His voice carried a low, teasing hoarseness, the kind that would set anyone’s heart racing.

What had Su Miao said before—someone like her cousin never cared about formal status. He thought all this talk of principal and secondary, legitimate and illegitimate, was just something people with too much time on their hands invented to torment each other. But if he was ever willing to defy everyone and name you his wife, then you could believe he’d truly fallen for you.

The light in her eyes flickered. Huayue silently swallowed back the words caught in her throat, folded her hands together and pressed them to her forehead, kneeling respectfully to kowtow to Madam Zhuang.

If Li Jingyun had gone mad, then she’d go mad along with him—they were grasshoppers tied to the same rope either way.

“Very well.” Madam Zhuang fell silent for a moment, closing her eyes. “If you both feel this way, then I have nothing more to say.”

Jingyun was the least willing person to marry, and Huayue was the least suited to be a general’s household’s daughter-in-law. Neither of them was a fool, yet both had chosen this path—what right did she, a blind old woman, have to stop either of them?

Madam Zhuang pressed her lips together, the fine lines at the corners of her eyes creasing, both wistful and worried.

Why did it have to be these two who found each other, of all people.

The ritual complete, they both rose. Li Jingyun said, “You two go on out first. I’ll have a word with Mother.”

That he would spend more time with Madam was exactly what Huayue had hoped for. She quickly took Shuang Jiang and the other servants and withdrew, carefully closing the door behind her.

The latch clicked into place with a sharp sound, and the room fell suddenly silent.

Madam Zhuang touched her skirt uneasily, hesitating before speaking. “What’s this about—you haven’t spoken with me alone in so long.”

The smile faded from his face. Li Jingyun sat before her, eyes lowered. “Is Mother afraid?”

“…How could that be.” Madam Zhuang rubbed her palms and forced a smile. “You’re my own child, born of ten months carrying you—how could I be afraid of you?”

“If you’re not afraid, then why do you avoid me?” He looked at her huddled form, tilting his head in confusion. “Huayue is your trusted confidante, one of the servants you dote on. She’s kept watch over your son for you plenty of times—reckoning by her service, wouldn’t it be fitting to make her your son’s principal wife?”

Her curled hands trembled. Madam Zhuang’s expression grew flustered. She reached instinctively to the side for Huayue’s hand, but grasped nothing, and only then remembered there were just the two of them in the room. Her lips immediately went white.

Li Jingyun frowned at her.

He couldn’t understand what was truly going on with Madam Zhuang—she who schemed and confined him so thoroughly, yet here she was, terrified as a shell-less shrimp when facing him alone.

“Huayue, she’s a good child.” She murmured. “A very good, kind child. Since you want her, treat her well. But, Jingyun, Huayue is a pitiable child—unlike other noble young ladies, even if she becomes your principal wife, she’ll still carry the status of a bondservant. She won’t be able to visit and socialize with the ladies of other households on your behalf. If you truly cherish her, keep her here in this household, and don’t let outsiders bully her.”

Her words came stumbling out, mumbled like an aged, feeble woman.

Li Jingyun listened patiently to the very last word, then laughed softly. “Since we are mother and son, connected by blood, rather than speaking so evasively, why not just tell your son directly—that she’s someone important from the previous dynasty, the child of the departed whom Mother would rather save at the cost of her own son’s life, that she cannot show her face outside for fear of being recognized by someone who knows too much and bringing ruin upon the household through implication. That way, your son can understand more clearly.”

“…” Madam Zhuang raised those unfocused eyes, trembling as she turned toward the direction of his voice.

“You… what are you saying?”

He had only suspected before, but seeing Madam Zhuang’s agitated reaction now, Li Jingyun’s heart sank.

He reached out and opened the betrothal slip still in her hand, staring at the birth characters he had puzzled over a thousand times, his gaze growing deep and distant.

What could make the dormant old ministers of the former Wei dynasty suddenly stir back to life? The Wei dynasty had already fallen—even if they dug up some old seal, there was no possibility of restoration. Why would that group of old men set aside their wealth and their very lives to chase after a former dynasty whose imperial house had been wiped out entirely?

Unless the Yin imperial house had never truly been eliminated at all.

