I held my teacup and used the porcelain lid to slowly skim the tea leaves floating on the surface, saying nothing at all.

The woman kneeling on the floor below was dressed in a new silk padded jacket, a gold bracelet at her wrist — her face now the color of ash, bowed low to the ground as she knelt. This Madam Lu had already been kneeling in the courtyard with the two concubines for some time. I had called only her inside, while the other two women remained kneeling outside.

After she bowed and kowtowed in greeting, I lowered my head and sipped my tea in silence, making no attempt to speak, and leaving her to go on kneeling.

While I had been dressing earlier, Yuxiu had given me a general account — and from it I had gathered a rough picture of the people and affairs of the household.

This Madam Lu Feng had originally been the new secondary wife of a garrison officer named Lu who served under Xiao Qi. After Xiao Qi left the capital and returned north, he happened to have just lost his longtime senior household manager to illness, and the duties of running the Prince’s household had been left unattended. Officer Lu had then recommended his own newly-taken wife — this Madam Lu Feng — to come into the household temporarily and manage affairs. Madam Lu Feng came from a prosperous family, was educated and literate, and was sharp and capable. She had put the Prince’s household in good order. Since Xiao Qi never concerned himself with household affairs, all day-to-day matters fell to Madam Lu Feng to decide — and she had the standing of a household manager in all but name.

Over a year ago, Madam Lu Feng had selected two attractive young women from among her own kinspeople and brought them into the household to serve personally by Xiao Qi’s side.

According to Yuxiu, Xiao Qi was consumed by military affairs and rarely spent time among the household women. Xing’er and Yuzhu had on occasion been called to his bed, yet had been given no formal position. They had only taken advantage of my absence in Huizhou, with no other women in the household, and had gradually begun to carry themselves as mistresses of the place — hoping that in time they would be named side-consorts, and so rise in the world.

I thought it over: given Xiao Qi’s rank and age, before Ningshuo he must have had other concubines at some point. Yet I had never heard that he had any children. I asked Yuxiu, but she was a young girl without a thought in her head on such matters.

I smiled wryly. At least there were no children — that was something. Growing up in the inner courts and great houses, I had not seen much else — but fighting over favor and competing over children I had seen in abundance.

The hall was as quiet as a room without birds, all of them with bowed heads and silent tongues, Madam Lu drenched in sweat as she knelt on the floor, the earlier arrogance on her face completely gone.

I set down my teacup and said mildly, “What brings you to see me?”

Madam Lu shook and quickly pressed her head to the floor. “This servant comes by His Highness’s command, bringing the two ladies to make amends and await Your Highness’s judgment.”

“I never mentioned any punishment.” I smiled slightly. “That is an odd thing to say.”

Watching Madam Lu’s eyes flicker and shift, I smiled a little more. “If that is the case, I dare not take such responsibility. Take them back.”

Madam Lu’s color cycled through green and white by turns. She hesitated briefly, then gritted her teeth. “This old servant was foolish — what His Highness truly meant was to send the two maids here to serve the Princess Consort. This old servant is ashamed of her failure to teach them properly, and has taken the bold step of bringing them here to beg forgiveness and accept whatever punishment the Princess Consort sees fit.”

I looked at her coolly. So the aim had been to make the matter seem small — to accept some form of punishment from me, and get past this hurdle with appearances preserved. After all, these women belonged to Xiao Qi’s side, and handing them over to serve me as maids already represented a significant concession. At most I might demote them to laundry duty or some other hard work, let them suffer a little, and once my anger cooled, they would still have a path back. Perhaps even Xiao Qi assumed I was only acting the jealous wife, making a scene between concubines and the principal wife… I examined my own pale, slender fingertips and smiled faintly.

In the end, they had all underestimated me.

The two concubines had not set so much as one foot across the threshold of my room — and were immediately taken away.

From outside came the sounds of Xing’er and Yuzhu crying out and struggling, growing more distant, their voices fading as they went.

I walked to the door and stood there in silence for a moment. Then I turned back, about to step inside — when a sudden gust of wind rose and sent the sashes of my robe streaming out behind me.

I turned and looked back across the courtyard — the trees in the courtyard had grown deeper and fuller into summer, and the last of the late-spring blossoms, swept by a soft breeze, scattered and drifted down in a flurry of petals.

Fallen petals are like beautiful women — both, as a rule, are short-lived.

