Like a thunderclap from a clear sky, Huayue froze on the spot.
She thought of Shen Zhiluo—that man in his long purple-black robe embroidered all over with stars, the undergarment and hair ribbon covered in talismans, the corners of his eyes curving up into a shape that could bewitch anyone. In his eyes lived the fates of all living things, the fortunes and misfortunes of the nation; a dynasty could collapse at his side and he would still stand calmly atop the ruins, gazing out in pity.
A man like that, with only two years left to live?
Huayue didn’t believe it. Shen Zhiluo had said he’d never calculated his own fate—perhaps the “mandate of heaven” he spoke of was something else entirely.
A man like him, utterly ruthless to others, was always gentlest with himself. Even if he sacrificed the whole world as an offering, he would never allow himself to die young.
The tangled feelings in her heart flickered and passed. She shook her head and turned back to Feng Zixi. “I don’t know why the Grand Preceptor wants to kill Kang Zhenzhong, but I want to kill him for revenge. If you’re willing to help me, once he’s dead, I’ll help you get your revenge too.”
A simple enough bargain. Feng Zixi turned his teacup in his hands, thinking it over for a while, then said, “If the chance comes, have someone summon me the way you did last time.”
Huayue rose, touched her forehead to the back of her hand, and bowed to him.
Feng Zixi finished his tea and left. Huayue collected his cup, washed it in clean water, set it on the wooden rack beside her, and sat by the table in a daze.
The teahouse upstairs was as noisy as ever—someone shouting angrily, someone else firing back just as fast, a swaddled infant beginning to wail, a sharp-voiced woman cursing. All the sounds mixed together, a true, vivid, bustling slice of the mortal world.
Shen Zhiluo had never cared for that kind of liveliness. As his carriage passed the teahouse, he even told the driver to whip the horses faster.
He leaned listlessly against the carriage wall, his purple-black robe spread out around him, casting a gloom over everything nearby.
“My lord.” The servant seated on the carriage shaft reported to him, “Miss Su said she wants to have lunch with you at the temple. If we head back now, we might just make it.”
More resentment flickered in his eyes. Shen Zhiluo turned his head away and said coldly, “Take a detour through Luohua Street.”
The servant lifted a corner of the curtain, startled. “But… if Miss Su makes a fuss—”
“Let her.” He lowered his eyes.
Not daring to ask further, the servant dropped the curtain and quietly told the driver to change course. The carriage swayed onward. Shen Zhiluo leaned by the window, glancing at the bustling crowd of pedestrians outside, then withdrew his gaze impatiently.
A ruin everywhere he looked. Unbearable to watch.
Sun Yaozu had told him that Yin Huayue wouldn’t take orders and urged him to find some way to rein her in before things collapsed entirely.
He found it laughable. She was the mistress of the Western Palace—why should she take orders from a former palace servant? Sun Yaozu always lost himself so easily in matters of power, unable to grasp his own place.
Greed, hatred, delusion.
The mortal world was full of loathsome beasts, without a shred of purity anywhere.
Just as he was thinking this, the moving carriage jolted to a sudden stop. His body pitched forward, his brow furrowing tighter. “What is it?”
The wheels halted. Someone yanked the curtain open, and the glaring light outside poured into the carriage all at once.
“Look at that—running into you even here, isn’t it fate?” Su Miao was half-crouched on the shaft, gripping the curtain, smiling at him with sparkling eyes. “I told you the marriage fortune I drew yesterday was accurate. Top-tier luck.”
His brow twitched. Shen Zhiluo raised his sleeve to block the light and said with irritation, “Why are you here?”
“Sister Lin wasn’t feeling well, so I went to see her. I was just heading back to the temple when I spotted your carriage.” Su Miao climbed into the carriage and, without a shred of restraint, sat down right beside him, pulling down the sleeve he’d raised. She laughed. “Come to pick me up?”
“No.” Shen Zhiluo radiated resistance from every pore. “I’m going ahead to buy something.”
Su Miao looked at him with a knowing smile, the kind that said don’t bother pretending, I know you came for me.
Shen Zhiluo sighed.
Just as he couldn’t save every person in this world, he couldn’t change Su Miao’s wildly unrestrained nature either.
“You didn’t seem to like me much before.” The carriage rolled on. He watched the swaying curtain and asked coldly, “Why do you want to be around me again now?”
