The moon rose high in the sky as the oil lamp was blown out. Moonlight squeezed through the gaps in the curtains, creating a hazy glow that swirled around the room.
It was still dim, and the Twelfth Master couldn’t see her lips move, making communication impossible. But that didn’t matter—they could discover many other interesting things to do.
She played with his fingers, raising their hands high, where moonlight perfectly penetrated through their intertwined fingers, casting shadows on the bedding decorated with Diao Chan worshipping the moon. His hands were different from others—long-jointed, yet not appearing bony. Though a man who handled reins and drew bows had calluses on his fingertips, his palms remained soft. In her childhood, her nurse had said that people with soft hands were blessed with good fortune.
With a teasing manner, she twisted his hands into various graceful poses, like the gestures of female characters in operas—having him perform all fifty-three variations of the orchid finger pose. He indulged her, allowing her to manipulate him within that small band of light—reflecting the sun, rippling waves, competing with fragrance, opening petals… His slender fingers lent a uniquely feminine charm to these poses. She couldn’t stop laughing, afraid that others might hear, she covered her face with the blanket, her shoulders quivering with laughter.
The two lay with their heads together, their minds free from wandering thoughts, feeling only genuine warmth. He couldn’t hear, but she could, so he took advantage of the fact that she couldn’t reply, whispering in her ear: “From now on, I’ll come every night to sleep beside you, so you can rest more peacefully.”
Ding Yi rolled her eyes at him. How smooth-talking he was—it was he who couldn’t sleep well, yet now he turned it around. She poked his chest with a slender finger, asking him to tell the truth. Understanding, he raised his arm to cover his face. “It’s me… I’m always afraid that someday you’ll run away again… That day in Suifenhe will haunt me forever. I never want to relive that experience.”
Indeed, the pain of that day was too much to recall. When she left him, stepping out of that room, she felt half-dead. Emotion and reason should coexist, yet she had tried to separate them, making each day afterward feel hopeless. They had tried to break through to a foreign country, but he had ordered that not even a fly be allowed to leave. The patrol leader who had taken their money backed out, refusing to help and advising them to go south instead. With no other option, they disguised themselves and followed a merchant caravan returning from Korea to Xi’an Prefecture.
He had been quietly extending his reach. The Governor of Shaanxi was his bondservant, and a servant would do anything for his master, even offering his heart and liver. Like master, like a servant—the Shaanxi Governor was also discreet, investigating day and night, questioning everyone passing through city gates, even harassing them in inns, making it impossible to stay. They had traveled many roads, briefly resting in various places—an unpleasant experience. Fortunately, the Shanxi Governor wasn’t from the Shanggiyan Banner. Though they were also investigated, it was mostly perfunctory, allowing them to find a place to settle long-term. It hadn’t been that long, perhaps just a month or two—Ru Jian’s business had just started to take off when he descended from the sky.
Either way, she couldn’t escape, couldn’t break free from his Five-Finger Mountain. She had her selfish hopes. Ru Jian was stubborn and difficult to reason with, so she quietly placed her hopes on him. She trusted that he wouldn’t harm Ru Jian for the sake of his career. If hostility could be transformed into harmony, that would be the most perfect outcome.
She turned, resting her leg on his—there was a cushion of flesh beneath, making it quite comfortable. His tolerance for her truly seemed limitless. Only now did she realize how wonderful it was to have someone close—someone who wouldn’t get angry when she acted spoiled or wild, who would satisfy her every demand. When she took advantage of him or bullied him, his eyes would fill with tears, looking as wronged as a young bride. This was her Twelfth Master, the man she once looked up to as an unattainable peak, now trembling beneath her… Her imagination soared, making her increasingly happy, and she burst out laughing.
His inner garment was snow-white, with a slightly open collar revealing a patch of white skin on his chest. Such beauty in such a moment was truly tantalizing. She pretended to casually cover him, pleased to hear that soul-stirring gasp, making her even more smug.
Men cannot be teased—this principle he had never told her, nor did it need explanation. It was better to teach her through actions.
She had been lying flat, enjoying her position of power and the small pleasures it brought. Unexpectedly, he suddenly moved, almost rising from the ground, flipping her onto his stomach in one motion. She let out a startled shriek, but by the time she tried to cover her mouth, it was too late—the sound had escaped. She lay awkwardly on top of him like a lid. He adjusted slightly, revealing a row of neat teeth in the darkness.
Perhaps that cry had attracted attention. Ru Jian’s attendants, who had been through life and death with him, were extremely devoted to her. That scream in the middle of the night had frightened them, and they ran to the steps asking, “Miss, what’s wrong? What happened?”
Afraid they might burst in, her heart pounded in her chest. She quickly feigned a drowsy voice, saying it was nothing, “I had a nightmare, it startled me.”
The person outside made an acknowledging sound, assuming everything was fine, and left. She gently pounded his chest. “If you keep acting like this and Ru Jian finds out, he’ll skin you alive!”
