Minglan listened with delight, and the four of them shared a good laugh together. As for what hardships they had actually endured during those days in the palace — not one of them was willing to say a word about it.

On the ninth day after the upheaval, Liu Zhengjie finally succeeded in sweeping all of the capital clean, rooting out and eliminating every last remnant hidden in every corner of the city — some were cut down on the spot, others captured, and the majority were chased out of the city, where General Zheng Jun was lying in wait outside the gates and drove them eastward.

The rebel forces calculated that, after all, the capital garrison could not remain absent for too long. Together with the scattered common bandits who had been lumped in with the rebel label, they gathered in total some one thousand or more men, massing near the slopes of Luo Mountain, ten li east of the city, for a brief rest. Then, without warning, a fierce and powerful cavalry force charged out to seal the mouth of the mountain valley, and in an instant the sky was filled with fire-arrows and flaming missiles — an ocean of blood.

As the sky turned dusky yellow, Minglan sat at the dinner table and slowly sipped her chicken broth.

From half a city away, from the slopes more than ten li outside the city, one might almost imagine hearing the thunderous sounds of killing from Luo Mountain’s slopes, and a rolling plume of thick smoke rising in the distance, shot through with crimson-gold tongues of flame leaping proudly — growing brighter the darker the sky became, like the divine warriors from the old stories, armored in battle-plate, striding down through rolling smoke and booming thunder to subdue monsters and slay demons.

The beat of the night watch drum rang out softly at the hour of si. Because she had slept too much during the day, Minglan found herself wide awake, and sat on the covered corridor, waving a large palm-leaf fan and gazing up at the vast and glittering heavens. The tree leaves carried an ancient, clean fragrance that curled gently into her nostrils; fireflies trembled and floated in uncertain drifts beneath the eaves; moths beat their wings lightly against the crystal lamp shade, making a sound like pages being softly turned.

Sleep was creeping up on her gradually, and she was just thinking of rising and going back inside, when she heard a stir in the garden — what sounded like surprised, joyful exclamations. Before she had time to react, she saw a tall, dark figure standing at the far end of the courtyard.

The figure paused for a moment, then walked toward her step by step. Broad shoulders filled a deep crimson cloak; at either side, the savage golden beasts gleamed ferociously, two tiger heads with gaping mouths and sharp, gleaming teeth.

Through the dense canopy of leaves, the sparse moonlight fell across the man’s face and form. Deep crimson dried and congealed upon the dark gold armor; a thick, dense beard covered more than half his face — only a pair of dark eyes, bright and blazing as ever.

Minglan felt her throat go dry, her heart pounding wildly; the hand gripping her fan handle was faintly damp. She had missed him so long that she had, almost, forgotten where she had begun. Whatever Xiaotao and Luzhi were saying beside her she could not hear a word of — she simply stood motionless, gazing fixedly at him.

Gu Tingye walked slowly closer and opened his mouth, but the first word broke before he could get it out: “…I — I’m back…”

Like the deep rolling of distant drums, low and resonant, carrying a heart-shaking message from far away. In the fragrant, cool courtyard, the soft beating of the moth’s wings, the sound of dew dripping from a leaf-tip — all sound faded from Minglan’s ears, and suddenly she did not know whether this moment was dream or waking.

Was it possible that she had already fallen asleep there on the corridor, and this was only a dream…?

Gu Tingye stepped forward in one stride and caught her in a tight embrace. The smell of blood and dust that hit her face, the grip on her shoulders and arms that was almost painful — that brought her back to herself. She touched his face in a daze: “Oh — you’re back.” Something was lodged in her throat; a thousand things she had wanted to say, and now she could not find words for any of them.

Gu Tingye held her for a long while, then cupped her face in his hands. “What did you want to say?”

Minglan blinked at him vaguely. “Did we win the battle? There won’t be any charges against you?”

Gu Tingye grinned: “We won everything. I rode hard through the night with a cavalry contingent to get here. Old Duke Zhang is still at the rear, pressing the formation — there are prisoners, enemy heads, and the Jie chieftain’s golden tiger-head tent!”

Minglan wanted to laugh and wanted to cry in equal measure, standing there stupidly, looking every bit like a student suddenly called on in class who hadn’t been paying attention.

Gu Tingye drew her down to sit with him on the corridor steps, stroking her dry and brittle hair with a look of tender regret. “…You’ve gotten ugly.”

Minglan snapped awake at once and thumped his shoulder with force, saying fiercely: “And what do you look like — a ghost from the underworld!”

More than half a year of traveling and fighting in wind and rain, of endless campaigning and killing, followed by several days of relentless hard riding, and then a pitched battle — Gu Tingye too had grown gaunt and haggard. His cheekbones jutted sharply upward, his eye sockets were sunken deep, and against his weathered dark skin, his face was all the more ferocious and menacing — not unlike a ghost. Which, alongside a thin, dry, and sallow Minglan, made for quite a matched pair.

Husband and wife sat facing each other. They had so much they wanted to say that for the moment they could not think what to say first.

