Princess Taiping had barely finished speaking before the banquet hall immediately filled with whispers. The female guests were variously shy or smiling, eyes all bright and gleaming — it was obvious they were very eager for this proposal.

However mild-mannered a man might be, when faced with women he was full of the desire to show himself off — especially when the young ladies present were beautiful and well-bred, from fine families, and among them might even be a future wife.

The young men made a show of indifference, but each one in fact was silently tensing up. With both sides willing to be coaxed along, Princess Taiping’s proposal proceeded smoothly as a matter of course.

Princess Taiping took the greatest pleasure in orchestrating grand spectacles. With a wave of her jade hand, the serving maids of the estate quickly prepared paper and ink and carried them into the hall, presenting them to each of the young gentlemen.

The sound of brushes scratching and voices conversing filled the room. People rose from their places and mingled, speaking with one another — and the banquet hall was no longer as orderly as it had been. On the women’s side, the ladies grew bolder as well, linking arms in small groups and drifting closer to take a look.

Ming Huazhang did not actually wish to participate. Nominating Princess Anning as the greatest beauty in Chang’an had been tedious enough — now they were adding the selection of a so-called greatest talent in Chang’an, which struck him as even more pointless. But since everyone was writing, Ming Huazhang did not want to stand apart from the crowd, so he picked up his brush and dashed off a poem without much thought.

The hall below was all movement and flattery, voices unceasing in praise. Even Prince Liang, Prince Xiang, and others had come down from their higher places and were walking among the crowd to look on. Ming Huazhang put his brush down quickly and, glancing back, found that Xie Jichuan’s brush had not moved at all. He gave a small laugh — entirely unsurprised. “Why aren’t you writing?”

“Why should I?” Xie Jichuan said languidly. “Are they worthy of judging me?”

Xie Jichuan gave no face even to the Empress — the ladies present were even less of a consideration. Ming Huazhang understood, yet still said, “Princess Taiping is not genuinely here to assess anyone. She is simply venting a frustration. At ordinary banquets, any woman, regardless of her status or standing, can be compared and judged by others. Princess Taiping has long felt that this is unfair, and today she wants to compare the men in turn — there is no real harm in it. What’s more, this is not truly about the poetry at all. It is simply a pretext that gives young men and women a way to convey their feelings.”

Xie Jichuan gave Ming Huazhang a look that was half-amused and half-sharp. “You do speak up for Princess Taiping.”

“It isn’t for Princess Taiping’s sake.” Ming Huazhang said. “It is simply placing oneself in another’s position — trying to think a little more from the perspective of the women.”

“Very well — you are the gentleman, I am the petty person. Do spare me your moral instruction; I have no wish to hear it.” Xie Jichuan looked toward the hazy outline beyond the folding screen and said, “Then who do you think will win this evening?”

Ming Huazhang didn’t care one way or another, and said neutrally, “Hard to say. Tonight we have the various royal princes of the Li and Wu families, as well as the Duke of Yingguo and the Duke of Chengguo. This is not truly about poetry.”

The power to judge lay with the female guests. The decision of which gentleman’s poetry pleased them was the least consequential factor at play. A man’s family standing and social rank, the dynamics of court, the complexities of official alliances — each of these would influence the choices of these young ladies from noble houses. The quality of the poetry itself came last of all.

Xie Jichuan raised an eyebrow. “Let me rephrase: in your opinion, to whom will Second Little Sister give her flower?”

Ming Huazhang started slightly. He followed Xie Jichuan’s gaze — and only then noticed that Ming Huashang had come over. She was pulling Ren Yao along with her, and the two of them had stopped in front of Jiang Ling’s table, pointing and commenting.

Ming Huazhang suddenly felt some regret that he had written that poem so carelessly. He was not a petty or competitive person. But in a little while, if she came over and saw his work, and it was poorly written — that would not reflect well on him at all.

At this moment, Ming Huashang and Ren Yao were standing in front of Jiang Ling’s table, watching him scratch his head and grimace in agony. “Go on then, write something,” they said.

Jiang Ling gripped his brush, but every time he was about to move, those two pairs of eyes would snap over to him — it was like being publicly executed in front of an audience. He could stand it no longer and begged for mercy. “You two — would you kindly stand somewhere else?”

Ming Huashang gave a dismissive humph. “Who wants to watch you.”

