A noble family’s young miss had no business venturing out alone — but Ye Lingbo was accustomed to walking the edge of rules. Her mother had died early, and her father and Concubine Pan, who had been elevated to wife, were of one mind. If she hadn’t learned to maneuver through the shadows herself, a single word of “filial piety” could have crushed her. She had learned early on many indirect and ambiguous methods, willingly becoming the hidden shadow behind Ye Qinglan’s bright and radiant presence. Someone had to maintain appearances; someone else had to attend to what lay beneath. Ye Qinglan had delayed her own affairs for the sake of her two younger sisters — what did it matter if Ye Lingbo handled a few matters that walked the line between light and darkness?

So she had somewhat more decisiveness than ordinary noble young misses. On the way here, she had already heard the full account from the reporting manservant, and rather than being flustered, she found herself mildly amused.

Liu Ji was a good manservant — only perhaps a little too clever. He had never taken a fall, and so had never learned Uncle Yang’s trick of concealing one’s abilities and playing dumb. Lingbo had intended to bring him along and let him build himself up, to eventually give him charge of his own domain, but had never found the right opportunity. Today happened to present one.

When Madam Ye was alive, she had taught Lingbo: teaching a person by words alone cannot teach them. Teaching a person through experience — that is what achieves true understanding in an instant.

And indeed, when Lingbo arrived at the lane’s entrance and caught a glimpse of Liu Ji through the glazed window of the carriage, she couldn’t help but laugh. Xiao Liu’er saw her laughing and grew even more anxious, calling out “young miss” repeatedly and saying: “Young miss, look — my brother’s face has gone completely white.”

White was an understatement — it was ashen. The whole of him was leaning against the stone horse statue at the lane’s entrance. The manservant beside him — the one who had caused the trouble, Uncle Yang’s nephew — knew he had done wrong; he dared not even look at Liu Ji, riddled with guilt.

Lingbo found it funny, but seeing Xiao Liu’er fretting over her brother, she also knew that grinding down a young person’s spirit too harshly was not a good thing. So she simply laughed and asked from inside the carriage: “Where is the person?”

Liu Ji snapped to attention and hurried to the carriage to pay his respects. “To report to miss, Liu Ji is here.”

It was Liu Ji, all right — even at a moment like this, he kept his composure, head bowed properly, his report delivered without a hint of disorder, though his face was still pale.

Lingbo was amused, but she also felt a touch of protectiveness. Everyone in the household knew that Second Miss was fiercest in shielding those under her care — and yet her people also gave her nothing to shield them from, each one impeccably capable. Strong generals breed no weak soldiers; over these past years, no matter how many schemes Concubine Pan had stirred up, Lingbo had resolved every one.

So Lingbo did not reprimand Liu Ji. She too had been quick-minded from childhood, and naturally understood that after making a mistake, one’s own pride was already enough to flay oneself alive without needing anyone else’s lecture. She simply smiled and said: “I was asking about that person.”

The border rogue certainly had his abilities — having sent Liu Ji to trail him, he had turned the tables and played Liu Ji instead. This genuinely impressed Lingbo somewhat.

Liu Ji was equally impressed, and his manner of addressing Pei Zhao had changed from before. He said, deflated and soft-voiced: “General Pei is in that courtyard over there.”

“What kind of general is he?” Lingbo said dismissively. “Frequenting a place like this — hardly the conduct expected of a man from a respectable family.”

Seeing that she had misread the neighborhood, Liu Ji moved close to the carriage side and relayed in a low voice what he had gathered. He was still capable, despite losing the horse — he had found out everything he needed to know. He recounted, steady and unhurried, exactly why Pei Zhao had been coming and going to this place, and explained it all in detail to Lingbo. Lingbo listened, and was genuinely surprised; she also understood now why Liu Ji had taken to calling Pei Zhao — a mere junior general by rank — simply “general.”

“Very well. I understand.” She was, naturally, more capable than Liu Ji. “In that case, go and call him out. I want to hear what he has to say.”

Liu Ji’s expression grew awkward.

“General Pei said that miss must come to see him herself.”

