Chapter Forty-Nine
In early summer, the Linzi Prince’s mansion finally welcomed a great joy: Li Longji’s eldest son was born and given the name Sizhi. Lady Liu had suffered a miscarriage and remained sullen; after becoming pregnant again she hardly left the courtyard, and it was not until Sizhi’s birth that her face brightened with smiles and she finally breathed a sigh of relief.
I finally let out a sigh of relief; the reputation for jealousy had at least dimmed somewhat.
The full-month banquet was lively, except no one from the Taiyuan Wang clan appeared. Li Longji was tactful and immediately had Sizhi delivered to the princess consort’s courtyard to be raised by her personally. Dongyang chattered on and on, bringing the subject up every day until my head ached and I couldn’t write; I finally put down my brush and looked at her: “Go fetch some tea and snacks.”
She made a small sound: “I’d forgotten—yes, we should eat something.”
I raised an eyebrow at her: “Not for me to eat; I’m going to take it to the Junwang to eat.”
She didn’t react at first. It wasn’t until Xia Zhi nudged her that she snapped back to herself, hurriedly stepping out to fetch a lot of delicate pastries and brewing a pot of fine tea. I looked at the several plates piled high—enough for three or four people—and couldn’t help but laugh and cry at the same time. I only told her to come with me and left Xia Zhi to tidy up the brushes and ink.
When we entered the study, Li Longji was leaning back in his chair, his feet propped up, staring blankly into space.
“Prince,” I called to him from the doorway. He turned his head as if puzzled, then stood and strode over. “What’s the matter? Is something wrong?” I looked at him speechless, lips pressed together, and he immediately grabbed my wrist, anxious: “Well, say it.”
“I’m hungry,” I sighed. “I figured you might be too, so I thought we could eat together.”
He froze, his eyes seeming puzzled, seeming shocked, but in the end everything melted into those shimmering eyes; he neither smiled nor spoke.
I held my hand out and waved it in front of his face. “What’s wrong?”
He still said nothing, only letting the hand clasping my wrist slide down, using his fingers to part mine and interlace them with his. He must have been standing by the window in the wind the whole time—his fingers were icy cold. I wanted to pull away, but he stubbornly kept holding on, his gaze fixed on me.
I had no choice but to stand with him in the doorway. After a long while he finally asked hesitantly, “Yong’an, are you leaving?” I hadn’t expected that after waiting so long he’d blurt out something like that. I bowed my head and laughed—couldn’t help laughing out loud—and by the end I was laughing so hard my stomach ached, tears filling my eyes.
What kind of patience must he have been carrying to still think this way at a time like this?
After laughing my fill, I wiped the tears from my eyes and said, “Where exactly do you expect me to go?”
He stared at me in astonishment, and after a long time murmured, “Then you—” The two words stuck, as if he didn’t truly know what he meant to say.
I withdrew my hand and took the pastries from Dongyang’s hand beside me. “Didn’t you say you personally inspect everything I eat every day, for fear of any mistake, for fear someone might tamper with it? All that trouble—it’s better if we just eat together.”
Only then did he rouse as if from a dream, hastily taking what I offered with one hand while his other five fingers remained tangled, unwilling to let go. He pulled me to the table and sat me down, and, as before, gazed at me in a daze.
I pulled my hand back again; this time much more easily — I let go without a fuss.
We drank tea and ate pastries, and only when I was about seventy to eighty percent full did I put down my chopsticks and look at him. “Don’t you want any?” He shook his head, smiling so brightly it made my eyes hurt. “I’ll watch you eat,” he said. I laughed. “Aren’t you afraid someone might slip something into the food?” He paused for a moment, then lifted a grin and said nothing. Instead he reached out, picked up each pastry in front of him, nibbled a little off every piece, and placed them on an empty jade plate, then took another bite of the next one. Before long he’d made a small stack.
Then he reached out, pushed that jade saucer toward me, and personally refilled my teacup.
Everything flowed like drifting clouds and running water, utterly unforced.
