Since birth, every member of the Great Wei imperial household wore an inscribed pendant. The front bore their own courtesy name, while the back was finely carved with their birth date and hour in a surrounding ring, with images of flowers, birds, and mountains and rivers set in the middle.
Everyone followed this same format — except for one person.
The Western Palace’s young mistress, of the Yin clan, was not entered into the clan register nor allowed into the ancestral temple. Naturally, the front of her pendant bore no courtesy name — only the ring on the back, carved with “Born under the earth sign, in the tenth month, on the twentieth day, at the hour of the dragon, in the Yuande era,” alongside a single unopened flower.
The pendant now resting in Chang Gui’s hand was precisely this one.
Shen Zhiluo froze for a moment, then his expression turned unpleasant: “How did you come to have this?”
“I’m rather curious myself.” Chang Gui wore a strange expression as he fingered the silk cord hanging from the jade, lifting his eyelids to look at him. “Why would a pendant from the Western Palace be among the eldest prince’s belongings?”
In Chang Gui’s eyes, Yin Ninghuai and the Western Palace were mortal enemies — for this item to be found among the eldest prince’s burial goods could only mean some scheme from the Western Palace.
Shen Zhiluo looked at Chang Gui, a trace of wistfulness in his eyes. “Before we went to Guanshan, I accompanied His Highness to the Western Palace. His Highness said the young mistress was never truly considered part of the Yin imperial family, so when disaster loomed, she needn’t bear the calamity of the Yin royal house either. That’s why he took this pendant and kept it with him.”
Chang Gui’s face darkened, and he sneered coldly: “You’re lying. The eldest prince despised the Western Palace’s young mistress so much—”
“Despised her so much, yet protected her well until his death?” Shen Zhiluo cut him off, scoffing. “It’s always you servants who harbor grudges. He and Yin Huayue were siblings bound by blood.”
Chang Gui choked, a flicker of malice showing in his eyes.
Mortals always had their own obsessions and hang-ups; Shen Zhiluo had no patience to argue further. He reached out, took the pendant, and gently wiped it clean.
“Do you have anything else on you?” he asked.
Chang Gui gave a snort of laughter and tucked his hand into his sleeve: “The two most important things are already in your hands. I merely picked up a few trinkets — hardly worth the National Preceptor’s attention.”
“Don’t try anything foolish.” Shen Zhiluo lowered his eyes and drew his sleeves together.
Chang Gui nodded, though whether he’d truly taken it to heart was unclear. He cupped his hands toward Shen Zhiluo and left the carriage with Sun Yaozu in tow.
Shen Zhiluo rubbed the pendant absently, watching their retreating backs, a faint trace of hostility in his eyes.
The oiled-paper packet tucked in his sleeve seemed to have had its string jostled loose by the carriage’s bumping, and suddenly the fragrance of fried pastry drifted out, filling the entire carriage.
His pale violet eyes blinked in mild surprise. Shen Zhiluo lowered his head, took out the paper packet, and frowned as he examined this greasy, salty bundle.
What young lady would even like eating this sort of thing?
Whenever Su Miao came across something good — whether food or otherwise — she always made sure to share a portion with him. If given in person, those lovely fox-like eyes would narrow as she smiled at him, her little mouth chattering on and on. If not given in person, then it would surely be…
His fingertips pulled apart two pieces of the fried pastry, and Shen Zhiluo raised an eyebrow — sure enough, buried beneath the pile he dug out a folded note. He opened it to find just two characters written inside.
Betrothal gift.
The foul mood from before seemed to have been swept clean away. He stared at those two characters for a long while, then suddenly burst out laughing.
Her betrothal gifts were truly a mixed bag — last time she’d brought him an especially delicious flatbread, the time before that she’d had someone deliver a packet of dried wax plum blossoms, and now this, which could at least count as a proper dish, substantial enough to serve as the formal betrothal gift.
It was a wonder she’d even thought of it.
Shaking his head with a sigh, Shen Zhiluo popped a piece of the fried pastry into his mouth.
The flowing banquet at the General’s residence had gone on for three days and three nights straight, and Huayue was utterly exhausted — she nearly fell asleep in the bathtub during her bath, and it was Li Jingyun who had to carry her out to wipe her down and change her clothes.
A little irritated, she reached out groggily to push him away, but he caught her hand and said with distaste: “Look at the state of these nails.”
Her eyelids were heavy; Huayue simply mumbled with her eyes closed: “I’ll trim them tomorrow, my lord needn’t trouble himself.”
