Cousin-in-law Xuan was pleased at heart — landing this match had not been easy — and so she received the congratulations graciously and without ceremony.

“Eldest cousin-in-law, whatever you have in mind, please speak freely,” said Gu Tingye.

Cousin-in-law Xuan said without hesitation: “I won’t beat around the bush. There’s no one to manage things over there, and everyone else is either afraid of displeasing you, second brother-in-law, or wary of the treason investigation and the need to avoid suspicion — they’ve all been pushing and evading responsibility. If you trust me to handle it, I’ll volunteer… volunteer…”

Gu Tingxuan quickly supplied the words: “Volunteer myself.”

Cousin-in-law Xuan shot her husband an exasperated look, half-smiling, half-scolding: “You’re always putting your oar in where it isn’t needed. Second brother-in-law isn’t someone who can’t understand plain speech.”

Gu Tingye gave a small laugh, considered for a moment, and said: “What my elder cousin and cousin-in-law say is reasonable. Before this, it was my own oversight — I was so consumed with my own anger that I neglected the dignity of the whole clan. Let us do it this way: tomorrow I’ll make time to go over there myself. Eldest cousin-in-law, please invite the relevant members of the clan to come as well. I’ll hand this matter over to you in front of everyone. Would that suit you?”

The revenge that needed to be taken had been taken. They were, after all, of the same branch of the family — and without his explicit consent, cousin-in-law Xuan would not be in a position to act unilaterally.

It was not until nighttime that Minglan learned of this matter, and she said with a teasing smile: “Eldest cousin-in-law is truly a clever woman. She knew I was busy putting on weight and building up my strength, so she came bright and early to find you.”

Gu Tingye was sitting in the room with little Yuan Ge’er cradled in one arm, chubby Tuan Ge’er clinging and rolling about on his back, yet somehow still managing to free one hand to stroke her cheek. He said softly: “By the time you’ve fully recovered, there will not be a single troublesome matter left outside.”

His tone was mild, yet with a quiet and unmistakable gravity running beneath it.

There were times he even wondered, half in regret, whether it might have been better if Minglan had married that young man surnamed He instead. True, she would have had to deal with the everyday frictions between wives and concubines — but at the very least, she would not have needed to go through anything like this: the breathless terror of fighting for their lives, more than once.

Minglan understood, and smiled sweetly. Gu Tingye let out a soft sigh and reached out to pull her into his arms.

Early the next morning, wrapped in the hazy mist of dawn, Gu Tingye rode out of the residence alone, with Xie Ang and the other guards following behind. The party made their way toward Shanhu Alley in the western part of the city. After about half an hour’s ride, they arrived to find that Gu Tingxuan and his wife were already there, though the other clan members had yet to arrive.

After cousin-in-law Xuan’s brief organizing efforts the evening before, the residence no longer looked as chaotic as it had in the days prior. The servants coming and going in receiving guests went about their tasks in something resembling an orderly fashion — yet any perceptive eye could see, at a single glance, the desolation and decay that pervaded it.

Cousin-in-law Xuan was running about in all directions, so Gu Tingxuan accompanied Gu Tingye instead. He was silent for a long while, then suddenly spoke: “Yesterday I took your calling card and went to summon a physician. Several doctors all agreed — the great aunt is truly beyond recovery. She had been drifting in and out of consciousness day in and day out, unable to even take her medicine. This morning she suddenly came around — she can speak, she can scold… I looked at her, and I’m afraid… I’m afraid this may be the final rally before the end. Perhaps you should go in and see her.” It might be the last chance.

Gu Tingye said nothing for a moment, then smiled slightly. “You are right. I’ll go in now. Elder cousin, would you lead the way?”

Gu Tingxuan exhaled with relief and quickly rose to escort him toward the inner courtyard.

The courtyard was cold and desolate. Though it was early morning, not a single sweeping matron was to be seen. The flower beds were choked with weeds, clearly untended for a long time. When they arrived at Xiao Qin Shi’s room, a heavy smell of medicinal broth came surging out from within, pungent and thick. The doors and windows were tightly shut. Two matrons with languid, indifferent expressions stood guard at the entrance, stifling yawn after yawn; on seeing the visitors, they hastily dropped into a bow.

The moment Gu Tingye stepped into the front hall, a shrill torrent of quarreling and cursing erupted from the inner room. Gu Tingxuan started, taken aback; Gu Tingye’s mouth curved into a cold smile. He stepped forward and, reaching out, lifted one corner of the door curtain.

On the heated bed platform sat an old woman with disheveled hair, pointing at Zhu Shi, who stood before her, and berating her without pause: “…You black-hearted, rotten-gutted vile woman — we mother and son were good to you, and you — you — have you any right to face us at all?!”

Zhu Shi smiled bleakly and raised her voice: “And you have the gall to bring up my husband! How many times did I plead and argue with you — stop coveting that earldom, let us live out our days in peace, it’s not a bad life! But you simply would not let it go! You knew full well how much daring my husband had — and yet you pushed and goaded him to seize, to fight, to kill and set fires! You drove him to his death! It was all you — it was all you who killed him!”

