The upheaval in Junzhou came fast and was resolved quickly. All the common people knew was that on the nineteenth, shouts and sounds of battle suddenly arose in the streets, and the direction of the city gates blazed with firelight. Not knowing what had happened, the people could only hurriedly shut and bolt their doors, gather their entire households together, and huddle inside. The sounds outside grew more and more frightening; at one point an army even entered the city, and the clashing of armor and blades echoed through the empty streets, sending dread into the hearts of those within.

Yet the disaster people had imagined never came. No soldiers burst into their homes to plunder and slaughter, and no mob gathered to make trouble. The noise outside raged for half the night before gradually dying away. One brave soul stuck his head out for a look and found that Junzhou’s largest wine tower, Wangxian Tower, had burned down to a sea of flame. The prefectural office was guarded by fully armed soldiers, and unfamiliar faces had appeared at every alley and street corner, asking questions of nearby residents.

Apart from the sleepless night, it seemed as though nothing else had been lost.

After a day or two of curiosity, when nothing new came to light, people quickly forgot about that night and returned to their daily lives. The shouts of street vendors hawking New Year goods rang out in Junzhou once more; the familiar smell of steamed cakes drifted from the mouth of the alley; the people busied themselves haggling over prices, and no one gave a thought to where the former great figures of Junzhou had gone.

After several days of interrogation and pursuit, Prince Qiao had been captured and all those who had taken part in the rebellion had been arrested and brought to justice. Ren Yao had spent all of yesterday conducting interrogations and had only slept toward the middle of the night — barely two hours before she was up again to inspect the patrols. Exhausted in body and spirit, she walked out of the prefectural office without watching where she was going and inadvertently knocked over a small child.

The child had been running and playing with a bamboo dragonfly and collided with Ren Yao without any warning, tumbling to the ground with a thud. Ren Yao was startled and quickly reached out to help: “Are you all right?”

The child looked up, saw Ren Yao’s cold, hard armor, and burst into wailing. Ren Yao froze in place, helpless and at a complete loss, and tried to make the child stop: “Don’t cry.”

A fully armored Imperial Guard soldier facing one defenseless little child — the contrast quickly drew onlookers, and passers-by pointed and whispered.

Ren Yao was poor at dealing with children and was growing desperate when a pair of long, pale, elegant hands picked up the wings of the bamboo dragonfly and walked unhurriedly over to the child, crouching down to ask: “Is this yours?”

The child saw that the newcomer was handsome and his eyes were gentle, and gave a cautious nod. Li Huazhang smiled slightly, fitted the bamboo dragonfly back together and placed it in the child’s hands, saying warmly: “Now it can fly again — go and play.”

Ming Huashang came up from behind and lifted the child into her arms: “This time play with your eyes open — off you go now. A joyful New Year.”

The child had not actually been hurt badly in the fall, and had cried purely from fright. Now that he had his toy back, he immediately forgot what had just happened. He gave Li Huazhang and Ming Huashang a timid glance, took the bamboo dragonfly, and scrambled away: “A joyful New Year.”

The child ran far, far away before daring to look back. Li Huazhang smiled and waved at him, then took Ming Huashang’s hand and stood up, turning to Ren Yao: “We have been so busy these past days dealing with seized documents and tracking down fugitives that no one noticed the New Year had nearly arrived. General Ren, a joyful New Year.”

Ren Yao paused, and could not help asking: “Has New Year’s Eve already passed?”

“Not yet — it is today.” Li Huazhang said. “You have worked hard throughout all of this. Prince Qiao and his conspirators — I will trouble you to escort them back to Chang’an.”

Ren Yao thought of Chang’an and her expression dimmed. She started to say something, hesitated, and finally forced the words out with difficulty: “I am sorry — I…”

“There is no need to explain.” Li Huazhang’s gaze was as clear and bright as ever, warm and composed. “You did nothing wrong and have no reason to feel sorry. We are friends — of course we want you to fare well. Whatever choice you made, as long as it came from your own heart, both Second Elder Sister and I understand it.”

“That is right.” Ming Huashang said. “Second Elder Brother, Sister, and I — as well as Brother Su, Brother Xie — none of us ever doubted you.”

Li Huazhang had always maintained this character of a true gentleman, and Ming Huashang was always this understanding. Ren Yao believed that they had genuinely never held it against her. Yet it was precisely because of this that the feeling in her heart grew even more difficult.

After the Prince of Yong left the capital, Chang’an had undergone a massive reshuffling of power. Of all the meritorious subjects of the Shenlong Coup, not a single one had come to a good end — except for her. But Ren Yao knew perfectly well that she had been able to rise because the others had disdained to align themselves with Empress Wei and Princess Anle.

