A’Cuo had done her part with great effort, and Lingbo on her side was no less industrious.

Cui Jingyu’s marquis-conferral banquet was very much one that catered to the young. The Grand Princess chose not to attend, and this naturally set the tone — the Northern Garrison Army had already honored the Wei Family at two consecutive conferral banquets, and could not turn around and honor the Cui Family as well. To do so would be to elevate the Mountain Character Camp too conspicuously. Marquis Jing had been deliberately propped up in the first place as a counterweight to the Mountain Character Camp, so that it would not hold a complete monopoly. The old marquis was now aging, and his descendants showed little distinction — without the support of the court officials, the Northern Garrison Army would be entirely dominated by the Mountain Character Camp.

Yet the Cui Family’s power was truly in its full and imposing radiance. Anyone with even a rudimentary understanding of military affairs knew that Marquis Wei was a genuine commander of great renown, devoted body and soul to the country’s welfare. And Cui Jingyu was the man he had personally chosen as his successor. His own son, Wei Yushan, was treated no better than an outsider under his command. And Wei Yushan himself deferred to Cui Jingyu — looking up to him as an elder brother. So the Mountain Character Camp in the future would, in all likelihood, belong to Cui Jingyu.

The court officials, though their first duty was loyalty to the emperor, also had to consider their own positions. So though they did not attend in person, they sent their sons and nephews; their wives and daughters arrived even earlier. Cui Jingyu was also genuinely wealthy — not only was his family background already strong, but the emperor had bestowed upon him lavish gifts: gold, silks, treasures of all kinds had flowed down like water in addition to the standard conferral rewards. So without the slightest difficulty, he purchased the residence of Deputy Minister Huang and used it as his marquisate.

The Huang Family had produced imperial consorts in its day, and though no royal visit had ever been made, the residence had been built to the specifications of a prince’s manor — exactly suited to hosting such a grand occasion. The Orchid Banquet was in origin a small, intimate gathering, but under Cui Jingyu’s hand, it had become the most magnificent event in the capital. Male guests still had their reservations, but the wives had long been sharpening their ambitions, determined to secure this golden son-in-law for their daughters. They dressed their girls up like blooming flowers and prepared precious accessories — gem-encrusted headdresses and jeweled ornaments — driving the prices of fine silks and precious stones in the capital to shift three times in a single day, to a truly alarming degree.

The one slightly discordant note was Madam Wei — Cui’s household had no female elder present, so Madam Wei served as hostess on his behalf. The banquet was adequate but not outstanding, for Lu Wenyin had not exactly thrown her full effort into it. The other wives, however, were wary of Wei Yue-shui and so kept their criticisms to private company, knowing full well that Madam Wei had no reach or awareness of what was said — scolding her and she’d never even know.

The ladies deployed their full arsenal of social tactics to keep Madam Wei thoroughly occupied, freeing the young misses to move about at their leisure. The rear garden of this residence had been designed with imperial consort quarters in mind, so the inner courtyard was vast and the outer courtyard more modest, the inner grounds elevated and the outer ones lower. A theater troupe had been set up in the water pavilion, surrounded by the meandering embankments of Taihu stone carved into winding walkways, with wintersweet planted all along the banks — blooming late, unfazed by snow, perfumed and warmed by the copper braziers, their fragrance filling the courtyard. It was truly a pleasant comfort.

The young misses strolled the courtyard in pairs and clusters, greatly pleased with this magnificent residence. Creating the atmosphere of a Jiangnan garden here in the capital must have consumed immense resources — the great lake connecting the inner and outer grounds alone, along with the artificial hills, cascading springs, water pavilions and terraces, and rare flowering trees, was something rarely seen in the capital. It was inevitable that their imaginations drifted toward what it might be like to be mistress of such a courtyard.

“I hear Marquis Cui is also in the process of acquiring a private villa,” He Qingyi remarked.

“But of course,” Miss Chen — Chen Mengliu — said with a knowing air: “Marquis Cui comes from an established noble family, and naturally understands the customs of such families. The residence in the capital is for attending court. In spring, when one goes out to view the blossoms, there’s a spring villa for that; in autumn, when one goes out hunting, there’s an autumn villa — people of refinement know these things well. Those of shallower roots wouldn’t even know the names.”

