The sky closed in all around, and the great river of stars flowed silently like a silver ribbon across the heavens. The grape leaves rustled softly, like the hushed murmuring of lovers.

After the initial rush of emotion — crashing and overwhelming as breaking waves — Ming Huazhang’s heart had quickly settled. In truth, he had sensed it within himself long before.

On a spring night in Luoyang, he had pushed open a door and found her standing in the rain — and something seemed to brush, lightly, against the inside of his chest. On the Zhongnan Mountains, he had carried her — exhausted and barely able to stand — and felt an ache of tenderness and guilt. In the hidden room at the Heavenly Fragrance Tower, when an uninvited presence was only a few steps away, he had looked down to meet Ming Huashang’s eyes and somehow forgotten to hide.

In those moments there had been an impulse within him — faint and half-formed — yet each time he had explained it away as worry, as the anxiety of an elder brother for a younger sister, and nothing more. Not until today, when Ming Huashang’s gaze wandered to another man’s retreating form and she spoke of moving out of the Ming estate to draw a clear line between them — had Ming Huazhang’s emotions finally slipped beyond his control, and broken through the surface.

An elder brother should have no desire to possess a younger sister. When Ming Huazhang became conscious of his own thoughts, he found himself contemptible — base and shameless, low and mean.

Until the age of four, Ming Huazhang and Ming Huashang had been raised together, eating and sleeping in the same place, sharing a quilt at nap time. He could no longer recall the specific events — only the feeling: warm and full, always with someone beside him no matter what he was doing, completely at peace.

After his fourth year, Duke Zhenguo carried Ming Huazhang to the outer quarters to be educated, and from then on he and Ming Huashang rarely saw each other. His childhood had ended with that.

In the years that followed, they had little connection — but Ming Huazhang had never stopped following news of Ming Huashang. She had lost her mother as a small child and grown up alone, with no one for company but maids and older servants, not even a person to talk with. Ming Huazhang worried that she would suffer within the inner courts with no one to stand up for her, and worried too that she might be led astray by unscrupulous servants. Yet she proved to be far more kind and brave than he had imagined. Even without anyone to nurture her, she grew into a small sun that shone warmly of its own accord.

Ming Huazhang was both relieved and ashamed. From that guilt he had worked even harder at being a good elder brother, sparing no effort to treat her well. But the inner courts and the outer quarters had little interaction, and she was so clear-headed and sensible that there was almost never anything for him to help with. The only thing Ming Huazhang could do was join the Xuan Xiaowei and prove the Ming family’s loyalty through action — working step by step to restore Duke Zhenguo’s estate to its former standing.

At the beginning of the year, she had suddenly come after him and spoken to him of her own accord. Ming Huazhang had been genuinely taken aback — and moved. He had heard within the Xuan Xiaowei of Prince Luling’s secret return to the capital, and knew the Fei Hong Banquet had ill intentions behind it. He would have gone regardless — but he could not allow Ming Huashang to be put in danger.

Yet Ming Huashang was as immovable as a swallowed weight of iron, entirely resolved to go with him. Ming Huazhang had no choice but to relent and take her along.

Many things had changed from that banquet onward. They came to know Ren Yao and Jiang Ling, encountered many princes from the Li and Wu families, and were unwittingly drawn into Prince Wei’s plot. All of this had been within Ming Huazhang’s calculations — he had placed life and death out of consideration before ascending the mountain. But the greatest variable he had not anticipated turned out to be her.

With an almost uncanny ability, she had described the appearance of the perpetrator, greatly accelerating the resolution of the case. In the end, the conspiracy targeting Prince Luling was navigated without lasting disaster — but she had been marked by someone with intent.

To this day, Ming Huazhang still couldn’t understand what condition Han Jie had used to persuade Ming Huashang to join the Xuan Xiaowei. He had tried to stop her, but Ming Huashang’s resolve had been astonishingly firm. After repeated failed attempts at dissuasion, he had nearly caused a mission to fail through his own bias.

