Tranquil Ink Courtyard.
A new pot of pothos sat on the windowsill.
Xie Wanqing did not know who had sent it. She asked the young maid in charge of the flower nursery, who said it had arrived yesterday with a batch of assorted flowers, with no special instructions about which courtyard it should go to.
She moved the pothos in front of the window, directly opposite the spot where she read.
She had already reached the last page of Travels in the Mountains and Rivers.
The book described twelve places, from the grasslands in the north to the water towns in the south. The writing was not particularly ornate, but each account ended with a personal reflection from the author, written in ink so faint it looked as though he had written it for himself.
On the back of the last page was a line in even fainter ink.
Given the chance, more than anything, I would like to see the moon over Lake Dongting.
She turned the page back and forth and read it three times.
She recognized the handwriting.
The name signed on the red envelope on the wedding day, the familiar way the strokes swept left and right, the slight upward curve at the end of each stroke.
Gu Moran had written it.
The page was tucked deep in the spine; no one would find it without turning all the way to the end.
Perhaps he had written it on a whim while reading and forgotten it as soon as he was done.
Who would have thought the book would later be sent to her?
She closed the book and rested her fingertips on the cover for a moment.
Given the chance, more than anything, I would like to see the moon over Lake Dongting.
That sentence did not fit the Gu Moran she had met.
The man who tucked a peony behind his ear, who stuck flowers into a bowl of medicine, who yawned in the front hall and said, "The braised pork knuckle was especially good."
Would that man want to see the moon over Lake Dongting?
She opened the last page again and stared at the line for a long time.
Then she folded down a corner of the page.
She closed the book and placed it beside her pillow.
Outside the window, the pothos leaves swayed gently in the wind.
She sat by the window with her hands folded on her knees. Her thumb no longer rubbed the back of her hand.
A line appeared on the system panel in the corner of her vision.
[Xie Wanqing's favorability: +3 (↑1). Source of fluctuation: the personal handwriting in Travels in the Mountains and Rivers prompted the perception that "he is real"; the knowledge that "he has places he wants to visit too" conflicts with her existing impression of him as a wastrel. The crack in her "numb" state has widened.]
Iron Plum Courtyard.
Zitang stood outside the gate, listening to the clattering and snapping sounds within.
She peered through the gap in the gate.
Lin Qingdai was practicing the Seven Forms of the Reverse Scale in the courtyard.
First form, chop. Second form, upward slash. Third form, thrust.
The sword drove straight down the center line, her right foot forward and her left foot back: a textbook Reverse Scale Thrust.
She finished the move.
The tip of the sword stopped in midair.
It did not shake.
Zitang rubbed her eyes and watched again.
It really did not shake.
For ten years, whenever her lady practiced this move, the sword tip had always trembled as she finished it. It was not for lack of strength; no matter how she adjusted, she could never get it right.
Today, it did not tremble.
"My lady, when did you change your grip?"
Lin Qingdai slid the sword back into its sheath in one neat motion.
"I figured it out myself."
Her voice was a little higher and her words came a little faster as she said it.
Zitang had served her for twelve years and knew this was how her lady spoke when she lied.
But she did not press her.
Lin Qingdai hung the sword back on the rack, took two steps, then turned back and took it down again.
Draw, strike, finish.
She tried it once more.
The sword tip remained perfectly steady.
She stared at the blade that no longer wavered, gritted her teeth, and slammed the sword onto the rack.
"Tch."
Outside the gate, Zitang heard the "tch," and the corners of her mouth curved up. She quickly suppressed the smile.
Clear Frost Courtyard.
Biyu came in carrying a stack of winter clothes.
"You're back?" Su Yao was practicing calligraphy by the window and did not look up.
"I'm back. I picked up the winter clothes."
Biyu put the clothes down and stood where she was for a breath.
Su Yao's brush paused.
"How are things at home?"
Biyu bit her lip.
"My lady, Young Master Ye will probably arrive in the capital in ten days."
Su Yao's brush did not stop.
"Master received a letter of recommendation from the literary circles of Jizhou. It was written on Young Master Ye's behalf. Master went to the ancestral hall that afternoon."
The brush stopped.
A drop of ink fell from its tip and soaked into the white paper, forming a black dot the size of a bean.
He went to the ancestral hall.
There was only one reason Father would go to the ancestral hall-to pay respects to the Old Master's spirit tablet.
The betrothal had been arranged while the Old Master was alive.
Su Yao stared at the ink dot for two breaths, then set the brush back on its rack.
"I know."
"My lady."
"I said I know."
Biyu withdrew.
Su Yao stood by the window, one hand resting on the frame.
Outside were the same white plum trees. Their flowering season had passed, and their branches were bare of blossoms, but they were thriving.
She tapped the window frame twice, then turned and went to sit at the table.
The results of the investigation Biyu had brought back the day before yesterday lay tucked under a weight at the corner of the table.
