The tenth day of the fourth month. Spring drawing to its close and summer arriving; the whole city was full of fragrant bloom — an auspicious day for a wedding.

Heaven itself was cooperative that day. The sky was a brilliant, washed-clean blue, and sunlight cascaded in golden warmth across the flower-strewn path. The Duke Zhenguo manor had been freshly cleaned and dressed — the great main gate, long kept shut, was opened for the first time in years. Red silk ribbons were hung between the old, dark corridor eaves of the main hall, simple and dignified. Any passerby, whether noble or common, old or young, needed only a single glance to know: this household was marrying off a daughter.

And yet, for all the Duke Zhenguo manor’s formal and careful preparations, the guests were few and far between. In the preceding days, the manor had received no shortage of written invitations in return — cards overflowing with warm words of admiration, praising Ming Huashang to the skies — but in the end, each one invariably contained some theatrically regretful excuse, some unforeseen circumstance that sadly prevented the sender from attending.

The wedding attendant, seeing that after all this time there was not a single guest of any substance to come and liven the bridal chamber, felt deeply uncomfortable. She raised her voice deliberately higher to offer auspicious blessings, laughing and chattering away by herself, all but trying to fill the room with words alone. In her heart she felt genuine pity for this young bride — eighteen years old, beautiful in face and gentle in nature, and yet her luck was poor. Marrying into the imperial family should have been the most wonderful of fates, but as ill fortune would have it, before the bride had even begun to enjoy her good fortune, her husband had already fallen from grace.

Prince Yong’s wedding was, of course, lavishly celebrated by the palace. The Emperor had repeatedly instructed the Ministry of Rites to hold a grand ceremony, and had each time been politely declined by Li Huazhang. The Emperor was greatly regretful, and sent a ceaseless flow of gold, silver, silks, and brocades to the Prince Yong manor — the display of it so extravagant it seemed as though he wanted all under Heaven to take notice.

Outwardly the Emperor was all smiles, as though his nephew’s marriage pleased him even more than if it had been his own son’s. Yet the people of Chang’an all understood that the Emperor’s heart and Prince Yong had already grown estranged — the more lavish the gifts, the more they only betrayed the attempt at concealment. In this kind of climate, who would dare risk offending the Emperor by coming to the Duke Zhenguo manor to see the bride off?

In this moment, Ming Huashang — whom the wedding attendant privately regarded as utterly pitiable and “fallen from favour before she was even wed” — felt not the slightest sense of her own wretchedness. Her entire being was occupied with the flower-adorned robe of rank spread out before her. By her station, the wedding garment she was to wear was a wide-sleeved, full-length azure silk robe embroidered with the pheasant-tail bird, with a nine-flower-adorned coiffure crown of nine boughs, accompanied by knee-covering panels, decorative sashes, a paired pendant, and a double ornament. Even though she had gone through a fitting beforehand, the moment she actually put on all the layers and pieces, she was so disoriented by the elaborate weight of it all that she could barely think straight — let alone have any energy left to care what other people thought of her.

She could barely see herself anymore.

Today was Ming Huashang’s wedding day, and Ming Yuji had risen early and hurried over to help her comb her hair, apply her cosmetics, and change into her robes, rushing about until she was utterly spent. By the time the ceremonial robe was properly fitted and smoothed into place, Ming Yuji herself had broken into a sweat along with the effort.

The maids lifted in the ceremonial crown. Ming Huashang’s glossy black hair was drawn up into the magnificent, glittering blossom-adorned headpiece, and in an instant she shed all her girlish liveliness, taking on a composed and measured dignity befitting a princess consort. Ming Yuji, looking on, was suddenly overcome with a profound feeling she could not quite name.

Only in this moment did she truly understand, in her bones, that Ming Huashang was going to be married. Though the two of them were twins, they had been separated at birth and lived apart, in two distant places, for their entire childhood. By the time they had found each other again, one thing after another had come rushing in — the division of households, the coup, the turmoil of the court — and they had been swept along by outside events with barely a moment to themselves. The time they had truly spent together was, in truth, not much at all.

She had not yet learned how to be alongside a sister of the same age, and already Ming Huashang was leaving home ahead of her. Ming Yuji thought of the day’s circumstances and felt a heaviness of guilt. A moment this important — the most significant of a woman’s life, happening only once — and yet Ming Huashang’s wedding was so sparse and empty. She truly felt she had failed this title of “Elder Sister.”

Her heart was still low when she suddenly heard Ming Huashang say quietly: “A’Jie.”

