The next morning, when daylight broke, Qian Jiaoniang woke up with a dull ache in her head. Propping herself up, she sat in bed in a daze for a long while. She looked down at herself, dressed only in her underclothes, then at the heap of clothing scattered on the floor, and could not recall how she’d gotten into bed. She’d been so drunk—could she really have undressed herself and tucked herself in? Qian Jiaoniang frowned. Could Yanluo and the others have come in?
She slipped into her shoes and stepped out of bed, parting the curtain to see the table in complete disarray. If someone had come in, surely they would have tidied up? Last night she had explicitly ordered no one to enter. Slowly, she sat down in a chair, still feeling groggy. Rubbing her brow, she tried to remember what had happened last night. For some reason, she thought she had dreamed of Xing Muzheng and even spoken with him—but what had she said? Not a single word would come to her now. Why would she dream of him? What exactly had she said? Something important, she felt, but she couldn’t remember no matter how hard she tried.
Just then, Qingya’s voice came from outside. “Is Jiaoniang still not up? I’ll go in and check.”
At that, Qian Jiaoniang jolted awake. Hearing the approaching footsteps, she quickly called out, “Wait a moment, I’m changing clothes!” As soon as she spoke, she realized her voice was hoarse.
Hongjuan, about to lift the curtain, stopped, and Qingya paused her steps, laughing from outside. “Now that’s rare—you’re only waking up now?”
Qian Jiaoniang gave a couple of awkward laughs, cleared her throat, and said, “Isn’t it though?”
She hurriedly grabbed the two alcohol jars from the table and hid them, swept the dishes into a basket, quickly changed clothes, opened the window, and fanned out the alcohol smell before calling them in. Qingya entered with Suier, who was carrying a basin of hot water. Qian Jiaoniang quickly brushed her teeth and splashed her face.
As soon as Qingya stepped inside, she caught a strange odor and frowned. “Is this room not ventilated? What’s that odd smell?”
“No, no, nothing. What brings you here?” Qian Jiaoniang asked, suppressing the pounding in her head and sitting at her dressing table.
Qingya came over to comb her hair, meeting her gaze in the bronze mirror. “The Dingxi Marquis is here to pick you up.”
—
In the front hall, Hang Zhi—dressed in official robes—was having tea with Xing Muzheng. Hang Zhi had just returned from the palace, where the emperor had placed the crown prince under house arrest, causing an uproar. Earlier, the crown prince’s tutor had hanged himself, leading the court officials to speculate wildly about what world-shaking event was about to occur. As prime minister, Hang Zhi had been so busy since yesterday that he hadn’t even gone home.
He was furious. He’d long known about the prince’s sordid affairs. Before, when he thought Ya’er was gone forever, he’d lost all interest in such matters—who sat on the throne didn’t matter to him. But now that Ya’er had returned, he had to think seriously. And of all days, this chaos had to happen now—the very day she came back! It drove Hang Zhi mad with frustration.
He’d planned to return home claiming illness and refuse all visitors, but to his surprise, a certain guest was already waiting for him.
Hang Zhi lifted his eyes toward Xing Muzheng’s faintly impassive face. This was the first time he had ever seen such an unruly marquis. In the dead of night, the man had scaled the wall to enter, and when caught, he hadn’t even blushed or lost his breath—he’d even commented that the security in his courtyard was arranged quite well. After letting him in, the man had stayed for an hour or two before leaving on his own, and now here he was again. Just what sort of game was he playing?
“Marquis Xing, does this silver-needle tea suit your taste?”
“Very much,” Xing Muzheng replied steadily, setting the teacup down.
Hang Zhi arched a brow. “That’s good then.”
The two fell silent.
After a while, Di Qingya and Qian Jiaoniang still had not arrived, so Hang Zhi asked, “Has Marquis Xing heard of any disturbances in the palace these past few days?”
Xing Muzheng’s expression did not change. “Could Prime Minister Hang be referring to the Crown Prince being confined? I have heard a little.”
“Did the Emperor say anything to you? I’ve been running off my feet these two days. Many officials have come to consult with me, but I don’t even know what exactly has happened.”
Xing Muzheng was silent for a moment, glanced around, and Hang Zhi waved for the maids serving them to withdraw.
No one knew what the two men talked about, but by the time Qian Jiaoniang had finished getting ready and reached the door, they had stopped their conversation.
Qian Jiaoniang had clearly not seen Xing Muzheng for several days, but looking at him, she felt no sense of distance. She frowned slightly—yesterday’s dream had been far too real. Xing Muzheng rose to greet her, his eyes carrying an unfathomable depth.