The old woman struggled to sit upright on the bed platform, spitting as she shouted: “You — you dare be insolent to me —”

“What of it?” Zhu Shi said with withering contempt. “Are you going to cast me out? Do you actually think you still have the power to do as you please?!”

Then, all at once, tears poured down her face. “Tingwei is dead — one could say he was greedy and brought it on himself. But my two children… You blind, wretched old crone — it was you who invited that cursed star into our home…”

The old woman very nearly fainted from rage. Before Zhu Shi could finish speaking, she snatched up a spectacle case from the bed table and hurled it at her, unleashing a torrent of filthy abuse: “…You can’t stand being without a man for five minutes, so just say so — stop giving me all these twisting excuses. I was blind, all right, blind to have let a wretch like you in — a walking curse that kills husbands and children. A woman who can’t go a day without a man, sniffing around like a starving dog after raw meat…”

The obscenities that followed were of a kind seldom heard by human ears. Gu Tingxuan, standing outside, gaped in speechless astonishment.

As Zhu Shi dodged sideways to avoid the flying spectacle case, she caught sight of the two Gu cousins standing at the curtained entrance. Shame burned through her so acutely she wished the ground would swallow her — and then, hearing Xiao Qin Shi’s foul ranting continue, something surged up from the bottom of her heart and became a kind of courage.

She walked out through the door and lifted her chin to face both men, speaking word by word: “I had long since wanted to leave. It was only for the children that I stayed. Now that even they are gone, I am no longer willing to remain in the same place as her. Eldest cousin-in-law urged me to speak my piece clearly before I went. That has now been done. I will have my parents’ household come to take me home.” She paused, and her voice broke. “Both of you elder cousins — your younger sister-in-law…” She could not go on. “…bids you farewell.”

With those words, she sank into a low bow. Then, covering her face, she turned and ran out quickly.

In a situation like this, Gu Tingxuan did not know whether to go after her or hold her back. He stood rooted to the spot, at a loss. From inside, Xiao Qin Shi’s cursing continued unabated. He was equally uncertain whether he should go in.

Gu Tingye smiled pleasantly: “Cousin-in-law Xuan must be very busy just now. Why don’t you go over and look in on her? I’ll have a word with the Madam myself.”

Gu Tingxuan was only too glad of the excuse and hurried off with a clasped-hand salute. Gu Tingye watched him go, then gave a look to the two guards outside the door. The two guards immediately drove off the four servant women inside and outside the room from the entire courtyard, then closed and shut the doors firmly, standing guard outside.

With measured, steady steps, he walked into the inner room. Xiao Qin Shi’s throat was nearly raw from her shouting — she had just been calling out for someone to come and bring her water. When she saw who had entered, she choked on the words. Her eyes went wide and her trembling finger jabbed toward him: “You — you — you…”

Gu Tingye walked unhurriedly to the table, poured a cup of tea, and set it on the bed table. “Have some water.”

He took in the sight of this shriveled, wretched old woman before him. The bedding was dotted with stains, evidently unchanged for several days. Though she was only in her mid-forties, she looked like someone in their final days at seventy or eighty — her complexion an unhealthy flushed red, like a candle burning down to its last end, flaring out a few last sparks before it went dark. He gave a slow internal nod. She was indeed close to death.

The deep, bone-eating resentment in Xiao Qin Shi’s clouded eyes: “You — you — how dare you come before me! That was your own blood brother… you — you could actually do it… you are so heartless!”

Gu Tingye gave a slight smile. “With respect — my brother broke into my home, set it on fire, and sought to kill my wife and child. His own heart was hardly what one would call kind.” In truth, it was not he who had killed Gu Tingwei — Gu Tingwei had died under a volley of arrows.

Xiao Qin Shi, like a dying animal cornered in its final agony, stared at the man before her with unrelenting hatred. He was so upright, so vital and healthy — while her own children and grandchildren lay in cold, silent coffins, slowly turning to rot. She could not swallow this, no matter how she tried.

Her birth father, the old Dongchang Marquis, had been a man of refined tastes who might spend a fortune on a whim for a single rusted bronze door ring; her birth mother had been gentle-natured and never particularly skilled at managing a household. How lovely those early years had been — pearls and jade and every luxury imaginable; every time she went out to a poetry gathering or a feast, her accessories and dress made every sister and cousin green with envy.

But those fine days had only lasted until she was fourteen. The deaths of both parents one after another had not only ruined her marriage prospects — they had taken half her comfortable life away with them. By the time her brother and sister-in-law took over the Marquis’s estate, it was already an empty shell; yet appearances still had to be maintained on the outside, so the suffering was borne within, with savings, savings, and more savings at every turn. The Gu family’s eldest brother-in-law had often sent relief — but then, later, her eldest sister had passed away as well.

