In the pale, creamy soup pot, bubbles gurgled up; the braised ribs sat off to the side of the stove, glistening with a sheen of oil.
Huayue placed the freshly pulled noodles into the pot, gently stirring with long bamboo chopsticks, her expression focused, her movements practiced.
Several kitchen maids stood out in the courtyard, craning their necks to glance inside, then withdrawing to continue their murmuring.
“Isn’t she already a concubine? Why is she still doing servants’ work?”
“This concubine title of Steward Yin’s—no betrothal gifts given, no formal induction ceremony—it’s just a case of being conveniently close by, taking advantage while the Young Master was young and impulsive to get herself a spot. Doesn’t really count as a proper mistress.”
“But I heard the Third Young Master dotes on her quite a bit.”
“What kind of man is the Third Young Master—anything new that comes into the East Courtyard, he’ll keep warm with it for a while. Once spring passes into autumn, who’ll still think of her as anything?”
The voices weren’t loud, but Huayue still heard them clearly. Under normal circumstances, she’d certainly go out and reprimand them—the General’s Residence had never tolerated loose-mouthed servants.
But right now, she found it uninteresting.
The bamboo chopsticks pulled out the cooked noodles; Huayue poured the braised ribs over top, and was about to carry it out when she heard the outside suddenly go quiet.
“Miss Shuangjiang.” Someone called out softly.
Shuangjiang’s eyes reddened with anger; she stepped forward and scolded: “Which mistress this courtyard favors or doesn’t favor—is that any of your business to discuss? Whether she serves as mistress of the East Courtyard or not, she’s still the steward above your heads. If you don’t want your monthly wages, feel free to leave—don’t stand around here being an eyesore!”
The kitchen maids, thoroughly scolded, lowered their heads and shrank together in a cluster.
Still not satisfied, Shuangjiang strode into the kitchen, her expression darkening the moment she saw Huayue. “I figured you must be deaf, not to hear the racket outside.”
Huayue smiled at her, an unusually genuine warmth reaching her eyes: “I’m just rushing to deliver noodles to Cousin Su.”
“That’s all you’re capable of now.” Shuangjiang said angrily, her words growing reckless. “They protected you and kept you alive so you could be scolded here and make noodles for people? Rather than clinging to survival like this, you might as well learn from Chang—”
“Shuangjiang.” Huayue cut her off quickly, frowning.
Swallowing back that taboo name, Shuangjiang gritted her teeth, her face full of resentment.
Letting out a light sigh, Huayue took her along and walked out, past the now-silenced kitchen maids, stepping onto the blue stone path.
The bowl on the tray was still steaming; Huayue looked ahead and said quietly to her, “Right now I’m just a servant.”
“A servant can only do things like this.” She said softly, “I can’t be Chang Gui, can’t become Shen Zhiluo—if you’re truly this disappointed, you can just pretend you don’t know me.”
Her lips nearly bitten to bleeding, Shuangjiang said resentfully, “If you keep giving up on yourself like this, they’ll only look down on you more and more.”
“Whether they look down on me or not, I’m still just a servant of the General’s Residence.”
“Liar.” She looked up at the side of her face, fire blazing in her eyes. “What servant of any household has the ability to make someone like Xue Ji die without a sound?”
Her steps faltered; Huayue instinctively glanced around, and once confirming no one could hear this whisper, said with a darkened face, “Do you have a death wish?”
“I just don’t understand.” Her knuckles white with gripping, Shuangjiang said in a muffled voice. “You have the ability to use yourself as bait to lure and kill Xue Ji, yet you let these vile creatures trample all over you.”
Xue Ji had been Zhou Heshuo’s trusted confidant; with him dead, the imperial guards would be thrown into chaos for at least a few months, giving them a great opening—several matters that had originally stalled could now proceed smoothly.
If Shuangjiang had received this news only today, she too would have assumed Xue Ji’s death was mere coincidence, that he’d simply happened upon it.
But she’d heard it yesterday, when Yin Huayue was climbing into the carriage to leave.
The person, standing on the carriage shaft, had said to her with casual ease: “Get ready early—the moment the East Palace guards show any weakness, send our people in.”
At the time she hadn’t understood—why would the East Palace guards, functioning perfectly well, suddenly show weakness—until just now, when they’d smoothly inserted their people into the East Palace, that she realized Yin Huayue had been planning this for a long time.
Even if the Third Young Master hadn’t gone that time, Xue Ji would still have been certain to die.
When had this planning begun? Shuangjiang couldn’t figure it out, but she knew that Yin Huayue wasn’t the useless, good-for-nothing person Sun Yaozu described—she had her own thoughts, and had already begun scheming.
