Not long after the hunt ended, before Ming Huashang had even found time to draft the invitation to Su Xingzhi, the palace sent out the imperial marriage decree.

Everyone in the Duke Zhenguo’s household, Ming Huashang included, was startled into a jolt.

After the eunuch who had delivered the decree departed, Ming Huashang looked at the document in her hand, covered all over with seals from the Ministry of Rites, then thought of the still-unfinished invitation lying on her desk, and could not help murmuring to herself: “Is this the reason I never passed the jinshi examinations?”

The slacker was still procrastinating, while the overachiever had already completed the entire decree process. Li Huazhang’s capacity for action was truly alarming.

Meanwhile, the other hidden overachiever, Ming Yuji, had already fetched the calendar and begun selecting auspicious days for the wedding. Seeing Ming Huashang standing dazedly in place without moving, she said with disdain: “What are you standing there for? Come and look at the dates. The seventeenth of the eighth month, the second of the tenth month, and the twenty-first of the eleventh month are all auspicious days for marriage. What do you think?”

Ming Huashang had no idea how, having just received the marriage decree, they had already arrived at the step of selecting a date. Looking at Ming Yuji’s manner, one would think she was on the verge of being married off that very moment. Ming Huashang walked over and sat down at the edge of the couch, hesitating a moment before saying: “There’s no rush. I want to spend a few more days with you and Father.”

Ming Yuji did not look up and said: “That makes no difference. A matter as important as a wedding — the sooner the date is fixed, the better everything else can be arranged.”

Ming Huashang was silent for a moment, then smiled and pressed her hand over Ming Yuji’s: “Wait until next year. I want to be married on a day filled with sunlight and the fragrance of flowers. All the auspicious days this year fall in autumn and winter — it’s too cold.”

Duke Zhenguo expressed deep agreement with this and immediately said: “Huashang has a point. There’s no need to rush with this kind of thing.”

Ming Yuji froze and lifted her eyes toward Ming Huashang. Ming Huashang was still smiling, her gaze clear and gentle. Yet Ming Yuji seemed to understand something. She quietly closed the calendar and said: “All right.”

A wedding should be filled with joy and hope — not like the present moment, with undercurrents surging beneath the surface and winds and rain on all sides, when at any moment a coup could erupt. If the coup succeeded, they would have ample time to prepare the wedding. If it failed, the whole family would be together — they could very well see to it in the underworld.

Duke Zhenguo watched this scene and was suddenly overcome by a tide of feeling.

Today’s sunlight, for some inexplicable reason, made him think of the summer of the thirty-second year of the Yonghui era. That year had been like now — the weather had grown hot very early, and throughout the entire summer, every day was brilliantly sunny. No one would have predicted that a tragedy of mother against son would, with the swiftness of thunder, upend the great Tang Dynasty that everyone knew.

Ming Huashang and Li Huazhang had said nothing, yet Duke Zhenguo could sense it: this summer was like that one all those years ago — beneath the clear sky, storm clouds were gathering.

The difference was that last time they had been entirely unaware, and had naively hoped the Empress Dowager Tianhou would change her mind. This time, their children had chosen to strike first.

If back then he had not treated it as a matter internal to the Crown Prince’s family, had not chosen to keep silent about the dispute between the Empress Dowager and the Crown Prince, but had instead actively urged the Crown Prince to remove her — would the outcome have been different?

But Duke Zhenguo would never know the answer. Because fate was a serpent biting its own tail. The man he had been then would never have entertained such a thought, one so heedless of human bonds. If he had been capable of speaking such ruthlessly decisive words, he would never have become Prince Zhanghuai’s most trusted confidant, and would never have been entrusted with the prince’s last wishes.

As though everything had been destined. Could it be that Heaven itself had ordained that Prince Zhanghuai must die?

Duke Zhenguo sank into emptiness, and was suddenly jolted back by something striking him. He reflexively caught it — and found it was a rosebush blossom that had fallen from outside the window. He stood in slight bewilderment, hearing the chirping of birds outside, while his two daughters sat in the sunlight arguing about what to eat for lunch.

