After Ming Huazhang entered, the atmosphere in the room changed entirely. Ming Shuo, who had been leaning against her mother, straightened and composed herself into the image of a proper young lady; Ming Yu continued her devoted attendance on the Old Madam, but her gestures and expressions multiplied noticeably — she seemed barely able to stop herself from announcing aloud what a filial daughter she was.

The maids need not even be mentioned — each and every one of them became timid and coy, their eyes liquid as autumn water, unable to help stealing one glance after another at Ming Huazhang. Only Ming Huashang remained in her thoroughgoing deadweight manner — the sort of person who, even if the very mountains collapsed before her eyes, would merely look up and ask “What do you intend to do about it?” Taking advantage of an unguarded moment, she quietly stifled a yawn.

After so many years, she had long since grown used to it.

Dragon-and-phoenix twins were always considered an auspicious omen; the news had spread quickly once the Ming family welcomed a pair, and almost every time guests visited, she and Ming Huazhang would be summoned to greet them. Other young ladies envied her for having a dragon-and-phoenix twin brother — yet in truth, Ming Huashang and Ming Huazhang were not particularly close.

Ming Huashang had never known her mother, and Ming Huazhang had been taken to the outer courtyard for his upbringing early on. In Ming Huashang’s memory there was almost no image of the two of them playing together as children. They only crossed paths at family gatherings, and in truth they were not much more intimate than ordinary cousins.

This was not because Duke Zhenguo had treated them differently. On the contrary, he had indulged both of them without limit — whatever they needed in food, clothing, lodging, or travel, he provided; he spared no expense on their education either, paying generously for the finest tutors to instruct them separately in the six gentlemanly arts and in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting, intent on cultivating them into a model gentleman and an accomplished young lady — the ideal dragon-and-phoenix pair.

Yet the two siblings had grown into entirely different people. Elder brother Ming Huazhang was diligent and self-disciplined: after completing his lessons, he would voluntarily request more — from the Four Books and Five Classics, the six gentlemanly arts, to equestrian and archery skills, there was nothing he had not mastered. Ming Huashang, on the other hand, was exceptionally skilled at forgiving herself: whatever music, chess, calligraphy, painting, needlework, or embroidery she could learn, she learned; what she could not was simply set aside. Duke Zhenguo could never bring himself to press his daughter too hard, and Ming Huashang had only to pout and wheedle a little before he would soften.

Thus, under such doting, Ming Huazhang had grown into a young man of both literary and martial accomplishment — famed throughout the capital, the dream of half the young ladies in Chang’an and Luoyang — while Ming Huashang had grown into a deadweight.

Ming Huashang had previously wondered: same siblings, same household — how could the difference be so great? Now she understood. It was her own fault. One need only consider that the true daughter coming later, Su Yuji, was also a thoroughly accomplished young woman.

Caught up in her idle thoughts, Ming Huashang did not notice that her yawn had been somewhat too conspicuous. After Ming Huazhang greeted the Old Madam and took his seat, the maids eagerly served him tea and water. When his teacup was set before him, he gave a faint nod of thanks, but his ink-dark eyes merely passed across the maid — without any particular reaction.

This was simply his upbringing. It made no difference to him whether the person pouring the tea was male or female, or even an animal. He was as cool as a piece of jade: even in this warm and fragrant environment, he remained cold. Only when his gaze passed over the young woman sitting across the room did his eyes pause — and a slight, subtle furrow came to his brow.

Because of Ming Huazhang’s movement, everyone in the room looked toward Ming Huashang.

Ming Huashang was in the midst of quietly stifling a yawn. She had barely slept the whole night; the charcoal braziers in the Old Madam’s room were blazing warm, and this gentle, drowsy heat was making her increasingly sleepy. But morning greetings were still underway — being found half-asleep would be too embarrassing. Ming Huashang pinched herself hard to remind herself not to nod off, then lifted her head and found everyone looking at her.

Ming Huashang’s expression went rigid. She swept carefully and blankly around the room — and met Ming Huazhang’s gaze.

She had just stifled a yawn, and her eyes were soft and dewy. That frozen, bewildered look made her seem like a fawn that had been startled and was trying to play dead. Ming Huazhang quietly looked away. The Old Madam spoke into the silence: “Second Miss, what is the matter — did you not sleep well last night?”

