The autumn days grew increasingly cold, yet indoors the warmth lingered like late spring. At this hour, the dawn had not yet broken, and the room was dim as a thread of light. On the low table, a white jade porcelain double-headed qilin incense burner had long since burned out its incense sticks, leaving only a faint, elusive fragrance drifting softly through the air.

After half a night of vigorous activity, Minglan was clearly exhausted, yet she woke early. She curled her body like a shrimp and wriggled out of the man’s embrace one section at a time, then sat on the bed hugging the quilt, staring blankly at the man. His light brown arms were smooth and sturdy, his slender neck curved slightly, his thick black hair spread across the pillow in a display of vigorous vitality. His prominent nose bridge pressed deeply into the soft bedding as he breathed with a slightly heavy rhythm.

Watching him sleep so soundly, Minglan felt a small pang of envy.

This fellow was like a wild male beast with a strong survival instinct. Sometimes he was alert — the slightest soft sound would wake him on its own, with no need for an alarm. Yet once he determined it was safe to sleep deeply, he could fall asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, unconscious within seconds.

Several times, because he had been riding at the military camp during the day and returned to the mansion exhausted, one moment he was still talking with Minglan, and the next, the moment she turned her head, she found he had already entered the sweet land of sleep. Pinching his nose bridge would not wake him.

Minglan gazed at his handsome side profile — his jaw stubborn and resolute — and fell into a daze. Not long after their marriage, she had discovered that a certain Marquis Gu severely lacked any reverence for those above him.

When escorting caravans, he found the chief escort who had been famous for ten years unreliable. When guarding merchant convoys through desolate mountain passes, he found the trailblazer incompetent. When he had mingled with the canal gangs, from the very day he joined, he had (quietly) looked down on the branch leader, and the moment he had built his own power base, he had (silently) grown dissatisfied with the gang leader.

After their marriage, once everything had gradually settled, Gu Tingye slowly reclaimed several business ventures he had previously left in Jianghuai and Sichuan. When Minglan held the land deeds and promissory notes in her hands, she realized he had already made quite a name for himself in the jianghu world and had accumulated a considerable fortune.

Although he was rather proud of having built all this from nothing, these ventures were ultimately of the “disreputable lower trades” variety, not much more distinguished than merchant work. He never spoke much of it, even to Gongsun Baishi.

Now at last he had a faithful listener. His newly wed wife was knowledgeable and sensible, yet without the pedantic stuffiness of scholars. She was cheerful and open-minded, and whenever he spoke of his past experiences, her face lit up with genuine interest.

In Minglan’s view, the saying “Heaven is fair” was perfectly embodied in Gu Tingye.

Though fate had taken his mother from him in childhood, his father had been useless in the positive direction while his stepmother and relatives had been all too effective in the negative direction, his path to adulthood filled with one hardship after another — yet fate had also gifted him with exceptional talents. Not only did he inherit his paternal line’s martial courage and combat ability, but he had miraculously also inherited his maternal grandfather’s sharp, capable mind.

It was said that old Master Bai had risen from the very bottom, dealing in both legitimate and shadowy enterprises, possessing keen discernment, bold vision, and the courage to act, building up a substantial family fortune from nothing — ten thousand taels, that was ten thousand taels. Minglan had never quite gotten over that.

Gu Tingye could tell that his wife was genuinely interested, not merely pretending in order to flatter him. As he spoke, she would occasionally exclaim in admiration, her face betraying that she wished she could have been there herself, and he found himself speaking ever more freely and openly.

The husband and wife talked more and more enthusiastically, finding themselves kindred spirits who understood each other without need for many words. Such a marriage was a happy one — something he had never imagined before. With her by his side, it felt like being warmed by a spring breeze. And so, resorting to a small underhanded scheme to win himself such a good wife had been entirely necessary.

Gu Tingye felt that his decision back then had been truly wise.

“Position and ability cannot always be equated. In this world, there is also such a thing as luck and coincidence,” Gu Tingye said, frowning.

Minglan cautiously ventured: “Speaking of which, His Majesty today is also a person of deep fortune, and so…” The new Emperor’s path to the throne had not been the result of careful strategizing — seven or eight parts of it was Heaven’s doing. The several elder brothers above him had all died, and only then did it fall to him.

“Not so. His Majesty’s abilities are like a dragon submerged beneath the sea — not visibly imposing, yet his achievements are remarkable.” Gu Tingye shook his head in disagreement. “Had His Majesty not been humble and benevolent from his days as a prince, the late Emperor would never have entrusted the empire to him.”

