The sky settled into stillness on all sides, and the vast river of stars stretched across the heavens like a silent, silver ribbon in ceaseless flow. The grape leaves rustled softly, like the murmuring of lovers.

After the initial shock, Ming Huazhang’s mood settled quickly. In truth, he had already sensed this coming for some time.

On a spring night in Luoyang, when he’d opened the door and seen her drenched in rain, something inside his chest had seemed to scratch at him; on Zhongnan Mountain, when he’d carried her exhausted body in his arms, his heart had ached with both tenderness and self-reproach; in the secret chamber of the Tianxiang Tower, with an uninvited intruder mere steps away, he had looked down and seen Ming Huashang’s eyes—and forgotten to even hide.

At those moments, a vague, indistinct impulse had stirred in his heart, but each time he explained away that restlessness as worry, as nervousness, as the kind of feeling an elder brother has for his younger sister—until today, when Ming Huashang stared blankly at another man’s retreating back, and even suggested moving out of the Ming household to draw a clean line between them. Ming Huazhang’s emotions finally broke free of restraint.

An elder brother should not feel possessive of his younger sister. The moment Ming Huazhang became aware of his own thoughts, he felt shameless, despicable, contemptible.

Before the age of four, Ming Huazhang and Ming Huashang had been raised together—eating together, sleeping together, even sharing the same blanket during their afternoon naps. He could no longer recall specific events, only that the feeling had been warm and full; no matter what he did, someone had always been there beside him, and it had felt utterly secure.

After he turned four, Ming Huazhang was taken by Duke Zhenguo to be raised and educated in the outer courtyard, and he rarely saw Ming Huashang again—his childhood ended along with it.

In the years that followed they had little contact, but Ming Huazhang always kept himself informed of Ming Huashang’s circumstances. She had lost her mother young and grown up alone, with no one around her but maids and old nurses—not even someone to talk to. Ming Huazhang worried both that she’d suffer mistreatment in the inner household with no one to protect her, and that malicious servants might lead her astray. Fortunately, she turned out far kinder and braver than he had imagined—even with no one to shelter her, she grew into a little sun that shone and gave off warmth on her own.

Ming Huazhang felt both relieved and guilty, and because of this he worked all the harder to be a good elder brother, doing everything he could for her. But the inner household and outer courtyard had little overlap, and she was so perceptive and sensible that she truly had no need of him. The only thing Ming Huazhang could do was join the Xuan Xiaowei, proving through his own actions the loyalty of the Ming family, and hasten the day the Duke Zhenguo’s household would regain its power and standing.

Earlier this year, when she had suddenly run out after him and spoken to him on her own initiative, Ming Huazhang had truly been caught off guard by the honor of it. He’d heard within the Xuan Xiaowei about Prince Luling’s secret return to the capital, and knew the Flying Red Banquet boded ill. Naturally he had to go—but he couldn’t let Ming Huashang put herself in danger.

Yet Ming Huashang had been as stubborn as a lead weight, absolutely determined to follow him. Ming Huazhang, left with no choice, ultimately gave in and set out together with her.

Many things changed from that banquet onward. They had met Ren Yao and Jiang Ling, encountered numerous princes of the Li and Wu clans, and been unwittingly drawn into Prince Wei’s schemes. All of this Ming Huazhang had more or less anticipated—before going up the mountain he had already set aside thoughts of life and death—but he hadn’t expected that the greatest variable of all would be her.

She had, as if aided by the gods, described the culprit’s appearance, greatly accelerating the case’s resolution. In the end, the plot against Prince Luling was resolved without lasting harm—but she had drawn the attention of those with hidden intentions.

To this day Ming Huazhang still couldn’t figure out what terms Han Jie had used to persuade Ming Huashang to join the Xuan Xiaowei. He had tried to stop her, but her resolve had been unusually firm; his repeated attempts to dissuade her had failed, and he’d nearly caused a mission to fail because of his own bias.