I simply watched in silence, not a word. What I did today had been agreed upon a year ago: to stay by his side. The words Di Xiang spoke on his deathbed had circled in my mind for over a month—he still couldn’t stop worrying about the Li family, still fretted that my identity would bring harm to Li Xian’s line—so he spoke lightly, letting Li Chengqi remember my favors, not my feelings.
But if he wanted me to stay out of things, how could I possibly do that? Whatever had happened between Li Longji and me, from the moment I set foot in the Prince of Linzi’s mansion it had been fate—we rise and fall together. Besides, there was my sister Yonghui, and his brothers and kin to consider.
I stared at him intently, and after a long time asked, “Have you ever resented me?” In a daze, it was as if a voice struck my ear — that year, that night, someone had also pulled me into their arms and asked if I harbored resentment.
Now my question was laden with bitterness; back then he must have felt the same way — powerless, overwhelmed with a sense of owing.
Li Longji’s gaze was clear, half-smiling: “After knowing each other for so many years, you still won’t give me a serious look. If there’s anyone to blame, it’s my own incompetence—how could I harbor resentment toward you?” I hadn’t expected him to answer like that. I was silent for a moment, then smiled: “Since I met you, you’ve always refused to admit you’re wrong or back down—what’s got into you today?” He still wore that lazy smile, but his tone softened: “It seems like before you… I was always the one apologizing.”
Before I could reply, he added, “Now that you no longer avoid me today, I won’t let go either. Win or lose, in life or death, I will take you with me. Except—” He paused and glanced at the jade disc, “even if it’s the very last moment, I would never let you die before me.”
He stood with his back to the window, his expression half in shadow, indistinct.
I looked into his eyes, a faint stir touching my chest. The smile on my lips faltered; I lowered my head to hide my embarrassment and joked offhandedly, “Fate indeed. Back at Fengyang Gate, by sheer accident, I ended up saving a great noble.”
He seemed to be smiling: “If you count it seriously, you’re the one who saved me.”
I moved my hand, reaching for the teacup, but he took hold of it. When I looked up, he had already extended his other hand and gently wiped the corner of my mouth: “Looks like this spring cake was made well—you ate without restraint,” he said, turning his head and calling out to the outside, “Li Qing, have the kitchen collect its reward.”
When Li Qing went out to ask which reward, he was straightforward and said to give them everything.
We had barely finished the snacks before he couldn’t sit still; he simply ordered the horses to be prepared and said he would take me out for a ride.
I shook my head hastily and only said I wanted to go see Father King; only then did he let me leave. It wasn’t until I returned to my own courtyard that Dongyang snorted softly and laughed: “The Prince truly dotes on Lady to the bone.” I smiled, forcing down the unease in my chest, and told her to prepare to leave the mansion.
She answered and went off with a bright smile.
When I entered the room, Xiazhi was tidying the books on the shelf. I watched her flip through one volume after another and suddenly remembered how, as a child in Wan’er’s room, I had done the same—picking things up to steal a glance, unable to hide my inquisitiveness. Back then Wan’er was unbearably beautiful to me and full of learning; naturally I was curious about the books she read, and as a result I read many things I otherwise wouldn’t have had access to.
Lost in thought, Dongyang returned and said the carriage was ready. Just as I was about to go change, she suddenly moved to Xiazhi’s side, picked up a book and said, “Is this the Shisi Lun you wanted to consult?” I came back to myself and saw Xiazhi looking a little stunned, so I hurriedly smiled and said, “Hand it over and let me see.”
I didn’t expect that the young girl would still remember the excuse Xia Zhi had given in the painting pavilion a year ago.
Dong Yang held out the rolled-up book to me and smiled, “Did the lady transcribe this herself?” I gave a short affirmative and didn’t contradict. My handwriting and Li Chengqi’s were similar; unless someone was well practiced, a cursory glance wouldn’t reveal any difference.
