“Imperial marriages don’t concern themselves with generational hierarchy, but rather place greater emphasis on family background.”

Huang Weide, the enthusiastic court encyclopedia of the Ming Palace, eagerly explained to his mentor, “For instance, the Prince of Yan’s consort and the Prince of Yan himself differ in generational ranking—the Prince of Yan’s consort’s mother and Prince Jingjiang Zhu Shouqian’s mother were biological sisters, both daughters of Xie Zaixing. Therefore, Prince Jingjiang is the Prince of Yan’s consort’s maternal cousin, while Prince Jingjiang is also Prince Yan Zhu Di’s nephew by blood. Thus, in terms of generational hierarchy, the Prince of Yan is legitimately the Prince of Yan’s consort’s fourth maternal uncle.”

In common society, such a union would be regarded as incestuous, making marriage impossible. But the imperial family need not abide by common customs. Hu Shanwei’s heart was like fine snow on plum blossoms—when the wind blew, it swirled chaotically in the air. Though her mind had already accepted this was true, her lips still murmured, “So it can be done this way…”

Huang Weide had a belly full of court gossip and wished he could pour it all out to his mentor. “Actually, the imperial family’s generational rankings are quite chaotic, so marriages simply disregard generational hierarchy. Setting aside the relationship of Marquis Xiping Mu Ying being the adopted son of the Emperor and Empress, looking only at bloodlines, Mu Chun’s birth mother Feng Shi is the legitimate eldest daughter of Duke Yingguo Feng Guoyong, while Duke Yingguo’s blood brother, Duke Songguo Feng Sheng’s legitimate eldest daughter Feng Shi, married the Prince of Yan’s blood brother—the fifth prince, Prince Zhou Zhu Su. This means Princess Zhou Feng Shi is Mu Chun’s maternal aunt, Princess Huaiqing is Princess Zhou’s sister-in-law, and Mu Chun and Princess Huaiqing are separated by one generation in bloodline. But the imperial family doesn’t care about generational differences, so Mu Chun could very well become Princess Huaiqing’s prince consort.”

With all these twists and turns, if the Prince of Yan’s consort could marry her own fourth maternal uncle, then of course Mu Chun could potentially become his aunt’s prince consort!

Having recognized this reality, Hu Shanwei immediately felt the plum blossoms had nothing worth appreciating. Her spirits dampened, she returned the little princess to Jiang Quan. “You all continue playing. I walked too much last night and am somewhat tired. I’d like to return and catch up on sleep.”

Since Hu Shanwei had gained fame before the Emperor by recommending “The Lute Song,” she had become the most prominent among the new female court officials. Fan Gongzheng intentionally cultivated Hu Shanwei, assigning her the most responsibilities. Therefore, when Hu Shanwei said she was tired, no one was suspicious. They quickly said, “Go back and rest. When the plum blossom tea is ready, we’ll have palace servants send some to you.”

Hu Shanwei took her leave. As she passed through a grove of vibrant red plum trees, she encountered Mao Qiang, the Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

Mao Qiang was a first-rank military official. Hu Shanwei performed a respectful bow, moved to the roadside, and waited quietly to let the higher-ranking official pass first.

Mao Qiang was just worrying about how to reply to his subordinate spy Wang Ning’s letter when, speak of the devil, Hu Shanwei appeared right before him.

Mao Qiang approached and asked, “Could Chief Hu spare a moment for a private word?”

This concerned confidential matters that shouldn’t be overheard by outsiders.

Hu Shanwei had always harbored wariness toward Mao Qiang, who had once used poisonous schemes to drive her from the palace. She certainly wouldn’t agree to go somewhere secluded to speak with this great demon. “If Lord Mao has something to discuss, please speak here.”

Mao Qiang studied Hu Shanwei beneath the red plum trees. The red plums blazed like fire, yet couldn’t match the delicate vivid color of her lips. Her straight spine, her eyes that met his gaze directly—even facing someone known as a great demon—without flinching or avoiding, neither servile nor arrogant.

That fellow Wang Ning had quite good taste. Only a woman like this was worthy of being paired with an unnamed hero of the great Ming Empire.

Mao Qiang wanted to test Hu Shanwei’s thoughts and asked, “Why did you choose Gao Ming’s ‘The Lute Song,’ this southern opera? Do you particularly enjoy stories of couples overcoming numerous difficulties and reuniting after separation?”

So it was about this play. Hu Shanwei replied, “For court theatrical performances, all flattering and lascivious songs are rejected, while divine immortal portrayals, virtuous husbands and chaste wives, filial sons and obedient grandsons, works encouraging goodness and celebrating joyful peace are all permitted. This is the standard His Majesty established. This humble servant merely searched for suitable theatrical works according to this standard—it has nothing to do with personal preferences.”

Hu Shanwei’s response was watertight, typical bureaucratic language that concealed her personality and opinions, making it difficult for others to find fault.

Hu Shanwei couldn’t possibly tell Mao Qiang what was in her heart: that she had done it to heal herself, to cut open her wound and squeeze out the pus and blood, to stop dwelling on the past. To sacrifice her pain and make it a fine play for others to critique and discuss.

