What kind of prince was this—skin thicker than city walls, absolutely shameless! Though Wanwan said nothing aloud, she cursed him thoroughly in her heart. After yesterday’s events, if she were in his place, she probably would never want to meet again in this lifetime. Yet he still dared to come knocking at her door. If not for the child’s illness, she would have already called for people with clubs.
Who was it that repeatedly said they could wait, that they could take things slowly? Yet he was clearly impatient—such a person who said one thing and did another made her increasingly unable to trust him.
He proceeded step by step with clear goals. If explained merely by his love for her, it was too flimsy. Why should he love her? For a small favor ten years ago, plus their reunion after separation at Xihua Gate? Two meetings made him so deeply infatuated—how ridiculous! When someone loved you for inexplicable reasons, you had to be wary. Think about what he gained from selling out love—though currently unclear, one thing was certain: among the princes, his influence would grow heavier and his position more secure. Eventually, even some clauses meant to restrict princes and consorts wouldn’t apply to him. If the Emperor were more diligent and filled in the gaps, perhaps everything could still be salvaged. But the Emperor neglected governance, too lazy even to patch existing legal loopholes. Creating regulations specifically targeting him would probably take at least two years.
Sending her to the battlefield while throwing his own grand ambitions aside—she didn’t understand what that brother was thinking. Sometimes he was indeed too playful, needing someone to specifically remind him. The Director of Ceremonies was obviously too busy with his own troubles and might not be wholehearted toward him anymore. The capital now showed treacherous undercurrents—people’s positions and allegiances were hard to judge. She wanted to memorialize secretly, since doing so openly wouldn’t work—she had to quietly send someone to the capital. She had to guard against Yuwen Liangshi catching her red-handed, fearing he might go all out and truly commit treasonous acts—what would happen then!
So she still had to endure. She truly disliked being trapped in such a quagmire, but was helpless. Hopefully Nanyuan harbored no rebellious intentions. If his only fault was information gleaned from Yin Ge, she wouldn’t mind starting fresh with him. When the time was right, she would willingly become a little wife, bearing him children.
She nodded: “If Your Highness wishes to stay, then stay. Earlier the servant mentioned the young master has breathing problems—I fear his old ailment might recur. It’s good for Your Highness to personally attend to him.” Speaking, she went to the bed to check on the child, smiling gently: “Nothing serious, I hope? I’ve had the steward find the best physician for you—he’ll come soon. If you want to eat anything, tell me and I’ll have someone prepare it.”
Lan Zhou’s cheeks were flushed red with fever, still knocking on the bed board: “Thank you, Stepmother. I’m not hungry… no appetite.”
He hadn’t expected to develop a fever either. Just after boasting about his good constitution, he immediately got a slap in the face. Conversely, Lan Ting, looking like a hero who couldn’t be killed by bandits, had actually gone to pick Chinese toon buds, leaving him alone burning with fever in bed, inadvertently helping his father greatly.
Wanwan was genuinely good to children. When the current Emperor was still Prince Fu, he had five sons born in one year, all around Lan Zhou’s age, so she didn’t find the existence of him and Lan Ting particularly bothersome. As a princess, she had her own pride. When truly living daily life, the prince’s concubines weren’t in her consideration. If everyone minded their own business, she was even willing to properly raise the two concubine-born sons. After all, hearts were made of flesh—treat them well, and they would naturally feel it.
She paid no attention to Yuwen Liangshi, sitting by the bedside to watch over the child. A maid wrung out a cool cloth and handed it over. She carefully folded it and placed it on Lan Zhou’s forehead. Having some medical knowledge, she frequently checked his pulse and examined his palms. Seeing the child was indeed seriously ill, she became worried too.
Her brow furrowed with concern. Beautiful people were vivid in any expression. With his son sick, as a father he was divided in attention—truly inappropriate. But he couldn’t control his eyes, constantly glancing toward her intentionally or not, first wanting to discern whether she was still angry about his rashness last night, second genuinely amazed by her beauty.