Why wait until tomorrow? Li Jingyun pursed his lips, took hold of her fingers, and picked up the scissors, lowering his head to start.
What caught his eye were two fresh marks on her slender fingertips — one looked like it had been scratched by a fine thorn, the other like a knife cut, the scabs still new.
His expression darkened, and he set down the scissors: “How did this happen?”
Huayue was nearly asleep already; he shook her, and her eyes struggled open to a slit: “Mm, wasn’t careful while doing chores.”
“Still doing chores?” He gave a bitter laugh. “Is the General’s residence short on servants, or has the household fallen on hard times, that a young mistress like you has to do chores?”
Startled by his shout, Huayue’s eyes opened, torn between laughter and tears: “It’s just a small cut, why are you so anxious about it?”
“This lord isn’t anxious.” He gritted his teeth, fumbling for an excuse. “This lord simply can’t bear to lose face over it.”
What did this have to do with saving face? Huayue glanced at the small wound and sighed: “Fine, I’ll be more careful next time.”
With that, she yawned, pulled the blanket close, and fell asleep.
Li Jingyun glared at her in frustration for a good while, but seeing how exhausted she truly was, he could only give a cold snort, trim her nails neatly himself, then rose and walked out.
It had already been arranged that after the flowing banquet, the household servants would get half a day’s rest, so the next day Huayue wasn’t in any hurry to rise early either, lazily nestling into the bedding, letting the sunlight fall on her face through the flower-lattice window.
“Little sister-in-law.” Su Miao rushed in through the door holding up her skirts, bustling over to the bedside. “Little sister-in-law, why are you still asleep?”
With effort, Huayue opened one eye halfway and let out a confused “Hm?”
Su Miao’s face was full of smiles: “Come get up and see the excitement! Cousin complained the food in the household wasn’t good, so he bought out the chef and maids from the Zhenxiu Pavilion, along with all their kitchen helpers.”
Huayue jolted awake: “What?”
Su Miao hastened to reassure her: “I know little sister-in-law has always managed the household staff, but this time cousin hasn’t done anything wrong — the original cooks in the household kept making the same two dishes over and over, and those maids and matrons were especially gossipy, always chattering nonsense. Cousin used this as an excuse to dismiss them. I’m actually rather pleased about it.”
Huayue got up, quickly washed and dressed, then sat back down across from Su Miao with a frown: “Why would he suddenly turn against the kitchen staff for no reason?”
“Not sure. The servants say cousin ate half an almond pastry first thing this morning, then suddenly grew angry.”
The other people were one thing, but there was a maid in the kitchen named Xiaocai, planted there by Yin Ru to pass messages to her. Had Li Jingyun discovered something, and that’s why he’d suddenly taken action?
Her heart uneasy, Huayue’s expression darkened.
She got up and went to the kitchen, and sure enough, inside it was already entirely new faces. Seeing her, they bowed politely, quite properly. But when she tried to go help chop meat or pick vegetables as she usually did, the maids in the kitchen acted as if they’d seen a ghost, bowing repeatedly and urging her back outside.
She stood outside searching for a long while and confirmed that Xiaocai was indeed gone. Huayue felt a little lost.
What exactly was Li Jingyun trying to do?
Turning her head, she asked Su Miao: “Where did the third young master go?”
Su Miao smiled: “He went to pay a visit to the Kang residence first thing this morning.”
The Kang residence? Huayue was puzzled, her face full of confusion.
Su Miao immediately explained: “That Lord Kang Zhenzhong is an old family friend of my uncle’s. He’s been through a lot of hardship lately, so my uncle sent cousin over to pay respects — it’s also for cousin’s own good, since Lord Kang is now considered an important minister of Great Liang.”
“I see,” Huayue said, lowering her eyes. “I don’t know anything about any of this.”
Patting her shoulder comfortingly, Su Miao said: “Whatever little sister-in-law wants to know, just ask me. I’ve lived at the General’s residence since I was small — there’s nothing I don’t know.”
Her eyes brightened, and Huayue turned to ask: “Then do you know why your cousin has such a deep rift with madam?”
Su Miao paused, looking somewhat embarrassed: “I hadn’t finished what I said — there’s nothing I don’t know, except what’s between cousin and my aunt.”
“…” Huayue lowered her head in disappointment.
“Hey, I can tell you other things — let’s talk about this Lord Kang.” Su Miao pulled her hand and walked her out of the kitchen, continuing as they went. “Lord Kang is odd too. Some say he and my uncle are sworn brothers, but as I recall, he barely had any contact with the General’s residence for many years — it’s only recently that they’ve started interacting again.”