The neighborhood’s reputation was not good. Being close to the western city’s slums, it was essentially no different from one. Even the water told the story — the capital had been the seat of dynasties for centuries, with nearly a million people packed together, and the water within the city walls had long gone off. Even at the base of the city walls, saltpeter crystallized out of the ground. The noble families in the south of the city had their own fine gardens, new secondary residences, and sweet-water wells they had dug privately — their silk garments were never washed with city water. Even the more prosperous streets and merchant households had sweet water brought down from the Western Hills in shoulder-carried pails for sale. Only in this western district did people still live off a few bitter wells. The well water was brackish and heavily alkaline. Children who drank too much of it grew up sallow-faced and stunted, and frequently fell ill — yet they had learned early to help the family with work. Boys ran errands and carried small loads or sold horse fodder; girls learned alongside their mothers to wash and starch laundry. Today, the children were all inside because Pei Zhao had come.

The capital’s noble families celebrated the Flower Season Banquet in style — twenty-four consecutive banquets, poetry and wine among flowers and snow. None of this touched the children of this lane. Pei Zhao’s visits were their festival — they swarmed around him one by one, clinging to him demanding stories, demanding the little bows and arrows he had promised to make for them, demanding that he buy sweets for everyone.

Pei Zhao had a pleasant temperament. He sat smiling on the edge of the well platform, surrounded by more than a dozen children. Several impish boys had climbed all over him, trying to dig out the little bows and arrows he had promised them, treating him like a beautiful and capable large toy. Pei Zhao made no move to resist, only laughing and saying: “Hey now — when did it become all right to rob me openly?”

Nearby, a woman around thirty, her face worn with worry, was scrubbing a mountain-sized pile of laundry. Seeing this scene, she was deeply embarrassed and scolded her own child: “Huzi! Get down this instant! You’ve climbed all the way up onto General Pei’s back — what kind of behavior is that?”

Huzi climbed down, and someone immediately took his place — a small girl with yellowish hair, draped across Pei Zhao’s back, insisting that he promise to take her riding on horseback.

This was the scene Lingbo walked in on. She had been raised in privilege, but thanks to her father and stepmother, she was not unacquainted with courtyards like this one. When Madam Ye died, Concubine Pan Yurong had deliberately sought revenge, using the pretext of hosting banquets to find faults everywhere, and had driven away many of Madam Ye’s former household servants. After Lingbo and Qinglan grew strong enough, they had found them again one by one. Yanyan’s wet nurse, after being driven out, had lived in a courtyard much like this — dirty and cramped, a dozen households crowded into one compound, ragged and runny-nosed children running underfoot everywhere.

So Lingbo was not startled by the sight. Pei Zhao was military, and naturally sharp — he spotted her the moment she came through the gate, and gave her a slight smile, those infuriating peach-blossom eyes curving with it before he turned back to talk with the children beside him.

But the children had never seen such a magnificently dressed young miss before. They surged over at once. Even the woman doing laundry looked up with wide eyes.

She was not particularly beautiful, truth be told — but she was wrapped head to toe in silk and satin, her face pale and heavily powdered beneath a white fox-fur cape. Her hair glittered with jade and pearl ornaments, gold pins blazing in the sunlight — gold has a particular radiance in daylight, and the various gemstones at her temples only added to it. A noble lady was a noble lady, and carried an air of pampered ease all her own.

Clothes make the man, as the saying goes. Not to mention the little maid walking before her, Xiao Liu’er — she herself was wrapped in silk, like a little silk figurine.

The children immediately crowded over. One bold small girl drifted closer without thinking — the same one who had been draped across Pei Zhao’s back. Her hair was yellowish. She seemed to be struck dumb by Lingbo’s appearance, and stood there biting her fingers, tilting her head and staring fixedly.

Lingbo found it charming. She mimicked the girl, tilting her own head and smiling at her. The child’s eyes traveled over her, and she slowly stretched out a hand, wanting to touch the white fox-fur cape.

“Young miss, be careful — she might have lice,” Xiao Liu’er immediately called out loudly.

She was the personal maidservant of a noble young miss, and naturally carried an air of authority. These children might not know the value of Lingbo’s silk and jewels, but they were very familiar with that air of authority.

In the capital’s streets, noble sons often galloped past on horseback; poor children who failed to get out of the way in time were lucky to receive only a switch from a clearing attendant. Even if someone was trampled to death, the family would be sent off with a few dozen taels of silver. That was all.

