At dawn, birdsong mingled with a morning bell from some unknown source, gently waking Tan Weixin.

Tan Weixin sat up; the maidservants, hearing the movement, came to draw open the bed curtains, then brought a hot towel for him to wipe his face before he finally rose from bed.

In this modest courtyard, no fewer than twenty-eight maids served Tan Weixin, each hoping for a bright future. Seeing him return, they naturally rushed to vie for his favor.

After all, this young Marquis currently had only the Princess as his wife—not a single concubine to his name.

A maid with almond eyes and a small mouth held his loincloth; having never seen a man’s body before, her face flushed crimson with embarrassment, eyes shut tight, lashes trembling.

Tan Weixin stood naked on the couch, arms braced as he waited to be dressed, and after a moment heard a burst of stifled giggling. He turned to look and laughed as well.

The maid’s face was fair and delicate, her cheeks flushed a bright red in an endearingly foolish way, carrying about her the unworldly fragrance of a young girl.

This courtyard was Tan Weixin’s own free world, without rules of any kind—hence the two senior maids who watched the spectacle with such amusement.

Tan Weixin laughed too, reaching out to pull the maid onto the bed… the curtains fell, and before long, the sound of pitiful crying and pleading drifted out softly.

By the last quarter of the hour of Chen, Tan Weixin, looking refreshed and satisfied, admired himself in the bronze mirror from various angles. Of the three Tan brothers, he’d been born the most handsome, and the Princess loved this face of his most of all, so he took particular care of it—finished with his pleasure, he sat there applying fragrant powder with delicate precision.

Several older women entered with lowered eyes and deferential manner, walking to the bed curtains and drawing back the drapes. The last of them held up a medicine bowl, meaning to force it down the maid’s throat.

The maid naturally resisted, but the women were well-practiced at this, and together they managed to pour it down her regardless.

Behind them, pitiful crying rose up, then was muffled as someone covered her mouth. Tan Weixin, holding his powder puff, frowned at his own reflection and said, “Leave her be, poor thing—don’t frighten her.”

This meant he’d taken a liking to her.

Wrapped in a brocade quilt, the girl was carried off. The lead matron in charge bowed to take her leave of Tan Weixin, then departed quietly with the others.

Along the way, seeing the quilt struggle, she felt a twinge of sympathy and advised, “I’d urge you, girl, to behave yourself. Once you’ve healed up properly, you’ll come back as a first-rank maid—you’ve served our Consort Prince now, that’s ancestral merit accumulating for you. Not to mention, your monthly allowance alone will be eight strings of cash!

Go ask around—whose household offers that? Even a first-rank maid in a Duke’s household gets no more than two or three strings. There’s simply no comparison to our estate.

What does a first-rank maid here even have to do? Nothing but snack on treats and tend some flowers—who’s going to make you do actual labor? Not to mention two fine outfits every season—even the daily life of an ordinary official’s daughter isn’t much better than this.”

The brocade quilt stopped struggling.

The matron smiled, lowering her voice further. “Just endure it. Don’t spend the money carelessly even once you have it. Once the Consort Prince forgets about you, you’ll be able to buy your freedom…”

This group carried the brocade bundle swiftly through a small garden, and as they passed through a flower-panel gate, they nearly collided head-on with a ravishing beauty whose looks surpassed even the finest of the land.

The beauty raised her parasol to cover her face, letting out a soft cry of surprise.

The lead matron immediately delivered a resounding slap to the woman who’d spoken earlier, spitting out a curse: “You bunch of shit-blind, heartless bastards—don’t you know what hour it is? Our young mistress is on her way to the peony garden!”

The other matrons, startled, dropped to their knees at once, and the brocade quilt tumbled to the ground, rolling open to reveal a maid covered head to toe in bruises, her face swollen and discolored, mouth still gagged.

The matron made to continue scolding, but the young concubine stopped her. Stepping forward, she crouched down before the maid, lifting her chin with a fan embroidered with skylarks to examine her face. Having looked her over carefully, she let out a soft laugh. “Ah, almond eyes—so, our Consort Prince is back? Tsk, poor thing.”

The whole marquis estate knew this one was a handful to deal with. The matron who’d spoken earlier knelt and turned to plead, “Young Mistress, please don’t take offense, it’s just that…”

The young concubine cut her off. “No, don’t say anything. We saw nothing at all! I’m just an idle person, as everyone knows—I don’t concern myself with such matters. Let’s go, today I was simply blind.”