They could not be called blameless — only that they had been born into the wrong life, had made the wrong choices for themselves, had placed their trust in the wrong person.

Some are born into the wrong life, yet afterward accept their fate and live with contentment — and can pass their days in peace. The most pitiable are of two kinds: one, those with hearts aimed high but fates thin as paper; the other, those who are carried along by circumstance with no say in the matter — who must either carve their way forward through the thorns, or be slowly suffocated where they stand.

From what point had I too become so hard of heart?

As I walked past, every head in sight went down. All who stood along my path bowed low as I passed.

The household servants stood by, not daring to breathe. Watching the two women who had held the most power in the household be expelled — from start to finish, not even half a day had passed — without my even sparing them a glance.

In the old days, all deferred to me and bowed their heads before me — but only out of reverence for my position. Now, what they deferred to was only me — this woman of iron will and uncompromising methods. Perhaps from birth I had carried in my bones the cold blood of generations of powerful ministers.

From here onward, every person in this household above or below would never again dare to belittle my authority or go against my wishes — except for Xiao Qi.

The faintest pull at the corners of my mouth. What a laughable thing, to think of wives and concubines fighting for position — I would never be seen doing such a thing. The mere idea would be beneath me.

My name and the blood in my veins would never allow me to accept that kind of humiliation. I was waiting to see how the formidable Prince Yuzhang — the great general, my husband — would respond to my decisiveness.

Before the writing table, the paper had already piled up with discarded, crumpled sheets, and not a single one had come out right. Ink marks had traced out pavilions and terraces, lush plantain leaves, bright clusters of cherries — vaguely still the scenes of the old days. I stared blankly at the spreading mess of brushwork before me, unable to quiet my spirit.

The fifth month — the season for sharing cherries had come again. “Beneath the trees they share red cherries, deep crimson and light purple, all for her to choose; the young man alone favors the green-unripe, laughing and saying it is for his beloved’s sake.” That folk verse was one the young men and women of the capital often sang. There had been a time, once, when a certain young man had shared cherries with me like that.

My thoughts drifted away without my meaning them to; my wrist shook without warning, and a blob of heavy black ink fell from the tip of the brush and spread wide across the paper.

“Ruined again.” I straightened, set down the brush, and let out a faint sigh.

Books are said to calm the heart, and painting to soothe the spirit — yet with the way my thoughts ran now, nothing I painted came out as it should, and only made me more restless.

I had shut myself in all day, buried in books and brushwork. To outside eyes, I must have seemed entirely at ease.

Whether it truly was ease, or whether it was stubbornness playing itself out — only I knew the answer.

Several days passed, and from Xiao Qi there came not a word of response. The concubines had been expelled — and it was as if none of it had any bearing on him whatsoever. Whatever I had done, he seemed entirely unconcerned. The matter was left, by all parties, entirely without resolution — as if a stone thrown into the depths of a pool had simply sunk, without a sound, without a ripple.

Several days in a row, Xiao Qi and I had barely exchanged more than a handful of words. He came to see me from time to time, but it was always a brief visit before he left again.

On two nights, late into the evening, he came quietly. The inner room was still lit with candles; I was already awake, leaning against the pillow reading. He did not have the serving maid announce him — only stood in the courtyard in stillness for a while, and then turned and left again.

I knew he was outside. Yuxiu could not bring herself to say so aloud, and could only dart her eyes again and again toward the courtyard.

I pretended not to know, blew out the candles, and lay down to sleep on my side.

He was simply waiting for me to back down — waiting for me to speak first, to offer him some kind of explanation.

I had been sitting at the window in a stupor, staring at blank paper and dried-up ink since midday, and before I knew it, the sun had slanted low and dusk was falling.

Yuxiu was busy directing the maids to bring in the evening meal. In these days she had grown closer to me and gradually grown bolder — showing herself quick and capable. A girl of fifteen who had learned to carry herself so nimbly must have gone through no small hardship, and that only made me fonder of her.

“Everyone else may go. I will attend the Princess Consort myself.” Yuxiu said this in a tone that tried to sound very experienced and senior, and sent the other maids away.

I glanced at her with quiet amusement — then saw her look left and right, and carefully open the food box.

“Princess Consort, I found something wonderful!” Her smiling eyes curved into crescents, the tip of her nose pert and playful.

A rich, sharp scent of wine spread through the air. I startled — and then, in delighted surprise, said, “You found wine!”

