Lighting a Lantern at Your Brow - Chapter 8

Pei Lan’s smile faded slightly at her words. “I see.”

He stepped aside and gestured for her to enter. “It’s just as well you came. I was planning to bring this up with the marquisate.”

The duty room was small. A blade hung on the western wall, and an open scroll lay across the desk. A cup of tea sat nearby, still steaming, its fragrance light and calming.

Pei Lan said, “Your brother’s situation… might be a little complicated.”

Yun Xi had expected as much. She nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“That year, General Zhao Yuan’s betrayal was something that really happened. Yun Luo was at his side throughout. Whether or not he defected with him has always remained unclear—there was never enough evidence to say one way or the other.”

“Almost no one survived the battle on the Tagger Grasslands. Over the last three years, I’ve worked to bring back several of the soldiers who were captured. According to them, as soon as the battle began and things took a bad turn, Yun Luo realized something was wrong and immediately led his troops southeast.”

“That’s impossible,” Yun Xi said. “My brother was brave. He was never one to fear death. He would never abandon his post.”

“Yes,” Pei Lan agreed. “I didn’t believe it either. So I had people keep digging. Eventually, we got something from a captured barbarian.”

“What did he say?”

“He said Yun Luo had long suspected Zhao Yuan’s betrayal. He gathered evidence and wrote an urgent letter to the capital. Unfortunately, the letter was intercepted by the enemy before it could reach the emperor.”

Pei Lan looked at her. “If we can find that letter, we can prove Yun Luo didn’t defect—and that he didn’t flee the battlefield either. But…”

He hesitated. “I asked that prisoner where the letter ended up, but he wouldn’t say. No matter how much I pressed him—or how harshly. In the end, he caught a terrible illness in prison and died.”

“Before he died of illness, he told me he was the very soldier who intercepted Yun Luo’s letter back then. He kept it hidden and entrusted it to his family. He asked me to bring a hundred taels of silver to exchange for it.”

“Did you manage to retrieve it, General?” Yun Xi asked.

Pei Lan shook his head. “At the time, I was about to return to the capital. I rushed day and night to the captive’s hometown, only to find out his family had moved away two years prior. He’d been stationed in my camp for the past two years and had no idea. I’ve left men in the north to keep searching, but so far we’ve only learned a rough direction—nothing definite.”

Yun Xi gave a respectful bow. “Thank you for all your efforts, General.”

“This is my duty. No need to thank me,” Pei Lan said.

He added with a trace of concern, “But regarding your brother’s title—until we find the letter, I’m afraid the matter will remain on hold. The various testimonies about the Tagger Grasslands incident are already with His Majesty. As things stand, he still believes your brother deserted the battlefield.”

Yun Xi was quiet for a moment. “May I ask, what was that prisoner’s name? Where was he from? How many people are in his family? And where did they supposedly move to?”

Pei Lan frowned slightly. “Why do you want to know all that?”

“The Yun family guarded the northern border for years. My father and brother had many comrades and old friends still living there. I can write to them and ask for help. And if no one finds anything—” Yun Xi pressed her lips together. “Then I’ll go myself.”

Pei Lan looked at her, long and steady. After a moment, he suddenly asked, “Ah Ting, have you… been well all these years?”

He didn’t answer her previous question.

Yun Xi was caught off guard. She looked up at him.

Soft spring sunlight streamed through the open door, catching the fine dust motes in the air. They floated like mist. Pei Lan’s face, half-shadowed by the light, looked both exactly like the boy she used to know, yet at the same time, not at all.

Gently, he said, “Three years ago, when you came north to bring your brother’s body home, I was busy with military affairs. I planned to see you off once things settled. But the next day, you’d already left.” He gave a faint, helpless smile. “Three years have passed. You haven’t written even once.”

If someone truly wanted to see another off, ten miles or a hundred—they’d find a way.

Three years had gone by. She hadn’t written. But hadn’t he, too, never once inquired after her or the marquisate?

Yun Xi didn’t want to get caught up in old emotions. She began, “General, about that prisoner—”

Before she could finish, a guard outside announced, “General, the Chief Minister of the Privy Council is here.”

The door was open. Yun Xi turned and saw that not only had Yao Hangshan arrived, but Yao Susu and her maid had come with him.

