The following day.

Shen Xiao did indeed submit a memorial — but its contents were not a petition for marriage. It was a petition of self-reproach.

The Seventh Prince had submitted a memorial of his own, reporting that while overseeing the Yellow River works, he had discovered widespread failures by county magistrates throughout Henan Circuit to manage disaster relief. Two months into the work, the flood victims ought to have been properly settled long ago. Yet with winter approaching, the porridge distribution stations in the various counties and prefectures were pitifully few. If they entered winter in this state, any number of people would starve to death.

Li Qin was responsible for managing the Yellow River — not for overseeing relief to the disaster victims. For one thing, he was occupied enough. For another, if he involved himself in disaster relief, his hands would inevitably pass through all manner of accounts and funds. If Li Qin acted without authorization, it would be easy to give others a foothold against him, making things difficult to explain later.

So he could only submit a memorial, bringing the present state of Yellow River disaster relief to the emperor’s attention. As for whom the emperor would dispatch to manage relief, and how it would be handled, that was beyond what he could concern himself with.

Li Qin’s memorial had barely landed on Emperor Zhengyuan’s desk when Shen Xiao, hard on its heels, submitted a memorial of self-reproach.

When the former prefect of Luofu, Gao Jin, had been imprisoned for corruption, Emperor Zhengyuan had commanded Shen Xiao to remotely direct the censors of the various circuits to investigate the prefects along the Yellow River. Many prefects had been brought down as a result, and many new officials had been elevated in their place.

But no matter how thoroughly Shen Xiao had pressed, he had confined himself entirely to the level of prefects, without touching a single county magistrate. Partly because the county magistrates numbered so many that he simply did not have the time or energy; partly because county magistrates were by their nature local strongmen, and in truth were even harder to investigate than prefects; and partly because Emperor Zhengyuan had not directed him to investigate that deeply.

In truth, if one were to insist on finding fault with Shen Xiao, the charge was a stretch — anyone else in his position would have avoided the whole matter like the plague. And yet Shen Xiao, with his unyielding directness, had submitted a memorial of self-reproach anyway. Was he not making things hard for himself and his own official robes?

Inside Hanyuan Hall.

Cold Dew had just passed, and the weather had just begun to turn cool. Silver-thread charcoal burned in the hall, and the air inside was warm and gentle as a spring day.

The room was very quiet, which made the slightly congested quality of Emperor Zhengyuan’s breathing, and his occasional coughing, all the more audible.

Shen Xiao knelt on the ground. “This official is fully aware of his failings. His abilities are insufficient for the post of Remonstrance Counselor. He petitions to be demoted.”

Emperor Zhengyuan said nothing. His gaze dropped downward, settling heavily on Shen Xiao, dark with unspoken scrutiny.

The atmosphere in the hall grew more oppressive still — a harbinger, like the stillness before a great storm.

Emperor Zhengyuan leaned back against his chair, his face half-hidden in shadow, his expression even harder to read. His gaze seemed to carry the weight of a thousand catties, pressing down upon Shen Xiao — yet Shen Xiao showed not the slightest trace of fear.

Emperor Zhengyuan did not believe for a moment that this memorial was a coincidence.

Only a few days ago, he had let slip a hint of his intention to arrange a marriage, testing the nature of the relationship between his little sparrow and Shen Xiao. His little sparrow seemed content enough to play matchmaker — these past few days she had been getting along well with Jincheng, and had even, by all accounts, taken the initiative to bring the two of them together to be seen. She appeared perfectly open and aboveboard.

But what of Shen Xiao?

He claimed to have committed a fault and petitioned to be demoted. How could a man who had admitted fault still be fit to marry a princess? Was this not a deliberate maneuver to avoid the marriage?

He was unwilling to take Jincheng as his wife. Unwilling to become the emperor’s son-in-law. Unwilling to such a degree that he would sacrifice his own position to avoid it. What was Shen Xiao hiding in his heart?

Emperor Zhengyuan’s gaze grew colder still. He reached out and picked up Shen Xiao’s memorial of self-reproach, then hurled it to the ground, sending it skidding to land in front of Shen Xiao.

“The petition for self-reproach is granted. Jingrenxi County lacks a magistrate. You will set out tomorrow.”

Shen Xiao picked up the memorial from the floor with both hands, bowed deeply, then turned and left the palace hall.

