Having cut off her own thread of feeling, Lingbo naturally turned her full attention to weaving a red thread for Qinglan.
After the Caihua Banquet, the lingering warmth of the new year’s festivities vanished entirely. Like the stirring of all living creatures after the Awakening of Insects, the capital buzzed with restless intentions and hidden undercurrents. This was always a time that demanded the sharpest vigilance, and Lingbo knew well that this year’s Flower Gathering Banquet was no simple affair. Cui Jingyu and Wei Yushan, two great fish, remained unmoored; Huo Yingzhen had still not made his move; and now the Northern March Army had seen so many separations at once. They were all faithless husbands, to be sure — but faithless husbands with military merit and fiefdoms, who had abandoned only the devoted wives unwilling to accept their taking concubines. That said, many young ladies of the capital cared nothing for such things. Raised from childhood with their mothers’ meticulous instruction in the art of managing a household and keeping concubines in line, they had plenty of use for such martial heroes.
As ever, the fiercer the tide, the more those who rode it. Lingbo kept one eye on the Northern March Army’s situation and the other trained carefully on the Chen household — watching to see whether Lu Wenyin had any new tricks up her sleeve. Word came from Han Yueqi’s side, telling her not to worry, saying that she had her hands free now and was preparing to have some proper sport with Lu Wenyin.
From the way Han Yueqi spoke, Lingbo knew Lu Wenyin was in for a very bad time.
With Han elder sister being so formidable, she could not afford to fall behind. She immediately looked through the calling cards that had accumulated at home over the past few days, picked out two, and asked Yang Niangzi: “What is the meaning of these two? How did gentlemen’s cards end up here at our Wutong Courtyard?”
It was the morning of the eighteenth. Qinglan was with A’Cuo and Yanyan, earnestly preparing Lingbo’s birthday banquet, and was not in the warm parlor. Yang Niangzi glanced around, satisfied that they were alone, and replied with a smile: “Second Miss doesn’t know yet? Ever since the Lantern Festival, when you dressed up the eldest Miss like that, so many people saw her — there has been a steady stream of visitors hoping to establish ties with our household. Most of them are looking to propose. The unsuitable ones I turned away. These two gentlemen are quite acceptable, so I set their cards aside.”
Lingbo immediately grew interested. She examined them carefully, then frowned: “This Jia Huaye won’t do. He may be from the Hanlin Academy, but his mother-in-law is notoriously difficult — she just hounded his eldest daughter-in-law to death with her ill treatment. The next time his card comes, throw it straight out. But this Dai Yuquan — he looks promising.”
“Isn’t the Dai family imperial merchants?” Yang Niangzi remarked.
“Yes. They are both imperial merchants and an official’s family, though I understand their business is all in Jinling, and their influence in the capital is merely average — about on par with the Meng family. But he is an only son. Dai Yuquan passed the provincial examination, purchased his official post, and is now serving under the Pingjun Prince. He has both power and wealth.”
Yang Niangzi only smiled.
“What are you smiling about?” Lingbo asked.
“I’m smiling at the pity of it for young Master Dai,” Yang Niangzi laughed. “Such a well-off young gentleman, and he’s about to be used as a decoy bird.”
Lingbo laughed at that too.
The so-called “decoy bird” was a merchant’s slang term — it referred to the practice of planting a false buyer when a real buyer was hesitating, in order to create a sense of competition and pressure the true buyer into closing the deal. Yang Niangzi had a quick and perceptive mind. She knew her second young miss was intent on weaving a red thread for her eldest sister, and this Dai Yuquan, having set his sights on the eldest Miss and sent his card, was most likely going to end up as a pawn in her second young miss’s scheme.
“Decoy bird? I don’t know what you mean by that.” Lingbo played at innocence. “All right, send a reply card back. Say that our household has no gentleman in residence, so we cannot properly receive male guests — it would be better if he called upon the Old Madam instead.”
