Song Yaofeng × Yu Suigou — Side Story · Part One · The Immortal Awaits

01 · A Dream of Huaxu, Clear as Day

When Song Yaofeng pushed open the door to the study, Yu Qiushi had already collected himself from the previous day’s dazed stupor. He sat upright at his desk, writing something.

Hearing footsteps, he looked up, and his hand gave a faint tremor.

The study had been left in disarray after yesterday’s turmoil. After reprimanding his two sons, Yu Qiushi had driven them out and refused to allow any servants in to tidy the place. Song Yaofeng made her way around the toppled bookshelf and came to a stop before him, calling out in an even tone: “Grand Preceptor.”

Yu Qiushi met her gaze in the glow of a candle flame at his side.

What intentions she had carried when she first married into the Yu household all those years ago—a man as perceptive as Yu Qiushi could not have failed to guess. Whether it was to fulfill his second son’s wish, or to leave a way out for himself in the days to come, he had tacitly permitted the arrangement without a word of objection.

Through all these years, the two of them had played the part of an intimate family with perfect understanding, and neither had ever let the mask slip.

The candle beside him flickered. In the end, it was Yu Qiushi who looked away first. He bent forward as if searching for something beneath the desk, but he searched for a long time and did not straighten up.

Song Yaofeng had just begun to lean down to look when she saw him rise, cradling a small box. He also opened a case of vermilion inkpad sitting nearby, and placed both beside the document he had just finished writing.

Only then did she notice: the box was filled with Yu Qiushi’s personal seals.

Yu Qiushi had long practiced calligraphy and loved to collect jade and stone seals. Among these personal seals were gifts from the foremost seal-carving masters of the age, as well as some he had engraved with his own hand.

There, before her eyes, he pressed his seals one by one onto that lengthy handwritten document. He seemed to have intended to use only a single seal at first, but then worried that the world would not believe it, and so he took out every seal that had been used from the box and stamped them down one after another.

Song Yaofeng watched his actions with a cold eye, saying nothing.

Only when the document was covered so densely with seals that there was no room for a single one more did Yu Qiushi seem to come back to himself. He responded to her earlier greeting: “Your Highness has come.”

Song Yaofeng said: “I do not know what matter prompted the Grand Preceptor to summon me here.”

Yu Qiushi bowed his head and smiled faintly: “Your servant has a matter weighing on his mind that he wishes to entrust to Your Highness.”

Song Yaofeng said: “Grand Preceptor, please speak freely.”

Yu Qiushi said nothing. He only kept his head bowed, gazing at what he had just written. Song Yaofeng followed the direction of his gaze, and after reading two lines, she could not help but let her expression change drastically: “This is…”

“A confession,” Yu Qiushi answered calmly. “In those years, this old servant conspired with the current Emperor to plot the seizure of the throne. We coordinated with many people throughout the court, both above and below, and orchestrated an assassination. The Crown Prince at the time died in the assassination, which in turn caused the late Emperor to die of grief. Every matter involved, every person, every arrangement—I have set it all down on this page. After much deliberation, I believe this document can only be safely entrusted to the Princess. I hope Your Highness will pass it on to the Empress, to see whether… it can serve her purposes one day.”

He reached this point and gave a self-mocking laugh: “Enough—your servant need say no more. Everything I have to say—does Your Highness not already know it all in her heart?”

Song Yaofeng gazed at his hair, which had gone entirely white overnight, and slowly gathered up that written document, tucking it into her sleeve.

She did indeed know it all in her heart. More than that—she had previously been fretting over how to make Yu Qiushi leave behind some evidence from those days before Song Lan had him placed under arrest.

She knew Su Luowei’s plan with perfect clarity. If they were to one day seek to overturn the verdict on her imperial brother, the evidence from Yu Qiushi’s own hand would naturally be the most powerful of all.

Song Yaofeng had not even dared to hope that Yu Qiushi would personally confess. She had only hoped he might leave behind some vague physical evidence, and the rest they could fabricate on their own.

She had not expected him to write so lengthy a confession as this.

Yu Qiushi studied her expression and suddenly asked: “In those years, did the Empress ask Your Highness to marry into the Yu household in order to one day uncover my crimes?”

