The Qinghuai Marquis Xiao Zhun had received his title at sixteen, established his own household at seventeen, been named Grand General of the Cavalry at nineteen, assumed command of three hundred thousand men of the Subet Northern Camp, and had never suffered a defeat in battle after the age of twenty-three.

A man of such caliber would be worthy of admiration and respect throughout all of Chizhou and beyond — yet for reasons no one could fathom, he had taken no wife. Generals led their troops into the field for months at a time, sometimes years at a stretch, and Quecheng was not a place where Xiao Zhun was often stationed. Few women had ever so much as glimpsed his face, and so the gossip ran: perhaps the Qinghuai Marquis was not particularly handsome — that was why no lady of a noble family had been willing to marry him.

But the small number of women who had actually seen Xiao Zhun’s face argued firmly otherwise, insisting that Xiao Zhun had the face of a jade-carved nobleman and was, without question, a strikingly handsome man. And so the rumors shifted to a new direction: the Qinghuai Marquis had gone to war young, and at the famed Battle of the Green Duckweed Crossing, it was said he had been struck by several arrows. What if — just possibly — one of those arrows had lodged somewhere it should not?

“If that’s really the case, wouldn’t the Xiao bloodline die out?”

A diner who had been listening in rapt attention spat out a sunflower seed shell and voiced his concern.

The man who had been telling the tale, his mouth dry, welcomed the interruption — he drained a cup of wine to wet his throat. “You’re not wrong. As things stand now, there’s one person in that marquis mansion — but no matter how you look at it, it’s a girl, and rumor has it she was picked up from the roadside.”

At the far end of the table, another man, clearly well into his cups, slurred his words badly as he spoke. “If you ask me, you can’t lay all the blame on the Qinghuai Marquis himself. Blame the Xiao Family’s misfortune. I mean, if Prince Shuo were still around, how would the Xiao Family ever have—”

The seed-cracker clamped a hand over the drunk’s mouth, cold sweat breaking out across his face. He looked around in alarm — but fortunately it was the dinner hour, and the tavern was loud with voices. No one in the corner had caught the words a drunk man had let slip.

The one who had been doing the most talking fell silent too, hunching his shoulders as he muttered, “Drink will be the ruin of you, drink will be the ruin of you.” All the while muttering, he moved to the window and propped it open, letting the cool night air flood in to clear out the fumes.

The warm lamplight spilled through that small wooden window into the darkness outside, illuminating a strip of wall at the base — and a pair of ears, fuzzy and speckled with a few stray patches of color.

Those ears twitched, as though mildly put out.

From the darkness came a woman’s low voice at last. “Come on, Jixiang.”

— ✦ —

Though it occupied a prime location in Quecheng, the Qinghuai Marquis Mansion grew especially quiet after dark, the sounds of life and warmth entirely absent from within its deep walls. Nanny Chen — the old steward — stood beneath two long-lit paper lanterns and took Xiao Nanhui’s horse from her. In the courtyard stood a young woman in a rosy pink jacket, who heard the commotion and came hurrying out to welcome her in.

“Why are you back so late? Have you eaten? Uncle Chen told me you barely touched your breakfast. Look at the whole table of food I had prepared — it’s gone completely cold.”

Xiao Nanhui looked at the woman’s face, the concern and gentle reproach written plain across it, and felt some of the chill in her chest ease. “You’ve had a long day, Sister Dujuan. I did eat, actually. You and Uncle Chen should eat too — don’t wait up for me this late again.” She paused, remembered something, and glanced around. “Has Father not come back yet?”

Dujuan nodded a little awkwardly. “He should be back soon, though — surely he won’t be spending the night elsewhere.”

Better not to have mentioned it at all. The words sent Xiao Nanhui’s heart rising into her throat again. She should have taken a detour down Yukun Street to check on the way back. “Has anyone looked in at the old residence?”

Dujuan knew what she was worried about. “Someone was sent to check just before dark. He truly has not come out of the palace yet.”

Xiao Nanhui breathed out in relief, and only then remembered her promise to Yaoyi. “Those mushrooms I brought back last time — have them sent to Wangchen Tower as soon as possible.”

Dujuan, knowing nothing of the back-and-forth between them, raised an eyebrow in clear disapproval. “What’s the rush? It’s already this late. Since when does Yaoyi get to complain about a gift arriving late?”