Gu Tingye looked Minglan over again and again — from her face, to her body, to the great swell of her belly. “…I was truly afraid…” Afraid she might meet with misfortune, afraid she might fall ill, afraid she would be too anxious… “The news of the defeat — I should have told you sooner, to spare you from worrying.”

To say she had not minded would be a lie — yet what could be done? “You were right not to tell me.” After a pause, she added: “I’m sure you’ve heard about what happened with General Zheng’s family. Old Master Zheng and Old Madam Zheng — both gone within a single day.”

Gu Tingye sighed: “A great pity. Elder Brother Zheng is the most filial of men… He led the troops out of the city to set the ambush still wrapped in mourning garments.”

Minglan was quiet for a moment, then said: “When a ruler is not discreet, he loses his kingdom; when a subject is not discreet, he loses his life. I understand this principle.”

Were one to speak of closeness — Old Master Zheng was flesh and blood, a father who had been kind and a son who had been filial over decades. Were one to speak of loyalty — Old General Zheng was steadfast and courageous to the core, unyielding as iron. And Old Madam Zheng had spent her whole life without ambition or contention against the world. And yet — though nothing could be said, nothing was to be said.

This was a rule written in blood.

As family, all one can do is trust, and be strong.

“Besides, Old Madam Bo once said — those of us who are wives of military men: if our husbands truly die in battle, there is nothing to be gained by seeking death ourselves. We raise our children to grow up, and that is all.” Minglan’s voice was heavy.

Gu Tingye nodded without hesitation: “That is true enough. But…” He couldn’t help adding: “There is no need to use Old Madam Bo as the model for everything.”

“Why is that?” She had always felt that Old Madam Bo was an extraordinary woman — in every disaster that came, she seemed always to emerge unscathed by some miraculous means.

“Old Marshal Bo came from nothing — no family, no backing. A scholarly household once did him a great kindness by chance; and so, when Old Marshal Bo came to ask for their daughter’s hand in marriage, the family found it difficult to refuse. But the girl herself was unwilling. She waited every day for the chance to be widowed and remarry. The old marshal declared — if only for the sake of that one breath of pride, he would outlive his own wife!”

Minglan started laughing: “Nonsense — I’ve heard that Old Marshal Bo was also from a distinguished family, only one that had fallen on hard times.”

Gu Tingye put on the expression of a successful man who is accustomed to all sorts of entertaining speculations about his background: “Where did you hear that nonsense! Old Marshal Bo’s old home was in some mountain ravine in the middle of nowhere — he didn’t even have a proper given name when he was young. It was only when he was promoted to deputy captain that he grabbed a blind fortune-teller in the middle of the night and had the name changed.”

“Then — what was Old Marshal Bo’s original name?”

Gu Tingye said: “I heard my father mention it once, long ago — it seems there was a word meaning ‘dog’ in it, though whether it was Ergou, Gouqing, or Goudan or something of that sort, I honestly couldn’t say…”

Minglan doubled over laughing, and Gu Tingye let her lean against him, wrapping one hand firmly around hers, and gently stroking her hair with the other. The wide, quiet courtyard suddenly felt warm and dear and utterly content.

The stillness lasted only a little while before the sound of a small child’s crying came from the side chamber. The husband and wife returned to their senses. Minglan patted the golden tiger-head on Gu Tingye’s shoulder and smiled: “Tuan Ge’er knows his father is home. Go change your clothes first, then go and see him.”

“Never mind the clothes — military commanders who led armies in the field cannot enter the city without an imperial edict. I slipped in on my own, secretly. Let me hold my son once — and then I have to go back…”

The words after that Minglan didn’t hear clearly. Her ears were ringing. After a long moment, she shrieked: “You entered the city in secret?! You — you, you — do you have any idea what you’re doing?! If you miss your wife and children, you send word in — you don’t have to come yourself! Do you have any idea what the crime is for entering the capital without imperial sanction?! Do you think the censors are there for decoration?! Your father-in-law hasn’t been in the Censor Bureau for ages — there is nobody to cover for you! You absolute fool! Stop looking — what are you looking at…”

Gu Tingye roared with laughter. At this moment, Cui Mama came out carrying Tuan Ge’er. Gu Tingye scooped up the little chubby one, gave him a fierce series of kisses, then handed him back to Cui Mama, turned and strode away — giving his wife’s face one last caress as he went.

Minglan, furious, hurled her fan at his retreating back with all her strength and stamped her foot, calling after him: “You great big idiot! When you get back, write me a proper memorial of repentance and beg His Majesty’s pardon! I have absolutely no interest in delivering prison meals!”

The reply was a peal of bright, loud laughter that echoed back across the courtyard from far away — open, clear, and full of happiness, as though the quiet night, in a single instant, had become spring in full bloom and warmth.

Minglan seethed for a good while before she suddenly realized — she was standing with both fists on her hips, her enormous belly jutting forward, hollering abuse — just like a little teapot, wasn’t it? Her drowsy little chubby one blinked at his mother with round, bewildered eyes, as though puzzling over something terribly confusing.

Minglan couldn’t help covering her mouth and laughing softly.