The Chen Family was not remarkable in looks, and Chen Mengliu was no exception — but she was extraordinarily overbearing and, frankly, not very clever. She could not see that though her own sister-in-law Lu Wenyin had brought her along, she was in fact maneuvering fully on behalf of Lu Wanyang, while using Chen Mengliu as a weapon to attack He Qingyi.

He Qingyi’s expression cooled, and she fell silent, knowing it was not worth arguing with Chen Mengliu and giving others something to laugh at. Then she heard someone say with a smile: “By that logic, wouldn’t the Chen Family’s Mustard Flower Banquet have to be held at a mountain villa?”

Lord Chen held a high position, though he was overshadowed by Lord Shen. He was always making awkward attempts to assert himself and get ahead, and scrambling every year to host the Mustard Flower Banquet was a minor matter in itself, though it was partly to signal his own frugality to the emperor. He would often go so far as to dress up the Mustard Flower Banquet as a scene of “winding waterway feasting,” dragging along his disciples and associates to “compose a hundred poems in praise of the mustard flower,” and sent the resulting pile of laudatory verses up to the emperor — who did not glance at them twice. What was truly embarrassing, though, was the previous year’s autumn imperial hunt. Two years prior, the emperor had lingered for a moment at the Shen Family villa, which was a great honor for any subject, and Lord Chen had borne it in mind for an entire year. The following year, he could not resist also inviting the emperor to rest at his own villa. By chance, the emperor humored him and actually came — only to find, upon arrival, something that resembled a farmyard: a cluster of mud-walled, thatch-roofed outbuildings, vegetable patches everywhere, and not even a proper place to tether a horse. The emperor had a place to rest, but the accompanying officials, princes and noble kinsmen, and even the palace attendants had nowhere to sit. Chickens and ducks were wandering about on the ground.

The emperor said nothing, stopped for a brief moment, remarked “Lord Chen remains rustic and unassuming,” and returned to the palace. Lord Chen took this as a compliment on his frugality, and was enormously pleased with himself. When word spread, both Madam Chen and the young lord Chen felt the shame keenly; Chen Mengliu also flew into a rage: “Other people receive the emperor at the Shen Family — red brocade spread along the road, embroidered screens three or four li long. Father alone has to be different, tears down a perfectly good house and builds outbuildings instead. It’s humiliating — everyone in the capital is laughing at us.” Lord Chen only said: “What do any of you know? This is what clean governance looks like! The emperor has it in his heart, even if he says nothing — he must certainly hold our family in high regard!”

As it turned out, Lord Shen had one of his disciples in the Censorate submit a memorial naming Lord Chen’s most favored student for embezzling a fortune from salt inspections in Jiangnan. The money had been loaded into grain boats and transported to the capital, where it was caught red-handed by the prefectural authorities.

Who the money was meant for in the capital needed no explanation. The emperor suppressed the matter and did not allow it to be investigated further. He summoned Lord Chen to the palace, sat in silence reviewing memorials for an hour while Lord Chen knelt trembling beside him, and then at last threw that accusatory memorial at him, saying only: “Lord Chen is, after all, rustic and unassuming.”

Lord Chen retreated in scarlet humiliation, having suffered a great blow. He went home and tore down the outbuildings, rebuilding them into gardens and pavilions just like everyone else’s — equally magnificent.

Such an embarrassing affair — and Lingbo, with her sharp ear for gossip, knew all the details. Her reflexes were equally quick, and she picked exactly this moment to bring it up. Quite a few young misses in the courtyard had heard this story, and at once broke into laughter. Those who hadn’t went to ask those who had, and soon the whole gathering was in merry uproar. Chen Mengliu’s face turned crimson, and she glared furiously at Lingbo: “What has this got to do with you — always sticking your neck out!”

“At the flower-season banquets, we are all sisters — what does sticking one’s neck out even mean?” Lingbo only smiled faintly. “If anyone is inclined to take offense over a small thing, then what Miss Chen said just now had quite a few points that could be misunderstood…”

As she spoke, she glanced toward He Qingyi. He Qingyi was quick enough — she immediately smiled slightly and said: “What is Elder Sister Ye saying? Miss Chen means no harm — would I be so foolish as to be provoked by a lighthearted remark from Miss Chen?”