When he had entered Hanyuan Hall, he was still a fourth-rank Remonstrance Counselor. In less than an hour, as he stepped out of it, he had already become a sixth-rank county magistrate.

An official without powerful backing: when in favor, promotion had come like ascending through the clouds; when out of favor, demotion fell like a bird with broken wings.

Jingrenxi County was a county under the jurisdiction of Luofu Prefecture, which was where the Yellow River had broken through its banks first. Because its population was large, it had been rated a mid-rank county, and a mid-rank county magistrate held the sixth rank. But it was precisely because of that large population, and because it was the first place the Yellow River had flooded, that it bore the heaviest burden of disaster relief in the entire region.

Going to serve as a county magistrate in Jingrenxi was a thankless, arduous posting.

Shen Xiao stepped out of Hanyuan Hall and stood at the top of the long white marble staircase, looking out at the deepening autumn sky.

There had been nothing else he could do. To avoid the marriage, this was the best plan he could devise from among all the worst options.

He had arranged for the Seventh Prince to bring the state of Yellow River disaster relief to the emperor’s attention at the right moment, and then submitted his own petition of self-reproach in quick succession, sidestepping the emperor’s plans to arrange a marriage.

As for going to serve as a county magistrate in the flooded region — that too was something Shen Xiao had planned for. The more disordered a place, the more scope there was to display one’s capabilities. Jingrenxi County bore the heaviest disaster burden of any county, and Luofu Prefecture had been the most severely afflicted with corruption and dereliction of duty along the entire Yellow River. If he could make something of himself there, it would be far easier to return to the capital when the triennial review came.

It was certainly a difficult path, one beset with obstacles at every turn. But Shen Xiao had no other choice. He would rather go to a posting in the provinces than stay in Chang’an and be made to marry some unsuitable person.

He had cut off his own arm — forgoing high office and generous stipend — wanting only to depart as an unattached man.

*

When officials were posted to prefectural or county positions outside the capital, they were ordinarily given a period of preparation leave — enough time to gather their affairs and set out. But Emperor Zhengyuan had ordered him to leave the following day, so there was not a moment’s delay to be had.

Shen Xiao left Hanyuan Hall and went first to the Bureau of Chancellery to hand over all his current duties. His colleagues at the bureau were all astonished — how was it that this man’s promotions and demotions alike were unlike those of ordinary people, shooting up and crashing down like a sky rocket? And yet Shen Xiao’s expression was perfectly composed, betraying not the slightest shadow of dejection at his demotion.

Once the handover was complete, it was already past midday. Shen Xiao surrendered his fourth-rank official robe and fish-tablet insignia and changed into the blue-green robes of a sixth-rank official. As he was leaving the bureau and passing through the palace corridor, a palace maid suddenly called out to him.

The maid curtsied. “Sir Shen, Her Highness requests your presence.”

Shen Xiao frowned slightly, then followed the maid through a side door off the passage, where he found Princess Jincheng standing beneath a ginkgo tree.

Shen Xiao paused, but did not step over the threshold of the side door. He bowed from a distance. “This official pays his respects to Princess Jincheng.”

“There’s no need to stand on ceremony, Sir Shen.” Jincheng said. Seeing that Shen Xiao made no move to come closer, she had no choice but to walk a step or two toward him herself.

Blue-green robes had a way of making a person look sallow and dull-complexioned, and Shen Xiao was no exception — he seemed more subdued and inward now.

But when Jincheng had first seen Shen Xiao, she remembered him in his scarlet official robes with a jade belt at his waist — the whole effect sharp and strikingly handsome, radiating the kind of power that came with rapid advancement and full imperial favor.

The previous day at Qujiang Pool, after Shen Xiao had left, Princess Pingyang had asked her: was there anyone who had caught her eye? “If your heart is set on someone, make your preparations — it won’t be long before you’re wed.”

Jincheng had spent half the night after returning to the palace turning those words over and over in her mind, feeling as though she were living inside a dream. So Princess Pingyang had taken her to Qujiang Pool to meet Sir Shen!

That meant Sir Shen must have had some interest in her — otherwise why would he have agreed to come and be seen? He had even talked with her at such length!

Would he petition the emperor for the marriage himself? Would Father Emperor agree to this match?

If that was the case, then Sir Shen and Princess Pingyang certainly had no attachment to each other — otherwise, why would he agree to marry her?

That night, Jincheng had tossed and turned in bed, her heart thudding without cease.