Empress Wei, in order to display her own standing, had deliberately promoted many female officials and female generals to prove that women were also capable of governing. Ren Yao was the banner that had been hoisted on that favorable wind. Xie Jichuan, Su Xingzhi — which of them was not more talented than she? Yet simply because Ren Yao was a woman, she had received exceptional promotion and appointment.

Once she had hated the fact of her womanhood — because she was born female, even having trained a body full of skills, she could not inherit the marquisate. Yet now, equally because of her womanhood, she had risen swiftly and moved freely in the inner palace.

Yet Ren Yao felt not the slightest happiness. She had at last come to understand that her grandmother had been right — serving one’s sovereign was like dwelling beside a tiger, and a prominence too brilliant was not necessarily a good thing. Every day she watched Empress Wei play with power, sell offices for personal profit, yet permit no one to defy her. Ren Yao suffered in every moment, yet for the sake of the Marquis Pingnan household, she had no choice but to smile and receive it all.

She would not acknowledge it — but in truth, Li Huazhang, Ming Huashang, and the others were the only friends she had. She did not mind when others called her ungrateful, but she had never wanted these few to think so of her.

She had not wished to lose these friends. The more reasonable and understanding Li Huazhang was, the greater Ren Yao’s guilt.

Li Huazhang perceived Ren Yao’s thoughts and gave a small sigh. Taking advantage of the fact that there was no one nearby, he said quietly: “I understand your situation. In that position, many words must be said and many things must be done — but as long as your conscience is clear, you need not concern yourself with an empty reputation that exists only outside of you. I am very glad you were not compromised — that you were able to protect more people. If the person who came had not been you, one shudders to think how many more Xuan Xiaowei agents might have been killed trying to stop Prince Qiao.”

Li Huazhang understood Ren Yao’s approach very well. The Empress Wei intending to deal with Junzhou was inevitable in the larger scheme of things — since the situation could not be reversed, it was better for Ren Yao to take point on it herself. At least she could control the intensity of the campaign on the front lines, and if anything truly went wrong, there would be room to maneuver.

And indeed, Ren Yao had done exactly that.

Ming Huashang also said: “Yes — that night in Wangxian Tower, we were on the verge of losing control of Prince Qiao, and it was thanks to you bringing in troops to support us that the crisis was resolved without turning into a full military confrontation. Had the person coming not been you, we would never have dared implement that plan in the first place — with Prince Qiao and the Jiannan Military Governor in league, who knows how many people they might have harmed. Look how well things stand now: the common people are busy preparing for the New Year, and the upheaval at Prince Qiao’s residence has not touched the lives of ordinary folk in the slightest. All of that is because of you.”

Moved, Ren Yao felt as she never had before a burning hatred for her own lack of eloquence. All she could do was cup her hands firmly toward them both and say: “You two as friends — Ren Yao will claim you for life.”

Ming Huashang smiled and stepped forward to take Ren Yao’s arm: “We were just saying — looking at the sky, it seems like it will snow again tonight and the road will be difficult. Why not come to Shangzhou to rest for two days? Then we can all celebrate the New Year together. You can leave after the second day. Older Sister Ren, what do you say?”

Ren Yao had still been smiling, but at this she looked hesitant. Li Huazhang, thinking Ren Yao feared that being seen too close to him might reach Empress Wei’s ears, added: “Do not worry — it will be a small private gathering, nothing more. If anyone asks, you need only say that I had no knowledge that Prince Qiao intended to rebel and came to Junzhou at his invitation as a guest, nearly becoming a hostage, and that it was your timely arrival that saved us. We, as a couple, are hosting a small dinner to thank you for saving our lives before you depart. It will not violate any sensitivities in Chang’an.”

Ren Yao shook her head and began to say something, then stopped. “I am not afraid of people knowing I am close to you — it is just that…no matter. It is long past. What is there still to mind? All right.”

Ren Yao’s words were somewhat disjointed, but Ming Huashang inexplicably understood — Ren Yao did not refuse on account of Empress Wei’s suspicion. She simply did not want to face Jiang Ling.

Or perhaps — did not dare.

If Ming Huashang was inviting Ren Yao, she naturally could not leave out Xie Jichuan and Jiang Ling. When everyone sat together in the same room with no way to avoid each other, for someone who had not yet let go, it would be unbearably awkward.

Ming Huashang understood but pretended not to, and smiled: “Wonderful — let us go at once. If we set out now, we can reach Shangzhou by evening.”

