Su Yao bit her lower lip and said nothing.
"Not even once?"
"No."
"Liar."
"Believe it or not."
Gu Moran pried her fingers from his lapel one by one, then drew her hand to his chest.
His heartbeat pulsed through her palm, heavy and fast, thudding against it again and again.
"All right, I believe you."
With that, Gu Moran kissed her again, harder than before, with an urgency that had been held back too long and finally found release.
His arm tightened around Su Yao's waist, pressing her back against the writing desk until she was half seated on its edge, her legs dangling.
Her skirt spilled over the edge, its pale folds trailing into the shadows like moonlight.
"Gently."
"Does it hurt?"
"You're being rough."
"I can be rougher."
Su Yao gave him a nudge with her knee, neither hard nor soft.
Gu Moran grunted and turned to look at her, his eyes holding three parts helplessness and seven parts indulgence.
He reached up and tucked a sweat-dampened strand of hair behind her ear. His fingertips brushed her earlobe, pausing on the little pearl earring.
"This looks lovely."
"Biyu picked it."
"Thank her for me."
"What are you thanking her for?"
"For making you look so lovely, so I wouldn't come here and find nothing worth looking at."
Su Yao's hand moved from his chest to his shoulder. She did not know whether to push him away or pull him closer.
Her nails dug into the thin shirt over his shoulder, and through the fabric she could feel the sharply defined muscles beneath.
"My beloved consort, stop pinching. You'll leave marks."
"So what if I do?"
"If you leave marks, the other ladies will ask about them when they see them tomorrow."
Su Yao's face went cold at that, and she dug her fingers in hard.
Gu Moran sucked in a sharp breath and caught her hand, pressing it against the desk.
"I'm teasing you."
"Just try mentioning someone else one more time."
"I won't. Tonight, there's only you and me in this room."
Gu Moran interlaced his fingers with hers, held their joined hands against the desk, and leaned down until his forehead rested against hers.
Their breaths mingled, hot and quick, carrying the scents of tea and the night breeze.
At last, the lamp went out.
The last flicker of flame shrank into the wick, and moonlight and darkness swallowed the room.
In the dark, all that remained was the rustle of fabric and the faintest hum escaping Su Yao's throat when his kisses left her breathless.
Biyu sat under the covered walkway all night without moving from her spot, clutching a pot of tea that had long since gone cold.
In the last two hours before dawn, she heard voices speaking very softly in the inner room. She could not make out the words, but she could distinguish the two voices, one high and one low, speaking on and off.
It did not sound like an argument.
Nor did it sound like anything else.
It sounded as though they were talking, talking seriously, for a very, very long time.
At the hour of the hare that morning, Gu Moran emerged from the Clear Frost Courtyard.
His clothes were neat, his belt fastened perfectly straight.
As he passed Biyu, he stopped.
"Go make your mistress a bowl of congee. Her throat was dry all night."
Biyu did not dare raise her head.
Back in his study, the data that appeared on the system panel chased away most of his drowsiness.
[Su Yao's favorability: -21 (↑44).] [Source of fluctuation: deep cognitive restructuring. The intellectual attraction sparked by the annotations in Strategies for Governing the State continues to grow. Physical contact triggered an old memory anchor. The "autonomous choice while fully conscious" tag has been generated for the first time, with extremely high weight.] ["Proactive behavior" tag intensity +3.] [New tag: "Worth getting to know," medium intensity.]
Forty-four points.
The fruit of a night's hard work.
He glanced at the red countdown ticking away in the corner of the panel.
[Countdown until the son of destiny Ye Qingyun arrives in the capital: 2 days.]
Two days.
Gu Moran did not sleep.
He pulled three sheets of blank xuan paper from the bookcase, spread them on the desk, and dipped his brush in ink.
The Tang poems and Song lyrics in his memories from his previous life were like a mine he could never empty. He needed to choose three from among them.
They could not be too famous, nor too much like any one person's style, but they had to carry enough weight, scope, and force to overwhelm.
Ye Qingyun's poems excelled in their intricacy, rigorous structure, and careful use of allusions. Every one left its readers thinking him clever.
Cleverness was an advantage, but it was also a ceiling.
