Ding Yi felt as if struck by lightning, her eyes widening in alarm. “Master, I am a man. I cannot be your secondary consort.”
“I know,” the Seventh Prince was disappointed in himself. With drooping eyelids, he said, “I was just speaking casually. How could I make you a secondary consort? Women haven’t all died out in the world.”
She touched her nose awkwardly. “Then what did you mean by saying that? Was it just to make fun of me?”
“Not exactly.” The Seventh Prince walked to the window, pushed it open, and looked outside. The bright moon hung high in the sky, and his heart was secretly desolate. He said, “Xiaoshu, has your master arranged any marriages for you? How many wives do you plan to take in the future?”
Ding Yi hung the bird cages on the rack and smiled. “This servant is poor. I can’t support several wives—should my entire family starve? I just want to find one person to share hardships with. She can sell bean juice, I’ll sell fried rings. As long as we have food to eat and don’t argue, living peacefully together is enough.”
He smacked his lips, pondering. “One life, one world, one partner—it’s a beautiful concept, but probably only common people can achieve it. For people like us, the court arranges marriages. Since His Majesty got his new Empress, he’s given up. He still holds selection ceremonies, but he doesn’t keep the women himself—he gives them all away. I think he’s somewhat afraid of his wife. Though the Empress always wears a smile and seems agreeable to everything, she’s quite cunning! She’s strict with her sons—the Sixth Prince sees his father as a brother, but when he sees his mother, he’s so frightened he takes detours. The Empress is fierce, and in the bedroom, she probably scolds her husband too. That’s why His Majesty doesn’t even choose palace ladies anymore—it’s pitiful. In our Yu Wen family, men are of two types: either devoted to one person until death or loving no one at all. Which type am I? I don’t even know myself.” He turned and asked, “Which type do you think I am?”
The question was too difficult. Ding Yi said, “I can’t tell. Doesn’t your household already have several consorts?”
“Yes,” the Seventh Prince seemed a bit confused. “How many again? Let me count… One second-rank, three third-ranks, four in total. I’m still missing a principal one. Next spring, there will be another selection, and by then I should be assigned one. Not just me—the Twelfth and Thirteenth Princes are due as well. The Emperor has such a burden, assigning wives to our generation and then his sons’ generation. Let me tell you, the biggest matchmaker in the world is the Emperor. You can’t be picky with his matches—when he says this person, it’s this person, with no haggling allowed. Don’t you think we royal relatives are pitiful? We have no say in our marriages. Even if they match you with a cripple, you must kneel, kowtow, and thank the Emperor for his grace.”
Listening to him, Ding Yi finally understood how marriages for these princes were arranged. “I always thought that when nobles liked a girl, they would quietly report upward, and the palace would issue a decree as a formality. So it’s not like that?”
The Seventh Prince said, “That does happen, but you need trusted confidants in the palace. For instance, if your wet nurse has influence, or if you have deep connections with the Emperor and Empress, then you might go through backdoor channels. They might accommodate you and let you choose first. But people’s hearts are hidden behind their ribs—sometimes if someone dislikes you, they might assign you someone unsuitable, ruining your whole life. Like Empress Kun, the one before the current Empress—she had a brother who inherited his father’s title. He was a duke of sorts. And what was he assigned? A consort with a lame leg, just because he and the Emperor had competed for the same bride. The Grand Empress Dowager had already decreed that the Empress would be given to the young duke, but the Emperor forcibly took her back, and in the end, the Empress’s lame sister was foisted on him. What’s that if not obvious mistreatment?”
Ding Yi wore an uncertain smile. “Master, these are imperial secrets. If you tell me, you might cut off my ears afterward.”
“That won’t happen,” the Seventh Prince said. “They’re not secrets—everyone knows them. I just want to say that people like us are sometimes not free to act as we wish. We can’t achieve what we want in our hearts, making life quite difficult. But I’m an open-minded person, not overly persistent, choosing to live my best days. He seemed to be talking to himself but glanced at Xiaoshu again. “I can persuade myself. Things that can’t be done, I put aside and stop thinking about them. It works most of the time, but if something gets into your bones, it’s hard to deal with. Is this in my bones? … When we return to Beijing, I’ll give you a house. Later, when you marry a good wife, you can live a stable life.”
Ding Yi was surprised. “Master, what’s the matter with you today? Did you drink outside?”
The Seventh Prince shook his head. “What drink? I sat down and called for two headline courtesans. They looked good from afar, but up close, their faces were wrinkled. Their makeup was like plastering a wall, layer upon layer. I sat beside them, anxious, afraid their powder would fall into the wine cups when they spoke. Those veterans of romance even created a special trick—growing their little fingernails two cun long to hold wine. They’d dip them in cups and ask people to drink from them. It terrified me… who knows if they had been picking their noses before? Eating from that would make one vomit yesterday’s food.”