Minglan nodded. Prince Jing, ranked fifth, had been extravagant and ostentatious, repeatedly displeasing the late Emperor, and so the throne had been snatched by the current Emperor, who ranked eighth. (Prince Jing felt deeply wronged: How was he to know the two brothers above him would be so reckless as to both bring about their own destruction? Since the throne was clearly out of reach, naturally he had to make the most of it while his father was still alive and grab whatever benefits he could.)

“…Furthermore, His Majesty is respectful toward the worthy and courteous to the talented, much in the spirit of the ancient lord Mengchang. Regardless of how bleak his days as a prince were, and though his finances were not particularly generous, he always willingly devoted himself to befriending reclusive men of talent in the mountains and countryside,” Gu Tingye recounted slowly from memory.

Minglan kept nodding. As events had proven, the group of advisors nurtured in the prince’s residence had indeed been quite useful. Those few moves made just before and after the Eighth Prince entered the capital and was invested as Crown Prince had been brilliantly executed.

“Naturally, anyone who can climb to that position must have something exceptional about them. But to only know blind obedience because of that — that would be foolish.” Gu Tingye’s expression grew stern, a trace of contempt at the corners of his mouth. “Setting aside those who were once capable — that does not necessarily remain true now…”

Minglan nodded even more vigorously. Take General Gan, for example — he had once been a fierce warrior who had fought his way out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood, yet in his old age he had grown increasingly muddleheaded.

“Besides, being good at one task doesn’t mean one is good at everything else.”

Minglan nodded harder still, like a pestle pounding in a mortar.

Poor Lao Geng — in his days at the prince’s residence, he too had been both wise and brave, a renowned hero in southern Sichuan. Yet who could have known that as circumstances rose, his fortunes seemed to repeatedly fall? The Emperor had originally intended to send him to Xuanda as the regional commander to guard the frontier, but had yet to make up his mind even now — if he couldn’t even manage the entanglements right at the foot of the capital, there was no telling what he might do as an unchecked lord in the northern borderlands.

To borrow a phrase attributed to a certain Peng Dehuai: a man like Hu Zongnan, a group army commander in rank, was really only the caliber of a regiment commander. Some people are not incapable — their abilities simply have limitations, and they are only suited to certain posts.

“From the glory of one general, ten thousand bones are laid bare. In the end, only a few can rise to the top,” Gu Tingye concluded with a heavy sigh.

Minglan was left utterly bewildered. Listening to this fellow’s tone, he was unmistakably a skeptic — completely unlike everything she had heard about him from the outside.

Everyone said that Gu Second Young Master was heroic and bold — daring to save people from the midst of corpses, willing to brave blades and arrows amid thousands of soldiers, treating his comrades like brothers and his soldiers like nephews, loyal, valiant, benevolent and principled. He was even said to carry the title “the Martial Lu Su.” — (Was he putting on an act?)

Dizzy from all she had heard, after a good night’s sleep, Minglan had drawn her conclusion: you should listen to what those in authority say, but not blindly follow it. People change — never judge anyone by old impressions alone. The Eighth Prince might have been thoroughly reliable, but that didn’t mean he remained so once he became Emperor. One must exercise careful judgment and never follow blindly.

Because of this same reasoning, when it came to arranging marriages for the soldiers who had yet to take wives, Gu Tingye put on quite a thunderous show with little actual result — performing great concern and deliberation on the surface while, in reality… Minglan had put up a reward, announced the release of her entire household from servant status, and made a great deal of noise, yet in the end only seven or eight new couples had been matched.

However, though the number was small, the quality was high.

Through the careful selections made by Liao Yong’s wife, who was well-connected and had an eye for people, they had specifically chosen young men of upright appearance, gentle and virtuous temperament, and promising prospects. Both sides had come to a mutual agreement, the man and woman had each stolen a few glances at the other through a curtain, handkerchiefs had been bitten and cheeks had flushed red. Minglan had added a dowry for each, everything done on the basis of willingness, and in the end all the marriages took place to everyone’s satisfaction.

The women Minglan had married off were all sturdy, presentable maids of good character — capable workers, easy to conceive, and likely able to survive even in the northern frontier. Even some sharp-eyed military wives nodded quietly in approval, saying these arrangements were far better than the forced matches made by several other households.

In the military dependents’ camp, on one side there was reluctance, quarreling, and constant weeping; on the other, there was sweetness like honey and tender devotion, with the door closed and no desire to open it. The newlyweds’ blissful little lives made the remaining bachelors’ eyes nearly bleed with envy.

