After the fireworks faded, the sound of firecrackers still burst intermittently in the distant streets and alleys, and faintly in the night came one or two barks of dogs.

Xie Zheng half-curled his hand into a fist and lightly knocked on the edge of the desk where Fan Changyu lay: “Wake up.”

Under the combined weight of drunkenness and drowsiness, Fan Changyu only gave a vague murmur of response. She shifted her head on her own arm into a more comfortable position and sank back into deep sleep.

Seeing that she could not be woken, Xie Zheng hesitated for a moment, then rose and went over, lifting her up in preparation to carry her back to her room.

The movement roused her a little. Fan Changyu blinked hazily open her eyes; her cheeks still carried a flush, and for a moment Xie Zheng could not tell whether she was awake or still drunk.

He steadied her by the arm to keep her from falling and asked, “Can you walk back to your room by yourself?”

Fan Changyu tilted her head and looked at him. Her hair, tousled from her sleeping posture, stuck out in disarray; she looked both dazed and docile, her gaze unfocused—as though she had yet to recognize who stood before her.

Xie Zheng paused for an instant, then looked away with a frown. “Don’t even know your own limit, yet you dare to drink like that.”

He took her hand, intending to help her stand, when he heard her mumbling something indistinct.

Unable to catch her words, Xie Zheng leaned closer. “What?”

Fan Changyu’s consciousness was far from clear. Her head kept drooping, and just as Xie Zheng leaned in to listen, her head fell again—her lips brushed lightly across his cheek, then came to rest against his neck. Her drowsy, unfocused eyes closed entirely; she had no idea what she’d just done.

Xie Zheng froze in place.

Time seemed to stop in that instant. The wind, the snow, even the crackle of the bonfire—all fell silent.

The crown of her soft hair pressed against the side of his neck. Her breathing was long and shallow; she looked sound asleep.

For a long while, Xie Zheng did not move. Only when a faint voice came from nearby did he stir.

“A-jie?”

Xie Zheng turned his head. Changning seemed to have just woken up, still clutching her red envelope in one hand while rubbing her sleepy eyes with the other, staring at him and Fan Changyu in confusion.

His slender fingers touched his lips in a quieting gesture. A few stray strands of hair fell over his brow; under the lamplight his eyes were dark and still. “Your sister’s asleep. Don’t wake her.”

Changning nodded obediently.

Xie Zheng pointed toward the oil lamp at the side. “Can you carry the lamp?”

Little Changning nodded even more earnestly.

She held the lamp in both hands and walked ahead, while Xie Zheng slid one arm under Fan Changyu’s shoulders, the other under her knees, and lifted her into his arms, walking steadily behind Changning.

Fan Changyu had carried him twice out of the wilds before, but this was the first time he had ever held her.

She was lighter than he had imagined.

Yes—within only two short months, she had gone through the death of both parents, the withdrawal of her childhood betrothal, and her uncle’s seizure of her family property. And more recently, these two assassination attempts—enough to leave an ordinary person terrified for a lifetime.

Outwardly she looked as though nothing had happened: still leaving early and returning late each day to earn money for the family, never seeming to lose her appetite at the dinner table, laughing and playing when coaxing her little sister.

Before, Xie Zheng had thought she was simply thick-skinned and carefree. But at this moment he suddenly realized—perhaps… she wasn’t. She merely knew she could not afford to grieve forever. And so she worked hard to earn money, ate her meals properly, slept properly—dared not fall ill, dared not collapse completely.

Because her younger sister had only her to rely on, she could not fall.

The path from the main hall to the north room was not long, yet amid the mingling of darkness and lamplight, countless complicated emotions welled up in Xie Zheng’s heart.

When they reached the north room, Changning’s height was not enough for her to set the oil lamp on the table, so she placed it first on a round stool.

Xie Zheng laid the sleeping Fan Changyu onto the bed. Changning came pattering over, grasped the shoes on her sister’s feet with both hands, and tugged hard, trying to help her sister take them off.

The child strained with all her might but in no proper way. Xie Zheng said, “I’ll do it.”

He helped remove both shoes and was about to pull the quilt over Fan Changyu when Changning said, “A-jie’s padded jacket isn’t off yet.”

Xie Zheng’s fingertips paused slightly. He coaxed the child, “Your sister’s asleep. If we take off her jacket, she might wake. Let her sleep like this.”

Only then did Changning give up.

When he tucked the cotton quilt over Fan Changyu, the child too kicked off her shoes and climbed onto the bed, like a little adult, carefully tucking in the edges of the blanket for her sister.

