Hearing the Sixth Prince’s question, Han Linfeng paused first in apparent surprise, then made a show of laboring to recall — and his eyes lit up with what seemed like genuine enthusiasm. “Something amiss? There was something tremendously amiss, Prince Hengshan — what a pity you weren’t there to see it! We had prepared three boats that day, planning to circle the lake for three days — but then a contingent of soldiers suddenly descended and scattered our entire party. One of the leading courtesans was so startled by the soldiers who came storming aboard that she let out a shriek and grabbed onto Young Lord Guo, pulling them both tumbling into the lake! Tsk, tsk — that thin shift of hers, once soaked through, clung to every curve most bewitchingly… thoroughly amiss indeed!”

Han Shen’s composure cracked — he let out a sharp cough that cut off the Shizi’s scandalous account mid-stream, while feeling a faint tightening at his temples.

He had not come today to idle away the afternoon talking nonsense with this fool — he had a proper matter to discuss with Han Linfeng.

To speak of it plainly: Han Linfeng’s broken betrothal had stirred up no small amount of yearning in the hearts of certain young noble ladies of the capital.

The Sixth Prince’s own sister-in-law was one of them.

The Sixth Prince’s wife, Fang Jinrou, was the eldest daughter of the Ducal House of Lu — a house whose title had been conferred by imperial ancestors themselves. She was known as a woman of virtue and refinement.

Fang Jinrou had a younger sister twenty years her junior, Fang Jinshu — a daughter born to the Duchess in her later years, a late-life pearl treasured beyond measure.

A daughter born in one’s twilight years, doted upon so completely, was inevitably somewhat spoiled. From childhood to the present day, Second Miss Fang had had only to wish for something for it to be hers.

Two years prior, at the age of fifteen, she had first encountered Han Linfeng at a hunt — and after that single encounter, she had been seized by what could only be described as a lovesick madness, missing not a single tea gathering at which she might hope to see him.

Her family had initially assumed it was nothing more than a young girl’s passing fancy and paid it little mind, though they had broached the subject of several marriage proposals, none of which she would accept. The family was in no hurry to marry her off early, and so the matter had dragged on.

After all, Han Linfeng was already betrothed — however little Second Miss Fang knew of propriety, admiring him from a distance was all that could be permitted; there was absolutely no question of her becoming anyone’s concubine.

Then, entirely beyond expectation, Han Linfeng’s betrothal had fallen apart.

When word of the dissolved engagement spread, this Miss Fang began to carry on as though the world were ending, insisting she would marry no one but the Beizhen Shizi.

This time the Duke of Lu was not inclined to indulge his youngest daughter. He scolded her severely and then laid out at length the full gravity of the matter.

Han Linfeng, though nominally of imperial lineage, had neither power nor learning to recommend him — only a handsome face, which could not begin to compare with the Lu ducal house at the height of its influence. Were he not to cause any trouble, Han Linfeng would in all likelihood spend his entire life in the rural backwater of Liang Prefecture.

And beyond that, a man who spent his days in drunken revelry and dissipation was hardly going to make a good husband.

But after all the scolding, the girl remained as though bewitched by some fox spirit — utterly beyond persuasion, insisting that the world simply failed to recognize his worth, that everyone mistook an unpolished jade for a common stone.

Just a few days prior, because her family had confined her to the house and refused to let her attend banquets, Fang Jinshu had gone to the extreme of cutting off her hair and refusing to eat — cropping more than half her hair short and going three full days without taking a morsel of food or a drop of water, until she drooped like a wilting flower.

In the end her mother could bear it no longer, and knelt before the Duke in tearful pleading, begging him to simply let the girl have her way.

She no longer asked that her daughter’s marriage be a brilliant match — better to marry a worthless Shizi than to watch her daughter starve herself to death.

The Duke was speechless with fury, yet could not bring himself to drive his delicate daughter to her death.

Left with no better option, he summoned his son-in-law and asked whether Han Shen might be willing to serve as intermediary — to facilitate the match, and then consider himself as having no further daughter, letting her go off to ruin herself as she pleased.

