Han Jie choked slightly, and stared at Ming Huashang for a long moment.

He had encountered many daughters of marquises and counts — beautiful ones, plain ones, brilliant ones, ignorant ones, vain ones, and spoiled ones. Each had a different temperament, yet they all shared one thing: their eyes were set impossibly high.

These noble misses had never once worried about survival from the day they were born; knowing nothing of the hardships of life, they naturally regarded money as worthless. They had no concept of earning money to support a family, and were far more concerned with upholding the family’s interests and advancing their husband’s career — even if those so-called family interests were not, in truth, their own interests.

So Han Jie’s words had been weighted toward the second half of his speech. Common people and peddlers could be enticed with coin, but obviously not the daughter of a ducal residence. He had heard that this Miss Ming was not yet betrothed, and his truly prepared lure for her had in fact been the matter of marriage.

If she could provide useful intelligence and moved the Empress to show favor, finding a pretext to issue an imperial decree of marriage for her would be simplicity itself.

Yet before he had even dangled the bait, the fish had already leapt onto the bare hook. She had answered so readily — and when combined with the fact that the Ming family had once been close confidants of Crown Prince Zhanghuai — he could not help but wonder: could she have agreed on purpose, using this as an opportunity to infiltrate the Empress’s personal guards and steal inside information for her family?

From this angle, Second Young Miss Ming was far from the unambitious, uncontested person she was rumored to be.

Han Jie spoke slowly: “Han has not yet finished — and Miss has already made up her mind?”

“Made up my mind!” Ming Huashang said. “Even an account manager who does nothing but work an abacus for a shopkeeper can still be let go in old age. How many posts in this world offer lifelong care without layoffs or dismissal? Only official court positions, I’d wager. It’s a pity I am a woman and cannot sit for the examinations and enter public service. When an opportunity like the Xuan Xiaowei presents itself, of course I must seize it.”

Ming Huashang was simply too lazy to rack her brain, but that did not mean she had no brain at all. The Xuan Xiaowei had swept her off the street without warning and then allowed her to meet their direct commanding officer — could this truly all be up for discussion? She had no real choice in the matter; it was better to show a good attitude and try to negotiate the best possible terms.

She had in fact been worried about the problem of people and livelihood. If she could join the Xuan Xiaowei, then establishing an independent household and buying land deeds in the future would be trivial matters. She still didn’t know who had tried to kill her, which showed that the person behind it had extensive connections. On her own, she could not fight a nobleman with power and influence. She could only borrow a larger, more powerful beast.

The Xuan Xiaowei — a black owl. In ancient times, the owl was a symbol of the god of war and of death, so the name carried a second meaning: killer in the dark of night.

The existence of the Xuan Xiaowei was hardly admirable, or even ethical, but it could undeniably solve her most urgent problem. Since she could not resist, she might as well go along.

Han Jie seemed somewhat surprised. He asked, half-smiling, “Miss, what you say — a woman already has someone to support her for life, especially one as beloved by her father and brothers, as pretty as you are. Once you marry, will your husband’s family really be short of money for your cosmetics? You have no need to choose the Xuan Xiaowei for a few copper coins.”

Ming Huashang smiled and shook her head. Yes — before marriage a father provides, after marriage a husband, and after widowhood a son. In a man’s eyes, this was indeed an “easy life.”

Since they did not stand in the same position, many things could not be truly felt by the other. Ming Huashang did not dwell on the point with Han Jie, and merely said lightly, “Holding out your palm and asking others for money will never feel as satisfying as earning it yourself. Parents will inevitably leave before you do, and nine times out of ten a husband will grow cold. Only the state never changes — if it promises to provide for you your whole life, it will certainly do so.”

Ming Huashang had no great ambitions. She had no desire for merit or achievement; living out this life peacefully and steadily was enough. After eventually leaving the Duke of Zhenguo’s household, her food, clothing, and lodging would certainly drop several notches, but the rich had their way of living and the poor had theirs. What she valued was stability — receiving reliable pay each month, nothing more.

Father and elder brothers were pillars that were destined to fall. A husband was full of uncertainty — earning a few meals’ worth from him meant not only navigating her in-laws’ household politics, but likely also bearing his children. By comparison, the court was such a stable, reliable, trustworthy — well, not exactly a sucker, more like — a worthy cause to serve.

Han Jie looked at her in surprise for a long while, then gave a soft click of his tongue and said, “Miss Ming, I do not know why you are so fixated on money… but if you think joining the Xuan Xiaowei means you can rest easy and coast through life, then you are greatly underestimating the Xuan Xiaowei.”

Good — just moments ago Han Jie had still been worried that Ming Huashang intended to infiltrate the Xuan Xiaowei as a double agent. Now he could set that concern aside entirely.

What he had to worry about instead was whether she was trying to swindle them out of a salary.