Kang Zhenzhong had once been a strong advocate for exterminating the Wei people; Li Shoutian’s political views clashed with his — what contact could the two possibly have? It was only in recent years, as Kang Zhenzhong’s power waned and he grew older, that things had settled down.
Huayue narrowed her eyes, still somewhat troubled over how she couldn’t seem to find a way to kill this man.
“I heard the old nannies in the household say that back when uncle was young, he often used to go riding with Lord Kang.” Su Miao pursed her lips. “If they were really that close, how could uncle have been so isolated at court last year?”
Huayue listened thoughtfully, and later, when she ran into Shuangjiang, she casually asked her to look into what exactly the relationship was between Kang Zhenzhong and the General’s residence.
Shuangjiang said suspiciously: “Could it be related to that time the secret letter never reached the Feng residence?”
Kang Zhenzhong was on good terms with the General’s residence, so someone might be secretly obstructing their move against him. This theory had some logic to it, but Huayue said in a low voice: “If that’s the case, then whoever is obstructing us knows our identities and our goals.”
Startled, Shuangjiang shivered and hurried off to have people investigate.
What they found was scant — only that General Li and Kang Zhenzhong had grown up together, but ten years ago, for some unknown reason, the two had had a falling-out and never seen each other since.
Such a strange relationship — was it worth someone in the General’s residence protecting him?
Huayue stared gravely at the flowers on the windowsill, lost in thought.
In mid-June, Li Jingyun was personally appointed by His Majesty to the position of Grand Protector, overseeing the capital’s military forces internally and inspecting garrisons across the regions externally. He held real power, and could enter the palace to report directly to the emperor every month.
This was no small appointment. Even Li Shoutian, stern and strict as he was, couldn’t help being delighted for several days straight. Congratulatory gifts poured into the General’s residence from all quarters without end, and even Huayue was stuffed with several full boxes of jewelry.
She felt uneasy about it — these weren’t things she ought to accept — so among the dazzling array of phoenix hairpins and pearl bracelets, she didn’t dare touch a single one. For Su Miao’s wedding gift, she wore only the jewelry Li Jingyun had given her before.
Li Jingyun had changed clothes and reached out to take the boots sitting on the curio shelf.
“What are you doing?” She stopped him, her expression guarded.
Li Jingyun found this both funny and exasperating: “Putting on boots. What else would I be doing?”
Huayue found him another pair of boots: “Wear these.”
“Why?” he asked, amused. “Those boots have been sitting there for almost a month now — you don’t still want to worship them, do you?”
“No,” Huayue denied earnestly, though she still wouldn’t let him take them.
Talk about shooting yourself in the foot — Li Jingyun wiped a hand over his face, pulled her close, and coaxed softly: “This lord was wrong, this lord has already admitted his fault. Next time I won’t make up stories to fool you again.”
Huayue looked up at him, clearly not believing a word.
He lowered his head and pecked a kiss near her ear, chuckling as he coaxed: “After we see Su Miao off to be married, this lord will take you somewhere — you’ll need to wear these boots to get there.”
Still making things up — Huayue reached out and pinched him. Li Jingyun laughed and dodged, then stepped past her to grab the brocade boots, put them on, looked them over, and said reluctantly, “Mm, not bad.”
Then he strode out in his pigeon-toed official gait to find Wen Guzhi and the others.
Among this group of sworn brothers, most were already married, and on ordinary days they wouldn’t hesitate to wear clothes and shoes made by their wives, chatting idly and even showing off a little, saying things like “my wife made this, took her nearly half a month.”
Li Jingyun thought they’d led rather sheltered lives — they were just boots, why show them off?
As for himself, standing before this group, he didn’t say a single word.
“Third Master.” Wen Guzhi looked him over with concern. “Is your right foot injured? You’re lifting it so high.”
“No.” He brushed off the toe of his boot with an air of nonchalance. “Just walked through some dust on the way here.”
Liu Chenghe, puzzled, said: “With boots on, how could there not be dust?”
Xu Changyi didn’t understand what this meant either, glanced at the pattern on the boots, and remarked casually: “These are rather finely made.”
“Oh, it’s nothing, nothing,” Li Jingyun waved a hand. “Not worth mentioning.”
Even as he said this, his raised right foot never came back down.
Wen Guzhi finally caught on. His brow lifted, and he laughed: “Little sister-in-law’s craftsmanship is exceptional — one glance and you can tell she put real effort into it. How is that not worth mentioning? Third Master, you should learn to cherish people’s efforts.”
