To prepare for the banquet, Minglan had been run so ragged in those days that her heels were practically hitting the back of her head. The first thing to contend with was the matter of money.

When she and Gu Tingye had been married only about four or five days, a distant relation by marriage of the Gu household was holding a celebration. The connection to this family was of the most convoluted, distant sort — there was no need for Minglan or her husband to attend in person — but since this particular family was currently doing reasonably well and was someone they would still cross paths with at court, it would not do to let the connection lapse entirely. So Minglan sent over a gift.

This custom was called the giving of gifts. For anyone with even a passing connection — anyone with whom there was some history of dealings worth keeping — whenever an invitation to a celebration arrived, whether or not you intended to attend, a gift was expected. The exact value was a separate matter.

The Ningyuan Marquis’s household had stood since the founding of the dynasty. Though they were not among the most abundantly populated of the great clans, their roots were deep and their branches wide. The family’s in-laws and distant relations numbered in the legions, in the capital and beyond alike. Setting aside those who lived far away, the figure for those in the capital alone was already very substantial. Add to that all of Gu Tingye’s colleagues and fellow soldiers, and the open and unspoken connections between them, and the number was truly considerable.

In the barely more than a month since the wedding, though Minglan had not yet made any official public appearance at a banquet, she had already sent out eleven and a half gifts in congratulations. Of these: four were for elders celebrating significant birthdays, three were for weddings, two were for first-month ceremonies, one was for someone newly promoted, and one and a half were for funerals — the half being a joint contribution sent together with the Ningyuan Marquis’s mansion.

Minglan finally understood why ancient great households preferred to live clustered together in extended-family compounds. Those four-generation households under one roof could receive gifts continuously — from the old patriarch’s birthday, right down to the great-grandchild’s secondary wedding. An unbroken stream of red and white celebrations. Of course, in such families, propriety and reciprocity flowed both ways, and the finances of these gift exchanges rarely suffered any serious imbalance.

Calculated in this way, it was immediately clear that the Gu household was at a severe disadvantage:

Hosting a birthday banquet? The Gu household’s elders all lived next door.

Getting married? Gu Tingye had only just married, and Minglan was not planning on dying any time soon.

Marrying off a daughter? Rong Jie’er had only just started attending the children’s schoolroom — even by ancient standards, no one was so ruthless as to rush her.

A first-month celebration? Even if the two of them worked overtime day and night without rest, there was no way to have one ready in time now.

All the usual sources of gift income were closed to them, while the fact that they had established a separate household meant they had to give gifts independently. Minglan stared at the account books, drawing one cold breath after another. Her heart felt as though it were being wrung by invisible hands, and for the first time she truly understood the meaning of the phrase. She very nearly wanted to suggest that Gu Tingye simply move back into the Ningyuan Marquis’s mansion.

When Gu Tingye noticed that Minglan had fallen into an inexplicable low mood, he was puzzled and asked about it. Minglan said gloomily: “Husband, during the years you wandered the jianghu, did you ever trouble yourself about money?”

Gu Tingye smiled and rested one arm on the carved rosewood armrest of his chair. “Naturally, I did. There was a time when I ate plain noodles in broth for one coin a bowl.”

Minglan nodded and looked at him with an expression of deepest sorrow. “Then does Husband know that these past days, we have sent out the equivalent of six hundred and fifty-four thousand and some hundred bowls of plain noodles in gifts? …I should have gone to the banquets after all. At least I could have eaten something back.”

Gu Tingye nearly expelled the tea through his nose. He quickly set down his cup and laughed. “Never mind that. It all comes back in time.”

Minglan sniffed with dismissive disbelief. She extended one slender, tapering finger and pointed it at the man’s straight, fine nose, her smile ironic and her voice intentionally light and sweet: “The great Commandant has surely been removed from household affairs for too long. Right now this household has no elders above us and no children below us. Unless the Commandant wishes to take a concubine and hold a celebration — what possible occasion do we have?”