They immediately shrank back like startled small animals, but still couldn’t bear to disperse. The laundry woman was instantly alarmed and rushed forward, pulling away her own Huzi and corralling the other children, all while bowing hastily to Xiao Liu’er: “Young miss, children from humble households know no manners — please forgive any offence given to the young miss…”

Lingbo said nothing, only smiling gently and pleasantly. When a maidservant carries authority, the young miss herself is the noble personage — naturally she must be gracious and kind, without preventing the laundry woman and children from trembling in apprehension.

Lingbo waited patiently until the woman had bowed and apologized three times, before lifting her eyes toward Pei Zhao, seated on the well platform. She found him watching her calmly in return.

The ease in General Pei’s expression was probably somewhat diminished now.

“This is not a convenient place to speak.” She maintained the courtesies of a noble young miss, addressing only Xiao Liu’er: “Go and ask the junior general whether he would prefer to speak somewhere else.”

Junior General Pei was certainly sharp-eared — he had clearly already heard, which was why he was already rising to his feet.

Lingbo did not hurry to raise the matter of the horse. She simply turned, composed, taking Xiao Liu’er’s hand as support, and walked toward the exit. Seeing Liu Ji waiting outside with head bowed and something unsaid hovering on his lips, she paused.

“You’ve gone soft already — you haven’t even gotten your own horse back yet, and here you are worrying about distributing rewards?” Lingbo saw through his thoughts in an instant.

Xiao Liu’er had entered the household young, and Liu Ji had shielded her well, so unlike her brother, she did not freeze in her tracks at the sight of underfed children in ragged clothes.

“Liu Ji would not dare,” Liu Ji said immediately, bowing his head.

Lingbo took Xiao Liu’er’s hand and boarded the carriage. She used this lavishly decorated vehicle as a small private room, letting it sit sheltered from the wind in the middle of the lane. Xiao Liu’er moved to lower the curtains, but Lingbo said mildly: “No need to hurry.”

By propriety between men and women, she ought to be cautious — but when it came to appearance, Pei Zhao was so attractive that it almost crossed a line. Lingbo had no need to worry about Pei Zhao having any inappropriate intentions.

Then again, speaking plainly: with his looks, Pei Zhao truly was prime material for a “noble son-in-law of a great house.”

Lingbo allowed herself one tiny unkind thought about him, while maintaining her composed exterior, and asked at an unhurried pace: “Does Junior General Pei have a fondness for horses?”

“Does Second Miss Ye have a fondness for people?” Pei Zhao had been strolling, arms folded, toward the carriage, and answered her with these words upon hearing her question.

Even with Lingbo’s quick mind, she needed a moment before she burst into a half-amused, half-exasperated laugh.

Her comment about Pei Zhao liking horses was a dig — implying he had sent someone to steal Liu Ji’s horse to make a fool of him. Pei Zhao immediately countered with her action of having someone follow him. One had stolen a horse, the other had stolen a person.

Irritated enough to lose interest in sparring with him, Lingbo simply called to Liu Ji: “Go — report to the capital magistrate’s office. Tell them there’s horse theft in this lane, and have them search it from top to bottom. Let’s see whether that horse of yours turns up.”

Let Xiao Liu’er’s mild display of authority fail to frighten even a few small children — she wanted to see what his Junior General’s Pei face would look like when the magistrate’s runners turned this lane inside out.

Sure enough, the junior general knew when to yield and when to stand firm.

He knew his own words had been too provoking. He immediately laughed, adopting an apologetic air and saying: “I misspoke. Please, Second Miss, call off your great powers.”

He was born for this sort of smile — a general from the common soldiers of the Fire Battalion, yet possessed of this extraordinary appearance, going beyond merely outshining the pampered noble sons of the capital. Different from the ordinary handsomeness of a Cui Jingyu or a Wei Yushan, he was more like a beautiful fox, or a white wolf in the snow — even the tip of his tail would be exquisite, a languid ease beneath his dangerousness.

It was an apology in name only; he was still joking in essence. If not for considerations of propriety, Lingbo would truly have liked to slap those infuriatingly beautiful cheekbones of his.

“Now you know to be afraid? And yet you still dared to take the horse?” she asked.

Pei Zhao’s next words genuinely earned a slap.