The other two, hearing this, immediately admired how quick-witted Imperial Physician Wen was, and followed along, cupping their hands: “Fine boots, fine boots!”
Li Jingyun smiled with satisfaction and finally, unhurriedly, lowered his leg, turning to watch the excitement up ahead.
Today was Su Miao’s wedding day, and the occasion was grand and lavish, with box after box of dowry carried out. Both of Su Miao’s parents had passed away, so at her farewell she only bowed to Li Shoutian and Zhuang Shi.
When other young ladies married off, they inevitably shed some tears, but not Su Miao — if not for the constraints of propriety, she might have laughed out loud.
“Rein it in a little,” Li Jingyun said in a low voice as he saw her off from the residence. “Anyone who doesn’t know better would think the General’s residence was some pit of misery, the way you’re leaping out of it so joyfully.”
Beneath the large red bridal veil, Su Miao answered quietly: “You know perfectly well why I’m happy — don’t play word games with me here. When you got married, you smiled even more shamelessly than I am now.”
“That’s because this lord married a fine young lady.”
“I’m marrying a good man too!”
Su Miao was thoroughly unconvinced: “Don’t keep needling me — watch out, once I’m married off I’ll be like water thrown out the door, and I’ll team up with Shen Zhiluo to deal with you.”
Li Jingyun rolled his eyes dismissively.
As she was about to step into the palanquin, he looked at this girl and still said quietly: “If you’re ever wronged, come running back to me. It’ll cost you nothing.”
A faint “Mm” came from beneath the veil, and Su Miao turned, taking the wedding attendant’s hand to enter the palanquin.
Amid the fanfare of music, the ten-mile stretch of red wedding procession unfurled down the road ahead. Li Jingyun watched the palanquin disappear at the road’s end before turning his head: “Come with me.”
Huayue was feeling a bit downcast, and before she knew it, he’d lifted her onto his horse’s back, and she instinctively gripped the saddle tight.
“What are you holding that for?” The person behind her settled into place and grunted. “If you’re going to hold something, hold onto me.”
She pursed her lips and muttered quietly: “You’re the type who likes jumping off horses. I’m not holding onto you.”
Still holding a grudge after all this time? Li Jingyun gave a helpless laugh and spurred the horse forward.
“At first, this lord wasn’t trying to make things difficult for you either. It’s just that the Han family marriage couldn’t be settled — once it was settled, the Eastern Palace would have turned against this lord.”
Wind whistled past their ears as the horse galloped on; he chuckled low near her ear: “And you — knowing you’d end up marrying this lord anyway, why didn’t you just team up with me sooner instead of working against me? Would have saved you quite a few beatings.”
How was that even reasonable — who could have known back then that so much would happen later? Huayue clenched her teeth and jabbed him with her elbow.
The person behind her grunted in pain: “Ungrateful thing. No matter how this lord dotes on you, you never know how good you have it.”
Huayue narrowed her eyes: “I did thank you for the clothes and jewelry you gave me.”
“That’s not gratitude, that’s just going through the motions,” he said, displeased. “From now on, this lord won’t bother putting effort into spoiling you — none of the good you remember, but all the bad sticks with you just fine.”
This wasn’t exactly the time for her to be remembering his good points — his career was on the rise while she faced danger on every side; she hardly dared indulge in these tender sentiments.
The horse galloped to a stretch of open ground under construction, workers everywhere moving earth and timber. Li Jingyun reined in the horse, lifted her down, and gestured for her to walk ahead.
Huayue remembered now — on their wedding night, he’d mentioned that His Majesty was having a residence built for him, using soil from Guanshan.
Her heart gave an inexplicable jolt, and she turned to look at him.
The man before her looked perfectly calm, as if he were simply taking her for a stroll. He pointed to the newly risen wall ahead: “This is your courtyard.”
Huayue looked over blankly and nodded.
He took her hand and walked her through it piece by piece: “This is the kitchen, this is the back garden, here we’ll build a fish pond eventually, this will be the bathing pavilion.”
The two of them walked step by step through this noisy construction site, finally stopping beside the building being finished the fastest.
“This will be the prayer hall,” Li Jingyun said, somewhat awkwardly. “From now on, if you want to burn incense and pray, you won’t have to go out — just come here.”
This building was already close to having its ridge beam raised, with an empty compartment left in the middle; the items meant to be placed under the beam were sitting on a raised platform nearby, not yet installed.