After that, Ming Huazhang reflected deeply and decided that damming the flow was worse than channeling it—rather than gamble on Han Jie’s conscience, better to keep her close under his own watch, at least ensuring she wouldn’t be assigned to the most dangerous missions.

Ming Huazhang tried hard to be a good elder brother, wishing he could keep her tethered before his eyes at all times. But somewhere along the way, he had overexerted himself.

Their interactions had repeatedly exceeded normal bounds, only wrapped in the shell of siblinghood, so that both of them—and everyone around them—had overlooked it. But while Ming Huashang didn’t know, Ming Huazhang could no longer pretend not to know.

His thoughts churned endlessly, though in reality only a few breaths had passed. Ming Huazhang stood silently beneath the grape trellis; his upbringing since childhood had never allowed him to indulge in delay or wishful thinking—once he recognized a problem, he had to face it.

Ming Huazhang thought quietly to himself, searching for how to resolve this improper delusion.

Without question, the best course was to act as if he knew nothing, continue observing the proper etiquette between siblings, quietly put distance between them in private, and let time dilute everything. But steady as Ming Huazhang was, he was still only sixteen. He couldn’t hold back the impulse in his heart, and asked: “Shangshang, what kind of man do you want to marry?”

Ming Huashang froze for a moment. The maids often teased her about a future husband, and she was used to it—but hearing this kind of topic from her young, handsome elder brother struck with an entirely different impact.

Ming Huashang suddenly felt a pang of sadness, and she knew this sadness had no grounds at all—an elder brother caring about his sister’s lifelong happiness, actively introducing her to promising young men, what was wrong with that?

Ming Huashang even thought that if she used her petty temper to force him to marry her, Ming Huazhang, unwilling to let her suffer, would probably agree.

But Ming Huashang couldn’t do that. Publicly, he was the sole heir of Duke Zhenguo’s household, destined to inherit the dukedom one day, while Ming Huashang was a false daughter who had been swapped at birth. A mistaken infant swap was scandalous enough on its own—if former siblings were to marry, it would become fodder for gossip in every street and alley.

He had studied diligently and worked hard since childhood, excelling in both scholarship and martial arts, and was now known throughout Chang’an as its most accomplished young gentleman, with a brilliant career path laid out before him. How could Ming Huashang, for the sake of her own selfish desires, ruin his reputation and jeopardize his future?

Privately, next year the real young lady would return. No one, after being swapped for sixteen years, could calmly face the person responsible for it. If Ming Huashang stayed on at Duke Zhenguo’s household, she would only put Su Yuji, Duke Zhenguo, and Ming Huazhang in an awkward position.

He was a wonderful elder brother, and Ming Huashang cherished this bond dearly—she truly did not want it to end in mutual resentment and estrangement.

Better to let it remain at the level of sibling affection, and quietly leave. At least, when he looked back on it someday, he would remember her as a not-especially-clever, but reasonably endearing, little sister.

Ming Huashang avoided Ming Huazhang’s gaze, and said softly, “Marriage is too far off—I haven’t thought about it.”

Ordinarily, Ming Huashang would shamelessly trail after Ming Huazhang, while he remained cool and unmoved—it looked as if she were the pursuer and he the passive one. But at this moment, their roles had completely reversed. Ming Huashang shrank into herself, head lowered, while Ming Huazhang pressed closer, step by step, his gaze burning and full of aggression.

Ming Huazhang wouldn’t allow Ming Huashang to be evasive, bearing down with the air of someone who wouldn’t stop until he got his answer: “If you haven’t thought about it, think about it now. You’re young, and everything’s gone smoothly for you—surely you weren’t born with a nun’s heart, wanting to renounce the world? Never mind practical considerations—just tell me, what kind of person do you like? What kind of husband do you want to marry?”

If her grandmother or an aunt had asked this question, Ming Huashang would have simply laughed it off. But this was him. He was pressing her about what kind of young man she liked, and then what? Was he going to matchmake for her?