……

The news that Gu Tingye had come back in the night spread through the entire Marquis estate before dawn had broken, and it was as though every last maid, servant woman, and miscellaneous worker and estate manager had suddenly found their backbone again. Everyone was full of spirit and energy, rising early to sweep the courtyards and tend to the garden flowers — the whole estate was humming with diligent, cheerful activity.

Minglan, by contrast, felt rather sluggish — her body heavy, her energy impossible to summon.

At noon, a Grand Scholar of the Wuying Pavilion went personally beyond the city gates to proclaim the imperial edict, and only then were the light cavalry in five divisions permitted to proceed into the city in proper order.

Because Gu Tingye had not shaved his beard, even riding at the very front, not a single one of the young women and young wives lining the streets paid him any attention. The embroidered pouches and flowers and gifts kept flying toward the handsome young generals behind him, without pause.

Even Lao Geng received several, and was happily basking in the moment when he happened to catch his own estate manager’s intense and watchful gaze in the crowd. Instantly covered in a cold sweat, he dismounted before the palace gate and couldn’t stuff the pouches and fruits fast enough into his aide’s hands beside him.

Before the golden throne, the ritual commendations and admonishments followed their customary course, and then the deliberation of state affairs resumed… By the time Gu Tingye returned home, the sky had gone dark.

He had just taken the reins from the horse when he saw Steward Liu standing there craning his neck at the gate, who came sprinting over the moment he spotted him: “My lord Marquis! Please hurry in — Madam is about to give birth!”

Gu Tingye’s heart tightened in an instant. He pulled the reins back, remounted, reared the horse up on its hind legs with a thunderous crash, and kicked the main gate open before everyone’s astounded eyes — then rode directly inside. He dismounted before Jiaxi Residence, flung the reins aside, and ran toward the inner rooms two steps at a time.

Inside he found a crowd of people around the main residence, every one of them standing on tiptoe waiting for news; but Cuiwei had cleared the inner rooms of all but the essential — several servant women and maids came and went in a steady stream carrying hot water and white cloth, everything in orderly precision.

Gu Tingye was about to step straight into the inner room to check on his wife, but was intercepted at the courtyard by a cluster of chattering servant women and maids, all insisting on this tradition and that superstition. He was a man who respected rules and proprieties, and so he did not force his way in — yet he was restless and anxious, pacing in circles with nothing to do, his stomach full of frustration. Then he caught sight of a sheepish-looking young man hovering and craning his head at the edge of the shrubbery, and went over and grabbed him. “You — what are you doing here? And what’s that in your hands?”

Little Brother Shi was clutching a wooden stool against his chest, attempting to appear nonchalant. He blinked: “Heh heh… heh heh, this… oh, I thought you might be tired, Marquis — I brought you a stool to sit on!” He was, of course, not telling the truth. He was, however, rather impressed by his own quick thinking.

But Gu Quan beside him couldn’t hold back a smile: “Shitou Ge, you might as well stop fooling people — this is for Xiaotao Jie, isn’t it!”

Shi Keng’s face burned, though fortunately his dark complexion hid the worst of it. He had been bracing himself stiffly for a scolding — but Gu Tingye looked him up and down, and then, with a sudden clap on his shoulder, smiled: “You know how to take care of your wife now, do you? Good lad — you’ll have a future!”

Before the young man could feel pleased about that, Gu Tingye added as an afterthought: “Starting from right now — if Madam delivers within one hour, I’ll hold your wedding this very year. Within two hours, then next year. Within three hours, the year after. And for every additional hour beyond that, add another year accordingly.”

Little Brother Shi was dumbfounded. He vaguely remembered that when his sister-in-law had given birth to his little niece, the labor had lasted a full day and night — and it had already been two hours since things had begun here. So this… this… he absolutely did not want to wait seven or eight years before he could have a wife!

Seeing the young man’s face cycle through terror and turn greenish-white, Gu Tingye released him with satisfaction — and felt considerably better inside.

The low, muffled sounds of pain and effort filtered intermittently from within the room. Gu Tingye stood with his hands clasped behind his back and walked in circles around the courtyard, round and round until Little Brother Shi was nearly dizzy and the world was spinning. He had walked approximately two full rounds when from inside the room at last came a burst of joyful exclamations, followed by the thin, delicate cry of a newborn. Cui Mama came out wiping her hands, her face wreathed in smiles: “The baby is here! Madam has delivered! Another son!”

Shi Keng clutched his wooden stool so hard he was almost moved to tears of joy. Cui Mama glanced at him in puzzlement, privately thinking: this boy looks even more overcome than anyone actually in the family.

The infant was soft and pink, and rather than being frightened in the grasp of his bandit-like father, lay entirely calm, looking up at Gu Tingye a few times with an air of complete serenity, then tilted his head and went to sleep. Because the baby had been born at the very moment the whole family was reunited, he was given the milk-name “A Yuan” — and together with Tuan Ge’er, the two brothers made a perfect matched pair.

