Sunlight lay thick and warm. Spring had deepened into something vast and ocean-like. The young women of the household had changed into light, bright spring garments and moved through the gardens like fluttering butterflies. Ming Huashang wore a long skirt the color of pure white, with a light blue half-jacket at her waist and a goose-yellow silk shawl draped over her arms, and led her maids through the layered corridors.

The maids sweeping the paths on either side caught sight of her and each made their bow: “Second Young Miss.”

Ming Huashang inclined her head slightly and asked: “Has Grandmother risen?”

“The Old Madam rose at the fifth watch. She is having her meal now, with the Second Madam and Third Madam keeping her company.”

Ming Huashang thanked them and stepped inside. Ruyi hurried forward to lift the door curtain for her. As Ming Huashang crossed the threshold, she caught faint snatches of the maids behind her — voices deliberately hushed yet unable to hold themselves back — murmuring among themselves.

She could not quite make out the words, but the subject was not difficult to guess: nothing other than the matter of the switched dragon-and-phoenix twins, which had been the talk of the town all this time.

After the Flower Festival, the Empress had issued rewards and punishments in kind. Some had been stripped of their posts for the crime of negligent oversight; others had risen in a single leap. Ming Huashang, having uncovered the killer’s scheme and arrived at the Flower Festival just in time to rescue many members of the imperial family and aristocracy, had become one of the most envied fortunate souls in all of the capital.

Half a month earlier, two imperial edicts had arrived simultaneously at the Zhenguo Ducal Residence. Word had it that the edicts were drafted by Shangguan Wan’er, and they arrived together with a lavish stream of gifts from the palace; the Eastern Palace, Prince Xiang, Princess Taiping, and others had added their own gifts of thanks as well. Ming Huashang had knelt in the main hall of the ducal residence — a hall opened in the past only for weddings, funerals, and grand ceremonies — and in full view of all the household’s masters and servants received the imperial commendation and accepted the edict.

The members of the Ming family knelt in rows across the floor, each wearing a different expression. Duke Zhenguo felt a complicated grief beneath his pride; the Second and Third Branch families alternated between envy and resentment; while the expression on the Old Madam of the Ming family was a mixture of five different flavors at once.

It was not that the Zhenguo Ducal Residence had never rendered meritorious service — but this was the first time an imperial edict had been written out specifically to commend a member of the household, and moreover, the subject of that edict was a daughter of the family.

Not the master of the house, not the eldest son and heir — not even a daughter-in-law. A daughter. One infamous for being good for nothing.

Before the members of the Ming family could finish processing their complicated feelings, something even more significant arrived. The second edict was addressed to Ming Huazhang — though it was not the promotion and title-elevation that everyone in the family had hoped for. Instead, in a few casual strokes of language, it directed Ming Huazhang to adopt the surname Li and choose an auspicious day to move out of the Zhenguo Ducal Residence, residing in the meantime at the former estate of Princess Chengyang.

Ming Huazhang had already informed Duke Zhenguo of the situation after returning from the palace, so the Duke was not surprised by the news — but the rest of the Ming family erupted in an uproar. Before they had even made sense of what had happened, word came from the palace that the Empress had conferred upon Li Huazhang the title of Prince of Yong, and ordered the former residence of Crown Prince Zhanghuai Li Xian — his home before he had been established as Crown Prince and entered the Eastern Palace — to be reopened, renovated, and converted into the Prince of Yong’s residence for him.

A person of a different surname — no matter how great the merit rendered — could never be granted a princely title. Furthermore, Yong Prefecture encompassed Chang’an itself, a strategically vital location at the heart of the capital region, wealthy and prestigious in every respect. Its political significance and symbolic weight alike were immense. That the Empress had granted this fief to Ming Huazhang, had him change his surname, and had moreover given him Crown Prince Zhanghuai’s former residence — without saying a word outright, the implication was unmistakably clear.

Ming Huazhang was in truth not the Duke Zhenguo’s son. He was the son of Crown Prince Zhanghuai — the Empress’s own grandson. As for why the son of Crown Prince Zhanghuai had been raised in the Zhenguo Ducal Residence, the edict offered no explanation, and no one in Chang’an was foolish enough to go and ask. The matter quietly became an open secret within the imperial family.

Within the Zhenguo Ducal Residence, however, it was anything but quiet. The greatest hope of the Old Madam of the Ming family all these years had been placed in Ming Huazhang. Now that it emerged the most accomplished of her grandchildren was not of her own bloodline — what did that make the twins of the First Branch? If they were real, where was the other child?