Standing before Mao Qiang was Chief Hu, a seventh-rank female official of the Palace Administration Bureau.

This woman moved through the court like a fish in water, thriving magnificently. Even the Emperor remembered her name. She was devoted to her career path and had already lost interest in marriage.

Better to forget each other in the rivers and lakes than to stay together through thick and thin. Mao Qiang made a decision in his heart and said, “It’s quite a pleasant play. His Majesty requests this performance almost daily. It’s being performed both inside and outside the palace. Chief Hu has excellent judgment.”

Hu Shanwei was puzzled. Mao Qiang wasn’t the type to enjoy small talk and casual conversation. They barely knew each other by sight, so what did he mean by inexplicably praising her?

Unable to fathom his intentions, Hu Shanwei said, “This humble servant is merely fulfilling her duties.”

Mao Qiang returned to his study and wrote a reply to Wang Ning:

“Hu Shanwei has not remarried. She passed the examination to become a female official and is thriving in the court, naturally suited for a career in government. She has no interest in marriage and is single-mindedly focused on advancement. I believe she has the potential to become a Palace Supervisor and manage the entire court.

Your former fiancée and you are actually kindred spirits. You chose to abandon everything to serve the great Ming loyally. She also abandoned everything to choose service to the court.

You two have parted ways amicably, each finding joy. Neither of you is trapped by romantic entanglements. This outcome isn’t bad at all. People have different aspirations—not everyone needs a family. I too have vowed lifelong celibacy, dedicating my entire life to His Majesty.

I don’t wish to conceal any of this. I’m telling you honestly in hopes that you won’t be affected by past events. Please continue your undercover work at the Northern Yuan Privy Council and provide intelligence for the great Ming. I will secretly look after Hu Shanwei through the Embroidered Uniform Guard—you need not worry about her…”

Hu Shanwei returned to her quarters. She now had little palace maids to serve her. The room was heated with smokeless red silk charcoal, with a semicircular copper brazier cover over the charcoal basin. The little palace maid had scattered fragrant materials in the charcoal basin and covered the bedding over the large brazier to warm it, both dispelling dampness and filling the air with a pleasant fragrance that had a calming, sleep-inducing effect.

Marquis Xiping had registered Mu Chun’s name for prince consort selection—what did this have to do with her? Since ancient times, marriage had been determined by parental command and matchmaker’s arrangements. The opinion of the person getting married was irrelevant. Not to mention that Mu Chun was far away guarding the northwestern border—even if he were in the capital, he couldn’t change his father’s decision.

Hu Shanwei had chosen to become a female official precisely to resist arranged marriage, unwilling to accept marriage to someone else. In the great Ming court, no one forced her to marry.

But where could Mu Chun escape to? Even without Princess Huaiqing, he would eventually marry some other daughter of a prestigious family.

Hu Shanwei felt weak all over. She reclined against the brazier and touched the hairpin in her hair bun. When not wearing the black gauze cap and official robes, when wearing an ordinary hair arrangement, the gold-inlaid jade narcissus hairpin that Mu Chun had taken to the jewelry shop for repair was her most frequently used ornament.

In winter, the little palace maid had brought several pots of golden narcissus flowers from the greenhouse to decorate the room and add elegance. Hu Shanwei placed the hairpin in the water basin holding the narcissus flowers. The jade’s refined beauty complemented the narcissus perfectly. After being repaired with gold, the broken jade hairpin had undergone a complete transformation.

Hu Shanwei remembered the words Mu Chun had spoken when they parted in Xi’an:

“You don’t need to wait for my outcome. You just need to do your own things well and grow a shell to protect yourself. I’m the same—I’ll do my own things well and grow a shell that even my father can’t break. After tonight’s parting, let us each cherish ourselves. We’ll both be fine.”

Hu Shanwei suddenly sat up straight from the brazier. What was wrong with her? After living a few good days, had she forgotten her goals? Why was she letting irrelevant matters trip her up?

Was Mu Chun the type to be manipulated by his father at will?

The current Mu Chun was no longer that shameless National University student who freeloaded books at the Hu family bookshop. He was a mature Mu Chun now. He had grown a shell that even his biological father couldn’t break. He would find his own solutions…

Yes, it must be so.

Hu Shanwei sat at her dressing table and reinserted the gold-inlaid jade narcissus hairpin, then reapplied lip rouge. The female official in the mirror immediately looked revitalized.

At this moment, the little palace maid emerged from the bedroom saying, “The bed is prepared, and the bedding has been warmed with hot water bottles. Chief Hu is guaranteed a beautiful afternoon nap.”

“I won’t sleep. I’m going to the Palace Administration Bureau,” Hu Shanwei said. “Have dinner sent there as well. I’ll be returning very late.”

Though Hu Shanwei wasn’t on duty today, whenever she wanted to work, there was always a pile of tasks waiting.

Hu Shanwei went to the Palace Administration Bureau. Fan Gongzheng had long grown accustomed to her voluntary overtime work. She called her into the study, took an opened letter from a drawer, and said, “Perfect timing that you’ve come. I won’t need to send someone to deliver this family letter to you.”

