The winding path of covered corridors stretched on and on, one after the other without end. Minglan felt a weight pressing on her heart she could not shake, so she stepped off the covered walkway and strode along the stone path with its scattered flecks of snow, her pace wide and determined — yet she could not outpace the heaviness in her chest.

It was nearly midday, and the sun had climbed higher. The early winter light was clear and fine after the snow. Near and far, many plum trees stood planted here and there; the faint, smoke-thin fragrance of plum blossoms mingled with the cold of ice and snow, drifting slowly into Minglan’s nostrils. She drew in a deep breath, and the icy sweetness filled her lungs, bringing some small sense of release. She gradually slowed her steps.

Minglan walked with her head lowered, and suddenly she heard the sound of footsteps approaching — then a low, resonant male voice above her. “Miss… Sheng Sixth Miss?”

Minglan startled and snapped her head up. She saw a man stepping out from behind a gnarled old plum tree trunk — dressed in a dark crimson long robe with a flowing cloud and bat pattern, its edges trimmed with two-finger-wide dark gold velvet brocade, and over that a brown satin fur-lined cloak. He took a few steps forward, his tall and well-built frame casting a vast shadow against the light, and Minglan found herself entirely swallowed within it.

Minglan stepped to one side and at last saw his face clearly. He appeared to be in his early twenties; a straight, prominent nose cast a small shadow across one pale cheek; his eyes were narrowed into a thin line, the line unusually long and fine — yet they carried an air of impatience and something cold and dark.

Something stirred in Minglan’s heart. She finally placed him, and said tentatively, “Second… Uncle-in-Waiting?” The Sheng sisters had been addressing the guests on the side of Princess Pingning’s family.

The man gave a curt nod. “You are acquainted with Elder Academician Yu’s eldest granddaughter?” His expression held distinct displeasure and resentment, and though his tone rose at the end of the sentence, it was not truly a question.

Minglan’s heart hammered. She suppressed her unease and gave a respectful curtsy. “The Yu Old Madam and my grandmother often attend prayer ceremonies together. Elder Miss Yu also comes to our home quite often.” She had not said anything incriminating.

The man gave two short cold laughs. “Elder Academician Yu has quite the lofty manner. If he had a prior betrothal with the Duan Family of Dali, why did he not write to inquire much earlier? Why wait until the Duan Family themselves sent a letter before he ‘remembered’ this betrothal?” His voice was loaded with barely contained grievance and anger.

Minglan kept her head down, thinking rapidly. She knew that the man who had sought Yan Ran’s hand was Gu Tingye, Second Young Master of the Ningbo Marquis’s household. Though he had a notorious reputation in society, when he had actually been courting Yan Ran, he had genuinely disciplined himself for a time and even gone to state his intentions earnestly in person. Yet after all that effort, he had still not managed to win the eldest legitimate daughter — only been offered a daughter born of a secondary wife. He was not a man with a gentle nature to begin with, and he had been choking back this fury all this time. He could not possibly fathom how, after the faintest softening of the Yu Family’s stance, he had woken up one morning to find everything reversed — and the girl spirited away to Yunnan with breathtaking speed.

“It seems Elder Academician Yu truly is a man who honors his word! And yet — why did he not make it plain earlier? For Gu to be clear — he was never set on her alone!” Gu Tingye’s voice was laced with sarcasm. He drove his fist into the trunk of the plum tree; the old, thick branch shook, and a shower of petals rained down to the ground.

Minglan took several steps back. Feeling the fierce rage barely held in check and about to erupt from him, she looked with some alarm at his fist, its veins raised and prominent — and, quite without logical connection, suddenly recalled the scene from middle school where Lu Tixia beats Zheng Guanxi with his fists. Her small heart quailed. After a quick internal reckoning, she understood that using the same story she had told Lian Jie’er on this man would never pass muster.

She was silent for a moment before lifting her head and saying briefly, “In the ninth month of this year, a woman by the name of Man Niang, together with two young children, visited the Yu household. Elder Academician Yu coughed up blood and took ill. Shortly after, the betrothal with the Duan Family of Dali became known.”

In truth, it had not been so dramatic — Elder Academician Yu had coughed up stagnant blood and actually felt more vigorous afterward. The Yu Family had kept the whole incident extremely quiet, but later when Master Yu was determined to conclude this marriage and betroth his second daughter to Gu Tingye’s family, Elder Academician Yu had written to inform him — and Master Yu had simply ignored the letter, clearly not wanting the embarrassment made public.

Gu Tingye’s face changed drastically. His voice shot up several tones: “Is this true?!”

Minglan gave a nod, then instinctively retreated a few more steps — this man’s presence was truly a little frightening. She knew he would certainly go and investigate when he returned, and if Man Niang proved a capable enough talker, there was perhaps still some room to change things. So she added two more words: “I have heard that the young man from the Duan Family has an ailment in his leg. If it were not for that… Elder Academician Yu would not have gone to such lengths.”

May Amitabha and Taishang Laojun protect me, she prayed — she only hoped no one would ever know she had once put on a brave front in front of Man Niang.

