True to its promise, the feast Ye Qinglan had proposed was generous enough to cast a shadow over the name Cui Jingyu entirely.

A’Cuo had only been in the capital for four or five months, but she had already caught wind, here and there, of how Ye Qinglan had once been the exemplary figure among the capital’s noble young ladies at the Flower Festival Banquets — admired for her looks, her character, her temperament, all without a single flaw. Rarest of all was her capability: after her mother’s early death, with a harsh stepmother over her, she had made a household of her own with her two younger sisters within the Ye family’s walls, managing the inner quarters with quiet competence while raising both sisters well. Many a madam had pitied her hardships and admired her character, and so her fine reputation had been passed from mouth to mouth — even now, years later, she was still spoken of from time to time.

In the two months A’Cuo had spent with her adoptive mother, Madam Meng, keeping watch at her sickbed, she had listened to the ladies who came to call exchange gossip with her aunt. Whenever Ye Qinglan’s name came up, it was always spoken with a sigh of regret — what a cruel trick of fate, they said, for someone of such talent and beauty and character to be left waiting until now. Twenty-three was an age at which all doors were nearly closed: too old to be taken as a proper wife, too complicated to be a second wife or a stepmother; even if someone took a liking to her, they would be bound to wonder whether something was wrong with her, for why else would she remain unmarried this long?

But in A’Cuo’s heart, Elder Sister Qinglan was simply exceptional in every way. She had lived with her grandfather in Yangzhou for nearly ten years and had never encountered a woman to match her. She had not seen much of the capital’s noble young ladies yet, but she still believed without question that Ye Qinglan must be the finest of them all.

They had left the Meng household around mid-morning, and before their carriage even reached the gate, the orders had gone ahead. By the time A’Cuo followed the three sisters through the door, the midday meal was already nearly prepared.

A single word from Ye Qinglan, and an impromptu spread worthy of the name Eight Treasures Feast had materialized: snow jelly, ptarmigan, venison, camel hump — and at the center of it all, a mutton hot pot, sumptuous and warming. This spoke both to Ye Qinglan’s talent for managing a household and to the quiet foundation her small family had built over the years. No wonder Ye Lingbo had said with such easy confidence: “Don’t worry — feeding one more little girl is nothing for our family. This isn’t seven years ago anymore.”

She had said she would treat A’Cuo like a true sister, and not a syllable of that was hollow. While welcoming A’Cuo to wash her hands and take her seat at the table, she simultaneously instructed the serving women to carry A’Cuo’s luggage to the prepared guest room, with her more delicate personal effects and cosmetics taken to Yanyan’s room. Even the serving women and maids who had come with A’Cuo were settled into their own welcome meal, with Yang Niangzi staying to keep them company — the whole arrangement was the very picture of warmth and hospitality.

Lin Niangzi had been Madam Meng’s head housekeeper, and though she had not actively managed the household for several years on account of Madam Meng’s illness, Ye Lingbo still treated her with great respect. She pulled her to sit at the same table as the young misses, poured her a cup of wine, and said: “Lin Niangzi, you simply must drink this cup. This is not a courtesy — the Flower Festival Banquets are nearly upon us. Twenty-four banquets in succession is an exhausting business; the madams and young misses will all be worn to the bone by the end of it, let alone the head housekeeper, who is the backbone of it all. A’Cuo’s serving women are from Yangzhou and can barely make themselves understood here, never mind the particular etiquette of the Flower Festival Banquets, and her maid is still so young. A’Cuo will truly be in your hands for these banquets, Lin Niangzi. This cup is my way of asking for your help — it cannot go undrunk.”

Her manner was indeed decisive: sharp as a blade when sharpness was needed, yet when she chose to speak softly, every word found its way straight to the heart. Madam Meng was newly gone, and the Meng family had been so callous — Lin Niangzi’s emotions were already tangled and raw, and hearing this, her eyes went red immediately. She was a proud woman, and her voice came out thick: “Second Miss, please set your mind at ease. My Madam’s dying wish was also that I watch over the young miss. It is only the eldest and second Miss who have been put to such trouble. Let me raise this cup to you both — true and warm-hearted souls who pulled us out of fire and flood. This great kindness, I will carry with me all my life and never forget.”

