By the time they left, the curfew drums had already sounded. Zhu Bowen sent the steward with the Zhu family’s token, and the passage through the streets was smooth and unhindered.

Hua Zhi leaned against Yanxi in the swaying carriage, head still aching faintly. She had grown accustomed to it by now, enough that it no longer felt unbearable.

He gathered her closer so she would be more comfortable, and said: “Have Shao Yao return to the palace first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Are you planning to go before the Emperor and admit fault?”

Gu Yanxi said nothing. He only bent to press a light kiss against her brow, then another.

Hua Zhi sat up and turned to face him. “You are thinking of going to admit fault before the Emperor — for my sake. It will not help, Yanxi. The Emperor needs me to earn silver for him; whether you yield or not, he will not rescind his order. Rather than yielding for my sake, I would far rather you did it for yourself.”

Hua Zhi reached out and pressed her hand to his chest. “If there is pain, find a way to make it less painful. If a wound has opened here, then open it fully — drain it if it needs draining, dress it if it needs dressing. That is better than watching it look healed on the surface while it rots deeper inside with every passing day. I could not bear that pain on your behalf even if I wished to.”

Gu Yanxi covered her hand with his — her hand so much smaller than his own — and bowed his head with a quiet smile. A soft sound of acknowledgment escaped him.

His imperial uncle would never understand why he could surrender everything, without hesitation, for A’Zhi’s sake. With a harem of three thousand, a lifetime full of women, he had still never come across his own measure of good fortune — a woman who, even when her own heart was not at ease, would think of his suffering, would comfort him, would urge him to find his own healing. She knew perfectly well that even if he truly did what she suggested, the Emperor would not be pleased — might even push him further from her — and yet she said it still.

His imperial uncle would never understand. It was not that A’Zhi could not live without him. It was he who could not live without A’Zhi. From the moment he had confirmed what was in his own heart, he had never once entertained the thought of leaving. He wanted this person. He was certain of it beyond any shadow of doubt.

He wanted her to be the one who lay beside him at night, and to be buried beside him when their time was done. No one could stop that.

The carriage drew to a halt. The inner gate swung open from within. Ying Chun and Bao Xia came out together to receive them. The night had grown cool. Ying Chun carried a cloak over her arm; Hua Zhi, seeing this, slipped the one from her own shoulders and handed it back to Yanxi, letting the maidservant drape the fresh one over her instead.

“Go on, then. It is late.”

“Go in. Sleep early and let your mind rest.”

“I know.” Hua Zhi turned and gave a small smile to the steward, who had not yet departed. “You may return too, Steward. Tell my great-grandfather not to worry — Yanxi would not enter at this hour.”

The steward smiled pleasantly in reply, yet proceeded to fuss with the horse’s bridle and straighten the curtain of the carriage — anything but leave.

Gu Yanxi understood perfectly well that this was the Elder Statesman’s appointed watchman. He reached up and settled A’Zhi’s cloak more securely around her collar. “Go in. Do not worry about me. I will think carefully about how to proceed.”

Hua Zhi went inside with an easy mind. When Yanxi gave his word, it held. If he said he would think it through carefully, he would.

Back at the Zhu household, no one had yet gone to sleep. Zhu Ziwen had been summoned away by his father and questioned — he shared what could be shared and kept the rest sealed, not a single word of the sensitive matters slipping through. His grandfather had made his instructions plain: anything touching on imperial affairs was to be buried in silence.

Zhu Haocheng paced back and forth, brow furrowed. The Hua family’s foundations were still as thin as paper — he would not say he coveted what they had, not quite. Yet he had always seen the sharpness of Zhi’er’s mind. In a single year she had built up all of this; what might she accomplish in several more? The more capital she accumulated year after year, the more she stood to earn — and that was precisely why he had wanted this marriage settled. A young mistress would only manage the household for so many years; once Bailin came of age, the Hua estate would pass to him. His younger brother Haodong seemed to think he was after the soap profits — but what he truly had his eye on were those two food lanes.

Food was something no one ever tired of, regardless of circumstance. Do not be misled by the modest prices — forty-eight storefronts, open from first light to closing time without ever a lull. The daily turnover was a staggering figure.

