In Yanshou Hall, the charcoal braziers burned with warmth like the first days of spring. Black aloeswood smoke curled steadily upward from the hill-censer, while the maids bustled back and forth arranging the vessels for the New Year’s Eve feast. The Old Madam of the Ming family sat surrounded by her granddaughters and daughters-in-law. Her gaze swept slowly across the main hall, and she furrowed her brow. “Where is Second Son?”

The room fell briefly quiet. Duke Zhenguo replied, “These past few days, the Jing Zhaoyin’s office has been finalizing verdicts and coordinating with the Censorate. He is probably busy with case matters.”

The Old Madam’s face darkened. “He has been busy the entire year. On ordinary days we never see him. Now that the court has finally given a holiday, he cannot spare even the time to sit down for a New Year’s Eve meal?”

Deep down, Duke Zhenguo also felt that Ming Huazhang was too devoted to his official duties — not because he neglected the household, but because he worried the boy might invite trouble upon himself. Even so, facing the Old Madam and the second and third branches of the family, Duke Zhenguo still defended his child: “He has only recently joined the Jing Zhaoyin’s office. There is much he still needs to learn. His superiors may take leave, but he does not dare to slacken.”

That excuse might deceive others, but the second and third branches were not convinced. Second Uncle Ming said, “I heard that Second Son has overturned a verdict handed down by the Jing Zhaoyin himself, and has been moving in close circles with the Censorate of late.”

Duke Zhenguo was naturally aware of all this. He did not approve of Ming Huazhang being so bold and rash, but a newborn calf knows no fear of tigers, and this child happened to be like a sword drawn from its scabbard — brilliance laid bare, the edge gleaming sharp and keen.

However disapproving he was, Duke Zhenguo still defended him before outsiders: “He is simply taking responsibility for his cases. This child has been exacting since he was small. He cannot tolerate a single careless slip, and he carries that same exactness into the official world.”

Second Madam Ming watched Duke Zhenguo speaking up for the child and understood why he had managed to spoil Ming Huashang so thoroughly. Such fine breeding, yet she still ran around outside all day like an unawakened child. The Old Madam paid no mind to household affairs, and Duke Zhenguo simply indulged her without restraint. Second Madam Ming was curious to see what kind of family Ming Huashang would find for herself in the end.

The Old Madam let out a faint, cold hum. “I disagreed with his going to the Jing Zhaoyin’s office from the start. If he had gone to the Imperial Library, he would be enjoying peaceful ease right now, with none of these tiresome affairs to manage. You, as his father, concern yourself with nothing, and it falls to me to be the villain.”

Duke Zhenguo smiled apologetically, not daring to talk back to his mother. The Old Madam swept a glance around and, her face settling into a frown, asked, “Where is Second Girl? How is it that Second Girl is also absent?”

Everyone looked around, and indeed Ming Huashang was nowhere to be seen. Third Madam Ming said languidly, “Second Girl is perhaps with Second Son. The two of them are inseparable as siblings — they are always together. Even on a great festival like this, they are just like when they were small, sneaking off to play house by themselves.”

Duke Zhenguo found this embarrassing, and turned to a manservant: “The elders are all waiting. Go and call the Second Young Master and Second Young Miss.”

At that very moment, Ming Huashang and Ming Huazhang were walking together toward Yanshou Hall. Ming Huazhang reached out to hold back a branch of red wintersweet, and Ming Huashang ducked beneath it. “Second Elder Brother,” she asked, “how will this case be judged?”

“Lu Du’s crime is easy enough to judge — the autumn execution has already been set. The harder question is what punishment Pude Temple deserves. The Ministry of Justice and the Court of Judicial Review are still debating it.” Ming Huazhang said, “The abbot did not participate in the killing, but whether knowingly failing to report constitutes harboring a criminal is a matter on which the various deputy ministers of the Ministry of Justice have differing views. Some say a Buddhist temple is a realm outside the secular world, and the abbot should not proactively reveal the private matters of worshippers — yet when questioned by officials, he ought to have told the truth. Others say that since the Buddhist temple stands on Great Zhou soil, it should abide by Great Zhou’s laws and regulations, and the abbot of Pude Temple should be dealt with strictly as a warning to others.”

Ming Huashang raised her brows. “And what do you think, Second Elder Brother?”

Ming Huazhang’s eyes were clear and coldly deep. “I actually think how to punish the abbot of Pude Temple is a secondary matter. The true problem the court faces is far more serious. Buddhist temples have been expanding on a massive scale, annexing land, and have now come to hold enormous wealth — yet they pay no taxes to the court. Many tillers of the soil need only shave their heads and enter the Buddhist order to escape the court’s jurisdiction, abandoning all labor and devoting themselves entirely to the chanting of sutras. If this continues, it will inevitably become a calamity.”

Ming Huashang very much agreed. Whether temples or convents, the land they occupied required no tribute to the court, and countless princes and princesses competed with one another to donate money to the Buddha. If Buddhist temples had their own sources of revenue, why would they listen to the court?

