After Princess Taiping departed, Ming Huazhang sat alone in the oppressively luxurious guest room. The ink stains on him had long since dried, yet he remained motionless for a long while.
For seventeen years he had concealed his true identity, and while they had not known him, he had been able to catch glimpses of them from time to time. With his own ears, Ming Huazhang had heard of Prince Luling’s exile and Prince Xiang’s confinement; with his own eyes, he had witnessed Princess Taiping remarry and assimilate into the Wu clan; and he had lived through the decade in which the Li Tang imperial family was slaughtered nearly to extinction and systematically erased from memory.
Not for a single moment had he forgotten who he truly was. Without question, he was willing to sacrifice everything — even his life — for the restoration of the Li Tang dynasty. Yet when he truly stood before Princess Taiping, finally able to be acknowledged by a blood relation, he felt none of the excitement or warmth he had imagined. If anything, the encounter could only be described as ending on a sour note.
Ming Huazhang gazed at the butterfly poised as if to take flight on the decorative screen, and his thoughts drifted unexpectedly to Ming Huashang. If she were the one facing all of this today, how would she handle it?
She probably wouldn’t have come in the first place. But having come, she would never have grown cold and distant with Princess Taiping or let things turn awkward. Even if the conversation were unpleasant, she would have responded with a smiling, gracious manner, charmed everyone into good spirits, and quietly achieved her own aims without anyone noticing. The moment she stepped out the door, she would have been completely unaffected, returning to the banquet hall in perfectly good cheer.
She was always like that — no matter who she encountered or what happened, she moved through life with clarity and openness. Unlike Ming Huazhang, who was prone to overthinking, full of uncomfortable complications, unable to love wholeheartedly or hate freely.
As he thought of her, the hardness in his eyes softened without his realizing it. He let out a low sigh, rose, stepped behind the screen, changed out of the ink-stained white robes he had been wearing, and dressed in a dark violet round-collar robe.
He always kept a spare change of clothes when going out as a guest, though he’d never expected to need it today. When he had changed into his first outfit earlier, he’d done so carelessly, with no real sense of occasion — but now, changing into the backup, he was oddly deliberate about it.
He hadn’t known, either, that Princess Taiping would pull out that flower-sending stunt at the banquet. He was not a shallow man, and he didn’t care about others’ opinions — but still, when choosing a talent to honor, Ming Huashang’s first thought had not been him?
Ming Huazhang estimated the time of one incense stick had passed before he left the room and made his way toward the banquet. Princess Taiping had clearly made arrangements; he encountered almost no one along the way. He deliberately kept to the shadowed paths, and while crossing through a garden, his ears caught what seemed like voices from behind the trees.
His expression grew cautious. He crept silently toward the source of the sound, concealed himself beneath the shadow of the trees, and parted the branches — only to discover, not the enemy he had anticipated, but Ming Huashang herself.
The night was soft and hazy. Slender forsythia branches trailed down beside a pavilion, their tips grazing the surface of the water below. The pavilion nestled amid the surrounding vegetation, dim and secluded, difficult to notice from outside — so the people within had not noticed anyone passing by.
A young woman sat in the pavilion, her hair simply adorned with a pearl flower ornament, her face glowing with the cool luminescence of fine pearls. Who else could it be but Ming Huashang?
After his initial surprise, Ming Huazhang’s heart gradually turned cold. He had originally planned to come find her once he could, but had been pulled away by Princess Taiping’s scheme. He had trusted that Ming Huashang understood her own actions, and so had gone along with Princess Taiping’s people without worry. He and Princess Taiping had tested each other, acknowledged each other, quarreled — all of that had already taken so long. And she still had not returned?
She appeared to feel the cold, her hands clasped tightly together, occasionally rubbing her fingers, yet she refused to leave, speaking earnestly to someone.
The person across from her was obscured in the shrubbery; he could not make out a face. But from the clothing, it was clear the figure was a man.