Lin Niangzi spoke her piece, tipped her head back, and drank the cup down in one go — so much that the wine went down the wrong way and brought tears to her eyes.

“Why all this formality? From now on we are family.” Ye Lingbo laughed and raised her own cup in return, drinking alongside her. When she had finished, Ye Qinglan smiled and said: “All right — the toasts have been made, now let us eat properly. It is the middle of the day, and the sentiment has been expressed. A’Cuo has only just arrived, and I suspect the other side of the house will want a word — going over there smelling of wine would not do.”

The moment she mentioned “the other side of the house,” Ye Lingbo’s eyes went cold for just an instant — then the chill gave way to an even sweeter smile, laden with meaning: “How convenient — I have been wondering how to bring certain things up. If they come to us first, all the better. It saves me the trouble of finding my own excuse.”

She noticed A’Cuo staring at her in bewilderment, and laughed: “Don’t worry. There are some unpleasant elements in this household, but your sisters dealt with them long ago. Just settle in without a care — we will handle everything.”

Speak of the devil, and the devil appears. Midway through the meal, just as A’Cuo was beginning to take in the sheer scale of Yanyan’s appetite, Yang Niangzi led a maid inside to announce: “Ying’er says that the Master and the Madam are at their midday meal. They have heard about the young miss from the Meng family, and request that the eldest Miss bring the Meng young miss to call once the meal is finished, so the matter can be properly explained.”

“What impeccable manners Concubine Pan has,” Ye Lingbo said with a cold smile. “A guest arrives, and rather than come to receive her, she expects the guest to go to her. The etiquette in that courtyard grows more mysterious to me by the day.”

The remark made Ying’er flush crimson. She looked toward the entrance for help — there was surely a more senior serving woman outside, though Yang Niangzi had apparently positioned herself to block any view inside.

Ye Qinglan, ever the more temperate of the two, said: “Understood. Please tell the Master that we will come over once we have finished eating.”

And with that, Ying’er departed.

Ye Lingbo was all ferocity toward the household on that side, yet with A’Cuo she was a perfectly warm and dependable elder sister: “Don’t worry. I will come with you. Qinglan has a good temper — I most certainly do not. It will be enough that I refrain from making trouble for them; they will not dare make trouble for you. Eat your meal in peace, get your strength up — the Flower Festival Banquets are only a few days away, and that is the real business of this year.”

A’Cuo was, by nature, given to carrying things quietly in her heart, but she was unwilling to show it and cause them worry. She finished her meal without a word and followed Qinglan and Lingbo to call upon Master Ye and his “Madam Ye.” She already knew that the three sisters’ mother had been the legitimate principal wife of the Ye family — a first cousin of Madam Meng — and that the present Madam Ye was surnamed Pan, originally a maid of the first Madam Ye, a concubine who had been elevated to wife. She had climbed so far to reach the position she now held, and so she was all the more eager to bury the past. The first Madam Ye had died young, leaving three daughters behind. Many times had Madam Meng sighed over it: thank heaven Qinglan had held things together — spreading herself like a tree casting its shade over two younger sisters. Without her, the three of them might well have been broken by the deep walls of the Ye household.

That alone said everything about what this successor Madam Ye was like. In Ye Lingbo’s own words: “Your Concubine Su looked ruthless on the surface but was actually limited in her schemes — by the standards of capital concubines, she counts as fairly tame.” Which gave some sense of just how formidable the Ye family’s concubine-turned-wife truly was.

A’Cuo was not frightened — only habitually cautious, so she moved carefully in all things. Yanyan, on the other hand, was entirely her opposite: impulsive and fiercely loyal. Hearing that A’Cuo was going, she immediately followed, patting her chest: “I’m always causing trouble anyway — don’t be afraid. If anything goes wrong, just push the blame onto me. I’ve got you.”

She was actually five months younger than A’Cuo. Hearing this, A’Cuo could not help but feel genuinely moved.

A’Cuo followed Qinglan and Lingbo through half of the Ye estate to reach the main courtyard. She had noticed when they first arrived: the Wutong Courtyard where the three sisters lived was one of the side wings of the Ye household — far from the main gate and set apart in a corner. Ye Qinglan had tended it beautifully, and the flowers, furnishings, and servants were all of fine quality — but look carefully, and the intention to marginalize was plain to see.

