Minglan pulled her gray squirrel fur coat — embroidered with a two-tone gold and silver intertwining floral pattern on a scallion-green ground — more closely around her, and settled into a half-pavilion hall with doors and windows open on all four sides. In the center of the room stood a purple copper warming brazier engraved with the character for “fortune,” its charcoal fire burning vigorously. On one side, a small long-spouted copper kettle engraved with bat motifs sat atop a barrel-style stove, bubbling away as it heated water.

Minglan nibbled on a plump melon seed and could not help but acknowledge that Madam Hualan had truly gone to great lengths for her sake.

This was a hall open on all four sides, built in the middle of a small pond. In summer, when the doors and windows were removed, it became a pavilion. Three sides were surrounded by water, while one side opened onto an expanse of open ground. There was nowhere to hide within sight, making it absolutely impossible for anyone to eavesdrop, and anyone within view could clearly see what was happening inside the hall.

Moreover, as things stood, this area had clearly been cleared out long ago. Aside from the maidservant who had led her here, Minglan had not spotted any other figures, and that maidservant too had vanished in an instant.

Minglan waited with a sense of “the wind blows cold over the Yi River” resignation, bracing herself for what was to come. By the time she had cracked and eaten her fourteenth melon seed, a tall figure approached from the distance. Minglan’s eyelids twitched a few times, but she kept cracking melon seeds.

Very well. She had questions she wanted to ask him too.

Before long, a man strode into the hall against the light, carrying with him the cold bite of wind and frost, his bearing proud and commanding. He stopped seven or eight paces from Minglan, clasped his empty hands in a salute, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth: “It’s been a long time.”

Minglan narrowed her eyes slightly. Today, Gu Tingye was dressed in a rain-washed cerulean brocade-cotton long robe, its collar and cuffs trimmed with white fox-armpit fur. The brocade robe was covered in richly embroidered hidden patterns, belted with a thick dark silver jade-inlaid sash, and over it he wore a black fur-trimmed great cloak. This sort of thick, heavy fur cloak only looked right on a man of tall, imposing stature — on a civil official like Sheng Hong, it would simply overwhelm the wearer rather than lend him any presence.

Minglan rose, performed a respectful curtsy in return, and smiled in the most superficial way imaginable: “Second Cousin-Uncle, it has been a long time.”

Then, to Minglan’s considerable satisfaction, she watched the corner of Gu Tingye’s mouth twitch.

Gu Tingye said nothing more. He reached out, tugged off his great cloak and tossed it casually to one side, then turned and walked to a master’s chair across from Minglan and sat down. The two of them were seated about five or six paces apart, facing one another.

Gu Tingye glanced at Minglan, then looked at the empty teacup on the small table before him. Seeing that Minglan showed no intention of pouring him tea, he picked up the teapot himself and poured a cup of boiling water. Then he spoke in a low, measured voice: “You and I are soon to be married. Please stop addressing me so improperly.”

Minglan clenched her fists, suppressing her anger by force. Though the man before her wore a slight smile, he spoke slowly and in a low tone, and beneath his long, narrow eyelids his pupils held a faint reddish undercurrent — the killing intent forged in mountains of corpses and seas of blood was not something that could be easily concealed.

Minglan endured for quite some time before speaking at an unhurried pace: “Minglan truly cannot make head or tail of Second Cousin-Uncle’s words. Minglan has been raised at Grandmother’s side since childhood, and not a word of marriage arrangements has ever been mentioned to her.”

Gu Tingye frowned. “Marriage is a matter decided by one’s parents.”

“Then Minglan shall wait for Father and Mother to speak,” Minglan replied.

A brief silence fell over the hall. Gu Tingye stared at Minglan; Minglan turned her head to admire the view outside. Gu Tingye raised one eyebrow. In the slanting light, the sheen of his robe even lent a faint misty blue to the tips of his brows. He said quietly: “You’re angry.”

