“So, you’re saying Duke Jin’an has started building himself a reputation as a wise and capable royal?”
Attendant Scholar Gao, who was staying home to avoid punishment, tossed the bundle of documents his aides had compiled onto the desk, speaking with a half-smile.
“What good ever comes from a royal with a good reputation? It’s nothing but a death warrant.”
“What Her Ladyship worries about,” one of the aides said, “is that he might become a threat to His Highness.”
Attendant Scholar Gao shook his head and gestured for the songstresses to continue.
The graceful music of strings and flutes rose once more, the sound drifting through the veiled curtains – misty and dreamlike, like an immortal’s realm.
“That’s the thing about women,” Attendant Scholar Gao went on to his aide. “They’re sharp about trifles and blind to real dangers. No matter how much that boy jumps around, what harm can he possibly do to Prince Ping? What is Prince Ping, after all? The Crown Prince in all but name. Everyone knows he’s the future ruler. If a future ruler’s a little dull, the ministers might grumble – but if a royal kinsman is too clever and capable, I fear everyone will have something to say. Not everyone – even the Emperor himself will be the first…”
He paused, the corner of his mouth curling into a cold smile.
After all, the emperor of the Fang family had once driven his own brother to death with a single word – how much less mercy would he show a collateral nephew of the royal line?
“Who knows,” Attendant Scholar Gao murmured, “if the Emperor’s kindness toward him isn’t just a way to praise him to death…”
Hearing this, the aide couldn’t help but shiver.
The Emperor’s will was unfathomable; the House of Heaven had no room for sentiment.
“If it were up to me, I’d keep that boy in the capital,” Attendant Scholar Gao went on. “Let him scramble for attention, let his fame spread far and wide – I’d be laughing myself sick.”
He paused then, shaking his head with a sigh.
“Pity that Her Ladyship has trapped herself,” he said slowly. “That’s the way of it – no one else binds you; you bind yourself.”
The aide gave a faint smile.
“Her Ladyship’s only uneasy because of what’s happened to you, my lord,” he said. “Do you really mean to request a post outside the capital?”
“A single step back, and the sea and sky open wide,” Attendant Scholar Gao replied. “Staying in the capital now will only make His Majesty grow weary of me. Better to retreat – out of sight, out of mind, and spare him the displeasure. And besides, it’ll let that Chen Shao…”
He lingered on the name, his tone sharpening, the words ground slowly between his teeth.
“…that self-righteous fool – let him enjoy his little triumph and his moment of power. We’ll see how long it lasts. In any case, everything in the capital is already arranged; even if I leave, nothing will fall apart.”
The aide nodded, his gaze falling onto the papers spread across the desk.
“And what about Duke Jin’an?” he asked.
“Since Her Ladyship’s uneasy, then let him go out,” Attendant Scholar Gao said, picking up another document as he spoke. “There’s disaster relief to be done. The civil unrest stems from famine and calamity – if one seeks the root, the root must be cut off. Otherwise, rogues and rebels will rise everywhere.”
These were the very words Duke Jin’an had spoken before the Emperor; yet scarcely half a day later, a clean copy already lay upon Attendant Scholar Gao’s desk.
The aide lowered his head slightly, then looked up again, a faint smile softening his expression. The worry that had shadowed his eyes was gone.
In that case, whether the duke stayed in the capital or not made little difference.
“Then we’ll start with the disaster relief,” Attendant Scholar Gao said, tossing the document back onto the desk with a sharp slap. “Let him do more than talk for once. Isn’t it fame he wants? Then let him gamble for that fine reputation of his.”
…
Duke Jin’an reined in his horse at Yudai Bridge, frowning as he looked toward the gate of Cheng Jiao-niang’s residence.
The doorway was deserted and silent.
“Is she not writing anymore because the New Year’s coming?” he asked.
“That’s one reason,” his attendant replied. “Another is that Lady Cheng has moved back to her family home to live with her parents. Naturally, it’s inconvenient for her to come out and write now.”
The duke made a soft sound of acknowledgment. He had forgotten – she no longer lived here.
“Your Highness, shall we still go over there?” the attendant asked again.
“Of course,” Duke Jin’an said, urging his horse forward. “That place isn’t her home – this is. I’ll wait for her here.”