“The Grand Preceptor has misunderstood,” Song Yaofeng replied after a moment’s pause, composedly. “It was not the Empress who asked me to marry into the Yu household—I came of my own accord. As for the crimes, I never anticipated them either. The Grand Preceptor is so cautious—how would he ever leave evidence of crimes in my hands? Before I married, the Empress gave me only one instruction.”

Yu Qiushi asked: “What instruction?”

Song Yaofeng answered: “To read.”

As she spoke, a faint smile crossed her lips: “Father was a doting man and did not demand much of Ningle or me. When we were young, what we loved to read was the canonical classics of the sages, and poetry and verse. Suigou was a devoted soul who loved reading above all else, so I began reading alongside him, starting from the historical records of past dynasties. I truly wanted to know—throughout the ages, have there always been men like you and Song Lan? And what was the fate of men like you in the annals of history?”

Yu Qiushi’s expression did not waver: “And did Your Highness find the answer?”

“Perhaps,” Song Yaofeng lifted her eyes to look at him—neither nodding nor shaking her head. She touched her sleeve and turned to leave. “Grand Preceptor… take care of yourself.”

She walked to the doorway and heard the distant sound of muffled thunder from beyond the gate. The weather of early spring was so damp and humid; from the day Yu Qiushi returned from Xiuqing Temple, the rain had not let up.

Behind her, Yu Qiushi said quietly: “There is one more matter—a selfish wish of your servant’s.”

Song Yaofeng turned back. For the first time she heard a note of anxious uncertainty in his voice: “Your Highness—will you take Suigou away from this estate?”

Without waiting for her answer, Yu Qiushi continued: “Leaving him alive may displease His Majesty. Yet he… he is a good child. All these years, everything I have done has been entrusted to his elder brother. He has never had a hand in any of it.”

Song Yaofeng looked at him for a long moment, then made a quiet promise: “I will.”

Yu Qiushi smiled at that: “If Your Highness should one day encounter Suiyun…”

For some reason, he did not finish the sentence.

Song Yaofeng did not ask him to continue. After a brief silence between them, she turned and left.

She made her way through the Yu estate’s long corridors, which she had walked countless times, in the unbroken spring rain. Then, from beyond the main gate, the sound of approaching armored footsteps reached her—the household was alarmed, and one by one lights came on in the dark rooms.

“Yaofeng—”

A familiar voice called from the end of the corridor. Lightning split the sky, and in that fleeting flash of light, Song Yaofeng glimpsed a familiar face.

Just as he had done so many times in years past, he waved to her from a distance, then jogged up to her side and draped a black cloak over her shoulders.

Rain streamed down the young man’s ashen face, yet he only smiled, helpless and gentle: “How can you always dress so lightly?”

Song Yaofeng suddenly felt a chill. She gritted her teeth and suppressed her trembling, asking: “Did you hear the sounds from beyond the gate? His Majesty has sent soldiers. If you want to live, no matter what happens next, you must not speak a word—all right?”

She reached out to touch Yu Suigou’s face, keeping her voice as soft and gentle as she could: “Let us go back.”

But Yu Suigou, contrary to his usual self, seemed not to hear her words at all. He murmured to himself: “Your shoulders are soaked through—they’ll need to be dried by the fire… Oh, that’s right, I have a new piece of writing I want to show Father. The night is late and the frost is heavy, so don’t come along—hurry home and…”

Song Yaofeng’s hand slid from his cheek to his shoulder. She summoned what little strength she had and shook his shoulders, forcing her voice to sound calm: “Did you hear what I said?”

Yet Yu Suigou only murmured on: “Then it’s settled—tomorrow morning, I’ll make you a bowl of bird’s nest soup, how does that sound?”

Song Yaofeng called out sharply: “Suigou!”

Yu Suigou stepped back a pace, talking to himself. He drifted around her, stumbling toward the study where Yu Qiushi sat. Song Yaofeng watched his retreating figure and felt her hands trembling faintly.

She suddenly recalled a spring evening many years ago—the first time she had ever encountered him.

At that moment, what he had seen must have been a figure just like her own—a back turned away from him, walking ahead.

02 · Mountains, Rivers, Wind and Moon — Forever Longing

Their first meeting had come when both were still young.

That year, the old General Ye had died in battle, and several of the Ye sons had escorted the coffin back to the capital. Among them was a young general of similar age to the scions of the great Bianhe families; word had long preceded him that his horsemanship and archery were exceptional, and that at thirteen he could shoot a willow branch from a hundred paces.