Ming Huashang turned and asked: “Father, would you like locust-leaf cold noodles or shepherd’s purse cold noodles?”

Duke Zhenguo thought about it carefully and said: “I think pork cold noodles would be better.”

“No,” Ming Yuji refused outright. “Pork is already fatty, and kneaded into noodles it becomes even harder to digest. How would that constitute dietary therapy? Then let us have locust-leaf cold noodles. Tell the kitchen — remember to pick fresh, tender locust leaves about one inch long, pound them into juice, then mix the juice into the flour. When kneading the dough, it must be neither too soft nor too firm, so that the rolled noodles come out with good elasticity. Also, when cutting, slice them into long thin strips. Drop them into the water once it is at a full boil, retrieve them quickly, and cool them in chilled spring water — not ice.”

Ming Yuji passed the menu to a serving girl, giving detailed instructions. Ming Huashang added several requirements from time to time, as though this meal were the most important thing in the world and every last detail must be perfectly refined. Duke Zhenguo listened to all these requirements and felt sympathy for the kitchen maids.

But he knew that his opinion had never carried much weight with his daughters, and so he sensibly held his tongue. He tossed the fallen blossom from his palm out through the window and watched it settle into the earth below. Come next year, it would become fertilizer, sprouting again, blooming again, falling again, repeating the same cycle over and over. Yet in the unseen places, roots would grow, stems would thicken, and the young ladies sitting at the window to watch the flowers would grow older day by day.

Fate might be destined, but his children possessed infinite possibility.

·

Li Huazhang came out of the Ministry of Rites and made his way toward the Imperial Astronomical Bureau. An imperial marriage decree was not sufficient with only the Emperor’s approval — after the Empress Regnant agreed, the document still had to pass through the Secretariat, the Chancellery, the Ministry of Rites, and several other departments, with every official in each department signing and stamping before the decree truly took effect.

This was a lengthy undertaking, and even the most favored imperial sons and daughters often had to wait several months before gathering all the required formalities.

Unfortunately, he could not substitute for the officials in applying their seals, and so Li Huazhang sent formal correspondence to the Ministry of Rites every single day inquiring after the progress, and personally visited the homes of absent officials to express his concern about their failure to appear at the bureau. The result was that during this period, the people at the Ministry of Rites grew tense the moment they heard the two words “Prince Yong.” Under Li Huazhang’s relentless urging, the chronically understaffed Ministry of Rites managed, in a mere five days, to complete all the seals.

Once the marriage decree was issued, the next step was the formal exchange of chosen dates. Such matters naturally required consulting the woman’s side. Li Huazhang promptly wrote to Duke Zhenguo’s household, and the reply from the Ming family contained dates that were mostly in the following year. Li Huazhang, understanding the implication without needing it spelled out, placed the wedding date as far away as he reasonably could.

Perhaps because of his implicit suggestion, the auspicious dates that the Imperial Astronomical Bureau had calculated all turned out to be very soon — and so today he was visiting the bureau to have them perform another divination.

Along the way, he encountered a familiar face. Han Jie started, then immediately revealed a smile and bowed in salute to Li Huazhang: “This official pays his respects to Prince Yong. Congratulations on the joyous occasion of your betrothal.”

Han Jie held the nominal position of Fifth-Rank Administrator at the Court of Imperial Sacrifices — a post with neither real authority nor any lucrative benefits, one that no one would pay particular attention to. Few people knew that this man, so utterly unremarkable and apparently mediocre, held the power of life and death over every official in the entire court.

At this moment in the palace city, officials and clerks were constantly passing by on all sides. In terms of surface rank, Han Jie at merely the Fifth Rank should be the one performing the salute to Li Huazhang. But Li Huazhang understood the true status of both men, and naturally would not accept Han Jie’s full bow. He evaded Han Jie’s gesture and returned a partial salute with composed calm: “Many thanks.”

