Chapter 21
This heavy rain fell from the night of the thirtieth of the fourth month all the way into the early morning of the first of the fifth month.
By then, the Eastern Palace was dim and desolate.
The Crown Prince, once radiant with glory, still wore his bright yellow heir-apparent robes. He sat listlessly by the window of the eastern side hall’s study, a thick brocade carpet beneath him, unswept for days. In his hands he clutched something—a book, The Gains and Losses of Salt Administration. His hollow gaze was fixed on the torrential rain outside.
As the night watch sounded, the Crown Princess personally brought a bowl of ginseng soup into the hall. She saw her husband sitting motionless on the carpet, and walked over quietly. It had been over half a month since the disaster, yet apart from changing into plain white palace robes, her expression showed little difference from usual. She knelt, set the soup on the small table, and said softly:
“Your Highness, have some ginseng soup.”
Though the Crown Prince was confined, Noble Consort Yan had not skimped on their daily meals, still sending provisions as before.
The Crown Prince’s gaze drifted vacantly, without response.
Only one silver lamp was lit in the hall; the windows were open, and the wind made the flame flicker. By the light of a lightning flash, the Crown Princess saw the book in his hands—The Gains and Losses of Salt Administration. Her heart twisted at the sight. She called again:
“Darling, have some soup.” This time, her voice carried a sob.
The Crown Prince finally stirred. His lifeless eyes slowly turned to meet her red-rimmed gaze. At that familiar endearment, grief overwhelmed him. The book fell from his hands as he grasped her wrist:
“A’zhen, I have wronged you.”
For over thirty years he had been Crown Prince, thinking he only needed to endure another year or two before ascending to the throne—to place this woman, though no longer young yet still graceful, in the revered position of empress. But he had failed.
The Crown Princess wiped away the tears beneath her chin and shook her head. “We share honor and disgrace, husband. I don’t blame you.”
Only disappointment remained.
The Crown Prince’s guilt deepened. Thinking of his entire family facing death together, regret flooded his chest. He buried his face in her arms, sobbing:
“What else could I do? Prince Qin pressed me at every turn. I didn’t hoard wealth for my own pleasure—I needed it to balance the officials and win over supporters…”
The Crown Princess held him, her throat tight, unable to find words of comfort. Just then, the clear cry of an infant came from the western side hall. They both turned involuntarily.
It was their newly born legitimate grandson.
The Crown Princess glanced at the hour, soothed her husband briefly, smoothed his collar, and said softly:
“Your Highness, rest early. I’ll go see the child.”
She rose and left the eastern side hall, walking along the long corridor to the west. Dozens of palace lanterns swayed overhead, their colorful glow spilling over her—the last touch of splendor in this desolate palace.
Just ahead, a figure emerged from behind a folding door.
It was the Crown Prince’s eldest son, returning from visiting the child. Mother and son locked eyes.
“Mother.” He suppressed the ache in his heart and bowed.
The Crown Princess quickened her pace to his side, asked a few casual questions, then said: “Qian’er, there are countless people waiting to see the Eastern Palace fall. But we cannot sit idly by—we must find a way to save ourselves.”
Hearing the implication in her words, he straightened. “What plan do you have, Mother?”
She patted his shoulder with affection, her gaze traveling through the window to the western side hall, where a palace maid held a red-wrapped bundle, soothing the infant. Before her, the young daughter-in-law Ming leaned on a soft couch, gazing at the bundle with boundless love. The child’s cries came in waves, but its lively face was hidden from view. The Crown Princess regretfully withdrew her gaze and rested it on her son’s face:
“Take good care of your father, your wife, and the child.”
Sensing something ominous, he tensed. “Mother, what are you going to do?”
Her gaze passed beyond the lamplight to the heavy rain beyond. Her voice was resolute: “I am going to beg His Majesty for mercy.”
He was taken aback. “But the Eastern Palace is sealed—how will you get out? Besides, His Majesty won’t even see Father—why would he listen to you?”
She did not answer. She called for her personal maid, draped the pre-prepared cloak over her shoulders, and strode out.
Seeing her determined, almost martyr-like expression, his heart clenched. He ran forward and blocked her path. “Mother, I won’t let you go. If anyone goes, it should be me.”
