***

Meanwhile, the guard had carried the bundles into the small courtyard. Yun Pan and Li Chenjian brought them inside and opened each one in turn. The food basket held mutton and roasted chicken and roasted goose, along with a flask of wine bearing the label “Imperial Capital Spring.” Inside the two bundles were clothing and plum blossom charcoal, and even a small incense burner had been packed, along with a box of reflective incense.

Yun Pan held the incense sticks in her hands, moved beyond words. “Where in this world is there anyone more endearing than a young woman? We have fallen to such a state, and still my little sister has not forgotten to tend to my inner cultivation — sending me this new incense she has made, so I might savor it.”

Incense, in this era, was the symbol of everything refined and beautiful. Scholars and men of letters immersed themselves wholly in the lingering, layered meanings it evoked. Even those who had fallen from favor and been exiled from office, in the harshest of circumstances, had never abandoned incense.

Yun Pan had once failed to understand this — how, in circumstances so fraught, could anyone still have the inclination to occupy themselves with such things? Now she finally understood. This was hope and sustenance in the midst of despair; the most simple and direct means of breaking free from spiritual confinement. A person with genuine cultivation, even at their lowest ebb, cannot stop longing for beauty.

With quiet joy, she lit a stick and set it in the incense holder, watching the tip glow crimson, flickering and fading. Thin wisps of smoke rose slowly upward. The musty, stale air of the room was swept clean in an instant. Memories of days gone by drifted before her eyes. She recalled the scene of her mother teaching her to make incense as a child — outside the moon-arch window, lush green spring stretched in all directions; beneath the lowered bamboo blind, maidservants in soft robes carried trays of fragrant materials and utensils, gliding past… Back then she had believed the years of the inner chambers would always be peaceful, that she would be steeped in this warm fragrance forever, with nothing to worry about at all. Looking back now, it hadn’t been that way — perhaps life only truly began when one had tasted enough of its bitter and sweet.

In any case, Hui Cun had sent these things at exactly the right moment. Neither of them had much of an appetite, and this full basket of meat would last them several days.

That evening they shared a small, pleasant cup together. Yun Pan still felt that life was perfectly fine — but by the next day, she had already grown tired of the food. When she looked at it she didn’t feel outright repelled, but she simply could not find it as appealing as plain congee and simple side dishes. She laughed and said to Li Chenjian: “I suppose I’ve grown used to simplicity — the meat feels too rich and heavy now.”

He heard her and put all the dishes away into the food basket, settling in to eat plain with her, and said quite serenely: “I feel the same way.”

Yun Pan blinked, thinking he probably assumed she was trying to save the food, to keep it for the New Year. But that wasn’t it at all. She genuinely had little appetite. The sight of oil floating on the surface filled her, inexplicably, with a wave of nausea. She had less energy than before as well — listless, her eyes wanting only to close, wanting only to sleep.

Could she have fallen ill? she wondered, pressing a hand to her forehead. Yet she was afraid to worry him, and dared not say a word. Day after day, after finishing lunch, she wanted nothing more than to find the bed. Fortunately Li Chenjian was slowly recovering — if they had both been unwell, that would have been a problem.

As for Li Chenjian, he estimated that she had been worn down by too much worry and exertion for too long, and that it was time for her to restore her vitality. So he let her sleep to her heart’s content, and took it upon himself to handle everything — boiling water, cooking porridge, all of it. When he had nothing else to do and the courtyard caught his eye with its tangle of weeds, he went out to pull them. In winter, the roots and stems had all withered, and the ground was frozen dry — they came up without much effort. By the end of the day he had cleared most of the courtyard. He piled the dried weeds at the base of the courtyard wall; once they dried further, they could be used to kindle fires.

Yun Pan came out in the late afternoon wearing her cloak to look, and was surprised to find that this man, a proper Duke, took to rough labor quite naturally. She felt a small pang of regret. “Leave a little for me — once I have more energy, I’ll pull the rest.”

He laughed. “I won’t. What woman should be doing this kind of work? Haven’t you heard of the man tilling and the woman weaving? This is a man’s work — you just rest.” But concern stirred in him all the same. He studied her face carefully and asked: “Is there anywhere you feel unwell? Is it just the sleepiness, or have you had any fever?”

He reached over and felt her forehead — everything seemed entirely normal. That made it all the more puzzling.

Yun Pan was perfectly composed and had found her own diagnosis. “These past weeks I was up early every single day, and I overdrew on myself. Now that there’s nothing to do, I just want to reclaim all the sleep I missed.”

He was still not satisfied. “We should have a physician come in to have a look.”

