On the day the palace delivered the imperial edict, Ming Huazhang had accepted it and then been escorted away by the palace attendants. A eunuch had come once afterward to collect Ming Huazhang’s books, case files, and the like. Beyond that, nothing was taken from the Zhenguo Ducal Residence.

Of course — he bore the Li surname; he was Crown Prince Zhanghuai’s sole son. That he had been fostered with a vassal’s family was already a matter of necessity. How could he possibly use the vassal family’s possessions? Old garments and belongings were hardly worth packing — the imperial treasury had fresh ones in abundance.

That day had been one of utter chaos. Whether the Ming family or the outside world, everything had dissolved into confusion, and Ming Huashang had not had the chance to say a word to Ming Huazhang before he was swept away in a tide of people. Afterward, the Old Madam had erupted in fury upon learning the truth; the Second and Third Branch families had each nursed their own calculations; the servants had whispered and gossiped, and every manner of rumor had grown and spread. Ming Huashang had been exhausted by the management of household affairs and had had no time at all to think of Ming Huazhang.

He was to be called Li Huazhang now.

Ming Huashang looked up. Half a month had not been seen — yet it felt like a different lifetime. He was wearing a round-collared robe of deep blue-indigo, a black diexi belt at his waist, lean and upright, his features luminous. He stood beneath the tree like a far-off mountain at the hour of first dawn — cold and clear, yet somehow also gentle.

He looked down with a faint smile, patient and meticulous as always. Yet the first thing Ming Huashang noticed were the auspicious cloud and dragon patterns on his garments.

His manner of dress was unchanged from before — he still favored cool, clean-toned colors — but the details quietly announced, without any declaration, that they were no longer the same.

He was now the Prince of Yong. By court ceremonial conventions, only imperial sons could be enfeoffed with two-character princely titles; even imperial grandsons received only three-character commandery prince titles — as with the Prince of Linzi. Yet Li Huazhang had been elevated by one rank above that, standing on equal footing with his uncle-generation peers such as Prince Xiang and Prince Wei.

To say nothing of the fact that his fief was Yong Prefecture — which encompassed Chang’an itself. On this point, even the most favored Prince Wei fell far short. That the Empress had done this surely spoke partly to a desire to compensate for what had been denied her second son — but even more, it was a signal sent to the world: the aftermath of the bloody incident at the Danfeng Gate had ended; she would pursue no further punishment of the Li family.

After the deaths of Li Chonglun and Princess Yongtai, while no member of the Li family expressed resentment aloud, there remained a festering, suppurating wound between the Empress and the Li family. In granting Li Huazhang such lavish honors, the Empress was also performing for the Li family’s benefit — using this means to soothe the trauma of Li Chonglun’s death by beating.

Moreover, Crown Prince Zhanghuai had died by his own hand on a charge of treason. Yet now the Empress had enfeoffed the Crown Prince’s son as the Prince of Yong, and was having Li Huazhang move into Li Xian’s former residence — which was also an implicit announcement that she had made her peace with Crown Prince Zhanghuai, and harbored no further resentment over the fact that someone had once raised the banner of Crown Prince Zhanghuai’s name in Yangzhou in a revolt to restore the Tang. Whether Crown Prince Zhanghuai had truly committed treason was now a matter that could be reconsidered.

In all of this, the Empress was reaching out conciliatory hands to the Li family — effectively acknowledging to all under heaven that the next ruler would bear the surname Li, and that the Wu family would produce no second emperor. She had tacitly accepted the coming transfer of power from the Wu family to the Li family. The Great Zhou dynasty would end with her generation.

The Empress’s stance was the court’s stance. In recent times, the Prince of Yong’s residence had been extraordinarily lively, and Li Huazhang had been kept busy receiving visitors from every quarter, leaving him genuinely unable to find the time to go to the Zhenguo Ducal Residence. Today, learning that the Zhenguo Ducal Residence was going out to burn incense, he had forcibly cleared his entire schedule of appointment cards and come to accompany Ming Huashang.

When sisters of the household went out, it was of course an elder brother’s duty to escort them for the whole journey. He had suppressed the delight stirring in his heart — yet when he arrived, he saw her step back, bow her head, and make her obeisance: “I greet the Prince of Yong.”

Li Huazhang’s hand still hung in the air, paused. He waited a beat, then reached out to help her up: “Shang Shang — what are you doing?”

“Propriety separates ruler and subject, and the proprieties must be observed.” Ming Huashang glanced at the maids behind her and said, “The Prince of Yong has arrived — why was no one sent to announce it?”

