And indeed, things unfolded exactly as Lingbo had anticipated. The Wei family’s ennobling banquet was, to put it frankly, not very presentable.

The banquet itself was a small matter — the dishes were not actually lacking, since the Wei family were newly risen to prominence and had no shortage of money or resources. What was missing was a female household head to pull everything together. Lu Wenyin naturally stepped forward and took charge of organizing things for the Wei family. Though she had a vicious streak, she was after all a daughter of a great house, and fully capable when it came to hosting banquets and running a household.

But she did not offer this help for nothing. Throughout the entire ennobling banquet, she did not let a single moment pass without reminding everyone of this.

Of course, she would not say it herself — there were others to say it for her. Her two attendants, Sun Minwen and Yang Qiaozhen, one for words and one for action, began publicizing Lu Wenyin’s grand achievements from the very moment guests were served tea and snacks, announcing them to every lady present. Fortunately, these ladies were all there to pay their respects to Madam Wei, and had they been dealing with anyone else, they would have mocked to her face the shallowness of a woman who could not even organize a single banquet and needed someone else to do it for her — hardly fit to stand as an equal among them. But the same circumstances, applied to Madam Wei, were reframed as something considerate — the ladies even praised Madam Wei’s magnanimity for giving Lu Wenyin the chance to display her talents.

“Look at this,” Han Yueqi said, coldly watching from the side, with a sardonic smile at Qinglan. “Your Madam Wei is truly ‘innocent and artless’ — a few words of praise to her face and she thinks everything is genuinely fine, not realizing that the ladies will only begin their real gossiping once they get home.”

Qinglan did not mind the joke of “your Madam Wei,” and only sipped her tea, saying mildly: “Life on the frontier is wide-open and vast — it makes sense to have a larger heart for it.”

The gentleman cuts off a friendship without harsh words — that was her principle. Han Yueqi knew this too, so she said no more, only adding: “You took a blow meant for me.”

Lord Shen conducted business for the court, hosted dinners for the Fire Battalion’s generals, maintained a close rapport with the Jing Marquis, and acted as an intermediary to forge connections with the Pingjun Prince — from the perspective of the Mountain Battalion’s wives, this was naturally seen as sinister and calculating. The closeness between Qinglan and Han Yueqi made it difficult for Qinglan to avoid being tarred by the same brush.

“It’s nothing of the sort,” Qinglan demurred, adding only: “It has nothing to do with you. Madam Wei simply believes in clear rewards and punishments.”

Those who had stood by them through four or five years of hardship on the frontier — naturally they were to be rewarded. And those who had broken off an engagement and abandoned ship on the eve of a great battle — naturally they were due a little lesson.

Yet Han Yueqi’s guess was correct. When it came to assigning seating, Lu Wenyin was, as ever, cuckoo-in-the-nest about it: standing in for Madam Wei in arranging the seats, she adopted a joking manner when assigning the head table, saying to Han Yueqi: “Naturally, Elder Sister Han, like me, will stay at the main table to attend to your own lady.”

Madam Shen and Madam Chen — the wives of the two leading factions of civil officials in the capital — naturally occupied seats at the head table. But by established practice, young ladies-in-law sat at a separate table; the etiquette in the capital did not require daughters-in-law to stand and wait on their elders at external banquets. But Lu Wenyin deliberately put Han Yueqi at a disadvantage, keeping her at the head table to serve her mother-in-law. The hardship was a minor matter — the real damage was the gossip: Han Yueqi sitting at a table with the senior ladies would look, to outside observers, as though the young woman had presumed above her station.

Lu Wenyin herself was the cuckoo who had taken over someone else’s nest, managing the banquet in Madam Wei’s name — and once the banquet opened, she would invent an excuse, “going to hurry along the dishes” or “going to arrange seating for the young misses,” and slip away, leaving Han Yueqi alone at the head table, unable to leave, whatever she did bound to be wrong.