Gu Tingye was overjoyed beyond measure — one moment exclaiming that the baby’s fingers were long and slender and surely meant a scholar in the making, the next saying he took after his mother and would surely grow up to be so graceful and elegant that the title of the capital’s most beautiful young man would fall to him! Ha ha, ha ha…

Minglan was lying exhausted and drenched in sweat, resting and recovering. Upon hearing this, she rolled her eyes without much energy and mustered the strength to hurl a pillow in his direction — excuse her, but at present the title of most beautiful man in the capital was still held by a certain married gentleman of the Qi surname.

Gu Tingye caught the pillow with a casual flick and sat smiling at the head of the bed, kissing his wife, then kissing his son, deeply content and happy in his heart. He sighed: “If the Emperor were to ask me to retire from service right now, I would agree without a second thought.”

In the days that followed, Gu Tingye was so busy he scarcely managed to see his wife and children in their waking hours.

The great army out in the field had yet to return, to say nothing of how much remained to be done in the aftermath of the barely-quelled upheaval — how many rebel conspirators still lurked in hiding, how many wanted criminals had escaped, how to deal with the Shengde Empress Dowager and the Rui Prince’s mother… Discussions of captures of rebel remnants, raids and arrests, household confiscations, joint trials, sentencing and the formal recording of crimes, the deployment and reorganization of the capital’s defenses, and on and on and on — an enormous, sprawling pile of affairs, and Gu Tingye left the house each day at the first cockcrow and returned each night at the last. He did not even have time to shave his beard.

After four days of this, on the fifth day, the Emperor’s conscience apparently stirred, and he granted General Zheng leave to return home and begin funeral rites for his parents. The other senior ministers were also each granted a half-day off — though they had to take turns.

After the Zheng family had set up the mourning hall, the two General Zheng brothers still could not remain by their father’s and mother’s side to keep vigil — yet fortunately there were no shortage of sons and daughters to hold the scene together. In any case, even without children keeping the vigil, one only had to look at the endless stream of visitors paying their respects day and night — as lively and crowded as the market — and the imperial edict for a grand burial to know that the Zheng family’s position was flourishing.

After Da Xuan returned from her visit, she described the scene vividly for Minglan, providing some relief from the boredom of a woman confined after childbirth. At the end, with some hesitation, she mentioned one more thing: after the fierce fighting at Luo Mountain’s slopes on that day, during the accounting of enemy heads and the tallying of merits, a body was pulled from the pile of corpses — it was Gu Tingwei. From what was said, the very first volley of fire-arrows had taken his life. His body had been returned to the residence, and that Madam had collapsed on the spot. When she came to, half her body could barely move.

Minglan had no wish to dwell on it, and said in an expressionless tone: “Young General Bo of the Bo family has a distinguished martial lineage — the arrow formation he commands is naturally swift and devastating.” As for a person who had openly and brazenly come to kill her and her children, what did she care how he died.

Da Xuan smiled and said nothing more. In her view, the number of aristocratic ladies calling on Minglan mother and son was no smaller than the number going to offer condolences at the Zheng household — which was a testament in itself to how high Gu Tingye’s current favor with the Emperor stood. And as for Gu Tingwei — he had dared to gather mountain brigands and set them upon the Marquis household to commit murder and arson. It was not merely reckless beyond all reason; the man had been positively mad. Only a fool would say a word in his defense.

The following day was finally Gu Tingye’s rest day, and at noon he and Minglan ate together on the bed platform. The low table held a plate of stir-fried mustard greens, a dish of honey-glazed carmine goose breast, a fresh steamed bass with a clear and savory sauce, and a large crock of lotus leaf and mushroom chicken broth.

Gu Tingye ate with great ferocity and only set down his chopsticks when he was eighty percent full, sighing mildly: “When you think about it — this is actually the first meal I’ve sat down to eat with you since I came back.” He said this with a great deal of feeling and sentiment.

Minglan fixed her eyes on his face: “When are you going to go shave that beard?”

“You must have been eating all your meals alone these days, haven’t you?” He continued being sentimental.

“There’s nothing on your beard, is there? Would you like a napkin?”

Gu Tingye was displeased and glared: “Can you not just have a proper conversation with me!”

“Fine, fine, I’ll talk — what shall I even talk about?” Minglan chewed on her chopsticks and thought it over. “I’ve been here with my enormous belly — can’t go walking about and enjoying the sights, can’t drink wine or go to the theater, can’t even go pay respects at a temple for fear of the crowds — every day it’s eat, sleep, look at accounts, manage children — one day the same as the next, what is there worth saying? You’ve been gone for half a year — battles fought, lands seen — isn’t all of that so much more interesting than the trivial domestic bits and pieces here? Wouldn’t it be better for you to tell me things, and I’ll listen.”

For some reason this particular sentence worked like a sluice gate, and it snapped shut all of Gu Tingye’s inclination to speak. He fell silent for a long while before saying in a level tone: “There is something I should have told you long ago, but never found the right moment… Man Niang and her son…”

He paused. Minglan’s heart rose into her throat. “They found their way to our main force.”

Minglan made a labored effort to swallow the grain of rice in her mouth. “And then — what happened after that?” This man was truly infuriating — saying half and keeping half, thoroughly lacking in the basic storytelling quality of continuity.