She shook her head sternly. “You can’t. No one can but me. Trust me—stay in the Eastern Palace and care for the family. Leave the rest to me.”
With that, she did not look back as she stepped into the downpour.
Tears blurred his vision. He staggered backward and撞 against the lattice window.
The palace maid who had served her for years watched her resolute back, fell to her knees, and wept into the ground.
At the Eastern Palace gate, the guards immediately blocked her way. The Crown Princess asked calmly:
“Which Grand Secretary is on duty today?”
The guard, in full armour, saluted. “Grand Secretary Xun of the Ministry of Revenue.”
A flicker of relief crossed her face. She handed him a golden token:
“Tell him I wish to leave the palace.”
She had been planning this for days, waiting for the first of the fifth month, for this night of torrential rain…
The pitch-black sky seemed split open, rain pouring like an inverted galaxy. The guards at the Meridian Gate, yawning in the dim lamplight, leaned against the city wall pillars, staring into the distance. The rain was so heavy that the lamps beyond Fengtian Gate blurred into fog. One guard, dozing, suddenly noticed a white speck in his vision, growing larger until it took shape—a woman in white, without ornaments or hairpins, kneeling directly on the white jade bridge before the Meridian Gate.
The guard jolted awake, hurried down from the city wall, and ran toward her through the rain.
The Crown Princess knelt in the rain for over an hour. The guards recognized her and, fearing for her safety, brought a large umbrella to shield her—but it was useless. She was drenched through, shivering with cold, yet she knelt motionless with her back straight. Blood seeped from her knees, flowing down the bridge stones. Dozens of guards at the Meridian Gate were deeply moved.
At dawn, at the first quarter of the hour of Mao, the city gates opened. Officials in various robes began to pass through. Before they could lament the fierce rain, a dignified female voice carried from the white jade bridge:
“The Crown Prince is guilty, but my sins are deeper still. I married him at sixteen. I am poor at needlework, ignorant of cooking—I never sewed him a single garment nor prepared him a bowl of porridge. He rose early and retired late, serving the Emperor with devotion. I, as his wife, could not share his burdens—that is my first sin.”
“At twenty, he assisted Your Majesty in court affairs, receiving heaven’s grace and directing the Six Ministries. He may not be called wise, but he is diligent. Yet he grew up in the palace, unfamiliar with governing, at ease in peace but forgetful of peril. I, as his wife, failed to counsel him or correct him—that is my second sin.”
“…”
Every word was relayed verbatim to the Hall of Heavenly Worship.
The Emperor had just woken. Hearing this, he threw on his robe and hurried to the window. Through the misty rain, he gazed toward the Meridian Gate, as if seeing a graceful, dignified woman standing above the rain, smiling at him.
The Crown Princess was indeed poor at needlework and cooking—but the late Empress Zhang Xiaohui had been virtuous and accomplished, sewing for the Emperor herself and preparing his nightly meals with her own hands. The Crown Princess’s self-recrimination was in fact a subtle reminder that the Crown Prince had grown up without a mother’s love. If that paragon of benevolence and virtue were still alive, would the Crown Prince have turned out this way? Would the Emperor still depose him?
Her words cut like knives into the Emperor’s heart. The old emperor leaned on his desk, caressing the old robes left by his departed wife, and wept.
—
The torrential rain continued unabated from dawn. Even the Dali Temple prison was flooded—water from the drainage wells backed up in the low-lying southern cells, submerging a row of them. The prisoners cursed and clamoured; the guards tried to calm them. As the water rose, the warden had to call for outside guards to help drain it. Finally, when the water receded and they counted heads, they discovered that Hu Tianyi, a key witness in the Crown Prince’s case, had “drowned.”
The matter was urgent. The jailers immediately reported to Chief Justice Liu Zhao.
Alarmed, Liu Zhao sent word to Prince Qin’s residence and the Ministry of Justice.
Minister of Justice Xiao Yu, who had been unsure how to proceed, seized the opportunity to close the Crown Prince’s case swiftly.
The Crown Prince was indeed guilty of possessing weapons, but there was no evidence of treason or collusion with the enemy. Prince Qin was furious. Meanwhile, the Crown Princess had removed her ornaments at the Meridian Gate, begging to die in atonement, only to be saved by the guards. Moved by all this, the Emperor issued a decree: the Crown Prince was deposed and reduced to commoner status; his entire family was to be banished to Panyu, never to return to the capital.
