Qin Shi’san-lang slowed his horse as he entered the street, glancing to the side.
“Young Master, I’ll go knock at the door,” the servant said quickly, spurring his horse toward the Yudai Bridge.
Qin Shi’san-lang stopped him.
“No need to see her yet. I want to know what’s going on first,” he said, urging his horse forward at full speed.
The servant hurried after him.
Qin An was not at home, so Qin Shi’san-lang rode straight to the government office.
Seeing him arrive, Qin An showed no surprise.
“That was quick,” he said with a laugh. “I thought you’d stay shut away from the world for another couple of days before hearing the news.”
Qin Shi’san-lang sat down, ignoring his father’s teasing.
“Father, what’s the reason this time?” he asked. “Is someone pulling strings behind the scenes again?”
Qin An shook his head.
“This time, no one’s pulling strings,” he said.
Qin Shi’san-lang’s expression grew grave.
“So it’s simply Feng Lin doing his duty?” he asked.
Qin An nodded.
“Then that makes it difficult,” Qin Shi’san-lang said.
Feng Lin was a man of upright conduct, strict with himself and with others. Now that he served as an imperial censor, he spoke of matters, not men – judging only by principle, not by favor. If this action of his was truly out of duty and not self-interest, then he would indeed be a formidable one to deal with.
“I told you she should never have associated with the imperial clan,” Qin Shi’san-lang said in a low voice, his hands clenched on his knees. “All this trouble started from that one line about her music being ‘not meant for human ears.’”
Time and again, the rumors about a “disciple of the immortals” had been dispelled – her master had been found, the divine weapon forged, she had stopped treating illnesses, gained fame among the scholars, held her teaching banquets, and followed the Way of the sages. Everything had finally returned to the proper path. Yet now, of all people, Duke Jin’an had to say such a thing!
“He thought she was novel, found her curious, and so he could joke about her however he pleased. He spoke lightly, carelessly – never thinking how hard each of her steps had been.”
“They don’t care about her, so what can she do? She can only learn not to care about them either.”
“When life leaves you no choice, all you can do is accept the heartlessness of it.”
Qin Shi’san-lang rose to his feet and turned on his heel, striding away.
“Shi’san!” Qin An called out. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to ask Feng Lin,” Qin Shi’san-lang said.
“You’re going to ask him? What right do you have to question him?” Qin An snapped. “You’re not even a proper scholar yet! You’re only taking the imperial exam because of your family’s hereditary privilege. What right do you have to debate state affairs with a Censor? Do you want to be branded as someone who ‘disrupts the order of the court’ before you’ve even entered official service? Then forget about ever holding office in this life – forget even speaking up for her again!”
Qin Shi’san-lang turned around.
“Then can you speak up for her now, Father?” he asked.
“Of course I can,” Qin An said. “Don’t worry – her life isn’t in danger. It’s just some trouble and commotion at most. The worst that could happen is she’s sent away from the capital, back to Jiang-zhou.”
Qin Shi’san-lang gave a faint smile.
“And why should she be driven away when she’s done nothing wrong? If she leaves, it should be because she chooses to leave,” he said. “She’s already faced enough trouble. It’s not right – it shouldn’t be like this.”
“In this world,” Qin An said evenly, “there’s no such thing as what should or shouldn’t be. You should go back to your books. If you want her to face fewer such ‘shouldn’ts’ in the future – if you want to speak for her – first make sure you have the standing to do so. Otherwise, you’ll only make things worse.”
“These are not the old days when people plotted in the shadows and you could plot back the same way. Now everyone stands in the open – gong against gong, drum against drum, facing each other with open strength. This is not something you can solve by throwing a tantrum or shouting a few angry words.”
“Yes, Father,” Qin Shi’san-lang replied. “I understand.”
“Then I’ll leave it to you.”
Qin An nodded, watching as his son turned and strode away.
This time, the horse stopped again by the Yudai Bridge.
“Young Master, shall we go in?” the servant asked quickly.
She had never once come looking for him of her own accord – so, as always, it would be he who went to her.
Qin Shi’san-lang nodded and urged his horse forward.
