He was far away, so Qian Jiaoniang couldn’t make out his features, only felt his gaze scorchingly intense.
She frowned slightly and turned her eyes away. Just then, Zhou Cuilian, caught up in the crowd’s excitement, was pushed forward to sing. Clearly she couldn’t sing, and several times tried to come back, but no one allowed it. In her panic, Zhou Cuilian pulled out a pair of clappers and launched into a counting-rhyme performance. Everyone froze for a moment, then burst out laughing. Even Peng Shi, who rarely smiled, was amused. Qian Jiaoniang slapped her thigh, cheering loudly.
It was originally a trick beggars used to earn coins, hardly fit for polite company, but Zhou Cuilian had thought it fun and secretly learned it from an old beggar she often gave alms to—never even telling her late husband. With no other choice tonight, she performed it. Unexpectedly, no one minded, and instead she drew laughter. Both delighted and embarrassed, she packed up and hurried back.
At that moment, a young lady inside one of the sedan chairs beckoned her maid, handing her a branch of red cherry blossoms. The maid with double buns walked up to the camp brothers and held the flower straight out to Peng Shi, proudly declaring:
“Brother soldier, this is a blessing dropped from heaven—our young lady has taken a liking to you!”
This young lady was, in fact, one of the noble daughters Qian Jiaoniang had asked the prefect’s wife to invite. Qian Jiaoniang had originally meant for them to come voluntarily, but when the words came from the lord’s wife herself, others naturally interpreted it differently. When Lady Xie went home and discussed with Xie Zhang, they thought the lord’s wife was hinting for them to bring their daughters too. So they hurriedly summoned officials and wealthy merchants with unmarried daughters, urging them to send the girls.
Most of these young ladies had come only under duress, planning to sit in their sedan chairs for a while before leaving. But gradually, their eyes were caught by the lively merriment, and when their maids urged them to return, they refused to go. One by one, they began to be drawn in. And now, the magistrate’s daughter had even fallen for Peng Shi at first sight.
“Brother soldier, a young lady has her eye on you!” his comrades shouted wildly, jostling Peng Shi, some hooking fingers in their mouths to whistle.
Peng Shi, however, calmly picked up the flower and handed it back. “Apologies—Peng is of shallow fortune, unworthy of the young lady.”
The maid never dreamed he would actually return the flower. She blurted out in a rush: “Soldier, how can you be like this? Miss like ours don’t come twice in a lifetime—you won’t find this chance again! Our young lady is a famed beauty of Yuzhou.”
But Peng Shi’s manner was resolute. The maid, huffing in anger, stormed back and muttered something to the girl inside the palanquin. Not long after, the bearers lifted the sedan and carried her away. Qian Jiaoniang shook her head, sighing to herself what a pity.
“Why is Madam sitting here alone?” The sudden low, husky voice of a man pierced her ear. Startled, Qian Jiaoniang realized that the black-robed figure who had been sitting across from her was now, without her noticing, right by her side—so close that he sat down pressing against her. That pitch-dark mask glimmered with a dangerous sheen in the firelight and night.
“What business is it of yours if I sit here alone?” Qian Jiaoniang straightened her back, raising a brow to meet his eyes. Hidden beneath the mask, thick lashes nearly shadowed his gaze.
The man in black curled his lips into a smile and leaned closer still. “Madam, don’t mistake me—I only thought you looked lonely.”
“I have companions.” Qian Jiaoniang turned her head aside—only to find Chunwu nowhere in sight.
The hand she had braced against the mat was suddenly covered by a hot, strong palm. Qian Jiaoniang gave a tug, but could not free herself. Her brows knit slightly, though she did not struggle with all her strength. Those dark eyes, that faint scent clinging to him—everything about him was like her pillow-side man.
“Has Madam received a flower yet?” The man in black’s voice was right by her ear; she could feel the heat of his breath.
“I wear a mask just as you do. I am already wed… who would send me flowers?” What was he doing? Could he be pretending to be a stranger, just to test her faithfulness?
“If that is the case…” His other hand turned over, and as if by sleight of hand, in his palm suddenly appeared a fresh, vivid Snow-defying Red. “Then how about I gift Madam a flower?”
Qian Jiaoniang’s brows furrowed. Was this really Xing Muzheng? But if it was, why would he give her a flower? If it wasn’t him, then who was it? Yet this breath, this presence—surely she couldn’t be mistaken.
While she hesitated, the man slowly tucked the blossom into her thick hair. He leaned in, tilted his head, and studied her intently for a long moment. “So beautiful, Madam.”
Qian Jiaoniang’s heart gave an inexplicable heavy thump.
The man in black gave a low laugh, squeezed her hand once more, then rose and disappeared noiselessly. When she turned, he was already swallowed by the night.
Qian Jiaoniang sat dazed.
“Madam?” Chunwu’s call snapped her back. She lifted her head toward Chunwu, cleared her throat, and asked, “Where did you go?”