With things having come to this point, Duke Zhenguo could no longer maintain his pretense, and disclosed everything about that night. When the Old Madam heard the full account of how the infants had been swapped, she was nearly undone with fury.

The grandson turned out to belong to another family. Wang Yulan had borne only two daughters, one of whom had been raised in the countryside — and that daughter, it seemed, was not willing to come home.

How had things come to this? A matter of such consequence to the entire clan — and it had been kept from the Old Madam of the Ming family for a full seventeen years!

The Old Madam’s rage went without saying. And after a brief stunned interval, the Second and Third Branch families began to stir with fresh calculations of their own.

Sure enough, on this very morning, the Second and Third Branch families had gathered early in the Yanshou Hall, filling it with noise and activity. When Ming Huashang entered the room, the laughter stilled for a moment, then the women of each branch smoothed their handkerchiefs and offered their gracious greetings.

“Second Younger Sister.”

“Second Young Miss.”

Ming Huashang greeted her aunts-by-marriage and her cousins in proper order of seniority, then went to sit beside Ming Yu. The Old Madam swept a glance over Ming Huashang and could not help but knit her brows.

The Old Madam said: “You are going out today. Why are you dressed so plainly?”

Ming Huashang had prepared for this: “Today I am going to light a perpetual lamp for Zhao Cai. I was afraid the Buddha would think my heart was not sincere if I dressed too garishly.”

Both the Old Madam and the Second Madam were devoted Buddhists. This reply successfully stopped their mouths. The Old Madam gave Ming Huashang another look, still privately of the opinion that a maid had died and that was all — a mistress wearing somber colors for a maid was hardly dignified. But with Ming Huazhang’s earlier pronouncements on one side and the imperial rewards on the other, the Old Madam could hardly say more without appearing to be making trouble. She could only force herself to ignore it and let the matter pass from her sight and mind.

Of course, the proper form of address for that young man was now His Highness the Prince of Yong.

The Second Madam continued the conversation from before, speaking in a smooth, unhurried flow: “Mother, the Chunhua Courtyard is nearly in order. The difficulty is that we could not find good timber on short notice. Shall we make do temporarily with the lower-grade pearwood, or use the set of rosewood furniture from the storeroom?”

No sooner had the Second Madam finished than Ming Huashang became aware of many eyes quietly sliding toward her. Ming Huashang smiled in a perfectly natural, matter-of-fact manner: “Of course the best should be used for Sister Yuji. If the storeroom is not sufficient, you may move some pieces from my courtyard — I am in no hurry for them anyway, so let Chunhua Courtyard have first priority.”

The Third Madam languidly fanned herself and said with a slow smile: “Second Young Miss is truly generous and good-natured. That set of rosewood furniture was collected specifically for your dowry. It has been in preparation since you were born. If it were taken apart and used now, it would not be easy to assemble another complete set in a hurry.”

Ming Huashang smiled in kind and replied: “If things had not turned out as they did, the family would naturally have been preparing a dowry for Sister Yuji as well. Besides, we are true sisters — there is no need for us to reckon things out the way a petty household would. Naturally one gives priority to those in greatest need. Third Aunt — would you not agree?”

The Third Madam was caught off guard. Ming Huashang’s words implied a criticism of her for having a small mind — yet Ming Huashang’s gaze was clear and guileless, innocent of any malicious intent. The Third Madam had cause to feel aggrieved but nothing she could call out, and so she could only stretch her lips into a smile and say: “Of course. You are quite right.”

Ming Huashang knew when to stop pressing, and continued listening to the elders’ conversation, looking for all the world like a perfectly biddable young miss. Inwardly, she let out a quiet sigh. When she had first learned that Su Yuji was her true elder sister, her thoughts had gone to how to mend the family relationship — how to address the estrangement between Duke Zhenguo and Su Yuji. It was a pity that the rest of the household had rather different priorities.

Ming Huashang appeared to be listening attentively, but in truth her thoughts had long since returned to half a month ago.

The matter of Su Yuji had to begin with the Flower Festival.

That day, after Ming Huashang and Ming Huazhang had seen Liao Yushan, they had gone immediately in search of Su Yuji the moment they left the prison. And indeed, Su Yuji had not gone to find Su Xingzhi. Judging by her route, she had not been making for the Zhenguo Ducal Residence either.

If their positions had been reversed, Ming Huashang could understand Su Yuji’s awkwardness. It was strange to continue living with Su Xingzhi since she was not truly a Su family member — yet to go directly back to the Zhenguo Ducal Residence meant crossing a barrier she could not surmount within herself.

