“I bought all these lanterns,” Cheng Chang said with a faint smile, “just to release them for you to see.”

Hearing this, Yun Xi’s heart skipped, and she turned, startled, to look at him.

The night was cool and clear. The sky lanterns, like scattered points of starlight, reflected in his eyes, deep as water, gradually gathering into a river of stars across the heavens.

Yun Xi’s heart nearly stopped beating.

Her thoughts scattered at once.

She didn’t know if what she’d just heard meant what she thought it meant. It was as if a soft ribbon of moonlight hung in the sky, and he had reached up casually to catch it, offering it to her within arm’s reach—but she didn’t dare take it, afraid she wouldn’t be able to hold on.

“A’Ting, come look, quick!”

Just as Yun Xi stood there at a loss, A’Jiu suddenly pulled her by the arm toward the banks of the Qinhuai.

Many river lanterns already drifted on the water. A’Jiu had kept one shaped like a little boat, woven a few tiny straw figures to place on top, and set it down by the water’s edge, like a ferryman crossing the river at night.

“Isn’t it lovely?” A’Jiu asked.

Yun Xi nodded. “It’s lovely.”

The children nearby, seeing the little boat lantern, clapped their hands in delight and crowded around A’Jiu, begging her for straw figures of their own.

Flustered by the children swarming her, A’Jiu was kept busy for a while. Yun Xi watched with a smile, then turned her head back to look for Cheng Chang.

Cheng Chang had stayed where he was, gazing up at the sky full of lanterns.

That spot was a fair distance from the water’s edge, with few people around.

His gaze seemed a little distant, his whole bearing very still, as though none of the festival’s bustle that night had anything to do with him.

Yun Xi suddenly remembered that Cheng Chang had once said his hometown wasn’t Jinling.

The night seemed to sweep away a thousand years in an instant.

Points of lantern-light reflected in his distant gaze; the way he looked at them was as though he were gazing upon his homeland.

As if he ought to have belonged somewhere lit by lanterns through endless glowing nights, a place of eternal, unbroken brilliance.

And now, with a thousand lanterns scattering across the sky, he stood alone in the night, flawless as jade, untouched by the dust of this world, unmoved by all its troubles—so beautiful it was almost unbearable, beautiful enough to stir an inexplicable, homeless sort of sorrow.

Yun Xi suddenly felt something cut deep, unforgettable.

…

By the time they finished releasing the lanterns, it was already well past ten at night. The festival’s bustle had not yet died down. The group returned the handcarts and made their way back into the city through the western gate. By the time they reached the Censorate’s western station, the guards on duty had already prepared Cheng Chang’s carriage for him.

The city patrol censor from earlier had not yet left. Seeing Cheng Chang, he bowed first. “Thank you for your trouble tonight, my lord.” Then he said to Yun Xi, “I’m on duty through the night and can’t leave my post. If you and Miss A’Jiu are in a hurry to return to the manor, I could send someone to borrow a couple of horses from the nearby residence station.”

Yun Xi was about to answer when Cheng Chang spoke first. “No need. I’ll see them home.”

“But…” The city patrol censor blinked, startled. “The Marquis Zhongyong’s manor is on Junzi Lane in the eastern part of the city, quite far from here. If you see Commandant Yun home yourself, my lord, it would take you well out of your way.”

Yun Xi added, “Third Young Master, there’s no need to trouble yourself—A’Jiu and I can make our own way back.”

“It’s no trouble,” Cheng Chang said. He climbed into the carriage, lifted the curtain, and said to Yun Xi, “Get in.”

Though the early spring weather had warmed somewhat, the night wind still carried a chill. Seeing that Yun Xi was dressed too lightly, Cheng Chang handed her his own hand warmer, then helped A’Jiu into the carriage as well.

The carriage was spacious inside, scented with agarwood incense, its seats lined with thick, soft felt, and a small carved table set in the middle.

A’Jiu looked around and exclaimed, “This is quite grand!” She rapped her knuckles against the table in front of her. “Pear wood, even!”

Only then did Yun Xi remember that in all the earlier commotion, she’d forgotten to introduce A’Jiu to Cheng Chang, and quickly said, “Third Young Master, this is Qin Jiu. Her father used to command the Heavenly Corps under the Marquis Zhongyong. Last year, His Majesty issued a decree recalling her father’s and my brother’s former troops, so she’s come to Jinling.”

Then, turning to A’Jiu, “This is the Third Young Master of Prince Cong’s household.”

A’Jiu had already guessed Cheng Chang’s identity from the way Sun Haiping and Zhang Dahu kept calling him “Young Prince,” but having grown up in the northern frontier, where the Marquis’s former troops cared only for military discipline and were otherwise as close as family, she’d never stood much on ceremony even with Yun Shuguang or Yun Luo. Now, running into a proper member of the imperial family, she wasn’t in the least intimidated, and asked without hesitation, “Young Prince, why are you on duty during the New Year of all times?”

Cheng Chang said, “I have some matters to attend to.”

He asked, “When did Miss A’Jiu arrive in Jinling? Didn’t the Ministry of War say you wouldn’t get here until February?”

“I’m quick on my feet, so I got here first,” A’Jiu said, then raised an eyebrow in surprise. “What, does the Censorate concern itself with the Ministry of War’s business too? You even know when the Marquis’s former troops were supposed to arrive in Jinling?”

