The general’s household, usually so strictly guarded, now had its gates thrown wide open to welcome guests from every direction. Gold-threaded red silk lanterns hung in two rows outside. Yin Huayue stood beneath the lanterns, quietly instructing the servants to record the guests’ names and gift lists.
The Li family’s uncles and aunts were all up front helping to arrange the banquet, leaving her without much to attend to. She looked down at the stack of red papers on the table, somewhat distracted.
She had originally thought Li Jingyun sought to protect himself, carving out a safe path for himself amid the pull between the Grand Princess and the Crown Prince. She hadn’t expected that rather than accept the safe, idle post, he would instead choose to stand out precisely when the court situation was most chaotic.
The military top scorer was different from the civil one. Civil officials at court were already plentiful—even winning first place there wouldn’t necessarily bring high office. But the military top scorer was different. With the Eastern Palace guard incident before, and the disorder of power within the Imperial Guard after, and with Li Jingyun having earned the emperor’s favor since childhood, would the emperor easily let go of such a capable military asset to rely on?
Her brow furrowing slightly, Huayue gripped her sleeve, sighing softly.
The servant announcing guest names at the front suddenly fell silent, and everyone around dropped to their knees at once. Huayue reacted quickly and knelt along with them.
Ordinary guests would naturally have their names announced for welcome. If a name went unannounced yet everyone still knelt, it could only mean someone from the imperial family had arrived, putting on the proper ceremony. Huayue lowered her head, not daring to even glance up.
But what she hadn’t expected was that, since she was now dressed in the attire of the Li household’s mistress, even burying her head wouldn’t spare her—someone quietly called out to her: “Young mistress, quickly go up and stand with the third young master.”
Her eye twitching, Huayue took a deep breath.
Li Shoutian and Li Jingyun had already come out from the front hall upon hearing the news. An aunt pulled her along, and she had no choice but to move to stand behind Li Jingyun, following along with the courtesies.
“Welcoming Your Highness.”
Zhou Heshuo, all smiles, exchanged pleasantries with General Li, then turned to Li Jingyun with a laugh. “Blame this palace for being so busy lately—missing your earlier wedding banquet, and now arriving late to this fine celebration too. Let’s have a few extra cups later, to make up for it.”
Li Jingyun cupped his hands and smiled lightly. “Your Highness is too kind. Your presence alone is already an honor—no need for any apology. Please, this way.”
Zhou Heshuo nodded, his gaze sweeping over him and landing on the half-hidden hairpin behind him, a flicker of confusion in his eyes.
He’d heard about the Li household taking in a young mistress, but hadn’t yet asked who exactly had been named. Seeing it now, why did it seem rather modest for such an occasion—hiding behind Li Jingyun like this?
Being escorted inward, Zhou Heshuo turned his head to look several times, but each time he turned, Li Jingyun’s frame happened to block the view completely, leaving him able to see only the hairpin above and the hem of the skirt below.
Judging by Jingyun’s expression, it didn’t seem deliberate either. Meeting his gaze, Jingyun even smiled and asked, “Does Your Highness have some instruction?”
Never mind, then. Zhou Heshuo withdrew his gaze, deciding not to look further.
Li Jingyun escorted him to the seat of honor, settled him properly, and summoned several eloquent retainers to keep him company, then excused himself with proper courtesy.
The courtyard was lively. Nearly every official with ties to Li Shoutian had come. The Liang dynasty officially prohibited officials from private gatherings, but the Ministry of Rites had sent several jars of huadiao wine to the general’s household a few days prior—word had spread through every household that this meant tacit imperial approval, and people had hurried over to offer congratulations.
To earn such favor from the emperor meant the Li family was surely destined to flourish—what a pity the daughter in the palace had no children.
Someone murmured about this regrettable matter quietly. Kang Zhenzhong, overhearing, laughed. “You don’t understand. It’s precisely because the one in the palace has no children that the Li family will be favored all the more.”
The officials present didn’t quite grasp the meaning of this. Kang Zhenzhong, unwilling to elaborate further, narrowed his eyes and took a sip of wine, gazing off at the distant upturned eaves.
He sat at a table toward the front, surrounded by his own household servants, all people he’d brought himself.
Huayue stood behind the moon gate on the right side, glancing at him, her expression grave.
She had no idea who had leaked the news, but Kang Zhenzhong had clearly become forewarned. The people who had attempted to strike him during the hundred officials’ sacrificial ceremony were already in prison; she wasn’t planning to act rashly again.