Gu Tingye fixed Minglan with a look of great pity and proceeded to instruct her gently on what she clearly did not know: “Your husband will teach you one principle. When a stove burns hot enough, even in the dead of summer people rush to come and tend it.”

Minglan looked at her husband with sudden admiration at this deeply philosophical statement — though a certain self-satisfaction was hard to miss in the delivery. She said with complete and genuine sincerity: “Husband is truly wise.” Her eyes brimmed with reverence and admiration. That gaze immediately made Gu Tingye feel quite heroic and enlightened, and without realizing it, the corner of his mouth lifted.

“But…” Minglan hesitated, then could not stop herself from saying: “If the stove burns too hot, would it not end up burning the whole hearth down?”

Gu Tingye nodded slowly. “Indeed. And that is precisely why the gate of the fire chamber must be managed carefully — you cannot allow just anyone who wants to add a log to come and do so.”

Minglan was relieved. She flicked her hand: “Well then, Husband must take care.”

Gu Tingye smiled and reached around from behind to seize Minglan by the scruff of her neck, lifting her like a mewing kitten: “Dear wife, let your husband remind you — the two of us are sharing the same stove.”

Minglan tucked in her neck and studied Gu Tingye for a moment, then immediately adapted: “Then the two of us will take care together.”

……

Gu Tingye’s read on the situation proved entirely accurate. Beginning about five or six days before the banquet, gifts started arriving at the front gate in a steady trickle — some from within the capital, others from farther away. There were military commanders stationed at border garrisons, local officials from around the capital region, and relations who required seven or eight roundabout connections before any family tie could be established. The general meaning was always much the same: “Your esteemed household’s joyous occasion — obligations on my end unfortunately prevented me from offering congratulations in person, and so I humbly present this modest token of my good wishes.”

When Minglan looked over the calling cards, she could not help being puzzled — there were not a few names on them for whom she had sent no invitation at all. What occasion exactly were they coming to congratulate? She brought the gift register to Gu Tingye.

Gu Tingye scanned through the names. Some he raised an eyebrow at, saying nothing in particular. Others gave him pause, as if he were uncertain what to make of them. A few drew a look of contempt and a cold sound from the back of his throat. But as long as the gift was not excessive, he told Minglan to accept all of them without exception.

“If we refused even the ‘modest gifts,’ I expect some of these people would be jumping up and down in a panic.” Gu Tingye said with an expressionless face, and turned to go back to the outer study.

Minglan did not press him for an explanation. She went quickly back to her own room, recorded all the names on the list, and added a note beside each one indicating the subtle nuance of expression Gu Tingye had shown when he saw it — for future reference. The gift register itself would be filed by the accounting office; she need not concern herself with that.

She turned back to look at those large and small trunks and boxes of “modest gifts” and felt suddenly as though every coin of it were burning her hands. She very much wanted to send it all back that instant, in exchange for a clear conscience. At that thought, Minglan let out a long sigh, and it was only today that she felt she had truly caught a glimpse of what it meant to be a woman who had crossed into another world — she was actually beginning to regard money as something tiresome?!

Two days later, the imperial palace sent a formal gift as well: a large lacquered box of tribute pearls from the southern seas, each one full and perfectly round, lustrous and smooth; a coral tree over a foot tall, its trunk a deep, rich red throughout, gleaming and alive with color; and two bags of silver coins wrapped in imperial yellow silk. Both objects were extraordinarily rare and precious.

The gift was symbolic, of course. The Emperor’s message was simple: look, everyone — this man Gu is under my protection.

Minglan held the bags of silver — approximately the weight of a bag of rice — and felt, somehow, not the slightest bit of strain. Instead, she was moved to rather poetic reflection: “After all, the money that comes from serving the state is money one can receive with a clear conscience.”