Su Miao answered frankly, “I don’t like it when you’re mean to me—when you snap at me or push me away, I get angry too. But as long as I still like you, if you coax me a little, I’m fine again.”
The talisman-covered hairband fell against the side of his face, nearly covering his eyes. “I’ve never coaxed you.”
“Does the Grand Preceptor have a bad memory?” She giggled, reaching over to brush the hairband back behind his ear. “Weren’t you standing outside my window for half an hour last night?”
“…”
Was that supposed to be coaxing? He’d just been discussing matters with Chang Gui and got stuck on something he hadn’t worked out, standing around still thinking—he hadn’t even noticed it was outside her window.
Shen Zhiluo’s expression grew complicated. He found this Miss Su clever enough at other times, but somehow always foolish when it came to him.
“What’s that look for.” Su Miao raised an eyebrow, resting her elbow on his shoulder with a hum. “I’m only easy to coax in front of you. Try that with someone else and see if they’d even bother.”
Though he really didn’t want to respond to that, he couldn’t help but spit out a name anyway. “Huo Geng.”
“Why bring him up again.” Su Miao laughed, delighted. “Could it be I hit the mark? Are you actually jealous?”
“Miss Su.” Shen Zhiluo reminded her calmly, “By rights, you and I are betrothed. It’s only reasonable that I’d mind you keeping close company with men outside our family.”
Send the man off and dunk him in three more pools of water while you’re at it—only proper.
“But between us, there’s no need to be reasonable.” Su Miao shrugged. “Even with the betrothal, you don’t even like me.”
His purple eyes narrowed slightly. Shen Zhiluo pinched the compass in his sleeve, more baffled than ever. “Knowing full well I have no such intentions, why do you insist on this marriage?”
Her clear fox-like eyes glanced at him sideways, Su Miao’s expression somewhere between a smile and not.
He expected her to say something playful and deflecting as usual, but this time, what came out of her mouth was: “Isn’t it you who needs this marriage with me, so the Crown Prince will feel at ease about you?”
His chest tightened. The hand gripping the compass clenched suddenly. Shen Zhiluo looked up, shocked, meeting her gaze.
The person before him smiled, sly and calm, as though she’d known about this all along.
“You—” He pressed his lips together, looking away in obvious discomfort. “If you already knew this was just being used, why didn’t you refuse?”
Su Miao said, unconcerned, “You use me to hold the Crown Prince in check, and I get to enjoy your good looks. Rather than call it being used, it’s more like everyone wins. Why would I refuse?”
His gaze went blank. Shen Zhiluo stared dumbly at the stars embroidered on his own hem for a long moment before finally coming back to himself, his face darkening. “What good looks!”
Su Miao reached out and stroked his chin, admiration filling her eyes. “There isn’t a second person in all of the capital better-looking than you—even my cousin has to take a back seat. With a beauty like you to claim, why would I care about being used or not? Let’s marry sooner, so I can taste this—”
Her mouth, chattering on without pause, was suddenly clapped shut by his hand. Su Miao blinked innocently, still smiling.
Shen Zhiluo’s face flushed faintly, truly furious enough to lose half his composure.
He wasn’t usually a particularly proper person—wandering the Eastern Palace, he never dressed all that carefully, and the court painters who made his portrait could always see the talisman-covered undergarment beneath. But however unrestrained his manner, he’d never expected to meet someone like Su Miao.
In front of her, he no longer dared leave his outer robe even half-open—he even wanted to tie an extra sash.
The dignified young lady of a general’s household, was this any way to behave!
Pulling his hand away, Su Miao softened her tone. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop teasing. I actually have something I want to ask you.”
Shaking his sleeve free in irritation, he said, “Ask, then.”
“Is the sacrifice at the end of the month something you arranged?” Her expression turned serious. “This time last year, there wasn’t talk of the hundred officials needing to attend a sacrifice.”
Shen Zhiluo frowned. “Court matters aren’t something you should be discussing carelessly.”
“Ah, I was just asking.” Su Miao pouted. “Things have been happening lately, haven’t they? The Crown Prince is so suspicious he even sent you off to Yongqing Temple. If something goes wrong again during the ancestral rites, won’t it drag you into it too?”
There was more meaning behind her words, as though she knew something. Shen Zhiluo fell silent for a moment, then said abruptly, “If your cousin truly cared about you as his younger cousin, he shouldn’t tell you everything.”