It was already the twenty-eighth.
The household was filled with the festive air of the New Year – bright scrolls and red lanterns hung in place, and the scents of meat and vegetables drifted through the courtyard.
The bustle of preparations had quieted down. In the spacious main hall, Fan Jianglin was entertaining an unexpected noble guest.
“She didn’t take any of these things with her,” said Duke Jin’an, glancing around the room.
Everything was just as before – even the cushion the young lady used to sit on was still in its place.
“Yes,” Fan Jianglin replied. “My sister said there was no need to take anything. Wherever she is, that’s where her things belong.”
The duke smiled and nodded, lifting his teacup to take a sip.
“Mm – but the tea’s different now,” he said.
Fan Jianglin lowered his head and answered, “Yes, Your Highness.”
“In the past, whenever you visited, it was Ban Qin who brewed the tea,” he said. “Now that Ban Qin has left, these little maids can’t quite match her skill.”
Duke Jin’an’s eyes lit up.
“So before, it was always Ban Qin who made tea for me?” he asked.
“Yes,” Fan Jianglin replied again.
“And what about other guests?” the duke asked.
“Other guests?” Fan Jianglin blinked. “We rarely have visitors at home – Ban Qin brewed tea for everyone.”
Duke Jin’an made a small sound of understanding, then smiled and lifted the bowl, draining it in one gulp.
Lady Huang, waiting under the veranda with the attendants, couldn’t help glancing at the maid beside her, her expression slightly uneasy.
“Is there still some of the tea my sister used to drink?” she asked in a low voice.
The maid nodded.
“Get it ready,” Lady Huang whispered. “When Ban Qin comes in a moment, have her brew the tea first.”
The maid answered softly, “Yes, madam.”
Just as they were speaking, someone inside the room stood up. Lady Huang quickly rose as well, watching the young nobleman step out.
“Your Highness,” Fan Jianglin said, hurrying to see him off. “I’ve already sent for my sister.”
Duke Jin’an smiled and nodded.
“I’m not leaving,” he said. “I just…” – his gaze fell on Fan Jianglin, studying him up and down – “…was remembering how you once led seven men into the mountains at night to fight off a pack of wolves – seven against an entire pack. It feels like it happened just yesterday.”
Fan Jianglin froze for a moment, then sighed with a touch of melancholy.
Ah, those days…
They would never come again.
“…Others have only heard that you and your men could each take on ten foes,” Duke Jin’an was still saying, his voice lingering in Fan Jianglin’s ears. “But I saw it with my own eyes…”
Fan Jianglin came back to himself and bowed, thanking the duke for his praise.
“I wonder,” Duke Jin’an said, his gaze falling on Fan Jianglin’s arm, “whether your skill is still as sharp as ever?”
Fan Jianglin froze for a moment.
“Your spearwork was remarkable,” the duke continued. “Why don’t we have a little match?”
At last, Fan Jianglin understood – and his face went pale. He hastily waved his hands.
“I wouldn’t dare!” he said.
Duke Jin’an nodded briskly.
“I order you to,” he said.
Fan Jianglin could only look helpless.
When Ban Qin stepped through the gate, she was a little surprised.
“Everyone’s in the back courtyard,” the young maid said softly, her tone timid and uneasy.
“Has His Highness left?” Ban Qin asked.
“No, His Highness is in the back courtyard too,” the maid replied, quickly bowing when she saw Cheng Jiao-niang enter.
From the courtyard behind came the sound of shouts and exertion.
“What on earth are they doing?” Ban Qin muttered, following Cheng Jiao-niang toward the rear.
In the small practice yard at the back, two figures were locked in a bout – striking and parrying, moving with force and precision.
It was winter, yet both had shed their heavy robes, wearing only light inner garments tied close; their bodies moved taut and quick, every motion cutting the air like wind.
“That one’s the young master – but who’s the other?” Ban Qin said, widening her eyes to look.
The young man’s robe was tied close, exposing his wrists. He gripped a wooden staff, and as he advanced and retreated, lean though he was compared to Fan Jianglin, hard muscle rippled beneath his sleeves.
As the staff spun in motion, the young man turned–
“Your Highness!” Ban Qin cried out in shock.
