Chapter 18: Lanterns At The Northern Bastille

Deep into the night, the lamps within the Northern Bastille’s prison still blazed with unwavering light.

 

Yan Chiyun oversaw his men as they conducted their interrogations.

His presence weighed upon them all, and the chamber was steeped in solemn silence.

 

The case of the nine-linked rings had reached its conclusion.

Having purged the implicated officials, the Emperor now commanded the Northern Bastille to set its sights upon the underground gambling dens.

 

Officially, they were to monitor these establishments.

In truth, they were to investigate them thoroughly, to absorb them, to bring them to heel.

 

For years, the underground gambling dens had flourished, their scale ever expanding.

Hidden as they were in shadow, they had proven difficult to penetrate.

And so, they had been left untouched.

 

But the theft of the Lu family’s nine-linked rings and the astonishing number of officials implicated in its wake had opened the Emperor’s eyes.

If these dens continued to fester unchecked, they might slip beyond all control.

Worse, they might harbor spies and traitors.

How could the Son of Heaven tolerate such a festering sore at the very foot of his throne?

 

Thus, the Emperor entrusted this task to the Northern Bastille.

Gambling dens were unclean places by their very nature.

How much more so those that operated beyond the reach of law?

 

They had investigated for many days now.

And still, they had not uncovered the identity of the master who presided over these dens from the shadows.

Such a vast, unclaimed territory.

If no hand guided its growth, how could it have flourished to such an extent?

 

Yan Chiyun gazed upon the captured stake-holder before him.

This man’s bones were iron.

He had endured half the tortures the prison could devise.

His flesh hung in ribbons from his frame, and but a single breath yet animated him.

Still, he would not speak.

 

Such loyalty could not stem from mere profit alone.

 

Yan Chiyun observed him for a time.

Then he requested the case files from the nine-linked rings investigation.

 

He turned the pages slowly.

When he had finished, he instructed his subordinates to investigate this master thief’s origins anew.

They were to scrutinize everyone connected to him, leaving no stone unturned.

The more thorough, the better.

 

The hour approached three in the morning.

His subordinates informed him that his private chamber had been prepared.

But Yan Chiyun thought of the woman he had not seen for several days.

He mounted his horse and rode home.

 

He always returned in the deepest hours of night.

The capital’s grand avenues lay silent and still.

Only the night-market vendors and the patrols making their rounds disturbed the quiet.

 

The patrolmen recognized Yan Chiyun and saluted him as he passed.

He inclined his head in acknowledgment.

 

***

 

The Yan household was equally silent.

But when he saw the lanterns suspended beneath the eaves, their glow soft and warm, something shifted in his chest.

This place felt warmer than the world beyond its gates.

 

He quickened his pace.

 

Though Yan Chiyun moved quietly as he bathed, Pu Jinyu opened her eyes.

 

The Northern Bastille had taken on a new case.

He had not come home for several nights.

And now, in the deepest hour, he had returned.

 

It was very late—nearly five in the morning.

When he parted the bed curtains, he had not expected to find the young woman nestled among the bedclothes with her eyes wide open.

 

“Why are you still awake?” he asked, his voice very soft.

 

Pu Jinyu did not answer.

She simply gazed at him, her stare direct and unwavering.

Then, slowly, she pushed herself up and reached toward him.

She wanted him to hold her.

 

At this gesture, something tender unfurled within Yan Chiyun’s chest.

The corners of his lips curved upward.

He climbed onto the bed and swept her into his arms in a single, fluid motion.

 

The days he had spent laboring in the Northern Bastille had not wearied him.

He had felt no fatigue, no desire for rest.

But now, holding this soft, warm body against his own, breathing in the subtle fragrance that clung to her skin—

Exhaustion washed over him.

And with it, a profound sense of contentment.

 

He pressed his face against her soft, unbound hair.

“Have you been waiting long?” he asked, his voice gentle.

 

Pu Jinyu’s lashes drooped.

She did not speak.

 

In these weeks of intimate proximity, he had grown accustomed to her silences.

If she did not wish to answer, he would not press her.

 

He held her close, his eyes half-closed.

He could see only the tip of her nose, the dark veil of her hair that curtained her face.

She lay docile against his chest.

 

In the stillness of the night, they held each other.

They did nothing else.

Yet his heart swelled with quiet joy.

 

He spoke again, unprompted.

He told her that the Northern Bastille had been consumed with work these past days, which was why he could not return.

He had learned from his subordinates that she was busy managing Yan Huaixiao’s wedding preparations.

