The Eastern Market.
Yifeng Pavilion catered exclusively to noble clientele. Ming Yuji had barely stepped down from her carriage when the proprietor came forward to greet her, fawning obsequiously: “Greetings, Elder Miss Ming — please, right this way inside.”
Ming Yuji responded briefly and walked briskly into the shop. “I heard your establishment recently received a new shipment of zitan rosewood. Has the writing table I ordered been finished?”
The proprietor’s smile flickered, then reasserted itself. “Not yet. Elder Miss Ming, please wait a little longer — fine timber takes time to work, the schedule cannot be rushed.”
“I have already been waiting at your establishment for half a year. If I wait any longer, the wedding date will have passed.” As Ming Yuji was speaking, she noticed a shop assistant carrying out a set of table furniture from the back — the very style she had ordered. Ming Yuji gave a sound of surprise. “Isn’t that already finished?”
The proprietor flushed with awkwardness, and urgently signalled to the shop assistant with his eyes: “Elder Miss Ming, you must be mistaken — this piece was ordered by the Princess Anle manor.”
In an instant, Ming Yuji understood. Her expression grew cold, and she fixed the proprietor with a cool stare. “A proprietor’s business is his own — what he makes, and for whom, is not my place to question. But all things have their proper order of precedence. Even if you mean to give priority to a more distinguished patron, the floral patterns on this table, the mother-of-pearl inlay — they match my design specifications exactly. Proprietor, is this also a coincidence?”
As the date of Ming Huashang’s wedding drew closer, Ming Yuji — knowing how much her sister loved to paint — had commissioned a bespoke writing table for her, selecting the timber, the form, the craftsmanship, and the decorative mother-of-pearl inlay all by hand. She had poured a great deal of thought into this table, and she was therefore completely certain: the piece Yifeng Pavilion had just brought out was the one she had ordered.
A table made with such personal care was naturally different from an ordinary stock piece. This writing table had an antique form with exquisitely refined details — elegant, dignified, and possessed of a certain meditative quality. The attendants from the Princess Anle manor had spotted it immediately and taken a liking to it.
Princess Anle was one of the great celebrities of Chang’an. Yifeng Pavilion’s proprietor, wishing to curry favour with her, had offered a customer’s bespoke piece as a gift — and was now attempting to deceive Ming Yuji into believing it had not yet been finished.
Had today’s visit not happened to coincide with this moment, Ming Yuji would have been truly taken in.
The proprietor had been caught in the act and was deeply embarrassed. But he quickly composed himself and said calmly: “My sincere apologies, Elder Miss Ming — but when Princess Anle expresses a desire for something, I cannot very well disappoint her. I ask the young lady to understand. Please wait just a little while, and I will have the craftsmen complete yours with all speed.”
The proprietor’s words were simple, but their implication was sufficiently clear: Princess Anle’s wishes took precedence. If the Duke Zhenguo manor was displeased, that was simply how things were.
It didn’t even require a second thought to understand: one was the Emperor’s own daughter; the other was a nephew who posed a threat to his throne. Which the Emperor would favour was so self-evident it didn’t need to be said.
Moreover, Princess Anle was no ordinary favoured princess. She had been born on the road during the Emperor and Empress Wei’s period of exile, and the Emperor had delivered her with his own hands. Through those years they had faced life and death together, shared every hardship — she was the Emperor’s only solace during the darkest of his days, and her significance to him was beyond all comparison. And as she grew older, Princess Anle had become increasingly beautiful, so much so that travelling merchants from foreign lands had crowned her the foremost beauty of the great Tang.
Her father was the Emperor; her mother was the Empress; her father-in-law was Prince Liang, the sole heir to the Zhou Wu legacy; her husband was Prince Liang’s heir apparent — himself young and already holding great power. Whether in terms of political standing or personal affection, she was a figure of the utmost consequence.
This was precisely why Yifeng Pavilion’s proprietor dared to so openly offend the Duke Zhenguo manor. At the very least, for as long as the current Emperor lived, it was inconceivable that the Princess Yong consort would be more favoured than Princess Anle. Even if the situation were reversed under the next emperor, that was a matter of ten years or more at minimum — and who could say what things would look like by then? The benefit at hand was the most tangible thing of all. Appropriating the Princess Yong consort’s piece to please Princess Anle was a sure gain.