Ming Yuji started and turned: “What is it?”

Ming Huashang was straining to hold her neck up straight under the weight of the crown, and looked at her with eyes as wide and soft as a deer’s. Perfectly innocent, she said: “I’m hungry. I noticed the menu includes frozen cream cake. Could the kitchen spare a few pieces for me?”

The wedding attendant, hearing this, quickly said: “Second Miss, you mustn’t eat before the rites are completed. Please bear with it a little longer.”

Weddings were full of rules, and an imperial wedding even more so. If the bride needed to relieve herself or felt unwell during the ceremony, it would bring shame upon the dignity of the imperial family. To be safe, brides were forbidden to eat beforehand — in the most strictly observed cases, not even a sip of water was permitted.

To go an entire day without eating or drinking, and still manage to endure the heavy crown and complete an elaborate set of rituals — Ming Huashang could not speak for other brides, but she herself could not possibly last. She could take her life, but she could not go hungry.

Ming Huashang looked at Ming Yuji with all the pathos of a small, suffering creature. Ming Yuji hesitated for a moment, and then finally relented.

There were no guests worth speaking of here to watch the ceremony anyway — there was little sense in maintaining appearances for their own sake. As for whether the court ladies who had come to assist with the wedding might take offence upon seeing it — well, let them say what they would. The Emperor was not genuinely blessing this marriage, and between one poor showing and a worse one, what real difference was there?

Ming Yuji said: “The frozen cream cake is too cold — you’ll end up with a stomach ache. Tell the kitchen to bring a plate of Five Blessings cake. That one is small and easy to digest — just right for you.”

Ming Huashang quickly added: “Save me a few pieces of the frozen cream cake too — I’ll have it when I get back!”

The wedding attendant stood there in speechless astonishment as the soon-to-be Princess Yong consort finished off an entire plate of Five Blessings cake in one blink of an eye, and had already made her reservation for the next thing she intended to eat before she had even left the building. The attendant thought to herself: what a young girl — head full of nothing but food. Once she married and had to manage a household, care for a husband, raise children, and serve her husband’s family, she would surely lose this carefree sweetness.

Thinking this, the attendant felt a pang of tenderness, and smiled: “A hearty appetite is a blessing. Second Miss looks like one who will enjoy great fortune and abundance all her days. Since Second Miss enjoys this taste, why not bring the kitchen maid along as part of the dowry to the Prince’s manor? That way Second Miss won’t miss the flavours of home.”

“That won’t do,” said Ming Huashang. “The kitchen maid has to stay at the Duke’s manor — otherwise, what excuse will I have to come back and eat for free?”

The maids and serving women in the room burst out laughing. The wedding attendant wiped away a tear of laughter and said: “Second Miss and the family at home get along so beautifully! You haven’t even stepped out the door yet and you’re already thinking about coming back to your family.”

“But of course — and it’s all thanks to my capable and accomplished elder sister who keeps the household running. In future, I’ll not only come back to eat and sponge off you, I’ll be bringing someone else along with me.”

The room dissolved into laughter. Ming Yuji listened to Ming Huashang talking nonsense and felt helplessly amused — but without realising it, a smile had found its way onto her face.

Yes — the wedding was only a ceremony. Ming Huashang was still a member of the Ming family. Their bond was unbroken, and in fact, they had gained a new family member. Their family living steadily, honestly, day after day — how was that in any way less than a hall full of honoured guests?

While they were still laughing and talking in the room, they suddenly heard a maid call out: “Elder Miss, Second Miss — Marquis Pingnan is here!”

Ming Huashang was genuinely surprised. Ren Yao had actually come? The situation now was uncertain for all of them, and all their households had been having a difficult time. She had assumed Ren Yao would not be able to make it. Ming Yuji was the first to gather herself — she said “please invite her in” and at the same time told the maids to take away the cake box and touch up Ming Huashang’s cosmetics.

Ren Yao came in wearing a purple foreign-style robe embroidered with paired animals, her long hair loosely pinned, striding in with a bold and vigorous energy. When she entered and saw the maids hurrying to gather up the cake box, she said loudly: “Eat what you like — why hide it? Are you telling me I’m not family?”

Ming Huashang let out a laugh, and said: “Ren Elder Sister is right — bring the frozen cream cake too. I don’t think I had enough.”

Ming Yuji shot her a look. “Still eating? You’ve already smeared your lip colour. If the groom’s procession arrives and you walk out looking like that — what then?”