“Shh — don’t let anyone hear!” Yuxiu quickly looked toward the door, then covered her mouth and whispered, “I stole it from the kitchen.”

I was charmed by that look on her face and felt my playful spirit rise: I had never in my life drunk wine that was stolen, and the very idea roused my interest at once.

Since coming to Ningshuo, illness and injury had kept me confined. The physician had given repeated warnings to avoid wine. Now that the injuries were largely healed, I had still not had so much as a sip. At this moment, with the scent of wine thick and inviting around me, my spirits lifted accordingly, and the many sorrows that had been weighing on me were, for the moment, set aside.

I dismissed the other maids and together with Yuxiu moved the small table out to the garden beneath a canopy of flowers, coaxing her to stay and drink with me.

I had not expected this little maid to love wine as much as she did. By the time she was pleasantly tipsy, she had grown flushed and talkative.

Yuxiu told me about her father, who was devoted to wine — and who, when drunk, would often beat and berate her.

“Where is your father now?” I had a slight warmth from three cups of wine, and rested my cheek in my hand, frowning as I asked.

“He died long ago — my mother too…” She lay slumped across the table, her voice already blurring. “Sometimes I want him to scold me once more — but I can’t find him anymore. There’s just me left now…”

I sat there lost in thought, and found myself thinking of my own father — and a sharp sorrow rose in my chest. I had been about to ask her more — but she was already breathing in the long, even rhythm of sleep.

In the night garden under the flowers, her cheeks were flushed red; she was still very much a child. I shook my head with a smile, took up what was left of the wine — half a pot — and rose unsteadily to my feet, swaying off toward the scattered flower shadows, looking for some quiet place where no one else would be, to finish the rest alone.

All around was still. The only sound was the chirping of crickets from among the grass. Moonlight over the frontier spread like thin silk; the stars were few, the clouds sparse.

“Beneath the trees they share red cherries, deep crimson and light purple, all for her to choose; the young man alone favors the green-unripe, laughing and saying it is for his beloved’s sake.” I was humming the verse again before I noticed, and my steps had grown unsteady. I found a large white stone nearby and sat down against it. The bun of hair I had wound up that morning had long since come loose; I simply let it go, pulled off my embroidered slippers, lifted the pot to my lips, and drank with my head tilted back.

A night like any other such night, a moon like any other such moon — and once there had been someone who had gotten a little drunk with me.

I tried with all my will not to think of that name — yet the figure in white, bright as moonlight, could not be swept away from before my eyes.

Before my eyes the scene grew more and more blurred. I knew it was a vision, not real — yet I could not help wanting to lean a little closer. But in an instant, it was gone — all of it — leaving only the deep profusion of flowers and shadows, the garden still and empty. I smiled bitterly, lifted the wine pot, and let the wine pour down freely — a shock of cold drenching my face, which woke me fully.

The pot was nearly empty. I tilted my head back, wanting the last drop — and then without warning, the pot vanished from my hand.

Someone behind me had snatched the wine pot away and drawn me against them.

“Don’t — Zidan…” My eyes closed; I smiled, and let myself sink into the vision.

Before I could open my eyes again, a pressure around my waist — my body was suddenly lifted entirely off the ground, and I was carried up, cradled sideways in someone’s arms.

I felt light and adrift, nearly certain I was in a dream, and murmured, “I am married now — did you know…?”

But the arms only held me tighter.

Tears fell. I shut my eyes tight, not daring to look at Zidan’s face, and said quietly, “He… he treats me well… Go… just go…”

He stopped short — and then his arms tightened around me, hard, until I could not move.

Without meaning to, I reached a hand out to push him away — and what my fingers met was cold iron armor.

At that shock of cold, I startled, looked up in confusion — and the wine haze broke, my mind clearing in an instant. Before me — was Xiao Qi’s face, and on it, a towering fury.

I was utterly stunned. Not a word came out of me. The world seemed to spin.

Xiao Qi said nothing. He carried me into the inner room and set me down on the bed with care. No candles had been lit in the room yet; in the dimness it was hard to make out his expression — yet the side of his face, faintly lit, seemed as if it had been coated by the moonlight with a layer of frost.

A coolness at my chest — my robe was pulled open; half my outer clothes had been slipped from my shoulder.

“Don’t!” I snapped back to my senses and clutched my robe to myself, scrabbling toward the far corner of the bed in alarm.