She wore an indigo gold-brocade short jacket with a “Boundless Fortune” horse-face skirt below. Her overall bearing wasn’t something gold and silver could pile up to create. Though a married girl’s clothing and adornment leaned toward matronly directions, the spider hairpin slanted in her coiffure still showed maiden liveliness. She attended to Lan Zhou wholeheartedly, pouring water for him and feeding him medicine. That boy had been raised loosely since birth and probably never received such meticulous care. Seeing how he enjoyed it, his father felt somewhat envious—his own prospects looked grim, his treatment inferior to a child’s.
He paced over, trying to make conversation: “Don’t worry—the brothers have never been pampered since childhood. Once they started school, foreign tutors taught them archery and wrestling. Occasionally getting sick isn’t serious.”
She already had complaints about him, so naturally nothing he said was right.
“Precisely because they occasionally get sick, we must carefully attend to them. If illness isn’t properly treated at the start, their health will be ruined later. I don’t understand you Qi people—wouldn’t reading more books and learning loyalty, filial piety, moral integrity be good? Torturing them with archery and riding so young, refusing sedan chairs in the rain, saying sedan chairs are for women—by this logic, all court officials are women.” She complained displeasedly: “Without such backward notions, they wouldn’t have fallen into the river today. No matter how strong the wind, could it blow away a sedan chair? Look at him now—is being this sick good? Children can’t run high fevers—prolonged fever damages the brain…” She instructed Xiao You to bring clear wine. When she was small and feverish, her wet nurse would rub her palms with wine to reduce fever, making recovery faster.
Being so sincere, even the child in bed couldn’t bear it. He turned to look at his father, who met his gaze and signaled him to speak.
He immediately understood, struggling to say: “I dare not trouble Stepmother greatly. Having servants attend to me is enough—Stepmother doing this makes me unworthy.”
No matter what, Lan Zhou dared not accept such treatment, and she couldn’t force him. The father seized the moment to say: “Your Highness should rest. For a mere child, why exhaust yourself so…”
She turned and handed him the wine-soaked cloth: “Since Your Highness came to care for the young master, then put in some effort. I have no reason to harbor people for nothing.”
She brushed past him and indeed went to rest, leaving the father and son looking at each other, discovering that sometimes flattery poorly delivered easily backfired.
She returned to her courtyard. When the rain lightened, she held up a red silk umbrella and strolled through her garden. Grand Princess Manor had previously been the Imperial Guard’s rear office, so it occupied a large area. Later it housed the Imperial Academy, then a military school. During Emperor Qinzong’s time, it became a southern imperial residence. Emperor Mingzhi, to compensate for his guilt toward her, had given her the entire place as her mansion.
She wandered through the misty rain, not experiencing the danger Lan Zhou and Lan Ting encountered on arrival. Jiangnan’s rainy season still had its poetic charm. She loved the towering trees in the garden—each was much older than her, some trunks still bearing mottled marks probably left by former martial arts champions. Only as time passed, Daye’s emphasis on civil over military matters became increasingly severe. The once-flourishing martial arts academy had now gradually declined.
Because Yuwen Liangshi was in the front side room, she was unwilling to go there again. However, she still had people inquire about Lan Zhou’s condition. Hearing he showed improvement after taking medicine, she felt somewhat relieved.
Yu Qixia played chess with her under the eaves. Seeing her frequent inquiries, he smiled: “Your Highness truly harbors no selfishness, showing such care even for His Highness’s concubine-born children.”
Hearing this, she smiled faintly with self-mockery: “I also love a good reputation, lest I give others grounds for criticism. If accusations of being spoiled and jealous all come later, I couldn’t bear it.”
Who would dare fabricate such stories about her? After all, Grand Princess Manor’s guards weren’t decorative. Other families’ domestic disputes stayed behind closed doors, but reaching her level involved national matters—serious business.
She paused, the white stone remaining at her fingertip, her hand the same color as ivory.
