Chapter 54: A Single Arrow, Two Birds—A Case That Shook the World

Leaving Chang’an and heading south, one could see the endless stretch of the southern mountains—the Qinling range—and the manor lay at the foot of those slopes.

Wang Qinian, accompanied by three trusted servants and chatting merrily with Yang Fu along the way, had brought along chilled sour plum juice, so the heat and thirst scarcely bothered them. After traveling more than ten li beyond Chang’an, they turned off the main road, took a smaller path for another three li, and found themselves before a grove of trees.

“It’s a bit hot. Let’s rest in the woods for a while and have a drink,” Wang Qinian proposed.

Without waiting for Yang Fu’s reply, he spurred his horse into the grove. Yang Fu, thinking that this was the imperial heartland and that there were no rumors of robbers, followed him in.

Inside the woods, several people were already gathered. A few were shaven-headed, which surprised Yang Fu: lately, those who played football dressed just so, for the game was said to be a Buddhist ritual performance, and the players shaved their heads to show respect for the Buddha.

“The man is here, Brother Cat. I’ve not failed in my task,” Wang Qinian suddenly announced as Yang Fu was still puzzling over the scene.

“Hmm?” Yang Fu was startled; Wang Qinian seemed to know the others already there, and why had his accent shifted from the southern Wu dialect to the local Chang’an tongue?

“No wonder you’re the best actor outside the Pear Garden—your imitation of a rakish lad from Yangzhou is flawless,” said the one called Cat, who was none other than Jia Cat. He rose with a smile to greet them. “Steward Yang, this way, please.”

Yang Fu’s face changed dramatically. “Young Master Wang, you—you…”

“Entrusted with a task, one must see it through. Every grievance has a source; if you have any scores to settle, Steward Yang, seek out those responsible,” Wang Qinian replied.

“You sly fox, we offered you fortune, and this is how you repay us!” Jia Cat chided with a laugh.

“What is the meaning of this? I am the steward of the Princess Xianyi’s residence—how dare you deceive me!” Even a fool would have realized what was happening by now, but Yang Fu, though his voice was fierce, was visibly shaken.

“You cur! You’ve strutted around for long enough. Now that death is at your door, you still dare be so arrogant!” No sooner had these words been spoken than one of Wang Qinian’s men slapped Yang Fu hard. Two others seized him, pinning him between them, and marched him before Jia Cat and his group.

Yang Fu noticed he was not facing Jia Cat, who had greeted Wang Qinian, but a very young man.

“My surname is Ye, given name Chang. I believe you know me, Steward Yang,” the elegant youth introduced himself calmly.

Yang Fu’s brows shot up. “The celebrated Ye Eleventh Young Master of ‘The Sunset’s Last Light’? I…I am—”

“You are the son of Yang Hui, Princess Xianyi's consort, and his steward—I know full well who you are. We invited you here because there is something I wish to ask you.”

Ye Chang’s tone was exceedingly composed as he spoke. Nearby, Wang Xinzhi, still bantering with Jia Cat, gave a discreet thumbs-up and whispered, “Master Ye is destined for greatness; such poise and self-control—he’s the equal of any famed general of old.”

“Don’t butter him up; he’s not swayed by flattery,” Jia Cat retorted.

Their quiet exchange went unnoticed by Ye Chang, who kept his gaze fixed on Yang Fu, watching the sweat stream down the man’s somewhat plump face. He knew the man was deeply anxious and afraid.

“My cousin, whose given name is Shu, was a soldier on rotating duty. I heard he died by your hand, Steward Yang, and was posthumously accused of theft. I may lack keen judgment of character, but I know my own brother—he was no thief. I’ve asked you here to learn the truth of what happened.”

His words were polite, but Yang Fu was not soothed by his courtesy. The sweat on his face increased until, at the mention of “Ye Shu,” his legs shook so badly he could barely stand.

Ye Chang did not press him for an answer, but instead picked up a feathered arrow and idly twirled it in his hand.

“I…I…”

“Of course, you can lie, Steward Yang. But there are things I already know,” Ye Chang said coldly.

“You—”

“If I dared to invite you here, I have no fear of the authorities. You may be a steward in the Princess Xianyi’s household, but I am a guest of Princess Yuzhen herself.” Ye Chang flashed a chilling smile. “Your expression has already told me quite a bit.”

“Master Ye is so refined. For a coward like this, a good beating will have him confessing to even his own mother’s extramarital affairs!” Wang Xinzhi interjected.