It was right around that time that her sister-in-law had brought up the idea of marrying into the Ningyuan Marquis’s household. Every word her sister-in-law had said that day was engraved in her memory:

“Little sister — it isn’t that your sister-in-law is being harsh in asking you to become a second wife. The truth is, you’re no longer young, and a good family is not easy to find. You know full well how your eldest brother-in-law treated your sister. Would he treat you poorly if you married in? And forget about that lowly salt merchant’s daughter — she’ll be cast off before long! Besides, the people your eldest sister left behind — would they let her live comfortably? Your sister-in-law only means the best for you. This match may not look promising at first glance, but the advantage lies ahead. Tingyu’s constitution — well, if one is honest, it isn’t one that promises a long life. Once you give birth to a son, won’t it be your son who inherits the title? As for that little wretch born of the Bai woman — you can’t handle that one?”

Her sister-in-law’s tongue was brilliant as a lotus flower in bloom. But inwardly, she had been laughing coldly throughout. Say what one would — was it not simply that her sister-in-law could not bear to part with a respectable dowry? If she married in as a second wife, a great deal could be saved. Otherwise — if she married beneath her station, it would shame the Marquis’s household. To marry above her station… her eldest sister had indeed been greatly beloved by her husband, but it had also ruined the reputation of the Qin women; people outside always said that the daughters of the Qin family were accustomed to relying on a husband’s favor and were not good bearers of children. This was why she had failed to have her marriage settled before she turned fourteen.

A second wife who harbors ambitions of displacing the heir — most such women are gradually emboldened by an indulgent husband. But she was different. From the very day she entered the Gu household as a bride, she had gritted her teeth and fixed it firmly in her mind: she must not suffer the humiliation of being a mere second wife for nothing. The future Gu Marquis must be her son.

She had inquired carefully of physicians, had observed closely at close range — she was right: Gu Tingyu was indeed a chronic invalid who would not live long. And so the only one standing in her way was one person: Gu Tingye.

“What have you come here for?” She spat the words through clenched teeth. “To laugh at my misfortune?”

Gu Tingye regarded her quietly for a long moment. Then, at last, he said: “Do you truly think that my brother’s death brings me joy?”

Xiao Qin Shi said nothing, turning her head away in sullen fury.

“He was my blood. Since we were small, we climbed trees and picked fruit together. I would stand below with arms outstretched to catch him — and if I couldn’t catch him in time, I would throw myself on the ground beneath him just so he wouldn’t get hurt. Did I want to watch him walk into his own destruction?” A surge of anger rose in Gu Tingye, carrying with it the low, dark rumble of a gathering storm. One palm came down on the table with a crack, sending the teacups jumping and rattling.

Xiao Qin Shi turned her head back with a cold smile: “What’s this? Having just been dressed down by your own daughter-in-law, you’ve come here to stand up for Tingwei, to get out your anger by cursing me a little more — your good, devoted elder brother. Fine, fine — you’re all good people, fraternal brothers and devoted husband and wife — I alone am guilty of every evil under heaven! If that’s how you truly feel, you should have handed the Marquis’s title over to your brother long ago!”

“You have not a shred of remorse?” Gu Tingye’s eyes were cold as lightning. His voice dropped low as he pressed the question.

“I regret only one thing. If I had known your worthless life was so hard to end, I should have struck earlier — regardless of the scandal, regardless of people’s suspicions — and had you killed and done with it! Ptui!” Xiao Qin Shi spat out a mouthful of phlegm with great effort — which landed, without force, on the floor at the foot of the bed platform.

Gu Tingye felt a wry, inward recognition of his own foolishness. He slowly turned, drew a chair over, and sat down, smoothing his robes.

Xiao Qin Shi, still unsatisfied, continued to shout: “You wild bastard born without a mother to raise you — that lowlife salt merchant, what kind of upbringing could your mother have given you, ptui — how dare something like that dream of climbing toward respectable society! What of it now — my children and grandchildren are all gone, do you think I’m still afraid of you?!”

Gu Tingye did not rise to anger. He simply waited until her ranting had tired her enough to make her gasp for breath, then said slowly and quietly: “A fine pair of grandchildren — there one day, gone the next. You are a shrewd woman all your life. You already know how this happened, do you not?” From what Zhu Shi had said just now, it seemed she did.

Xiao Qin Shi had not expected him to suddenly raise this. After a long pause, she forced the words through clenched teeth: “…That Yu Fang Shi, that vile creature — I treated her well, and she actually dared to…”

“That is not quite right.” Gu Tingye’s smile was mocking. “She had been living perfectly well as the First Lady of the Yu household — with her children, with an obedient husband. You deceived her into a wretched fate, cast off and abandoned. How can one say she was ‘treated well’? And even now, your warm and eager invitations for her to come stay as a guest — were those not also entirely for your own purposes?”

Xiao Qin Shi suddenly began to shake violently, like a fish dying on a chopping board, convulsing — her flushed complexion draining swiftly to a lifeless gray. “You — you — so it was you who… you killed my grandchildren?!” Her voice was a hoarse rasp, like the howl of some damned specter.

Gu Tingye did not move a muscle. “I must accumulate good fortune for my wife and children. Unlike you — that sort of thing, I would not do.”

“Then who…” Xiao Qin Shi was bewildered. Though her head was spinning with rage, she knew well enough that he had no reason to lie to her now.

