Just the two of them outdoors, sitting under the moon, discussing topics from worlds they couldn’t otherwise touch.

At first, Ding Yi was in a poor mood, her cheeks puffed up, constantly on the verge of tears. Later, the Twelfth Master consoled her, sharing stories from his childhood—how he was disregarded, and how he endured others’ contempt. It was a comparison, a contest of who had suffered more, using his misfortunes to comfort her. Inwardly, Ding Yi wondered: Could his suffering possibly match hers? Both her parents were gone, while his, though effectively absent, could at least still be seen. He had been raised in silk and jade, while she had tasted life’s bitterness since age six—never enough to eat, but always enough cold stares to bear. How could they possibly compare?

Still, she was grateful to him. Such a considerate person, a precious, noble prince, sitting on a stone to comfort her—truly heartwarming, to be honest.

Ding Yi, by nature, was not a stubborn person. She understood right from wrong. Just because her father had met his end at the hands of someone surnamed Yu Wen didn’t mean she should harbor hatred for anyone with that surname. Though she didn’t know the exact circumstances, the grand scale of their household was evident. “Three years as a prefect, one hundred thousand taels of silver”—she understood this saying well. If her father hadn’t engaged in corruption or abused his power, how could he have amassed such a large estate? An official of the second rank received an annual salary of 155 taels, 155 hu of rice, plus integrity stipends—at most 700 taels per year. Could 700 taels buy a mansion in the capital? Could it employ over a hundred servants and attendants? Thus, it couldn’t bear scrutiny; everyone kept silent and moved on. As long as the imperial court didn’t pursue matters, all was well, but if investigations began, more than half the officials in Beijing would fall. Her father had been unlucky, pushed forward at a certain time as a scapegoat. If she wanted to hate, she lacked the moral ground. Only if he had been completely innocent and wrongly accused could she hate the Yu Wen clan with conviction.

So now she maintained an even temperament, feeling neither love nor hatred toward both the Twelfth Master and the Seventh Master. She would simply perform her duties well, carefully guard her secret, and when they reached Changbai Mountain, honestly reveal her identity. Because she wanted to be with her brothers, she would beg both princes not to blame her and to be lenient in releasing them.

She said, “Twelfth Master, could you help me with something on the day you celebrate my belated birthday? I’m embarrassed to ask for help again, but it is my birthday after all, and the birthday person’s wishes should be granted.”

Hong Ce’s lips curved upward. He had forgotten they shared the same birthday, but it didn’t matter. His affairs were trivial; there was no harm in agreeing. He nodded, “As long as it doesn’t violate criminal law, I’ll do my best.”

Dressing as a man shouldn’t be illegal, she thought. Though deception would certainly anger people, mercy could be shown outside the law. If the Prince chose to overlook it, the matter would pass. She smiled and said, “I’m a proper person who never does anything inappropriate.”

He raised an eyebrow, studying her. “Is that so?”

His tone reminded her of when she had gone with Xia Zhi to steal dogs, making her feel a bit embarrassed. Fortunately, the darkness concealed her, and the Prince couldn’t see her guilty blush. She replied awkwardly, “Why add that questioning tone? Who can guarantee they’ve never done anything they regret? As long as one maintains basic integrity, that’s enough. Life shouldn’t be taken too seriously—it’s exhausting, don’t you agree?”

This time he concurred, “You’re right. Overthinking makes every waking moment exhausting. I used to be like that, striving for perfection in everything, expending great effort for little reward.”

She looked up at him, “Going to Ninguta is a difficult assignment. Who knows how long we’ll stay there. Do you think the court will send you to Khalkha again? I know you don’t like that place.”

A vague expression crossed Hong Ce’s face, “If Khalkha remains stable, I should be able to live peacefully in Beijing. But at the slightest disturbance, I’d be the first to be sent out.”

Only by getting closer to him did Ding Yi realize nobles had so many worries. She didn’t understand why they kept targeting him, especially after his ear had been damaged. Indignantly, she said, “You’re all sons of the Grand Emperor. How are you different from the others? Khalkha’s instability isn’t your fault. Why do they hold you accountable?”

Because his mother was deeply connected to Khalkha. When his mother was in power, he enjoyed status through her; now that she had fallen, he naturally bore the consequences.

Seeing her clenched fists and outraged expression, he found it amusing, “It’s nothing. That’s how imperial families work—whether one is favored depends on the power behind them. All brothers share the Grand Emperor’s bloodline, but their standing is determined by their maternal family’s foundation.”

The Twelfth Master’s hair was loosely bound with a pearl band. As the evening breeze blew, several strands fell across his face. He used his little finger to brush them away—a light, graceful movement that left Ding Yi mesmerized.

