It was not until the late afternoon — the sky a canvas of spreading gold — that the married couple rose to take their leave and departed. Gu Tingye glanced sideways and caught Minglan’s eyes tinged faintly red, her long lashes still damp and downcast. He knew she must have been crying, and something in his chest softened at once. He had drunk a fair amount at the table with the men, and felt two measures of wine humming in him already. Seeing her state, he deliberately stumbled a few steps; Changbai and the others immediately saw something was wrong and called for someone to help him into the carriage.

Inside the spacious carriage, a small incense burner sat beside a low table, a thin velvet-pile rug spread across the floor. Minglan supported Gu Tingye as he leaned against the cushioned rest. She found a fan and waved it gently to clear the wine from his air; the carriage rocked softly with each step of the horses, the late spring afternoon carrying a pleasant warmth with a touch of closeness. In the small purple bronze incense burner on the side table, a faint willow-mist fragrance curled up, drifting in and out of the half-enclosed space.

Gu Tingye had been more performing than truly drunk, but this kind of atmosphere lulled him toward genuine drowsiness. He drifted off for some time, and then opened his eyes in a state between sleep and waking. He saw Minglan, head resting against the cushion, eyes faintly closed, the pale pink coral-bead shark-silk round fan held loosely in her hand as she too dozed in a tired, languid way.

Minglan was half-dreaming, when she felt a tickling across her eyelids; she opened her eyes and reached up to touch them, and found Gu Tingye watching her quietly. The pad of his finger was slightly roughened, brushing with a soft rasping across her eyelids. He said: “Awake?”

Minglan nodded, set down the fan, sat herself up, and the corner of her mouth curved upward into a dimple: “Would you like some water?”

Gu Tingye found his lips and tongue dry, and nodded. Minglan poured warm tea from the magnetic stone teapot on the small table, steadied it at Gu Tingye’s lips, and let him drink it down slowly. She had only just set the teacup back when she felt the world tip — and found herself turned and pressed beneath him on the velvet rug, nose to nose.

The rich masculine presence of him, heavy with wine, pressed down on her face with the weight of him, until Minglan nearly stopped breathing. She pushed at him with effort: “…heavy, heavy…” Gu Tingye shifted slightly to one side, but his eyes stayed fixed on Minglan, his thick lashes nearly touching her eyelids. He said suddenly: “You have been crying. Why.”

Minglan said with difficulty, in a low voice: “After this… I will not be able to see Grandmother often. It made me sad.”

“That is not the real reason. Why did you cry?” He knew Minglan’s nature well enough by now — barring actual pain, she was resilient to the core, and did not weep over the sentimental turnings of the season. It was not a matter of life and death; why would she cry her eyes swollen? Even if the parting of grandmother and granddaughter brought some sorrow, her nature would more likely respond with a joke or two to make light of it.

Gu Tingye’s gaze was a deep, steady black, fixed on Minglan. The pressure of it was inexplicable and inescapable. Minglan felt her heart quail, and finally, with some stumbling, said: “Grandmother — Grandmother scolded me… The chest tightened a little, and the pressure eased by a fraction. Seeing that the man before her had no intention of moving away, Minglan had no choice but to go on: “Grandmother worries all the time that I am not living well — she scolded me for not managing this thing properly, not handling that thing carefully enough. She feared you would not be pleased with me, feared that when she could no longer watch over me…”

Gu Tingye shifted his tall frame slightly to one side, drew Minglan up to a half-sitting position against the cushions, and said with a lifted tone, an odd note of meaning in it: “And so she found you the He family?”

Minglan felt the back of her head prickle. All of a sudden she envied those couples who had married sight unseen, knowing nothing of one another — at least neither party knew anything of the other’s past. Unlike this man, who seemed to know everything.

“She thought they seemed a good match…” Minglan murmured with a slight pout.

“And afterward?” Gu Tingye only looked at her, his gaze without expression.

This question went very deep, and asked something entirely different from what the words themselves said.

Minglan turned her cheek slightly, and began with an entirely different thread: “That day, when the Mistress had Concubine Gong and Hongxiao come out to pay their respects — you positioned yourself in front of me and spoke on my behalf. In that moment… I was very glad. That day, you spared me a great deal of helplessness. And by saying they would come later, you gave me time to first take hold of the household. You were looking after me, shielding me — I understood.”

Gu Tingye’s eyes cleared of all lingering shadow; a smile began to rise in them, true and sure. He seemed to wish to conceal it, yet could not quite suppress the corner of his mouth from curving upward.

Minglan gazed quietly at the slender spiraling smoke drifting in the air, and said gently: “Old Madam once said the He family’s young lord was a good man. But when the Cao family came to press me, he knew perfectly well I did not wish to be involved — and yet he left a lone woman to manage it herself. Facing the Cao family girl, I was wrong whether I engaged or did not engage.” Thinking of the anger and injustice of that time, Minglan’s voice caught faintly. Then she slowly turned her gaze, fixing Gu Tingye with eyes as clear and transparent as still water: “But you are different. You stepped forward ahead of me — you stood before me — you kept the wind and the difficulty and the humiliation from reaching me. When I saw that, I thought: even if there were blades and fire ahead, as long as you were there, I would not be afraid of any of it.”

