Two wisps of white smoke drifted up from the candle stand after the flames were extinguished; the room dimmed, leaving only the outlines of the two figures visible.

Huayue kept her eyes open, staring at the pattern on the canopy above for a while, then asked him: “Aside from being the Third Young Master of the General’s Residence, do you have any other identity?”

Li Jingyun hadn’t expected her to suddenly bring this up; he was stunned for a moment, then tilted his head, saying impatiently, “I told you to speak of yourself, not turn it around and ask this lord.”

In the darkness Huayue smiled, tucking the blanket under her chin with it, sighing as if in melancholy: “This concubine has nothing worth saying.”

His eyes sank, merging with the night; Li Jingyun very much wanted to lose his temper, wanted to press her marriage documents and identity token against her forehead and ask why the person sharing his bed and pillow couldn’t speak half a word of truth.

But when he thought it over carefully, he seemed to understand.

He wouldn’t tell her the truth either, so she wouldn’t place her full trust in him.

Someone who looked so soft and easy to bully carried guard walls that were anything but light.

Turning his head to look up at the canopy along with her, Li Jingyun let out a breath and said listlessly, “Then this lord won’t concern himself with you anymore.”

“This concubine is deeply grateful for Young Master’s care thus far.” Her voice came from beside him, soft and light, like a murmur just before falling asleep.

Li Jingyun turned over, putting his back to her, thinking that since he’d said he wouldn’t concern himself, that was that—she wasn’t worried about herself, so why should he bother wasting thought worrying about her.

The room fell silent, no one speaking further, only the sound of even, steady breathing from deep night until dawn.

The next day.

Li Jingyun woke unusually early. The moment Yin Huayue stepped out the door, he flipped himself out of bed right behind her, changed and washed up, and followed her out.

Saying he didn’t care was one thing, but curiosity was another matter entirely. Usually he thought only of finding a way out of the residence the moment he woke, never paying the slightest attention to what Huayue did in the household every day. Today, with time on his hands, he decided to follow along and see.

No other meaning to it—he was idle anyway.

Having found himself sufficient reason, Third Young Master followed along silently.

The sky hadn’t yet brightened; that patch of jade-green shadow looked especially delicate in the faint dawn light. She left the East Courtyard and headed toward the main courtyard. She hadn’t gone two steps before running into the old steward, who handed her an account ledger; she nodded some reply, and while flipping through it, stepped into the main courtyard.

The accounting room in the main courtyard was an extremely complicated place. In all his time at the General’s Residence, Li Jingyun had only ever set foot in it twice; his impression was of piles of account books and a group of harried clerks, each of them with dark circles under their eyes, looking like ghosts crawled up from the underworld.

He watched Yin Huayue step inside as if it were nothing, and his brows furrowed together.

A young lady, mixed up in a place like that?

Making his way to a back window, Li Jingyun leaned in to look inside.

Still the same group of ghosts with dark circles under their eyes, clothes disheveled and hair unkempt, each hugging a thick ledger. But now, this whole group was gathered around a single table, waiting respectfully.

Huayue sat behind that table, holding a vermilion brush, marking something on the ledgers with quick strokes. When she finished one, someone would let out a wail of relief, then bow to her with great gratitude, pick up their ledger and return to their seat. The rest surged forward like a tide, presenting their ledgers on the table one after another.

Li Jingyun felt suffocated just watching. Correcting accounts? With that many ledgers, how long would it take to get through them all?

The person at the table wore an intensely focused expression, quite unlike the gentle, lowered-eyed demeanor she showed him. Facing others, her face showed no expression at all, her strokes clean and decisive, an air of keeping people at arm’s length about her. No matter how senior the clerk, all could only address her respectfully as “Steward Yin.”

Feeling inexplicably pleased, Li Jingyun crossed his arms and kept watching.

In the recent days of the spring hunt at the mountains, she seemed to have accumulated quite a backlog of unfinished accounts; even working at full speed, it took a full two hours before the long table’s original color came back into view.

Everyone in the accounting room let out a breath of relief, folding their hands to bow to her one after another. He thought she’d lean back in her chair to rest a moment, but instead she merely nodded and rose to leave through the door.

Just past the hour of Mao, Huayue went to the kitchen. The kitchen staff were already quite familiar with her; without waiting for her to speak, they came forward: “Miss Yin, some fresh West Lake fish came into the kitchen today—does Young Master like fish?”

