Not until the following day did Lingbo have the opportunity to bring the question A’Cuo had asked her to Shen Biwei.

“Have you ever been in love with someone?” she opened with, just like that.

At that moment, Shen Biwei was attending to her bow. Over the years, Lingbo had come to understand the routine well: when the bow was not in use, the bowstring was always unstrung; it needed to be maintained at least twice a month — the string rubbed with rosin, horn bows oiled, wooden bows waxed.

Shen Biwei didn’t look up, maintaining her habitual indifference toward this category of topic.

“No,” she said, stretching a bowstring back and forth across the corner of the table. “Why?”

“Has anyone ever been in love with you?” Lingbo asked.

“A few have. Why are you suddenly asking this?” Shen Biwei glanced up at her. “Have you taken a fancy to someone?”

“I haven’t taken a fancy to anyone. A’Cuo suddenly asked me this question, and now I’m trying to figure out how to answer her.” Lingbo waved away the bow Shen Biwei was using to tilt her chin up.

Shen Biwei laughed at once.

“You? Giving someone else advice? Armchair theorizing.”

Lingbo was immediately indignant.

“Aren’t you just the same — all theory?”

“I have at least seen my family’s old man,” Shen Biwei said. “You haven’t heard the storytellers tell it? In the old days, when my family’s old man was fighting the barbarians at the Dragon-Severing River, he was half-frozen solid. My grandmother went out with the others to collect his body, and carried him on her back the whole night through, keeping the last spark of warmth alive at his heart — and that’s what brought him back. From then on, my old man listened to my grandmother’s word for the rest of his life. She could send him east; he would never dare go west. Is there any other house in the capital that has a story like that?”

“Duke of Yongguo was deeply devoted — never taking a concubine or a second wife in his entire life. That alone sets him apart from every lord and prince,” Lingbo said. “That’s why your mother was his only daughter…”

“Listen to how you phrase it — so calculating. As if the whole purpose of a man’s life is to produce sons.” Shen Biwei said. “The old man genuinely didn’t care about such things. His love for my grandmother went far beyond that. They grew up together from childhood. He was always getting into trouble — they broke several canes on him — and he’d just grin through it all. My grandmother would see him taking such a beating and cry for him. He was afraid of nothing in the world, except my grandmother’s tears. My grandmother died when she was only forty. The old man rode for three days and three nights to get home in time, and the moment he arrived and saw the whole household in mourning whites, he fell from his horse. He had never wept in his life, yet he wept until his eyes bled. Even now, when winter comes, he still suffers from headaches.”

Lingbo pressed her lips together and said nothing.

She was someone who had a father, who had seen the lords and princes of the capital — she understood the weight of what Shen Biwei was describing.

“You ask me whether I’ve seen what true love is — I have. But I don’t think it comes around anymore. What is love? It belongs to those who are truly, fully alive in feeling. These noblemen of the capital — born to silk and luxury, treasured within deep inner chambers. When the age comes, it’s poems and wine and pleasure houses and kept women and household concubines. They’ve never actually grown up. They’re nothing but arrogant and greedy children — not even adults, let alone men. They’ve never looked death in the face, never seen the frontier winds or the southern moon, never accomplished anything by their own hands, never borne a moment’s responsibility for another person. And they want to speak of love?”

Shen Biwei rarely spoke at such length. Lingbo fell silent beneath the weight of her words. Shen Biwei herself seemed untroubled by any of it. She played with her bow for a moment longer, then, seeing Lingbo sitting with downcast eyes and not speaking, said: “All right, stop brooding. Come outside with me.”

“Another riding excursion — I’m not going. My legs are still sore from the last time,” Lingbo said with distaste.

“Don’t worry, no horses today.” Shen Biwei adopted Lingbo’s own manner of speaking. “Lord Shen is hosting a drinking banquet at his villa to entertain the generals of the Northern Garrison. Come have a look.”

Lingbo immediately frowned.