“I am a gentleman and have my own ways,” Ye Chang replied, seeing that Yang Fu was still stammering and refusing to speak. Smiling, he retreated a couple of steps and signaled behind him. A shaven-headed man handed him a clay jar.

“This is honey. I’ve heard that ants love honey best. Strip Steward Yang and smear honey on his privates, then find an anthill. I wonder, after the ants have had their feast, if Steward Yang might be qualified to serve in the palace as a eunuch?” Ye Chang continued in a soft voice, “Let me congratulate you on your promotion, Steward Yang.”

Those present felt a chill at his words. Xiao Bailang, in particular, managed a wry smile. “Only now do I realize that when Master Ye threatened to strip me and make me run naked through the West Market, he was actually being merciful.”

“Indeed,” Ye Chang said loftily. “When it comes to dealing with people, my experience surpasses yours by centuries.”

None of them could fathom his meaning, for even the most imaginative would never guess that Ye Chang was a man from a future age.

As they joked and laughed, they paid no attention to Yang Fu, who had by now fallen to his knees, begging for mercy.

He knew escape was impossible and could only hope to save his life. Ye Chang waved his hand coolly, displaying a hint of a villain’s swagger, and two of the ruffians seized Yang Fu, preparing to strip him. Yang Fu struggled and wept in vain. Soon he stood naked, trembling and exposed before them all.

A ruffian approached with the honey jar, its contents nearing Yang Fu’s nether regions, his cries growing more desperate. At that moment, Ye Chang remarked, “To suffer such a fate for another’s sake—tsk tsk, Steward Yang, your loyalty is impressive.”

These words sparked realization in Yang Fu: though the death of Ye Shu was on his hands in name, the real culprit was another. Why, then, should he bear the blame?

“I’ll talk! I’ll talk! Your brother’s jade pendant—it's an imperial item…”

“Oh?” Ye Chang sneered.

“It truly is! It’s a gift from the Emperor, given to members of the royal clan. At first, I thought your brother had stolen it from the prince’s household, but when I presented it to the prince, I learned… I learned it belonged to the Three Commoners…”

The Three Commoners!

At the mention of that term, Ye Chang showed no reaction, but the rest drew sharp breaths. Even the fearless Xiao Bailang and Jia Cat turned pale; the swindler Wang Xinzhi stepped back instinctively.

Ye Chang was surprised and glanced up, catching Xiao Bailang’s meaningful look. Following him a short distance away, Xiao Bailang whispered, “Master Ye, this is dangerous business, too much is at stake. We must silence him!”

Silencing Yang Fu had been the plan from the beginning, so Ye Chang knew that was not Xiao Bailang’s true concern.

“Don’t question him further. If he says something truly alarming, even killing him might not save us. Who knows if there’s a traitor among us…” Xiao Bailang said anxiously.

“Why? Who are these Three Commoners?” Ye Chang asked.

Xiao Bailang looked astonished. “You don’t know, Master Ye? The Three Commoners are the deposed Crown Prince Li Ying, Prince E of E, Li Yao, and Prince Guang, Li Ju!”

Now even Ye Chang drew a sharp breath.

He knew, when it came to the deposed Crown Prince Li Ying, exactly what the Three Commoners referred to. Since the founding of the Tang dynasty, every shift in imperial power had been marked by bloody purges among the royal clan. The Xuanwu Gate Incident orchestrated by Emperor Taizong, Li Shimin, was well known, but even before he passed the throne to Li Zhi, Li Chengqian and Li Tai had fought each other bitterly. After Li Zhi’s death, Wu Zetian unleashed slaughter, killing countless members of the Li clan, even her own children. Following Wu Zetian, Li Xian and Li Dan each ascended the throne, amidst the Wei Empress’s rebellion and the Princess Taiping’s revolt. Now, as Li Longji prepared to choose his successor, came the Three Commoners tragedy.

Originally, Crown Prince Li Ying was not favored by his mother, and Consort Wu, beloved by Li Longji, wished her own son to be named heir. Yang Hui, who had married Consort Wu’s daughter, discerned her intent and falsely accused Li Ying. Li Linfu, prompted by Consort Wu, fanned the flames. After bitter struggle, Li Ying and the others were stripped of their titles and forced to commit suicide.

Ye Chang could not believe his cousin, a humble farmer in distant Xiuwu, could have been entangled in such a vicious court struggle. He suspected Yang Fu was inventing stories, but even if threatened with torture, surely he wouldn’t fabricate such a lie.