The palace prohibited private correspondence with the outside world, but didn’t forbid open communication. During festivals or when families had major events like weddings, funerals, or births, people inside and outside the palace could exchange messages. However, all letters had to be opened and submitted to the female scholars of the Court Bureau of Rites for review and registration before being delivered to recipients.

Therefore, when letters arrived, the seals were already broken.

With New Year approaching, most were greeting letters. Chen Er’mei had long since received family letters and sent replies of her own. She had also told her family about Huang Weide’s situation, asking them to search Guangdong, Nanhai, and other places for Huang-surnamed families who had lost young girls thirty years ago.

The Hu family’s clan members had all died during Chang Yuchun’s massacre of Suzhou city. This family letter could only be from her father, Hu Rong.

Hu Shanwei accepted the family letter—a thick stack. Hu Rong had written a full twelve pages. Half of it described various amusing incidents involving the son born to his second wife Chen Shi, saying the child was clever and healthy, very much like Hu Shanwei as a small child. He could sit at four months and crawl at six months.

The birth of new life made him feel life had new purpose and responsibility. He had pulled himself together, severed ties with drinking companions, properly minded the bookshop business, and hadn’t gotten drunk since.

Hu Shanwei felt unmoved by this. The half-brother shared only a father with her—to her, he was a stranger. She glanced over it casually without reading carefully, quickly flipping through.

Because Hu Shanwei had become a female official, the family was exempted from corvée labor and taxes, invisibly reducing costs. Business had been very prosperous this year. At year-end accounting, they had over five hundred taels of silver profit. Hu Rong combined this silver with the thirty-seven taels Hu Shanwei had left for household expenses before entering the palace, went to the countryside and bought a small farm estate. Both the house deed and land deed bore Hu Shanwei’s name.

Hu Rong used the other half of his letter space to write how much he missed her. As a father, he always hoped his daughter could marry a good man, find a good home, marry and bear children, and have lifelong security. After all, fathers would grow old and couldn’t protect their daughters forever. Even when her brother grew up, he would have his own small family and wouldn’t always look after her. This farm estate would be her future dependence and dowry.

If you insist on being a female official, then serve well in the palace. Don’t make mistakes, don’t offend people, know when to bow your head appropriately, don’t be stubborn and competitive all the time. Careful sailing makes for ten thousand years of safe voyaging.

Father had inquired about the palace female official system and learned that every four to five years, the palace would release female officials back to the world. When you leave the palace then, you’ll only be twenty-four or twenty-five—still time to marry…

As soon as Hu Shanwei saw the word “marry,” she impatiently closed the letter pages, unwilling to continue reading.

However, in his thick letter, Hu Rong never mentioned his second wife Chen Shi, nor had he ever written about the Hu family’s domestic conflicts. It seemed he had done his homework beforehand, knowing the court would open and inspect letters first, so he hadn’t written family scandals that would embarrass Hu Shanwei.

Hu Shanwei picked up her brush to write a reply, saying she was doing very well in the palace. The court treated female officials generously—she lived a luxurious life that many officials’ daughters couldn’t enjoy and had seen great occasions that many high-ranking nobles couldn’t witness.

Many female officials had served for over ten years with no intention of leaving, planning to devote their entire lives to court service. She had the same plan.

Therefore, father needn’t buy land and property for her. Being in the palace, outside wealth was completely useless to her. The thirty-seven taels of household money had originally been left to honor her father—he shouldn’t economize…

After writing three pages briskly, Hu Shanwei paused and didn’t continue writing.

What was there to explain?

Or rather, what use would explanations be?

Regarding marriage, she and her father’s opinions would forever be incompatible, mutually torturing each other.

Father believed all women must marry when they reached a certain age—otherwise they were abnormal, wouldn’t be happy, and would have no one to support them in old age. Like someone possessed, he absolutely had to find her a husband, as if her marrying would solve all problems.

But all of Hu Shanwei’s beautiful hopes for marriage had shattered the moment she saw her fiancé’s urn. She would never settle, never compromise.

After entering the palace, she had simply developed an aversion to marriage, taking Cao Shanggong, Ru Siyao, Fan Gongzheng and others as her goals, hoping to live like them.

Her goals and her father’s expectations for her—the contradiction between them grew larger and larger, the chasm deeper and deeper.

So be it then. She would work hard in the palace, climbing step by step. Her father would continue his life outside the palace with his wife, child, and warm bed. They needn’t continue torturing each other.

Hu Shanwei threw the three pages she had written into the fire basin. Flames licked upward, quickly consuming the writing.

Hu Shanwei laid out fresh paper and wrote only one line: “All is well, do not worry. Father, take care of your health. Shanwei.”

A thin sheet of paper, placed in an envelope with the address clearly written, to be sent by a little palace maid to the Court Bureau of Rites for review.

Others’ family letters were thick stacks; Hu Shanwei’s family letter was so light it could almost be blown away by wind.

Those fragments in waste baskets, the ash remnants in fire basins, like deleted text messages written but never sent five hundred years later—these were the words people truly wanted to say but couldn’t speak aloud.