At that moment, Han Yueqi could not have refused without Lu Wenyin immediately calling it unfilial, shirking duty, and pretending to be forthright while going to complain to Madam Shen — insisting that Han Yueqi be kept pinned at the head table regardless. Han Yueqi’s temperament was not unsociable, but Lord Shen was committed to being a non-partisan official, so it did not suit him or his household to form cliques and factions. Thus his wife and daughter-in-law had none of the followers who trailed Lu Wenyin everywhere like Yang Qiaozhen and Sun Minwen. Even the ladies who ordinarily associated with her had no quick wit for the moment.

“Chen Young Madam’s devotion is admirable, but Elder Sister Han agreed just now to sit at our table and teach us some of the Flower Season Banquet’s etiquette — we’ll need to borrow Elder Sister Han from Madam Shen.”

Madam Shen naturally smiled and agreed. Lu Wenyin still would not give up, and smiled: “What etiquette is so urgent it can’t wait until later? Isn’t Elder Sister Han just trying to shirk her duties?”

“Chen Young Madam is truly a capable person who always takes on more,” Ye Lingbo interjected, unhurried: “Not satisfied with taking full charge of Madam Wei’s banquet, she now wants to oversee our education as well. Even if we didn’t need Elder Sister Han to teach us, once Biwei arrives she’ll need Elder Sister Han to look after her. Perhaps Chen Young Madam had better keep her energies focused on worrying about the reception this evening on Madam Wei’s behalf.”

At trading barbs, she was second to none. She left Lu Wenyin with no comeback, who could only press on to the next seat assignment. Han Yueqi laughed and sat down together with the Qinglan sisters. Qinglan tucked Han Yueqi’s handkerchief into her bracelet for her; Han Yueqi laughed at this and said: “Why have you stopped calling me Elder Sister Han?”

Han Yueqi was only thirteen days older than Qinglan. Qinglan gave her hand a gentle rap with her chopsticks, which made even A’Cuo laugh.

Ye Lingbo had always been the one who liked Lu Wenyin the least, and even refused to acknowledge her capabilities. Taking advantage of having a table full of sisters around her, she murmured criticisms of every dish, finding fault with Lu Wenyin’s small-mindedness at every turn — the Wei Marquis estate was hardly short of money — until everyone around her was laughing.

And yet there turned out to be one feature of Madam Wei’s ennobling banquet that did win Lingbo’s approval: after the midday meal, Madam Wei simply remarked that the afternoon sunlight was fine, and that it happened to be a day when the Northern Frontier Army held its practice exercises. She invited the young ladies to move to the training grounds to watch the generals shoot arrows.

Han Yueqi heard this and laughed, saying to Lingbo: “Biwei will regret missing the midday meal when she hears about this.”

“She won’t,” Lingbo replied, picturing Shen Biwei’s expression. “She’s always saying that Wei Yushan’s horsemanship isn’t as good as hers. She’ll just insist that she herself is the best in the world, naturally.”

Arriving at the training grounds, they found Madam Wei had already set up braziers and warm awning tents, draped with curtains in the style of the frontier — a novel and charming effect. The ladies sat inside the warm tents, looking out at the bright afternoon sunshine, drinking tea and eating pastries while watching the mounted archery and exercises on the field. The young misses strolled on the covered walkway, occasionally glancing toward the training grounds — all in all, quite entertaining. The formalities had been relatively well-observed at first, given the proper distance between men and women — but some of the ladies present were Northern Frontier Army wives, unashamed to speak directly with their own husbands. This was not a formal exercise but a festive display for the ennobling banquet, so children were running about as well, and things gradually became less orderly.

Some of the wives drifted out onto the training grounds. Madam Luo, the most high-spirited of them, teased her husband Luo Yong: “Look at you — I could probably shoot a more accurate arrow than that!” Luo Yong laughed and handed her his bow to try. Sure enough she stepped down, and with her as the trailblazer, a number of the ladies followed onto the training grounds. Lu Wenyin used her connection with the other wives to drag Lu Wanyang along to watch Wei Yushan practice archery. Lu Wanyang’s beauty was such that several junior officers were left momentarily dumbstruck.

