It was for this very reason that when the carriage came to a stop, A’Cuo assumed they had arrived home and was about to say something — but then she sensed that something was off about the atmosphere.
Outside didn’t seem to be the brilliantly lit Ye residence at all. It was quite dark, and the wind and snow were heavy, as though they were still out on the main street.
Lingbo had already woken. Though heavy-lidded with sleep, her expression was alert, her eyes fixed intently on Qinglan. Carriages typically hung a lantern at the front, and Qinglan had given the middle of the carriage to her younger sisters to sleep in, while she herself sat leaning against the carriage wall, resting beside the glass window. The shadow of the window lattice and the faint glow of snow fell across her face; her dignified features resembled a temple deity, betraying not the slightest hint of emotion.
“Why have we stopped — are we home?” The moment Yanyan woke, her voice was always booming, and she shattered the stillness in an instant.
“Shh.” Lingbo frowned to stop her, but it was already too late, so she could only murmur quietly: “We’ve run into the Northern Garrison troops returning to the capital.”
“The Northern Garrison — isn’t that Cui Jingyu’s brother—” Yanyan had barely spoken the name before she caught herself, and hurriedly fell silent, anxiously watching Qinglan’s expression.
Qinglan simply sat in the carriage, perfectly composed.
“It’s fine, go back to sleep.” She reached out and soothingly stroked the hair of A’Cuo, who had just woken, then said softly toward the outside of the carriage: “Uncle Yang the Fifth. Go and ask which unit of the Northern Garrison this is.”
The coachman’s surname was Yang — he was Yang Hua’s father, Yang Niangzi’s husband. He was also a servant who had come with Lady Ye as part of her dowry from the Lin family back in the day, an honest and dependable man. He had two young manservants helping him drive the carriage, and upon hearing Ye Qinglan’s instructions, he promptly agreed and jumped down from the driver’s seat to ask ahead.
In truth, it was simply too late at night. The Ye family had two carriages — one carrying the young misses and their personal maids, the other carrying the household servants. Taking a shortcut, they had not gone by the main road but had cut through a narrow alley near Wanxi Street, a route they usually traveled without incident. No one had expected the bad luck of running straight into the Northern Garrison troops entering the city overnight — over a thousand men, passing through the main Zhuque Street. The Ye family carriages had blundered right into the middle of the column, with soldiers surrounding them on both ends. To retreat was impossible, and there was no room to turn around. Both sides had come to a standstill. By the light of the carriage lanterns, the Ye family’s manservants and coachman stood facing off against the soldiers, both sides on high alert.
“Out of the way, all of you! These are the carriages of Lord Ye’s household — won’t you let us through!” One of the manservants immediately put on airs.
Uncle Yang the Fifth hurriedly scolded the manservant, trying to stop him from being insolent. But the soldiers, having heard him, were already somewhat enraged — they immediately tightened their grip on their spears and halberds, and a few of the more bloodthirsty ones stepped forward, surrounding the Ye family’s carriages until they could not move an inch.
The army responded swiftly. Uncle Yang the Fifth was still hesitating — should he push through to speak with the commanding officer of this unit, or stay and defuse the confrontation? — when a party had already come riding over. It was a group of officers, all armored, cloaked, and armed with swords and bows. Though their faces were indistinguishable in the darkness, one could tell they were all sharp, vigorous young men. The one at the front asked coldly: “What is the matter?”
The military discipline was visibly strict — the soldiers immediately dared not make a sound, each standing to attention. A soldier who appeared to be a centurion stepped forward and reported: “General, two carriages from somewhere drove into our column.”
Uncle Yang the Fifth quickly said: “We are carriages from Lord Ye’s household, returning from the home of Secretary Shen, and we are carrying a night-curfew pass. We ask that you, sir, kindly allow us to pass.”
He had been fully confident that invoking the Ye family’s name and that of Secretary Shen would be enough to make even a general show some courtesy.
What he had not expected was that the moment these words left his mouth, the officer who had been speaking to the soldiers immediately turned and looked at him, letting out a cold laugh.