She stepped aside and gave a formal bow. “Minister Yao.”

Yao Hangshan visibly paused when he saw her. Before he could speak, Pei Lan offered an explanation, “Constable Yun is here today regarding the matter of General Yun’s posthumous title.”

Yao Hangshan frowned. “That case has already been settled, hasn’t it? What’s there left to ask about?”

Yun Xi stiffened.

Settled? Why? Pei Lan had just said he was still looking for proof.

Doubt rose in her chest. She wanted to question Pei Lan immediately, but with the Privy Minister standing there, a lowly constable like her had no right to interrupt. She could only press the matter down and stay silent.

At that moment, Yao Susu let out a soft gasp. Her eyes had landed on the teapot, still gently steaming on the desk. With a delicate voice, she asked, “Is this the same ‘Ten Miles of Fragrance’ you mentioned from the north, brother?”

Pei Lan’s grandmother had been the wet nurse of Prince Cong and was also a member of the Imperial Noble Consort’s maternal family. Yao Susu’s mother was a distant cousin of the Imperial Noble Consort. If one were to measure the familial distance between Pei Lan and Yao Susu, they were just about within the bounds of fifth-degree kinship—close enough to call each other “cousin” or “brother” without it being inappropriate.

Yao Hangshan chuckled. “Susu loves tea. That day you visited the Yao residence, you mentioned the ‘Ten Miles of Fragrance’ from the northern frontier, and she’s been thinking about it ever since. I happened to forget my seal today, so she came to deliver it. I remembered passing by your office earlier this morning and caught a whiff of the aroma, so I brought her along to have a taste—so she doesn’t go on craving it every day back at home.”

Pei Lan didn’t respond, but a faint smile touched his lips. He stepped over to the cabinet behind him, retrieved two teacups, and personally poured the tea—one cup offered to Yao Hangshan, and the other to Yao Susu.

Once Yao Hangshan had finished drinking, he turned to Yao Susu and said, “That’s enough. I’ve business to discuss with Jingyi. Go wait in the courtyard.”

As he spoke, his eyes briefly swept over Yun Xi.

Yun Xi clasped her hands and responded, “Yes,” before stepping out of the room.

After Yao Susu and her maid also withdrew into the courtyard, Pei Lan closed the door behind them and asked, “Is the My Lord here to speak about the Third Young Master?”

Yao Hangshan nodded and, guided by Pei Lan, took the seat of honor. “He’s the only remaining heir of Prince Cong’s household. Once he’s officially named heir, he’ll be a legitimate young prince. Right now, Prince Cong wants to find him a post. He’s hoping to place him here in the Privy Council. Take a close look and see if there’s something suitable. Nothing too high-ranking, nothing too low, and above all—nothing dangerous. If there’s a way to push him to some other bureau, all the better. In any case, we can’t afford to offend the Prince Cong’s household. You’ve just returned to the capital, so tread carefully. Above all, keep the peace.”

Pei Lan carefully considered Yao Hangshan’s words.

The first part was clear enough—if the position was too high, the young prince might cause trouble; if it was too low, Prince Cong would be displeased. But what did he mean by “keep the peace above all else”?

Everyone in Jinling knew that it was always the young prince causing trouble—since when did trouble come looking for him?

Seeing Pei Lan’s confusion, Yao Hangshan added meaningfully, “In the middle of the second month of the year, the Third Young Master fell into the river. You’ve heard of that?”

“I heard about it after returning.”

“He was lucky. Survived by a thread,” Yao Hangshan said.

Pei Lan didn’t think much of it at first, but after a moment of reflection, his expression shifted. “My Lord, are you saying… the Third Young Master was attacked?”

Yao Hangshan nodded slightly. “I’ve heard that someone stuffed two gold bricks into his sleeves.”

Pei Lan fell silent. Though he came from a noble family himself, even his father—the Minister of Works—and his elder brother, the Deputy Minister of the Court of State Ceremonial, hadn’t heard a word about this incident. That could only mean one thing: this was an incredibly well-kept secret. There were likely only a handful of people in all of Jinling who knew the truth.

He shouldn’t continue asking.

