Chapter Thirty-Four: Autumn Winds and Rains, Sorrow Enough to Kill (3)

Within the main hall of the Yang Residence, a footless incense burner sent up curling tendrils of smoke, yet the air was thick with tension and a suffocating sense of danger that pressed so heavily upon Hongmian and Yang Kuan, they felt as if they could scarcely breathe.

Yet, time stretched on, and the storm of wrath they had anticipated from Yang Qi did not descend.

Hongmian, summoning her courage, lifted her head. She saw Yang Qi seated solemnly, his expression grave and forbidding as he held that sheet of paper. Startled, she quickly lowered her gaze once more, scarcely daring to draw breath.

"Hongmian, you may go now. Take this to the young lady. As for anything else—say nothing," Yang Qi said, slowly and carefully folding the sheet, tucking it into his own robe. What he handed over was merely the slip with a single line of writing.

Somewhat surprised, Hongmian nonetheless felt a great weight lift from her shoulders. She received it hurriedly, bowed deeply to Yang Qi, and all but fled the hall.

Only after stepping outside did Hongmian press a hand to her chest, letting out a long, shaky breath. She wiped away the cold sweat from her brow.

Returning in haste to Yang Xueruo's small courtyard, she entered the bamboo grove grown more verdant for the autumn rain, and handed the paper to Yang Xueruo. Of what had just transpired, she dared not utter a word—Yang Qi’s warning still hung over her: if she disobeyed, she would meet a fate most dire.

Yang Xueruo was idly turning a teacup in her hands, gazing absentmindedly through the rain-streaked window. When Hongmian entered and handed her the note, all her attention was fixed on what she believed to be Kong Sheng’s reply.

“‘Autumn wind and autumn rain, both laden with sorrow?’” Yang Xueruo read aloud, her brows knitting. “Hongmian, is this Kong Sheng’s letter? This is clearly the beginning of an unfinished poem, rich in meaning yet incomplete… Tell me the truth. What is going on?”

Hongmian’s heart was in turmoil; she nearly burst into tears. Falling to her knees with a choked sob, she cried, “Miss, it is all my fault. When I went to see Kong Sheng, he was not in his room. I thought this was his reply and brought it back. I was mistaken—please, punish me!”

Yang Xueruo regarded Hongmian steadily. She wasn’t angry at the mistake itself, but rather puzzled by Hongmian’s extreme response. The girl was usually so lively—how could such a minor error frighten her so?

Yet Yang Xueruo did not dwell on it. With a gentle wave, she smiled. “If you took the wrong thing, you took the wrong thing. I don’t blame you. Get up.”

She turned her gaze back to Kong Sheng’s handwriting, a hint of admiration flickering in her eyes.

“This autumn rain came so suddenly, and has fallen without end. No doubt Kong Sheng was moved to write, but before he could finish, you carried it off. Who knows, you may have cut short the creation of a masterpiece destined for the ages—such a pity!”

Looking up at Hongmian, Yang Xueruo said, “Never mind. When the rain stops, I’ll return this to Kong Sheng myself and offer my apologies. There’s no need to be so nervous. Go and rest.”

...

The autumn rain fell unceasing since the previous evening, only tapering off by late afternoon. As the saying goes, each autumn rain brings a chill; the temperature had dropped considerably, and travelers and merchants alike donned heavier robes.

The sky was still shrouded in thick gray clouds, the air fresh with the scent of rain. Kong Sheng, carrying his xiao-sword, left the Shunsheng Inn and walked slowly toward the Yang Residence, thoughts racing.

Earlier, Yang Qi had sent his chief steward, Yang Kuan, to summon him, saying there was urgent business. Though Yang Kuan’s manner was polite, his words brooked no refusal. Kong Sheng sensed at once that something was amiss.

Arriving once more at the imposing gates of the Yang Residence, Kong Sheng ignored the curious glances of two rows of armed household retainers. He felt a pang of irony; he had hoped never to cross paths with the Yang family again, yet fate had brought him back.

The Kong scion, that useless idler, has returned… Kong Sheng’s reputation within the Yang household was unmatched; his arrival sent ripples through the residence, and word quickly reached Yang Xueruo.