Once, the conqueror Liu Yao had smiled and asked his captive Empress Yang Xiancheng: Am I better than the men of the Sima family? She had answered without a moment’s hesitation: Since I married you, I have learned for the first time what a true man is. — clear and resounding, every word ringing like struck stone. A twice-married empress past the bloom of youth, yet she remained the singular and undivided beloved of the warrior emperor Liu Yao, her later sons elevated above all others — and there was reason for it.

A declaration of feeling is a matter of skill. One cannot simply cry out slogans; one cannot be coy or withholding. One’s words must carry substance; the timing must be precisely right. When it is time to speak plainly, one must say it with full clarity and voice. Ancient women’s codes were strict. As a woman with a certain history, Minglan had to respond swiftly — she could not rely on her husband’s knowledge of her past as an excuse to hang back in hesitant half-articulations.

One wrong step, and at the least, a rift would open between them; at the worst, someone with designs would find a way in.

A genuine brilliance ignited in Gu Tingye’s gaze — like a still, deep ancient well struck suddenly by a thrown stone, circles of light rippling outward, alive and shimmering. Something surged in his heart that he could find no words for, an overwhelming joy — and then he forced himself to sound fierce: “You little cunning one — you want me to play the villain for you, is that it? Fine! I am perfectly happy to be the wicked one.”

Minglan had been waiting for exactly these words. Her smile bloomed bright and dimpled, and she reached up to press a quick kiss to the man’s cheek: “Second Great-Uncle, you really are wonderful…”

Gu Tingye had barely registered the warmth of soft lips against his face when his expression went immediately dark. Minglan seemed to have realized her slip the same instant, and covered her mouth with both hands, eyes wide and timid, watching him.

In truth, Minglan’s eyes were very flirtatious — vividly, searingly so, to the bone — yet softened by a pair of gently curved, compliant brows, like a thin veil of restraint. When she glanced at someone without thinking, the gaze carried a half-transparent quality like water, drawing the observer in. Gu Tingye suddenly remembered being a boy in his father’s study, getting up to mischief and stumbling upon a precious antique scroll of a painted beauty — unrolling it, the long-faded yellowed scroll revealed a woman both delicately graceful and softly alluring, an arresting beauty flowing across the aged paper.

He had never known why, as a small boy, his heart had pounded so wildly at the sight.

And only now did he realize — he had never known that poise and warmth could be paired so perfectly with playful irreverence.

“I was wrong,” Minglan said quickly, her head down, hands folded, her attitude of contrition exemplary.

“Crafty, sweet-tongued little schemer!” Gu Tingye cursed under his breath, his expression stern as he glared at her — though the smile he could not suppress was quite transparent in his gaze.

He would soon discover that this little schemer was not only honeyed of tongue but also remarkably skilled at saying one thing and meaning another. All the charming words spoken in the daylight left him dazzled and stirred, feeling himself the very picture of a ravenous and ardent wolf, longing to thoroughly claim her — and by great effort he contained himself until evening, at which point she turned her little face away with calm composure and instructed the maids to spread two separate sets of bedding on the bed.

Gu Tingye only raised his brow, and quietly sipped his tea. Minglan looked down and fidgeted with her fingers.

…

In the depth of the night, Minglan lay with her head against the pillow, her whole being flushed, her face burning like fire. The man above her was still drawing out the tender aftermath; his heavy breath was entirely intimate. Minglan’s body had gone soft, her mind still holding a thread of clarity, and she could only rasp out softly in a pleading voice: “…If I still cannot get out of bed tomorrow, I — I simply will not go on living…”

Gu Tingye showed no sign of relenting, only coaxing her to be compliant, his hand still reaching further down. Minglan’s entire body was limp and aching; growing truly desperate, she said: “All things require gradual progress — approach it step by step, let it be drawn out properly. You — you can do more another time. Tonight I am already much improved…” Thinking of her own performance just now, Minglan felt she truly had progressed; it could fairly be described as a thousand li in a single day.

The man let out a quiet, irrepressible laugh. His low, hoarse voice murmured close and warm: “Indeed quite a bit better… very well, I will spare you this time.” But his hand delivered two more firm, possessive squeezes before withdrawing.

He knew he must not go too far. Thinking of her dark circles from that morning, he knew he had to exercise restraint. Besides — the first three days of the new marriage were over, and she needed to begin learning the household and familiarizing herself with domestic affairs. No matter what, he needed to let her organize her thoughts before the other side made its move.

The next morning, Minglan was resolute and rose early, enduring her yawns while letting Danju help her wash and dress. Gu Tingye, in a sapphire blue medallion-patterned archer’s jacket with tasseled trim, jade crown binding his hair, was himself the picture of a straight-backed pine — naturally authoritative without anger, tall and handsome.