“Second Miss did not steal a person.” Before Lingbo could act, he pivoted seamlessly, smiling: “So naturally I did not steal a horse either. It was merely the children being mischievous.”

“You—!” Xiao Liu’er could no longer contain herself, but bound by propriety, and with no order from Lingbo, she could not do anything — she only fixed him with a burning glare.

Liu Ji also pressed his voice low and called “young miss,” glaring furiously at this “General Pei” for speaking so impudently. Looking at Lingbo, his eyes held both suppressed indignation and a plea — Young miss, I don’t need the horse, let’s just leave, why subject ourselves to the border rogue’s arrogance?

But Lingbo had not come today merely to help him find a horse.

As the theatrical works always had it: whenever anything of consequence unfolded — whether a young miss and a scholar pledging themselves secretly, or two kindred spirits swearing brotherhood on the road — there was always a pretext, always a meeting of circumstances, to draw out the long story that would follow. Sending gold, Liu Ji losing the horse — these were nothing more than such a pretext.

This play, Ye Lingbo intended not only to perform, but to perform with complete command — and she would not rest until she was fully satisfied.

So she did not fly into anger. She simply said coldly: “Whoever took the horse, let them come forward and admit it, and that will be that. Otherwise I really will have this lane searched.”

Her carriage was stopped beneath a large tree. No sooner had these words left her mouth than a faint rustling of movement was heard overhead. Pei Zhao laughed too. He put two fingers to his lips and gave a sharp whistle, and immediately, from who knew where, a squad of children appeared — older than those who had been swarming around him before, these were eleven or twelve years old, the appearance of half-grown adolescents. There were eight of them, still in ragged clothes with patched elbows and knees — they had the look of children who did rough labor. They all wore wary expressions, watching Lingbo.

Pei Zhao, seeing Lingbo examining them, even smiled and made introductions: “This group is quite capable — there are scouts, lookouts, a vanguard, logistics, and even archers…”

The young ones puffed up a little with pride upon being introduced, but remained watchful, eyes fixed on Lingbo.

Lingbo was not surprised. She looked at the only girl among the eight, and asked: “What do you do?”

The girl glanced at Liu Ji and looked a little embarrassed. “I’m an informant. When Brother Liu Ji came asking about General Pei’s affairs, it was me who told him.”

“Then it seems the information Liu Ji received may have been inaccurate…” Lingbo said, drawing out each word.

“No — I told the truth.” The girl immediately defended herself earnestly. “General Pei said there was no need to lie — just tell him the truth…”

“Oh…” Lingbo remained leisurely, studying them for a moment, before suddenly giving a cold laugh. “Quite something — children learning to be informants at such a young age. It seems I cannot avoid reporting this to the capital magistrate after all.”

At these words, the little squad immediately scattered in all directions, running with impressive speed, each one darting behind a low wall or a tree and vanishing from sight like small mice.

Pei Zhao smiled helplessly.

“Second Miss knows perfectly well their background — why frighten them?” he said to Lingbo.

“And what if I do?” Lingbo’s expression shifted faster than a page turned. She said, her voice now cold as frost: “Return the horse, and I still have a banquet to attend. I have no time to involve myself in idle matters.”

Her carriage was stopped beneath a large tree. At these words, a faint rustling sound was heard from somewhere above — and Pei Zhao also laughed. He gave another whistle, and to Lingbo’s own surprise, Liu Ji’s horse actually came trotting out from somewhere in the lane. Liu Ji was overjoyed. He grabbed the reins and looked the horse over to find it entirely intact — though its mane had been braided into many small plaits, probably the work of some mischievous little girl.

Lingbo kept her cool expression and said nothing, only appearing to urge departure. Xiao Liu’er was quietly relieved inside and was just about to lower the curtains — but then she heard her young miss ask: “Does this neighborhood really house the orphans of the Northern Frontier Army?”

“That they are all orphans and widows is true. But it’s not only the Northern Frontier Army — there are also the two-wing auxiliary troops and the incorporated remnants of the Jingbei forces.” Pei Zhao had been lounging against the tree the whole while, and seemed unsurprised by her question.

Lingbo pressed her lips together.

“Don’t fallen soldiers receive bereavement payments? How could it come to this?”