But in circumstances like these, a physician was not something one could simply summon. Yun Pan said there was no need. “I’m not insensible to the world around me. I doubt they would easily let anyone in from outside. And I really don’t feel unwell in any other way — it’s just that I’m drowsy all day long. Drowsiness isn’t a sickness…” She gave a lazy, shameless little smile. “It’s laziness.”

He remained troubled, and after a long silence he murmured to himself: “What illness makes a person want to sleep all day…? If there is anywhere you feel unwell, you must not hide it from me. I’ll find a way to send you out.”

If he was going to send her out over any little discomfort, then she had better not tell him anything at all. But she knew her own body. These last two days she had been so drowsy she could barely keep her eyes open — it did seem somewhat unusual. And now that she thought about it, she had not had her monthly cycle in quite some time. She had been hoping for it the previous month, waiting and waiting, and then forgotten about it entirely. This month, the days had already come and gone. When she actually calculated the timing carefully… could it really be that she was with child?

And yet she dared not say anything to him lightly. If she were wrong, the embarrassment would be too great. Better to wait a little longer. In their current situation, one more person or one fewer was not a simple thing. They were still confined, after all — if he found out, she feared he would grow anxious over whether he could ever give their child a free life.

“When I was small, my wet nurse used to say: the young and strong need not fear illness. Even when it comes, two days of sleep sets things right.” She offered him this reassurance, then slowly finished washing up and made her way back to the bed to lie down.

That evening when he came to bed, he drew her close and put the matter to her: “I have thought it over carefully — it would be better for you to go out. I am the one who has been placed under confinement here. You cannot continue living like this alongside me.”

She was rather annoyed at this. In retaliation, she pressed her lips to his neck, leaving a red mark there. “You are not to send me away. It is not as though I am dying of some incurable disease — what are you fretting about?”

He said: “But—”

“No buts.” She pulled him close with all her strength. “I am attached to you. I cannot be separated from you — not for a single day.”

He suddenly heard her say she was attached to him, and for a moment he felt a dizzy, incredulous kind of joy. He hurried to cup her face in his hands. “What did you say? Say it again.”

This man — he could seemingly never hear enough of her sweet words. Yun Pan smiled and said: “I am attached to you. Whatever you may think, I am simply attached to you. I cannot leave you for even a moment.”

Words like these were most certain to stir his feelings. He kissed her tenderly, and said with deep sincerity: “So am I. I am attached to you as well — I cannot be without you for even a moment.”

For her, he truly had love without end. And he understood, with a knowing attunement, that the moment she began to be coquettish with him, it was his cue to respond with action. His wife deeply captivated him, and even after being married this long, when she lay in his arms, he still could not keep his thoughts from straying.

But this time it was different. She declined, and said with bashful hesitation: “A ceasefire today.”

He assumed her monthly cycle had come and did not press further. But she wound her arms tightly around his neck and called his name softly, one breath after another.

His laughter was drawn out by her. He asked what it was. “You are different from usual today, my Lady.”

She lay with her eyes closed and said it was nothing. “I just feel that coming to this world has been worthwhile — having met you all at once.”

He said she was a fool. “If not for me, there might have been someone even better suited to be your match.”

He had no idea that in her heart, he was already the best of all. If not for this struggle over succession, without the scheming and treachery, she ought to have been the most envied woman in all the capital. Families with daughters would have held them up as a standard, while those idle, dissolute young men would have earned themselves a remark — “Look at Duke Weiguo” — at least raising the bar for young women choosing a husband, making clear that a man keeping a kept woman before marriage and taking concubines after was not simply the natural order of things.

The two of them lay nestled in the quilts, murmuring softly for quite a long while. Yun Pan, who had slept most of the day, did not seem especially alert even by nightfall — she fell into a deep sleep all the same.

The next day was New Year’s Eve. When the guard brought their meal, he slipped two sheets of red paper inside, and said with a smile: “Happy festival to you — the Duke and his Lady should celebrate nicely too.” As he spoke, he set a bundle on the table. “This is red-core charcoal sent by the Marquis Jiang. It was not delivered to me directly — someone on the opposite shift who is not acquainted with this side passed it along. It sat outside for several days before making it through.”

Yun Pan looked at the bundle, a sudden sting behind her nose. When the guard had left, she said to Li Chenjian: “Father manages things so carelessly — he was probably swindled out of his money again, and the things still didn’t arrive on time.”

Li Chenjian crouched before the brazier, used the tongs to lift out a glowing plum blossom coal, placed it into the hand warmer, and passed it to her. Then he said: “The father-in-law of today is not the same as before. At the very least he is capable of attending to matters, and still knows to come here and look in on us and send something over. If it weren’t for his new wife, who knows — he’d probably still be wandering in a fog.”