Gu Tingye was just about to speak when from outside came the respectful voice of Gu Quan: “Reporting to my lord Marquis — Lord Geng has arrived and is waiting at the gatehouse. Would you go over now, or ask Lord Geng to wait a moment?”

The Emperor’s leave was not given without obligation — among the scheduled activities was a visit to the Zheng family to pay condolences. Hence Gu Tingye and Geng, both given leave on the same day, had made plans to go together. Gu Tingye considered briefly, then looked at Minglan: “It wouldn’t do to keep Old Geng waiting — his household also has a great deal to attend to. We’ll go early and come back early. In the evening, have Rong Jie’er come over, and let’s all eat together as a family.”

“Oh — well then, all right…” Minglan let her ears droop, pouting with reluctant and half-hearted compliance. He had dangled the story before her and then broken it off at that precise moment — the discomfort of it was indescribable.

Gu Tingye swung himself off the bed platform and straightened his clothing, then turned and caught sight of her crestfallen expression, and laughed: “It’s nothing of great importance anyway — nothing that will much affect the way we live our days. If you really can’t stand not knowing, I’ll go tell little Xie Ang to come and tell you himself.”

Minglan hesitated briefly, then nodded her head with vigor. Heaven only knew when he would return — she was hardly going to let him dangle her in suspense for an entire afternoon. If he was willing to let an outsider come and tell this story, then she was willing to listen!

After Gu Tingye left, Xia Zhu and Xiaotao worked together to clear away the dining table and replace it with a small half-worn bed-side platform table with a ruyi-cloud diamond-patterned edge. Xia He came in from outside carrying several cushions that had been set out in the sun and baked warm and toasty, and tucked them behind Minglan’s back — instantly a spreading warmth and comfort settled against her lower spine. Then she directed two servant women to bring in a two-fold folding screen painted with Eight Immortals Crossing the Sea in silk gauze and set it upright in the center of the room.

The girls had just finished arranging everything when Luzhi led in Gu Tingye’s personal guard and the small squad leader, Xie Ang.

Xie Ang had followed Gu Tingye for many years, through life and death and countless battles. And yet right now he was red in the face and twisting his hands, looking every bit like a new bride who had just crossed the threshold. He gave his formal respects to Minglan through the screen, Luzhi found him a stool to sit on, and this tall and strapping young man perched on only half of it, his posture somehow miraculously refined and contained.

“Little Brother Xie — don’t stand on ceremony. You’ve been with the Marquis so many years, you’re practically like family.” Minglan made every effort to soften her voice, hoping to put him at ease.

“No — I wouldn’t dare… this servant… family — how could I…?” Xie Ang couldn’t even raise his head. Although there was a screen between them and he could see absolutely nothing, he stared fixedly at his own feet and refused to move.

Minglan continued: “The Marquis has spoken of finding you a better posting in a couple of years, so you can settle down and establish yourself.”

“No, no — not necessary — my mother says, she wants me to stay with the Marquis for a few more years first… things are good as they are, good as they are.” Xie Ang declined the offer, while privately lamenting in his heart that the Marquis had given him of all people this particular errand to run — the Mistress, and the Marquis’s former outside woman. What an impossibly awkward subject.

Minglan spoke gently for a while longer, and seeing that Xie Ang remained sheepish and tongue-tied throughout, finally gave in: “The Marquis is very busy, and he had you come to tell me things. So go ahead and tell me.”

Xie Ang looked at her blankly. “Tell? Ah! Oh — that matter…” His thoughts were a tangled knot. “This… well — where to begin…?”

A calm voice came from behind the screen: “Start from when you first saw Man Niang. The Marquis said you were the first one to find them, mother and son.”

Xie Ang let out a breath. “Find them is a bit of an overstatement — in truth it was more like…” He paused, as if searching for the right way to phrase things.

“It was not long after we had recaptured the city of West Liao. The enemy had been crouching in the marshlands in front of us, playing at being subservient for a full half month, until finally, with their provisions nearly exhausted, we had drawn out the chieftain’s main force. After a bloody battle, we achieved a great victory — though not without considerable casualties ourselves, and we withdrew into the West Liao city to rest and regroup. On that particular day, Young General Bo from the Divine Arrow Regiment came to find me — said that while he was helping distribute grain to the starving refugees at the northern end of the city, he had encountered a woman leading a gravely ill child, who claimed to be a member of our Marquis’s household — and she said it with such convincing detail…”

Xie Ang swallowed hard, wanting to steal a glance at the mistress’s expression behind the screen — but all he could see was Lu Dongbin on the screen, striking a self-admiring pose while stroking his beard, and He Xiangu giving someone a rather flirtatious look. He kept his eyes averted and pressed on: “I had a terrible fright and rushed over at once — only to find that it was Man Niang… ah, I had known her from before, in my time in the Jianghuai region…”

In those days, Man Niang had passed herself off as Madam Gu at every opportunity, and had deliberately cultivated friendships with people like Che Niang and her husband. She had been very proactively warm and attentive toward all of the young men in the group, looking after them and inquiring after their welfare, and he, like the others, had gone along with the crowd and called her “sister-in-law” for a time. Remembering those days, Xie Ang grew even more uneasy, and tried again to steal a glance at the mistress’s expression.