On the day of their departure, the Emperor summoned the deposed Crown Prince to Yuxi Palace, the former residence of the late Empress.
The morning sun was warm, casting a single beam of light between father and son.
The Emperor sat in an armchair, leaning forward with his arms on his knees, and looked at him: “Now will you tell me the truth?”
The Crown Prince knelt at his feet, tears streaming down his face:
“Father, I did get involved in the gunpowder trade. The merchant Hu Tianyi was my man. But I never meant to harm you. Hu Tianyi betrayed me—he swapped the silk and brocade I had ordered for gunpowder and sent it to Ci’en Temple.”
Hu Tianyi had produced years of records of his payments to the Crown Prince, so no one doubted his testimony.
The Crown Prince knew that Prince Qin must have threatened Hu Tianyi’s family to buy his false testimony. But saying so now was useless. He only spoke out so that Prince Qin would not have the satisfaction.
Who had bribed Hu Tianyi was obvious.
The Emperor’s ashen pupils narrowed. He merely said “Oh,” and nothing more.
Summoning his courage, the Crown Prince looked up at his father, sobbing: “Father…”
The aged Emperor was jolted by that familiar address. Memories of the Crown Prince as a child, playing at his knee, flooded back. His expression was complex as he looked at his son.
“Do you know why I refused to see you before?”
The Crown Prince, overwhelmed with anguish, bowed his head low and bit out each word: “Because Your Majesty deemed me unworthy…” So he had let the Three Judicial Offices investigate.
There was another layer he did not say—that a Crown Prince commanding a mighty army was naturally a threat in his father’s eyes.
“And do you know why I see you today?”
He looked up sharply, his tear-streaked face twisting with longing. “Because Father wants to spare my life.”
The Emperor closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “As long as you understand. On your way to Panyu, treat your wife well.”
Though Prince Qin regretted not being able to kill the Crown Prince, knowing he was to be exiled to distant Panyu, he relaxed his guard. Once he ascended the throne, it would be easy to find an excuse to execute him. His more immediate headache was Right Commander Yang Kang.
Yang Kang was notoriously hot-tempered and fiercely righteous. Leaving him alive would mean constant opposition—a great threat.
However, on the fifth day of the fifth month, as the deposed Crown Prince’s family left the capital, Yang Kang, under guard in a prison cart, was allowed to see his daughter and son-in-law off at the capital outskirts. Along the way, the commoners who had lost loved ones in the Ci’en Temple explosion threw rotten vegetables and eggs at him. Yang Kang, covered in filth, did not flinch.
When word reached the imperial study, the Emperor nearly stumbled, his eyes narrowing with cold fury.
“Father, think of it—the once-legendary commander now a target of public scorn. What will His Majesty think? What will the court think?”
“Yang Kang has rendered great service and is beloved by the border soldiers and the people. If he is publicly humiliated today, who will be willing to serve the realm tomorrow?”
“This ploy, seemingly ordinary, has struck straight at His Majesty’s heart.”
That tall, young man stood in the shadows, smiling. “With the military unsettled, just wait—the Yang family’s verdict will soon be overturned.”
After the Dragon Boat Festival, the officials and merchants implicated in the Crown Prince’s case were sentenced one by one—some beheaded at the Meridian Gate, others exiled to the border, still more dismissed for life. The Three Judicial Offices never found evidence of the Yangs’ rebellion. Yang Kang refused to admit colluding with the Great Wu. The Emperor ordered his military authority revoked and allowed him to retire to his hometown.
The case of the Eastern Palace rebellion was thus concluded.
—
With the Crown Prince gone, the Emperor fell ill again.
Pei Muheng was busy tending to him and had not returned home for two days.
On the morning of the seventh of the fifth month, Xu Yunqi was teaching Pei Mushan how to make rouge in the open pavilion when a senior maidservant from Jinhua Hall arrived, curtsied, and said: “Fifth Young Lady, the Princess Consort requests your presence.”
Pei Mushan, absorbed in learning, did not look up. “I just came from Mother’s—what could be so urgent?”
The maidservant glanced awkwardly at Xu Yunqi and answered reluctantly: “Madam Xun and the Second Miss Xun from next door have come to pay their respects. The Princess Consort asks you to come.”
