In the capital, the residences of dukes, marquises, and earls were everywhere — yet only those granted to meritorious founders of the dynasty came with entire streets of their own. Xiangyang Marquis Mansion two districts to the south, and the Duke of England’s mansion one street to the north — these were the sort. Titles and residences granted later, for military merit or imperial kinship, rarely enjoyed such magnificence. The Dongchang Marquis Mansion and the former Fuchang Marquis Mansion, for instance — though grand and imposing, were at most estates of somewhat greater size.

Minglan understood this very well. In the early years of the dynasty, land was plentiful and people were few, and emperors had given with an open hand. By the time the capital had grown and flourished, the founding noble families had already claimed every scrap of desirable property, one radish to one pit — there was simply no room left.

Of course, there were always exceptions, as with Hualan’s in-laws the Zhongqin Earldom — a tragic case. As founding meritorious nobles, they too had occupied half a grand street with pavilions, terraces, and layered courtyards, only to be stripped of title and have their residence seized after being implicated in a case of treason. By the time the title was eventually restored, the original imperially granted residence was of course long gone.

The Gu family, having spent several generations of Marquises under imperial orders on the frontier in garrison duty, had not accumulated much in the way of Ninguan Street’s length or breadth.

But for all one might say, the world always had its exceptions. There was the Shen National Uncle, for instance — imperial maternal kinsman and military veteran both, with the result that his Weibei Marquis Mansion had expanded across a hillside and into the forest, surrounded by mountains and water, a truly singular establishment in the capital.

This too Minglan understood very well. These past two years, quite a few of the noble families had committed offenses; after several successive purges, the confiscated assets of condemned families had been seized and filled the treasury without number. The new Emperor had been flush with funds of late, and naturally had lavished rewards on his maternal uncle — and, well, the followers who rode in his wake.

So when Minglan first laid eyes on the grand and majestic Commissioner Gu’s Residence, she was not particularly astonished. What did astonish her was that this residence was separated from Ninguan Marquis Mansion only by half a hillside forest and one criminal’s garden that had just been confiscated and sealed by the imperial court.

“How is it? Does this residence suit you?” Gu Tingye watched Minglan’s expression of bewilderment and laughed.

Minglan gazed at that hillside garden, misty with clouds and brilliant with flowering trees, and was nearly left with her mouth hanging open. It took her some time before she managed: “It’s this close — and you fought so hard over it all this time?” She felt she had exerted a great deal of unnecessary effort earlier.

Gu Tingye raised an eyebrow: “No matter how close, these are two separate households. Others have no jurisdiction here.”

Minglan’s face quietly showed a flicker of delight. Did this mean… she would not have to rise early?

The first day of marriage had been a long and exhausting one. By the time they returned to the Commissioner’s Residence that evening, the sky was already growing dark; Minglan had not even had a proper look at her new home. Supported by Danju, she went back to the room, washed and changed into everyday, comfortable clothes, and dove headfirst into the great red bedding embroidered with entwining dragon and phoenix motifs.

She only intended to rest for a short while and then get up for supper. Instead, the moment her eyes fell shut, they stayed shut — she slept as though dead. No one came to wake her. She slept until the middle of the night, at which point she drifted gradually toward consciousness, still convinced in her drowsy state that she was in her parents’ home. She reached out one hand in a half-extended stretch toward the small bedside table — and in the darkness, encountered a bare, slightly roughened chest.

Minglan lay there in a daze, mind unmoving. Who was this? She groped about a bit more.

A large hand caught hers. The man lifted the thick embroidered bed curtain and hooked it up on the copper loop by the window. On the small carved purple-sandalwood round table beside the bed, a pale yellow horn palace lantern sat burning — and in its dim and wavering light, Minglan finally made out who was before her.