Schemes she hadn’t even told her about.
Her throat tightening, Shuangjiang’s eyes reddened; not knowing what exactly she was angry about, she simply glared fiercely at her.
The noodles on the tray couldn’t take too much wind; Huayue took a plate and covered the bowl’s mouth, then suddenly freed one hand, pinching Shuangjiang’s thumb and shaking it gently.
“Haven’t there been plenty of people who’ve bullied me over the years?” She glanced sideways at her, smiling cunningly yet openly. “So what if they say a few words? Life still has to go on.”
Shuangjiang kept her face set, unmoved.
“I know you’re worried about me. You can’t bear to see that fearless little mistress of the West Palace turn into a servant who gets talked about by everyone.” Her tone softened, gentle. “But they haven’t said anything wrong either. When you’re under someone else’s roof, how can you not bow your head.”
“If you just didn’t get involved with that Third Young Master, none of this would happen.” Shuangjiang muttered, her voice thick with congestion. “Staying unremarkable among the crowd would clearly be the wisest course, and yet you insist on tangling yourself up with him—do you know how many times that Miss Han has secretly come to pry into things?”
Her fingertip paused briefly; Huayue turned her face away: “I already told you, that was out of necessity.”
“Was it truly out of necessity, or did you go along with the current?” Shuangjiang gritted her teeth. “I don’t believe that if you truly didn’t want to get entangled with him, you couldn’t have found another way!”
“……”
Quickening her pace, she skirted around the moon gate, somewhat hastily trying to step into Cousin Su’s courtyard.
Shuangjiang stopped right outside the courtyard gate; she wouldn’t follow her in, but standing there, she still said in a low voice, “Lord Shen wasn’t wrong. Your stubborn attachment to this one person is going to bring you suffering.”
The voice drifted up from behind, carried away by the wind until it faded from hearing. Huayue closed her eyes, steadied herself, and once again put on a smile as she pushed open the main door.
Su Miao had fallen asleep; the room was quiet, only Li Jingyun turning his head to look over at her.
Softening her steps, Huayue set the bowl down on the table, asking in confused, low tones, “Cousin Su isn’t eating the noodles?”
“How can she eat if she’s asleep?” He glanced at the noodles she’d brought, giving a cold snort. “They’re clumped together.”
“Bound to clump up some on the way over.” She lifted the plate cover and stirred with the chopsticks. “Still not too badly—this concubine kneaded the dough for quite a while, it should be nice and chewy.”
Turning his face away with disdain, Li Jingyun said dismissively, “Doesn’t look tasty at all.”
It’s not meant for you to eat anyway. Huayue grumbled inwardly, pursing her lips, and picked up the bowl, about to head out.
“Where are you going?” He asked.
“Taking the noodles back to the kitchen, to see if anyone else wants them.” Huayue said. “Cousin Su can’t eat it anyway.”
Somewhat uncomfortable, Li Jingyun gave a light cough and rapped his knuckles on the table: “Leave it here. Go back to the East Courtyard first and check whether that white deer’s been fed.”
Wasn’t the white deer always being fed by Badou? Huayue felt puzzled inwardly, but didn’t say anything more, agreed with a sound, and set down the bowl before heading out.
Shuangjiang didn’t seem to intend on blocking her way; the courtyard gate was already empty of anyone.
Letting out a light breath, Huayue lowered her head and walked toward the East Courtyard, thinking as she went that with Xue Ji dead, Shen Zhiluo and Chang Gui would surely be busy these days too. The East Palace was currently in a dispute with the Central Palace over the household stewardship, and Sun Yaozu and Yin Ru were also busy vying for power—for a while at least, no one would be likely to notice her.
Then she could go find trouble for a few more people.
She had a few names in mind, repeating them over in her heart, a faint bloodthirsty gleam seeping into the corners of her eyes.
“Concubine Yin.” Badou waved a hand in front of her face, worry in his voice as he called out to her.
Huayue snapped back to herself, and realized she’d somehow already arrived at the entrance to the East Courtyard without noticing. Badou gripped his broom, and seeing her finally raise her eyes, hurriedly said, “You two didn’t come back last night—people were worried sick.”
“What happened?” She asked.
Badou scratched the back of his head. “Nothing major really, just heard… Miss Han from the Han family hanged herself yesterday.”
Oh, hanged herself.
Huayue nodded and continued walking inward calmly.
“Wait.” After a couple steps, she stopped and turned back suddenly. “What did you say? Hanged herself?!”