Lingbo’s mind immediately began to work. She glanced at A’Cuo — it was a pity she had fallen out with the Northern Frontier Army’s wives, or she could have brought A’Cuo down. As things stood, Lu Wanyang had the field entirely to herself.

Han Yueqi stood beside Lingbo and watched the expressions flickering across her face, inwardly amused. Sure enough, before long Ye Lingbo had disappeared — gone off to ponder something or other.

With Lingbo gone, Lu Wenyin was free to operate without worry, and immediately said to Madam Wei: “Madam Wei, why let only the generals have all the fun?” Sun Minwen, catching her cue, immediately stepped forward: “Indeed, Madam Wei — I hear the court is planning a spring hunt, timed to fall within the Flower Season Banquet. The young misses surely ought to know how to ride, so why not invite Young Marquis Wei Yushan to teach the ladies archery and riding, so the generals can act as proper hosts?”

A fine scheme from Lu Wenyin: this was Madam Wei’s banquet, so if anything untoward occurred, it would be Madam Wei’s fault for not understanding the capital’s standards of propriety between men and women. The suggestion, moreover, came from Sun Minwen — having an attendant to speak for you was precisely the usefulness of having attendants. Han Yueqi watched Madam Wei and the Northern Frontier Army wives looking on without any sign of concern, and laughed inwardly. Seeing Qinglan frown, she immediately pressed her hand down.

“Leave it,” she warned Qinglan. “If you dare go and alert Madam Wei, I will be angry with you.”

Qinglan had no choice but to sit still. Lu Wenyin would not allow them to remain peaceable, and personally urged Wei Yushan to bring over a few of the army’s small stocky horses, fitted with new saddles, then encouraged the young misses to go down and learn to ride. Qinglan, with a push from Han Yueqi, also descended, while nearby Yanyan was full of enthusiasm and tugged at her arm, trying to push toward the stocky horses: “Sister, I want to ride too — come with me!”

“Don’t rush,” Qinglan said helplessly, pulling her back. “Don’t be hasty, be careful not to get hurt. By the way, where is A’Cuo? She’s never ridden a horse before either — don’t let her be left alone.”

Qinglan was worrying about A’Cuo, but in fact A’Cuo had been following Lingbo’s every step. When Lingbo left the gathering, A’Cuo left too, trailing after her through the Wei estate until Lingbo reached a low wall, where she turned around and saw A’Cuo with a smile.

“Don’t follow me. Go back and enjoy yourself with the others — don’t miss out on the fun.” Lingbo tried to send her off.

“No,” A’Cuo said, equally stubborn. “Sister, every time we go to a banquet you disappear. What are you going to do? Why don’t you ever take me with you?”

She had a perceptive mind, and had clearly been paying attention for some time.

Lingbo could only sigh: “I have my own affairs to manage. Go back quickly — today is a good opportunity even if it isn’t a Flower Season Banquet. Be a good girl and stay at the banquet. I’ll be back soon.”

“But doesn’t sister also need a good opportunity?” A’Cuo immediately countered.

Lingbo was hardly going to tell her that she was willing to forgo all twenty-four rounds of the Flower Season Banquet to keep mending that red thread. A’Cuo was also young — only fifteen — she had no need to shoulder such heavy responsibilities. So Lingbo only smiled gently and said: “You’re still young. You don’t understand yet. Go back quickly — Qinglan’s side needs someone keeping watch. Tonight, tell me everything that happened.”

“Then why doesn’t sister stay to keep watch herself?” A’Cuo pressed.

“Elder Sister Han is here today, and she’s the type who remembers every offense — she won’t let Qinglan come to any harm.” Lingbo deployed her reasoning carefully, coaxing her with a smile: “A’Cuo, be good. You know what I need you to watch for…”

A’Cuo did know — Lingbo wanted her to watch for any progress between Qinglan and Cui Jingyu, and whether there was still any possibility. She also knew that Lingbo was even more stubborn than she was, and when Lingbo did not want her along, there was nothing she could do about it. She could only press her lips together and say: “I understand.”

“Good girl. Yang Hua — take her back.” Lingbo patted A’Cuo’s head and hurried away with Xiao Liu’er: “Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.”