Ming Huashang’s temper flared too, and she snapped back in frustration: “Second Brother, don’t trouble yourself finding someone for me. The person I like doesn’t come from some grand and powerful household. He doesn’t need an illustrious family background, doesn’t need extraordinary talent—it doesn’t matter how much land, how many servants, or how much wealth his family has. As long as he’s gentle and kind, and can stay by my side for a lifetime, living a peaceful, happy life with me, that’s enough. Fame, fortune, high office, none of it matters to me.”

Ming Huazhang abruptly fell silent. He almost thought Ming Huashang was saying this deliberately to provoke him, out of spite—because nearly every point of it ran completely counter to who he was.

An image immediately flashed before Ming Huazhang’s eyes—Su Xingzhi.

Ming Huazhang tried to judge Su Xingzhi as fairly as he could: the man came from humble origins but was talented and ambitious, and would make a worthy son-in-law—especially for someone like Ming Huashang, from a prestigious household.

If she were to marry Su Xingzhi in the future, since Su Xingzhi had no family of his own, both his parents having passed, he would essentially be marrying into Duke Zhenguo’s household. Ming Huashang wouldn’t have to leave her family, wouldn’t have to serve a mother-in-law or curry favor with sisters-in-law, and with Duke Zhenguo present, Su Xingzhi wouldn’t dare take a concubine either. For Ming Huashang, this might not be the most glamorous match, but it would be the one best suited to her.

And given Ming Huashang’s temperament, there would be no risk of her becoming domineering and alienating her husband, nor of a weak, incompetent son-in-law draining the family’s fortune. Marrying Su Xingzhi, she could truly live the peaceful, happy, worry-free life she dreamed of.

And Ming Huazhang? He couldn’t even guarantee his own tomorrow.

Ming Huazhang fell silent for a long while, the sharp, piercing intensity in his gaze gradually fading as reason reasserted itself. Ming Huazhang smiled bitterly, returning to the boundaries proper between siblings—this had always been the best solution, except that he’d let his own obsession take hold and tried to test her feelings.

Now look at this—nothing but self-inflicted trouble.

A breeze passed through the courtyard, carrying a hint of chill. After all, autumn had already arrived; nights were no longer like summer ones. Ming Huazhang brushed a fallen blossom from her hair bun and said softly, “Sleep well. Tomorrow, Father will be home.”

Everything would return to normal.

Ming Huashang lowered her head and gave a brief, muted response. Today Ming Huazhang had been unusually strange—for the first time, he turned and left without waiting for her to go inside first.

Ming Huashang stood alone in the empty courtyard, with only starlight and a cool breeze for company. She looked up, gazing through the layered grape leaves at the vast, sweeping Milky Way.

Their tutor at the base had once taught them to determine direction by the stars, but no matter how long Ming Huashang searched, she couldn’t find the Weaver Girl or the Cowherd star. She suddenly felt drained of strength, and sank down wearily, hugging her knees.

Once Father returned, she would go back to never stepping beyond the main gate, living out the final half year that belonged to a young lady of the ducal household. After that, it would truly become very hard to see him again.

Were the four months she’d spent on Zhongnan Mountain, the four months they’d lived side by side and talked about everything, nothing more than a dream?

·

The old ducal residence in Chang’an had only just finished being renovated; apart from a few servants kept on to maintain essential functions, most of the place stood empty. Fortunately, Ming Huashang had grown used to fending for herself during those four months on the mountain, and she woke naturally at the hour of Mao the next morning, dressing and washing briskly. Watching the sunlight climb higher outside the grape trellis, she thought to herself that the sun still rose as always, and nothing was truly insurmountable.

Today the Empress was to enter the city, and Ming Huashang, like countless other ladies of Chang’an, hitched up a carriage early in the morning to go wait along Vermillion Bird Street for the imperial procession.

Vermillion Bird Street was already packed with people—carriages from the households of dukes and marquises, along with commoners come to watch the spectacle, crowded together in a solid mass. Before long, Ming Huashang’s carriage could go no further.