True enough — it took until the age of forty for him to grow up, and even then it took a resolute second wife to bring that about. Otherwise he’d still be muddling along.

But the red paper that had been sent was perfectly fitting — it could not go to waste. There were no scissors in the room, so they tore it by hand, cutting out a few window ornaments and pasting them to the panes. Li Chenjian himself ground ink and took up a brush to write couplets for the door: On the right, “Auspicious as the morning sun, the noble orchid flourishes”; on the left, “Harmonious as the wind of spring, the zither and lute sound together.” He wrote them and posted them at the door. That small, rundown courtyard — with the touch of red, it suddenly radiated the warm, festive spirit of the New Year.

Of course, on a major festival, the garrison guards would want a good meal, and a slightly better spread was provided for them as well. Tonight there was steamed mutton — nothing so refined as the celebrated roasted lamb in apricot cream sauce served outside, but to those minor officers who did not ordinarily eat well, it was already a first-rate delicacy.

It was brought in with great cheer. The guard lifting the lid of the food basket said: “Happy New Year — the kitchen added two proper dishes. Best wishes for the New Year to the Duke and his Lady.”

Li Chenjian cupped his hands and returned the greeting, then, once the man had been seen off, was uncertain how to deal with the dishes. Yun Pan had grown increasingly unable to tolerate the smell of meat these past two days. The mutton had been prepared crudely, and even to him it carried a rank, gamey smell — for Yun Pan it would surely be even less appealing.

He was about to put the dishes away to the side when Yun Pan came in from outside carrying clothes, saying: “It is New Year’s Eve tonight — the wine from a couple days ago still has half a flask left. I’ll warm it later and keep you company over a cup.” She came over to have a look.

Then, visibly, her color changed. She suddenly dropped the clothes and ran outside.

He was startled and hurried after her to look, finding her crouched at the base of the wall, retching with all she had. He was at a loss — he quickly poured warm water, and came back to rub her back. She had eaten little in these past days, so there was not much to bring up. But watching her suffer so visibly, the taut string inside him was nearly at its breaking point. He murmured: “I’ll have them bring a physician in. You must be ill…”

Yun Pan retched until tears ran down her face. She finally managed to collect herself, and hurriedly grabbed his arm. “I’m not ill, there’s no need for a physician. It is the New Year today — everywhere is full of joy and celebration. Going to see a doctor on such a day would be terribly inauspicious!”

He handed her clean water to rinse her mouth, and helped her to her feet. He seemed to have been weighing something for a long time before he quietly asked: “Babe, are you hiding something from me?”

Yun Pan paused slightly, and said vaguely: “What would I possibly be hiding from you…”

“Are you with child?” he asked suddenly.

He was waiting for her answer, his eyes fixed on her, not wanting to miss a single fleeting change in her expression.

He watched her — first bewildered, then her face flushing red, her gaze shifting and hesitant, and finally she relented. “How did you know?”

In that instant, he felt a fine trembling pass over his entire body. Something strange and bittersweet welled up, pressing at the corners of his eyes.

“Really? Is it really true?” He bent forward, hands on her shoulders, trying hard to bring his line of sight level with hers — he needed to see clearly everything in her eyes.

Yun Pan pressed her lips together and smiled. Each time she nodded, she could see the mist in his eyes grow a little thicker — until it had gathered into a weight too heavy to bear, and fell. She herself began to cry first. She reached out and wiped his tears away, then said, a little abashed: “The symptoms seem right. But it is my first time — I don’t know for certain. So I didn’t dare tell you.”

He seemed to need composure even more than she did. The light in his eyes shifted through a thousand expressions. He released her, and turned blindly in the space of the room — looking up at the ceiling, then down at the ground — before finally stilling himself. Then, once again, the same words: “I will find a way to send you out.”

Yun Pan said no. “I am not going anywhere. I will stay right here.”

“But you have barely eaten a proper meal in several days. You cannot go on like this, drinking only congee.” He coaxed her gently. “Be good and go home. Your grandmother and mother will take care of you. The matrons at home have experience — they will wait on you carefully. You need to eat something that will help your appetite and nurture yourself properly. Never mind what becomes of the child — you must not wrong yourself first. Do you understand?”

When Yun Pan set her stubborn mind to something, no one could move her. “And have me lying in a comfortable bed, thinking of you every day? I would rather stay here and suffer alongside you.” With that, she went back into the room and, fighting her nausea, swallowed a piece of plain boiled meat. “There, you see? I can still eat something. It is not as though I am starving to death.”