It was embarrassing to think about—an unmarried young woman allowing a man into her bed, how lacking in self-respect! But having reached this point, her resolve felt as firm as iron. His heart was one with hers. After weathering storms together, she could entrust even her life to him.
He was a clever man who could always perceive others’ hearts and didn’t merely indulge his desires. His fingers slowly traced her spine, the tense pain in a certain part of his body could be ignored as he murmured: “I won’t touch you. Until our wedding day, I won’t cross that line again. I know what you’re thinking—you have your dignity, and I can’t use love as an excuse to compromise you. Once the case is resolved, we’ll return to Beijing, and I’ll take you to the palace to meet people. If we can get the imperial decree this year, we should prepare for the wedding next spring. Then you can openly enter my prince’s mansion carrying the treasure vase, and everyone will respectfully address you as the Twelfth Fujin. How does that sound?”
She hadn’t expected him to say this. Just when she was caught in a dilemma, he had already made his decision. She raised her head, resting her pointed chin on his collarbone, moving upward to kiss the corner of his mouth. Such mutual understanding was truly a fate formed in a previous life. Now she focused only on listening. In the darkness, she was mute, not speaking to avoid making him anxious because he couldn’t hear.
Let it be then, decided just like that, following his wishes entirely. It was a blessing when a man could respect you. The real fear was men who only sought their pleasure, consuming passion and love until ultimately, it was the woman who suffered.
They slept with necks entwined all night, peacefully and without incident.
Ru Jian had been heavily drunk the previous day and didn’t rise until late morning. Opening his door, he saw his sister hanging clothes in the courtyard and asked curiously, “Not going to the shop today?”
She made a sound of acknowledgment. “I’ll go later. I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday—it’s not good for me to be always out in public… Let’s sell the shop once most of the goods are gone!”
Ru Jian looked at her and nodded. “That’s how it should be. For a young lady, reading and embroidery are better than doing business. We’re not struggling to eat; we don’t need your small income to supplement our living. Once the northern mountain operation is established, you’ll have enough profit for several lifetimes.”
She smiled, turning to fetch water for him to wash his face. After finishing, she went inside to prepare breakfast.
Having experienced life and death, Ru Jian paid great attention to his health. He performed a set of exercises in the courtyard, and finally, clicking his teeth, he came inside. Sitting down, he was in no hurry to eat, his upper and lower teeth clattering against each other.
“Has a new neighbor moved into the alley?” he asked, continuing to click his teeth while speaking. “What’s their background? Have you interacted with them?”
His appearance was somewhat comical, but tooth-clicking was a common health practice among gentlemen in Beijing, promoted by Sun Simiao long ago—clicking teeth three hundred and sixty times would help one live to ninety-nine. Early each morning, they would be there, clicking away. Ding Yi pretended to be casual, ladling porridge as she said she didn’t know. “They’ve been here for some time, but I haven’t seen anyone coming or going. Perhaps it’s different from Beijing here. Beijing people enjoy socializing and visiting neighbors, while people here might prefer to keep to themselves!”
Ru Jian tilted his head thoughtfully. “I’ve been busy outside lately and haven’t paid much attention to what’s happening nearby. Since you plan to sell the shop, you’ll be bored at home alone. I should find someone to buy a maid for you. Poor families can’t afford to raise daughters and are willing to send girls out to work.”
She refused, saying, “Why buy a maid when everything is fine? After the age of six, I was often ordered around by others. Now, I can’t bring myself to order others around. As for you, I’ve heard someone has been matchmaking for you. Take a wife soon to keep me company—that’s better than buying a maid.”
Ru Jian rarely showed embarrassment. He turned his head away, the sound of his tooth-clicking growing much quieter. “That’s nonsense, just idle talk!”
She knew he was concerned about their current situation, worried that marriage might harm an innocent person. Having suffered himself, he didn’t want to burden unrelated people. She sighed, passing him chopsticks. “We’re quite settled now, and things will gradually improve. If the Twelfth Master stops searching for us worldwide, and if it’s said that all three Wen brothers are dead on the other side of the Changbai Mountains, we can live under different names, like ordinary people—why couldn’t you marry then? You said you wanted to bring glory to our Wen family. If you marry me off, I’ll leave home to bear children, following my husband’s surname. Unlike me, you are the cornerstone of the Wen family. Quickly find a wife and have children. Don’t spend all your time doing business and miss your opportunity. You’re twenty-eight this year—wait two more years, and you’ll be old, with no market value.”
