When Ming Huashang came out after bathing, she found that the ceremonial items from the wedding had been cleared from the green canopy room, and the space felt noticeably lighter and more open. In the middle of the room stood a red wood table, upon which had been arranged crystal dragon-and-phoenix cakes, five-colour wontons, pickled vegetables, pan-seared braised delicacies, sweet-dew broth, millet congee, and milk congee. Ming Huashang sat down and began towelling her hair. Seeing her, Li Huazhang reached over in a natural, unhurried way, took the cloth from her, and began to dry her hair for her.
Li Huazhang said: “You have been without food all day, so nothing too rich or heavy is good for you. The kitchen has prepared everything light and mild for you. Eat slowly, there’s no hurry.”
Ming Huashang reached out and tried a wonton. This bowl contained five different shapes, each filled with different ingredients, their many colours mingling together — hence the name five-colour wontons. She bit into one with shrimp filling: the shrimp was fresh and silky, the broth rich without being greasy, exactly the flavour she liked. Ming Huashang immediately recognised it: “Is this from the Xiao family in Banzheng Square?”
“Mm.” Li Huazhang sat beside her, drawing her damp hair back from the nape of her neck so she could eat without it trailing over her face. “I knew you had been wanting these for a long time. Do you like them?”
Ming Huashang was so hungry that she could barely take time to nod, and had already lowered her head to bite the second one. The wontons from Banzheng Square in Chang’an were well-known, and the Xiao family was the finest among all the stalls there. The warmth of the food settled into her, as though something tightly wound within her was finally smoothed out. Ming Huashang at last began to feel human again, and noticing that Li Huazhang had not touched anything, she asked: “Second Brother, why are you not eating?”
Li Huazhang looked at her quietly and shook his head. “I’m not very hungry.”
A wedding day was an ordeal not only for Ming Huashang — Li Huazhang had no small amount to do himself. While Ming Huashang had at least been able to sit down during the dressing and preparation, Li Huazhang had needed to rise before dawn to enter the palace and complete the first half of the wedding’s rituals on his own. He had gone the whole day with nearly no food or water either. But his schedule was disciplined — meals and sleep at fixed hours — and now that mealtimes had long since passed, he could no longer feel the hunger.
Ming Huashang picked up a wonton on her spoon and pushed it bossily toward Li Huazhang’s lips, saying: “I don’t like this filling. You have it.”
Li Huazhang glanced at the spoon she had just been using, hesitated for a moment, and then — quite out of character with his usual habits — slowly opened his mouth and ate the wonton. Seeing that he had eaten it, Ming Huashang immediately scooped up another. Li Huazhang said helplessly: “I truly am not hungry.”
“But I don’t like this flavour, and I can’t just waste it. Come and help me finish it — I need to leave room for the other dishes.”
Ming Huashang’s tone was entirely imperious and matter-of-fact, as though it were the most natural thing in the world for a big brother to finish the food she didn’t like. Li Huazhang ultimately could not resist. Whatever Ming Huashang passed to him, he ate, and the two of them shared the one bowl. Without quite noticing, more than half of the dishes on the table had been cleared.
Ming Huashang pressed a hand to her stomach and said with deep sincerity: “I’m so full.”
Li Huazhang had already tidied up the dishes in an unobtrusive way — he had long been accustomed to putting his own things in order without assistance, never liking servants to hover too close, and even now that he had been granted a royal title, he had kept this habit. Hearing Ming Huashang’s murmur, he wiped his hands, reached over, and rested them gently against her waist. Ming Huashang instinctively moved to pull away, but Li Huazhang pressed lightly to keep her still: “Don’t move about — you might get a cramp.”
At first Ming Huashang was extremely tense. She had lost her mother at a young age and was unaccustomed to physical closeness even with other women, let alone with a man. She reminded herself that this was a threshold she would have to cross sooner or later, and made a conscious effort to relax, leaning back into Li Huazhang’s shoulder.