Ding Yi burst into laughter. This lord was so amusing—such a cheerful person made all worries disappear when with him. Covering her mouth, she said, “They wear protective caps on their nails; otherwise, they would break.”
“That’s still not acceptable. Fingernails are so dirty—isn’t that insulting people?” As he spoke, he looked at his own hands and exclaimed, “Oh, they need trimming… Tree, go to the high cabinet, and get the toolbox. Trim my nails for me.”
When a master commands a servant, he doesn’t care who normally does what job—whoever is caught must do it! Ding Yi acknowledged with a “yes” and said while walking, “This servant is rough, with clumsy hands. If I damage them, please don’t blame me.”
The Seventh Prince said, “Can’t you think positively? Set your standards first. Always thinking ‘I can’t do it’—in this life, mud won’t stick to the wall.”
Ding Yi agreed meekly and brought over the carved purple sandalwood box. Opening it, she saw brass scissors arranged from large to small, each polished to a shine. The Seventh Prince sat in his round chair, and she knelt beside his legs, looking up and asking, “Should I spread a white cloth to wrap the cut nails?”
“Just do it like this. We’re not palace women combing hair—no need for so many formalities.” He extended his hand. “Be careful now, don’t cut my fingertips.”
She smiled with closed lips. “I won’t cut them. I’ll be careful!”
So the Seventh Prince leisurely let her attend to him. Mu Xiaoshu was meticulous, grasping with just the right amount of pressure. He squinted, watching as she held his hand, head tilted, cutting with full concentration. The Seventh Prince closed his eyes again. This was quite nice—more comfortable than drinking with courtesans outside. Looking at all those colorful women in the world, with only one person flashing before his eyes, it was better to honestly come back and look at him.
However, the Prince was troubled. What could he do? Hong Ce was peculiar—if both brothers fell for the same person, wouldn’t that be making a spectacle? He knew the Twelfth Prince’s feelings for Mu Xiaoshu were unusual. In any case, Hong Ce was a bachelor, so it didn’t matter much. But himself? With a family and household, harboring such mundane feelings was simply inappropriate.
Did this lad possess some kind of sorcery? He squinted at him—he seemed ordinary, just a bit handsome, resilient, and good-tempered. Besides that, what else? A country bumpkin, a rustic, bowing and scraping before people like a servile wretch, without backbone or temperament… but this was due to his background, not his fault. The Seventh Prince pondered—he couldn’t do anything to the person, but perhaps he could look after him in the future. Promote him so that his descendants might receive some benefits and not have to bend their backs like him.
These thoughts were truly considerate—the Seventh Prince had never felt himself so far-sighted before. He closed his eyes again and sighed deeply. He was creating trouble for himself. Why, of all people, did he have to notice a young man? Did he not plan to have sons in the future? Without sons, who would inherit his title? Who would care for him in old age and arrange his funeral?
Playing around was fine, but taking it seriously would hurt him. The Seventh Prince was good at self-consolation. While Xiaoshu busied himself with his nails, he half-raised his eyes to look at the birds in the cage and said slowly, “Later, have Na Jin bring three thousand taels in banknotes. Go to the Twelfth Prince and settle all previous accounts. Don’t owe any favors, understand?”
Ding Yi held his fingers, thinking to herself that once feelings were owed, they were owed—how could money ever clear them? But verbally she had to agree: “I understand. I’ll say the dog money is also settled. If the Twelfth Prince thinks it’s not enough, I’ll tell him to ask you for more, alright?”
The Seventh Prince raised an eyebrow. “Don’t swindle me! Two thousand five hundred taels is more than enough to buy a dog. Not just a dog—you could buy a dozen small theater performers, enough for a complete Eight Immortals Crossing the Sea performance without missing anyone.”
Ding Yi said, “For Eight Immortals Crossing the Sea, wouldn’t ten people be two too many?”
The Seventh Prince clicked his tongue. “Can’t they be assigned different roles? The extra two—one plays Zhang Guolao’s donkey, the other plays Iron Crutch Li’s gourd. Perfect.”
She had nothing more to say, only agreeing, “Master’s arrangement is truly reasonable.”
A prince’s hands felt quite comfortable to touch. After trimming the nails, she used a small file to polish them, back and forth, giving the Seventh Prince a fine manicure. When finished, the Seventh Prince brought his ten fingers together to examine carefully and discovered that each nail tip had an elegant arc. He asked, “What’s this? Why aren’t they cut completely?”
