Mu Chun had no idea he had been thoroughly arranged by Emperor Hongwu and his uncle Feng Cheng, soon to participate in the southern expedition.
At this moment, he was in the temporary palace, giving Hu Shanwei a Lantern Festival gift.
Hu Shanwei was in the study transcribing Buddhist scriptures for her deceased mother. This feigned illness was to deceive Empress Ma, and having rare leisure time in life, she thought to copy scriptures to pray for her mother’s blessing.
Mu Chun sat on the arhat couch, watching her copy books with nothing to do, not daring to make a sound or create any disturbance—copying scriptures required a calm heart.
Seeing the ink in the ink stone nearly exhausted, he went to add water and grind ink. He wasn’t skilled at this task, wielding the ink stick like a spear and using the ink stone as a shield, grinding with combat-like force, splashing ink spots everywhere.
Hu Shanwei glanced at him once. “There’s no need for Lord Mu to demean himself by grinding ink for me. Please rest aside.”
Mu Chun sheepishly wiped the ink spots from the desk, his palms and wrists also stained with ink. Going to the copper basin to wash his hands, he spotted a bottle of hand balm on the washing stand and suddenly had an idea.
Hand balm was made from honey, oils, fragrant powder, and spices mixed into an oily fragrant honey, stored in bottles the size of snuff bottles, similar to hand cream five hundred years later. It was applied to skin after washing hands and face to keep hands and cheeks white and moist, preventing hangnails and chapped skin. The palace generally used it for hand care.
When Hu Shanwei worked as a copyist among common folk, she certainly couldn’t afford such precious fragrant honey. Forget using it on hands—even using it on her face would have been too extravagant.
After entering the palace, hand balm became an ordinary item, distributed monthly to female officials regardless of season.
Mu Chun picked up the hand balm bottle and poured vigorously into his palm like hitting a wall, pouring out nearly half the bottle, forming a spiral-shaped snowy white mountain of fragrant honey in his palm.
“Oh my, I accidentally poured too much,” Mu Chun exclaimed loudly, running to the desk. “Let me share some with you, don’t let it go to waste.”
Before Hu Shanwei could refuse, Mu Chun had already taken her brush away and covered her hands in his palms, slowly kneading and rubbing. Their suddenly rising body temperature quickly melted the pool of fragrant honey, spreading it evenly over their skin.
Reason told Hu Shanwei she shouldn’t indulge Mu Chun’s boldness, but emotion made her reluctant to break free from the tender intimacy of their four hands kneading together in the fragrant honey.
This moment was truly too beautiful—she couldn’t bear to let it go.
Having experienced one earth-shattering love affair, how could Hu Shanwei not see the feelings Mu Chun restrained from speaking? He didn’t speak because he knew she would refuse.
He was arrogant and reckless, rushing into the temporary palace to fight fires without regard for consequences. Though her face remained calm, her heart couldn’t suppress its joy.
Each of Mu Chun’s tentative advances was like those of a masterful chef, precisely gauging the balance of flavors, figuring out her taste, and gradually intensifying bit by bit, letting her adapt to his cooking style, making her gradually addicted to his “flavor.”
He pushed boundaries, becoming bolder each time, and each time with legitimate reason—able to advance or retreat. That snowy farewell night at Prince Qin’s mansion, he had lifted her up, claiming the snow was too deep and would wet her shoes and socks. Today it was too much hand balm that shouldn’t be wasted.
Each of his excuses seemed full of holes that could be easily punctured, but he knew she wouldn’t puncture them because she also needed excuses.
Having just escaped the tiger’s den of Wang Ning, she had now entered the wolf’s lair of Mu Chun. The matchmaker deity was overly diligent, constantly tying red threads around Hu Shanwei’s ankles, one after another. But these red threads were fragile—at the slightest mistake, they would break, and how painful it was when love broke, the soul tortured daily…
After the brief tender sweetness, fear surged in Hu Shanwei’s heart. Mu Chun felt the small hands in his palms stiffen slightly, so he immediately let go, ignoring the blood-red blush on her earlobes, and said, “All done applying it. You continue copying scriptures.”
Mu Chun’s method for dealing with Hu Shanwei was guerrilla tactics: when the enemy advances, I retreat; when the enemy camps, I harass; when the enemy tires, I attack; when the enemy retreats, I pursue.
For instance, now was the time to “retreat when the enemy advances.”
Mu Chun retreated to the arhat couch to eat pastries. Hu Shanwei picked up her brush to continue copying, but as soon as she put brush to paper, the tip was soft and powerless, fading from dark to light, different from her previous strokes. Copying scriptures required a calm heart, but hers was already in chaos.