“The payments were never much to begin with, and on top of that, the war lasted four or five years — it was all spent long ago. In the capital, where rice is priced like gold, orphans and widows ending up here is entirely to be expected. They gradually gathered together.” Pei Zhao was intimately familiar with all of this. “There are over a hundred households here, and another thirty or so in the next lane over — and the number keeps growing.”

“What about Wei Hanhai?” Lingbo frowned and demanded. “Is he dead? The Northern Frontier Army received great rewards from the court — three marquises were ennobled from your ranks alone. They have money to host banquets but no money to tend to the orphans of their fallen comrades?”

Pei Zhao only smiled.

“Second Miss is a daughter of an official family — naturally she understands.” He said, smiling: “Marshal Wei has too much to be cautious about, and so does everyone else. This is something anyone could manage — except the Northern Frontier Army.”

Lingbo understood, of course. Her father, Lord Ye, was not one to speak rashly, and even her closest friend Shen Biwei had grown up steeped in the capital’s politics — she naturally knew how precarious the Northern Frontier Army’s position was right now. They were said to be favored and honored, yet their achievements overshadowed the throne — at such a critical moment, if they were to openly provide for the orphans of the fallen, it might sound like benevolence toward their soldiers, but it could just as easily be called buying hearts, cultivating private troops and loyal followers to the death — which was the very road to ruin.

Not only could Wei Hanhai not manage it, but Cui Jingyu, Yin Hongxuan, and the newly ennobled General Jing of the Fire Battalion — every prominent figure within the Northern Frontier Army, without exception, could not manage it either. To do so would be to invite suspicion of harboring ulterior motives. No one else would even need to say anything — the censors’ memorials alone could impeach them to death.

Lingbo immediately frowned and looked at him sharply.

“Then what business is it of yours? Are you not with the Northern Frontier Army?”

“Of course I am,” Pei Zhao said, smiling lazily. “But I hold no official post, have no troops under my command, have received no marquisate, and have no personal soldiers — nothing but the hollow title of junior general. Of course I’m free to manage it.”

“What happened to your troops?” Lingbo pressed, frowning.

“All killed.” Pei Zhao said it with perfect equanimity. “Five thousand men — all dead at the Minsha River.”

“And your battle merits?” Lingbo, though she knew nothing of military affairs, instinctively felt something was wrong. Five thousand men lost — that ought to count for enormous merit. Why had he not been ennobled? Moreover, the name “Minsha River” rang a faint bell — it seemed to be the very place where Cui Jingyu had won his distinction.

“I didn’t win. What merits are there?” Pei Zhao said, only smiling lightly. “It was already a favor not to be charged with a crime — of course there would be no ennobling.”

Lingbo looked at him with skepticism, feeling all along that behind his casual manner lay a great many hidden stories. Yet Pei Zhao’s temperament was impossible to fake. From the first day she met him, she had pegged him as someone who was spent to the very marrow of his bones — she herself was one who fought to rise at every opportunity, and she could recognize this sort of air — someone who had simply fallen onto the ground and would not get back up — in a single glance.

Perhaps the great defeat at the Minsha River had broken his spirit, stripped him of his closest foundation. And so the ceremony of rewarding and ennobling the Northern Frontier Army, which the others saw as a joyous occasion, was for him only a bitter irony. That was why he sought no advancement, only caring for the Northern Frontier Army’s orphans — as though doing penance for himself?

The more Lingbo thought about it, the more this interpretation made sense. In truth, this sort of utterly spent air was not unfamiliar to her — after all, there was one Shen Biwei right beside her, and she knew better than anyone that this kind of unambitious dejection usually concealed deep and thorough disillusionment.

So when she had worked it out, she looked on Pei Zhao with somewhat more tolerance. Seeing him lolling against the tree, she no longer found him quite so grating, but frowned and said: “It’s good work you’re doing — but you’re going about it rather foolishly. Carrying water to fill a dried well, what’s the point? Whatever your military salary is, you could pour it all in and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

“Second Miss is quite right,” Pei Zhao answered, not arguing at all, only smiling in easy agreement.

Lingbo found the more she looked at him the more he resembled Shen Biwei — right down to the lazy habit of being born with splendid looks and paying them absolutely no mind, not bothering even to tend to himself.

