Lin Xiao and Chang Rong rode their horses at full gallop back to the prince’s residence, yet the broad street before the mansion gate was utterly deserted — not a carriage in sight.
Unwilling to give up, Lin Xiao ordered Chang Rong to take Wei Bo and the others and fan out, left and right, to search carefully. They combed the area for a full half-hour and still came up empty-handed.
Lin Xiao’s mind churned with suspicion. That day on Mang Mountain when they had dealt with the serpent demon, the young lady had shown both courage and quick wit — she was plainly not the sort of person to act without purpose. What on earth had happened today to lead her to follow Cui Shi all the way to the gates of Prince Lan’s residence?
Lost in thought, Lin Xiao made his way into the estate. He and Chang Rong had just reached Siru Hall when Nanny Li — a maidservant in Cui Shi’s service — materialized out of nowhere. She beamed with a wide, ingratiating smile and curtsied to Lin Xiao. “The Young Lord has returned. The Princess Consort asks that you come to the flower pavilion — she says there is an urgent matter she wishes to discuss with you.”
That old face, deeply furrowed and yet thickly plastered with powder and rouge, stirred an inexplicable wave of revulsion in Lin Xiao. He was on the verge of declining when today’s events came back to him, and he changed his mind. He gave Nanny Li a small nod and said, “I will come once I have changed my clothes.”
Master and servant arrived at the flower pavilion and heard, while still some distance away, musicians from the household troupe playing a melody — light and joyful, a perfect match for Chang’an’s bright spring day, the whole scene exuding a quiet, contented peace.
Two peach trees stood in full bloom before the flower pavilion, their pale-pink petals shaken loose by the spring breeze and borne on the music into a drifting, distracting scatter.
As Lin Xiao entered the pavilion, a petal chanced to settle into his jet-black hair, and Linglong — seated behind a pear-wood side table — laughed behind her handkerchief with unguarded delight: “Oh my, I never imagined that Cousin — so stern and unsmiling as a rule — would follow the fashion of the young gallants outside and tuck a flower in his hair!”
Before her words had faded, two gazes fell upon the youth standing in the spring light and shadow.
He was clothed in a robe the color of the sky after rain, a belt of white marble jade about his waist. His bearing was upright and unhurried, his features so fine as to make the eye swim. Heaven seemed to have been in a particularly generous mood when it fashioned Lin Xiao, bestowing upon him an altogether magnificent outer form without the least trace of stinginess. Cui Shi glanced away with cool indifference; Prince Lan, however, swelled with a pride that was all his own — this was his eldest son, seven feet of vigorous manhood, three shades more dazzling than the morning sun as it first crests the horizon.
Every inch of his expression brimmed with approval of Lin Xiao. He gave a hearty laugh: “The spring breeze loves nothing better than to tease — it even dares make mischief with the Young Lord. From a distance, does it not look for all the world as though he has pinned a flower to his hair? Well, never mind — let it be. My son is as handsome as Pan An; even with a flower in his hair, what comparison could those young gentlemen of Chang’an — prancing about on horseback with their blossoms — possibly make?”
Lin Xiao answered with a helpless smile: “Father King is teasing me again.” He beckoned the attendant beside him to pluck the peach blossom from his hair.
Prince Lan’s good spirits showed no sign of diminishing. He looked at Lin Xiao with warm, fatherly affection. “The Emperor today conferred upon you the post of General of the Southern Guard — from now on, you will command the Imperial Feather Guard. The Feather Guard protects the imperial city; its duty concerns the safety of the Emperor and the entire realm. You must be even more careful and conscientious than before, and on no account disappoint the trust your Imperial Uncle has placed in you.”
Lin Xiao replied, “Yes, Father.”
Cui Shi smiled and reminded Prince Lan, “Your Highness, do not let the joy of the moment distract you — the main matter has not yet been spoken of.”
Prince Lan started, then laughed at himself. “Quite right. Today is the Festival of Daughters. I am told the Emperor has issued a decree suspending the curfew tonight, and there is to be a lantern fair beside the moat. Your cousin Linglong wishes to go and see it. If you have nothing pressing this evening, take Linglong along and enjoy the festivities.”
Without a moment’s consideration, Lin Xiao declined: “I am afraid this is not a convenient time — this evening I have some matters to discuss with Jiang Sanlang, so I fear I cannot accompany my cousin Linglong.”
Linglong had been watching Lin Xiao with bright expectation; at his words, she turned to Cui Shi with the most pitiful expression.
Cui Shi reproached Prince Lan softly, “Your Highness—”
Prince Lan stroked his beard, his face showing clear displeasure. He addressed Lin Xiao: “You go to court together with Jiang Sanlang every day — whatever there is to say, why can’t it be said on any ordinary day? Why must it be today? Linglong has come all the way from Youzhou; she has never seen Chang’an’s lanterns. This is a rare occasion, the Festival of Daughters — fulfil your duty as host and take her out for a stroll. No more excuses. It is settled. After supper this evening, you will accompany Linglong out.”
Qin Yao, dressed in the garb of a young Daoist acolyte, crouched in a carriage parked in a narrow lane behind Prince Lan’s residence and peered toward the estate from a distance.
That morning she had followed the woman she had seen at the Moon-Plucking Tower all the way to the residence, intending to seize the opportunity and slip inside. But the security at Prince Lan’s estate proved far more formidable than she had anticipated; she had watched and waited for quite some time without finding any way in, and at last retreated, somewhat disheartened, back to Qingyun Abbey.
Recalling that her master had said the Gu Poison within the second host was due to stir soon, she felt genuinely uneasy. She left a letter with Fu Yuan, instructing him to present it to their master should he return, and then, with great care, she retrieved the Boundless Mirror her master had used against Bao Sheng on the previous occasion, tucked it into her robes, climbed back into the carriage, and returned to Prince Lan’s residence.
She kept watch until dusk was beginning to deepen into night, when at last there was movement at the gate. First a number of servants emerged, leading several fine horses and a carriage, which they arranged in a line before the entrance as if awaiting someone.
Before long, a well-built young man in fine brocade stepped out. Qin Yao looked carefully — it was the Young Lord of Prince Lan’s household, the very same person she had encountered on Mang Mountain before.
Walking beside him, shoulder to shoulder, was a young woman — beautiful features, a sweet smile — who every now and then tilted her head to speak to him.
The two of them walked together to the carriage. The Young Lord stopped there, watched the maidservant help the young woman up into the carriage, and then turned and mounted his horse. With a tug of the reins, he rode forward.
Judging by appearances, these two were most likely headed to the lantern fair by the moat. Qin Yao quickly lowered the carriage curtain and instructed her driver, Old Zhou, to follow quietly at a distance.
The carriage set off. Qin Yao leaned against the carriage wall and frowned in thought. The innkeeper at the Moon-Plucking Tower had once mentioned that this woman was the Princess Consort’s niece on her maternal side, and that the two of them were on very close terms. From what she had just observed, the Young Lord also appeared to be on good terms with her. She felt a slight headache coming on — she could not afford to rashly provoke Prince Lan’s family connections. She would need to think of some method, one that would let her confirm this woman’s identity as a host without anyone being the wiser.
She was still turning the problem over in her mind when the carriage gave a sudden lurch and halted.
Qin Yao was startled. She was just about to ask Old Zhou what had happened when light flooded in from the front — someone had soundlessly lifted the carriage curtain. The person had a pair of eyes cold and bright as winter stars, and they were looking at her with a smile: “It has been a long time since our parting on Mang Mountain — how have you fared of late, Daoist?”
Qin Yao’s mouth fell open in astonishment. “Young Lord—”