Su Xingzhi — who had left the banquet shortly after Ming Huashang — immediately sprang to mind, but Ming Huazhang forced the thought down. Impossible. He knew better than anyone how sweet-tongued and clear-hearted Ming Huashang truly was. She appeared all warmth and accommodation, without a sharp edge to her, but beneath that surface her mind was perfectly clear. If someone’s presence would threaten the life she wanted, she would sever any thread of possibility without the slightest hesitation, even if a prince or emperor stood before her.
At Princess Taiping’s banquet, surrounded by people constantly passing through — such a precarious setting — how could she be meeting a man in private?
Ming Huazhang didn’t believe it. Yet like someone intent on self-torment, even with the answer all but in front of him, he stood utterly still behind the tree cover, forcing himself to see the truth with his own eyes. However long they talked, he stood there just as long — until at last, the man rose and moved to leave. Ming Huashang followed closely, stepping through the scattered shadows of the branches. Ming Huazhang saw the man’s face.
It was Su Xingzhi.
Something inside him fell. It was as though he had heard a judgment descending, faint and distant, from some high celestial platform. Gentle. Measured. Yet with the force of a thunderclap.
Su Xingzhi was tall and lean, cold and severe, with not a trace of tenderness for the woman beside him — every one of his strides was worth two of hers. Yet that woman did not give up; she pursued him, speaking as she went, and even reached out to take hold of his arm.
Ming Huazhang watched with dark, still eyes.
Along the secluded path, Ming Huashang was trying to persuade Su Xingzhi. When she heard him say that his biological younger sister had already died long ago, her heart lurched sharply, and she understood that things were heading in the very direction she had most dreaded.
She immediately changed her approach, attempting to draw Su Xingzhi over to her side. But when Su Xingzhi heard Ming Huashang’s suspicions about Nanny Su, his expression darkened on the spot. It took Ming Huashang considerable effort — coaxing and reasoning — before Su Xingzhi finally believed that his grandmother had deceived him.
Though the Duke Zhenguo household was hardly a model family of exemplary conduct, the Duke had no concubines, and the second and third branches had produced no children that same year — so what internal rivalry could have allowed Nanny Su to spirit away a daughter? If Su Yuji was truly a member of the Ming family, then one of the two — Ming Huashang or Ming Huazhang — was a false child.
Ming Huashang had initially assumed it was herself, but the more she considered it, the more she thought it pointed to Ming Huazhang. Setting aside her own situation, this matter involved Ming Huazhang — she couldn’t allow Su Xingzhi to go spreading it about carelessly.
Ming Huashang wanted Su Xingzhi to keep the matter confidential for the time being — not to tell Su Yuji until she had investigated fully and could make proper arrangements. But Su Xingzhi refused.
When conversation took the wrong turn, Su Xingzhi had no patience to linger — he flicked his sleeve and made to leave. Ming Huashang could not afford to let him go. She grabbed hold of his arm and, drawing on years of skill at managing the Duke, fixed him with wide, glistening eyes, saying with utter sincerity: “Elder Brother Su, I have no wish to make things difficult for you, but before the matter is fully clarified, every additional person who knows adds another layer of uncertainty. I promise I will uncover the truth very soon. Please — would you be willing not to tell Elder Sister Su just yet?”
Su Xingzhi kept his expression flat, his tone unyielding: “There are no secrets between her and me. I will not deceive her.”
“How could this be called deception?” Ming Huashang discreetly pinched herself hard to make her eyes well up convincingly, and said with every appearance of earnestness: “This is called preparing a pleasant surprise for her. Don’t you want to be the one to personally tell her the truth, once everything has been properly investigated? A day or two’s delay won’t matter — right now we understand so little, and telling her rashly may not bring her happiness; it might even draw her into unforeseen troubles. Elder Brother Su, my dear Elder Brother Su — I beg you.”
Su Xingzhi remained unmoved throughout — until those words “unforeseen troubles” caused a flicker behind his eyes, and he hesitated.