“Having been in Jinling two days now, send people to look around and see if this Nanyuan is the Nanyuan in the court’s eyes. Princes may not station troops or privately manufacture firearms and weapons. I want to know whether Prince Nanyuan truly behaves properly.” She pondered a moment before placing the stone, then added: “Avoid notice—don’t let word leak out. If it becomes awkward for both sides, that would be meaningless.”
Yu Qixia agreed, smiling gently: “Your Highness is careful, but there aren’t many viable pieces left.”
Her attention truly wasn’t on the chess board. White stones had been captured by him repeatedly—this game was already lost. She stared for a long while, finally giving up in discouragement, laughingly throwing the stone in her hand back into the box: “Today I’ve lost. Next time I’ll thoroughly defeat you. Don’t delay what I’ve instructed—go handle it now!”
Yu Qixia stood and bowed, then retreated from the flower hall. She glanced outside—the sky remained overcast. Not seeing sunlight for days, weeds were growing in her heart.
Tonghuan brought a cloak to drape over her, asking: “Will Your Highness visit the young master again before nightfall?”
She spread her hands for the buttons to be fastened, sighing: “No need. I’ve shown sufficient care. Being too enthusiastic might make others think I have ulterior motives.” Walking to the mirror to arrange her hair, she turned back asking: “What shall we eat today?”
Tonghuan said: “Having reached Jinling without properly eating authentic southern cuisine, Nanjing’s salted duck is famous. We’ll also have them braise soy-sauce pork and prepare smoked fish with silver-thread noodles for Your Highness.”
She pouted: “Prepare something light instead. Doesn’t Jinling have early spring’s four wild vegetables? Mustard greens, horse orchid… also chrysanthemum leaves and wolfberry sprouts—let’s eat those.”
Tonghuan laughed: “Are you learning to be a monk eating vegetarian food and chanting? We’ll have them one by one, adding some egg and salted meat bits to the wild vegetables so they’re not too bland.” Speaking, she paused, glancing toward the front courtyard: “His Highness is still here. When serving the meal, shall we include him? It would show your magnanimity.”
Her face gradually reddened: “You know about yesterday… Today seeing him, I nearly died of embarrassment, and you want me to eat at the same table with him!”
Unable to persuade her otherwise, Tonghuan had no choice but to busy herself with other matters.
Wanwan’s usual habits didn’t change due to location—she still did the same things at the same times. When free, she read books or played with her squirrel, waiting for the yellow plum rain season to end so she could find a good opportunity to go out and look around. With plans in mind, even rainy days were quite bearable—good things lay ahead.
The poor weather made it darken earlier than usual. After her evening meal, she bathed, lit an incense burner, and sat under lamplight playing the qin.
The Murong clan was versed in music and skilled in painting—truly a refined dynasty. How they reached today’s state traced back to Emperor Zhao’s era.
Emperor Zhao was talented in both civil and military arts. In youth, he followed the Grand Ancestor in eastern and western campaigns. After Daye’s establishment, he withdrew to the Imperial Academy to hide his brilliance. At that time, he had three thousand disciples spread throughout the realm. Empress Tuoba bore four sons—he ranked youngest. The eldest brother was assassinated, the third brother was convicted of crimes, the second brother Emperor Wen died shortly after ascending the throne, and the Crown Prince abdicated six months after succession. Emperor Zhao’s path from youngest son to emperor was quite arduous. Probably due to those tempering years at the Imperial Academy, scholarly temperament had deeply taken root. Later generations inherited his literary talents but lacked military strategy. This weakness became increasingly obvious over time. The current second brother only knew how to compose poetry and prose, unable to distinguish between axes and halberds. As for herself, being a girl, no one would question her obsession with such things, so she had once devoted herself to study and understood some basics of music theory.
She played “Wind and Thunder Prelude”—the strings rang out harsh and precipitous. Suddenly melodious flute music drifted on the wind, faint and indistinct, requiring careful listening to distinguish. When she played high, it was soft; when she was gentle, it was passionate… She had always lamented that refined music found few appreciators, but unexpectedly here she met a worthy opponent. She couldn’t help but admire, feeling the surprise of Boya meeting Ziqi.