“The Northern Garrison may be a prized appointment, but it’s also a thorny one. Your father is a civil official — how can he freely associate with military men…”

“You don’t need to tell me. Lord Shen is an old hand at this…” Shen Biwei smiled. “There are factions within the Northern Garrison too. Your former almost-brother-in-law Cui Jingyu belongs to Marshal Wei’s core faction — one group, two marquisates. Marshal Wei’s influence has grown a little too powerful, and the Emperor wishes to apply some counterbalance. Lord Shen has been tasked with exploring that path. The generals invited today are all from the other faction — I don’t know any of them personally, but there are quite a few. Don’t worry, we won’t go down. We’ll just watch from the viewing tower upstairs. I also caught two birds — you can bring them home for Yanyan to play with.”

Lingbo followed her up to the viewing tower. Below, the Shen family villa was set out for a full banquet — garrison generals and officers of all ranks — but there was not one face she recognized. Not only were Cui Jingyu and Marshal Wei absent, but even that wretch Wei Yushan was nowhere to be seen.

“The Northern Garrison is divided into the Mountain Company, the Fire Company, and the Forest Company, which is a reserves unit. Cui Jingyu commands the Mountain Company — all recruited from good families in the capital, military households, and the sons of declining noble clans. The Fire Company is made up of men conscripted from various regions, along with incorporated bandits and river outlaws from the lower strata — very rough, and perpetually at odds with the Mountain Company. The Forest Company is the personal troops Marshal Wei trained himself. Wei Yushan serves in it. His martial skills are decent enough, but pity that Marshal Wei has already risen as high as he can go. The northern nomads have also been subdued. Even if there were campaigns, the Wei family wouldn’t be used for them. This one will spend his life as a minor marquis with nothing much to do…” Shen Biwei narrated for her benefit.

She pitied Wei Yushan — but who would pity her?

Lingbo, however, had no interest in military gossip. She pointed to a figure on the villa’s main path and asked: “Who is that?”

“Oh, that’s Prince Pingjun. The head of the hangers-on beside him goes by the nickname Zhao the Horsemaster. I forget his real name — he’s a declining royal clansman without even a title to his name, thoroughly given over to drinking, gambling, and all manner of debauchery. He’s attached himself to Prince Pingjun as a lackey. He’s come up in the world somewhat recently, and now he also runs loan-sharking operations. Just a few days ago he was arrested by the capital magistrate’s office for illegal lending — Prince Pingjun had people bail him out. Lord Shen is like that — blending in with all sorts, always gathering characters of this kind around him…”

Lingbo narrowed her eyes slightly. She had an instinctive feel for people who moved nimbly through a crowd — the same facility that let her pick out the one person in a full household staff who knew everything worth knowing.

Prince Pingjun had made his entrance. Lord Shen went out to receive him personally, and the generals all rushed to flatter and fawn. Zhao the Horsemaster rode the prince’s coattails, swaggering through the crowd.

But Lingbo’s eye was caught by a particular figure.

She hadn’t recognized him at first — only noticed that a blue brocade robe looked somehow familiar. What drew her attention was this: when Zhao the Horsemaster, bellowing and blustering, summoned a group of men to go set up a gambling table somewhere, he seemed on course to collide with several people.

One of those people, catching sight of Zhao the Horsemaster from a distance, immediately turned and walked the other way.

The villa’s paths were narrow — there was only one route. He simply stepped aside and slipped into the grove of trees, and even that wasn’t secure enough for him, so he climbed into the branches, scaling up a full story’s height before stopping. At which point he turned — and found himself face-to-face with Lingbo on the viewing tower.

Lingbo recognized him immediately.

He was the one who had come with Cui Jingyu the night Wei Yushan had blocked their carriage — the general in the blue brocade robe with the exceptional looks. He was the sort of face that naturally invited offers of a princess’s hand in marriage. He had a pair of peach-blossom eyes, and even clinging to a tree in such an undignified position, he still managed to look remarkably dashing. When he smiled, the corners of his eyes curved in a way that was dazzling to behold.