Xiao Nanhui could only laugh apologetically. “They were meant for him — if I sit on them any longer, they’ll spoil.”

Dujuan, who was blunt by nature and had no patience for Yaoyi’s sly and contrary manner, declared of her own accord: “There’s no need to give him all of them. Keep half for Jixiang.”

Xiao Nanhui was caught between laughter and resignation. After a day of running around, exhaustion was beginning to creep over her. “He has very particular tastes — make sure the best ones go to him. If Father gets back, tell him I’m waiting in the rear courtyard.”

With that, Xiao Nanhui walked directly toward the rear courtyard.

Behind her, Dujuan opened her mouth slightly, her expression unreadable.

The rear courtyard of the Qinghuai Marquis Mansion had grown a little wild from neglect, seldom visited as it was. Apart from a few stone benches and tables, there were only the plants and flowers that had been there since the mansion was first built — nothing especially rare or fine. Xiao Nanhui did not tend them, and Dujuan and Uncle Chen had no time to spare for them either. Over the years, only the wildflowers and weeds that grew of their own accord thrived there, yet every spring they still brought a trace of life to the place.

Xiao Nanhui changed into clean clothes and stepped out into the courtyard, glancing left and right.

The night was uncommonly still. A lingering chill from the spring remained, and the noisy little insects had not yet dug their way up through the earth. The only sounds in the courtyard were faint and subtle — perhaps the whisper of the night breeze against the leaves, or the creak of the roof tiles shifting in the cold.

Xiao Nanhui listened for a while but made nothing of it, so she simply lay down on one of the stone benches and tilted her head back to count the blossoms on the old wisteria growing overhead. When she had counted all the blooms, she counted the buds; when she had counted the buds, she counted the leaves.

Xiao Zhun had once trained her to sharpen her eyesight by standing in the blazing sun and counting leaves on trees.

The sunlight would often dazzle her eyes. So much so that when Xiao Zhun spoke at her ear, she mistook it for sunlight dazzling her heart as well.

Blazing. Dissolving. An air that stole the breath.

Utterly unlike the cool, clear stillness of this evening.

But Xiao Nanhui thought that if Xiao Zhun were here right now, even this murky, feeble starlight could burn like the noon sun and leave her heart blinded.

The sound of the night watchman’s drum carried over the wall. Xiao Nanhui turned over and lay on her stomach across the stone bench.

She could no longer make out the leaves clearly, and still Xiao Zhun had not returned.

A faint rustling came from the top of the courtyard wall, and a head appeared — tied up with a bright green ribbon, a bunch of grapes being chewed in one hand, seeds being spat out one by one. The tiny grape seeds hit the ground with small, sharp sounds, one after another.

Xiao Nanhui’s brow creased. She endured it for a while, then, unable to bear it any longer, she casually picked up a pebble from the ground and threw it.

The pebble flew with considerable force, straight and fast toward that head.

But the head was faster — it tilted slightly to one side, and the pebble sailed past.

Xiao Nanhui, not turning around, raised her hand and threw again.

This time the pebble moved even faster — aimed not at the head, but at the bunch of grapes.

The head had no time to react. The grapes tumbled out of the hand with a loud slap and fell to the base of the wall.

“Those were presented to the Marquis by His Majesty himself, and you dare let them eat dirt!”

The owner of that head stood up on the wall — a petite young woman in red clothing, with a bright green ribbon at the top of her head, which together made for a rather striking ensemble. She had a bold, broad-browed face with large eyes, and though her bearing was imperious, there was something faintly comical about it.

Xiao Nanhui dug a finger in her ear and picked up another pebble to toss idly in her palm. “And where are your manners? Sneaking grapes that belong to the Marquis.”

The petite figure planted her hands on her hips with great conviction. “I didn’t sneak them. The Marquis gave them to me. Sister Dujuan personally brought them to me.”

“And why, exactly, did he give them to you?”

“Because… because…” The voice on the wall began to trail off.

“I wonder which dedicated and devoted attendant it is — the one who isn’t up when her mistress rises, who helps herself to a taste before her mistress eats, who disappears the moment her mistress needs to go out, and is still nowhere to be found when her mistress comes home. If Dujuan were to hear of this…”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

Xiao Nanhui said nothing, only smiled pleasantly.

Truly, one creature tames another. When Dujuan set that tongue of hers loose, it was sharper than any blade.