In the midst of Su Yuji’s dilemma, Ming Huashang and Ming Huazhang arrived.

Ming Huashang sincerely invited Su Yuji to come home. Su Yuji refused. Duke Zhenguo was the one who had sent her away — left her outside for seventeen years without so much as a word. To come knocking on his door herself to claim her family now would be far too eager.

When someone’s feelings are knotted up, one cannot compel them to untangle. Ming Huashang had no power to force the matter. At this point Ming Huazhang said: “I have a middle way to propose. We find a separate courtyard in the eastern part of the city and rent it, so that Su Yuji can live on her own. You need not worry about the other details — she may stay as long as she wishes. In the future, whether to return to the Su family, to the Ming family, or to live on her own altogether, the choice is entirely hers to make.”

This was indeed a reasonable arrangement. Su Yuji had been a dependent in the Su household from childhood. Though Nanny Su had done her utmost for her, Su Yuji would never forget for the rest of her life the feeling of living under someone else’s roof. If she went back to the Zhenguo Ducal Residence now, that would also amount to living under someone else’s roof.

She would rather live somewhere worse. At least there she would not be subject to the scrutiny of others’ moods.

Ming Huazhang saw that Su Yuji was swayed, and voluntarily said: “If you are willing, I can help you find a suitable house. But I will not help you conceal your whereabouts from Duke Zhenguo or Su Xingzhi. I am incapable of that, so I will be honest with you beforehand: if they ask me where your new address is, I will tell them truthfully.”

Su Yuji’s brow furrowed, and she was visibly displeased: “This is my own business. There is no need for them to interfere.”

“This is not interference — it is responsibility toward those close to you.” Ming Huazhang said. “Whatever your ultimate decision may be, the elders should know your whereabouts — at least so that in an urgent situation, they know where to find you.”

On this point Ming Huashang sided with Ming Huazhang, and put it gently: “He is right. Those few days when you sent no word, we were all terribly worried — Su Xingzhi especially. They are afraid you might encounter some danger.”

Su Yuji was one of the rare people who, having been told off, did not take offense. She gave a tacit acceptance of their terms. Ming Huazhang took Su Yuji to look at properties in the eastern city, and Ming Huashang and Su Yuji both took a liking to a two-courtyard compound. Ming Huazhang raised no objections and paid a full year’s rent on the spot.

Seeing Ming Huazhang produce the payment, Su Yuji’s instinct was to feel uncomfortable. Ming Huazhang noticed, and with calm candor said: “This is something I owe you. Compared to the undeserved misfortune you have suffered all these years, this is the smallest of restitutions.”

Ming Huashang also smiled and said: “Indeed, Yuji Sister. Do not try to save his money for him.”

Su Yuji fell silent. She slowly looked around the place, and noticed that this square — the residential block — was separated from the Zhenguo Ducal Residence by only a single street. Not too near, not too far: close enough to look after each other at any moment, yet leaving Su Yuji sufficient space and dignity.

Su Yuji’s feelings toward Ming Huazhang had initially been deeply hostile — after all, had it not been for him, she would not have been cast away by her own family at birth. Yet on the lantern tower, he had shown both intelligence and bravery, always acting at the forefront and taking the lead. Without his command, it was hard to say whether any of them could have come out alive. And after leaving the danger behind, he had displayed a strong sensitivity and sense of proportion, gently resolving problems in a way that never carried any air of bestowing charity.

A person like this — even if Su Yuji deliberately sought fault with him — offered no grounds for her to dislike him with a clear conscience.

When they returned to the Zhenguo Ducal Residence, Ming Huazhang went first to speak privately with Duke Zhenguo. What passed between them Ming Huashang did not know, but afterward Duke Zhenguo had gone to find Su Yuji. As expected, Su Yuji refused to come back. Duke Zhenguo returned to the residence in low spirits for several days, then gave orders to have the Chunhua Courtyard prepared and renovated.

Chunhua and Qiushi were the main courtyards of the Zhenguo Ducal Residence’s eastern and western wings — by custom, reserved for the eldest son and the eldest daughter. Since Ming Huashang, for the ease of her late-night escapes, lived in a courtyard tucked against the rear wall, and Ming Huazhang had stayed nearby to keep her company, the Chunhua and Qiushi Courtyards had stood unused all this time.

The Zhenguo Ducal Residence had put people to work getting the Chunhua Courtyard in order, and furnishings of every description streamed in — the whole thing had the air of pressing down on Ming Huashang from above. For the past several days, people had come to stir things up in Ming Huashang’s ears with gossip at every turn, each time being turned back with a measured, firm response from her.

