“Ha ha ha ha ha ha—”

On the afternoon of the eleventh day of the sixth month, uproarious laughter rang out in the courtyard behind the Princess Imperial’s residence. Holding up a newspaper printed with the illustration, Ning Ji had his mouth stretched into a grin as wide as a watermelon slice.

Beneath the softly swaying leaves of the great banyan tree, a picnic had been laid out in the shade — cold drinks and wine, cold dishes and fruit bought from outside, and a charcoal brazier already glowing hot. Ning Ji had prepared a huge platter of small bamboo-skewered snacks, seasoned just right, using it to lure Yinping and her brother over. Naturally, once the barbecue was only halfway through, it was time to start showing off his newspaper achievements — closing the door and beating the dog, so to speak.

“Clang clang clang — clang clang clang—”

Running back and forth nearby, having already eaten more than her share, little Princess Zhou Fuyang couldn’t quite keep up with the rhythm at first, but once she caught on, she scurried over to the flowerbed, pulled out a small brass gong, and began swinging her mallet at it, shouting the line they’d rehearsed beforehand: “Unmatched under heaven! Unmatched under heaven! Sun Wukong — unmatched under heaven—”

Qu Longjun clapped enthusiastically.

The mood was perfectly set. The two siblings, seated on small stools off to the side, looked like a pair of thoroughly unimpressed quail. Yue Yun said, “I knew it… this little punk was cooking up something rotten.”

Yinping took the paper. “Doesn’t really sound like him, if you ask me.”

“There’s writing right there!” Ning Ji’s head shot in from beside the paper, pointing Yinping toward the accompanying article. “Look, there’s writing, there’s writing!”

“Whoa — ha ha ha ha ha ha — I’m about to be unmatched under heaven—”

“Unmatched under heaven! Unmatched under heaven!”

The gleeful chanting bounced around the courtyard, thoroughly irritating. The little princess, gong in hand, went dashing about wildly too, running up to Yue Yun and banging it right by his ear, shouting, making his face crumple up like a steamed bun. “It’s my dad who’s unmatched under heaven — plenty of people heard it yesterday…”

“Clang clang clang — clang clang clang—”

Yinping sighed, scooped up the little princess, and stuffed something into her mouth to quiet her. “Stop teaching Her Highness this nonsense all the time.”

“Who can prove it was your father who did it? Even your father won’t admit it himself!”

“Hmph — when the age lacks true heroes, even a monkey gets to call himself king… What are you even going to do with this? Wander the martial world flashing this newspaper around for the rest of your life?”

“I’ll bring a whole crate of them—”

“You son of a turtle, get back to grilling, or I’m leaving!”

“Aah, what a shame General Yue’s already gone. Otherwise I could’ve… hm, had a little exchange of skills with him…”

Not one to overdo things, Ning Ji settled back down to grilling, shaking his head good-naturedly, and once the spices went on, the whole courtyard filled with a cheerful, savory air.

“Mm, so this is what Southwest cooking tastes like…”

“Not bad at all. How come Zuo Wenhuai and the others never learned it?”

“Hmph, this is a secret family blend… obviously we can’t let a two-faced traitor like Zuo Wenhuai in on that.”

“Wow, you people taught everyone even things like troop drills and natural philosophy, but you kept this a secret?”

“Of course. My father says this blend is incredibly hard to get exactly right! He’s going to pass it down to my brother — for when… hmph, for when he’s too old to sweep the floor of Master Ning’s office anymore, so my brother can open a shop and make a comeback in his old age!”

“So how did you learn it, then?”

“Tch — my brother got married early. Spends every day sitting in an office, going out to restaurants around town, and comes home to eat whatever his wife cooks — when’s he ever needed to cook for himself? I’m different. I run around all over the battlefield, and sometimes there’s nothing decent to eat, so this is what keeps me going. My father had no choice but to hand the secret recipe over to me…”

“‘Eat his wife’? What?”

“I mean, eat the food his wife makes.”

“Sounds like your brother’s a corrupt little official.”

“Oh, thoroughly corrupt — I’ll tell you, wherever he goes, he racks his brains trying to find every good restaurant around. His whole salary goes straight to eating out… Actually my father’s the same way — whenever my brother finds something good out there, he has to sneak some back home for him, or he’ll get an earful. ‘You ungrateful brat, what good are you,’ and all that — ha ha ha ha ha…”

One round of skewers went by, and they were gone almost immediately. Ning Ji sat there, thoroughly smoked and singed, having a grand time all the same. He’d gotten used to army life, where if you wanted people to sit through your bragging, you had to give them something in return — and being able to show off his newspaper clipping was well worth burning through an entire tray of skewers. But after a while, Yue Yun and Yinping got tired of how slowly he was grilling and just took over themselves.

“If you go and die in a few days, you’d better leave us this recipe.”

“I’ll treasure the newspaper copies you gave us too.”

