Prince Wei had received an urgent secret message from Canxing early that morning, reporting that at the hour of the Rabbit today, the Twin Walls would go to the great willow tree at the southeast corner of Guangde Ward to retrieve a box of books. An enemy delivered to his doorstep was not to be wasted. Prince Wei immediately dispatched his best men to that location and laid an iron net, declaring that not even a mosquito that flew in could escape his watch.
However, an entire morning passed, and that wooden box remained exactly where it was. Not a single person had gone near it. Prince Wei’s first instinct was that he had been tricked. He ordered men to go and examine it, and to his surprise discovered that the wooden box had not been swapped out — and the books inside seemed not to have been taken. Prince Wei was thoroughly confused and could only order his men to keep watch.
Early spring was still cold. The sun climbed to its highest point and then began, bit by bit, to descend — and in the blink of an eye, it was dusk again. Ming Huazhang had kept his promise today and finished early, but Ming Huashang was still exhausted as a dog. She stared at the slanting rays of the evening sun and said, listlessly, “Another day gone. Chang’an is so vast — how long will we have to keep searching?”
Despite having tired himself out all day, Ming Huazhang’s composure remained steady and clear. He said gently to Ming Huashang, “Heaven rewards the persistent. There will be a result.”
Ming Huashang raised her eyebrows but said nothing either way. She stepped onto the threshold of the Jing Zhaoyiin’s office and gave a soft sound of surprise — her expression abruptly became serious. “Second Brother, that wooden box — wasn’t it already here this morning?”
Ming Huazhang, with his long legs and large strides, had walked a step ahead of her. He stood on the top step and turned to look back — composed and restrained in bearing, gaze tranquil on the surface, yet underneath it he was on alert.
What was she doing? Right now, who knew how many pairs of eyes were watching this place. If they did not wish to reveal their identities, the right thing to do was to keep well away from that wooden box — why was Ming Huashang proactively drawing attention to it?
Their eyes met. Hers were soft and misted, the depths of them clear and limpid — the picture of someone who could never do anything wrong. Who could know what strange and clever idea was forming in that little head of hers.
Ming Huazhang had truly come to be a little afraid of her. Maintaining his unruffled manner, he said, “Yes. What of it?”
Ming Huashang’s small face was solemn and grave. She said to Ming Huazhang with perfect seriousness, “Second Brother, all of Chang’an right now is on guard against boxes of unknown origin. And yet here, outside the Jing Zhaoyiin’s very own office, a wooden box has appeared and sat here untouched for an entire day. Tell me — is there not a possibility that it contains explosives?”
She performed it so convincingly, as though she genuinely had no idea where the box had come from. Ming Huazhang held her gaze, needing no words — years of being siblings gave him an instant understanding without a syllable spoken. His lips pressed together almost imperceptibly, suppressing a smile, and he nodded. “There is something to that. Come — clear the surrounding area of civilians, and cordon off this box. Be careful in your movements: there may be explosives inside.”
Ming Huazhang made a great commotion — clearing civilians and then prying open the box — and the uproar swiftly spread, until within no time every resident nearby had heard: a suspected explosive device had been found outside the Jing Zhaoyiin’s office. Spectators ringed the scene three layers deep. The Jing Zhaoyiin came out from inside, took one look at the commotion, and stared in astonishment. “What is all this about?”
Ming Huashang hugged her hand warmer for warmth and quietly watched Ming Huazhang make a righteous and impassioned case to the Jing Zhaoyiin for why the box might contain explosives. Ming Huashang’s eyebrow went up ever so slightly, and she clutched the hand warmer more tightly.
How wonderful it was to have an upright and principled elder brother — even when spinning nonsense, he could do so with such brilliance and such moral authority.
Yesterday she had sent word to the palace, asking them to send a box of books to support her. This had in fact been a false lure, set out precisely to catch someone in the act.
She had stationed people at a distance to watch: the informant had reported that throughout the day, quite a few people had been hovering around the box with studied indifference, and at noon someone had even contrived to stumble beside it, knocking on it and feeling it over. From that description alone it was not difficult to surmise that someone had known the Twin Walls were coming to this location and had set an ambush early.
She had sent the message only the night before, and the books were to be collected just after the palace gates opened the next morning — yet in that short interval, it had already leaked. Clearly, among the people who had left the palace that night and the following morning, there was a traitor.
The palace gates were strictly managed; the number of people permitted to come and go each day was fixed. It would not be difficult to investigate.
