The day of Xiao Nanhui’s twentieth birthday was an ordinary one.

The Qinghuai Marquis Mansion was sparsely populated, with only a handful of familiar faces, so there was naturally no great fanfare. Nevertheless, the old steward had risen early that morning to instruct the kitchen to prepare Xiao Nanhui’s favorite dish — wide noodles in chili broth — ready to be delivered the moment she got up. As was customary, after the noodles the General would present a gift. During times of war, the gift would be given at the military camp; otherwise, it would be presented in the small courtyard of the mansion.

Xiao Nanhui’s birthday fell on the ninth day of the fourth month, the finest time for camellia blossoms in Quecheng. After receiving her gift in the small courtyard, she would speak of how magnificently the golden camellia bloomed at Yongye Temple in the southern part of the city, and invite the General to go admire the flowers together. The General would then instruct the old steward to prepare a carriage and mention that they would return to the mansion for dinner by evening.

The General was not much of a drinker, yet this one dinner always called for wine. The General would request a jar of pear blossom white, but Xiao Nanhui would quietly instruct the servants to substitute it with Yun Ye Xian instead. Yun Ye Xian had a rich flavor that made it harder to get drunk, yet the General would still become intoxicated every year without fail. After getting drunk, he would hold Xiao Nanhui’s hand and murmur things beneath the moonlight, until she instructed the steward to help him to bed — and so another birthday would come to its end.

Xiao Nanhui opened her eyes. The canopy overhead, embroidered with twining branch patterns, seemed somehow more alive than usual, brimming with a restless, eager energy.

Fourteen years had passed since she came to the Qinghuai Marquis Mansion, and every birthday had been spent exactly this way.

All these years, and she still looked forward to this day just as much.

When each birthday drew to its close, she would begin a new countdown, eagerly anticipating the arrival of the next.

If she could, she hoped these quiet, gentle days would go on forever.

Xiao Nanhui drew a deep breath, lifted the covers, and climbed out of bed.

Bolao, that girl, never rose this early — she would not stir until the sun was high in the sky. The mansion had few maids and servants, so Xiao Nanhui had always washed and dressed herself, and after so many years, she had long grown accustomed to it.

This spring seemed to have arrived earlier than usual, the warmth so pleasant it lulled one into drowsiness. Xiao Nanhui slurped her noodles with great contentment, glancing toward the doorway every now and then, wondering to herself why Dujuan had not yet appeared.

Dujuan was Xiao Zhun’s head maid, far more capable in temperament than Bolao. She kept track of every matter in the mansion, large and small, and was as good as a half-steward herself.

At this hour on any other day, Dujuan would have already arrived with the gift.

Lost in thought for a moment, a bit of chili went down the wrong way, and Xiao Nanhui broke into a coughing fit. She grabbed the teapot beside her and gulped down several mouthfuls of water. Through her tear-blurred vision, she saw a silhouette approaching from the distance — but it was not the figure of a woman.

Nanny Chen — the old steward — came hurrying across the courtyard, gave a quick bow, and spoke in a low voice: “The Marquis has sent word. His Majesty summoned him early this morning, so the young lady need not wait. He also says that today’s military camp affairs will rest for the day, and the young lady need not go — she may make her own arrangements.”

One ‘need not,’ then another ‘need not.’ Xiao Nanhui swallowed back her cough, along with the questions that rose with it.

“Thank you, Uncle Chen. After I finish my meal, I’ll head to Yanfu Street. If the Marquis returns, please send someone to fetch me.”

Nanny Chen nodded and withdrew. Xiao Nanhui stared at the half-bowl of noodles still steaming before her, and suddenly found she had lost all appetite.

This year, the scene she loved best had not followed the script.