As the carriage rolled through the streets back toward the Su residence, the night market outside the curtains was still bustling. Su Tan’er sat on the inner seat of the carriage, head bowed as she sorted through some papers and receipts, a small wooden box for the documents set beside her. Sitting there with her legs together, the young woman looked elegant and refined—noticeably more mature than the three young maids, of course. Someone accustomed to giving orders naturally carried a certain bearing. As she sorted through the papers, she kept up conversation with Ning Yi.

“…In that case, I’ll still need to pay respects to grandfather tomorrow morning, so I won’t be going out. As for you, husband, please try to come back early after your morning exercise… oh, and tomorrow morning the kitchen’s preparing the rice noodles you like…”

Tonight being the Lantern Festival, she’d already spoken with the old patriarch briefly in the evening, but with this matter of the “Green Jade Cup,” she’d probably need to visit him again tomorrow. Having said this, Su Tan’er couldn’t help laughing again.

“You always manage to surprise me like this, husband. It’s rather alarming.”

Over this past month or so, having reached a preliminary understanding with Ning Yi, she no longer viewed him through her old lens—but tonight’s poem had still caught her entirely off guard. Seeing it for the first time, she’d been stunned for a good while, wondering just where the limits of her strange husband’s abilities actually lay. Still, when she’d met him afterward, she hadn’t shown a trace of surprise, sorting through her documents now and speaking softly, her manner composed. Of course, these small gestures—not looking at Ning Yi, quietly busying herself with her papers instead—were also her own way of keeping her emotions from showing too much.

They rode all the way back to the Su residence like this, passing through courtyard after courtyard. Su Tan’er still needed to stop by her father’s quarters, likely regarding matters settled that evening. She turned to Ning Yi. “You won’t be asleep yet, will you, husband?”

Ning Yi nodded. Su Tan’er smiled. “I have something for you when I get back.”

“What is it?”

Su Tan’er blinked. “I’ll keep you in suspense.”

There wasn’t much to discuss with Su Boyong, it seemed, and before long, Ning Yi, standing on the second-floor corridor enjoying the breeze, could already see Su Tan’er and her party emerging from the courtyard in the distance, lanterns in hand. From this distance the figures looked small, the lantern light occasionally vanishing behind low walls and trees before reappearing at the corners. The liveliest spot was probably the side gate a little to the east, where carriages and horses were returning at this midnight hour, lights gathering there before scattering, dot by dot, into every corner of the Su residence.

The small courtyard remained as quiet as ever—the main branch of the family wasn’t large in number, and this area was never very lively. After a while, Su Tan’er and her three maids returned as well, light footsteps sounding from below.

Xiao Chan came bounding noisily up from downstairs, looked up and spotted Ning Yi, made a squint-eyed pouting face at him, then dashed into the small side room to heat water. Su Tan’er, climbing the stairs with a bundle in her hands, walked lightly over to the railing by a pillar and set the bundle down on top of it.

“Searching for her, through the crowd, a thousand times over, suddenly turning back… there she is, where the lantern light is dim…” She recited it softly but unhurriedly, then glanced at Ning Yi before breaking into a smile. “Xiao Chan told me you were chasing after some formidable woman assassin, husband.”

“That’s right. Pity I lost her.”

“Then why did you write ‘where the lantern light is dim’?”

Ning Yi shrugged. “What else could I do? The poem just came out that way… I could hardly write ‘suddenly turning back, and she’s gone’—doesn’t rhyme.” He was, in truth, rather regretful the assassin had gotten away.

Su Tan’er pressed a hand lightly over her mouth, leaning against the bundle, laughing uncontrollably for a while before finally saying, “Sometimes, listening to your stories, I’ve had a faint sense of it—could it be, husband, that you actually long for that world of wandering swordsmen and heroes?”