The evidence had been compiled and organized well enough, and Ming Huashang had already arranged for the Xuan Xiaowei operatives to leave the city in stages. All that remained in Junzhou now were the Shangzhou prefectural militia Li Huazhang had brought and the five hundred Imperial Guard troops that Ren Yao had led. The Shangzhou militia naturally needed to go home for the New Year; the Imperial Guard troops were to escort Prince Qiao and the other prisoners back to Chang’an, passing through Shangzhou in any case, and spending two days recuperating in a secure place suited everyone just fine. No one had any objection. Li Huazhang organized the troops, gave a single order, and everyone set out together for Shangzhou.

Li Huazhang’s guess proved right — snow began to fall that afternoon. Fortunately they were already not far from Shangzhou. On entering Shangzhou city, the camp had long since received Li Huazhang’s advance message and had food and lodging ready and waiting. Knowing the soldiers had been running at full stretch for several days and were long since exhausted, Li Huazhang did a brief roll call and then released the local militia to go home for the New Year and settled the soldiers from other regions to rest in camp.

By the time everything was arranged, the light was already dim and the sky had darkened. Li Huazhang invited Ren Yao and Jiang Ling to stay as guests in their residence. Xie Jichuan, Ming Yuji, and Su Xingzhi were not supposed to be visibly present in Shangzhou and had gone ahead to the prefectural office by an earlier route. Ming Huashang had also returned to the residence in advance to prepare the guest rooms, so now on the road there was only Li Huazhang, Ren Yao, and Jiang Ling. Ren Yao steeled herself and walked alongside Jiang Ling; Jiang Ling, too, was utterly quiet the whole way. Li Huazhang was normally very at ease, but with the two of them behaving like this, even he felt a twinge of awkwardness.

Li Huazhang found himself missing Ming Huashang. If only she were here — whenever she was present, any emotional knot would dissolve away as though it had never been. He was thinking this as he crossed the threshold, and suddenly felt something wrong. He stepped back.

On the lintel, at some unknown point, someone had balanced a bucket of snow. When they came through the door it toppled, and soft, glittering snow cascaded down, covering everyone below in a layer from head to toe.

Li Huazhang, familiar with the surroundings, backed away in time and escaped most of it, catching only a little snow on his sleeve. He helplessly brushed it off and turned around to see Su Xingzhi, equally helpless.

Su Xingzhi sighed: “I did not want to do this either, but Second Elder Sister insisted I come and ambush you.”

Ming Huashang was hiding behind a tree, and when she saw this she laughed and laughed. Xie Jichuan stood at a distance on the covered walkway, looking as though he dearly wished to inscribe the characters for “this has nothing to do with me” directly onto his face. Ming Yuji was visibly a little embarrassed and tried to salvage things: “Is anyone hurt?”

Jiang Ling wiped the snow from his face, grinding his teeth: “Ming Huashang — you and I are not finished!”

Jiang Ling grabbed a handful of snow from the ground, rolled up his sleeves, and charged toward Ming Huashang. Ming Huashang dodged while hurling back snowballs she had prepared in advance. Jiang Ling saw that Ming Huashang had actually readied an entire bucket of snowballs and was so furious he almost spat blood: “You — you were back at the residence this whole time? And all you did was prepare all of this?”

Yes — Ming Huashang’s happiness was that simple and that direct.

Jiang Ling was hit several times in a row by Ming Huashang and was seething with anger. He noticed that Ming Huashang kept running around the tree; he hatched a plan, and when Ming Huashang was off guard, he darted forward and gave the tree trunk a savage kick. The snow that had been resting on the branches was startled loose and came tumbling down in an avalanche. Not only was Ming Huashang covered from head to toe, but Ming Yuji and Xie Jichuan watching from the covered walkway were also showered with snow.

Xie Jichuan raised his hand and looked at the snow stain on his sleeve. He ground his teeth. He was at the very edge of his endurance. Su Xingzhi saw that snow had even gotten down the inside of Ming Yuji’s collar and hurried over to say to Jiang Ling: “Take aim before you strike — there is no need to involve bystanders.”

Jiang Ling had by no means forgotten that it was Su Xingzhi who had just poured a bucket of snow over his head. He scooped up a snowball from the ground and hurled it at Su Xingzhi without hesitation. Ming Yuji had initially had no intention of getting involved in something so beneath her dignity — but when she saw Jiang Ling attack Su Xingzhi, she reached the end of her patience and struck back.

Li Huazhang had been carefully wiping snow from Ming Huashang’s hair when the snowballs abruptly started flying in dense volleys. Standing in the middle, they inevitably caught stray fire. Li Huazhang took several hits in a row, knew the misfires were deliberate, and silently endured. Ming Huashang had long had her eye on Jiang Ling and discovered that the fellow was deliberately aiming at Li Huazhang — she was furious: “You are finished, Jiang Ling!”