Her fishing expedition had at this point essentially succeeded. Even Ming Huazhang had assumed she was merely sending false information — he had no idea that after setting her lure and catching someone, Ming Huashang intended to reel in the bait as well.
Ming Huashang stood in the middle of the crowd, hugging her hand warmer, looking as though she might doze off at any moment — but her mind was in fact perfectly clear. The most brilliant performance was simply to be oneself. Only the Twin Walls would go to great lengths to avoid any suspicion; but a high-born young lady, enthusiastic about solving the case and unconstrained in her ways — had she any need to weigh every step so carefully?
She did not.
No one would believe that the famed Twin Walls would expose themselves by such a conspicuous method. Ming Huashang chose to do precisely the opposite. Keeping well away was undoubtedly safer — yet the mastermind behind all this could, upon reflection, easily realize: she and Ming Huazhang were so committed to solving the explosion case, and yet they had no reaction whatsoever to an unexplained package appearing right outside their door. That would be the very picture of a guilty conscience giving itself away.
So there was no need to think it through so carefully — just be brazen about it. Besides, these were books from the Falcon Guards Directorate’s archives. It would be a shame to throw them away — why not simply take them?
A constable donned protective gear, and with great care pried the box open. Ming Huashang waited without much interest, and sure enough, before long the constable returned to report: “My lord Jing Zhaoyiin, Lord Minor Magistrate — inside it seems to be… books?”
“Books?” Ming Huazhang’s performance was flawless. He said gravely, “Take the contents out carefully. The killer may have hidden the gunpowder underneath.”
The constables took this entirely to heart and had great admiration for Minor Magistrate Ming’s meticulous vigilance. They rushed back to comply, calling to one another to proceed with caution lest they fall into a trap.
They treated the thing as though it were a mortal enemy — lifting the books with even more care than they would use tending to a beloved parent — until at last the constable stared at what appeared to be the flat bottom of the box and said, stuck for words for quite some time, “My lord Minor Magistrate, this… appears to simply be a box of books?”
Ming Huazhang naturally knew it was a box of books, but he still put on gloves, accepted the volumes with a composed expression, flipped through a few pages, and said in perplexity, “What on earth is the killer trying to accomplish?”
Ming Huashang stood to one side, wearing a look of deep contemplation. “Given the killer’s arrogant nature, this is most likely a deliberate provocation against the authorities. Perhaps the clue to the third case is hidden somewhere in these books?”
Ming Huazhang and Ming Huashang exchanged a glance — one marveling at how brilliantly the other performed, the other marveling at how brilliantly the first improvised. Both maintained their air of unfathomable depth, and he said, “Bring all of this inside and study it carefully.”
Ming Huazhang had specifically arranged to finish early for Ming Huashang’s sake, but the hour was late again by the time they finally walked out of the Jing Zhaoyiin’s office. Ming Huashang climbed into the carriage looking utterly wretched, still turning the books over in her hands to examine them. The carriage curtain was lifted, and a rush of cold air swept in, quickly blocked by someone. Ming Huazhang gathered his robe in one hand and stepped into the carriage without hurry.
The interior had been reasonably spacious before; the moment he sat down, it seemed instantly to have shrunk. From outside came the voices of the Jing Zhaoyiin’s office staff saying their farewells. Ming Huazhang gave a mild nod, signaling the driver to set off.
The carriage swayed gently, heading toward Duke Zhenguo’s estate. For a time no one spoke inside. Ming Huazhang, seeing Ming Huashang still frowning over the books, could finally stand it no longer, and tapped her on the forehead. “Little schemer.”
Ming Huashang burst out laughing and quickly stifled it. She scowled right back at Ming Huazhang with equal force. “I only told a few lies. Look at you — you had everyone thoroughly fooled, and they all still think you’re a man of integrity. I think you’re the bigger schemer.”
Ming Huazhang didn’t say yes or no, having clearly grown accustomed to being teased. After Ming Huashang had gotten that out of her system, worry crept back into her eyes, and she asked, “Second Brother, what do we do next?”
Ming Huazhang raised his hand. His long, slender fingers found the acupressure point at her temple and began slowly kneading it, while his other hand gently removed the hairpins and ornaments at her temples. He said softly, “Don’t worry — I have a way to handle this. You’ve helped me enormously, and you’ve already done very well.”
Under his massage, Ming Huashang’s body gradually relaxed. She shifted into a comfortable position, leaning against him, and asked, “And the case? There are only a few days left before the Flower Morning Festival, but we still have no lead on the killer.”