Only after the child lay down did Xie Zheng set the oil lamp upon the wooden table to the side. He turned his head for one last glance toward the bed curtains—under the dim, yellow light, Fan Changyu’s face still carried the faint flush of drunkenness; her sleeping posture was gentle and serene.

Suddenly, he recalled that night when he had taught her the laws of Great Yin. She had fallen asleep over the legal code, and in her dreams had choked out a trembling cry—“Mother.”

That strange and unfamiliar emotion rose in his chest again.

“Brother-in-law?”

Changning blinked at him, calling softly when she saw he kept staring that way.

Xie Zheng came back to himself and said, “What happened just now in the other room—don’t tell your sister.”

Little Changning looked puzzled. “What happened?”

Xie Zheng was silent for a moment. Thinking that she had just woken and perhaps had not seen anything, he said, “Nothing.”

He was about to extinguish the oil lamp when the child asked, “Brother-in-law, don’t you need a lamp when you go back to your room?”

“No need.”

As the words fell, the lamp went out, and the room sank into darkness.

Xie Zheng walked out with steady steps through the dark and, as he left, closed the door behind him.

Before returning to his room, he took with him the gyrfalcon kept in a chicken cage by the fire pit. Once inside, he lit his own lamp, ground the ink, and finished the letter he had left incomplete during the day, then placed it into a bamboo tube and tied it to the bird’s leg.

The gyrfalcon’s wing and leg wounds had almost healed. These days, since it had not gone out to fly and had been fed daily with a large bowl of minced fresh meat or entrails, the whole bird had grown noticeably rounder.

When Xie Zheng raised his arm for the gyrfalcon to perch, he felt the weight on his forearm and frowned almost imperceptibly. “After delivering the letter, stay outside until dark before coming back.”

The gyrfalcon’s beady eyes instinctively glanced toward the main hall, where the large bowl of minced meat was kept. Feeling the sudden chill in the aura behind it, it hurriedly flapped its wings and flew into the deep night.

Even after the gyrfalcon disappeared into the distance, Xie Zheng did not go inside. He stood under the eaves, hands clasped behind his back, watching for a long time as snowflakes—like drifting willow catkins—fell in thick, endless flurries.

When he had Zhao Xun purchase the grain, he had already foreseen that the authorities would eventually take notice.

A few days earlier, when Zhao Xun had come to see him, Xie Zheng had already instructed him to send the grain to a designated location. The letter the gyrfalcon now carried was a message to his former subordinates—to move the grain.

The Wei family wanted to get rid of him without lifting a single soldier, then take over the one hundred thousand troops he commanded in Huizhou — a perfect calculation.

But since he had not died, those father and son’s good days were numbered.

A few months ago, when the rumors about the Battle of Jinzhou sixteen years prior suddenly began to circulate, he had not believed them. Yet after his “good uncle” learned that he was secretly investigating that battle and then set a trap on the battlefield to take his life, that, without doubt, confirmed the rumor’s truth.

Before reclaiming command of the Huizhou troops, he would still need to borrow the Wei family’s hand to first root out the spies they had planted by his side.

Thinking of how he had acknowledged a thief as father for sixteen years, a mocking curve lifted the corner of Xie Zheng’s lips.

If that woman, upon learning of his father’s death, had not chosen to follow his father in death, would he then have been spared from being raised under Wei Yanzhi’s hand — spared from recognizing a thief as father for sixteen long years?

He closed his eyes heavily; under the eaves, the lantern light cast a shadow across his high nose bridge.

For some reason, the two Fan sisters came to mind again.

For an instant, Xie Zheng found himself somewhat envious of that little child.

When misfortune struck him in his childhood, he had been about the same age as her. But when the great house of the Xie family collapsed, there was no one left behind him to shield him from the wind and rain.

How fortunate that child was — though she had lost her parents, she still had an elder sister who could hold up the sky for her.

When he opened his eyes again, every trace of emotion in their depths had already settled into calm.

He turned and returned to his room. Just as he lay down after taking off his outer robe, he sensed something amiss beneath his pillow.

Sitting up, he lifted the pillow, and when he saw a red envelope lying beneath it, his handsome face showed a moment of surprise.

New Year’s money.

“Year” shares the same pronunciation as “demon” [岁 and 祟], and among the people it was said that New Year’s money could ward off evil spirits and protect one’s peace.

Was this something that woman had placed there for him?

Xie Zheng opened the red envelope; inside were several small silver ingots.

Each weighed less than one tael, yet at this moment, as he held them in his hand, they felt heavy.

He could not remember how long it had been since he last received New Year’s money. After his parents passed away, the only time he had ever received it again was from his grandmother while she was still alive.