“The Ye family?”
He appeared to be no more than eighteen, strikingly young. He raised one hand, and a deputy promptly passed him a lantern. The military lanterns were bright, and he held it up toward Uncle Yang the Fifth’s face. Seeing the old man awkwardly shielding his eyes, he laughed again.
“Since these are the Ye family’s carriages and you have a curfew pass, then there is no need to go home.” He said coldly: “Surround them!”
At his single command, the soldiers obeyed without question, immediately surrounding the carriages — now there was not even room to reverse. Uncle Yang the Fifth was by nature an honest man, and had never seen anything like this. He was instantly thrown into a panic, not knowing what to do — fearing that they would alarm the young misses, yet also fearing they might provoke this officer. He could only force a smile and say: “General, why is this…”
“It’s none of your business. Go stand to the side.” This young officer was utterly indifferent. Having ordered the carriages surrounded, he sat on horseback with his arms crossed, watching the spectacle unfold. The wind and snow grew heavier, yet the soldiers did not yield a single step, as though cast from iron.
With no recourse, Uncle Yang the Fifth could only press close to the carriage and call out softly to the young misses inside.
Inside the carriage, too, there was dead silence. Yanyan and A’Cuo only half understood what was happening. Ye Lingbo had her brow knitted tight, and had it not been for her concern about Yanyan and A’Cuo being in the carriage — since the Flower Xin Banquet was the day after tomorrow and word getting out would be unseemly — she would likely have spoken up long ago. One could tell from the way she was sitting: her whole body was leaning toward the glass window, barely containing herself.
Yet Ye Qinglan could contain herself.
“Uncle Yang the Fifth,” she said, calmly and evenly: “Ask the general for his honorable surname.”
Uncle Yang the Fifth was about to go and ask, but the officer had already let out a cold laugh: “What my surname is — none of your business. Stay put.”
The wind and snow were fierce deep in the night. Despite the warming brazier in the carriage, it was gradually growing colder. The wind was also strong on the main street. Though the carriage walls had felt padding sewn into them, it was ultimately just a wooden frame.
Uncle Yang the Fifth could not fathom what deep grudge this man held against his household. The young misses were all treasured golden blossoms, too delicate to bear even a hint of cold — if they had to endure a whole night of this, how could it end well? Though he was an honest man, he carried a streak of fierce loyalty within him, and thought: if it came to it, he would lay down this old life of his to protect the young misses’ safety. He glanced over at the manservants and saw the urgency written across their faces, and within his heart, a reckless impulse began to stir.
But in the very next moment, he heard the voice of the eldest young miss drifting out from within the carriage — always so calm, no matter the occasion, as though even if the sky were to fall, she would still be there, and just hearing her made one feel at ease.
“In that case,” she said, perfectly composed, “please summon Marshal Wei, then. What reason is there to surround the family members of an official in the middle of the night?”
“Marshal Wei was summoned by imperial decree long ago to enter the palace for His Majesty’s victory banquet.” The young officer’s every word was cutting: “If just anyone could seek an audience with Marshal Wei, then the name of our Northern Garrison would be worth very little indeed. Rest assured — if the Censorate comes asking, I will take full responsibility.”
His words were practically a threat — everyone knew the Northern Garrison was entering the capital bearing achievements to be rewarded. He himself likely carried military merit, so what did it matter if surrounding an official’s family members was against the law? At worst, merit and fault would cancel each other out. He was determined to make trouble today.
At this moment, inside the carriage, Ye Lingbo could no longer contain herself.
“If the Censorate asks, you’re not afraid — but what about when General Cui asks?” She simply called out the man’s name directly and said furiously: “Wei Hanhai, stop this insolence!”
“And what if I am insolent?” The young man called Wei Hanhai replied with unruffled composure. His name exposed, he simply pushed his helmet up, revealing a handsome face that appeared to be no more than seventeen or eighteen, a cold smirk at the corner of his lips. He folded his arms and lounged leisurely on horseback: “I’ll keep you here until dawn — what of it?”