“Why not? I’ll be holding a fan over my face when I leave anyway — no one will see. And after the fan ceremony at night, I’ll just say it got smudged on the way over.”

The more Ming Huashang thought about it, the more she felt this was a perfectly brilliant plan. Ming Yuji was both exasperated and amused: “Really — cutting corners on your own wedding. If someone who didn’t know better saw you, they’d think you were standing in for someone else’s.”

Ren Yao also said: “No need for all that heavy makeup anyway. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder — no matter what state Second Miss is in, Li Huazhang will still think she’s the most beautiful thing in the world.”

Ming Huashang countered without missing a beat: “That’s because I genuinely am beautiful. It has nothing to do with him.”

The wedding attendant, watching Ming Huashang laugh and talk without a care in the world, gradually realised that all the pity she had felt for Ming Huashang was entirely without basis — even laughable. On a wedding day with so few guests, with an uncertain future ahead for her husband’s household — any other young lady would be utterly devastated. But Ming Huashang didn’t care in the slightest. She ate and drank and chatted and laughed, which meant she had not one moment’s worry about her future life — that she had complete confidence in her husband and her family.

When one’s own life is full of happiness, what need is there for an audience?

That thought had barely taken shape when a few more female guests arrived: members of the households of Princess Taiping and Prince Xiang. Since Princess Taiping and Prince Xiang were on Li Huazhang’s side of the family, they could not appropriately appear at the bride’s banquet, and so they had sent their most capable daughters-in-law or daughters to attend in their place — a wordless expression of where they stood. The modest bridal chamber gradually filled with people. Though the guests were few, every single one carried considerable weight.

Without knowing quite how, evening had come. The auspicious hour for the groom’s procession was nearly upon them. The little maids who had been peering out from the inner gate came running inside, shouting: “Prince Yong is here! Prince Yong is here!”

The bridal chamber fell into a flurry of movement. The maids scrambled to find the knee-covering panel and the ceremonial fan to shield Ming Huashang’s face. Ren Yao picked up a sturdy wooden rod, loosened her shoulders, and said: “Take your time — no rush. I’ll go block them at the entrance. As long as I’m there, Li Huazhang will not get through the door easily.”

Ming Huashang caught sight of the rod in Ren Yao’s hand — as thick around as an arm — and her scalp gave a nervous tingle. She hurriedly said: “Ren Elder Sister, let’s keep things friendly!”

The customs of the Tang dynasty had been shaped by the martial spirit inherited from the Northern Dynasties, and this culture extended even into wedding celebrations. For the groom to enter the house, he first had to pass a test set by the bride’s family — her elders would be waiting behind the door with wooden rods, ready to thrash the bridegroom, a custom known as “putting the son-in-law through his paces.” This tradition was observed even by emperors, and in some cases, when things got too intense, people had been seriously hurt.

After the physical ordeal came another challenge: the groom had to compose a poem at each gate he passed, one poem per door, and when he finally reached the bridal chamber he had to compose a “urging-the-bride” poem on the spot. Only once all of the bride’s household were satisfied would he at last be permitted to lay eyes on the bride.

But that was only the beginning. After this came the blocking of the wedding carriage, the saddle crossing, the vow ceremony under the green cloth canopy, the fan ceremony, and more. All in all, Ming Huashang thought that if she had been reincarnated as a man, she would never in her life have managed to find herself a wife. Thank goodness Li Huazhang was equally skilled with the pen and the sword — against Ren Yao, he should be able to hold his own… probably.

In the main hall of the Duke Zhenguo manor, Li Huazhang stood in his brilliant red ceremonial robes, fitting an arrow to his bow. One arrow loosed toward the sky — gratitude for Heaven’s gift of this marriage. One arrow loosed toward the earth — reverence to the ancestors for their blessings. One arrow loosed toward the wedding carriage — to drive away malevolent spirits from the path, and ensure the husband and wife would remain of one heart, growing old together.

He shot all three arrows in rapid succession, each one swift and powerful, drawing applause and cheers from the bystanders who had gathered to watch. Li Huazhang had been preparing for this day for a long time. The door-blocking poems gave him no trouble at all, and since he knew the layout of the Duke Zhenguo manor like the back of his hand, he advanced with the force of a tide, breaking through every obstacle before the bride’s household could even gather their wits — and had already arrived at the final challenge: the door of Ming Huashang’s bridal chamber.

Ren Yao stood before the door, rod in hand, rolled her shoulders, clasped her hands in a warrior’s salute, and said: “Prince Yong, forgive me.”