The green ribbon wavered with uncertainty. “You cannot tell Dujuan. If you tell her, I won’t help you check on Aunt Dai anymore.”

Aunt Dai was Xiao Zhun’s aunt. As her spirits were never quite well, she had long been settled in a quiet side courtyard to rest, and rarely saw anyone.

Xiao Nanhui’s smile faded. “Did you look in on her today? Did she say anything?”

The green ribbon scratched her head. “Same things as always, more or less. She wove a new ribbon and gave it to me for my hair.” Then, seeming to remember she had still been in a quarrel with Xiao Nanhui, she hastily reclaimed her air of grievance. “I came over out of pure kindness to check on you, and you throw rocks at me — how is that any way to repay someone? You are the very definition of ingratitude!”

Xiao Nanhui had genuinely run out of patience. The events of the day had left her mind too tangled. “Bolao. Before I call for Dujuan, you had better make yourself disappear.”

Bolao shrank back, gave a haughty little “hmph,” and retreated below the wall.

Xiao Nanhui pricked her ears and listened until she was sure the other girl had gone, then sat up from the bench. She was just about to stand and stretch her stiff limbs when she looked up — and saw a figure standing in the doorway of the courtyard.

Xiao Nanhui was a martial artist, and she was most attuned to the rhythm of a person’s breathing. Only those with very deep inner cultivation could be near her without her sensing it.

Xiao Zhun was one such person.

The dark cloud that had gathered at midday now sat above Quecheng, and tonight there was no moon — but Xiao Nanhui had lit no lantern. Even so, she could make out that familiar silhouette walking toward her.

Xiao Zhun’s features were striking, but unlike most military men — his brows and lips carried a free, spirited quality rather than stern authority, more like a wandering swordsman of the rivers and lakes. Only his eyes were guarded in their expression, lending him a measure of quiet steadiness. Tonight, those eyes held an extra measure of fatigue, and it pulled at something in Xiao Nanhui’s chest.

“Father.”

Xiao Zhun smiled slightly, and the lines of his face softened. He reached into his sleeve and drew out a square box, which he held out to her.

“I left in a rush this morning. I thought I’d be back by midday, so I took it with me. I had no idea it would end up being this late.”

The box was made of copper. When Xiao Nanhui traced the engraved patterns on its surface, her fingertips were warm with Xiao Zhun’s body heat. The clasp clicked open with a soft snap, and nestled inside lay a pale white thumb ring. Looking closely, she could make out fine, dense markings and small pores across its surface — it appeared to be carved from some kind of animal bone, but polished to such smoothness that at a glance it looked almost like jade.

Xiao Nanhui put it on carefully. It fit perfectly.

“The one you’ve been using is too worn down. This is made from white rhinoceros horn — more durable, and it wards off evil and keeps you safe.”

The last time she had drawn a bow was half a month ago. She had not expected Xiao Zhun to still notice.

The smile at the corner of Xiao Nanhui’s lips was impossible to suppress. “Thank you, Father.”

“By the way — Dujuan mentioned you went to Yongye Temple on your own today. Were you there to collect safety amulets?”

Every year on Xiao Nanhui’s birthday, she would ask the temple for safety amulets and bring them back to distribute among the soldiers at the camp, praying for their safe return from battle.

Now that Xiao Zhun mentioned it, she realized she had completely forgotten — she had been so caught up in that business with the oracle lot that it had slipped her mind entirely. “I was going to,” she said reflexively. “But I got caught up with the oracle lot and never got around to it. I’ll find another time to go.”

“An oracle lot?” Xiao Zhun raised an eyebrow slightly. “Which lot did you draw?”

Xiao Nanhui startled, and heat rose to her face. “It was just a casual draw.”

Xiao Zhun studied her expression, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “A casual draw — and yet you forgot all about the amulets? Don’t tell me you were asking about marriage.”

It felt to Xiao Nanhui as though an arrow had struck her square in the chest, and her heart missed several beats.

In the darkness, the lines of Xiao Zhun’s face softened, as if the night were blurring the boundary that could not be crossed between them.

She finally summoned her courage and said, “What I asked about was you, Father.”

The smile on Xiao Zhun’s face stilled. The weariness settled over his eyes once more, and Xiao Nanhui’s breath left her too, her head drooping again.

The silence between them grew awkward — and recently, such silences had been coming more and more frequently.