Gu Tingye rose to his feet, clasped his hands behind his back, and slowly paced in a few unhurried circles around the room, before coming to a stop at the window. “After being cast out, Yu Fang Shi could not remain at her own family’s home either. She had no choice but to live out her days at a nunnery outside the city walls. You had no intention of concerning yourself with a fallen woman like that — until silver began to arrive regularly from the south, shipments of provisions arriving by the cartload, each time said to be sent by Yu Fang Shi’s children who missed their mother. And it was around that same time that Yu Yan Ran in Yunnan, as she always did, sent her annual New Year’s provisions to Minglan. The escort for that delivery had once been Yu family servants; not fully aware of the situation, on their return journey they stopped at the nunnery gate and kowtowed to Yu Fang Shi. It was from those two coinciding things that you began to form your wicked plan.”

Xiao Qin Shi grew more and more alarmed with each word, her hands — dry and bony as a chicken’s claws — clutching the bedding in a white-knuckled grip: “You… how do you know all of this…”

Gu Tingye looked at her without warmth. “From the very first day you invited Yu Fang Shi to come stay at your home, I already knew.”

Xiao Qin Shi erupted: “And you still dare to say you didn’t kill my grandchildren… you black-hearted wretch!”

“I did not. From beginning to end, I did only two things.”

Gu Tingye slowly lifted his gaze. “The first: I asked Yu the Fourth, before he departed, to take Gong Hongxiao with him to see Yu Fang Shi — to explain the full story to her, from beginning to end. So that Minglan would not have to carry the blame, and be cursed behind her back for no reason. The second: only the very first delivery of provisions was truly sent by Yu Fang Shi’s children. Every subsequent one was arranged by me — sent from the Jianghuai region in the name of the Yu family, without even Yu Fang Shi herself knowing. As a result, you grew all the more certain that she still carried weight in the Yu family — and invited her to come more and more frequently — and so gave her the very opportunity to act.”

Xiao Qin Shi let out a strangled sound in her throat, her trembling hands and feet struggling frantically to lunge forward — but with one light push from Gu Tingye, she collapsed back against the head of the bed platform and could not get up again. She panted in great, ragged gulps, unable to form a single word.

Gu Tingye settled back into the chair and continued in an even, unhurried voice: “You believed your own persuasive tongue had won Yu Fang Shi back over — convinced her that she too loathed Minglan wholeheartedly and was willing to join forces with you for revenge. In fact, none of that was true. She understood everything perfectly — and had long hated you to the bone.” In truth, it was partly that this old sorceress had lost the power and position she had wielded as the Marquis’s Madam, and was no longer as sharp-eyed and keen-eared as she had once been, which was how she had been taken in.

“I — I’ll report you… report you…” Xiao Qin Shi, like a snake with its spine ripped out, lay sprawled and unable to move, forcing out a rasping voice. “Ha — the upright, loyal, imperial General Gu, and it turns out he is such a petty, despicable man! I’ll ruin your reputation… reduce you to nothing…” The hatred in her heart had burned down to its very dregs; she wanted to tear his flesh from his bones with her bare nails.

“And how would you report me?” Gu Tingye looked at her coldly. “The clothing collected from those who had died of pestilence, the pus and scabs scraped off into powder, the bribery of servants in this household — all of it, from beginning to end, was carried out by Yu Fang Shi alone. I did nothing more than send her a few deliveries under the name of the Yu family. Never mind proving it — and even if it were proved, one need only say that Minglan, out of consideration for her friendship with Yu Yan Ran, could not bear to leave Yan Ran’s stepmother in poverty and destitution with no one to look after her. What could anyone say to that?”

“How vicious — how utterly heartless! Those were your own blood niece and nephew! How could you harden your heart to do it…” Xiao Qin Shi could no longer contain herself. She beat the bedding with her palms and wept bitterly.

Gu Tingye gave a contemptuous laugh. “How strange. You could deprive others of their children without a second thought — yet others may not strike back? You were warm and attentive to Yu Fang Shi — was that out of pity for her, out of remorse for what you had done to her? Of course not. It was because Yu Fang Shi told you that the next time Yu Yan Ran sent something to Minglan, she had a way to mix something into it. That, and only that, was why you became so close and friendly with her. Isn’t that right? Had this upheaval not occurred, that was very likely your original plan.”

Xiao Qin Shi’s eyes were empty and blank. She slumped motionless on the bed platform, murmuring something inaudible.

Thinking of those two children, Gu Tingye too felt a pang he could not suppress: “To speak plainly, I did not know exactly what Yu Fang Shi intended to do. But from the moment I learned that Yu Fang Shi was pretending to be on good terms with you, I knew she must be planning revenge. If you had possessed even one sliver of conscience — if you had thought better of it, listened to your daughter-in-law and sent Yu Fang Shi away — those two children need not have ended as they did.”

“Your daughter-in-law said that you killed your son and killed your grandchildren. She was not wrong by a single word.” Having said this, Gu Tingye slowly rose from his chair and walked toward the door.

Xiao Qin Shi’s spirit was utterly extinguished. Her pupils were scattered and unfocused; she lay slumped, collapsed, the corners of her mouth twisted, drool seeping out, unable to move even her fingertips.

Looking at her pitiable, wretched appearance, Gu Tingye’s thoughts drifted, unexpectedly, to his earliest years.