Li Huazhang looked at the thick wooden rod in Ren Yao’s hand and let out a helpless sigh. “At least it’s better than I expected. At least it’s not a spear with a red tassel.”

“You underestimate me?” Ren Yao swung the rod with an easy flick of the wrist, sending a gust of wind cutting through the air, and raised her brow. “All of you at once, or one at a time?”

Jiang Ling had been clamouring to be a groomsman the moment Li Huazhang announced the engagement. He had pestered Li Huazhang for half a year and finally got his wish. He had been cheerfully watching the fun all the way here, and now, with the enthusiasm of someone who loved a spectacle, he said: “Taking advantage of greater numbers against fewer is not the mark of a gentleman.”

“You’re right,” said Li Huazhang, nodding — and without any warning, shoved Jiang Ling forward and slipped aside, lunging toward the courtyard gate.

Li Huazhang had never kept a single redundant person at his side, and he had never wasted a single one he kept. Jiang Ling could not write poems, and he could not fight either. So why had Li Huazhang chosen him as a groomsman?

Clearly, he had a contribution to make.

Jiang Ling had been standing there watching the fun and had not the slightest guard up. He suddenly found himself directly in the path of a descending rod. He stared at the rod sweeping down toward his head and cried out in panic: “Spare me! We’re all on the same side — don’t strike!”

Li Huazhang had used Jiang Ling as a decoy and successfully slipped free, seizing the moment when Ren Yao was off guard to close in on the courtyard gate. But the moment he pushed the gate open, a fierce wind came slashing down right at him. Li Huazhang swiftly stepped back, barely dodging it.

Ming Yuji stood behind the gate, slowly turning the wooden rod in her palm, the ghost of a smile on her lips: “Playing tricks, trying to take a shortcut? Dream on.”

Li Huazhang looked at the other rod — squarely cornered and solid — in the hands of the woman before him. Truly, one should never harbour wishful thinking: what one hoped to avoid, one could not escape. He sighed, and said with helpless resignation: “How many tables did you take apart?”

Ming Huashang sat on the bed, listening to the waves of cheering and jeering from outside, beside herself with anxiety and nerves.

Under normal circumstances, the “putting the son-in-law through his paces” custom was all in good fun — a way for the bride’s family to take a bit of the groom’s pride down a notch and remind him to treat his new wife well. There was never any real danger. But their household was not ordinary: both Ren Yao and Ming Yuji were trained female shadow operatives. Them wielding wooden rods to hit someone meant they were genuinely capable of doing serious harm.

In the courtyard, Li Huazhang dodged and weaved. It wasn’t that he couldn’t overcome Ming Yuji — but the custom of “putting the son-in-law through his paces” was a tradition, and he could not bring a weapon of his own. He could only defend passively. Relying on evasion alone, there was a way to win, but it would take far too long.

Li Huazhang glanced at the thin slice of a door not far from him, and then suddenly and inexplicably said: “Forgive the intrusion.”

Ming Huashang sat gripping the ceremonial fan, her heart in a flutter, wondering whether she should send a secret message to Ming Yuji and Ren Yao hinting that they had made their point — when without warning, the room’s door burst open. The maids who had been peering through the gap crashed to the floor in a pile. Ming Huashang looked up in shock. Through the golden-thread-patterned phoenix fan she held, she saw a tall, slender young man cut through the crowd, landing before her like a startled swan, and say with a smile: “The tale goes: by candlelight she blends her powder rouge, before the mirror in spring’s own glow. No need to cover all her face with heavy paint — leave both brows clear for the one who’ll paint them. Huashang is a beauty, and winning her was no easy thing. I could only resort to this underhanded means — to steal her as my bride.”

Li Huazhang grabbed Ming Huashang’s wrist and bolted. The women in the bridal chamber finally caught on that he intended to steal the bride away, and broke into a clamour: “Don’t let them go, stop them!”

The groomsmen Li Huazhang had brought along finally had their moment — the young men shouted and jeered as they piled in to help. Ren Yao, hearing the commotion inside, rushed to get back to help — but Jiang Ling threw himself at her like a bear, wrapping himself around her without releasing his grip: “Always leave a door open — you never know when you’ll need it. If you offend Li Huazhang badly enough, watch out for him taking revenge at your own wedding!”

Ren Yao kicked at him and couldn’t land a blow, swung at him and couldn’t shake him free, and cried out in indignant fury: “Let go of me! I’m not afraid of him getting revenge!”

“I am!” Jiang Ling refused to release his grip, shamelessly wailing: “Augh, I’ve twisted my ankle, I can’t get up.”

