Han Yueqi smiled.

“Is it that you have nothing you want — or that you don’t dare want?”

She already knew Cui Jingyu would not answer her. He had been like this since four years ago: an utterly impenetrable man. Back then, he had at least shown some regard for Qinglan’s feelings and treated them reasonably well. Now he had dropped all pretense of warmth. Like at this moment — if she pressed two more verbal jabs, he would likely leave immediately.

And so Han Yueqi had no choice but to say with a smile: “This temple once had a name: the Zhanluo Temple. It was named for the Zhanluo King, also called the Zhanluo Buddha. Does Marquis Cui know his story?”

“I do not.” Cui Jingyu’s tone was blunt.

Han Yueqi smiled and pointed for him to look: among all the divine figures in the hall, there was one dull golden statue — with eyes of two different colors, a peacock crouching at its feet, holding a single branch of leaves in its hand.

“The legend says the Zhanluo King was once a prince of the Peacock Kingdom, born into great wealth and complete happiness, with a betrothed who was the most beautiful woman in the world. But in time, his parents were killed by treacherous villains, his throne was usurped, and he was driven out into the desert, where he suffered many hardships. He eventually became a bandit, lost the sight of one eye, but discovered a long-sealed treasure. And so he returned to his homeland. Across from the royal palace, he built himself a great mansion, where night after night he held magnificent banquets, with the finest wine and the most beautiful attendants, living in the most lavish splendor. The man who had destroyed him had since become the king, and his betrothed had become that man’s queen. The new king had built his queen a high tower, and whenever the Zhanluo King held his banquets, the queen’s shadow would appear in the tower’s glass windows — as though she were watching him secretly.”

Even someone rather slow could hear the allegory embedded in Han Yueqi’s story.

“And then?” Cui Jingyu asked her coldly.

“Then the king was finally tempted by the Zhanluo King’s banquets and slipped out of the palace to attend one in secret. The Zhanluo King drew his sword and fought him, cut off his head, and announced before all present that he was the rightful prince. He stormed into the palace and reclaimed his kingdom…” Han Yueqi spoke in a measured, unhurried voice. “But when he climbed that tall tower — his heart full of hatred and also full of longing — he found that the betrothed whom that tower had imprisoned had long since been only a pile of white bones. The figure he had seen night after night had been her corpse. She had never yielded to his enemy, and so she had never had the chance to wait for him to return. All those years of hatred and longing had been destined to come to nothing. The Zhanluo King then saw through the affairs of this world and attained profound enlightenment, becoming a Buddha where he stood. The Buddhist scriptures say this is the story of the Zhanluo King ascending the tower to become a Buddha.”

Han Yueqi finished the story and looked quietly at Cui Jingyu with a smile.

“Marquis Cui — you see how marvelously strange life and death and parting are in this world. Love and hate are sometimes only a thread apart. You are a clever man — so why cling to the past? Why not set it down and move forward? Life is short and will not bear to be squandered.”

Cui Jingyu only looked at her with cold eyes.

He had been to battlefields, had killed more men than she had ever hosted as guests. He was not about to be moved by one small story.

“In that case, Young Madam Shen, you are welcome to come speak with me again once you have found the pile of white bones.”

He finished speaking calmly, spared no further glance at the hall full of Buddhist statues, and walked out. Outside, the moon had risen over the western mountains, its light filling the courtyard. The sweet fragrance of cherry blossoms clung to the air with a cloying sweetness he found oppressive. Yet beneath the blossoming trees stood a slender, graceful figure.

For one brief moment, Cui Jingyu thought it was her.

But of course, he knew it could not be. It had been barely half a month since the Cui and Ye families had severed all ties — she would naturally not appear here.

“Who’s there?” The young servant at Cui Jingyu’s side called out sharply. Cui Jingyu frowned and stopped him. Military soldiers could be rough — it was too easy to give offense to a young lady.

But that figure had already stepped out from behind the cherry tree. Cui Jingyu, who forgot nothing once he had seen it, recognized at once that she was a daughter of the He Family — He Qingyi, he believed she was called.