The door was soon knocked upon and opened.
“Oh, it’s Young Master Qin,” the gate servant said, bowing respectfully.
“Where is your lady?” Qin Shi’san-lang asked.
“The lady has gone out,” the servant replied.
Gone out? At this hour?
Qin Shi’san-lang paused for a moment, then smiled faintly.
As expected – it was just like her.
“…She went with the madam and the others to Tai Ping Residence, outside the city. They’ll probably be back by evening. If you have something to say, I can pass along a message – or go find her for you,” the servant said.
Had she gone there to avoid him?
Though, would there truly be peace in a place called “Tai Ping Residence”?
“…Judge Feng said that Lady Cheng’s eyes are too dark, with little white in them – the sign of one who brings chaos to the world…”
“…Oh, come off it. She’s just a young lady, not a general or a minister – how could she possibly throw the world into chaos? That ghost judge’s seen too many ghosts himself, jumping at shadows now!”
“…You can’t say that. You know how famous this Lady Cheng has become – her renown’s no less than that of generals or ministers. With a sworn brother who forged the divine arm bow that brought down enemy cavalry, and her own mastery of the Stele Script that’s earned her the title of ‘teacher’ among the scholars, not to mention her ability to bring the dead back to life – a single person with so many powers… she’s nearly a demon…”
“…Demon or not, I don’t care – I just want another bowl of Maoyuan Mountain wine! Whatever she asks me to do, I’d gladly do it!”
On that side of the room, the chatter and laughter continued – sure enough, someone raised his hand and called out to the attendant.
“Hey! A bowl of Maoyuan Mountain wine!”
The waiter in the hall smiled and shook his head.
“Sorry, sir, we don’t serve that here,” he replied.
“What do you mean you don’t? Isn’t this place owned by Lady Cheng?” the man shouted, sounding annoyed. “What’s the point of all this hiding? Just say what you want and how much it costs!”
The waiter only smiled politely and apologized, saying nothing more.
“Playing all mysterious, huh? No wonder that Judge wants to chop your mistress’s head off,” the man snorted.
One of the waiters, whose face had already darkened, threw down the cloth in his hand and was about to step forward – but another quickly caught his arm.
“The manager gave orders. Don’t start trouble,” the second waiter whispered.
“They’re the ones causing trouble now,” the first muttered angrily under his breath.
“The manager said – since we’re open for business, we can’t refuse guests, and we can’t stop them from talking,” the second reminded him quietly.
Just then, seeing someone enter from outside, he gave the first a quick nudge.
“Go greet the customer,” he said, and with a composed smile, stepped forward himself to welcome the newcomer.
He was a tall young man, travel-worn and weathered from the road, standing at the doorway with a curious look on his face. He didn’t glance inside, but instead gazed around in all directions.
“So much has changed… it’s almost unrecognizable,” he murmured.
The waiter gave him a quick once-over and immediately guessed what he was – one of those the city had seen plenty of lately: a scholar come to the capital for the examinations.
Judging by his words, he must have been here three years ago, which explained the sigh of recognition.
“You must be talking about the old Drunken Phoenix Pavilion,” the waiter said with a smile. “It changed owners long ago. Now it’s called–”
He didn’t finish his sentence, for the young scholar had already raised his head to look at the plaque above the door.
“Tai Ping,” he read aloud.
“Yes, yes, Tai Ping Residence,” the waiter said cheerfully. “Fine calligraphy, isn’t it, sir?”
“It is,” the young man nodded, his eyes lingering on the inscription.
“There’s even finer calligraphy to be seen,” the waiter said with a grin, launching eagerly into his pitch.
“Why not start by having a bowl of our Tai Ping Tofu here – maybe a plate of sweets with tea. Eat your fill, feel warm and content, then head into the city. On your way, turn off to Qieting Temple, have a look at the five characters carved on its wall, burn a stick of incense, and when you come out, go straight through the city gate.
“Don’t rush to admire the bustling streets just yet – keep going east. Ten miles out of the city, you’ll see the Maoyuan Mountain burial ground. There, you can read the inscriptions on the tombstones. Once you’ve seen that, return to the city; by then, dusk will be falling.