Ming Huashang and Jiang Ling were bitter foes whose animosity was only amplified on sight; and since both of them had been fierce competitors for dead last in their assessments, their aim was equally poor. In no time at all, fragments of snow were flying wildly through the courtyard, no one knowing who was targeting whom, and everyone was swept into the chaotic battle.

Li Huazhang stood on the covered walkway watching Ming Huashang take advantage of Jiang Ling being engaged with someone else to grab a handful of snow and shove it down the back of his collar. Jiang Ling shrieked from the cold and immediately turned to chase Ming Huashang; Ming Huashang dashed toward Ren Yao for cover, and Ren Yao, on instinct, launched a counterattack — and before anyone knew it, Ren Yao and Jiang Ling were fighting each other, all thought of the awkwardness on the road entirely forgotten. On the other side, Su Xingzhi was guiding Ming Yuji toward a quieter spot, unwilling to get tangled up in the fighting, yet stray snowballs kept landing on them regardless.

Li Huazhang gave a quiet laugh. He had not been wrong about her — she was truly gifted with people, and would always find some unexpected way to smooth away the troubles weighing on those around her.

Someone came and stood beside Li Huazhang. Li Huazhang did not look back, having identified the person from the sound of their breathing. Li Huazhang’s eyes still held laughter; he reached out and caught a single snowflake and asked: “Have you ever had a snowball fight?”

Xie Jichuan looked at him in silence, suspecting that Li Huazhang had just taken one too many snowballs to the head. Li Huazhang paid no attention to Xie Jichuan’s look and mused aloud: “I had them before I was six, so I know — you use fresh snow for a snowball fight because it is soft and does not hurt, but you use overnight snow to build a snowman because it packs well.”

Xie Jichuan was silent for a moment, attempting to decode whatever it was Li Huazhang was alluding to: “And then?”

“Nothing further.” Li Huazhang turned to him with complete seriousness and said: “I was sharing with you my experience of snowball fights.”

That answer truly left Xie Jichuan speechless. He was quiet for a while, then said: “So, in the end, you still prefer life before you were six?”

Li Huazhang shook his head and looked at Ming Huashang laughing freely in the courtyard below, and said slowly: “I prefer the life I have now.”

This time Xie Jichuan fell silent as well. Both men looked wordlessly at the people below romping in the snow. Xie Jichuan said, barely audibly: “And so you are willing to hand over ready-made merit — every last bit of it?”

What had happened in Wangxian Tower was not known to outsiders. Why the city gates had opened so quickly, why the Junzhou military camp had not responded in time — Li Huazhang would not say, and no one would ever know. From the outside world’s perspective, Li Huazhang had been lured to Junzhou by Prince Qiao; if not for Ren Yao’s timely arrival, both he and his consort would have been in danger. Prince Qiao was being taken away in Ren Yao’s custody; the rebels had all been pursued and arrested after Li Huazhang provided the intelligence, and the arrests too were carried out by Ren Yao’s troops. Everything Li Huazhang had done lay submerged beneath the surface; the world would only see Ren Yao, Marquis Pingnan, who had accomplished the extraordinary feat of triumphing against great odds and turning the tide.

Li Huazhang gazed at the wisps of snow-mist rising from the courtyard and said lightly: “We are friends — no need to keep score. Besides, this empty reputation I do not need, but she does.”

“Hm.” Xie Jichuan gave a cold laugh. “You treat her as a friend — but who can say whether, for the sake of glory and gain, she will not betray you someday?”

Li Huazhang shook his head slowly, his voice quiet and certain: “She will not.”

Xie Jichuan raised an eyebrow and dropped the subject. He then asked: “When does Ren Yao leave?”

“I don’t know.” Li Huazhang said casually. “Ming Huashang has invited them to stay through the New Year — possibly the second, possibly the third. Depending on Ren Yao’s mood.”

“And you? What are your plans?”

Li Huazhang’s brow shifted slightly. He turned to look at Xie Jichuan: “What do you mean?”

“Next it will be your turn, after Li Chongfu.” Xie Jichuan stood with his hands tucked in his sleeves beneath the covered walkway. The noisy, joyful sounds of the snowball fight were right before him, yet his voice was cold and detached, as though entirely removed from the warmth. “They are ruthless — so why must you still observe the propriety of a gentleman, bound by useless moral obligations? Prince Qiao has been captured. The devastation to the common people of Shangzhou that you feared will not come to pass. Take this chance to go back to Chang’an quickly — there is still time.”