Ming Yuji had seen through the contempt lurking beneath the proprietor’s apology. Her eyes turned cold. “It seems, then, that the proprietor has made up his mind to offend the Duke Zhenguo manor?”
The proprietor kept repeating “how could I dare,” when at that moment the attendants from the Princess Anle manor arrived. Before they had even crossed the threshold, one of them said with impatience: “Is everything ready? Why the delay?”
“Coming!” The proprietor instantly rearranged his face into a smile, abandoned Ming Yuji entirely, and went swarming over to fawn upon the Princess Anle manor’s people. The maid who had accompanied Ming Yuji was furious. “Those dogs with their snobbish eyes! This is outrageous!”
Ming Yuji quietly clenched her fist. In former times, she would have smashed the place to pieces before allowing anyone to take what was hers — but the person she was now was no longer Su Yuji. She was the elder miss of the Duke Zhenguo manor, and more than that, the elder sister of the Princess Yong consort.
Those at the bottom could settle matters with their fists. The higher one climbed, the more useless physical force became. Ming Yuji did not fear damage to her own reputation, but Ming Huashang was different. Ming Huashang would have to maintain a long-standing relationship with the Li imperial family in the future. If Ming Yuji caused a scene, how would Ming Huashang and Princess Anle conduct themselves when they next met?
Ming Yuji held her anger for a long while, and ultimately decided that the larger picture must take precedence. She turned aside and said coldly to the maids: “We’re leaving.”
Her expression set like ice, Ming Yuji strode swiftly through the crowd toward the exit, cold as frost. At the very moment she stepped over the threshold, a blue-robed figure came to stand beside her and spoke in a clear, even voice: “All things have their proper order. Is this how Princess Anle permits her household servants to behave — to run riot as they please? Such conduct — how is it any different from that of the Zhang brothers?”
Ming Yuji’s eyes went wide with astonishment. She turned and saw Su Xingzhi standing nearby — rigid, severe, without a trace of accommodation, as straight and proper as the guardian deity of a temple.
The steward of the Princess Anle manor had been in the midst of enjoying his flattery, and was thoroughly displeased at this interruption. “And who are you? What business of yours is anything to do with Princess Anle’s manor?”
Su Xingzhi gave a slight bow in their direction, his manner solemn: “Your servant is Su Xingzhi, Investigating Censor of the Censorate of the Imperial Censorate. I am a man of no consequence and dare not presume to offend imperial kinsmen, but when I encounter an injustice in my path, I may at least say something about it.”
The attendants of the Princess Anle manor heard Su Xingzhi announce his position, and their expressions shifted. Had it been any other official, they would not have dared to say a word against Princess Anle even if lent ten times their courage. But if it was one of those stubborn rocks from the Imperial Censorate — that was a different and troublesome matter entirely.
The Censorate monitored the hundred officials, wielded authority over criminal codes and statutes, and rectified the wrongdoings of officials — and the more exalted the person, the more ferociously they impeached them. The steward kept his outward expression one of knowing nothing — as though the proprietor of Yifeng Pavilion had come forward on his own initiative to offer him the piece — but inwardly he knew perfectly well: this was dowry being prepared by the Duke Zhenguo manor for the future Princess Yong consort, and what’s more, he had not planned to pay for it.
But what of that? Their mistress was Princess Anle — Empress Wei’s only child. The Emperor presently deferred to Empress Wei in all things, allowing the Empress to participate in court administration, with all officials of the third rank and below subject to the Empress’s sole decision. Empress Wei was on her way to becoming the next Celestial Empress, and Princess Anle naturally ought to be treated in all respects like Princess Taiping — no, even better. Princess Anle had no brothers. She could be named Crown Princess. She ought to be far more illustrious than Princess Taiping.
It was said that even a prime minister’s gatekeepers rank as seventh-grade officials. They were the trusted attendants of a future crown princess — why would they fear a mere Princess Yong consort? The steward remained privately unmoved, and continued to play the fool: “I was unaware of Censor Su’s arrival — please forgive any discourtesy. However, the Princess has been in an artistic mood of late, and we came out to find a writing table on her behalf. The proprietor of Yifeng Pavilion came forward of his own accord to present it. We neither stole nor seized anything. I am uncertain what law or regulation has been violated to warrant the attention of the Censorate.”