He saw Shen Biwei standing behind Lingbo, and clearly didn’t want to draw the attention of the host. He raised one finger to his lips toward Lingbo — the universal gesture for silence.

He likely took Lingbo for the type of sheltered young lady who loses all composure at the sight of a man from outside the family.

“Biwei — go down and cut me a branch of plum blossoms. I want to sketch one,” Lingbo said. “Don’t send anyone else — you do it better.”

Shen Biwei obligingly went down. She could be surprisingly indulgent toward Lingbo at times.

He looked rather surprised to find Lingbo bold enough to dismiss Shen Biwei.

“What is your name?” Lingbo asked.

“Pei Zhao.” He settled himself comfortably on a branch, looking at Lingbo with a smile. His face was framed by the dark-green pine needles, and a handsome person is always handsome in anything they do.

He was clearly waiting for Lingbo to offer her own name in return — but Lingbo would never tell a stranger of unknown origins and frontier connections her name.

“Why are you hiding from Zhao the Horsemaster?” Lingbo was entirely unmoved by his peach-blossom eyes. “Do you owe him money?”

Pei Zhao only smiled, neither confirming nor denying.

“How much?” Lingbo asked.

Pei Zhao made a frank and easy gesture — held up one hand and waggled it. Long, elegant fingers: the hands of a scholar, almost. But Lingbo understood it to mean “one hundred,” and gave a cold laugh.

The Northern Garrison had received generous imperial rewards upon entering the capital. He was a senior officer as well — his stipend should be no lower than Wei Yushan’s. Three days into the capital and already down to nothing, owing Zhao the Horsemaster one hundred taels on top of everything — enough for ten families to live on for a year. No wonder he had such a loose, unconcerned air: this was the particular ease of a compulsive gambler.

“How does this plum blossom branch look?” Shen Biwei appeared at the top of the viewing tower, holding a spray of blossoms. Lingbo turned to look — and when she turned back, the tree was empty.

Few guests left Lord Shen’s banquet early. He was, after all, the most prominent civil official in the capital at present — the Emperor’s trusted confidant. Though his ascent had come within the past ten years, in a court where things shifted at a moment’s notice, that still counted as a fairly deep-rooted position.

The founding of this dynasty had been a military achievement, so the court was especially wary of military commanders — yet the borders kept producing wars, and it was impossible to relegate military men the way the previous dynasty had done. So the Emperor had devised a new approach: civil officials to check military officers, the Emperor to govern the civil officials, and to prevent collusion, civil officials were rotated in and out like a crop of leeks — harvest one lot, grow another. The great households in the capital now were all newly risen. Only old establishments like the Duke of Yongguo’s residence had endured through the changes.

With the Northern Garrison’s great victory, the entry into the capital for honors was a cause for celebration. But there were too few rewards and too many people to share them. Marshal Wei and Cui Jingyu had taken two marquis titles between them, and the remaining officers were inevitably resentful. The third and final marquis title was still unsettled, and everyone was breaking their heads over it. Lord Shen, placed by the Emperor as a steadying anchor in the midst of all this, drew the other officers around him like a crowd of goldfish competing for food.

Pei Zhao, however, had left the banquet early.

He had always been peculiar in this way — his relationships with everyone were shallow, yet he got along with everyone easily enough. Had they not fought side by side together on the battlefield, people would have wondered whether this pretty-faced fellow had simply wandered into the army by accident.

Today he seemed to be avoiding someone. Ignoring the entreaties of two companions, he drained two rounds of wine and departed the Shen residence. The officers’ horses were all stabled in the Shen family’s stables — only his was tied at the inner gate, watched over by an old mute manservant. He swung into the saddle, and had only traveled a short distance when a sedan chair blocked his path. Four bearers, and a middle-aged manservant who looked like a household manager, barring the road.

“Yang Wu,” the young lady inside the chair said.