When his birth mother had died, he had known nothing of it yet. From the very day he had come to understand the world around him, the only mother he had known was this woman. In those days, Xiao Qin Shi had been gentle and beautiful, kind and pleasant, and she had treated him with nothing but warmth and care. When his father chased and beat him, he would throw himself without hesitation behind her back — he had truly, in his heart, regarded her as his mother.

In those days, he had already dimly understood that his eldest brother Tingyu would not live long. His small self had made a quiet, firm resolution: if he one day inherited the title, he would be filial and devoted to Xiao Qin Shi, and would look after and cherish his younger brother and sister, asking for nothing in return.

He had even thought: it might have been better if he had been duller. Perhaps that would have made for a happier life.

But he had always been too perceptive. After reading a single passage of “Zheng Bo Subdues Duan,” he had understood what was meant by “cultivating someone’s downfall with excessive indulgence.” After a few days of military strategy, he had grasped how to “embolden one’s enemy into recklessness.” Why did his mother relentlessly try to fill his rooms with beautiful maids — while strictly controlling which girls were allowed near his younger brother’s quarters? Why did she always send pages to take him out to pleasure houses and wine halls, while his brother was made to read and train in arms every single day?

Was this truly for his own good?

In bewilderment, he had learned to discern cruelty; in deception, he had grown — and how utterly, soul-rendingly painful that growing had been. He had nearly died for it, more than once.

There had been a time when he had trusted her without reservation. When he had revered and loved her.

Standing at the threshold, he lifted the curtain halfway and held it: “Your daughter-in-law will tell my eldest cousin-in-law of this matter, and I will have the wanted notice sent out and ask your daughter-in-law to come forward as a witness to identify Yu Fang Shi. Once Yu Fang Shi confesses and is convicted, this matter will be considered closed.”

With those words said, he strode out of the room without looking back — leaving behind all the filth and deception and conspiracy that had stretched across two generations and tangled over decades, consigning it all to the past, never to be spoken of again.

…

Two days later, someone came from Shanhu Alley to deliver news of a death. Xiao Qin Shi was gone.

The funeral was simple. The body lay in state for a single day. A dozen or so members of the Gu clan came in twos and threes, and it was over quickly — she was buried, and laid to rest not far behind Gu Yankai, close beside Da Qin Shi. Zhu Shi did not come to pay her respects.

Since Gu Tingwei had died a convicted criminal, no one in the clan brought up the matter of adopting an heir for his line. The main branch’s once-considerable family property was now suddenly without an owner. Gu Tingye made the arrangements: it was divided equally into four portions. One portion went to the Marquis’s household, to be used toward repairing the rooms destroyed in the fire. One portion went to the household of the Fourth Elder. One portion went to the household of the Fifth Elder. The final portion was added to the clan’s ritual lands, to provide for the education of young scholars from poorer branches of the family.

This arrangement was received with great praise from the clan, and the finer details need not be elaborated upon here.

Half a month later, Duke Yingguo led the great army back to the capital, bringing with him his son-in-law, whose wounds had not yet fully healed, along with a long train of prisoners and captured spoils — riding through the city gates in triumphant glory, to the cheers and admiration of all. Since Old Duke Zhang’s age made it difficult for him to inspire the imagination of the female population, the cascading torrent of fragrant sachets and embroidered pouches, along with flowers and fruit, was largely aimed at the vigorous, middle-aged figure of General Duan Chengqian.

Shen the National Uncle had taken his wound in the leg and was unable to ride on horseback for the procession; this caused him considerable vexation, and in the end he also forewent the city gates ceremony entirely, taking a shorter route back to his residence and having his soldiers carry him directly to Zhang Shi’s quarters. His first order of business was to summon Little Zou Shi to his presence, where he delivered four resounding slaps and scolded her at full voice, in excellent health: “I told you again and again to be careful and cautious, and you said your own family was nothing to worry about, so you handed out the entry tokens to come and go at will! Now look at what’s happened! If you had died yourself, that would be one thing — but you very nearly implicated the Lady and the child!”

Shen Congxing had originally intended to revisit the old matter of casting out the concubine, but Zhang Shi still refused to agree. He had no choice but to resort to other punishments: twenty strokes of the household rod and three days without food and water, to purge the fire from the blood. So, after having her cheek struck open, Little Zou Shi’s backside too bloomed with marks.

Then it was time to scold the eldest legitimate son: “You’ve read all those books into a dog’s stomach, have you?! What is propriety, what is the distinction between legitimate and concubine-born — do you understand any of it?! Your birth mother is gone, and in this household, the Lady’s word is the highest. You dare not even listen to her? Fine — if you won’t listen to others, then at least use your own wits. You have not a scrap of capability, and all you can do is listen to the foolish words of a concubine. Hiding behind a cabinet — you have thrown away the face of a man half his life’s worth! You are a man — you don’t matter. But if, in the chaos of criminals storming the house, your younger sister’s reputation had been compromised, how would she have lived her life afterward? And how would you have faced your dead mother?!”