With that, she led her retinue of maids off in a rustle of skirts.

Once the matron had waved for the maid to be carried off and made sure no one remained nearby, she spat and muttered, “Little upstart, acting like she’s the Princess herself. Just a lowly maid risen from the kitchens—she’ll get what’s coming to her eventually.”

Tan Weixin sat at the breakfast table, attended by his personal maids as he ate. At least seven or eight cats mewed around his feet as he played with them; whenever a maid reached over with spoon or chopsticks, he’d nip at her hand playfully, hard enough to draw blood.

The maids never cried out in pain, only giggling, and he giggled along with them.

Tan Shouyi kept extremely strict watch over his legitimate grandsons in most matters, but was particularly lax when it came to women—in his view, with the boys constantly under heavy pressure, having soft comfort to console them was no bad thing.

The result was that the Tan men, while refined gentlemen of jade-like elegance in public, were veritable demons of lust at home.

A personal attendant entered to report: “Third Young Master, the eldest young master has gone to the Buddhist hall.”

Tan Weixin composed his careless expression at once, resuming his public demeanor, tucked his sleeves, and left this place—which was, to him, the only spot in this world that brought him true happiness.

Because this entire courtyard of maids each resembled the Princess so closely.

In the main hall’s Buddhist chamber, Tan Weitong, dressed in monk’s robes, stood with hands pressed together before two spirit tablets, reciting sutras with devotion. He’d been at it only a short while when his second brother, Tan Weizheng, entered the room, first peering left and right before spreading his arms to let attendants dress him in monk’s robes as well, handing him a string of prayer beads, and he knelt behind Tan Weitong to pray.

After another stretch of chanting, Tan Weixin entered and did the same.

A distant bronze bowl chime sounded, and the three brothers, solemn-faced, bowed together three times, then rose to take incense prepared by the monks, together placing it in the censer before the spirit tablets.

Tan Weixin rubbed the incense ash from his fingers, looking at the spirit tablets of his grandmother, Madam Zhong, and his father Tan Shiyuan, feeling unclean, so he reached up to wipe it away with his sleeve.

At this moment, his two elder brothers watched him quietly.

After the rain, the peony garden in full bloom looked like a heavenly paradise. Tan Weitong set his teacup down on the cloud-marble table and asked Tan Weixin seriously: “Third brother, is this information reliable?”

Tan Weixin nodded. “Yes—last night I counted, and only Wen Fengshu’s memorial was missing; the rest were already filed away.”

Having said this, Tan Weitong remained still, while Tan Weizheng stood up rather excitedly. “There you go! This is wonderful news!! Windfall wealth just falling into our laps like this—I said I kept having auspicious cloud dreams these past few days, turns out this is what they meant!”

He paced around the garden several times in his excitement, nearly bouncing with energy.

No wonder he’d lost his composure. Among this generation of the legitimate Tan line, there were only the three of them—the eldest had inherited the title, and the third, well, he too held a proper first-rank marquisate, being consort to a legitimate princess besides.

He himself was caught in the middle, truly having neither one thing nor the other.

Whose family wasn’t full of wives, children, young and old, all born of the same parents—why should he be the most pitiable one? Grown as he was, he still had to ask his brothers for spending money.

If their father were still alive, their father had favored him, and would always have looked out for him.

But this was their grandfather now, and grandfather was different from father.

To their grandfather, legitimate or concubine-born, they were all grandsons alike; besides, their true grandmother had passed away too, and because of that incident, the concubine-born collateral branches of the Tan clan had grown restless these past few years.

Tan Weizheng rubbed his hands together where he stood, face flushed, muttering on and on. “I’ll go back right now—go back and have your sister-in-law bring out her dowry, and scrape together whatever else we’ve got at home…”

With that, he hurried off.

Once he was far enough away, Tan Weitong sighed. “Ah, what ambition he shows! Second brother grows less and less spirited with each passing year—what difference could that pittance of his make in an operation this size?”

Tan Weixin’s expression carried both mockery and restraint. “No matter—better the fortune stays within the family. He is my own blood brother after all. Even if he’s wronged me, for our father’s sake, I can’t simply ignore him, isn’t that right, elder brother?”