It happened to coincide with the Spring Hunt, and everyone made great effort to invite this young general along. Among the company, naturally, was Princess Shu Kang—who always loved excitement—and her reading companion, Luowei.

Song Yaofeng stood on tiptoe in the viewing area, and at last, to her satisfaction, watched the young general casually pick up a bow and arrow and shoot clean through the target.

She exclaimed in admiration: “Weiwei, this young general truly has the strength of a god. I don’t think anyone in Biandu can match his archery.”

Luowei yawned: “Not necessarily—Second Brother is only a few years younger than him, and by this age he’ll certainly be able to do the same. Then there’s Little Yan… by the way, Little Yan said he wanted to take me rabbit-hunting today. Where has he gone?”

Song Yaofeng said crossly: “Why would you go rabbit-hunting with him?”

Luowei looked perfectly innocent: “Second Brother loves rabbits most of all—how could he possibly go hunting rabbits? He told me today he has to go mountain-climbing with someone else, so he can’t keep me company. It just so happens that Little Yan has snuck out one of his family’s trained hunting dogs, so I…”

Song Yaofeng said: “No, you can’t go—come practice archery with me. I want to learn archery!”

Luowei smiled happily and agreed at once: “All right—let’s have Second Brother and Little Yan come teach us.”

But Song Yaofeng’s cheeks flushed slightly. She shot a quick glance toward the field and hesitated, lowering her voice: “…I wonder whether the eldest son of the Ye family might be free. If someone like that could teach me, it would surely be twice the result for half the effort.”

Luowei gave a meaningful “oh.” “Then wait here—I’ll go invite him for you.”

Song Yaofeng was startled and quickly grabbed her arm: “If you just walk up to him like that, do you think he’ll actually come?”

Luowei said: “Then you go—you’re a princess. If he dares not come, just frighten him into it!”

Song Yaofeng thought it over seriously for a moment, coughed twice, and said: “I’ll try.”

The two of them made a pact and decided to wait for the young general on the Luyun Mountain trail where the young scions of the great families were hunting.

Luowei went to the eastern side of the dense forest while Song Yaofeng brought two palace maids to the rear of the mountain.

At the foot of the rear mountain, a patch of red roses had bloomed. Song Yaofeng was charmed by the sight and plucked one, intending to give it to Ye Kun. She waited for a long time, but he did not come.

As evening drew in, Luowei sent a guard to tell her that Ye Kun, after firing that one arrow, had made a hasty farewell and left.

Song Yaofeng deflated. She walked along the mountain path holding that bright red rose, feeling dispirited. Coming back to herself, she found she had walked in the wrong direction. She turned around—and from the woods not far behind her came the cry: “You will not insult my sister!”

It was a young man’s voice, and it still trembled faintly. It was utterly unlike the voices she usually heard from those children of the imperial house—voices full of confidence and assurance.

Hearing those words, a flicker of curiosity stirred in her. The speaker was clearly terrified beyond measure, yet he still had the audacity to shout so loudly.

Song Yaofeng gestured to the palace maids accompanying her not to make a sound, then crept forward on tiptoe in the direction of the voice.

Rounding a great tree with a trunk wide enough for two people to embrace, she saw a somewhat thin young man.

Though the young man wore a close-fitting narrow-sleeved outfit, the scholarly air about him was too heavy to conceal. One glance at the brand-new bow and quiver on his back was enough to tell Song Yaofeng that he did not know how to shoot.

The Spring Hunt drew the sons of all the great Bianhe families together. Even those who studied letters would come to join in the excitement—so this was nothing unusual.

She glanced down, and suddenly noticed: this young man had been bound to the tree with a bowstring so thin it was almost invisible!

He struggled desperately, and the bowstring had already cut a vivid red weal into his wrists. Before him stood several well-dressed sons of great families, laughing and mocking him.

One of them said: “Even at the academy you couldn’t hurt a fly—and yet here you are at the Spring Hunt. I’ll bet your elder brother has sent you off again to show off your calligraphy in front of some official, hoping to be taken on as his student.”

