For no apparent reason, the two of them had gotten into yet another conflict, and Ming Huashang sighed inwardly, feeling utterly exhausted.

Duke Zhenguo wanted her to spend more time with Cheng Xun — to observe firsthand what kind of person he was, how he conducted himself. If she still disliked him after that, she could simply refuse. Duke Zhenguo had already made his position clear, so Ming Huashang found it difficult to decline further. Watching the lanterns with someone was no different regardless of who it was; she would treat it as meeting a friend, and next time she would have a ready excuse to turn him down.

Unfortunately, she only wanted to complete the task perfunctorily, yet both companions were anything but agreeable. Ming Huashang thought to herself that what was being tested here was hardly Cheng Xun’s manners — it was plainly her own.

Ming Huashang said: “Thank you for the reminder, Young Master Cheng. Second Brother, you don’t mind if I squeeze in beside you, do you?”

Ming Huazhang shook his head. Ming Huashang naturally hooked her arm through his and smiled: “I knew my older brother was the best. Look, over there someone is breathing fire — Second Brother, Young Master Cheng, let’s go see!”

One “my older brother” after another — Ming Huazhang felt as though an invisible hand was gently smoothing him over, and the irritation in his heart dissipated without him even noticing. After Ming Huashang spoke, she pulled Ming Huazhang along and ran. Ming Huazhang was forced to follow. He glanced down at her face — gorgeous and radiant in the glow of the lanterns — like a helmsman bewitched by a sea siren, knowing full well it was all a dream, yet unwilling to shatter it.

She was kind to everyone — to Cheng Xun, to Jiang Ling, to Ren Yao, it was all the same. Whatever small sense of being special he possessed existed only because he was her older brother. If one day he were no longer that, would she see any difference between him and Jiang Ling?

Most likely not. His younger sister was so lazy and complacent, content to leave things as they were; if no one pushed her, she would never take a step forward.

Right now, Ming Huazhang felt like a gambler who had reached the end of the road — knowing he had very little left, yet unable to stop himself from pushing all his chips onto the table, desperately wanting to break through the thin paper barrier, to either turn everything around or lose everything. He had admonished himself to uphold the proper bonds between a brother and sister and not become a man of poor virtue, yet he kept probing Ming Huashang, probing Duke Zhenguo — suppressing himself on one hand, while on the other secretly hoping someone would discover he had crossed the line.

At times Ming Huazhang even despised himself. He was truly a man whose pious outward appearance masked shameless thoughts — actually hoping that when the worst came to pass, Duke Zhenguo, bound by loyalty, would have no choice but to give her to him in marriage. Given her optimistic and clear-headed nature, she would surely come around quickly and not blame him for developing such feelings toward the sister he had grown up alongside, right?

Ming Huazhang was lost in thought when he suddenly felt a chill on his face. Coming back to his senses, he found that Ming Huashang had fastened a mask onto him. Through the dark holes of the mask, he saw Ming Huashang standing amid a splendid blaze of lantern light, pouting unhappily as she stared at him: “I’ve called your name several times — why are you still daydreaming?”

Ming Huazhang was stunned for another moment before he found his voice: “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention just now.”

“Your punishment is to wear that mask. No wait — this one is too good-looking. Your punishment is to wear an ugly one.” Ming Huashang rummaged through the stall with great care, then picked up a fearsome demon mask with a green face and protruding fangs, brandishing it triumphantly before Ming Huazhang: “Look — is this frightening or not?”

Ming Huazhang gave the faintest curl of his lips, his gaze warm and helpless: “Mm.”

“Then that’s your punishment — you must wear it, and you’re not allowed to dodge!”

Ming Huazhang had never intended to dodge. Though he stood a full head taller than her, he let her do as she pleased, allowing her to fasten the green-faced, fang-baring demon mask onto him. When it was Ming Huashang’s turn, however, she found the masks at this stall too crude and went to browse another one. Ming Huazhang paid without complaint, and when the stall vendor saw, he said enviously: “This young gentleman treats his lady so well. May you two grow old together.”

The vendor had misunderstood, but Ming Huazhang offered no correction. He pressed the copper coins into the vendor’s palm and, behind the mask, in a voice barely audible, said: “Thank you for your kind words.”