No matter how intricate they were, they were ultimately small in scope.
What he wanted was grandeur.
So grand that, standing beside him for comparison, Ye Qingyun would be like a painter of fan surfaces suddenly seeing someone else's grand hall painting.
It was not that his painting was poor, but that its scope fell short by a measure.
His brush touched the first sheet.
The first poem was a safe choice, steadier in style and in the frontier tradition. It had the same subject as Ye Qingyun's first poem, but a more sweeping grandeur.
The second was his killing move. It spoke of home, country, and all under heaven, its central theme rising straight to the heights of the imperial court. It would not compete on phrasing, but on breadth of mind and vision.
The third was a backup, light and graceful. If the first two did not suit the mood on the occasion, this one could serve as a fallback.
When he had finished all three, he blew the ink dry, folded the papers, and tucked them beneath the inkstone.
He pushed open the window.
Daylight had fully broken, and birdsong filled the courtyard.
He sent for one of Boss Zhao's men.
The covert agent waited outside the door for nearly a quarter of an hour before being called in. Upon entering, he first presented a piece of new intelligence.
"Ye Qingyun took the official road from Jizhou without making any detours. He stopped to rest at three relay stations along the way."
"Did anyone meet him?"
"Yes. Someone from the Jizhou Chamber of Commerce gave him a fresh, fast horse at the second relay station, along with a hundred taels of silver for travel expenses."
"Whose money is behind the Jizhou Chamber of Commerce?"
The covert agent rubbed his hands together.
"We checked. The largest shareholder of the Jizhou Chamber of Commerce is a cousin of Zhou Wenyuan, a reader-in-waiting of the Hanlin Academy."
Zhou Wenyuan.
He had entered the palace for an audience with the emperor, then stopped outside the Second Prince's residence for a quarter of an hour after leaving.
Today, Gu Moran had learned that his cousin had provided Ye Qingyun with money and a horse.
The connection had come together.
"Where will Ye Qingyun stay once he reaches the capital?"
"The Azure Cloud Inn in the southern part of the city. The name is a coincidence; the innkeeper has no connection to him."
"Look into one more thing: the list of judges for the poetry gathering. It wasn't on the invitation. Go make inquiries at the Hanlin Academy."
The covert agent accepted the order and left.
Gu Moran washed his face, changed into clean clothes, and headed for the Tranquil Ink Courtyard.
The steps outside the courtyard gate had been swept spotless, and a newly arranged string of dried flowers hung from the doorframe.
He knocked.
The maid Xiaodie answered and curtsied when she saw him.
"Your Highness, my lady is writing."
"I'll go in and sit for a while. There's no need to announce me."
Xiaodie stepped aside, and Gu Moran entered the courtyard.
Xie Wanqing sat at a small table beneath the covered walkway. Half a sheet of xuan paper covered in writing lay before her, her brush rested on its stand, and a cup of Biluochun tea sat in front of her.
Hearing footsteps, she rose and gave him a proper, formal curtsy.
"Husband."
"Sit down. Don't stand."
The two sat beneath the covered walkway, and Xiaodie brought them tea.
Gu Moran did not drink his tea. Instead, he first glanced at the sheet of xuan paper before her.
It bore a regulated poem in five-character lines, neat and graceful, with elegant wording.
"Did you write this yourself?"
Xie Wanqing nodded slightly.
"A few days ago, I was moved by something while looking through Travels in the Mountains and Rivers, so I casually wrote a few lines. They hardly make a proper poem."
Gu Moran picked up the paper and read it twice.
It was indeed a good poem, but its merits lay in its refinement and its adherence to the rules. Every character stayed obediently within the regulated form, not daring to step a pace beyond it.
Just like her.
"Wanqing, do you know there's a poetry gathering in three days?"
"Yes. The Hanlin Academy is hosting it, and the Imperial Academy's invitation was delivered to my father."
"Would you like to go?"
Xie Wanqing's fingers paused on the rim of her cup.
"Wouldn't it be improper for me to go? The Hanlin Academy is hosting the gathering, and I am a woman..."
"What's improper about the foremost of the capital's four talented women attending a poetry gathering?"