Another said: “What’s the rush—did I say anything wrong? Isn’t it true that your sister died because her husband’s family was caught up in corruption in the Jiangnan salt scandal? Your father holds no high position, yet he knew well enough to marry his daughter off to make money…”

And a third young man, haughty and arrogant, pulled back his bowstring and narrowed his eyes: “Everyone step aside—today let’s wager on that scrap of a leaf beside the second young master of Yu’s ear. Whoever shoots it off wins all the game taken in the dense forest today. Hey—Second Master, don’t you move. If I miss the shot, that won’t do.”

The crowd burst into delighted laughter. The “Second Master” bound to the tree seemed unmoved by all their taunts and ridicule, but when words concerning his sister and father were spoken he erupted—letting out a low, fierce roar.

“How dare you!”

Song Yaofeng could hold back no longer. She stepped over the red rose she had dropped on the ground and rushed to the young man’s side, shouting fiercely: “A royal hunting ground—bullying a companion, making a wager with someone’s life—what audacity! Which family are you from? Has no one in your household taught you any manners!”

Though the young woman was not tall, she was richly dressed and radiantly self-assured, her voice bright and clear. Even though the crowd had not yet recognized this princess—who had swapped her dress for a riding outfit and tied her hair in a horsetail—they were cowed by her presence and looked at each other in speechless confusion.

One brazen young scion of a great family spoke up first with a smirk: “Well, well, well—and who might this young lady be? Such a loud mouth…”

Before he could finish, the two palace maids behind Song Yaofeng hurried forward, calling out: “Your Highness!”

A little girl who could be addressed as “Your Highness”—how many could there be on Luyun Mountain?

Someone finally recognized her and immediately knelt: “We pay our respects to Princess Shu Kang! Long live Your Highness!”

The group of young wastrels fell to their knees in a wave. Only the young man bound to the tree still stood there, dazed and unrecovered.

Song Yaofeng stamped her foot, went around to the young man’s back, and loosened the bowstring from his wrists.

The bowstring had been pulled extremely taut, and the young man had struggled so forcefully that it had almost sunk into his flesh. Song Yaofeng kept frowning as she worked it loose, and couldn’t help letting out a sharp hiss: “Does it hurt?”

The young man nodded, then quickly shook his head.

Song Yaofeng reached out and plucked the scrap of leaf from beside his ear. She rolled the leaf between her fingers and turned to face the kneeling crowd: “The wager just now—it was on this scrap of a leaf beside his ear, was it not?”

The group, thoroughly frightened, dared not speak and could only apologize with awkward smiles: “It was all just a joke—we wouldn’t truly have the audacity.”

“Oh, a joke,” Song Yaofeng nodded, then raised her voice to call: “Zhongyi—go and tie these young gentlemen to the trees as well. Then have the others pull their bowstrings. Whoever can shoot off the hairpin from their heads wins a thousand in gold! If the aim isn’t true, then the one who missed takes a turn tied up and lets the others shoot—it’s all just a joke, after all, and no one is going to get hurt.”

The palace maid named Zhongyi had been assigned to attend the princess by the Emperor himself. She was gentle in temperament and exceptionally skilled—having watched over Song Yaofeng as she grew up, she was utterly devoted to her and never once questioned any of her commands.

Song Yaofeng ignored the pleading cries behind her and simply took hold of Yu Suigou’s sleeve, leading him away from the grove: “Your wrists are injured—we must find a physician to treat them quickly. If we wait too long, there may be some lasting ailment.”

After she had led him away for some distance, the cries from behind had faded entirely. Song Yaofeng turned her head, about to say something more, when a voice called out to her from the distance: “Shu Kang—”

She recognized it as Luowei’s voice, and started toward her eagerly. She had run a few steps before she remembered there was still someone behind her, so she turned back and told him: “Don’t let them bully you anymore. Don’t you know how to fight back? If you can’t beat them, come find me again!”

Yu Suigou nodded vigorously, but couldn’t seem to find any words.

Song Yaofeng pointed toward the Spring Hunt grounds in the distance to indicate he should go back on his own—but unexpectedly, he followed along after her instead. It was not until Luowei said something that she noticed he hadn’t left.

“Your… Your Highness,” he stammered, “my name is Yu Suigou. Gou as in… the white gull…”

Song Yaofeng was eager to hear from Luowei about what had happened with Ye Kun, and dismissed him with a casual wave, cutting him off mid-sentence: “I’ve remembered it, now hurry along.”

She had told a lie. She had not remembered the name, and had no idea what three characters it was written with.

