Cui Jingyu’s intention to host an enfeoffment banquet reached Han Yueqi’s ears late in the night.

Though the Flower Festival banquets were important, her most significant identity at present was still that of the young mistress of the Shen household. A young married couple — and they had not seen each other for half a month. Though her temperament was composed and dignified, she was still young after all. As she directed the maids to tidy the warm inner room, to make it a comfortable place for “Lord Shen” to drink tea and read in winter, she found a smile had come to her face without her noticing. Her accompanying Nanny Li from home teased: “My young lady’s husband — what good fortune he has.”

“Nanny Li, still carrying on like that,” Han Yueqi chided. Immediately the household stewardesses all laughed, and the maids, though they blushed, all hid their smiles. Their mistress had married a man who had placed third in the imperial examinations — handsome, talented, and with a smooth career, truly a match of talent and beauty. Three years of marriage, though they already had a young daughter, they were still as harmonious as newlyweds — thinking of it all made them glad for their mistress.

But it turned out to be joy for nothing. From the hour of Xu she waited until the hour of Hai, yet still Shen Yunze did not return. Han Yueqi frowned and sent the male servants outside to inquire — unwilling to seem too constraining, she instructed them to use the name of the Shen Madam when asking, for fear that if it were a matter of official business, his colleagues seeing that the young mistress had sent someone to ask after him would laugh at him for being hen-pecked.

Before long, the manservant returned, and an old serving woman brought the message in: it turned out that Shen Yunze had been waylaid by a colleague when leaving the Hanlin Academy that afternoon, dragged off with a group of friends for drinking and poetry composition, preparing for the Winding Stream Banquet in the spring.

Han Yueqi then put her mind at ease, and asked: “Who was hosting?”

“It is said to be the fifth young master of the High Family’s second branch hosting,” the old serving woman reported. “That is, the nephew of the Right Vice-Minister of Rites, Lord Gao — and the brother-in-law of the Prince of Pingjun.”

“Understood,” Han Yueqi instructed: “Send someone with his fox fur cloak, prepare the carriage and the hangover broth — do not hurry him. Let the gentleman enjoy himself and come home when he is ready.”

Knowing it was a drinking banquet, and still sending a cloak and preparing a carriage — this showed the young mistress’s composure and grace. Shen Yunze was young, handsome, and talented, having had a smooth path thus far, and inevitably had a little of the arrogance of a scion of a noble family. She was willing to uphold his dignity — her mother had been teaching her from the age of fourteen how to be a capable household mistress, and she naturally knew that a husband and wife were one body, and that mutual regard for each other’s dignity was what made a marriage whole. Lu Wenyin had gotten an unremarkable-looking Chen Yaoping and yet treated him like a treasure, accommodating him in every way without principle. She would not be so fawning herself, but she was still willing to be a harmonious young mistress.

Having left the banquet, it was not convenient to return. She had Nanny Li brew tea, and sat reading the household accounts in the lamplight herself, waiting for Shen Yunze to come home deep in the night — a drunk man who came home and saw his wife waiting until deep in the night, in light makeup and with her hair loosely done, gentle and warm — even a heart of iron would be moved. In truth she was not waiting for him at all, but had sent someone to inquire about the banquet — whether Lu Wenyin had been up to mischief, and whether Qinglan was doing well.

Then the news of Cui Jingyu’s enfeoffment banquet arrived, and she nearly laughed with annoyance. She immediately had someone go and ask the Ye household. It was urgent — when she was there, nothing happened day after day, and now the moment she left, something this big had to occur.

It was already deep in the night by then, the banquet had long dispersed. Perhaps it was the urgency of her late-night inquiry that was amusing, for Qinglan sent back a sealed letter by messenger. When she opened it, it was a couplet of verse: No peacock screen betrothal is absent — a pity only the ladder meeting awaits.

Han Yueqi was vexed to laughter by Qinglan’s riddles at a time like this. After over a decade of close friendship, no one knew Qinglan better than she did — she knew that this person, like herself, was on the surface the most composed and gracious of noble ladies, but within each had their own temperament. Though Qinglan was not as worldly as Han Yueqi, perhaps from being an elder sister for so long, once they were close she rather enjoyed teasing people — the more urgently Han Yueqi came to ask, the more she would play a riddle and make her guess. It was truly enough to make one grind one’s teeth with exasperation.