Without a man in Wutong Courtyard, the only option was to use Grandmother Ye as a pretext. Fortunately, Grandmother Ye had lately been feeling some remorse and bore considerable guilt toward the three sisters, so she would not refuse.
“Speaking of the Old Madam — she has remembered that today is Second Miss’s birthday. She sent Nanny Wu early this morning with a jade Guanyin as a birthday gift. It is of exceptional quality. Second Miss should still go and offer her thanks.” Yang Niangzi urged.
“I know,” Lingbo said.
If it were merely a jade Guanyin, Lingbo would not have gone to give thanks. She was hardly lacking in fine jade — the shops had plenty of it. The time when help was truly needed, the Old Madam had not lifted a hand. It was too late now to make amends. But considering that Qinglan’s affairs would still require the Old Madam’s assistance in the future, Lingbo had no choice but to go and make a show of it.
Arriving at Grandmother Ye’s courtyard, she found it a surprisingly lively scene. The Old Madam had been bedridden since her stroke and could not rise, slumping slightly even when sitting up. But she had been mistress of the household for decades, and the courtyard was still kept in perfect order. When Lingbo entered, a nun was keeping Grandmother Ye company — she recognized her as Nun Luo from the Quiet Heart Convent, who was known for reading fortunes and physiognomy, and was said to be quite accurate. When Lingbo’s mother was still alive, the nun had said with barely concealed concern that her mother’s brows were short and she should take care of her health. Indeed, her mother’s health had collapsed with startling speed afterward, and no amount of medicine had saved her.
Lingbo entered, first paid her respects to the Old Madam, then exchanged a few pleasantries with Nun Luo. The conversation turned to the Flower Gathering Banquet, and Grandmother Ye, who had grown considerably more kindly of late, admonished Lingbo: “This year’s Flower Gathering Banquet is a good occasion. Don’t spend all your time on household affairs and the shops — attend the banquets properly, and don’t let your good youth go to waste.”
Lingbo let the words go in one ear and out the other, offering only a few murmured agreements. But Nun Luo, whether to make cheerful conversation or for some other reason, suddenly smiled and said: “Old Madam need not worry. I can see a watery brightness in this young lady’s eyes — she is in the midst of a peach blossom season right now. It seems to be a matter of just these past few days.”
Lingbo had no interest whatsoever in such things, and could not even be bothered to feign the bashfulness expected of a proper young lady. It was Grandmother Ye who took it to heart, pressing eagerly: “Has her true destiny arrived? I always thought Lingbo, this child, was blessed with good fortune.”
Nun Luo studied Lingbo closely for a long moment, then shook her head and smiled. “Forgive me — I have given the Old Madam false hope for nothing. It turns out to be an unrelated matter. It is not her true destiny.”
Even Lingbo, who had never put stock in physiognomy or fortune-telling, felt a fleeting pang of something hollow at those words.
The peach blossom of these past few days — who else could it be but that scoundrel Pei Zhao?
Yet Nun Luo seemed entirely unaware of this and continued earnestly: “Young Miss, you must be careful these next few days. Your Red Phoenix Star has been stirred on your birthday — it is a most inauspicious passing peach blossom. Do not place your trust lightly in anyone, and do not make hasty decisions. You might otherwise drive away your true destiny when it comes.”
What true destiny still awaited? It had already been driven away by that scoundrel Pei Zhao. Lingbo found the whole thing faintly amusing and continued to murmur vague replies. But Grandmother Ye was genuinely anxious, so Nun Luo reassured her: “Old Madam, rest easy. Looking at this young lady’s features, her fortune and fate are exceptionally deep — great wealth and prosperity await her in the future. She is truly blessed.”
Lingbo recalled that the nun had said exactly the same thing about Qinglan five years ago. It was plainly the same stock of well-worn phrases that fortune-tellers always kept on hand.