The two of them had been brother and sister for seventeen years. They had lived in the same manor for years, and there had been no shortage of moments spent in each other’s company. But in those years, both of them had maintained the careful boundary of their sibling relationship — close, but not intimate, with any physical contact quick and brief, rarely lingering the way it did now, with Li Huazhang’s hand resting squarely on Ming Huashang’s waist. Through the thin layer of fabric between them, Ming Huashang could feel the warmth of his slender, capable fingers — the calluses of years spent holding a brush and a blade.
Both were testing the boundary. Ming Huashang had fed Li Huazhang from her own spoon; Li Huazhang was rubbing Ming Huashang’s side. These were not actions any ordinary brother and sister would take. For years the two of them had been aware of what lay beneath, and yet had deliberately acted as though they were simply deeply devoted siblings. Now, they had to step out from within that frame — and slowly, find their way back to one another as man and woman.
Li Huazhang, seeing her struggling to keep her eyes open, asked: “Are you terribly tired?”
Ming Huashang made a soft sound of agreement: “A little. All those rules and requirements are so tiresome — can’t do this, can’t do that. But thinking that I would soon get to see you made it all bearable.”
Li Huazhang said, with a touch of guilt in his voice: “I have said many times that we should keep things simple, but the palace has its own protocols. Many of the ceremonies I suggested cancelling were put back in regardless. I’m sorry to have caused you this trouble.”
At this moment, the “trouble” Li Huazhang spoke of referred not only to the wedding itself, but to the broader situation. The storm was gathering, and the Prince Yong manor had become one of the places the Emperor kept under close watch. He could not even manage his own wedding as he wished — and yet he had, selfishly, drawn Ming Huashang into his life.
Ming Huashang still had her eyes closed, but she reached out her hand and laid it softly on the back of Li Huazhang’s. In this moment, nothing needed to be said — the way their bodies rested against each other was enough to express everything. Li Huazhang felt her silent support and slowly tightened his hold.
Speaking of the wedding, Li Huazhang recalled something quite urgent. He let out a quiet sigh in his heart, and said in a joking tone: “When we return to the manor the day after tomorrow, you will need to help me say a few good words to Father and Elder Sister. Any other time, Elder Sister can practice on me for as long as she likes, and I would willingly oblige — but today’s circumstances were particular, and I had no choice but to act as I did. I can only beg their forgiveness for my lack of consideration.”
Ming Huashang, hearing this, burst out laughing, and opened her eyes: “You really are bold. Even I was startled when you suddenly broke in like that.”
Li Huazhang nodded solemnly: “It was indeed wrong of me, and I do not regret it. If I were to do it all over again, I would still make the first move — I would have to get you out first, at any cost.”
“I was right there — I wasn’t going anywhere. What was there to steal?”
“That’s not necessarily so. These past six months I have been in a constant state of anxious fear — afraid you might suddenly change your mind, afraid some accident might force a delay to the wedding, afraid the weather would be bad on the day and the carriage would not be able to get through. I was afraid of so many things. I wished I could leap forward in a single blink to the moment of white hair, so the whole world would know that we had already become husband and wife, and there would be no force left in all the world that could separate us.”
Ming Huashang leaned against his shoulder, and suddenly raised her hand, holding out her little finger toward him. Li Huazhang looked down in surprise. Ming Huashang’s eyes were dark and luminous, and she looked at him and said: “Let’s pinky-swear. From now on, whatever we do, we do it together. Whoever fails the promise is a little dog.”
Li Huazhang laughed. This kind of vow was undeniably childish — the sort of thing small children said when they were playing pretend — but he reached out his hand and hooked his little finger around hers, and said in a low voice: “All right. We will always be together.”
With the mood arrived at where it had, what followed seemed to come of its own accord. Li Huazhang’s hand hovered at her waist sash, as though hesitating. Ming Huashang, however, was the one to act first — she reached up and wrapped her arms around Li Huazhang’s neck, and leaned forward to press her lips to his.