Ming Huazhang knew this as well as anyone, but when he spoke to Ming Huashang, his voice remained quiet and gentle, calm and unhurried. “There’s nothing to be gained by panicking. The worst outcome is simply a reprimand. In fact, I rather think that if the case isn’t resolved before the Flower Morning Festival, it would be no bad thing for His Majesty to remain in the palace and stay quietly within the Grand Palace. Don’t think about all this anymore. I’ll handle everything. You’ve been running yourself ragged for days — rest easy and sleep.”
Ming Huazhang’s voice seemed to carry some kind of enchantment. Ming Huashang’s eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and a genuine wave of drowsiness washed over her. She simply closed her eyes, and said, “I’ll rest for a moment. When we get to the house, remember to wake me.”
Above her, the air was cool and tender, like a ship full of stars scattered across the surface of the water — and a voice, low and quiet, said, “All right.”
The carriage drifted unhurried through the night and stopped in front of an estate. The gatekeepers removed the threshold boards, and the carriage drove straight through, pulling up directly in front of Ming Huashang’s courtyard. Zhao Cai and the others came out to receive her, intending to wake Ming Huashang, but Ming Huazhang held up a hand to stop them. “No need.”
Zhao Cai felt as if she had blinked and missed something — and then she saw Ming Huazhang lift Ming Huashang up, carrying her as though she were something precious, and walk down from the carriage, heading straight into the courtyard. She stood dazed for quite a while before she recovered her wits and hurried after him. “Second Young Master, let this servant do it.”
Ming Huazhang’s movements appeared unhurried, but his manner was quietly and entirely resolute. He calmly stepped out of reach of Zhao Cai’s outstretched hands, with no apparent intention of setting Ming Huashang down, and said, “Prepare water. Help her wash up and change her clothes — don’t wake her.”
·
In the dark of night, Ming Huashang’s brother and sister had finally returned to the estate, and Su Yuji — who had been ordered to follow them — could breathe easy at last. She made her way home through the night, her spirit worn to the bone, yet still worrying about Su Xingzhi, who had been waiting so long — had he grown anxious?
She turned into a narrow alley. The door of her home, the one her heart had been set on, was just ahead. But then Su Yuji’s body froze mid-step.
Her gaze turned cold. She shifted sideways, looking back, her hand already poised to strike. But then a sturdy, honest-looking figure darted out from beside her, and the moment she saw Su Yuji, burst into tears. “Miss, however did you take so long to return? You’ve kept this old servant waiting terribly. This old servant waited at home for you a long while — why did you not come?”
Su Yuji frowned and studied the person for a moment before finally recognizing her: this was the woman who had appeared not long ago claiming to be a former servant of Duke Zhenguo’s estate. Su Yuji said impatiently, “Didn’t I already tell you? I need to think this through properly by myself. Until I’ve made up my mind, I don’t want anyone disturbing me. Why have you come again?”
The serving woman kept her hands lowered and bowed humbly, saying, “This old servant dares not defy Miss’s command. It is only that there is one thing this old servant feels must be passed on to Miss.”
Su Yuji watched her warily. “What?”
The serving woman drew a yellowed letter from her sleeve and held it out with both hands to Su Yuji. “My lady, please look. This is a letter written by the Madam to the Wang family seventeen years ago, during her pregnancy. It happened that around that time, events were in great turmoil, and the letter was never sent. All these years this old servant has kept it by her side. It took a great deal of searching to finally find it at the bottom of a trunk. It is one of the very few keepsakes the Madam left behind — this old servant thought that perhaps Miss would like to have something to remember her by.”
Hearing that this was a letter written by Duke Zhenguo’s wife, Wang Yulan, Su Yuji’s fingertips clenched, and her eyes tightened all at once. She stared at the paper for a long moment, then slowly reached out and took the letter.
The paper fell against her fingertips, carrying the musty smell of years gone by, and felt as if it weighed a thousand catties. For an instant, Su Yuji had the illusion that what she had taken was not merely a letter — but a secret entombed in those long-past years, weighty beyond all bearing and not to be touched.
Su Yuji steadied herself, opened the envelope, and looked at the page by moonlight. What met her eyes was delicate, neat script written in the “hairpin flower” hand — one could almost glimpse the state of the writer at the moment she set these words down, her manner surely gentle and composed.