Li Jingyun closed his eyes, recalling Madam Zhuang’s calm, ruthless expression from years ago, and couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“You’ve never once put the general’s household’s survival above all else. As they say, like mother, like son—your son has now learned two parts of that from you. Don’t show me this uneasy expression.” He rose, gently smoothing the hem of his robe embroidered with distant mountains.

“Jingyun!” Madam Zhuang came to her senses, reaching out to grab him in a panic. “What exactly do you know? How did you find out? What are you planning to do?”

Her frightened, anxious tone was exactly like his own as a child.

Back then, he too had grabbed at her sleeve like this, asking her in a childish voice why, asking what she was planning to do. How had she answered him then?

Li Jingyun looked down at her, saying calmly, “Mother is getting on in years. Some things aren’t yours to ask about.”

—You’re still too young. Don’t ask what you shouldn’t.

The cold voice crossed ten years and finally, cruelly, fell back into her own ears.

As if struck hard, Madam Zhuang’s face showed an almost self-abandoning agitation. Her eyes rolled slowly, her lips parting and closing, teeth clicking together unconsciously, making a series of sharp sounds. She seemed to want to reach out and pull him back, but the moment her fingertips brushed his sleeve, she withdrew as if burned, tucking her hand back into her own sleeve.

“I won’t ask, I won’t ask.” She shook her head, reaching for the comb on her vanity to smooth her hair, but her hair was already gathered into a bun—as the comb pulled through, her graying hair scattered into disarray.

Li Jingyun frowned and reached to restrain her hand, but Madam Zhuang flinched as if startled and swung wildly.

Crack—

A fine white porcelain rouge box shattered on the floor with a crisp sound.

Huayue was outside comforting Shuang Jiang and startled at the noise, quickly pushing the door open. “Madam?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Madam Zhuang waved her hands repeatedly, her eyes darting wildly. “Don’t worry about me.”

Glancing at her disheveled hair and the shattered rouge box on the floor, Huayue drew a sharp breath, strode in, and helped her to the bed. She pulled out a celadon medicine vial and fed her two pills, then mixed a cup of warm water, coaxing her to drink it down.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, this servant is here.” She half-embraced Madam Zhuang, comforting her with her words, though her own expression was even more anxious.

“You two should go back first.” Shuang Jiang frowned repeatedly, glancing at Li Jingyun. “With you standing here, Madam can’t calm down.”

Huayue came to her senses, letting Shuang Jiang take her place, then pulled Li Jingyun outside.

She gripped his hand with tremendous force, as though grabbing hold of some murderer. Li Jingyun, his expression dark, followed her without protest all the way to the garden before finally stopping.

“You blame this lord?”

The words carried not just anger but a hint of grievance.

Huayue’s face was cold, genuinely finding it absurd. “Can the young master say something reasonable for once? Madam hasn’t had an episode in a long while. This servant trusted you enough to let you stay alone with her—and this is the result? After only a few words?”

His eyes darkened, Li Jingyun said, “I only repeated to her what she once said to me. She’s the one who’s ill, not me—so somehow the fault is mine?”

Choking slightly, Huayue laughed in anger. She shook off his hand and stood before him, tilting her head up to face him. “May this servant ask something? Is the person living in the main courtyard truly your birth mother or not?”

His throat moved slightly, Li Jingyun turned his eyes away listlessly. “That’s a question you should ask her.”

“This servant truly did ask her.” She gritted her teeth. “That’s why I’m asking you now.”

Recalling old matters, Li Jingyun’s eyes held a trace of mockery. “And if I answered, what then? You’ll always take her side anyway. Your heart was crooked from the start—how could you ever judge fairly?”

Huayue paused, staring at him for a moment, then slowly calmed down.

He wasn’t wrong. She did favor Madam, always ready to blame him first for anything. In truth, she had no idea what had happened between mother and son in the past—daring to argue with him like this was only because she was relying on how thoroughly he’d doted on her these past two days, confident he wouldn’t hold it against her.

Her expression softened slightly. Huayue pressed her lips together and reached out to hook his finger.

Having just been shaken off moments ago, Li Jingyun narrowed his eyes at her, a hint of sulkiness in his manner, and quickly pulled his hand away.

“Hey.” She said softly, “Let’s talk this through properly.”

“Did you talk to this lord properly just now?” He asked coldly.

If there had been ears atop her head, they would have drooped at this point. Huayue blinked, guiltily pulling his hand back, clasping it as though nothing had happened, then said quietly, “This servant was just anxious.”