Ming Huazhang rode on horseback beside the carriage, brows furrowed as he scanned ahead, trying to find another route. Ming Huashang lifted the carriage curtain and said, “Second Brother, there are too many people here—I should just get down and walk.”

As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but a dense sea of heads, with no clear path through. Ming Huazhang sighed and dismounted first, stepping in to block the flow of people: “There’s no other way.”

Ming Huashang lifted her skirts and was about to jump down from the carriage shaft when a slender, jade-white hand reached toward her. She glanced at him quickly, then silently took his hand and hopped down from the carriage.

The crowd surged on both sides, people constantly pressing toward Ming Huashang, and Ming Huazhang’s height proved its worth now—he stood in front of her, effortlessly holding the crowd back.

Holding her hand, he forced a path through the sea of people. Ming Huashang couldn’t make out any direction at all; she only knew to follow closely behind him.

In a gap between the crowd, she looked up and saw that his shoulders, though seemingly slender, stood as immovable as a mountain, like a sword parting the waves—none of the chaos on either side touched her at all.

Ming Huashang curled her fingers slightly, brushing against his palm, and the composure she’d worked so hard to regain the night before sank low again.

The Empress, after years ruling from another capital, was returning to Chang’an—it was truly an occasion that emptied every household to watch, a spectacle without precedent. The farther they went, the harder the going became; at a time like this, having a large open space cleared in such a prime location seemed especially conspicuous. Ming Huashang recognized the person standing under the tree and exclaimed in surprise, “Jiang Ling?”

As if sensing her gaze, Jiang Ling turned and, spotting them, waved enthusiastically with delight: “Come over here!”

There were far too many people on Vermillion Bird Street today, and it wasn’t safe besides, so Ming Huazhang, without ceremony, led Ming Huashang into the canopy set up by the Marquis Jiang’an’s household. Standing in the shade, Ming Huashang wiped the sweat that had beaded on her forehead from the crush of the crowd, then looked at Jiang Ling before her, dressed in fine silks and grinning foolishly to himself, and fully appreciated just what a fine thing power and status could be.

Ming Huashang asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for my father,” Jiang Ling said. “Today the Emperor, the princes, and the princesses will all be passing through here. My father specifically told me to find a conspicuous spot to stand. I figure this spot is conspicuous enough, don’t you think?”

Ming Huashang nodded, at a loss for words: “You’ve got a point there.”

They had left home early in the morning to wait, and it wasn’t until the afternoon, past midday, that they finally heard the sound of gongs. Ming Huashang stood on tiptoe and saw the awe-inspiring honor guard winding its way past, followed by a palanquin carriage adorned with nine dragons cradling a phoenix.

Needless to say, just the decoration atop the carriage was enough to reveal who rode within. Ming Huazhang reminded her to bow in respect, and Ming Huashang hastily lowered her head as cries of “Long live the Emperor” rose around her, the momentum overwhelming like mountains collapsing and seas overturning.

As the sound of wheels passed before her, Ming Huashang couldn’t resist stealing a glance upward. The brocade curtains on both sides of the palanquin had been drawn back, revealing the woman inside dressed in dragon robes. Her hair was neat and jet black, her eyes sharp and full of vigor; every gesture carried an unspoken authority.

One could sense she was already quite advanced in years, but it did nothing to diminish how imposing and formidable she appeared. Ming Huashang glanced once and quickly averted her eyes, her heart pounding hard.

So this was the Empress, renowned throughout the realm—no wonder, a woman who had deposed three of her own sons; she truly was extraordinary.

Following the Empress’s palanquin came the carriages of the various princes and princesses. Usually it was Prince Liang and Prince Wei who rode alongside her, but this time the first carriage behind the Empress belonged to the Crown Prince and his wife.

The Crown Prince and Consort Wei sat side by side in the carriage. The Crown Prince, having been confined for many years, trembled slightly at the sight of so many people all at once. He was especially anxious, knowing that if he showed even the slightest hint of impropriety before so many watching eyes, it would bring shame upon the Li family.