At this moment, Hu Shanwei was like Fahai seduced by the green snake—outwardly sitting in meditation like an old monk bent over copying scriptures, but inwardly her heart was like cherry blossoms in March, brilliantly dancing and falling in chaotic profusion.
On the rice paper, the brush paused halfway through its journey.
Hu Shanwei set down the writing brush and gently blew dry the ink on the paper.
This grinding little demon Mu Chun still had the shameless audacity to look up and ask her, “Why did you stop writing? You haven’t finished copying yet.”
The entire room was filled with “spring” colors intoxicating enough to make Mu Chun immediately transform into the Queen of the Women’s Kingdom, saying what did royal power and riches matter, what did rules and regulations matter, quietly asking the holy monk: are women beautiful or not, beautiful or not…
Hu Shanwei’s heart was completely stirred toward the Western Heaven, yet she couldn’t utter a single word of reproach, only using the pretense of blowing on ink to mask her inner turmoil. She couldn’t acknowledge him—if she did, she might not be able to maintain her composure…
When the enemy retreats, I pursue. Mu Chun clung to her like a demon, “Sigh, you seem listless. Let me help you blow on it.”
Mu Chun stood on the other side of the desk, face to face with Hu Shanwei, leaning down to blow on the ink. He puffed his cheeks like a frog, pursing his lips pointedly like a oil bottle spout, getting closer and closer to Hu Shanwei’s lips.
Feeling his breath between his lips, Hu Shanwei’s mind buzzed like wild bees flying, and she extended her palm, swatting away Mu Chun’s pursed lips like shooing a fly. “Don’t come over—don’t blow saliva on it and soil my writing.”
When the enemy advances, I retreat. Mu Chun no longer pressed forward, retreating to one side.
The study had a brazier burning in winter, so the ink dried quickly. Hu Shanwei folded up the rice paper.
Seeing she had finished her work, Mu Chun came over to ask her, “On Lantern Festival, the capital has no curfew. People can go out to walk away illness—it’s very lively. Let’s go together.”
On Lantern Festival, the capital had the custom of wearing moon-white clothes and walking to dispel illness. Hu Shanwei was currently recuperating outside the palace, so her movements were relatively free.
“I won’t go.” Hu Shanwei refused without a second thought. The last time she had walked to dispel illness was with her then-fiancé Wang Ning. They held hands for the first time, walking along the Qinhuai River where jade pot lights turned and fish and dragons danced all night, walking for such a long, long distance.
After that, this festival became taboo for her—she didn’t celebrate Lantern Festival.
When the enemy camps, I harass. Mu Chun knew why she wouldn’t go, but deliberately tried to drag her out. “If you don’t go, it means you’re still thinking of him.”
Hu Shanwei was struck in her sore spot and flew into embarrassed rage, heavily slapping the jade paperweight on the desk. “Nonsense!”
Mu Chun deliberately provoked her. “Then go. If you go, I’ll believe you. If you don’t go, you’re feeling guilty. Now he’s about to become a father—what is there for you to hide from? If you don’t dare go out, I’ll look down on you.”
“I—” Hu Shanwei gritted her teeth. “Fine, I’ll go.”
Hu Shanwei went inside to change clothes, putting on a moon-white sable fur coat, and came out. Mu Chun had also changed into moon-white clothing and was waiting outside holding a red fox lantern. Hearing movement at the door, Mu Chun turned back with a smile—the same cunning smile as the fox lantern in his hand.
Hu Shanwei stared in amazement. She used to think no one in all the capital was as suitable for wearing moon-white as Wang Ning.
Now it seemed she had been wrong.
After five years, Hu Shanwei once again went out to walk away illness.
Year after year the flowers look the same, but year after year people are different—the Lantern Festival was the same. From Hu Shanwei’s earliest memories, every year at this time along the Qinhuai River banks, the light trees on both sides were like two twin silver dragons, crossing through this ancient yet renewed city.
When she and her father first arrived, they were captivated by this city’s prosperity and inexplicably elegant charm. At seven years old, she worked as a copyist in the bookshop. On Lantern Festival, Father would take her small hand to walk away illness. Whatever small snacks she requested, Father would satisfy, father and daughter depending on each other. The Qinhuai River was too long—often when they walked halfway, she would be too tired to continue, so Father would carry her on his back to enjoy the festivities.
She would hug Father’s neck, his back broad and solid. Lying on it was warm and safe—this was the rare leisurely happy time of the year.
Later, when she grew older and walked to dispel illness with Father, Father could no longer conveniently hold her hand. At twelve, she had become a young lady, the most beautiful girl in Scholar’s Square, outstanding in appearance. Wearing a moon-white dress by the Qinhuai River, she was like a narcissus bud about to bloom.