For now it was only financial independence — but once they grew to sufficient scale, they would certainly extend their reach into the political sphere. At that point, would it be the Great Zhou court, or a Buddhist court?

This line of thinking ran very deep. Ming Huashang did not pursue it further, and asked, “What does the Censorate say?”

Ming Huazhang let out a light huff, seeming to have considerable grievances: “They are too clever. They simply wait for the Ministry of Justice and the Jing Zhaoyin’s office to do the work, then leap out to find fault afterward. Before anything is clear, they will not commit to a position.”

“Scholar-Champion Su is at the Censorate. Did he not give you any hints?”

Ming Huazhang turned and looked at Ming Huashang steadily for a moment. His eyes were clear and sharp as ice, unfathomable in their depth. “Why do you trust him so?”

He even called him “Scholar-Champion Su.” The imperial examinations had ended so long ago — what was the point of digging up old history?

Ming Huashang let out a dry little laugh, realizing privately that she had been careless. She herself knew that Su Xingzhi was her elder brother, and so trusted him from the bottom of her heart — yet from Ming Huazhang’s perspective, he was merely a colleague they had met a few times, one with conflicting official authority.

No need to panic. Let her think of how to argue her way out of this. Ming Huashang said, “I saw that Scholar-Champion Su has a fine character and is unafraid of power, so I thought he might be worth winning over — he should not succumb to factional strife at court. But this is only my assumption. Second Elder Brother, it is still better to be cautious.”

A fine character? Unafraid of power? Ming Huazhang’s gaze darkened and he said nothing, his expression growing colder by the moment.

Ming Huashang cautiously watched Ming Huazhang’s expression, just wondering whether she ought to say something to soften the moment, when a young manservant ran straight into them. Seeing them, the manservant said hurriedly, “Second Young Master, Second Young Miss, why have you only just come? Everyone else has arrived. The Old Madam has been waiting a very long time and is quite displeased. The Duke asks me to remind you: when you go in, speak a few soft words to the Old Madam. If she has still not cooled down, endure it for now. It is a great festival — harmony is paramount. The Duke will compensate you afterward.”

Duke Zhenguo had done this sort of thing for more than a day or two. The Old Madam grew more autocratic and overbearing with age, and Duke Zhenguo, unable to manage his mother, could only smooth things over on both sides and quietly make it up to his children later. One could say that Ming Huazhang and Ming Huashang had grown into their present characters without a mother to shelter them in large part thanks to Duke Zhenguo.

Ming Huazhang and Ming Huashang said no more and quickened their steps to Yanshou Hall. The moment they entered, they were indeed greeted by a hall full of golden splendor, warm and fragrant. Ming Huashang followed behind Ming Huazhang, bowing with perfect propriety to greet the elders, then lowering her head obediently to listen to her grandmother’s scolding.

Ming Huashang had understood from an early age that when elders were delivering a lecture, one should not explain oneself, let alone talk back. They could say whatever they liked — she simply would not take it to heart. The Old Madam gave the siblings equal measure of fifty lashes each, and her anger finally ebbed somewhat. Seeing this, Duke Zhenguo said, “Mother, on so fine a day one should not let anger rise. The New Year’s Eve feast is ready. Let us go and eat.”

The Old Madam graciously conceded and made a sound of assent. Duke Zhenguo hurried forward to support the Old Madam as she walked toward the dining hall. Maids and female members of the household pressed close behind the Old Madam, while Ming Huashang and Ming Huazhang stepped back to clear the way for their grandmother.

As Duke Zhenguo passed the two siblings, he secretly shot Ming Huashang a meaningful glance. Ming Huashang pursed her lips and gestured to show she understood.

Soon everyone had moved through, and only the two siblings remained in the room. Ming Huashang looked up, glanced at Ming Huazhang, and the two of them looked at each other like children who had been made to stand in punishment — their smiles a mix of wretchedness and amusement.

Both had a clear conscience about having done something wrong. They trailed at the very back of the group, sat quietly in the dining hall, and listened in silence to their grandmother and aunts and uncles converse, not uttering a single word throughout. After the meal, the Old Madam was once again surrounded by everyone and led off to observe the year-end vigil. Ming Huashang could finally breathe, and slipped quietly out to the outer hall to sit and wait for the new year to arrive.

Laughter and cheer rang from inside — lively and festive. By comparison, the hall was far too hushed and still. Ming Huashang gazed somewhat absently at the night sky beyond the window, when suddenly her shoulder grew heavy. Something black and warm settled down around her — a black cloak.

Ming Huashang turned and found Ming Huazhang standing behind her, carefully fastening the ties for her: “It is cold by the window. Be careful not to catch a chill.”

Ming Huashang could not help but protest: “I am not so fragile as all that, Second Elder Brother. There is no need to fuss.”

But Ming Huazhang finished tying the slender ribbon before sitting down on the couch, saying, “Being careful is never wrong. What are you looking at?”

“The stars.” Ming Huashang extended her hand as she spoke, pointing at the sky. “Look — that star is so bright.”