“What an achievement! In full armor with a blade at your side, making things difficult for women!” Ye Lingbo shot back at him immediately.
Wei Hanhai felt not a shred of shame, nor the slightest change of expression. He was just about to respond when a brightness appeared at the head of the column — an entire small detachment came galloping over. The rider in the lead was mounted on a tall horse, dressed in dark armor and a dark robe, cutting a fierce and formidable figure. It was none other than Cui Jingyu. Beside him rode a young man in blue robes — no armor on him at all, utterly at his ease on horseback.
Wei Hanhai’s greatest dread was losing face in front of this particular person — and yet tonight, here they were.
Meanwhile, Uncle Yang the Fifth, who had been at his wits’ end, caught sight of who was leading the group and his face immediately lit up.
A’Cuo was perceptive; though seated inside the carriage, she had already more or less pieced together what was happening. Yanyan, however, was still thoroughly confused, still saying “Why are we looking for Marshal Wei? We can just find Cui Jingyu—” until Ye Lingbo let out a sharp click of her tongue, glaring at her fiercely, and she dared not speak anymore.
Ye Lingbo turned back and continued pressing herself against the glass window. She had quietly opened it a thin crack — the interior of the carriage was unlit, so it was a view from darkness into light. She could see out clearly without fear of being noticed.
“Sister,” she turned back to Qinglan, whispering with barely concealed delight: “He really came.”
Qinglan did not stir. A’Cuo acutely sensed something on her — something tranquil yet heavy — and knew she would never go to look by the window.
Since Lingbo could not draw Qinglan to move, she simply beckoned to A’Cuo instead. Yanyan crowded over too, and all three pressed close to the window to watch.
A’Cuo tried her utmost to remain calm, but her heart was brimming with curiosity. Unlike Yanyan and Lingbo, who had both seen Cui Jingyu before, she could not at first tell which one he was. She could see that the rider at the head of the small group was clad in dark armor and a dark robe, radiating a severe and lethal air, and even the snow settling on his shoulders seemed as though it had always belonged to him. He wore a helmet, so his face was not visible — she could only see a figure of extraordinary height and build: tall and expansive, narrow-waisted and strong-backed, the natural physique of a born warrior.
The one beside him, on the other hand — the young man not in armor, dressed in the blue robe — though he rode just behind, with only half his face visible, was so remarkably handsome and refined at a glance that he seemed not in the least like a military officer, but more like a laureate scholar. He was the kind that caught the eye.
A’Cuo’s gaze moved among the figures and finally settled on Wei Hanhai, who had stopped their way. He bore the surname Wei, and carried that haughty, proud manner — a handsome face of the lean Qin cast. Marshal Wei of the Northern Garrison had his ancestral home in the Qin region, so this young man was very likely a nephew or son of the Wei household.
Yet he treated Cui Jingyu with conspicuous deference. Seeing Cui Jingyu approach, he called out: “Elder Brother Cui, it’s the Ye family’s carriages — I had them surrounded for you—”
But in the very next moment he tumbled clean off his horse. A’Cuo had not even caught the motion clearly; she only dimly registered what seemed to be Cui Jingyu seizing him by the collar, tossing him like a sack, and the next thing she knew the young man had gone flying, rolling into the snow.
“Young General!” His personal guards all rushed to help him up. Wei Hanhai evidently had never been treated this way — or perhaps it was the fall — but he sat there in the snow, dazed and aggrieved, staring at Cui Jingyu in shock.
Cui Jingyu said nothing, and did not spare a single glance at the Ye family carriages.
“Stand down,” he simply commanded, with perfect calm. “Let the carriages through.”
The soldiers parted like trained pigeons, splitting apart as a tide divides to form a path. Uncle Yang the Fifth was overjoyed, quickly climbing up to the driver’s seat with the manservants and taking the reins. He turned to call out gratefully toward Cui Jingyu: “Young Master Cui—”
Cui Jingyu acted as though he had not heard a word, simply turning his horse away. The well-trained war horse responded immediately, withdrawing to the eaves of a building along Zhuque Street. Soldiers surged in, cutting off the Ye family’s carriages from him.