As a result, more and more people came asking Gu Tingye to act as matchmaker. In the end, even several squad leaders and platoon commanders hemmed and hawed as they asked Xie Ang to speak on their behalf, begging him to find them a good match. Yet a certain person remained unmoved, betraying neither pleasure nor displeasure on his face.

Yao Yiyi, in her capacity as a marriage point earner for the cause, could not help but reproach him for this behavior.

Gu Tingye only laughed and said: “The army about to set out numbers well over ten thousand. Even after counting those who already have families, those who can arrange their own marriages, and women from the local area, there are still roughly five or six thousand unfilled positions. Even if you counted every last one of your Xiaotao, Luzhi, and the rest together, how many would that be? And how many households in the entire capital could do what we have done?” This method could not solve the problem at its root.

“Then what should be done?” Minglan was also at a loss.

In truth, Gu Tingye had originally set his sights on the Huaizhong and Huainan regions, where there had recently been conflict — there were surely many displaced women and children without shelter who could be brought to the northern frontier, benefiting both nation and people. But as it turned out, Elder Yao — who had not yet entered the Grand Council at the time — had governed the area for half a year and, with remarkable speed, stabilized the situation. He distributed grain, divided land, waived rents, and reduced taxes, so that displaced people flocked back to their hometowns to rebuild their lives.

In ancient times, people’s attachment to their native soil was profound. As long as one had something to eat, who would willingly leave home?

Looking ahead, the largest available pool was the capital itself. The great imperial palace was enormous — if only about two thousand palace maids could be released, that would be nearly sufficient. The remaining bachelors would simply have to remain bachelors.

But persuading the Emperor to reduce the palace staff was not something Gu Tingye, an outer official and a military man at that, could easily bring up. (Advising the Emperor toward benevolent governance was customarily the domain of civil officials — overstepping into that territory would be inappropriate.) So how could he raise the matter?

The ideal solution would be to have Imperial Uncle Shen hint to the Empress to speak on the matter. Releasing some of the older low-ranking palace maids would also earn a fine reputation for benevolence.

But Shen Congxing simply never seemed to catch on. Well, it was only five or six thousand bachelors after all — when all was said and done, it wasn’t the most pressing matter in the world. Gu Tingye’s desk was already piled high with far more serious affairs of state and military concern, and he couldn’t be bothered to manage this one.

Several days earlier, Minglan had told Gu Tingye about the happenings in the Yining Palace with some worry, wondering whether it might draw the resentment of the Empress Dowager Shengde. To her surprise, Gu Tingye shook his head with a laugh: “There are plenty of people the Empress Dowager dislikes — from that old fox Shen who switched allegiances at the last moment, to the Zhang, Shen, and Zheng families. Our turn hasn’t come yet. Besides, at this moment, the Empress Dowager is probably quite busy…”

Having woken so early, Minglan was drowsy throughout breakfast. Gu Tingye watched her nodding her head like a little chick pecking grain — she was bleary-eyed even as she served food into her own bowl, her small face flushed pink and heavy with sleep, utterly adorable. He raised an eyebrow slightly, suddenly feeling mischievous. From a small dish of pickled vegetables on the table, he picked out a few strips of ginger and hot chili, and placed them into her bowl.

Minglan drooped her head and, with one sweep of her chopsticks, popped the mouthful into her mouth along with her congee — and immediately recoiled. It was fiery! She froze in place, neck tilted to one side, unable to spit it out, unable to swallow, fingers clenched tightly around her chopsticks, tears springing to the corners of her eyes.

“Spit it out, quickly, spit it out!” the tall and handsome man said with an expression of perfect righteousness, lightly reproving her. “I already told you to pay attention while eating. How could you be so careless? You can’t even handle spicy food.”

“Did I…pick that myself?” Minglan was dazed, and looked down at what she had just spat out. Was she really that incoherent?

“Are you still burning? Here, rinse your mouth with some water.” The man considerately handed her a teacup and walked over to gently pat her on the back.

Minglan cupped his wrist with both hands, drank from the cup he was holding, then looked up and smiled sweetly, genuinely moved: “Thank you. You really are so good to me.”

Gu Tingye revealed a flash of white teeth, his deep eyes brightening. He lowered his head and firmly bit down on her lips, now crimson from the chili’s heat, then lifted his head and laughed — a laugh that could shake mountains and rivers — seeming in that moment to have grown several years younger.

Xia He and Qinsang, waiting by the doorway, exchanged a glance, then dutifully lowered their heads.

After that skirmish of words and wits, a certain supporting character had given the plot a powerful push forward. What Imperial Uncle Shen had not thought of, his younger sister had. And with the doors of inspiration now open, the Emperor and Empress suddenly realized — an opportunity had arrived.