“On the liveliest street, look for Immortal’s Abode and try a full Passing Immortal Set. That’s how you properly begin your days in the capital: lively, warm, and full of fortune! I guarantee your weariness will vanish and your spirits will soar – you’ll be right at the top of the imperial exam list!”
His patter flowed smooth and bright, every word crisp and glib. The young scholar couldn’t help laughing aloud.
“Excellent, excellent,” he said, chuckling. “No wonder business is so good – you lot could talk anyone into anything!”
The waiter laughed and bowed generously in thanks for the praise.
“Will it be the main hall or a private room? The hall’s lively and cheaper, but the private room’s quiet – just a few more coins,” he said, stepping aside with an inviting gesture.
The young scholar only smiled.
“I’d like to see your manager,” he said.
The waiter was taken aback.
“My surname is Han,” the young man continued with a slight smile. “Han Jun of Suzhuo.”
Footsteps came hurrying down the corridor, and in the next moment, the door was pulled open.
Han Yuanchao looked up and saw a middle-aged man step inside – someone who looked faintly familiar.
“It really is the master!” the man exclaimed in delight, bowing deeply. “Master, you’ve arrived!”
Han Yuanchao rose with a courteous smile.
“No need for that, no need,” he said, still smiling as he regarded the man. “So Steward Lin has become the manager now – congratulations, congratulations.”
It was the very same man who had gone to the Han household three years earlier to deliver the profit shares. Hearing Han Yuanchao’s words, the man laughed.
“Many thanks for your kindness,” he said cheerfully, bowing again with respect. “We’d already heard you were coming to the capital – your lodging has been fully prepared.”
Han Yuanchao looked slightly surprised at his words.
“That won’t be necessary – I’ve already found a place to stay,” he said.
“You’re treating us like outsiders,” Manager Lin replied with a smile, quickly pushing the ledger in his hands across the table. “Your studies come first, of course – but would you like to take a look at the accounts?”
Han Yuanchao smiled and shook his head.
“It’s not that I’m treating you like outsiders,” he said, taking a flying money note from his sleeve and placing it atop the ledger before sliding both back toward Manager Lin. “This is the profit for the past three years – thirty-two thousand strings of cash in total, plus three years’ worth of interest, about five thousand more. Please check and confirm.”
Manager Lin froze.
What did that mean?
“I’ve come to resign as the proprietor of Tai Ping Residence,” Han Yuanchao said.
Just then, the door was pushed open. Ban Qin and the maid entered, both smiling with delight – but the moment they saw who was inside, they froze.
“Young Master Han, you’re joking again,” the maid said after a moment, quickly recovering her smile.
Han Yuanchao lifted his gaze to her. The sight of the graceful young lady before him overlapped with the faint memory of someone from three years ago.
“My lady,” he said, rising with a courteous smile, “it has been a long time.”
“Young Master Han, don’t tease,” the maid said with a light laugh. “A gentleman may love wealth – as long as he acquires it rightly.”
Han Yuanchao smiled faintly.
“You’re quite right,” he said. “A gentleman may love wealth – but he must obtain it in the right way. And that, I’m afraid, is precisely why I can no longer take it.”
The maid was taken aback – she could hear something off in his tone.
“Young Master Han, don’t tell me you’ve heard some rumors and now want to avoid trouble?” she asked with a half-smile.
“Young Master Han isn’t that kind of man.”
Before Han Yuanchao could reply, another female voice spoke up. He looked past the maid and saw another young girl, about sixteen or seventeen years old.
When she noticed his gaze, the girl gave him a small smile – one that carried both certainty and a touch of hopeful expectation.
“Young Master Han isn’t that kind of man,” she repeated.
Han Yuanchao lowered his head briefly, then raised it again.
“I’m not avoiding trouble,” he said. “It’s just that I…”
The words he had thought would come easily suddenly caught in his throat as he looked at the young girl. Still, after a pause, he finished quietly:
“I simply choose not to associate with those who lack integrity.”