Having sent A’Cuo away, Lingbo moved through the Wei estate with the ease of someone who knew the grounds well. Sure enough — in that familiar stable, she spotted a familiar figure. Pei Zhao was truly incapable of bettering himself. The Wei family’s ennobling banquet was in full swing, and even the elderly Jing Marquis of the Fire Battalion had come to offer congratulations — but Pei Zhao had not come; instead, he was here grooming his horse. Though Lingbo had suspected as much, she still marveled at the boneless, dissolute laziness particular to people like him.

But this dissolute figure was so very attractive. The Wei family’s stable was a small one, tucked off to one side, surrounded by a thicket of paper mulberry trees and other wild vegetation — dim and shadowy. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the tree canopy and fell on him in dappled patches, like a scattered rain of light. He was standing outside the stable, stroking his horse, and when he saw Lingbo coming, he raised his head and smiled at her — beautiful as a tree in full blossom, and for a moment the whole surroundings seemed brighter.

A’Cuo felt somewhat stung that Lingbo handled things without taking her along.

But a young girl has her own methods.

From a distance she spotted Wei Yushan approaching with a few young officers, leading horses. She immediately pretended to be taking Yang Hua along by coincidence, walking past — and only when they were close enough to see each other clearly did she look up, meeting their eyes with an expression of surprise.

Lingbo had not been wrong to say that there was no one in the world who did not know their own attractiveness. A’Cuo was no exception. Her beauty was a sharp-edged blade, and these young officers who had long been stationed at the frontier had no defense against it — they all froze for a moment.

A’Cuo immediately raised her handkerchief to shield her face, while Yang Hua stepped forward to block her with her own figure.

“Young miss—” One of the young officers beside Wei Yushan immediately moved to apologize.

“Let’s go back,” A’Cuo said at once, turning away, cold as ice, refusing to engage. A fleeting glimpse was always more arresting than a lingering look — even without Lingbo having taught her anything explicitly, she had remarkable intuition, and had slowly come to master the sharp blade she held.

What was there to fear? She would see him again at the training grounds.

Sure enough, when she returned, Lu Wenyin came to greet her. On one hand thanking Wei Yushan and the young officers for bringing back the stocky horses, she suggested on the other that they teach the young misses to ride, emphasizing that all propriety must be maintained — the maids would assist, the generals would only lead the horses — and made a joke of it, saying: “Do forgive us our boldness, Madam Wei — letting Young Marquis Wei play horse groom for the young misses.”

Madam Wei naturally only laughed, saying: “He is the host — it is only right that he attend to the guests.”

In reality, the “young misses” she meant were nothing of the kind — Wei Yushan was clearly being monopolized by Lu Wenyin for Lu Wanyang’s benefit. Lu Wanyang had dressed today in water-rose red, knowing Wei Yushan was a junior general full of youthful spirit, and that young men naturally prefer vivid girls. She looked like a dewy begonia flower, altogether less reserved than her usual manner, and when it came time to mount up, she dispensed with the maid’s help entirely, pressing a handkerchief-padded hand into Wei Yushan’s, and bowing her head: “Thank you, Young Marquis.”

“No need for that,” Wei Yushan said flatly.

In truth, by this point Lu Wanyang had already sensed something. Following Wei Yushan’s line of sight instinctively, she looked where he was looking — a cluster of young misses mounting up nearby — and could not yet make out the cause.

Wei Yushan was watching A’Cuo. A’Cuo naturally watched him in return. Seeing him helping Lu Wanyang mount, she felt a sharp spike of irritation. Yang Hua, watching from the side, found it amusing, and prompted: “Young miss.”

A’Cuo came back to herself, and only then noticed that three or four young officers were standing before her — the same ones she had encountered by the low wall earlier, each leading a small stocky horse.

“How shall I address each of the junior generals?” Yang Hua said, with all proper courtesy.

“I’m not a junior general — I’m a Valor Vanguard Officer. My name is Cen Rui. You can just call me Officer Cen.” Cen Rui was a frank and easy-going sort, and made introductions: “We’re all from the Valor Vanguard Battalion. He is Valor Forward Left General Ren Tong, and that is Ren Tong’s deputy Ma Gao. We all ride — and I’m the best rider among us.”