She had no wish to linger any longer in the Old Madam’s courtyard. She took her leave, and with Xiao Liu’er followed the covered walkway back toward home. The weather had turned warmer these past few days, and the white plum blossoms in the courtyard had opened — the green-calyxed white plum that Han Yueqi had sent, which happened to be the exact color of a certain scoundrel’s robes. Lingbo found herself standing beneath the tree without quite realizing it. She was always one to move with purpose and spirit, striving ever forward — this kind of quiet, wistful stillness was rare for her. Even Xiao Liu’er did not dare disturb her. In the end, it was she herself who came back to her senses and laughed, a small self-mocking sound.
Not her true destiny — just a passing peach blossom. Was that not a perfect fit for that scoundrel Pei Zhao? She had not really felt surprised, if she was honest — it was like a heavy stone dropping and settling, and she did not feel grief exactly. Only a certain emptiness inside.
That fellow Pei Zhao — she was not afraid he would not recover, or that he would fail to find a wife.
There was a real possibility she might end up keeping a sort of one-sided vigil for him while he lived happily with another.
—
Qinglan naturally took Lingbo’s birthday banquet seriously — she was always the very best of sisters, putting in every effort for others’ celebrations. For her own younger sister’s birthday, she was even more devoted and arranged a proper gathering. The guest list was small: only Han Yueqi and Shen Biwei. Fu Yunrui had been collected by Yin Hongyuan that very night, though not before the news of Lingbo’s birthday had reached the Northern March Army women. The female relatives, in the midst of their own separation proceedings and already looking to make amends to the Ye household, did not forget to send a variety of precious gifts.
The situation was now greatly in their favor: Wutong Courtyard had won over Lady Wei along with the entire circle of Northern March Army female relatives, and had earned the Grand Princess’s favorable regard. The Master Ye branch of the household still remained cut off from any news, unable to make heads or tails of what was happening. Yet Pan Yurong still had the audacity to send the same tired gifts as previous years — a couple of bundles of longevity noodles and a few lengths of coarse fabric she called fine silk. Yang Niangzi did not even bother dealing with it directly, simply ordering that it all be thrown out without letting it disturb the young misses’ enjoyment of the wine.
It was Lingbo’s birthday, so of course she considered drinking entirely appropriate. But even without her inclination, Shen Biwei would not have let her escape — she arrived carrying two jars of wine herself and urged Lingbo: “Come, come, come. Lanling wine with its amber hue — this is the real thing from Lanling, taken from my old father’s private store. It was a gift from the late Emperor. Don’t worry — it’s been tested for poison; Old General Zheng already snuck two jars and drank them. Don’t say your elder sister doesn’t love you — I’m giving you the first taste. Drink it down, don’t disappoint my kindness.”
Lingbo was no match for her and was wrapped in an arm and made to swallow two mouthfuls, calling out to Qinglan for rescue. Qinglan came over laughing to pry them apart: “Biwei, who pours wine like that? Even good wine should be savored slowly. Lingbo can’t hold her liquor — don’t keep pouring.”
Han Yueqi, watching from the side, laughed too: “Biwei has been attending palace banquets every day this past while and has been completely starved of proper fun. She must have missed Lingbo terribly.”
In truth the mood was lively enough on Shen Biwei’s account, but what really set things going was the gathering of household managers — A’Cuo’s Lin Niangzi, Lingbo’s own Yang Niangzi, Luo Niangzi, and Han Yueqi’s Han Niangzi were all there. All of them were capable, respected household managers. Though they served other mistresses faithfully, it was Lingbo who had always treated them with genuine regard and recognized their abilities. It was like wine meeting a kindred spirit — one after another they came to toast her. Before she had made it through even one round of them, the senior maids came forward with their toasts too, until Lingbo’s face had gone quite red. Qinglan, feeling sorry for her sister, quickly had Yang Niangzi send for a hot broth to sober her up, and let Lingbo go inside to rest a while before returning to enjoy the refreshments.
Lingbo had, in truth, been using the wine to drown a certain sorrow. Shen Biwei had always understood her well, and of course did not miss it. She held back outside, but once she had helped Lingbo inside and found her flopped over the heated couch making little groaning noises, she immediately grabbed her by the face and said: “You, Ye Lingbo — you’ve had a falling-out with your pretty boy, haven’t you? No wonder you’re drinking like this.”