Cheng Xun had been blocked by the crowd and, after squeezing his way through with great difficulty, nearly failed to recognize the siblings. Ming Huazhang — so elegantly refined a man — had on a ghoulish, snarling mask, and stood calmly to one side waiting for Ming Huashang to pick a mask for herself, not a trace of displeasure on his face despite all the curious stares. Cheng Xun walked over and asked: “Second Young Miss Ming, are you looking to buy a mask?”

Ming Huashang turned, saw Cheng Xun, and without the least bit of coyness openly held up two masks: “Yes, but I can’t decide which of these two to choose.”

“If Second Young Miss likes them, just buy both.” As Cheng Xun said this he reached to pay, but was stopped by Ming Huazhang. Through the blue-faced demon mask, Ming Huazhang’s imposing presence was especially sharp-edged, entirely undisguised.

“There’s no need. She is my sister. There is no call for someone else to spend money on her.”

Cheng Xun could not resist rising to the challenge: “I have the privilege of accompanying a beautiful lady to view the lanterns tonight — paying for her is my honor.”

Through the mask, Ming Huazhang was finally able to stop suppressing his emotions, and said coldly: “The streets are full of beautiful ladies, and there’s no shortage of people willing to indulge Young Master Cheng’s refined tastes. There’s no need to keep hovering around her.”

“It is true that beautiful ladies are everywhere, but only Second Young Miss has done the Cheng family a kindness. Naturally I must repay her.”

“She does not need that.”

“Shaoyin Ming, even as her older brother, isn’t this overstepping—”

“That is enough.” Ming Huashang had reached her limit and cut them both off, pulling out her own money and purchasing both masks herself, saying: “I came out to enjoy the lanterns, not to listen to people quarrel.”

When both Cheng Xun and Ming Huazhang saw that Ming Huashang had paid herself, their expressions both turned rather sour. For the remainder of the walk, they seemed to compete with each other; the moment Ming Huashang’s gaze lingered on something for even a moment, they would race to buy it. It got so bad that Ming Huashang was afraid to stop and look at anything at all.

Outwardly Ming Huashang kept smiling, but inwardly she was completely speechless. She reiterated to herself once more: never go shopping with men. Too much pride and too much suffering — there was absolutely nothing enjoyable about it.

Without quite noticing, they arrived in front of a wine tavern. In front of the building stood a row of lantern frames, like thousands of falling stars, with slips of paper hanging beneath each lantern — it appeared to be a place for solving lantern riddles. Ming Huashang turned to a riddle and was pondering it when Cheng Xun had already called out the answer.

Ming Huazhang gave Cheng Xun an icy sideways glance, his tone unfriendly: “Huashang was still thinking. What do you think you’re doing?”

“I only meant to give Second Young Miss a hint,” said Cheng Xun. “Whether it’s right or wrong still depends on Second Young Miss’s decision.”

The attendant standing nearby heard, took down the corresponding lantern, and with great attentiveness placed it in Ming Huashang’s hands, smiling: “Congratulations, young gentleman — you got it right. This lantern is a gift for the young lady.”

Cheng Xun smiled, looking at Ming Huashang: “Mere luck. As long as Second Young Miss likes this lantern.”

Ming Huashang could only accept it with a smile. Even without looking, she could sense that Ming Huazhang’s expression had turned terrible, and it seemed like even the night breeze had grown several degrees colder.

Unable to do anything else, Ming Huashang could only act coaxingly and press the lantern into Ming Huazhang’s hands: “This lantern is so heavy — Second Brother, help me hold it. Look at that rabbit lantern — it’s so adorable. Second Brother, do you know the answer to this riddle?”

Ming Huazhang deigned to accept the lantern, cast a brief glance at it, and let out a single word. Ming Huashang gave him a flattering clap: “I see. Thank you, Second Brother — this lantern is mine too now.”

With cheerful laughter and playful coaxing, Ming Huashang finally managed to smooth Ming Huazhang’s expression into something more pleasant. She silently let out a sigh of relief, feeling deeply exhausted inside.