“We are all family. What is there to announce?” Li Huazhang sensed her attempt to pull away, and firmly grasped her arm, drawing her to his side. “I have called Duke Zhenguo ‘Father.’ That relationship stands for life — he will always be my foster father, and so you are naturally my younger sister. What is this? A few days apart, and my sister is already a stranger to her elder brother?”

Though no one was looking directly, Ming Huashang could feel many eyes trained in their direction. Her awkwardness deepened. She quietly struggled, trying to pull her hand free: “The Prince of Yong jests. Your Highness’s sisters are the various commandery princesses and county princesses. This subject’s daughter dares not assume so high a kinship.”

Li Huazhang looked at the tightly knitted line between her brows, and in the end could not bear to press her further. He let her retreat from him as though from a flood or a wild beast, putting distance between them. The Old Madam of the Ming family, who had been inexplicably silent, finally settled herself and sent word: “Second Young Miss, it is time to depart.”

Ming Huashang nodded, made a hasty bow toward Li Huazhang without lifting her head, and slipped away. Li Huazhang did not stop her. After she turned, a gust of wind blew past from behind, shaking loose a cascade of blossoms from the tree. His voice came through them, so faint it might have been Ming Huashang’s imagination: “And if not as a younger sister — what other relationship would suit?”

Jin Bao and the others held their breath, huddled up like quails behind Ming Huashang. It was only once they were inside the carriage that Ruyi, with much hesitation, ventured to ask: “Young Miss — what did Second Young Master mean by that?”

Ji Xiang immediately shot her a look. “Second Young Master indeed. That is the Prince of Yong.”

Ruyi clapped her own mouth, and quickly corrected herself. Ming Huashang caught their faces — seemingly indifferent, yet clearly with ears perked — and pretended to be absorbed in the scenery outside, saying casually: “The Prince of Yong is a gentleman who remembers kindness and repays it. He has come to return the debt of my father’s care in raising him. There is no need to read more into it.”

The maids let out a low, collective sound of acknowledgment, their expressions all tinged with a faint disappointment.

Since Second Young Master had left the household, the once supremely positioned First Branch had found its standing become suddenly awkward. Duke Zhenguo’s meritorious service was unquestionable — and even if the Empress had expressed nothing overtly, discerning eyes all understood that once the Li family came to power in the future, they would certainly honor the Zhenguo Ducal Residence for the merit of protecting Crown Prince Zhanghuai’s descendant.

And yet Duke Zhenguo had one fatal problem: he had no sons.

The Zhenguo Ducal Residence had fallen into the same predicament as the former Marquis Pingnan’s residence — but the Marquis Pingnan residence had struck an extraordinary stroke of luck, producing against all odds a female Marquis. Yet Ren Yao had been raised as a boy from childhood; she had trained in the Ren family spear-art for years, risked her life to earn the merit of saving the sovereign, and had every possible advantage — timing, geography, and human circumstance — converging at once, allowing her, as a daughter, to inherit the marquisate by special dispensation.

Such an occurrence was as rare as a woman becoming Emperor — something to be encountered perhaps once in all of history. Just because the Ren family could, did not mean other households would be so fortunate. For Duke Zhenguo to preserve the Ming family’s title, he would most likely need to adopt a son — and by coincidence, both the Second and Third Branch families happened to have sons of appropriate age.

The Second Branch was the secondary line; the Old Madam would never allow the son of a secondary line to inherit the family’s legacy. Which meant the boy would most likely be chosen from the Third Branch. Once this child was formally adopted into the First Branch, even if Ming Huashang was technically his elder sister in terms of ritual propriety, he would naturally favor his birth mother and birth sisters.

The winds shift quickly in a household of this depth, and in recent days people had already begun quietly drifting toward the Third Branch — hints beginning to emerge that it was Ming Shuo who was the true daughter of high standing in the ducal residence. The maids who had served Ming Huashang for years were naturally indignant — but circumstances were stronger than people’s wishes. Ming Huashang truly had no brothers. The Duke could dote on her while he lived — but what of after the Duke was gone?

But if Ming Huashang could marry into the imperial family and become a prince’s consort, everything would be different. The Prince of Yong had grown up in the Ming family, and there was a bond of foster siblings between him and their Young Miss; moreover, Duke Zhenguo had shown the Prince of Yong a great kindness. If their Young Miss could marry the Prince of Yong, her latter half of life would be secure.