That year, Song Yaofeng never did find the chance to ask the young general to teach her archery. She only found, in the palace gardens, a rose that bloomed similarly to the one on the rear slope of Luyun Mountain. When the young general was about to depart the capital in haste, she found an opportunity and pressed the flower into his hand.

Ye Kun received it, paused, and then without a word tucked it onto the helmet on his head.

After he left, Luowei invited Song Yaofeng to practice archery, but she could never work up any interest. She kept thinking that Ye Kun would one day return to Biandu—if she was to learn archery, it should be from his own hands.

And so the matter was put off. She never trained in martial arts again—not even after she married.

Years passed in a blink, so many that she had nearly forgotten that Spring Hunt on the slopes of Luyun Mountain, in the grounds of late spring.

In the first winter of the eighteenth year of the Changning reign, Song Yaofeng heard the name “Ye Kun” again—and what she received was the news of his death.

“…In the battle of Youyun River, at Pingcheng… the young general betrayed and defected to the enemy, bringing shame to the Ye family name… the border people are furious, and it is fortunate that General Liu…”

The words piled up around her ears, yet she could not make sense of a single one.

That day was the Start of Winter. She and Luowei had finally managed to slip out of the palace together for a banquet at Fengle Tower. She had eaten half a dumpling when Zhongyi came over with a grave expression, leaned down beside her ear, and whispered the news about Ye Kun.

The remnants lodged in her throat—heavy and bitter.

“Impossible—I don’t believe it, I refuse to believe it!”

Song Yaofeng raised her hand and knocked aside the wine cup at her side, then pushed open the door to the private room, wanting to rush out.

She wanted to storm the palace and ask her father if he could believe such clumsy lies; she also wanted to go to the border herself to see what had truly happened in that battle. How could a man so fine, a young hero so full of fire and spirit, become in an instant a bleached-white skeleton that all the world cursed?

Luowei threw herself forward from behind and caught her in an embrace, frantically trying to soothe her: “Yaofeng, listen to me—don’t act rashly. Let’s go to the palace first and find Crown Prince Brother—he’s sure to have a way. If the Ye family is innocent, His Majesty certainly won’t…”

Song Yaofeng murmured, dazed: “A few years ago I asked Father about it—he said I was too young to be thinking about such things, but he was laughing even as he scolded me, and said the children of the Ye family were very fine… I… I was still thinking that…”

That year, both she and Luowei were twelve years old, and neither of them yet understood what that suffocating, death-like feeling in their chests truly was.

She only knew it hurt unbearably—so unbearably that she had no room to spare for decorum, and couldn’t help reaching up to clutch at her own collar, trying with the dull, smothered sobs welling from her chest to ease the anguish in her heart.

The memories that followed grew very hazy. She knelt slumped in the doorway of the private room, holding Luowei and weeping with great, heaving sobs, until she cried herself into exhaustion and fell into a stupor.

Before her eyes closed, she seemed to recall—someone had pushed open the door of the adjacent private room. Across the table, she caught sight of a young gentleman who was scholarly and refined in bearing.

She did not recognize the young gentleman, but she remembered the gaze he had turned on her at that moment.

A little dim, carrying a sorrow she could not quite name—yet pure and clear, as transparent as glass, fragile as porcelain.

03 · Among the Flowers, Too Weary to Look Back

The next time she saw those eyes was at her mother’s memorial rites, a year later.

Her mother had grown despondent and passed away from illness. Her father, grief-stricken and inconsolable, invited the most learned scholars in the realm to compose elegies for the late Empress. She knelt before the spirit tablet, listening as words of seeming sorrow were recited from one person after another, and felt only a dazed, floating sense of unreality.

Then a young voice rose.

Song Yaofeng looked up and saw a young gentleman who seemed faintly familiar, kneeling beneath the vermilion steps and reciting the elegy his father had written, word by word, line by line.

A spirit like that of the Luo River goddess; a lament that called back the departed soul. His voice was very fine—steady and serene—and imperceptibly she found herself calming down.

She had no clear memory of who this person was, yet she felt certain she must have seen him before.

After the funeral rites, he greeted her in the small garden before the mourning hall. Song Yaofeng asked his name; he paused for a moment, then answered readily: “My name is Yu Suigou. Gou is the gull—the white gull.”