After breakfast, he drew Minglan into the side chamber, sent everyone out, and briefed her alone on the affairs of the household.

“…I have been away for years, and the residence has not been established for long. The staff — from managers to servants — most were granted by the Emperor, either reassigned from convicted officials’ households or people who sought employment here in earlier years. This lot has no entrenched roots; you look them over, keep who can be kept, and let the rest go.” Gu Tingye said seriously, his profile grave and composed, bearing a quality of mature, contained steadiness. “And then there are a few others…” He paused briefly, choosing his words carefully. “People the Mistress and the various aunts-by-marriage sent over. Those you should also look over carefully.”

That last sentence carried considerable meaning. Minglan pressed a hand to her aching lower back and took it quietly to heart. Normally such handover instructions came from a mother-in-law to her daughter-in-law — her marriage was truly something quite extraordinary.

“The land and account books, along with the silver ledger, I will have Master Gongsun send them over for you to look at. If anything is unclear, you can ask Gon… well, ask me instead.” Gu Tingye thought it over and adjusted mid-sentence.

“Master Gongsun?” Minglan had been listening for a while, and finally heard a familiar name. “Could that be the one from the incident with the river bandits…”

“Precisely.” Gu Tingye smiled. “He is currently holding two positions at once and is rather overworked. He is probably the person most eagerly anticipating my marriage.”

“You had Master Gongsun managing the household?” Minglan had only met Gongsun Baishi once, but the impression was vivid — the sort of man who fans himself ostentatiously in deepest winter, who loves to strike poses of inscrutability. An advisor through and through! Did Zhuge Liang ever manage women’s quarters and children’s nurseries for Liu Bei?

Gu Tingye suppressed his amusement and sat with perfect composure, lightly sipping his tea: “Master Gongsun has had — quite a difficult time of it.”

The two talked on for a little longer. Gu Tingye was, after all, a man, and the details of domestic affairs had never truly engaged his attention; he could not explain things very clearly, and after Minglan asked several questions in a row and got no clear answers to any of them, she finally said: “…What exactly do you know? I imagine only military campaigns and wandering the world.”

Gu Tingye was somewhat annoyed at being pressed, and gave her a sidelong look: “And how much do you know that is so remarkable?”

Minglan declaimed with great confidence: “From the celestial to the terrestrial, the four arts of the scholar, the eight trigrams and numerology, medicine and divination and astrology, the principles of yin and yang, the mysteries of the Qimen Dunjia, agricultural irrigation, commerce and military strategy — I have complete command of all of them and am thoroughly proficient…” Gu Tingye stared, his eyes going wide. Then Minglan pivoted sharply: “None of which is remotely possible!”

Gu Tingye’s expression turned wry, clearly preparing to deliver a biting remark — but Minglan continued: “Though at the very least I know the names of the people who comb my hair and wash my face.” Gu Tongzhi, to this day, could not tell Xia Zhu and Xia He apart — truly a man of remarkable gifts.

Gu Tingye raised both brows, entirely unashamed, and said with candor: “Their contracts and documents are all with me. What is there to be concerned about? Great matters do not trouble themselves with small details — you simply hold the main authority, and who could ever turn the sky over?”

There was, in a manner of speaking, a certain logic to this — as with the Mongols against the Southern Song. The Mongols had conquered half the world and were bringing their full force to bear; no matter how bravely and heroically the Southern Song fought, the outcome was inevitable. Similarly, whatever resentment the people in the Gu household might nurse toward Gu Tingye, they had no power to act on it.

Gu Tingye had known quite a number of women in his time — whether the encounters had been casual diversions, or something more like Man Niang or Qiu Niang — yet somehow, with none of them had he felt this kind of ease, this familiar intimacy: laughing, squabbling, glaring, smiling, everything sayable. Perhaps arguments themselves hasten familiarity — Gu Tingye had already exchanged sharp words with Minglan several times before the wedding, and so, barely a handful of days into the marriage, he felt Minglan as if she had grown straight into his heart — perfectly fitting, and deeply dear.

“All right.” Gu Tingye, having gotten the better of Minglan and left her with nothing to say, set down his teacup with great satisfaction. He glanced out the window, his brow entirely clear, his expression warm and content. “From tomorrow I will resume my court attendance as usual — the Military Commissioner’s Office will be busy, and I will not have much time. If there is anything you wish to ask, ask now. Once we are done, this lord will take you on a turn around the estate. The back hill garden is quite large — look and see if there is anything you like; I will engage craftsmen for it. There is also that stretch of mountain forest — I have been thinking it could be fenced in and used to raise deer, cranes, pheasants, and the like. And oh, you still have more to ask — very well, ask something of significance. Do not come to me with the corner details and give this lord a headache.”

Minglan lowered the hand she had already raised, considered for a moment, and then — with an expression of some deliberate care — asked earnestly: “In a year… how much is there, roughly, for the household to spend?”

What she actually wanted to ask was: How much do you earn?

Asking that question after the wedding — was it perhaps just a little late?