Minglan laughed it off breezily. “Not at all, not at all.”

Gu Tingye let out a slow, deliberate breath. “On the Huaiyin River, I told you — I do not wish to listen to people offer evasions and false pleasantries.”

Minglan immediately clamped her mouth shut like a river clam.

Looking at Minglan’s tightly composed little face, Gu Tingye felt a headache coming on. He could only soften his tone somewhat: “I know you are annoyed, but all matters must be spoken openly. Sulking and brooding solves nothing — honesty and sincerity is the proper way.”

Gu Tingye coaxed and guided her patiently, with the air of an adult humoring a child; seeing that authority would not resolve the problem, he resorted to cajoling. Minglan nearly burst out laughing, and had to turn her head away. She smiled and said: “Speaking honestly with someone who speaks honestly is called mutual sincerity. Speaking honestly with someone who does not speak honestly is called getting one’s head knocked against a wall. Does Commander Gu think Minglan looks a bit simple?”

Gu Tingye noticed that Minglan had changed how she addressed him, and a slight smile appeared on his face. Hearing her teasing tone, he felt an itch in his heart and said: “You are certainly not simple.” He glanced at Minglan’s hand resting on the table — on the bright lacquered black wood lay her pale, soft, rounded little fingers, the nails translucent pink like rosy petals. He could not help giving a light cough, and composed himself to say seriously, “You claim I have been dishonest — on what grounds?”

Minglan’s eyes widened: “Starting from Commander Gu’s marriage proposal, that is on what grounds.”

Gu Tingye’s expression grew solemn. He fixed his gaze steadily on Minglan, his dark, deep eyes boring into her until her heart prickled with unease — yet having witnessed serial killers in criminal court in her previous life, she had managed to hold her ground under such intimidating stares. After a long while, Gu Tingye spoke slowly: “You figured it out?”

His voice was calm, though it could not quite conceal his accustomed tone of one who issues commands.

Minglan nodded and said: “You are not the sort of man who makes do with a shrimp when there are no fish.”

At first, Minglan had assumed Gu Tingye was going after Rulan as the legitimate daughter. But then, unexpectedly, the aim had shifted to her. Not a single word of Sheng Hong’s explanation had she believed. Though she had only met Gu Tingye a handful of times, each occasion had somehow involved his matrimonial entanglements. She had an instinct that Gu Tingye would not simply accept whichever daughter the Sheng Family offered — he must have known from the start exactly whom he wanted to marry.

Gu Tingye pondered for a moment. The look in his eyes as he regarded Minglan was distinctly complex. After a long pause, he said slowly: “From the moment you threw mud.”

“What?” Minglan was utterly lost. “What are you talking about?”

“Didn’t you want to know when I first set my sights on you?” A glimmer of amusement appeared in Gu Tingye’s eyes, and he repeated himself: “I am telling you — it was from the moment you threw mud at your elder sister.”

Minglan’s face turned completely crimson. She slapped her palm on the table and leapt to her feet, a vein visibly pulsing at her temple, nearly bellowing: “Who asked you about that?!”

“Oh, that wasn’t what you wanted to know?” Gu Tingye leaned sideways against the chair, raising the back of his hand to cover his mouth, laughing softly. It was only in moments like these that he shed some of his warrior’s ferocity and let slip a trace of the noble bearing befitting a son of a marquis’s household.

Minglan worked hard to steady her breathing and let the flush slowly fade from her face. The worst thing in any confrontation was to lose one’s temper — stay calm, stay calm… Only when she had finally composed herself did Minglan fix her gaze on Gu Tingye and speak quietly: “You intended to marry me from the very beginning?”

Gu Tingye nodded, very slowly and very deliberately.

Minglan could not help crying out: “Then you could have just proposed! Why stir up such a tremendous fuss?!” They had nearly cost Little Xique and Rulan a life and a half between them.

Gu Tingye countered: “Would you have agreed?”