Ming Huashang finished speaking and went to wander over to the other tables. Ren Yao said something disparaging as well, but her feet did not move. Ming Huashang glanced back, and then quietly slipped away without pulling Ren Yao along.

Now that she had no companion beside her, Ming Huashang didn’t quite feel at ease going to look at other young gentlemen’s tables. The red silk flower in her hand felt rather awkward to hold. She looked around the banquet hall, quietly deliberating where to send it.

She had originally planned to give it to Jiang Ling, but that would really be doing a disservice to her conscience — and besides, with Ren Yao there, Jiang Ling didn’t need hers. Giving it to the Li or Wu princes was clearly out of the question — it wasn’t proper to send something like this to a married man — and if she gave it to an unmarried young gentleman from some other noble house, she was afraid of creating a misunderstanding.

Ming Huashang scanned the room and sighed quietly.

This was truly difficult.

The safest option, of course, was to give it to one’s own brother. A majority of the young ladies in the hall were doing exactly that. In the past, she would have given it to Ming Huazhang without a second thought — but now, for some reason she couldn’t name, she was reluctant to.

While Ming Huashang was at a loss, her eye drifted sideways — and fell on Su Xingzhi. Her gaze shifted. Affecting a look of casual interest, she made her way unhurriedly toward Su Xingzhi, as if entirely by chance.

Compared to the other young lords and young earls in the hall, the area around Su Xingzhi was noticeably sparse. He sat at ease, with no apparent intention of making conversation with those around him. The sudden approach of someone startled him — he looked up to find it was Ming Huashang, and paused for a moment.

Ming Huashang smiled and greeted him. “Surveillance Censor Su.”

Su Xingzhi gave a nod in return, his expression still cool and slightly guarded. The hall was full of eyes, and Ming Huashang had no intention of saying more than was necessary. She made as if to pass by, and as she walked, her long sleeve brushed across the table. Without drawing attention, she left the silk flower on top of it.

Su Xingzhi saw the flower on the table and looked distinctly surprised. He was about to tell Ming Huashang she had left something behind, when he noticed a row of small characters written on the flower.

“An urgent matter to discuss. Regarding Nanny Su. Meet at the lakeside pavilion in the garden.”

Su Xingzhi’s gaze shifted almost imperceptibly. He picked up the flower without betraying anything, and tore away the petal of silk bearing the words. When he raised his head and looked around to see if anyone had noticed — he found himself looking directly into Su Yuji’s eyes.

Su Yuji stood at the edge of the folding screen, watching him with an unreadable expression.

Su Xingzhi felt a flash of guilt, and tried to indicate an explanation to Su Yuji — but Su Yuji turned aside with a cool composure and slipped away through the ladies’ side of the hall.

The ladies’ section was not a place Su Xingzhi could follow her into. He stood in the hall, looked once more toward where she had gone, and ultimately decided that Su Yuji was not someone who would jump to conclusions — better to first deal with the other matter.

In the hall, the conversation and laughter surged. No one noticed one woman and then one man slipping out in sequence — no one, that is, except for the one who had been paying attention from the start.

Xie Jichuan gave a laugh with a strange cool edge to it and said, “It seems Second Little Sister’s choice is neither you nor me, but Su Xingzhi.”

Ming Huazhang’s face showed nothing. But his eyes were like a frost moon submerged in a cold river, the chill in them almost tangible. Xie Jichuan, still not content to leave it alone, added, “Though one could say it is a matter of personal choice and preference, the fact remains that the flowers given by unmarried women tonight are going either to brothers and cousins, or to betrothed, and only a rare few bolder ones are giving directly to someone they admire. So tell me — which category does Second Little Sister fall into?”

Ming Huazhang’s eyes went dark and sharp, cutting toward him like a blade unsheathed. “Mind your words. She is still so young. There is no one she admires. She said she has no wish to marry — do not tarnish her name.”

Xie Jichuan raised an eyebrow, smile still in place on his face, though his eyes carried a thin coolness. “Is that so? How strange — Second Little Sister told me just today that she has someone she longs for, that she has been turning it over in her mind sleepless through the night, yearning for them waking and dreaming. I had assumed you already knew.”

He hadn’t known. No — more than that — why would Ming Huashang speak of such things to Xie Jichuan? Ming Huazhang’s fingers tightened. His outward expression remained perfectly composed, and he said, “She was joking. She’s always fond of making things up — it cannot be taken seriously.”