On the screen, Lu Dongbin was still stroking his beard, and He Xiangu was still looking flirtatious.

“I didn’t dare act on my own judgment, and hurried back to report to the Marquis. The Marquis went over at once for a look, said nothing, and brought them back with him — mother and son. Poor Chang Ge’er was already so gravely ill he was unconscious.” He gave a small sigh — at one time he had lifted that boy above his head and swung him around. “Since the military camp was not a place to casually bring outsiders, the Marquis had them settled in a small courtyard, and first had the physicians come to examine Chang Ge’er.”

In fact, it had not been quite so simple — he was omitting some things that made him uncomfortable to recall.

After they arrived at the small courtyard, Gu Tingye’s expression was grim, and he opened with bluntly: “What are you doing here?!”

Man Niang, filled with tears: “Er Lang — I’ve come to live and die at your side! Even if we must die, we die together!” Along with various other speeches of that particular sticky-sweet variety. She had no idea there had been a great victory the day before and could only gather from scraps of hearsay that the Zhang and Gu armies were pinned down in West Liao city.

Fortunately, Young General Bo had already dismissed everyone else at that point, so only Xie Ang and a few trusted men remained in the courtyard. Afterward, during their idle conversations back at camp —

One of them said: “Live and die together?! Performing a play! Genuinely revolting!” Brother, you hit the nail right on the head.

Another said: “Who’s dying?! We boys all had our lives on the line, and now we’re about to come home to wealth and glory — what is this cursed woman talking about?! If it weren’t for…I could just wring her neck right now! Women — when their man goes out to fight, they should stay properly at home, tend to the elders, and look after the children. What is she doing coming here to stir up trouble?!”

One who knew a bit more of the background said: “I heard our deputy commander used to run in jianghu circles in his younger days — young men will be young men, I suppose. Got himself tangled up with a woman he couldn’t shake off!”

Another chimed in: “Look at that woman — not a trace of beauty, not a decent figure, and old as my own mother. Our deputy commander is such a fine-looking man — what did he ever see in her?!”

“Must be good at warming the bed! Old goods, old goods — the older the better, eh?!”

— The crude jokes began, and the whole group roared with laughter.

In the camp there were only washerwomen and camp followers, and the men couldn’t go to them too regularly, so a pack of big, rough men with nothing to do had to make do with gossiping about their superior officers in their idle hours. Besides, no decent woman from a proper household would behave with Man Niang’s particular looseness and brazenness, nor speak in such a disrespectful way. The men meant no particular malice, but their tone carried a natural undercurrent of contempt and disdain. Xie Ang found it hard to hear and felt privately embarrassed on Gu Tingye’s behalf.

He shook his head and hurried on: “…But as it turned out, Chang Ge’er was already past saving. The attending military physicians and the famous city doctors alike — all who examined him said there was no cure. Master Gongsun said that in a large and prosperous city it might have been another matter — but in a backwater place like West Liao, which had already been swept through by waves of refugees, with medicines scarce and food barely sufficient… ah…”

From behind the screen came a soft sound — the clear clink of a porcelain lid, and then a voice: “Don’t tell me — Chang Ge’er… died…?”

Xie Ang said quietly: “Yes. He has been cremated and his ashes are being brought back by Master Gongsun at the rear — to be properly interred in due time.”

“And what of Man Niang?” Minglan asked urgently.

Chang Ge’er was the only tie connecting Gu Tingye and Man Niang. Now that the child was gone, would Man Niang simply let it rest?

Xie Ang was silent for a moment, then spoke in a difficult, strained voice: “From the moment Man Niang was brought back, the Marquis had them separated — mother and son — and until the very end, he would not allow her to lay eyes on Chang Ge’er again…”

He was a straightforward man who had largely led an open and honest life. Those few days had been, for him, something close to a nightmare, and he only hoped he would never have to recall them again — and yet here he was, forced to recount them in detail to the mistress.

Man Niang had at first pressed urgently upon the man, clinging and pleading — but the Marquis paid no attention to her whatsoever, only had her locked in a room with food, drink, and clothing provided. After a few days, a letter arrived by way of a roundabout route from the capital — from Liu Zhengjie. After reading it, the Marquis ordered the lock removed. Man Niang came out at once, bursting with eagerness to pour out all her deep feeling and the hardships she had endured. The Marquis listened without a word as she talked and talked on her own, until Man Niang had talked until her mouth was parched and her face wet with tears, and at last fell silent.

Only then did the Marquis speak, very calmly: “Done? Then I’ll say my piece. I once told you — if you dared come to the capital again, if you dared to go and provoke Minglan, I would make sure you never laid eyes on Chang Ge’er for the rest of your life. Do you remember what I said?”

