Chapter 65: Drumbeats of Urgency (Part Five)

On the fifteenth day of August, though it was the Mid-Autumn Festival, Yang Yaozong still left the Nangong residence at dawn and hurried to the general store. Xiao Hua, indignant, whispered complaints about the Crown Prince, saying he was so unreasonable that he wouldn’t even let Yang Yaozong rest during the festival. Yang Yaozong only laughed and replied, “Isn’t it true that your lady and master cannot enjoy the festival either? The Crown Prince loves to study; we should be glad for that.”

Xiao Hua admitted the logic but still pouted, “It’s not your lady and master, you should say my wife and father-in-law.” Yang Yaozong chuckled, nodding, “Alright, my wife and father-in-law.”

Yesterday, the imperial examination results were announced. Zhang Lie, whom Yang Yaozong had high hopes for, ranked second in the top tier as the Second Laureate. The top spot, the Senior Laureate, went to Li Yuanjian, grandson of Li Youlin, Grand Academician of the Hanlin Academy. This youth was a rare prodigy—a poet at five, well-read at ten, and at thirteen specially permitted by the Emperor to join the Hanlin Academy to compile histories alongside his grandfather. Yet, his immersion in scholarship made him awkward with people, so only at sixteen did he sit for the exams, taking the top position, deservedly so. The third spot, the Flower Laureate, was awarded to Liu Mingxin, a scholar from the north. It was uncommon, sometimes unheard of, for northern scholars to place in the top three, yet this year two hailed from the north, sparking much discussion in the city.

According to intelligence gathered over the past two days, since Meng Kuo had hidden horses and carriages in the dense forest north of the city, he must be planning some action soon. Although it wasn’t certain he would act today, Yang Yaozong felt that the Eldest Prince, Jing Min, would seize tonight—when the capital was celebrating the Mid-Autumn Festival in a sea of music and crowds—to escape. Better safe than sorry; after lengthy discussion with Qin Haizhou yesterday, they decided to lay an ambush around the forest where Meng Kuo hid his carriages. Yang Yaozong insisted that the city gates should be checked as usual, nothing extraordinary. If the Eldest Prince tried to flee tonight, he would surely be protected by many, and with the city full of revelers, to avoid harming innocents, their action must be outside the city. Capturing him alive was the only requirement.

Yang Yaozong also had Qin Haizhou deploy covert surveillance around the Yingtian Prefecture prison. Recent intelligence mentioned many people being arrested, some seemingly on purpose, as if they wished to be imprisoned. Although the prison was heavily guarded, Yang Yaozong felt uneasy. He couldn’t guess why they wanted to be locked up—perhaps to help someone escape, or to plot something inside. But what could be so important as to require dozens to be jailed intentionally? Intelligence suggested over thirty had deliberately offended to get themselves inside. Reviewing the prison registry, Yang Yaozong saw no one in particular who required rescue. And prison breaks were no easy feat. Though he couldn’t figure out their aim, he decided not to disturb them yet, worried it might relate to Jing Min and jeopardize the capture. If unrelated, so much the better; once Jing Min’s affair was resolved, he would hand the intelligence to the Crown Prince for internal handling. He had discussed this with Jing Yijun, who agreed.

Yang Yaozong also arranged for Jing Yijun to assist Qin Haizhou in the northern suburbs tonight, worried the female master who once threatened him at the Nangong residence might help Jing Min escape. That master was likely the one Jing Yijun had often mentioned as her equal in skill, so only Jing Yijun could counter her if she appeared.

Qin Haizhou had little love for the Prince of Qin, and his father, Qin Zheng, had many criticisms of the prince’s actions. From his father, Qin Haizhou also learned of Yang Yaozong’s father’s history, deepening his prejudice against the Prince of Qin. From Yang Yaozong’s analysis, he realized the fugitive might be Jing Min, and that the Prince of Qin surely knew, perhaps even orchestrating it. Qin Haizhou wondered why Jing Min would flee; Yang Yaozong suggested the most likely reason: the Prince of Qin harbored ulterior motives, perhaps even rebellion. Otherwise, why help the Eldest Prince escape? Yang Yaozong had dispatched the Eagle Squad to the capital to gather intelligence, but the fastest they could return would be at month’s end. So Yang Yaozong made it clear: until news arrived from the capital, Jing Min must be tightly contained within the city. If the fugitive was indeed Jing Min, once caught, there would be grounds to confine him, and secrecy was paramount—hence the operation outside the city.

