With the birthday star himself thus speaking, how could anyone not respond? At once everyone extolled the Marchioness’s superb needlework, and sighed over the couple’s deep affection, their union as inseparable as twin wings. Xing Muzheng, usually the most impatient with such flattery, today felt it wash over him like a warm tide.
The gathering was large: men in the outer hall, women in the inner quarters, all drinking and rejoicing, shaking off the heaviness of the new year. The busiest of all was Xing Pingchun, running between halls, receiving guests on his parents’ behalf.
The young master, so much in his father’s likeness, greatly delighted the noblewomen. Xing Pingchun himself felt that the moment he stepped into the inner hall, countless eyes scanned him from head to toe, as though to see him through and through, until his scalp tingled.
No sooner had he left than one of the ladies impatiently asked Qian Jiaoniang: “The young master must be fourteen this year, is he betrothed yet?”
Qian Jiaoniang was momentarily stunned, then smiled. “Only fourteen—far too early.” To her he was still a child; how could others already see him as marriageable?
“Fourteen is early, true, but given the young master’s exalted status, if an engagement were made now, the bride’s family could have time to train their daughter well. In two years, when she comes to marry, would that not be all the more harmonious?”
“Yes indeed—and if two concubines were added to the match, all the better.”
Many of the madams below nodded in agreement. Each of them had unmarried legitimate or concubine-born daughters. Now that Xing Pingchun was Xing Muzheng’s only son, deeply favored by him, and with the Marchioness being the sole mistress of the inner residence, this vast Marquisate of Dingxi would surely be inherited by Xing Pingchun in the future. To these madams, Xing Pingchun was the most fragrant piece of steamed bread on the table—each only thinking of how to seize a bite for themselves. When he grew older, even more brilliant, and his name spread to Yongan, surely families of greater rank and power would vie to marry into him, and by then they would hardly spare a glance at these families of Yunzhou. Right now, while the advantage was theirs, even if their legitimate daughters could only secure a place as secondary wives, it would still be considered a blessing.
Qian Jiaoniang, however, had never once thought of such matters, and yet she listened to the crowd speak with such conviction. Not only did they plan to secure the position of principal wife, they were already discussing concubines as well. For a moment, Qian Jiaoniang felt a touch of melancholy, but it did not last long. She said, “A young girl is at an age where she should be most innocent and carefree. How could she restrain her nature just to marry into my family? When Chun’er weds, it will be his wife, his choice—he should be happy, and the other side should be happy with him. Only then is it complete. Children and grandchildren have their own fates. I do not wish to interfere in this matter.”
She only thought of how she and Xing Muzheng had entered into a blind, mute marriage, taking so many wrong turns along the way. She only wished for her son to wed someone he truly loved, to joyfully welcome her into the household on his wedding day.
Her words, however, left the madams below greatly astonished. Since ancient times, marriages were dictated by parents and arranged through matchmakers. When had children ever had a say? Did this Marchioness still think her young master was some commoner, free to marry whomever he wished? Even if she agreed, could the Marquis possibly agree?
Just as they were speaking, Xing Pingchun unexpectedly returned, causing all the women to fall silent at once. Xing Pingchun hurried to Qian Jiaoniang’s side and whispered a few words in her ear. Her gaze flickered slightly, and she nodded to him before excusing herself from the ladies.
It turned out Xing Muzheng had sent word through Xing Pingchun: a guest was waiting in the Lanyue Pavilion, and he wanted Qian Jiaoniang to see to the arrangements.
If it had been any ordinary guest, why would Qian Jiaoniang need to personally host them? And for Xing Muzheng to send the message through Xing Pingchun—clearly, he attached great importance to this mysterious visitor. Qian Jiaoniang went with her son to Lanyue Pavilion. On the way, recalling what had just been said, she looked him over and was startled to realize that at some point he had already grown taller than her, his shoulders broader, and faint stubble shadowing his chin.
Her son had truly grown up.
“Mother, why are you staring at me like that?” Xing Pingchun, keenly sensing her odd gaze, tilted his head with a laugh.
“Nothing, just looking at you… I hear your voice is a little hoarse—did you catch a chill?”