After that, Ming Huazhang had reflected deeply and concluded that obstruction was less effective than accommodation. Rather than gambling on Han Jie’s sense of conscience, it was better to keep her directly under his own eye — at least that way he could ensure she wouldn’t be sent to handle anything too dangerous.

Ming Huazhang had tried hard to be a good elder brother, and wished he could keep her right in front of him at all times. But at some unknown point along the way, he had pressed too hard.

The closeness between them had repeatedly exceeded what was proper for siblings — yet wrapped in the outer shell of that bond, both of them had overlooked it, and so had the people around them. Ming Huashang didn’t know — but Ming Huazhang could not pretend he didn’t.

Thoughts wound through a thousand turns, yet in reality only a few breaths had passed. Ming Huazhang stood in silence beneath the grape trellis. His upbringing left no room for delay or wishful thinking — once a problem was identified, it had to be confronted.

Ming Huazhang thought quietly about how to resolve this obsession that should never have taken root.

Without question, the best course was to act as though nothing had occurred — to continue maintaining proper sibling conduct, and quietly pull back over time, letting everything be washed clean by the passage of days. But even as steady as Ming Huazhang was, he was still only sixteen, and he couldn’t restrain the impulse within. He asked: “Huashang — what kind of person do you want to marry?”

Ming Huashang paused slightly. The maids often teased her about future husbands, and Ming Huashang was long accustomed to it. But when the same question came from the lips of a young and handsome elder brother, the impact was entirely different.

Ming Huashang felt a sudden wave of sorrow — and she knew the sorrow had no standing whatsoever. An elder brother caring about his younger sister’s lifelong happiness, eager to introduce her to fine young men — what was wrong with that?

Ming Huashang even felt that if she pushed her own small desires and tried to press Ming Huazhang, he would likely agree, simply to spare her pain.

But Ming Huashang could not do that. In terms of what was right — he was the sole son of Duke Zhenguo’s estate, destined to inherit the title, while Ming Huashang was a falsely placed daughter. A birth mix-up alone was enough to invite ridicule — if a former elder brother and sister were to marry on top of that, it would become fodder for gossip on every street corner.

He had devoted himself from childhood, accomplished in learning and martial arts, and was already celebrated throughout Chang’an. A bright official future stretched before him. How could Ming Huashang, for the sake of her own selfish desire, ruin his name and obstruct his path?

And in private matters — the true daughter would return next year. After sixteen years of displacement, anyone would find it impossible to remain entirely at peace with the one responsible. If Ming Huashang continued to stay in Duke Zhenguo’s estate, she would only put Su Yuji, the Duke, and Ming Huazhang in a difficult position.

He was a very good elder brother. Ming Huashang treasured this bond deeply and truly did not want things to fall apart into ugliness and mutual resentment.

Better to stay within the bond of siblings. She would quietly leave. At least when he looked back on this one day, she would be a younger sister who wasn’t very clever — but was still, all things considered, rather endearing.

Ming Huashang averted her eyes from Ming Huazhang’s gaze and said softly: “Marriage is so far off — I haven’t thought about it.”

In ordinary days, Ming Huashang was the one who shamelessly followed Ming Huazhang around, while he remained cool and distant — it seemed Ming Huashang was always taking the initiative, and Ming Huazhang was always the passive one. But at moments like this, their roles reversed entirely. Ming Huashang bowed her head and curled inward, while Ming Huazhang pressed forward step by step, his gaze burning and forward-driving.

Ming Huazhang would not allow Ming Huashang to be evasive. He had the bearing of someone who would not let go until he had what he sought: “If you haven’t thought about it, think about it now. You are young and your path has been smooth — surely you weren’t born with a contemplative heart, longing to take refuge behind an empty gate? No need to consider practical circumstances. Just tell me — what kind of person do you like? What kind of husband do you want?”

If an ordinary grandmother or aunt had asked this, Ming Huashang would have smiled and let it pass. But this was him. He was pressing her to say what kind of man she liked — and then what? Play matchmaker for her?

