The day after tomorrow would be the Taikang Emperor’s birthday. Since it was not a milestone year, he had not permitted the Ministry of Rites to receive foreign envoys for congratulatory visits; he only summoned favored ministers like Xing Muzheng and the imperial princes back to Yongan for a celebration. These two days, no one had time to think of other matters.
The next day, Xing Muzheng and the other ministers accompanied the emperor to the Taixu Daoist Temple to pray for blessings. On the birthday itself, Xing Muzheng left home before dawn, first entering the palace with the other ministers to present birthday congratulations, then accompanying the emperor to the altar to offer sacrifices to Heaven and Earth. After leaving the altar, the emperor led his ministers to watch a polo match. On the way back to the palace, the streets were lined with colorful pavilions one after another, imperial guards stood on both sides, and commoners crowded along the route to greet and kneel in welcome. Back in the palace, the emperor hosted a feast to reward the ministers; ruler and subjects drank together. The ministers presented their birthday gifts one by one.
It was not until the afternoon, toward the end of the hour of Wei, that Xing Muzheng finally rode back into Prince Alley. Though there had been no marching or fighting, he felt more exhausted than from a battle. Luckily, that evening the emperor would dine with his family, so the ministers were spared from attending. Xing Muzheng dismounted, tossed aside his riding whip, patted Lightning twice, and bounded up the steps in a few strides.
A peddler carrying paintings of eyes brushed past him, head lowered, walking quickly away. Xing Muzheng glanced at him. The gateboy, seeing his master return, hurried to open the gate. Li Qingquan followed behind, but the gateboy stopped him and whispered a few quick words.
Li Qingquan looked slightly startled, then caught up to Xing Muzheng and said, “Master, the gateboy said just now that a peddler selling eyedrops came by with a message for the madam. He said an old acquaintance, upon learning she had come to Yongan, was overjoyed, but regretted they could not meet.”
“What old acquaintance? Name and surname? Where do they live?” Xing Muzheng asked without slowing his pace, his tone light.
“None of that was mentioned by the peddler.” Li Qingquan sneaked a glance at Xing Muzheng. If that old acquaintance were a woman, why would there be regret at not meeting? Clearly, the acquaintance was a man.
Xing Muzheng was silent for a moment, then stopped before the carved-flower gate. “Don’t pass this message to the madam.”
“…Yes.” Li Qingquan obeyed and turned to leave, but Xing Muzheng called him back.
Li Qingquan turned around. “Master, do you have further instructions?”
Xing Muzheng’s gaze dropped to the ornament at Li Qingquan’s waist. “What’s that?” He pointed at a brand-new moon-white embroidered silver pouch.
Li Qingquan followed his gaze, then looked down. “Oh, isn’t this the madam’s gift?”
“The madam’s gift?”
“Yes, yesterday Ah Da gave it to me, saying the madam wanted to thank us brothers for helping her find her dog that day, so she made each of us an embroidered silver pouch.” Li Qingquan lifted the pouch, flipped it in his hand, and showed it. “Look, here’s my name.”
Xing Muzheng glanced at the three small characters for “Li Qingquan” in the corner, his dark eyes narrowing. So that’s why lately everyone in Jiaoniang’s rooms had their heads bent over embroidery—this was what they were making. Then that “Wang” character he saw her embroider last time… could it have been for Wang Yong?
“Master, what thank-you gift did the madam give you?” Li Qingquan, clearly pleased with his pouch, asked casually as he carefully put it away.
Xing Muzheng’s face darkened instantly. With his hands behind his back, he said, “Jiaoniang and I are husband and wife, one in body—why would she need to thank me?” And with that, he strode off.
Li Qingquan scratched his head, thinking it made sense, and turned away.
Little did he know, though Xing Muzheng’s words sounded upright, in his heart he was extremely displeased. Why did Qingquan and the others all get thank-you gifts, but not him? Wasn’t he the chief hero in saving that dog? Even if she was angry with him, she shouldn’t play favorites in this matter. If word got out, he would lose all face.
Fuming, Xing Muzheng headed to the main residence to change clothes. Passing by the east wing, he heard bursts of hearty laughter inside. “Oh no, wrong again!”
The moment he heard it, he knew it was Qian Jiaoniang’s voice. Though his heart was still full of gloom, hearing that laughter somehow made his steps drift closer, until he was standing outside the east wing window, listening.
He heard Qian Jiaoniang complain that some words were awkward to pronounce, saying a line and laughing a line, until she said something herself that made her laugh so hard she ran out of breath. Xing Muzheng, though not catching the details, still couldn’t help the upward curl of his lips.
Xing Muzheng returned to his room, changed into regular clothes, grabbed a belt to fasten and was about to leave when, as if suddenly remembering something, he turned back, picked up his court robe, and examined it. His dark eyes deepened. He pulled out a small knife and, with a clean slash under the sleeve, cut the robe open.
Grabbing the garment in one hand, he walked to the door of the east wing. The little maid sitting behind the curtain quickly lifted it and called out loudly, “The Marquis is here!” The two maids, Shanzha and Suier, hurried out from the inner room to lift the curtain for him, both saying in unison, “The Marquis is here!”