Pei Mushan turned sharply. In the past, she had been close to Xun Yunling, and Madam Xun had doted on her too—not to show up would be discourteous. Yet she worried about hurting her sister-in-law’s feelings.
Xu Yunqi saw her dilemma and waved her off. “Go. When guests arrive, it’s proper to greet them.”
Pei Mushan tugged her sleeve: “Come with me?”
Xu Yunqi glanced at the uneasy maidservant and smiled. “I won’t. If I go, Mother will be uncomfortable.”
Pei Mushan rubbed her forehead. “True.”
Soon, she arrived at Jinhua Hall. Before entering, she heard her mother’s laughter mingled with Xun Yunling’s—the Princess Consort had not been so happy in a long while.
Passing the jade-inlaid screen into the main hall, she saw the Princess Consort holding Xun Yunling, calling her “sweetheart”:
“From today on, you are my goddaughter. I’ll find you a good match myself.”
It was no secret that the Princess Consort had once wanted Xun Yunling as her daughter-in-law. Now, feeling guilty, she planned to adopt her as a goddaughter—to honour their past ties, to make her and Pei Muheng siblings, to quell gossip, and to help Xun Yunling move on.
The girl nestled in her arms, with a trailing-cloud coiffure, an apricot-coloured jacket, and a butterfly-embroidered skirt, had grape-like eyes and resembled her mother, who sat quietly drinking tea.
Hearing she was to be adopted, Xun Yunling smiled shyly: “Whatever you say.”
Her mother set down her tea and shook her head: “Princess, please don’t. As they say, a close neighbour is better than a distant relative. We already think of you as family—adopting a godchild would only be forced. Let the past be the past.”
The Princess Consort only felt guiltier at their magnanimity.
Lady Xie and Lady Li sat nearby. Lady Xie, seated below Madam Xun, chatted amiably with her, while Lady Li drank her tea alone, a faint smile playing on her lips.
Pei Mushan entered, greeted Madam Xun, and cheerfully hailed Xun Yunling:
“Yunling, you’re back!”
Xun Yunling’s face lit up. She rose from the Princess Consort’s embrace and hurried over.
“Shanshan, I’ve missed you so much! How have you been these six months?”
Pei Mushan took her hands and studied her. “Your complexion looks good—you must be fully recovered.”
Xun Yunling touched her face, a little embarrassed. “Not really…”
“Wait…” Pei Mushan leaned closer. “You’re wearing a thick layer of powder.”
Lady Li nearly choked on her tea, quickly stifling a laugh.
The Princess Consort shot her a cold glance, and Lady Li rose to apologize.
Xun Yunling, exposed, looked flustered and whispered: “I told you, I lost a lot of weight. I need powder to cover it.”
“Oh, I brought you some cosmetics…” She motioned to her maid, who brought over a box.
The Princess Consort said to Madam Xun: “You’re too kind.”
Madam Xun smiled. “Not at all. You sent us so many tonics at Green Mountain Temple—we were touched.”
“It was only right.”
Xun Yunling pulled Pei Mushan down to show her the box.
Pei Mushan pointed at her face: “Is this what you’re wearing?”
“Yes—it’s wonderful!”
Pei Mushan shook her head at once. “Keep it for yourself. I don’t use those cosmetics anymore.”
“What?” Xun Yunling was taken aback, then hurt: “Are you being distant with me, Shanshan?”
“No, no—I truly don’t use them anymore. Look at my skin—isn’t it much smoother?” She leaned her face toward Xun Yunling.
Xun Yunling examined her closely. Indeed, Pei Mushan’s skin was noticeably more radiant. “What kind of cosmetics are you using?”
Not only Xun Yunling, but Lady Li and Lady Xie also leaned in curiously. No woman was indifferent to her appearance.
Pei Mushan gave a smug look, then teased: “I won’t tell.”
Xun Yunling pouted: “Just tell me where to buy them—I’ll get you several boxes.”
Pei Mushan, softening at her goodwill, replied gently: “You can’t buy them outside.”
Without Xu Yunqi’s permission, she would not reveal the secret—she would not cause trouble for her sister-in-law.
Xun Yunling’s eyes reddened with tears.
She and Pei Mushan had once kept no secrets.
The more she thought, the sadder she became, tears threatening to fall.