The half-grown young man had barely opened his mouth to argue something about “the principle that an aunt takes precedence over a stepmother” when he was kicked by his father’s one good leg, with a bonus punishment of kneeling through the night at his birth mother’s spirit tablet.

His father then turned around — and there stood his young and lovely wife, holding a jar, smiling warmly: “It’s warm out now, and my Lord is all dust and sweat — why not wash up with this jar of fine medicinal wine?”

She lifted the lid as she spoke, and a blast of fiery, pungent alcohol fumes surged outward, hot enough to singe the eyebrows.

Shen Congxing instinctively flinched his injured leg back and, without meaning to, lowered his voice: “This… isn’t this hard liquor?” And of a very exceptional vintage, at that.

A look of tender concern spread across Zhang Shi’s face. “A mere jar of wine — however precious, can it compare with your well-being, my Lord? Come now, my Lord — please!”

An inexplicable chill crept up Shen Congxing’s spine.

…

Another half-month passed, and Minglan had sat out both complete months of her confinement. Her weight and complexion had fully recovered — and then some. Gu Tingye, holding his beautifully fair and rounded wife, was overjoyed, and without delay had his weapons and armor readied for battle — and took to the field for several bouts.

Tuan Ge’er, one hand braced on the door frame, asked in his soft little voice: “I want to sleep with Mama — how come I’m not allowed?”

Nanny Cui was greatly troubled. The question was deeply complicated.

Tuan Ge’er seemed to half-understand: “Are Papa and Mama doing important business?” He had just been taught by old Master Gongsun, who had recently returned: when one is grown enough, one must understand propriety. When Father and Mother have important business to attend to, one must not make a fuss and interrupt.

Nanny Cui’s old face went red: “Yes, yes! They’re doing important business!”

Tuan Ge’er, now with the assurance he needed, immediately made good use of the four-character phrase he had just learned: “Is it affairs of state?” Old Master Gongsun had said it was the most important matter in all the world.

Nanny Cui’s face went from red to crimson: “…More important… than affairs of state…”

Tuan Ge’er had an epiphany. “Oh, then I’ll sleep by myself.” He wanted to be a good, sensible child. He trotted off on his little chubby legs.

The next morning, Father had already gone to court. Seeing that Mother had slept in and was still drowsily lolling about, he brightened up, and launched into a string of questions, each one expressing the utmost concern: “Mama — last night, you and Papa were doing affairs of state — were you very tired? Is it all finished? Will you need to do it again tonight? Let me sleep in the room with you — I promise I won’t make a fuss… I’ll be quiet while you and Papa do… do your important business.”

Minglan, who had just been rinsing her mouth, spat out a full mouthful of water.

The room fell silent — a profoundly excruciating silence.

Luzhi looked as though she had been dealt a slash across the face. Xia He seemed on the verge of fainting. Nanny Cui was wishing a hole in the floor would appear so she could crawl inside. The only one in the entire room who remained sunny and oblivious, looking cheerfully left and right, was one plump, innocent small boy.

Truly — where in this life was there no awkwardness? And with a life like this, how could it ever be lonely?

Yet another ten or so days passed, and Old General Bao finally returned.

This campaign had thoroughly resolved the matter of Empress Dowager Shengde, who had entrenched herself in the northwest for decades. The confiscation of her assets had yielded enormous wealth — more than enough to replenish the treasury, which had been very nearly depleted by the military campaign; in addition, more than a dozen heads of Consort Gan’s allies within the army were brought back.

The Emperor was greatly pleased. He intended to bestow generous rewards. Old General Bao shuffled forward on his walking stick, half-dead and groaning with his ailments, and declared that he had spent more than half his remaining years of life on this campaign and truly, truly intended to retire. If His Majesty wished to bestow honor, he asked that his sons and grandsons be given the honors instead. Seeing the old man being so admirably cooperative, the Emperor was all the more pleased and opened his hand generously: Bao, Zhang, Shen, Gu, Duan, and the other leading generals all received substantial rewards and promotions.

Those deserving reward were rewarded; those deserving punishment were punished.

The close associates of Empress Dowager Shengde — including her own family, her most trusted followers and allies, all those who had directly participated in the treason — were sentenced to execution and their families’ property confiscated. Their wives and children were reduced to palace bondservants or transferred to the Entertainment Bureau; the next tier down were also sentenced to execution, exile, or confiscation of property.

And then, in something of an irony, Empress Dowager Shengde herself could not be put to death. She was to “recuperate in a remote palace wing” for the remainder of her life.

Wang Fei was put to death by the white silk cord for “failing in the education and supervision of Prince Rui.” Prince Rui himself, barely past the age of ten, was stripped of his royal status and placed under confinement together with his own parents — an innocent child, with no fault of his own, undone by the folly of those around him.

These individuals, at least, met their fates with a degree of conspicuous ceremony. Consort Rong, however, died “of illness” without a sound or trace.

A palace consort, deeply favored, plots to harm the Emperor for the sake of her own son’s succession to the throne — this was even more humiliating than a step-mother rallying a mob for outright rebellion. The Emperor was not only furious but wounded at heart. The prince born of Consort Rong was immediately relocated from the Changchun Palace and sent to take up residence in some far-off and remote territory, never again permitted to enter the capital in his lifetime — had it not been for Consort Rong’s clever scheming ruining everything, given how favored she and her son had been, he would have at least been granted a rich and comfortable territory.