“That is the North Star.” Ming Huazhang also lifted his eyes toward the heavens and said, “The Purple Tenuity Enclosure shines so brilliantly — it would seem the world is blessed with a wise and capable ruler.”

No one picked up that thread. The Empress was declining by the day, as faint as a setting sun. How much longer could her purple star illuminate the nine provinces? And where would the next purple star arise? Ming Huashang fell silent, then pointed in another direction. “Then what is that star?”

Ming Huazhang looked at the sky and identified each constellation for Ming Huashang, one by one. The two siblings leaned against the window gazing at the stars, and without noticing it the hour of midnight drew near. Fireworks rose into the night sky, bursting apart in midair, their flowing light cascading down like rain from the heavens.

It was as if a signal had been given. From every corner of Chang’an, the sound of firecrackers erupted in a rush, fire-trees and silver flowers blazing, every lantern lit at once, and the stars themselves were no longer distinguishable.

The servants at Duke Zhenguo’s residence were also moving firecrackers into place. Ming Huashang leaped up, her eyes bright with excitement. “The fireworks are about to start! Let us go outside and watch!”

Ming Huazhang was somewhat helpless. How old was she, and still just like a child? He was only a moment too slow, and Ming Huashang had already run outside, gotten herself a sparkler from a manservant, and lit it beneath the colonnade.

A flash of fire — silver sparks burst forth like shooting stars and lit up her eyes. Ming Huashang was startled and instinctively pulled her hand away. Poor at something yet still loving to try: that description was probably made for someone exactly like her. Ming Huazhang sighed, walked up from behind, and took the sparkler from her hand.

Ming Huazhang’s hand was very steady, holding it at a distance that let her see the brilliant light clearly while putting her at ease. Ming Huashang’s heart settled. Her clear eyes held a shimmering glow as she quietly watched the sparkler burn.

The silver sparks grew smaller and smaller, finally dwindling to embers and fading into darkness. She blinked. As the dazzling silver flowers extinguished, she saw Ming Huazhang.

He stood tall and upright, his expression peaceful and still, standing beneath the colonnade as though he commanded more attention than the thousand fireworks blazing behind him. Ming Huazhang set aside the spent sparkler stick and turned to ask her, “Is there anything else you want to see?”

Ming Huashang stared at him, momentarily lost.

When she came back to herself, she lowered her eyes in concealment and said, “Second Elder Brother, Happy New Year.”

All around them, deafening strings of firecrackers rang out. Countless fireworks exploded overhead. The servants of Duke Zhenguo’s residence were shouting as they carried things to and fro, and her words were swallowed in the flood of sound, light as a feather. Yet Ming Huazhang somehow heard her. He ruffled the top of Ming Huashang’s head and produced, as if by conjuring, a sugar figurine from behind his back. “Congratulations, Shang Shang — another year gained.”

Every New Year’s Eve he brought Ming Huashang a piece of malt candy. This year they had spent all their time together, and Ming Huashang had assumed he had forgotten — she never expected he had prepared one in secret. Ming Huashang pouted, lifted her chin with a proud little hum, and said, “I am not a little child anymore. I do not need candy.”

Amusement broke through in Ming Huazhang’s eyes. “How are you not a little child? When you lost your baby teeth at six, you ate more than one piece of malt candy and made a fuss for more — and then you opened your mouth and out fell a tooth, and you were so frightened you wailed and wailed. Has it really been so long you do not remember?”

“Such ancient history — who still remembers?” Ming Huashang indignantly argued back even as she could not resist taking the sugar figurine. “Perhaps it was the malt candy you brought that was faulty.”

As she said this, Ming Huashang accidentally bit the tip of her tongue and let out a pained hiss. Ming Huazhang was startled and bent forward to ask, “What happened?”

Ming Huashang shook her head, her mouth still covered, and said indistinctly, “Nothing — I bit my tongue.”

Ming Huazhang relaxed, feeling thoroughly exasperated inside, and teased her, “I thought another tooth had been stuck off.”

Ming Huashang swatted at him, and Ming Huazhang did not dodge. His back was to the sky blazing with fireworks, his brows and eyes curved in a smile, his gaze like a pool of clear spring water, and he looked at her with that smile.

In the past, even when he smiled, he smiled with restrained propriety — noble and upright, a gentleman in every way. This was the first time he had shown an expression so openly unguarded: there was the mischievousness of youth in it, and an advancing boldness that held nothing back.

Something inside Ming Huashang felt as though it had been lightly struck. The sweetness of the malt candy seeped through her tongue and into every part of her, and her whole body seemed to float.

She did actually remember the incident at age six. She could still recall Ming Huazhang standing helplessly beside her as she sobbed, genuinely convinced that he had caused his little sister to lose her tooth.

That was the first time she saw the elder brother that everyone called flawlessly perfect — and discovered that he, too, was capable of the most ordinary of expressions.

That year, both children had been small — one wailing, one at a loss, both terrified the tooth would never grow back. Now they were seventeen. They would never make such laughable mistakes again. And yet — he still brought her a piece of malt candy.

Time passes quickly. So many things had changed. But it seemed that certain things had never changed at all.