The longer they walked, the more tired she felt. Ming Huashang had lost her enthusiasm. She pulled her cloak tighter and said: “It’s a bit cold — let’s head back and find the others.”

Both Cheng Xun and Ming Huazhang wore poor expressions, and they silently accompanied Ming Huashang back. The lantern riddles had drawn a large crowd, and walking against the flow of people was extremely difficult. Seeing this, Ming Huazhang silently positioned himself in front of her, shielding her from the people pressing in from all sides.

As they made their way out, they faintly heard someone speaking behind them — it seemed the tavern’s proprietor had come outside. Ming Huashang was busy struggling through the crowd and paid no attention to the commotion behind her. She gripped Ming Huazhang’s sleeve and, after finally reaching a slightly more open area, let out a long breath: “There are really so many people today.”

Ming Huazhang looked up, his gaze sweeping over the endless swell of people and the crowds still pushing in, and he instinctively felt a prickle of unease. He transferred the lantern to a guard and took hold of Ming Huashang, saying: “There are too many people here — let’s find somewhere else.”

Ming Huashang had also been jostled uncomfortably and nodded vigorously. A wave of cheers rose from behind them. Ming Huazhang turned and said something, but Ming Huashang could not hear clearly and leaned closer to ask: “Second Brother, what did you say?”

Ming Huazhang set aside all concerns about proper distance between men and women and leaned close to Ming Huashang’s ear: “Stay close to me.”

As he said this, Ming Huashang happened to be looking up at him with her head half-tilted, so from his jet-black pupils she caught a sudden, brilliant blaze of white light expanding in an instant.

Only then did the piercing sound reach her — Ming Huashang had not even had time to turn and look at what was happening when Ming Huazhang threw his arms around her.

Ming Huashang felt a scorching wave of heat slam into her from behind, and then countless screams and cries of terror crashed over her like a wave, nearly knocking her off her feet. Amid the chaos and confusion, only a single pair of hands held her tight — shielding her from the surging, shoving crowd, forcibly carving out a space of safety around her.

“Run — there’s a fire!”

“Aaah, someone’s dead!”

Even without seeing it, Ming Huashang could piece together roughly what had happened from the cries of the people around her: the tavern’s proprietor had been lighting a lantern, and for some reason it had exploded. The proprietor’s chances of survival were grim. More terrifying still, today was the Lantern Festival — the citizens of the entire capital and those from surrounding counties were all reveling in Chang’an, and there were at least a million people on the streets, including no small number of women and children. If panic were allowed to spread and lead to a stampede, the consequences would be unthinkable.

Ming Huashang suddenly felt a force clamp around her waist, and then her body grew weightless — Ming Huazhang, using nothing but the strength of his arms, had lifted her and leaped onto a frame beside the road, threading nimbly among the lanterns. He set Ming Huashang down in a safe spot, and before he could even open his mouth, Ming Huashang urgently said: “Second Brother, I learned self-defense techniques from the Xuan Xiaowei — I can manage on my own. Go quickly and take command of the situation. The stampede must not be allowed to spread further.”

Ming Huazhang looked at her deeply for a moment, pressed a dagger into her hand, and then without a word turned and strode toward the tavern. Ming Huashang steadied herself against the wooden frame and stood, her gaze fixed anxiously on that one small figure moving against the current in the crowd.

He had already removed the green-faced, fang-baring mask, but had not thrown it aside — he still held it in his hand. He was tall and long-limbed, his footing solid; even in the midst of raging chaos, he stood unmoved, like a single great boulder at the center of a river at flood tide, calling out in a clear voice: “I am Ming Huazhang, Junior Administrator of the Office of the Capital Prefecture. Everyone, remain calm — do not push or shove. Everyone, follow my directions.”

The Lantern Festival had no curfew; it was a day of celebration for the entire empire, and the most prone to accidents. The court had long prepared contingency plans, deploying patrol personnel in the streets and alleys every year precisely to prevent exactly this kind of incident. Ming Huazhang was himself an officer of the Capital Prefecture and was thoroughly familiar with the protocols for festivals. After declaring his identity, he swiftly steadied public morale, directed soldiers to seal off roads and restrict flow, and guided the citizens in an orderly evacuation.

