Night had fallen, and Fengnan port had grown very quiet. Prince Cong’s third young master had settled in here, the area around the fishing village long since cleared out, and far out on the sea, scattered fishing lights drifted here and there, looking from a distance like fallen stars.
Zhang Dahu had just delivered Yun Xi to the door of Sizhi’s house when the prefect approached with Yu’er, smiling as he asked, “Brother Zhang, has the third young master already retired for the night?”
Though the prefect held a fifth-rank official post, he addressed a mere servant like Zhang Dahu as “brother”—a clear sign of just how low he was willing to bow.
Zhang Dahu was startled for a moment before realizing this “brother” was addressed to him, and answered, “Not sure. Should be resting by now.”
“Ah.” The prefect went on, “And in Brother Zhang’s opinion, do you think the third young master will sleep well tonight?”
Zhang Dahu said, “How would I know that?”
The prefect glanced sidelong at Yu’er, then turned back to Zhang Dahu and continued, “In Brother Zhang’s view, might the third young master have anything troubling him tonight?”
Zhang Dahu, utterly baffled, said, “You’re worried he won’t sleep well? Why not just go ask the young prince yourself tomorrow morning?”
The prefect froze, realizing Zhang Dahu hadn’t caught his meaning at all, and could only smile awkwardly, turning instead toward Yun Xi.
It was hardly surprising—Cheng Chang had always been quite particular about the people he kept close. When he’d first arrived in Great Sui, with neither past nor context to guide him, he’d spent a long while selecting from among the household’s servants before settling on Sun Haiping and Zhang Dahu to keep by his side. Of the two, Sun Haiping had the sharper mind but couldn’t subdue so much as an unusually fierce alley cat in a fight; Zhang Dahu had formidable martial skill but a mind as dense as a block of wood.
In so vast a princely household, there were certainly servants both skilled in martial arts and quick-witted besides, but Cheng Chang was unwilling to keep such people close at hand—not merely for fear of being unable to control someone too capable, but far more so for fear of them noticing something amiss.
So the prefect’s roundabout attempt to sound out the third young master’s true feelings through Zhang Dahu was, quite plainly, barking up the wrong tree.
Yun Xi, of course, understood perfectly well what the prefect was trying to find out. Thinking it over briefly, she recalled that after Yu’er had left, Cheng Chang had shown no sign of displeasure at all, which suggested he likely wasn’t inclined to make an issue of it. So she offered some reassurance. “Rest easy, Lord Liu. The third young master is generous and even-tempered by nature. Since you only failed to arrange proper attendants because you rushed here in such haste to pay your respects, I’m sure the third young master won’t hold it against you.”
With this hint, Zhang Dahu finally caught on, and nodded. “Right, our young prince’s had no interest in women for a good while now. Just keep your daughter and her maids well clear of him from now on, and he won’t hold tonight against you.”
Prefect Liu nodded, brow still furrowed with worry.
Yun Xi and Zhang Dahu might say this now, but who would truly believe it? The third young master’s past dalliances at the pleasure boats had been common knowledge—even if he’d reined himself in somewhat this past year, to claim he had no interest in women at all was simply not credible.
Prefect Liu privately suspected that he himself, or perhaps Yu’er, must have offended the third young master in some way, which was why he’d been asked to leave the room.
The third young master had been missing for so long, and now that he’d finally been found, escorting him safely back to the capital was an enormous stroke of good fortune—if he made even a single misstep and botched the job, offending the third young master and turning good fortune into disaster, that would truly be an unforgivable crime.
With this thought, Prefect Liu gritted his teeth and bowed deeply to Zhang Dahu, saying, “Might Brother Zhang offer this humble official some guidance?”
Zhang Dahu was startled half out of his wits. Bold as he sometimes was, he still understood the proper order of rank, and had already felt uneasy at being called “brother” by the prefect—but now to have a fifth-rank official bowing to a mere servant like himself was surely enough to shave years off one’s life.
Zhang Dahu blurted out hastily, “It’s the truth, my young prince has sworn off women for a long while now. Just recently, the Princess Consort tried to send bedmaids to his room, picked out several fresh, pretty girls to serve him, and the young prince took one look and sent them all off to a separate courtyard.”
Hearing this, Prefect Liu’s eyes widened with surprise. He mulled it over for a moment, then asked, half-believing, “Truly?”
Zhang Dahu saw no reason to keep any of this secret—even if word got out later, his household would only come away with a reputation for having reformed and kept itself above reproach. So he said, “Truly. The young prince even said those maids had only just come of age—too young for his taste. Besides, what the young prince used to favor were women of a more graceful, alluring sort—delicate as flowers, that’s what caught his eye. Someone too plain, too unadorned, like your daughter—that sort generally doesn’t catch his fancy at all.”
In Great Sui, women typically had their coming-of-age ceremony and began matchmaking around fourteen or fifteen, marrying off around sixteen or seventeen.
To say a girl who’d just come of age was too young was, admittedly, a stretch that could just about pass.
Prefect Liu’s daughter Yu’er had only just turned fourteen, her figure not yet fully blossomed—precisely the age unlikely to catch the third young master’s eye. No wonder he’d sent her out of the room tonight.
Prefect Liu, at this, felt his mind ease considerably. “Many thanks for the guidance, Brother Zhang.” He gave a few parting words about resting early for the road ahead the next morning, and led Yu’er back home.
Yun Xi, exhausted from a full day’s travel, had planned to sleep as soon as she returned to Sizhi’s house. She drew water to wash her face, and caught an unexpected glimpse of her own reflection in the basin. Her dark hair was tied back in a simple ponytail, the unruly strands at her temples braided in and gathered together, with no hairpins or ornaments, no rouge or powder on her face. Worn out from days of searching, dark circles hung heavy beneath her eyes, her lips pale and bloodless. Looking like this, she was more than merely plain—she could be called downright drab.
She looked down at herself as well. Her deep vermilion captain’s uniform was cinched at the waist with a belt, her figure trim and slender beneath it, and yet the belt itself was made of tanned animal hide, with nothing of a woman’s soft grace about it at all.
Zhang Dahu had said the third young master didn’t care for plainness, didn’t care for someone unadorned. He’d said the third young master preferred women of a more graceful, alluring sort.
Thinking it over, it made sense—a young man of such peerless, refined elegance ought to have soft, fragrant beauty by his side.
The thought left Yun Xi feeling, without quite realizing it, a little disheartened.
After washing up and changing into clean clothes, she lay down on the bed fully dressed, using her arm as a pillow, and couldn’t help wondering whether it was really such a good thing for a young woman like herself to go about so unkempt, so unadorned, all the time.
But the thought surfaced in her mind only for an instant before she pushed it back down.
Even if going about bare-faced in vermilion robes wasn’t ideal, what else could she do?
She was already the person she was—she couldn’t very well start applying powder and rouge every day, decking herself out in hairpins and silk gauze, just for someone else’s sake. What would become of her duties at the office then? Dressed like that, unable to lift a hand or carry a load on her shoulder, who would shoulder all the many burdens of the Marquis’s household in her place?
Besides, a version of herself like that simply wouldn’t be her anymore. Even if such a woman could win the third young master’s favor, could catch his eye even a little, it would only be someone else entirely, not her.
Zhang Dahu had said the third young master liked delicate flowers. But she, after all, was no delicate flower.
She was pine, she was bamboo—hardy and unyielding, never withering through the winter. She was a reed grown on the desolate northern frontier, a rush taking root in the wilderness beneath the falling leaves of autumn, standing tall against the vast sky.