He Jingyuan stood with his hands clasped behind his back for a long time before finally saying to Zheng Wenchang, “Continue the lockdown of Qingping County. Strive to root out every last spy the rebels have planted.

The canal for grain transport grows shallow in the winter months—this is the perfect time to dredge the silt. Wenchang, once the Qingping affair is settled, take men to clear the riverway from Jizhou to Chongzhou.”

If they took the waterway, countless supplies could be transported.

Zheng Wenchang’s heart gave a sudden jolt. He accepted the order and withdrew.

Only He Jingyuan remained in the study. A side door creaked open, and an old man with white hair and wrinkled skin stepped out, saying, “Tell me—if that man surnamed Wei were to learn how you pay lip service in the open while defying him in secret, how many days of life do you think you have left?”

He Jingyuan replied calmly, “In the position one holds, one must serve its duties; in the office one bears, one must fulfill its responsibilities. I, He, am unashamed before the people of the realm—that is enough.”

The old man shook his head with a chuckle.

“When this old fellow comes next time to drink and play chess with you, let’s just hope you’re still alive by then.”

He Jingyuan said, “You are welcome at any time, Grand Preceptor. May I ask where you intend to go next?”

The old man’s robes were ragged, his hair—white as a crane’s—loosely tied with a wooden hairpin, a wine gourd hanging at his waist. He stretched lazily.

“That brat, Prince Changxin, keeps sending people to my thatched cottage every few days to disturb my peace. It’s tiresome. This old man will wander a bit first.”

He Jingyuan lowered his eyelids and said, “I thought the Grand Preceptor came out of seclusion upon hearing that the Marquis of Wu’an had fallen on the battlefield.”

The old man snorted. “This old man has little talent, but in this lifetime he’s taught only one disciple. The man who could take that disciple’s life, he hasn’t been born yet. Otherwise, I’d have had another student by now.”

He Jingyuan listened to the old man’s words but merely smiled without comment.

Grand Preceptor Tao had resigned and withdrawn from officialdom years ago. After Prince Changxin’s rebellion, he had sent for him several times, claiming he wished to invite him as a strategist—though in truth, he wanted the Grand Preceptor to instruct his two sons.

That last remark meant that if he were ever to take another disciple, it would only be one whose talent surpassed that of the Marquis of Wu’an.

It seemed the two sons of Prince Changxin had failed to catch his eye.

He Jingyuan asked, though he already knew the answer, “After the battle of Chongzhou, the Crown Prince of Changxin earned the title of ‘Little Marquis of Wu’an.’ Even then, the Grand Preceptor did not take notice?”

Tao’s expression darkened. “That brat—when he was ten, I taught him a volume of chess manuals, and he managed to let it end up in Prince Changxin’s youngest son’s hands. Tell me, what do you think that prince was plotting?”

He Jingyuan’s expression grew heavier.

Little Marquis of Wu’an.

So Prince Changxin was raising his youngest son in the image of the Marquis of Wu’an?

· ─ ·✶· ─ · 

Qingping County.

At the first crow of the rooster, Fan Changyu woke.

Dawn was just beginning to break. Still half-drowsy, she rolled over—only to feel the other side of the bed icy cold, the chill instantly waking her.

With her hair tousled from sleep, Fan Changyu sat up. She remembered clearly that she and Yan Zheng had shared this very bed the night before. Looking toward the table, she saw, as expected, that Yan Zheng had fallen asleep there, his head propped against one hand.

Judging from how cold the bed was, he must not have slept in it all night.

Fan Changyu couldn’t quite name what she felt—perhaps a flicker of irritation, like a kind act mistaken for ill intent?

Then she grew puzzled at herself for even feeling angry. Shouldn’t she be glad he was so proper? Shouldn’t she think him a gentleman instead?

As she was still tangled in thought, the man, who had been resting his head on one hand, stirred at the sound of the rooster. His eyes opened, and his gaze met hers. He froze for a moment before saying softly, “Awake?”

Fan Changyu nodded, scratching her hair. “If I’d known, I’d have gone back to town last night. I’ve made you lose another night’s sleep for nothing.”

Xie Zheng said, “I got up in the night, and seeing dawn was near, didn’t bother to go back to sleep.”

Fan Changyu murmured a vague reply, not bothering to argue further on the matter.

It was, after all, only a matter of catching up on some sleep. Whatever he wished to do was his business—she wasn’t the one who had spent the night awake and freezing.

After breakfast at Constable Wang’s house, Fan Changyu took Yu Bao’er and, together with Xie Zheng, returned to town.

Changning, who had spent the night sleeping with Madam Zhao, nearly burst into tears upon seeing Fan Changyu again. But when she noticed Yu Bao’er, she stubbornly held back her tears, unwilling to lose face.

With the two children together, there was no end to the commotion—they nearly brought the roof down. The only thing that brought Fan Changyu some relief was that Yu Bao’er no longer spoke about finding his mother, and Changning, too, seemed to have forgotten the hawk.

Qingping County remained under martial lockdown as the officials continued to hunt for the remaining rebel accomplices. Still, Constable Wang sent men to her house—an unspoken reward of fifty taels of silver from the county magistrate.