“Don’t cry, don’t cry—it’s not that I won’t tell you, it’s that I can’t…” Pei Mushan hated seeing people cry.
The Princess Consort glared at her daughter.
“Enough—it’s nothing,” she said, drawing Xun Yunling to sit beside her.
Pei Mushan shrugged innocently.
The Princess Consort then asked about Xun Yunhe’s birthday: “His fortieth is at the end of the month—will it be a grand celebration?”
Madam Xun sighed: “Forty is a milestone. Given his position, everyone is watching. Even if we don’t host, others will come to offer congratulations—we can’t turn them away. Better to hold a proper banquet. But with the Eastern Palace affair just settled, I’m not sure if it’s appropriate.”
The Princess Consort said coolly: “Court affairs are court affairs—what have they to do with us? If you want to hold it, do so. Our household will come with gifts.”
Madam Xun replied: “I’ll ask my husband when he returns tonight.”
Her tone was enviable. The Princess Consort smiled: “There is no second Minister Xun in the capital. For good fortune, you truly are the first.” She rarely flattered others, but this came from the heart. Though she and Prince Xi were loving, he still had two concubines and several maids; but in over a decade as neighbours, she had never heard of Xun Yunhe taking a concubine.
Madam Xun smoothed her handkerchief and smiled without answering.
Near noon, Madam Xun returned home, while Xun Yunling stayed to deliver gifts to each household member.
For the literary-minded Lady Xie, she had a box of Hu brushes; for Lady Li, a set of silk flowers. Pei Mulan and Xun Yunling had grown up together, and she gave her a pearl hairpin. She had splurged on the latest cosmetics for Pei Mushan, but was disappointed when they were refused.
At the hanging flower gate, Pei Mushan suddenly remembered: “Wait here—you gave me embroidered handkerchiefs at New Year, and I haven’t sent a return gift yet. Let me go pick something for you.”
Xun Yunling watched her go until she was out of sight, then her smile faded. She summoned a servant and slipped him a silver coin: “Where is your Third Young Mistress? Tell her I have something for her.”
Xun Yunling had always been generous, and the servants at the prince’s mansion were fond of her. The matron took the silver happily and hurried to Qinghui Garden.
Xu Yunqi, in the middle of her work, was told of the visit. Slightly puzzled, she nevertheless said: “Show her to Mingyu Hall. I’ll be there shortly.”
Mingyu Hall, east of Qinghui Garden, was the third branch’s reception hall.
She set aside her work, washed her hands, applied a layer of cream, and set out with Yinxing.
The noon sun was hot. She did not go through the main gate but took a side path through the bamboo grove. In the distance, beneath the bright green veranda, stood a girl with delicate features and a lively smile. She was aptly named “Ling” (spirit). Xu Yunqi emerged from the bamboo and nodded with a smile:
“Miss Xun, what brings you to me?”
It was Xun Yunling’s first time at Qinghui Garden. Leaning on the railing, she admired the bamboo grove beyond, recalling a poem Pei Muheng had once written describing it. Hearing Xu Yunqi’s voice, she did not turn immediately, but lazily raised her eyes with a certain sense of superiority.
The tall, slender figure seemed to emerge from the bamboo itself—elegant, stunning.
Xun Yunling felt a jolt of surprise: no wonder the Emperor had noticed her. Such beauty was indeed remarkable.
But what truly unsettled her was the haunting familiarity of Xu Yunqi’s features.
As the daughter of a Grand Secretary, she quickly composed herself. She curtsied gracefully: “Greetings, Third Sister-in-law. I am Xun Yunling from next door. I often visit this mansion. After a long illness, I have returned and prepared a small gift for you.”
She gestured, and her maid handed over a long box.
Xu Yunqi signalled Yinxing to accept it. “Thank you, Miss Xun. I was not aware of your visit—I’ll prepare a return gift another day.”
Xun Yunling smiled: “We are neighbours—no need for such formalities. Actually, there is one more thing I’d like you to help with.”
Xu Yunqi, surprised, stepped onto the veranda and smiled: “What is it?”
