Of course, Cheng Jiao-niang was no bandit or ruthless brigand – no bandit could possibly brew a bowl of tea this quickly.
Qin Shi’san-lang looked at the bowl before him: a black-glazed teacup, within it green tea of just the right thickness, gleaming and fresh.
“My apologies,” he said with a bow, a trace of guilt in his tone. “You’ve marched long and hard, yet I intruded here, and now I’ve burdened you with brewing tea for me.”
“A single bowl of tea won’t wear me out,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
Qin Shi’san-lang smiled at her, lifted the bowl, and drained it in one go.
“I came to the capital this time only to bury my brothers,” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
Qin Shi’san-lang set down the tea bowl and looked at her.
Two years had passed, yet she still spoke in the same way. But he was no longer who he used to be – whatever she said, he would simply listen.
“My condolences, my lady.” He bowed solemnly.
Cheng Jiao-niang returned the salute.
“Then I won’t disturb you further. Rest well. If there’s anything…” Qin Shi’san-lang began, but the thought struck him – this girl rarely ever needed anything, and the chance she would come to him for help was even rarer still. “I’ll come find you when the time comes.”
Cheng Jiao-niang bowed once again.
Watching the gate close, Qin Shi’san-lang let out a breath, a smile spreading across his lips.
How could it be such a coincidence, to run into her like this?
It seemed no one else knew she had arrived today – he was the first.
The first to meet her, the first to escort her home.
The very first!
“Young Master, how could you just run off like that? I almost lost you! The celestial hound was devouring the sun – so frightening – and you still went running about…” the young servant complained, handing over the reins.
Qin Shi’san-lang mounted with a smile.
“What’s so frightening about a heavenly dog eating the sun? It’s an excellent day,” he said, and with that he urged his horse forward.
An excellent day, even with a celestial dog devouring the sun? The servant stared, dumbfounded – his master truly was strange.
And the servant wasn’t the only one who had noticed Qin Shi’san-lang’s odd behavior.
Qin An stepped into the main hall, but glanced back as he did, his expression a little odd.
“What is it?” Madam Qin asked, fanning herself.
“Why is Shi’san so happy?” Qin An asked.
“Has he ever not been happy?” Madam Qin laughed.
“This time is different – this time he’s truly happy,” Qin An said as he untied his outer robe. “He’s so pleased he can’t even hide it, nor does he try to.”
That was what made it strange.
“What could make him so happy – the solar eclipse?” he guessed.
Madam Qin spat lightly in rebuke.
“Go and ask what Thirteenth Young Master is doing,” she instructed a maid.
The maid went and soon returned.
“Young Master is reading,” she reported.
“Isn’t that the same as always? If he were truly overjoyed, would he still be in the mood to read?” Madam Qin laughed.
…
Qin Shi’san-lang stared at the scroll in his hands, his gaze moving back and forth, yet not a single line would sink in.
All that surfaced before his eyes were the girl’s every gesture, every word, every expression from earlier that day.
That morning, he had read his books, consulted his teacher on a few passages of the classics, then gone with several friends to Desheng Pavilion to compose poems and trade couplets. Yes – he had many friends now, classmates and young men from other noble families.
They had invited the courtesan of Desheng Pavilion, watched her dance, listened to her songs, and parted ways in high spirits. He lingered a step behind, pausing to rest, and the day had felt full and untroubled.
But why was it that, once he saw that girl, all of it vanished – leaving no trace in his heart?
It was as if all those people, those events, those days were pale and powerless, and the moment she appeared, it was like a bold stroke of ink upon a painting – suddenly, everything came alive.
Qin Shi’san-lang let out a breath and set the scroll in his hand aside.
How bitter, how sorrowful this was.
Had the past two years all been in vain? Were the joys of those two years nothing but false?
What’s more, that happiness had been his alone. In her eyes…
You were all the same…
Qin Shi’san-lang reached for the scroll again, forcing himself to concentrate on reading.
And yet – she had still brewed him a bowl of tea with her own hands.
With her own brazier, carefully roasting, grinding, and whisking, and serving it in that rare black-glazed tea bowl, sliding it across to him – so utterly unique.
That girl was not heartless. She simply seemed not to know, nor to be good at, expressing what was in her heart.
Just like back then, when she had pushed a box of pastries toward him, stiff and awkward.
“Have some,” she had said.
Zhou Liu-lang had taken it as an insult, as if she were shooing away a child with sweets. He, too, had felt awkward at the time. But thinking back – surely she didn’t hand out pastries to just any child.
The number of people she would bother to “appease” with such an offering – one could count them on a single hand.
Qin Shi’san-lang smiled, and tossed the scroll down onto the desk.
By dusk, the city gates of the capital were already being prepared for closure. Normally, they would not be shut so early, but because of the sudden solar eclipse that day, the authorities had ordered them closed ahead of time.
At that moment, two riders on three horses arrived at the gate. The guards didn’t even bother to raise a hand, letting them pass straight through.
“Those horses were carrying quite a load. Why didn’t we even check them before letting them through?” one young soldier asked, puzzled.
The gate guard gave a scornful snort. Tilting his chin toward the city, he said, “Shows how green you still are. Didn’t you see the killing aura on that young man just now? His attire marked him as military, and he was travel-worn, the kind who’s seen blood on the battlefield. You want to go and search that sort of man? You’d be asking for a beating.”
Riding through the city gate and galloping along streets both familiar and strangely changed, the warmth of returning home finally washed over Zhou Liu-lang. He couldn’t help but urge his horse faster. Lanterns were just being lit, and because of the day’s solar eclipse, far fewer people were out; the usually boisterous capital felt, for once, quiet and serene.
