In truth, there was no one to blame but A’Cuo for going astray — Lingbo’s manner of conducting herself had always drifted somewhat along the edges of propriety. On occasions like this, she also knew she was not particularly favored among the ladies, and that listening to opera was a waste of time. So the moment Xiao Liu’er passed on the message from Liu Ji that Pei Zhao had arrived, she immediately seized a chance and slipped out.

Had she not slipped out, she would not have seen that scene.

When she came out, she was actually walking toward the rear. She only saw Pei Zhao standing in the lane — a person who came just below his shoulder height seemed to have exchanged a few terse words with him, then raised a hand and landed a punch on him. He apparently had not expected Pei Zhao not to dodge, and after throwing the punch, stumbled away unsteadily. As they passed each other going in opposite directions, she got a clear look: it was none other than the man who was always at Prince Pingjun’s side — Zhao the Washer, as they called him. He was accustomed to playing the role of a flattering hanger-on at banquets, there to provide comic relief and be laughed at. He also ran his own little businesses — lending money at interest, organizing gambling dens — and was looked down upon by the officials of the capital, let alone by royalty, for whom he was someone to be summoned and dismissed at will.

But Pei Zhao had simply stood there and taken the punch without dodging.

“Take him.” Lingbo relied on the darkness of the spot and her own cloaked figure, and instructed Liu Ji: “Beat him first, then send him to the capital magistrate’s office.”

Zhao the Washer was drunk and unsteady, but hearing this — the tone of a noble young lady — he was immediately frightened and sobered up considerably, and seemed about to plead for mercy. But he heard Pei Zhao say from behind: “Let him go.”

Had there been no outsiders present, Lingbo would truly have wanted to curse him in exasperated fury.

Lingbo let out a “tsk.” Liu Ji understood, and had no choice but to release him. Zhao the Washer, who had spent his years mixing in noble circles, knew what to fear. He did not dare to so much as glance at Xiao Liu’er, let alone Lingbo herself, and stumbled away reeking of alcohol.

“Miss.” Xiao Liu’er offered a quiet reminder.

Lingbo cast a sidelong glance at Pei Zhao — she did not need to hear the reminder to know what Xiao Liu’er was alluding to. Pei Zhao’s looks were handsome, and in truth he was ill-suited to be a military officer. Someone like Cui Jingyu was born to be a great general — he looked thick-skinned and resilient, able to sustain any number of injuries, fierce and powerful like a great beast. Pei Zhao was like a bird — swift and sharp, and capable of fighting, but also easily hurt. As someone who had received upwards of a hundred birds from Shen Biwei, Lingbo understood this point better than anyone.

If she were to draw a comparison, he should be some kind of raptor with beautiful plumage — the kind that sweeps through forests with a magnificent long tail, stunning when it spreads its wings, yet the thing that most softened a girl’s heart was precisely moments like this: standing quietly in a dark alley after sustaining an injury.

Xiao Liu’er paying such close attention to him put Lingbo on alert.

Lingbo had always regarded Xiao Liu’er as something like a younger sister, and she was always protective of those she cared about. Xiao Liu’er was seventeen this year, proud in spirit, good-looking, clever, and lively — girls of that age among the maidservants would gather and chatter to one another about matters of the heart. No wonder, really — it was Pei Zhao’s own fault for not knowing how to restrain himself.

So she greeted him with disdain right away: “Coming so late — and here to take a punch, of all things?”

“Indeed,” Pei Zhao still laughed self-deprecatingly: “Clearly I am not fit for elevated circles.”

Lingbo was exasperated into laughter.

The lane was dark. She herself was carrying a lantern — and those palace lanterns from the Grand Princess’s residence were so beautiful, with scorched-foil bamboo patterns and tassels hanging from the four corners, their milky white light falling over him in a shimmer of silver. He had stood there and taken a punch without dodging. Lingbo raised the lantern to cast its light on his face; he seemed dazzled by it and turned his face away.

He was truly a bird-like person — fierce and sharp also, yet fragile. One punch from someone like Zhao the Washer had still left his cheekbone reddened. He had probably been wearing a ring when he struck. The skin had broken in a narrow line — not likely to leave a scar, at least.

“Miss.” Without knowing when, Xiao Liu’er had even produced medicine from somewhere — or perhaps Liu Ji had been considerate enough to fetch it from the carriage.

Lingbo stood and watched, her mind clear as a mirror. She watched Xiao Liu’er, with careful and tentative hands, pour medicinal liquid onto a cloth strip, meaning to clean and dress the wound for him, then fidget and hesitate at Pei Zhao’s uncooperative manner, unsure how to proceed. Lingbo silently sighed inwardly.

“Let me.” She took the medicine from Xiao Liu’er’s hands: “You — go stand watch at the entrance of the lane.”

Xiao Liu’er was clever, but after all she had not been through great trials. However much she had learned from following Lingbo, she was still a young girl who could not help but be moved.

Not like her — who at the age of twelve had already witnessed how her own father could be so faithless and heartless. She knew that a man with a handsome face was no use, talent was no use, even placing first in the imperial examinations and being named Tanhua was no use — men were ultimately men. Even if you spent your whole life lifting him up and holding him aloft, in the end he would still break your heart.