But soon, what was making Han Yueqi grind her teeth with exasperation was no longer Qinglan.

The tea in the warm room was replenished again and again. Until the third watch, when Nanny Li finally coaxed Han Yueqi off to sleep.

And Shen Yunze — did not return all night.

—

Lingbo was still the first to know the news.

With A’Cuo and Yanyan, the two young ones, present, she could not say anything. When they had finished breakfast and gone off to play in the outer room, she immediately darted over and whispered in Qinglan’s ear, who was reading a book: “Shen Yunze has done wrong — last night he was dragged by colleagues to spend the night with courtesans, and did not return until dawn. Han Yueqi must be furious. Shall we go see her?”

Qinglan was also a little surprised and frowned slightly, a trace of distaste crossing her features.

“How can an official cavort with courtesans? And a son of the Son of Heaven at that — is this the kind of conduct becoming of him?”

“They say he did not go to a pleasure house — they were drinking at a colleague’s private villa, and people were summoned to the banquet,” Lingbo knew it all thoroughly. “Don’t worry — it hasn’t spread, only those at the banquet know. And with the Prince of Pingjun’s family connections, the Censorate should have nothing to say.”

“As for Yueqi…” Qinglan only opened the sentence, then pressed her lips together and said nothing more, turning instead to say: “Chun Ming, have the carriage prepared outside — I’m going to the Shen household.”

“I’ll come too,” Lingbo also prepared to change into her outer clothes.

“No — Yueqi has her pride. If you come as well, she will certainly feel she has lost face.” Qinglan said, changing her clothes as she gave instructions: “This news — do not let anyone else know. Understood?”

“Understood.”

Qinglan hurried to the Shen household. Though the Shen family had not yet divided, they lived in separate courtyard residences. The young couple lived in the Fragrant Cedar Pavilion. The green-calyx plum blossoms, most delicate of flowers, had already fallen, and in a blink only branches heavy with snow remained. Qinglan had once advised Han Yueqi not to plant only one kind of flower — as the seasons changed, there would be nothing to look at — but Han Yueqi had said she only loved the sight of a courtyard full of plum blossoms in bloom, and all other flowers, however numerous, held no meaning for her.

Those who could be close friends were alike to the bone. Han Yueqi too had a fiery spirit within, but after becoming the young Shen mistress, she had concealed a great deal of it. Just as her most beloved flower was the plum blossom, yet every year she still hosted a welcoming spring banquet or a paulownia flower banquet — because most official promotions and transfers in the court happened after the new year, and in early spring it was wise to observe the shifting tides and help the Shen family father and son with their affairs at court.

A pity that Shen Yunze did not cherish her devotion.

Shen Yunze had not returned all night, and when he did come back, he went straight to sleep in the main room of the Fragrant Cedar Pavilion. Han Yueqi managed her household well — all along the way, Nanny Li and Han Niangzi showed no sign of resentment. Only the maids, being young, wore expressions of indignation, and when they saw Qinglan, they looked at her as one would look at a family member from home, their eyes rimmed red.

Han Yueqi still held herself steady — she sat in the Glass Pavilion doing embroidery on the warming brazier. When she saw Qinglan arrive, she rose to greet her, and Qinglan also stepped forward to meet her. The two took each other’s hands, and for a moment looked at each other in silence.

That year on the Lantern Festival, during the riddle-guessing lantern games, Lingbo had made a joke using an old saying — “A thousand days at home are good, but a single step outside the door is hard.” Though she was an unmarried young woman, she had understood the ways of the world. That was Han Yueqi’s first year of marriage, and the four of them — the Ye sisters and Han Yueqi — were together. She had been the first to marry, and everyone had felt an unnamed anxiety in their hearts. Not to mention the precedent of Lady Ye — the Ye sisters approached the matter of marriage with wariness.