Gu Tingye’s dense black hair was half unbound, cascading over his snow-silk-draped shoulders. His inner garment hung open at the front, baring a wide expanse of warm dark chest; in the dimness, Minglan could make out the suggestion of old scars across it. A light incense burned in the room, faintly sweet and intoxicating — though it could not quite overpower the rich masculine presence of the man beside her.

“What is it?” Gu Tingye seemed also to have been half-asleep, eyes still narrowed as he drew Minglan toward him.

“I want to drink some water.” Minglan tilted her head, one cheek soft as piled snow, her lips tender and pink, yet her eyes were entirely glazed with sleep. “I want Danju.”

Gu Tingye, who was always alert even when tired, had been roused fully awake by now. Looking at Minglan’s thoroughly oblivious expression, he stretched out his long arm, drew the teapot from the warming cozy on the bedside table, and poured warm tea into a fine porcelain floral cup, then handed it to Minglan. She held it in both plump hands and drank it down in gulping swallows, then stared blankly: “Is there more?”

Gu Tingye checked and poured her another cup. This time she did not finish it, drinking only half before she did not want any more. She returned the cup with the remaining tea to her husband’s hand, then very naturally lay back down, turned over, and burrowed into the bedding to go right back to sleep.

Gu Tingye sat holding the teacup, looking for a long time at Minglan sleeping away as blissfully as a little pig. Then, wordlessly, he tipped the remaining half-cup of tea into his own mouth in one swallow, set the cup back down, and turned to lift Minglan’s covers. Soft, warm, fragrant — a girl’s body, flesh plentiful and bone fine — Gu Tingye held her with deep satisfaction. He tightened his embrace and followed the line of her inner garment, slipping his hand inward — the sensation smooth and silken against his fingers.

What had begun as little more than idle caressing gradually stirred into something far more purposeful. He leaned over her, found her soft lips — still faintly moist from drinking — kissed her once, and then again with growing heat, his hands moving in an urgent, fervent exploration.

Minglan became aware that something was wrong, twisted, and half-woke — eyes open and disoriented, lips slightly parted, struggling in confusion — only to be caught by him and pressed firmly beneath him, pinned entirely.

The heat of him was overwhelming. In a daze she felt herself thoroughly engulfed, and at first she endured it — but she was still barely past the threshold of experience, and soon the ache and the pressure built until she had no strength in her legs at all. They lay draped over his arms as she made soft sounds of distress, hoping desperately he would finish soon.

He, however, had slept well and was in full vigor, advancing with force and enthusiasm, kneading and molding her entirely, kissing her until she nearly dissolved into water. Minglan, unable to bear it any further, began to whimper and beg for mercy in soft, tender little cries and pleas — which only seemed to kindle his ardor all the more. He bit into her white and delicate little shoulder and let out a low, rumbling sound.

Minglan heard the rough, heavy rhythm of his breathing, felt her own body as if on fire, scalding and impossible to endure — and finally lost consciousness entirely.

…

The next morning, when Nanny Cui hurried over to the bridal chamber, she was met at the door by a thick haze of intimate fragrance filling the entire room. The maids, red-faced, had already helped Minglan bathe. Nanny Cui stepped in to find the married couple sitting side by side on the edge of the bed — Minglan with the look of someone who had not yet fully woken up, and Gu Tingye with his full vitality intact, eyes bright, engrossed in carefully drawing a little white-jade foot onto his own knee and slowly pulling on her stocking.

Nanny Cui stepped forward, suppressed the urge to glare at the new son-in-law, swiftly took the stocking from his hand, gave a curtsy, and said: “Son-in-law, please go and wash up. I will see to the young lady here.”

Gu Tingye was not the least bit put out. He rose to his full height, draped in a long-sleeved wide inner robe, and went through to the side chamber. Nanny Cui watched until he had fully gone, then knelt down to put on Minglan’s shoes and stockings, and while helping her into her outer jacket, inadvertently lifted the hem — and saw a spread of unmistakably rosy marks running from Minglan’s shoulder and neck all the way down to her chest.

