According to the ritual laws of the Great Zhou dynasty, when an elder brother of direct lineage passed away, the younger brothers observed mourning of the unbelted variety for one year, in practice nine months. However, Gu Tingyu had not been an ordinary elder brother—he had been the main-branch patriarch of the Gu household, who had held the Marquis title and served as head of the family. Accordingly, the first month was the period of heaviest mourning: conjugal relations were forbidden, banquets were suspended, and all music and pleasure were cut off.

With a wife as beautiful as a flower before him—visible but untouchable, tangible but unable to proceed—and watching Zhu Shi’s belly grow larger and more evident by the day, the man’s face grew black as the bottom of a pot, all the more convinced that he had been born under an unlucky star where the Qin family branch was concerned.

One day, an invitation came from the Dongchang Marquis household, asking both of them to come enjoy the first plum blossoms of the season over tea. It was met with a flat and immediate refusal.

The Madam, eyes red with weeping, went to find Minglan to air her grievances.

“The Marquis is genuinely distressed,” Minglan explained. “His grief has taken hold deep within him; he cannot bring himself to relieve it. Even the white lanterns have become more than he can bear to look at—one look at them and he thinks of Elder Brother and is overcome with sorrow.”

The Madam felt a heaviness in her chest; recent events added to her irritation, and she very nearly fainted again.

After soothing the “delicate” Madam, Minglan ambled unhurriedly back to the Emerald Garden, where a message had arrived from the Sheng family: Elder Brother Changbai was to be posted to a provincial appointment, leaving around the end of the month. The family requested that the sixth young lady’s husband and the young lady come back to the house for a visit.

Minglan was full of puzzlement. She turned and said: “I remember it was Father who was to be posted—how has it become Elder Brother?”

Gu Tingye was leaning sideways against the window frame, holding a scroll, and laughed softly. “Father-in-law has a clear head and sharp eyes—and it’s not only old Shen Shiqi the crafty fox who can read the currents.”

This particular pillar of the political world who never seemed to topple deserved his reputation: he had an unerring sense for the Emperor’s mood and an equally sure grasp of the undercurrents among officials, and the new Emperor had found him a serviceable instrument. But in recent times the court had become increasingly difficult to navigate—offend this side and you offend that side, displease the officials and displease the Emperor—and anxious about disgracing himself in his final years, coming to grief in a ditch at the end, Shen Shiqi had begun submitting memorials from early in the year requesting to resign his post in old age. The Emperor naturally refused; Shen Shiqi thereupon made a show of falling ill and declining to attend court—and kept up this display for half a year, publicly absent from his duties.

The Emperor could not outmaneuver him, and had no choice but to grant the request.

What the Emperor had envisioned was: rather than appoint a new Grand Counsellor he could not trust, better to keep this slippery old fox at his post, and install his own loyal confidant when the timing was right. Grand Counsellor Yao, whom the Emperor trusted, had not long been in the Grand Secretariat and was still too junior in standing; with Shen Shiqi stepping down at this moment, the Emperor had not yet found a suitable candidate to step up—the ones who were ready, he did not trust; the ones he trusted were not yet ready.

The old fox was quite obliging: the moment permission to resign was granted, he at once recommended a candidate to the Emperor—and amid the murky and treacherous currents of court, the Emperor glanced about and his eye landed on a half-dozing Senior Grand Counsellor Lu. Very well—you it is.

“That old fox…” Gu Tingye, whenever the man came up, could not help grinding his teeth.

In truth, Senior Grand Counsellor Lu was even older than Shen Shiqi—and he took it considerably more philosophically. He said what needed to be said, did what needed to be done, and as long as the Emperor was not openly displeased with him, he would go on making his contribution to the nation until he could be carried out in a coffin.

Before his departure, Shen Shiqi had made arrangements for one nephew and one grandson-in-law to be posted in safe provincial appointments, and left behind an old nephew and several of his proteges to look after things in court. Having dealt with all these matters in a spirit of energetic capability, he adopted an air of one utterly worn out from years of devoted service, and climbed with a look of exhaustion onto the carriage home.

Sheng Hong had presumably heard something from Grand Counsellor Lu, or had seen certain things for himself, and had concluded that rather than have a son who had just entered the political arena get dragged into muddied waters, it would be better to have him step back and see how the wind was blowing, to preserve a promising future.

Gu Tingye was entirely in agreement. Given his own considerable position and the Emperor’s trust—and that he was predominantly military, which meant less direct involvement in court debates—there were still people who set traps for him. How much more would this be the case for Sheng Changbai?

When husband and wife went to the Sheng household, they discovered that Sheng Hong had something to entrust to Gu Tingye.