To have built a business empire of such scale out of food alone was something that would likely never be replicated. This was a hen that laid golden eggs, and he wanted Shan’er to keep it close.

But the precondition was that the Hua family’s situation continued to improve — not that they were on the outs with the Emperor and teetering on the edge of being beyond rescue.

“Next time… never mind. It is nothing for you to concern yourself with. When you are next in your grandfather’s company, be more attentive — do not carry on the way you have been.”

When had he ever been inattentive? Zhu Ziwen conceded the point with weary resignation, made his bow, and took his leave.

Zhu Haocheng retired to his wife’s chambers. His wife, who had assumed he would spend the night elsewhere, was so pleased to see him that she bustled about attending to his every need with hot tea and warm water.

“You hardly touched your meal this evening, old master — let me have the kitchen prepare something light to fill your stomach.”

Zhu Haocheng gave a nod. “That is fine. Leave the servants to it; I want to speak with you.”

The First Madam settled herself across from him and waited.

“Have you settled on anyone for Shan’er’s marriage?”

“I had my eye on someone before, but then there was all that talk about Shan’er and Bailin…” The First Madam caught on at once and broke into a wide smile. “Have you finally changed your mind, old master? Heaven be praised. I have been holding my tongue all this time — from start to finish, I never thought that match was right. Not that the old Hua family was anything to turn up one’s nose at, of course, but now — I am not trying to sort people by their station, and I have never begrudged a single thing we did to help them. But marriage is for a lifetime. Even if the Hua family has made some money, how does that compare with an established and flourishing household of rank? Our Zhu family’s daughter need not look at whether a man is rich or poor — what matters is his family’s standing and whether he can be of use to her own family afterward, is that not so, old master?”

“The Hua family is not as bad as you are making them out to be. Do not speak carelessly.” Zhu Haocheng shot his wife a look. He had no wish to see his daughter married into that household in a way that would deepen the ties between the two families — but that was very different from wanting to sever all connection with the Hua family. Their two families were bound together in ways that could never be undone.

“Yes, yes — I have a clumsy tongue and do not express myself well. But the principle is sound, is it not?” The First Madam, having glimpsed a thread of hope for the first time in so long, could barely contain herself, and ventured carefully: “Has the old master perhaps concluded that the two of them are not well matched?”

“They are not entirely suited, no. But since the matter was raised earlier, suddenly going back on it looks bad — and besides, there is still the matter of bringing your parents-in-law around. We must think of a way to handle it properly.”

At those words, the First Madam covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. “A matter like this need not trouble you, old master. Leave it to me.”

“It must be handled well. I will not have your in-laws displeased.”

“Yes, yes. Leave it to me entirely.”

In another part of the residence, the Elder Statesman was in the midst of telling his wife about the evening’s affairs — and frightening her so thoroughly that she kept pressing her hand to her chest. “Whatever is to become of Zhi’er.”

“She already has a plan.”

What the Elder Statesman truly wanted to speak of was something else. “Our eldest — I suspect he is about to make trouble.”

“How could that be? Cheng’er may not be as close to Zhi’er as Dong’er is, but he is protective of her all the same.”

The Elder Statesman knew his own son’s nature better than anyone. To say he could watch his younger sister’s family suffer and do nothing — that was impossible. He would always offer some protection. But if it began to cost him something, his first instinct would be to find a way to extract himself cleanly.

“They will likely move to block the match between Shan’er and Bailin. Do not lose your temper over it — but do not agree too quickly either.”

The old mistress was puzzled. “Your meaning is — just let this marriage go?”

“A match forced through resentment becomes an enemy.” The Elder Statesman shook his head. A granddaughter raised under his eldest son’s wife’s influence might not be the best fit for Bailin. “Zhi’er never wanted this match in the first place. Let it go quietly. Do not add to her burdens. Bailin is still young — there is time.”

The old mistress sighed. How true. His eldest son’s wife had been set against it all along, yet she had not reckoned on Zhi’er never having wanted to look above herself in the first place. With an elder sister like that guiding Bailin along, the boy would surely have a fine future ahead of him. Just wait — there would come a day when the other side had cause to regret it.