Han Jie perfectly performed the role of an official who had never flourished, warmly flattering upon encountering a prince currently in favor. He asked: “I hear that Prince Yong’s future consort is your former foster sister — the two of you grew up together as childhood companions. My sincerest congratulations. When does the Prince plan to wed?”

“I would not dare claim such a thing. She wishes to spend more time with her family, so the wedding is not yet urgent. I am just now on my way to the Imperial Astronomical Bureau to calculate a date.”

“I see. Even for something so small, the Prince attends to it personally — it is clear you are very much looking forward to this marriage.”

Li Huazhang’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles. He made no denial: “When it is one’s own affair, handling it personally is always more reliable.”

Han Jie gave a soft laugh and bowed once more: “Then I will not keep the Prince any longer. I may not be able to attend the wedding — allow me to offer my congratulations in advance, and wish the Prince and his consort a harmonious union and a lifetime of happiness together.”

Li Huazhang did not know how much truth lay within those words. Han Jie was the elder he respected most, and also the most dangerous enemy he had — yet in this moment, looking into the eyes of the man who had once been his teacher, he spoke with sincerity: “Many thanks. She and I will.”

Han Jie smiled at Li Huazhang. Neither said anything more. Like strangers encountered on the road, they exchanged only what was necessary, and then passed each other by, walking in opposite directions toward their respective destinations. They walked far apart, and neither looked back.

After Prince Yong’s betrothal, his already relentless schedule grew even more frantic. He reopened many old cases, moved between various departments of the court, and whenever he found a spare moment, he rushed to Duke Zhenguo’s household, personally demonstrating what it meant to be a model son-in-law.

The people of Chang’an, while marveling at Duke Zhenguo’s good fortune, gradually grew accustomed to Prince Yong’s high-intensity public displays of devotion. Everyone in Chang’an, including Han Jie himself, paid little notice to the overly frequent contact between Li Huazhang and Ming Huashang.

The ladies of Chang’an’s social circles had grown so accustomed to seeing the Yong Prince accompany those two Ming sisters whenever they went out that an unspoken rule had even developed in their social world: to invite the Prince Yong, one first had to invite Ming Huashang.

More than a few people remarked that quiet dogs truly were the ones that bit, and that neither of those Ming sisters was an easy person. Ming Huashang in particular — seemingly modest and unassuming, never grabbing for status or prominence, had in fact cultivated the perfect husband for herself long ago and with great foresight. It was hardly Duke Zhenguo’s household raising a child for Prince Zhanghuai — rather, it was Prince Zhanghuai who had produced a son for the Ming family.

And after Ming Yuji’s very public outburst during the spring hunt, her reputation as someone not to be trifled with had also spread widely. The world was a strange place: the harder you tried to fit into a group and get along with everyone properly, the more they wanted to make things difficult for you. But once you tore away the pretense and stopped caring altogether, those very people would become respectful and courteous, even warmer than before.

Human nature, it seemed, was simply to bully the soft and fear the firm. When you became someone not to be provoked, all the people you encountered were well-mannered and civilized souls.

Amid the endless gossip of Chang’an’s social circles, the second year of the Shengli era came to an end. On New Year’s Day, the Empress Regnant dreamed of an azure dragon, and accordingly changed the era name to Shenlong.

Not long after the era name changed, on the twenty-second day of the first month, with the remnant snow yet unmelted and the lanterns of the Lantern Festival not yet taken down, a rapid and forceful set of footsteps shattered the quiet of Chang’an’s winter night.

The guards at Xuanwu Gate made their usual rounds when, without any warning, they were knocked down from behind. Ren Yao swiftly knocked the patrolling soldiers unconscious, ordered people to gag them and bind them, and dragged them into a corner. After confirming everything was properly handled, she stepped quickly to the edge of the city wall and blew a whistle.

The high, clear call of an eagle-owl pierced through the cold, hard wall. Jiang Ling recognized it — the watchtower had fallen under Ren Yao’s control. They were ready to open the city gate.

Jiang Ling waved his hand to his men, his face stern and resolute: “Open the gate, welcome the Crown Prince, purge the Emperor’s side of treacherous ministers!”