Qinglan, Yanyan, and A’Cuo returned late into the night. Lingbo had known it would be Old Lady Ye who kept them — time spares no one, and it was precisely during festive seasons like this, when the whole family gathered in joy, that the loneliness and decline of the elderly became most apparent. All the more reason she needed her grandchildren and grandchildren-in-law clustered around her, delighting her at her knees, to ward off the chill of passing years.

That was why Old Lady Ye had always favored Yanyan, for this very reason.

But Ye Lingbo was not about to swallow that. Of the three sisters, she held grudges the longest. Seeing them return so late put her in a foul mood, and Yanyan came bounding in, cheerfully holding up a set of hair combs for her to admire, saying: “These are from the Old Lady for you — she had us open her jewelry box and choose whatever we liked. We all picked something. Nanny Wu chose these for you. She said since you have so much hair, hair combs would look lovely on you.”

“Did A’Cuo pick something?” was the first thing Lingbo asked.

A’Cuo showed her the sideburn pins she had chosen. The Old Lady’s things were always fine — this set of combs was pure gold as well, inlaid with gemstone-strung pendants, magnificent in style.

But then Lingbo asked: “Did Ye Yin Zhang pick something too?”

Qinglan smiled.

“Vicious as Concubine Pan may be, even on a New Year’s holiday the Old Lady had no reason to publicly humiliate Ye Yin Zhang. The sins of the parents do not fall upon the children.”

Lingbo wasn’t buying that.

“Our sins may not fall upon the children, but Concubine Pan didn’t hold herself to that standard when it came to us.” She had no patience for Old Lady Ye, and found fault even with the hair combs — she looked at them, then tossed them back into the box, saying: “When it counted, she never came forward to uphold justice. Now she wants to play fair? Eight seasons too late.”

“Don’t keep dwelling on the past — it does you no good,” Qinglan urged her. “It’s the New Year. Don’t speak of such things. Be happy.”

“Why shouldn’t I dwell on it? I intend to dwell on it. Right now I simply don’t have time — but once I’ve finished my important business at this year’s Flower Season Banquet, I’m going to settle old scores with all of them. Concubine Pan and Father Ye, neither of them should think of running. That’s when I’ll truly be happy.” Lingbo said with fierce resolve.

Qinglan was amused into laughter.

“What important business do you have this year? Tell me.”

Lingbo wasn’t afraid of saying too much. Qinglan was too straightforward in her thinking, and so tended to miss the subtler intentions of others — she couldn’t detect that Lingbo was, right under her nose, scheming about the business of continuing the red thread of fate. It was A’Cuo who caught on quickly, pressing her lips together and giving Lingbo a knowing smile.

“You sharp little spirit.” She ruffled A’Cuo’s head. Looking at her, so genuinely lovely — like a small silk doll — she couldn’t help but pinch her cheeks too. Yanyan was wonderful, but she simply wasn’t A’Cuo’s equal in quick-wittedness. Lingbo treated A’Cuo as a charming little treasure, pulling her into her arms, saying: “A’Cuo, are you brave? Are you afraid of fireworks? I’ve prepared so many — we’re going to set them off together later.”

A’Cuo leaned against her contentedly and said: “I’m not scared at all.”

“Neither am I!” Yanyan had already darted outside and came running back with a fistful of fireworks, saying: “Stop talking — the fireworks will get damp! Come on, I’ll show you. I’m the best at setting off fireworks, even better than Liu Ji!”

“You really are asking for a smack! Who brings fireworks indoors — what if there’s a fire?” Lingbo scolded her even as she chased after her: “Slow down, mind you don’t fall! Liu Ji — don’t let her touch the fireworks! Burning her hands is no joke!”

Outside, the night deepened. Every household rang out with the crack of firecrackers to drive away evil, and Liu Ji, leading the young male servants, hoisted strings of firecrackers high on long poles and set them off. The sound was deafening — it felt as though every knot of worry in the chest was blasted apart. Trays upon trays of fireworks were carried out and lit; amid the snow, they bloomed like great trees of flowers, one after another. The four sisters stood at the foot of the steps — Lingbo and Qinglan on either side, the two younger ones in the middle. Niangzi Yang directed Uncle Yang the Fifth to stoke a roaring fire, then had the bronze brazier carried into the courtyard, and said to Qinglan and Lingbo: “Young Mistresses, it is time to burn the Year God offering.”

This was the custom of the capital: the fire of New Year’s Eve was believed to reach the divine, and so a brazier was lit and kept burning through the night. The Year God talisman was brought forth, burned in the New Year’s Eve fire, a rite called “sending off the Year God” — also known as “burning the Year God” — meaning to drive away misfortune, in hope that the coming year would bring peace, good fortune, and smooth sailing in all things.

In other households, this duty fell to the head of the family — typically a man. But in Wutong Courtyard, the heads of the household were none other than the two sisters, Qinglan and Lingbo.