Wei Yan had been cold and unyielding all his life. Not to mention his nephew — even to his own son, he had never shown a hint of affection. Naturally, he would not have prepared red envelopes for them during the New Year.

Lying on his back, one hand beneath his head, Xie Zheng held up a silver ingot before his eyes, examining it quietly under the candlelight. His elegant brows and eyes carried a faint, unreadable emotion.

Her parents were dead as well — and since then, no one must have given her New Year’s money either.

· ─ ·✶· ─ ·

The next morning, when Fan Changyu woke, her head throbbed faintly.

Because of the wine, she had slept in late; Changning was already gone from the room.

She climbed up slowly, finding her clothes all properly on her. She tried hard to recall the events of the previous night, but no matter how she strained her drunken memory, it was a complete blur.

Still, if she had managed to return to her room, it must have been either that she walked back herself — or that Yan Zheng had helped her back.

Just thinking of the latter made heat creep up her face.

What an embarrassment. To think she’d gotten drunk on clear wine — if word got out, she’d be laughed at for sure.

She pressed her aching temples, and after getting up and washing briefly, she heard the sound of Changning crying from the main hall.

Fan Changyu went out and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Changning was squatting beside the chicken cage, crying with snot and tears all over her face. “The falcon’s gone…”

Fan Changyu looked at the now-empty cage and paused. “Maybe the cage door wasn’t closed last night. That gyrfalcon’s wing has healed, so it must have flown away.”

Changning only cried harder.

With no other choice, Fan Changyu had to use the comforting excuse that the falcon had gone home to find its father and mother. Only then did Changning’s crying gradually subside.

Xie Zheng, likely having heard the crying from his room, came out and saw the child still sniffling beside the cage. He said simply, “It’ll come back again.”

Changning lifted her tear-filled eyes. “Really?”

Fan Changyu thought he was only coaxing the child, and fearing that if Changning later discovered the lie, she would be even sadder, she couldn’t care about the embarrassment of what foolish thing she might have done drunk last night. She gave Xie Zheng a meaningful glance.

At first, Xie Zheng didn’t understand her look. Later, after Fan Changyu had soothed and sent Changning away, she turned to him and said, “You don’t have to lie to her. Changning’s probably just too lonely. When spring comes, I plan to raise a brood of chicks. Once she has new playmates, she’ll forget about that falcon.”

Xie Zheng said, “I wasn’t lying to her.”

This time, it was Fan Changyu’s turn to look utterly bewildered.

He could not yet reveal the matter of the gyrfalcon delivering a message, so when he lied, his face didn’t flush, nor did his tone waver. “Once a falcon is fully trained, it’s meant to be released again. If it returns after flying off, that means it’s truly been tamed.”

Fan Changyu thought about it—wasn’t that still uncertain then?

She eyed Xie Zheng suspiciously. “And you’re sure it’ll come back?”

Xie Zheng nodded calmly and without hesitation.

Though still somewhat doubtful, Fan Changyu knew nothing about falconry, so she said nothing further.

In recent days, she had smoked quite a few slabs of cured meat over the fire pit—most of it meant for selling, with only a small portion kept for eating.

In the past, when her parents were still alive, her father would always take a piece of cured meat to visit the elder couple of the Fan family on this day each year. Now that her parents were gone, though she wasn’t close to those two elders, they were still relatives by seniority—she had to at least keep up appearances.

After breakfast, she planned to bring a slab of cured meat to the old couple and then return home. She asked Xie Zheng to watch over Changning and left with the meat in hand.

Since Fan Da had only recently died, the old Fan household was having a rather bleak New Year.

When Fan Changyu arrived, only the two elders were home; Madam Liu had taken her two children back to her mother’s house for the holiday.

Having lost both sons in the same year, the old couple had clearly suffered a heavy blow. The old woman lay bedridden, while the old man’s already graying hair had turned almost completely white. Even during the New Year, his clothes were dirty and wrinkled.

Whether it was because he no longer cared to tidy up or because the daughter-in-law now managed the household poorly, life clearly wasn’t going well.

When he saw Fan Changyu, he invited her in to warm herself by the fire.

But Fan Changyu only wanted to drop off the meat and leave. “Ning-niang is still waiting at home for me,” she said. “I won’t stay long.”

The old man looked at the cured meat she was carrying, and perhaps recalling how his younger son used to bring a piece every New Year, his eyes reddened. “Come inside and sit for a bit,” he said. “There are some things about your father I think you ought to know.”

Fan Changyu froze for a moment upon hearing that. There were still things about her father she didn’t know?

When the old man turned and shuffled slowly into the house, Fan Changyu hesitated briefly, then lifted her foot and followed him inside.