Ming Yuji, seeing that the shameless Li Huazhang had resorted to underhanded tricks and was not playing by the rules — not going through the gates properly but planning to steal the bride outright — was beside herself with rage. Her expression darkened, and she turned to march over and stop him. Halfway there, someone reached out and took hold of her arm.

Su Xingzhi — rare sight indeed — was wearing red today. He stood among the crowd and held Ming Yuji back with an air of resigned helplessness: “Yuji, Prince Yong has had a hard time winning a bride. Let it be.”

Ming Yuji’s temper flared at the words. All the way here, all they asked him to do was compose a few poems — and that was a hard time? Raising a daughter took Duke Zhenguo no effort? Ming Yuji snapped “let go,” but Su Xingzhi hesitated for a moment and still did not release her hand. Sure enough, the very next instant Ming Yuji’s rod came swinging toward Su Xingzhi, and he had to dodge quickly. He thought to himself that he, a mere wedding guest, had truly been unjustly caught up in this — he had only said two fair words and now he was being vented upon. He hoped Li Huazhang would not let his sacrifice be for nothing, and would hurry up and take his sister away.

Li Huazhang pulled Ming Huashang through the crowd, which had dissolved into glorious chaos. The jewels and ornaments on Ming Huashang’s ceremonial crown swayed and clicked as they ran. The noise of the people around them seemed for a moment to become nothing but backdrop. She raised one hand to steady the crown that was threatening to slide sideways, and could not stop herself from laughing as she ran. She asked: “Are we really just going to run off like this? Isn’t it breaking the rules?”

“A wedding is a ceremony, yes — but the most important part of the ceremony is marrying the person in your heart.” In truth, this was not at all what Li Huazhang had planned. But the moment he was in her presence, even someone as normally disciplined and decorous as he was unable to stay within the lines. His mind was completely consumed by one single thought: to see her sooner.

Both the procession and the escort searched for the bridal pair. The two sides had tangled together in one enormous, joyful melee — and by then, the two people who were supposed to be at the centre of it all had already slipped away entirely. Li Huazhang brought Ming Huashang out of the courtyard and stood considering how to handle the aftermath. An idea suddenly surfaced in his mind — what if he simply took Ming Huashang away, leaving everyone behind? Just the two of them, going somewhere where there was no one else in the world.

He had not yet sorted through this wild thought when they came face to face with an approaching group. Duke Zhenguo had been waiting in the main hall for his son-in-law and daughter to pay their respects, when a servant hurried in with the news that Prince Yong had stolen the bride.

Duke Zhenguo had assumed the servant was passing along exaggerated rumours — how could that composed, responsible young man possibly steal a bride? He hurried over to look, and found that there was no way to dress it up: he had walked straight into the sight of Li Huazhang in the very act of attempting to abscond with his daughter.

Duke Zhenguo thundered in fury: “Second young lord, what do you two think you are doing?”

Li Huazhang, for all his boldness, still understood what was truly important. He returned obediently to the main hall, completed the remaining rites in proper order, and then — amid the crowd’s jeering laughter, under his father-in-law’s and sister-in-law’s gazes that could have killed — brought Ming Huashang to the wedding carriage and set out for the Prince Yong manor.

In the Prince Yong manor, at that moment, honoured guests filled every corner and the lights blazed brilliantly. Prince Xiang and Princess Taiping led the Li imperial clan in waiting — they had been there for some time already.

Though Li Xian was on guard against Li Huazhang, Li Huazhang was after all the orphaned son of Crown Prince Zhanghuai and a meritorious contributor to the Shenlong Coup — he could afford to slight others, but could not afford to slight this wedding. The wedding banquet at the Prince Yong manor had been arranged on a grand scale. Prince Xiang and Princess Taiping, though they were like dragons confined in shallow water, still refused to be outshone, and arrived in full formal dress with their entire households, their presence imposing and magnificent.

As the wedding carriage drew near, the Prince Yong manor burst immediately into music and the sound of ceremonial salutes. Li Huazhang paid no attention to the crowds lining the road on either side. He dismounted, walked with clear purpose to the carriage, reached out his hand and helped Ming Huashang down, as though in all the world only this one thing required his attention.

His hand was slender and capable — the most familiar feeling Ming Huashang had known since childhood. The moment her palm fell into Li Huazhang’s hand, he closed his fingers tightly around it. Ming Huashang was almost half-lifted by him as she came down to the ground.