 

“Are your hands sufficient?” he asked.

“If you need more, I can assign capable people to assist you.”

 

The Yan household already teemed with servants beyond counting.

What need had she of additional hands?

 

He was not truly offering assistance.

He was expressing concern, in his own way.

 

Pu Jinyu listened to his low voice.

Again, she did not answer.

But this time, she shook her head.

 

She was in his arms, her cheek pressed against his chest.

Of course he felt the small motion.

The curve of his lips deepened.

 

He raised his hand and stroked her hair.

Again and again, a slow, soothing rhythm.

He was coaxing her to sleep.

 

But Pu Jinyu suddenly pushed herself up, her palms braced against his chest.

Yan Chiyun’s hand slid to the small of her back, supporting her.

“What is it?” he asked.

 

She did not answer.

She studied his face.

 

The moonlight was beautiful tonight.

The casement stood open, and pale light spilled into the chamber, softening the shadows within the bed curtains.

 

She could not see his features with perfect clarity, but his countenance was discernible enough.

Yan Chiyun was not merely handsome in surface.

The bones beneath his skin were equally fine, equally striking.

 

She did not love him.

But she could acknowledge that his beauty was rare.

 

Suddenly, she wished to touch him.

Her hand lifted toward his face.

But just before her fingers reached his skin, she paused.

She gave voice to the thought within her.

She asked him, very politely, if she might touch him.

 

Hearing this solemn, formal inquiry, Yan Chiyun nearly laughed.

 

One might think she was asking permission for something far more audacious.

 

She had been bold enough, in the past, to explore the most private, most vulnerable parts of him without leave.

And now she sought his consent to touch his face?

 

There was something unexpectedly endearing in her formality.

A peculiar, earnest charm.

 

“You may,” he said, a smile threading through his voice.

 

Pu Jinyu heard the laughter in his tone and glanced up at him.

Then she reached out.

 

Her fingertip came to rest upon the bridge of his nose.

She tapped it lightly.

Then, slowly, she traced the contours of his face.

Her touch was featherlight, and it tickled.

But Yan Chiyun said nothing.

 

The faint fragrance of her skin drifted to him on each breath he drew.

He inhaled it, savoring it.

 

Her hand moved to his brows, his eyes.

Yan Chiyun closed his lids, making it easier for her to explore.

 

His lashes were long.

She brushed her fingertips across them, back and forth, many times.

Then she moved on.

 

As she traced the shape of his brow, a thought drifted unbidden into her mind.

Cheng Wenque.

 

He had taken advantage of Yan Chiyun’s absence to call upon her several times, always under the pretext of lacking some necessity.

He had brought her more cosmetics, more trinkets.

 

His face so resembled her adopted brother’s.

In their first encounters, when he sat across from her in silence, watching her, the resemblance was strongest.

 

But the more they met, the more they spoke, the more the likeness faded.

Cheng Wenque’s beauty was feminine, shadowed by his scheming heart.

Her adopted brother’s beauty had been bright and open, untroubled by guile.

 

Her hand slowed upon Yan Chiyun’s face.

It came to rest upon his brow.

 

Yan Chiyun sensed the shift in her attention.

He opened his eyes.

“Have you touched enough?” he asked.

 

Pu Jinyu started from her reverie.

She withdrew her hand.

But instead of pulling away, she leaned closer.

Her warm, soft lips pressed against his brow, against the arch of his brow bone.

Her breath fell upon his eyelids, and he shivered.

 

She pressed her cheek to his.

Then she withdrew and nestled back into his arms.

 

Yan Chiyun’s blood had warmed, stirred by her proximity.

But he knew how late it was.

“Rest now,” he murmured.

 

Pu Jinyu shifted within his embrace, seeking a comfortable position.

Then she closed her eyes and slipped into dreams.

 

Before long, her breathing grew soft and even, a gentle, sustained rhythm.

She was asleep.

 

Yan Chiyun shifted slightly, angling himself to look at her face.

He bent his head and pressed a light kiss to her forehead.

Then he, too, surrendered to sleep.

 

***

 

When Pu Jinyu woke the next morning, Yan Chiyun was already gone.

Had the maids not confirmed his visit, she might have thought it a dream.

 

She could not recall what major case had arisen at court.

But Yan Chiyun was busier than ever, and for the latter half of the month, he did not return home.

 

Rumors spread through the capital that the gambling dens were being investigated root and branch.

Ah, yes.

In her previous life, during this period, he had been investigating the underground gambling rings.