She chuckled, “Your hands… they’re really beautiful…”

He was somewhat surprised, “What?”

She startled herself, realizing she had spoken her thoughts aloud. He had probably never been complimented this way. Hurriedly, she covered up, “I mean, your hands are well-maintained, unlike those of us who do rough work. When we stretch out our hands, they look like wooden knots.”

He lowered his eyes, extending his hand to examine it, finding nothing particularly beautiful. Seeing this, Ding Yi could barely contain herself. An unbearable itch rose within her, and she quickly turned away, glancing at the sky, murmuring, “I hadn’t noticed how late it’s gotten. Let’s head back!”

In her nervousness, she forgot to face him while speaking, so the Prince didn’t see her lips and asked, “That time you read my palm—were you genuinely skilled or just making things up?”

The question caught her off guard. Stammering, she replied, “I… of course I know how to read palms! Didn’t you see how coherently I explained everything? I might fool others, but not you—you’re my benefactor.”

He responded with a slightly hesitant smile, its meaning unclear.

They couldn’t stay longer; the more time they spent together, the more likely she would reveal her true identity. Hastily, she added, “It’s getting late. I’m afraid my master will be looking for me. We should go back!”

So they headed back. The Twelfth Master stood, his robe hem brushing against the back of her hand, causing her heart to flutter and inexplicable melancholy to rise within her.

By the time they returned to the postal station, many had retired. Occasionally, people passed by with sweat towels, waving palm-leaf fans, their shoes dragging beneath the eaves—probably thirsty and searching for water.

She bid farewell to the Twelfth Master, saying, “You should rest now. After bouncing on horseback all day, your bones must be aching. Lie down early, and this servant will come to pay respects tomorrow morning.”

The Twelfth Master’s attendant, Sha Tong, was already waiting at the door. On long journeys, while Guan Zhaojing, the household manager, remained in Beijing to maintain the residence, the Prince was attended by several close followers. Sha Tong was a eunuch and a skilled fighter who had served his master since childhood. He could both attend to daily needs and protect his master, making him even more useful than a regular Guosha. As soon as the Prince returned, Sha Tong stepped forward to welcome him inside.

Ding Yi stood under the portico for a while, lost in thought, before heading to her quarters. Qian Chuanzi and the others had been punished to sleep in the stables, but there were still four or five men in the room, making it uncomfortable. Looking around, she wondered if she should sleep on the roof, finding an unoccupied ridge to spend the night.

As she was considering this, the door to the main room opened. The Seventh Master stood in the diamond-shaped halo of light beyond the threshold, hands on his hips, saying, “Where have you been gallivanting? The birds are parched, and here you are, neglecting your duties! What do you think you’re doing?”

The Seventh Prince’s expression was unkind. Ding Yi’s scalp tingled with fear as she hurried forward, bowing deeply, “After dinner, this servant had indigestion and went for a walk. I wandered a bit far and only just returned. Please punish me, master.”

“Indigestion? You went with the Twelfth Master?” The Seventh Prince glanced in that direction and snorted, “You haven’t even figured out who your real master is, have you, fool?” He turned to leave, but after taking two steps, noticed she hadn’t followed. Clicking his tongue, he said, “Why are you still standing there? Waiting for me to carry you?”

Ding Yi’s heart pounded with fear. She quickly hunched her shoulders and followed. Entering the room, she saw the boxes of bird food and water containers on the table. Without waiting for instructions, she opened the cages and replenished their food and water. She pulled out the drawer beneath the white-eye bird’s cage and replaced it with a clean one, then said, “Master, tomorrow I’ll go to the river to fetch sand. We’ve been traveling every day, and the sand in the lark’s cage hasn’t been changed for several days. It’s too uncomfortable for the bird.”

The Seventh Prince sat with one leg crossed over the other, playing with his snuff bottle. He glanced at her sideways, “It’s good that you still remember to tend to the birds. I thought you only had eyes for the Twelfth Master, abandoning my two treasures to go play on your own.” He pointed to the lark’s cage, “Remove the cover and let it sing to the lamp. These birds are interesting—they become animated when they see a light.”

Ding Yi responded affirmatively, “You don’t know, but in the past two days, it has learned to make whip sounds.” Smiling, she uncovered the cage and called to it, “Feng’er, make a whip sound for the Prince, a loud one, come on.”

The bird was incredibly intelligent and understood human speech. Following Ding Yi’s command, it spread its wings, exerted itself, and produced a sound like a whip cracking through the air, immediately amusing the Seventh Prince.

“What an entertaining little trick,” the Seventh Prince set down his snuff bottle and approached, circling like a weasel eyeing a chicken coop. “You’re not human. If you were, I’d reward you handsomely.”

Ding Yi raised her hand, “Prince, I am human!”