Xiao Nanhui’s heart lurched, terrified he would speak and say something she was afraid to hear. She quickly steered the subject elsewhere. “Was His Majesty’s summons today about the matter of the secret seal?”

The question broke the awkwardness — and startled Xiao Zhun. “How did you know about that?” Then a thought seemed to occur to him, and a faint furrow appeared between his brows. “Did Yaoyi say something to you again? That man has no fear of consequences. Don’t go getting tangled up in his foolishness.”

Xiao Nanhui knew Xiao Zhun had never much liked her visits to Yaoyi, likely because of what Yaoyi was — at the end of the day, someone who made his living in a pleasure house.

“No, he wouldn’t tell me. I was the one who insisted on asking. And he didn’t say that much either — he only mentioned the Qu Clan of Wancheng. I heard the matter concerned Huozhou, and guessed it was connected to the secret seal.”

Xiao Zhun’s expression shifted, as though he was carefully weighing how much to say. “Nanhui, I don’t want you getting too involved in this.”

Xiao Nanhui said nothing. In her heart, the words were: I won’t agree to that.

Since two years ago, Xiao Zhun had been run ragged without a moment’s rest. First, flooding at Qiuxi demanded troops for the dikes; then came the campaign to suppress bandits at Zhong Shan; then the quartering of troops at Quzhou. She had followed along to help where she could, but there were still stretches of months at a time when they did not see each other. That emperor — who knew what was in his head — drove Xiao Zhun, a Grand General of the Cavalry, like a common errand runner, and knowing full well that Xiao Zhun’s heart was set on Bijiang, never once raised the matter of recapturing it.

“Nanhui.”

Xiao Zhun called her name softly. She looked up at once. “I understand, Father. Word has it that last month there were rumblings from the feudal prince in western Jizhou. That may be an opportunity — Father could use that to petition His Majesty.”

Bijiang lay to the southwest of Jizhou. The unrest among the feudal princes likely had someone’s hand behind it.

“Mm.” Xiao Zhun gave a single sound of acknowledgment and said nothing more. Perhaps he had already raised it, and the man above saw nothing worth moving on.

Xiao Nanhui’s eyes held a glimmer of light that quickly subsided. She looked at the worry etched into the crease between Xiao Zhun’s brows and smiled. “Whatever happens, Nanhui is willing to be of help to Father.”

The tension in Xiao Zhun’s brow eased, and his expression gentled. After a moment’s pause he said, “These past years have been unsettled. If there is more fighting, it may well drag on for another year or two. By next year you will be twenty-one. If there is a suitable match…”

Xiao Nanhui’s expression shifted, and she spoke quickly. “There is still much to be done in the military — I hope to help Father a while longer.”

Xiao Zhun sounded quietly exasperated. “You said the same thing the year before last, and again last year. Surely you don’t intend to be among soldiers and troops until you’re my age?”

That’s not it, Xiao Nanhui thought in silence.

I want to be with you.

“There’s nothing wrong with soldiers and troops — they’re far easier to be around than those scheming strategists and officials. If Father truly insists, then let him choose someone from the military. Nanhui will go along with whatever is decided.”

Xiao Zhun studied her face carefully. “Is that the truth?”

Xiao Nanhui gave a small nod. “The truth.”

Xiao Nanhui’s feelings were never difficult to read. Every shade of sincerity and pretense showed plainly on her face.

Xiao Zhun was not blind — he could see it all. But for now, there was nothing to do but accept the surface of what she said.

In the sky above, the long-gathered dark cloud began to roil and shift, and a low rumble of thunder rolled in. Rain was close.

“I’ll bear this in mind. His Majesty has urged me to submit the new formation plans for Quzhou. I…”

Xiao Nanhui silently cursed and berated that wretched emperor in her heart, then smiled — a smile with blood beneath it. “Father, go attend to your work. A formation plan is not something one can finish in a single evening. Leave what you can’t finish for tomorrow — don’t exhaust yourself into the night.”

With that, Xiao Nanhui paid her respects and withdrew.

She was nearly at the gate of the small courtyard when Xiao Zhun called out.

“Nanhui.”

She turned. She felt raindrops land on her face.

Xiao Zhun’s face was a dark silhouette in the unlighted courtyard.

“Happy birthday.”

Xiao Nanhui could not hold back. She smiled.

But what a pity — the night was so dark, and neither of them could see the other’s face clearly.