Indeed. If things were as Ming Huashang described, the Duke Zhenguo household had no real internal strife to speak of — then what kind of incident could have caused a daughter of a ducal house to end up adrift outside? He cared nothing about Ming Huashang’s or Ming Huazhang’s fates, nor whether offending the heir of the Duke Zhenguo household would affect his career. But he could not gamble with Su Yuji’s safety.
In the end, Su Xingzhi conceded. His face still cold, his voice still clipped: “Very well. I’ll trust you once more, for now.”
Ming Huashang was overjoyed. She noticed where his gaze had fallen and hastily released his arm, smiling as she smoothed his sleeve: “Thank you, Elder Brother Su. You are upright and principled, a man of deep integrity — truly worthy of being the top scholar personally recognized by His Majesty.”
Su Xingzhi cast her a sideways glance, genuinely impressed by her ability to say exactly the right thing to exactly the right person. Thinking that this person might well be Su Yuji’s sibling, he had no desire to cause unnecessary friction with her family, so he softened his expression and said: “Second Young Lady Ming flatters me. It grows late — it is unsafe for Second Young Lady to be outside alone. Allow me to escort you back to the banquet hall.”
“I would be grateful for Elder Brother Su’s company.” Ming Huashang gave gracious face in return, smiling: “Elder Brother Su, please.”
They walked side by side, half a step apart, heading toward the banquet hall — Ming Huashang with her own hidden agenda, Su Xingzhi in no mood to be friendly, yet both deferring to the other the entire way, presenting every appearance of pleasant camaraderie. When they arrived at the banquet hall, Su Xingzhi stopped at the foot of the stairs and said: “The ladies’ banquet hall is just ahead — it would not be appropriate for me to draw any closer. Second Young Lady, please go in.”
Ming Huashang thanked him. As she made her way up the covered corridor and saw that Su Xingzhi was still watching, she turned and clasped her hands in a gesture of farewell: “Thank you, Elder Brother Su. Until we meet again. The case files — I will continue to trouble you with that matter.”
Su Xingzhi’s expression remained cool and detached, though inwardly he thought: If you turn out to be Su Yuji’s relative, things will be handled by the book — do not even think of asking for special treatment. After watching Ming Huashang pass through the door, he turned and went the long way around to the men’s hall.
Inside, the poetry competition and vote were at their liveliest, and no one had noticed Ming Huashang’s absence. She slipped back in, keeping close to the outer edge of the wall, observed the scene for a moment, and then melted naturally into the crowd.
All around her, the hall was filled with noise and blazing candlelight. And so she did not notice the pair of eyes outside the hall that had been following her for some time.
·
Princess Taiping’s poetry-appreciation event was in essence a flirtatious game between men and women — yet the final tally of red flowers, whether more went to princes of the Li family or of the Wu family, was sure to reveal where hearts truly lay.
The final result, however, surprised everyone. The person who received the most red flowers was neither a faction of the Crown Prince nor of the most-favored Prince Wei — but Prince Linzi, the third illegitimate son of Prince Xiang.
When the palace maid reported the results, even Princess Taiping paused in surprise. Then she smiled and said: “It seems San-lang is simply the one most beloved by women. San-lang, if you don’t drink three self-imposed cups as forfeit, there will be no explaining yourself.”
At first Princess Taiping was quite puzzled — there were so many Li family members; how had it fallen to a low-ranking prince with no claim to the succession, neither eldest nor legitimate? But on reflection, she thought it actually worked out well. Prince Linzi was Prince Xiang’s son, untouched by the struggle for the throne, known for his rakish and flirtatious nature. For him to receive the title of “Chang’an’s Greatest Talent” would make people smile knowingly — it would register as merely a romantic reputation. If it had been a son of the Crown Prince who won, the Empress might have read something into it.
Prince Linzi seemed somewhat surprised himself, but his character was bold and generous, and he rose to the occasion with easy grace — standing to offer thanks and drinking three cups in swift succession, his manner so natural and carefree that he drew considerable goodwill. After this brief interlude, Princess Taiping had the writing materials cleared away, summoned dancing girls to perform, and the second round of entertainment began.