Hearing this, Tan Weitong merely lifted his teacup and drank, declining to get involved.

Tan Weixin had been adopted out and gained such an enormous advantage from it—how could second brother not resent him for it?

Of course, second brother had played some rather unsightly tricks against third brother—he knew about this, yet hadn’t stopped it.

Why not? You’d taken such a huge advantage for yourself; you had to let the other person vent some anger, or things would become unbearable.

After finishing half his cup of tea, Tan Weitong set it down and looked at his younger brother. “Third brother, it’s not that I covet this bit of extra wealth—mainly, it’s that the mess of debts with the Wu family really ought to be settled.”

Tan Weixin smiled, raising his teacup. “I hear the two gambling dens already hold three to four hundred million strings between them. Yandu people do love to stir up trouble. Pity that Zheng Aman’s kept himself in check this year—aside from him, who else in all of Yandu could run this operation?”

He understood perfectly well his elder brother’s little scheme. He simply looked down on that Xingye boy—no matter how well Xingye did, even with accomplishments in the imperial examinations, looking down on him was looking down on him, no destined affinity there. People’s hearts always favored one over another, even the old emperor himself was no different.

Yet the family had used the Wu family’s money, and that debt couldn’t simply be shrugged off.

“Zheng Aman!” Tan Weitong let out a disdainful snort—he held Zheng Aman in contempt. “Even if he wanted to run the house this year, he doesn’t have five or six hundred million strings to his name.”

The moment he said this, Tan Weixin replied, “Brother, if Zheng Aman doesn’t have that kind of money, does our family?”

Tan Weixin finished speaking and looked around at this paradise-like peony garden—the very one his elder brother had, a few years back, passed by a Taoist temple in Jindian, seen the whole courtyard bursting with color, and instantly fallen for their peonies.

That day he’d had too much to drink and insisted on buying the lot. Buying the peonies themselves cost only a few tens of thousands of strings, but transporting a hundred plants into Yandu cost over four hundred thousand strings alone—and even then, half of them died along the way.

These peonies, their roots damaged, required the best gardeners three years of care before finally blooming last year—and settling the account afterward, the gardeners themselves took no less than a hundred thousand strings. They were master craftsmen after all, and hiring them was itself a mark of prestige.

Last May, and again this April, any respectable household in Yandu considered it an honor to receive an invitation to the Tan family’s peony gathering.

And beyond these major expenses, how many concubines and children did his elder brother keep, how many maids and matrons filled the household?

Especially that one he doted on most, called Zhang Baojin—that woman’s yearly expenses weren’t much less than his own princess’s. That woman loved to cause a fuss; last year she said she wanted to learn the guqin, so his brother bought her a Qingxi Xuanyin worth eighty thousand strings, and a Songfeng worth thirty thousand more.

Then the woman played for half a month, wore through her nails to the point her fingertips broke skin, and his brother, heartbroken, had the instrument burned.

Tan Weixin didn’t care to tally up such minor expenses, but he had a rough sense of the total—his brother’s marquis household spent far more than his own, at least four hundred thousand strings a year at minimum, yet none of this money came from their grandfather.

That’s right—their grandfather Tan Shouyi, stationed in Jindian, not only refused to manage such expenses but actually demanded money from them.

The Tan family army currently reported to the Ministry of War as having fewer than eighty thousand troops; Tan Weixin knew the true number had long exceeded a hundred and fifty thousand.

And supporting so many men—military expenses alone in Jindian ran four to five million strings a year.

So, from top to bottom, aside from what was spent in Jindian, the Tan family had no idea just how much they owed Wu Xiu by now.

If you asked him, his elder brother really was a shameless brute at heart—having spent two generations of the Wu family’s money, yet still refusing to give ground. That Xingye boy wasn’t bad at all—why look down on him so?

Thinking of Wu Xiu, Tan Weixin heard his brother continue: “If I squeeze what I can from my end, it still only comes to about a million strings, and that would mean borrowing against this year’s horse funds from the Court of Imperial Stud—even then, it wouldn’t be enough.”

Tan Weixin looked up at his brother. “Then shall I discuss it with the Princess?”

The moment he said this, Tan Weitong immediately vetoed it. “Absolutely not. If word gets back to the three sisters, that news won’t stay hidden from that person…”

He pointed toward the sky.

Tan Weixin looked troubled. “Then what do we do?”