 

The investigation would bring down a multitude of officials, for the corruption ran deep.

But she knew little more than that.

She had never troubled herself with the details of his official duties.

 

***

 

The Yan and Li households, bound by their impending marriage, maintained constant intercourse.

Today, Lady Li called upon them once more.

When the discussion of wedding arrangements concluded, she broached another topic.

The Northern Bastille had arrested quite a number of people recently, she observed.

 

The laws of the dynasty forbade officials from frequenting prostitutes.

They likewise prohibited participation in gambling.

 

Those whom the Northern Bastille dragged away for interrogation were unlikely to be simple gamblers.

They were probably implicated in profiteering from the dens, or had engaged in other acts of duplicity.

 

Lady Li raised this matter at such a moment.

It could not be mere coincidence.

 

Madam Yan parried the implication smoothly.

The household knew nothing of such affairs, she said.

Yan Chiyun had not returned home for many days.

 

Lady Li understood the unspoken message.

She was, after all, an official’s wife.

She did not pursue the subject.

 

Pu Jinyu turned the matter over in her mind.

Lady Li’s inquiry, she recalled, had been on behalf of her natal family.

Later, that family had encountered trouble.

 

General Yan had resolved it, she believed.

The matter had not reached Yan Chiyun, for the involvement was minor.

She had learned of it from Yan Mingxi in her previous life.

 

Speaking of Yan Mingxi…

As Lady Li and Madam Yan conversed, the topic inevitably turned to the fourth young lady’s marriage prospects.

 

Lady Li inquired whether Madam Yan had selected a suitable match.

Madam Yan sighed.

“Not yet.

This youngest daughter of mine is a mischievous little monkey, stubborn as they come.”

 

Lady Li frequented the Yan household and had caught wind of certain whispers concerning Cheng Wenque and Yan Mingxi.

But a young lady’s reputation was a delicate thing, and she did not raise the matter.

 

Pu Jinyu sat silently throughout, offering no comment.

But Lady Li turned the conversation toward her.

 

Her daughter, Li Jingxia, had long delighted in studying medical texts and compounding women’s cosmetics.

Knowing that Pu Wange shared this interest, she had prepared a special gift.

Once the preparations were complete, she would send it over.

She hoped Pu Jinyu would not disdain it.

 

Pu Jinyu smiled.

“How could I disdain such a thoughtful gift?

It is a kindness, and I must thank Miss Li sincerely.”

 

Madam Pu seized the moment to add her own praise.

“Jingxia is truly a thoughtful child.

Once she marries into this household, Wange will surely cherish her as a younger sister.”

 

“My mother-in-law speaks truly,” Pu Jinyu agreed, still smiling.

 

Hearing this warm response from both women, Lady Li’s smile deepened.

 

***

 

Time flowed swiftly, like water slipping through fingers.

Before they knew it, Yan Huaixiao’s wedding day was upon them.

 

Throughout this period, Yan Chiyun had been busy.

Pu Jinyu, too, had been busy.

 

He had returned a few times, but she was always asleep when he arrived.

Once or twice, she heard him stirring but was too exhausted to open her eyes.

 

They shared the same bed.

Yet in all these weeks, they had scarcely interacted.

 

As master of the Yan household and elder brother to the groom, Yan Chiyun was obliged to attend the wedding and receive the guests.

 

His work at the Northern Bastille was not yet complete.

The underground gambling dens had ensnared a vast network, and the master who pulled the strings remained hidden, his identity too well concealed.

Even the nine-linked rings case, supposedly concluded, had revealed new irregularities.

 

The man who had stolen the rings had been executed.

But when Yan Chiyun ordered a fresh investigation into his origins, a startling discovery emerged.

The identity the thief had used was false.

The real man had died three years earlier.

Yet neither the Ministry of Justice nor the Court of Judicature had noticed.

 

The Emperor had not only charged him with investigating the underground dens.

The capital’s legal gambling houses must also be scrutinized.

And each new sweep uncovered more officials who had placed bets, who had traded in human lives, who had used the dens to evade taxes.

 

Yan Chiyun laid his plans and delegated authority to trusted subordinates.

For the next two days, they would oversee the various gambling establishments in his stead.

Nothing must be permitted to go wrong.

 

***

 

Today, Yan Chiyun came home early.

 

When he entered the chamber, he found Pu Jinyu bent over her desk, brush in hand, writing.

Several candlesticks burned beside her, illuminating her work.

She was utterly absorbed.