Prince Yi's Residence had no advisers and no scholars to write on his behalf.
The annotations in Strategies for Governing the State in the study had been written by his own hand.
She unfolded the investigation report and turned to the last page.
Biyu had added a line at the end: inquiries confirmed that in the past three years, His Highness had not displayed any calligraphy, paintings, or writing on any occasion. His classmates at the Imperial Academy said, "He can't even write a proper character."
Couldn't write properly.
The tiny characters she had seen in the study were precisely structured, stroke by stroke, and the logic of the notes between the lines linked together, one point after another.
The flaw in the tax of one part in fifteen lay in its implementation.
Honest officials took priority over tax cuts.
The Grand Preceptor's argument was like a view from a lofty tower, but it was too general.
Those words, brought up at a meeting of Father's advisers, could shut Li Yuan up for half an hour.
A wastrel prince who could not write a proper character had taken the founding Grand Preceptor's strategies for governing the state apart, point by point, in tiny characters in his own study.
It was not a rebuttal; it was an analysis.
A rebuttal could be driven by impulse; analysis required a system.
She closed the investigation report and rested her fingers on the paper for three breaths.
Ye Qingyun would arrive in ten days.
Father had gone to the ancestral hall.
The annotations made by the man in the study were more incisive than Father's advisers.
The three matters were tangled together, and she could not make sense of them.
She tucked the investigation report back under the weight at the corner of the table, pulled over a blank sheet of xuan paper, and picked up her brush again.
She stopped after writing one character.
On the paper, the ink not yet dry, there was only the character "Gu."
She crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it into the wastebasket.
Lunchtime, in the front hall.
Gu Moran was absent; he had reportedly gone out drinking.
The six wives took their seats. They settled the seating much more smoothly than they had over the past two days-whoever arrived first sat down, with no arguing or quarreling.
Shen Ling'er leaned close to Murong Xue, cradling her bowl, and asked with a grin, "Sister Murong, when His Highness rode that unbroken horse the other day, was he using your Northern Territory horse-taming technique?"
Murong Xue tore at her hand-held meat without looking up.
"The movements were right, but his strength was nowhere near enough."
"Then teach him."
"He hasn't asked me."
Shen Ling'er smiled and did not press her.
As usual, Xie Wanqing went around refilling everyone's tea.
When she came to Su Yao, Su Yao glanced at her.
"You needn't do that."
"It's no trouble."
Su Yao's cup was full, so Xie Wanqing did not insist on adding more. She returned to her seat.
They had exchanged one more sentence than yesterday.
After the meal, each returned to her own courtyard.
By the time Gu Moran returned, it was already afternoon.
He ran into Uncle Fu at the entrance, and something was wrong with Uncle Fu's expression.
"Your Highness, someone came from the palace."
"Who?"
"A eunuch from Hanzhang Hall, with a message. Her Ladyship the Noble Consort has summoned all six wives for tea at Hanzhang Hall tomorrow afternoon."
Gu Moran's steps faltered.
She was seeing all six.
This had not happened in the original story-the Gu Moran in the original had never married at all.
It was a new plotline, and the system had no contingency plan.
"When was the last time Mother summoned a younger member of the family?"
Uncle Fu thought for a moment.
"The year the First Prince married, Her Ladyship the Noble Consort received the First Prince's consort."
"And what happened?"
"The prince's consort cried all the way out and didn't leave her room for three days after returning to the residence. Later, she said one thing to His Highness the First Prince: 'Her Ladyship the Noble Consort's eyes can see through a person's heart.'"
Gu Moran stood in the courtyard and ran through it in his head.
Su Yao could handle it. Shen Ling'er was so sweet that she might be more likely to give herself away. Murong Xue feared no trouble but did not understand the rules. Liu Ruyan was used to dealing with all kinds of situations, but the women of the imperial family were another matter. Lin Qingdai's temper was a landmine.
His thoughts stopped at the last name.
Xie Wanqing.
Her favorability had only just turned positive, and a crack had only just opened in her "numb" emotional state.
If pressure on Noble Consort Chen's level came crashing down, would that crack widen, or close again?
He entered the study and shut the door.
The system panel opened.
[Noble Consort Chen will receive the six beauties tomorrow. Nature of event: test/evaluation.] [The system cannot predict Noble Consort Chen's specific behavior patterns. Insufficient data.] [Reminder: the analysis of Noble Consort Chen's behavior contains the marker "abnormal protective tendency." Its correlation with the abnormal marker concerning the host's origins has risen to 15%.] [Countdown to the arrival of the Son of Destiny, Ye Qingyun, in the capital: 10 days.]
Ten days.
The Noble Consort's summons was tomorrow, and Ye Qingyun would arrive in ten days.
The two matters overlapped.
He closed the panel and took a brush from the brush rack.
"Before I escort them into Hanzhang Hall tomorrow, I need to make some preparations."