“Deal…”

“Heh heh…”

…

“…Actually, Zuo Xingzhou learned this spice blend once too, back in the day…”

…

The sizzling and crackling and smoke went on, punctuated now and then by the little princess’s clanging gong. By the time evening came around, in the middle of all the lively bustle, Zhou Pei showed up as well, and hearing it was Southwest cuisine, sat down beside them. “Can I get a few skewers too?”

She ate a few skewers and drank a small bowl of rice wine, watching Ning Ji gesture wildly as he told stories from the army and from home. Once a light sheen of sweat appeared on her face, she took one of the newspapers Ning Ji had handed out wholesale and got up to leave. Yinping and Yue Yun both let out a breath of relief.

Throughout all this, Zhao Xiaosong had also been running back and forth several times.

Lighting a fire inside the Princess Imperial’s residence was, in itself, a fairly unseemly thing to do — even yesterday, when Yue Fei wanted to do it, he’d first informed her, the steward, ahead of time. Who would have thought Ning Ji would go fooling around like this today, even dragging the little princess into it, training her up into a gong-banging little lackey. By the time the smoke from the grill had gotten thick, she’d had to come over several times just to wipe soot off Zhou Fuyang’s face.

The little girl, smoked and sweating from the heat of the grill, was thoroughly unbothered by any of it, banging away happily on her little gong, eating and drinking to her heart’s content.

This went on until the sun went down, when Zhou Fuyang finally said, “Tummy hurts.” Zhao Xiaosong, who happened to be running over just then, got quite a fright — the little girl had eaten far too much and no longer wanted to move. “I’ll go fetch Imperial Physician Hu,” Zhao Xiaosong said.

Ning Ji gave her a checkup as well, then, carrying the little princess, headed toward the residence’s dispensary along with Qu Longjun, Yinping, and Yue Yun. Having sustained plenty of injuries himself lately, he was already quite familiar with the residence’s dispensary; he went in, gathered a few herbs, ground them into powder, and coaxed the “can’t eat another bite” Zhou Fuyang into swallowing it down. Meanwhile, on the other side, Zhao Xiaosong had brought the physician back, only to find neither the princess nor any of the troublemakers anywhere to be found, sending the whole place into another flurry of chaos.

They laid the little girl down on a bed in the dispensary, and Qu Longjun gently rubbed her stomach for her. By the time Zhao Xiaosong finally tracked them down, Zhou Fuyang was already whining that she needed to use the toilet. Zhao Xiaosong, thoroughly exasperated, said, “I’m — I’m going to tell the Princess Imperial on you!”

“Nyah nyah nyah, if you’ve got the nerve, hit me — all you can do is go run and tattle—”

In truth, Zhao Xiaosong was certainly an adult — she’d overseen the residence’s affairs for two or three years now, always meticulous, always able to keep everything running smoothly. But now, not knowing Ning Ji’s true status, having reported him again and again only to have him repeatedly protected by the Princess Imperial, the Emperor, and Cheng Zhouhai in turn, she was practically in tears from frustration.

Of course, this latest business — recklessly stuffing food into the little princess until her stomach gave out — was a serious matter. She turned on her heel and went to report it again anyway.

Zhou Pei thought it over, brow furrowed. “Is Fuyang all right now?”

“She’s… having diarrhea right now.”

“Well, then it’s fine.” Having eaten his food, Zhou Pei’s tongue softened toward him, and she sighed. “For one thing, he’s a properly trained army physician — the medical skills of the Southwest really are reliable. For another, he’s got several younger sisters of his own at home; when it comes to this sort of thing, I doubt any of us has as much experience as he does… Actually, speaking of which, Zhao Xiaosong — you’re older than he is, and yet you still haven’t married. If you settled down and had a child of your own a bit sooner, I imagine you wouldn’t get so flustered over things like this.”

“Ah…” Zhao Xiaosong blinked. “Her Highness is… she’s precious beyond measure — how did we even end up talking about my marriage…”

“Oh, it just occurred to me. You see, His Majesty’s taken a few new consorts recently…”

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz…

Zhao Xiaosong stood there, head down, listening to the whole speech, her eyes glazing into mosquito-coil spirals, the fight completely gone out of her. She trudged off dejectedly, and hadn’t gotten far when, from behind a pillar up ahead, a dog-like face suddenly poked out — none other than “unmatched under heaven” Sun Wukong himself.

“Heh heh, Miss Zhao… Sister Xiaosong.” He weighed his words carefully. “Are you done telling on me?”

“…” Her blood pressure spiked.

“Ah, don’t be mad, don’t be mad… I just wanted to ask — Cheng Zhouhai, Mister Cheng — has he come by the residence?”

“…What do you want with him?”

“Ever since yesterday he seems to be avoiding me… I’ve got business with him.”

“He’s not here.”

“So when’s he usually come by, Sister Xiaosong…”

“I don’t know.” Zhao Xiaosong put her head down and walked faster.

The monkey’s silhouette went bouncing along after her, buzzing on. “That can’t be right — everyone says if I want to know anything about the residence, I should ask you. Don’t hold a grudge, all right? What I want to ask is a serious matter, la la la…”

The fighting in the city seemed to be gradually winding down, but within the residence, the sources of chaos and commotion were still very much alive, harassing Zhao Xiaosong for a good long while yet under the moonlight.