Ren Tong, hearing this, immediately thumped him on the back and said: “Self-promotion. Who was it that lost a race to me the other day?”

“I let you win,” Cen Rui grinned. Though they had come together, there was no undercurrent of competition between them. A’Cuo maintained her miss’s composure. She glanced at Wei Yushan, who was teaching Lu Wanyang, and waited until Wei Yushan became aware of her looking and glanced back before lifting her chin with a haughty elegance.

She placed her handkerchief-padded hand in Cen Rui’s, and said: “Then I leave it to you, Officer Cen.”

Though Cen Rui was easy-going, he still turned red when he took her hand to help her mount — yet the other officers, seeing that A’Cuo had chosen him, did not drift away or go to assist other young misses. A’Cuo asked a single question — “How old is this small horse?” — and immediately two or three voices answered at once: “One and a half years old.”

A’Cuo was genuinely curious about military life. She had Cen Rui lead her horse slowly around the grounds, asking questions: “Why are these horses shorter than the ones you were riding earlier?” “How did you live on the frontier?” “Is battle dangerous?” Cen Rui was naturally outgoing, and held nothing back, speaking with great enthusiasm.

“It’s a bit sunny here — let’s go over there,” A’Cuo said, pointing toward Wei Yushan’s direction.

Cen Rui of course agreed, leading her horse over beside Wei Yushan’s and continuing cheerfully to tell her entertaining stories from military life, until A’Cuo laughed out loud.

The more warmly A’Cuo and Cen Rui got on, the darker Wei Yushan’s expression became.

He had never suffered such a humiliation in his life. He had inherited the Marshal’s talent, excelling at everything from childhood. Even if Cui Jingyu had always been one step ahead of him, that was the reverence of a younger brother for an older — among his peers, in horsemanship, archery, flanking maneuvers, scouting, and even at the great battle of the Minsha River where he had won countless merits, he was a young hero of astonishing brilliance.

And yet today he had suffered a defeat.

A’Cuo and Cen Rui — one on horseback, one leading the horse — question and answer, laughing and chatting together beside him. The most galling thing was that she was actually smiling at Cen Rui. Cen Rui had only told a foolish joke — about how when he was a new recruit doing patrol rounds, he overextended his route and could not find his own tent, and too embarrassed to ask tent by tent, had to navigate back by recognizing the hitching posts — and she had laughed like a string of silver bells.

He had ten thousand better stories than that. Ten thousand stories of the frontier. The great snows of the north, the river banks in spring, what sound the eagles made when they dived hunting in the mountain snow, how they chased each other in pairs in the spring months and built nests on cliff faces, how he had once found an eaglet that had fallen from the nest, and how he had hidden it in camp and raised it on raw mutton until it was grown — every experience of these eighteen years, he wanted to share with her. Even if it would take countless afternoons like this one, he would not mind in the least.

But she was not now on his horse. The one leading her horse was that blockhead Cen Rui. The one who made her laugh was that blockhead Cen Rui. His own horse was faster than Cen Rui’s, his spear technique better than Cen Rui’s — but his horse did not carry her.

Even Lu Wanyang had noticed. Seeing his face grow somber, she asked softly: “Young Marquis, what is the matter?”

She knew he cared nothing for his young marquis title and would certainly prefer the junior general rank he had fought his way to, and so addressed him that way — but her careful consideration fell flat. Wei Yushan’s attention was not here at all. He came back to himself, and said: “Nothing.” She was still willing to say, in terms that were considered extremely forward for a capital noble young miss: “Is the junior general thinking of something?”

“Only matters of war,” Wei Yushan said.

What he was thinking of, in truth, was the barbarian tribal peoples of the north, who held great horse races every spring. The bravest young man could win the heart of the most beautiful young woman, singing outside her tent through the night. The one who won the race could sweep her up onto his horse and take her to see the sunrise over the Rouge Mountains. If she was unwilling, she could bite a bloody mark into his wrist — and that was fine.