Xie Jichuan looked at him without speaking. The implication in his gaze was enough to put Ming Huazhang in a thoroughly disagreeable mood. He told himself it was no use debating this with an outsider — Ming Huashang was his younger sister, and he understood her better than anyone. She had simply gone outside for some fresh air, and he was going to call her back right now.

Ming Huazhang was just about to rise, when a serving maid passing beside him with a tray accidentally caught her sash on the ink stone, which toppled over. In an instant, a great pool of ink spread across Ming Huazhang’s white robe.

The serving maid was horrified and immediately knelt, frantically dabbing at the ink stain. “Young gentleman, please forgive me — this servant deserves to die.”

Ming Huazhang looked down at his robe without a word. The serving maid said in a trembling voice, “Young gentleman, please spare me — it was entirely this servant’s fault and clumsiness. Allow this servant to take you to change your clothes at once.”

Ming Huazhang looked quietly at the serving maid for a moment, raised no objection, and allowed her to lead the way.

·

After Ming Huashang slipped outside, she kept well away from the crowd, making her way quietly toward the lakeside pavilion in a secluded corner of the garden. She had barely sat down and begun to wait when footsteps sounded outside.

Ming Huashang was not surprised. She rose and smiled at the arrival, dipping in a slight greeting. “Surveillance Censor Su. The wind outside is strong — please come in and sit.”

Su Xingzhi stopped at the foot of the steps. His expression was cool, unsmiling. He showed no response to Ming Huashang’s courtesy and said flatly, “Second Miss Ming — we have no acquaintance between us. I do not understand what you intend.”

Ming Huashang was undisturbed. She found herself a sheltered corner out of the wind and sat down. “And yet you followed me here after reading those words — which proves my guess was correct. There is a great deal to explain, and it would take some time. Surveillance Censor Su, do you truly want to remain standing outside in full view of anyone who passes?”

Su Xingzhi frowned at her, and in the end stepped forward and walked into the pavilion. Ming Huashang said, “I really should have found a teahouse and offered you a proper reception, Surveillance Censor Su. But circumstances don’t allow for it, which is why I had to summon you out this way. I appreciate your understanding. May I be so bold as to call you Brother Su?”

Su Xingzhi’s brow and eyes were as cool as ever. He said bluntly, “Second Miss Ming may do as she likes.”

Ming Huashang had planned to say a few more pleasantries as a formality, but given Su Xingzhi’s manner, she decided to go straight to the point. She smiled slightly, and then said without preamble, “Brother Su, if I recall correctly, your grandmother, the Su family matriarch, once served in the ancestral home of the Wang family in Taiyuan. Later, she accompanied Wang family daughter Yulan when she married into Duke Zhenguo’s estate and became my mother’s right hand — is that correct?”

Su Xingzhi’s fingers went rigid. He stared at her with dark, cold eyes. “What is your meaning in asking this?”

“Please don’t misunderstand, Brother Su — I mean no harm.” Ming Huashang looked at Su Xingzhi and smiled openly, her pale face in the night looking as though wrapped in a soft light — beautiful as jade, radiant as snow. Yet her eyes were clear and direct, and she said sincerely, “I only want very much to know the truth. I suspect you do too — otherwise you would not have kept this appointment. By seniority, I should address Nanny Su as my wet nurse grandmother. These questions were ones I had meant to put to her — but the Nanny has passed on, and so I can only come to you instead, Brother Su. What I want to know is simply this: is Su Yuji truly your sister?”

The question of a true and false identity had been weighing on her heart, tormenting her for a full year. She had initially tried to use her own resources to uncover the truth, yet one lead after another snapped off — it was as though an invisible hand had erased every trace. Even after she joined the Xuan Xiaowei and became part of the underground network, she still could not find the truth about her own origins.

What she had found instead, once she began examining the people around her with a purposeful eye, was that her own family seemed increasingly suspicious. Ming Huazhang appeared to know that they were not born of the same blood — and more alarmingly, Duke Zhenguo appeared to know as well.

That gave Ming Huashang a feeling even more unsettling than the question of a true and false identity. She could accept not being biological family — but she could not accept having been deceived by her own father and brother.