Man Niang refused to give up, and wept and argued again: “And you bring her up now?! She’s sitting in the capital eating and drinking in comfort and luxury, without a single thought for Er Lang’s life or death! Only I — only I think of you, only I have gone through hardship and suffering, only I have endured everything to find you…”

The Marquis ignored her and said simply: “I mean what I say. From this moment on, you will not see Chang Ge’er again.” Then he turned and left.

Man Niang was locked back in her room. She began howling and shrieking for her son. A physician came, as ordered, to tell her that Chang Ge’er was being kept alive on ginseng slices and had only a few days left at most. Man Niang refused to believe it, said the Marquis was trying to deceive her into giving up her son, and cursed and screamed without pause — until she had worn herself out cursing, and began weeping pitifully, endlessly, every day, weeping until it seemed her throat must be raw with blood, weeping until every soul in the courtyard was nearly going mad…

At last the Marquis found time to return once more, and ordered Man Niang brought out.

The things Man Niang had said before that, Xie Ang could no longer remember. He only remembered what happened at the very end: she stared with blood-red eyes, her hair wild and loose, her expression verging on madness. “Er Lang — can it be that you truly feel not the slightest shred of feeling toward me anymore?”

Her voice had long since gone hoarse and raw, yet she still pinched it into a high, thin tone, the way an actress projects on a stage, the words shaped with exaggerated melodic emphasis — and matched against a voice like grinding gravel, it produced something eerie, ghostly, and chilling. It was stifling hot in West Liao city, yet at the sound of those words, Xie Ang could not help a shudder.

It was the first time the Marquis had shown any expression at all in Man Niang’s presence — and it was one of profound revulsion, profound exhaustion, and even a touch of sheer bafflement: “How many times do I have to say it before you will listen? For a very long time now — a very, very long time — I have been utterly disgusted by you.”

He gave a quiet sigh. “I mean this sincerely. I have long since had no feeling left for you whatsoever. Why, no matter how many times I say it, will you simply not believe me?”

Xie Ang, rough and blunt as he was for most of his life, heard in those two sentences, for the first time, the deep and layered helplessness beneath.

Man Niang went blank and hollow, as though all the vital spirit had been scooped out of her, leaving only an empty husk, and she ceased to cry or make any more noise. A few days later, Chang Ge’er passed away. Before the cremation, the Marquis allowed Man Niang one last look at him.

Master Gongsun had also known Man Niang from long before, and unlike others, had taken a strong dislike to her from the very first meeting. And so he pronounced on the spot with barely concealed contempt: “This child was never particularly robust to begin with — and you dragged him on an exhausting journey of a thousand li, let him go hungry and cold, and left him too long without proper medical treatment. A little life wasted away for nothing — all thanks to you, his excellent mother!”

Before the body of her son, Man Niang smiled vacantly, and then suddenly began to babble in half-coherent rambling speech — part talking, part singing, sometimes crying, sometimes laughing — those nearby could not make out what she was saying. Only that she clutched the child’s body and kept saying she wanted to go home.

Minglan’s fingertips trembled slightly. The warm afternoon sunlight seemed to turn suddenly cold — like the ghost stories she had heard as a small child, of ghouls and strange spirits, something terrible fermenting upward from the cold and damp of the earth far below.

Her voice trembled as she asked: “Man Niang — she… has she gone mad…?”

Xie Ang nodded, then remembering that the screen was between them and the mistress could not see him, quickly said aloud: “That is correct. Master Gongsun and the other physicians also said the same.”

As he spoke, he too felt a pang of deep, helpless sorrow.

He had been born of decent, ordinary stock — his family had some modest property. After his father died young, his widowed mother had indulged him excessively, allowing him to run wild in the markets and alleys every day. At fifteen he had caused a serious incident, barely escaping with his life, and was saved by Gu Tingye after that. He had begun to live properly after that — drilling his stance, hanging bricks to build arm strength, practicing swordsmanship, spear-work, and staff techniques, and also learning to read and write. Gu Tingye had never been gentle about it — he’d taken a great many beatings in those days. But he had grown into the Xie Ang he was now, a man who made his widowed mother proud and content.

Toward Gu Tingye, Xie Ang felt something between the awe of a disciple and the loyalty of a vassal. He both feared and admired him.

In those early days he had secretly envied the man, thinking — this Gu Da Ge really is blessed: even fallen among the wandering people of the jianghu, he still had a devoted woman by his side. But now, having seen the truth up close, he felt only an ever-deepening dread — this was no devoted companion of the heart; this was a creditor come to collect a debt of fate!

There was one thing he had never told anyone.

In those days there had been a shy girl from the neighboring household, wearing bright red hair ribbons, a pretty and gentle-looking thing, who had harbored a secret admiration for Gu Tingye. She would often come to bring clothing and shoes — Che Niang thought her a good sort of person, and since Gu Tingye seemed absolutely unwilling to want anything to do with Man Niang, planned to suggest her to him as a concubine once that particular errand was finished, to take care of everyday needs.

After Man Niang learned of this, she showed not the slightest sign of displeasure, and instead lavished every form of kindness on the girl, reproaching herself for failing to please Gu Tingye, until the girl was so moved she came to think of Man Niang as an elder sister. Then one night, the girl — for reasons unknown — ventured into a deserted alley, where she was assaulted by five men.

