The Qinghuai Marquis Xiao Zhun had received his title at sixteen, established his own household at seventeen, been named Grand General of the Cavalry at nineteen, assumed command of three hundred thousand men of the Subet Northern Camp, and had never suffered a defeat in battle after the age of twenty-three.
A man of such caliber would be worthy of admiration and respect throughout all of Chizhou and beyond — yet for reasons no one could fathom, he had taken no wife. Generals led their troops into the field for months at a time, sometimes years at a stretch, and Quecheng was not a place where Xiao Zhun was often stationed. Few women had ever so much as glimpsed his face, and so the gossip ran: perhaps the Qinghuai Marquis was not particularly handsome — that was why no lady of a noble family had been willing to marry him.
But the small number of women who had actually seen Xiao Zhun’s face argued firmly otherwise, insisting that Xiao Zhun had the face of a jade-carved nobleman and was, without question, a strikingly handsome man. And so the rumors shifted to a new direction: the Qinghuai Marquis had gone to war young, and at the famed Battle of the Green Duckweed Crossing, it was said he had been struck by several arrows. What if — just possibly — one of those arrows had lodged somewhere it should not?
“If that’s really the case, wouldn’t the Xiao bloodline die out?”
A diner who had been listening in rapt attention spat out a sunflower seed shell and voiced his concern.
The man who had been telling the tale, his mouth dry, welcomed the interruption — he drained a cup of wine to wet his throat. “You’re not wrong. As things stand now, there’s one person in that marquis mansion — but no matter how you look at it, it’s a girl, and rumor has it she was picked up from the roadside.”
At the far end of the table, another man, clearly well into his cups, slurred his words badly as he spoke. “If you ask me, you can’t lay all the blame on the Qinghuai Marquis himself. Blame the Xiao Family’s misfortune. I mean, if Prince Shuo were still around, how would the Xiao Family ever have—”
The seed-cracker clamped a hand over the drunk’s mouth, cold sweat breaking out across his face. He looked around in alarm — but fortunately it was the dinner hour, and the tavern was loud with voices. No one in the corner had caught the words a drunk man had let slip.
The one who had been doing the most talking fell silent too, hunching his shoulders as he muttered, “Drink will be the ruin of you, drink will be the ruin of you.” All the while muttering, he moved to the window and propped it open, letting the cool night air flood in to clear out the fumes.
The warm lamplight spilled through that small wooden window into the darkness outside, illuminating a strip of wall at the base — and a pair of ears, fuzzy and speckled with a few stray patches of color.
Those ears twitched, as though mildly put out.
From the darkness came a woman’s low voice at last. “Come on, Jixiang.”
— ✦ —
Though it occupied a prime location in Quecheng, the Qinghuai Marquis Mansion grew especially quiet after dark, the sounds of life and warmth entirely absent from within its deep walls. Nanny Chen — the old steward — stood beneath two long-lit paper lanterns and took Xiao Nanhui’s horse from her. In the courtyard stood a young woman in a rosy pink jacket, who heard the commotion and came hurrying out to welcome her in.
“Why are you back so late? Have you eaten? Uncle Chen told me you barely touched your breakfast. Look at the whole table of food I had prepared — it’s gone completely cold.”
Xiao Nanhui looked at the woman’s face, the concern and gentle reproach written plain across it, and felt some of the chill in her chest ease. “You’ve had a long day, Sister Dujuan. I did eat, actually. You and Uncle Chen should eat too — don’t wait up for me this late again.” She paused, remembered something, and glanced around. “Has Father not come back yet?”
Dujuan nodded a little awkwardly. “He should be back soon, though — surely he won’t be spending the night elsewhere.”
Better not to have mentioned it at all. The words sent Xiao Nanhui’s heart rising into her throat again. She should have taken a detour down Yukun Street to check on the way back. “Has anyone looked in at the old residence?”
Dujuan knew what she was worried about. “Someone was sent to check just before dark. He truly has not come out of the palace yet.”
Xiao Nanhui breathed out in relief, and only then remembered her promise to Yaoyi. “Those mushrooms I brought back last time — have them sent to Wangchen Tower as soon as possible.”