She understood that her father wanted to make it up to Su Yuji, and she did not feel that her father giving her long-lost sister more jewels and finery meant that he loved Ming Huashang any less. And yet, the very thing she cared nothing for was the thing someone was determined to use again and again to drive a wedge between her and her family.

It was truly laughable.

Ming Shuo was using her young age to affect an air of naive, artless innocence — so that the Old Madam laughed and cooed. The Second Madam glanced at the Third Branch mother and daughter, reading their small calculations perfectly.

The Second Madam knew herself to be no great intellect, and her family background was not grand. Many people looked down on her for being small-minded — but her one strength was knowing her own limits.

The Second Branch was a secondary line. Never mind that the Old Madam currently relied on them heavily; the moment something touched on genuine interests, the Old Madam would never side with the Second Branch. The Second Madam kept her attitude measured and even. Her only wish was to receive the Second Branch’s rightful share when the family divided its assets, and, if possible, to make use of the Zhenguo Ducal Residence’s prestige while it still stood in order to arrange a good match for Ming Yu. That would be more than enough.

And so she had never coveted the ducal title. Even when it suddenly came to light that Ming Huazhang was not the Duke Zhenguo’s son — leaving the First Branch without a male heir — the Second Madam felt not a ripple of feeling within.

Because it was none of her business. Watching purely as a spectator, the Second Madam saw everything with particular clarity. The Old Madam appeared to place the First Branch first in all things, and to prioritize the eldest line above all — yet in her heart, the person she cared about most was her youngest son. Just look at how she had elevated the Third Madam to such heights of confidence and ambition. And even with the First Branch having no male heir — even with the near-certainty that an heir would need to be adopted to continue the line — it was not as though Duke Zhenguo had died yet. Already assuming that the properties of the ducal residence were as good as theirs, resenting the dowries being set aside for Ming Huashang and her sister as money spent out of their own pocket — it was a truly unseemly display.

With that much scheming energy, it would be better used to consider how to curry favor with the Prince of Yong.

Having failed to gain her point, the Third Madam could only offer the Old Madam inconsequential pleasantries. Before long, a page boy arrived from Duke Zhenguo, announcing: “Old Madam, all the young misses — the Duke says the carriages are prepared and ready. You may depart at any time.”

The Old Madam gave the word: “Then let us go.”

The maids immediately came to help the Old Madam to her feet. Ming Shuo kept close to the Old Madam’s left and right, and together they moved slowly toward the door. Ming Huashang fell back without drawing attention, trailing at the very end. Ruyi asked: “Young Miss, did you leave something behind?”

Ming Huashang shook her head, lifted her smile again, and with a full, bright energy said: “It’s nothing. Let us hurry — we still need to go and collect Sister Yuji.”

Today, the whole Zhenguo Ducal Residence was going out to burn incense — for, as the Old Madam put it, far too many things had happened in the residence of late, and a proper visit to the Buddha was much needed. The rest of the household naturally had no objection to voice, and all agreed at once. When Ming Huashang heard the plan, a thought stirred in her mind.

This was an excellent opportunity to begin mending things. She immediately went to inform Duke Zhenguo and Su Yuji. The Duke, who had always been accommodating to his younger daughter in every matter, agreed without a second word and went with Ming Huashang without hesitation. As for Su Yuji — while she was unwilling to return to the ducal residence, hearing that the purpose was to burn incense for Zhao Cai, she found she had not the heart to refuse, and agreed to come.

And so it followed quite naturally that the Zhenguo Ducal Residence “happened to pass by” and collected Su Yuji along the way, all proceeding together to the Great Zhao National Temple to burn incense.

When Duke Zhenguo heard that Su Yuji would be accompanying them, he was overcome with joy, and had gone back and forth checking on the arrangements a great many times over the preceding days — stopping just short of going out to feed the horses himself. The carriages were already waiting at the inner gate. The Old Madam boarded with unhurried dignity, and Ming Huashang waited behind in proper order.

Her thoughts drifted for a moment. A breeze passed through just then, and the withered leaves clinging to the branches fell in a shower over Ming Huashang’s head. She reached up absently to brush them away — and touched instead a pair of slightly cool hands.

Someone had moved ahead of her, carefully working the fallen leaves free from her hair. Ming Huashang instinctively turned — and stopped short at the sight of the visitor. “How did you come to be here?”

He drew out the bits of leaf from her hair with careful precision, his voice light and clear — yet perfectly matter-of-fact: “When the sisters of the household go out, it is only natural for this elder brother to accompany them.”