Xing Muzheng strode into the inner room. Inside were only Qian Jiaoniang, Qingya, and Yanluo. Sure enough, they were no longer embroidering. Yanluo was by the side playing the zither, while Qian Jiaoniang and Qingya sat together on the warm kang, eating snacks and chatting. Seeing him enter, Qingya and Yanluo immediately stood up. Qian Jiaoniang smiled and said, “The Marquis came back so early? I thought His Majesty would keep you for dinner.”
“The Emperor old master is dining with the princes and grandsons,” Xing Muzheng said.
Qian Jiaoniang blinked, not expecting him to also call the Emperor “His Majesty old master.” She wanted to laugh, but held it back.
Xing Muzheng walked toward Qian Jiaoniang. Qingya stepped aside, and he unceremoniously took Qingya’s seat, kicked off his boots, sat cross-legged on the kang, and tossed the robe beside him. Yanluo hurried to pour him a cup of tea and set it before him, saying, “Marquis, this is Qingan tea,” though unsure if he would like it.
Xing Muzheng gave an acknowledging sound but didn’t drink. He said to Qian Jiaoniang, “Whatever you were talking about, don’t mind me.”
Qian Jiaoniang glanced at Qingya. “It’s nothing much, just that Qingya heard two fine lyrics and asked Yanluo to play and sing them.”
“Oh? Let me hear these fine lyrics too,” Xing Muzheng said with interest.
Qian Jiaoniang said, “Yanluo, since the Marquis is in such high spirits, play the first one for him to enjoy.”
Yanluo obeyed, sat down at the zither, plucked the strings gently, and sang in a lingering voice: “Morning clouds drift across. The rumble of cart wheels flows away like water. White grass, yellow sands. Moonlight on a lonely village, just two or three homes. Wild geese fly past. Endless knots of sorrow in the heart, day and night. Drawing near to Yanshan. Turning back, the road home is hard.”
When she finished, Xing Muzheng’s dark eyes sank slightly. “Though written by a woman, it seems she personally experienced the chaos of the battlefield—there’s some feeling of concern for the country and the people.”
“The Marquis truly is impressive—just one listen and you know it was written by a woman,” Qian Jiaoniang gave a thumbs-up. “Then, what does the Marquis think of the piece?”
Xing Muzheng glanced at Qingya. “Was it you who wrote it?”
Qian Jiaoniang smiled and shook her head. Qingya curtsied. “The Marquis overpraises me. I lack the talent to write such fine lyrics.”
Xing Muzheng picked up a tangerine and peeled it. “The lyrics are good, but a bit too melancholy. In the future, find some more cheerful pieces for the Madam to play and sing—don’t have her brooding until she turns silly.”
Qian Jiaoniang: “…” Who’s turning silly, huh?!
Qingya and Yanluo wanted to laugh but didn’t dare. Xing Muzheng popped half a tangerine into his mouth and waved them away. Once they left, he held out the remaining half to Qian Jiaoniang. “It’s sweet. Want some?”
“I’ve already had several. If the Marquis finds it sweet, eat more yourself,” Qian Jiaoniang replied.
Without pressing, Xing Muzheng withdrew the tangerine and casually tossed his court robe into her hands. Startled by the sudden bundle in front of her, Qian Jiaoniang instinctively caught it. The clean scent of a man hit her nose. Looking down, she saw it was Xing Muzheng’s court robe.
“What’s this, Marquis?” Could it be… he wanted her to wash it?
“The sleeve somehow got a cut—sew it up for me,” Xing Muzheng said without a change in expression.
Qian Jiaoniang examined it. Sure enough, there was a half-finger-long slit under the sleeve. But it was far too neat, like it had been sliced with a blade. “This robe is valuable. My needlework isn’t refined. The Marquis should have a seamstress mend it.”
“Why? You can embroider silver pouches for Wang Yong and Li Qingquan, but you can’t sew clothes for me?” The tangerine was not a sweet one but a sour one, and his words were plenty sour.
Yesterday, she had deliberately sent the thank-you gifts away while he wasn’t around—she hadn’t expected him to find out today. After all, in saving the dog, the greatest credit did belong to Xing Muzheng. Qian Jiaoniang gave a light cough, took out the sewing box, and carefully chose a thread close to the robe’s color. Selecting a length of red thread, she twisted the end and threaded it through the needle.
Xing Muzheng watched her calmly work, as though all the noise of the outside world had faded away.
Qian Jiaoniang didn’t speak, lowering her head and stitching carefully. When finished, she bit off the thread with her silver teeth, turned the sleeve over, and saw that the seam was barely visible. Satisfied, she rubbed it with her thumb and handed the robe back. “Done, Marquis.”
Xing Muzheng reached out to take it, but halfway caught her hand. “Why didn’t I get a thank-you gift?” he asked, still unwilling to let it go.
Qian Jiaoniang froze, then curved her lips into a smile. “The Marquis is the greatest benefactor. Naturally, the thank-you gift is also the greatest. Don’t be impatient—tomorrow you’ll have it.”
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