She flipped through it and, very interested, said, “Lady, could you lend it to me for a few days?” I glanced at her and hesitated to answer when Xia Zhi had already come over quietly and said, “If anyone is to borrow it, it should be me first.” Dong Yang curled his lips at her and said, “You didn’t say a word when so many books were out just now, but the moment I say I want to read one, you come and snatch it.”
Xiazhi looked at her helplessly and said, “If it weren’t for me, would you even know what the Shisilu is? It’s rare to see a complete copy—of course I should read it first.” Dongyang handed the scroll to her, insolently saying, “Fine, here—read it, and remember to give it back to me when you’re done.” I looked at the two of them and laughed, “I haven’t even agreed and you two are already fighting over it?”
When I said that, Dongyang didn’t dare say anything more; he smirked and went inside to fetch a change of clothes for me. Summer Solstice held the scroll and said to me, “This servant skimmed it and still found it hard to understand. Better to leave it with madam—when you have free time, you could explain a passage or two.” I said nothing, took the book, and only looked down at the scroll when I saw her heading inside as well.
Because it had been kept on the lower shelf for years, it still felt a bit damp. I casually opened the book and placed it by the window so the sunlight could dry the years of moisture. Just then a breeze blew, turning several pages in succession with a rustling sound.
By the teahouse, the concubine had already arrived ahead of us.
There were only her and a middle-aged man in the room; he looked open-faced and well-to-do. I had Xia Zhi stand guard outside the door before I entered. The concubine lowered her voice to say something to him, and he immediately bowed: “Madam.” I smiled and nodded, “No need for formalities.” After saying that, I sat down beside the concubine.
He promptly and deftly poured a cup of tea and stood to one side, saying nothing more.
The concubine smiled at me and said, “Have you ever heard of the nation’s richest man back then, Yong’an?” I nodded, “When the Zou family was at its height, even the Li and Wu families couldn’t compare—how could I not have heard of them.” The concubine continued, “My maternal family had some ties to the Zou household. When they were investigated and their house searched, they took in one or two people. This gentleman is a distant relative of the Zou family, Wang Yuanbao.”
What the concubine said had actually been mentioned to me a few days earlier. But with the man present, one had to make a proper show, so I feigned surprise and glanced at him without saying anything.
Aunt continued, “I drifted into a long story—thinking of the Zou family makes one sigh; the world is uncertain. The richest family in the land now barely has any descendants left. I won’t say more about what’s left, but out of old ties I brought him to see you. Whether he can be helped or not is for you to decide.”
I smiled and nodded, then looked at him properly. He immediately bowed deeply and, succinctly, stated his purpose. It was basically that his youngest son had enlisted last year and deserted during battle with the Turks; because of the great victory he was spared death, but he could not escape punishment and had already been sentenced to exile.
When he finished, I understood Aunt’s intent.
She knew about my relationship with Li Chengqi, and this campaign bore the prince’s name though it was Li Chengqi who led the force. If he could put in a word, it might be a lifeline. Actually, the king could also intercede, but regrettably this involved the Zou family… How the mighty once-rich fell to such a state—how many nobles benefited along the way—so of course they’re now being avoided.
I hesitated, and looking at the calluses on his fingers, I asked casually, “Did you ever get involved in the Zou family’s business back then?” He was surprisingly composed, replied unhurriedly, “I’ve been with Master Zou since I was young—constantly exposed to it—I suppose I’ve achieved a little success.”
After the Zou family’s downfall, many nouveau riche merchants surfaced at once. I suddenly remembered that even someone like Zhang Yizhi, favored by the Emperor, didn’t forget to cozy up to merchants; he even brought in ten-odd people like the Shu merchant Song Bazi to the palace to gamble with His Majesty. They called it a small wager—who didn’t know the private dealings behind it?
The Zou family was once the richest in the land, so there must be something unusual about them. Rather than trying to cozy up to people who are already wealthy and powerful, it would be better to have something tangible in hand. Thinking this through, a notion suddenly sprang to mind.
I glanced at him again, thought for a moment, and said, “Concubine, even Father would avoid suspicion over this matter. All I can say is we can only try.”