Ming Huashang’s own temper rose. She said out of spite: “Second Elder Brother needn’t trouble yourself finding someone for me. The person I like doesn’t come from any great or distinguished household. He doesn’t need a prestigious family background, doesn’t need remarkable talent — it doesn’t matter how much land, how many servants, or how much property he has. As long as he is gentle and kind, as long as he will stay faithfully with me alone his whole life, and we can live a quiet and happy life together — that is enough. Status and wealth, high position and great honors — I care for none of it.”

Ming Huazhang fell into abrupt silence. He almost felt that Ming Huashang was deliberately saying the opposite of what she meant, just to provoke him. Because every single point she had described was almost entirely contrary to who he was.

Before his eyes there immediately appeared a face — Su Xingzhi’s.

Ming Huazhang assessed Su Xingzhi as fairly as he could: of humble birth but talented and driven — not a poor choice for a husband, especially for someone like Ming Huashang from a prominent family. If she were to marry Su Xingzhi in the future, Su Xingzhi had no family of his own, no parents living — he would almost be like a son-in-law coming to live in the Duke Zhenguo estate. Ming Huashang wouldn’t need to leave her family, wouldn’t need to wait on a mother-in-law or ingratiate herself with sisters-in-law, and with the Duke present, Su Xingzhi would not dare take concubines. For Ming Huashang, it might not be the grandest match — but it would be the most suitable one.

And given Ming Huashang’s nature, there would be no risk of her domineering over a son-in-law until the marriage soured, nor of her being so soft-natured that a live-in husband drained the family resources. Married to Su Xingzhi, she could live exactly the quiet, happy, uncomplicated life of her dreams.

And Ming Huazhang? He couldn’t even make any promise for his own tomorrow.

Ming Huazhang was silent for a long while. The sharp and pressing intensity in his gaze gradually dimmed as reason reclaimed its seat. Ming Huazhang let out a rueful smile and drew himself back within the boundary between siblings. This had always been the best resolution — and yet he had let something cloud his judgment and foolishly tried to sound out her feelings.

And look at the result. Nothing but tormenting himself without cause.

The wind moved through the courtyard, carrying a trace of cold. Autumn had arrived, after all — evenings were different from the summer nights. Ming Huazhang brushed away a fallen petal from her hair bun and said quietly: “Sleep well. Tomorrow — Father will be home.”

Everything would return to how it was meant to be.

Ming Huashang bowed her head and answered briefly. Tonight Ming Huazhang had been entirely out of character — for the first time, he did not wait for her to go inside before turning to leave.

Ming Huashang stood in the empty courtyard with only starlight and cool wind for company. She looked up, gazing through layer upon layer of grape leaves toward the vast, surging Milky Way.

The instructors at the base had taught them how to navigate by the stars. Ming Huashang searched for a long time but could not find where the Cowherd Star and the Weaving Maid Star were. She suddenly lost all her strength, and sank into a tired crouch, arms wrapped around her knees.

Once Father came back, she would return to being the sheltered young miss of a noble household — rarely setting foot outside the inner or outer gate — and she would spend the last half-year that belonged to a manor-born daughter. After that, meeting each other again would truly be very difficult.

Those four months on the Zhongnan Mountains — four months living side by side with him, talking of everything without restraint — had it all been only a dream?

·

The ancestral estate in Chang’an had only just been renovated, and aside from the few servants needed to keep essential operations running, the rest of the compound was empty and quiet. Fortunately, four months on the mountain had long since made Ming Huashang entirely self-sufficient. The next morning, she woke at the hour of Mao without any prompting, dressed herself smartly, and washed up. She looked at the sunlight gradually climbing beyond the grape trellis and thought: the sun still rises all the same. There is nothing that cannot be gotten through.

Today the Empress would enter the city. Like the ladies of countless households across Chang’an, Ming Huashang had her carriage readied and set out early in the morning to stand along Vermilion Bird Street and await the imperial procession.

Vermilion Bird Avenue was already packed well beyond capacity. The carriages of aristocratic households and the jostling masses of spectators had all pressed into one great mass. Before long, Ming Huashang’s carriage could no longer move.

