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Lizhu slept peacefully through the night.
She had always needed little sleep, two hours a day were enough to keep her full of energy. Even after studying Cui Shiyong’s dossier until the third quarter of the Chou hour (1:00 a.m. – 3:00 a.m.), she still rose at the hour of Chen (7:00 a.m. – 9:00 a.m.) without delay.
She changed into a new smoke-blue dress she had bought the day before. Xuan Ying helped her arrange her hair and pinned a pair of gold hairpins with dangling ornaments into it. Strands of white jade beads hung loosely on both sides of her forehead, finally giving her a touch of the noble grace she used to have while living in the palace.
“Xuan Ying really is skillful.”
Lizhu looked into the mirror and couldn’t help but complain softly, “Before, Chang Jun only knew how to tie my hair at the back with a ribbon, so sloppy.”
Xuan Ying examined the white jade beads on her forehead with a smile in her eyes.
“It’s just that there aren’t quite enough beads.”
Lizhu looked again in confusion.
Not enough? If there were more, they would hang in a whole row down the front of her forehead… just like her father, the Emperor.
That seemed a little strange.
She quickly cast that thought aside and, as usual, went to Pei Zhaoye’s courtyard, intending to join him for breakfast in the front yard.
Autumn was nearly over; osmanthus blossoms covered the ground in a carpet of gold.
Just as she reached the courtyard gate, she caught a faint scent of soap pods.
Inside, Pei Zhaoye was sitting before a large basin, legs bent, washing clothes.
Because of the washing, he had removed his arm guards and rolled up his sleeves, revealing a section of firm, well-shaped forearms.
Unlike the wheat-colored skin exposed to the sun, the parts of his body usually hidden were a pale, cool white, faintly traced with blue veins.
Lizhu watched as he lifted the water-soaked, heavy robes, his arm muscles tensing—veins standing out instantly—as he wrung the thick garments dry in just a few turns, leaving not a drop of water.
…Lizhu suddenly realized that, compared to her previous life, he seemed a little more robust in his youth.
It was hard to notice when he was dressed.
Her cheeks grew slightly warm.
“You’re up this early to do laundry?”
Pei Zhaoye was shaking out a freshly washed pair of trousers. When he turned, he saw her approaching, skirts lifted slightly, smiling brightly.
Her smoke-blue dress was the color of a clear sky; her dark hair was coiled high, revealing a neck as white and smooth as clouds. Her face was full of innocent charm, completely unguarded.
The dream from last night surfaced in his mind at once.
His Adam’s apple moved slightly.
“…I felt like it. Don’t mind me.”
Lizhu saw him hanging up the trousers and wanted to help, but when she looked down, there were no other clothes in the basin.
“Why’d you stop asking?” he said with a light smile.
Lizhu forced herself to stay calm. “Didn’t you say you wanted to do it yourself and told me not to interfere?”
Pei Zhaoye’s gaze lingered on her, his eyes holding a subtle expression.
“…What are you standing there for? Once you’re done hanging them up, go eat. Hurry, hurry.”
After putting away the things used for washing, Pei Zhaoye loosened his sleeves and began fastening his arm guards again.
Those arm guards had thin straps, how could one hand tie them properly? So Lizhu asked,
“Want me to help you?”
Pei Zhaoye’s movements paused. He nodded.
In truth, it wasn’t as though he couldn’t tie them himself. He wasn’t some delicate young lady who needed servants to dress him. Even when he’d once sliced open his chest with a blade, he could still bandage and knot it on his own—let alone fasten an arm guard.
Yet watching her step forward, lower her head, and tie the straps for him with those slender, pale fingers, Pei Zhaoye couldn’t help but feel that same subtle illusion as last night—
That she looked like a newly wedded wife helping her husband dress.
“Your fingers are long… very pretty.”
After he said it, he silently added in his heart, though they seem a little small… like they can’t quite wrap around anything.
Lizhu’s hands froze.
“I just said your hands are pretty, why’s your face so red?”
Seeing her flustered look, as if she wanted to burrow into the ground, Pei Zhaoye raised an eyebrow slightly.
