On the road back to the Earl’s residence, the more Pei Shaojin turned it over in his mind, the angrier he became. He was young, and some things had not come clear to him in the moment — but now, the more he thought it through, the more convinced he was that Anping Commandery Prince’s household had no good intentions whatsoever.

Shaojin thought to himself: Anping Prince, on the surface, was seeking to ease relations between the two households. In truth, he was trying to get the Earl’s household to commit itself. Just when the Earl’s household was beginning to rise and show promise, he had not expected these people to set their sights on them so quickly. Pei Shaojin absolutely would not allow his sister to be married into a den of wolves.

It had to be said — Anping Commandery Prince, that old fox, had chosen his moment and his proposition with great precision. Whatever the timing or the calculation of hearts, he had it perfectly gauged.

Female officials served for five years before they were eligible for release from the palace — that was the palace code.

Zhu Jie’er had already turned twenty. If she could receive imperial favor and leave the palace in the seventh month, she would not be too old, and the whole family would certainly honor her wishes and find her a good match, making up for the hardships she had suffered in all these years.

That would truly be bitterness giving way to sweetness.

But she had the misfortune of being caught up in Princess Shunping’s wedding. The Empress had shown no sign of letting her go. Another five years’ wait, and she would be twenty-five when she finally came out.

For a female official coming out of the palace at this age, the noble ladies, to demonstrate their own virtue and benevolence, would inevitably take it upon themselves to “arrange” her life’s great matter — a word from them carried imperial weight, a match made by imperial decree. What good young man would wait until twenty-five or twenty-six and still be unmarried? The only ones available to wed tended to be men of the washed-up sort — being taken as a second wife or a fill-in concubine.

Compared to the unknown of an imperial match, the conditions Yan Chengzhao had laid out plainly before them were, in truth, far preferable to those crooked offerings. The difficulty was that his sister would never agree to any of it.

In Fengyu Pavilion of the Earl’s residence, Pei Shaojin first told his mother the full account of what had happened.

Ordinarily gentle and yielding, Concubine Shen, upon hearing this, let out a furious spit. Her anger was such that she could not stop herself from flinging her teacup to the ground. She took deep, heaving breaths, grief and rage tangled together in her chest. She cursed through her teeth: “Filthy, scheming vermin. Was it not enough that they drove Zhu’er into the palace? Does the Prince’s household still refuse to let go — are they truly set on calculating her to death? My Zhu’er is not an object to be used as a chip in their trade of interests.”

This was what Concubine Shen feared most of all. She herself had been of lowly birth, sold by her father and brother, her fate never her own — she had swallowed bitterness to the dregs in her younger years. Now her daughter was the third young miss of the Earl’s household — and was that not enough to change her destiny? Was she still to be pushed around at others’ will?

Remembering that she was only a concubine, with little voice in household matters, Concubine Shen seized Shaojin’s hand urgently and said: “Shaojin, this is not a stroke of good fortune — it is a disaster. She is your own flesh and blood sister. You must not let the old lord and the Old Matriarch lose their heads and, in a moment of impulse, agree to any of this.” With a father and mother-in-law who were calculating and self-interested, and an elder sister-in-law and her husband who were crooked and scheming, added to a husband who had been pushed into this match against his will and whose heart was not with her — to enter such a household, even with boundless wealth and rank, one needed to have the life to enjoy it.

Concubine Shen wanted her daughter to live in peace and happiness. She did not want her walking into a bed of thorns.

With the master and mistress both away from the household, Shaojin was Concubine Shen’s greatest support.

“Mother, have no fear. I will not let Sister fall into a wolf’s den,” said Pei Shaojin to comfort Concubine Shen. “My thoughts are exactly the same as Mother’s.”

Concubine Shen nodded with some relief.

“I will write a letter and have it sent by fast horse to Taicang, to discuss with Father and Elder Brother how to handle this. Tomorrow I will go and speak with the brothers-in-law. Mother, send word into the palace to inform Sister, so that she may be on her guard.” Pei Shaojin said: “Once this matter has passed, we will consider how to help Sister find her way out of the palace.”

The news reached the palace within a few days, and Zhu Jie’er’s reply came back just as quickly — it was evident she had barely paused to deliberate.

Zhu Jie’er refused. She wrote —

“On the day your daughter resolved to enter the palace, she had already considered: if one day, as the grass withers and the pearl loses its luster, there is no other option but to be given as a secondary wife, or to die in the palace in old age — these are all things your daughter has chosen for herself. At least I have not betrayed my own conscience. That is still better than being pushed about by others at their will.”

