Xing Muzheng went to the east wing. No maids were in the outer room, so he lifted the curtain himself and entered.
Inside the warm chamber sat a room full of women. Qian Jiaoniang, Hong Juan, and Yanluo and Yuluo were embroidering; Qingya was directing Dongsheng in cutting fabric; and Shanzha was knotting cords. Everyone seemed busy.
When they saw Xing Muzheng stride in with his hands behind his back, all but Qian Jiaoniang rose to their feet and saluted him in unison: “Marquis.”
He was still wearing his court robe, its striking color making the ladies’ eyes light up. In terms of looks alone, there were probably few in the whole Xie Dynasty who could match this Marquis.
It was rare for him to see so many women in one room, and he felt a bit out of place. But then he thought—well, this was the style of the Marchioness’s quarters—so he let it be.
“You may go,” he told them. When he came, he didn’t need a crowd hovering around Jiaoniang.
Qingya glanced at Qian Jiaoniang, who gave a slight nod. Qingya then led the others out. As Yuluo passed by, she “accidentally” brushed against Xing Muzheng, but he immediately stepped aside.
When they were gone, Xing Muzheng didn’t rush to speak. He looked around the warm chamber, noticing that the Eight-Treasure Shelf still held a fresh branch of blossoms. “Are you comfortable living here?” he asked.
Qian Jiaoniang, seated on the heated couch, kept her needle flying. “It’s fine.”
“Warm enough at night?”
“Warm enough.”
Suddenly, a sheet of paper appeared in front of her. Qian Jiaoniang paused, raised her eyes, and scanned it—just a list of names.
Lately, her boredom on carriage rides had driven her to learn characters from Master Qingya, and she’d made fast progress—enough to recognize all the names. It seemed to be the list she had asked Wang Yong for, only now brought in by Xing Muzheng.
“What do you want this list for?” he asked. “If you have something to arrange, just tell the maids to have Wang Yong or Ah Da handle it. No need to memorize everyone yourself.”
Qian Jiaoniang took the list and said vaguely, “Just wanted to look.” She folded it and tucked it into her sleeve.
Looking up, she saw Xing Muzheng still standing there. Up close, his court robe was even more eye-catching. Knowing he’d come straight from the palace, she asked, “Marquis, did you just come from the palace?”
“Mm.” Xing Muzheng casually took off his shoes, climbed onto the couch, and sat cross-legged, separated from her only by a small huanghuali table.
She gave him a sideways glance. He’d grown more casual and unrestrained lately, as though he truly didn’t see himself as an outsider here. She pretended not to notice and asked, “So, did you tell him?”
He leaned his cheek on his hand and tilted his head at her, playing dumb. “Tell him what?”
She jabbed her needle into the embroidery. “About you defying the imperial order. Does His Majesty know?”
“No. I didn’t say, and he doesn’t know. It was just a routine audience.”
He wasn’t stupid—if he told her the truth, she’d probably be delighted, and he had no intention of letting her be pleased over this matter.
As expected, she looked disappointed, glanced at him twice, and went back to her work.
He stayed silent, watching her sew. She had long grown used to this, ignoring him and continuing to embroider.
After a while, he narrowed his eyes. “What are you embroidering?” She’d been working on a dress lately, but now it was some small item—and it looked like it had a “王” character on it.
Qian Jiaoniang froze for a moment and turned slightly. “Just something random.”
“If you have nothing to do, go take a walk outside. Don’t just sit and sew all day—it’ll strain your eyes.”
There was no mistaking the concern in his tone. Qian Jiaoniang said, “The Marquis has always been a man of few words, yet now you sound like an old housekeeper.”
Xing Muzheng gave a short laugh. “Ah, so you haven’t provoked me yet today. Is it that your teeth are itching, and you want me to grind them for you?”
She instantly recalled the times he had “ground her teeth” with his tongue, and her face flushed red.
This man could put on the proper airs when others were around, but when it was just the two of them, his words grew shameless. She regretted sending the others away.
Annoyed, she tossed her needlework aside, got off the couch, and went to the red clay stove. On it rested a delicate little copper kettle, kept warm by embers below. She poured herself a cup of warm water and drank it down, then used tongs to add a new piece of charcoal.
Xing Muzheng’s gaze never left her flushed, beautiful face. Standing behind her now, he grinned, like a child smug after getting away with mischief.
Hong Juan came from outside asking for an audience, saying that Ah Da had brought all the visiting cards for Marquis Xing Muzheng and Qian Jiaoniang to look over.
Xing Muzheng told her to bring them in. Hong Juan came in carrying a small cloth bag.
“Marquis, Ah Da said he accepted all the cards but didn’t take a single gift—he sent them all back.”
Xing Muzheng nodded, waved for her to withdraw, and poured the contents of the bag out onto the small table. With a rustle, the pile soon formed a little hill.
News in the imperial capital was quick indeed. Xing Muzheng—being the only foreign-titled fief lord in the Xie Dynasty and a marquis above the normal ranks—was naturally someone the powerful and influential scrambled to ingratiate themselves with, hence the flood of cards arriving immediately.
Qian Jiaoniang clicked her tongue at the number. It seemed Yuzhou really was a barren backwater; in more than half a year there she’d never seen so many cards. If that place were like Yongan, with piles of visiting cards arriving every day, there’s no way Xing Muzheng’s bouts of madness could be kept hidden.
What she didn’t understand was—no matter how high his rank, he no longer held office and was posted far away in Yuzhou, tens of thousands of li from Yongan. How could “distant water” possibly put out “a nearby fire”? What use was there in currying favor with him?
She voiced the question. Xing Muzheng, opening invitation cards as he spoke, said: “Building relations isn’t about making friends today and asking for help tomorrow. Favors are a long-term investment—once the foundation’s laid, who knows when it might prove useful?”
Qian Jiaoniang understood—it was rather like making friends, except instead of exchanging true feelings, it was a matter of goods for goods.
One by one, Xing Muzheng looked at the cards and tossed them aside. “Though I’m in a high position, we still have to socialize. In a few years Chou’er will be grown, and when he goes out into the world, we’ll need to pave the way for him. And if we have a few more daughters, we might even find in-laws among these people.”
The first part sounded proper enough—until the last bit went crooked. Who was this “we”? And daughters—how shameless could he get? Qian Jiaoniang really wanted to rip his face apart to see just how thick his skin was—thick enough, perhaps, to stop swords and spears. The flush she’d only just gotten rid of returned, and she glared, spitting: “In broad daylight, and you’re talking nonsense dreams.”
Xing Muzheng tilted his head, giving her a long sidelong look that made her uncomfortable, before letting out a soft laugh and turning back. He picked out a plain, clean-looking card and handed it to her.
“Marquis Changjing’s household invites us to watch a polo match tomorrow. The weather’s cold, so there’ll be no women’s matches—but truth be told, men’s matches are better to watch. Will you come with me?”
The Xie court was deeply enamored of polo—it was the only game Xing Muzheng allowed in the army. He even placed heavy bets, as it improved cavalry skills, and his elite horsemen were selected from among polo players. But he had never seen a match played by Yongan’s nobles.