“What do we do? This is too tempting a prize to let go of entirely. Here’s what we’ll do—since we’re all one clan, go verify the information again, best get some solid proof. Then we’ll call together the influential members of the Tan clan here in Yandu—perhaps we can shake loose another one or two hundred thousand.”

Tan Weixin considered this. “That’s… not impossible, but still not enough.”

Tan Weitong laughed at this. “Not enough? Then go find Wu Xiu. Tell him this father wants to set aside some family savings for his son…”

What could Tan Weixin say to that? His brother grew more stubborn and self-important by the day, just like their grandfather. As the future head of the Tan family, it was his duty to support him well.

Just as he was about to offer a few more words of advice regarding Tan Xingye, Tan Weixin caught sight of an embroidered, jewel-studded shoe peeking out from behind the moon gate in the garden. He shot to his feet and called out, “Who’s there! Come out!”

A burst of unrestrained giggling answered from that direction.

Hearing this laugh, Tan Weixin shot Tan Weitong a glare, but his elder brother paid it no mind at all, sipping his tea with an expression of pure, satisfied pleasure.

Well, that was that—the seductress had arrived, and there’d be no discussing serious matters today.

Tan Weixin flicked his sleeve and turned to leave. Once he was well away, a face of devastating beauty peeked out from behind the moon gate.

Tan Weitong continued sipping his tea, feigning ignorance. From behind, more coughing, more foot-stamping—he still pretended not to notice.

Finally, a woman’s voice called out, “Ai ya~ my ancestor, don’t you dare!”

Realizing something was amiss, Tan Weitong spun around at once, just in time to see the troublesome woman had already tucked his prized flower—a plump, blush-pink “Wine-Drunk Consort Yang” peony in full bloom—into her hair. The sunlight fell perfectly on the flower’s heart and the woman’s face, and the mischievous beauty’s smile eclipsed the entire garden’s splendor.

Tan Weitong sprang up and crossed over in a few strides, seizing the beauty’s hand, first kissing the back of it, then lightly slapping her palm in mock anger. “That’s it—this year’s flower gathering is ruined.”

Zhang Baojin gave a smug smile, tilting her head coquettishly. “It’ll be fine—tomorrow you can just have a big flowerpot made and plant your concubine in it for everyone to admire, since I’m the one who plucked your precious treasure.”

Tan Weitong grabbed her hand and bit it. “What precious treasure—you’re my only precious treasure…”

This time, he really did bite down, actually drawing blood from the beauty.

Yet this beauty seemed entirely unbothered, even laughing about it—once he’d finished, she lifted her bloodied hand, slowly extended her tongue to lick it, and said, “Sweet!”

Something in Tan Weitong’s heart melted; he took her hand and licked it too. “Mm, like honey.”

But the beauty grew cross, tucking her hand behind her back with a scolding pout. “Are all you Tans dogs?”

Tan Weitong merely lifted his head. “Woof~ come here, bite the master again.”

The beauty showed no fear at all, simply pulling aside the soft silk collar of her robe to reveal old scars beneath, saying, “Find a good spot.”

Tan Weitong embraced her, studied the spot for a long moment, then bit down—this time without much force—only to hear Zhang Baojin say, “Bite harder! If you don’t draw blood you’re no grandson of mine!”

And so, Tan Weitong drew blood from her again, and after a good while finally released her, saying, “Good grandmother, just wait for me. Once I’ve settled things with the Wu family, I’ll make you my Marchioness.”

Zhang Baojin didn’t believe a word of it. She raised her hand, plucked the peony from her hair, and tossed it carelessly into the pond beside them. “Nonsense. Your proper wife’s sitting comfortably in Qingfeng right now. And what am I, exactly? Some kind of Marchioness—me, covered in sin, the daughter of a traitorous rebel—as if I deserve such fortune.”

She reached up affectionately to touch Tan Weitong’s face. “Only you would treat me like a treasure—aren’t you foolish? A proper marquis, yet sneaking into his brother-in-law’s household to steal something like a thief. Do you know how much trouble it’s caused, ever since you stole me away? Fool.”

Tan Weitong watched the flower drift away, pulling Zhang Baojin close. “Who stole anything? That girl died on the road long ago anyway—I even paid Wu Xiu compensation for it, and he refused to take it! You’re Zhang Baojin, the proper young mistress of my marquis household, someone I, Tan Weitong, properly carried back from Jindian, the descendant of an official family—why do you insist on clinging to the past like this?”