Yang Wu hesitated slightly, but did as he was told. He stepped forward and presented a small wooden box directly to Pei Zhao.

Pei Zhao didn’t seem particularly surprised. He accepted the box with a smile, opened it, and looked inside: five small gold ingots, one tael each — one tael of gold exchanged for ten taels of silver. Exactly enough to cover his one hundred taels of debt.

He even picked up one of the gold ingots and held it up to the light, unhurried and at ease.

He didn’t ask, and Lingbo didn’t explain. Seeing him look so nakedly pleased by the money, she found him all the more contemptible. “Move on,” she told the bearers.

She was the household manager’s young mistress — her servants answered to her as naturally as her own limbs. Yang Wu might not understand what his mistress intended by this gift in the shadowed lane, but he obediently signaled the bearers to set off.

Inside the sedan chair, Xiao Liu’er pressed her face against the window and watched as the blue-robed figure with his old servant and lean horse grew smaller and smaller in the distance.

“He’s genuinely very handsome — incomparably better than Wei Yushan,” she said with sincere admiration. “What a pity he had to be a gambling addict.”

“Handsome men always have to be difficult — they’re never content to be plain and hardworking.” Lingbo’s comment was pure contempt. “He’s too clever by half. That type is always prone to gambling. Otherwise, why would it be that days into the capital, his military pay and his reward money are already gone, and he owes Zhao the Horsemaster a hundred taels on top? Those people set a trap for him. Who else would they fleece but a man like him? A powerful dragon cannot overcome the local snake — those games were rigged from the start.”

Xiao Liu’er nodded vigorously.

“As expected, the Young Miss sees through everything at a glance.”

Lingbo made a small dismissive sound.

“You think I don’t know this type? Four days ago he was riding with Cui Jingyu; today he’s attending Lord Shen’s banquet. A reed that bends to whatever wind blows, equally comfortable in all company — no matter whether the wind comes from the north or the south, he’ll never be toppled…”

Xiao Liu’er seemed to think of something and covered her mouth to suppress a laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“The Young Miss is rather like that too — no wonder you saw through him so quickly.”

Lingbo laughed despite herself and was exasperated.

“I’ll get you for that,” she said with distaste. “How am I like him? Perhaps the methods are similar — but as people, we’re nothing alike. I use my methods for the people I care about. And him? Look at the state of him — his poor old servant following him around, his horse thin as a mule. It’s really shameful.”

“He took the money — he could buy grass for the horse and clothes for the servant.”

“Would a compulsive gambler buy any such things?” Lingbo tilted her chin up with perfect confidence. “Mark my words — he probably won’t even settle the debt. And even if he does, he’ll gamble it away again and be broke again before long, and he’ll have to borrow again…”

“I see it now. The Young Miss gave him money without a single word of explanation, because she knew perfectly well he would run out of money again, that he would come looking for her. And when he does, whatever the Young Miss asks of him, he’ll have to do.”

“Exactly. I’ve planted a seed in his mind. He’ll come to me — it’s only a matter of time.”

Having planted her seed, Lingbo returned home with Xiao Liu’er. Before long, Xiao Liu’er’s elder brother — Liu Ji, a young manservant of the Ye household — came to report. Lingbo listened from behind a screen.

“I have the information. Pei Zhao is a junior general of the Fire Company, with a solid military record. He was a conscripted refugee — his ancestral home was apparently in Shanxi. He’s been in the army five or six years, and there’s never been any mention of family. They’ve probably all starved.”

Lingbo held her tea and listened, her brow creasing.

“And here he is, a junior general — and he lets his horse starve like that.” She glanced at Xiao Liu’er, who immediately understood, and produced a handful of loose silver to give to Liu Ji as a reward.

“That’s all for now. Keep watching him for me — forget about the Mountain Company. Cui Jingyu runs a tight regiment; you won’t learn much there. Focus on Pei Zhao instead. I’ll find a use for him.”

“Yes, miss.”