Xun Yunling took a red sandalwood box from another maid—its grain showed some age—and presented it to Xu Yunqi with evident gravity:
“Sister-in-law, Qingyu-gege used to come to our house to study. My father often praised his genius. When we had questions, we would ask him. These are two books he lent me. During my six months of convalescence, I studied them daily and wrote down my insights. Now it’s time to return them. I cannot see Qingyu-gege directly, so I ask you to pass them on.”
At each “Qingyu-gege,” Xu Yunqi took a moment to realize she meant Pei Muheng.
So Pei Muheng’s courtesy name was Qingyu. A pleasant name.
Without hesitation, she again signalled Yinxing to accept.
Xu Yunqi’s ready compliance surprised Xun Yunling. Did she not understand the implication?
Her intent was twofold: to show her closeness with Pei Muheng, and to subtly humiliate Xu Yunqi by demonstrating their shared cultivation.
But Xu Yunqi showed no reaction.
Yinxing’s eyes widened in indignation. She refused to take it. She could not believe her mistress had missed the provocation.
Xu Yunqi looked at her: “Take it.”
Resigned—her mistress was endlessly tolerant—Yinxing reached for the box, then gave an exaggerated “Oops!” as if she had fumbled, and the sandalwood box shattered on the ground.
Xun Yunling’s pretty face turned pale. Her eyes flashed with anger, then feigned hurt:
“How dare you! You’ve broken Qingyu-gege’s things! Do you know how precious these books are? How much effort he put into them?”
Yinxing set the previous box aside on the balustrade and spread her hands apologetically: “Oh, I’m so sorry, Miss Xun. We country folk are clumsy. I didn’t catch it. And I didn’t understand your ‘Qingyu-gege’—I was afraid I might take the wrong thing, so I lost my grip. But you, as a Grand Secretary’s daughter, are magnanimous, aren’t you? You won’t hold it against me?”
“You—” Xun Yunling was struck speechless.
She forced herself to calm down, picked up the books, dusted them off, and handed them to Xu Yunqi again:
“Please, Sister-in-law, help me return them.”
She set them on the balustrade and left with her maids.
Xu Yunqi turned to look at Yinxing with a helpless air. Yinxing made a face at Xun Yunling’s retreating back and snorted: “She was just putting on airs.”
Xu Yunqi had seen through it too. To her, such petty games were tiresome.
“By taunting her, you only encourage her. Her goal is to provoke you—why waste your energy?”
Yinxing picked up the books and followed her back to Qinghui Garden: “I couldn’t stand her smugness. I hate people who are all smiles on the surface but full of poison inside. Mistress, you can’t ignore her—she’ll just keep coming.”
Xu Yunqi had no interest in cleaning up Pei Muheng’s mess. “When Third Master returns, give the books to him.”
It was for the man himself to deal with.
After all, if left to the women, it would be like wildfire—never truly extinguished.
Yinxing trailed behind, anxious:
“Mistress, whatever you say, the Third Master has known Miss Xun since childhood. Have you considered that he might care for her?”
A branch stretched across the path. Xu Yunqi brushed it aside with a smile:
“No, there’s no one else in his heart.”
“Why do you say that?” Yinxing hurried to catch up.
Xu Yunqi stopped and turned. The midday sun filtered through the dense leaves, casting mottled light on her face. She tapped Yinxing’s forehead with a smile:
“Silly girl, he said we’ll make this marriage work. If he had someone else, he wouldn’t have said that.”
Yinxing thought her mistress was too trusting. “You believe him so easily?”
Xu Yunqi shook her head and stepped slowly through the moon gate. It was not trust—it was simply that their relationship had not yet reached the point where Pei Muheng would lie to her.
—
Pei Muheng returned to Qinghui Garden at the beginning of the hour of Xu that night. Lifting the curtain into the eastern annex, he found Xu Yunqi at her desk, preparing medicines.
It was time for the second round of “Sunrise” cakes for the Emperor. The prescription was ready; only the last batch of herbs needed grinding. Yinxing’s hands were sore, so Xu Yunqi had rolled up her sleeves and taken over.
Yinxing, waiting eagerly, did not let Pei Muheng sit before she set the broken box and books on the table, offering a mock apology:
“Third Master, today Miss Xun from next door came to see our mistress, asking her to return these books to you. When I heard her calling you ‘Qingyu-gege’ over and over, I thought she might have mistaken the person, and I accidentally dropped the box. If I damaged your books, please forgive me.”