The girl drowned herself the next morning. Her red hair ribbon floated on the surface of the water for a long time before it finally sank.

When Gu Tingye returned, no one mentioned this incident to him.

Only much later did Xie Ang learn the truth by chance — it was Man Niang who had lured the girl out in the night.

Gu Tingye, though he had also mixed in jianghu circles, and ate and slept alongside his men without any air of distance — still, in him there was always an unmistakable quality: a particular aloofness and pride, a self-deprecating humor, certain subtle habits of refinement that surfaced at unguarded moments — things that set him apart and marked, without any effort on his part, his distinguished birth.

None of the men dared take casual liberties with him, or overstep with him in any way.

Xie Ang even less so.

He decided — since Gu Tingye had already made up his mind to have nothing more to do with Man Niang, there was no point in speaking up and stirring up unpleasant feelings for the Marquis. He didn’t know whether others were aware of the truth of the matter, but after that, Che Niang refused to have anything more to do with Man Niang.

He let out a long breath, and was just about to continue, when from behind him came the familiar sound of steady, measured footsteps. He quickly rose and clasped his hands in greeting: “My lord Marquis is back.”

Gu Tingye walked in with a smile, waving a hand to push the screen aside. “What was the point of putting this up?” Then he sat down at Minglan’s side, resting his chin on her shoulder in an affectionate gesture. “Did you sleep this afternoon? Please tell me you haven’t been talking this whole time since I left.”

Minglan managed a smile: “Little Brother Xie tells a good story — I got completely drawn in.”

“Oh, is that so?” Gu Tingye said, in a tone of apparent indifference.

Xie Ang felt a cold sweat trickling down his forehead — it felt just like his teenage years, when he’d been about to take a beating.

To his surprise, Gu Tingye simply flashed him a smile: “All right, go back and rest. Tomorrow we’ll be busy again.”

Xie Ang felt as though he had received an imperial pardon and fled out the door as fast as his feet would carry him.

The weather was growing warm, and Gu Tingye had been running about outside, so he was thoroughly drenched in sweat. He went to the washing room, quickly sluiced himself with two buckets of warm water, and came back out in a clean white silk inner robe.

He drew Minglan close and sat back down beside her. “Old Geng’s terror of his wife has gotten worse and worse. On the way out from the Zheng household, I suggested he come have a cup of tea at our place, and he absolutely refused — fled home on his horse at full gallop as though something was chasing him.”

Minglan stroked his still-damp hair. “How were the two Zheng sisters doing? They must be exhausted.”

Gu Tingye gave her a pinch and glared: “How would I know anything about the women’s side?!” Then he sighed: “But Elder Brother Zheng… aiyo… he’s grown gaunt — lost a great deal of weight. They say he’s even coughed up blood.”

At this, husband and wife fell into shared sighing over the extraordinary misfortunes of the Zheng family.

Gu Tingye looked around the room. “Where are the two little ones?”

“Tuan Ge’er won’t go to sleep — he wanted to find his sister to play with, so Cui Mama took him off. A Yuan got hungry and was taken by the wet nurse.”

Gu Tingye frowned: “If he’s hungry, why aren’t you feeding him yourself?” He still remembered that when Tuan Ge’er was born, the first two months or so Minglan had fed him herself.

Minglan twisted her handkerchief with a rueful air: “This time — I have nothing to give A Yuan.”

Gu Tingye ran his hand over the slightly yellowed ends of her hair, guilt evident: “It’s all my fault — you couldn’t properly recuperate because of all this.”

Minglan sighed: “Quite so! Every family has troublesome relatives — but none of them can quite match ours for sheer determination. This quite rivals even Rong Jie’er’s mother.” The husband was decent enough, but came bundled together with two sworn enemies.

Gu Tingye’s expression cooled, then softened again. “Just now — where had you two gotten to in the story?”

Minglan hesitated briefly before answering: “To where Chang Ge’er was gone, and Man Niang had gone mad.” Then she watched for his reaction.

Gu Tingye showed no trace of gloom or embarrassment — he sat across from Minglan with his usual composure, lifted the teapot to pour, drank a cup himself first, and then said: “In truth, once things had reached that point, there was not much more to tell. But…”

He pressed his lips together. “I suppose I should say it all the same.”

Minglan sat up a little straighter, indicating she was all ears.

“Being away for so long this time, I finally had the quiet to think certain things through. Old Duke Zhang keeps laughing at me, saying I used to think too little and now I think too much. But I had no choice. In those days, everything I did was wrong; everything I said, no one believed. The only one willing to believe me, willing to actually listen to me speak — was Man Niang. And as it turns out — even that was all performed.” Gu Tingye laughed at himself, and set down the teacup he had been turning in his hands.

“Man Niang was a gifted actress. A pity she never got to go on stage — she would certainly have become a celebrated star.” Gu Tingye spoke of her as he might have spoken of a complete stranger — not a woman who had been entangled with him for nearly ten years.