“Stop that listless slouching — what does it look like?” Lingbo said, disdainfully. “You hold the title of junior general, however hollow — can you think of no solution whatsoever? There’s a saying: give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day; teach a man to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime. Don’t you know even that much?”

Pei Zhao remained good-natured, still smiling: “Please enlighten me, Second Miss.”

“Do I really have to spell it out?” Lingbo said. “What’s the use of giving them money? That pittance of a salary of yours isn’t even sufficient. As for myself, I’m not like you — I don’t have that much idle money — but I do have a few small shops under my management, and I always need to hire workers. During the Flower Season Banquet, the season for selling clothing and accessories is at its peak. I’ll have Liu Ji bring over some braided cord, lace trim, buttons, or handkerchiefs and sachets for the women here to make. In the winter cold, it beats washing laundry.”

Before Pei Zhao could respond, Liu Ji’s eyes had already brightened, and Xiao Liu’er exclaimed aloud: “Young miss is so clever!”

“Wait.” Lingbo raised one finger. “Let me be plain from the start, just one condition: I am hiring people to do work — I am not giving charity. The work must be done well, the hands must be kept clean, nothing may go missing, and during busy periods, they cannot hold out for more money. Every needlework worker in the capital understands my standards. If there is ever a single instance of such behavior, the entire group will be let go. This must be passed on…”

“I understand.” Xiao Liu’er was also someone who saw the larger picture. From the moment she had heard of the orphans and widows of the Northern Frontier Army, she had been anxious on their behalf. She immediately pressed on: “We’ll also need to send two experienced older women here to teach them — both the craft and the rules of conduct — and stay until things are running smoothly on this end. We’ll also need to appoint a head person and at least five supervisors, each managing twenty workers — that should be about right. And those children can be put to use too — they would be excellent for running errands and delivering things. If there are new designs or patterns to send, they could carry them as well. Doesn’t that work out nicely for everyone?”

As Lingbo listened to Xiao Liu’er organizing and assigning, she nodded repeatedly — and could not resist casting a satisfied glance at Pei Zhao, the meaning in her eyes perfectly clear: so you trained a little squad, did you? Look here — strong generals have no weak soldiers; even my maidservant runs circles around your entire squad.

Pei Zhao could not help but laugh. When his smile reached his eyes, this was how it looked — his peach-blossom eyes curving down, like the spring waters of the south.

“By the way, that squad of yours — call them all over. They’ve been eavesdropping long enough,” Lingbo said.

Pei Zhao gave a whistle. The children reassembled, and this time the way they looked at Lingbo was different — awe and gratitude all at once, though they dared not come too close. They all tilted their faces upward, eyes bright and shining, like a litter of well-behaved little puppies.

“What’s your name?” Lingbo asked the girl informant.

“My name is Erya,” the girl replied promptly. “Young miss — my mother can braid cord. She has very nimble hands. She even braids my hair. Look… But the shop attendants say a bundle of silk thread for braided cord costs a full tael of silver to put down, with beads priced separately. We can’t afford that…”

“And if the silk gets snagged and the work comes out as a defective piece, they make you pay for the materials yourself out of pocket — isn’t that right?” Lingbo had no warmth to spare for Pei Zhao, but with children she was entirely gentle, and asked Erya with a smile.

“Yes, yes!” In Erya’s eyes, Lingbo knew everything and was also kind beyond measure. She immediately cried out adoringly: “Young miss, you know everything! Are you a fairy?”

Lingbo burst into a laugh. She patted Erya’s braids and smiled: “Follow along beside me and learn, and you’ll come to know these things too.”

She had never been the kind of young miss who simply sat in pampered ease. From the age of twelve, when her mother passed, Qinglan had managed outward affairs while she managed the household within — the shops from their mother’s dowry all placed in her care. What losses she had taken, what lessons she had learned, little by little, from that day to this — she herself had long lost count.

The Northern Frontier Army had braved a hundred battles in yellow sands on the borderlands — but managing a household in the capital for a woman was no easier.

With this in mind, Lingbo felt all the more justified in her approach, and flicked a glance at Pei Zhao, saying: “That squad of yours looks useful…”

Pei Zhao knew exactly what she meant without being told, and immediately laughed.

“Consider them Second Miss Ye’s.”

