From that point on, Qin Yao began her days of study at Yunyin Academy. Each morning at the hour of Chen, a stewardess would come to each dormitory to wake the students and then usher everyone to Feilu Pavilion for breakfast.

Qin Yao had been cultivating for many years and had long since developed the habit of rising at the hour of Mao to meditate. Pei Min was a light sleeper by nature and also rose early, so more often than not, neither of them needed to wait for the stewardess to knock at their door — they would already be tidied and ready, and sometimes even had enough time to stroll together into the back garden to admire the morning blooms in the early light.

After breakfast, all the students would gather at Langhuan Pavilion to attend lectures from the lady teachers. Perhaps in consideration of Princess Kangping’s rather limited scholarly foundation, the coursework was kept quite easy and the lesson content was taught at a very gentle pace. Not to mention the likes of Pei Min — even Qin Yao, who had neglected her studies all these years, handled it without the slightest difficulty.

After the noon rest, it was time for music and arts class.

However, contrary to what Qin Yao had expected, the Duchess would not permit students to freely choose their instrument. Instead she stipulated that all students were required to study the guqin, on the grounds that the guqin was the foremost of all instruments and most suited to cultivating composure of heart and mind. After all students had studied together for three months, several teachers would conduct a uniform assessment. Those who passed the assessment could go on to freely choose an instrument; those who failed would have to continue their guqin studies.

Qin Yao quietly knit her brows. It wasn’t that Qu Chen Shi hadn’t hired teachers to come and teach her guqin for several years when she was young — but since Qin Yao had poured the greater part of her energy into studying the Daoist arts with her master, her guqin skills over the years were not completely without foundation, but were clearly not in the same league as Xia Yan’s or Wang Yingning’s.

Most significantly, all the trouble her brother had gone to in securing the flute for her was now going to waste.

Fortunately, there was still Kangping as ballast. Kangping loved movement and play, and had been fond of riding and football since childhood, with no small skill at dancing as well — but for any pursuit that required her to settle down and actually learn something, she simply had no interest. Though Consort Yi had once pushed her to study guqin for a few days, when Kangping had truly set her mind against learning it, Consort Yi could do nothing about her — and after those few days, the subject of guqin had been dropped entirely.

Xiu Yun, the guqin teacher, had spent many years in the palace and knew perfectly well how limited Kangping’s guqin skills were. Terrified that Kangping would give up halfway again, she taught at an extremely slow and meticulous pace, practically breathing instructions into her ear at every moment.

Though Xiu Yun’s consideration for one student held back the entire academy and drew a great deal of muttered discontent, it suited Qin Yao’s purposes perfectly. Not only did she listen attentively in every music class, but after each session, she would follow the teacher’s guidance and practice in her room for an hour or two. Little by little, she began to find her footing, and her guqin skills improved considerably — but that, of course, is a story for later.

For now, the matter at hand: Pei Min, finding the academy’s coursework far too simple, was bored to tears and spent her days watching the gate for letters from home.

She hadn’t had to wait more than two days before a letter arrived from the Pei household, saying that Pei Shao had arrived home safely. But Pei Min’s father had written in the letter that she should put her academy studies first and not make unauthorized requests for leave to come home — she could wait until the academy’s official break and return then.

Pei Min received the letter and was beside herself with joy, forgetting all her other considerations, and went straight to the main courtyard to explain the situation to the Duchess and request leave to go home.

The Duchess naturally refused, telling her the academy would be taking a break in just a few days, at which time she could go home and see her family — there was no need for such urgency.

Pei Min came back with her nose out of joint and vented to Qin Yao at length before finally letting the matter rest.

Fortunately, not many days later, an attendant from the Emperor’s side arrived at the academy to relay an imperial decree, summoning the students to accompany the Emperor and Consort Yi to Yuquan Mountain to escape the heat of summer. Upon hearing the news, the students were beside themselves with excitement, for Yuquan Mountain had long been celebrated, and none of them had ever had the chance to behold its scenery.

On the day of departure, a long line of carriages had assembled early at the academy’s gate, with four female students to each carriage, and officers of the Imperial Guard posted at the head and tail of the convoy.

Qin Yao shared a carriage with Pei Min, Wang Yingning, and Liu Bingyu — the second daughter of Liu Zan, the Chief Minister of Justice.

As she boarded the carriage, Qin Yao deliberately glanced at the young officer leading the Imperial Guard at the front, expecting to see Lin Xiao. But the man, while similar to Lin Xiao in build — both tall and upright — had noticeably heavier brows and a somewhat darker complexion, lacking Lin Xiao’s fair and clear-cut refinement.

Qin Yao withdrew her gaze in puzzlement, then turned her head and caught Pei Min stealing an awkward, unconcealed look at the young officer. Her expression was entirely unlike her usual self. The man seemed to sense something, and his sharp gaze swept over in Pei Min’s direction.

Pei Min’s face flushed, and she snapped her gaze away, looking coldly in the opposite direction and refusing to spare him another glance.

Qin Yao was about to wonder what was going on, when Liu Bingyu exclaimed beside her: “Isn’t that the youngest son of the Duke of Anlu — young Master Xu? Since when did he join the Imperial Guard?”

“That was last year,” Wang Yingning replied — her mother’s family had a slight connection to the Duke of Anlu’s household, and she stepped in to explain. “They say the Emperor took pity on the Duke of Anlu, who spent his life guarding the frontier and in the end was killed by enemy invaders, dying far from home. Wishing to show generosity to the Duke’s descendants, and finding the Duke’s youngest son exceptionally skilled in martial arts, the Emperor recruited him into the Imperial Guard. After a year of training, the Emperor felt that the young Master Xu showed great promise, and this year promoted him to the position of Deputy Commander of the Imperial Guard.”

Liu Bingyu, greatly curious, pulled Wang Yingning into an extended discussion of various noble families and their gossip. Since Qin Yao did not belong to that social stratum, she truly had nothing to contribute. She turned to make conversation with Pei Min, but Pei Min had fallen unusually quiet, gazing out the window in silence.

When they reached a fork in the road, the sound of orderly carriage wheels came from the opposite direction, interspersed with steady, measured hoofbeats.

Qin Yao’s curiosity was piqued, and she lifted the curtain to look out. Coming toward them was a convoy of over twenty carriages, stretching in a seamless line of considerable grandeur.

Although the carriages in the convoy looked unassuming, they were exceptionally wide and sturdy, and traveled with remarkable smoothness, barely jolting at all — and Qin Yao guessed that these carriages must be carrying the Emperor and Consort Yi.

As she thought this, Imperial Guard soldiers indeed came galloping up alongside the convoy, and in the blink of an eye had formed a seamless ring of protection around it, front and back.

Qin Yao saw at a glance that the officer leading them was Lin Xiao. She had a mind to greet him, but officers came galloping up behind him in rapid succession, each reining their horse in beside him to make their reports. Lin Xiao would listen, issue a few quiet instructions, and the officer would take his leave.

Seeing that Lin Xiao was clearly too occupied to be troubled with small matters, Qin Yao decided her greeting would serve no purpose and let the thought go.

The Yunyin Academy’s convoy waited where they were. Once the Emperor’s convoy had taken the main road, they fell in behind it, and the two processions merged into one, heading together toward Yuquan Mountain.