Ding Yi packed up the box. “If cut too short, it’s inconvenient to pick things up. Leaving a little looks better.”
When the Seventh Prince heard him say it looked better, that was the best explanation. As long as it looked good, leaving a bit was fine. He said, “Alright then, trim them like this in the future. It’s getting late—you should go back.” Turning to look at the bird cages, he added, “Take the money to the Twelfth Prince, or tomorrow I’ll release all the birds.”
Ding Yi, mouth half-open, asked, “Should I go right now? What if he’s already gone to bed?”
“Go even if he’s in bed,” the Seventh Prince said. “Today’s debt is settled today. Tell the Twelfth Prince thanks for his help, but we won’t trouble him anymore. We can handle our family matters. You remember this too—keep your distance from the Twelfth Prince. You’re a servant of my Seventh Prince’s household, registered in the Feather Banner, not his Merchant Banner. Once you’ve entered a banner, you must recognize your banner’s master. Not just you—even your sons in the future will be my household’s born servants! Associate less with outsiders. Your master doesn’t tolerate sand in his eyes and particularly dislikes those who can’t distinguish between close and distant relationships.”
These words were drawing a boundary—living, she was the Seventh Prince’s person; dead, she was the Seventh Prince’s dead person. Ding Yi dared not say more and respectfully acknowledged with a “yes,” slowly retreating from the hall. After a few steps, she met the steward Na Jin under the corridor.
Na Jin stood with his arms folded, leaning against a pillar. Seeing her come out, he hurried forward, peered into the hall, and asked in a hushed voice, “How is it? Has Master’s anger subsided?”
Ding Yi thought back—the Seventh Prince had been extremely angry at first, but later it was as if the storm had passed without a trace. She had trimmed his nails, and he had looked quite pleased, showing no lingering anger. She said, “It’s all over. You know Master’s temperament. Just now, Master instructed me to get three thousand taels in banknotes from you to repay a debt.”
Na Jin nodded. “I heard everything from outside.” He dug into his sleeve pocket and handed her a roll of Dragon Head notes. “Three thousand taels exactly—keep them safe.”
Ding Yi took them, hesitating a bit. At this hour, the Twelfth Prince was likely already resting, but she didn’t dare delay the Seventh Prince’s instructions. Fortunately, the temporary palace’s curfew wasn’t as strict as the Forbidden City’s. This area didn’t lock its gates, and it was just through two flower-festooned gates to reach his place.
She clutched the banknotes in her hand and hurried forward, guided by the light of ox-tendon lanterns, entering the Twelfth Prince’s Ji Si Study. The buildings were spacious but quiet, with only the dim glow from the high-hanging wind lanterns at the eaves.
She stopped at the doorway of the branch room and knocked on the latticed window. “Anda, are you there?”
A large shadow was cast on the window paper, gradually shrinking. The door latch was pulled open with a clatter, and Sha Tong stuck his head out. “Xiaoshu, it’s so late. Haven’t you rested yet?”
Ding Yi hesitated, “I’ve come by the Seventh Prince’s order to find the Twelfth Prince… It is late, but the Seventh Prince insisted it be done today. I’m not sure what to do.”
Sha Tong finally stepped out. He had just washed his feet, his robe tucked into his belt, and his trouser legs rolled up high. Standing in the light and shadow, he asked, “What’s so urgent? Is it important?”
“The Seventh Prince scolded me about buying birds today, saying I’ve been troubling the Twelfth Prince too much, and told me to bring over the banknotes.” She held them forward. “What should we do? Would you accept them on his behalf and present them to the Twelfth Prince in the morning?”
Sha Tong shook his head, saying it wouldn’t do. “Clear accounts between brothers is no simple matter. If I accept them, Master might blame me later.” As he spoke, he walked toward the main hall. “The lights are still on—he’s probably reading. Why don’t you wait a moment while I go look? If he’s not asleep, I’ll announce you, and you can enter when the Prince summons you.”
Ding Yi smiled and bowed. “Thank you, Anda. I’m sorry to trouble you so late.”
Sha Tong waved his hand, adjusted his appearance, approached the hall door, opened it slightly, and slipped inside.
Ding Yi stood waiting under the eaves. The night wind carried a chill, flowing in through her collar and sleeves. She wrapped her robe tightly around herself, pondering how to address the Twelfth Prince. As Sha Tong had said, when even brothers truly come to settle accounts, good relations can turn sour. Just as she was uncertain, the hall door opened again, and Sha Tong called from the threshold, “Xiaoshu, the Prince was about to retire, but he’s made time now. He’s calling you in to talk.”