The main courtyard, by contrast, carried a considerably more imposing air. Master Ye held no small post: at barely forty years of age, he had already risen to the Senior Third Rank, and though it was a relatively ceremonial position, his prospects remained bright.

By custom, when female guests came to call, it was not necessary for the master of the house to receive them — but Ye Lingbo was not someone to be trifled with, and the present Madam Ye likely would not have dared face the sisters without him in the room.

And indeed, Madam Ye’s side was in a state of full deployment — maids and serving women arrayed in formation on either side, like guardian spirits at a shrine. Of course, on the surface everything was warm as a spring breeze, warm to the point of excess. The moment she laid eyes on A’Cuo, before the girl could even bow, Madam Ye rose from her seat and stepped forward herself, took A’Cuo by the arm, looked her up and down, and laughed: “What a beautiful child — no wonder Madam Meng treasured her so. Even I feel fondly toward her on sight. You lovely girl — how old are you? What is your name? Come and be introduced to the Master.”

A’Cuo slipped free of her grip without any visible effort, stepped back half a pace, kept her expression as deferential and careful as before, bowed, and murmured: “Greetings to Uncle Ye.”

Strictly speaking, greeting Master Ye first was proper form, and greeting the Madam at the same time was entirely ordinary — but A’Cuo did not, and the smile on Madam Ye’s face stiffened slightly. Master Ye read the situation and cleared his throat: “No need for such formality. You may treat Madam Ye just as you treated Madam Meng, and think of this place as your own home.”

His meaning was clear enough. A’Cuo understood at once that Master Ye generally favored this new Madam Ye, and so she turned and bowed to her as well: “Greetings, Madam.”

Madam Ye’s expression thawed at once, and she smiled, looking past A’Cuo: “Qinglan and Lingbo are here too? Why is Yanyan not with you?”

A’Cuo observed them covertly. Master Ye and Madam Ye did share a certain likeness between them — she had a sharp, tapered face with delicately pretty features, though there was something just slightly common about her bearing; she looked to be around thirty years old at most. She was also dressed somewhat too extravagantly, and her manner, on close examination, lacked even the composure of Concubine Su.

Master Ye was a shade more refined, but not by much. He was evidently a man of scholarly origins, and a remnant of the elegant air he had carried as a young Hanlin Academy scholar still showed in his bearing — but the years had worn most of it away, leaving only the weariness of middle age. His eyes were slightly puffy, creased at the corners, and he had the look of an irresolute and sentimental man, his attention constantly drifting toward Madam Ye.

Predictably, he immediately frowned at Ye Lingbo: “What is the meaning of this? The older you get, the worse your manners. You cannot even greet your mother when you see her — what sort of behavior is that?”

A’Cuo was sharp enough to sense it: he seemed somewhat wary of Ye Qinglan. From the moment she entered the room, he had been a little ill at ease, and even his scolding was aimed only at Ye Lingbo.

But Ye Lingbo was not to be provoked without consequence. She let out a cold laugh at once: “Ha. My mother died seven years ago — where exactly has this new one come from?”

Master Ye was so infuriated his eyebrows shot upward. He pointed at her: “You — you — you—” Before he could get another word out, Madam Ye stepped in, took his arm, and soothed him: “Master, please calm yourself. The second Miss is still young and doesn’t know better — please don’t take it to heart. Children are shaped through teaching, slowly. At most she simply won’t be permitted to attend this year’s Flower Festival Banquets — a year at home being properly educated, and she will be reformed by next year.”

With one sentence she had moved to strip Ye Lingbo of her place at this year’s banquets entirely. A’Cuo heard it and felt a quiet jolt of alarm, glancing anxiously toward Ye Lingbo — only to see Ye Lingbo catch her eye and tilt her head as if to say: See? Just as I told you. She has never had good intentions.

A’Cuo understood at once where Ye Lingbo’s calm came from.

Because Ye Qinglan had begun to speak.