In truth, the Duke had his own calculation in asking the Sixth Prince to step in.

For one thing, the Sixth Prince was all but certain to inherit the throne in time — it was better that he know now the Duke’s reasons for marrying his daughter to a descendant of the abdicated former emperor, heading off any future suspicion between father-in-law and son-in-law that the ducal house lacked the sense to steer clear of political entanglement.

For another, the Duke was also hoping that if the Sixth Prince could devise some clever solution to dispel his youngest daughter’s foolish infatuation, so much the better. The child he had so thoroughly spoiled was beyond his own ability to manage — he dearly wished some forceful figure would come along and cut through his predicament.

Han Shen, hearing all this, was genuinely astonished. The very thought of having such a hollow-headed wastrel for a brother-in-law struck him as preposterous in the extreme.

But with his father-in-law looking to him with a face full of difficulty and his mother-in-law weeping beside him, he could not very well refuse outright. He turned the matter over in his mind and formed a plan.

He promised his in-laws only that he could relay the message — whether anything came of it would depend entirely on what the Shizi himself wished. If Han Linfeng proved unwilling, that was beyond the power of his sister-in-law’s willfulness to change.

As fortune would have it, the Hundred Flowers Gathering brought the Sixth Prince and Han Linfeng together. Han Shen settled in beside him, chatting first about current affairs to establish a cordial atmosphere, then gradually steered the conversation toward the subject of marriage.

But before he could even broach the proposal, Han Linfeng had already launched into his tale of the courtesan tumbling into the water — leaving the Sixth Prince quite at a loss for how to proceed.

The Sixth Prince was not an ordinary man, however. After a slight knitting of his brow, he composed himself entirely, and brought up the young miss of the Lu ducal house without a change in his expression.

When he came to the part where the Duke’s youngest daughter had conceived a partiality for him, the Sixth Prince sipped his tea unhurriedly, waiting for this Beizhen Shizi to respond with gratified, overwhelmed delight.

His sister-in-law Fang Jinshu was no ordinary beauty — though her temperament was somewhat willful, she was by any measure a gorgeous young woman.

For Han Linfeng, a Shizi stripped of influence, to attach himself to the Lu ducal house at the height of its power would be a leap straight into the heavens — quite a stretch upward, frankly.

The Sixth Prince planned to let Han Linfeng flush with flattered delight first, then slowly pour cold water over the whole affair — enumerating at length how such an advantageous match would prove a profound “inconvenience” for the Beizhen Wang household, prompting the young man to withdraw of his own accord. He hoped the fool would catch the hint and spare them both the awkwardness.

But half a cup of tea passed, and the young man fanning himself beside him made not a sound.

The Sixth Prince set down his teacup lid and glanced over, only to find Han Linfeng measuring something against his own outstretched leg with his hand.

Han Shen could not help asking what he was doing.

Han Linfeng looked up with an expression of genuine distress, gesturing with his hand as he spoke: “Miss Fang is fair-skinned and lovely, pleasing enough to look at, I suppose. It is only… some days ago we happened to be on the same side in a game of kickball, and in the course of mounting and dismounting, I was inevitably called upon — as a gentleman — to give the young miss a hand. At that moment, Miss Fang’s foot, still in its embroidered shoe, was suspended right beside my leg. Thinking back on it now, it seems to have been about… this long… Prince Hengshan, I only care for women with small feet. Feet large as a boat — truly beyond what I can bear.”

Of all the things Han Shen had imagined, he had not imagined that the Beizhen Shizi would be quite so bluntly frank.

The young man had rejected the beautiful daughter of a ducal house without so much as a moment’s hesitation — citing the size of her feet.

In a social setting like this, the Sixth Prince lost his composure: the tea in his mouth sprayed directly onto the head of the jasmine-clad “fairy” seated not far away.

The poor wife of the Minister of Rites had gone to considerable trouble to arrange jasmine blossoms all through her hair — only to have a cascade of tea rain down upon her, leaving the whole arrangement askew and bedraggled.

The scene was, for a moment, rather lively.

But what came next was livelier still.