“When will the bright moon appear? I raise my cup and ask the sky. I do not know, in the celestial palaces above, what year it is tonight. I long to ride the wind and return, but fear the jade towers and marble halls—such heights are too cold. Dancing with my shadow, how unlike life in the human world?

Turning through vermilion corridors, lowering brocade windows, it shines on the sleepless. There should be no resentment—why must the moon always be full when we are apart? People have their joys and sorrows, partings and reunions; the moon waxes and wanes, is full or not. Such things are hard to perfect since ancient times. May we all live long and share the beauty of the moon, though miles apart.”

With all matters settled, Yang Yaozong hummed this song as he practiced his calligraphy, amusing himself.

“Is this the poem you intend to present at Jing Min’s poetry gathering tonight?” came a voice.

“Eh?” Yang Yaozong realized Jing Yijun had appeared quietly beside him, her presence unnoticed. She never changed her habit of coming and going unpredictably, but Yang Yaozong was now used to her ways. Smiling, he replied, “No, I just wrote it for fun. I’m not planning to compose poetry tonight.”

“I doubt you’ll escape it. Someone will surely press you to compose a few lines,” Jing Yijun commented, glancing at the casual Water Tune Song Yang Yaozong had written on paper. Inwardly, she was astonished. She had some understanding of poetry, and if Yang Yaozong truly presented this Water Tune Song—‘When Will the Bright Moon Appear’—at tonight’s gathering, it would surely be the talk of the city by morning. Silently, she repeated, “May we all live long and share the beauty of the moon, though miles apart.” Sitting in her usual spot, she asked unexpectedly, “Are you thinking of your wife?”

“What?” Yang Yaozong stood up, baffled, looking at Jing Yijun. He didn’t understand why she would ask that.

“May we all live long and share the beauty of the moon, though miles apart,” Jing Yijun said, pretending to read a book.

“Ha!” Hearing her quote that line, Yang Yaozong realized how perfectly the poem matched everyone’s perception of his romance with Nangong Qingyi—a model of love. He laughed at himself inwardly and shook his head, offering no explanation. But he truly dared not display this poem now; even Jing Yijun misunderstood, and he feared it would become a topic of heated discussion should it be revealed.

Jing Yijun noticed his smile and silence, frowned slightly, and said, “Your songs are always unique, but this one is especially beautiful.”

Yang Yaozong raised his brow, “Oh? You like it? Hmm… what about this one?”

“Today we drink the wine of celebration, our lofty ambitions yet unfulfilled, we vow not to rest. The days ahead are long, our talents will shine, we will spill our hot blood and write our spring and autumn.”

Yang Yaozong sang with heroic spirit.

Jing Yijun frowned, amused by his display, but maintained her cool demeanor, “An opera tune? I still prefer the previous one. You’re in good spirits today, a bit excited—do you think you’ll succeed tonight?”

Yang Yaozong smiled sheepishly, “Not excited, just nervous. It’s my first time organizing a capture. I’d like to join you in action, but tonight I must attend Jing Min’s invitation. Some movements must be observed.”

Jing Yijun nodded, thinking, “What’s so fun about fighting? He wants to participate himself. Nervous? He can be nervous?” She looked up at Yang Yaozong’s intense gaze and saw he truly was anxious. Blushing slightly, she lowered her head and comforted him, “No plan is perfect. Even the most meticulous can miss something. Do your best; there’s no need to be too nervous.”

Yang Yaozong knew Jing Yijun was reassuring him. His anxiety wasn’t only fear of failure, but also the familiar feeling of his former life, planning and executing operations. The difference was the speed of information—here, intelligence moved slowly, unlike the modern era where plans could shift instantly with new developments. In this age, all must be prearranged, striving for perfection. Yang Yaozong nodded sincerely, “Thank you.”