She had all but said: So your courtesy name is Qingyu—our mistress only learned it from someone else.
Pei Muheng, exhausted from two sleepless nights, quickly inferred what had happened, and his expression darkened.
Yinxing shrank back, frightened, and cast a glance at her mistress. Xu Yunqi had not expected her maid to be so bold. She set down the mortar and stood:
“Third Master, the girl is young and foolish. Don’t be angry.”
She sent Yinxing out, then turned to see her husband seated in the armchair opposite. She poured him a cup of tea and smiled, peering at him:
“Surely you won’t hold a grudge against a little maid?”
He narrowed his eyes slightly, looking at her. The word “grudge” brought back her earlier words.
“I’m not the jealous type. I won’t be angry.” At the time, he had not thought much of it—but now he understood.
Xun Yunling had come to provoke her. Even her maid was furious, yet Xu Yunqi showed no reaction.
Was she so gentle and meek that she did not know how to be angry? Or did she simply not care?
His fingertips traced the rim of his teacup. “Have you nothing to ask me?” His gaze was deep.
Xu Yunqi returned to her seat, picking up the mortar again. At his words, she glanced at him lightly. In the matter with Jiang Yuhe, he had questioned her—now the roles were reversed. She set down the mortar and looked at him squarely:
“Naturally, I’d like to know whether you have feelings for Miss Xun.”
The candlelight flickered, half-light, half-shadow. Her eyes were clear, as calm as still water, fixed on him without wavering. Her long, narrow eyes were as soft as a feather.
Looking at her, his heart softened inexplicably. He did not want his wife to harbour any misunderstanding:
“Though Miss Xun and I grew up together, there is nothing romantic between us.” He spoke directly and succinctly.
His gaze swept over the books. “Do you want to know the full story?”
She blinked. “No need—I can guess it.” Such childhood-friend scenarios were not unfamiliar to her. Having traveled the jianghu, she had seen far stranger tales.
But she noticed that after she spoke, his eyes darkened again. He took a sip of tea, his mood unreadable. Though she did not ask, he felt he must explain:
“From age five, I studied at the palace. Minister Xun was assigned to teach the imperial children. Later, we became neighbours. I admired his brilliance and often sought his guidance.”
“These books are copies I made from the royal library. One time, my teacher saw a reference in an essay of mine and asked about it, so I lent them to him. Later, Miss Xun borrowed them through him. That’s all.”
Xu Yunqi nodded. “I understand.” Xun Yunling had implied great intimacy, but the truth seemed otherwise.
Pei Muheng nodded, leaned back, and his gaze fell on her nails—all neatly trimmed.
She followed his look, felt a slight awkwardness, and clasped her hands together, hiding them before resuming her work.
His expression softened. “Forgive me for not telling you before—my courtesy name is Qingyu, given by Grandfather at my coming-of-age ceremony.”
She glanced back at him as she worked. “Mm. It’s a nice name.”
“Do you have a courtesy name?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“A childhood name?”
Her expression flickered. She looked down and shook her head again. “No.”
The evening breeze rattled the bamboo blinds; cicadas chirped from somewhere unseen. Pei Muheng looked at her deeply, sensing a downturn in her mood, and asked gently: “What are the characters of your given name?”
She looked up, puzzled for a moment, then smiled slowly: “Yunqi—’cloud’ and ‘roost.'”
He mused: ” ‘You ask why I dwell in the green hills, I smile but do not answer, my heart at ease.’ Yunqi—roosting clouds—the namer must have wished you a carefree, untroubled life, like a cloud in the sky. Did your father name you?”
Her hand paused. After a long moment, she gave a soft “Yes.”
When she finished grinding the herbs, she pointed at the books: “Third Master, you’ll handle these yourself, won’t you?”
Catching her meaning, he nodded: “Yes.”
He called for Huang Wei.
Huang Wei looked at the familiar books and asked softly: “How shall I dispose of them?”
Pei Muheng rubbed his brow. He needed to preserve both families’ dignity while putting an end to Xun Yunling’s provocations. After a moment, he instructed: “Send these books and the broken box to the Xun household—to Minister Xun himself.”
Xun Yunhe was an upright man. He would know how to discipline his daughter.
Husband and wife each prepared for bed—but that night, she found her husband oddly hesitant, dragging things out without finishing.