Today, when the Zhenguo Ducal Residence set out, the Prince of Yong had arrived early in the morning, and with all the young misses of the household present, the Prince of Yong had gone to stand only at Ming Huashang’s side — which showed that the Prince of Yong still valued the bond between them. And yet, previously their Young Miss and the Prince of Yong had been so close, and now she had suddenly grown cool and distant.

The maids felt the loss was a pity. They exchanged glances, wanting to urge her on yet not daring to speak. Ming Huashang pretended not to notice their unspoken looks and focused entirely on the scenery beyond the window.

And then she saw Li Huazhang standing beside the Old Madam’s carriage, listening attentively to whatever the Old Madam was saying. Ming Shuo nestled in against the Old Madam’s side, asking in a sweet, artless voice how far it was to the Great Zhao National Temple and how long the journey would take. Li Huazhang answered each question one by one with patience and courtesy — measured, proper, and reliable as a most dependable elder brother.

Ming Shuo called out her thanks in a voice bright as silver bells, audible even from this distance. Ming Huashang felt a sudden irritation rise in her heart. She let the curtain fall with a blank expression and leaned back against the carriage wall, closing her eyes — out of sight, out of mind.

Li Huazhang endured the Old Madam with patient forbearance. The moment he found a gap in the conversation, he excused himself at once and quietly added a mental note for the future: avoid this vicinity, or risk being waylaid again.

In truth, his impression of the Old Madam was not a good one. It was only out of consideration for Duke Zhenguo that he had always treated her with courtesy. The family members he truly recognized in his heart were Duke Zhenguo and Ming Huashang.

Su Yuji — who had been sent away to the countryside because of him — perhaps counted as half. But toward Su Yuji his feelings were more those of restitution. The only one he was drawn to with genuine warmth was Shang Shang.

Regrettably — he glanced toward Ming Huashang’s carriage; its curtain was firmly drawn, clearly no welcome for any intrusion. Fearing he might burden her with his presence, Li Huazhang took care to keep a distance that was neither too close nor too far, silently keeping pace alongside her all the same.

The carriages soon set off. The procession rolled out of the Zhenguo Ducal Residence and merged into the broad thoroughfares of the city. They were to collect Su Yuji first, then proceed to the Great Zhao National Temple. All these years, Li Huazhang had grown accustomed to his role as the Zhenguo Ducal Residence’s eldest son — taking the lead as a matter of course, attending to everyone. He halted at the mouth of the alley, dismounted, and went to invite Su Yuji. Duke Zhenguo was eager to come along, but Li Huazhang stopped him.

Li Huazhang said: “Your Grace, she still holds some wariness toward the ducal residence at present — she must not be pressed too quickly. You are her father, and going to receive her yourself may seem perfectly natural to you, but in others’ eyes it would be said, in days to come, that she showed no filial respect. Let me go instead.”

Duke Zhenguo had been on the verge of following, but Li Huazhang’s words quickly sobered him. He sighed and said: “You are still the more thoughtful of us. Then I must trouble you. She has a stubborn streak — please be patient with her.”

Li Huazhang replied: “This is what I am here to do.”

He went to the alley and knocked at the gate. The gate opened quickly, and Su Xingzhi’s face appeared within. The two men looked at each other — both surprised, yet neither entirely surprised.

Su Xingzhi had come to find Su Yuji the moment he learned her new address. He had not so much as mentioned the argument of that night, and went on just as before — washing the vegetables, cooking the meals, sweeping the courtyard — with the one difference that as soon as nightfall came he would take his leave of his own accord, never once suggesting that Su Yuji come home, and never staying overnight.

In this silent way he was making his position clear: the Su family was not Su Yuji’s home. The Ming family was. She should return to the Ming household — with no shame or sense of moral burden. He knew he was an outside man, one who was, in every way, far beneath what Su Yuji deserved.

He only hoped that, for as long as she had not yet gone home, he might be allowed to continue looking after her. A woman living alone on the outside was, after all, not safe.

Su Xingzhi carried himself with such equanimity that Su Yuji too found herself unable to raise that quarrel. The two of them had been existing in this strange, quiet calm. Today the Zhenguo Ducal Residence was coming — they both knew it — and given Su Yuji’s nature, she would never have come to open the door for Li Huazhang. But she had promised Ming Huashang to go out for the incense, and being too cold-hearted was unkind; in the end, the task of taking the awkward role fell to Su Xingzhi.

Li Huazhang did not ask what Su Xingzhi was doing there. In a warm, even tone he said: “The Duke sent me to escort you both. Are you ready to set off?”