She had feared this very thing. Ming Huashang forced a smile and said: “No, I only had a bad dream and felt somewhat distracted. I have made Grandmother laugh.”

The Old Madam did not actually care much about such small things, but since the subject had come up, she felt obliged, with Ming Huazhang present, to ask a little more: “What sort of bad dream — was it serious? Do you need me to have a few prescriptions prepared?”

Ming Huashang’s face fell at the mention of medicine — please, anything but that. She could not face taking medicine right now. She declined the Old Madam’s kindness diplomatically: “Thank you, Grandmother, but there is no need for such trouble. I will be fine after going home and sleeping.”

The Old Madam knew Ming Huashang was soft-natured and without ambition, remarkable only for her easygoing spirit and her ability to eat and sleep without worry. She gave a faint nod and did not press further, turning instead toward Ming Huazhang: “Second Young Master, Princess Taiping is hosting a banquet at Feihong Garden — what do you think?”

Ming Huazhang was Duke Zhenguo’s only son, but he had an elder brother who had died young, so he was ranked second.

Ming Huazhang inclined his head and said evenly: “I am aware of it. I have heard that this time the Empress Regnant has graciously permitted the Crown Prince’s sons to leave the palace and attend the banquet. I would like to go and see.”

Ming Huazhang’s willingness to go suited the Old Madam perfectly — though she had not known that the Crown Prince’s sons were also to attend.

The Crown Prince had been confined to the palace under the Empress Regnant’s watchful eye for over ten years; even his own children had fared no better, being kept within the palace and rarely allowed contact with the outside world. It seemed Princess Taiping truly enjoyed exceptional favor, to have persuaded the Empress Regnant to show such rare mercy.

Even if what came out was not the Crown Prince himself but merely his sons, that was enough.

The Old Madam asked: “Which commandery princes?”

“The Prince of Linzi and the Prince of Baling.”

The Old Madam sounded an ambiguous note — unclear whether disappointed or relieved: “And the imperial grandsons?”

Ming Huazhang sat straight, his slender hands resting on his knees, the crimson round-collar robe making his complexion appear strikingly pale. He sat at the sandalwood table like an exquisitely paired jade figure: “The imperial grandsons must remain in the palace to attend upon the Empress Regnant and cannot leave.”

The Old Madam slowly nodded, turning the Empress Regnant’s intentions over in her mind. But their Empress Regnant had spent twenty-eight years as empress consort, four as empress dowager, and ten as emperor — her depths of calculation were greater than the sea itself. The Old Madam truly could not fathom her intentions. She let out a sigh: “Very well. It is rare to have the chance to relax over the New Year — go, consider it an opportunity to meet some young companions and ease your mind.”

The Old Madam had given up trying to divine the Empress Regnant’s thinking. So many chancellors and eminent ministers had been unable to see through her — how could the Old Madam? She consoled herself: even if the Empress Regnant had no intention of restoring the Crown Prince, it would still be good for Ming Huazhang to go and forge connections with some outstanding young men, laying a foundation for his future career.

And yet, as a minister who had served under Gaozong, the Old Madam could not help a heaviness in her heart when she saw no prospect of the Li family princes rising to prominence.

The Ming family’s circumstances had reached this point — it all traced back to more than ten years ago, when Empress Wu had usurped the Tang.

The reigning Empress Regnant had originally been Gaozong’s empress consort. She had then seized the throne from her own son and proclaimed herself emperor. After she ascended the throne, the original Li imperial family had become thorns in her side that threatened her rule. From the Chuigong era through the early Tianshuo years, the old royal family had been virtually slaughtered down to the roots; and her son — the former emperor, once raised to the throne and then pulled down again, now the Crown Prince — had become an extraordinarily awkward figure.

The Crown Prince had served the Empress Regnant in the palace, and had been doing so for over ten years. The ministers outside both wished to see him and feared to see him. Now, by some mercy, the Empress Regnant had relented and was willing to allow the Crown Prince’s sons to come out and breathe fresh air. What was unexpected was that those allowed out were not the Crown Prince’s eldest legitimate son, but rather his third illegitimate son, the Prince of Linzi, and his fourth illegitimate son, the Prince of Baling.

Neither eldest nor legitimate — they could not truly represent the Crown Prince. What use was it for them to come out and attend the banquet?

The Ming family traced their allegiance back to the Taizong era; they had been close to the imperial family for many years and rendered great service. Ming Huaiyuan had even once served as a guard for Crown Prince Zhanghuai.