Ming Huashang genuinely admired the stamina of these princes and nobles — after the poetry competition came singing and dancing, and after that, drinking games, their heads tipped back in merriment as if they never tired. She had already drunk quite a few cups herself.
The drink was fruit wine, but enough of it would still make one tipsy. Ming Huashang felt the delayed effect creeping up on her, and not daring to remain in the great hall, she slipped out under the pretext of freshening up, to clear her head.
She found a quiet spot and sat, idly wondering how much longer the revelry inside would carry on. Then suddenly she heard stumbling footsteps — Ming Huashang looked up to see a slender silhouette staggering to a nearby tree and leaning against the trunk, retching.
Fearing the worst, Ming Huashang quickly rose: “Princess Yongtai?”
Princess Yongtai dry-heaved for a while until the tight, rising sensation in her chest finally eased somewhat. She steadied herself against the tree trunk and pushed herself upright — and was seized by a sudden wave of dizziness. Fortunately Ming Huashang caught her in time. Once she was standing steadily, Princess Yongtai’s lingering fear showed in her face. She pressed a hand to her abdomen, then managed a soft “Thank you.”
Ming Huashang, too, had been given a fright. She asked: “Your Highness, you are not well — why did you come out alone with so few attendants?”
Princess Yongtai’s voice was still somewhat faint. She answered weakly: “Mother and my aunt are speaking privately. I only stepped out for some air — there was no need to disturb them.”
A pregnant daughter being unwell hardly counts as reason enough? Ming Huashang looked at the princess and held her tongue, gently guiding her to sit with care: “Your Highness, the cold — shall I go inside and fetch a padded cushion for you?”
Princess Yongtai shook her head: “Don’t trouble yourself. I’ll breathe the air for a moment and feel better.”
So Ming Huashang kept the princess company. Sensing that she was somewhat ill at ease, Ming Huashang took the initiative to speak: “I must first offer my congratulations, Your Highness — felicitations on the coming of this blessed child.”
Princess Yongtai smiled, and her hand drifted instinctively to her belly: “The physician says the pregnancy is not yet stable. I had intended to wait until three months had passed before informing my elders — but my husband couldn’t contain himself and made the announcement at the banquet.”
“How could that be any cause for embarrassment?” Ming Huashang said. “It is entirely happy news. Everyone present is an elder of yours and the young lord’s — they can only feel delight. No one would think anything of it.”
Princess Yongtai lowered her head and smiled. With the baby as a topic of conversation, the awkwardness eased. She found herself genuinely charmed — it was rare to encounter someone in the capital like Ming Huashang, who was perceptive and considerate without making others feel any pressure. Curiosity stirred within her. “You are…”
Ming Huashang replied openly: “I am Ming Huashang of the Duke Zhenguo household, the second daughter. Please call me Second Lady, Your Highness.”
Princess Yongtai nodded, then said with a touch of hesitation: “I believe I have heard your name before. Are you not the one who…”
Ming Huashang had assumed she was about to mention the matter of being a twin — she had already prepared her answer: “Yes, I have an elder brother.” But to her surprise, Princess Yongtai said instead: “Are you not the one who has been assisting the Jing Zhaoyiin office in solving cases?”
Ming Huashang looked pleasantly surprised, then laughed and acknowledged it: “Indeed. For word to have reached Your Highness’s ears as well — how embarrassing.”
Princess Yongtai observed her composed, unhurried manner and felt a quiet complexity stirring within.
By nature Princess Yongtai was sensitive and reserved, with little taste for socializing. Word that reached her ears was usually nothing flattering.
