“Acquainted with the Third Young Master.” Repeating this phrase quietly, Huayue puzzled over it, smoothing her own sleeve cuff. “Then these past few days, with mourning in the household, why haven’t I seen you come to pay respects?”
“Madam flatters this one,” De Sheng said with an ingratiating smile. “To say we’re acquainted is only that we’ve met and had some dealings — someone of my station isn’t in a position to come pay respects. But rest assured, this one wouldn’t do anything wicked. It was this treacherous slave who opened his mouth to extort money — that’s what led to today’s conflict.”
Huayue nodded and looked toward Luo Xi beside her. “Then explain yourself clearly. What money does he owe you? And why is this now being called extortion?”
Luo Xi’s whole body ached. Hearing De Sheng’s smooth excuses only made him angrier still, and he no longer cared about propriety, gasping out with what breath he had left, “This scoundrel schemes against you — he was after the Marquis’s residence—”
Before he could finish, one of the thugs suddenly broke free of his restraints and landed a punch on the back of his head.
There was a dull thud as Luo Xi’s forehead hit the ground, his voice cutting off at once.
Huayue set her teacup down on the table, her face darkening. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Young mistress, don’t listen to his nonsense — what truth could possibly come from a gambler’s mouth?” De Sheng said hastily. “Who would dare have designs on the Marquis’s residence? This slave has lost too much gambling and is desperate for money to save his own skin — he’s making up wild accusations.”
Waving Li Yun over to check on Luo Xi’s injuries, Huayue kept her eyes on him and asked, “Which household do you belong to? If you want me to trust you, you should state your affiliation and let me see whose face I’m granting mercy to.”
De Sheng glanced hesitantly at Li Yun, who was taking Luo Xi’s pulse nearby, and mumbled vaguely.
Li Yun took the pulse, then shook her head toward Huayue. “He’s stopped breathing.”
A flicker of delight crossed De Sheng’s eyes, and he spoke up at once. “This one is an errand-runner under Lord Huo, the Crown Prince’s attendant. Lord Huo is an upright man, and this one naturally wouldn’t do something as baseless as slandering someone falsely. Today’s matter was truly this treacherous slave bringing it on himself — earlier, this one didn’t even know he was someone from the Marquis’s residence, which is how the injury happened. Please, young mistress, release this one. This one will go back at once and ask Lord Huo to come with him to apologize personally.”
So it was someone from the Crown Prince’s household. Huayue lowered her eyes.
The room fell silent. De Sheng grew somewhat uneasy, wondering whether he should add a few more words, when he suddenly heard the voice above him say, “Since that’s the case, then go.”
“Young mistress?” Shuang Jiang pointed down at Luo Xi’s corpse, hesitating.
Huayue waved a hand. “He brought it on himself. Let them go.”
“Yes.”
Overjoyed, De Sheng led his men out of the Marquis’s residence, feeling utterly refreshed. The one who needed silencing had been silenced, and the Marquis’s household showed no sign of pursuing the matter further — this errand of his had gone smoothly and satisfactorily, and he was sure to be rewarded upon his return.
Luo Xi’s body was dragged away. Huayue looked at the pool of blood on the ground and dry-heaved twice.
“This servant was careless,” Shuang Jiang said, standing at her side, her voice very quiet. “Word had already gotten out earlier that the Crown Prince’s household was rooting out remnants of Wei. This servant hadn’t expected he wouldn’t even spare the madam, and that’s how the opening was exploited.”
Shaking her head, Huayue leaned back against her chair with a faint smile. “Who could have anticipated he’d be on guard to such an extent?”
Zhou Heshuo had always been wary of remnants of the former Wei dynasty. He had already resolved to make heavy use of Li Jingyun, and so he’d wanted to eliminate Madam Zhuang, this hidden danger, first.
A living human life was, after all, no more than an insignificant bubble in the whirlpool of struggle for power.
Raising a hand to press against her forehead, Huayue let out a low, hoarse laugh.
“Young mistress.” Li Yun studied her complexion, asking carefully, “Shall I check your pulse?”
“No need.” She stood up, took a red envelope, and held it out to her. “My thanks to you these past days.”
Li Yun was startled and quickly waved her hands. “I’ve already troubled you for days — being given food and lodging by the young mistress is more than enough. There’s no need for this. I’ll go pack my things; my master will come collect me later.”
“All right.” Huayue didn’t force it on her, only had Shuang Jiang help her pack.