Minglan checked herself, paused, then said quickly: “Marriage is not something a daughter has any say in — only the parents’ consent is required.”

Gu Tingye countered again: “Would your family’s Grandmother have agreed?”

Minglan was stopped up again. A look of mild embarrassment crossed her face, and she could not find a word to say.

Gu Tingye leisurely picked up his teacup and took a sip, his long, well-shaped fingers steadily supporting the saucer as he set it back on the table, and then said: “Securing a marriage is no easy matter, but dissolving one is not so difficult. The match is unequal; the seniority gap is too great… any excuse will do, not to mention that my conduct has always been somewhat irregular. Your family’s Grandmother has a stubborn temperament — if she were to refuse outright, your father would have no recourse.”

Minglan could not resist a trace of mockery, and smiled lightly: “You know yourself rather well.”

But Gu Tingye’s skin proved remarkably thick — he could detect no irony whatsoever in Minglan’s tone, and said with complete sincerity: “Knowing oneself is a virtue. At least I have that.”

Having failed to land a jab on him, Minglan grew quietly sullen, and huffed: “It must have cost you considerable effort, I imagine.”

“Not at all, not at all.” Gu Tingye mimicked Minglan’s own earlier breezy tone right back at her.

Thinking of He Hong, Minglan decided it would be best to clear everything up today in one go — otherwise the future repercussions would be endless. She hesitated for quite some time, then finally steeled herself and said: “Then you… do you know about… do you know about the matter with the He Family? Grandmother has already…”

“I know.” Gu Tingye cut Minglan off swiftly. His expression was neutral, but his tone held unmistakable displeasure.

“You know…?!” Minglan was dumbfounded, her eyes wide. “Then you… still… still… still came to propose?!”

Gu Tingye spoke with perfect composure and confidence: “What of it? Whom your family’s daughter is betrothed to is your family’s business; whether I propose or not is mine. As for the He Family…” A look of mild disdain crossed his sharp features, and he said with finality, “You and he have no fate.”

Minglan’s anger tipped over into incredulous laughter. She finally straightened her small spine and gave a cold laugh: “Ha, ha, ha! Does the matchmaker’s red-thread shop belong to your family? You say there is no fate, and so there is none?!”

Gu Tingye laughed aloud. When the laughter subsided, he looked steadily into Minglan’s eyes and said slowly: “Fate is half given by Heaven and half created by one’s own fortune. You are a perceptive person — you know perfectly well I am right. You and he truly have no fate.”

Minglan stopped laughing. Her heart sank halfway.

She and He Hong had known each other for a long time, and Grandmother had harbored intentions of a match from quite early on. After their first return to the capital from Yuyang, Sheng Lao had scrutinized He Hong’s character and prospects while also casting an eye over several other young men for comparison, and had ultimately decided He Hong was the best candidate. The He Family had likewise signaled their agreement. Seeing that both parties were well satisfied, Sheng Lao was preparing to formally settle the engagement — but then, at the end of that autumn, the Shenshen Incident broke out, followed immediately by upheaval in the capital, during which many heads fell and the marriage plans were delayed.

Then Sheng Lao’s eldest brother fell gravely ill. Sheng Lao left for Yuyang to visit him, and the match was delayed again. Then Minglan also went to Yuyang, intending to return to the capital after the funeral rites for the eldest brother were complete — only for the Jingtai Uprising to erupt, with military chaos spreading across several thousand li and multiple governorates, not resolving until the fifth month of the second year of the Chongde reign, when they were finally able to return to the capital.

But no sooner had they returned than the wretched affair involving the Cao Family’s cousin arose. Grandmother was half-vexed to death, and the marriage was delayed again. Then twist followed twist, drag followed drag, nearly half a year had passed — and then Gu Tingye had seized Cheng Yaojin’s axe and charged his way in.