He seemed not willing to say a single word to anyone from the Ye family.
Uncle Yang the Fifth had no choice but to drive the carriage forward. Cui Jingyu did not speak, and the eldest young miss inside offered no thanks either. This first encounter after four years had simply dissolved into nothing. Even for a man as even-tempered and honest as him, his heart was awash with a hundred mingled feelings.
But he had not anticipated that his household still had a second young miss.
A’Cuo, too, only half understood what had transpired. Though she was young, her mind was quick and sharp, and she acutely sensed that some subtle, undefinable emotion was hovering within the carriage. She was still turning it over in her mind when she suddenly felt a weight on her head.
It was Ye Lingbo — she reached out and pushed both Yanyan’s and A’Cuo’s heads down, first pressing these two young ladies who were to attend the Flower Xin Banquet the day after tomorrow firmly out of sight, and then lifted her own hand and pushed the glass window wide open.
The carriage’s glass window swung open at once — no wider than a narrow picture frame — but her timing was uncanny: precisely the moment the carriage and Cui Jingyu passed each other.
Ye Qinglan sat within the carriage, half-veiled in shadow. Those outside could catch only a fleeting glimpse of a profile as fine as jade — flushed with a touch of color from the wine she had drunk, her dignified Guanyin features now tinged with a rosy hue, her hair adorned and her face lovely. Twenty-three years old, she was like a hibiscus blossom trailing from a window.
And yet Cui Jingyu did not turn his face even a fraction of an inch.
His dark armor was like a cast bronze statue, concealing his features, concealing his every feeling. He rode calmly on his horse, as though the carriage passing before him belonged to a stranger he had never known — that gossamer thread of feeling, all the wistful longing accumulated over four years, had not touched him in the slightest.
The snowflakes fell in great sweeping drifts, thick as goose down. The distance between the two of them was no more than ten feet, yet it seemed as though an entire Chang’an stretched between them. The wind swept up the snow and drove it into their faces, nearly enough to force one’s eyes shut.
“What a magnificent snowfall.” Someone laughed and marveled — it was the blue-robed officer who had ridden alongside Cui Jingyu. He looked even more dashingly handsome when he smiled, and though he seemed to be admiring the snow, his gaze landed not elsewhere but directly into the carriage. He had a pair of naturally alluring peach-blossom eyes — truly beautiful.
But Ye Lingbo could have killed him on the spot.
She knew the opening of the window today had been for nothing, so she only glared at him with displaced fury, then snapped the glass window firmly shut. The air about her was sharp enough to draw blood. Yanyan had been about to crowd over for one last look at the scene outside, but seeing her like this, she dared not move.
“Very well. Not recognizing an old acquaintance, is that it?” She turned over a thousand schemes in her mind, yet her voice softened to near-sweetness, carrying almost a honeyed warmth: “Then we’ll just have to wait and see.”
When she was ordinarily furious, she was not particularly frightening. Speaking like this, even A’Cuo sensed danger.
It was Qinglan who, instead, calmly soothed her.
“All of that is in the past — why trouble yourself over it?” She was exceptionally serene, and there was even a faint smile on her face. “This year, let us simply take good care of Yanyan and A’Cuo. You stop dwelling on all this — focus on preparing for the Flower Xin Banquet.”
Outside, the north wind still howled. A’Cuo’s mind was a tangle of threads, and she did not know where to begin. Perhaps it was the wine — for the first time, she became aware of something within herself that resembled regret, and instinctively drew closer to Yanyan, as though watching a mountain slowly begin to crumble. Though she knew it was beyond human power to change, she felt a sorrow rising in her heart.
As sleep was coming over her, she suddenly remembered something.
If Cui Jingyu — that iron-cold young general who had once been betrothed to Elder Sister Qinglan and had been released from the engagement by her — had truly become a complete stranger to Qinglan…
Then why was it that when that gust of wind, carrying the swirling snow, swept into their faces, and everyone had instinctively raised a hand to shield themselves against it — only those two, who would not even look at each other, had not flinched once?