Li Yun hadn’t brought much when she came, but over these few days, the young mistress had had quite a few things added for her, including a stone-blue embroidered long skirt. When Shuang Jiang packed it, she held it up against her and said with a smile, “You haven’t worn this yet, miss.”
Li Yun shook her head, saying gruffly, “Working around the Imperial Pharmacy, where would I get to wear something like this?”
Folding the skirt into the bundle, Shuang Jiang said quietly, “It would probably look lovely on you.”
She hadn’t worn a proper long skirt in a long time, Li Yun thought — though it didn’t matter, getting her certification box early was far more useful than anything else.
Before long, someone came calling from outside. Shuang Jiang told her to finish packing on her own and went out.
The room was more or less tidied up. Li Yun stared at that bundle of stone-blue fabric in the bag for a while, then, glancing around like a thief, closed the door and unfolded the neatly folded skirt.
It was fine silk, exquisitely made — a light shake sent a ripple through it, gentle and soft to an extreme degree.
Licking her lips, Li Yun couldn’t resist trying it on in secret.
She had just turned once in front of the bronze mirror when the closed door was suddenly pushed open. Li Yun jumped where she stood, calling out sharply, “Who’s there?”
This guilty tone carried clearly through her throat.
The person outside the door seemed to freeze, and then there was no more movement. Li Yun eyed the doorway suspiciously, pinching the skirt she was wearing, wondering whether she should change back before going to open the door — but just then she heard a sharp click from the window sill.
Someone had stepped on the windowsill and jumped into the room. There was a moment of stunned silence, and then, leaning on the long table by the window, the person burst out laughing.
“Ha ha ha—”
Hearing this familiar voice, Li Yun’s face turned green. She spun around and cursed, “You’re supposed to be my master — what kind of master climbs in through a window?”
Wen Guzhi laughed so hard he doubled over, tears springing to his eyes. “I thought you’d locked the door because you were up to some mischief — turns out—”
Li Yun stamped her foot in frustration and, grabbing her skirt hem, lunged over to cover his eyes, her face and neck flushing red. “Don’t look.”
“It’s not unattractive — why are you so upset?” He let her cover his eyes without resisting, leaning against the long table, lowering his body so she wouldn’t have to stand on tiptoe. “If you want to wear it, wear it. This master isn’t laughing at you.”
This wasn’t laughing at her? He’d nearly laughed the roof off.
Furious, Li Yun shoved him toward the window with both hands. “Get out, get out.”
Caught off guard, he was actually pushed out, stumbling a couple of steps before steadying himself, still smiling broadly. “Don’t change out of it — come with me back to the Imperial Pharmacy just like this. I guarantee those medicine boys who usually bully you would stare their eyes straight.”
“Bah!” the person inside the room cursed while changing clothes. “As if I’d care.”
Amid the commotion, the two of them boarded the carriage back to the palace.
Li Yun sat with both cheeks flushed, keeping her distance from him. Wen Guzhi glanced at her sideways, knowing she was genuinely embarrassed, and with a slight lift of his brow said, “In the Wen family, yang outweighs yin — my mother bore three sons. When I was small, my grandfather longed for a granddaughter, so my mother would dress me in a little skirt and carry me over to amuse him.”
The girl, still fuming, perked up with curiosity at this and slowly turned her head to look at him.
Wen Guzhi sat properly upright, speaking with great seriousness. “It was a little gauze skirt I wore — it would flare out with a single turn. I still remember there was a pomegranate-red one, embroidered with mandarin ducks for wealth and fortune. My grandfather loved seeing me in that one most, so every festival he’d have me wear it, all the way until I was eight and old enough to feel embarrassed, and only then did it stop.”
Looking at her tall, elegant master before her, then imagining that little pomegranate-red gauze skirt, Li Yun couldn’t help but burst out laughing.
With that laugh, her heart instantly eased. It was just a skirt, after all — who hadn’t worn one? Even her master had worn one; what was there to be so ashamed of, trying one on in secret?
Li Yun stopped sulking and sat back down beside Wen Guzhi, blinking and secretly pleased with herself.
Sighing inwardly, Wen Guzhi shook his head — these days, even taking on a disciple wasn’t easy; he’d picked up a little troublemaker he had to coax himself.
“Has the young mistress’s matter been sorted out?” he asked, turning to business.
Li Yun answered honestly, “It’s been sorted out. The prescription was given by a fat servant under Lord Huo of the Crown Prince’s household. But the young mistress didn’t seem to want to pursue the matter — she released the man right there on the spot.”
She continued, more puzzled. “What is the young mistress thinking? She’s clearly grief-stricken over the mistress’s death, yet she’s unwilling to pursue the culprit.”