Before the tea-spluttering Sixth Prince could recover himself and rebuke Han Linfeng for his reckless words on his sister-in-law’s behalf, Consort Zhao — who had supposedly been away traveling — suddenly returned to the household.

The Hundred Flowers Gathering, which had been in full swing — birds in flight, butterflies dancing, an assembly of immortals amid drifting fragrance — was now met with the arrival of Consort Zhao in full armor, like an iron mallet, trailing a martial ferocity as he crashed into the celestial peach banquet.

He swept his dark expression across the room full of somewhat-past-their-prime flower spirits in their various guises, and every noble guest fell silent and still, not daring to move.

When Consort Zhao finished his survey and let out a single cold “hmph,” the atmosphere of the gathering chilled by half.

Princess Yuyang gathered up the great sweeping tail of her peony skirt and trotted along behind her consort, offering breathless, hushed explanations — saying the banquet had been the idea of the wives from the noble houses, and that she had felt too awkward to refuse, so had only agreed to lend them the garden.

Following behind Consort Zhao was also Zhao Guibei — his eldest son born to his late first wife, now holding a post at the Military Headquarters, who had just returned with his father from that same office. Watching his stepmother making such a grand spectacle of herself, Zhao Guibei kept catching her eye meaningfully, trying to slip her a quiet word, and nearly tripped over her enormous skirt in the process.

When he found a moment, he murmured to Princess Yuyang that his father had been at the Military Headquarters discussing plans to suppress the rebel Cao Sheng, had clashed sharply with several of the Privy Council generals over it, and had stormed out of a heated argument — his temper was in no state at all right now.

Hearing her stepson’s warning, Princess Yuyang bit her fingernail in anxious distress.

She knew: her husband must have argued with someone again over his advocacy for reconquering lost territory. She hastily offered her apologies to the assembled guests and brought the gathering to an abrupt close.

The capital’s noble set were all well acquainted with the fact that Princess Yuyang was kept firmly under her husband’s thumb — no one found it the least bit surprising. The assembled flower spirits scattered in a flurry, and within moments the courtyard was entirely empty.

The side hall where Su Luoyun was sitting was also caught up in the disruption — the first course of crystal-pressed pork knuckle had barely been set on the table when the party broke up.

She and the others who had come to enjoy the occasion were promptly ushered out by the household servants, and filed out sensibly through the rear gate one after another.

Su Luoyun had initially known nothing of the details of how the gathering had been broken up, but after the banquet, Lu Lingxiu came by for a visit and regaled her with every delightful and extraordinary episode from the occasion.

The consort storming in and scattering the gathering was not even the most remarkable thing. The outrageous Shizi had now been hoisted to the very crest of popular gossip.

Every great household in the capital was abuzz with the same peculiar tale: the Beizhen Shizi had rejected the daughter of the Duke of Lu on account of the size of her feet.

Of course, the Wei dynasty did not prize tiny bound feet in women as a mark of beauty, and though Miss Fang’s feet were admittedly on the larger side, they were by no means so remarkable as to merit open rejection.

What was more, even if Second Miss Fang had been missing an arm or a leg, the power and prestige of the Lu ducal house would have been more than sufficient to compensate for any shortcoming.

Only a fool would refuse a splendid match like this.

Viewed in this light, Han Linfeng was not merely reckless — he was also dim-witted, lacking all sense of how to conduct himself. The talk circulating through the various households was largely mockery of the Beizhen Shizi for failing to recognize good fortune when it stood before him.

The matrons of those households took the occasion, while gossiping, to lecture their own daughters: let this be a lesson never to become bewitched by some down-and-out young lord with a handsome face but nothing else to offer.

One imagines oneself stooping magnanimously to lift a beggar from the gutter — only for that ingrate to turn around and find fault, disparaging one with heaven knows what choice words.

It was clear that the Sixth Prince had handled this matchmaking rather clumsily, stirring up a great public commotion and even, to some degree, damaging his sister-in-law’s reputation.

But the Sixth Prince himself understood perfectly well why the capital was in such an uproar.

He was entirely satisfied with the outcome — Han Linfeng, in failing to recognize what was good for him and humiliating the Lu ducal house, had saved him a great deal of labored explanation.

