As night deepened, Imperial Consort Pei Yue descended the festooned barge holding an emerald lamp.
Many crafts still glowed upon the waters where makeshift bamboo rafts crisscrossed, rising and falling between undulating waves.
Illuminations dimmed on the ornamented barges as guests gradually dispersed. Remaining figures traversed parallel bamboo floats towards moored boats, scattering in twos and threes into cabins for more private discussions.
Gathering her trailing skirt, Pei Yue stepped onto the bamboo raft passage leading towards that distant vessel with cyan pennants.
Her long dress pooled over the deck when she bent to hang the little lamp beside the swaying curtained doorway, sickly candle glow exposing the face of the man reclining indolently within.
Prince Qi Xie Ming lazily half-sprawled atop the canopied platform, propping his head in one hand while idly swirling a wine cup in the other. Obliquely peering up at her arrival, hints of drunkenness colored his expression – the very image of a tipsy debonair gentleman.
His waist sash hung partly undone with court robes in slight disarray, gold threaded cloud motifs along the dangling hem absorbing dimness.
“Did she drink that wine?” He asked indolently.
“She did, though unsure if she’ll keep our appointment.” Pei Yue responded.
Her voice rang glacial, utterly devoid of the formerly syrupy geniality.
“If she doesn’t come?” Xie Ming swirled his cup mockingly. “Wouldn’t Consort have wasted efforts slipping aphrodisiacs into her drink?”
“Whether she comes or not matters not.” Unperturbed tranquility filled Pei Yue’s tones. “I personally witnessed her consuming that wine. Once effects manifest, she won’t remain in control of herself.”
“If she comes here, forcing submission makes accepting her as concubine convenient. Even if absent, ruination elsewhere still terminates eligibility for Crown Princess. Either outcome thwarts Xie Wuyan successfully recruiting the General’s family to his faction.”
Xie Ming chuckled while tapping his goblet. “Ruthless scheming from my Consort! I heard my pathetic whelp of a brother rather dotes on her. Won’t he fume plenty when this comes out?”
“What fraternal bonds remain between you now?” Pei Yue’s voice emerged detached and barren. “That tune played publicly by Xie Wuyan at the banquet tonight already declared open war against you. We merely struck preemptively before all pretenses shred completely.”
“Indeed. I deeply resent that wretched brother. Things I fight ruthlessly to obtain are his from birthright.” Xie Ming whispered coldly. “That woman was never made Empress, yet still robbed Mother’s posthumous rank!”
“Years now since she died, yet her specter continues haunting Father’s side…thanks to her lingering ghost, Xie Wuyan perpetually emerges triumphant!”
“Rumors say Xie Wuyan won’t live past his Rite of Passage. Why still fear losing to him?”
“Rumors of not surviving manhood rites…” Xie Ming gave an odd smile. “Do you actually believe it?”
He tossed back the remaining mouthful and reached again for more wine. Somewhat unsteadily propping himself on the couch, he lazily beckoned Pei Yue closer. “Come darling, sit awhile accompanying me.”
Pei Yue glanced indifferently down at him. Catching faint alcoholic traces, she frowned. “Xie Ming, you’ve been drinking?”
“Consort addresses me so formally, keeping your distance…” Xie Ming peered up at her, chuckling tipsily. Spurred by drunken impulse, he reached up attempting to caress her face. Though his expression hinted mischief, seeking her with a tease. “Why not affectionately call me your lord husband instead?”
Pei Yue deflected his hand, iciness piercing her rebuke. “Mind your manners!”
Something in her gaze verged on frozen daggers, sobering Xie Ming from tipsiness. He heard her state evenly: “We share matrimony in name only, not essence. This remains cooperative alliance.”
“I don’t interfere with your concubines or singing girls. Likewise you will not touch me. What you want is domination of all under heaven. I want the seat of Empress. We understand each other clearly with no lingering debts.”
Xie Ming examined her after she finished speaking. “All you desire is to become Empress?”
“Yes.” Light detachment colored her words. “As Eldest Daughter of the Pei clan, I shall wed none but the future Son of Heaven.”
Rising swiftly, Pei Yue snatched away Xie Ming’s wine cup along with the container below before turning to depart the canopy’s confines. Those rustling brocade skirts gradually vanished outside, leaving only that lone emerald lamp swaying from the doorframe as blistering candlelight illuminated the remaining man’s visage.
Xie Ming gave a strange laugh to himself, murmuring under his breath. “Very well, I shall claim everything and lay it before you.”
“Splash!” Jiang Kui nimbly dropped into a boat cabin.
Having fled quite a distance from the ornamented barges and shaken off her pursuing father and brothers, she tailed the red-clad dancer leaping between vessels until reaching this boat moored by a sandy shoal midstream.