Ming Huazhang rode on horseback alongside the carriage, brow furrowed as he surveyed the way ahead, trying to find a new route. Ming Huashang pulled back the carriage curtain: “Second Elder Brother, there are too many people here. I’ll just get down and walk.”

All that met the eye was a dense sea of heads — there was no passage to be found. Ming Huazhang sighed, dismounted first, and stepped in front to hold back the crowd: “There’s no other way.”

Ming Huashang gathered her skirt and stepped out, just about to jump down from the carriage step when a pale and slender hand reached out beside her. Ming Huashang glanced at him quickly, then, without a word, took the hand and stepped down from the carriage.

Crowds surged and pressed from both sides, people constantly pushing against Ming Huashang. Ming Huazhang’s advantage of height became fully apparent at this moment. He stood before her and held the crowd at bay without much effort at all.

He held her hand and pressed open a path through the sea of people. Ming Huashang couldn’t see anything clearly amid the press — she only knew to keep close on his heels.

She tilted her head up during a brief lull in the jostling and saw his shoulders, which seemed lean, yet stood as solid as a mountain. He was like a sharpened blade cleaving through waves, and not a trace of the noise and chaos from either side reached Ming Huashang.

Ming Huashang curled her fingers slightly and felt his palm — and the composure she had worked so hard to rebuild through the night began quietly to falter.

The Empress, returned to Chang’an after so many years away, had truly moved the whole city — the scene was grand and unprecedented. The further forward they pressed, the harder it became. In such conditions, having a large stretch of the best spots cleared and held was a conspicuous thing indeed. Ming Huashang recognized the figure beneath the trees and called out in surprise: “Jiang Ling?”

Jiang Ling seemed to sense the eyes on him. He turned back, saw them, and waved with great enthusiasm: “Come over here, quickly!”

Vermilion Bird Street was overwhelming with people today — and not entirely safe either. Ming Huazhang made no ceremony of it and led Ming Huashang into the canopied enclosure that Marquis Jiang’an’s estate had staked out. Ming Huashang stood in the shade, wiped the sweat squeezed from her brow by the crowd, then looked at Jiang Ling in front of her — dressed in fine and splendid clothes, beaming with cheerful delight for no particular reason — and understood quite thoroughly that power and influence were truly a fine thing.

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

“Waiting for my father,” Jiang Ling said. “Today the Emperor, the princes and princesses will all pass through here. My father specifically told me to find somewhere conspicuous to stand. I think this is conspicuous enough, wouldn’t you say?”

Ming Huashang nodded, with nothing more to add: “You’re right.”

They had come out early in the morning and waited — it wasn’t until well into the afternoon that they finally heard the gongs in the distance. Ming Huashang rose up on her toes and saw the solemn and magnificent procession winding its way past, followed by a carriage adorned with nine dragons and a phoenix.

Without needing to be told — even just the decoration atop the carriage was enough to tell anyone who was inside. Ming Huazhang reminded her to observe the proper ritual. Ming Huashang quickly lowered her head, and the great cry of ten thousand voices shouting “Long live the Emperor” swept over her with the force of a tide that could move mountains and overturn seas.

As the carriage wheels passed before her, Ming Huashang couldn’t help but steal a glance upward. The brocade curtains on both sides of the imperial carriage had been drawn back, revealing the woman inside dressed in dragon robes. Her hair was neat and black, her eyes keen and clear, and her every movement carried an authority that needed no anger to be felt.

One could sense that she was quite old — yet that did nothing to diminish how imposing and formidable she appeared. Ming Huashang looked for just a moment before quickly dropping her gaze, her heart pounding hard.

So this was the Empress whose name was known throughout the realm — she had deposed three of her own sons, and truly, she was something beyond the ordinary.

After the Empress’s carriage came the carriages of the princes and princesses. In the past it was always Prince Liang and Prince Wei who rode closest to the Empress — but on this occasion, the very first carriage behind the Empress’s belonged to the Crown Prince and Crown Princess Consort Wei.