As for Fang Jinshu, after shutting herself in her room and cutting up several pairs of embroidered shoes with her scissors, she found that her feet were no smaller for it — and not being able to bring herself to cut off her own toes, her spirits sank into dejection, and she had not lately raised the subject of marrying Han Linfeng again.

The Duke of Lu, after shutting his door and roundly cursing Han Linfeng for his lack of sense, also breathed a quiet sigh of relief — fortunate indeed that Han Linfeng had not bothered to guard his mouth, for otherwise, with his daughter’s obstinate infatuation, she truly might have married such a worthless young lord and spent a lifetime getting nowhere.

Still, this whole episode had cost everyone considerable face.

Word had it that afterward, at several banquets, the Duke of Lu had made things rather difficult for the Beizhen Shizi — cutting remarks that descended like sudden squalls, leaving no room to defend oneself.

In the days that followed, Han Linfeng seemed to sink into something of a low spirit. He attended somewhat fewer evening banquets — presumably to avoid further encounters with anyone from the Lu ducal house — and spent the greater part of his time at home.

When Su Luoyun left early and returned late, occupied with the affairs of the shop, she would more often than not chance upon the Shizi strolling unhurriedly at the lane’s entrance.

By now she had come to know something of this distinguished neighbor’s character — casual and undemanding, but not unreasonable. She no longer felt the wariness she had at first, no longer regarded him as one might regard a snake or scorpion.

Bearing in mind how he had quietly helped her on several occasions without drawing attention to it, she and her nearby neighbor could sometimes walk a few steps together, exchanging idle remarks about the weather, a few more clouds today, less rain — that sort of thing.

The Shizi was not much given to conversation, though. Sometimes he simply walked in silence, and given his recent circumstances, one could not help feeling a measure of sympathy.

The lane was narrow with no escape, and Su Luoyun had nothing to say. To ease the awkwardness, she mentioned offhandedly that her younger brother had come across a difficult point in his studies, and wondered whether the Shizi might have any particular insight to offer.

This topic seemed only to deepen the silence.

Her distinguished neighbor gave a dry laugh: if one were asking about varieties of wine, he might manage something — but the pronouncements of sages and worthies she was asking about gave him a headache just from listening to them.

Su Luoyun, having suffered pain herself, knew how difficult a headache could be to endure, and on hearing this felt genuinely sorry for raising the subject.

Fortunately the lane was short, and after a few such moments of awkward quiet they reached the end of it with no small relief, bid each other farewell, and went their separate ways.

Yet though the Shizi could offer no learned insight, the very next day Su Guiyan would receive annotated lecture notes from the Shizi’s household, bearing the markings of a scholar of profound learning.

Whenever this happened, Su Luoyun would be reminded that this Shizi had, after all, come to the capital to study. The tutors in his household were naturally of a caliber that ordinary people could not hope to engage.

What a pity such an excellent tutor was wasted in the Shizi’s household, where classes were held perhaps once a fortnight — the old man had long since grown restless from idleness. Entrusted by the Shizi to explain a few passages to Su Guiyan, and discovering that the boy was genuinely gifted and receptive, the old tutor’s pedagogical instincts were stirred.

And so Scholar Shao began coming to the Su family’s little courtyard every few days to lecture and instruct, satisfying his long-suppressed desire to teach.

Su Luoyun was overjoyed, and naturally received Scholar Shao with good food and fine wine. She even had a yellow pear-wood reclining chair specially made to his taste, so the old gentleman might rest in comfort when he grew tired.

These past few days the shop’s affairs had begun to fall into a settled rhythm, and Su Luoyun was finally able to steal a little leisure time from her busy days — lying back comfortably in the courtyard, listening to the clear sounds of her brother’s reading drifting from the study nearby, breathing in the fragrance of the flowers Xiangcao had planted.

“Mrow…” — just then came the languid sound of a cat’s cry.

Su Luoyun knew: the Shizi’s pampered cat had slipped over the wall again to steal something to eat.