Li Huazhang did not indicate agreement or disagreement, and instead asked in return: “Shangzhou may escape armed conflict — but what of Jiannan? Do not forget — it is only Li Chongfu who has been captured. The Jiannan Military Governor is still at large. We deceived him with our scheme, but he will eventually see through it. Without resolving the Jiannan Military Governor, the rebellion has not truly been rooted out.”

Xie Jichuan raised an eyebrow, incredulous: “But he is a military governor who holds all military and civil authority in Jiannan in his hands, with thirty thousand elite troops under his command. How could you single-handedly contend with him? It would be better to return to Chang’an and have the court issue a decree removing him from office. Court affairs should be left to the court to resolve.”

“And if he refuses to heed the court?” Li Huazhang said. “He commands substantial forces and is deeply entrenched in Jiannan — we must guard against the worst. If he harbors treacherous intent and no longer heeds the court’s orders but instead fortifies his own power in the region, then Jiannan will be thrown into chaos, Tubo will seize the opportunity to invade the Great Tang, and that will be true devastation. When it comes to that, Shangzhou and Junzhou will be the shield guarding Chang’an — all the more reason I cannot leave.”

Xie Jichuan said: “That is only one possibility — and the worst one. It does not necessarily mean it will come to pass.”

“If we take no precautions, it very likely will. And once that day comes, everything will already be too late.”

Xie Jichuan fixed him with a steady look and asked: “For a mere possibility — is it worth more to you than the throne?”

Li Huazhang watched the scattered fragments of jade and crystal drifting through the air and said quietly: “There are always things in the world more important than the scramble for power.”

Xie Jichuan stared at him for a long moment, then asked: “You have already decided?”

“Yes.” Li Huazhang’s voice was light and tranquil. “According to the Duke Zhenguo, my name was given by Prince Zhanghuai — he took one look at me and told the Duke to take me away. I never knew him, and I cannot know what he was thinking. But I believe he simply hoped I would be a gentleman, and never counted on me to contend for the throne. If he had managed to walk away from the winds of political intrigue himself, he naturally would have brought me back — and the throne would have rightfully gone to my elder brothers. It would never have been my turn. If even he could not preserve himself, then merely surviving was already far from easy for me — how could I dream of inheriting the great heritage? Perhaps this was written in fate — both he and I were never meant to be emperors.”

Xie Jichuan said: “That was because Empress Wu usurped the Tang — otherwise, Prince Zhanghuai would certainly have been a wise and virtuous sovereign.”

“But history has no ‘what ifs.'” Li Huazhang said. “History chose Emperor Zetian, and she also made history. I am indeed Gaozong’s most legitimate grandson in the direct line — but the current dynastic succession is Emperor Zetian’s, not Gaozong’s. Emperor Zetian’s own sons are still alive — how could it be a grandson’s turn?”

Many people had told Li Huazhang that he was the most legitimate bloodline of the imperial house — the eldest son’s eldest son of Emperor Gaozong. But Li Huazhang himself knew clearly that he had long since had nothing to do with the throne.

No matter how virtuous Prince Zhanghuai had been, he had only ever been the crown prince — he had never ascended to the throne in his lifetime. How could the throne come to his son twenty years after his death? After all those years of Emperor Zetian’s reign, the throne after her death was to pass to her own crown prince — not to be decided by turning back the pages of history twenty years. Li Xian was the crown prince Emperor Zetian herself had acknowledged in her later years; Prince Xiang, too, had spent more than ten years in the palace as heir apparent. These two held a far stronger claim than the empty renown of Prince Zhanghuai. Li Xian had now passed away, and the throne should go to Li Xian’s son — and if all of Li Xian’s and Prince Xiang’s sons were dead, only then might it be Li Huazhang’s turn.

That was obviously not something that could happen by natural means. The Great Tang had already suffered through far too much turmoil. From Emperor Zetian’s abdication to this day, in a mere two years, three upheavals had occurred: the Shenlong Coup, the Chongjun Coup, and now the Junzhou Rebellion — with two imperial sons and half the court embroiled. The people’s livelihoods were in disarray, border threats were pressing, and every official went in fear. Yet the years of Emperor Zetian’s reign had, it turned out, been the most stable period in the Great Tang. What the court urgently needed now was to recuperate and recover — not to be dragged into an endless cycle of imperial infighting. With the abilities the Xie family possessed, they might perhaps assist him in outmaneuvering the others. But was there any need?

Enough. The restoration of the Li family’s rule was never meant to bring turmoil to this land. He would rather spend whatever years remained to him in the company of the person he truly loved, doing things that truly mattered.

Xie Jichuan found it all deeply ironic. His father had sacrificed his official career to preserve the young master — and that young master had no desire for the throne. Then what had the Xie family’s last twenty years amounted to? Xie Jichuan paused for a long while, then gave a brief, sharp laugh: “So you will not even try — and have given up just like that?”