“Being anxious means you can lose your temper at this lord?”

“No, it was this servant’s fault.” She swung his hand gently, her eyes reddening. “But Madam was fine before—she’s the mistress of the general’s household, already tolerating our nonsense is no small thing. Why did you have to go and upset her? The moment she gets anxious, her episodes start. Before, this servant could still coax her through it, but today, because of you, this servant couldn’t even stay in that room.”

His gaze fell on her face, and inexplicably, his chest tightened. Li Jingyun said, mildly annoyed, “You’re the one throwing the tantrum, and you’re the one with the red eyes.”

She wiped at her face with her sleeve, looking rather embarrassed, trying to turn away, but the person before her reached out without a word, tilted her chin up, pulled the handkerchief tucked in her sleeve, and wiped at the corners of her eyes with obvious disdain. “What’s this about—this lord hasn’t even blamed you, and you’re already sulking on your own.”

“It’s not sulking.” She pouted.

“Fine, this lord knows you feel for Madam. As if this lord were some unloved cabbage while everyone else gets to be the flower in the vase.” He tilted his chin up self-mockingly. “If anyone should cry, it should be this lord, first.”

Huayue burst out laughing despite herself, her eyes curving into crescents.

He snorted, tossed her handkerchief aside, and led her back to the eastern courtyard. Once inside, he picked her up and set her on the soft couch, saying gruffly, “You said your body wasn’t feeling well earlier—rest properly then. This lord will keep an eye on the main courtyard, and once things settle down, I’ll have someone let you know right away, alright?”

Huayue hugged a soft pillow, thinking that since the young master’s days remaining in the household weren’t many anyway, there was no need to keep bickering over such things—once he entered the palace, she’d have plenty of chances to keep Madam company.

So she nodded, obediently agreeing.

Not long after, Shuang Jiang came with word that Madam had already gone to rest and there was nothing seriously wrong. Huayue let out a breath of relief, glancing at Li Jingyun, who was speaking with someone in the courtyard.

Shuang Jiang stood beside her and asked quietly, “Have you really made up your mind about this?”

There was no one else in the room. Huayue leaned against the soft pillow, her earlobes turning faintly red. “Mm.”

“Steward Sun and Nanny Yin are quite upset.” Shuang Jiang shook her head. “They’ve already pledged themselves to Lord Shen. With this sudden development from you, who knows what complications might arise—they surely won’t let it go easily.”

“Let it go?” Hearing that word, Huayue’s eyes lifted, and the faint girlish softness from moments ago vanished instantly, replaced by a hint of mockery.

Shuang Jiang paused, seeming to suddenly recall her true position, and laughed abruptly. “Look at me, letting them frighten me too.”

The person before her, who appeared gentle and easygoing, had once ruled the entire Western Palace singlehandedly—no one but the emperor and empress could control her, and she’d shown no mercy even in conflicts with her own brother. What did she have to fear from two mere servants?

It was only that the young mistress had been dormant for far, far too long—so long that even Shuang Jiang had nearly believed she was content to be a servant for the rest of her life.

Shuang Jiang came to herself and bowed to her. “The third young master has only a few days left before entering the palace. I won’t disturb you further.”

Huayue closed her eyes and waved her hand at her.

In the courtyard stood Liu Chenghe, murmuring at length with Li Jingyun, his eyes drifting toward the half-open lattice window of the main room, sighing. “Aren’t you afraid your young wife will be angry with you?”

Li Jingyun tucked something into his sleeve, laughing coldly. “A real man, afraid of a woman even in his own home?”

Liu Chenghe looked at him, wanting to say something but holding back.

“Enough.” He waved his sleeve. “Don’t forget to come pay respects at the ceremony in a couple of days.”

If anyone could be called ruthless, no one outdid the third young master—going to such lengths just to secure his young wife. Liu Chenghe shook his head repeatedly and went back to inform Chao Feng to prepare a gift.

Chao Feng sat in the Liu household, listening to him for a long while without quite understanding. “Isn’t that little girl of bondservant status? She can become a principal wife?”

Liu Chenghe said, “For another family’s bondservant, the best she could hope for is a side chamber concubine. But the third young master’s household is different—as long as he wishes it, he can have the general’s wife adopt her as a goddaughter, clear her bondservant status, and submit her name to the Bureau of Clan Registration.”