Su Miao blinked, then immediately put her hands on her hips, indignant. “What did I do wrong?”
“Why should a young lady concern herself with such matters?”
“You think I want to be involved?” She puffed her cheeks in anger. “It’s because I’m worried about you.”
Staring at her steadily, Shen Zhiluo suddenly laughed softly. “So, what exactly did your cousin tell you?”
“…” Caught in her own trap.
Su Miao glared at him, then sighed helplessly, hanging her head. “What is there to say. Just that things are tense lately, and I should keep an eye on you, in case you get some foolish idea and go after someone you shouldn’t.”
Shen Zhiluo was unimpressed. “My thanks to him for his concern, but it’s unnecessary. The Grand Preceptor only handles matters of sacrifice—nothing else concerns me. Rather than worry about me, he should worry about how to manage that Palace Guard Dispersal Order of his.”
“What’s hard about managing that.” Su Miao muttered. “It’s a fine post.”
The eldest daughter of the Li family had entered the palace as Consort Liang. Though she had no children, she was still well-favored, and with her support behind him, Li Shoutian had managed to secure that post smoothly. In another household, that would be an honor people could only dream of—yet the way he described it, it sounded like walking through mountains of blades and seas of fire.
—Which, in truth, it was.
Huayue was in the eastern courtyard, taking stock of the things Li Jingyun would bring with him, her expression as grim as a slab of green stone.
Power within the palace was tangled and complex. The Grand Princess and the Crown Prince were locked in a struggle for dominance right now; the Empress of the Central Palace and the Imperial Noble Consort of the Northern Palace were naturally at odds as well. All the other consorts lived under the shadow of these two courts. Even as a favored consort, Consort Liang likely couldn’t shield Li Jingyun—she might even drag him into the conflict.
Today Shuang Jiang had come to tell her that Madam had been having nightmares for several nights running, muttering in her sleep about the Imperial Noble Consort sparing her life. It seemed she was quite worried. Yet the young master, stubborn as a stone weight, insisted on going to take up his post.
Huayue was troubled, and even the way she looked at Li Jingyun was full of resentment.
Li Jingyun was lying on the couch reading a book. Sensing her gaze, he shifted the cover of the book, revealing one eye to look at her. After watching her for a moment, he gave a soft laugh, set the book down, and beckoned her over. “Come here.”
Huayue shuffled over slowly and sat beside him, her clear black-and-white eyes fixed on the book next to him.
Mm. Military strategy, sure enough.
“Weren’t you just coaxed into a good mood yesterday? Why the worry again today?” He laughed, stroking her cheek. “This isn’t like the decisive Steward Yin from before.”
Her mouth twisted. She pressed her lips together and said, “It’s fine for me, but Madam can’t eat or sleep well, and it pains me to see it.”
“Nothing to be done about that.” Li Jingyun toyed with the hairpin in her hair, not particularly concerned. “A man must make his mark and build his career—there’s no staying home forever. When Second Brother went off to the border, she was just the same. She’ll be better after some time passes.”
The Li family had three children. The eldest daughter had gone into the palace, the second brother had gone off to war, leaving him, the youngest son, the most doted upon by Madam—and yet also the one who caused her the most heartache.
Huayue thought for a moment, then asked, “Why doesn’t the second young master have any children?”
Bringing this up, Li Jingyun sat up, looking genuinely pained. “You can’t bring women along when guarding the border. There was originally a second sister-in-law at home, but she could never conceive. Second Brother pitied her, so young and forced to live like a widow, and couldn’t bear it—so he sent her a letter of divorce and had her sent home.”
Huayue was surprised. “Isn’t conceiving something that just happens after sharing a bed? How could someone not be able to conceive?”
Li Jingyun looked at her as though she were a simpleton. “Who taught you that?”
“The National—” She nearly slipped, quickly correcting herself, lowering her eyes guiltily. “The tutor. When I was little, I asked my tutor where babies came from.”
It was the sort of question every child asked. Most families would answer that Guanyin sent them, or that they were picked out of the ash heap.
Instead, Li Jingyun heard her continue, “The tutor said that after a husband and wife share a bed and perform the rites of the Duke of Zhou, a woman can conceive and bear a child.”
What a tirelessly devoted tutor indeed. He marveled.
Something flickered rapidly through his mind. Li Jingyun paused, suddenly recalling what Shen Zhiluo had said about paintings done at age seven and calligraphy written at age ten. An uneasy thought sprang up in his heart.
