he felt it as if through lacquer.
A memory: the Empress's hand against his cheek, once, years ago, when fever followed frost and he woke to the taste of iron and smoke. Be quieter than the world, she had said, and he had obeyed.
He set the cup down.
***
The Phoenix Pavilion was a garden of light and painted shadow. Empress Lin Rouxi looked up from a letter when Princess Rulan arrived and waved away the formalities with a glance.
"Sit."
Rulan obeyed, kneeling on a low cushion. A dish of sugared plums sat between them, untouched.
"I am told," the Empress said, "that the court discovered it has a tongue."
"And forgot it has teeth," Rulan replied.
The Empress's mouth tilted. "Consort Lin has both. It makes her chew too loudly."
Rulan chose her words. "If she speaks, she will be punished."
"If she remains silent, she will be forgotten," the Empress said. "Some women prefer punishment."
"Then we will give her neither," Rulan offered.
"Good child," the Empress said softly. "Walk to the outer cloister this afternoon and leave your veil raised. Let the concubines see your face. They remember who you are when you look at them."
Rulan bowed her head. "Yes, Mother."
The Empress's gaze gentled further. "Your brothers are worse. One refuses to sleep; the other refuses to feel warm. I raised them both. You would think they had listened."
"They listened," Rulan said. "They chose to obey different sentences."
The Empress laughed, brief and real. "Go," she said. "And send word to the Crown Princess: the palace will host a cypress-viewing in three days. Music and quiet. The court must practice both."
Rulan rose. "Mother—if I write a couplet for the invitation—?"
"Make it plain," the Empress said. "The people are tired."
Rulan bowed and left.
***
In the War Ministry, Murong Yan stood with hands behind his back before an open map.
"Training," he told the secretary who had spoken to Lady Zhao Huirou earlier.
"Not movement."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"When the Emperor asks, it must be true," Yan said mildly. "And useless."
"Useless?"
"Training without teeth," Yan murmured. "We wear the muzzle until he takes it off."
The secretary hesitated. "And the Ninth Prince?"
"Is a problem for poets," Yan said. "And for winter."
He smiled without warmth. "Send another letter to my wife. Tell her to pray for the southern shrine."
***
The cypress-viewing was announced at dusk. Lanterns were ordered, musicians summoned, paths swept. The court took the news like tea: some welcomed, some swallowed, none refused.
In the East Palace, Wei Lanyin wrote the invitations in her own hand and sent the ink-stained drafts to Princess Rulan, who crossed out two adjectives and returned them with a pressed sprig of cypress.
***
In Jing'an Residence, Yin Li brought the notice to his master. Murong Chen read it once.
"Attend?" Yin Li asked.
"Briefly," Chen said.
"Then I will request a seat away from the musicians."
"Closer," Chen said, and stood. "Let people hear what they pretend to enjoy."
Yin Li almost smiled. "Yes, Your Highness."
***
Night settled. The palace roofs became dark waves under a thin moon. Murong Jing walked the East Palace corridor alone. Wei Lanyin waited with a lamp at the far end; its circle of light gathered around her like a quiet vow.
"You will attend the viewing?" she asked.
"I will."
"And he?"
"Briefly," Jing said, and stopped when he reached her.
She lifted the lamp a little. "Then let the court listen to its own music for once," she said. "Perhaps it will drown its whispers."
He looked past her at the lantern glow, then back to her steady face. "And perhaps we will hear what we need."
"What do we need?" she asked.
He thought of a boy in a red mantle and a boy in a dark one, both laughing under falling plum blossoms long ago. He thought of the Emperor's shadow and his mother's hands.
"A season that lasts," he said.
Lanyin nodded, as if such a thing could be written into law.
***
At Jing'an Residence, Murong Chen extinguished the last candle with a gesture. The room accepted darkness as if it had been waiting. He sat again by the open window, listening to the gardener's blade resting at last.
"Master," Yin Li's voice came from the threshold, careful. "Doctor Wen left an extra draught as precaution."
"Leave it."
"Yes."
Silence.
"Yin Li," Murong Chen said without turning.
"Your Highness?"
"If a man stands between frost and fire long enough," Chen said, "which does he become?"
Yin Li thought. "He becomes the ground, Your Highness."
Chen's breath left him in something like a laugh. "Good," he said. "We have need of ground."
He closed his eyes. The night pressed cool fingers to his skin. Somewhere far across the palace, music was being tuned for a festival that did not yet exist. The notes rose and fell, restless as rumor.
-*-