Badou nodded, propping himself on the broom handle. “It happened last night at midnight. Someone came to pass word, but neither the Young Master nor you were here.”
A cold breath sucked in; Huayue was about to rush off immediately, but glancing down at the dress she was wearing, thought better of it and went to change into a plain pale white outfit instead.
“Concubine.” Badou smiled. “Let this servant finish—hanging herself is one thing, but she’s fine now. Already been saved.”
Her heart eased somewhat; Huayue asked him, “Did they say why?”
“How could it be anything else?” Badou hesitated, then glanced toward the empty main room.
Huayue fell silent.
If Su Miao’s affection for someone was fiery and reckless, unrestrained by any consideration, then Han Shuang’s affection for someone was a kind of manic obsession, unyielding until death. What exact trap she’d set for her last time, Huayue still couldn’t quite fully see through, but this time, Huayue knew she was gambling with her own life.
A noble family’s young lady attempting suicide would surely shake half the capital; in any other household, they’d try to suppress the news to prevent speculation. But the Han family hadn’t done that—they’d even actively spread word to the other half of the capital themselves.
And so, the news of “the Third Young Master of the Li family abandoning his lover, the Han family’s eldest daughter attempting suicide in despair” quickly spread through every street and alley, becoming the hottest topic of after-dinner gossip in the capital that day.
Huayue had expected Li Jingyun to be angry, to refuse to go see her, or perhaps to scorn this kind of dramatic female display.
But instead, Li Jingyun took her along and went to the Han residence, sitting at Han Shuang’s bedside, letting her cry until half of his sleeve was soaked through.
“I truly… truly wasn’t lying to you.” Han Shuang’s eyes were red, gasping between breaths. “When will you ever forgive me?”
Li Jingyun sat quietly, his gaze sweeping over her eye rims and pale lips, not sure what he was thinking, and only after a long while asked, “Did you really want to die?”
Han Shuang glanced timidly at him, then sniffled and suddenly broke into a tear-streaked smile. Her eyes drifted, as if recalling something pleasant, and she murmured, “My life belongs to you. I shouldn’t have tried to take my own life without telling you first.”
As she spoke, tears began falling again: “But you won’t even acknowledge me, marrying someone else, being with someone else—what’s the point of me living.”
Huayue stood to the side, feeling somewhat uncomfortable; she glanced at Li Jingyun and found him pressing his lips together, watching Han Shuang with rapt attention, as if there were a hint of…
Tenderness?
Recognizing that trace of emotion in his eyes, Huayue froze for a moment, then almost frantically withdrew her gaze, looking down at the tips of her own shoes.
She’d thought he felt nothing but disgust and resistance toward Han Shuang, never expecting that when something truly happened, he’d feel tenderness after all. This man really was, as they said, hard on the outside but soft on the inside.
“Little sister-in-law.” Wen Guzhi, standing outside the door, suddenly called out to her.
Huayue came back to herself, lowered her head, and took her leave from Li Jingyun. Li Jingyun didn’t look at her, only waved a hand, his eyes still fixed on Han Shuang.
Pressing her lips together, she stepped out of the room and closed the door behind the two of them.
“Little sister-in-law.” Wen Guzhi pulled her into the courtyard, smiling with meaning. “That room’s no place to feel comfortable in—let me rescue you.”
Huayue smiled gently, pinching her hands. “There’s nothing uncomfortable about it either.”
Wen Guzhi raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.
She smoothed her skirt hem, unconcerned: “Young Master is such an esteemed person—there’ll never be a shortage of people around him, in his thoughts or by his side. If a few words like this were enough to make me uncomfortable, my days would have become unbearable long ago, back when Sishui was having private meetings with him.”
“Sishui?” Wen Guzhi thought for a good while, then suddenly understood. “Ah, you mean that songstress who came from the Crown Prince’s side. Third Young Master won’t touch her—even if she stays overnight in his room, nothing would happen, for sure.”
Puzzled, Huayue raised her eyes, finding this amusing: “Can a man really turn down meat delivered right to his mouth?”
“It’s not really a matter of meat or not.” Wen Guzhi said. “Third Young Master is someone who knows proper bounds—women who come to him with an agenda, he never touches, no matter how much he might like them, he won’t allow any physical intimacy, to avoid stirring up trouble.”
As he spoke, he glanced back toward the direction of Han Shuang’s boudoir, tilting his chin. “This one’s the same.”
“The same?” Huayue laughed lightly, laughing until a row of white teeth showed. “Physician Wen surely didn’t see how the Third Young Master was just now speaking with Miss Han—that expression, even Sishui couldn’t match it even riding a horse in pursuit.”