Wen Guzhi sighed at hearing this. No wonder people said the young sister-in-law was clever and this little girl was foolish — Madam Zhuang never left her own gates, had never had any enmity with anyone; why would someone from the Crown Prince’s household target her? They were all just people paid to carry out their master’s orders.
Since it was something the master wanted done, investigating would be pointless — no direct evidence would be left behind. Besides, she was merely the young mistress of a marquis’s household; could she really bring a case against the reigning Crown Prince himself?
The Princess Imperial’s faction had shown no movement lately, so naturally the Crown Prince was at the height of his influence — recently, all major and minor matters at court passed through him first, giving him something close to the air of a regent. At this juncture, whoever clashed head-on with the Crown Prince was practically inviting their own destruction.
Would the young sister-in-law swallow this bitter resentment? Wen Guzhi mused, gazing thoughtfully out the carriage window.
The autumn harvest season was drawing near, and the Emperor of Great Liang had finally roused himself from his obsession with alchemical elixirs of immortality, beginning to take stock of the nation’s strength in this, the fifth year of his reign. Zhou Heshuo and the others seized this opportunity to work hard at currying favor.
Shen Zhiluo had been arranged to accompany His Majesty in the palace, discussing matters of immortality. Zhou Heshuo’s intention had been for him to find a way to persuade the Emperor to hand him the task of touring the provinces come spring, but for some reason, after Shen Zhiluo went and returned, the Emperor still hadn’t budged.
No one knew what Shen Zhiluo had said before the Emperor. Zhou Heshuo naturally couldn’t make things difficult for him either, but since Shen Zhiluo was, after all, a man of Wei, Zhou Heshuo, having thanked him with generous gifts, sent him back to the Shen residence and no longer kept him close.
When Su Miao heard the news, she assumed Shen Zhiluo would be disappointed and upset, and hurried to prepare a table full of delicacies, intending to properly comfort him and demonstrate her virtue as a good wife.
However, Shen Zhiluo entered looking perfectly calm, walked past her, and gave quiet instructions to Xing Nu. Before long, the room was filled with people she didn’t recognize.
“Go rest first,” he told her. “I have some matters to discuss with others.”
Pouting, Su Miao felt a bit wronged. “Can’t I listen?”
Shen Zhiluo shook his head firmly.
Fine. Su Miao withdrew, dressed in an autumn-fragrance colored long skirt, wandering back and forth in the courtyard like a lost soul.
“Miss.” Muyu was getting dizzy watching her pace. “Would you like to sit somewhere?”
Su Miao stopped and blinked, asking, “Muyu, am I annoying?”
Muyu shook her head. “You’re the most sensible of all — you never get in anyone’s way. How could you be annoying?”
“Then why, after all this time, does he still not care for me?” Su Miao crouched down, her long skirt hem sweeping up a bit of dust from the ground, looking more dejected by the moment. “No matter what, he won’t let me in on things. I treat him as family, but he still treats me as an outsider.”
“That—” Muyu thought for a moment. “Perhaps the matter is truly important, and the young master finds it hard to say.”
Su Miao pouted. “Cousin doesn’t hide things from me.”
Though he did hide some things from her young sister-in-law, that was different — whatever he hid, he did for her own good, always keeping a backup plan ready in case something went wrong for her. But the person in that room treated her as a complete outsider, like a block of ice — reaching to hold it only left her hands cold and wet.
Su Miao had never cared who Shen Zhiluo used to like — whether it was her young sister-in-law or someone else — but since he’d married her, he ought to at least treat her as a person, not like a tree planted in the courtyard that only needed watering every day.
Her pretty face darkened, looking rather pitiful.
Muyu thought about it and said, “Then why don’t you also hide things from the young master? Don’t tell him everything.”
“I want to, too.” Su Miao frowned. “But how can I hold back? The moment I see him I want to talk — I want to tell him what happened today, what I ate, what I saw, how the ants in the yard were moving their nest, how the birds on the branch were hatching their eggs. I just can’t keep my mouth shut.”
That was what liking someone was like — endless things to say, and even the most boring things felt sweet once said to him.
Su Miao sighed with distress. “Why can’t he be a bit sweeter to me?”
Muyu rubbed her arms and said hesitantly, “This servant has wanted to say this for a long time — the young master carries an air of deathly stillness about him. He looks handsome, but there’s hardly any soul left in him — like that peacock ornament someone sent over before, it only has its beautiful tail feathers left, it’s not alive. What are you after?”