“I had the good fortune to meet Your Highness briefly on the rear slope of Luyun Mountain years ago. Does Your Highness… still remember me?”

She did not remember.

But this time, Song Yaofeng finally kept his name in her heart.

While she observed mourning, he would often send things—sometimes a cluster of white chrysanthemums, sometimes the pastries that the late Empress had loved most. He was well-meaning, but what he sent was always a little unsuitable; either it was not fitting to be placed in the mourning hall, or it brought back painful memories and set her weeping again.

Once he learned of this, he showed good sense and gradually ceased these well-intentioned but pointless gifts.

He was unlike those insufferable young scions of great families she had known before—the kind who could not read her displeasure even after giving offense. He knew how to advance and retreat, and how to observe propriety, and this earned him a gentle measure of goodwill in her heart.

Afterward, Song Yaofeng heard of him here and there—he was the second son of Yu Qiushi, the Minister of Rites. Yu Qiushi and Luowei’s father had passed the imperial examinations in the same year, though these many years he had not been given much responsibility, posted away from the capital and then back again, spending a long time at the Ministry of Rites. His official record was unremarkable, but his reputation among the people was decent.

The Yu family was also among the capital’s old established great families who had enjoyed their years of glory; but in recent times, talent had grown scarce within the clan, and the only name that had shone in the imperial examinations—Yu Qiushi himself—was not the sort of burning-hot, powerful minister that those who held real authority tended to be.

Yu Qiushi had two sons. Yu Suigou was the second; his elder brother, Yu Suishan, was a man of ordinary gifts. Yu Suigou himself had some reputation among the scholars and literary set, but he had never pursued the imperial examinations with the single-mindedness of other great-family sons his age. She had heard that his father was not bothered by this.

That Yu Qiushi did not much concern himself with his children and nephews turning out to be disappointments, and had never pressed Yu Suigou to sit the examinations—this struck Song Yaofeng, who had long known only those families consumed by ambition and the relentless climb to power, as unexpected.

Later, when she came to know Yu Suiyun, this impression deepened. Though Yu Qiushi himself had tossed about in the currents of officialdom for many years, he seemed unwilling to bring that world home. The children of the Yu household were either guileless or gentle in nature—Suiyun and Suigou were both so, and even Suishan, though he yearned to achieve great deeds, conducted himself with that same quality.

A most peculiar family. When Yu Suiyun chatted idly with her, she once mentioned how she had spent time at the Yu ancestral home in Huizhou. The main branch of the Huizhou Yus, to distinguish themselves from the smaller branches, called themselves the “Peach Grove Yus,” and both the front and back of their residence were planted with peach trees.

Song Yaofeng at once conjured a picture in her mind—the place where they lived, with peach trees stretching over the mountains as far as the eye could see, not bearing blossoms but laden with ripe, abundant fruit.

Unassuming to look upon, yet beneath the branches lay a harvest that gladdened the heart.

Reserved and bountiful—fitting enough.

But her interest in the Yu family, and in Yu Suigou, was no more than passing curiosity—it came and went in a flash. When one is young, what stays in the heart and stirs the pulse is always someone brilliant and sharp-edged—a hero. Just as at the Spring Hunt that year, she had noticed at a single glance the young general who shot through the target, and had not been able to forget him for many years.

What she had seen and heard on the rear slope of Luyun Mountain—she had put it all from her mind.

That warmth and timidity, that gentle and placid household manner—none of it matched the splendid dreams a young girl harbored for her future.

In the first year of the Tianshou reign, Su Zhougdu died. The Emperor appointed Yu Qiushi—who had lain dormant in the Ministry of Rites for so many years—first to the Ministry of Finance, and then named him Chancellor.

The Yu family, which had almost faded from memory over all these years, became overnight like oil blazing in fire, flowers in silk brocade.

After hearing this news, Song Yaofeng would sometimes think of that young Yu son, kneeling in the mourning hall and reciting the elegy with such earnestness he was nearly in tears. After the crowd dispersed, the young man held a cluster of white flowers in his hands and said to her, a little nervously: Your Highness, do you still remember me? My name is Yu Suigou. The gull—the white gull.

“Wealth and rank are not my concern—I have made a pact with the white gulls.” [Note 1]

It truly was a name that suited him perfectly, she thought.