Wen Guzhi looked at her with eyes full of teasing amusement, laughing softly.
“Don’t misunderstand.” She smoothed the hair by her ear, her tone turning cool. “I’m only speaking of what I saw.”
Tilting his head to think about it, Wen Guzhi nodded: “The two of them have known each other for many years—it’s only natural they’d be closer than outsiders. Only there’s been quite a lot of misunderstanding between them; Third Young Master won’t get too intimate with her either. Little sister-in-law needn’t worry too much.”
What did she have to worry about? Huayue scoffed inwardly.
She herself was nothing but a shield he’d casually conjured up; whoever he chose to marry or not marry in the future wasn’t something she needed to concern herself with.
Still, come to think of it, the Third Young Master really was quite an awkward one—willing to risk his life storming the East Palace to save Han Shuang, clearly harboring feelings for her deep down, yet insisting on maintaining that cold face, offering not a trace of tenderness.
“Physician Wen.” She couldn’t help but ask, “If you had a young lady you were fond of, would you keep her at a distance, or marry her sooner?”
Wen Guzhi’s eyebrows rose at this, a figure flashing quickly through his mind.
He stroked his chin and laughed: “Keep her at a distance.”
“Why?” Huayue asked, puzzled. “If you truly cherish her, wouldn’t you want to be together forever?”
“If this were some era of peace and prosperity, I’d surely welcome her through the door with an eight-carrier bridal sedan. But this isn’t such a time.” Wen Guzhi shook his head, gazing off into the distance, his voice very light. “Don’t look at how bright and glamorous we all seem, dressed in fine silks and enjoying good living—behind the scenes, who knows how much bloodshed and conflict there really is. With things as they currently stand, if I married her, wouldn’t that be harming her instead?”
“……”
Her chest felt as if pierced by something; Huayue unconsciously tightened her grip on her sleeve, her breath catching lightly.
Wen Guzhi, lost in his own thoughts, hadn’t noticed at all how the person listening might be feeling. He clicked his tongue and murmured, “That little girl, I wonder when she’ll ever understand.”
She’d thrown a tantrum with him just yesterday, telling him to get as far away as possible—incredibly difficult to appease.
Sighing with feeling for a while, Wen Guzhi lifted his head to say more to Huayue, only to find the person before him had somehow already left at some point.
The courtyard was bathed in warm sunlight, a fine spring scene all around, but with only him standing there, he looked left and right and saw no trace of anyone.
Wen Guzhi pursed his lips and went back to the pharmacy to continue brewing medicine.
After listening to Han Shuang’s tearful outpouring, Li Jingyun noticed his little pup hadn’t come back for a while.
Puzzled, he went out to search around, asking Wen Guzhi in the pharmacy, “Have you seen your little sister-in-law?”
Wen Guzhi, busy fanning the fire, didn’t even look up as he said, “She was in the courtyard earlier, don’t know where she went after that.”
Really becoming more and more out of line, Li Jingyun thought, frowning as he turned toward another area, thinking that this person had previously seemed to know her proper bounds quite well—why was she now running around freely on someone else’s territory?
A thought flashed through his mind, and his heart tightened along with it.
This was the Han family’s territory. Han Shuang had attempted suicide, and the Han family surely wasn’t feeling good about it either—could they have taken their anger out on Yin Huayue?
Quickening his pace, he searched around Han Shuang’s embroidery tower a couple of times.
No one there.
His expression growing increasingly grim, Li Jingyun grabbed the Han family’s steward by the collar and asked coldly, “Where’s the person I brought here?”
The steward, startled by him, stammered fearfully, “She left through the side gate a moment ago.”
Left? On her own? Li Jingyun laughed at this: “If I don’t break two of your bones, you’re not going to tell me the truth, are you?”
The steward wailed repeatedly: “Third Young Master, she truly did leave. Perhaps you should go back and check yourself.”
Such a flimsy excuse—he’d used it himself countless times, so how could he possibly believe it? He directly dragged the steward along to find Han Shuang.
Han Shuang had already fallen back asleep; woken up by this commotion and questioned, she cried and began knocking her head against the bedpost again. The servants hurriedly went to fetch the Han family’s lord and lady, and a whole group came clamoring and fussing.
Ignoring the Han couple’s furious scolding and reproach, Li Jingyun, killing intent radiating from his whole body, searched more than half the Han residence, and only after confirming she wasn’t to be found did he head back to the General’s Residence. He’d already decided—if she wasn’t at the General’s Residence either, he’d bring people back and tear the Han residence apart.
As it turned out, the moment he stepped down from the carriage, he saw Yin Huayue standing perfectly well by the east side gate of the General’s Residence.