“It was never mine to claim — so what is there to give up?” Li Huazhang said. “All these years, I thank you all for raising me and protecting me, and I am grateful that you never forgot Prince Zhanghuai. But this so-called great enterprise of restoring the dynasty — it was only ever a vague and insubstantial dream. The time to wake from it has come.”

Xie Jichuan knew all of this, did he not? The single greatest mistake of Xie Shen’s life had been a catastrophic misjudgment of his opponents. He had assumed Prince Zhanghuai’s rivals would be the two princes, Li Xian and Li Dan, and was confident he could outmaneuver both of them — so he had gone without hesitation to rescue the young master from the Eastern Palace, never imagining for one moment that the true opponent was Empress Wu herself. Once Empress Wu took the throne, everything changed entirely, and Xie Shen’s all-in gamble to save Li Huazhang had proven spectacularly wrong.

But things having come to this point, what could the Xie family do? They could only press on with gritted teeth. Li Huazhang’s claim to legitimacy was far inferior to Prince Xiang’s, but if they fought for it, there was not no chance of changing their fate. The Xie family was willing to press into the difficulty; Li Huazhang had already left the game.

Xie Jichuan let out a long sigh, and found that in his heart he was not entirely unsurprised. He looked at Li Huazhang, and in his gaze there was none of the reverence a subject owes his sovereign, nor the closeness the Xie family had years of training him to feign — only a calm bordering on detachment, the scrutiny of a person looking at his nominal best friend.

Li Huazhang did not feel it was an affront, and calmly let Xie Jichuan look. After a good while, Xie Jichuan said: “I have always believed that to each his own — that people are inherently selfish by nature. But you are an exception. Before I knew you, I did not believe anyone could be so foolish as to choose integrity over a throne.”

Li Huazhang smiled slightly and said quietly: “What the Great Tang needs most right now is peace and stability. My claim is not fully legitimate — if I insist on contending for the throne, I will only drag the court into endless internal strife. That is not what I want. If the peace of the realm must require someone to stand back, then let it be me.”

“But how do you know that by stepping down voluntarily, the others will appreciate it?” Xie Jichuan said. “If you do not hold a position of power, what you have done is nothing but wishful thinking on your own part. What if the next person in power turns out to be foolish and suspicious, and you cannot even protect yourself — let alone the peace of the realm?”

Li Huazhang had been about to speak when he sensed something and did not move out of the way in time. A snowball grazed the hem of his robe and smashed hard into the railing. Li Huazhang and Xie Jichuan both turned around. Ming Huashang’s ambush had failed and she had been caught in the act by the very person it was aimed at, and looked utterly mortified. Jiang Ling stood beside her, disheveled from head to toe, and said with contempt: “You missed at this range — Ming Huashang, are you even capable?”

Ming Huashang was indignant: “If you’re so capable, you do it!”

“Fine, I’ll do it.” Jiang Ling stepped forward, rolled his shoulders, and was actually going to throw one. Li Huazhang unhurriedly broke off a branch from the nearby tree and tossed it up into the pine tree overhanging the walkway. The pine, unable to bear the weight any longer, shook loose a layer of snow. Jiang Ling got snow in his eyes and howled: “Hey, wait — you just ambushed me! Who’s hitting me now!”

Li Huazhang looked at Ming Huashang, who was taking full advantage of the moment, and felt entirely helpless — but when Jiang Ling rubbed his eyes clear and turned to retaliate, Li Huazhang decided things had gone on long enough and walked straight toward the two of them. As he passed Xie Jichuan, Li Huazhang murmured almost inaudibly: “In the future, then, it will be up to you.”

Xie Jichuan stood motionless with his hands in his sleeves, watching Ming Huashang and Jiang Ling thrashing about before him as noisily as children, with Li Huazhang deliberately nudging things in one direction. A question formed in his mind.

He truly could not understand why, when Han Jie had sorted them into groups back then, they had all ended up on the same team.

Did they look like they operated at the same level of intelligence as him?

The snowball-fight farce ended, as it was always going to, with no one left unscathed. The several individuals who elsewhere would each be addressed as superior officers returned to their rooms drenched and soggy from all the snow, thoroughly defeated. A little while later everyone emerged fresh and clean — and then they were informed that although Ming Huashang had returned to the residence first, she had been busy preparing snowballs the entire time and had not gotten around to telling anyone in the kitchen to cook.

When they finished their snowball fight, the kitchen staff had already gone home for the New Year.