Duke Zhenguo and Ming Huazhang had been very good to her. Ming Huashang was unwilling to harbor such suspicions against them, and could not in good conscience go on accepting their love without knowing. She would rather face the truth head-on, even if it might not be a truth that treated her kindly.

If her life was destined to end at seventeen, then at the very least, she wanted to understand how she had lived.

Su Xingzhi was silent for a long time. Then he seemed to let out a sigh, and said quietly, “No.”

Ming Huashang’s brow shifted slightly. In truth she was not surprised. She asked again, “When Nanny Su was dying, did she speak to you about Su Yuji’s origins?”

Su Xingzhi did not answer and instead turned the conversation back on her. “I know nothing about you. Why should I tell you these things?”

“Because I want to resolve this long-standing wrongful matter.” Ming Huashang held his gaze, and said with sincerity, “The people involved in what happened back then are either dead or scattered. There is no use at this point in apportioning blame for right and wrong — solving the problem is what matters most. If Su Yuji is truly of the Ming family, I am willing to introduce her to my father and restore her identity. If you don’t trust me, I will arrange for my father to meet with you directly — you can speak to him yourself. I will not object to a word of it. Brother Su — what you want: is it simply to release the frustration of it all, or is it for her to have a better life?”

This time Su Xingzhi’s silence stretched even longer. Ming Huashang waited patiently, saying nothing.

From far away, the banquet hall brimmed with laughter and music — making the silence between them feel all the more absolute, broken only by the cry of an unknown bird.

Finally, Su Xingzhi pressed his words under the sound of the wind and spoke. “What reason do I have to trust you? If you extract information from me and go back on your word — if you stir up trouble in Duke Zhenguo’s estate, turn truth upside down — what then?”

Ming Huashang sighed, helplessly. “Brother Su, have you forgotten that you are a Surveillance Censor? Cases at the Jing Zhaoyiin’s office still have to pass through your hands. Manager Feng’s case needs to be re-examined, and the cases of Song Yanbo and Yan Jingcheng are also full of inconsistencies — we’re all counting on the Surveillance Bureau to deal with us leniently. If I deceive you, what do I stand to gain?”

Ming Huashang’s eyes were completely earnest. Su Xingzhi was, remarkably, persuaded by that argument. It was only now that Su Xingzhi fully realized: he was no longer the penniless farmer’s boy from a mountain village — he was now the Surveillance and Inspection Censor of the Surveillance Bureau in Chang’an. Even before these great aristocratic houses, he now had the footing to speak as an equal.

Su Xingzhi relaxed a little at this, and said, “In truth, I did not know her identity before either. Had my grandmother not been gravely ill and forced to set her affairs in order, she might never have spoken of it to me at all.”

From the first moment she had seen Su Xingzhi, Ming Huashang had noticed how tense he was — bristling like a hedgehog. She had kept her tone soft and her smile steady throughout, and had even taken the initiative to bring up the downstream relationship between the Jing Zhaoyiin’s office and the Surveillance Bureau to dissolve his defenses. Sure enough, Su Xingzhi’s manner had softened considerably. Ming Huashang quickly pressed her advantage and asked, “What did Nanny Su tell you?”

“Grandmother said that the Ming family was beset by internal strife, with harm falling on an infant child. She could not bear it — and as she was already returning to her home village, she took the child away with her and raised it as her own. The Su family and the ducal estate are worlds apart in standing, but they treated Yuji with sincere affection, no different from their own flesh and blood — not a whit inferior to what the Ming family could have offered.”

“I believe you.” Ming Huashang said quickly, “Of course I believe that Brother Su and Nanny Su cared for her truly. Just from Sister Su’s direct and strong-willed nature, one can see she grew up without being made to feel small.”

After soothing Su Xingzhi, Ming Huashang let her eyes turn, and something in her felt faintly off. What Su Xingzhi had said differed considerably from what she had guessed. The dream she had recalled suggested that Nanny Su had acted out of greed in swapping the two children — yet Su Xingzhi was now saying that Nanny Su had taken Su Yuji away in order to protect the child’s life during the Ming family’s internal strife.

Of course, the way a thing was told depended entirely on the teller’s mouth. If Nanny Su had truly done such a thing, beautifying her own role was natural enough. Yet seeing how reserved and guarded Su Xingzhi was toward her — it was strange. Did he not know that his own real younger sister had been placed in Duke Zhenguo’s estate?