“I don’t particularly want to be some kind of hero. I just find the whole business of internal energy and martial arts interesting.” Ning Yi didn’t bother hiding it, shaking his head, then pointing downward. “Leaping straight up from below like that, or punching clean through a wall—I’ve heard people can actually do things like that, and I find it fascinating. Today, when Xiao Chan and I saw that woman assassin, she really was something else—clearly someone with real skill like that. The way she moved, the sudden bursts of force—nothing like an ordinary person.”

Su Tan’er nodded. “I’ve heard of such things too. These past few years, traveling out of town with Steward Geng and the others accompanying me, I’ve occasionally heard tales of outlaws and wandering fighters, though not nearly as much as what you describe, husband. Even the criminals the authorities actually catch tend to be nothing more than burly, brutish men relying on raw strength and viciousness—or the occasional Daoist charlatan swindling people with talismans and tricks. I’ve studied a bit of that myself, so I don’t put much stock in it. As for genuine internal power, the kind that lets a person move like an immortal after training—that’s exceedingly rare, and from what I hear, one must start young and train for a decade or more before achieving anything. Even if you found a teacher now, husband, it might already be rather late…”

By the end, she was laughing again, watching Ning Yi’s expression with a touch of playful satisfaction. She wasn’t one to put much stock in hearsay, and if such an intriguing matter ever came within reach, she’d want solid proof before giving up on doubting it—though clearly her husband wasn’t the type to simply let it go after hearing her skepticism either. As for the line about searching for her a thousand times over, she took it simply as a flight of fancy inspired by his search that night, and thought no more of it, turning the conversation to other matters.

“Xiao Chan also mentioned earlier that at Old Rain Tower, besides Xue Jin, Uncle Chonghua was there too? Did he tell you not to hold back, to show off your talent a little?”

Being who she was, the moment Xiao Chan had mentioned the scene, Su Tan’er naturally understood Su Chonghua’s intentions at once. Reading the answer now in Ning Yi’s smile, she tilted her head, laughing helplessly, then looked back at him. “What do you think, husband?”

“Hm?”

“If you have no interest in that little academy, husband, I’ll speak with Uncle Chonghua tomorrow.” Su Tan’er smiled. “And if you do have an interest in it, I’ll go speak with grandfather tomorrow instead.”

Su Chonghua held the title of headmaster at Yushan Academy, though in practice it had long been quietly managed by Second Uncle Su Zhongkan, whose standing in the Su family was somewhat set apart—though most people still tended to think of that branch as leaning toward the second house. Su Tan’er would never normally have brought up such matters with Ning Yi, but if he genuinely had an interest now, she felt confident she could work with him to bring the academy under their own control, away from grandfather’s side. Ning Yi smiled and shook his head. “I’ll just teach a little as I please. Too much fuss and bother isn’t for me—you know I’ve never cared for all these invitations and social obligations.”

Su Tan’er nodded. “Then I’ll speak with Uncle Chonghua about it… Honestly, though, whatever else you say about Uncle Chonghua, he may not be much good at teaching children, but he’s quite capable at handling practical matters. With him as headmaster, you’ll have an easier time there, husband. Oh, and this is for you…”

With that, she handed over the bundle she’d brought.

“What is it?”

“Some clothes, a cap, shoes and socks.”

Su Tan’er said this with a smile, then turned and headed downstairs. Ning Yi looked at the bundle. “Oh.”

He carried it downstairs, set it on the table, and opened it up—sure enough, it held clothes, shoes, and socks. As he picked up a piece to look it over, Xiao Chan knocked on the door outside, then slipped in carrying a wooden basin of hot water with a rather furtive air, closing the door behind her. “Time to wash your face, young master. Oh, Miss gave you the clothes already?”

“Mm.”

Ning Yi went over to wash his face; Xiao Chan poked him in the back with a finger. “Young master, young master, did Miss say anything to you about the woman assassin?”

“Did you tell your miss everything?”

“Huh? Didn’t I?”

Ning Yi finished washing and turned around; seeing Xiao Chan’s anxious expression, he laughed. “She mentioned it already. What are you fretting about now?”