Shaking her head, Su Miao thought this girl simply didn’t appreciate it — that very air of deathly stillness on Shen Zhiluo was what she found most captivating, beautiful yet hollow, making people want to fill him up and see what kind of splendor lay within.
But Shen Zhiluo never let her fill that space; perhaps she fell short in some way, unable to pry open that tightly locked heart of his no matter what.
Touching the talisman-inscribed hairband tied around her wrist, Su Miao let out a long sigh.
Once the guests at the residence had left, Shen Zhiluo lounged on the chaise, lost in thought.
Su Miao came over and looked at him with exceptional grievance.
“What is it?” He closed his eyes. “Who’s offended you now?”
“You,” she said, blinking. “You’ve been busy lately and don’t pay attention to me anymore.”
He lifted an eyelid, amused. “You’re quite good at amusing yourself. Didn’t you smash that vase I just bought a few days ago?”
Guiltily averting her gaze, Su Miao said, “That was an accident. Hey, who told you about that? Look at Cousin and my cousin-in-law — they only got married a month before us, so why are they so much more affectionate and lovey-dovey?”
Shen Zhiluo looked at her. “Because your cousin-in-law took the wrong medicine and genuinely, wholeheartedly likes your cousin.”
Slightly choked, Su Miao huffed. “I genuinely and wholeheartedly like you too.”
The eyes of the person before her swept over, dark depths tinged faintly with purple light, wearing a look halfway between a smile and not. “I thought that after being by my side this long, you’d be able to tell the difference between liking and admiring.”
“What do you mean?” She didn’t understand.
“Liking is the narrowest thing in the world — it grows jealous, it minds things. Admiration is far more generous — no matter who that person has in their heart, she wouldn’t mind; she simply likes some one quality about him.” He looked into her eyes, saying calmly, “You are the latter.”
Su Miao was stunned. For a moment, she felt as though the person before her was angry, but blinking again, he seemed to be speaking quite seriously, like a patient teacher guiding a student in a schoolroom.
“In your eyes, I’m not so different from that vase — you wanted it because it was pretty, so you got it.” Shen Zhiluo shook his head. “You understand nothing, yet you expect me to foolishly fall into this pit of yours.”
“Isn’t that too much?”
Hearing this, it really did sound too much, and Su Miao felt indignant.
But her spirited mood lasted only a moment before she quieted down, her fox-like eyes looking at him with a touch of grievance. “No one ever taught me before what liking is versus what admiring is. I couldn’t tell the difference — I just wanted to be with you, so I stayed with you.”
Shen Zhiluo paused, his expression turning complicated.
The person before him lived vividly and boldly, yet the moment she sat quietly like this, speaking softly, it inexplicably tugged at the heart.
“From the moment our engagement was set, I knew you had someone else in your heart — otherwise you wouldn’t have taken me to see my cousin-in-law so often. And every time, in front of my cousin-in-law, you’re not quite the same person.” She thought about it. “I knew all this and still insisted on marrying you anyway. To turn around now and be jealous — wouldn’t that be laughable?”
It was because she knew this wasn’t meant to be hers, and having gotten it by fortune anyway, she wouldn’t nitpick over its flaws.
Rather than say she was cold and heartless, it would be more accurate to say she was being careful.
Shen Zhiluo’s expression shifted several times, and his tone still couldn’t help but carry a note of irritation. “Don’t play the pitiful victim in front of me.”
Su Miao immediately laughed. “I’m not pitiful at all — however you look at it, I got exactly what I wanted. It’s you who should watch out — staring at this face of mine every day and never willing to say anything, don’t hold it in until you break.”
With that, she stood up and, with a flourish of her skirt, said, “I won’t bother you anymore. I’m taking Muyu out into the streets.”
Shen Zhiluo wanted to grab her, but she darted off faster than a monkey, and in the blink of an eye her skirts had vanished out the door.
His hand closed on empty air. He slowly withdrew it, rubbing his temples with considerable vexation.
The Autumn Harvest Longevity Banquet was held in the palace to reward the hundred officials. Every year at this time, officials together with the various regional princes would report to the Emperor on the year’s harvest and their respective achievements in office. Zhou Heshuo had arranged people early, ostensibly for reporting duties but in truth to curry favor, so that his royal father would know his Crown Prince wasn’t idling, and, hopefully, could later hand over the throne to him with peace of mind.
Li Jingyun brought Huayue along to this Longevity Banquet as well. On the moon-viewing terrace, as toasts were raised, a stream of ministers reported good news while withholding bad, all the while singing the Crown Prince’s praises for his filial devotion and competence.
