When she was twelve, her father went to the capital to report on his duties. Her mother’s cousin in the capital was marrying off a son and sent an invitation.

The couple discussed it and decided the whole family would go to the capital together.

After arriving in the capital, they stayed with the cousin. The cousin was extremely fond of her, saying that with her looks and character, if she was willing to stay in the capital, she could definitely marry into a good family.

Mother couldn’t bear to marry her far away and laughingly deflected the topic.

The wedding was conducted grandly, the bride was beautiful, but she urged Mother to return quickly.

She didn’t like the capital.

The young ladies here were practiced at looking through door cracks at people. Hearing she was from Luoyang city, their words implied Luoyang was a small place.

They said the peony flowers embroidered on her clothing were too large, appearing rustic.

They said the gold hairpin on her head wasn’t well-designed—refined families’ young ladies all wore jade hairpins.

She thought to herself—you all don’t understand anything.

If peonies weren’t large, would chrysanthemums be large?

Luoyang peonies were famous throughout the world—even Empress Wu Zetian loved them. They symbolized wealth and prosperity!

Gold hairpins?

This miss just likes wearing gold and silver. Can any of you control that?

Before departing, Mother took her to offer incense at a temple.

Since giving birth to her, Mother would worship Buddha on the first and fifteenth of each month. The family also had a small Buddhist hall.

Wherever Mother went, she worshipped. In her words, one shouldn’t refrain from burning incense in ordinary times only to clasp Buddha’s feet in emergency—Buddha wouldn’t provide protection.

They went to nearby Jietai Temple. According to the cousin, this temple was most effective for dispelling disasters, praying for blessings, and avoiding calamity.

At twelve years old, she didn’t believe in gods or Buddha. While Mother worshipped there, she couldn’t sit still and looked around the great hall here and there.

Turning to the back of the Buddha hall, she saw a young master in white robes, hands pressed together, kneeling on a prayer cushion with eyes closed, murmuring words.

That young master was extremely good-looking—red lips, white skin, better-looking than her three roughhousing brothers by who knows how many times.

She estimated the young master’s age—at most not exceeding ten years.

What worries would a well-dressed young master of ten have that required worshipping Buddha?

She moved to position herself behind him, pricking up her ears to secretly listen to what he was murmuring.

Listening, her heart warmed with joy. This young master was quite filial, praying to Buddha for his birth mother’s safety!

Just then, the young master finished his prayers and rose from the cushion, turning around. The smile on her face couldn’t be withdrawn in time—he caught her red-handed.

That young master glanced at her mildly with no expression, then walked away.

She snorted through her nose, thinking—the capital’s young ladies putting on airs was one thing, but why were even the young masters so aloof? Not understanding the principle of harmony bringing wealth.

Just then Mother called her to the abbot’s room to draw lots. She quickly tossed this scene to the back of her mind.

“Miss Yan, this was our first meeting.”

When Madam Mao was twelve, she encountered Zhu Xuanjiu.

Concubine Fu passed away when Zhu Xuanjiu was nine years old.

So that day at Jietai Temple, he should have been praying for Concubine Fu’s blessings.

Yan Sanhe asked, “What happened after? What else occurred?”

“What could occur? I followed my parents back to Luoyang and continued being my eldest miss.”

Madam Mao took a sip of hot tea to moisten her throat. When she raised her head to look at Yan Sanhe, the tenderness flashing in her eyes made Yan Sanhe’s heart skip slightly.

She seemed to have returned to the age of first awakening to love.

“So the second meeting—when was it?”

“Six years later.”

Six years later, Madam Mao was eighteen.

Yan Sanhe: “In Luoyang city, when do young ladies generally marry?”

“Generally sixteen or seventeen—like Miss Yan at your age, almost all have settled on matches.”

Madam Mao set down her teacup. “My situation was somewhat special. My mother couldn’t bear for me to marry early, and the fortune teller also said I shouldn’t marry early.”

“Fortune telling?”

Yan Sanhe: “Who read it?”

“I don’t know.”

Madam Mao was startled by her question. “Anyway, that’s what my mother said. It should have been some eminent monk who read my fate. When I was young, I truly didn’t believe in such things. Only after arriving at the Zhu household did I gradually come to believe.”

“Mm, continue.”

At eighteen, Madam Mao had grown into a graceful young lady. Without exaggeration, those coming to request her hand in marriage had worn down the Mao family’s threshold by several inches.

Madam Mao’s close friends from her boudoir days had married one by one, yet she still had no prospects.

Was Madam Mao anxious?

She wasn’t anxious.

Life at her natal home was wonderful—no worries about food or clothing, with no one giving her grievances.

Besides, Luoyang city was only so big. There were only so many high-born young men of marriageable age. She’d seen them all—not one caught her eye.

That year during the Lantern Festival, Luoyang city held a lantern festival as usual.

As the prefect’s daughter, Madam Mao should properly have sat on the city wall, but how could she sit still?

Mother couldn’t refuse her and ordered her to take two maids and two guards, just strolling nearby, while also having her three sons follow along.

On this day, everyone in Luoyang city came out to see the lanterns. Before walking far, the group was scattered by the crowd—no one could find anyone.

Madam Mao wasn’t afraid. She only needed to give her name, and any patrolling soldier on the road could report to her father.

As she walked and looked, her gaze was suddenly drawn to a rat lantern.

She was born in the year of the rat.

The lantern craftsman made horses, dragons, and rabbits all quite beautifully, but few made rats beautifully.

“Shopkeeper, I want this lantern. How many coins for one?”

“Three coins.”

Madam Mao was about to turn and have the maid pay when she realized—oh no, the maids and guards had all gotten lost. She had not a single coin on her.

Finished. Today the dignified prefect’s eldest daughter would lose face.

“Three coins, here.”

A slender hand picked up the rat lantern and passed it before her. “Miss, take it.”

Madam Mao raised her head.

Before her was a face that could make one’s breath stop.

Narrow eyes, a high-bridged nose, thin lips, and skin white to the point of transparency.

He wore an unremarkable gray robe, his figure tall and slender, a full head and a half taller than her.

Madam Mao’s heart immediately became chaotic. Irritably she said, “Why give it to me?”

That person smiled at his lips. “Then I’ll throw it away.”

“Hey, you…”

“Jietai Temple.”

He looked at her. “You smiled at me.”

Jietai Temple?

Jietai Temple!

Madam Mao looked at those features and suddenly remembered. “Oh… you’re that… young master from Jietai Temple?”

How did he grow so tall all at once?

Madam Mao’s eyes nearly popped out.

Also, wasn’t he from the capital?

How did he come to Luoyang?

He stuffed the rat lantern into her hand. His fingertips inadvertently brushed across her palm, and a tingling sensation spread through her entire body.

She jerked her hand back like lightning. Unexpectedly, with a lantern in her hand, it swung wildly—just like her heart at this moment.

Madam Mao’s face burned like fire, speaking incoherently. “Young, young master, what, what is your name?”

“Zhu Xuanjiu.”

He spoke softly.