But with him sitting right there before her, letting him simply walk away seemed too great a waste.
A dark light flickering in her eyes, Huayue gripped the carved lattice of the moon gate.
“Why do you keep wandering off?” A slightly irritated voice sounded behind her.
Huayue startled, and before she could even turn around, her body had already fallen into his embrace.
Li Jingyun wrapped an arm around her, his warm chin brushing against her cheek. “This lord had a hard time finding you.”
The low, deep voice sent a tingle through her ears.
Huayue pulled away, turning to face him with a stern expression. “If the young master needs something, just have someone tell me. Why must you always come looking for this servant yourself?”
His indigo robe, pushed slightly askew by her, was smoothed back into place by his elegant fingers. He sighed. “Other men’s wives can’t wait for their husbands to think of them constantly. Not you, though—ever since this lord came back, you won’t let me find you or hold you.”
He thought for a moment, his brow drooping, and let out a long sigh. “No wonder they say the thing already in hand is never treasured. Now that you’ve married into the family and this lord has claimed you, you can just disregard me entirely.”
Huayue: “…”
What kind of demon had possessed him now?
She looked away, her expression cold. “The kitchen is still busy. This servant will go check on it.”
“Hey.” Li Jingyun caught her hand, his expression turning serious, a hint of grievance in his dark eyes. “It’s already been three days. Even if a cow were angry, it would have calmed down some by now.”
Huayue found this rather funny. “You thoroughly deceived this servant, inside and out, with no shortage of clever tricks and schemes—why would you even care whether this servant is angry or not? Three days now, and have you given this servant a single explanation? Why could you tell Su Miao, Liu Chenghe, and Physician Wen about taking the examination, but not this servant?”
Nonsense—if he’d told her, how would he have been able to deceive her into the bridal chamber?
Li Jingyun coughed lightly, lowering his head to reflect for a moment, admitting to himself he was somewhat at fault here.
How had she found out? Not careful enough. Next time, he’d have to be more thorough.
Looking into her eyes, now sparked with small flames, Li Jingyun adopted a sincere expression, holding her palm gently. “This lord was wrong. This lord apologizes to you. Next time, this lord will be sure to inform you first—no more telling Su Miao, Liu Chenghe, or Physician Wen anything without telling you too, alright?”
Next time? She was already worried about what he might climb up to next.
Gritting her teeth, puffing her cheeks, Huayue pulled her hand free and turned to matters at hand. “This servant will head back to the eastern courtyard first. If Madam or the aunts ask, please help cover for this servant.”
She didn’t want to be seen by Zhou Heshuo—regarding that matter where he’d had her bound and questioned, it wouldn’t have mattered much for an ordinary servant, but now that the one bound had become Li Jingyun’s principal wife, it would certainly complicate their relationship.
Li Jingyun understood her concern as well. He adjusted the hairpin in her hair and said with a smile, “Then when this lord returns tonight, you can’t lock me out of the room again.”
Fine—if she couldn’t lock him out, she’d lock herself in instead. Huayue gave a fake smile and bowed, then turned and set her expression back to stern, gripping her hands as she walked toward the eastern courtyard.
Her skirt hem swayed like ripples, the green carp embroidered on it seeming to swim along after her, lovely and lively.
He watched, unable to stop smiling, leaning against the moon gate, his eyes shimmering.
“Well now, Third Young Master, your little sister-in-law’s temper runs pretty high, and yet you can still laugh about it?” Xu Changyi approached, watching the direction Huayue had left, clicking his tongue. “Not easy to coax, that one.”
“What do you know.” Li Jingyun spat at him, crossing his arms, laughing. “As long as she didn’t storm off out of the eastern courtyard entirely, this lord’s matter here is already settled.”
Shameless as it was, she was his now—as long as she wasn’t determined to fight him to the death, their days together would stretch on long enough.
Xu Changyi nodded as though half-understanding, then jutted his chin toward the crowd in the courtyard. “That one—still being watched.”
Following his gaze to Kang Zhenzhong, the smile faded from Li Jingyun’s face, replaced by a faint shadow.
He’d already given warning about this—it was bait, and whoever bit would fall into the trap, whether or not they were part of Shen Zhiluo’s faction. They’d still have to press forward carefully, especially after mistakenly striking the Chancellor instead and having everyone involved thrown into prison.
Stepping in to help wasn’t an option—they weren’t on the same side. At most, he could stand aside and watch the show unfold, while also guarding against trouble breaking out in his own backyard.