He looked at me coldly. Something keen seemed to pass through his eyes. “Do not what?”

I was struggling to catch my breath, my heart slamming hard against my ribs. I could only shake my head frantically, shrinking back against the headboard.

Seeing him lean down toward me again, I was so startled that I scrambled to get away — and my wrist was caught in one of his hands.

“You are soaked in wine — are you going to just lie in it? What did you think I was going to do?” His anger flared suddenly, and with both hands he divided the task — pulling away my half-wet outer robe, and along with it, sweeping off the inner garment beneath.

I froze. My robe and every stitch of clothing beneath were gone — and the snow-white, brilliant skin of my body was laid bare before his eyes, nothing left to cover me.

This was not the first time he had undressed me, nor the first time he had seen my body. I was his wife; even if everything were seen by him, it was within what was proper — and yet it could not be like this, not in this manner — this violation!

When he leaned down again to undo my skirt, I swung a backhand slap at him.

“I am your husband.” He did not even look up; he had already caught my wrist. “I am not someone you can simply strike at will.”

He looked at me coldly; his lips were pressed thin as a blade’s edge. “My woman may be proud — she may not be willful.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. The wine rose in my blood; the anger and grievance I had suppressed for days came flooding up together.

“I am your wife — not your enemy, not a wild horse for you to break.” I met his eyes, and the words came out strangled — tears sprang unbidden. I bit my lip and turned my face away, furious with myself for the tears that would not stop, betraying my weakness. “She cried, and Xiao Qi’s angry face blurred before her eyes.”

He was silent for a moment. He released my wrist and raised his hand to touch my face.

I slapped his hand away in one swift motion. The words poured out of me before I could stop them. “If I were truly willful, I would never have endured being humiliated again and again. Three years of marriage, and I kept myself to Huizhou alone — I have not wronged you by so much as a fraction. And yet here you have been, enjoying the comforts of plenty… Xiao Qi — ask yourself honestly — have you ever truly regarded me as your wife?”

He froze. He looked steadily at me, his eyes unreadable.

“Whatever reason you had for marrying me — and whether or not you have ever thought of me as a wife — let what is past be past. I do not blame you for it!” I was weeping freely now, even my voice trembling. “From this day forward, I will not care whether you keep three wives and four concubines. You stay here in Ningshuo, and I will go back to the capital. We will each keep to our own far corner, each living in peace. You be your Prince Yuzhang, and I will be my princess — rather than sharing a bed while dreaming different dreams, we might as well —”

“Silence!” He suddenly roared.

His hand was at my chin — his grip was hard — and I could say no more.

His eyes burned. In the moonlight, they were sharply defined — and in them I could clearly see my own reflection. And in mine, there was only him. In this one moment, there was no one else in the world for either of us — heaven and earth had been stripped clear and pure. Neither of us spoke. Yet I was trembling without cease; tears slid along my temple, down my cheek, and into his palm. I had never known that I could have so many tears — all the grief and bitterness held back for three years seemed to empty out in this single moment.

He held my gaze for a long time. The anger in his eyes gradually dimmed. And then there was something in them I had not expected — a trace of desolation.

After a long silence, I heard him sigh, deep and low. “Words like cutting off all ties — and they come so easily to you.”

I went still. Hearing those words — cutting off all ties — on his lips, it was as if something had struck me all at once, and the rest of what I might have said simply vanished.

“Do you truly not care?” He pressed his gaze upon me. In the depths of those dark eyes, the usual keen edge was gone — there was only a heavy, settled sorrow.

That question shook my very soul.

Did I truly not care? This marriage, this man — both had already turned the course of my entire life. Could I still deceive myself into claiming indifference?

The cold light of the moon gathered in the depths of his eyes. I seemed, in that gaze, to see nothing but boundless desolation — and in a daze I felt that the Xiao Qi of this one moment was an entirely different man: not the great general who shook all beneath the heavens, not the Prince Yuzhang whose influence swept the court, only a lonely man in the dark.

Could he feel lonely? I did not believe it — and yet what I saw plainly in his eyes was a deep and heavy loneliness and loss.

The moonlight seemed to dissolve into water, passing slowly across my heart. Deep inside, something was softening, slowly — a faint, half-sweet ache seeping through.

He pressed his gaze onto me. “If you truly did not care — then why have you been brooding over two concubines?”