The noble ladies of the aristocratic circles had been frequently gossiping about Ming Huashang lately. On the surface they praised her courage for daring to involve herself with the Jing Zhaoyiin office, but in private they mocked the late Duchess’s poor parenting — no mother in the household to properly raise the girl, letting a daughter of the main wife run about outside in such an unseemly way, practically inviting herself to be the talk of every occasion. What kind of proper young lady was that? Proof, they said, that no great household could be without a mistress — the Duke ought to remarry sooner rather than later…
Such cutting remarks had found their way to Princess Yongtai’s ears, which showed just how widely they had spread. As the person at the center of it all, Ming Huashang surely could not have been entirely unaware. Yet she was not the least bit burdened by these rumors. Princess Yongtai grew more curious. “The Jing Zhaoyiin office is staffed entirely by men. Would your elders at home not take issue with you going there?”
Ming Huashang, unwilling to speak ill of her family outright, answered diplomatically: “Grandmother and my aunt do worry about me.”
Princess Yongtai’s eyes widened: “And you still go?”
Ming Huashang said it as though it were the most natural thing in the world: “Because I like it.”
Princess Yongtai had not expected such an answer, and remained still for a long moment before slowly repeating: “You like it?”
“Yes.” When Ming Huashang spoke of what she loved, her eyes lit up. “I was never able to endure hardship — I couldn’t learn to play the qin, couldn’t master needlework either. In the past I had no particular ambitions, just thought I would spend my days comfortably in my own little world and that would be fine. Then one day, I suddenly realized I might not live to old age, and I began thinking: in whatever time I have left, I must do something meaningful — otherwise what is the point of this life? As it happened, my elder brother was working at the Jing Zhaoyiin office. I saw the case files, saw the terrible deaths of those victims, and I thought: so many people are fighting with everything they have just to stay alive, yet there are always those who show no regard for life and take it freely from others. That roused something in me — I couldn’t let it go. So I made up my mind to track down every one of those people with my own two hands, and that is how I have come to be here now.”
Princess Yongtai listened.
This was an experience entirely absent from her own life. Her existence had not been without its difficulties — but unlike Ming Huashang, who, upon realizing the fragility of life, had chosen to take action, to be brave, to pursue what she loved, Princess Yongtai had curled inward. She stopped thinking, stopped yearning, stopped reaching — and the days passed that way, too.
She feared that if she dared to hope, good things would never arrive. Better to want nothing, and so spare herself the pain.
Reflecting on this now, Princess Yongtai realized there had never been a single thing in her life she had done out of love — only things that happened to her, which she then tried her best to love afterward.
Jian Xian had been like that. Wu Yanyi too. During their time in Fangzhou, Jian Xian had loved her dearly — everyone said a woman who married a man who loved her would live well, so she married him. Then the Empress forced them apart and made her wed Wu Yanyi. Wu Yanyi was also a good man, and Princess Yongtai thought that it didn’t really matter who one spent one’s life with — so she made herself forget Jian Xian, and tried to love Wu Yanyi instead.
And so they had a child, and her life at last seemed to be settling into something steady, a course she could follow all the way to its end.
A quiet, uneventful, ordinary end.
Princess Yongtai stood in a daze for a long moment, staring at Ming Huashang before her, and felt a sudden, deep yearning for such a life. “If you were to marry,” she asked, “with a husband, parents-in-law, perhaps even children — would you still have so much time to spend outside? What if your husband disapproved?”
“If he disapproved, then he would not become my husband.” Ming Huashang said. “I have been lucky enough to enjoy Heaven’s favor — born into wealth and comfort, grown to this age without want or illness. I have already known prosperity. I have nothing left to cling to. For the rest of my life I want only to do what I love and love who I choose. Whether he is poor and struggling or dazzlingly powerful, whether his tomorrows are uncertain or his rise assured — I would be willing to face all of it alongside him.”
As Ming Huashang said these words, her eyes were clear and resolute. Princess Yongtai knew at once: “You have someone dear to your heart?”
Ming Huashang paused, then nodded with a touch of shyness: “Yes.”
Speaking of the one she loved, the young woman’s cheeks grew faintly flushed, her eyes luminous and clear — it was the sort of expression that made anyone watching want to smile. Princess Yongtai smiled gently, yet an inexplicable sting rose in her eyes unbidden.