Thinking of this, the Crown Prince grew even more nervous. Consort Wei, hearing the surging cries of “Ten thousand years to the Crown Prince” and “Blessings upon the Crown Princess” from all around, felt her heart swell with excitement—and thought how much more magnificent it must feel for the Empress, riding at the very front.

At that moment, Consort Wei noticed the person beside her trembling. She glanced quickly at the Crown Prince, rather exasperated at his lack of resolve. Shielding the gesture with her sleeve, she pressed firmly on the Crown Prince’s hand and murmured through barely moving lips: “Your Highness, so many people are watching—you mustn’t lose your composure.”

This was their first battle since returning to Chang’an, and one crucial to proving the Crown Prince’s standing—it absolutely could not fail. Feeling his wife’s resolve, the Crown Prince finally found something to steady himself, and slowly calmed down.

Behind the carriage of the Crown Prince and his consort came Prince Liang and Prince Wei, followed by Prince Xiang, Princess Taiping, and Prince Ding.

As Prince Xiang’s carriage passed, his sons, the Prince of Linzi among them, rode as guards beside their father’s carriage. When the crowds on either side saw the young, valiant Prince of Linzi riding his fine steed, the cheers took on a different pitch, and many women—married and unmarried alike—enthusiastically tossed sachets and handkerchiefs toward him on his horse.

Women of the Tang truly were this bold and unrestrained.

Jiang Ling stood with arms crossed, clicking his tongue: “Did they put rocks in those sachets? Thrown that far? Look at that pouch—it hit the ground with a thud! Throwing something that heavy at someone’s face—you’d need a pretty hard skull to survive walking this whole street. Tch, if they invited me to a street parade like that, I wouldn’t even go.”

Ming Huashang gave Jiang Ling a resentful glare: “Sour grapes, are we? Aside from the imperial family, only victorious generals and newly ranked scholars get to walk the imperial avenue. Rest assured, you’ll never have that particular headache.”

“Hey!” Jiang Ling raised an eyebrow, displeased. “Who are you looking down on?”

“Then tell me, which category could you possibly qualify for? Marrying a princess, passing the imperial exams, or winning a war?”

Given Jiang Ling’s intellect, the path of scholarship was thoroughly closed to him; counting through the options, the only one left was riding on his looks to land himself a princess as a consort. But Jiang Ling seemed to take offense at this, saying, “Who says so? Why couldn’t I lead troops into battle?”

Ming Huashang chuckled lightly and didn’t respond further, the implication clear enough. Jiang Ling, annoyed, rolled up his sleeves as if to have it out with her properly, when at that moment Ming Huazhang’s voice cut in, cool and clear: “The Marquis of Jiang’an is coming.”

Hearing his father’s title, Jiang Ling instinctively startled and looked up—sure enough, Princess Taiping’s carriage was rumbling past, with the Marquis of Jiang’an and her husband Prince Ding riding on horseback alongside it.

The Marquis of Jiang’an spotted Jiang Ling and shot him a stern glance without a word; Jiang Ling instantly deflated, turning his head away in disappointment.

Once the imperial relatives had passed, the ordinary dukes, marquises, and earls followed behind. Ming Huashang quickly spotted Duke Zhenguo, and jumped up excitedly, waving: “Father!”

By this time the Empress’s palanquin had long since returned to the palace; the common people mainly came to see the princes and princesses, and these lesser-ranked nobles hardly mattered to them one way or another. The crowds along the road had already thinned considerably, and since they had no need to report to the palace, they were free to disperse and head home on their own.

From a distance, Duke Zhenguo caught sight of a young man standing by the roadside, refined as a gentle breeze and bright moon, with a lively, charming young lady beside him. Seeing his two children together, the Duke felt a pang of tenderness, and hurried down from his horse toward Ming Huazhang and Ming Huashang: “Er-lang, Shangshang, four months, and you two couldn’t even send a single letter back—how I’ve missed you both!”