Gu Tingye lowered his head, his face dark and brooding, apparently sunk deep in thought. Minglan saw her opening, dropped a quick curtsy, and said with deference, “Second Uncle-in-Waiting, I shall take my leave now. Please… take your time enjoying the plum blossoms.”

Without waiting for him to speak, Minglan turned and walked away briskly — she dared not run, but lifted her skirts slightly and moved her short legs as rapidly as she could manage. Lian Jie’er had said the theater stage was on the western side of the mansion. Minglan glanced at the sun’s position. She may have been hopeless at directions, but not that hopeless — she made at once for the west, and where the crowds grew denser, she grabbed a passing maid and asked. The maid guided her safely to the theater stage.

It seemed that in moments of alarm, human potential truly surfaced — Minglan made it through all the winding paths and tree-lined corridors without losing her way even once. She kept heading west, found the growing crowd, asked a maid for guidance, and arrived at the theater stage without incident.

The sound of the fiddle rose and fell; the female lead’s voice wove in a melismatic flow — the opera had already begun. Minglan walked quickly toward the theater pavilion.

To call it a pavilion was something of an understatement. It was more like a great hall with all its doors and windows open wide. Inside, the room was packed; jewels and silk gleamed everywhere, filling the hall. The female guests had long since taken their seats. In the center of honor, naturally, sat Princess Pingning and the Sixth Prince’s Consort; to either side, row after row of chairs and benches extended outward. A dozen tables of red lacquered crab-apple-carved ruyi pattern were set among them, and seven or eight maids dressed in blue-teal embroidered vests moved in and out, refilling tea and bringing fruits and refreshments to the guests.

Minglan swept her gaze over the crowd. She spotted Wang Shi seated at the fourth table on the right, deep in conversation with a woman in a pink-purple embroidered wide-sleeve jacket beside her. Molan sat with a group of young ladies. Minglan then scanned back across the room and found Lian Jie’er and Rulan at the far corner table on the left — nearest to the stage but furthest from the seats of honor. One held a teacup, the other a handful of melon seeds, both watching the stage with great absorption, exchanging the occasional word.

Minglan crept silently over and settled down beside them, keeping her tone perfectly casual. “Oh dear — I am late after all. The curtain has been up for quite some time by now, I imagine?”

Lian Jie’er was still riveted to the stage and did not look up. “Never mind, never mind — it has only just started. The main lead has not even come out yet.”

Rulan turned around and frowned. “What took you so long just to wash your hands? Where in the world did you go?”

Minglan forced a smile. “If I had been washing my own hands, it would have been done in no time. But the rules of a marquis’s household are strict — the small maid had to fetch the water, bring the soap, find a dry cloth; it took forever with all the back and forth.”

Rulan let out a disapproving sniff. “You make trouble everywhere you go. Now sit still and behave — do not go wandering off and embarrass us…”

Before she could finish, a sharp, ringing laugh cut through the entire hall. The devoted opera fan Lian Jie’er, interrupted in her enjoyment, turned with displeasure. “Who is laughing so loudly? I missed the final line of Director Hu’s verse entirely!”

Everyone turned to look. At the seats of honor, Princess Pingning sat pressed close to Princess Jiacheng, the two of them chatting as warm and easy as mother and daughter. Princess Jiacheng held her chin high, her gaze sweeping the room with proud ease, like a five-colored phoenix in full plumage — laughing and bantering without the least constraint.

Lian Jie’er wrinkled her brow and turned back to the stage. Rulan pursed her mouth and leaned close to Minglan’s ear. “I think this Princess has absolutely no manners whatsoever. If Mistress Kong the Governess were here, there would certainly be a lecture. And she is of the imperial family? Oh — I heard the Sixth Prince’s Consort comes from an external royal clan; apparently her family were originally butchers…”

Minglan smiled inwardly. By the laws of this dynasty, members of the external royal clans were forbidden from holding substantive offices; if they entered the court, they could not exceed the fourth rank. And men who married a princess were granted only a title with no real power — so true literary officials and ministers typically avoided princesses at all costs. Taking a princess for a wife was tantamount to announcing the end of one’s political career.

Sheng Lao had once told her: fifty years ago, two princesses had each set their eyes on a talented man — one on that year’s second-place examination graduate, the other on the eldest son of the serving Grand Chancellor. Both young men were not only handsome and accomplished, they also came from distinguished and refined families. Even the Empress Dowager had been moved. But when both families heard the wind of the matter, they each moved with startling speed: one family promptly produced a “childhood betrothal” out of nowhere, while the other suddenly circulated word that the young man’s birth characters were ill-fated to the wife. The matches fell through — but anyone with eyes could see what had truly happened.

A princess, therefore, was a high-end luxury that looked magnificent but offered little practical value — like a Swarovski crystal ornament, beautiful to display but without real use. Imperial affection ran thin. How many emperors would truly look out for their own sisters? If they were not children of the same mother, the siblings might barely have seen each other at all. Those noble households that did take a princess in simply added a little extra luster to an already fine surface; the prince consort could not take concubines, had to tread carefully even with a discreet attendant, and had to maintain a carefully respectful demeanor toward his in-laws and all the household women around him. Utterly exhausting.