Uncle Yang the Fifth handed over the talisman. Qinglan looked it over, then placed it in the fire and watched it burn away. Niangzi Yang lit a bundle of incense and handed it to Lingbo, who distributed the sticks among the four of them. Each held their incense and closed their eyes before the fire to pray. Afraid A’Cuo might not understand, she explained carefully: “Make a wish. This is the New Year’s prayer — it will surely come true.”

A’Cuo nodded obediently, held her incense in both hands, pressed her palms together, closed her eyes, and stood before the roaring flames to make her wish in silence.

In the new year, she hoped that the elder sisters of the Ye household would each have their heart’s desire fulfilled — that everyone would be healthy and joyful, gathered together always, never to be parted.

Snowflakes fell from the vast expanse of sky, landing on their faces and melting away soundlessly — like a kiss, or like a teardrop.

Surely Aunt Meng Furen was watching from the heavens above. Had she been reunited with Lady Ye? And Grandfather — he must be with Father and Mother by now. The little duckling she had raised at age ten had been accidentally trampled by a servant, and she had cried so hard she went the whole day without eating. Grandfather had stayed by her side, refusing to eat as well. He had gone himself to the homes of farmers to ask if anyone had newly hatched ducklings for sale. Even the water-carrying women at the government office had marveled that they had never seen a little girl raised so tenderly…

That old man with the salt-and-pepper beard — lean-faced, slight of frame, thin and spare — he must not worry anymore, up in heaven, about his A’Cuo. She had grown up. She had found the strength to protect herself. She was no longer alone. She had a new home, family who treated her like true sisters, and she would stand on the stage of the Twenty-Four Flower Season Banquet to secure a complete and worthy future for herself and for all of them.

—

The custom of the capital held that the New Year’s Eve vigil was kept by the head of the household — generally the men. But Wutong Courtyard had its own custom: Qinglan and Lingbo kept watch together, staying up until the midnight hour, when they would set off firecrackers and then go to bed. Usually Yanyan was the first to sleep. This year, with A’Cuo among them, she was naturally given the same treatment as Yanyan. They all sat around the warming brazier for a while, played cards, chatted — and gradually Yanyan began to nod off. Lingbo had Niangzi Yang carry her to bed. A’Cuo, stubborn as ever, insisted on keeping the vigil too. Lingbo knew she was treating herself as a grown-up, so she didn’t stop her — she even let her taste the strong tea that had been brewing, which was so bitter A’Cuo wrinkled her nose in protest.

By the time midnight drew near, A’Cuo was struggling to hold on. She got up and walked around a bit. Outside, snow was falling, and the cold wind on her face was bracing enough to wake her. She noticed Yang Hua waving to her from one side, though she had no idea what it meant. Puzzled, she walked over.

“Miss, come with me,” Yang Hua said with a smile.

A’Cuo followed her around the covered corridor. She knew this was the rear courtyard of Wutong Courtyard, which backed onto the street outside, with a narrow lane that the servants used to come and go — technically a public alley, but no one used its original name anymore. Everyone called it the Ye Family Lane.

Snow was falling outside. Yang Hua held an umbrella over her. In the lane, a plum tree was in full bloom. Residents across the capital were keeping their New Year’s vigil, every house alight, the occasional crack of firecrackers drifting through the air.

A’Cuo had thought Yang Hua was bringing her to see something, but instead she found a person standing beneath the plum tree in the lane, wearing the cloak of the Golden Guard patrol. One look and A’Cuo knew this was someone sent by Wei Yushan with a message. Her expression immediately darkened. “Not this again. I’ve said it before — no more sneaking around. If he has something to say, let him say it himself.”

“I am saying it myself,” came a bright, laughing voice. The figure pushed back a snow-dusted hood to reveal Wei Yushan himself.

For the New Year, he had naturally dressed in new clothing — a crimson brocade robe, this time embroidered with river cliffs, ocean waves, and qilins. Gold and red interwoven, the embroidery magnificent and brilliant: exactly the thing to be seen in a snowscape.

The young ladies of the capital regarded him as an unquestionable top-three candidate at the Flower Season Banquet, and had privately murmured about him — never naming him outright, of course. But A’Cuo had heard, and she knew it was him they spoke of: saying that young military commanders still had a certain commanding air, that men who had been to war carried a youthful vitality that bookish scholars lacked.

Everyone said he was handsome and full of spirit. A’Cuo thought he was just ordinary — what did being good-looking matter? She had spent her whole childhood looking at that in the mirror. Even if Wei Yushan smiled at her in the snow like a wagging-tailed little wolf, she remained entirely unmoved.

“What did you come here for?” She was as fastidious as ever, and said with distaste: “Don’t you spend the New Year with your own family?”

“It’s dull. I ate the New Year’s Eve dinner and slipped out — I even took the men from my battalion up the bell tower,” he said with pride.

A’Cuo had no interest whatsoever in that inexplicable competitive streak of his, those thoroughly boyish pursuits typical of an eighteen-year-old. She listened with only half her attention.

“Why are you wearing the Golden Guard uniform?” she asked.