Passersby frequently stopped to look at her. Though Father was annoyed, he also felt some pride that “my family has a daughter just coming of age,” lamenting his own advancing years and needing to find a proper man to take over and continue protecting her.
After careful selection, he chose Wang Ning.
That Lantern Festival when she was fourteen, she walked to dispel illness with Father. The narcissus had fully bloomed—viewing flowers under lanterns, viewing beauty under moonlight, the more one looked the more beautiful she became. A group of lechers targeted her and spoke lewdly. Before Father could act, a young man flew forward with a kick, sending the lead scoundrel flying into the Qinhuai River. With three punches and two kicks, he felled four men, and the lechers scattered in panic.
That was her first meeting with her fiancé Wang Ning. Though the two families had arranged the engagement, the two had never met—only hearing the name without seeing the person.
When Hu Shanwei copied books, she would encounter love at first sight in stories and always found it laughable—she thought the author was being lazy, too lazy to write the process of falling in love, just getting it over with. But that night, seeing the impressive and handsome Wang Ning, she became somewhat entranced. She could also read amazement in Wang Ning’s eyes.
So this was love at first sight. How fortunate, how wonderful.
Father was very satisfied with Wang Ning, claiming a backache as excuse to sit on a stone bench by the river to rest. “You young people go ahead to watch the dragon lantern and lion dances. I’ll wait for you here.”
That evening by the Qinhuai River, carved carriages competed on the heavenly streets, precious horses raced on the imperial roads, gold and emerald dazzling the eye, silk gauze floating with fragrance, flower light filling the roads.
Yet she and Wang Ning saw nothing, turning a blind eye to all beautiful scenery, because no matter what they looked at, what remained imprinted in their hearts was always each other.
The carved carriages were him, the precious horses were him. The gold and emerald were her, the silk gauze was her.
In subsequent Lantern Festivals, Father simply didn’t go anymore, because Wang Ning would always arrive early at the bookshop door to pick her up.
Just like that, three years of sweet and happy times passed, until one northern expedition cast Hu Shanwei from the clouds into hell.
For five consecutive years, the two silver dragons of the Qinhuai River remained, but Hu Shanwei’s figure was no longer there.
Goaded and provoked by Mu Chun, Hu Shanwei once again set foot on this land, where things remained but people had changed. Just as Hu Shanwei was about to follow the silver dragon forward to revisit old places, Mu Chun suddenly grabbed her wrist and led her to the wharf under the bridge, boarding a pleasure boat.
Mu Chun was well prepared—the pleasure boat had a brazier and windows. Without walking a single step, they could enjoy several round trips of sightseeing.
Mu Chun stated with conviction: “You are now a court official—safety is most important. In crowded areas, beware of assassins lurking.”
Hu Shanwei sat by the window, thinking to herself that the most dangerous person was him.
On the Qinhuai River, oar sounds and lantern shadows—previously when walking on shore, she felt every scene could be painted, every pleasure boat was scenery. Now sitting inside a pleasure boat looking at both banks, she felt the shore was like an endless, never-stopping theater stage, performing the joys and sorrows of human life, never tiring to watch.
Hu Shanwei was watching with fascination when a pleasure boat came toward them head-on, crossing paths with her boat. In this narrow section of river, when the two boats passed each other going east and west, there were only two fists’ distance between them.
She saw two people in the boat admiring the scenery on the banks—the woman was heavily pregnant, the man supporting her waist. It was Princess Huaiqing and Wang Ning.
Perhaps through telepathy, Wang Ning instinctively turned back and saw Hu Shanwei on the parallel boat across from them, along with the man who was lifting a copper kettle from the brazier and brewing tea leaves. Just from the back view, Wang Ning knew it was Mu Chun.
Hu Shanwei and Wang Ning’s four eyes met. In that moment, time seemed to flow backward, scenes flashing through their minds, finally freezing on that night of love at first sight.
The two parallel boats continued crossing paths. At the instant they were about to disappear from each other’s view, both simultaneously felt relief, nodding and smiling, understanding each other without words. Having endured all tribulations with people still there, they looked at each other and smiled, letting love dissolve away.
Mu Chun figured that boat should have passed by now before turning to hand the brewed tea to Hu Shanwei. Seeing her already calm and unruffled expression, he thought to himself—what coincidence? It was all carefully calculated and arranged. He had long since learned from Captain Shi that Princess Huaiqing would take a night cruise on the Qinhuai River with Wang Ning tonight, so he had pulled Hu Shanwei onto the boat. It was time to settle everything once and for all.