The greater her joy in the night, the greater her shock when she heard the news of Shen Xiao’s demotion in the morning.

“What fault did Sir Shen actually commit? Why has Father Emperor suddenly moved to punish you?” Jincheng asked urgently. “Could it be a misunderstanding? I — I could go before Father Emperor and plead on your behalf! I —”

Jincheng was in a panic.

An official of the outer sixth rank, posted to a distant province — how could he be a suitable match for a princess?

Had Princess Pingyang not said she could already start preparing for the wedding? How had things turned into this?

Shen Xiao caught the tone of her words and looked at her with a frown, his expression carrying a distinct note of warning. His plans must not be disrupted by Princess Jincheng.

“Your Highness must not question the emperor’s decisions! This official was remiss in his duties and allowed the Yellow River disaster relief to falter. This is a grave fault. It is the emperor’s great benevolence that he is allowing this official to atone for that fault by going to Henan Circuit as a county magistrate to oversee disaster relief.”

Jincheng was startled back a step by the cold severity in Shen Xiao’s face and dropped her gaze in submission.

She knew nothing of those court affairs, nothing of what Shen Xiao had done to earn his promotion, nothing of what he had done wrong to earn his demotion.

She knew so pitifully little about Shen Xiao.

The higher her elation the night before, the deeper her disappointment now — and mixed into the disappointment was a touch of bewilderment.

“Then… when will you be able to return to Chang’an?” Jincheng asked.

Shen Xiao replied: “I do not know.”

Three years until the triennial review: officials who had done well would be promoted; those who had not would be further demoted. He fully intended to seize that review as his opportunity to return to the capital. He could not be separated from Li Shu for too many years.

But such things need not be said to Princess Jincheng. It was better for her to believe he might spend the rest of his life mired in a provincial post — better to let that fledgling attachment wither and die.

Jincheng bit her lip and asked, with worried eyes: “When do you set out?”

Shen Xiao answered: “Tomorrow.”

Shen Xiao was a man of few words to begin with. When he had no wish to speak, he possessed the gift of killing a conversation stone dead no matter how much the other person might press.

Even Jincheng, dense as she could sometimes be, sensed his reluctance and cold detachment now. He plainly wanted nothing to do with her.

Jincheng lowered her head. Had he not come of his own accord to meet her just yesterday? That surely meant he had some interest in her — so why had he become a completely different person now?

He was leaving the capital, and who could say for how many years. By the time he returned, she herself… she would surely long since have been married off by Father Emperor to some political match. Princesses in the inner court were like that — once they reached a certain age, they had to go out and forge alliances. They could not simply sit and wait, consuming the palace’s resources.

Today’s farewell, and after this there was no possibility of anything happening between them. Their paths had not yet truly crossed before they were already going their separate ways.

Summoning courage from some inexplicable source, Jincheng took another step toward Shen Xiao and looked down, eyes resting on the dark-patterned cuffs of his blue-green official robe.

“Sir Shen, what I am about to say may be presumptuous — but I… I am afraid that after this I will have no chance to say it.”

“Yesterday, when Princess Pingyang asked me whether there was anyone who had caught my eye, I did not know what it meant to be fond of someone. I only know that… whenever I see you, my heart feels very happy.”

Her face was almost entirely crimson, the red spreading all the way to the roots of her ears.

Shen Xiao averted his gaze. His voice, however, was utterly unmoved. “I thank Your Highness for your kind regard. You say that seeing me makes your heart happy — that feeling may indeed be fondness, but it does not yet amount to love.”

Shen Xiao had one hand behind his back, his head tilted slightly to one side, looking off toward the southeast — roughly the direction of Princess Pingyang’s mansion.

“If one day you meet someone, and the sight of him fills you both with happiness — and yet your heart aches at the same time.”

Shen Xiao drew his gaze back and, rare for him, gave Jincheng a small smile. His smile carried a flavor of quiet bitterness. “Then, Your Highness, you will have truly found the person you love.”

“I have been undeserving of Your Highness’s kind regard, and I am ashamed to have received it.”

Shen Xiao brought his hands together in a formal bow, then turned and walked away down the corridor.

The author’s note: Princess Jincheng will have almost no role going forward, and she will not turn villainous. I genuinely feel sorry for her — a small, overlooked figure, whose only purpose has been to move along the development of the feelings between Li Shu and Shen Xiao.