Chao Feng blinked slightly. “And what about the young lady of the Han family? I heard rumors before that the third young master favored her too.”

“Where did you hear that?” Liu Chenghe was unconcerned. “Ever since Han Shuang sent Feng Zixu to the executioner’s block, the third young master never looked at her the same way again.”

Previously, when the Steward’s Court had stood firm and the Grand Princess’s power was at its peak, the Crown Prince had many reservations. He wanted to use control over the weapons vault to strip Li Shoutian of his military power as leverage against the Grand Princess. To protect the general’s household, the third young master had risked his life to save Han Shuang, using himself as a bargaining chip, forcing the Crown Prince and the Grand Princess to work together on his marriage arrangements.

This gave them a breathing space—the weapons vault matter settled, Li Shoutian wasn’t reassigned, the Steward’s Court fell, the Crown Prince was busy pressing his advantage against the Grand Princess, and the marriage of the Grand Preceptor and the cousin was settled. The general’s household passed through this crisis unscathed.

A woman’s household naturally couldn’t grasp these intricate maneuverings—Liu Chenghe, having been involved, only felt utterly awed.

Were it him, he could never have devised such a tangled scheme.

Chao Feng was even more puzzled. “Never mind the third young master—earlier when I spoke with Huayue, she didn’t seem to think much of him at all. Giving up a life of comfort as a side concubine to bear the pressure from the Han family and become the general household’s principal wife instead—is she really willing?”

Recalling what he’d given away at the general’s household today, Liu Chenghe said with full sympathy, “This was never a matter of her being willing or not.”

Whatever flew in the sky or ran on the ground, who could escape the third young master’s all-encompassing net?

“What do you mean by that?” Chao Feng asked, suspicious.

Wanting to say more but holding back, Liu Chenghe said, “You’ll understand by the end of the month.”

What was happening at the end of the month? The general household’s son was taking a wife, the imperial examinations were also being held, red lanterns hung high at the general’s household, and relatives from all branches of the family came to congratulate the new addition to the main house.

Huayue had assumed that being elevated from side concubine to principal wife meant simply setting out a banquet table and bowing before the master and mistress.

Instead, Li Jingyun arranged something spectacular for her.

Time was short, and many things couldn’t be properly prepared, yet she had no idea where he found the means—wedding attire and dowry appeared, betrothal documents, betrothal gifts, even a matchmaker, all complete. Before dawn, he had her carried straight from her bed to an inn, dressed and prepared for a full hour, then carried back to the general’s household with gongs and drums.

Supported and helped from the lively wedding hall to the bridal chamber, Huayue still hadn’t fully come to her senses.

She turned to see Shuang Jiang’s skirt beside her and asked dazedly, “What’s going on?”

Shuang Jiang was even more stunned than she was, clicking her tongue. “The young master’s been preparing for days. I heard he even personally delivered a wedding invitation to the Fifth Prince’s newly moved residence. The gongs sounded once and half the capital already knew your name. Right now Lord Shen sits outside with a face like thunder, and Steward Sun and the others are here too, without invitations.”

She seemed truly astonished, turning to say, “Did you think this was something you could just play along with for a few days? From now on, wherever you go, as long as you still use this name, people will all know you’re the young mistress of the general’s household.”

Huayue: “…”

A flicker of unease stirred in her. Clutching the red silk in her hands, she began to wonder if she had let this go too far.

Yet on their wedding night, Li Jingyun held her close, removing the pearl ornaments from her hair one by one, saying, “This lord can only give you this much.”

Next month he’d be entering the palace to take up his post—rushing the wedding to leave behind a memory, perhaps? Huayue nodded, quite understanding, her heart easing slightly.

“Will you miss this lord?” He asked tenderly, nuzzling against her.

Saying no would have been terribly tactless. Huayue thought about it, and using every ounce of tenderness she possessed, wrapped her arms around his neck. “Of course I’ll miss you.”

“Mm.” He stroked her lips with satisfaction. “Say ‘husband’ for me to hear.”

“Husband.”

The color in his eyes deepened. He hummed in response, thumb brushing over her lips. “Softer.”

“Husband~”

Even Huayue found her own voice unbearable to listen to, yet the person before her seemed to love it entirely, dark eyes gleaming with light.