As for regret — Minglan felt that much of it had simply been the will of Heaven. But as for no regret — had He Hong acted with just a bit more decisiveness and settled the formalities one step sooner, Gu Tingye would have had no opening at all. In the endless quarrels and calculations between herself and He Hong, perhaps the fate between them had already been worn away to nothing.

Thinking of this, Minglan felt a twinge of melancholy — and then, suddenly, her heart stirred. She snapped her head up and stared at the man before her, suspicion filling her voice: “How do you know all this so clearly? You… could it be… did you also meddle with the He Family? And the Cao Family… ah!”

There was one thing Minglan had mulled over long ago but never thought through fully. Liangzhou lay in the far northwest — even with a horse riding hard to deliver an amnesty decree, it would take four or five months to reach Liangzhou. For a family like the Caos, traveling in a group with no real money, the journey back to the capital should have taken at least twice as long. But the Caos had returned to the capital in under a year — unless…

Gu Tingye did not deny it. He said calmly: “That is correct. The Canal Gang’s water transport runs along the rivers — I had the Shi brothers ship them back to the capital by boat.”

This time Minglan was too drained even for anger. She simply gaped at him, jaw unhinged. Gu Tingye frowned and countered: “Would you rather that, after your betrothal to the He Family — or after actually marrying into it — the Cao Family had then come to make trouble?!” He said, quite shamelessly: “An abscess is best lanced sooner rather than later. You should actually thank me for that.”

Minglan collapsed back into her seat. Her mind was in utter chaos. She looked out the window, then back at Gu Tingye, and said in a daze: “Thank you.”

Gu Tingye smiled pleasantly: “Not at all.”

A young girl’s skin was naturally pale to begin with, and she disliked heavy makeup, wearing only a thin layer of fragrant balm. The winter sunlight streaming into the hall made her complexion appear almost translucent — as fragile as white rice paper, as if a touch might break it. Her jet-black hair, dark as raven feathers, was soft, with a few strands drifting loose at her temples, like a cluster of flower buds just beginning to blossom, beautiful and vivid.

And those eyes — those eyes. Gu Tingye watched her quietly. It seemed to him that a very, very long time ago, he had fallen in love with those eyes — a deep, dark stillness, like the tranquil depths of a clear spring, yet with a strange flame burning within: something like anger, something like disappointment, light and shadow alternating, shifting and unpredictable in a way that moved him to his core. When the heart itself was moved, what need was there to speak of anything else?

Minglan turned things over a thousand times in her mind. After thinking for quite a long while, she concluded that the past was past — it was what came next that mattered. She straightened her posture and turned to give Gu Tingye a small smile: “I thank the Commander for his kind regard. But… it is best I speak plainly. I fear I cannot make a good wife. I am neither virtuous nor gentle, and I have more assorted faults than can be counted. I ask the Commander to reconsider carefully.”

Gu Tingye curled his lips in a smile: “Matters have come to this point. The union between the Gu and Sheng Families is already public knowledge. Your sister still has other eligible men she may marry — but you? Don’t tell me you’d rather settle for the He Family!”

Minglan’s anger surged. All her accumulated grievances became impossible to contain any longer. She rose abruptly to her feet and laughed coldly: “Oh, so marrying you would be like falling into a vat of honey — everything would be wonderful, with not a single thing amiss!”

Gu Tingye also shot to his feet. His tall, commanding figure stepped forward several paces, his shadow enveloping Minglan entirely. Minglan held her ground by sheer willpower and did not retreat a single step. Gu Tingye smiled with proud assurance, and declared aloud: “I dare not claim that marrying me will be perfect in every way — but I can swear before Heaven that after you marry me, I will not allow you to suffer one more grievance!”

Minglan grew even more furious, her cold laughter coming in bursts: “General Gu is far too flattering himself. Minglan has grown up clothed in silk and fed delicacies since childhood — what grievances has she ever suffered? There is no need for anyone to play the hero and save her from fire and flood!”