I was stricken with a helpless frustration, and the words tumbled out before I could catch them. “Who has been brooding over them? I was only angry at you…” The words left my mouth before I realized my mistake, and once out, could not be recalled. I was mortified, frozen, biting my lip — and met his eyes in a stare. Warmth was returning to his gaze.

“Angry at me for what?” He leaned in closer, a look hovering between a smile and not. “For having another woman — or for not caring one way or the other?”

He kept coming with these questions, peeling back my thoughts layer by layer, exposing me until there was nowhere left to hide.

I glared at him furiously and tried to tear free of the arms pinning me in. But that infuriating man only laughed out loud and caught both my hands, pressing me back down against the pillow. He leaned over me, barely an inch away, his breath warm against my neck. “You woman — you never will just say what you mean. I always have to push you to your limit before you show your true feelings.”

He was making me so angry I could barely think straight — and I had no patience left for any question of dignity, and simply began kicking at him.

He laughed low against my ear. “This — this is right. Sharp-tongued, fierce, and jealous to the bone — this is the true woman I saw at the cliff’s edge, fiery in both love and hate!”

I had just wrenched my right hand free and was drawing it back to strike him in fury — and at those words, the cliff’s edge, my heart gave a sudden lurch. The strike never landed. All at once the scene of that moment flooded back — vivid and exact — his hand, his sword, his face… He caught my hand back and pressed it against his chest. Through the cold metal of the armor, I could feel my own fingers resting there.

I looked up at him in a daze. My whole heart had gone soft. The anger was gone.

“Why are you wearing armor?” I asked in a low voice. It was this late — was he going back out?

He smiled faintly. “I was on my way to inspect the garrison defenses.”

“It is already past midnight…” I frowned. Thinking of all the work he had done in these recent days, I could not help but feel a cold clarity come over me. “Has something happened?”

“Nothing. Military discipline cannot be relaxed for a single day.” He smiled briefly; the seriousness that was usually in his brow returned. “It is late. Rest now.”

I lowered my eyes and nodded. And then realized I didn’t know what more to say. Watching him turn to go, I suddenly thought of something and called out to stop him, “Wait — your riding cloak is still here… the night is cool outside…”

As I met his glowing gaze, my voice trailed off, growing smaller and smaller, and the rest of it would not come.

He said nothing either. He turned back in silence and took the cloak from my hands.

I lowered my head, not daring to look at him.

He suddenly tilted my face up toward him. Before I could understand what was happening, his lips had come down over mine… All at once the world spun — a blazing storm sweeping over me and through me — a powerful, intoxicating masculine presence, a strength that could not be resisted — like a siege laid against a city, fierce and direct, without a moment’s hesitation, striking straight through to the most secret and hidden place in my heart.

Very long ago — so long ago I had nearly forgotten — there had been a young man, and he had once kissed me gently… In the winding corridor of the Yaoguang Hall, in the warm spring breeze that moved against our robes, with the new willows like fine brows arching green — that young man, graceful and quiet as spring water, had bent down and pressed his lips against mine. Tingling, warm — so strange it made me widen my eyes.

The memory of that first kiss had ended with my own baffled cry: “Ah — Zidan — you bit me!”

Zidan. Zidan.

All the strength in my body had left me. I could not stand on my own. He was holding me up with one arm around my waist. That strong arm belonged to Xiao Qi — to my husband. The world of today was not the world of yesterday; that gentle young man had gone with my yesterday, into something as remote as another life.

Xiao Qi’s voice was low and roughened, and unyielding. “Between us — there is no one else.”

I trembled, and could not raise my head. He knew. Perhaps he had known from the very beginning. Everyone in the capital had known that Princess Shangyang and the Third Prince were a perfect match… and the words that had slipped out in my intoxication tonight — he had heard every one.

A sudden cold shivering ran through me. Without my quite noticing, I felt cold — and only then realized I was barefoot on the floor.

Xiao Qi looked at my disheveled hair and bare feet — and smiled despite himself. He gathered me up and carried me back to bed.

He looked down at me, his expression tender, but with one deep crease still between his brows — as if cut there by a knife.

“From this point forward, I will not take another woman.” He said, quietly and without fuss — and then stood, and got to his feet. “And between us — there is no one else.”

He left without a backward look. I stared at his retreating figure, and long after he was gone, I still had the sense that his presence lingered all around me.