“Well, think about it, young master—if Miss didn’t say anything about it to you, doesn’t that mean she’s keeping it to herself? Then Xiao Chan shouldn’t have said anything at all.” Xiao Chan let out a breath of relief at this, laughing. “Though of course I already knew Miss isn’t the type to react that way… Still, next time, young master, please don’t write poems that could be so easily misunderstood. Xiao Chan hesitated for the longest time earlier, so worried Miss might get the wrong idea—but I didn’t dare explain that the poem had nothing to do with that woman assassin either, because if I explained it, Miss might start overthinking things even more, but if I didn’t explain, she might jump to conclusions on her own anyway, and then… argh…”

The little maid rattled on beside him, thoroughly tangled up in her own worrying. Ning Yi couldn’t help laughing and flicking her on the forehead. “Such an overthinker.”

Xiao Chan rubbed her forehead. “Well, of course—a good maid has to think of every angle. Xiao Chan’s very clever, hehe…” Having spent the evening first worrying Ning Yi might get hurt chasing the assassin, then agonizing over whether to tell Su Tan’er, and finally fretting over Ning Yi and Su Tan’er’s relationship, she finally seemed to relax, giving herself a small pat on the back before asking, “Did you try on the clothes yet, young master?”

“No, I’ll try them tomorrow.”

“No good—Miss made all of these herself.”

“Huh?” Ning Yi blinked, looking the clothes over. “This fabric looks familiar… I think I saw it months ago…”

“Miss started making these months ago.” Xiao Chan unfolded the long robe and held it up against Ning Yi to check the fit. “New fabric from last June—Xiao Chan even took your measurements back then, because Miss said she needed to make you two sets of clothes every year. But Miss is often busy, so it went slowly, on and off, on and off. She meant to give them to you at New Year’s, but then she changed the lining a few days ago, and now it’s Lantern Festival already…”

“So there are two or three sets made already?” Ning Yi pointed toward the wardrobe nearby.

“Those were made by the household seamstresses. One set Xiao Chan made together with Juan’er and Xing’er. But this set—Miss made this one with her own hands… Oh, sit down, young master, try the shoes.”

Ning Yi smiled, looking over the robe as Xiao Chan crouched to help him change his shoes, murmuring quietly, “Young master… do you think you’ll always remember that Miss ran off on your wedding day?”

Ning Yi looked at her. “What are you thinking about now?”

“Nothing, really—it’s just, Xiao Chan thinks Miss is truly good, you know. Even though… even though what happened that day wasn’t great for you, young master, she didn’t know what kind of person you were back then either. June was such a busy time for her, but even so, once she’d made up her mind, she decided to make you clothes, because you’re family now. She said that since she’s already your wife, she really ought to sew you two sets of clothes and shoes every year with her own hands. Miss’s needlework isn’t actually that good—mine and Juan’er’s and Xing’er’s aren’t very good either, so some parts of your other outfit had to be finished by the household seamstresses. But not this one. Miss did it all herself. Sometimes she’d act all casual, chatting with the seamstresses in the household and the shops, asking them for little tips, because she didn’t want anyone gossiping about it. Juan’er and Xing’er always found it so funny talking about it. So it took more than half a year, on and off, before it was finally finished…”

Ning Yi laughed, looking over the clothes, then at Xiao Chan crouched there for a good while, before reaching out and ruffling her hair with mock exasperation. “You just keep singing your miss’s praises in front of me, don’t you…”

This time Xiao Chan didn’t dodge away. She looked up, smiling with cute, confident assurance. “Because Miss really is good.”

“Alright, alright, I know…”

“I’ll put your clothes away for you.”

The night had grown late. A little while later, Xiao Chan left the room as well. Ning Yi read a few pages of a book, then stood and opened the window. Across the way, the light was still lit in the room opposite—Su Tan’er’s silhouette bent over her papers and account books, writing something, her shadow cast against the window, focused and diligent. Year’s end and New Year’s were always the busiest times for merchant households; this state of affairs, it seemed, would likely continue for quite some time yet…