“Subordinate needed to relieve myself, so I stepped away for a moment.”
Qian Jiaoniang nodded. Chunwu then spotted the bright blossom in her mistress’s hair. “Madam, you’ve another flower tucked in.”
As if caught in some secret affair, Qian Jiaoniang’s face instantly flushed red. She mumbled vaguely, pulled the flower out, and held it in her palm.
***
After lingering a while longer, Qian Jiaoniang returned to the residence. Before she had even stepped inside, she heard Xing Pingchun’s clear reciting voice. Lifting the curtain softly, she saw Xing Pingchun standing in the warm chamber, hands clasped behind his back, head bobbing as he memorized.
Xing Muzheng, clad in a plain dark-blue patterned robe, reclined against the couch, black hair loosely bound in a careless knot. He held a bamboo scroll in hand—clearly not the boy’s coursework. At the other end, Big Sis was sprawled with drooping ears, seemingly asleep. Suddenly the hound cracked one eye open, wagged its tail furiously, leapt down from its stool, and hobbled happily toward the door.
Father and son at once knew Qian Jiaoniang had returned. Xing Pingchun grinned and called out “Mother!” as if he had much to say, but catching sight of Xing Muzheng, wisely kept reading aloud instead. Qian Jiaoniang did not disturb him; she scooped up Big Sis, stroked its head, then cast a glance at Xing Muzheng. Their eyes met briefly before she looked away and went to sit where the dog had been dozing. Big Sis instantly rolled over, showing its belly and curling its paws to beg for strokes.
Smiling, Qian Jiaoniang teased the dog, and with her free hand placed the Snow-defying Red on the desk. Xing Muzheng’s gaze flicked toward the flower; Qian Jiaoniang peeked at him, but his expression did not change.
From the moment she had entered, Xing Pingchun’s attention had wavered—his mouth reciting poems, but his eyes fixed on his mother. Suddenly Xing Muzheng’s brows knitted, and he gave a sharp hum of disapproval. The boy realized he had misspoken, stuck out his tongue, and hurried to correct himself.
Once he finished the recitation Xing Muzheng had assigned, he dashed to Qian Jiaoniang’s side, pouting that she had gone out to enjoy herself without him.
Qian Jiaoniang only said, “When you’re older, you can go on your own.”
Thus dismissed, Xing Pingchun scampered off. Qian Jiaoniang tucked the now-sleeping dog back in its nest, then returned to wash her hands in warm water. Xing Muzheng still reclined with his book, and the flower still lay untouched on the desk.
“How was today’s Flower Banquet? Any matches made?” His voice came faintly from behind.
Qian Jiaoniang glanced back at him, then turned to dry her hands with a cloth. “Matches? Quite a few, actually. What I hadn’t expected was that little girl Shanzha taking a liking to Yan Jin.”
“Oh? And those two succeeded?” Xing Muzheng’s lips curved faintly.
Qian Jiaoniang laughed. “Indeed! That girl Shanzha—when she threw the flower, it was like she hurled a stone. It smacked Yan Jin right in the face. That scene—heavens, you can’t imagine how funny it was!”
Xing Muzheng chuckled lowly, set aside the bamboo scroll, and cast another glance at the Snow-defying Red. With a tone of casual indifference, he said, “And this flower of yours… also given by someone?”
On her way back, Qian Jiaoniang had turned the thought over and over, concluding it must have been Xing Muzheng playing tricks. But now, hearing him suddenly ask like this, she truly could not fathom what he was up to. She had meant to ask outright if it was him—but when the words reached her lips, she changed them: “I don’t know who. A strange man in black gave it to me.”
Xing Muzheng’s body stiffened slightly. “A stranger?” Did she truly not recognize him?
Qian Jiaoniang nodded. “Yes.”
Xing Muzheng said, “You were masked. How would any stranger think to send you a flower?”
“I don’t know why either. He only said he thought I looked lonely, and kindly offered me a blossom.”
Xing Muzheng ground his teeth in secret. Had he just lifted a stone only to smash his own foot? He had only gone along on a whim, but then he saw her looking at the young men giving flowers to girls, with envy in her eyes. He had never given a woman such things before. But with the mask on, he felt none of that awkwardness, and so he went. He had thought Jiaoniang would certainly recognize him; his questions earlier were only meant to tease and make her stay a little longer. Who would have thought—she really believed the flower was from some stranger?
A trace of vexation flashed in Xing Muzheng’s eyes. Qian Jiaoniang caught it, lowered her head, and curved her lips in a faint smile.
In the deep of the night, Jiaoniang was half-asleep when Xing Muzheng dragged her into another round of passion. After the bliss passed, she was exhausted and drifting off, when she faintly heard Xing Muzheng whisper by her ear:
“The flower was from me…”
Jiaoniang forced her eyes half open, but Xing Muzheng held her tightly, not letting her lift her head. She muttered, “Madman,” and buried her face in sleep.
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