After the Empress passed away, the Emperor’s health grew ever more precarious, and he fell ill frequently. The matter of finding a husband for the princess was also pushed to the foreground.

Her elder brother had already chosen Luowei as his Crown Princess. Her father would surely wish to see her married as well.

Song Yaofeng’s resistance to the notion of “finding a husband” was no longer as strong as before. She calmly attended various banquets, where she met the sons of great families and the newly successful candidates of the imperial examinations. She fanned herself and bantered with them, and her heart had stirred for several refined and elegant young men with much to say.

Yet no matter how she tried, she could not recall what it had felt like to watch Ye Kun shoot that arrow.

The admiration of those early years was ten thousand times more ardent than any emotion she had weighed and measured in the years since. Perhaps it was because it had once burned so fiercely—whoever she looked at, she felt as though something was missing.

In the early second year of the Tianshou reign, Song Yaofeng attended an ordinary spring banquet.

On a sunny afternoon when the light rippled and danced, she had grown weary of conversation and wandered off alone without even her palace maids, strolling through the back garden of the estate hosting the banquet. She rested in a pavilion for a while, then rose and passed through the peach trees in the garden to make her way back.

Petals had been falling sparsely along the path; but in the moment she passed by, they suddenly cascaded down all at once, dense and fine as a shower of rain.

Song Yaofeng stretched out her hand to catch the petals and looked around—there was no one in sight. She followed the twisting branches of the peach tree upward with her gaze and at last discovered that someone had tied the string of a kite to a flowering branch of the peach tree. When she walked past, all he needed to do was give a strong tug, and the petals would fall.

The one holding that transparent length of string was, naturally, the second young master of the Yu family. He was hiding behind the pavilion and absorbed in untangling the strings when he felt her gaze on him and startled to his feet.

The two looked at each other for a moment. Song Yaofeng’s sharp eyes noticed he was wearing a crimson-white scholar’s robe today, with a jade hairpin holding his hair and pendants of jade tinkling at his waist—he was clearly dressed with care. He lowered his head with a somewhat bashful smile and began to walk toward her—but he seemed to have forgotten about the tangled mass of strings in his hand. After only a few steps, he tripped on them and fell headlong into a vivid green stretch of lake water behind him.

The peach grove erupted into chaos—breaking branches, scattering blossoms. Song Yaofeng had no skill in the water and could only call for help at the top of her voice.

The servants rushed over and fished Yu Suigou, sputtering and coughing, out of the lake.

He had swallowed several mouthfuls of water, and his handsome face was flushed crimson. Being half-carried past her, he was still tongue-tied, and in the end managed not a single word.

Song Yaofeng laughed about it in front of Luowei for days after she returned to the palace.

Luowei propped her chin in her hand and looked at her, clicking her tongue: “This second young master of the Yu family is quite a remarkable person—embarrassing as it was, he at least made you remember him. Count up for yourself how many times you’ve mentioned him today—just the story of you rescuing him on Luyun Mountain when you were young, I’ve already heard it several times.”

Song Yaofeng was taken aback and was about to speak, but Luowei continued: “Come to think of it, you’re looking for a prince consort—isn’t he just the right person? He’s good-looking, the son of Chancellor Yu, so his standing is certainly high enough, and he has no desire for an official career, so he won’t have to waver between you and his ambitions. Besides, you’ve mentioned him so many times—are you telling me you don’t have the slightest affection for him?”

“Affection…” Song Yaofeng turned it over in her mind for a long while, but in the end arrived at no conclusion. She only said, “I’m not sure what my feelings toward him are—I only feel that if my prince consort were him, it would be a little better than it being someone else.”

Not long after, the Emperor’s bouts of head pain grew ever more frequent. Song Yaofeng was sick with worry and kept close by his side to nurse him. When they occasionally spoke of marriage, she had no heart to say much, only that if Father could make a full recovery by next year, she would surely find a man truly worthy of her.

But Father never did live to see her married.

In that blurred and chaotic night of the Lantern Festival, the brother who had cherished her since childhood died a sudden, violent death. Father followed, passing away not long after. The doleful funeral bells echoed through all of Biandu.

This time Song Yaofeng did not even have the chance to grieve properly for those she had lost—ministers crowded beneath the Mingguang Gate, locked in ceaseless argument, and if the imperial family’s children could not make a decisive ruling in that moment, the slightest misstep might unleash a bloodbath in the inner court.