“Marquis Cui,” she bowed gracefully before him. “It has been many days. I hope you have been well.”

Lingbo had recently been beset by one trouble after another.

The first was naturally that fellow Pei Zhao. Goodness knows where he had found the courage to actually stay genuinely angry with her. Lingbo had sent Liu Ji to look in on him — he would not even let Liu Ji through his door. He did pass along information: just three characters — “Chen Yaoqing,” the name of Lu Wenyin’s husband. Who could make heads or tails of what that meant?

Lingbo did want to ask further, but she worried it would only confirm what Pei Zhao was sulking about — that she only cared about getting information. Truly speaking, she was not entirely without reason: their connection had started with an exchange of information in the first place. What was wrong with wanting news?

Yet lately she could not explain it — she kept feeling a faint unease around Pei Zhao, a vague guilt she could not quite place.

The second matter was Cui Jingyu.

She could not fathom what had gotten into him. After the Cherry Blossom Banquet came the望春 Banquet, and the Li Family hosting the 望春 Banquet held a small equestrian event alongside it — and at that banquet, Cui Jingyu had actually arrived together with the He Family. And not just Madam He, but He Qingyi as well.

The whole capital erupted over this. Everyone had known Cui Jingyu’s marriage was to be settled at the Flower-Banquet this year, but no one had expected the He Family to move so quickly — before the Lantern Festival had even come, they had already gotten close to Cui Jingyu? He Qingyi was capable enough, but her looks were not outstanding. Could it be because Master He was currently close to the Ministry of War, and proximity had simply won him an early advantage?

The matrons of the capital were in a frenzy — that was one thing. But Lingbo was genuinely angry. To her mind, Cui Jingyu was always destined to be Qinglan’s — how could he end up with anyone else?

Shen Biwei was more philosophical about it and tried to persuade her: “Let it go. If heaven wants it to rain and a mother wants to remarry, there’s nothing one person can do. The way things stand between Cui Jingyu and Qinglan Sister, this isn’t something you can control on your own.”

“I’m going to get involved regardless.” Lingbo looked at her with contempt. “If you don’t want to help, fine — but don’t come throwing cold water on everything. I still haven’t settled accounts with you from last time.”

“What accounts? I’m the one who should be settling accounts with you. Who was that person climbing the mountain with you at the Cherry Blossom Banquet? One look at him and you could tell he was no good — a fox spirit! Don’t hide — don’t tell me you’re not guilty. Where are you going?” Shen Biwei was more righteous about it than she was.

“I’m too tired to argue with you. Tomorrow is the Lantern Festival and I need to sleep early. Bring me that Zhaojun cap of yours — I want to put it on Qinglan. It suits her perfectly, all fluffy and soft — like the Lady Zhaojun herself. Last time at the Cui household, Cui Jingyu couldn’t take his eyes off her.”

As Lingbo said this, she felt a small twinge of doubt in her own heart: had she been too reckless with that plan at the Cui household? It had cut off all possibility between Lu Wanyang and Cui Jingyu, certainly — but it had also made things uncomfortably tense between Qinglan and Cui Jingyu. She had originally thought that with Han Yueqi holding influence over at least two Flower-Banquets, and with Young Madam Wang on her side as well, there would always be a way to bring Cui Jingyu and Qinglan together in the end.

But then the Spring-Welcome Banquet had produced Yanlu out of nowhere, throwing Han Yueqi into a household crisis. Though that had been resolved, she had no energy left to attend to Qinglan’s situation. And now, barely a moment later, Cui Jingyu had gone and grown close to He Qingyi.

Not that Lingbo thought there was truly anything to it — most likely he was doing it to provoke someone, given how stubborn Cui Jingyu was. He was not the sort to have a change of heart easily; he was more the sort to nurse his wounds in silence. But watching it unfold still felt dangerous. If Qinglan took it seriously and the distance between the two of them kept growing, the situation would only get worse.