“No chill, only a sore throat. Father says I must be changing into a man’s voice.”
“Changing into a man’s voice?” Qian Jiaoniang was taken aback.
“Yes.” Xing Pingchun cleared his throat, pride evident. “Didn’t my voice still sound childish before? Once it changes, then I’ll truly be a man!”
Qian Jiaoniang had never known that men went through such a change. Curious, she reached out to feel his throat. Xing Pingchun lowered his head slightly to let her. The servants following behind exchanged knowing smiles. They had never seen a more harmonious and comfortable noble household than this Marquisate.
“If it hurts, you should have the physician take a look.”
“It’s nothing! But since Mother worries, I’ll see the doctor later.”
Mother and son chatted as they entered the Lanyue Pavilion. A young gentleman sat within, luminous as the moon, cool as snow. When Xing Pingchun saw who it was, delight lit his eyes. He strode forward, arms outstretched, and shouted: “Mianzhi!”
The guest turned sharply at the call, just in time to be swept into Xing Pingchun’s embrace, his back thumped twice. “Hahaha, what are you doing here!”
Qian Jiaoniang studied the guest. He looked utterly unfamiliar, yet she could not forget such a strikingly handsome youth. The one Xing Pingchun called Ziqing was none other than Wu Ze, eldest son of the Second Prince.
Wu Ze had now grown into an elegant young man, one of the most sought-after noble scions of Great Xie. He was usually calm and reserved, but faced with his old friend’s exuberance, first he looked startled, then broke into a smile, returning the embrace. Compared to Xing Pingchun’s rough, soldierly enthusiasm, his answering pats on the back were somewhat awkward.
The two attendants who had come with Wu Ze exchanged startled glances. They had never seen their master so close to anyone. Even if he corresponded regularly with Young Master Xing, this seemed far too intimate.
Fortunately, Wu Ze was a man of propriety. After greeting Xing Pingchun, he formally saluted Qian Jiaoniang. She returned the courtesy.
Wu Ze said, “I was traveling near Yunzhou and heard of the Marquis’s birthday, so I made a detour to offer congratulations. I hope, Madam, you will not take offense at my coming uninvited.”
Qian Jiaoniang smiled. “That the Shizi would come is a blessing for the Marquis. Besides, Chun’er often speaks of you to me—I too have long hoped you might come.”
Wu Ze was moved, bowing deeply. “Many thanks, Madam.”
Hongjuan and the others found this somewhat strange. By rights, it should be the Marquisate offering gratitude for such a princely guest at the celebration. Why, then, was the Prince bowing so solemnly, and why did Madam even receive it?
Qian Jiaoniang instructed Xing Pingchun to escort Wu Ze to his courtyard to rest. Xing Pingchun, delighted, pulled Wu Ze along. Watching them go, Qian Jiaoniang turned to her maids and said, “The Shizi’s visit must not be spoken of outside. Just pretend he never came to the Marquisate.”
Only then did Hongjuan realize something was amiss. She and the other maids quickly bowed in assent.
Qian Jiaoniang watched them depart and sighed. Outsiders did not know, but the new emperor was deeply suspicious by nature. The Second Prince clearly had no chance at the throne, yet the emperor refused to spare him. The very first to be struck down was the Second Prince’s household. Now accused of attempting to assassinate the new emperor, the Second Prince was confined in Yongan, his fiefdom stripped. His wives, concubines, and children were all imprisoned with him. Only his eldest legitimate son, Wu Ze, had escaped because he was away traveling. It was said the emperor had sent many men to hunt him down.
And yet Wu Ze had recklessly appeared in Yunzhou.
Qian Jiaoniang did not know whether he had come because he was utterly desperate, or because he was brilliantly foresighted—perhaps he had realized that the next target of the new emperor’s suspicion would likely be the Marquisate of Dingxi, and so came quietly to forge an alliance.
All Qian Jiaoniang knew was that Yunzhou’s days of peace would not last much longer.
Leaving Lanyue Pavilion, she found standing on the steps below a scholar in a gray-blue jacket—it was Qin Shaoyuan.
“Madam.” Qin Shaoyuan stepped forward and bowed respectfully to Qian Jiaoniang.
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