This body, which had never done a day’s manual labor, was a delicate and tender thing indeed. She must have held the silver a little too long, because by evening both her soft little forearms were aching and swollen. Gu Tingye came striding in with a jar of ointment and a thunderous expression. With one sharp look, he sent Danju — who had stepped forward to take the jar — scurrying back in fright. Then he applied the ointment himself, two large, sinew-lined hands working up and down in alternating strokes. He rubbed with force while muttering in irritable fury: “…Have you never seen silver before?!”

“Never seen silver that the Emperor himself sent over.” Minglan hissed in cold air through her teeth. Her arms ached and pulsed, but she did not dare cry out in pain. She glanced sideways. Gu Tingye’s expression was dark. She could not help asking: “What is the matter? Is there something wrong with the imperial gift?”

Gu Tingye said in a low, measured voice: “His Majesty has things very hard at the moment. There was no need for him to issue such a gift. He understands his own difficulties well enough, and so do we.”

“I thought the imperial treasury was very full.” Minglan said, puzzled. Leaving a substantial national treasury behind had been one of the late Emperor’s greatest points of pride.

“Full on paper, certainly.” Gu Tingye said with a cold laugh. “The northern garrison fortifications, the Dian Mian and Miao administration in the south, and the recovery work in the Huai River region after the military disturbances — silver is needed everywhere. Yet the Ministry of Finance cannot produce it. A pack of useless wretches, doing nothing but cooking the books!”

“Why does His Majesty not issue an edict to investigate and call them to account? The whole world still believes the treasury is full.” Minglan’s expression grew serious.

Gu Tingye gave a cold sound. “For one thing, if His Majesty were to expose this the moment he ascended the throne, it would reflect poorly on the late Emperor’s governance — and fortunately, the late Emperor’s period of mourning is now nearly complete. For another…” he paused, not certain whether to say more.

“For another, in the first years of a new reign, stability is always the foremost concern,” Minglan continued for him quietly. “And besides, His Majesty spent many years away from the capital in his distant princedom — he had no base of support here in the city. It would not have been wise to move too quickly on sweeping reforms. And naturally, compared to the corruption of officials eating away at the state from within, dealing with something as clear-cut as the Jing Wang and Tan Wang uprisings was the more urgent matter.”

Gu Tingye felt the tightness in his chest loosen slightly. His large palm cradled Minglan’s smooth, pale forearm as his movements gradually slowed. He said quietly: “His Majesty has it far from easy… So for this banquet — let us keep it simple.”

Minglan nodded solemnly.

Simple it was said to be, and yet a long list of names emerged — people who could not possibly be left off the guest list. Two days before the event, a stack of papers was distributed, each one bearing a large circle with many names arranged in sequence around its edge, clearly meant to indicate the seating arrangement at each table. Nanny Liao Yong found it a bit childish, but inwardly she had to admit it was a rather clever little touch.

“All the arrangements have been made. Fifteen tables for the male guests in the outer courtyard, eight tables for the female guests in the inner courtyard, with five extra tables in reserve. Madam, please review and see if anything needs to be adjusted.” Nanny Liao Yong bowed her head respectfully as she reported. “There is no opera stage set up, only a few female storytellers and a troupe of singers and musicians kept on standby in the outer courtyard. If the guests wish to hear them, they can be called out at any time. Arrangements for the carriage and horse parking, resting areas and meals for the servants the guests bring, the reception attendants in the outer courtyard, the seating callers — all has been assigned and organized.”

Minglan sat at the head of the table, going through the menus and account books one by one, verifying the estimated expenses, reviewing the allocation of staff. As she calmly gave her instructions and checked through each item, the assembled housekeeper women and senior servants, who had initially been prepared to take her lightly, quietly straightened themselves and gave their answers with proper attention.

As the day drew nearer, Minglan grew increasingly serious. She wore a set expression from morning to night, and when Gu Tingye came home after morning court and tried to tease and joke with her as he usually did, she would not even look up. He watched her carefully for a few days before finally asking with some puzzlement: “Are you nervous?”

Minglan released the jaw she had been clenching and let out a long, slow breath. She gave a rueful smile: “Your eyesight is not bad.”