The Emperor was well aware that after decades of interlocking roots, Empress Dowager Shengde’s faction was connected by blood and marriage to countless others — those with ties of kinship to the Yu family alone were more than could easily be counted. It was therefore important not to cast the net too wide, lest the foundations of the capital region be destabilized. Consequently, apart from the chief criminals and their accomplices, along with their direct helpers and partisans, the rest were dealt with leniently.

All the officials praised the Emperor’s wisdom and sagacity.

In this affair, having suffered the grievous betrayal of his beloved consort, the reason the Emperor was still capable of maintaining a measure of broad-minded benevolence was in no small part thanks to the Empress — the same Empress Minglan had always dismissed as hopelessly unremarkable.

When the palace coup broke out suddenly, the trusted attendants the Emperor had positioned in advance immediately escorted both princes through a hidden passage to safety — after which, a return and reclaim of power would have been all that was needed. The Empress, however, had an opening to leave with them and refused to take it. Instead, like some simple, unknowing village woman, she did nothing whatsoever of a tactical nature — she simply flung herself over her unconscious husband and wailed with all she had.

Tears pouring, nose running, she sobbed from “those years we chased grasshoppers together” all the way to “you heartless wretch, how can you abandon me and the children like this,” beating the imperial bed and howling, very nearly deafening the physician who was in the midst of administering needles to purge the poison. Whether the Emperor was shocked or simply annoyed back into consciousness, in any case he opened his eyes to find himself face-to-face with this tear-and-mucus-drenched, care-worn face of his long-neglected wife.

After the upheaval had settled and his health was restored, the Emperor at last arrived at a lucid reckoning: his longtime companion, rough and plain as she might be, was weak in presiding over the inner palace, lacking in both presence and insight — but she more than made up for all of it in one respect: her heart, entirely and truly, was his, as clear and steadfast as the sun and moon.

The exquisitely beautiful women of the rear palace were enchanting enough — but who could say what lay beneath those lovely skins. When a loyal subject and an able administrator could not be had in one person, he was more inclined to keep a loyal subject always near, and call upon an able administrator only when needed.

In short, to put it simply, the conclusion was… the Empress was with child again.

After the Zhongyuan Festival, Gu Tingye’s official duties gradually returned to something resembling regularity, and he was given several days of leave. He began talking of taking Minglan out to get some air. At first, Minglan paid it no special mind — a senior court official couldn’t simply leave whenever he felt like it. His intentions were good, but reality was unsparing.

Yet on this particular day, Gu Tingye went out before dawn and came back still early in the morning. Seeing his wife still lounging in bed, he dug her out of the covers without ceremony, all high spirits, and announced — we’re going on an outing.

Trained to efficiency by years of habit, the attendants had already packed all the necessary belongings and clothing. Minglan, half-asleep, was carried onto the carriage — she had no idea where they were going. She only noticed that as they traveled farther, the sky grew brighter, and the air drifting into the carriage grew increasingly fresh and clear, as though they had reached some sparsely peopled stretch of hills and countryside.

The carriage rocked and swayed, swayed and rocked. The air was so fresh. Minglan felt wonderfully comfortable, as though she were lying in a cradle, and so… she fell even more deeply asleep. Gu Tingye sat beside her, watching, and heaved a long sigh — he finally knew which parent little Yuan Ge’er took after.

From early morning until midday, Minglan woke up hungry.

A small table was set up inside the carriage, and the two of them sat across from each other for their midday meal. Only then did Minglan remember to ask where they were going — but Gu Tingye’s face was full of mystery and he would not say a word. Instead, he rambled off on stories from the military campaigns: old Geng, every single night, had to write several pages of letters home, reporting the day’s mental and emotional journey to his wife — there was a word count minimum, and when there was truly nothing left to write, the other men had to help fill in the gaps.

Minglan suddenly recalled a gathering over tea, when the ladies had been talking about the letters their husbands sent from the field. Most of the military men had managed nothing more than “I am well, do not worry” and similar, only Lady Geng had boasted that her husband had once written something quite touching: “When I think of my virtuous wife at home, toiling and keeping the household, even hardship on the campaign does not feel like hardship.”

“That phrase is proper and well-rounded, and has the feeling of a seasoned, principled man. I would guess it was composed by the Old Duke,” Minglan offered her honest assessment. She had thought it a rather fine phrase at the time.

“That phrase was written by a seventeen-year-old young man from the Bao family. The Old Duke’s contribution was: ‘A day without seeing you feels like three autumns apart; I think of you and yearn for you, and lie turning through the night, unable to sleep.'”

Minglan: …

Having been thoroughly led off the subject, Minglan gave up on pursuing her question. The two of them chatted and laughed, taking in the scenery along the way — until at last they arrived at their destination.

Ahead was a gently rolling range of hills, thickly carpeted in lush green, filled with birdsong at every turn. Before Minglan could even ask where they were, Gu Tingye had already lifted her out of the carriage, smiling, and was pulling her up the mountain.