The people of the Duke Zhenguo manor were incensed to hear this. Ming Yuji now saw clearly that the Princess Anle manor had known perfectly well what they were doing, and was deliberately provoking the Duke Zhenguo manor — or rather, the Prince Yong household.
Ming Yuji gave these people a cold sweep of her gaze, committing their faces to memory. She had no wish to engage in a war of words with such petty individuals on the street. Her own face was a small matter, but if the affair implicated Li Huazhang and was seized upon as a pretext to stir up trouble, that would be far more serious. Ming Yuji lowered her voice and said to Su Xingzhi: “Forget it. Let’s go.”
She made to descend the steps, but Su Xingzhi caught her arm. He held it firmly and continued to look at the Princess Anle manor’s servants without any sign of submission or deference: “Yifeng Pavilion may choose to make a gift of anything it likes to Princess Anle, and outsiders have no business interfering. But to present someone else’s property as a gift — that is theft. Elder Miss Ming had a prior contract with Yifeng Pavilion; Yifeng Pavilion’s going back on its word is faithlessness. It is known throughout the city that Second Miss Ming and Prince Yong are to be joyfully united in matrimony. Elder Miss Ming stated plainly that this was trousseau being prepared for her younger sister, yet the Princess’s manor insists on laying claim to the sister-in-law’s dowry — that is disrespect to family elders. Finally: you all heard Elder Miss Ming introduce herself. Knowing full well that she was forced from childhood to wander in obscurity, separated from her family for seventeen years, in order to protect Prince Yong — and yet you show no respect whatsoever, and exploit her good nature to take an inch when given a foot. That is utterly lacking in benevolence and righteousness. For such conduct — faithless, disrespectful to elders, lacking in benevolence and righteousness — I shall tomorrow without fail submit a memorial and ask His Majesty why Princess Anle is permitted to act in such a manner.”
In truth, Su Xingzhi had been there for some time and had heard the entire exchange between Ming Yuji and Yifeng Pavilion. He had watched Ming Yuji endure again and again before finally turning away, and it had felt to him like a blade cutting at something within him.
His Yuji was hard and unyielding, direct to a fault. At fourteen she had dared to wield a wooden bat against ruffians. But Su Xingzhi knew — she was the softest-hearted person imaginable. He had watched her grow from a swaddled infant into a graceful young woman, and she should always have been the one baring her teeth and asserting herself, not someone who had learned to swallow her grievances and yield to others. Su Xingzhi could bear it no longer. For the first time, he stepped out from the shadows and let himself be seen before her.
For Ming Yuji, simply seeing Su Xingzhi had been startling enough — but then, hearing him call out Princess Anle directly, her heart leapt into a state of frantic anxiety.
Was he not in his right mind? The Duke Zhenguo manor had the merit of having supported Li Huazhang — no matter how much the palace harboured suspicions, they would not dare truly do anything to them. But what did Su Xingzhi have? He was a solitary scholar with no family and no clan behind him. Where did he find the nerve to rebuke the Emperor’s daughter?
As the crowd pressing around them grew larger, Ming Yuji’s expression darkened. She wanted to pull Su Xingzhi away with her. But Su Xingzhi’s grip was immensely strong — he did not move a fraction.
The Imperial Censorate had earned its reputation as professional critics for good reason. Su Xingzhi had brought down those great moral weights — faithlessness, disrespect to elders, and lack of benevolence and righteousness — and even the steward of the Princess Anle manor was rattled. He had originally had nothing to fear, but as more and more bystanders gathered to point and whisper, he began to waver with anxiety.
The Duke Zhenguo manor was nothing to worry about — but Prince Yong was not someone to be casually offended. If this matter escalated and this stubborn censor really did take it to the court, and if the Empress and Princess then held him accountable, he would be left to face the consequences alone.
The steward’s heart sank. He smoothly rearranged his expression into a smile and said: “Censor Su, you overstate the matter. I had no idea this was a piece Elder Miss Ming was preparing as trousseau for the Princess Yong consort. Had I known in advance, I would certainly not have dared to take what was another’s. As for you” — he rounded on the proprietor — “how dare you offer the Princess Yong consort’s property to deceive someone? It’s clear you were deliberately trying to stir up trouble between Prince Yong and Princess Anle. Such treacherous intent deserves the most severe punishment!”