Ming Huazhang’s composure and calm spread to those around him. The common people, seeing a refined and handsome young gentleman appear as if from nowhere and stand as a steady pillar amid the flood, calmly directing the crowd, gradually settled their spirits and stopped pushing and fleeing.

Order began to emerge from the chaos on the street. Cheng Xun, protected by his guards, emerged mostly unscathed. The moment he managed to get free, he immediately went to find Ming Huashang — but when he looked up, he saw her standing in the blazing lantern light. The wooden frame was nearly invisible in the darkness, so she appeared to float in midair like a celestial maiden, her robes billowing softly, her hair flowing in the breeze. Her face, beautiful as a flower, wore an expression both compassionate and serenely detached — like a flying celestial figure from a mural, about to take flight on the wind at any moment.

Cheng Xun paused, then squeezed over and asked: “Second Young Miss, can you not get down?”

Ming Huashang had been gazing intently toward the site of the incident, and she suddenly heard someone call her name. She looked down, saw Cheng Xun, and only then slowly returned to reality. Steadying herself against the frame, she lightly and easily jumped down: “I’m fine — I can manage myself.”

Cheng Xun had been about to reach out to catch her, but by the time he did, Ming Huashang had already jumped down on her own, her skirts sweeping past like a bright butterfly. Cheng Xun paused, silently withdrew his hand, and said with a smile: “When the danger hit, you were quick-witted to climb onto the frame for safety.”

“Second Brother put me up there,” said Ming Huashang. As she spoke with Cheng Xun, her thoughts were entirely on the accident ahead. She murmured to herself: “All was well — so why would there be an explosion that killed someone?”

Cheng Xun followed Ming Huashang’s gaze and looked back. He saw Ming Huazhang standing in the crowd, directing the evacuation in a calm and methodical manner. Cheng Xun had long heard that the second young master of the Ming family was of striking appearance, but standing here at a distance looking up at him tonight, he realized Ming Huazhang’s features were even more exceptional than people said.

That refined, handsome face was merely the least remarkable of his qualities. His unshakeable composure, his sharp and clear-eyed gaze, his resolute decision to charge into the crowd at the first sign of disorder — these were the soul behind that outward appearance.

Cheng Xun had been inwardly competing with Ming Huazhang all evening, but in this moment, all those impulsive feelings receded like a tide, leaving only wreckage and shame behind. He finally understood the source of his grandfather and grandmother’s praise for Ming Huazhang, and he understood why Ming Huashang had said without hesitation that her second brother was the finest young man in the world.

He truly fell far short. Cheng Xun was secretly relieved — fortunately, this person was only her brother. Even if he could never ultimately displace Ming Huazhang’s position in her heart, at least he could still, in a different capacity, become the most important man in her life in the years ahead.

Cheng Xun said: “Second Young Miss, the Shaoyin will likely be busy for a while. It’s too dangerous here — let me escort you away first.”

Without a second thought, Ming Huashang shook her head, her eyes still fixed ahead. “No. I’ll stay here and help. Thank you for your kind offer, Young Master Cheng — you should go on ahead.”

Cheng Xun frowned: “That won’t do. You’re a young woman — how could I just leave you in a place like this?”

“I’m not being left — I’m choosing to stay here myself.” Ming Huashang finally turned, meeting Cheng Xun’s gaze steadily with a serious expression, and said: “I greatly admire your candor, Young Master Cheng, and I have no wish to waste your time. Let me speak plainly. I understand what Madam Cheng and the Young Mistress intend, and I am grateful that your family holds me in such regard — but you and I are not suited for each other.”

In matters like these, everyone habitually pretended to misunderstand one another, so Cheng Xun had not expected that she, a young woman, would be the one to speak openly first. He was startled for a moment, then decided to speak frankly as well: “Since Second Young Miss already knows, I have nothing to hide. Why would you say such a thing? Could it be you’re worried about suffering grievances after marrying into the Cheng family? If that is your concern, I can assure you—”

“It isn’t that.” Ming Huashang gently cut Cheng Xun off and looked at him earnestly. “I know that Madam Cheng and the Young Mistress are generous and sensible, and the sisters of the Cheng family are all pleasant to be around. I like Duke Chengguo’s household very much — but the problem between us does not lie in any external matter. It lies in you and me.”