“If my Lord simply wanted to take me on a hike, there are plenty of mountains near the capital — Qixia, Zhenmian, Luoyue — why come all the way out here?! Is there a grand temple at the top? A famously divine monk? Is my Lord seeking fortune-sticks?… Ah — I’m nearly out of breath…” Minglan panted with exertion, hiking up her skirts and climbing arduously onward. Fortunately, she had always been in good health, and was managing to keep up tolerably well.

But no matter how she groaned and complained, Gu Tingye only smiled and said nothing, half-dragging and half-pulling her on, urging her ceaselessly upward. They climbed in this manner — entirely without explanation — for a good half-hour, until Minglan felt her chest was practically on fire and her breathing was like the wheeze of a worn-out bellows. Only then did Gu Tingye suddenly stop, pointing ahead: “We’re here.”

Minglan threw dignity aside entirely and sat down on a smooth, clean flat boulder, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe her face and neck with great force. She looked around in all directions. It turned out they were on a jutting outcrop of rock halfway up the mountain — flat, clean, and smooth. Most likely the woodcutters rested here regularly, for the ground was dotted with rounded stone seats.

She followed the line of his outstretched arm and looked northward, and immediately exclaimed in surprise: “The Xiao Mausoleum?!”

Gu Tingye pointed toward the expanse of white structures in the distance, smiling: “This is the southern face of the Xiao Mausoleum. From this vantage point, one can just see the tomb of Empress Jing’an.”

In this era, things were nothing like the modern age, where one could buy a ticket and sing folk songs at the Taj Mahal — the imperial mausoleums of this time were heavily guarded grounds, not to be approached lightly. But still…

“My Lord brought me here to see Empress Jing’an’s tomb?” She was thoroughly puzzled.

Gu Tingye pointed toward the summit above them, smiling: “Not only that. There is a pavilion at the top — it is said to be the very place where Lady Liuli and Lord Gao Shi exchanged their wedding vows before heaven.”

Minglan stood blank for a long moment, very much wanting to ask: “Can it be you’ve realized we’re both travelers from another world?”

Gu Tingye reached up and touched her cheek, flushed and damp with sweat, now pink and healthy with color. “You read books without much discrimination — but above all others, you have always loved to seek out wild histories and miscellaneous records about these two figures, have you not?”

Minglan, taken aback, said slowly: “…You’re not… not suspicious of anything…?”

“Suspicious of what? When I was young, the text I loved most was the chronicles of Huo Guang, the great general of the former dynasty. You’re a woman — what’s interesting about reading about court officials and military commanders? Naturally you’d seek out the stories of remarkable women.”

Minglan’s heart settled. She let him lead her, and the two of them stood together gazing out at that magnificent expanse of mausoleum.

The autumn sky was high and clear, the sun bright and golden, and in that pale, warm light, even those structures built to shelter the dead seemed, from this distance, extraordinary and beautiful. Dragons, phoenixes, qilin, lions — and many fantastical beasts she could not name — were carved from white marble, so lifelike it seemed they might move at any moment. Some arched their heads, some raised their hooves, some spread their wings. Against the bright red of the carved and painted railings, they rose in layered splendor, as though celestial creatures were ascending through clouds.

All around, the green was lush and deep — ancient towering trees of many years, alongside slender, newly-grown saplings reaching out their vivid branches. Together they seemed to frame the solemn, gold-and-crimson imperial mausoleum in a border of simple, living texture, beautiful from any angle, near or far.

The two of them looked on for a long while. Gu Tingye let out a slow breath and said: “You have read Empress Jing’an’s poems and lyrics, I imagine. What do you make of them?”

Minglan was quiet for a moment. Truth be told, every single poem was familiar to her. “They are all wonderful,” she said.

Gu Tingye said: “Truly brilliant beyond compare — and such a pity, that one so gifted should have had so brief a life.”

Minglan gave the faintest twitch of her mouth. A civilization with a thousand years of accumulated depth — of course it would produce something dazzlingly brilliant.

Gu Tingye let out a long, low sigh: “I sometimes think — if Empress Jing’an had not died so suddenly, how many things would have been different.”

This time, Minglan did not make any quip in reply.

Had Empress Jing’an not died of poisoning… first and foremost, Bai Shi would not have married into the Gu family; consequently, Gu Tingye would not have been born; Xiao Qin Shi would have been able to take hold of the Marquis’s household without interference; or perhaps, with no Gu Tingye to protect it, the Ningyuan Marquis’s title might already have been stripped away.

The others aside — the fates of most people in the Gu household had been changed by that single event.

Of course, she herself would presumably still have encountered the mudslide, and then been transported here in the usual miserable fashion — most likely she would currently be in the midst of a battle of wits with Cousin Cao.

After lingering for a while, the two of them set off again and pushed on upward toward the summit.

This stretch of the mountain was somewhat steeper — not truly difficult to climb, but requiring twice the expenditure of energy. This time, Minglan was far more cooperative. She did not complain, and did not moan; when she encountered a woodcutter’s young apprentice coming down the mountain singing folk songs, she even smiled at him — and the young man nearly lost his footing and tumbled all the way back down.