The proprietor of Yifeng Pavilion felt his knees buckle, and he immediately fell to his knees begging for mercy. When a member of the imperial family said “such treacherous intent deserves the most severe punishment,” it was no idle threat — Princess Anle could end his entire family with a word. The proprietor pleaded at length, but the steward of the Princess Anle manor showed no sign of relenting, and seemed determined to push him forward as a scapegoat. The proprietor’s heart went cold — and then he caught sight of Ming Yuji standing outside, and grabbed at her like a drowning man reaching for a lifeline. He shuffled forward on his knees and prostrated himself before her: “Elder Miss Ming, I beg for mercy! I was blind, and my sin is unforgivable, but I have a whole family depending on me for their livelihood. I beg the young lady to be generous and spare me!”
Ming Yuji had grown up among common people, and over the years had seen too clearly the powerlessness of the ordinary person before authority. She was deeply uncomfortable being knelt to. She stepped back, her face cold: “You acted without principle — that has nothing to do with me. I have affairs to attend to at the manor, so I shall take my leave.”
After she had spoken, Ming Yuji hesitated a moment, but in the end she gestured for the maid to carry the writing table and depart. If she left without taking the table, it would mean that the dispute was unresolved and unforgiven — and in that case, the proprietor would almost certainly come to a bad end. It was only a writing table; and since it was a wedding gift, it would be ill-omened for it to be stained with blood.
The proprietor of Yifeng Pavilion, seeing that Ming Yuji had accepted the table, exhaled a long breath of relief. The steward of the Princess’s manor also let his shoulders drop slightly. He had come out today expecting a pleasant bit of gain, only to run headlong into this vexing business — he felt thoroughly put out. He gave the prostrate proprietor a contemptuous kick: “Get out of the way. Don’t block the road.”
The proprietor scrambled to clear the path with a smile, still bowing, as he sent the steward out the door. Su Xingzhi watched this scene with cold eyes. He turned, walked down the steps, and within a few strides had caught up with the steward of the Princess’s manor and the proprietor of Yifeng Pavilion.
As the two parties passed each other, Su Xingzhi’s gaze rested indifferently ahead of him, speaking to no one in particular: “Proprietor — a tree takes a hundred years to grow. You are in a business for the long term. Such faithlessness, such reckless pursuit of short-term advantage, is not the mark of a prudent man. I hope you will reflect on your conduct.”
Having said his piece, he did not wait to observe the other two men’s reactions. He walked swiftly down the steps and disappeared into the crowd.
Su Xingzhi had blended into the throng, vanishing like a drop of water absorbed into the sea. It was what he was most practiced at. Yet today, though he had given no sign of his movements, he was stopped at the mouth of an alley by a carriage that had clearly been waiting there deliberately.
The tassel ornaments on the carriage swayed gently in the breeze. The curtain was drawn aside, revealing a face of cold and lofty beauty within.
This was someone he knew intimately, and yet someone who had nothing to do with him.
Ming Yuji looked down at him from above, her brow slightly raised, her tone edged with irony: “It has been a long time, Censor Su. Your official authority seems to have grown considerably.”
Su Xingzhi appeared not to hear the sarcasm in her words. He clasped his hands before the carriage in a proper bow, with none of the hard, unyielding bearing of a man who had just argued down a crowd: “I wish Elder Miss Ming good health.”
His manner was utterly without provocation. Ming Yuji felt as though she had thrown a punch that landed in cotton — the impulse to taunt him deflated immediately, and she felt the pointlessness of it all. Her breath went out of her. In a blunt, stiff voice she asked: “I sent you an invitation. Why didn’t you come?”
“The Censorate was busy. There was no time.”
“When I invited you to dine at the Duke Zhenguo manor after you left office — there was no time for that either?”
Su Xingzhi lowered his eyes. “As a censor, it is not advisable for me to mix too freely with court officials in private.”
Ming Yuji fixed him with an icy stare. Su Xingzhi stood there expressionless as a piece of timber, and the sight of it made Ming Yuji want to take a swing at his face. Ming Yuji gave a cold, short laugh, and said with a hard edge: “Hmph. You even dare refuse an invitation from the future Princess Yong consort. Censor Su truly fears no one in power — what remarkable integrity.”
Su Xingzhi’s lashes moved slightly. He wanted to say something, but concluded it was unnecessary.
The Princess Yong consort, Princess Taiping — refusing their invitations was simple enough. The truly difficult thing was refusing her.