“Years have passed, and your daughter has not forgotten the humiliation of that time. Should an opportunity arise, I would certainly strike back. If your daughter stood alone, with nothing to lose, I would not fear marrying over to fight them. But as things are, your two younger brothers have made great strides in their studies, and Father’s official career is at its proper moment. Your daughter would never, for the sake of personal revenge, drag Father and the brothers into this… Those wolves in human clothing — they should not dream of using marriage as a pretext to take even half a profit from the Earl’s household.”

“Mother need not worry about your daughter. I will take good care of myself. When the Earl’s household has achieved its glory, I will naturally be able to come out and be reunited with the family. May Mother be safe and well. May younger brothers rise ever higher…”

In Taicang Prefecture, the seventh month brought with it the flood season.

The embankments had already been raised by more than four chi. By the records of flood levels in past years, this height should have been more than sufficient. But who could have foreseen that this year’s rainfall would be exceptionally abundant? From the beginning of the seventh month, heavy rains fell in torrents for half a month without ceasing. The water in the paddies had already risen to ankle level; the great river’s water level kept climbing, and it was clearly approaching the top of the embankments.

Should the rain continue, the water that had accumulated and could not drain from the fields — combined with what would overflow from the river — would leave the paddy fields of every township in Taicang Prefecture submerged and ruined.

Fortunately, just as the river water was on the verge of spilling over the top of the embankment, the heavy rains at last stopped and the skies began to clear.

But the paddies still held an excess of standing water. If not drained away quickly, it would damage the harvest. Pei Bingyuan led the yamen staff and the village headmen of every township to search for the most suitable low-lying areas to collect the water. He planned to dig temporary channels to redirect the overflow, concentrating it in these low-lying areas so that the greater portion of the crops might be saved.

Once the low-lying areas were measured and selected, the local people turned out in full force to help build the channels. Within a few days, the standing water had been directed into the low-lying ground, forming a shallow lake.

The crops were saved — not at all like previous years when they would have been entirely inundated. The people were overjoyed, and their trust in the prefectural yamen deepened still further. Even a deluge like this year’s had not cost them their harvest; in ordinary years, they need no longer be afraid.

In the rear quarters of the prefectural yamen.

Because the flooding had been resolved and Taicang Prefecture’s crops were growing lushly, Pei Bingyuan had been in excellent spirits for several days running. He was attending to official correspondence at home, with Lin Shi standing beside him to grind the ink.

Lin Shi asked: “Now that my lord has this flood management achievement to his credit, and autumn will bring a bountiful harvest, when the court recognizes the accomplishment and offers a reward, might we ask His Majesty to permit Zhu to leave the palace?”

She counted on her fingers and continued: “Zhu has been in the palace for a full five years now. Ying’er is already married. It is time for her to come out as well.”

“That is exactly what I have in mind,” said Pei Bingyuan, setting down his brush. “The difficulty is that the court and the inner palace do not readily communicate. His Majesty has always been reluctant to interfere in the inner palace’s affairs, and there must be a suitable reason to raise the matter with him. I shall think it through more carefully when autumn arrives and see how the merits weigh.”

The couple had barely finished discussing this when, two days later, an urgent letter from the capital arrived.

After reading Shaojin’s letter, Pei Bingyuan’s brow veins stood out. He was furious enough to overturn the table. He had painstakingly built up merit here in Jiangnan, all so that one day he might have enough standing to ask for his family to be reunited — and he had never imagined that someone in the capital was scheming against his third daughter. He cursed through his teeth: “Anping Prince’s household has gone too far!”

Pei Shaohuai took the letter and read it through. He cursed equally: “The tricks of a petty villain!”

Father and son conferred and wrote back, telling Shaojin that this must under no circumstances be agreed to. Should events take an urgent turn, he could join with the Jinchang Marquis household, the Situ General’s household, and the Xu family to discuss a response. The fact of Pei Bingyuan’s current posting as an external official could serve as grounds to delay — buying at least a period of time.

They had the postal station send the letter back to the capital by fast horse.

That night, Pei Shaohuai tossed and turned, unable to sleep, a stifled frustration lodged in his chest over the matter of his third sister. He rose and walked in circles through the courtyard.

In the Jiangnan midsummer, fireflies drifted over the courtyard walls now and then, blundering in without reading the mood, wandering among the tree branches and grasses, tiny lights alternately gleaming and going dark. He looked up — the stars across the sky were as brilliant as ever.

He caught a firefly in his cupped hands, and thought: when a person finds themselves at the bottom of a hollow, surrounded on all sides by darkness, and they chance to see a firefly flickering and dancing before them, of course they will reach out with everything they have to catch that one faint point of light, chasing after the firefly wherever it leads.