Knowing this concerned her entire life’s happiness, Ming Huashang immediately put on an expression of devout sincerity and humbly asked, “Then what does General Han need me to do?”

“That depends on what you are capable of doing.” Han Jie said. “Within the Xuan Xiaowei there are four tiers — Heaven, Earth, Dark, and Yellow — and only those who reach the Earth tier may receive a lifelong stipend. I’m afraid I must disappoint Miss.”

Ming Huashang let out a soft “oh,” evidently recognizing that the court’s money was not so easily earned, nor this bowl of rice so easily consumed. She quickly rallied her spirits and asked, “Not disappointing — then how does one reach the Earth tier?”

Han Jie let out a soft laugh. This young miss truly dared to dream. Han Jie, unafraid of her leaking the information, explained honestly: “Heaven, Earth, Dark, and Yellow are only the broad categories, representing merely one’s level of access within the Xuan Xiaowei; within each tier there are many further divisions of rank, and the whole of the Xuan Xiaowei is far more than just four tiers. Among them, the Heaven tier are the Empress’s personal confidants — they have no superior officers and report directly to the Empress on any matter. The Earth tier are the elite: they not only gather intelligence but also independently carry out external assignments. The Dark tier is responsible for gathering and relaying information. The Yellow tier is one step below — they have no superior officers to report to; they gather any potentially useful information — from grain prices to events on the street — large or small, write it all up and submit it.”

Ming Huashang understood. She was suddenly reminded of an amusing incident from many years ago.

At the time, Her Imperial Majesty had only just seized power, and ministers were unwilling to be lorded over by a woman; the princes of the outer prefectures were growing restless as well. One morning, the palace gates were suddenly thronged with curious onlookers. The officials arriving for court grew curious and glanced over — and found that a group of thieves had lined up and were trying their luck at picking a lock.

A peculiar four-colored bronze letter box hung with a lock, and the most skilled thieves in the capital each took their turn, yet not a single one could open it.

Her Imperial Majesty then declared that this bronze letter box was to encourage the widening of channels for opinion. It had four openings: the one painted blue was the Yanren box, for the nourishing of the people and the encouragement of agriculture; the red one was the Zhaojian box, for the evaluation of governance; the white one was the Shenyuan box, for the redress of grievances; and the black one was the Tongxuan box, for policy suggestions. Regardless of wealth or station, anyone with opinions about the court could write them on paper and place them into the box. Every evening the Empress would send trusted eunuchs to collect the letters, and she would read every slip inside personally.

Whether the lock was truly so remarkable, no one could say — but the Empress had unmistakably sent a signal to all under heaven: this bronze box was something only she could open; in other words, no one could ever know what others had written.

Reaching the ears of the throne had always been the most difficult thing throughout all the dynasties, but after the bronze box, anyone had the chance to make direct contact with the Empress, who could thereby learn the voice and sentiment of the people, without being deceived by ministers or palace eunuchs.

Yet the bronze box served an even more important purpose in practice: it was used for slander and secret denunciations.

After all, how many commoners could read? The vast majority of those stuffing the box were officials quietly slipping in letters of accusation against political rivals. The Empress was also content to let her ministers stand in opposition — only thus could she, a female emperor, maintain her footing securely.

From that box grew the ensuing dark age of vicious censors, and the endless succession of rebellion cases. Within a few years, the censors had grown powerful beyond control; ministers dared to seethe but not to speak. The censors had become so audacious that they would hurl darts each day — whoever they struck would be accused of treason.

In the end, they even dared to falsely accuse Prince Wei and Princess Taiping of rebellion. But that had kicked an iron plate: the Wu family members and Princess Taiping went into the palace together to weep their grievances. By that time the Empress had secured the throne — allowing the censors to run rampant any further would only harm her own reputation, so the Empress came to her senses in time, had the censors killed, and the decade-long shadow of censorial tyranny finally came to an end.

A great swathe of censors were purged, and the bronze letter box naturally fell into disuse as well. Ming Huashang had thought the box had vanished into the long river of history — she had not expected it had merely transformed from a visible, tangible object into an invisible intelligence network.

Were not the Dark and Yellow tiers of the Xuan Xiaowei doing precisely the work of the bronze box? Only the “Dark tier” sounded grander, primarily monitoring the nobility and officialdom — yet in substance there was no difference.

For no particular reason, Ming Huashang felt a premonition rise in her — the same instinct that had just saved her life. She had an inexplicable feeling that if she wanted to live well and without disturbance, she could not be a Yellow or Dark tier informant.

The Xuan Xiaowei had come to her door and asked her to help monitor the nobility; for all she knew, there were other people monitoring her from behind as well.