That day at the magistrate’s residence, she had claimed to be under Constable Wang’s command. The magistrate, it seemed, eager to claim the credit yet still win favor among the people, had secretly ordered this reward to be given.

Fan Changyu well understood the principle of getting rich in silence. Fame meant nothing to her—it only invited trouble. Real silver, on the other hand, was solid and safe.

After sending off the yamen runners, she went into the room with a smile to hide the silver, only to run into Xie Zheng. She said generously, “Shall we split it half and half?”

He might have wanted to draw a line between them, but it had been his idea that saved Qingping County; on the city wall, he had even saved her life. Accounts, after all, should be kept clear.

Xie Zheng felt that since returning, Fan Changyu’s attitude toward him had become… tidier somehow.

She still greeted him with the same easy smile as before, yet there was something subtly different in it now—something distant, composed.

Suppressing the strange disquiet in his chest, he asked, “Did the authorities learn who I am?”

Fan Changyu shook her head. “I didn’t tell anyone your name. The magistrate’s too busy claiming the merit for himself—he didn’t even mention Constable Wang, so I doubt he’ll ever bring you up.”

She herself had no wish to expose her involvement either, not wanting to draw the resentment of powerful men. When Yan Zheng had appeared on the city wall, he’d even worn a mask; she’d guessed then that he too wanted to remain unidentified.

After all, to offend officials was to invite endless trouble.

Xie Zheng said, “This reward money was given to you, why share it with me?”

Fan Changyu replied, “Wasn’t it your plan in the first place?”

Xie Zheng lowered his gaze. “The magistrate rewarded you not for holding the gate, but for saving him and capturing the rebel. It has little to do with me.”

Unable to argue further, Fan Changyu took the silver back inside. A moment later, she came out carrying a bundle.

“You said before that you’d be leaving, but the lockdown kept you here a few extra days. I’ve been preparing some things for you—two sets of clothes, so you can change on the road. The shoes are double-stitched; they’ll last longer. Oh, and I exchanged fifty taels into silver notes—you’ll find them easier to carry…”

She went on and on, fussing like a mother sending her son off on a long journey.

“I’ve also written the he-li letter [mutual divorce agreement]; it only needs your fingerprint.”

A xiushu [repudiation letter] required only one party to write it, but a he-li—a peaceful dissolution of marriage—had to be signed and sealed by both.

The dull weight that had been pressing on Xie Zheng’s chest these past days grew heavier still.

He leaned against the doorway, arms folded, watching her for a moment before letting out a dry laugh. “How thoughtful of you, to plan everything on my behalf so thoroughly.”

Fan Changyu didn’t argue. “When traveling, it’s not like being at home. Best to have everything ready if you can. Once you’re out there, if anything happens, there won’t be anyone to lend you a hand…”

A strange feeling welled in his chest, and that faintly mocking smile on his face faltered. Turning his gaze toward the snow piled on the courtyard wall, he asked suddenly, “And you? What do you plan to do next?”

Fan Changyu laughed softly. “Didn’t you already ask that before? As long as Qingping County stays peaceful, I plan to get the pigsty up and running…”

Xie Zheng’s phoenix eyes lifted slightly. “I mean—do you plan to marry, or to take in a husband?”

The question caught Fan Changyu off guard. She set the bundle of things down on the table, walked over to the steps by the doorway, and sat. Staring at the pear tree in the courtyard—its branches bare of leaves—she thought for a while before saying, “Marriage, of course, eventually. As for whether I’ll marry or take in a husband… I’ll decide when the time comes.”

Xie Zheng rolled a small pebble between his fingers, flicking it idly toward the pear tree. The few sparrows perched there scattered at once.

“What kind do you like? If no one marries you and no one comes to marry into your household, I could help you find one.”

Hearing his mockery, Fan Changyu couldn’t help but snap, “Well, definitely not someone with your foul temper! With that sharp tongue of yours, you should be worrying about whether you can find a wife!”

Xie Zheng bent one knee and sat, a faint, teasing smile curving his lips.

“I wouldn’t marry someone like you either. I’ll find a gentle, virtuous woman who knows how to manage a household.”

The last pebble in his hand flew far—over the courtyard wall and out of sight.

Fan Changyu glanced at his finely carved profile. When she lowered her gaze, her mouth tugged slightly upward in something between amusement and self-mockery.

“I like the scholarly, refined sort—someone who’s read many books, talented, modest, with a good temper, and who likes to smile. My mother used to say my temper’s too brash, that I’d need a gentle man to keep me in check. Only then could a marriage last long.”

A faint ache welled in her chest, perhaps because she had mentioned her mother.

She added, “We’ve been through so much together, after all. Since you’re leaving soon, don’t curse me with being unwanted. I’ll wish you a gentle and virtuous wife, you should wish me a refined and gentle husband, all right?”

Xie Zheng said, “All right.”

His smile then was strikingly beautiful.

When he stood, he even courteously extended a hand toward her. Fan Changyu’s legs had gone a little numb from sitting too long; seeing him offer his hand, she didn’t think much of it and placed her own in his.

The change came in that instant. A sudden, powerful force yanked her forward—she stumbled straight into his arms. His grip on her uninjured wrist was so strong it was nearly enough to wrench it out of place.

He caught her chin, lowered his head, and—almost violently—crushed his lips against hers.