The sandy shoal looked deserted, this small craft rocking desolately atop pitch black waters. Wind-driven ripples smacked hollowly against the hull with each rise and fall of waves.
Deep night chilled the passing breeze. Sounds of bustling crowds faded, one by one dying illuminations left the two women facing each other in this boat beneath the sheer tranquility of stars.
The red-veiled dancer stood at the prow. Glancing back, she ripped aside her face cover, exposing mournful smiles.
Beauty as peerless edges, blades that outshone the fairest. Hers was beauty akin to an ancient sword stripped of icy aura yet still retaining vestiges of vanished acuity, slowly corroding towards elderly decay.
Slowly she sat, cradling her sword while slumping against the side railing. Vanished were all traces of commanding spirit from that dance. What draped about her now was despondency reminiscent of aging heroes burdened by time’s inexorable advance, as if invisible storm clouds smothered her being.
“Sir Jiang…” She murmured hoarsely.
Stirred by river breezes, amongst once lustrous locks showed streaks of ashen gray ill-suited for her seemingly youthful face. Prominent cheekbones accentuated gauntness from creeping exhaustion’s erosion of beauty.
Jiang Kui asked quietly: “Tell me, who did you come here to kill?”
Night wind gusted fiercely over the waters.
The dancer didn’t reply but slowly shook her head while meeting Jiang Kui’s eyes.
“Oh Sir Jiang…I’m desperate for money, so desperate…” Raw despair colored her voice. “Without funds for more health tonics, my precious Xiao Chen will surely die…I hadn’t expected you here tonight. Otherwise I would already have acted…”
“You wouldn’t have succeeded, A-Rong.” Jiang Kui regarded her intently. “Too many masters present. Had I not stopped you from attempting anything rash once discovered…” She left the consequences of a motherless child unspoken.
“A-Rong” was this woman’s moniker in the martial world. Ten years ago on the day she first appeared, Chang’an City was drenched by relentless autumn showers. Grasping an emerald-sheathed sword in her right hand while a sickly babe nestled in her left arm, she forcefully shoved open doors to the Drum Tower tavern, rain-soaked locks plastered against a face etched in bone-bleaching frigidity. Announcing flatly – “I need money.”
Back then Jiang Kui had just embarked upon the mundane world as a very green novice trailing her mentor, learning the spear. Standing amongst bustling crowds, she glanced back and etched that vivid yet glacial visage into memory.
Rumors held “A-Rong” was scion of an eminent southern sword faction, disgraced after being debauched by some undisclosed man which left her bearing this child “Xiao Chen”. Their orthodox clan refusing to nurture this embarrassing fruit of her stigma, she nevertheless couldn’t bear to abandon the babe. Born extraordinarily sickly, each day required precious health tonics to prolong his precarious life. Such rare panaceas were astronomically priced beyond her financial means. So this peerless swordswoman resorted to accepting lethal assignments that rewarded handsomely, purely as desperate measure for survival.
Before even the storied Zhu Liu had assumed prominence as leading broker ten years ago, Jiang Kui already knew A-Rong. Back then A-Rong seemed even younger than present day Jiang Kui. She was very kind, always letting young Jiang Kui hold her child. While simmering medicines she would softly hum tunes, blushing cheeks like some shy maiden’s countenance.
Now another decade gone by, her face remained seemingly ageless. Sharp brows and bright eyes still evinced exceptional beauty. But invisible layers of chronic fatigue gradually eroded former glories until she seemed more rapidly weathered than appropriate for her years.
Jiang Kui removed all the elaborate pins and hair ornaments from her coiffure and piled them onto her palm before clenching them together into a chunk to decisively stuff towards the other girl. “I didn’t bring money, but pawn these hairpieces first for some silver to buy his herbs.”
A-Rong voiced quiet thanks while accepting the proffered jeweled pieces without hesitation. Grasping Jiang Kui’s hand, she continued staring downwards while whispering almost inaudibly: “Nine thousand taels of silver to assassinate Prince Xie Heng of Wen.”
Jiang Kui started slightly. “Zhu Liu’s assignment?”
She was quite familiar with his code of conduct. Zhu Liu strictly eschewed entanglements involving courtly politics, focusing purely on conflict resolution confined within mundane spheres, never interfering in palace power struggles.
A-Rong shook her head. “Not him. From another broker newly risen in notoriety, dubbed “White-Haired Oldster” in the mundane realm. My first job taken from him too…”
“Zhu…Liu is absent?”
“The last two days I looked for him at the East Tower bookstore, Drum Tower tavern, and even Beiting Broken Bridge without glimpsing anyone from his circle…” A-Rong replied. “His attendant at the bookstore said Master hasn’t been seen for days already…”
Jiang Kui frowned slightly.
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