“Third Young Master, the path you’ve chosen isn’t exactly stable on its own—best not to meddle in this business too,” Xu Changyi advised quickly, noticing his expression.
Li Jingyun waved a hand to reassure him, then rose, picked up a jug of wine from the table, and went to sit beside Kang Zhenzhong.
“Top scorer.” Kang Zhenzhong flattered him upon seeing him approach. “Young and accomplished, boundless future ahead.”
Pouring him a cup with a smile, Li Jingyun raised his sleeve and nodded. “This lord has often heard my father speak of you, saying Lord Kang has seen much of the world and possesses great breadth of spirit. Fortunate to meet you at this gathering today—please, offer this junior your guidance.”
“Guidance isn’t something I’d dare claim, just that with age comes having seen a bit more than you younger folk.” Kang Zhenzhong clinked cups with him and drank, his face already flushed with wine.
He rubbed his stubbled chin, a hint of wistfulness passing through his cloudy eyes, and gestured with his hand as he set down his cup. “I remember when I first came to your household, you were only this tall, carried by Madam Li, smiling at everyone you saw. Back then your mother wasn’t yet the mistress of this household—who was the mistress at the time, now…”
The person beside him quickly pressed down his hand, glancing nervously at Li Jingyun, and whispered, “My lord has had too much to drink.”
Kang Zhenzhong seemed to catch himself, laughing sheepishly and smoothly changing the subject. “Now the third young master brings honor to the family—wonderful, wonderful.”
Li Jingyun raised an eyebrow with interest. “So you’ve seen this lord as a child.”
“I have. You were an endearing child even then—aside from your father, who didn’t hold you close to their heart?” He hiccupped, rubbing his head. “Your father, your father doesn’t dislike you either, although—but even now, he takes pride in you. He may always keep a stern face, but drinking with us old fellows, he’s never once failed to boast about having a son like you.”
The words came out disjointed, but Li Jingyun understood them well enough, his smile ambiguous as he gripped the wine jug, his eyes dim.
The person beside Kang Zhenzhong hastily helped steady him, while another quickly apologized on his behalf in a low voice: “Lord Kang has had a lot on his mind lately—after a few drinks he likes to bring up the past. Top Scorer, please don’t take it to heart.”
Li Jingyun pressed his lips together, lowering his eyes. “Elders naturally say whatever comes to mind. A junior shouldn’t take it seriously.”
Even as he said this, his expression wasn’t quite pleasant, carrying the look of someone who’d just been brushed off.
Kang Zhenzhong’s attendant grew anxious, glancing around before speaking quietly. “This isn’t just flattery—Lord Kang has been under some kind of ill star lately, one misfortune after another, encountering several life-threatening dangers, unable even to leave his own gate. If not for today’s banquet at your esteemed household, my lord was planning to have someone perform rites to dispel the bad luck.”
His expression easing somewhat, Li Jingyun said, “That was this junior’s oversight then—my apologies for the trouble it’s caused Lord Kang.”
“Not at all, not at all,” the man said with an ingratiating smile.
Rising without drawing attention, Li Jingyun returned to Liu Chenghe and gave him a few quiet instructions.
Liu Chenghe reluctantly set down the half-eaten chicken leg and went off to find someone.
Li Jingyun returned to stand before the Crown Prince. The wine before him remained untouched, and he listened to the music being played in the courtyard, his narrow eyes half-closed, impossible to tell whether he was pleased or displeased.
The attendants below were all on edge. Seeing him approach, they quickly made way.
“Your Highness.” He poured a single drop of wine into the already-full cup and said, looking up, “That tune isn’t played well.”
Zhou Heshuo glanced at him, laughing softly. “He’s playing ‘Ode of Loyal Devotion’—a man’s white bones offered for a wise ruler. What’s wrong with that?”
Li Jingyun shook his head, tapping his chopsticks lightly against the edge of the table. “This one word, ‘ruler,’ as used here refers to the supreme emperor. But when sung into a tune like this, it feels somewhat narrow. In this junior’s humble opinion, ‘ruler’ should be changed to ‘sovereign’—every man should serve the wise sovereign who guides the nation.”
His expression softening, Zhou Heshuo glanced at him and gave a soft hum.
No one else understood the meaning behind this exchange, only noticing that the Crown Prince, tense just moments before, had suddenly relaxed his guarded manner entirely and begun chatting amiably with the third young master.