In the past, Ming Huashang would certainly have gone about it with multiple layers of probing, advancing carefully. But now she had less than a year left to live — what was there that she couldn’t ask directly? So she asked outright, “By that account, you are in fact my real elder brother?”

Ming Huashang had meant it as an expression of goodwill — that if she truly was of Su family blood, she had no pride about the disparity in status and would genuinely want a good relationship with Su Xingzhi. But his reaction far exceeded anything Ming Huashang had anticipated. His brow knit hard, his gaze grew distant and cold, and he said, with no emotion at all, “What trick are you playing?”

“Ah?” Ming Huashang was thrown off herself. They looked at each other across the pavilion, both equally baffled. Ming Huashang tried again, carefully. “Since Su Yuji is the daughter of Duke Zhenguo’s estate, doesn’t that make me the Su family’s child? Surely you haven’t forgotten — the Su family also had a daughter?”

Su Xingzhi looked at Ming Huashang, and his brow furrowed even more tightly. “I do have a younger sister — but my mother said that Nannian had been born prematurely and did not survive. Yuji was brought home by Grandmother to ease their grief over losing a daughter.”

Ming Huashang was completely stunned. Su Xingzhi, seeing that her expression had gone wrong, also became grave. “What is it — was it not like that?”

A mother would never curse her own child to an early death. Even if she wanted to protect a daughter she had placed in a wealthy household, she would never speak the word “died” of her own child. So — could this have been the truth?

Ming Huashang suddenly felt how cold the wind off the lake was. She gripped her own hands tightly together, trying to warm her fingers, which had gone ice-cold. After a long while, she found the strength to say to Su Xingzhi, “Your grandmother told you that Su Yuji was taken from Duke Zhenguo’s estate. And from what I know, Nanny Su had, out of private motives, exchanged her own granddaughter for the daughter of Duke Zhenguo’s dragon-and-phoenix twins. By your account, and by mine, this should have involved three children. But now we know that Nannian died, the twin children of Duke Zhenguo’s estate are both alive, and Su Yuji was raised in your household.”

“There is one child too many.”

“Who is the extra one?”

·

Ming Huazhang gave no outward sign as he moved, quietly noting the landmarks and turnings along the way. The maid led him left and right, and finally brought him into a room, where she clasped her hands in a bow and said, “Young gentleman, please wait — this servant will go and fetch a clean set of clothes.”

Ming Huazhang thanked her with a nod and watched calmly as the maid closed the door and withdrew. Once she was gone, his expression turned sharp.

The maid’s “mishap” had been rather contrived, but he wanted to know what the person behind it intended, so he had not refused.

Ming Huazhang looked around. He moved through the lavishly appointed guest room with unhurried ease. The room was done in the style typical of Princess Taiping’s estate — richly opulent, with precious timber and fresh silk brocade. A folding screen of Sichuan brocade divided the room into an outer section and an inner one.

No sleeping incense, no hidden mechanisms. What could the person behind this scheme possibly be trying to accomplish by going to such lengths to draw him here? Surely they didn’t have in mind some contrivance where he stumbles upon someone changing their clothes and then gets told they must marry?

That would be far too clumsy.

Ming Huazhang assessed the furnishings, quietly considering the likely hiding places. Then a sound came from behind the folding screen. The hidden blade in Ming Huazhang’s sleeve slid soundlessly into his palm, and his grip tightened without a visible trace.

The folding screen here was considerably heavier than the ones in the banquet hall. Behind it, a blurred silhouette was moving, accompanied by the persistent tinkling of ornaments — yet he could not make out the person’s face. Ming Huazhang moved soundlessly closer to the screen, then in one sudden motion drew the blade and drove it forward through the screen.

The person on the other side had been lifting her skirts. At the sound of the air being cut, she jerked her head up. One could almost see the arc of her hairpin trembling at the motion — and even in that moment, not a trace of unsightliness showed on her face. By then Ming Huazhang had also seen her features clearly. He was inwardly aghast, and immediately pulled back.

He had tried to halt mid-strike and staggered slightly before steadying himself. The wooden shelf nearby was jostled by the impact, and a flower vase tumbled off. Ming Huazhang reached out and caught it with ease, then looked at the person before him in astonishment. “Your Highness?”