This time, Zhang Baojin said nothing, only leaning against Tan Weitong’s shoulder, gazing emptily up at the sky.

How free those birds up there were.

A flock of pigeons swept past the roof of the princely estate, and a kingfisher chirped in the small courtyard.

The little one watched with round eyes, his small dirty hand holding a crumpled piece of osmanthus cake.

Chen Dasheng licked a bit of the cake; the little puppy of a child, seeing his father hadn’t eaten much, sincerely held it back up to him. “For father, eat some more… just a little.”

How could a grown man bear to eat a child’s food? Chen Dasheng pretended to take another bite, then patted the child’s head. “Father’s full. You eat, my son.”

Only then did the child pick up the cake and eat.

A child separated from his mother thins out within days—Chen Dasheng, heartbroken over this, carried his little son around the room in circles.

Meanwhile, several maidservants brought in trays of mutton leg, pork knuckle, mutton liver, pig heart… over a dozen meat dishes were set on the table, then wrapped in large lotus leaves, tied with straw rope, and finally packed into a large food box.

Right around noon, the little one, having circled in his father’s arms a few times, drifted off to sleep.

Seeing him resting peacefully, Chen Dasheng carried him to the princely study and laid him on the couch there.

She Qingling was arranging chess pieces when he saw his son had brought his grandson along again. He set aside the pieces, washed his hands, then half-sat on the couch and pinched the sleeping child’s cheek. “No rest day at home, and off you go somewhere—where to?”

Chen Dasheng smiled. “The Ministry of Justice prison.”

The hand tucking the thin blanket paused. She Qingling asked, “Going to see Tao Jizong?”

Chen Dasheng nodded. “Yes. He’s been back for quite a few days now—after all, there’s an old family friendship there, his mother and our old lady got along quite well, and besides, Tao Jizong’s a decent sort.”

She Qingling nodded, watching Chen Dasheng’s retreating back as he made to leave. “Before the presentation of captives, His Majesty even mentioned that Tao Jizong’s two sons were raised well, doing well in their studies too—didn’t he have a nephew who placed first in the imperial examinations?”

Chen Dasheng turned back. “Yes, Zhuangyuan entered the Hanlin Academy the year before last. That child’s visited our household before, been to see the old lady too—you should have met him.”

She Qingling nodded. “Hadn’t paid much attention to that, honestly. Well, if the studies are good, that really is impressive. This Tao Jizong has rendered great service to the state, and things at Zuoliang Pass can’t be shaken up any time soon—His Majesty’s intent is that he should be looked after. Give his household two military honors for now—I still haven’t worked out a suitable position for him yet. What’s your take?”

Chen Dasheng thought about it. “This matter… there’s really no rush on it.”

She Qingling looked surprised. “Why’s that?”

Chen Dasheng smiled and turned back, sitting down by the bedside. “Tao Jizong’s fine, and his next generation’s turned out well too. It’s just that he has this troublesome father of his, and the two sides of the family treat each other like enemies.

That Zhou Xingfa is still wandering around Yandu, running with Wu Xiu’s crowd. Now that Tao Jizong’s back, he’s been causing all sorts of trouble everywhere. He’s no good man, but he is Tao Jizong’s own father after all—if we honor the grandson while bypassing the grandfather like this, it wouldn’t sit right…”

“I see, that does make it difficult.”

She Qingling picked up a fan and waved it a few times over his sleeping grandson, then looked at Chen Dasheng. “Still, we need to make sure His Majesty’s intent is properly conveyed—don’t let Tao Jizong end up dissatisfied and harbor resentment over this…”

Chen Dasheng smiled and picked up the food box to take his leave.

Half an hour later, Tao Jizong stood at the entrance to the Ministry of Justice prison, watching Chen Dasheng approach with a wine jar in one hand and a food box in the other. “Here to see me?”

Chen Dasheng smiled. “Mm, mainly you.”

A strange glint flashed in Tao Jizong’s eyes; he glanced around before leaning in close to Chen Dasheng’s ear. “And secondarily?”

Chen Dasheng handed him the food box. “Secondarily—well, since I’m here catching up on old times in the prison, might as well take a look at the Little Tan King too, given he’s an old family enemy after all.”