Everyone: “…”

Ming Yuji had no choice but to roll up her sleeves and take on the task herself. She had absolutely no patience for people who sat at the table waiting to be fed without lifting a finger, and so without any compunction she put the others to work. But Ming Yuji discovered that not only did these people not know how to do anything — they also had many preferences and restrictions: this one wouldn’t eat that, that one had some other aversion. In the end, Ming Yuji had had enough, and simply made dumplings for everyone — choose your own filling.

That was what Ming Yuji said, but the skilled task of mixing the fillings still ended up in her hands. She was as quick with a kitchen knife as she was with hidden weapons, and the chopping board rang out with rapid, efficient strokes — in no time the several basins of filling were all seasoned and ready. The others were assigned to knead the dough, portion it, and wrap the dumplings. Jiang Ling thought to himself that as a man of the Imperial Guard with prodigious natural strength and unrivaled courage, surely kneading dough was just the sort of physical work made for him. He kneaded for a while — too dry, add water; too much water, add flour — until Ming Yuji, patience exhausted, chased him off to shape the dough portions instead, and passed the kneading over to Su Xingzhi, who actually had experience.

Jiang Ling, put out but resigned, joined the other group — only to find things no better there. Ming Huashang and Ren Yao were women with nimble fingers and had been assigned to fold the dumplings; Li Huazhang and Xie Jichuan were responsible for rolling out the wrappers. Jiang Ling had assumed the one who would fall short would be Ren Yao — but under Ming Huashang’s patient step-by-step guidance, Ren Yao turned out to be capable of pinching them into reasonable shapes. The ones who fell apart were the other two: men who knew the heavens and the earth, who were accomplished in both letters and martial arts, who were erudite and well-versed in the ancient and the modern — and yet could not roll a dumpling wrapper.

Ming Huashang and Ren Yao could only wait helplessly. Jiang Ling looked left, looked right, and said: “At this pace, I expect I can make the midday meal tomorrow.”

In the end it was Su Xingzhi who could not stand to watch any longer and came over to help. Li Huazhang and Xie Jichuan had never been subject to this kind of treatment in their lives, and both felt it was an intolerable humiliation. Li Huazhang secretly studied Su Xingzhi’s technique until he could finally produce a complete, intact wrapper, and then politely “invited” Su Xingzhi back. Jiang Ling idly pinched the dough portions and watched Xie Jichuan struggling fitfully with the rolling pin, falling steadily further behind Li Huazhang. He remarked with curiosity: “So there are things you cannot do?”

Xie Jichuan could not get the dumpling wrappers round no matter what he tried and was already in a private battle with himself; now Jiang Ling came along to rub salt in the wound. Xie Jichuan narrowed his eyes and said icily: “I have never set foot in a kitchen before today — it would be strange if I could do it.”

Jiang Ling clicked his tongue: “But Li Huazhang also had never been in a kitchen — and he learned.”

Xie Jichuan’s expression remained thin, cold, and wholly indifferent, yet his fingers had clenched. Jiang Ling was entirely unaware of the danger he was in and continued tramping through the minefield: “Ming Huashang, have you ever seen Li Huazhang cook? This must be his first time rolling wrappers too, right?”

Ming Huashang was thinking of the family custom at the Duke Zhenguo residence of hiding a sugar cube inside a dumpling — whoever ate it would have good luck and prosperity through the coming year. There would be seven of them tonight, and seven sugar cubes should be included. She had been thinking about where to find the sugar and heard Jiang Ling’s voice: “What did you say?”

“Has Li Huazhang ever cooked before?”

Ming Huashang thought back and shook her head: “My father would sooner throw me into the kitchen to tend the fire than let him cook. Oh — what was I going to do just now?”

Ming Huashang knocked the back of her hand against her head, unable to recall what she had originally been going to fetch. Li Huazhang noticed, went silently to the side room, took out the prepared sugar, and placed it beside Ming Huashang’s hand. Ming Huashang chatted with Jiang Ling for a moment, looked down, and saw the neat row of sugar pieces, and clapped her hands: “Oh right — I needed to find the sugar!”

Li Huazhang went back to rolling wrappers and said not a word. The incident was too small to make much of and was quickly swallowed up in the chatter between Ming Huashang and Jiang Ling — but both Ming Yuji and Ren Yao had noticed.

Even Xie Jichuan had silently glanced at the sugar cubes. A thing not yet put into words, understood with accuracy and attended to in silence — these two had not exchanged a single word of affection, yet it was enough to let those watching catch a glimpse of the texture of their daily life together.

Hearts attuned to one another, love expressed without the need for words — that is, in truth, more moving than any number of sworn vows.

Xie Jichuan suddenly felt lonely. This was the kind of feeling he had never been given — yet deeply longed for. To know that love of this kind still existed somewhere in the world. How good.