Seeing Pei Lan’s reaction, Yao Hangshan felt reassured. “That’s enough. I only remind you because I think highly of you—consider you one of my own. Just keep it in mind. It’s really not that big a deal. The little prince of Prince Cong’s household is… well, a bit muddled. I doubt he even knows he was almost killed.”

Pei Lan heard the words “one of my own” loud and clear. He bowed slightly and said, “Understood, My Lord. I’ll remember your advice.” Then added, “When is the Third Young Master expected at the Privy Council?”

“Supposedly today. He should be on his way as we speak. Though, who knows—he might change his mind at the last minute,” Yao Hongshan replied.

The topic ended there, and Yao Hangshan shifted to other matters. “It’s your first day at the Inspection Office. Anything you’re not used to?”

—

Cheng Chang was indeed already on his way to the Privy Council.

The past month had nearly broken his spirit.

First, Prince Cong had rushed back from afar just to string him up and beat him within an inch of his life. Then he was locked in the ancestral hall for three days without food or water. By the time he was finally dragged out, he was barely clinging to life. He had barely begun to recover when he heard that dozens of his household servants, furious that the buns at Drunken Fragrance Pavilion had offended their young master’s palate, were planning to tear the place down.

So he had no choice but to say the buns were delicious.

That was his fatal mistake. Ever since, the servants had taken it upon themselves to bring back three full trays of buns every single day.

He’d had a heart condition in his past life and had always eaten light. The buns at that restaurant were already on the salty side, but for some reason, the chefs went wild after learning they were making food for the young prince—dousing everything in extra oil and spice. After half a month of this, he was half-dead and on the verge of losing his sense of taste.

And that wasn’t the worst of it. With no restaurant left to demolish, his idle servants were going stir-crazy. Every day, they came up with new ideas for mayhem:

One day, someone suggested robbing a new porcelain shop on East Street and bringing back vases for the young master to smash. Another proposed kidnapping a tofu vendor’s daughter from West Street, claiming she was more beautiful than Xi Shi, and throwing her into the young master’s bed. Naturally, there were also the classics—lighting firecrackers in the alleys at night, dressing up as ghosts to scare students from the academy, or drugging brothel clients and tossing them into the wrong bed for laughs. Their topics varied, but the themes were always the same: theft, debauchery, and chaos. Every last one of them was itching to cause trouble. 

They tormented Cheng Chang to the point he even dreamed of his servants parading him through the streets to pick up girls.

That’s when it hit him—humans were social animals. Sometimes, it wasn’t enough just to want to be a decent person. He’d have to drag everyone around him back into decency too.

From a modern perspective, these servants were all delinquents—moral failures at their core. In the 21st century, they’d be packed off to labor reform camps.

There were no such facilities in Da Sui. So Cheng Chang had no choice but to reform them himself.

The problem was, in his past life, his heart condition meant he’d never even gone to military training. His only experience came from a few PE classes.

Still… maybe PE drills would work?

The carriage belonging to Prince Cong’s family rolled to a stop outside the Privy Council. Cheng Chang stepped down and told the servants accompanying him, “I’ll go in alone. You wait here.”

One of them piped up, “Young Master, can’t we come in with you?”

“Yeah, we’ve never been inside the Privy Council before,” another added. “Let us escort you—if anyone dares make trouble, we’ll beat them up!”

Cheng Chang was speechless. Then he said, “Zhang Dahu. Step forward.”

From the group of servants, a tall, burly one stepped out. He was the one Cheng Chang had appointed as “physical training leader.” His strengths: loyal, obedient, strong. His flaw… a bit too obedient.

Zhang Dahu replied loudly, “Here!”

Cheng Chang pointed behind him at the Privy Council walls. “Take them around the compound. Two laps.”

“Yes, sir!” Zhang Dahu turned to the others and bellowed, “Line up!”

The servants, afraid to disobey with their young master still present, immediately shuffled into rows.

Zhang Dahu continued shouting commands, “Stand at ease!”

The servants stepped out with their right foot.

“Look to the right!”

The group all turned their heads, adjusting formation.

“Start counting!”

“One! Two! Three! Four…”

Cheng Chang watched as Zhang Dahu led the twelve-person squad off at a jog. Finally—relief. He turned and entered the Privy Council alone.