This had seemed a certain path to great achievement — but who could have foreseen that an Empress Regnant would emerge from nowhere and sever the Ming family’s prospects. The Old Madam sighed again. The Ming family had struck the rocks and sunk — in the years since, Duke Zhenguo had become a complete marginal figure at court, assigned work that was hard, exhausting, and without merit. He had not even made it back for the New Year.

With the family’s fortunes bleak, at least the sight of her accomplished and jade-like grandson Huazhang could bring the Old Madam some comfort. She said to Ming Huazhang: “I am old and weary, and too lazy to stir. Second Young Master, take Second Miss with you to the Feihong Banquet. The mountain will be covered in snow and the roads will likely be difficult — take care along the way.”

That Ming Huazhang should represent the Duke’s household at the banquet was beyond question. But the Old Madam’s deliberate arrangement for Ming Huashang to go as well — that had naturally been thought through.

First, the two siblings were dragon-and-phoenix twins — an auspicious omen, pleasing to those in high positions. Second, storms were gathering at court, and though the Old Madam did not wish to take sides too early, pathways needed to be laid. Letting Ming Huazhang go among the young gentlemen to forge connections while Ming Huashang moved among the women’s company to gather information — this was neither too eager nor too restrained, not giving anyone cause for talk, and was exactly the right balance. As for why she did not send any of the other granddaughters… naturally it was because Ming Huashang was obedient enough not to harbor improper ambitions.

The banquet was to last three or four days, with so many young men and women feasting and making merry in the hills. If a Ming daughter were to become entangled with some commandery prince, the Old Madam would choke on her own blood with fury.

Ming Huazhang crossed his hands in acknowledgment, then his gaze fell briefly on Ming Huashang, and he did not conceal the disapproval in his eyes: “Thank you for the reminder, Grandmother. But her going along…”

Ming Huashang instinctively looked up and met Ming Huazhang’s eyes.

Ming Huazhang was worthy of the title “Jade Youth” — his brows like paired swords, his eyes like stars, his nose bridge high and straight, his lips lightly pressed — a most distinguished appearance. And now those eyes carried a measuring, critical quality, like a proud and imperious snowbank, making one feel that his loftiness and cool disdain were entirely his due.

In Ming Huashang’s mind there suddenly flashed those same eyes from the dream.

At that time he had worn the same cold, aloof expression — and yet when everyone was pointing fingers at her, it had been only he who stepped forward, saying to Duke Zhenguo who was bent on driving her out: “She did nothing wrong. The fault lies with Su Shi — it has nothing to do with her. She is a young woman with no power to protect herself in the outside world. Let her remain in the Duke’s household.”

Ming Huashang felt that for that one sentence alone, she was willing to believe the person who had killed her was not him. Even as the words of refusal were about to come from Ming Huazhang’s mouth, she cut in abruptly: “I would like to go to the Feihong Banquet to broaden my horizons. Elder Brother, would you take me with you?”

Ming Huashang was now like a startled bird. Not knowing who wanted to kill her, not knowing what would kill her, she had begun involuntarily scrutinizing everyone around her.

The Second Branch were concubine-born, a step beneath her in status yet arrogant at heart, and had always looked down on her as what they considered a decorative pillow. The Third Branch was the Old Madam’s youngest legitimate son’s family — much favored — and Ming Shuo had been raised spoiled from childhood, always wanting the very best of everything; even as easygoing as Ming Huashang was, she had inevitably had numerous clashes with Ming Shuo.

Before the dream, Ming Huashang had only thought that teeth and tongue sometimes clashed, and quarrels within a family were normal. But now, once-harmless friction had become potential murderous intent — Second Aunt, Third Aunt, Elder Sister, Third Sister, and all those male cousins — each and every one now seemed a possible culprit.

Then there were the servants and stewards of the Duke’s household… Before she thought it through, Ming Huashang had imagined she got along well with everyone; but now, she was stunned to realize she seemed to have offended a great many people.

In this vast household, Ming Huashang dared trust only Ming Huazhang. With Duke Zhenguo away on a suppression campaign and not yet returned, and Ming Huazhang about to go out to a banquet, how could Ming Huashang dare to stay behind alone in the household?

Even if it meant walking through a forest of blades and a sea of fire, she had to go out with Ming Huazhang!