The bed curtains fell. On the table, the phoenix-and-dragon candles flickered and danced. In the hazy lamplight, someone asked hoarsely, “Is there anything else you want?”

“No, husband has given everything he should.”

“Tch, shouldn’t you say you want me to stay?”

“What’s the use in saying something pointless?”

“Say it again, try it, hm?”

“Mm… stay, stay with me.”

By the end, her consciousness was barely intact. Huayue repeated the words he’d taught her, soft and broken, growing less and less coherent, until finally they fell apart entirely, dissolving into sobs.

Tonight was a fine moonlit night. Su Miao propped her chin in her hand, watching Shen Zhiluo drink cup after cup of wine without a word of advice, even raising her own cup to clink against his when the mood struck her. “You finish yours, I’ll do as I please.”

Shen Zhiluo glared at her fiercely.

The people nearby shrank back in fear, but Su Miao found it amusing, watching his slightly reddened face with delight. “I’ve never seen you drunk before. It’s quite a different kind of charm.”

“Do you even know how to compliment a man?” Shen Zhiluo glared at her coldly.

Su Miao giggled, her fingertip tracing his especially bewitching eyes, licking her lips. “Then let’s say, unmatched in elegance and grace.”

He grunted, as though accepting this.

Su Miao laughed even more brightly, pointing at the Fifth Prince seated at another table, teasing. “Look at him—so calm and composed. That’s how a person should carry himself.”

Zhou Hemin, seeming to hear this remark, turned his head and smiled, fair and refined. “I don’t have a young lady by my side showing such thoughtful concern—if I got drunk, no one would look after me. Not like the Grand Preceptor, with a beauty at his side who doesn’t even bother arguing with him over trifles. Now that’s true composure.”

Su Miao clapped and laughed. “Your Highness has sharp eyes.”

She rose, seeming to want to go over and chat a bit more, but Shen Zhiluo, without even lifting his eyelids, reached out and pinned her wrist to the table.

“Hm?” She turned back. “What is it?”

He said coldly, “Those are someone else’s romantic prospects, none of your business. Don’t go meddling.”

Su Miao glanced at the Fifth Prince in surprise, then sat back down beside him. “You even know about that?”

Shen Zhiluo scoffed and poured himself another cup.

“Then I really don’t understand.” Su Miao shrugged. “You know so much, yet you’re drowning your sorrows in drink. By rights, you should have seen this wedding coming long ago.”

“Drowning my sorrows?” Shen Zhiluo was momentarily stunned, then laughed disdainfully. “This is hardly sorrow.”

Su Miao didn’t understand. “If you’re not sorrowful, why drink?”

“Never tried it before. Wanted to taste it.” Picking up his cup, Shen Zhiluo narrowed his purple eyes. “Knowing too much isn’t necessarily a good thing. Better to drink until I’m out cold and remember nothing.”

A trace of pity flickered through Su Miao’s eyes. She wrapped her arms around his and gently rubbed her cheek against him.

Shen Zhiluo turned to look at her, puzzled. “What exactly are you pitying me for? I’m the Grand Preceptor, living in luxury and glory—I lack for nothing.”

“I know.” She nodded in full agreement, then reached over and patted his head.

The gesture was very much like soothing a small animal, and it only irritated him further. “Don’t think of me as some pitiful person. You’re more pitiable than I am.”

“I know that too.” She smiled. “I don’t have your wealth or status, and I’m practically living under someone else’s roof besides.”

With the wine warming his heart somewhat, Shen Zhiluo pressed his lips together and, imitating her gesture, patted her head in return.

Su Miao froze for a moment, then broke into a radiant smile, nuzzling against his arm again. The two of them leaned together like that, at a banquet full of prying eyes, quite improperly.

But no one bothered to intervene.

Zhou Hemin listened to the opera being performed on stage, finding it a bit dull. He glanced around and his gaze landed on a few inconspicuous figures in the corner.

Most of the wine had been drunk, and people had begun moving about the courtyard, but those few figures were strange—sneaking about, apparently heading toward the rear courtyard.

The servant guarding the entrance had been sent off to fetch tea, and no one stopped them.

Zhou Hemin yawned and withdrew his gaze.

No one was around to tell him a story, so he couldn’t be bothered to concern himself with this matter.