Implying she wanted a reward. The Seventh Prince looked at her with his arms folded behind his back, “You? It’s already generous that I haven’t punished you, what more do you want!” He turned back to the lark, “You’ve named it? Feng’er? Couldn’t you be more common? At least call it something like Danzhu. What’s this ‘Feng’er’? Sounds like a door-to-door laundress.”

How particular he was! Ding Yi replied, “Where I come from, laundresses are called ‘flower’ or ‘grass’ this or that, never Feng’er. Since it’s a crested lark, Feng’er is perfectly suitable.”

The Seventh Master gave her another dismissive look, “Fine, Feng’er it is. What about this red one? What’s it called?”

Ding Yi coughed once, “It’s called Yingying.”

“Oh my,” the Seventh Prince covered his eyes, dragging his hand down his face, “Yingying? What’s next, Zhang Sheng? Have you been reading too many opera scripts?”

She blinked her large eyes, “This servant has little education and can’t come up with profound names. I just wanted something that rolls off the tongue easily. If you don’t like it, we can change it. How about Little Date?”

“You have nothing of substance,” the Seventh Master laughed, “Alright, Yingying it is. They’re used to it now; a sudden change would only confuse them.” He paced a few steps in the center of the room, then turned and collapsed into an armchair. Looking her up and down, he said, “Listen, Mu Xiao Shu, today the Twelfth Master came to complain that my Guosha lacked discipline and behaved inappropriately. Liao Datou also came to request punishment, reporting the entire incident. You…”

He was probably going to blame her, saying she had made a big deal out of nothing. The mere thought of it made her heart clench with anger. Even if she were a man, she shouldn’t be teased in such a manner. She knelt but held her neck stiffly, “This servant is guilty.”

Seeing his attitude, the Seventh Master realized he was quite resentful. He hadn’t planned to reprimand him, so why this defiance? The Seventh Master grew irritated, “Did I summon you? Why the long face? You’ve grown quite bold. Men roughhousing together is common. Your excessive propriety makes you a laughingstock. Tell me, being so serious, how do you get along with others? Duty is a duty, but brothers must interact casually, right?”

As he spoke, he gradually stopped, for Mu Xiao Shu had begun to cry, tears flowing abundantly, catching him completely off guard.

“What’s this… a man sheds tears sparingly. Why are you crying?” The Seventh Prince leaned forward, gripping the chair’s armrests, half-threateningly shouting, “Stop it right now!”

Everyone blamed her; only the Twelfth Master truly cared for her. What a wretched state she had fallen into! The more she thought about it, the more distressed she became. Sobbing, she said, “This servant was wrong. These are tears of regret. Please pretend you didn’t see them!”

The Seventh Prince felt her words carried hidden meaning. What did she regret? Coming to the Seventh Prince’s household as a bird keeper?

“You have quite a temper. They were crude, manhandling you, while the Twelfth Master was kind, accompanying you for a digestive walk.” Frowning, he asked, “Tell me, is there something between you and the Twelfth Master? How does he always know first when something happens to you? What was I doing when he rescued you… ” He scratched his scalp, “Right, I was having my legs massaged! Between him and me, who is your master?”

If the master doesn’t extend a hand, are others forbidden from helping? Ding Yi said, “You are my master. Isn’t the Twelfth Master considerate because I’m your servant? Please don’t take offense.”

“That’s why I say there’s something suspicious,” the Seventh Prince appeared to have discovered big news, seeming extremely shocked. “Your Twelfth Master likes men, doesn’t he? You two… huh?”

What nonsense was this? Ding Yi hurriedly denied it, “The Twelfth Master is kind-hearted. Not only helped me twice, but he would even care for a small cat or dog. He’s a virtuous man, and this servant dares not tarnish his reputation. Master, you can scold or beat me, but you cannot slander the Twelfth Master.”

Well, well! What did she take him for? Was he someone who slandered others? The Seventh Prince rose and paced around the room twice. Having a hot temper, the more he looked at this youth, the more irritating he found him. Fiercely, he berated, “No sense of propriety, speaking without discretion. Slap your face!”

So not all those surnamed Yu Wen were easy to get along with. Ding Yi gritted her teeth and responded with a resolute “Yes,” then proceeded to slap herself with both hands. Filled with suppressed anger, she found the whole situation absurd and slapped herself hard. After several blows, her face stung fiercely and quickly began to swell.

Seeing how she was following through, the Seventh Prince hurriedly ordered her to stop, “Are you deliberately defying me? Will you harm yourself and then go complain to the Twelfth Master?” He stomped his foot fiercely, “Tonight, you will kneel right here! You’re not to leave without my order!” His stomping was so forceful it jarred his muscles and bones. Drawing in a sharp breath of pain, he limped into the inner room.