If there were a horse race, he would certainly come in first.

Even with seven-fold cleverness, Lu Wanyang could not have guessed where his thoughts had gone. She could only say warmly: “I’m actually very curious about the merits you won back then, junior general. It must have been extremely dangerous?”

For a capital noble young miss, this was already the most forward she could be — yet the entire thread of feeling was wasted on a fool. Wei Yushan was not even aware he should respond, only saying distractedly: “Just ordinary, really.”

If Cen Rui told her one more joke, he would personally make Cen Rui muck out the entire stable tonight and not let him leave until it was spotless.

Fortunately, Cen Rui had no new joke at the ready, because A’Cuo was simply watching him with a smile on her face — and at that, he forgot everything entirely and could only grin back at her like a fool.

“All right,” A’Cuo said, not sparing Wei Yushan so much as a glance — as though there were no such person beside her at all. “I’m a little cold. Let’s go over to where the sun is.”

“Right!” Cen Rui immediately moved cheerfully to lead her horse to the sunnier spot.

Wei Yushan’s irritation at those two words “let’s” had barely had time to rise when he heard A’Cuo say with a smile: “Officer Cen, can you ride a tall horse?”

“Of course,” Cen Rui answered.

“Then I must trouble you to ride along and escort me and my sisters home today.” A’Cuo said mildly. “For some reason lately, our carriage keeps being stopped.”

“It’s the Forbidden Guard,” Cen Rui said cheerfully. “Nothing to fear. We Northern Frontier Army men have three-sided transit tokens — the Marshal’s and General Cui’s are untouchable, but I’ll go ask the Young Marquis to lend me his, and that will do.”

“Wonderful,” A’Cuo said with a smile.

Cen Rui led her horse into the sunlight, and she did not once look back at Wei Yushan.

A’Cuo rode for a while before claiming she was tired and went to change her clothes, taking her maids Yang Hua and Xiao Yue and crossing half the training grounds, back toward the Wei estate’s inner courtyard. Passing along a covered walkway, she was suddenly seized from behind by Wei Yushan — eighteen years old, in deep red brocade, so furious that his eyes had reddened, pressing her against the wall.

“Young Marquis! What is the meaning of this!” Yang Hua immediately went on full alert, and glanced at Xiao Yue — signaling her to go and call for help. Xiao Yue, well trained by her, immediately hitched up her skirt to run.

The feelings of the young are as fierce and burning as fire. One was a young frontier general ignorant of the capital’s rules; the other was a girl from the south of the Yangtze, newly arrived in the capital for the Flower Season Banquet. They were both young enough not to know any better — even if they had heard the rules, they had not yet learned them, which was why there could be this clash of iron against iron, so headlong and painful to witness.

But A’Cuo, though her methods were not yet refined, had already taken to heart Lingbo’s way of acting with complete independence. She had not yet freed herself, but she had already called to Xiao Yue: “Xiao Yue — you stay.” — regardless of how disapproving Yang Hua’s expression became.

Having contained her own maidservant, she continued to lift her chin and look at him. The young woman’s face was vivid as a pomegranate flower in the sixth month, bright enough to scorch the eye.

Wei Yushan looked at her with clenched teeth.

“Why did you have Cen Rui lead your horse!”

“And didn’t you lead Lu Wanyang’s horse?” A’Cuo simply asked back, entirely calm.

So this was how it felt — like having possession of an untamed wild horse. Knowing it was dangerous, knowing it was playing with fire, yet the young body standing so close, the chest beneath the brocade burning and heaving, the eyes watching you with anger and restraint, showing a flash of wounded feeling at a single word from you. To know clearly that you could control his emotions — to even think of it was to feel something hot surging within.

So this was what it felt like to be a femme fatale.

“I won’t anymore,” Wei Yushan said, lips pressed tight.

A’Cuo was not moved.

“Let me be clear first. I made no agreement with you.”

“It’s my own decision,” Wei Yushan immediately fell into the trap.

A’Cuo pushed further.