Through hooking, plucking, and rubbing techniques, she intentionally lowered her tune. That flute shot up like an arrow piercing clouds and mist, straight to the ninth heaven. Gradually the piece neared its end. She played the final note and impatiently ran outside, but the flute music also stopped abruptly. When she tried to search, there was nowhere to begin.
She called Xiao You: “Did you hear someone playing flute outside?”
Xiao You and the maid on gate duty pointed south: “It came from that direction.”
Since flutes were far less resonant than qin music, to harmonize with her, the distance couldn’t be too far. With fine rain from the sky, no one would willingly brave the rain for entertainment, so this flute player must be within Grand Princess Manor—either some eunuch, some guard, or the thick-skinned Prince Nanyuan who refused to leave.
Originally wanting to trace the source, she walked two steps then stopped. Xiao You had already prepared an umbrella to accompany the search. Seeing her give up, she wondered: “Aren’t you going to find that person? Many love-at-first-sight stories begin this way. Your Highness giving up midway is truly regrettable! What if it’s someone extraordinarily talented, tall and handsome like Director Xiao?”
Wanwan slowly turned her lovely eyes. After thinking, she still shook her head: “Maybe it’s a woman, or an old man. Beautiful music shouldn’t be traced to its source. Even if it were a handsome man… I’m already married—too late.”
Speaking to the end, she felt dejected. Standing under the corridor a while, she also hoped to hear that flute play solo again, but after waiting long, ultimately didn’t hear it. That strand of celestial music was like a stone dropped in water—the dark night swallowed it, disappearing without trace.
Losing interest, she returned to her bedroom. The bedding was fumigated with storax—lying in it, all seven orifices seemed instantly clear. She didn’t ask where that prince consort was accommodated. Anyway, the mansion had plenty of side rooms—he could sleep wherever he pleased.
The night passed uneventfully until morning. Upon waking, she was still somewhat groggy, having dreamed that Yuwen Liangshi jumped through her window, frightening her terribly.
Tonghuan attended her tooth-cleaning. She rubbed green salt asking: “Is Prince Nanyuan still here? Later have someone go ask if he’s leaving today.”
Tonghuan handed her a towel: “Does Your Highness hope he leaves or hope he stays?”
“Naturally hope he leaves. Staying to watch the child is just pretense. When feeding Lan Zhou water, he spilled it all over the boy’s neck. With such ability, still expecting him to care for people!”
Tonghuan and Xiao You smiled, clearing away the washing implements and bringing her breakfast. She sat in the round chair, calmly eating half a bowl of porridge and one bean paste cake. Having decided to eat chrysanthemum leaves with shredded tripe at midday, her morning had purpose. She spent the whole morning in the flower garden, having people hold umbrellas while densely planting a row of roses under the fence.
With constant rain, nothing held great interest. After circling the house twice, she reached out to pluck qin strings, again recalling last night’s flute music. Standing briefly, she inquired about Lan Zhou’s condition. The servants said he still couldn’t get up—originally wanting to pay respects to Your Highness, he struggled long without success.
She had to go to the front again. Arriving there, she saw Lan Zhou’s face still flushed, with only two maids attending—no sign of Yuwen Liangshi.
She turned back asking: “Where is His Highness?”
Rong Bao outside the door bowed: “The Qiantang River burst its banks. Our master went to help dam the breach. Uncertain when he’ll return, he had this slave tell Your Highness not to worry about him.”
Wanwan frowned—who had that idle time to think about him! Looking at the child who still hadn’t broken his fever, with no one from the prince’s mansion caring, she felt uneasy leaving him in the front courtyard. So she ordered the west side hall cleared and had him moved to the back.
It must be said, the old lady’s heart was cruel enough—truly abandoning people here without care. She knew they had plans but couldn’t just watch, so as always, whoever was soft-hearted was at a disadvantage, especially in matters of emotion.