Whether for her own safety or for long-term considerations, she had to attain Earth tier. Yes, she would need to go out and execute assignments, and the danger would naturally double — but only that way could she become a true insider of the Xuan Xiaowei, someone who would not be casually discarded. Only then could she accumulate useful connections of her own, and eventually establish her independence and secure a foothold in this world.

Ming Huashang quickly thought through the stakes, yet maintained the look of a greedy, lazy, oblivious little miss, and said brazenly, “Earth tier is what gets a lifelong stipend? Very well — I want to be Earth tier.”

Han Jie let out a soft laugh and said, “Miss Ming is truly… not what one would expect. Earth tier is not as simple as saying so — there are many hardships that are not known to outsiders. Miss, with your delicate skin and pampered upbringing, there is really no need to suffer that.”

Ming Huashang was of course afraid of hardship, but she also knew that everything life offered came with a price already labeled — if she refused to suffer, she would inevitably lose something of equal or greater value.

Ming Huashang steeled herself and said with heroic spirit, “It doesn’t matter — I think I am clever and talented, and I’m certain I can do it!”

Han Jie looked at her with a half-smile and said, “Unless my memory has gone entirely, it seems that not long ago, Miss said she had a poor mind, slow reactions, a weak constitution, and could not even keep up with running.”

This time there was no need to pretend — a look of genuine pain spread naturally across Ming Huashang’s face: “It’s true that I can’t keep up. But what can I do? Only Earth tier gets a lifelong stipend.”

Han Jie truly could not fathom why a miss from a ducal residence — who was not even being thrown out — was so fixated on money. But the explanation, paired with Ming Huashang’s expression, was inexplicably convincing. He said, “Since you have the ambition, I can hardly stand in the way of your advancement. However — below Dark tier I can decide on my own authority; once we reach Earth tier, that is beyond my power.”

Ming Huashang ventured to ask, “So…”

“So, there will be an assessment.” Han Jie said with a smile. “Miss Ming, only by passing a trial mission can you enter Earth tier.”

Ming Huashang felt a twinge in her teeth. She had known it — finding a lifelong sinecure was never going to be so easy. But she told herself she had come this far anyway, and might as well gamble on the best possible terms. If she secured this, she would have an iron rice bowl for the next forty years!

Ming Huashang took a deep breath and said, with the air of one cutting off a limb to save oneself, “Fine — assessment it is!”

“Miss is decisive.” Han Jie said with a smile. Ming Huashang stared at him with righteous resolve, and with her own eyes watched him pour the wasted tea out of the purple clay pot and skillfully begin grinding a cake of pressed tea. Ming Huashang watched for a while, and her courage bled away bit by bit — she could barely even maintain her smile. “General Han?”

“Hmm?” Han Jie looked up and glanced at her, as though genuinely surprised she was still there. “Why are you still here?”

Ming Huashang’s expression went stiff, uncertain what look to put on: “Didn’t you say there was going to be an assessment?”

Han Jie gave an offhand “oh” and said, “The assessment is not my responsibility. You may leave now.”

Ming Huashang was dumbstruck. She tried to determine whether this was yet another test, but when she looked carefully at Han Jie’s expression, he seemed to mean it.

Ming Huashang began to have doubts about her decision. Was this organization actually reliable? She tried to phrase it as diplomatically as she could: “General, how do I undertake the assessment? Even if the contents can’t be revealed, surely you should at least tell me the time and place?”

Han Jie thought for a moment and said, “To be honest, I’m not sure exactly how the assessment will be conducted. Here’s what you do: five days from now, at the hour of Si, tie a red sachet to yourself and go to the south gate of Enshun Ward. Follow the fifth willow tree and go into the alley behind it — find a shop with a blue banner hanging outside. Once you’ve found it, ask the proprietor how many portions of sheep liver pastries are left. If he gives you a pastry, follow the instructions written on it to find the corresponding location — your contact there will tell you what the assessment involves.”

Ming Huashang felt dizzy by the end: “Why all this complexity? Slow down — could you say that again? I’ve already lost track of the beginning.”

Han Jie looked at her with a pleasant smile: “If you can’t keep track, that means you are not suited for this line of work. Also — if you value your life, do not write any of this down.”

Ming Huashang’s hand, which had been reaching for a brush, stopped. She quietly gave up. She felt she had probably — maybe — memorized it? Uncertainly, she asked: “And then — that’s all for today? If something comes up in the future, how do I find you? By coming to this teahouse?”

Han Jie bowed his head over the tea-grinding and said coolly, “You don’t need to find me. When I need something, I will find you.”

Ming Huashang understood — they communicated through a single, unidirectional line: Han Jie could find her at any time, but she could not find Han Jie. Ming Huashang fell silent and rose from her seat, walking two steps toward the door, then slowly stopped.

Han Jie assumed she had thought of some other scheme, and looked up to ask, “Is there something else?”