The Crown Prince and Wei Consort sat side by side in the open carriage. The Crown Prince had been under confinement for many years; now, faced suddenly with so many people, his hands trembled slightly. And especially when he considered how many pairs of eyes were watching — if he showed the slightest undignified bearing, it would be a disgrace to the Li family name.

The thought only made the Crown Prince more anxious. Crown Princess Consort Wei listened to the surging cries of “Long live the Crown Prince” and “Blessings upon the Crown Princess” on either side, her heart swelling with a rush of feeling — and if the Empress rode at the very head of all this, what a height of splendor must that be? At this moment she felt the person beside her trembling. She shot a swift, sidelong glance at the Crown Prince with a look of deep frustration. Using the cover of her sleeve, she pressed firmly down on the Crown Prince’s hand, barely moving her lips: “Your Highness — so many eyes are watching. You must not be seen in this state.”

This was the first battle in their return to Chang’an, the critical one in establishing the Crown Prince’s position — it could not falter. The Crown Prince felt his wife’s resolve beside him and finally found something to hold onto. He slowly steadied himself.

Behind the Crown Prince and Crown Princess’s carriage came Prince Liang and Prince Wei, then Prince Xiang, Princess Taiping, and the Prince of Ding.

As Prince Xiang’s carriage passed, the Prince of Linzi and his brothers rode on horseback, guarding their father’s carriage on either side. The spectators on both sides caught sight of the Prince of Linzi — young, martial, splendidly dressed, and mounted on a fine horse — and the roar of the crowd shifted to an entirely different key. Many women, married or not, tossed perfume pouches and handkerchiefs toward the rider with unbridled enthusiasm.

Tang dynasty women — bold and passionate as ever.

Jiang Ling stood with arms crossed, clicking his tongue: “Are there stones in those pouches? They throw so far — look at that one that just hit the ground, it made a thud! Aim something that heavy at someone’s face and you’d need a skull of iron to survive the whole street. Tch — a street parade like that, I wouldn’t do it even if someone invited me.”

Ming Huashang gave Jiang Ling a measured look: “The fox who couldn’t reach the grapes says the grapes are sour. Outside of the imperial family, the only ones who ride down the Imperial Street are a general returning from triumph and a newly ranked scholar of the examinations. Rest assured — you won’t have that problem.”

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

“Then tell me — which of those categories could you reach? Marrying into the imperial family, passing the examinations, or winning a battle?”

Given Jiang Ling’s mind, the literary path was entirely closed to him. When all was counted, the only option remaining was his face — and charming his way into the role of a prince’s son-in-law. Yet Jiang Ling looked as though he’d been provoked, and said: “Who says I can’t lead troops into battle?”

Ming Huashang gave a short laugh and said nothing more. The implication was plain to see. Jiang Ling was furious and rolled up his sleeves to argue the point with Ming Huashang — but at that moment Ming Huazhang’s cool voice cut through: “Marquis Jiang’an is coming.”

Jiang Ling instinctively stiffened at the mention of his father’s name. He looked up — and sure enough, Princess Taiping’s ceremonial carriage was rolling past. Marquis Jiang’an and the Prince Consort Ding rode on horseback, flanking the carriage on either side.

Marquis Jiang’an spotted Jiang Ling and gave him an expressionless glare. Jiang Ling deflated at once and turned his head away in a thoroughly joyless manner.

Once the procession of the imperial family had passed, the ordinary households of dukes, marquises, earls, and barons followed behind. Ming Huashang quickly spotted Duke Zhenguo in the crowd and jumped up, waving eagerly: “Father!”

By that point the Empress’s carriage had long since returned to the palace. The crowd’s main attention had been on the princes and princesses — a half-measure title like theirs carried little weight. The crowd along the road had already thinned considerably, and as they had no need to return to the palace and report, they were free to scatter and go their own ways.

Duke Zhenguo saw from a distance a young man as clear as wind and as bright as moonlight, and beside him a lively and vivid young woman. His heart ached at the sight of both his children. He quickly dismounted and walked toward Ming Huazhang and Ming Huashang: “Second son, Huashang — four months, and not a single letter sent back. How much your father has missed you!”