Su Yuji continued to read. In the letter, the writer described how throughout this period, Chang’an was gripped with fear and alarm. The Heavenly Empress had accused the Crown Prince of being disrespectful and unfilial, even harboring treasonous intent, and the Crown Prince had been confined to the Eastern Palace. Duke Zhenguo was outside working on the Crown Prince’s behalf, the situation changing by the moment, and everyone was living in dread. She herself was resting in confinement at the mountain villa in Zhongnan, unable to help and unable to stop worrying, and often felt her heart trembling. At her most recent pulse-reading, the physician had told her there was a strong likelihood she was carrying twins.
She did not wish to distract the Duke, and so had not told him. But the physician had also said that her pregnancy was not going well, and that carrying twins would be doubly dangerous — he had counseled her to plan ahead, and while the children were still small and there was yet time, to consider ending the pregnancy. They were both young, he had said; if the mother’s life were preserved, there would be other children in the future.
She had thought it through over and over, but could not bring herself to sever the bond she had with these two children, and for their sake was willing to take the risk — even if it meant nine chances in ten of death. Though she was frightened, she nonetheless looked forward to the children and wondered whether they would be boys or girls. If a pair of boys, she had thought to name them Yunqu and Jinghan; if girls, then Yuji and Qiushui.
A rainbow dissolves as the rain clears, colors brilliant through the cloudways. Sunset clouds and a solitary wild duck fly together, autumn water sharing one hue with the boundless sky.
In the names themselves, one could see all her hopes for the children she carried.
After reading to the end, Su Yuji fell into a deep silence. She knew that the twin — one male, one female — born to Duke Zhenguo’s estate were actually called Huazhang and Huashang. She had once even envied them, feeling they were clearly one family from the very names they shared. But could it be that all of this had been false from the start?
The grandmother and brother she had believed loved her selflessly, even without a blood connection — they were in fact the architects who had displaced her entire life. The dragon-and-phoenix twin siblings she had imagined living a life as happy as a storybook — they did not even have the right names.
Only her own name had been formed from Wang Yulan’s heart and love — brushstroke by brushstroke, composed for the child within her womb.
And yet she had been raised in a farmer’s household, spending seventeen years not even knowing who her birth parents were, living in a muddled, cautious, uncertain way. How utterly absurd.
The serving woman studied the expression on Su Yuji’s face and spoke again. “This is a portrait of the Madam. The moment this old servant laid eyes on Miss, she knew she could not be mistaken — your bearing and figure are exactly the same as the Madam’s.”
The servant spoke, and unrolled the portrait before Su Yuji could say a word. Su Yuji looked up and saw a woman seated sideways before a waterside pavilion, hairpin flowers and a smile on her face. The moment Su Yuji saw the figure in the painting, it struck her like a bolt of lightning — she could not say a single word.
The resemblance was stunning. Even she herself could see it — from the brow and eyes, to the shape of the face, to the very expression — she and the woman in the portrait seemed to have been cast from the same mold. In all those years, Nanny Su had often looked at her without speaking. Who had the old woman been seeing in those moments?
Seeing Su Yuji’s expression, the serving woman knew there was no need to say anything further. It had not been in vain for the Prince to go to such pains to retrieve Wang Yulan’s old letters and portrait from the Wang family seat in Taiyuan.
In truth, when the serving woman had seen Wang Yulan’s portrait, she herself had immediately felt certain that Su Yuji was Wang Yulan’s daughter. And yet neither of the two siblings in Duke Zhenguo’s estate resembled Wang Yulan in the slightest — the serving woman couldn’t determine which of those two was actually the false one.
Originally, Prince Wei hadn’t cared in the least about this sort of family squabble — whose child was whose, and who had stolen whose place. What did any of that have to do with Prince Wei? But the fact that one of them was the orphaned child of Crown Prince Zhanghuai was what compelled Prince Wei to flush out this cuckoo in the nest. Because the bird that had strayed into the magpie’s home was no ordinary bird — it was the flesh and blood of a crown prince, a child of the dragon.
The serving woman said insinuatingly, “Miss, you need only take this portrait to Duke Zhenguo’s estate — there’s no need for any explanation. Unfurl the portrait, and everyone will see who is real. The Su family has been deceiving those above and below them for so many years — it is long past time for that false daughter of theirs to pay a price.”
Su Yuji kept her head down and said nothing, but her eyelashes were fluttering rapidly — one could see that her heart was not at all at peace. The serving woman added another spark. “Miss, could it be that you still cannot bear to part with Su Xingzhi? That you fear causing too much trouble and bringing harm to him and the Su family? My poor foolish Miss — wake up. Do you think Su Xingzhi doesn’t know what his grandmother did? But he never said a word all these years — that is because he too loves his real little sister more, and wanted to keep her in the Duke’s estate to enjoy wealth and privilege!”