She stood by the ingredient racks and took out a piece of paper. “Third Young Master doesn’t like fish—change it to steamed pork with rice flour for him. Yesterday’s pigeon soup, he didn’t touch a bite—don’t put yam in it next time. Send porridge for breakfast. Two more vegetable dishes for lunch.”

“Got it.” The kitchen maid nodded and bowed in agreement.

Li Jingyun leaned against the outer wall listening, thinking she really did know him well—it seemed that during times he hadn’t paid attention, she’d spent quite a bit of thought on this.

The corner of his mouth curled up imperceptibly; he sniffed and continued listening, feigning indifference.

Having arranged the meals, Huayue was about to leave, but the moment she turned around, she spotted Xiaocai.

As a message-carrying maid, Xiaocai knew even more than Shuangjiang. Seeing her now, her expression turned complicated; she walked up in a few steps and said in a low voice, “You’ve betrayed Master Chang?”

Her voice was very quiet, and since they were speaking against the wall, the busy kitchen staff wouldn’t hear.

Huayue no longer held back, leaning against the wall and saying with amusement, “I’ve never worked under Chang Gui—how could you speak of betrayal?”

“But you said you’d help connect with Lord Shen when you went to Guanshan—how could you then turn around and ruin his plans?” Xiaocai stamped her foot anxiously. “The First Prince is gone; Master Chang is the only choice to take over his former subordinates. No matter who you offend, you shouldn’t offend him.”

“He was the one who wanted to kill me first.”

Xiaocai looked at her with full suspicion: “But Master Chang says you were bewitched by lust, insisting on saving the Third Young Master of the General’s Residence.”

Her eyelids lowered, and Huayue’s tone turned cold to match: “And you believe what he says?”

“I didn’t believe it at first either, but… but word came through the main courtyard, saying you’ve become the Third Young Master’s concubine.” Xiaocai said resentfully. “Why put yourself through this? Now that you’ve managed to reach Lord Shen, you could easily go back to his side—far better than staying here, watching others’ faces.”

“Go to Shen Zhiluo’s side, and then work as a beast of burden alongside him for Zhou Heshuo?” Huayue laughed. She reached out and smoothed her collar, gently patting it. “If you want to go, I’ll see you off.”

Her face turned pale; Xiaocai retreated half a step, lowering her eyes. “This servant has no such intention. But right now Master Chang has already made peace with Lord Shen, and all of us below have started turning to that side one after another. If you don’t plan ahead soon, later when you want revenge, there won’t be so many people willing to help.”

Huayue raised her eyes and asked earnestly: “From beginning to end, I was only ever your pretext for restoring Wei against Liang—since when did it become that you were willing to seek revenge for me?”

The person before her froze, standing still without moving, and after a long moment said: “Don’t forget, without our concealment, your identity might not have stayed hidden this well. Yesterday at the yamen, you exposed your identity to someone—by midnight we’d already gotten word. If you feel our paths differ too much to work together anymore, then if Zhou Heshuo finds out, we won’t lend a hand either.”

Laughing softly, Huayue touched her own back. “Last time when I nearly died, you didn’t reach out a hand to help either—why come threaten me now. If you truly want to see this through to mutual destruction, go ahead and sell me out—I’ll expose the lot of you too. We remnants of Great Wei might as well die together.”

Xiaocai stared at her, an expression of pure terror appearing on her face. Huayue patted her shoulder benevolently, then turned and walked out, her expression turning cold.

The moment she stepped out of the kitchen, she returned to her usual manner, as if nothing had happened at all, taking small steps and wearing a smile as she continued on to the next place.

Reprimanding servants who broke the rules, then directing people to repair an old wall that had collapsed halfway through the night—Yin Huayue stayed busy until the hour of Chen, and finally returned to the East Courtyard to attend to the Third Young Master’s waking.

For some reason, Li Jingyun had no morning temper today; she only called out once, and he opened his eyes.

His dark eyes, like black pearls fished from a hot spring, wreathed in mist in the morning light, were unreasonably good-looking. He simply stared at her without moving.

Huayue looked away and wrung out a cloth to hand over. He reached out and took it, leaning against the bed with eyes half-open, asking, “Where did you go?”