“I took on a sinecure post with the Golden Guard. The curfew won’t apply to me anymore — I can go anywhere in the city now. Even if you’re confined to the house, you need not worry,” he said with satisfaction.

The Weis were from Qin — narrow-faced, with lean features — but because his bone structure was excellent, it didn’t look sharp at all; on the contrary, every expression suited him, especially a look of self-satisfaction like this one. The corners of his lips curled up with a smile that deepened into an arc — the very image of a young, celebrated general straight out of a story.

But A’Cuo was not impressed at all. His mentioning the curfew only reminded her of how he had once used it as a pretext to block the Ye family’s carriage.

“I can’t stay out long. I’m going back.” A’Cuo said, with little warmth.

Wei Yushan wasn’t bothered, assuming she was annoyed about being confined to the house. He smiled. “Then I’ll come to pay New Year’s respects tomorrow. In our family, I’m the one who makes all the calls. I’ll come to yours first thing on New Year’s Day.”

“No need,” said A’Cuo. “Your visit doesn’t count as an official call anyway. It wouldn’t be the Wei family coming to pay respects — it would look more like Elder Sister Ye is riding on your family’s name.”

“I represent the Wei family. Don’t worry — I’ll come to your house after I’ve called on the Grand Princess’s residence and the four princely households. The carriages and ceremony will be exactly the same. My mother has the gifts prepared already.” said Wei Yushan.

A’Cuo, after all, was a girl, and didn’t quite understand that a boy of seventeen or eighteen was already half an adult — capable of standing on equal footing with his parents. Moreover, Wei Yushan was used to running his own campaign, having commanded troops in battle, and was thoroughly accustomed to doing as he pleased.

“Fine then.” A’Cuo’s manner softened slightly. She turned to go, but her sleeve was caught.

The young man, a full head taller than her, who ordinarily presented a formidable face even to his subordinates and parents, was today unusually agreeable — smiling at her with warmth. He pulled open his cloak to show her its lining. “Want to see something good?”

“What?” A’Cuo was not about to go look of her own accord. Wei Yushan, who seemed impervious to cold, wore only his thin brocade robe, with a sword hanging at his waist — nothing appeared to be hidden inside.

Wei Yushan drew something from his chest and placed it in her hands. It was a stone carving, about the size of a palm — a bird-shaped divine creature, as though it had been knocked off something. It was rough and weathered, as if it had endured many years of wind and rain.

“What is this?” A’Cuo asked, puzzled.

“It’s a roof-ridge guardian beast from the bell tower,” said Wei Yushan, seeing that she didn’t understand. “The biggest bell tower in Chang’an is the South Bell Tower of the Cangjing Temple. It has twenty-eight guardian stone beasts. Legend in the capital says these beasts absorbed the sutras and became spiritually awakened — you can use them to make wishes, and they never fail. They’ve all been taken. I climbed up to look, and found one more at the very highest point that no one else could reach. Nobody dared climb that high. I knocked it loose and brought it for you.”

“Why bring it to me? I don’t have any wishes to make,” said A’Cuo. She couldn’t help looking him over, then asked: “You weren’t hurt, were you?”

“I’m perfectly fine.” Wei Yushan immediately moved around to show her he was uninjured.

He truly was unharmed — only the sleeve of his brocade robe had been scraped, and the qilin’s whiskers had a few loose threads. A’Cuo instinctively took out her sewing kit and stitched it up for him. He was cooperative enough, extending his arm toward her while lifting his other hand to hold up a lantern to light her work. A’Cuo had no scissors. She leaned in close, pressed her face against his arm, and bit through the thread with her teeth. Her cheek, carrying the faint fragrance of face powder, brushed across Wei Yushan’s chest — the briefest of moments — and his ears went immediately crimson.

“Done.” A’Cuo tucked her sewing kit away.

Wei Yushan pressed his palm over the spot she had mended, as though he could still feel the faint dampness at the thread’s end. He hadn’t been injured, yet it felt as though something new had appeared on his arm — like a wound freshly healing, flesh that had turned pink and soft, itching and unsettling, leaving him at a complete loss.

“I’ll come to pay New Year’s respects tomorrow,” he said again.

“You already said that.” A’Cuo replied with downcast eyes. Wei Yushan supposed she was still upset about Shen Biwei having seen them.

His life had always gone smoothly. Because he was clever, and strong, neither letters nor martial arts had posed him any real difficulty — even something as grueling as war he had mastered quickly. He had entered the battlefield at fourteen and grown up amid its trials. Even if his father were not made a marquis, he was a general in his own right, by legitimate standing. Yet he could not unravel the riddle that was A’Cuo.

“Here.” He held out the strange-looking guardian beast to A’Cuo again. This time she took it, and made her slow way back with Yang Hua toward the Ye family’s small rear gate. As she climbed the steps, she suddenly heard Wei Yushan call: “A’Cuo.”

She looked back. The young general of eighteen stood in the snow, watching her with a smile.

“Happy New Year, A’Cuo.” He said it sincerely. “Good health, long life, and may all your wishes come true.”

“Same to you,” said A’Cuo.