At her voice, everyone gathered at the front – Lady Huang and the rest – turned their heads. Even Fan Jianglin glanced up.
In that instant, Duke Jin’an flicked his staff upward; Fan Jianglin’s pole was knocked clean from his hands.
It hit the ground with a clang and rolled away.
The young duke was breathing hard, but his face broke into a bright smile.
“As expected, it’s nothing like those who practice for the sake of practice,” he said, looking toward Fan Jianglin, who was bowing to him. “You’re not used to sparring like this, are you? You fought well.”
“His Highness is even better than the young master?” Ban Qin couldn’t help whispering to the person beside her.
“No,” Cheng Jiao-niang said. “My brother learned the art of killing, while His Highness has only learned martial skill.”
The art of killing can only be used when killing; and now is neither the time nor the place for that – and the opponent before him is not one he could kill. So naturally, the fight was hard for him.
“I didn’t expect Your Highness’s spearwork to be so fine,” Fan Jianglin said, bowing once more to Duke Jin’an. “It’s clear you’ve practiced diligently. Your stance is solid – you only lack real battle experience.”
Duke Jin’an smiled and nodded.
“Then tell me,” he asked, “if I were truly to face a bandit or assassin, what are my chances of winning?”
Fan Jianglin was taken aback by the question.
“If it’s come to that point,” Cheng Jiao-niang said calmly, “then you’d have no chance at all.”
For a duke to meet an enemy in close combat would mean he was already in deadly peril, his guards all fallen – and anyone capable of reaching him alive would be one determined to see him dead.
Duke Jin’an laughed heartily as he took the robe handed to him by his attendant and wrapped it around himself.
“I came to ask you for a favor,” he said, stepping forward toward Cheng Jiao-niang as he spoke.
Fan Jianglin and Lady Huang had already hastened to withdraw.
“Go wash up first,” Cheng Jiao-niang said, stepping aside and bowing slightly.
Duke Jin’an paused for a moment.
Here?
Ah – she was probably worried he might catch a chill after exerting himself in the winter air.
He quickly smiled and nodded in good grace.
Hearing this, Lady Huang and Fan Jianglin immediately stepped forward again, both inviting and urging the maids and servants to prepare everything at once.
After a quick rinse in hot water, Duke Jin’an stepped out wearing clean underclothes, looking refreshed and at ease.
“Your Highness, I hope you don’t mind – these are new garments,” Fan Jianglin said.
“Not at all,” the duke replied. “The fabric’s excellent.”
He spread his hands, letting his attendants help him into the outer robe. Then, after his hair was re-combed and tied into a neat topknot with the crown set in place, he stepped out once more.
In the sitting room, the brazier glowed warmly; freshly brewed tea was already laid out. The young lady sat there, half-reclined against the low table, a book in her hands, while thin trails of incense smoke curled from the burner beside her.
The air was as warm as spring – quiet, serene.
For a moment, Duke Jin’an was dazed, struck by a strange and inexplicable feeling.
Hearing the sound of his approach, Cheng Jiao-niang set down her book and rose to her feet.
“Your Highness, please.”
Ban Qin, kneeling by the door, bowed and slid open the other panel.
Duke Jin’an entered with a faint smile.
“This time the tea is just right,” he said with a grin, draining the cup before him in one go.
Fan Jianglin hastily bowed in thanks.
“Are you settling in well at your family home?” the duke asked, turning to Cheng Jiao-niang.
But before she could reply, he chuckled to himself.
“Ah, I forgot – there’s nothing and no one that could make you uncomfortable.”
Cheng Jiao-niang smiled slightly and returned a polite bow.
“I’ve troubled you long enough, so I’ll be brief,” Duke Jin’an said, glancing toward Ban Qin as she refilled the cups for the three of them. Then he continued, “I’ve come to ask you for a favor – one that may be rather difficult to grant.”
“What kind of difficulty?” Cheng Jiao-niang asked.
The duke straightened his expression, sat upright, and raised his hand in formal salute.
The gesture was so solemn that Fan Jianglin started in alarm.
“Fang Bocong wishes to ask Lady Cheng,” said Duke Jin’an, “to look after Prince Qing.”
