The palace banquet in early summer of that year was the most eventful one in memory.

Cheng Huaili had attempted to kill someone in the Emperor’s presence, and was then brought before the Censor’s Bureau on charges of torturing and killing servants of the good folk. The court was in an uproar, and the new Emperor had no choice but to confine him to his home pending investigation.

As for the newly risen luminary Chen Baoxiang, she was transferred to a new post: Commander of the Patrol Division, Fourth Rank.

In the past, finally obtaining a fourth-rank position would have meant she was off to beat the Imperial Drum and file her charges.

But now—

“Fengqing,” she said, “His Majesty asked the Court of Judicial Review to investigate the matter of Cheng’s household torturing and killing servants of good standing, didn’t he? What does Xie Lanting have to say?”

Zhang Zhixu adjusted the medicinal ointment without looking up. “What could he say? They’re told to investigate and then pressured to drop it — it’s obvious no result is wanted. Xie Lanting had barely glanced at the case file before being assigned to other tasks.”

The plot to use the mountain bandits at Tianning Mountain had failed, and the new Emperor had likely suffered considerable losses — he could not afford to lose Cheng Huaili as well. Even with crimes piled high, the Emperor would unilaterally move to protect him.

Chen Baoxiang listened, then nodded. “I figured as much. If the Emperor wants to keep his throne, he cannot put Cheng Huaili to death — and if Cheng Huaili is to face justice, we certainly cannot rely on His Majesty for that.”

Zhang Zhixu caught the deeper meaning beneath her words and frowned slightly. “The Princess Imperial is no saint, either.”

“If those who hold power were saints, then the people beneath them would really be in trouble.” She said, “When choosing whom to serve — first assess capability, then ambition. As for whether they’re virtuous or not, the moment core interests are at stake, everyone is the same. It makes no difference.”

He reached out and covered her mouth, instinctively glanced toward the door, then lowered his voice. “As long as someone sits on the throne, there is only one true sovereign under heaven. How can you carelessly speak of ‘choosing whom to serve’?”

Chen Baoxiang blinked, then smiled until her eyes curved like crescent moons. “I’m only saying it in front of you — it can hardly count as reckless.”

Zhang Zhixu’s heart gave an unexpected flutter.

The person before him seemed to have said something perfectly ordinary, and then began chattering away about the Patrol Division — saying the subordinates there were difficult to manage, and that former colleagues from the military officials’ bureau wanted to host a banquet in her honor.

Verdant willow branches swayed in the breeze beyond the window. The brilliant summer light drifted in shifting patches across the mottled walls.

He found himself suddenly reminded of that night on the rooftop of the Mingzhu Tower.

— Sitting side by side with Fengqing, long speaking of old dreams through a single night.

His expression softened. He unwound the white bandaging from Chen Baoxiang’s arm and began applying medicine.

Chen Baoxiang let out a pained yelp, nearly on the verge of tears. “It’s been days already — why hasn’t it scarred over yet?”

“It would like to,” he said, clicking his tongue. “But you were falling and running all over the banquet hall — no matter how thick the scab, it would crack open.”

“I had no choice,” she shrugged. “Look at that old scoundrel — if I hadn’t provoked him into losing his composure, I really would have been walking into his estate to die.”

Zhang Zhixu understood perfectly well that she had been placing herself in mortal danger in order to turn the situation around, but looking at the mangled state of her wound, he was still overcome with irritation. “If you keep flailing around like this, even the scar-removal ointment won’t be of any use — you’re going to end up looking like a large map of the realm.”

Chen Baoxiang glanced at the map hanging on the wall, with all its winding ridges and crisscrossing valleys, and gave a shudder. She settled down at once.

She had just finished changing her bandages and was about to rest properly when a young eunuch’s voice came from outside: “Commander Chen, His Majesty requests your presence.”

Another summons?

Ever since she had obtained the Commander’s post, His Majesty had been summoning her for three consecutive days — making her accompany him on strolls through the Imperial Garden, accompany him to inspect the newly built training grounds, and even when there was nothing to be done, having her stand in the imperial study while he received other officials.

Chen Baoxiang sighed, pressed a hand over her wound, and rose. “I’ll be back soon.”

Zhang Zhixu hesitated. “Shall I come with you?”