She smiled and knelt down, answering with lowered head: “Though this concubine is now blessed with rank, the household hasn’t yet found a new steward to take over, so many affairs still can’t be handed off—it still falls to this concubine to handle them. That’s why I’ve been going about since early morning.”

Such tangled, complicated affairs, and in her mouth it was simply “going about.” Li Jingyun gave a hum and lazily wiped his face.

Huayue brought a new robe for him to change into, and while smoothing his shoulders, heard him mutter, “Really nothing to say to this lord?”

Her lips curled into a friendly arc; she turned the question back on him smoothly: “And you—truly nothing to say to this concubine?”

The man before her grew irritable, brushed her hand away and fastened his own belt, his half-closed eyes darkening: “Forget it then. This lord won’t bother about you anymore.”

Smiling in agreement, Huayue turned to fetch water, but when she came back with the basin, she found a startlingly familiar suit of armor placed in the room.

A blanket stuffed inside the armor formed a red face, with two copper hairpins stuck in for eyebrows—an extremely angry expression.

Li Jingyun had left the residence again, without telling her where he was going, leaving only this behind—a silent protest of his anger.

Before, Huayue would surely have been annoyed—what if the General summoned her and she couldn’t account for his whereabouts?

But for some reason, thinking back to the first time she’d seen this scene, and comparing it to now, she found it rather funny instead.

Third Young Master isn’t someone these courtyard walls can contain.

Let him be.

Shaking her head, Huayue set down the basin, about to clear the table, but the moment she started, she heard someone hurrying over outside, footsteps rushed, out of breath.

“This is bad.” Shuangjiang grabbed the doorframe, glanced inside, and seeing only her there, hurried in and said, “You need to leave now, any later and it’ll be too late!”

Huayue was bewildered by her panicked manner: “Explain clearly first—leave to where?”

Swallowing hard, Shuangjiang said urgently, “Word just came—the servant who knew your identity was supposed to be exiled to the border, but suddenly the Crown Prince himself took him away.”

Her heart sank; Huayue lowered her eyes: “Why would the Crown Prince take a servant away for no reason?”

“What else could it be—a remnant servant of the former dynasty.” Shuangjiang gripped her arm, nearly bruising it. “If they hadn’t sent word, I wouldn’t even know—how could you casually expose your identity to someone? Do you really think yourself some random fish in the royal garden, indifferent to life and death?”

Setting down the bowls and chopsticks she’d gathered into a pile, Huayue said helplessly, “I didn’t mean to either. That person was originally from the West Palace—when I suddenly saw him, there was no way to hide it.”

Originally, hearing he was a remnant servant of the former dynasty, she’d only wanted to see him, to try her luck, thinking that if she could get some information out of him, that would be good too. Who knew that the moment they met, Zhuo An recognized her instantly, tears streaming down his face as he knelt before her—if it hadn’t been for Liu Chenghe’s presence, he might have kowtowed to her right there.

“He shouldn’t betray me.” Huayue said. “Don’t panic yet.”

Shuangjiang jabbed a finger at her forehead, as if wishing she could poke a hole through it: “Have you lost your head over a pretty face? If he were truly a loyal servant, could he have suddenly betrayed the Princess Imperial to accuse the Xu family? If even a new master can be betrayed, what’s your old master worth to him?”

“……” Her brow furrowed, and Huayue sighed. “I understand.”

“I’ve already spoken with Madam, said you’re going back to visit relatives, to lie low outside for a few days first. If they investigate, at least they won’t catch you here at the General’s Residence.” Shuangjiang pulled her along outside. “The carriage is ready—just follow along.”

Pulled along stumbling, Huayue instinctively glanced back at the armor sitting by the table. But she only managed that one glance before quickly being pushed into the carriage, carrying a bundle of traveling money from who knows where, swaying along on the road.

Zhou Heshuo was an extremely suspicious man; once, suspecting a concubine of eavesdropping on his conversation with Shen Zhiluo, he’d had her buried alive outright, and upon hearing word that a subordinate might betray him, had raided and confiscated the family’s property directly.

Last time, during the East Palace assassination attempt, if it hadn’t been for the fact that the person implicated was Li Jingyun, Zhou Heshuo wouldn’t have let it go so easily either.

Shen Zhiluo understood this clearly, so the moment he heard word that Zhuo An had been captured back, he rushed over immediately, wanting to put in a good word.