Of everything the serving woman had said, nothing struck Su Yuji as hard as those last words. She jerked her head up, eyes red, and said, “What happened between him and me is not for you to poison with your schemes. Whether he has been deceiving me all these years — I will ask him myself.”
The conversation between Su Yuji and the serving woman ended badly. Su Yuji walked away in fury. She had appeared firm and resolute before the serving woman — yet once she stepped out of the alley, she suddenly felt dizzy, drained of strength, and leaned against the wall.
She couldn’t stop her mind from replaying the serving woman’s words. Did Su Xingzhi know her true origins? What exactly had he thought of her all these years — someone to depend on, a family member through hard times, or a hollow shell that had kept his real sister’s place while she enjoyed wealth and position?
Su Yuji did not want to think about it. She had momentarily forgotten what she meant to do and where she meant to go, and simply stood there dazed, leaning against the wall. Su Xingzhi, not seeing Su Yuji return for a long while, could wait no longer, and came out to look for her — only to find Su Yuji leaning against the wall right at their own gate.
Su Xingzhi was startled. He quickly went over and steadied her by the arm. “Yuji, what’s wrong?”
They had addressed each other that way for over a decade, but in that moment, Su Yuji felt the name sting her. She looked up and stared steadily at Su Xingzhi. Under that look, his unease grew, and his brow furrowed more tightly. “Yuji, what’s wrong with you? Are you feeling ill?”
Su Yuji shook her head and steadied herself against the wall. Su Xingzhi moved to support her, and she pulled away from him coldly.
Su Xingzhi felt her deliberate rejection and started again. His expression grew heavy. He looked at her carefully and asked, “Yuji, has something happened?”
Su Yuji was silent. Once she had been absolutely certain that there would never be any secrets between herself and Su Xingzhi. But now the serving woman’s words were lodged like a thorn in the soft flesh of her heart, and for the first time she did not tell him everything candidly. Instead she gave a vague smile, lowered her eyes, and said, “Nothing. Just a bit tired.”
Su Xingzhi looked at her pallid complexion and did not press further. He opened the door and said, “Now that you’re back, let’s eat. There’s been food kept warm on the stove for you all this time. Eat first, then sleep.”
·
Ming Huashang was half-asleep when she suddenly jolted awake. She stared at the canopy of her bed, in a daze for a long time.
Hadn’t she just been resting her eyes? How had she ended up here?
She pushed herself up off the mattress and slowly sat up. Outside the bed curtains, Zhao Cai was wringing out a cloth. Hearing the rustle from inside, she hurriedly lifted the curtain and came in. “My lady, you’re awake?”
Ming Huashang’s mind was still not clear. She looked around and asked in confusion, “When did I get back?”
“Second Young Master brought you back. He told us to take good care of you, and has only just left.” Zhao Cai said this, then bit her tongue, expression caught between wanting to speak and holding back, and finally could not help herself. “My lady, how did you fall asleep outside?”
Ming Huashang sank softly back against the bolster, her wrist draped over her eyes, and said without energy, “I didn’t mean to. I only meant to close my eyes for a moment — how was I to know I’d fall asleep?”
Zhao Cai could hold it in no longer. “My lady, this is not the sort of thing that just happens. After you fell asleep, it was Second Young Master who carried you back.”
Ming Huashang said a noncommittal “mm,” and replied, entirely unbothered, “The only reason I dared to sleep was because of him. If I had been alone outside, I would never have been that careless.”
Zhao Cai deliberated several times before carefully saying, “My lady, even though you and the Young Master are twin siblings, you are no longer the same as when you were small. Elder Miss and Third Miss are both in the midst of discussing marriage prospects, and spend their days composing poems and painting — they are very poised. Yet you run outside every day, and that is easy for people to gossip about.”
Ming Huashang let out a small sound, her voice idle yet certain. “Yes — I have grown up. And when I want to do something, why should I listen to what others say? I go out to help solve a case — my conscience is clear. My father has no objection. Let others say whatever they like.”