“Be generous with what you spend — if you run short, ask Xiao Liu’er.” Lingbo added.

Liu Ji agreed readily. “The money from last time isn’t even gone yet.” He made to leave, then paused at the doorway, glancing at Luo Niangzi.

Lingbo caught on at once. “Niangzi, go ask the kitchen whether dinner preparations are underway — and whether the clove broth my elder sister needs is ready.”

With Luo Niangzi dismissed, Liu Ji stepped forward. He didn’t say much — just one sentence: “I heard from my contacts that a reply card has arrived at the gatehouse.”

“From which household?” Lingbo pressed.

Liu Ji didn’t specify directly — wary of saying too much and implicating anyone — and only said: “The Second Young Miss will know when she sees it.”

When Ye Qinglan came in that evening, she found Lingbo standing ready and waiting, with Xiao Liu’er and Luo Niangzi at her side, and a visiting card under her hand.

“What’s this?” She smiled the moment she saw it. “Why hasn’t dinner been set out yet.”

“Dinner was set out ages ago, but we’re conducting an inquiry first.” Lingbo smiled too.

“What inquiry?” Ye Qinglan said, amused. “Didn’t you go and play at Biwei’s house today? Why are you inquiring into my affairs?”

“And you have the nerve to say that.” Lingbo pushed the reply card forward. “You sent a visiting card to the Wei family without telling me a word about it, and now they’ve already sent a reply card back, and I’m still completely in the dark.”

Ye Qinglan was normally gentle and composed, but when the moment called for it, she had all the authority of an elder sister. She placed her hand over the reply card and said nothing, simply took a seat to the side. Lingbo at once dropped the imperious tone and wouldn’t pursue the matter further.

“All right, I won’t interrogate you — just tell me what’s going on between you and the Wei family, won’t you?” Lingbo capitulated quickly, shifting in an instant from chief examiner to little sister, clutching Ye Qinglan’s arm and pressing her with questions.

Ye Qinglan had no real defence against her.

“I simply thought Wei Yushan’s behavior was unacceptable — never mind blocking our carriage that night, he actually lifted the curtain on A’Cuo and Yanyan’s chair. No manners whatsoever. So I sent a card to the Wei family, ostensibly to apologize on their behalf. But the Marchioness would have understood at a glance what it truly meant. As long as she reprimands Wei Yushan, he won’t dare do it again.”

“So that’s what it was about.” Lingbo smiled helplessly. “You really are like this — never caring about your own affairs, always looking out for the rest of us.”

“This year’s flower-greeting banquet is the important thing for you both. I couldn’t let it be disrupted because of anything to do with me,” Ye Qinglan said. “In truth, I’ve long since made my peace with it. He’s put it behind him too. It’s only Wei Yushan — a boy’s temper, still nursing a grudge.”

“I haven’t made my peace with anything, and I refuse to.” Lingbo pulled at her and asked: “I don’t understand — ‘he’s put it behind him too.’ How would you know he’s put it behind him? And if both of you have put it behind you, why are the two of you stiff as boards, not even looking each other in the eye?”

Ye Qinglan fell silent, and simply rose and said: “How is dinner coming along? Let me go and see.”

She changed the subject with that firmness, and Lingbo didn’t push further. They had dinner served, ate, then sat a while longer — Lingbo told A’Cuo and Yanyan: “Sit for a quarter-hour, let the food settle, then off to bed. We have an early call tomorrow — we’re paying a visit.”

“Paying a visit to whom?” Ye Qinglan looked up from her book, puzzled.

“Didn’t I just mention it?” Lingbo put on a perfectly innocent expression. “The Marchioness Wei sent a reply card — apologizing for Wei Yushan, saying she will keep a closer watch on him, and inviting my elder sister to call when convenient. Four years since they last met, and she misses her. I thought: why choose another day when today will do? I’ve already sent word that we’ll come tomorrow — the message has gone out, so I imagine their household is currently in the middle of thrashing Wei Yushan.”