Su Xingzhi thought of the cold face Su Yuji had been wearing for the past several days, and suppressed a quiet sigh. “I will go call her. A moment, please.”

Before long, Su Yuji emerged. By all appearances she had been ready long since — yet she had made a point of waiting inside for a while before coming out, so as to appear to have been rushing. The moment she stepped out the door, a bright, warm voice rang out from the mouth of the alley: “Sister Yuji!”

All three at the door turned at once. Ming Huashang — with great enthusiasm — treated the other two men as though they did not exist, and came running to take Su Yuji’s arm, pulling her away warmly. Li Huazhang and Su Xingzhi both felt a subtle awkwardness pass over them. Li Huazhang turned his head calmly and asked: “Is the gate locked?”

Su Xingzhi gave an equally calm nod: “It is.”

Li Huazhang nodded in return. The two men had little to say to each other, and followed in silence behind that pair of sisters.

Whenever Ming Huashang put her mind to it, she could make fast friends with virtually anyone within a quarter of an hour. She drew Su Yuji eagerly into her own carriage, plying her with a torrent of questions, chattering on like a ringing of bells — even Duke Zhenguo could not find a gap to insert a single word.

The Duke touched his nose and felt rather as if he had been ostracized by his own daughter. He rode his horse and dutifully followed alongside the carriage. The voices inside were ceaseless, yet no one paid him any attention. His mood sank a little, and he let out a quiet, silent sigh.

They arrived at the Great Zhao National Temple before long. The Great Zhao National Temple was an imperial temple, with a separate hall set aside to receive female guests. The Old Madam led the family’s daughters-in-law and granddaughters toward the rear, while Duke Zhenguo and the young men in the party proceeded to the main hall of the Great Hero’s Treasure Hall, which was open to all.

Once they entered the main hall, the Old Madam knelt in the foremost position. The Second Madam and Third Madam knelt in turn on the kneeling cushions behind her. In an instant, all eyes fell without a word onto the younger generation of young misses.

Ming Huashang paid no heed to the maids’ and matrons’ gazes, and spoke to Su Yuji beside her: “The ducal residence does not have so many formalities — simply follow seniority. Elder Sister takes first pick, and once Elder Sister has chosen, Sister Yuji may sit wherever she pleases. There is no need to feel constrained.”

Ming Yu quietly glanced at Ming Huashang. At present the whole household was busy paying deference to Ming Shuo, while Ming Huashang — as the Duke’s own daughter — was caught in a delicate, uncomfortable position of her own. She had not expected Ming Huashang to still regard her as the eldest sister.

Ming Yu had no wish to be caught in the crossfire between the First Branch and the Third Branch. But she accepted Ming Huashang’s gesture of goodwill and chose a position behind the Second Madam to kneel. Ming Shuo gripped her handkerchief and watched with a faint smile as Su Yuji made her choice. Su Yuji swept the assembled women with a quick glance and knelt, unhurried, right beside Ming Shuo. Ming Huashang naturally took her place next to Su Yuji. Last of all, Ming Shuo lifted her skirt and settled, with an air of graceful leisure, onto the kneeling cushion at Ming Huashang’s other side.

The Old Madam in front closed her eyes and recited her sutras, serene and immovable as a stone image. Her lips moved in silent prayer for a long while before she pressed three sticks of incense with solemnity into the incense burner. Afterward, the Old Madam wished to attend the dharma service, and the daughters-in-law were obliged to remain in attendance — but the granddaughters were free to move about as they wished.

After Ming Huashang stepped out, she gave a small tug at Su Yuji’s sleeve: “Sister Yuji, I am going to light a perpetual lamp for Zhao Cai. Will you come?”

Su Yuji, having learned the truth of her own origins, had been struggling ever since with how to face Ming Huashang. She had not yet worked it out — yet Ming Huashang, as though she could not feel the awkwardness at all, had simply assumed the role of sisters and kept reaching toward her with new topics and ideas. Could Su Yuji still refuse? She said: “All right.”

Su Yuji was drawn along by Ming Huashang into the side hall for perpetual lamps — much quieter than the main hall, with far fewer worshippers. The Ming Huashang who had been chattering the whole way suddenly fell silent. She invited a young novice monk over and told him she wished to light a perpetual lamp.

The novice monk was accustomed to such requests. He went through his practiced inquiries, and when he heard the birth date, he paused and blurted out: “So young?”

He caught himself at once and quickly said: “I apologize — this humble monk assumed the female patron was lighting the lamp for an elder relative…”

“It is all right.” Ming Huashang said. “She was indeed very young. She has no other family, so I am the one arranging her memorial matters.”