And so there had been Lingbo’s lantern riddle. It was not about traveling away — it was about remaining at home, in one’s own home, with one’s own parents: a thousand good days. The “single step outside the door is hard” — was the step of leaving to marry. At nineteen, to enter a deep inner compound as a young mistress: above, one must be filial to parents-in-law; below, one must be kind to younger sisters-in-law; one must also bear children. Hardest of all was to be the wife of a scion of a noble family who had been raised surrounded by people who catered to his every wish — to navigate every matter with perfect grace at every turn was truly difficult.

But Qinglan had never expected that what everyone had dreaded three years ago had all unfolded smoothly — and just as they had finally set their hearts at ease, something like this had suddenly come to pass.

Even having read all the books of the sages, at this moment Qinglan could not find a single word to offer in comfort.

Han Yueqi did not need her comfort either, and was the first to smile, saying: “It’s snowing heavily outside — how did you still rush over here? Aren’t you cold?”

“Being cold is manageable,” Qinglan said, only then removing her outer robe, with Chun Ming stepping up to help, handing the cape to the Shen household maids.

Being cold is manageable — only I fear your heart will grow cold. If it were Lingbo, she would certainly have said it outright.

But since Han Yueqi did not say it, she naturally would not say it either. She only reached out and took her hand, and sat beside the warming brazier. The two of them continued facing each other in silence. It was Nanny Li who brought the tea and smiled stiffly: “Why are the young misses not saying anything?”

An accompanying family servant had this advantage — in ordinary times she naturally followed along with “young mistress,” but when there was the slightest trouble, it was “my young miss” again. In the hands of a young mistress like Han Yueqi, who excelled at managing the household and those beneath her, such a servant was more dependable than even the dowry itself.

In truth Qinglan was strong in book-learning but lacked quick wit. And besides, she was still an unmarried young woman from the inner chambers — concern muddled the mind. For a moment she truly could not think of how to begin. It was Han Yueqi who smiled first, saying: “How is it that yesterday you composed riddles so cleverly, and now you say nothing?”

“It was no riddle,” Qinglan said. “I thought of something and simply mentioned it to you.”

“What matter?” Han Yueqi pressed.

“At a time like this, who has the heart to speak of that.” Qinglan sighed.

Han Yueqi placed her hand on Qinglan’s hand and looked at her with a slight smile.

“Don’t worry — I know my own mind,” Han Yueqi said. Qinglan understood: she meant she would not let Qinglan interfere.

Matters between a husband and wife were not things even family could readily manage, let alone Qinglan as an unmarried young woman. Getting entangled in it would be wrong no matter what she did. Han Yueqi would not let Qinglan get drawn in. Qinglan had come rushing over the moment she heard to comfort her — that was Qinglan’s devotion toward her. But Han Yueqi had still not breathed a word of it, and that too was her feeling toward Qinglan.

Knowing that no decision of hers could be changed, Qinglan could only dismiss the servants and said, forcing a smile: “Yesterday I heard the Grand Princess mention the Duke of England, and I noticed Lady Shen seemed to be making arrangements for Biwei — I am afraid it may come to nothing.”

Han Yueqi thought carefully, and then suddenly understood.

“So that is what you meant by the peacock screen betrothal riddle,” she said, sharp as could be, seeing it instantly: “The ladder story is about Liu Qi from the Three Kingdoms period, who was not favored by his stepmother — you think their mother-and-son relationship is troubled?”

Qinglan nodded.

She was a somewhat fastidious person — even speaking privately, she would not recount her audience with the Grand Princess, much less speculate on the Grand Princess and Huo Yingzhen’s mother-and-son relationship. But Biwei was to her something like a half-sister, and seeing a pitfall, she could not fail to give warning.

“The waters here are deep, and the situation complex,” she advised Han Yueqi: “Biwei is fine as she is — only Lady Shen should not invest too much, I fear it would come to nothing. Better to observe and wait.”

“Understood — I will advise her,” Han Yueqi said.

She was, after all, only twenty-three, and though composed on the surface, she had not truly lived through the full heights and depths of marriage. Though she held herself together, not letting Qinglan ask further, and forced herself to talk of other things — when the talking was done, she was still somewhat listless, drifting away without noticing. It was only when Qinglan placed her hand on hers that she came back to herself.

The more such a moment, the less there was left to say. Han Yueqi only returned the clasp of her hand, leaned her head on Qinglan’s shoulder, and closed her eyes to rest.