“Your tutor.” He narrowed his eyes. “Also taught you writing and painting?”
“Of course.” Huayue nodded. “The tutor taught me the four arts—music, chess, calligraphy, painting.”
Before her words had even faded, her waist was suddenly gripped tight.
Li Jingyun pulled her onto his lap and asked, smiling, “What else did he teach you?”
He was clearly smiling, and his tone was mild enough, but for some reason, a chill ran down Huayue’s spine. She shook her head reflexively. “Nothing else.”
“He never taught you about the boundaries between men and women?”
“…No.”
He nodded knowingly, his smile growing even gentler. “Then this lord can teach you.”
Like a startled little dog, every hair on Huayue’s body stood on end. She frowned at him and twisted, trying to struggle free.
But after only a single struggle, she suddenly stopped moving. A light flickered in her eyes, and rather than pulling away from him, she leaned in instead.
Li Jingyun was stunned by this rare display of initiative from her; before he could react, his lips were already met with softness.
Pecking him had become something she did every day without fail, but even after so many times, Li Jingyun still hadn’t gotten used to it—his lips tingled, his heart still hopelessly moved.
She had a scent he loved dearly, and it enveloped him now as they drew close, dizzying in its pleasantness. His throat bobbed; he felt an inexplicable heat rising in him.
Usually, the moment he let even a hint of aggression show, Huayue would grow anxious and want to flee. But not today. The dark heat in his eyes had grown scorching enough to devour her whole, and yet the person before him only trembled slightly, without pulling away.
Someone so cool and proud, bending her branch low before him out of affection, adopting a pose that invited plucking.
Who could control themselves faced with that? Li Jingyun gripped her shoulders tighter, the color in his eyes deepening.
But glancing at the water-colored hem of her skirt, he paused, pulling back and asking hoarsely between breaths, “There’s one more thing—”
Huayue hummed in acknowledgment, and before he could finish speaking, (harmonized content omitted).
“…”
Something long suppressed burned upward like fire. For a hundred li around, no water could put it out.
While he still had some awareness left, Li Jingyun told himself not to hurt her—she was his treasure. But eventually even that last thread of restraint burned through, and he could no longer be bothered with anything else.
Outside, the sun shone brightly, light streaming through the latticed windows, filling the whole eastern courtyard with brightness. Badou happily carried a bowl of tonic soup up to knock on the door, but before his hand even fell, he heard a strange sound from inside.
His expression froze. He turned his head to listen a moment longer, his face flushing red, then set down the soup and fled.
The door of the eastern courtyard’s main room wasn’t opened again until dinnertime.
The young master, usually so carefree and unrestrained, kept drifting off into thought. Even just opening the door, he stared into space at something, chuckling softly, unable to hide the satisfaction leaking from the corners of his eyes. He shook his head, then pressed a fist to his lips, snickering to himself again and again.
Huayue lay in bed with her forehead pressed against the wall, refusing to turn around no matter how much he laughed.
Li Jingyun leaned over her, coaxing gently. “Let this lord take you to bathe and change, hm?”
“No need.” She answered stiffly. “Let me rest a while, I’ll go myself.”
He couldn’t help laughing again. “Wasn’t it you who suddenly came onto me? Why are you the one sulking now?”
By his estimate, this little pup would have needed several more days before making a move—who would have thought she’d catch him off guard today. He genuinely couldn’t figure out what she’d been thinking.
Huayue didn’t understand it either.
She had thought the marital rite of the Duke of Zhou simply meant undressing and sleeping together. Who knew there was more to it than sleeping—it had nearly hurt her half to death.
Had she known she’d suffer so, she wouldn’t have cared about children at all. What a terrible bargain.
The angrier she got, the more she wished she had the strength to give Li Jingyun a beating.
Wretch, scoundrel, little beast!
She pressed her forehead against the wall, burrowing in, wishing she could bury herself inside it.
Li Jingyun clicked his tongue and reached over to cushion her forehead with his hand, asking with amusement, “Doesn’t it hurt?”
Everything hurt; this was nothing new. Huayue pouted and ignored him.
He pulled her over, half-holding her. “This is a matter for great celebration—why are you angry about it? Think about it. In the past, whenever you went to the main courtyard bearing hairpins and ornaments, saying this lord bought them, would Madam really believe it was this lord being filial?”