He held back for a long time before speaking. After a good while, he said: “The year our father met with disaster, I was fifteen, and the family had arranged a marriage for me. The girl lived in Qin Lao Hutong, her father managed the Emperor’s treasury, and their family was wealthy. Even the imperial merchants from Zhaoyuan and Zunhua paid tribute to their families, sending gold by the cartload. That official position was lucrative, though not high-ranking—a fourth-grade position, eager to curry favor with those in the Grand Secretariat. At that time, they sincerely wanted the alliance—their two daughters were meant to marry us two brothers. Later, Second Brother became engaged to the Sixth Princess of Prince Ding, so the first match didn’t work out, but mine proceeded with the betrothal gifts…” He fell silent, appearing somewhat lost. “Manchu young ladies are capable, of helping their parents manage the household. She was fourteen then, a year younger than me, and we met secretly a few times. Thirteen years have passed in the blink of an eye, but everything has changed… I no longer think about taking a wife.”
So he too had someone he liked, and after so many years, he still couldn’t forget. Ding Yi suddenly felt sorry for him. He had spent the best years of his life in the Changbai Mountains, and the childhood sweetheart he once loved had married another. His hatred for the Yu Wen clan had a solid foundation.
So she couldn’t urge him to forget the past and take a wife anymore. Ding Yi had experienced such feelings herself—when one’s heart wasn’t in it, no amount of persuasion would help. He needed to come to terms with it himself, to think it through, or perhaps meet someone new with whom he shared fate. Then he would naturally make arrangements for himself.
After breakfast, they went their separate ways. Ru Jian went to inspect the northern mountain—his newly acquired property was still a novelty! Ding Yi went to the shop, where the customer who had bought hair oil and asked for a hairstyling lesson came again, purchasing some mouse thread for crafting. Entering the shop, she exclaimed, “Oh, young miss, has your hairdressing nurse returned?”
Early that morning before leaving, the Twelfth Master had styled her hair in a small double bun with tassels hanging from both sides, bouncing playfully with every step. For a young woman, neatly grooming one’s hair was attractive. Her neck was beautiful too—slender and elegant. The swallow-tail collar of her cloud-patterned vest further accentuated her striking beauty. It was somewhat amusing to compare him to a hairdressing nurse—had there ever been such a nurse? She didn’t bother explaining, merely smiling and saying, “My nurse has come from my hometown. Her skills are good; the hairstyles she creates don’t come loose.”
The customer grew interested. “That’s wonderful! Since you’re keeping the shop open, have her come help out—it would make the business even better.”
She responded teasingly, “With just a few strings of cash in transactions each day, having two people running the shop wouldn’t even cover our costs. My nurse only does my hair and doesn’t like to busy herself in the shop. She wouldn’t come even if invited. By the way, choose more items today—I’m selling this shop to our neighbor for use as a warehouse, so we’ll only be open for a few more days. Take more, and I’ll give you a discount.”
The customer exclaimed in disappointment, but then smiled, “The young miss must have good news coming, closing the shop is right. Being a young mistress is better than running your own business. But it’s troublesome for me to buy hair oil in the West Market from now on—it’s too far, and hard to walk with bound feet.” Sighing, she picked two more silk flowers and left with a sense of regret.
Ding Yi was quite happy to close the shop, which took only three or four days. Small items were half-sold, half-given away until everything was gone. Counting the silver, she hadn’t lost money—better than she had expected. That small storefront, originally purchased for fifteen taels of silver, was sold for eighteen and a half, netting over three taels in profit. On her way home, she made a trip to the vegetable market, buying two fish and having a few quails freshly slaughtered, then went home to cook.
Now she was idle. Ru Jian wasn’t home during the day—he was negotiating business, supervising workers, and urging people to mine coal in the mountains, generally returning only at dusk. With nothing to do and feeling bored, Ding Yi visited the north room to pass the time. Though the Twelfth Master was in Shanxi, he still managed affairs in Beijing. Of course, imperial family members couldn’t leave the capital without cause—he had claimed illness to decline visitors. His explanation to the Emperor was simply two words—”investigating the case”—allowing him to travel far and wide, with messages conveyed by carrier pigeons. As he worked, she sat beside him. Occasionally he would look up and smile at her. Even without a single word, she felt at peace, enjoying the tranquility of these moments.
But it was hard on him. Since their reunion, he had been coming and going in the dark of night, arriving late and leaving before dawn. Sometimes when she thought about it, she couldn’t help but feel saddened—what was all this for? It wasn’t just about sharing a bed; it was because they couldn’t bear to be apart. He was truly suffering—twice he had overslept and nearly encountered Ru Jian, giving them quite a scare.
However, he couldn’t stay in Shanxi for too long because the case was in Beijing and also involved the salt administration in Jiangnan. Relying solely on his remote commands was ultimately ineffective. Prince Zhuang was a Hesuo Prince with the same rank as him, having spent many years in court—a slippery official rogue who was hard to pin down. To eradicate him would require decisive action. She hadn’t asked about the progress of the case. He was under tremendous pressure and often couldn’t sleep at night. Afraid of disturbing her when he turned over, he would lie awake until the window paper turned white with dawn. She pretended not to notice, fearing that bringing it up would pressure him further. He was already exhausted enough.