“You and me?” Cheng Xun was even more confused. “Is there something Second Young Miss finds lacking in me?”

“No.” Ming Huashang hastened to explain. “Young Master Cheng, you are a fine person — there is absolutely no doubt about that. On the contrary, it is I who am without particular talent or virtue, plain and unremarkable; I am quite overawed to receive such regard from the house of Duke Chengguo. It is simply that we are not suited. For instance, right now — I want to go to the scene and find out exactly what happened, and why the proprietor was killed by the explosion. Even if it kept me occupied until nightfall, I would gladly do so. My second brother and my father both support me in doing such things. But Young Master Cheng — would the house of Duke Chengguo permit a daughter-in-law who defies her elders, acts on her own judgment, and stays out late at night to examine a corpse?”

Cheng Xun stared into Ming Huashang’s clear, bright eyes. For a fleeting moment he wanted to say he would try for her sake, but he soon came back to himself — even if he were willing to yield, what about his mother and grandmother? What about all the Cheng clan relatives?

He finally understood why he had suddenly wanted to marry Ming Huashang. Amid years of identical, rule-abiding routine, he had happened to catch a glimpse of a free butterfly. She had fluttered past his fingertips — vivid, beautiful, smiling as she said she had no need to be like everyone else. The light in her eyes when she spoke had deeply moved Cheng Xun.

Cheng Xun had admired that freedom and radiance, and so he had harbored the desire to keep the butterfly captive. Yet a butterfly shut inside a cage would have her wings wither, the brilliance fade from her eyes — leaving in the end only a rigid, lifeless specimen.

He longed to indulge his own baseness, to selfishly catch the butterfly and claim her for himself. Yet in the end, Cheng Xun could not bring himself to do it. He stepped back, managed a strained smile, and looking at Ming Huashang said: “I see. I understand now. No wonder I felt that you and he were so inseparable, with no room for an outsider to enter — that feeling was real. Don’t worry. As for my grandmother, I will explain it to her.”

Ming Huashang let out a long, relieved breath. Cheng Xun’s ability to let go like this truly saved her a great deal of trouble. She looked at him with sincerity and said: “Thank you.”

Cheng Xun seemed to want to laugh it off lightly and preserve what dignity remained, but several attempts only produced a very forced smile. He gave up, and said to Ming Huashang: “The night is growing colder. Go back to the manor soon. Farewell.”

Ming Huashang returned a bright, warm smile: “Take care on the road, Young Master Cheng. Farewell.”

Cheng Xun wanted to say something more, moved his lips, but gave up, and turned to walk away. The street was nearly empty by now. He walked into the dim and fading lamplight, then suddenly stopped and turned back to ask: “Second Young Miss — I still don’t know your given name. Should I wish to look back on my youth when I am old, I wouldn’t know what to call you.”

Ming Huashang smiled, her eyes bright and glistening, and said: “My name is Ming Huashang. ‘Shang shang zhe hua, yun qi huang yi. Wo gou zhi zi, wei qi you zhang yi.’ — Clad in fine splendor, bright and in bloom; the one I encounter, distinguished by the order and grace they embody.”

Huashang, Huazhang — Cheng Xun slowly turned the two names over in his mind. “Shang” spoke of brilliance and beauty; “zhang” spoke of propriety, ritual, and law. As it turned out, they had been a matched pair from so long ago.

Cheng Xun smiled. Looking at Ming Huashang in the glow of the lanterns from afar, he said: “A beautiful name.”

A disturbance had broken out in Shan’he Ward, but fortunately Ming Huazhang had responded swiftly enough that aside from several people who were jostled and injured in the initial crush, there were no other casualties. Ming Huazhang was occupied for half an hour; in the midst of it all, he caught only a brief peripheral glimpse of Ming Huashang and Cheng Xun standing together, talking at great length.

Even in the middle of his duties, Ming Huazhang could not help but frown. What were they talking about, to be so earnestly engrossed?