It was partly her own fault too. Everyone said the year’s plans began in spring, and she had been so absorbed in managing the shops that she had neglected to scheme on Qinglan’s behalf.

But it was not too late yet. The Lantern Festival’s walk to drive away illness was the liveliest and most open occasion of the year — beauties competing in their finery, brocade curtains blazing like sunsets, young men riding past, carved saddles gleaming like the moon. It was the perfect time for young ladies and young scions to look one another over. So many love stories had their beginnings at this moment. Come to think of it, Cui Jingyu and Qinglan had first become truly acquainted at the Lantern Festival years ago.

And there was also that fellow Pei Zhao — the Lantern Festival was the perfect occasion to sort things out with him too. She hadn’t even said anything wrong, and there he was nursing a grievance. Truly insufferable. She would deal with him properly tonight.

Lingbo rolled up her sleeves, so to speak. On the morning of the Lantern Festival, she was up early, first attending to A’Cuo and Yanyan. A’Cuo needed no worrying about — she looked lovely in anything. Lingbo was more concerned about her looking too lovely and attracting unnecessary trouble. So she had prepared for A’Cuo a large-sleeved robe in rosy sunset brocade, still with the crimson feather-trimmed fox fur cape over it. Her hair was dressed in the fashionable double-fold topknot, and she wore a set of red coral ornaments with matching gilded hair combs throughout, perfectly echoing the robe. Together, she and Yanyan looked like a pair of twins, each beautiful in their own way — A’Cuo graceful and willowy, Yanyan bright and lovely like snow. Each carried a gold fish lantern adorned with gold foil, each attended by two maids and a cluster of matrons — nothing to worry about there.

With the two younger girls settled, she turned her full attention to working on Qinglan.

Qinglan had not wanted to go in the first place, using her own reasoning: “You all go and enjoy yourselves — I see the same scene every year, there’s nothing new to it. I’ll stay home and watch the lanterns from here, have a hot meal and hot soup ready for when you come back. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

Lingbo was having none of it. “Niangzi Yang is here watching the house — she hurt herself over the New Year playing cards and is still resting. What are you staying home for? She’ll feel guilty and won’t be able to rest properly. When is our poor Niangzi Yang ever going to win back her losses…”

Niangzi Yang laughed despite herself at being used this way.

“It was only a few strings of coins lost on New Year’s Eve — how long is Second Miss going to keep bringing it up…” But she was clever as always: having had her say, she immediately joined in and helped Lingbo coax: “Still, First Miss really should go out and see the Lantern Festival this year. Even if Second Miss and the others don’t need looking after, it would do First Miss good to get some air. Everyone in the capital goes out for the Lantern Festival. If our household doesn’t go, it looks like something is the matter with us.”

The moment Niangzi Yang finished, Lingbo shot her a silent thumbs-up from behind Qinglan’s back. Niangzi Yang acknowledged it with the most imperceptible little lift of her brow, thoroughly pleased with herself.

That was what it meant to grow sharper with age. Niangzi Yang’s first line — saying Lingbo and the others did not need looking after — was precisely designed to remind Qinglan of the sense of responsibility she felt for them. The second — “it looks like something is the matter with us” — was not directed at anyone in the capital in general. It was directed at Cui Jingyu.

Cui Jingyu had barely started spending time with He Qingyi, and Qinglan was already not going to the Lantern Festival. Was that not giving herself away?

Surely enough, Qinglan’s resolve faltered: “But I didn’t prepare anything for going out this year…”

“Don’t worry — I have everything covered.” Lingbo immediately called out to Xiao Liu’er: “Bring that moonlight robe. I made it following exactly the one Sister wore four years ago. But my face isn’t as fair as Sister’s — when I put it on, it simply doesn’t look right. Might as well give it to Sister. Besides, there’s no other occasion fine enough to wear it, and if I keep it — well, the other courtyard will probably say I’m cursing Master Ye.”

Qinglan laughed at that. With Niangzi Yang still coaxing beside her, Qinglan had no choice but to agree.