She was taken aback. “Hongmian, Kong Sheng is here? Summoned by my father?”

“Yes, miss,” Hongmian replied, still unsettled, head bowed and lips sealed.

Yang Xueruo paced the hall, worry etched across her brow. She could not help but feel anxious—her father’s summons for Kong Sheng must surely involve her.

By then, Kong Sheng had been led into Yang Qi’s main hall, calm and unhurried in appearance. Yang Qi waved Yang Kuan away and ordered the doors shut.

Kong Sheng steadied himself and bowed deeply. “Kong Sheng pays his respects to Governor Yang.”

Yang Qi remained silent, his expression shifting.

Kong Sheng bowed again, his voice clear and respectful. “May I ask what guidance you have for me, my lord?”

Finally, Yang Qi exhaled, a faint smile appearing. He gestured for Kong Sheng to sit. “No need for ceremony. Sit, Kong Sheng.”

Kong Sheng saluted with clasped fists. “Before my lord, I dare not take a seat. Please, speak your mind.”

He remained standing, making clear he did not intend to linger, ready to leave once Yang Qi had spoken his purpose.

Yang Qi did not press the matter. With a light smile, he raised the sheet of paper. “Kong Sheng, is this your work?”

Kong Sheng glanced at it and instantly recognized the draft he had given Sima Chengzhen some time ago—the opening of a memorial petitioning to move the capital to Jinling. His heart jolted; he understood now what must have happened.

Earlier that day, he had ridden outside the city despite the rain, believing that in such weather, a fine horse’s spirit truly shone. Time was short, and to hone his riding skills, what matter a little rain? On his return, he discovered a line he had scribbled was missing, along with the draft. He had assumed an inn servant had cleared it away, but now realized it must have been inadvertently taken by Hongmian, and had fallen into Yang Qi’s hands.

Still, Kong Sheng saw no cause for shame. Yang Qi’s summoning and ambiguous manner, however, made him wary.

“Indeed, it is a trifle I wrote at leisure, my lord. How it came into your hands, I cannot say,” Kong Sheng replied, testing the waters.

Yang Qi drew a deep breath. “That is not your concern. Let me ask you—this petition to move the capital to Jinling, do you intend to submit it to the court?”

Kong Sheng’s heart skipped a beat, but he did not deny it, answering half-truthfully, “Yes, my lord. I was bold enough to consider memorializing the court. Yet it is but a rough draft, my thoughts as yet unformed.”

He could clearly sense Yang Qi’s relief.

To himself, Kong Sheng reflected: Petitioning for the capital to move to Jinling should be a boon for Yang Qi—why, then, is he so anxious?

Yang Qi’s expression suddenly turned cold. “Kong Sheng, you are but a scholar with no official rank. What right have you to memorialize the throne? This notion of moving the capital is preposterous, utterly absurd!”

Kong Sheng paused, but met Yang Qi’s gaze unflinchingly. “When the nation is in peril, every man has a duty to act. As a scholar of Jiangnan, my heart aches for the realm and its people. Why should I not speak?”

“Move the capital to Jinling? You are reckless beyond measure! Do you understand the gravity of your words? The new emperor has only just ascended, isolated in Lingwu, with the rebel An Lushan holding the heartlands. To propose relocating the court to Jinling—what foolishness! Such naive ignorance!” Yang Qi rose in a fury, voice thunderous.

“My lord, the new emperor is besieged in distant Lingwu, unable to command the empire. With the central plains in chaos, Chang’an and Luoyang are no longer tenable as capitals. The south remains prosperous—were the court to move here, taking Jiangnan as its base, it could slowly reclaim the land. In time, the rebels would be crushed, and peace restored!” Kong Sheng replied, undaunted, his words impassioned.

Yet beneath his calm, he was testing Yang Qi. The official’s excessive agitation stirred suspicion, and as Kong Sheng considered deeper implications, a chill crept over him. Outwardly, however, he remained composed.

“You insolent wretch! Childish fool! To speak so rashly of state affairs—do you know what punishment you invite?” Yang Qi advanced, his wrath overwhelming, bearing down with unstoppable force.