 

He had watched her for only a moment when she sensed his gaze and looked up.

Surprise, unmistakable, flickered in her beautiful eyes.

She stared at him, motionless.

 

Yan Chiyun’s lips curved slightly.

“Surprised?” he asked.

Surprised that he had come home so early?

 

Pu Jinyu was, indeed, surprised.

She rose, setting down her brush.

As she did so, her hand moved with deliberate casualness, drawing a sheet of blank paper over the letter she had been writing.

The letter meant for Cheng Wenque.

 

She glided toward him.

“Why has my husband returned so early today?”

 

Yan Chiyun looked at her face.

Her question struck him as odd.

Did she not remember that Huaixiao’s wedding was in two days?

Of course he would return.

 

But they had spoken so little of late.

He let the oddity pass without remark.

“What are you doing?” he asked instead.

 

Pu Jinyu did not think he would examine her work.

“Reviewing the household accounts,” she replied.

 

He murmured an acknowledgment.

But after he washed his hands, to her dismay, he walked toward the desk.

 

A faint crease appeared between Pu Jinyu’s brows.

She stepped forward and caught his wrist.

 

Yan Chiyun halted and looked down at her.

 

She kept her eyes lowered.

He could not see them.

But he felt the movement of her hand.

 

Her soft, smooth fingers slid down from his wrist.

They traced across his palm.

They slipped between his fingers and twined with them, locking them together.

 

Yan Chiyun’s heart stirred.

He said nothing.

 

She held his hand for a long moment.

Then she lifted her face to his and asked, very softly, “Is my husband hungry?”

 

Her eyes were limpid, liquid, fringed by thick, curving lashes.

She gazed up at him, unwavering.

 

The lingering tingle of her touch—the stroke across his palm, the slide between his fingers—had not yet faded.

And now she asked him this question, in this way.

Unbidden, images rose in his mind.

Intimate images.

Perhaps he was reading too much into her words.

But perhaps… perhaps she meant exactly what he suspected.

 

She tilted her head, both hands wrapped around one of his arms.

She gave it a small, coaxing shake.

“Husband?”

 

“I am not hungry.

I dined at the office before returning.”

 

“Then my husband should bathe.

I will wait for you.”

 

As she spoke these words, she released his hand.

But as she withdrew, her fingertip traced a light line across his palm.

 

It was like the brush of a feather.

The sensation lingered, tantalizing, impossible to ignore.

His hand curled inward of its own accord.

 

In the end, Yan Chiyun did not examine the accounts she had been reviewing.

He turned and walked toward the bath.

 

***

 

When the man had gone, Pu Jinyu gathered the scattered papers on her desk.

She slipped the incriminating letter between the pages of a book and placed the book within a lacquered box.

Then she added some ordinary items to the bundle and summoned a young maidservant.

 

“Deliver these to the guest courtyard,” she instructed.

 

She added, in a soft, deliberate tone, “Tell Master Cheng that the household is consumed with preparations for the joyous occasion.

He may find himself somewhat neglected in the coming days.

Please ask him to bear with any inconvenience.”

 

The instruction was flawless, beyond reproach.

The young maidservant nodded and departed on her errand.

 

When the girl was gone, Pu Jinyu’s gaze shifted toward the bathing chamber where Yan Chiyun had disappeared.

A cold, bitter smile curved her lips.

 

***

 

Cheng Wenque received the bundle, as he always did.

During Yan Chiyun’s prolonged absence, his exchanges with Pu Jinyu had grown increasingly frequent.

Always under the pretext of providing necessities, of course.

Always conducted in secret.

 

He had chosen his gambit well.

Pu Wange was generous indeed.

 

In return for the cosmetics and trinkets he bestowed upon her, she had sent him rare and valuable texts on policy discourse, bolts of the finest silk, and banknotes of substantial denomination.

 

He had, of course, protested that he could not accept such generosity.

But her accompanying letter had insisted.

To succeed in the examinations, one must cultivate connections.

He must accept her assistance.

 

Dealing with an intelligent woman was remarkably straightforward.

 

He knew where to look.

He found the letter tucked between the pages of a book.

 

When he read its contents, he started.

 

She wanted him to come to her on the day of Yan Huaixiao’s wedding.

To the chamber beside the lakeside pavilion.

 

On that day, the front halls would be consumed with activity.

Amid the joyous chaos, it would be easy to slip away unnoticed.

 

She wished to meet him alone.

A man and a woman, secluded together.

What might pass between them scarcely required explanation.

---