As a result, Zhou Heshuo only asked a couple of casual questions before having the man settled down.

This didn’t match his usual manner at all; Shen Zhiluo glanced up above, and suddenly realized that he might be guarding against him too—as long as he was present, Zhou Heshuo wouldn’t ask any important questions.

He claimed illness and took two days’ leave; Zhou Heshuo agreed readily, sending someone to see him out of the palace.

Shen Zhiluo turned his compass, an inexplicable sense of unease rising in his chest.

“I knew it was your carriage.”

Halfway through the ride, someone suddenly leapt onto the shaft. The driver startled and yanked the reins; Shen Zhiluo, caught unprepared, lurched forward suddenly—

and was caught squarely by Su Miao.

She had a pile of things in her arms; catching him sent them all clattering into the carriage compartment. Su Miao didn’t mind, taking the opportunity to brush against the side of his face, pinching a lock of his scattered dark hair with a soft laugh: “Missed me that much?”

Pushing her away with mild irritation, Shen Zhiluo said, “How can you just climb onto other people’s carriages.”

“Am I ‘other people’ to you?” She reached down to pick up the scattered paper packages from the floor, and casually opened one, pulling out a fan pendant to compare against his compass. “Just happened to buy something to give you.”

Shen Zhiluo found this absurd: “Miss Su, this is a Heaven’s Mandate compass, not some young master’s folding fan—it’s not meant to hang trinkets of the mortal world.”

“Mm-hm.” Su Miao responded perfunctorily, looking it over. “Still, quite fitting. Come, let me hang it on for you.”

Shen Zhiluo suspected she simply couldn’t understand human speech.

Rushing to find Yin Huayue, Su Miao’s sudden appearance left him feeling irritated; his tone turned unpleasant. “Weren’t you with that Vice Minister from the Ministry of War just yesterday? Give it to him then—why bring it to bother me.”

Her brow arching, Su Miao laughed with amusement: “Jealous already, are you? Danli and I just happened to run into each other—it wasn’t as if we deliberately went somewhere together.”

Danli, was it? A proper young lady from a good family, addressing someone by their courtesy name right off?

Shen Zhiluo drew back his compass to avoid her, his voice turning cold: “Whether it’s coincidence or not has nothing to do with me. I’m busy attending to matters—please get off the carriage, Miss.”

“What matters—bring me along.” Su Miao’s brows curved with a smile. “I promise not to be in the way. Wherever you go, I’ll wait outside, and once you’re done, I’ll take you to try the new tavern’s small dishes on Luohua Street.”

“Get off.” He remained unmoved.

Su Miao let out a soft whimper, pressing her palms together in entreaty: “I haven’t seen you in two days. Indulge me just this once, won’t you?”

Rubbing his temple with some headache, Shen Zhiluo said in a low voice, “You don’t have to get off if you don’t want to—as it happens, where I’m headed is the General’s Residence.”

“To see my cousin?” Su Miao tilted her face up with a smile.

Shaking his head, Shen Zhiluo looked at her: “To see Yin Huayue.”

“……”

Her pretty face fell into a moment of stunned surprise; her rosy lips pursed, then quickly relaxed. Su Miao sighed and muttered quietly, “Don’t say I never warned you—my cousin has never taken anyone to heart seriously in all these years. This little sister-in-law, he’s kept her close in his heart. If you keep going to find her again and again, when his temper flares, who knows, he might come after you with everything he’s got.”

Giving a light snort, Shen Zhiluo turned to look out the window: “Your cousin looks like someone with deep feelings and a strong sense of righteousness who does great deeds, but when the moment of choice actually comes, Yin Huayue will only be the one cast aside.”

Her mouth puffing out, Su Miao protested: “He wouldn’t.”

“I have no reason to gamble one person’s life on whether your cousin would or wouldn’t.” He shook his head, uninterested. “What I need to do is save the person before he casts her aside.”

Fiddling with the fan pendant in her hand, Su Miao laughed softly: “People always say you’re heartless and cold-blooded—someone ought to let them see. When you want to protect someone, even the Grand Diviner has flesh and blood after all.”

She seemed a little sad, but a smile still broke across her face, dimples showing, sweet as if steeped in honey.

Shen Zhiluo looked at her.