By Great Liang custom, when building a prayer hall or ancestral shrine, something was always hidden within the ridge beam to guard against evil in all directions — some placed peachwood talismans, others jade treasures, and for families who had endured hardship, sometimes the relics of ancestors were placed there so they could receive the offering of incense.
Huayue walked over somewhat hesitantly, lifted the layers of red cloth, and glanced at what lay inside.
A carved box of gold-threaded nanmu wood, sealed shut without a single seam showing.
She measured the size of the box with her hands, then looked up at Li Jingyun in a daze, opening her mouth to ask him something — but the words caught in her throat, and she swallowed them back down.
What met her eyes was him standing there in a crimson python-embroidered robe, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze meeting hers with an almost-smile.
“What’s inside is that painting of the eight horses you ruined,” he said. “No need to look.”
If it really were that painting, why would it need to be sealed in a box? If he hadn’t said anything she might have let it go, but hearing this, Huayue felt her nose sting with emotion instead.
Buried on Guanshan was a large box containing relics wrapped in yellow brocade, and a white porcelain jar. She’d retrieved the relics at the time but hadn’t managed to touch the jar before being discovered. She’d assumed he knew nothing about it and had even thought of going back next year for the jar — but now, this item was most likely inside this very box.
The workmen nearby bowed to her, lifted the box, climbed up to the beam, placed it inside, and began sealing it shut.
Huayue stood below, watching the wooden joints lock into place one by one, a little lost in thought.
Yin Ru had once told her that the Wei and Liang peoples could never coexist — the hatred of a fallen dynasty, the ruin of destroyed households — any Wei person who had lived through it would wish to devour Liang flesh raw. And the Liang people, seeing themselves as superior, disdained even feigned cordiality toward the conquered, and sooner or later their true faces would show.
She turned to look at the man standing beside her.
Was this the true face of a Liang person?
A breeze passed by, stirring his dark hair. Li Jingyun watched quietly as the beam-sealing finished, then turned and asked with deep affection—
“How can you watch something so boring for this long?”
Huayue: “…”
Whatever budding emotion had just risen in her chest vanished instantly. She withdrew her gaze with elegant restraint, clasping her hands, and muttered quietly: “Liang people who don’t understand proper ritual really are irritating.”
“This lord hasn’t even complained yet about how you Wei people overthink everything and have such fussy etiquette,” he said, not particularly bothered, rubbing the back of her neck. “Let’s go, home for dinner.”
She frowned and followed, stubbornly insisting: “Wei people simply have thorough manners — how can you call that fussy?”
“It’s fussy.”
“Barbarian.”
“Shall this lord escort you to the Jingzhao Prefecture office to say that out loud?”
“…Husband, what would you like to eat later? I’ll have someone prepare it.”
The two of them walked farther and farther away, and behind them, the last tile was laid on the beam under construction.
Where the tiles fell, the sun shone bright and clear.
Before his wedding, Shen Zhiluo hadn’t slept well for several days straight. He didn’t even know what he was so anxious about — restless, unable to settle his mind — even though Zhou Heshuo had spent a long while comforting him, saying that as long as he lived well with Su Miao, he needn’t worry about anything else, he still couldn’t calm down.
This was a marriage steeped in mutual benefit, with a grand display and plenty of guests.
But in the end, sitting in the bridal chamber were only the two of them, him and Su Miao.
The matron who’d taught them the customs said that in the bridal chamber, they were to drink the union wine, tie the corners of their sashes together, and sleep in the cassia-blossom bed. Shen Zhiluo had memorized this many times over — but sitting here now—
It wasn’t that he forgot. It was that Su Miao lifted her veil right away, gathered up her heavy skirts, and went to sit by the table, complaining bitterly: “I’m starving to death! A whole day without letting me eat anything, and this outfit is so heavy — I nearly fainted right there in the ceremony hall.”
Shen Zhiluo’s hand, gripping the corner of his sash, froze blankly in midair.
“Hey, there’s no one here now, don’t just stand there dazed — come eat something,” she beckoned generously. “This roast chicken isn’t bad.”
He stared at her for a long while, then gave a helpless laugh. How could he have thought someone like Su Miao would want a properly formal wedding? In her eyes, this marriage was simply the legitimate path to being close to him — not some transaction, nor some anxious, nerve-wracking union.
Rising to sit beside her, Shen Zhiluo asked: “You didn’t hide anything in your sleeves?”
“Where would I even hide it? This outfit alone weighs a ton,” she said, baring her teeth and stretching her head over. “Quick, help me take off this headpiece, and this dress too.”