After thanking him, Caiwei crossed the small courtyard with no leisure to observe the scenery, her heartbeat accelerating as she ascended the steps. Standing at the doorway, she took several deep breaths, straightened her clothing, smoothed her temples, then knocked twice before pushing the door open.

The heavy scent that assaulted her made Caiwei pause involuntarily. She remembered her Minister preferred light fragrances. Moreover, the windows inside weren’t open—in the sweltering summer, such unventilated rooms burning such intense incense, several spices mixed together without any refinement, could already be called choking.

Not only that, thick curtains hung before all the windows in the room, not a ray of light penetrating. Only a bronze goose-foot lamp in the room’s corner burned with dim firelight. By this faint illumination, she could vaguely see thick silk letters piled on the low table, with an indistinct figure sitting behind them.

“…Minister?” Caiwei called hesitantly, not expecting such conditions inside. One foot still outside the door, she remained ready to flee at the first sign of trouble.

“Caiwei? Long time no see.” The young Minister’s languid, hoarse voice sounded from the darkness. “How rude of me—I’ve been keeping reversed hours since returning to Xianyang, didn’t realize dawn had arrived.”

“Why is no one attending you?” Caiwei relaxed, immediately entering the room. At a glance she could tell the Minister had definitely pulled another all-nighter. Both heartbroken and indignant, she strode to the window intending to lift the curtains and open windows to air out the smell.

“Don’t—too glaring.” Seeing this, the young Minister immediately stopped her.

“Fine, only halfway.” Caiwei also knew her Minister’s eyes couldn’t see in darkness—sudden brightness would harm his eyes—so she only pulled the curtains halfway open and opened one window panel.

Sunlight poured into the quiet chamber. The fresh earthy scent after rain considerably improved Caiwei’s mood. Turning to sweep a glance at her Minister whose form remained hidden in shadow, she snorted softly: “I thought the Minister would definitely be attending the sick at home. Seems the King of Yiyang’s illness is no great matter.”

Word that the King of Yiyang was gravely ill, that Minister Gan who’d been stationed at the frontier with Crown Prince Fu Su was returning to Xianyang to attend the sick—someone knowing Caiwei had formerly been Minister Gan’s maid specially notified her to curry favor.

The Gan residence had no managing lady of the house. The only young master had early entered Gaoquan Palace to serve as Fu Su’s tutor, rarely returning home. The consistently low-key Gan residence that closed its doors to visitors had little social connections in Xianyang—like a seamless egg, giving those wanting connections no way to approach. Over time they could only maintain distance.

So even when news spread of the King of Yiyang’s grave illness, no guests came calling. Instead, upon learning Minister Gan had returned to Xianyang, families had already prepared funeral gifts, just waiting for when mourning banners would hang at the Gan residence entrance.

Actually, Caiwei had come prepared to console the Minister. But from the gatekeeper’s attitude after she entered, and the servants she encountered along the way, all with peaceful expressions and calm bearing—absolutely not what should appear when the family head was critically ill and death imminent. Yet the Minister remained alone, not attending the King of Yiyang’s sickbed—clearly there was another story.

However, that she could so easily discern this also showed the Minister didn’t consider her an outsider. Secret delight bloomed in Caiwei’s heart.

“What attending the sick—the old man is full of vigor.” The young Minister sighed heavily, his tone carrying inexorable helplessness. “He finally couldn’t bear it anymore and is forcing me to marry.”

Caiwei’s heart jumped, but she immediately controlled her facial expression. Walking into the emotion-concealing darkness, she placed the bundle she carried on the table, teasing: “Which noble lady has the King of Yiyang taken a fancy to? Making the Minister so dejected and resistant?”

Caiwei admired the young Minister before her, had silently admired him since her awakening at age eleven.

From initially hearing of the Minister’s deeds with worshipful admiration, to unconsciously following his affairs, to carefully serving at his side—the more she encountered him, the less she could restrain her adoration. Until she discovered herself involuntarily overstepping and the Minister showed no response, she could only tactfully retreat to the Weaving Chamber, maintaining distance.

She didn’t want to displease the Minister, much less lose even the qualification to approach him.

The Weaving Chamber truly was a place to calm the heart. In the mending of every stitch and thread, she entrusted her feelings there. What she sought wasn’t much—that the Minister could wear clothing she’d sewn sufficed.

Her girlish self had still harbored delusions and fantasies about the Minister, so she lowered her posture to the dust, unable to extricate herself from gazing up at his form.

In the passage of years, precisely because she’d discarded unrealistic romantic thoughts, her attitude toward the Minister became entirely different—one could call it relaxed and natural.

Of course, this was merely appearance.

Caiwei knelt on the mat, lowered her head to arrange her scattered skirt hem, then raised her head again to look at her Minister across from her.

Though his complexion seemed acceptable, how had he grown thinner again? Life at the northern frontier appeared quite harsh—it seemed that standard robe would need more alterations. But perhaps not necessary—once his health improved, he’d gain some weight.

Just the light was rather dim, she couldn’t see the Minister’s complexion clearly. It wasn’t appropriate to have him roll up his sleeves either, so she couldn’t check the bruises on his arms.

“His Highness hasn’t yet married—how could I possibly wed?” The young Minister said in a relaxed tone. “I haven’t returned home in over two years. My father simply wanted to see me.”

Caiwei knew the truth couldn’t be so simple, but she was merely a weaving maid who didn’t care about national affairs. As long as the Minister lived well, that sufficed. She pushed the bundle on the table forward, raising a smile: “These are several garments Caiwei made for the Minister. One isn’t finished yet—it can be delivered in some days.”