Still smiling and talking with someone.
All his worry froze into a block of ice; Li Jingyun stood in place, silent for a good while, then strode forward, grabbing her and pulling her off balance.
“Who spoiled you into this bad habit.” His hands clamped down on her shoulders, his eyes stirring up a storm laced with icy blades. “Leaving without so much as a word to this lord?!”
Huayue, startled by this sudden reprimand, hadn’t yet gathered her wits when she looked up at him, innocent and bewildered.
Li Jingyun really was furious; looking at her like this, he felt as if his own frantic ransacking of the Han residence had made him nothing but a complete fool, thoroughly played for one by her.
“You did this on purpose, didn’t you? Wanting to see this lord get anxious over you, worked up into a fury, running about in a panic before you’re satisfied.” He breathed heavily, his grip on her shoulder gradually tightening. “How is it that you women can never clean up this streak in you, always having to act unreasonably to vent your dissatisfaction? Han Shuang hangs herself, and you go pull a disappearing act—does this lord owe you all something?”
Huayue stood dazed, scolded senseless, and only upon hearing that last sentence did she slowly begin to catch on.
She wanted to laugh, but the corners of her mouth wouldn’t lift, only managing an awkward pressing together of her lips.
Something lodged in her throat; she swallowed it down twice before finally managing to speak, her voice still hoarse: “This… this servant didn’t mean anything by it.”
Showing him the medicine bundle in her hands, she explained word by word: “A moment ago Shuangjiang came to pass word that Madam’s old illness had flared up again, and she couldn’t find the prescription, so she asked this servant to come check on the medicinal ingredients.”
Shuangjiang, standing to the side, had already been frightened pale by him; hearing this, she nodded along in agreement.
Huayue thought about it for a moment, then still put the smile back on her face, gently saying, “Not letting anyone know before I left was this servant’s fault. This servant admits the error to Young Master. This servant thought Young Master would stay with Miss Han a while longer, and didn’t want to disturb you, thinking I’d fetch the medicine and come right back.”
She folded her hands together respectfully and gave him a proper bow: “This servant knows her mistake. Please forgive this servant, Young Master.”
A breath caught in his chest, unable to release, stuck fast in this spot. Li Jingyun gripped her shoulders, unable either to keep scolding or to stop; his temper wouldn’t come down easily either way.
He simply glared at her like that, breathing hard.
Shuangjiang couldn’t bear to watch any longer; gathering her courage, she pulled Huayue behind herself protectively, frowning. “Third Young Master, she didn’t mean it either. You’ve scolded her plenty already—please calm your anger.”
Originally she hadn’t felt anything much about it, but being shielded like this, Huayue found her eyes growing hot instead.
This person—no matter what grievance she suffered, she could bear it, but what she feared most was having someone protect her when she was wronged; the more protected she felt, the more fiercely she’d end up crying. Shuangjiang clearly didn’t understand this, half-hugging her like a mother hen guarding her chick, gently patting her.
She didn’t particularly want to cry in front of Li Jingyun—that would be far too humiliating—so Huayue pushed her away, and, summoning her Steward Yin composure, said with a smile, “If Young Master’s still not satisfied, punish this servant later then. For now, let her go deliver the medicine to Madam first—this servant will accompany you back to the Han residence.”
“No need.” He closed his eyes, swept his sleeve and strode through the gate, saying coldly, “No need to go back to the Han residence for now. Come with me.”
“Yes.”
Having grown up this much, Li Jingyun had never once softened his stance or apologized to anyone. But well, now that he’d calmed down and thought it over, it seemed his shouting just now might have gone a bit too far—the little thing’s eyes had turned red.
She hadn’t even presumed on his favor to act spoiled; there’d been a reason behind it all.
Stepping into the main room, he poured himself a cup of tea, fingers hesitating along the rim, wondering how to bring this up in a way that wouldn’t cost him face while still letting her know he was admitting fault.
Before he’d even figured it out, another cup of tea was handed over before him.
Yin Huayue held the teacup up with both hands, head lowered, offering it to him, saying softly and gently, “This was just brewed fresh.”
Her attitude seemed to have grown even better than before? Li Jingyun found this puzzling—shouldn’t a young girl who’d been wronged be throwing a tantrum? Why had she become even more docile instead?
Still, this suited him fine too; he reached out and took the tea, thinking to himself that a little pup like this shouldn’t be spoiled too much—the occasional flare of temper would remind her not to act however she pleased.
And so he swallowed back the words he’d been about to say, contentedly taking a sip of the hot tea.