Remembering how Madam had once received the gold Manfu hairpin and praised her for being thoughtful, Huayue frowned—she hadn’t understood at the time why Madam hadn’t praised the young master instead. Now, hearing this, she understood.
Madam wasn’t foolish. Whether or not it was truly the young master showing filial devotion, she knew perfectly well.
“Now it’s different. If you can conceive, then the next time you go to the main courtyard, you can point at your belly and say this lord gave it to her out of filial piety—she certainly won’t doubt it, and might even be so pleased she eats two extra bowls of rice.”
Li Jingyun’s eyes brimmed with laughter. “Don’t you think so?”
That did seem to make sense. Huayue nodded.
That had been her intention from the start—if she could leave behind a child, then Madam Zhuang wouldn’t have to grieve day and night over the young master entering the palace, and she herself would have another family member in this world. A plan that benefited everyone.
But she hadn’t expected it to hurt this much.
Baring her teeth again, Huayue eyed the arm he had draped across her, and suddenly bit down.
This time she didn’t hold back, biting hard enough to make him gasp, not letting go until she tasted blood.
Looking at the deep tooth marks, she finally felt a measure of satisfaction.
Watching this from below, Li Jingyun grinned with pure delight. What kind of dog doesn’t bite—his dog, even when biting, was fiercer than anyone else’s.
“Young master.” She couldn’t help saying, “Could you please stop smiling?”
Li Jingyun touched his own face, bewildered. “Where’s the smiling? This lord is such a proper, dignified person, not some flatterer for hire—how could I be smiling all the time?”
Even as he spoke, the corners of his mouth stretched even further toward his ears.
Huayue: “…”
After dinner, she forced herself up to go pay respects at the main courtyard. This time, the third young master said nothing and simply came along with her, sitting before Madam Zhuang and smiling for half an hour straight.
Shuang Jiang, looking utterly horrified, pulled her aside and whispered, “What’s wrong with the young master?”
Huayue flushed, annoyed. “No idea. Possessed by something, probably.”
Madam Zhuang couldn’t see his expression, only heard him laughing repeatedly, and asked worriedly, “Jingyun, has something good happened?”
“Yes.” Li Jingyun answered, uncharacteristically serious. “Reporting to Mother, your son wishes to establish a principal wife.”
Everyone in the room was startled. Huayue’s own heart lurched, and she looked at him in astonishment.
“He’s only just taken a concubine.” Madam Zhuang frowned deeply. “You can’t take a concubine and then immediately establish a principal wife—unless you divorce Huayue. But Huayue hasn’t done anything wrong—how could you cast her aside so casually?”
Li Jingyun nodded. “Indeed, wouldn’t be right to mistreat her that way.”
He turned his gaze toward her, laughter in the corners of his eyes and brows. “So might as well just let her become the principal wife.”
Huayue froze.
Shuang Jiang gasped in shock; the other servants were equally stunned.
Yin Huayue carried the status of a bondservant. Becoming a concubine was ordinary enough, but how could she become the principal wife? A general’s household, a prominent family—entirely different from lesser households. If a bondservant-born woman truly became the principal wife, wouldn’t they be mocked mercilessly, their spines broken by gossip?
Madam Zhuang had clearly thought of this too, her brow furrowing tight.
“Your son knows Father would never agree to this, so I wish to ask Mother for a favor.” Amid the shock all around, Li Jingyun remained composed. He produced a bright red betrothal slip and pressed it into Madam Zhuang’s hand, taking her hand as he did. “Mother will surely find a way.”
Madam Zhuang’s face paled slightly, hesitant and troubled.
Li Jingyun held onto her hand without letting go, lowering his eyes. “Your son has never asked Mother for anything before. Just this once, please grant it.”
Recalling something from the past, Madam Zhuang’s lips trembled. She looked at the blurred shadow before her and nodded. “Alright, alright. Since you truly wish to establish her, of course I will help you, only…”
She turned her head toward where Huayue stood, her expression complicated. “Little one, what do you think about this?”
Huayue opened her mouth to answer, but Li Jingyun reached out and pulled her to stand beside him, saying in a low voice, “Hurry and give thanks.”
“But—”
“No buts.” His eyes remained on Madam Zhuang as he murmured beside Huayue’s ear, “This lord’s person will never suffer the indignity of being a lesser wife or a side branch.”