The situation, in truth, was peculiar. A secondary-born daughter like Minglan — most such girls were never taken under a principal wife’s wing to be taught the arts of managing a household, entertaining guests, or navigating family relations. Secondary-born daughters grew up quietly within the inner walls, learning a little needlework and reading, and then married off and took their place alongside their mothers-in-law, learning through mistakes and scolding what needed to be learned. For this reason, truly distinguished families generally did not take secondary-born daughters as principal daughters-in-law.

Compared to a daughter born of the principal wife, the difference in experience, skill, and social cultivation was staggering. Of course, there were exceptions — individuals of exceptional natural talent who needed no guidance from anyone. Jia Tanchun of Dream of the Red Chamber would be one such remarkable example from the daughters born outside the principal line.

Minglan bowed her head and wept inwardly. She feared she was… not exceptional in that way.

In the matter of household management, Old Madam Sheng had instructed Minglan to some degree, but Old Madam Sheng was herself a person of free and easy temperament, and in these ten years, the grandmother and granddaughter had envisioned for Minglan’s future nothing more ambitious than the life of a daughter-in-law in a middling official’s household.

The most elaborate social occasion Minglan had been expected to manage in her entire imagined future was perhaps a small luncheon of seven dishes for a sister or two and a sister-in-law, held in her own modest courtyard, where they would exchange gossip and crack melon seeds and casually mention that your little one has grown another tooth while my husband has taken on yet another little fox spirit.

She was supposed to gradually learn what needed to be known by following her mother-in-law about, absorbing instruction through a decade of scolding and stumbling — but that path was not available to Minglan either.

She had intended to be the shift supervisor of a small township enterprise. Instead, she had been vaulted overnight to chief executive of a conglomerate listed at the top of every ranking. Her expectations of the position and her actual circumstances were wildly at odds. And her chairman was the hands-off sort, who had provided not even an orientation.

It was called a casual dinner, and yet the guests arriving tomorrow were, almost without exception, wealthy or powerful, with more than a few waiting eagerly for something to criticize. Minglan had no choice but to redouble her concentration and plan everything with the utmost care. She wrote out plan after plan, listed contingency upon contingency, thought through each guest’s standing and how best to receive and seat each one, oversaw the inventory of every table, chair, and table-cloth down to every wine vessel and rice bowl, made sure the pastries and tea service during the banquet would not fall short in any particular, kept watch over the kitchen fires — and went through each point with the head managers again and again until she had found every possible flaw. Only in the last two days did she feel something close to settled.

“What if it all goes terribly wrong?” Minglan said, full of worry.

“Then it goes wrong.” Gu Tingye found her anxiety endearing and leaned down to kiss her furrowed brow. Minglan pushed his face away with her palm, puffed out her cheeks, and protested: “Easy for you to say. You are not the one making a mess of it.”

Gu Tingye seized her small hand and nibbled cheerfully on each of her soft, round little fingers, one by one. Minglan very much wanted to attempt some kind of unarmed defense technique and pry out a couple of his large front teeth, but when she looked at those gleaming white teeth, she thought better of it. Gu Tingye caught hold of her narrow waist with a laugh and held her face still with his other hand, then said with unusual seriousness: “Do not be afraid. Let me ask you this — if the dinner goes badly, would I divorce you over it?”

“That seems… unlikely.” Minglan tilted her head. Last night he had been so passionate that he seemed as though he might expire on the spot — and had left her waist and legs in a state of muscle-level injury that had not yet recovered.

Gu Tingye was not satisfied with her hesitant response. His large hand gave her a firm squeeze. Minglan let out a cry of pain and twisted sideways trying to escape, only to be caught and held in place. He smiled and said: “Would the Emperor punish you for it?”

Minglan shook her head quickly: “He would not.” The Emperor had better things to do than spend his time on such trivialities.

“Then what are you afraid of?”

“People will laugh at me.” Minglan bit her lip and said quietly: “They will talk about me.” — Say that she came from humble origins after all, that she was a secondary-born daughter without the ability to manage anything, as expected.

