Qiu Ye sighed. “Today will be the last time we meet. Don’t come looking for Xiao-Lian again. You’re registered in Qiye Garden’s books as our prey—the assassins will hunt you like hounds. Head to the capital. There are many wealthy people there, and you won’t starve like you might elsewhere. Maybe you’ll even run into a palace noble who’ll give you porridge.”
Xie Jinglan was stunned. Would he really never see Xiahou Lian again?
“Farewell and good luck, little young master.” With that, Qiu Ye stepped onto the city wall, smiling at Xie Jinglan, then leaned back and fell, his inky hair fluttering in the wind like silk.
By the time Xie Jinglan leaned out to look, Qiu Ye had vanished, whisked away like a leaf on the wind.
After that, Xie Jinglan followed Qiu Ye’s advice, joining the flow of refugees heading to the capital. With their blank, dust-covered faces and eyes and lips drained of color, they looked like clay dolls or walking corpses. Their shoes had worn through, exposing their dirty toes. Fortunately, the weather was warm enough not to chill the bare parts of their feet.
After three days of being turned away at the capital city gates, Xie Jinglan managed to sneak in during a refugee riot. The city’s corners were already full of sleeping vagrants in tattered clothes, their limbs wasted away to skin and bone. Soldiers sifted the crowds in order to load the dead onto carts for mass burials.
Xie Jinglan didn’t linger, walking numbly in the direction of the imperial palace. As the sky darkened, lanterns flamed to life along the streets, and light flooded the area until it shone bright as day. Carriages and horses filled the streets, and fireworks burst in the air. As they arced through the sky after exploding, their deafening sounds grew fainter and fainter, until they seemed like noises from a different world entirely.
It was the Mid-Autumn Festival.
Xie Jinglan felt nothing. He simply blended into the crowd and silently pickpocketed a purse for himself. Suddenly, the crowd split as if forced apart. Everyone stepped back as a four-horse carriage rumbled down the street, leaving two long, straight tracks in its wake. Behind the carriage trotted two rows of Eastern Depot agents on horseback, carrying black sabers. Their black clothing bore insignias depicting bared teeth and claws; their faces were cold and expressionless, like demonic Asuras of the night. Whispers spread through the crowd.
“What a sight! Wei-gonggong’s authority has reached new heights! If a mere eunuch can become so influential, what’s the point of being a proper scholar these days?”
“Are you trying to get yourself killed? Watch your tongue, or the agents will take your life.”
“Hey, I heard that one of the palace eunuchs will be recruiting at Dong’an Gate tomorrow at noon. Maybe we should try our luck. Who knows, one day I could be head of the Eastern Depot!”
“That’s a sure way to end your family line. You go ahead—I won’t be joining you.”
Out of nowhere, a disheveled beggar rushed from the crowd, brandishing a string of firecrackers. “Eunuch Wei!” he roared at the carriage. “The six prefectures of Shandong are overrun with starving people, yet you sit here on your laurels!” The firecrackers popped and sparked as the beggar hurled them toward the carriage, attempting to startle the horses. An agent intercepted the firecrackers mid-flight, however, tossing them aside.
Another agent swiftly dismounted and seized the beggar. The beggar struggled fiercely, shouting, “Eunuch Wei, you’ve brought disaster to the nation! The six provinces of Shandong are on their last legs! Oh, heavens, can’t you see?!”
Swearing, the agent dislocated the beggar’s jaw, then broke his arms and legs. The beggar fell limp, like a bag of old clothes, his eyes wide and bloodshot.
From inside the carriage, a hand draped with prayer beads emerged. It made a slight gesture.
At that signal, the agent drew his saber and slashed the beggar’s throat. Blood sprayed in a fountain, and the beggar twitched a few times before falling still.
As the beggar’s body was carried away, the carriage rolled forward. The crowd reconvened as noise swelled once more. Vendors hawked goods, and the sound of thundering drums filled the air.
In this world, a person’s death was like a grain of sand swept away by the tide—unnoticed and leaving no trace to be found.
Wei De. So the man in the carriage was the eunuch. Xie Jinglan slowly clenched his fists as he watched the carriage disappear around the corner.
If Xie Jinglan gained immense power one day, would he be able to make decisions about life and death with a wave of his hand? Would a single moment of his anger wipe out countless lives and ruin entire families? Wei De stood below only one man and above ten thousand, so Xie Jinglan would have to stand above all, with ten thousand times ten thousand below him. From then on, anyone who wronged, hurt, or betrayed him would find themselves reduced to ashes. Dukes and nobles would bow before him, and even royal heirs would kneel at his feet.
Xie Jinglan lifted his head, his eyes dark and impenetrable chasms. Within the depths of his heart, a demon slowly opened its eyes.
The moon set, and the sun rose. Shops opened their doors, and noodle vendors in their stalls began to work their dough. Xie Jinglan buried Xiahou Lian’s mask beneath an old pagoda tree in an alley and marked the spot. Then he stood, straightened his clothes in the sunlight, and walked out of the alley. A long line had already formed at Dong’an Gate.
Some of the men there had already castrated themselves, their clothing stained with blood as they shuffled weakly in line. Others, deemed too old, were driven from the queue. Tumbling to the ground, they sobbed and begged to join the palace eunuchs.
When it was at last Xie Jinglan’s turn, the eunuch taking names glanced at him and asked indifferently, “How old are you?”
“Twelve.”
“What’s your name, and where are you from?”
“I’m from Jinling.” Xie Jinglan paused. Then, noticing the jade pendant on the eunuch’s waist, he continued, “My name is Shen Jue—‘jue’14 as in a jade pendant.”
The eunuch wrote Shen Jue on a wooden plaque and handed it to Xie Jinglan. Holding the plaque, Xie Jinglan followed the other beggars who’d been chosen, and they arrived at the towering palace gates. The vermilion gates slowly opened, revealing the endless imperial road and countless palace doors. Beneath the palace walls, those in line looked like a trail of ants, small and fragile.
The heavy gates began to swing closed behind Xie Jinglan. He turned his head. Just before the gates slammed shut, a last ray of sunlight fell upon him, illuminating his expressionless face.