“Then I’ll still go riding with Cen Rui?” she asked, perfectly calm.

This one sentence pierced Wei Yushan. The fury came back into his eyes. He drove one fist into the wall. Though the Wei family estate’s walls were old low masonry, the impact was enough to injure his hand — his knuckles split immediately, bleeding.

“Young Marquis!” Yang Hua cried out, but was held back by A’Cuo’s look and dared not approach.

This was a matter between the two of them — it had been from the beginning. Cen Rui, Lu Wenyin, all the rest — they were just passersby. A’Cuo knew it. So did he.

“What do you want?” Wei Yushan demanded through gritted teeth.

“I want you to respect Elder Sister Qinglan as I do — to treat her as your own elder sister, and the Ye household as your own family. And I want you to stop obstructing them.” A’Cuo revealed her true purpose.

Wei Yushan pressed his lips together.

“I can’t.”

“Why?” A’Cuo pressed at once. She had missed the events of those years and could only piece together a rough outline from the scattered fragments she overheard from “the adults.” She saw Lingbo’s intentions and was willing to help bring them to fruition — to give this story the brilliant, triumphant ending of a theatrical work. She could not understand why Wei Yushan stood in the way.

And Wei Yushan could not answer her. The young man’s canine teeth were sharp, biting so hard he nearly drew blood from his own lip, yet he would not yield a single word.

Why could he not? Why would he not treat Ye Qinglan as his own elder sister? She was such a perfect elder sister — gentle and upright, always smiling faintly, tolerant of their youthful willfulness, and stepping forward to shield them from the reprimands of the adults. He knew the answer, but he could not tell A’Cuo.

Because he had done so once before. Because he had once sincerely treated her as his own elder sister — just as he had trusted Cui Jingyu as his own elder brother — with that same wholehearted trust. Which was why his mother had been so dismissive toward Ye Qinglan, and why — even knowing it was Madam Luo’s side that had been offensive — she had not defended Ye Qinglan. That was the deepest disillusionment. She had abandoned them on the eve of the great battle. She had broken her promises, and she had broken faith with them.

But these things he could not say aloud. Cui Jingyu did not say it, did not let his pain show — so what right did Wei Yushan have to cry out? He could only be like a hedgehog, like an enraged small dog, snarling at anyone from the Ye household — yet unable to say why he was full of hostility, since to even speak of it felt like a betrayal.

So he could only say stubbornly to A’Cuo: “I forbid you to be with anyone else!”

A’Cuo lifted her chin in immediate defiance: “On what grounds?”

On what grounds — Wei Yushan could not answer. Across the capital’s twenty-four rounds of the Flower Season Banquet, young misses and noble sons were all free — free to choose whom they would marry, free to choose whom they would be with. Not even the Son of Heaven could interfere. On what grounds, indeed?

Yang Hua was nearly ready to say it for him: because you care for her. Because the feelings of the young are just this unreasonable. Because at eighteen, caring for a person is this fierce and heedless, disregarding everything.

But Wei Yushan did not understand this. He said nothing at all, only looked at her in silence for a long moment as though he had been silenced by A’Cuo’s question — and then suddenly turned and walked away.

She ought to have felt she had narrowly escaped. Yet Yang Hua’s heart sank too, inexplicably. She looked nervously at A’Cuo — and saw her still leaning quietly against the wall, like a butterfly pinned in place.

Just as Yang Hua thought she must have been frightened, A’Cuo suddenly reached out a hand and touched the dent his fist had left in the wall. The old stone wall was plastered over with a layer of lime, now cracked and fractured by the blow — almost warm to the touch.

His blood was there.

Yang Hua, seeing her touch the wall with slender fingers like that, felt her heart suddenly seize, as though some great calamity were about to unfold, and called urgently — “Young miss.”

A’Cuo came back to herself. She withdrew her hand. Seeing Yang Hua and Xiao Yue watching her with anxious faces, she suddenly smiled.

That smile looked very much like Ye Lingbo’s. A small girl who takes after her older sister will always learn fast.

“It’s all right. Let’s go back and find Elder Sister Qinglan.”