“If you manage everything perfectly, would no one speak ill of you?” Gu Tingye raised one eyebrow and asked quietly.

Minglan was caught short. Gu Tingye drew her back to rest against the bed frame and said with a faint, wry tilt to his lips: “Those who bear goodwill toward you will excuse a slip or two. Those determined to find fault would say, even if the Nine Heavens’ own fairy descended — that she could put away half a pork knuckle in one sitting, my goodness, what a stomach she has. If the Seven Fairies were anything like you, Dong Yong would go bankrupt trying to feed them all…”

“You — you — you—!” Minglan had been nodding along at first, but when she heard the last few lines, her face flushed crimson with indignation, and she twisted away and refused to look at him — that moment of weakness in an otherwise careful life was the most wretched blot on the record of Sheng Minglan, and she would have very much preferred to forget it existed. But this infuriating man kept dragging it back into the light.

Gu Tingye laughed out loud. Looking at her burning cheeks, bright as flame — while on the windowsill several pots of rare imperial-tribute western flowers were in full bloom even as late spring turned into early summer, their heavy fragrance drifting in through the room on the breeze, lightening the heart and easing the mind — with such a lovely woman in his arms, he could not help pulling her closer, tucking his head down over hers, and saying softly: “Whatever you are still unclear about — ask me. All of it.”

Minglan lay against his chest and thought for a moment, then drew out the guest list from her sleeve. She pointed to a row of names circled in vermillion, saying: “These few I have not heard of. They must be friends and colleagues you know from your time outside — tell me about them.”

Gu Tingye took the paper from her and said in an easy, unhurried tone: “…This Fu Qinran is a member of the collateral line of the Changxing Baron’s family. We studied together at the family school. He is rather rigid and pedantic, but a decent person.”

“A classmate,” Minglan said, nodding.

Gu Tingye smiled and pointed to a few other names: “Cheng Yong is Old Duan’s youngest brother. He, and these others here, have been with me in the Five Armies’ Camp from the very beginning.”

“Comrades in arms,” Minglan continued to summarize.

Gu Tingye paused — and when he thought about it, that was not wrong — and continued: “These few were originally garrison officers and commanders from the Emperor’s residence before his accession. They were later transferred to Xuanfu and the northern frontier. Back when we were all at the Eighth Prince’s mansion, we often went out drinking and carousing together…”

And they had probably visited pleasure houses together — Minglan completed the thought inwardly before he could finish.

“…In truth, all of that was a cover.” Gu Tingye suddenly changed direction. “The southwest borders were restless, and bandits were causing havoc. They were constrained by concern for the Shu Wang and did not want to create trouble for His Majesty, so they found it deeply frustrating to do nothing. So they borrowed the pretense of my outings to slip away disguised, and we would go quietly and kill a few of the worst among the bandits to let off some steam. One time, Lao Geng nearly lost an arm. His wife picked up a cleaver and was ready to fight the lot of us to the death.”

Gu Tingye finished speaking and fell into a faint, nostalgic smile, seemingly lost in memory of those blood-stirring days. Minglan sat with her jaw open, and then slowly closed her mouth. She felt a hot wave rise up to her face, bowed her head quietly, and felt genuinely ashamed of her uncharitable assumptions.

Gu Tingye watched the changing expressions flitting across Minglan’s face, then very gently caught one small, soft pink ear between his fingers. The corner of his mouth curved into a dangerous smile: “Little girl — did you just have thoroughly improper thoughts again?”

Minglan gave a violent start, sat up very straight, and said with absolute righteousness: “Absolutely not. This wife of yours has always felt that Husband is a man of the noblest chivalry and the most upright integrity!”

Gu Tingye released the ear, and though he knew perfectly well that this girl’s words could never be taken at face value, he still felt genuinely pleased to hear it. He could not help but glare at her with a laugh: “You and your gift for flattery — it is a true waste of talent that you never became someone’s chief advisor.”