Though she was of higher rank, she deeply envied Ming Huashang. She could never love someone so freely and fiercely. She had never had such courage — to pursue the things that brought her joy.
She did not even know the meaning of pursuit. Her life was only making do.
Ming Huashang caught herself having said too much and suddenly noticed that Princess Yongtai’s expression had changed. She was startled. “Your Highness — what is the matter?”
Princess Yongtai pressed her tears back, smiled and shook her head, slipping once more into the gentle, serene manner the world expected of her. “It is nothing — a bit of dust in my eye from the wind. I have been outside long enough, and my mother may be looking for me. I should go in.”
Ming Huashang could not let a pregnant woman walk alone, and quickly said: “The wine has nearly left my head as well — allow me to escort Your Highness.”
Ming Huashang supported Princess Yongtai, and they walked slowly along the gracefully winding covered corridor. Quick, purposeful footsteps sounded from ahead. Someone came around the bend and, seeing them, strode forward rapidly: “Xianhui, how did you end up out here?”
“Prince Wei’s heir.” Ming Huashang stepped aside with a bow. Wu Yanyi grasped Princess Yongtai’s arm, and she said gently: “I found it stifling inside and came out for a walk. Second Young Lady Ming was kind enough to keep me company.”
Only then did Wu Yanyi turn his attention to Ming Huashang. He gave her a small nod in acknowledgment, then wrapped an arm around Princess Yongtai and said: “The weather hasn’t turned yet — be careful of the chill. Prince Shao has had a bit too much to drink and wants to return to the Eastern Palace to rest. Let me send you back as well.”
Princess Yongtai reflexively began to protest: “This is my aunt’s banquet — how can I leave early?”
“You are with child, and you must come first in all things. Let me speak a word to Father, and I’ll stay with you at the Eastern Palace tonight — no need to return to the Wang residence.”
Ming Huashang deliberately fell behind, listening to their quiet murmuring until the sound faded and she could no longer hear them.
Princess Yongtai had grown up amid exile and confinement, and had never dared make demands of anyone, always afraid of causing trouble. Wu Yanyi was her opposite — raised in the blazing brilliance of the Prince Wei residence, the son of the most-favored prince, perhaps even a future heir to the throne, he was accustomed to making his own wishes paramount. Under his gentle insistence, Princess Yongtai gradually settled, the worry easing from her brow, and she was finally able to leave this place thick with the smell of wine and go home to rest in peace.
Ming Huashang watched the young couple walk away together, and let out a quiet sigh. The Empress had forced together a match, yet had inadvertently made a good one. Princess Yongtai was gentle and still but too cautious — she always tended to defer to others; and Wu Yanyi, though not eloquent, had an inner strength. Together, though not childhood sweethearts, they could make a genuinely happy life.
Ming Huashang wished them well with all sincerity. After a life half spent adrift, Princess Yongtai could finally put down roots, and see the clouds part and the moon emerge.
·
Prince Shao Li Chongrun had drunk too much at the banquet and wished to leave early. The two Zhang brothers and Prince Wei and others tried to keep him — but Princess Taiping took one look at her nephew’s complexion, and in the end let him go.
Since Prince Shao was departing, there was no inconvenience in taking one more passenger along; Wu Yanyi escorted Princess Yongtai away together.
Princess Taiping’s residence was built right beside the Taiji Palace, in the most prosperous part of Chang’an — so it was no time at all before they arrived at the Eastern Palace. Once Li Chongrun was back, he immediately ordered a sobering broth to be prepared. Princess Yongtai, seeing the discomfort on her brother’s face, fretted: “Elder Brother, how did you drink so much? And you — why didn’t you stop him?”
Wu Yanyi had done nothing wrong and was completely wronged, but bore the brunt of his wife’s redirected frustration. He protested his innocence: “Why should it have been my place to stop him? Prince Shao is a prince of the Eastern Palace — if he doesn’t want to drink, who would dare pour wine down his throat? But the two Zhang brothers kept insisting he drink, and what could I do about that?”