The ground had already been laid with a red felt carpet. Ming Huashang’s view was blocked by the ceremonial fan, and all she could do was follow the direction of the red silk cord that connected them, walking forward in a steady daze. The trained maids ran alongside, constantly moving the carpet from behind to in front of her — so Ming Huashang proceeded the whole way without so much as a grain of dust touching her feet, with nothing to worry about at all. Together with Li Huazhang, she stepped over the saddle, stepped over the brazier, passed through the cheerful crowd, passed through the cascading shower of golden coins and coloured fruits scattered from above, and amid the officiant’s clear, chanted recitations, at the green cloth canopy she knelt and rose and knelt again, completing the rite that made them husband and wife.

Li Huazhang’s stolen-bride exploit had already reached the manor ahead of them. The bride’s accompanying maids were visibly on guard against him. For the remaining proceedings, Li Huazhang made no further improvisations. He dutifully composed poem after poem for the fan ceremony, and only when every member of the Duke Zhenguo manor’s escort was fully satisfied did the fan at last come down, revealing the beauty beneath.

Lamplight swayed. Ming Huashang raised her eyes — clear and lustrous, her teeth even and white, her gaze like the surface of an autumn lake. She looked just as she had when she won a game of hide-and-seek as a child, and she smiled at him with radiant delight.

In that instant, all the world fell away. The voices of the guests around them faded to nothing. Li Huazhang looked at Ming Huashang, and his senses were no longer his to command. He seemed to exist only within the warmth of her gaze in this one moment — and in it, everything that had come before and everything that was yet to come had found its answer.

Princess Taiping, noticing that Li Huazhang had eyes only for his new bride and was ignoring the several questions directed at him, understood the situation at a glance and took the initiative to lead the members of the imperial clan away. Once the guests had departed, the palace maids and court ladies also filed out one by one. One of the bride’s accompanying maids from the Duke Zhenguo manor glanced at Ming Huashang with a faint look of concern, and was pulled away by a companion.

In the lamplight-draped green canopy, they were alone in the blink of an eye. Ming Huashang became aware that from this moment on their relationship was something different, and a shyness rose in her chest that she could not help. Yet Li Huazhang seemed entirely unaware of it. He came to her, and with practiced ease placed his hands on her shoulders. His slender fingers traced through her hair as he lifted the ceremonial crown from her head, and with gentle care he began to massage her scalp. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

His one sentence brought her straight back to the Duke Zhenguo manor — he was still the most dependable Second Brother she had always known, and she needed only to play the part of his lazy, simple, useless little sister. All of Ming Huashang’s shyness dissolved like smoke in the wind. Like a child going to school alone for the first time without a parent, half-complaining, half-coaxing, she said: “I’m nearly starved to death. I was up at the second watch this morning, and have been worn thin until now, without so much as a sip of water. If I hadn’t snuck a couple of pieces of cake, I’d have fainted dead on the road.”

Other young ladies were one thing, but Ming Huashang, having been raised as she was, had genuinely never endured such hardship. Li Huazhang, hearing that she had been hungry for so long, quickly said: “Bear with it just a little longer. I had the kitchen prepare food for you. We can have it brought in now. Do you want to eat first, or after you’ve bathed?”

Ming Huashang considered for a small moment and said: “After bathing, then.”

“All right.” Li Huazhang said, “The hot water is already prepared. You go and bathe first, and I’ll have the meal laid out.”

Ming Huashang agreed, and went to the small bathing room beside the chamber.

The green cloth canopy was a temporary bridal room, similar in spirit to the tents of the nomadic peoples of the northern dynasties. The newly wedded couple would sleep here only for one night, and then move to the main courtyard the following day — so there was little need for the canopy to be elaborately appointed. It was furnished with essentially only what was needed for sleeping. But Li Huazhang knew Ming Huashang’s habits and preferences to the last detail. Even for a temporary lodging they would occupy for a single night, he had prepared a bathing tub, a bronze mirror, and a screen, all arranged exactly as they were in her room at the Duke Zhenguo manor — everything in the familiar manner she had always known.

Ming Huashang sank into the hot water and let out a long, quiet breath.

She raised a cupped handful of water and watched the droplets run down her arm, until only a single petal clung to her skin — like red plum against snow. Ming Huashang had, truth be told, felt some apprehension about what was to come next. They had borne the name of brother and sister for seventeen years. But now, she believed that whatever happened, he would still be the same Second Brother she had always known.

Whether he bore the surname Ming or the surname Li. Whether he was the young heir of Duke Zhenguo or the Realm-Protecting Prince Yong of Yongguo.