Back in the courtyard, night was gradually deepening.

Qu Longjun had already bathed and was wearing a soft white nightgown; she brought over warm water again to wipe down Ning Ji’s body and change out his wound dressings. In the warm glow of the lamplight, Ning Ji mentioned, more or less, that he hadn’t been able to find Cheng Zhouhai. Qu Longjun said, “I don’t think he’s really avoiding you.” After that, there wasn’t much conversation between the two of them.

As she changed his dressings, Qu Longjun’s movements were light and gentle. In their hearts — and even in past conversations — the two of them had long since pledged themselves to each other, and kisses, embraces, and simple physical closeness had gradually become natural between them. But that night, perhaps because the earlier barbecue and rice wine had left them a little heated, or perhaps because the windless night was simply too sultry, a faint, restless tension seemed to hang over the two of them the whole time, and every touch between them seemed to be saying something more.

Once the dressings were changed, the two of them held each other, and beneath the shadow of the great banyan tree, everything around them felt utterly still, as if the whole world had emptied of everyone else. After a long while, Ning Ji said, “Like this… will it be bad for you…”

Qu Longjun said, “Does it hurt you…” Her voice trembled, as if on the verge of tears.

Under the night sky, it was quiet again for a while, and then Qu Longjun, her voice thick with tears, said, “Little Long… everything I am… I promised to you long ago…”

On the night of the eleventh of the sixth month, in the sultry, quiet dark of Fuzhou, the two of them gradually came together. Since Ning Ji had some experience already, and Qu Longjun had plenty of book-learned knowledge of her own, their first time was not, in the end, too terribly painful…

Only that Qu Longjun shed a great many tears.

That same night, the Emperor — who had married three women just the day before — was still, at that very hour, hard at work in his imperial study, and had not yet even properly laid eyes on any of the three.

…

The moon, more than half full, was gradually swelling toward its fullness, and scattered starlight blinked overhead, waiting for time to slip past midnight and edge slowly into the twelfth day of the sixth month.

When the eastern sky began to show a pale blue-green light, Ning Ji woke. Looking at Qu Longjun lying beside him, he couldn’t help but kiss her, and she, still half-asleep, woke for a brief moment.

She wasn’t wearing anything, but had a fair idea what Ning Ji wanted first thing in the morning, and mumbled, “Get me a pair of scissors.”

Ning Ji fetched her the scissors; Qu Longjun set them by the bedside, wrapped herself in the thin blanket, closed her eyes, and went back to sleep.

Dressing and washing up in the dark, Ning Ji finally headed out of the courtyard, crossing several of the residence’s corridors, and in the office at the front, at last found Cheng Zhouhai, who had come in early that morning to handle affairs. This time, the man was sitting behind his desk signing documents. Seeing Ning Ji, he remained calm. “Zhao Xiaosong said you were looking for me yesterday. What’s the matter now?”

“When’s Chen Shuangran going to make her move?”

“…” Cheng Zhouhai fell silent for a moment, finishing his signature on the document in his hand and setting it aside before speaking. “The operation in the north of the city has completely failed. Pu Xinguī has been executed. According to reliable channels, both Chen Shuangran and Cao Jinlong have fled and gone to ground… We’ve already won this round. Why do you ask?”

“Yesterday I went out shopping, and Yue Yun stuck to me like glue, wouldn’t let me shake him. Every time I so much as wandered off, he got nervous.” Ning Ji stared at him. “Fan Zhong and Tunyun are both dead, there’s no one left in this city who could threaten my safety — and yet you’ve still got Yue Yun watching me around the clock. You’re afraid I’ll ruin your plans.”

“…” Cheng Zhouhai opened another document, dipped his brush, and signed it, then smiled. “What is it you want to do?”

“I’ll follow orders. But when it’s time to move, can her life be mine?” Then he added: “You know why.”

The morning breeze rustled the leaves outside the window, giving the morning a cool, gentle quality. Cheng Zhouhai looked up.

“When’s the typhoon coming?”

“Er… how would I…” Ning Ji frowned. “You mean…”

“She’s waiting for a typhoon…”

Cheng Zhouhai pointed out toward the window.

“…When the time comes, I’ll have you do something.”

Ning Ji brought his heels together and saluted.

A while later, Zhou Junwu arrived at the residence, and heard from the little princess at home all about how, last night, she’d gone to the toilet so, so many times, and was now unmatched under heaven.

The usually easygoing, carefree Emperor found himself, this time, at something of a loss between laughter and tears.

Zhou Pei, holding a bowl of thin congee, sighed beside him about it.

“Aside from his looks, I honestly can’t see much of Lady Xiao Chan in him at all — where’s the composure supposed to have gone?”

“Ha ha, I know about that one.” He said, “Apparently he grew up training under Lady Liu Xigua, the wielder of the Overlord Blade. And his teacher taught him a great many life lessons besides.”

“…What kind of lessons?”

“…I’ll ask him later.”