This stretch of the street had already been sealed off, and it was now deserted. As the one in authority here, her older brother was present — Ming Huashang made no effort to avoid scrutiny and walked openly to the site of the incident to examine the body.

The corpse had been blown to a bloody mess; the surrounding objects had all been burned, and there was nothing to begin looking for clues. Ming Huashang was studying the scene carefully when a clear voice spoke from behind her: “The deceased is the proprietor of Jinxiu Tavern.”

Ming Huashang turned to see Ming Huazhang walking slowly toward her, the green-faced, fang-baring mask still hanging at his waist. His voice was somewhat hoarse, but his bearing remained perfectly composed. He said: “The proprietor had just welcomed a newborn son and was overjoyed. He had a lantern pavilion erected in front of the tavern to celebrate with passersby, and planned to light a Hundred-Years Lantern publicly as a good omen. Who could have known that the moment the Hundred-Years Lantern was lit, it suddenly exploded. The proprietor of Jinxiu Tavern was killed on the spot; the bookkeeper and staff standing beside him were injured; his wife, who had stepped further away because the baby was crying and she was holding him, was thus spared — suffering only a fright, with minor injuries. I have already sent people to take the wounded to see a physician; the exact details of their conditions will be known shortly.”

Ming Huashang nodded, looking down at the mangled body at her feet, and said in puzzlement: “Even if the proprietor had the Hundred-Years Lantern made especially large to bring good fortune — it would only contain candle wax and lamp oil inside. Why would it explode?”

“It was likely not an accident,” said Ming Huazhang. “At the time I saw a blindingly bright white light. It cannot be ruled out that someone tampered with the Hundred-Years Lantern and replaced what was inside with gunpowder.”

Ming Huashang sucked in a breath: “Planting gunpowder in a lantern used to bless a newborn child… What kind of grudge, what kind of enmity would drive someone to do this? Who on earth did they offend?”

Ming Huazhang said: “We can only wait until the proprietor’s wife has recovered somewhat before going to ask her.”

The two of them stood talking in the pitch-dark explosion site when they were suddenly interrupted by the sound of approaching hoofbeats. Duke Zhenguo came galloping up and, upon seeing them both, was at once shocked and terrified: “Huazhang, Huashang — are you alright?”

Duke Zhenguo had been unwilling to push through the crowds on the street, and since Ming Huazhang was there, he had felt at ease remaining in the manor to attend to his own affairs, letting the younger members of the family go out to enjoy themselves. Then suddenly Ming Yu and the others returned in a panic, saying a stampede had broken out in the streets. Duke Zhenguo waited a long time without seeing Ming Huashang or Ming Huazhang return, his heart lurching in his chest. He hurried to the scene to look for them.

Fortunately, both children were safe. Only at this point did Ming Huazhang realize that in his rush to guide the citizens to safety, he had entirely forgotten to send word back to the manor.

Ming Huazhang immediately knelt to ask Duke Zhenguo’s forgiveness. Duke Zhenguo could not bring himself to reproach them, sighing: “Huazhang, you mustn’t. Get up. I’m just glad you’re both safe.”

Ming Huazhang was filled with guilt. He ordered the scene sealed and secured, then quickly had the carriage brought around so Duke Zhenguo and Ming Huashang could be escorted home to rest first.

The rest of Chang’an was still full of revelry, but the Ming household had lost all desire to celebrate. The carriage rolled and rumbled along. Ming Huashang leaned back against the swaying walls of the carriage, eyes closed, turning the explosion case over in her mind. The wheels rolled over a stone, and the carriage curtain flipped open briefly — but she had her eyes closed and did not see what was outside. Su Yuji and Su Xingzhi were at that moment passing directly toward them.

Su Yuji caught a glimpse of the person on horseback and froze, turning to look back. Su Xingzhi initially had no idea what she was doing, but when he saw the familiar figure on horseback, his expression went blank.

Ming Huazhang? And the middle-aged man ahead of him — could that be a senior member of the Ming family?

More than that — could that be Duke Zhenguo, Ming Huaiyuān?

Su Xingzhi quietly glanced at Su Yuji. Su Yuji was frowning, staring ahead, her expression vague and bewildered.

That figure looked so familiar — she felt as though she had seen him somewhere before.