Old Madam Ming was of high seniority, but Duke Zhenguo’s estate was ultimately Duke Zhenguo’s estate, and the one who truly held authority was still the Duke himself. Duke Zhenguo had initially not agreed to Ming Huashang leaving at dawn every day and not returning until well after dark — his objection was not that it was improper for a young lady from a respectable household to be spending her days in the company of men outside the home, but simply that it was too dangerous. Yet for some reason no one could explain, after Ming Huazhang had a private word with the Duke, the Duke never again interfered with Ming Huashang’s movements — a tacit acceptance.
With a father who, no matter what Ming Huashang did, only worried about whether his obedient daughter was safe, and a brother who, no matter what she wanted to do, cleared every obstacle and solved every problem on her behalf — what did the opinions of outsiders matter?
Zhao Cai naturally understood all this. But the fact was that Ming Huashang was a young lady of seventeen, the proper age for arranging a marriage, and she had neither mother nor elder sister to look into prospective husbands on her behalf. If she did not stay in Old Madam Ming’s good graces, did she really expect a servant to keep an eye out for eligible young men on her behalf?
And besides — the closeness between the young lady and Second Young Master had gone too far. A girl depended on her family’s backing after marriage, and being close to one’s brother was a good thing, but there was no such thing as an elder brother carrying his sleeping younger sister indoors after sundown and placing her in her bed himself, and removing her shoes for her besides.
This touched on the future head of the ducal estate, and Zhao Cai did not know how to say it. She could only urge Ming Huashang earnestly, “My lady, true enough — but the number of outstanding young men in Chang’an is only so great. If they’re all taken by others, you’ll have fewer and fewer to choose from. For your own future, you really must let Old Madam help make the arrangements. Princess Taiping has sent over an invitation: tomorrow she is hosting a flower-viewing banquet at the Princess’s estate, and all the noble families and aristocratic clans will be in attendance. You really must take this opportunity and find yourself a fine young man — you cannot keep putting it off.”
Zhao Cai thought: perhaps for now, the Second Young Master and Second Miss were simply young, and once they each married in due time, everything would return to its proper place.
So long as Second Miss found a husband, all would be well.
“Something snatched away so easily was never worth having in the first place.” Ming Huashang lay on her bed, quiet for a long while, and then out of nowhere asked, “Zhao Cai, if you found out that you only had one year left to live, and you could die on any day without warning, what would you do?”
“Oh?” Zhao Cai quickly said, “Then I would certainly first hand the keys to all the boxes holding your ladyship’s clothing and jewellery over to the new girls, then divide the savings I’ve put aside over the years among Jin Bao, Jixiang, and Ruyi, and keep the cash money for myself and eat one good meal every single day.”
“And here you were criticizing me — you think of nothing but food either.” Ming Huashang laughed, and when the laughter subsided, she said quietly, “I think the same. Life is too short. I haven’t figured out how to live it yet, and already I have to prepare for death. Thinking of it that way — what use is marrying into a grand household? What use is gold and silver? If I can guard the people I cherish, do what I truly care about, and spend the remaining time eating well and sleeping well, happy and carefree each day — that is enough.”
“Bite your tongue.” Zhao Cai immediately spat three times on the floor and said reproachfully, “My lady, what are you saying? Don’t speak such inauspicious words — you are certainly going to live to a hundred.”
“All right.” Ming Huashang smiled, and said, “Zhao Cai, it’s late — go to sleep.”
Zhao Cai picked up the washbasin and stood, then suddenly turned back. “My lady, don’t forget — tomorrow Princess Taiping is hosting a banquet, and it is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Don’t go wandering off. Prepare properly for the banquet.”
Ming Huashang had no choice but to agree. Only after Ming Huashang gave repeated assurances did Zhao Cai leave — only half-convinced. When the door shut, Ming Huashang let out a quiet breath. At last she could turn over and go to sleep. But this time, even after lying there a long while, her eyes closed, sleep would not come.
Ming Huashang opened her eyes and stared in one fixed direction, the gaze startlingly bright in the darkness. She and Zhao Cai had been each other’s companions for many years — they had grown up together in a sense — and how could she fail to hear what Zhao Cai had left unsaid?
Ming Huazhang was concealing things less and less. She often had the feeling that he wanted to be found out. But why would he do this?
She knew that she was going to die this very year, and so in these last days she was willing to follow her own heart — to love whom she wished to love, to do what she wished to do. But what about Ming Huazhang?
He was a man of renown throughout Chang’an, a newly appointed civil examinations graduate, the Minor Magistrate of the Jing Zhaoyiin’s office with a boundless future, the next Duke Zhenguo. Had he gone mad — throwing away his own future and reputation so recklessly?
What on earth did he mean by it? Who was he? And who was she?