“What’s going on there?” Su Miao tugged at Wen Guzhi’s sleeve, lowering her voice. “Something about a ruler and a sovereign—I didn’t quite follow.”
Wen Guzhi sighed with admiration. “No need to follow it exactly, Miss Su. Just know this—with that silver tongue of the third young master’s, there isn’t a single person he can’t win over.”
Su Miao understood at once, then teased. “I’ll go tell my cousin you said little sister-in-law isn’t human.”
“…” Wen Guzhi laughed helplessly. “Mercy, little ancestor, I can’t afford to get caught up in that one. As the saying goes, one thing subdues another—someone as formidable as the third young master needs someone who can handle him too.”
Handle him, indeed. Su Miao pouted. “Little sister-in-law is the type who’s sharp-tongued but soft-hearted. She just gets a bit angry, that’s all.”
“That’s where Miss Su doesn’t quite understand.” Wen Guzhi stroked his nonexistent beard, shaking his head sagely. “For some people, even just getting a little angry is more than enough for the third young master to suffer through.”
For most people, pearl hairpins or fine brocade, or a bit of silver, would always be enough to coax a smile. But their young mistress—to truly, sincerely earn her forgiveness for something like this, Wen Guzhi had thought long and hard and still had no solution.
The flowing feast stretched across three days and nights in grand display. By midnight, people were still drinking and composing poetry throughout the household. Huayue had already prepared herself early and lay down to sleep in the side room of the eastern courtyard.
She’d bolted both the door and windows, believing herself perfectly secure.
But when midnight struck, a slender sword slipped in through the crack of the door, easily lifting the latch that held it shut, and Li Jingyun rolled in reeking of alcohol, sitting down on the edge of her bed to complain. “Didn’t we agree you wouldn’t lock the door?”
Her brow twitching, Huayue turned over to face away from him, muttering, “This servant meant not locking the main room’s door.”
“Isn’t this the main room?” He asked, bewildered.
“You’re drunk,” she said with a snort. “This is the side room.”
“You’re the drunk one,” he said, scooping her up and holding her half in his arms, laughing. “Wherever you are, that’s the main room—no locking doors allowed there either.”
Huayue’s teeth ached at this. She covered her cheek with her hand and glared coldly. “Save those words for some other young lady—they’d surely appreciate them.”
Li Jingyun shook his head, resting his head against hers, swaying it back and forth. “Just you. No other young lady.”
When emotions ran deep, words naturally came out only saying the pleasant things. Huayue pursed her lips, feeling frustrated all over again. She really was foolish—claiming not to believe him on the surface, yet falling for it every single time. Even the bridal chamber, even talk of children, even bowing to a pair of boots—all foolish things she’d done to herself.
Hearing him say these things now only made her angrier—not angry at his careless talk, but angry at her own lack of resolve.
Why was her heart so soft where he was concerned…
“You don’t know how much His Majesty favors this lord,” he said, clearly quite drunk, holding her and murmuring on. “At court, in front of so many people watching and listening, His Majesty said he wants to build this lord a new residence right here in the capital, ordering people to transport soil from Guanshan Mountain, cartload after cartload, just to build this lord’s estate.”
“What kind of place is Guanshan? Ordinary people can’t even set foot there normally. That soil is excellent—Consort Yao, His Majesty’s most favored consort, wanted to use Guanshan soil to build a moon-viewing platform, and even she wasn’t permitted.”
Something stirred in her expression, and Huayue suddenly turned to look at him.
The man before her had eyes hazy with drunkenness, his dark pupils looking down at her, deep with affection, moving.
“This lord will take you to live in the new residence, how about it?”
Her heart skipped slightly. Huayue gripped his sleeve, asking uncertainly, “Guanshan? Soil from Guanshan?”
He seemed not to hear, leaning down hazily to kiss her. Huayue’s mind wandered briefly, and she trembled slightly under his kiss.
“Whatever you want, this lord will give you,” he murmured indistinctly. “This lord truly wants to spend his life with you.”
He said only this much before his body went slack, sinking down.
Huayue, startled, held onto him, staring up at the ceiling beams in a daze for a good while before coming back to herself, helping him onto the bed properly, removing his boots, and covering him with the blanket.
Those words—what did they mean? What she wanted, he’d give her, he said?
She found it laughable. Lowering her head to look at his sleeping face, she felt her heart move against her will, helplessly touched.
He had no idea what she truly wanted. And even if he knew, how could he possibly give it to her?