Because Su Luoyun had a fondness for steamed salted fish with soybeans, Nanny Tian would buy sea fish every few days to dry in the sun — and the cat could be relied upon to arrive, drawn by the smell, precisely when a fresh batch was ready.

Not wanting the cat to claw the drying lines into disorder, and moreover mindful that this was the Shizi’s cat, Su Luoyun treated it with considerable courtesy. She picked up a strip of dried fish she had already set out on the small table for exactly this purpose and tossed it in the direction of the meowing.

But Arong, ever one to enjoy life’s comforts, caught the fish in its mouth and sprang up onto Su Luoyun’s lap, rolling onto its back in contentment, biting and batting at the fish in perfect ease.

This thoroughly presumptuous manner left Su Luoyun torn between laughter and exasperation — she could only let the creature enjoy itself thoroughly before it deigned to leap down and depart.

Today, however, the cat’s crossing of the wall met with an unexpected difficulty. Xiangcao had washed several mesh bags used for storing fish and hung them along the top of the wall. When the cat climbed up, it caught its paws squarely in the netting, and could not pull free — the mesh had tangled itself around it completely.

The cat hung there on top of the wall, letting out a pitiful, frantic wail.

Su Luoyun heard at once that something was wrong with the sound and immediately called out for Xiangcao — but Xiangcao was in the front courtyard with Nanny Tian, changing the bedcovers, and apparently did not hear.

Knowing her brother was in the study reviewing his lessons with Scholar Shao, Su Luoyun did not want to disturb them. She did not call out again.

Listening to Arong’s increasingly frantic and pitiful cries, she rose to her feet, felt her way along to the wall, shifted the ladder beside it into position, and carefully began to climb up to free the cat.

She had lived in this Sweet Water Lane courtyard long enough that every path inside and outside the house was as familiar to her as the back of her hand.

The household servants were all aware of her situation and never left anything out of place. Su Luoyun moved through her daily routines with practiced ease.

But the top of the wall was not familiar territory. At first it went well enough — she felt her way upward step by careful step. But finally, when she had freed the cat and was about to carry it back down, one foot missed its step and she fell straight down.

Su Luoyun had no time to cry out. She simply shut her eyes and braced herself for the ground.

But in an instant, a rush of air came surging in, as though someone had been carried with it — and she was caught.

Arong, that ungrateful creature, had already leapt free on his own at the critical moment.

Su Luoyun’s hands reflexively seized the arms of the person who had caught her — arms that were clearly very strong, firm and steady.

Yet these arms — she had the distinct sense she had touched them before. Especially now, held so close, the faint scent of camphor root drifting from his palms seemed to pull her back all at once to that drafty ship’s cabin.

There, too, an arm like this had wrapped tightly around her neck — and a sharp blade had pressed cold against her throat.

At the thought of it, Su Luoyun’s whole body gave a shudder. She shoved the arms away sharply, pressed her back against the wall, and waited in frightened wariness for the uninvited visitor to speak.

Seeing that she was startled, the person spoke up at once: “Miss Su, please don’t be alarmed — it’s me! I apologize for the intrusion. I was passing by the wall just now and heard Arong screaming, so I came up to look — and happened to see you about to fall, so I leapt over the wall in a hurry to catch you… Are you all right? Nothing sprained or broken, I hope?”

The one who had come was none other than Han Linfeng — though his words were only half the truth.

In fact, long before the cat had begun its commotion, he had already climbed the ladder and stood watching quietly while the young woman stroked the cat’s neck with gentle hands.

He had been doing nothing more than resting his eyes from reading and seeking out a pleasant sight to look at.

Under the warm spring sun, with flowers all around, there was no sight more charming than a girl in the bloom of youth tenderly holding a cat.

But then the cat became entangled in the netting, and just as he was about to reach over and free it himself, he saw the young Miss Su — not knowing her limits — shift the ladder on her own and climb up to rescue the creature, nearly tumbling down in the end.

Han Linfeng had had no time to think about being caught. On instinct alone he vaulted over the wall and dropped down in time to catch Su Luoyun.

Yet she, rather than offering thanks, reacted like a startled cat herself — pressing into the corner of the wall, her face entirely guarded.