So when she treated Pei Zhao’s wound, she brought three parts vexation to the task. She thrust the lantern into his hands and said: “Hold this yourself.”

Pei Zhao truly held it. Lingbo pressed the cloth strip against his face; he flinched away. Lingbo did not humor him, pressing down firmly. He immediately made a sharp intake of breath in pain.

“Now you know it hurts?” Lingbo dabbed at the wound, then applied medicinal powder — rough and brusque: “Why did you not dodge when you were being hit just now? Could you not have dodged a drunk man’s punch? Why did Zhao the scoundrel hit you? What do you owe him?”

“Money I owe him.”

“How much?”

“A great deal.”

Lingbo made as if to smack him. Pei Zhao laughed and tilted his head out of the way with ease — when it suited him, he was perfectly agile. She could not be bothered to argue with him further: “You deserve to be left with a scar, to be marked for good.”

He was unwilling to explain his reasons, and was also using the misunderstanding from their first meeting to tease Lingbo. She could not be bothered to deal with him, knowing he would always have his own reasons. A person who loves to jest seems easy-going and approachable on the surface, but is in fact separated from everyone else by a layer. Jests are their armor — and also their weapon. Xiao Liu’er was still young, and so did not understand this.

“Didn’t you say earlier you weren’t coming today? Why are you here after all?” Lingbo focused on the practical matter, knowing there must be a reason for his coming.

“I heard some news and came to report it to the young miss.” Pei Zhao resumed the pose of a respectful underling, playing the manservant.

“What news?”

“I heard that there will be heavy snow tomorrow. Young miss, you should remember to bring in the persimmons from the tree.” Pei Zhao started teasing her again.

Lingbo raised her hand to swat at him: “Enough nonsense — quickly, tell me about Cui Jingyu!”

“Cui Jingyu has bought a mansion in the southern part of the city and has purchased many servants. Word has it he will be holding an investiture banquet within the next two days.”

“The southern part of the city?” Lingbo beckoned Liu Ji over: “What fine residences are there in the southern part of the city? The only one that could serve as a marquis’s mansion would be the one belonging to Vice-Minister Huang’s family. They had a concubine who became an imperial consort, so the mansion is quite grand. Go — ask whether the Huang family’s Vice-Minister’s mansion has been sold. The old steward who watches over their mansion has a maternal relation who is a distant relative of Yang Niangzi’s mother.”

Liu Ji nodded repeatedly: “Yes — I have heard Uncle Yang the Fifth mention it.”

Lingbo had collected the piece of news and was about to leave immediately. She had just pulled the hood of her cloak up when she heard Pei Zhao say from behind her, in an oddly plaintive tone: “You just walk away after hearing the news?”

Having gotten the news, Lingbo was in a fine mood and was not so disdainful of him anymore. She turned and cast him a glance: “What else — do you want me to stay and change your dressings? Make you a bowl of soup?”

Pei Zhao only smiled pleasantly: “That would not be bad at all. I am, after all, a wounded soldier.”

“You do not even try to dodge and you complain about being hurt. Why should I care about you? For the investiture banquet — make sure you arrive early, none of this lurking about in streets and alleyways. Understood?” Lingbo was steely-hearted and, having said this, turned and walked away again. But for all her harsh words, once out of the lane, she still instructed Liu Ji: “Go — have a couple of people give Zhao the Washer a proper lesson. He is not to bother Pei Zhao again in the future.”

“Understood.” Liu Ji agreed, but hesitated a little: “It seemed like Pei Zhao was in the wrong…”

“His head is not working properly — what business is it of yours to worry about that? Zhao the Washer is a hanger-on and good-for-nothing. What could Pei Zhao possibly owe him? Just have someone sort it out.” Lingbo was fiercely protective of her own: “Even if Pei Zhao is in the wrong, he is one of ours. Pay Zhao whatever he is owed, and after that, he is never to lay a hand on anyone again. Pei Zhao is a rascal, but he is a soldier and a hero who came back having earned his merits on the battlefield — what gives that useless hanger-on the right to hit him? Utterly lawless!”

As she spoke, she walked forward. Pei Zhao had quietly trailed along behind her, and she turned her head and caught him right there, smiling at her without a care in the world.

“So it turns out I am the young miss’s person?”

“Go away. For Cui Jingyu’s investiture banquet — dare to be late even once and see what happens? I’ll have your hide! Remember to change your dressings yourself. Did you hear me?”

“Understood.” Pei Zhao made a show of bowing to her, even the gesture carrying an effortless, rakish grace. Lingbo expressed her disdain with a sharp “tch,” and walked away with Xiao Liu’er and Liu Ji.

In this world, everyone has their own work to do. Those who are beautiful by nature, gifted with talent, clever and knowing — those who could so easily strive their way to the heights — always have this reason or that reason holding them back, causing them to drift and linger. Qinglan was one such person. Shen Biwei even more so. And Pei Zhao was no exception. Because fate had given them their gifts so easily, they squandered their youth with equally careless ease. Unlike her — because she had been given nothing, she pressed forward with all her effort at every turn. She was the ordinary person who had to clench her teeth and push hard just to keep pace with them — that had already taken everything she had.

But it was all right. As long as she could take what gifts they had been given, and add to it her own relentless, stop-at-nothing effort — naturally there would be a good outcome in the end.