Chen Mengliu, having taken a quiet blow, had no choice but to swallow it. She said “Ye Lingbo, you wait and see” and huffed off — presumably to go tattle to her sister-in-law Lu Wenyin up front. He Qingyi cast a glance at Lu Wanyang, who stood among the crowd watching coldly, and looked as though she wanted to say something to Lingbo, but held back.

Yet she was still young, and when the Cui Family household manager led everyone to the warm inner pavilion to admire the camellia flowers, she could not resist falling behind the crowd and drawing close to Lingbo.

Lingbo paused to hear what she had to say.

“The Chen Family carries great influence — they are not easy opponents. Second Young Miss, it would be wiser to step back for now,” she said.

Lingbo smiled, and turned the question back on her: “I am of only average ability, so naturally I have no ambitions. But Miss He has such distinguished talents — surely you would not give up without a fight?”

He Qingyi’s eyes flickered with something for a moment, but it quickly settled back into calm. She gave a rueful smile.

“I have no backing and no support — what is there to fight for?”

Madam He had ability but no real capability. The Old Madam He had fallen into confusion with age, and rather than lifting up her own granddaughter, had been won over by Lu Wenyin as a way to keep her daughter-in-law in check. She truly had no one to rely on.

“No backing and no support? I’m not sure about that,” Lingbo said with a faint smile.

He Qingyi’s heart stirred, and she found herself looking at her. Lingbo only blinked at her with a smile.

“Let me give you a gift, Miss He.”

She spoke with an air of mystery. He Qingyi was just about to ask more, but at that moment a message arrived from outside — the midday banquet was being set, and everyone was to come. She had no choice but to set the matter aside and go off to play the part of the proper young lady of a noble family, as convention required.

Lu Wenyin’s relentless striving for advancement was, at times, almost admirable — if she were not the enemy, Lingbo might have found even more to appreciate in her tactics. At a midday banquet like this, she first made her social rounds with great energy, making sure everyone knew she had contributed considerably and been an immense help to Madam Wei. Even when Cui Jingyu came around as host to make the customary inquiries to the ladies, she did not miss the chance to seek credit, asking: “Marquis Cui, how was the lamb I prepared — not inferior to what you have up north in the garrison, I hope?”

Cui Jingyu only said, coolly: “Thank you for your trouble, Assistant Chen Niangzi, in assisting my honorable teacher’s wife.”

He saw through the smallest of Lu Wenyin’s maneuverings with perfect clarity, let alone something as transparent as this. But Lu Wenyin refused to give up and added: “It’s really the small matters of food and preparation that count the least — what matters is the sincerity in receiving guests, don’t you think, ladies?”

Her followers, like Yang Qiaozhen and the rest, naturally all laughed along. Madam Chen also said: “Wenyin, stop teasing Marquis Cui.” Clearly giving tacit approval — the scene made it appear that she, in her capacity as a married lady, was taking a light-hearted liberty with this unmarried marquis, which was not entirely improper.

Madam Wei smiled and said: “Jingyu is the most proper of hosts — if anything is lacking, ladies, please do not hesitate to tell me.”

She likely thought she had said something charming, not realizing that the other ladies were all deeply on their guard against her, assuming she was scheming on Wei Yue-shui’s behalf to tie Cui Jingyu permanently to the Wei household — privately, they were already cursing her in their hearts.

Lu Wenyin kept up a cordial surface with her, but privately held no different opinion — otherwise she would not have turned away and, ignoring Madam Wei’s last remark, addressed Cui Jingyu directly: “They always say ‘guests should feel at home’ — how is it, Marquis, that you see to our banquet dishes but offer us nothing to amuse ourselves with?”

“A theater troupe has already been arranged — the ladies are welcome to call for whatever they like,” Cui Jingyu replied, as cool as ever.