She and Luowei placed Song Lan, who had been put forward by Yu Qiushi, onto the throne.

In the night-dark east gate, she saw for the first time the sharp and ruthless edge that the Chancellor—usually so composed and amiable—had dropped all pretense of hiding.

She suddenly realized how naive she had been. A man who had navigated the political arena for so many years and held the position of Chancellor so unshakeably—how could he be a man without claws?

Even Su Zhougdu had had his decisive, blood-shedding side.

Once everything was settled and the frenzy had quieted, Song Yaofeng found, to her own surprise, that the image of Yu Suigou had grown blurred in her heart—his father now held the whole world in his grasp, and had Luowei not married Song Lan, he might not even have been able to keep Luowei’s life safe. Yu Qiushi had been a mask all along—so what of Yu Suigou?

All those careful, tentative tokens of devotion; the probing advances that never once crossed the line; the eyes that would grieve for her and flush with shyness at her sight—how much of that feeling had been true, and how much false?

He refused to seek office, held himself untouched by ambition, kept himself pure and devoted in his admiration—these were the things that had stirred her heart. Would they too prove to have been motivated by something else?

Song Yaofeng thought of all this and felt a pang of forlorn melancholy—not that any of it mattered. She and Luowei were natural allies; from the moment they stood face-to-face beneath the Mingguang Gate, she could never have married Yu Suigou again.

Yet the truth of the Thornbird Case proved far more tangled than she had imagined. A’Qi became embroiled in the affair; public opinion swept in from all directions; and beneath the evidence that she and Luowei had gathered in the first snowfall, they at last understood with sudden clarity—it was actually Song Lan who was behind everything. And Yu Qiushi, who had seemed to stand in opposition to him, was in truth a conspirator he had hidden with extraordinary care!

“You must leave the palace quickly—and go as far away as possible.”

Their clasped hands were cold as ice. The two of them knelt in the inner chamber, heads pressed together, speaking in barely more than a whisper. Luowei trembled as she said: “He did not spare A’Qi—that was a grudge carried over from some petty childhood matter. When you first met him, you showed hesitation; who can say he will not move against you?”

“There is no longer any possibility of leaving the capital to assume a fiefdom. Your best option is to marry far away. What do you think of Yan Lang? I intend to send the Yan family to Youzhou—if they remain at court, they won’t be safe either. Marriage is only a temporary measure—what matters most is that you must leave.”

Song Yaofeng clasped her hands in return, her voice tight: “If I leave, what will happen to you?”

Luowei said urgently: “If it is only me alone, there will be fewer ties to hold me back. If I am constantly fretting over whether Song Lan might move against you, how can I fight him?”

Song Yaofeng was silent for a long while, then let out a cold laugh: “Never mind—I still have a plan.”

She feigned a great quarrel with Luowei, then had Zhongyi send word inviting Yu Suigou to meet her.

The two met at Fengle Tower. The moment they came face to face, Song Yaofeng asked him directly: “Are you willing to marry me?”

Yu Suigou froze. Song Yaofeng gave him no time to react and continued: “Though I am still in heavy mourning for my father and brother, the new Emperor has ascended the throne—that is, after all, a joyous occasion. I wish to leave the palace and find somewhere less heartbreaking to be. You need only answer: willing, or unwilling.”

“I’m willing!” Yu Suigou answered without a moment’s hesitation, his face flushing red. “As long as Your Highness agrees, I…”

“To marry you, I had a great quarrel with the Empress and severed all contact with her.” Song Yaofeng said without expression, “But your father may not believe it. Do you have the confidence to persuade him—to make him raise no objection? If you marry me, am I safe? Can I… trust you?”

Yu Suigou rose solemnly to his feet and knelt at her feet.

He looked up at her, his gaze resolute: “I will certainly bring Father around to agree. As long as Your Highness is willing to marry me.”

He pulled the jade hairpin from his head and drew a cut across his forearm with it. The hairpin was not sharp enough, but he pressed down with great force, and blood welled freely, dripping down onto the toe of her shoe.

“Today, Gou swears this oath in blood: once I have the Princess as my wife, I will protect her with all I am able, and I will not waver from this for the rest of my life. If I break this oath, may heaven and man alike condemn me!”

[Author’s Note: Little Yu is a devotion warrior]