The most remarkable thing about Princess Jiacheng’s situation was precisely this: as the only daughter of the Sixth Prince, if all went as hoped and her younger brother’s branch entered as heirs to the main line, she would be entirely free of the restrictions that normally burdened a princess — while still enjoying every real benefit that came with being one. Her husband could still hold office and power, and even the supervising censors would have no legitimate grounds under ritual law to openly attack the match.

No wonder Princess Pingning was so warm and eager.

“Oh!” Rulan suddenly let out a soft exclamation and tugged at Minglan, pointing toward the Princess’s section. “Elder Brother… the Qi family’s elder brother is here.”

Minglan glanced at Lian Jie’er — she was absorbed in the opera, paying no attention. Minglan then made a silencing gesture to Rulan before looking over. She saw Qi Heng presenting his respects to the Sixth Prince’s Consort. The Sixth Prince’s Consort was warmly pulling Qi Heng close, looking him over from every angle with a face full of smiles, exchanging a few remarks with Princess Pingning as she did so.

Minglan could practically supply the dialogue herself: they were certainly praising Qi Heng for being so handsome and outstanding.

Princess Pingning had a proud and driving nature. Having no brothers to support her, she had always had to compete for standing among her husband’s relatives and family elders. From childhood she had raised Qi Heng with great strictness — yet unlike the young scions of his class who typically spent their days in racing horses, cockfighting, and raising birds, Qi Heng sat quietly in his study, day after day, whether in the capital or in Dengzhou, studying without fail, summer and winter alike.

Qi Heng had been handsome and fair-skinned since childhood, dutiful and honest by nature. When visiting other households, women guests could not help but inquire about him. Fearing that her son’s eyes might be turned by pretty girls, Princess Pingning ordinarily would not let him linger even with female relatives, and was especially insistent in her teachings that he must be on guard against forward young ladies. As for the maids in his household, she guarded against them like guarding against thieves — any maid who showed the slightest hint of frivolous behavior was beaten and punished at minimum, or sold away outright; some had even lost their lives over it.

Back in Dengzhou, Qi Heng had once said half in jest: “Sixth Little Sister is probably the girl I have spoken with the most of anyone.”

Rulan stared at the scene, biting her lip softly. “Do you see? Princess Jiacheng is being quite forward toward him — rather like a certain someone in our own family. But… Elder Brother Qi seems not quite himself. Is he feeling unwell?”

Minglan looked over. She did not know what Princess Pingning had said, but she could see the Princess leaning flirtatiously against her, with bright, unabashed eyes fixed on Qi Heng, brimming with admiring feeling.

But Qi Heng appeared thoroughly despondent — responding in short, distracted answers, his face pale, his expression melancholy. Above him, decorative blossoms hung from the ceiling, and the slanting daylight fell through them in dappled patterns, casting one faint shadow after another over his beautiful, jade-fine face, brilliant and delicate as the floral ornaments girls wore in their hair.

Minglan’s eyes held on him for a brief, still moment.

When they were small, his favorite thing had been to pinch her little braided bun. When they were older, he had taken to pulling her ears instead. She would hide in Shou’an Hall, and he would come morning and evening to pay his respects to Sheng Lao — and whenever no one was looking, he would reach over and tease her with a casual touch. She had moved into Mucang Studio, and he had dragged Changbai along with one invented excuse after another to come find her. She was too afraid of trouble to be anything but cowardly — she had angered him, deceived him, mocked him — yet still he came back each time.

Whatever she happened to mention wanting, whenever she had let slip something in front of Changbai, it would arrive at her door within a few days, nominally from Changbai. She had returned every one of those gifts, and still he sent more. In the end, even Changbai had stopped helping him…

Minglan’s gaze wandered idly over — and she saw him just then raising his eyes, his unfocused look drifting without aim, until, across the clamor of the crowd, his gaze met hers. Minglan immediately looked away, and with perfect composure fixed her eyes on the stage.

Qi Heng could see only Minglan’s profile — her small chin soft and graceful. He dared not let his eyes linger and turned away at once, but felt a rush of heat surge straight to the top of his head. Princess Jiacheng was saying something to him; he had not caught a single word. The pale face suddenly flared crimson. He stood abruptly, gave a deep bow to his mother and the Sixth Prince’s Consort, then turned and walked away.

Princess Jiacheng looked somewhat put out; Princess Pingning too seemed a little awkward. The Sixth Prince’s Consort remained composed. Princess Pingning continued chatting and laughing with her, while quickly dispatching people to follow him: “With all the preparations for the birthday banquet these past days, this foolish boy must be exhausted. Quickly — go with him, make sure he gets proper rest!” The words were spoken at considerable volume, evidently meant as an explanation for the ears of all the quietly watching female guests.

Qi Heng had barely taken a few steps before a great crowd surged around him — fussing and asking after his health. The Sixth Prince’s Consort even dispatched her own medically knowledgeable Nanny to follow, to see if he was quite all right.

Minglan sat quietly with her head bowed, her palms cold.

He stood at the center of the crowd, surrounded by stars. She sat in a cold, out-of-the-way corner, blooming alone.

In this vast world, they would each walk their separate paths.