Nanny Cui felt a surge of indignant fire — and suppressed it entirely. She would save it for when they returned to her family home, and register her complaint properly then.

Minglan felt that this sleep had left her more tired than not sleeping at all. Her waist was straight-up not cooperating, and she was hollow with hunger front to back. The moment she saw the steaming breakfast on the table, her eyes lit up with a greenish gleam; she broke her own record and drank three bowls of congee in a row, very nearly splitting her stomach open. Gu Tingye had excellent appetite himself — he ate heartily, and watching Minglan eat with such gusto, he helped pile more things into her bowl with great good humor.

Minglan had the distinct feeling he resembled an unscrupulous operator of a pig farm, enthusiastically fattening his pig in preparation for the feast. She shot him a fierce glare — only to find him returning a look of ambiguous amusement, seemingly smiling, seemingly not, watching her with deep and meaningful eyes. Minglan felt the blood rise to her face.

She could not even bring herself to talk. She just wanted to eat quickly and go back for another sleep. Her brain was not functioning clearly enough in this state to match wits with him. She would recover her strength first and address the problem later.

Originally, Gu Tingye had planned to have Minglan meet the household managers that day and hand over the management of domestic affairs — but seeing Minglan on the verge of falling asleep while standing, he pushed everything back and went to his outer study to deal with some pressing business.

Something about the harmonizing of the cosmic forces, perhaps — Gu Tingye found the daylight exceptionally clear and fine, the whole residence filled with birdsong and fragrance, heaven and earth in perfect accord. He could not quite remember his displeasures of the day before. He spent the whole day with the faintest smile at the corner of his mouth, thinking only of finishing matters quickly so he could return to the room. Even if nothing further was possible, finding some other small advantage would be perfectly agreeable.

The afternoon’s rest partially restored Minglan’s strength. She planned to spend the evening in conversation with her new husband on the topics of stars, moonlight, the meaning of life, and household management. Gu Tingye had entirely different plans — before Minglan could even introduce her intended topics, he dragged her to bed and enthusiastically kept at it for the better part of the night.

On the morning of the third day of the new marriage, Gu Tingye sat beside Minglan with a look of concern, watching her droop and nod like a wilted flower. His heart filled with regret — they were supposed to return to her family’s home today, and last night’s exertions had been really rather excessive.

Minglan slouched over the table, trembling hands wrapped around her congee bowl, and inwardly wept bitter tears. As a person who had studied law, she firmly recognized the marital obligation for physical relations; she fully endorsed the important role such relations played in married life; and she was entirely willing to cooperate with wholehearted effort — but, but… she genuinely had the spirit and not the body!

On this third day of new marriage, Gu Tongzhi appeared to have no higher demands of Minglan whatsoever. He did not ask her to manage the household. He did not ask her to assume household duties. His current single greatest and most pressing need was simply that she perform well in bed.

Minglan held up a lotus-patterned porcelain dish with a suffering expression and thought to herself with no small degree of gloom: In grand households, the mistress of the house does mental labor — strategy and wits and sparring with adversaries. What she is doing is physical labor. And not just any physical labor — heavy physical labor. What, exactly, does this amount to? Draining the yin to supplement the yang?

The more she thought about it, the more aggrieved and indignant she felt. Minglan’s temper flared inwardly — she was at this moment a fresh and tender young girl! How was she to withstand him, with his constitution of iron and his stamina of a war horse — not to mention the obvious incompatibility in, shall we say, proportions — his endurance vastly exceeding hers, his victory entirely without merit! Hmph! Let him wait until she was thirty like a wolf and forty like a tiger — she would see how the old Gu managed by then!

Minglan drank her congee and engaged in an extended session of self-comforting rationalization, feeling considerably cheered. Then she shifted without thinking, and a wave of aching soreness shot through her waist and legs — she sucked in her breath sharply through her teeth — just you wait. We shall see who has the last word!