Ming Yuji, seeing that he said nothing, became exasperated. She said irritably: “What, are you refusing to listen to even my words now?”
“No,” said Su Xingzhi. “You are a noble young lady of the manor. I am merely a minor official in blue robes. It is not for me to heed your words.”
Ming Yuji was silent for a long moment. Then she asked: “If that is so, then when I left the Su family all those years ago, why did you search for me through the night?”
“Because you were a young woman alone, and a very determined one at that. It was not safe for you to be out on your own.”
“Then why are you now drawing a line between us and keeping your distance?”
“Because you have come home.” Su Xingzhi kept his eyes lowered. “You have your family with you, and servants to protect you. You are safe.”
Ming Yuji very much wanted to ask: what exactly do you take me for? A younger sister? A responsibility? A young miss of a noble house — fostered in the Su family, requiring his divided attention and care?
The words were nearly out of her mouth, but reason pulled her back. She let the curtain fall. She sat with her spine perfectly straight, her hands resting flat upon her knees — as perfectly composed as any aristocratic young lady ought to be — and asked, with the most proper of manners: “Just now — why did you help me?”
The two of them were separated: one within, one without; one above, one below; one seated in a graceful and elegant carriage, the other standing on a busy, bustling street.
Like the chasm that lay between them — born into existence alongside them, following them like shadows. Su Xingzhi raised his eyes slightly and gazed at the faint outline of the woman’s silhouette behind the curtain. “I am a censor,” he said. “When I encounter injustice, I speak. It is my duty.”
“My duty.” Ming Yuji slowly repeated these words, let out a short, sharp laugh, and said: “My duty. Very well. As you yourself said — I have my family with me, and my servants to protect me. In future there will be no shortage of men to stand up for me. There is no need for an outsider like yourself to intervene, Censor Su. I have other matters to attend to. Farewell.”
She lifted her voice, clear and crisp, and called to the driver: “Uncle Yang, home.”
The driver acknowledged her, and the carriage began to move. The wheels rolled over the stone paving with a creak, rumbling along like the weight of every commotion in the world being pressed flat. Su Xingzhi stepped back a pace and watched Ming Yuji draw away from him. So low it could barely be heard, he murmured: “Safe travels.”
He finished saying it, and let out a self-deprecating laugh. What need was there for him to say such a thing? As she herself had said — she was surrounded by the sons of nobles and great houses, and there were plenty of people to see her safely in and out of wherever she went.
When Ming Yuji returned to the manor, she walked all the way home with a cold face and a rapid stride, so fast that the maids had to break into a small run to keep up with her. Ming Huashang had just finished embroidering one side of a sachet and was eagerly waiting in Ming Yuji’s room. When she heard movement outside, she ran out to meet her, and came face to face with an expression on Ming Yuji’s face that could not by any stretch be called pleasant. Ming Huashang blanked for a moment and asked tentatively: “A’Jie, what happened to you?”
Ming Yuji took a deep breath, forced a smile, and said: “Nothing. The road was slow, and I’m a little tired.”
The maid behind her had been holding things in all the way home, and at this she unleashed everything in a torrent — telling Ming Huashang the whole story of Yifeng Pavilion. Ming Huashang’s expression darkened as she listened. She said to Ming Yuji: “A’Jie, it was things like this that upset you? If you run into something unpleasant, how can you not tell the family?”
“It truly isn’t that.” Ming Yuji sighed. She had no wish to bring up Su Xingzhi, so she took Ming Huashang’s hand and sat down with her. “Such jumped-up little people — they’re nothing. Even at my worst, I wouldn’t be upset enough to fume over people like that. What concerns me is the situation at court.”
At that, both of them fell silent. Their present lives looked peaceful enough on the surface, but they both knew it was merely the false calm before a storm. Han Jie had, as expected, vanished. The Empress, though she had abdicated to the Shanyang Palace, was not someone any of them dared to underestimate in mind or will — who knew when Han Jie might reassemble the Xuan Xiaowei and return with fresh force. And at this crucial juncture, the Emperor was busy suppressing Li Huazhang, Prince Xiang, and Princess Taiping, sparing no effort to marginalise those who had rendered him service, while single-mindedly promoting the associates of Empress Wei and Princess Anle.