“Who still wants to watch opera? Our ears have grown calluses from listening to it every day,” Lu Wenyin said, moving toward her true objective: “That day at Madam Wei’s residence, when she had the generals demonstrate archery for us — that was very good. Pity it was rather hastily arranged and we didn’t get to see our fill. And it was out in the open grounds, so it wasn’t suitable for the ladies to show their faces. Today we have such a wonderful opportunity — the inner courtyard is spacious and there are pavilions and terraces. Madam Wei, we could arrange the refreshments on the upper floor, and have the marquis and the generals demonstrate mounted archery for us down on the level ground below — wouldn’t that be novel and entertaining?” She tugged at Madam Wei’s sleeve.

Madam Wei, not knowing the customs of the capital, was about to agree. She glanced at Cui Jingyu — and Cui Jingyu said coldly: “The skills of the battlefield are not a pretty sight. Besides, they carry a killing air — I’m afraid it might startle the ladies.”

His meaning, in fact, was that he had no wish to have his generals perform for the entertainment of the ladies.

But Lu Wenyin acted as though she did not understand, clung to Madam Wei’s sleeve, and said: “There’s nothing frightening about it at all. Besides, the Grand Princess herself mentioned not long ago that this year’s flower-season banquets are to help arrange marriages for the unmarried generals of the Northern Garrison Army. We must rely on all of us ladies to assist with that — if we can’t even meet face to face, how are we to know what the young generals look like and what their temperaments are? How are we to arrange suitable matches? Ladies, don’t you agree?”

In truth, the arranging of marriages was the province of respected elder matrons, but she muddled all of that together. Madam Wei, unaware of this, was taken in, and turned to Cui Jingyu: “Jingyu…”

Cui Jingyu still treated his teacher’s wife with respect. Hearing her open her mouth to speak, he called out to a young attendant: “Pingyao, go and have the arrow targets set up and the open ground cleared.”

The watchtower was not tall; the wide level ground below it was called the Auspicious Ground. Huang the Deputy Minister had originally built both specifically for the purpose of hosting a potential royal visit, so that the consort might watch from above while performances and festivities took place below. The area was therefore extremely wide and spacious, capable of fitting several theater stages. The female guests climbed up to the tower early and arranged themselves with warming braziers, tea, and refreshments. Down below, the generals arrived one by one. For men like these, archery was a part of their daily training, something they would never willingly put aside. It was also right after a hearty feast with wine flowing freely, and their enthusiasm ran high — some had even put on armor, covered over with the embroidered silk robes patterned with large medallion flowers that the emperor had gifted for the victory celebrations, a magnificent combination.

The civil officials’ sons who had come to the banquet were all young men who had only read about warfare in books, and they were deeply curious about the Northern Garrison Army’s horsemanship and archery. They clustered around to watch. The lower-ranking generals each took their turns shooting a few rounds — some hit their marks, some did not. Lu Wenyin’s purpose lay elsewhere. She smiled and asked Madam Wei: “Why isn’t Marquis Cui taking a turn?”

“Jingyu’s skill is excellent — he doesn’t casually spar with the others, for fear of dampening their fighting spirit,” Madam Wei said.

She was actually rather like Marquis Wei in this — in her opinion, Cui Jingyu was even more satisfying than Wei Yushan.

“And where is the young marquis?” another lady asked with curiosity.

This particular lady had a daughter who was still young, and naturally still considered Wei Yushan a perfectly good prospect. But Lu Wenyin, since the last incident, had already eliminated Wei Yushan from her calculations on Lu Wanyang’s behalf, and with Cui Jingyu being the superior option, she let Madam Wei answer a quick “I have no idea where Yushan has disappeared to today, not a shadow of him anywhere” before steering the conversation back, and tugging at Madam Wei’s arm: “Madam, ask Marquis Cui to come up and demonstrate archery for us — he listens to you most.”

Madam Wei smiled, quite pleased with that remark, and truly sent someone down to relay the message.

Cui Jingyu was already commanding attention simply by standing nearby in his dark brocade robe. He was a born military man — taller than those around him, more at ease in his bearing, with broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, standing among others like a tiger or a leopard at rest. Even more so when he appeared with a full-height bow in hand.

The ladies and young misses all stood up to look. They watched as he stepped out from among the crowd. The generals around him seemed to yield to him instinctively — as he walked forward, they parted like water dividing around a stone. Even those who were shooting paused; one headstrong young man hadn’t noticed and was about to release, but the man beside him pushed his arm down.

They were even more eager to see him shoot than the ladies were.