“Young Master?” The servant riding close behind saw Zhou Liu-lang suddenly rein in his horse and quickly pulled his own to a stop as well, though he overshot a few paces. Turning back in confusion, he asked.
Zhou Liu-lang was gazing in one direction – toward a courtyard at the mouth of an alley by the bridge, where lanterns hung brightly at the gate. No one sat outside enjoying the evening cool; the place looked tranquil and at ease.
Had that girl arrived yet?
Compared to the Northwest, the journey from Jiang–zhou was longer, but she ought to have set out earlier than he did.
“Young Master, shall we stop by Lady Cheng’s house first?” the servant asked with a grin.
Go see her? See her for what?
Would she even care?
Zhou Liu-lang gave a cold snort, turned his head, and spurred his horse into a gallop.
The servant hurried after him, but couldn’t help glancing back. He saw the gates of that residence open, and quite a few people stepping out…
Quite a few people?
Among them seemed to be familiar faces – perhaps even members of their own household…
The horses’ hooves rang light and quick, the night deepened, and once they rounded the corner, everything was out of sight.
“We’d better stay,” the attendants outside the door couldn’t help saying again. “Back then, Master Zhou entrusted us to the lady.”
“She never said she didn’t want you,” the maid replied with a smile. “Look how frightened you all are.”
Hearing this, the attendants broke into laughter.
“Frightened is exactly what we are,” one of them even joked boldly.
“Go on home. You’ve been away long enough – see your friends and family, rest a day, then come back. I’ll take care of things here,” the maid said.
Perhaps from being used to following the lady’s lead, they did as they were told without further protest. They bowed and took their leave. Watching them depart, the maid and Ban Qin closed the door, and quiet returned to the gate.
Just then, the door of the neighboring courtyard opened. Under the lantern light, the gatekeeper’s face showed surprise. He quickly shut the door again and hurried off.
Night fell, and the gates of the imperial palace were locked. After a long day of toil, the Emperor gathered with his consorts in the Empress Dowager’s palace.
The recently renovated palace of the Empress Dowager gleamed with freshness, its lamps shining brilliantly. The Emperor now had two sons and three princesses – not a large number, but not few either. At this moment, one son and three daughters were all gathered there, chatting and laughing, their childish voices bright and delightful.
“Father Emperor, please,” the youngest princess piped up in her milky voice, following the guidance of the consorts and wet nurse as she solemnly offered a cup of wine.
The Emperor’s weariness vanished at once. Smiling, he took the cup, set the little princess on his lap, and let his gaze sweep the hall.
As expected, those two children were still absent…
“Today there was an eclipse. Summon Duke Jin’an and Prince Qing to sit with us, have a drink or two to steady their nerves,” he said.
“They’ve already been summoned,” the Empress Dowager replied. “You know his temper well, Your Majesty. Don’t make it hard on him.”
“It’s not good to let him keep avoiding everyone like this,” the Emperor sighed.
Seated below, the Imperial Consort curled her lips and sneered inwardly.
He was only avoiding us, putting on that pitiful yet well-behaved façade. But he certainly wasn’t avoiding Your Majesty. If he truly wished to shun people, then he shouldn’t be clinging to the Emperor every day, even tagging along to court. For the First Prince to attend court was only proper – but him? He was merely a Commandery Duke, not even granted the rank of a full Prince of the Realm.
“Has he ever embarrassed you before His Majesty?” the Imperial Consort asked the First Prince in a low voice.
The First Prince didn’t much enjoy such tedious occasions. If he could, he too would rather avoid these gatherings – spending his time reading in the palace or amusing himself with the attendants – instead of having to play along for others’ amusement.
In that sense, being a fool wasn’t so bad. That fool really ought to thank him.
Hearing the Imperial Consort’s question, the First Prince gave a cold snort.
“He wouldn’t dare!” he said. “A dullard who can’t even recite the classics properly, who can’t cite a single reference – how could such a person embarrass anyone?”
Because Prince Qing needed to be looked after, even though the Empress Dowager and the Emperor had repeatedly insisted he continue his studies, Duke Jin’an had gradually stopped attending the academy, and his learning had fallen into neglect.
Still, as a royal member, he had no need to sit for the civil examinations. Being literate and reasonably sensible was enough. If he didn’t study, then so be it. In time, even the Empress Dowager and the Emperor had ceased to press the matter.
“But I’ve heard he often gives His Majesty advice,” the Imperial Consort said, “and what he says pleases His Majesty greatly.”
The First Prince clenched the hand resting on his knee and turned to look at the Imperial Consort.
“Your Ladyship, the Guanshan Canal case the other day was decided by me. The new policy for managing floods of the Great River – I also took part in that court discussion. Have you not heard of it?” he asked.
Though only thirteen, perhaps because he had been attending more and more of the Emperor’s audiences, the First Prince’s bearing had grown increasingly commanding.
Just listen to how sharp and forceful his words were, how full of authority.
The Imperial Consort pressed her lips together in a smile.
“How could I not? Of course I’ve heard,” she replied with a laugh.
“Then Your Ladyship can be at ease. No matter what anyone else says or does, I am the one most in tune with His Majesty’s will. I am the one who often offers counsel to His Majesty,” the First Prince declared.
“Yes, I understand,” the Imperial Consort answered with a smile, reaching out to pat his arm soothingly. “I only worried someone might steal your limelight…”
“No one can steal my limelight,” the First Prince said.
Those who tried had never met with a good end – like that fool, Prince Qing.