Ming Huashang’s voice was perfectly calm. Su Yuji, listening, felt a pang within. The novice monk also fell quiet. He lit the perpetual lamp, pressed his palms together in a Buddhist salutation toward Ming Huashang, and stepped out.

Ming Huashang stood before that lamp, looking quietly at the flame within. The incense rose in long, trailing threads. The wick drew up sufficient oil, and the light gradually steadied — like a heartbeat, pulsing with strength in the emptiness of space.

Jin Bao and the others sank into silence too. They stood before Zhao Cai’s perpetual lamp and saw her off in the only way left to them.

Ming Huashang stared into the unceasing fire and found herself thinking — unbidden — of a conversation she had once had with Zhao Cai, not long ago. At the time, she had believed herself trapped in a situation from which there was no escape, and had turned over the question of her own end again and again in her mind. She had asked Zhao Cai: if she learned she had only a year left to live, what would Zhao Cai do?

Zhao Cai had said: first, she would instruct a new maid in Ming Huashang’s habits and routines, so that after she was gone Ming Huashang would not have difficulty with an unfamiliar servant. Second, she would divide what little savings she had accumulated among Jin Bao, Ji Xiang, and Ruyi — they were all maids in service, and she knew their hardships well; as the eldest among them, she could at least leave them something to ease the way. And last, she would eat well and sleep well, and strive every single day to live it to the fullest.

Ming Huashang had lived in a blurry, unthinking way before — so long as she had enough to eat and enough to wear, she had never wanted to trouble herself with matters beyond her own life. Until that snowy night the year before, when an utterly unannounced and uncertain premonitory dream walked into her life, and from that moment onward, her world had turned upside down.

Everything she had taken for granted became uncertain. She had begun to scrutinize everyone around her, assessing whether they wished her harm.

Living always beneath the shadow of death was hardly a pleasant experience. Yet it was precisely because of this that she discovered life was not so full of absolute necessities as she had thought. Many things that appeared vital turned out not to require her attention after all.

But there were also people who made her realize that even at the edge of life and death, she had no fear that they would ever harm her — and Zhao Cai was among those people. Zhao Cai’s words had given Ming Huashang immense illumination. It was when she stood before death, contemplating how others would remember her after she was gone, that Ming Huashang finally knew what kind of person she wanted to become.

And yet she had been fortunate enough to survive. Why had Zhao Cai gone ahead of her?

Ming Huashang spoke silently in her heart: Zhao Cai — your savings have been divided equally among Jin Bao, Ji Xiang, and Ruyi, as you wished. I have taken on a new young maid to fill your place, and had her acknowledge you as her master — but she is not called Zhao Cai. Her name is Chang Ming.

This world will never have another Zhao Cai.

I will carry your wishes with me, and each day eat well, sleep well, and cherish every beauty that life holds. May your journey along the road to the underworld be peaceful. In your next life, be sure to be reborn into a family with loving parents and comfortable circumstances. Do not be a maidservant again.

Ming Huashang placed a packet of pine nuts on the altar — nuts she had promised to buy for Zhao Cai when coaxing her into asking questions in the Changshou Quarter for her. Jin Bao and the others could not hold back their tears. Su Yuji glanced at Ming Huashang: she remained composed throughout, but Su Yuji knew that the grief in Ming Huashang’s heart ran far deeper than any of the maids’.

A feeling rose in Su Yuji that she could not quite name. In the end, she simply stood in silence beside her.

When they stepped out of the side hall, the sunlight was pouring down just right — and one felt, for a moment, as though emerging from another world entirely. Ming Huashang stood in a brief daze, then said: “The time must be about right. Grandmother’s ceremony should be ending soon. Let us go and check.”

Su Yuji nodded.

The Old Madam was, after all, no longer young, and could not kneel for long before she needed to rest. The Second Madam had originally been going to accompany her to the rear rest chamber, but the Old Madam had kept her behind and taken only the Third Madam. The Third Madam supported the Old Madam as she sat, rubbing her legs for her gently, and said in an idle, easy tone: “Mother, when I was last out, someone inquired about Elder Brother-in-law’s marriage prospects. Several young women are in quite good circumstances and are not put off by the fact that Elder Brother-in-law already has two children — they simply wish to find someone to share a quiet, settled life with. What do you think — how should I respond?”

Ming Huashang and Su Yuji were taking a shortcut past the rear window and happened to catch this sentence.