Their lips met: soft and warm. There was none of the thunderclap, none of the trembling and shaking described in romantic tales. Ming Huashang felt somewhat let down. Li Huazhang seemed to pause for a moment, uncertain whether to be surprised at her boldness or displeased by it.
But thanks to their lips being pressed together, Li Huazhang could see, quite clearly, the disappointment in Ming Huashang’s eyes. He abandoned all his restraint. He shifted from passive to active, and with his other hand parted her sash, pressing her down into the bed beneath him.
·
Ming Huashang had been exhausted all day. She had assumed she would fall asleep the moment her head touched the pillow. Instead, she slept shallowly. Half-dreaming, she could not move, but she was aware that someone was lying beside her.
She rarely slept beside anyone — let alone a man. Instinct told her to feel unsettled. But her body seemed to possess some other awareness, something beyond the ordinary senses: she could feel that the person beside her breathed quietly and shallowly, that he was lean and tall, and that his sleeping posture was utterly still — like a mountain, standing quietly at her side, blocking out every storm that might roll in from beyond.
She was caught between unease and a sense of safety, pulled back and forth, until as dawn was beginning to break she felt the person beside her stir awake. He was careful as he rose, moving with great deliberateness, unwilling to wake her.
Ming Huashang knew that Li Huazhang would certainly see to it that no one would disturb her. Now she could sleep at ease. But as the warmth of the bedding beside her gradually cooled, she felt a strange restlessness, and struggled up to sit.
Li Huazhang returned from washing and found that Ming Huashang was already awake. She sat on the bed in a daze, eyes unfocused, hair loose and dishevelled, as though she had not quite come back to herself. Li Huazhang sat sideways on the edge of the bed, reached out and brushed the hair from her forehead. “What’s the matter? Did you not sleep well?”
Ming Huashang followed the movement and fell sideways against him, burying her face and shaking her head, without saying a word. Li Huazhang held her quietly, letting her take her time to settle. Then he asked softly: “Shall we go back to sleep a little longer?”
Ming Huashang shook her head again. Li Huazhang sighed, reached over, and placed his hand — just soaked in cool water — over her face, palms cupped around her cheeks: “All right, then it’s time to get up. No more lying about.”
After Ming Huashang had dressed, the maids filed in, trained and efficient, to attend to her washing, rinsing, and hair-combing. The attendant was about to apply Ming Huashang’s cosmetics when Li Huazhang gestured for all the maids to withdraw.
Li Huazhang took up the eyebrow brush, settled before the dressing table, and looked at Ming Huashang with quiet seriousness. “I have been meaning to say this since yesterday. Your cosmetics are already beautiful — there is no need to add anything more. Why not leave your brows for me to paint?”
Ming Huashang gave a slight lift of her brow, and could not help asking: “You actually know how to paint a woman’s brows? When did you learn that?”
“Just now,” said Li Huazhang. He looked over the array of objects spread across the dressing table and, with remarkable precision, picked up a stick of stone pigment and asked: “I have it right, don’t I?”
Ming Huashang raised an eyebrow and said: “You do. Well — let me see whether you truly are good at everything. I give no hints.”
With that, Ming Huashang closed her eyes and took on the role of a strict examiner, offering Li Huazhang nothing in the way of guidance. Li Huazhang gave a low laugh. He had held a brush his whole life, written countless documents and essays — but this examination was unlike any other he had sat before. He felt the delicate, soft skin beneath his fingertips, the deep, lingering warmth of the faint fragrance that rose from the curve of her neck, and very carefully, he set his brush to the “canvas” before him.
With her eyes shut, Ming Huashang’s other senses sharpened. She was immersed in a darkness behind her lids, and could hear with perfect clarity the breath of the person seated before her, close enough to touch. Though she could not see him, she could feel his concentration.