What Lingbo wanted most was not actually the squad at all. She did not fight battles — for gathering intelligence, she had her own household manservants, she had Liu Ji. What use did she have for a gang of half-grown children?

The person she had always wanted was only one.

“In that case, I would like to ask General Pei for a person,” she said, narrowing her eyes at Pei Zhao.

The fashion among capital young misses was to draw their brows in the sweeping emerald-feather style, long brows curving back into the hairline. She was no exception — pale-skinned, powdered and rouged. Though she was not considered a beauty, the way she looked at a person was unlike the soft and delicate air of most young misses — she looked more like a fox that had spotted its prey.

Pei Zhao knew exactly what she meant.

He simply smiled and rose, sweeping her a deliberate, elaborate bow: “At Second Miss’s service, in whatever capacity she commands.”

He had been born with this natural easy grace — even the way he looked up at someone over his folded arms while bowing was arrestingly beautiful. Lingbo slid her gaze away from him without any visible sign of effort, and said with affected superiority: “Hmph. I suspect General Pei may not be entirely sincere…”

“With Second Miss holding a hundred and fifty households hostage, should I dare be anything but sincere?” He looked at Lingbo with laughing eyes, putting on an expression of exaggerated surprise.

Lingbo could not suppress a smile — at her own success, and at his ridiculous performance.

“Hmph. I have no time to waste on you. I still have to return to attend the Grand Princess’s banquet.” She said this with great satisfaction.

“Second Miss is truly formidable,” Pei Zhao began with his strange remarks again — he had this gift, that even flattering words said in agreement with someone’s boasting made people want to strike him.

Lingbo shot him a glare.

“Don’t stand there being sarcastic,” she said, immediately assigning tasks to this newly acquired “subordinate”: “And stop spending all day idle here. From now on, the Grand Princess will be overseeing the Flower Season Banquet, and all generals from the Northern Frontier Army are expected to attend. You’ll need to make yourself presentable and go to the banquets on my behalf. I want you to keep a close eye on one person. Understood?”

“Who?”

“Cui Jingyu.”

“Ah — so it’s him…” Pei Zhao let out a sound of thoughtful realization, though there was not a trace of actual surprise in his tone. He looked at Lingbo and smiled with deep significance, everything except the words “I knew it” written across his face.

The Northern Frontier Army had ennobled three marquises. The Jing Marquis of the Fire Battalion was elderly, with grandchildren already; Wei Yushan was merely a young minor marquis. Only Cui Jingyu — twenty-four years old, brilliant and illustrious, of great family lineage — was a marquis of that youth. At twenty-four, across twenty-four rounds of the Flower Season Banquet, he was the object of pursuit for every noble family’s daughter. The one who would win his favor would be the undisputed champion of the Flower Season Banquet.

Lingbo’s face immediately went red. Fortunately, the powder was thick, and it was not too obvious.

“Don’t stand there making wild guesses — it’s not what you’re thinking…” She caught herself explaining herself to Pei Zhao, and her expression frosted over at once. She frowned and said: “What business is it of yours what I’m after — just do your job well. Watch him for me. Anything that happens, you report to me.”

“As you command.” Pei Zhao began playing the obedient manservant again with a smile: “And how do I report to you, miss?”

“I’ll take Erya back to the household to be educated. She’ll carry messages between us when there’s news.” Lingbo motioned for Xiao Liu’er to lower the curtain, and said: “I hear the day after tomorrow, Madam Wei will be hosting an ennobling banquet to celebrate Marquis Wei’s ennoblement — I will be attending as well. By then you should have something to tell me.”

The curtain fell. She pressed her lips together, her expression cooling.

Madam Wei truly was even more foolish than she had remembered her to be. Whatever her capabilities, illness or not, unfamiliarity with the capital’s customs or not — she had failed to put together a single banquet worthy of the capital’s standards, and had been pushed up onto that stage regardless. The ennobling banquet was one thing — but she would be expected to help organize the Flower Season Banquet going forward. Now that Qinglan had made it impossible to help the Wei household out of their difficulties, it remained to be seen whether her newly befriended “Young Madam Chen” Lu Wenyin would ever break her habit of occupying other people’s nests and lording over what was not hers — and whether she would give Madam Wei genuine assistance with the banquet.

Lingbo was already eagerly anticipating the spectacle of it all.