“Many thanks. You’re so thoughtful to still remember me.” The young Minister thanked her sincerely. He could see the dark circles under Caiwei’s eyes, shaking his head disapprovingly: “I have sufficient clothing. The Weaving Chamber’s tasks are onerous—you must also pay more attention to rest.”

Caiwei’s pretty face flushed slightly as she hastily changed the subject.

Though Qin dynasty customs were open, a lone man and woman shouldn’t remain together too long. After asking a few questions about the Minister’s recent situation, she reluctantly took her leave.

The standard robe hidden in the storehouse lacked one final piece. Walking out of the Gan residence, Caiwei touched the two fabric pieces in her sleeve and the Weaver’s Needle pinned to them. These two pieces happened to fill the gap, but recently she’d need to sew day and night. Who knew whether after the First Emperor returned to Xianyang and received the completed standard robe, he’d immediately reclaim the Weaver’s Needle.

Listening to Caiwei’s footsteps gradually fade, the young Minister in the room opened the bundle on the table.

Inside were several summer garments—from thin robes, short coats, Han robes, collar shirts, and skirts to matching headbands, caps, belts, and so on. All the garments were sewn from various shades of green fabric he favored, matched with various fine embroidered patterns—neither too ostentatious yet carrying understated luxury.

The head seamstress of the Weaving Chamber’s skill had few equals under heaven. The fine stitching showed how much heart she’d poured in—each piece could be called exquisite.

What a pity, for one dying like him to wear them was too wasteful.

A trace of regret appeared on the young Minister’s handsome face. Having just re-tied the bundle intending to put it away, the door was unceremoniously slapped open. The young Minister pressed his forehead, once again regretting coming home. Had he known his father was fine, he should have returned to Gaoquan Palace.

“Son, you just let her leave like that?” The King of Yiyang, rumored outside to be bedridden and perhaps soon departing for the western paradise, was currently bellowing at his unfilial son with vigorous energy, his beard bristling.

“Father…” The young Minister didn’t need to pretend to sound weak as he called softly. “You know this isn’t a good time.”

“This old man doesn’t care about good times or bad times! Neighbor Old Wang already has a great-grandson reported! He’s a year younger than me! But I don’t even have a grandson’s shadow yet! Tell me, so many girls want to marry you—in all these years, you couldn’t pick even one?” The King of Yiyang wore a three-part long beard. After his wife’s death, he’d become obsessed with cultivation—when not speaking, he presented a sage-like immortal appearance. But his cultivation, as he said himself, was worldly cultivation. His usual hobby was wandering the marketplace. Anyway, changing into commoner’s clothes, no one knew who he was.

The young Minister closed his eyes, unsure whether “Neighbor Old Wang” referred to the family selling shoes or the one selling soup.

“Father, where are all these girls wanting to marry me?”

Xianyang’s situation remained unclear. Plenty wanted to befriend him, but not necessarily to form marriage alliances with the Gan family. After all, marriage was about uniting two surnames—realistically speaking, a community of interests.

In earlier years, many families wanted to form connections considering Crown Prince Fu Su, but his father hadn’t approved of many. After all, Fu Su was then unmarried, and high officials, nobles, princes, and ministers with eligible daughters all targeted Fu Su and the various princes—how could they favor a mere tutor?

Time casually dragged on, and somehow reached the present.

“This old man doesn’t care who you marry—as long as she’s a girl! If you want to marry someone you like, that’s fine too—this old man doesn’t emphasize family status. Look, this Caiwei who came today is quite good! Though somewhat older, she has the advantage of not having many troublesome relatives, and you two even grew up together…” The King of Yiyang deployed the unreasonable pestering learned from the marketplace, nagging earnestly. His son rarely stayed home, giving him few such opportunities.

The young Minister frowned. With his body in this state, how could he possibly take a wife? He naturally saw Caiwei’s affection, but she was a good girl. He’d hinted refusal at the first opportunity, and she’d retreated to a safe distance—he couldn’t say more.

In earlier years he had no intention of marrying. Later he avoided thinking about it, even considering that if circumstances allowed, he could use marriage as a bargaining chip for beneficial exchange. After that, he no longer had the qualification to discuss this matter—only to treat it with indifference.

But he couldn’t explain this reason directly to his father. If he couldn’t win the argument, couldn’t he run? The young Minister helplessly curved his lips: “Father, since you’re well, I’ll return to Gaoquan Palace tomorrow.”

The King of Yiyang froze, hastily stopping him: “Your master sent word for you to return to Xianyang and instructed me not to let you run around—only to keep you home.”

Master sent word? The young Minister wasn’t alarmed but delighted. Had Master predicted some heavenly secret? Was Xianyang’s sky finally about to change?

But the First Emperor still hadn’t returned from his eastern tour, and Fu Su was stationed at the frontier. If something happened, Fu Su couldn’t return to Xianyang in time… No, with Meng Tian and Wang Li at his side, among ten thousand Qin troops, he remained safest.

Instead, with him currently in Xianyang, he could make preliminary arrangements for His Highness.

Thinking thus, the young Minister disregarded his father’s presence, used scissors to trim the overly long lamp wick to brighten the oil lamp, then picked up his brush to write and draw on silk letters.

Seeing this, the King of Yiyang helplessly shook his head. No helping it—though he managed everything in the Gan residence, he couldn’t control his son since age twelve! Otherwise he’d have long forced this stinking brat to marry.

Forget it, forget it. Better have the kitchen make more food for this stinking brat. Heard he barely ate anything all day yesterday.