Shaking her head, she reached out to trace his handsome features, waited quietly a while longer, and once he was deeply asleep, rose quietly and slipped out of bed.
Shuang Jiang, having been busy half to death in the front courtyard, came hurriedly to find her, exhaustion written all over her face.
“Something’s gone wrong,” she muttered quietly. “I clearly sent word to Lord Feng, but he never came. Someone just reported back that the message never reached the Feng residence—Lord Feng has no idea what’s happening. We’ve already missed the best opportunity.”
Sighing with regret, Huayue said, “This man really does have good fortune.”
She paused, then, sensing something wasn’t right, grabbed Shuang Jiang’s hand. “Who did you send to deliver the message?”
“He San, as always. Rest assured, he’s never made a mistake before,” Shuang Jiang thought about it. “Perhaps someone lost it after it left the household. It was written as a coded message anyway—even if someone else picked it up, they’d only think it was an ordinary shopping list.”
Huayue nodded hesitantly, glancing at the person in the side room, and waved her off to rest.
Her instincts told her that someone was blocking her from moving against Kang Zhenzhong, but she had no proof at all—it might just be her own overthinking.
If Li Jingyun ever truly discovered what she was doing, he would certainly have her thrown out of the household.
Deep in thought, she went back inside and lay down in his arms, slowly closing her eyes.
Shen Zhiluo had also come to this banquet, but left after only a single toast, not even crossing paths with Su Miao. Su Miao wasn’t bothered either—the wedding date was approaching anyway. She had someone catch up with his carriage and handed over a bag of fried sesame cakes.
“Something this greasy—can’t believe she actually likes it,” Shen Zhiluo scoffed, not even opening it, simply tucking it straight into his sleeve.
He sat in the carriage, with the gloomy Sun Yaozu on one side and the composed, unbothered Chang Gui on the other.
Sun Yaozu, not concerned about what he’d stashed away, said, “Zheng Yu is an important contact—with him locked up, several of our connections have been severed. It wasn’t easy getting those cowardly types to work together in the first place, and now with this incident, they’re all scrambling to distance themselves. What should we do now?”
Chang Gui laughed coldly. “Why go looking for trouble with Kang Zhenzhong in the first place, worried he wouldn’t know you were coming for revenge?”
“Was that something I wanted? It’s because his position is important in itself—once he’s dead, those below him can seize the opportunity to grab power, which benefits all of us. Who would have thought Xue Ji’s death would put them on such high alert? We weren’t even the ones who moved against Xue Ji.” Sun Yaozu complained endlessly.
Chang Gui was curious. “If it wasn’t you, then how did Xue Ji die?”
Sun Yaozu hesitated, his eyes darting around, thinking perhaps it was the young mistress, but considering her disappointing conduct lately, shook his head in frustration instead. “Don’t know. Does the Grand Preceptor have any ideas on how to get Zheng Yu out?”
Shen Zhiluo waved his hand, unconcerned. “The Crown Prince is watching closely. Best not to make any moves recently.”
Chang Gui nodded along.
Sun Yaozu looked at the two of them, his expression shifting slightly. “Neither of you—the ones being taken down aren’t your people, so you just stand aside and watch.”
“Steward Sun jests,” Chang Gui said. “We’re all grasshoppers tied to the same rope now—what’s the point of distinguishing between your people and my people? Zheng Yu truly can’t be saved, and Kang Zhenzhong can’t be touched either. Best to just lie low and recover for now.”
Furious, Sun Yaozu turned his head away, sulking on his own.
The carriage wheels rolled steadily forward. Chang Gui, watching the swaying curtain, suddenly asked, “I heard the Grand Preceptor is also getting married to a Liang woman soon. Won’t turn out like the Western Palace’s young mistress, will you—once married, suddenly favoring outsiders over your own?”
This man always spoke with a certain chill to his words—smiling at everyone on the surface, yet seeming to harbor suspicion toward everyone all the same.
Shen Zhiluo lowered his eyes, displeased. “Overthinking it. If the Steward doesn’t trust me, he’s welcome to seek employment elsewhere.”
“How could that be. You hold the two seals, my lord—naturally I’ll follow you.” Chang Gui said, bowing slightly with a smile in his eyes, “It’s only that I’ve recently come across something rather rare, and would like the Grand Preceptor’s opinion on it.”
Shen Zhiluo glanced up idly, only to see him pull out a jade pendant from his robes—one that looked remarkably familiar.