Dujuan, knowing nothing of the back-and-forth between them, raised an eyebrow in clear disapproval. “What’s the rush? It’s already this late. Since when does Yaoyi get to complain about a gift arriving late?”
Xiao Nanhui could only laugh apologetically. “They were meant for him — if I sit on them any longer, they’ll spoil.”
Dujuan, who was blunt by nature and had no patience for Yaoyi’s sly and contrary manner, declared of her own accord: “There’s no need to give him all of them. Keep half for Jixiang.”
Xiao Nanhui was caught between laughter and resignation. After a day of running around, exhaustion was beginning to creep over her. “He has very particular tastes — make sure the best ones go to him. If Father gets back, tell him I’m waiting in the rear courtyard.”
With that, Xiao Nanhui walked directly toward the rear courtyard.
Behind her, Dujuan opened her mouth slightly, her expression unreadable.
The rear courtyard of the Qinghuai Marquis Mansion had grown a little wild from neglect, seldom visited as it was. Apart from a few stone benches and tables, there were only the plants and flowers that had been there since the mansion was first built — nothing especially rare or fine. Xiao Nanhui did not tend them, and Dujuan and Uncle Chen had no time to spare for them either. Over the years, only the wildflowers and weeds that grew of their own accord thrived there, yet every spring they still brought a trace of life to the place.
Xiao Nanhui changed into clean clothes and stepped out into the courtyard, glancing left and right.
The night was uncommonly still. A lingering chill from the spring remained, and the noisy little insects had not yet dug their way up through the earth. The only sounds in the courtyard were faint and subtle — perhaps the whisper of the night breeze against the leaves, or the creak of the roof tiles shifting in the cold.
Xiao Nanhui listened for a while but made nothing of it, so she simply lay down on one of the stone benches and tilted her head back to count the blossoms on the old wisteria growing overhead. When she had counted all the blooms, she counted the buds; when she had counted the buds, she counted the leaves.
Xiao Zhun had once trained her to sharpen her eyesight by standing in the blazing sun and counting leaves on trees.
The sunlight would often dazzle her eyes. So much so that when Xiao Zhun spoke at her ear, she mistook it for sunlight dazzling her heart as well.
Blazing. Dissolving. An air that stole the breath.
Utterly unlike the cool, clear stillness of this evening.
But Xiao Nanhui thought that if Xiao Zhun were here right now, even this murky, feeble starlight could burn like the noon sun and leave her heart blinded.
The sound of the night watchman’s drum carried over the wall. Xiao Nanhui turned over and lay on her stomach across the stone bench.
She could no longer make out the leaves clearly, and still Xiao Zhun had not returned.
A faint rustling came from the top of the courtyard wall, and a head appeared — tied up with a bright green ribbon, a bunch of grapes being chewed in one hand, seeds being spat out one by one. The tiny grape seeds hit the ground with small, sharp sounds, one after another.
Xiao Nanhui’s brow creased. She endured it for a while, then, unable to bear it any longer, she casually picked up a pebble from the ground and threw it.
The pebble flew with considerable force, straight and fast toward that head.
But the head was faster — it tilted slightly to one side, and the pebble sailed past.
Xiao Nanhui, not turning around, raised her hand and threw again.
This time the pebble moved even faster — aimed not at the head, but at the bunch of grapes.
The head had no time to react. The grapes tumbled out of the hand with a loud slap and fell to the base of the wall.
“Those were presented to the Marquis by His Majesty himself, and you dare let them eat dirt!”
The owner of that head stood up on the wall — a petite young woman in red clothing, with a bright green ribbon at the top of her head, which together made for a rather striking ensemble. She had a bold, broad-browed face with large eyes, and though her bearing was imperious, there was something faintly comical about it.
Xiao Nanhui dug a finger in her ear and picked up another pebble to toss idly in her palm. “And where are your manners? Sneaking grapes that belong to the Marquis.”
The petite figure planted her hands on her hips with great conviction. “I didn’t sneak them. The Marquis gave them to me. Sister Dujuan personally brought them to me.”
“And why, exactly, did he give them to you?”
“Because… because…” The voice on the wall began to trail off.