“Father.” She stepped forward and bowed with unhurried ease, then raised her head. Her expression was composed, and A’Cuo had noticed it long before now — there was a quality of stillness about her that was entirely her own, something that stilled not only the women around her, but even officials who moved in and out of court. For a younger female member of the family, she possessed a natural gravity that made people handle her with care, the unmistakable bearing of a principal-born daughter of a noble house, the kind that made even these officials feel they must present themselves properly in her presence.

Even her own father, Master Ye, was not exempt from this.

“Father’s reprimand is not without cause, but Lingbo did not mean any disrespect. Ever since she fell ill seven years ago — due to my own insufficient care and delayed treatment — she has had a tendency toward a heat affliction in her constitution that flares beyond her control. She is not trying to anger Father. I ask Father to be understanding.”

A flash of guilt passed across Master Ye’s face — but Madam Ye was already leaning on his arm, readying herself to speak. Seeing this, Ye Qinglan continued, unhurried as ever.

“The Flower Festival Banquets are the most important event of the year. Lingbo is already nineteen — there is no time to waste. And this year’s banquets are particularly promising. Father has long been concerned about how to settle his daughters’ futures — perhaps this year’s banquets would be an opportunity to find a match for Lingbo and set one matter in the household to rest.” She raised her eyes slowly to meet her father’s gaze. “Does Father agree?”

It was no wonder the officials tread carefully around her. In a few unhurried sentences, she had closed off virtually every retreat available to Master Ye, and beneath the words ran a current of deeper meaning that resonated with the old saying — grieved without resentment, angered without harm, neither subservient nor arrogant, and dignified throughout. Even Master Ye seemed to find it almost more than he could bear to meet.

Madam Ye’s whispered asides and clinging to his arm, by contrast, looked rather tawdry in comparison — fitting perfectly the rebuke that ladies of the capital so often leveled at concubines: “All her wiles are spent on pillow talk.”

Master Ye had no choice but to say in some discomfiture: “You make a fair point.”

“Thank you, Father.” Ye Qinglan gave him no opportunity to reconsider, immediately bowing gracefully and pressing the matter into finality.

A glimmer of venom flickered in Madam Ye’s eyes — but on the surface her smile grew even warmer, and she said: “It should have been thus all along — what is there between a father and his own daughters that cannot be spoken openly? Qinglan is always so thoughtful. No wonder the Master favors her — Lingbo, you really ought to follow your sister’s example more. You have such a hasty temper.”

It was no surprise that Yanyan had privately given this woman a nickname — “five-pace viper.” Every sentence she had uttered since they walked in carried poison; she would not be satisfied until she had drawn blood. The description had a certain accuracy to it.

By comparison, the woman at the Meng household could genuinely be called gentle.

Fortunately, for all the five-pace viper’s venom, there was someone who knew exactly how to handle her.

“Concubine, there is no need for you to try and sow discord here — it would be wasted on us. Save that particular skill for teaching it to your daughter Yin Zhang instead. The Flower Festival Banquets are almost upon us, and Yin Zhang is soon to be betrothed — it would be a shame for such a talent to go without a successor.” She paused, and before Master Ye could work himself up to anger, continued: “Everyone here knows I have a heat affliction. I have no control over what I say when it flares — please do not take offense.”

“Bickering like this in front of a guest — what sort of behavior is that.” Master Ye said in distaste.

Madam Ye fluidly shifted course and moved at once to take A’Cuo’s arm and seat her, smiling: “Just so — we have such a lovely little guest, and she deserves a proper welcome. I hear your name is A’Cuo? With looks like yours, you will be one of the standouts at the Flower Festival Banquets too…”

As she spoke, she settled her hand on A’Cuo’s shoulder. A’Cuo felt as though a python had coiled around her — her skin prickled and rose in goosebumps, and the woman’s arm against hers seemed to grow as smooth and cold as a serpent’s coils, wanting only scales to complete the resemblance.

Then another hand settled on her other shoulder. A’Cuo looked up — it was Ye Qinglan, drawing her gently but firmly away, facing Madam Ye and saying: “The Flower Festival Banquets are not solely about appearance — character and nature always come first. A’Cuo is only fifteen. She is simply going this year to observe and gain some experience of the world.”