Cheng Chang glanced at Yun Xi, who was sitting up straight and proper, studying the hand warmer in her hands. He fell silent for a moment, not answering A’Jiu directly, and instead asked, “Miss A’Jiu, having grown up in the northern frontier, are you finding it hard to adjust to Jinling?”

“Hard to say,” A’Jiu said. “Jinling, being right under the emperor’s feet, has a thousand and ten thousand things wrong with it, but there’s one good thing about it—peace. Someone like me, who grew up on the frontier, we’d have to fight the barbarians every few days just to stretch our muscles. Old Zhong raised me like his own son, so I was already following Yun Luo onto the battlefield at twelve. But these past few years, that hasn’t been possible. After Zhaoyuan’s betrayal and our defeat, and then that fellow Pei Lan came to the frontier—I couldn’t stand him, didn’t want to fight under him, and he wasn’t too keen on trusting old troops of the Marquis’s like us either. Mutual dislike, so what could we do? We withdrew. Old Zhong led several hundred of us back to Jishan Fu.”

“You’re probably wondering what Jishan Fu is—it’s a town in the northern frontier. You wouldn’t know this, Young Prince, but for people like us who grew up in frontier camps, used to living in tents, stepping outside into open grassland, free and easy—that’s the good life. A place like Jishan Fu is more like your Jinling here—buildings are buildings, streets are streets, alleys are alleys, everything divided up neat and proper in every direction, you can’t even ride a horse properly without running into something. Naturally I couldn’t get used to it. And yet I ended up living there almost four years—it nearly drove me mad. So the moment His Majesty’s decree came down last year, Old Zhong and the rest of us couldn’t wait even a moment, and came straight to Jinling. Jinling’s not as good as the open grassland, but at least it’s livelier than Jishan Fu. Besides, A’Ting’s here too—”

Once A’Jiu got talking, she found it hard to stop.

She wasn’t really much of a chatterbox by nature. With people she liked, she’d talk a bit more; with people she didn’t care for, she wouldn’t waste a single extra word.

But there was something different about Cheng Chang—talking with him somehow put people at ease.

Unlike some people who put on an air of studied gentility and courtesy, he was genuinely sincere, willing to listen, and quick to respond, which made people want to keep talking. It also made them feel that he was truly interested in whatever they had to say.

Put in twenty-first century terms, he simply had excellent emotional intelligence.

Having rarely met someone like this, A’Jiu grew more and more animated as she talked, eventually launching into stories of her youth on the battlefield, practically ready to recount half her life story to Cheng Chang.

With plenty to talk about along the way, they soon arrived at the Marquis Zhongyong’s manor.

Cheng Chang left several sky lanterns for the manor’s household with Yun Xi, then got down from the carriage. A’Jiu, Sun Haiping, and the others helped carry the lanterns inside.

Yun Xi called out, “Third Young Master,” and handed the hand warmer back to him.

Cheng Chang didn’t take it. “Keep it. It’s only early spring—it’ll be a while yet before it’s truly warm again.”

Yun Xi didn’t know what to say. Her thoughts had been in a tangled mess the whole evening, drifting aimlessly in midair, and even now they hadn’t settled. She stood there in silence for a long moment, then, remembering how A’Jiu had chattered on and on at Cheng Chang the whole ride, felt a bit guilty and tried to explain on her behalf. “Third Young Master, A’Jiu is very straightforward by nature—she always says whatever’s on her mind. She respects you, that’s why she talked so much.”

She had assumed Cheng Chang preferred quiet, that he was normally a man of few words and probably didn’t care for chatty people. But A’Jiu had grown up alongside her, and she didn’t want Cheng Chang to dislike her for it.

But Cheng Chang said, “It’s fine. I quite enjoyed talking with her.”

“You enjoyed it, Third Young Master?” Yun Xi asked, astonished.

Cheng Chang gave a soft “Mm,” glanced at her, his expression calm, his voice mild and cool. “Because she’s your friend.”

Hearing the commotion, someone from inside came rushing out—it was Zhao Wu, hurrying to the manor gate. “Young Miss, you’re finally back.”

Seeing Cheng Chang, he bowed as well. “Third Young Master.”

Yun Xi noticed something odd in his expression and glanced through the gap in the gate into the manor. “What is it? Did something happen at the manor?”

“Nothing’s really happened,” Zhao Wu said. “The Fourth Young Miss from the Luo family came by, saying she had urgent business with you, Young Miss, and she still won’t leave even now. The young mistress is with her in the main hall right now, waiting for you.”

Yun Xi paused. “Luo Shu?”

Before the New Year, Luo Shu had been cleared of suspicion for lack of evidence and released from the Ministry of Justice’s prison. But the case of Yao Susu’s murder remained unresolved, and the taint of suspicion over Luo Shu’s name had yet to be washed clean. In the more than a month since she’d returned home, she’d been too ashamed to show her face in public—so why would she come looking for Yun Xi tonight?

Just as Yun Xi was puzzling over this, a series of urgent footsteps came from within the manor—it was Luo Shu, who, hearing that Yun Xi had returned, couldn’t bear to wait any longer and had rushed out to see her.

“A’Ting—” Luo Shu called out anxiously, her expression full of distress. Her gaze swept past and unexpectedly landed on Cheng Chang. She froze for a moment, then gritted her teeth, lifted her skirts, and dropped to her knees on the ground, saying in a panicked rush, “A’Ting, Third Young Master, please, I beg you, save me—”