Su Miao gathered the scattered paper packages back into her arms, stacking them neatly, then set the fan pendant down beside him and waved her hand: “Suddenly remembered Danli said he wanted to invite me to lunch—I won’t go back with you after all. When you see Huayue, say hello for me.”

With that she rose, her bright red skirt hem swirling like a flower under the blazing sun, as she rolled off the carriage shaft. Standing by the carriage, she still smiled and waved at him.

The driver outside was somewhat at a loss, turning to ask inside, “Lord Shen?”

Shen Zhiluo watched coldly as that streak of red vanished into the crowd, withdrew his gaze, and said calmly, “Continue on.”

The wheels rolled forward a stretch, then suddenly stopped again.

Shen Zhiluo lifted the curtain and stepped down; his light purple eyes swept back, full of displeasure.

“My lord?” The driver stuck his head out to look at him.

“Never mind.” He let out a light breath and waved his hand. “You go back first. I’ll just walk around a bit.”

“……Yes.”

The bustling crowds and clattering carriages soon swallowed up his violet-clad figure. Steam rose from freshly opened steamer baskets by the roadside, drifting up into the sky like clouds.

The morning had been clear for a while, but by noon the sky had grown somewhat overcast. Huayue stood in the courtyard of the separate residence, listening to several people arguing inside the house.

“What choice do you have if you don’t want to? The imperial seal is in Shen Zhiluo’s hands—only he can gather the scattered former subordinates. If you don’t connect with him, are we supposed to just work alone?”

“What’s wrong with working alone? We’ve gotten through all these years, haven’t we?”

“Yes, we’ve gotten through, and haven’t so much as touched the hem of their robes.” The old man’s voice was low and hoarse with anger. “Now it’s even better—the little ancestor can go and expose her own identity herself. Zhou Heshuo has only heard rumors so far, but the imperial guards under him are eager to make a name for themselves. Once they come and take her life, you can tell me then what’s wrong with it.”

“You’re just being stubborn.” The other voice grew angry too. “Who could possibly find her in a place like this? Besides, with her around, we don’t even need to go looking—Shen Zhiluo will come to us on his own sooner or later.”

Finding this tedious, Huayue yawned, gazing up at the dark clouds overhead.

The two voices inside belonged to the former head eunuch of the palace and her wet nurse. Since she’d left the palace, the two of them had been secretly using her name to gather remnants of Great Wei, hoping to restore Wei and overthrow Liang, to reclaim the realm.

But in their eyes, she was probably about as valuable as the seal in Shen Zhiluo’s hands—having it was good, not having it was fine too. Neither of them could truly be stopped from their yearning for power.

They hadn’t come here to care about her either—just to have an argument, then coax and threaten her at once, reminding her not to cause more trouble, that she was already being watched by the Crown Prince’s guards, and if there was more trouble, they’d abandon her outright and go join Shen Zhiluo instead.

Huayue watched them calmly, no ripple within her.

A fallen dynasty could never come back to life. When her father the emperor had collapsed before her eyes, he’d never once said she should shoulder the burden of restoring the Yin house. The reason she hadn’t objected to their actions all this time was simply that she wanted to kill Zhou Heshuo, and their goal happened to align with hers.

But as things stood now, they couldn’t be relied upon.

When Steward Sun and Yin Ru finished arguing and looked up, Huayue was gazing up at the magnolia blossoms on the branches above, her profile serene and gentle, warm and elegant, as if she hadn’t been listening to their words at all.

Yin Ru sighed helplessly and shook her head: “Don’t expect anything from her either. A young mistress raised in luxury and pampering—apart from acting recklessly, she won’t amount to anything else.”

On this matter, Sun Yaozu and Yin Ru rarely agreed, and, exasperated beyond hope, they both stamped their feet at her and left together through the moon gate.

The courtyard fell quiet. The magnolia blossoms on the branches had begun to wither, soft petals drifting down, landing right in her palm.

Staring at them for a moment, she suddenly wondered—if Li Jingyun returned to the residence and found her gone, would he be a little worried?

Realizing she was entertaining such fanciful thoughts again, Huayue came back to herself with a soft laugh, gently rapping her own forehead: “Won’t amount to anything else.”

The sky above turned completely overcast, and before long it began to rain, pattering against the eaves in a chaotic rhythm, drowning out her murmur, and drowning out the faint, sudden footsteps that had begun outside the courtyard wall.