Several first-time dumplings-makers fumbled their way through it for an entire evening, and at last the dumplings made it into the pot. With the dumplings cooking, there was no need for everyone to crowd the kitchen, and the others gradually migrated to the main hall to wait. Ming Huashang directed the servants to move the table and set out the tableware; before long, word came from the kitchen that the dumplings were done.

Li Huazhang said to Ming Huashang: “Things are in hand here — go and call the others to eat.”

Ming Huashang knew Li Huazhang was more meticulous than she was and left it to him with ease. She walked to the side hall and found — had she really only been gone a moment? — that Jiang Ling, of all people, had fallen asleep?

Ming Huashang was astonished: “He fell asleep?”

“Yes.” Xie Jichuan said coldly. “I called him. He won’t wake.”

In the old days Ren Yao would have given him a sharp smack, and that would have done it for certain. But now she still felt awkward and constrained around Jiang Ling and was reluctant to lay hands on him again. Ming Huashang sighed and said: “Leave it to me. Jiang Ling, wake up.”

Jiang Ling slept on serenely, not the least bit disturbed. Ming Huashang called his name several more times and was beginning to lose her patience. She said loudly: “Dinner’s ready!”

“Hmm?” Jiang Ling’s head shot straight up; his eyes were barely open, but he could already accurately locate the direction of the voice: “What are we eating?”

Ming Huashang looked at him without words: “Eating nothing, that’s what.”

“Ming Huashang.” A familiar voice came from behind the partition — warm and gentle, patient and measured: “Your dumplings have been plated. I used the filling you like. Come and taste them.”

Ming Huashang immediately dropped Jiang Ling and rushed over: “Don’t touch them — I’ll plate my own!”

Li Huazhang’s voice dropped to a low, fond note: “I know you marked the ones you hid sugar in — don’t worry. The one with the sugar is already in your bowl.”

“How did you know I made marks?”

“I saw you.”

“What?” This was Ren Yao’s voice, unconcealed disbelief. “You did too? Hey, Xie Jichuan, put that down — that one is mine!”

Jiang Ling rubbed his eyes and wandered over at a leisurely pace to eat. It had been so long now that he was no longer actually that hungry — but the warm, rising steam smelled so good that he could not help smiling.

This was the most hurried New Year he had ever known. No lavish, grand banquet. No dazzling performances to dazzle the eyes. No father, stepmother, younger brother, or household retainers. Only a few friends, and a pot of dumplings they had made themselves. And yet Jiang Ling felt that this New Year, more than any other he had ever had, felt like New Year.

May those in heaven and on earth — claim all their joys, night after night like this, year after year.

The third year of Jinglong, the first day of the new year.

The date given here is, in truth, not quite accurate. The former Emperor has passed, and Prince Wen has been enthroned; Empress Wei acts as regent. Jinglong was the late Emperor’s era name and should no longer be used. But the court’s official proclamation has not yet arrived, and the new Emperor’s era name is unknown — so Jinglong is used here for the record.

Last night we were up until the small hours. Because the court is in mourning for the late sovereign, there were no fireworks allowed. Second Elder Sister and Jiang Ling lit ground-spinners in the courtyard instead, and burned a hole in Second Elder Sister’s clothes.

The kitchen had been left in a shambles by all of them. I intended to clean it up last night, but Second Elder Sister refused — she said eat, drink, and be merry today, for tomorrow is tomorrow’s worry. Yet when she finally lay down to sleep, she slept deeply and did not stir; this morning when I rose, she had still not moved.

On the road I ran into Ren Yao, who said she is to return to the capital today to report on the mission and has come to take her leave. Xie Jichuan is nowhere to be found — most likely he left last night.

I was going to go and wake Second Elder Sister, but Li Huazhang said she had only just fallen asleep, and Ren Yao also said there was no need to disturb her — they would meet again one day.

I thought the same. When the new Emperor holds the court’s inauguration ceremony, he will certainly summon Li Huazhang back to the capital. In a few days they can see each other again in Chang’an — no need to hurry over that.

Yet watching them depart with my own eyes — it was still sad, all the same. The noise and warmth of last night — and in the blink of an eye, only an empty courtyard and the remnants of snow remain, and a half-jar of wine beneath the eave still unfinished. Li Huazhang says he will bring this jar of wine back to Chang’an; the next time they meet, he will have them make good on it — and they shall not stop drinking until they are well and truly drunk.

I hope the next time they meet, they will have grown more skilled at making dumplings, and will not waste so much flour.

Ming Yuji, at the Shangzhou Prefectural Office.

——The Sixth Case: “The Serpent’s Curse,” Complete.