Lingbo only smiled hazily: “Pretty boy… hehehe…”
“I knew it. You always value looks over loyalty.” Shen Biwei was even more annoyed at that. “Hmph. Don’t let me run into him next time — if I don’t slap his face swollen, then he moved fast enough to escape.”
In truth it was not purely jealousy on her part — it was more a case of two strong personalities not fitting under one roof. Lingbo, for all her worldly practicality, had always been extraordinarily tolerant of people like them — free-spirited and given to excess. Shen Biwei had grown so accustomed to Lingbo’s tolerance that the sudden appearance of someone who might claim a share of her Lingbo was entirely intolerable to her. She would have sooner dealt with Pei Zhao once and for all.
But Lingbo was thoroughly drowsy with wine and paid none of this any mind. Seeing Shen Biwei worked up, she wanted to cheer her up instead, took hold of her hand, and said in a conspiratorial murmur: “Come here — let me show you something good.”
“What good thing?” Shen Biwei was deeply skeptical. “Not more jewelry, I hope — I don’t wear any.”
Lingbo only hushed her, led her past the warm parlor, and back to her own bedchamber. Qinglan occupied the south room, she the north, with A’Cuo and Yanyan sheltered between them. Unlike Qinglan’s room, which was kept tidy and orderly, Lingbo’s was frankly cluttered. A small side room had been set aside for the account books, yet account books still lay scattered across the desk and on the heated couch. The new year’s gifts had not yet all been unwrapped, stacked up in the outer room — a pile of crimson and gold brocade cases, each looking very lavish.
Lingbo led Shen Biwei around the pile of gifts, pulled aside a piece of silk — presenting it in exactly the same way Pei Zhao had once presented a gift to her — and announced with pride: “Look!”
Even Shen Biwei, who had seen countless fine things, immediately widened her eyes.
“This is… a peregrine falcon? Why does it have a cinnabar mark on its head?” She attended palace banquets regularly and recognized it at once. “This is the Chen family’s peregrine falcon from yesterday — the one the Emperor himself marked with cinnabar. People have been turning the entire forest inside out looking for it, and it’s here with you?”
Lingbo was thoroughly drunk and did nothing but smile blissfully when Shen Biwei shook her a couple of times.
Shen Biwei was at a loss with her.
“Because they haven’t found the falcon, a great many people are still out there in the forest right now. The Emperor couldn’t award the prize and was irritated, and Master Chen even said he was going to go to the palace and offer his apologies…” Shen Biwei frowned. “If you don’t say something, I’ll take it straight to the palace.”
The moment she threatened to have it taken away, Lingbo would not stand for it. She immediately hugged the cage to her chest.
“Mine,” she said, drunk as she was and just as possessive as ever. “This is my birthday gift. No one is taking it away.”
Shen Biwei immediately understood.
“A birthday gift? It must be from that pretty boy Pei Zhao, that fox spirit. Always going to such needless trouble…” She complained, but was practical about it anyway, picking up the cage and giving it a little shake. “It’s probably been frightened out of its wits. Peregrine falcons have a proud temperament — they can’t survive kept in a cage like this. I’ll take it back with me, leave it at my father’s place — he has an empty stable room where I keep any birds I catch. I’ll shut the door and throw in a live rabbit or chicken every day for it to hunt on its own. It might recover that way. Once the fuss dies down, I’ll bring it back to you…”
Lingbo immediately beamed and wrapped her arms around her. “You really are the best.”
“Hmph. Now you know how good your elder sister is. Off playing with that fox spirit the rest of the time, and he even gets to give you his birthday present first — I’m furious.” Shen Biwei was still thoroughly vexed even as Lingbo clung to her. “Wretched fox spirit. Don’t let me run into him — I refuse to believe I can’t beat him at archery!”