Gu Tingye showed no anger. His deep, intense eyes simply rested on Minglan steadily, and he said word by word: “No. You are lying. You have always been stifled. You have lived every day of your life until now in grievance. You look down on all those foul rules about legitimate and illegitimate birth, yet you cannot but abide by them. You are clearly superior in everything, yet you must yield at every turn and do not dare to stand out even the slightest bit. That is precisely why you chose the middling He Family — neither too high nor too low!”

Minglan’s fury erupted. She was not even aware that her eyes had gone red. She let out a cold, loud laugh: “Stand out?! Everyone in this world must accept their fate. Not accept it?! Ha! The Fourth Prince of the late Emperor certainly did not accept his fate — and what became of him? A cup of poisoned wine! The Sixth Prince did not accept his fate — he was demoted to the rank of a common clansman! The Prince of Jing and the Prince of Tan did not accept their fate — and now both of their heads have parted company with their shoulders! Even great men such as yourselves end up like that — and what am I, but a small and insignificant girl? What recourse do I have?! Without thinking things through clearly, how could I go on living?!”

She disliked embroidery, and her fingers were covered in fine needle-pricks from it. She disliked Wang Shi, Lin Yiniang, and Molan. She disliked having to smile when she was unhappy. She disliked having to act adorable and well-behaved in front of people she despised. She disliked always having to let others take first pick of new clothes and nice things. She disliked having to play dumb about every slight and let it pass… there were so many, many things she disliked, yet she had to act as though she liked them all!

What choice did she have? She had to keep living!

Gu Tingye stepped forward, unyielding, pressing closer step by step: “Exactly — you understood all of it. You are clever. You see through everything. You understood it all clearly, and so you dared not overstep even the slightest boundary. Yet your heart could not find peace. You were angry; you were unwilling; yet you were powerless. You were aggrieved and stifled, and could only play the fool and muddle through — always fawning, always treading carefully, forcing yourself to be the irreproachable sixth young lady of the Sheng Family!”

Minglan’s whole body trembled — whether from rage or fear she could not tell. Cold sweat soaked her back. Her fingers dug deep into her palms. It was like an old wound long since scarred over, torn open again: a raw, bloody gash that had, in truth, never healed. She wanted to cry out sharply. She wanted to weep and wail. But everything was stuffed up in her throat, and she stood rooted to the spot, neither advancing nor retreating, letting the heat fill her eyes until they brimmed.

Ten years in the women’s quarters of the ancient era. Half a lifetime of memory from a previous life, dreamed and half-forgotten. She had played the role so long, had sunk so deep into character, that she had forgotten how to truly cry. She had forgotten how to curse with wild abandon. She had forgotten that she was not Sheng Minglan — that she was, in truth, Yao Yiyi.

Watching the tears streaming down Minglan’s face, Gu Tingye felt an inexplicable ache in his own chest. He stepped forward again, and in a deep bow clasped his hands before him. When he raised his head, his clear voice carried a slight hoarseness, but every word was distinct: “I have long admired you. I wish to take you as my wife — to entrust you with the management of our household, to continue our lineage, and to grow old together for the rest of our lives!”

Through tear-blurred eyes, Minglan could only see Gu Tingye’s earnest, sincere face. For a moment she was utterly at a loss.

Gu Tingye’s eyes were full of anticipation — burning and bright. He looked directly at Minglan: “I dare not promise you a life like an immortal’s — but as long as I am here, I will not let you suffer a single grievance. Whatever standing I hold among men, that is the standing you shall hold among women!”

Every word rang with force, each syllable landing with weight.

Minglan was dazed. Without knowing when it had begun, her face was cold all over. She raised a hand to touch it, and found her fingertips wet with tears.

Because she was clearheaded, she suffered. Because she understood, all was bleak. At every road’s end, despair was waiting — she dared not hope. She dared not expect. While others were drunk, she alone remained sober, doing nothing but hobbling along in chains, tiptoeing across knife-blades, grinning like a fool to get through it all.

This cursed ancient era!