“Do keep still, Lord Zhang. You already drew His Majesty’s displeasure by intervening on my behalf in the hall that day — if you come with me into the palace again, we’ll likely both end up at the bottom of the pond in the Imperial Garden.”

She put on her shoes, stood up, took two steps toward the door, then turned back, leaning forward and drawing close to him. “Your robe looks very fine today — take care not to snag it when you’re climbing out the window by the back gate later.”

Zhang Zhixu: “…”

The way she said it made him sound like some shameless scoundrel sneaking around to secret assignations.

He shot her an irritated glare and, avoiding the eyes of those outside, climbed out through the window and left.

Returning to the Zhang Mansion, Zhang Zhixu was surprised to find both his mother and father seated in the main hall.

His heart sank. He followed them inside and paid his respects.

“Fengqing,” Gong Lan began, her voice full of worry. “Your coming-of-age ceremony is next month. The palace’s intention is to announce the arranged marriage decree on the very day of the ceremony.”

Zhang Yuanchu shot her a reproachful look. “Why are you telling him this so early? There would be time enough to say it on the day.”

Gong Lan looked at her son, words struggling to come.

Zhang Zhixu stood in the center of the hall, his robe still bearing faint traces of dust from the courtyard wall.

He lowered his eyes. Then, unexpectedly, he spoke: “That decree — I am afraid I cannot accept it.”

“Outrageous.” Zhang Yuanchu’s brows drew together sharply. “Are you thinking of defying an imperial command?”

“The decree has yet to be issued. If circumstances change before it is, then it cannot be said that I have defied anything.”

“His Majesty expressed the intention to arrange this marriage years ago, and has been waiting for your coming of age. With the time so near, how could any ‘circumstances’ arise?” Zhang Yuanchu was furious. “I can see that woman has bewitched you — you’re saying things you have no business saying!”

“She has nothing to do with this.” Zhang Zhixu met his eyes. “I simply wish to make my own decision about my own affairs, just this once.”

“Make your own decision? How? Do you intend to bring ruin upon the entire Zhang Family, and have us all buried alongside you?”

When his father was angry, his voice came fast and loud, and frequently alarmed the household servants into gathering to watch. Whenever arguments broke out, Zhang Zhixu had always made it a rule to say as little as possible, to avoid an endless quarrel.

But now, facing his father’s fury, he continued to speak: “I will not implicate the Zhang Family. If disaster truly comes, I am willing to answer for it with my own life.”

“Answer with your life? Laughable. You represent the entire Zhang Family — if you cause trouble, His Majesty will certainly—”

“I can leave the Zhang Family.” Zhang Zhixu said quietly. “And establish my own household.”

“What?” Zhang Yuanchu was taken aback.

“Establish my own household — no longer sheltered under the Zhang Family’s ancestral shade. Naturally, no harm would come to the Zhang Family either.” He spoke each word with deliberate clarity.

Zhang Yuanchu erupted in fury and lunged forward as if to strike.

Gong Lan threw herself in front of him, casting a frantic look at her son. “Don’t say such things — you were raised by the Zhang Family. How can you simply speak of establishing your own household? Quickly apologize to your father.”

Zhang Zhixu shook his head. He swept his robe aside and knelt. “I ask that Father and Mother grant this.”

Zhang Yuanchu’s chest heaved violently. He looked left and right, then shoved his wife aside, seized the jade ruyi scepter from the altar table, and brought it crashing down across Zhang Zhixu’s back with a resounding thud. “Establish your own household?!”

“I’ll beat the notion of establishing your own household right out of you! And again! And again!”

“Your mother bore you, your father raised you — nineteen years of toil and sacrifice, and before we have received any return at all, you speak of establishing your own household?! Who clothed you so that only silk and brocade would do? Who kept you so that only white jade floors were fit to walk on? You speak lightly of wanting to make your own decision, and expect me to simply grant it?”

“I will beat you to death right here and now — otherwise I will have failed every Zhang ancestor who came before us!”

“Yuanchu, stop — Fengqing’s old wounds have barely healed, you’ll injure him again.”

“Get out of my way. Today I will make him understand what it means that parents decide a child’s fate!”

Zhang Zhixu knelt in silence, receiving the pain that radiated from his back. Rather than feeling distressed, he felt a peculiar lightness settle through his chest.