That expression of hers almost made him suspect she knew exactly what he was thinking.
And in fact, Lizhu did know.
Because in her previous life, there had only ever been one kind of situation where he repeatedly praised her fingers for being slender and fair.
…She really wanted to curse him.
But she had no good reason to, and that made it all the more infuriating.
Lizhu turned away, stomping off with quickened steps.
Behind her, the utterly baffled Pei Zhaoye followed at an unhurried pace.
Inside the front hall, Tan Xun dressed in a sky-blue robe sat kneeling before the low table, having waited a long while. When he saw the two of them arrive together again, the smile on his face faded slightly.
“Why that look of displeasure? Who’s made the Princess angry?” He asked gently.
“No one.”
Lizhu sat down indignantly.
Tan Xun’s gaze shifted slightly, those jade-like, cool eyes sweeping briefly over Pei Zhaoye.
Last night, Jie Yun had personally seen that man enter Lizhu’s room. Both Xuan Ying and Chang Jun seemed long accustomed to it and hadn’t tried to stop him.
He himself had always maintained strict propriety with Lizhu. Even though their betrothal had long been discussed, he never dared act presumptuously, fearing she might think him lustful and grow to despise him.
And this man, how long had he even known her?
Tan Xun rarely felt defeated in his life, but this was the first time.
He looked at Lizhu—the girl he had treated since childhood as both a younger sister and a future wife, cherished with deep affection—and a faint sorrow welled up in his heart, tinged with a trace of barely perceptible resentment.
Could a wandering bandit she had met for barely over ten days truly compare to the bond they had shared for so many years?
“By the way,” he said softly, suppressing the turmoil in his chest, “about the matter of grain allocation the Princess mentioned last time, there’s been a reply from Wan Prefecture.”
At once, Lizhu’s attention was completely drawn.
“How is it? Do they have surplus grain?”
Tan Xun said, “The Ever-Normal Granary of Wan Prefecture currently holds 1,703,264 shi of grain. If it is indeed as the Princess said, that Jiangzhou’s harvest failed this year and famine has been confirmed in Yanshan—Wan Prefecture can spare 300,000 shi for relief. I’ve written back to ask my second uncle to persuade them further; perhaps they can add another 100,000.”
Three hundred thousand shi!
Lizhu held the cake in her hand, forgetting even to chew as she calculated silently.
“I remember that Pinging Prefecture, where Yanshan lies, has a little over seventy thousand households. Counting five people per household, that’s about three hundred and fifty thousand people. Considering the loss of about thirty zhong per shi during transport, if carefully rationed, it would sustain them for half a month. But if the officials handling it are corrupt, and with winter approaching… it still won’t be enough.”
Only if there were enough grain would fewer commoners, driven by hunger, join the Yanshan uprising. The Xue clan’s power of annexation would weaken, and later… the Tan family wouldn’t rise so swiftly after suppressing the rebellion.
Feeling a little guilty, Lizhu glanced at Tan Xun.
He was helping her now, but in doing so, he was hindering his own family’s future gains.
Though Lizhu had no intention of wasting such a rare opportunity, seeing Tan Xun helping her so earnestly did stir a pang of conscience.
“But three hundred thousand shi is already a great deal. Tan Xun, thank you for being willing to help.”
The noble young man, whose beauty was as gentle as spring dawn, looked at her with eyes filled with faint affection.
“Between us, why speak of thanks? If the Princess truly wishes to thank me, just call me as you did before then I will be content.”
He gazed at her expectantly.
Lizhu: “…”
No, she really couldn’t bring herself to say it.
“What title? Say it so I can hear.”
Pei Zhaoye asked, half-smiling.
Tan Xun’s brows cooled. He said, “We have known the Princess since childhood; the Princess calls me by my courtesy name. Speaking of which, I do not know Lord Pei’s courtesy name. To address you by your given name plainly would be somewhat rude.”
“Our mountain bandits often don’t even have proper given names, much less courtesy names. If you think calling me by my given name is impolite and must be formal, then call me ‘Grandfather’ if you like.”