The Prince’s household believed that Third Sister was in desperate straits, surrounded by darkness, and would chase after the single firefly they had released.

In truth, that was merely a speck of light that Third Sister would not deign to glance at twice.

The Prince’s household had miscalculated. The Earl’s household was not the sort of family to climb upon the coattails of the powerful. If there were any climbing to be done, it was the Prince’s household that would come to climb upon the Earl’s household’s good fortune — they had it entirely backwards, and things would not go to their liking.

Third Sister would leave the palace. She would not need to wait another five years, nor even until the metropolitan or provincial examination three years hence. At the fastest, half a year; at the slowest, one year — Father’s accomplishments would be sufficient to ask that reward.

In the capital, the autumn rains had cooled the lingering heat, and the parasol trees in the courtyard began, leaf by leaf, to herald the first hints of early autumn.

In the private upper room of Haxiang Tower, through the latticed windows one could glimpse the red maples of Xiangshan Mountain gradually turning crimson.

Yan Chengzhao received the final answer from Pei Shaojin’s lips: “The Prince’s household need not be so presumptuous. Grudges are easily formed and not easily resolved. We wish Yan Commander the best of fortune in finding a fine match — one of mutual happiness and the envy of all.”

The Prince’s household had been refused.

“I understand,” said Yan Chengzhao.

The expression on his face did not change — one could read neither pleasure nor displeasure. The tea on the table remained untouched. His coming here seemed purely for the sake of receiving a single answer.

Yan Chengzhao reached out to take back his embroidered spring saber and made to leave.

Pei Shaojin reminded him: “The Pei household has already given a clear answer. I also ask that Yan Commander abide by his word and not develop second thoughts when the time comes for asking a reward… Yan Commander may act against his own personal interests for the sake of his family; the Pei household is precisely the opposite — the Pei household will act against the family’s interests for the sake of a sister.” These words were his father’s and elder brother’s.

He added: “Yan Commander said last time that you were not like him — that treating a woman’s marriage as something to be played with, how is that different? I am not trying to provoke Yan Commander. I only wish to tell him: the sons and daughters of the Pei household have their own integrity.”

Yan Chengzhao’s hand on the saber tightened involuntarily.

He rose to leave, then paused at the threshold and dropped a line of cold words behind him: “I, Yan Chengzhao, have no need to force or compel anyone.” Then he was gone, in long, unhurried strides.

In the deep autumn, on the river — amid the vast and hidden stretches of reed catkins, yellow boats lay concealed, the pale cold reflected across a thousand li of mountains.

Princess Shunping departed from the imperial city and boarded the yellow boat. She would be escorted southward by Yan Chengzhao, arriving at her fief before the beginning of winter to complete the wedding ceremony.

Those who attended the princess were permitted to leave the palace briefly, sending the items in the princess’s dowry one by one onto the yellow boat, arranging her quarters aboard ship. In a single night’s work, they were then to return inside the palace walls. Only those servants whom the Emperor had bestowed upon the princess could accompany her south.

In the fourth watch of the night, the arrangements were complete, and the palace attendants scattered to find places to rest briefly, waiting for the head eunuch’s order to return to the palace.

At the stern of the boat.

Yan Chengzhao stood with his back to the vessel, gazing out. The surface of the river was pitch-black, and there was no telling what he was looking at.

Light, unhurried footsteps approached. Yan Chengzhao’s hand tensed on his embroidered spring saber — and then he released it. He did not turn around.

“I am told that Yan Commander was willing to sacrifice his own marriage to help the young woman leave the palace?” The voice carried no coyness. Though phrased as a question, it had the quality of a statement of fact.

“That matter has ended. What need is there for Lady Pei to speak of it further?”

Yan Chengzhao had identified who stood behind him.

For him, the Pei household had refused — and so the matter was finished.

“Does Yan Commander not wish to know why I refused?” said Pei Ruozhu. “The one standing in the mire is Yan Commander, not me. So there is truly no need for Yan Commander to worry on my behalf.”

The implication was plain: what he called “rescue” would merely have pulled her into the same mire.

She continued: “You were born into the Prince’s household with no choice in it. But I have a choice.”

Since she had choices, why step into such murky waters?

From the letter her mother had sent into the palace, Pei Ruozhu had come to know that Yan Chengzhao’s relationship with the heir-apparent was not a good one, and that this entire affair had been arranged by Anping Prince and imposed upon him.

However small a chance at striking back, she meant to seize it firmly.

Having said what she came to say, she turned and walked away again — in those same unhurried, light steps.