“The Zexian county is remote and set deep in the hills. I have no fear of your Elder Brother enduring hardship—a young man should have hardship to build his character. My concern is merely that the land is rough and the roads hardly fit for travel…”

Gu Tingye understood at once. “Father-in-law’s concern is well placed. I will find a few capable and reliable guardsmen for Elder Brother-in-Law at once—enough to ensure his safe passage. And—” he paused, turning it over in his mind—”I happen to have some old acquaintances near Chenzhou Prefecture, which is not far from Zexian. I will write to them and ask that they also keep an eye out, so that no local troublemakers bother Elder Brother-in-Law.”

Sheng Hong relaxed visibly with relief, and said approvingly: “The guardsmen in this household have always been of limited ability, and I have never been confident in them. As long as you open your mouth to ask, we will naturally not treat them poorly—if the arrangement proves lasting, we will see to their welfare for the whole of their lives.”

Gu Tingye nodded. “That is all to the good.”

“Much obliged, Brother-in-Law.” Changbai clasped his hands and bowed.

In the inner room, Wang Shi was weeping like a river, clutching at Minglan’s sleeve and crying repeatedly: “What on earth is your father thinking? It’s not as though our family lacks ability—if he must have an appointment, couldn’t he at least find a decent place? They say rough mountains and savage waters breed unruly people—that county… I’m so frightened, I’m so frightened…”

Sheng Lao, seated in the place of honor, sat with an expression of deep displeasure and said nothing at all.

Minglan stroked the arm that had been clutched until it ached, and continued to offer comfort: “Please set your mind at ease. Father is always far-sighted—this must be his way of looking after Elder Brother.”

“Looking after him? I think he’s gone muddleheaded in his old age!” Wang Shi wailed brokenly. “Your Elder Brother has been raised on nothing but silk and comfort all his life—how could he have endured anything like this? What are we to do?”

Minglan’s head throbbed; she spent some time calming her, but Wang Shi only cried louder.

Sheng Lao at last lost patience. She smacked the table and scolded: “Will you stop? The son-in-law is right outside—have you no shame? I think that old trouble of yours has come back again. The affairs outside belong to the men—stay out of it and stop causing trouble!”

Wang Shi covered her handkerchief against her face and lowered her sobs somewhat. “What happens outside I would never dare meddle in—but this concerns Changbai! He has never in his life experienced anything like…”

“Hold your tongue!” Sheng Lao’s fingers gripped her teacup tightly, nearly throwing it in exasperation. “That Zexian county, poor and remote as it is, is not a strategic stronghold. And precisely because it is so inconspicuous, there is far less tangled conflict of interests. As long as Changbai stays safe and sound—with good administration of the locality, care for the people, road and bridge improvements, and encouragement of farming, he can build real achievements. Why would he want to go to a comfortable and prosperous place? To scrape money?”

Wang Shi was left blinking in confusion. “Is—is that truly how it is?”

Sheng Lao could only sigh at this. “Do you think those wealthy and fertile appointments are easy to hold? In the prosperous coastal and inland regions—the salt, the iron, the fish—layers of interests and entanglements, powerful factions behind every turn. Our family has no deep roots; Changbai would be unable to act, unable to touch anything. That is what would truly make his life difficult.”

Wang Shi’s sobs gradually subsided; she still looked worried, as if not entirely convinced. Sheng Lao had no patience left, and said outright: “Besides, this is already decided. Say no more of these frightening things. Let the young couple leave with a settled heart—don’t go frightening them.”

“Both of them? Will Elder Daughter-in-Law go too?” Wang Shi’s attention worked in remarkable ways. One hand still dabbing her eyes, she latched on to this secondary point with dissatisfaction. “Every other daughter-in-law stays home to serve her in-laws!”

“Of course she goes!” Sheng Lao glared back. “Do you think that rough and remote place is something good? If Elder Daughter-in-Law doesn’t go along to look after him, could you rest easy? Don’t open your mouth—I’ll speak. None of this rushing to bring in concubines—that’s only adding trouble on top of trouble. Finding a few attentive and capable female attendants and maidservants for the two of them is more the thing.”

Wang Shi flushed red and embarrassed, and fell silent with a sheepish bow of her head. Sheng Lao added with pointed irony: “Don’t worry—if a man has those inclinations, can the wife really stop him? At this particular moment, don’t stir up any more trouble. If you have time on your hands, go spend more of it with Rulan—she is nearly at term.”