“Qinglan is right — as one would expect from someone who nearly took top honors at the banquets herself, back in the day. Such a pity.” Madam Ye said the words with every appearance of regret, though her eyes gleamed with satisfaction, and she turned to Master Ye: “Master, I have a thought — why not have Qinglan attend the Flower Festival Banquets this year as well? Though she is older, she could watch over her sisters. Once the younger sisters are well settled, that is as good as Qinglan herself being settled.”

At that, something approaching murderous intent surfaced in Ye Lingbo’s eyes.

But for all that Madam Ye was a viper, Ye Lingbo was more than her match.

“Concubine makes a fair point. Since Elder Sister would be taking on such a heavy responsibility, it is only right she be compensated accordingly. Would Concubine be so kind as to send some of this year’s new silk to our courtyard to make clothes for Elder Sister for the banquets? And while we are at it, please also return the jewelry and hairpieces belonging to our mother that Concubine set aside years ago — though of course Little Sister Yin Zhang has her needs, those pieces were our mother’s, and to borrow indefinitely without returning is hardly proper.”

Ye Lingbo reached this point, observed that Madam Ye had nothing left to say, and saw that it was Master Ye instead who was beginning to show signs of rising anger. At the sight of his expression, Ye Lingbo broke into a small, composed smile.

“All right. I can see that this courtyard is a one-way vessel — everything flows in, nothing flows out. Who would dare expect Concubine to give us anything? We should count ourselves fortunate that nothing more of ours has been taken. A’Cuo is our guest, not Concubine’s — there is no need to issue her an allowance from this side, we will manage everything ourselves. All we ask is that you refrain from disturbing us.” She said this with perfect ease and nonchalance.

No matter how he could excuse himself by the heat affliction, Master Ye was well and truly enraged now.

“Listen to yourself. How much is a monthly allowance worth — making such a scene about trifles in front of a guest. You call yourself a young lady of a good family?”

“A monthly allowance is not much, it is true — but Concubine has been withholding it for half a month now. One wonders what that is meant to signify?” Ye Lingbo asked him with a smile. “We do not depend on that money to survive — if we did, we would have starved long ago. But what is owed to us should be returned promptly. Otherwise this matter may yet reach the Old Madam, and that would look far worse for everyone.”

The barely veiled threat sent Master Ye into a shaking fury. He turned on Ye Lingbo: “A woman’s most important quality is gentleness and compliance. The way you carry on — you would only bring shame on yourself at the Flower Festival Banquets.”

Ye Lingbo did not engage with him, did not plead or apologize — she simply smiled, took A’Cuo’s hand, and rose to her feet: “Master Ye’s instruction is noted. In any case, the courtesies have been observed, and we will take A’Cuo back now. Absent any pressing matter, please do not trouble yourself to visit our courtyard — send word if anything arises. We take our leave.”

Ye Qinglan added a few polishing words — something about needing to prepare for the Flower Festival Banquets and thanking Father for his understanding — but Ye Lingbo was already done with it, grabbed her along with the rest of them, and swept everyone back out together.

As they emerged from the main courtyard, they saw Yanyan ahead of them, holding a lacquered box and chatting with an elderly serving woman, making her way toward them with a cheerful grin.

“Hold it,” Ye Lingbo called out at once. “Where have you been? How many times have I told you — is this side of the house somewhere to go wandering around? Running all over the place, you wouldn’t even know if someone did something to you. I think your skin must be itching — I’ll deal with you when we get back.”

“I went to see the Old Madam,” Yanyan said, aggrieved.

“Everyone knows you went to see the Old Madam.” Ye Lingbo seized her and lowered her voice sharply: “The Old Madam is bedridden. Yes, filial duty keeps that woman in line — but surviving under a daughter-in-law’s thumb is no easy thing. She has the rare chance to give you something, and you go parading it around in full view, as good as announcing it to Concubine Pan herself. Get back with us this instant.”

A’Cuo had heard as much before: the Ye family’s Old Madam had been confined to bed since suffering a stroke. In her day she had been a sharp and capable woman who ran the household with a clear hand — but faced now with a son who elevated his concubine above his principal wife, a son who had made common cause with his concubine and driven three granddaughters out to live in a side wing, there was nothing she could do about it. It was easier not to see what she could not change.