The affairs of the world moved in a circle. Empress Wu had brought the Li imperial family endless, unceasing suffering, and every person hated her — yet every person wanted to become her.
But there was only one Wu Zhao in the world. Before she had proclaimed herself Emperor, she had already accumulated more than twenty years of experience governing state affairs. Princess Taiping had been able to cultivate a large number of loyal followers in the court because she had spent years at Empress Wu’s side, accumulating influence step by step. Empress Wei and Princess Anle possessed none of the experience of governance, none of the exceptional talent, and none of the love of study. They had merely seen that Empress Wu and Princess Taiping had succeeded, and assumed they could do the same. Could that possibly be a good omen?
According to intelligence passed back by the Xuan Xiaowei, Princess Anle sought to emulate Princess Taiping in cultivating her own faction — but finding no one worth promoting, she had gradually turned to the outright selling of official positions. If this continued, the great Tang dynasty, so newly restored, was likely heading toward fresh catastrophe.
Ming Huashang did not have much longer to remain at home. Ming Yuji did not want to burden her with worry, so she called for the maids to bring out the writing table and changed the subject: “Come and take a look — see if you like it. If it doesn’t suit you, there’s still time to have something new made.”
Ming Huashang did not press the heavy topic further. When she saw the writing table, she let out a delighted cry and smiled: “It’s so beautiful! Thank you, A’Jie! You really are the one who treats me best in all the world.”
“None of that flattery,” Ming Yuji said, keeping a straight face. “I’m not Li Huazhang — I can’t be talked around with sweet words.”
“It isn’t flattery!” Ming Huashang looked genuinely aggrieved, and said sincerely: “These are my heartfelt words. Even if Second Brother were here, I would still say it — in all the world, the one I love best is A’Jie.”
Ming Yuji’s gaze abruptly went to the door. Ming Huashang gave a start and turned to look — only to find the doorway empty. Ming Yuji let out a snort of laughter. “Look at you, your heart already in two places. And you still dare claim you love me best?”
Ming Huashang had been caught out, and felt rather embarrassed. The maids covered their mouths and giggled. “It must be said, Second Miss — you have no equal when it comes to charming people. No wonder you’ve got Prince Yong completely wrapped around your finger. He finds some excuse every day after office to come to the manor.”
“He does not!” Ming Huashang was still trying to mount a defence. “Every single word I say comes from the bottom of my heart — there isn’t the slightest falsehood in any of it!”
Words like that — not even Li Huazhang himself would believe them by now. Ming Yuji watched their laughing and joking for a while, and then without warning a sudden wave of sadness welled up in her chest.
Everything was too perfect — and that perfection made her unable to stop herself from feeling dread. What if this beauty were to pass in an instant? She steadied herself, and said to Ming Huashang: “Stop fooling around. Go and get on with embroidering your wedding garment. In a few more days, you’ll be married.”
But Ming Huashang would not go, and said: “Second Brother already knows my embroidery is not good. If the wedding garment is missing a few flowers, and neither he nor I say anything about it, who’s going to know?”
“I’ve never seen anyone try to cut corners on their own wedding garment before.” Ming Yuji could do nothing with her, and said: “Fine, forget it. Have the wedding garment brought out.”
Ming Huashang was startled, and quickly said: “A’Jie, you want to help me embroider it? Absolutely not!”
“What are you thinking?” Ming Yuji rolled her eyes at her. “My embroidery is no better than yours — if you asked me, I still wouldn’t want to do it. We’ll bring in a professional embroidery woman, of course. You can just fill in a few stitches in the simple places yourself. I’m worried about word getting out, so I want you here in my room as a witness.”
Ming Huashang suddenly pulled Ming Yuji into a tight embrace, smiled and said “A’Jie is the best,” then dashed out in a whirlwind to fetch her wedding garment. Ming Yuji watched her retreating figure with faint exasperation — but a smile crept onto her face in spite of herself.
She looked up at the rustling green leaves under the eaves. Out of nowhere, a single person rose to the surface of her thoughts.
She decided she must have had her head scrambled by Ming Huashang’s incessant chatter — because for a moment she had thought that perhaps being married was actually not such a bad thing after all.
To spend one’s life with the person one hopes for — that in itself was something extraordinarily rare.
Since he had said that she was merely a matter of duty, then she wished him this: may he find all that he seeks, and may his path ahead be bright and full of promise.