If they were simply allowed to finish speaking like this, the Emperor would surely come to think even more highly of the Crown Prince.
Li Jingyun stared at the wine in his cup, hesitating over how to phrase things, when he saw several officials from the Grand Secretariat step forward, loudly reporting their respective achievements while also lavishly praising the Crown Prince to the skies.
Those men usually kept out of factional disputes; for them to suddenly speak this way surprised Li Jingyun.
More surprising still, the officials from the Ministry of Revenue and the Ministry of Justice who spoke after them also heaped extravagant praise on the Crown Prince.
The man seated on the throne, who had still been smiling with his eyes moments before, showed no expression at all by the end. Li Jingyun’s brow twitched, and when it came his turn, he too cupped his hands and said, “Your Majesty, the Crown Prince has not taken a single day off in over half a year, handling all matters of court within and without appropriately. Though the reorganization of the Imperial Guards is not yet complete, the tens of thousands of men of the Imperial Forest Army have already been thoroughly reorganized, which will surely allow Your Majesty to rest easy.”
He went on to report several major matters concerning the Imperial Forest Army, all of which the Emperor had ordered him to handle earlier, with each one accompanied by thanks to the Crown Prince for his guidance.
Watertight, without a single flaw.
Huayue watched him finish speaking and return to sit beside her, smiling as she added food to his plate.
“Those men — do you know them?” Li Jingyun glanced sideways, pointing at the several officials who had just praised the Crown Prince.
Huayue shook her head calmly. “Never seen them before.”
She wasn’t lying — she’d met few people to begin with, and even if those officials were Wei people, they wouldn’t recognize her.
Only Shen Zhiluo would recognize her, that was all.
Calmly raising her sleeve to eat, Huayue looked up at the fine moonlight above, her mood at ease.
There were many people at the banquet; some had drunk too much, and nearby was a small side pavilion where one could rest. Kang Zhenzhong, thoroughly drunk, sat down in a chair in the side pavilion.
“What a fine day.” He pulled at a palace servant’s sleeve, laughing. “Today is truly a good day.”
He had reported many major matters to the Emperor, each and every one having gone through the Crown Prince’s hands, yet never before reported directly to the Emperor. Who did the Crown Prince’s suspicious nature come from? Kang Zhenzhong grew delighted just thinking of the look in the Emperor’s eyes.
An ant cannot topple a tree, but if the worms bore enough holes into the trunk, the tree will eventually fall. After waiting so long, today counted as the first step taken — worth a few extra cups.
The palace servant whose sleeve he was gripping seemed frightened by him and broke free, hurrying away.
The side pavilion, once lively and bustling, had quieted down at some point without anyone noticing. Outside, a full round moon hung in the sky, casting everything below in pristine white light.
Kang Zhenzhong laughed for a while, then fell silent, looking at the empty tables and chairs in the room, letting out a long sigh.
He was no longer young, his temples already streaked with white, yet aside from the fleeting power in his hands, it seemed there was nothing left to him in this life.
He thought of the month of fasting, of that dignified young lady who had once asked him, “Zhong, what is your ambition?”
Back then, young and full of spirit and drive, he had said, “I shall protect the common people, and become that general bearing the banner.”
But later, for the sake of fame and fortune, he had massacred half the imperial city of Great Wei. He never became a general — instead he became the very civil official he had once despised with all his heart, never picking up a blade again.
Zhaiyue had indeed been right to choose Li Shoutian — however much of a beast that man was, he was still better than himself.
Laughing hoarsely, Kang Zhenzhong wiped his face.
Someone entered from outside, slowly pacing over to sit down beside him.
He turned his head, and through his drunken haze, made out a young woman, laughing involuntarily. “There are still female guests at this Longevity Banquet drinking themselves into needing rest?”
The person turned her head and, unexpectedly, spoke. “Does the lord still remember there was a stout old prince of Great Wei? When the city fell, that old prince stood right at the palace gate and sang a few lines of opera.”
The wine surged in him, and Kang Zhenzhong, not even asking who this was, answered with a laugh. “I remember. His voice wasn’t bad either — though he didn’t finish that aria before I cut off his head.”
He said, somewhat regretfully, “I still hear that tune in my dreams sometimes. How did it go again? Tonight—”
The young woman beside him kept the beat and sang along with him: “Tonight the wind blows again, as it did last night, spring blossoms drifting through old dreams.”
“That’s it.” Kang Zhenzhong asked, drunkenly, “And after that?”