Ming Huashang suddenly realised he was looking at her. She hadn’t slept well last night; there were dark circles under her eyes. And after all that elaborate cosmetics yesterday, her skin was probably in a poor state. She should not have eaten so much last night either…
Ming Huashang’s anxiety grew. She was on the verge of calling a stop to it — when the person beside her gently set down the brush, and said: “Huashang. Open your eyes.”
Ming Huashang cautiously lifted one eyelid — and without warning, found herself looking straight into a pair of eyes as clear and still as a calm lake. His gaze was composed and intent, like snow-covered pines or moonlight on the water’s surface, and when he looked at her, it was as though in all the world there was no one else.
“Do you like it?”
Ming Huashang started slightly, then understood that he was asking about her brows. She turned to look in the bronze mirror, and was surprised to find that her brow shape was barely changed — he had simply followed the natural line of her own brows and added a few strokes. But at her forehead he had painted a small plum blossom in vermillion red. Her complexion was clear and luminous, her eyes lively and bright, and with that single plum blossom, her entire face seemed to come alive.
Ming Huashang held up the mirror and turned her face this way and that, looking longer and longer, liking it more and more. She said once again, unable to stop herself: “You really do understand women’s cosmetics so well. Truly the first time?”
He had painted it beautifully — but the more beautifully he had painted it, the more reason for concern.
Li Huazhang plucked the mirror from her hands and pressed a light kiss to her lips, then said: “Of course. What have I been doing all these years — you know better than anyone. Fortunately, painting turned out to be useful after all, and I can make a small contribution. I hope to paint your brows for you every day from now on — whatever flowers bloom outside the window, I will paint that flower between your brows. Breakfast has already been prepared in the kitchen. Shall I do your lip colour first, or would you rather eat and have it done after?”
The mention of food was all it took — Ming Huashang was immediately alert: “Eat first, of course!”
Li Huazhang answered warmly, and quietly inwardly despaired. Sure enough, the appeal of boudoir brow-painting was no match, in her estimation, for a meal.
The green canopy was not particularly convenient, so Li Huazhang had the morning meal set out in the manor’s main hall. He took Ming Huashang’s hand, and the two of them strolled over through the morning light, talking idly as they walked.
The Prince Yong manor had no elders in residence. Given the current state of relations between the palace and Li Huazhang, there was also no need for Ming Huashang to go through the formality of paying respects at court. So today she need not call upon anyone. They ate the morning meal at their leisure — and Ming Huashang, inevitably, ate until she was stuffed. Li Huazhang accompanied her on a walk through the manor to aid digestion, and at the same time helped her familiarise herself with the Prince Yong manor.
This place had once been the residence of Crown Prince Zhanghuai. After Crown Prince Zhanghuai moved into the Eastern Palace, the manor had passed through the upheavals of the Crown Prince’s charge of rebellion, Empress Wu’s deposition of the Emperor and founding of her own dynasty, the relocation of the capital to Luoyang, the Shenlong Coup, and more — changing hands many times, witnessing both the thronging of guests and the silence of abandonment. All the people of those times had long turned to dust, and yet the manor itself remained exactly as it had always been.
The layout inside was almost unchanged, preserved very nearly as it had been when Crown Prince Zhanghuai first built the estate. In the study, there were even books that Crown Prince Zhanghuai had left behind in his haste when he departed. As Ming Huashang passed through each room, Li Huazhang would tell her its purpose and its history — even the things he had not personally lived through. Gradually, Li Huazhang began to feel as though he and Ming Huashang had grown up here together, as though they had witnessed with their own eyes how the people of eighteen years ago had lived and eaten and slept and moved through their days.
He had lived here for some time already, but had never felt it as real or tangible. Living in his father’s former residence felt no different from lodging in any one of a thousand guesthouses. But today she had come, and with her came an infusion of warm, small, ordinary memories — and only then did Li Huazhang begin to feel the solid, real weight of life.
It turned out that home was not a house. Home was that person. Only where she was, could he truly make his home.