“Can I skip the sheep liver pastries?” Ming Huashang said very seriously, opening negotiations. “I prefer cherry pastries. If that’s not possible, crab roe would be acceptable as well — sheep liver ones don’t taste good.”

Han Jie drew in a breath; even the cake of pressed tea in his hands crumbled a little.

He was beginning to question his own judgment.

Had he just recruited a completely useless person?

Han Jie smiled pleasantly and asked in a mild voice, “What do you think?”

“Oh.” Ming Huashang gave a dejected reply and went out with her head hanging. Even on the way out, she nearly caught her foot on the staircase and tripped.

The stairs of this teahouse were rather steep. Ming Huashang had not seen them clearly and almost fell; fortunately she grabbed hold of the railing in time. The young man who had brought her in looked at her with an expression that said “are you somehow disabled?” Ming Huashang gave him a sweet smile, clutched the railing, and carefully inched her way down step by step.

Once outside, both the proprietor and the tea servers were nowhere to be seen. Ming Huashang stepped out of the door; the clamor of market life from the street and alley rushed into her ears all at once. She stood there for a moment, looked back, and found the teahouse door was already closed.

It was as though everything that had just happened had been nothing but a dream, and she could not quite distinguish the real from the illusory.

Ming Huashang walked out of the small alley. Ruyi stood anxiously and blankly on the street, clutching a packet of still-warm jusheng pastries. The moment she saw Ming Huashang, she hurried over: “My lady, I finally found you. Where did you go just now?”

Seeing the jusheng pastries in Ruyi’s arms, Ming Huashang finally confirmed she had not conjured a hallucination — she really had encountered a strange group of people and agreed to an outrageous proposition.

She picked out a jusheng pastry and put it in her mouth, biting into the crisp little snack with a crunch, and said through a full mouth: “Nothing — I saw something interesting on the street and wandered around for a bit. Let’s go — we’ve been out a long while. Time to head back.”

Ruyi gave a crisp reply, clutched the big packet of jusheng pastries, and followed Ming Huashang back toward the Buddhist temple.

Apart from having little ambition, Ming Huashang was in every other respect as good a mistress as one could hope for. She never lost her temper carelessly; she spoke gently and treated people with generosity. If a maidservant accidentally broke something, she never took her to task for it. She often shared food with her maids, and they had all enjoyed a great deal through her. So when Ruyi had bought the jusheng pastries, she had purchased a large packet, intending to share them with Zhao Cai and Jin Bao when they returned.

Ming Huashang didn’t mind these small matters. She and Ruyi chatted and laughed as they made their way back to Bodhi Temple; the Old Madam had not yet finished paying her respects to the Buddha. Ming Huashang found a sheltered spot out of the wind, sat down, and crunched away at the jusheng pastries.

Ming Yu came back carrying the lofty, aloof bearing of a proper ducal miss. Catching sight of Ming Huashang, she cast several glances in her direction, filled with a secret hatred and vexation that went unspoken.

Hatred that Ming Huashang’s head wasn’t right, only ever thinking about eating; fury that she was a waste who knew nothing but how to eat, yet was nonetheless the true-born daughter of the ducal residence.

Ming Huashang ate through about half the packet. When the Old Madam finally emerged, she heard the sound and reluctantly set the pastries down, wiping her hands with a handkerchief — entirely indifferent to the burning looks Ming Yu and Ming Shuo were shooting her way. The Old Madam came out and glanced at the corner of Ming Huashang’s mouth; the muscles of her cheek tightened slightly, but she said nothing.

What was there to say about a simpleton who knew nothing but eating?

This visit of the Duke of Zhenguo’s womenfolk to the Buddhist temple concluded in this peculiar atmosphere. The second and third branches looked down on the simpleton of the first branch; all the way through they had been shooting sideways glances at Ming Huashang — but those glances were wasted on someone blind to them. Ming Huashang had barely settled into the carriage before she was leaning against the side dozing off, and even when they alighted she was still bleary-eyed, going directly back to her room to sleep.

Leaving the second and third branches to stand there in the wind, growing increasingly irritated.

The four maids Zhao Cai, Jin Bao, Bao Qin, and the others had served Ming Huashang since she was small, and today, the moment Ming Huashang returned, they sensed that something about their young miss was different.

For some time before, Ming Huashang had said nothing, but they could feel that she had been somewhat anxious — even not eating as much as usual. Yet tonight she returned and reverted to that loose, relaxed state of hers — not only ordering a late-night snack, but eating two bowls of sweet soup as well.

If they had to describe this feeling… it was remarkably like one of those students who had been striving diligently for two or three days, then suddenly found a new position to fall back on and no longer needed to make an effort — immediately and contentedly lying flat.

Zhao Cai could not quite tell where this uncanny sense of familiarity came from.