Minglan stood respectfully to one side throughout, head lowered. It was not appropriate for a daughter-in-law of a younger generation to speak while an elder reprimanded someone of the middle generation—and besides, she felt Sheng Lao was not wrong. Wang Shi was like a clock that wouldn’t keep time: without someone to wind her up, she would fail at the critical moment.

After a few more words, Sheng Lao sent Wang Shi out to tend to Gu Tingye—it would not do to have a son-in-law come all the way to his father-in-law’s home for a rare visit and not even see his mother-in-law. Wang Shi, hearing this, hurried back to her room to wash her face and touch up her appearance.

Sheng Lao then kept only Minglan with her in Shou’an Hall. After a few ordinary pleasantries, she came straight to the point. “I hear the Marquis household is to be divided? Has His Majesty not allocated funds for the construction of a new mansion as a gift? It’s nearly been two months—why have you still not merged the households yet?”

Minglan smiled wryly. She had known Sheng Lao would ask this, and simply told her everything outright. “We had long since thought about dividing the household—Tingye would by no means be willing to go on living with those people under one roof. The question of how to raise it, and how to send them packing, had yet to be worked out.”

This was something no one had quite anticipated.

At the time, when Gu Tingyu was clearly failing, the clan relatives from Jinling and Qingcheng had also begun arriving in succession. And then, to everyone’s surprise—right there at the sickbed, in the presence of everyone gathered—he had struggled upright and produced two pieces of paper from beneath his pillow.

On one sheet was written a detailed account of all the household property since he had inherited the Marquis title: every landed estate, all the treasury silver, every shop and business front, and every precious family heirloom passed down across the generations, along with the accumulated calligraphy and painting collections of the family’s history.

At this, the Madam’s expression had turned distinctly pale around the edges.

The other sheet was an old document—from approximately ten years past—recording the separation of household property when Gu Tingye’s grandfather’s generation had divided assets among the various branches’ daughters-in-law. Every detail was recorded with precision: how much was allocated to each of the three main branches of direct lineage—the main branch, the fourth branch, and the fifth branch—and how much to each of the several collateral branches of sons born to concubines. Real estate, silver, land, all written out clearly and unmistakably.

The faces of those from the fourth and fifth branches and their households changed color at once.

Gu Tingyu, while he still had the strength, had each of the clan elders and assembled kinsmen examine the document one by one, checking the authenticity of the seals and stamps upon it.

Though he was dying, his mind was perfectly clear, and his words were admirably well-chosen: “Second Brother has been away for so long that he is not familiar with the affairs here at home. It is only proper to give a clear account of things, so that family matters may proceed smoothly hereafter. That way I can also answer to Father’s charge to me at the end.”

In the silence that followed, everyone present understood precisely what had occurred.

“…That eldest son of the Gu family was truly a person of ability.” Sheng Lao said slowly, closing her eyes for a moment.

Minglan sighed. “Tingye… is deeply displeased about it at heart.”

He had known the task would be formidable, and that there was no avoiding a certain amount of public criticism—but he was confident he could manage those troublemakers. Yet now Gu Tingyu had done it for him, at the cost of offending the Madam.

This was a favor he had to acknowledge, wanted to or not.

“Will they be willing to leave?” Sheng Lao asked quietly, leaning back against her chair with eyes half closed.

“Whether or not they are willing—they will have to be.” The clear, crisp voice was utterly without warmth.

Sheng Lao’s eyes snapped open; she fixed a sharp, penetrating gaze on Minglan, and in a grave tone: “How do you mean to go about it?”

Minglan’s posture was composed and poised, and a faint smile curved the corners of her lips. “At present, the iron immunity tablet and the imperial honorary plaque are both in my keeping. If they refuse to go, then I will simply not tear down the Emerald Garden wall. If they want to merge households, they can dream.”

“So…” Sheng Lao’s expression eased into one of amused curiosity.

“I can wait. Tingye can wait. Everyone can wait. Everyone, that is, except—” Minglan let a faint, quiet smile cross her face— “Little Sister Tingcan, who cannot afford to wait.”

Gu Tingcan needed to find a good match, and soon—or she would truly be past the age for it.

As for Xiao Qin Shi—she had spent her entire life hiding in the shadows, playing the part of the white flower of innocence, while always putting others forward as her frontmen.

This time, Minglan intended to make her clear those frontmen away with her own hands. Once the water receded and the stones were bare, each person’s true face would be visible. From that point on, if any battle was to be fought, she would have to step forward and fight it herself in the open. Minglan would meet her any time.

After a long silence, Sheng Lao finally let a slight smile soften her expression. “Did you think of this yourself?”

Minglan’s eyes held steady conviction. “He has given me dignity and trust. I cannot simply sit in comfort and enjoy the good fortune.”