At the mention of the two Zhang brothers, all three of them fell silent. As pure descendants of the imperial house, it was impossible for them to regard with anything but contempt those two who attended upon their aging grandmother, who wielded their looks and charm to give orders and stir up trouble — who even dared position themselves as equals.
With the wine working in him, Li Chongrun’s temper flared and he burst out: “What is Grandmother thinking — our Father and Prince Xiang Uncle are her own sons, yet she doesn’t want her own flesh and blood to attend on her. Instead she spends her days with those two brothers, hanging on their every word. Two entertainers who can sing and play — and Grandmother actually enfeoffed them as Dukes. Word is they’ve even been lobbying her to give them princely titles. It’s an utter farce. For all her iron will throughout her life, in her old age she’s being played by two fools. This is a disgrace to every ancestor of the Li clan.”
Under ordinary circumstances Li Chongrun would not have said such things. After all, the Empress was still nominally the sovereign — aged as she was, she couldn’t remain confused much longer, and however favored the two Zhang brothers were now, how much longer could they flaunt it? Better to endure and let it pass.
But tonight the wine had done its work, and the humiliation of being called upon and dismissed by the two Zhangs was especially unbearable. Li Chongrun told himself he was the grandson of Emperor Gaozong — legitimate imperial blood — and why should he suffer in silence before two men who traded on their looks? Everyone present was his own trusted people, so the Prince spoke without restraint, pouring out the grievances he had long suppressed.
Wu Yanyi, though the eldest legitimate son of Prince Wei, held his father’s conduct in low regard — he particularly disliked his father’s dealings with the two Zhang brothers. He added: “The two of them grew up in the pleasure quarters. From childhood they learned how to serve and flatter — what business do they have discussing court affairs? Yet His Majesty has allowed them to meddle in governance, even in the appointment and dismissal of officials. It is truly a mistake.”
The hostility men feel toward other men who gain wealth and power through their looks is far more cutting than any woman’s. The two of them worked each other up with every exchange, and though everyone present was trusted, they were still within the palace. Princess Yongtai, fearing the situation might spiral into trouble, interceded: “That’s enough. In the end this is Grandmother’s business — since she wishes it, let her be. Our place as her descendants is simply to conduct ourselves properly.”
Li Chongrun and Wu Yanyi both looked deeply unconvinced, and gave every impression of not having heard a word of it. Princess Yongtai could do nothing with either her husband or her brother. Seeing that the sobering broth had still not arrived, she asked: “Is the sobering broth not ready yet? Let me go check in the kitchen.”
Li Chongrun said: “Leave things like that to the maids — why go yourself? Come sit down.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m not made of paper — a few steps won’t hurt me.” With that, Princess Yongtai walked to the door and pushed it open — and was surprised to find someone on the other side. “Second Brother? When did you arrive? Why didn’t you come in?”
Li Chongfu, the second illegitimate son of the Crown Prince, stood outside the door with a somewhat awkward smile. “I just arrived as well — I was afraid of intruding on Elder Brother and Elder Sister’s conversation. Where were you heading, Elder Sister?”
“I was going to check on the sobering broth. Elder Brother’s head always aches after he drinks — if we don’t dispel the alcohol now, he’ll be suffering again tomorrow.”
Li Chongfu glanced at Li Chongrun and Wu Yanyi inside the room, then said tactfully: “There’s no need to trouble yourself with that, Elder Sister — I’ll go. You should rest and take care of the child.”
Li Chongrun and Wu Yanyi both accepted this as a matter of course. As their respective family’s eldest legitimate sons, they were long accustomed to being the center of attention — it was only natural for a lesser son to run errands for them. Princess Yongtai genuinely worried about disturbing the baby if she walked too much, and so did not insist. She gave Li Chongfu a small smile: “Then I’ll leave it to you, Second Brother.”