Jinghe Year Fifteen, February twenty-first.
After the rain in Suzhou, the garden pavilion seemed freshly bathed.
Xie Zi sat alone in the pavilion, holding a cup and listening to the dripping eaves.
Xie Lin sat alone in the pavilion, his cup untouched.
In his other hand was a letter Shen Duan had sent by a secret envoy riding through the night.
With every reading, his brows drew a little tighter.
The words on the paper seemed carved into his lungs and heart, impossible to burn away, returning whenever he brushed them aside.
[What Dao'an advised, I am well aware of.
Yet Wei Zi's memorial has gone forward unimpeded. I have already written to Xiong Hui, explaining the stakes. He will surely lend Dao'an his aid...]
Xie Lin lowered his eyes, his gaze fixed on those few lines for a long time.
At length, he set down his cup and leaned back.
"Chancellor Shen..."
Those words left the pavilion silent, their lingering echo half sigh, half sneer.
Xie Lin folded the letter and held it close to the candle flame.
The corner instantly charred. Tongues of flame licked gently, and several black butterflies
fluttered down onto the inkstone at the edge of the desk, without a sound.
Xie Lin looked down at the embers and nudged them with a stick of Huizhou ink.
The ash dispersed into the liquid ink, no longer distinguishable.
"Chancellor Shen."
"I sent that note especially to make two points."
Xie Lin spoke softly, as though talking to himself, or laying out his case before a phantom.
"First, we must oppose it.
Second, we must show composure."
"In those private letters, I laid out three points, every word drawn from my heart's blood, every sentence striking at the crux."
"Had you followed them, even if