“It’s all right; this won’t implicate any of you,” Ye Chang said in a low, grim voice, not waiting for Xiao Bailang’s explanation before returning to Yang Fu.

“How did my brother come by a jade pendant reserved for members of the royal family?” Ye Chang sneered. “It seems, Steward Yang, you’ll only tell the truth when you see your own coffin.”

“I don’t know, truly I don’t. The prince said the Three Commoners died at a posthouse, and in the chaos, their jade pendants were taken—this was normal. Afterwards, one ended up with your brother, and I saw it…” Yang Fu sobbed, snot and tears streaming down his face. But his words brought relief to the ruffians around them: as long as it didn't directly involve them in the case of the Three Commoners, it was fine.

Ye Chang’s suspicion did not abate, but no matter how he pressed, Yang Fu had no other answers. He repeated his questions in various forms, but the story never changed.

There was one more question.

“Yang Hui slandered the Three Commoners, causing their deaths. When he discovered the pendant, why did he not pursue the matter further?”

“The prince was afraid. Recently, the Emperor has shown signs of regret, Consort Wu died soon after the incident, supposedly haunted by the Three Commoners’ spirits. The prince feared dredging up the past would cause the Emperor to resent him…”

It was Consort Wu who had pushed most fiercely for the death of the Three Commoners, hoping to see her son, Prince Shou, named heir. Yet soon after their deaths, she herself died, supposedly haunted by their ghosts. Though the Emperor posthumously named her Empress, he did not allow his sons to mourn her as an empress. The whole realm believed the Three Commoners had suffered injustice, and Prince Shou never became crown prince; his beloved wife, Yang Yuhuan, was taken by the Emperor to replace her mother, Consort Wu.

This left Yang Hui in an awkward position: he hoped the matter of the Three Commoners would be buried forever with Consort Wu and did not want it unearthed. So even when he found the pendant, he did not investigate, hoping the matter would end with Ye Shu’s death.

Hearing this, Ye Chang was convinced Yang Fu was not lying. He had squeezed any useful information from him; any further questioning would yield only nonsense.

“It wasn’t my idea—it was the prince’s order. I’m just a steward; how could I oppose him?” Yang Fu wept. “I’ve had no peace these days and am willing to pay a hundred strings of cash as compensation for your brother!”

“Dress him, then hold him fast,” Ye Chang replied coldly. As the others hurried to get Yang Fu back into his clothes and tidy him up until he looked as if nothing had happened, a few strong men seized him. Ye Chang stepped back, retrieved a hunting bow from behind a tree, and approached.

It was an ordinary bow, easy enough for someone like Ye Chang, with no special training, to draw. He nocked a feathered arrow and, standing three paces behind Yang Fu, pulled back the string.

Yang Fu, unaware what was happening behind him, sensed danger and began to wail louder. There was a twang, and an arrow shot through his chest from behind.

Even with Ye Chang’s limited skill, at such close range he could hardly miss. Blood sprayed from Yang Fu’s mouth; his eyes went blank, but he did not die immediately. Ye Chang nocked a second arrow, drew, released. The second shaft pierced his heart, and Yang Fu convulsed, his gaze clouding, his bladder releasing, until at last he died.

Throughout, Ye Chang’s face was cold and implacable, betraying neither hesitation nor regret. Xiao Bailang and Jia Cat exchanged glances—this Ye Chang was no faint-hearted scholar.

“Master Ye, there was no need for all this. A rope around his neck and we could have made it look like suicide,” Jia Cat said with a forced laugh, letting Yang Fu's corpse fall to the ground.

“I have my reasons,” Ye Chang replied.

He certainly did. Yang Hui was the consort of Princess Xianyi; even though Consort Wu was dead, Princess Xianyi remained one of Li Longji’s most favored daughters. The authorities would certainly investigate the death of her steward, and even faking a suicide might not be enough to escape suspicion.

The two arrows Ye Chang used were the same that had been shot at him during the assassination attempt, which a monk had extracted and he had kept. Their unusual style marked them as foreign, not of Tang military issue, and he intended them to cause trouble for those who had tried to murder him.

Although Ye Chang had said nothing about the assassination, that did not mean he would let his enemies go. If given the chance, he would expose and take revenge on those who threatened his life. He did not wish to live in constant fear, nor to bring disaster home to his family.