But was she truly eating well? He watched her brow furrow as she forced herself to swallow, and his resolve, already wavering, quickly softened entirely. So be it — let her stay. He told himself: only half a month remained. Half a month would pass quickly. There would still be time to nourish her properly after. Only — he was going to be a father. That shift in identity felt unreal to him. He hurried to settle her into a chair and then stood staring at her abdomen for a long moment. The curve below was still flat, yet something small was in there, and would grow little by little. One day a child would run behind him calling out “Father, Father…” The inheritance of life — how astonishing it was.

Yun Pan watched his every gesture. From the moment she had known him, she had never seen him so flustered. She smiled and said: “We cannot be certain yet. Don’t get too anxious — we’ll know once a physician has examined me.”

But he was absolutely sure. “I know. There is definitely a child.” He let out a long breath. “And it is about time…”

He had feared that if an heir of the direct line came too soon, it would draw people’s scheming — Xuandu had been proof of that. And so he had not rushed, had even deliberately been cautious. But now it was different. Victory or defeat was close at hand. He was confident, in the end, of being able to give his wife and child a peaceful life.

On the very last day of the year, the good news had arrived. He wondered how the elders at home would receive it — what joy it would bring them. In any case, he was overcome with happiness right now — happier than any appointment or honor could make him.

He moved back and forth, busying himself — pouring her water, asking if she was cold. The gilded hand warmer nearby had grown not very warm to the touch. He hurried to replace the charcoal for her, handling her with that scrupulous, gentle care that surpassed by far any man who merely knew how to tell a woman to take care of herself.

Yun Pan watched him with a smile. “I have been calculating — if it truly is confirmed, the child should arrive around the seventh or eighth month of next year.”

He turned, a flicker of concern. “The seventh or eighth month… that would be the height of summer. The heat may be fierce.”

“When a new life arrives, one hardly minds the heat.” She tapped her feet together slowly and made her calculations with half-closed eyes. “The Xuan generation… Big Brother’s family has Xuandu and Xuantong; Third Brother’s family has Xuansi. What about ours? What should the name be?”

He was not particularly fixed on whether the child was a boy or a girl. “If it’s a daughter, there’s no need to follow the generational name — there are so many beautiful names to choose from. If it’s a son, let him be called Xuanzhen — the highest truth of the great Tao. I don’t want him to endure the turbulence his father has known. I only want him to hold fast to his heart and live his days in peace.”

This was surely the most sincere wish a father could carry for a child.

Yun Pan listened and turned the two characters over carefully in her mind, letting them rest on the tip of her tongue, saying them again and again: “Xuanzhen… how beautiful. Xuanzhen it shall be.”

The two of them spoke softly together, talking of everything to do with the child, until unawares the sky darkened. Yun Pan rose to warm the wine, and he stopped her — let her sit; all of this he would take care of.

They sat facing each other at the small table in that humble room, making a proper occasion of their New Year. Though Yun Pan could eat hardly anything, sustaining herself on little more than congee, it did not take away from the ceremony of it. They clinked their cups together. She had not yet drunk when he was already cautioning her: “Just a sip — do not overindulge.”

Yun Pan made a sound of assent, brought it to her lips for the smallest taste, and let that sweet, warming fragrance spread across her tongue — enough to pay tribute to this universal celebration.

Suddenly, from outside, came a thunderous crack, and the black night sky was lit by cascading, multicolored brilliance. He pulled her to the doorway to watch. The palace was setting off fireworks, and because the Side Gate was very close to the palace walls, the bursts of light seemed to explode directly overhead.

In other circumstances, the household would have been celebrating grandly this year — to welcome the new mistress of the house, and now with a little one added, the occasion would have been even more festive. But as it was, they were here, confined in this long passage, with no fireworks to set off at all.

Yet Yun Pan watched with great delight all the same. “This is the first time I have ever seen fireworks from the palace. Back in Youzhou, only a few great households set off many, but they could not compare to the imperial family.”

They were someone else’s fireworks, and yet she found her own joy in them. Fortunately she did not dwell in self-pity. In these months of constrained and restricted days, she had not added a single extra burden to him.

The five-colored fire blazed and lingered in the night sky for a good while before it faded. When the palace had finished, it was the turn of the city people below. Fireworks were costly, and only those of high and noble houses could afford to set them off — but firecrackers were essential in every household. All at once, the sound of thunder broke out in all directions. Brief sparks of light erupted across the night sky in scattered points, and the smell of sulfur drifted everywhere through the air…

A grand celebration ended. The world was like a battlefield after a great slaughter.