Chapter 2

In the winter of the fourteenth year of Xuanming, seven-year-old Shen Zhiyi first met fourteen-year-old Pei Huaijin among the plum blossoms. After returning home, she made several inquiries before finally learning that the boy called "Second Pei" was Pei Huaijin, the legitimate second son of the Duke of Zhen State’s household.

The Pei family’s lineage was illustrious; even among the noble families of the capital, they were second to none. Pei Huaijin’s father was the great general defending the borderlands, his mother the late emperor’s most favored Princess Changle, and even his elder brother, Pei Hezhen, the eldest son of the Pei family, was extraordinary—becoming a Cavalry General at eighteen.

At that time, young Shen Zhiyi thought, the Pei family’s status might be lofty, but her own family was not lacking; with some hard work, she could still hope to marry the young master.

Yet fate so often moves swifter than one expects. Before she even had the chance to try, in the early spring of the fifteenth year of Xuanming, news arrived from the battlefield—Pei Hezhen, the Cavalry General, had died in action.

Fifteen-year-old Pei Huaijin hurried to the border, and together with his father, accompanied his brother’s coffin back to the capital. The next time she saw him was when Pei Hezhen’s coffin was brought into the city.

That day, the usually bright spring sky was suddenly overwhelmed by torrential rain; thunder rolled, dark clouds pressed low, and townsfolk braved the storm to welcome the cortege, their wailing cries rising and falling in waves.

It was as if the entire world mourned in sorrow.

Shen Zhiyi stood in the crowd beneath a pale paper umbrella, gazing up through the curtain of rain at the young man on horseback.

The sky was oppressive and dark, and in his eyes there was no longer the carefree, unrestrained light she’d seen last year among the plum trees.

Afterward, the Duke of Zhen State resigned as general and took a sinecure position at the Censorate in the capital, and the following year, Pei Huaijin became the top scholar in the imperial exams and entered the Hanlin Academy.

The Pei family’s prestige remained as grand as ever.

But from that time on, Shen Zhiyi never again saw Pei Huaijin touch a bow or an arrow.

Not once.

In the spring of the sixteenth year of Xuanming, after Pei Huaijin became top scholar and was granted his own residence, Shen Zhiyi finally persuaded her second brother to purchase the empty neighboring courtyard beside Pei Huaijin’s new home.

Blushing apricot blossoms filled the branches. Nine-year-old Shen Zhiyi climbed over the low wall between the two estates, unconcerned as her pink skirt caught on the branches.

Petals fell all over her, crowning her hair and shoulders, and her radiant smile outshone the roses blooming by the wall.

“Top Scholar, there’s a line of poetry I can’t understand—come help me with it, will you?”

The girl propped her chin in her hands, legs swinging atop the wall. Though her words were those of a student seeking guidance, there wasn’t a single page of book in her hands.

By the window, Pei Huaijin’s brush did not falter, but the sleeve of his ivory robe quivered ever so slightly.

“The Book of Rites says, a young lady ought to…”

“To be virtuous and gentle, isn’t it?” Shen Zhiyi pushed herself off the low wall, the coral and jade tassels in her hair tinkling.

Leaning half her body through the window, she smiled slyly, like a little fox: “Then next time, Brother Huaijin, let the gatekeeper know to let me in through the main doors. I’ll stop climbing walls and be the proper noble lady you say I should be—wouldn’t that be good?”

Pei Huaijin finally set down his brush. At sixteen, he already carried the dignified composure of the future Vice-Minister of the High Court.

He studied her for a moment, then said lightly, “Shen Zhiyi, this is not proper conduct.”

“You’re always running to my place—how will you ever discuss a marriage proposal this way?”

A faint hurt flashed across Shen Zhiyi’s eyes, and she pouted in silence.

Pei Huaijin sighed softly, brushing apricot blossoms from her hair. Then he suddenly frowned, eyes catching on her hand.

“What happened to your hand?”

At his words, she instinctively flinched, quickly hiding her hand behind her back.

She hadn’t wanted him to know she’d burned herself learning to brew tea for him, but he was too quick—he caught her wrist before she could withdraw.

“Come in, I’ll put ointment on it.”

His tone was a mix of helplessness and gentle reproach, his young face already carrying the gravity of an adult.

Pei Huaijin’s palm was warm as he cradled her small hand, the cool salve on his fingertips soothing her burn—cold, yet somehow faintly warm.

Shen Zhiyi bit her lip, cheeks flushed, sneakily glancing up at him.

Sunlight streamed through the window, gilding his handsome features in golden light, making everything else seem dull by comparison.

As she gazed at him, as if enchanted, she reached up and gently touched his eyelid.

Pei Huaijin’s movement paused—he sprang upright.

The usually reserved young man’s face flushed, the bright spring sunlight dancing in his startled eyes.

“Shen Zhiyi, what are you doing? You’ve smeared the ointment all over!”

The window frame creaked under the force of the wind and snow outside.

Sleet battered against the lattice, and the northern wind howled mercilessly.

---

The last embers in the brazier were dwindling.

Pei Huaijin, seated at the bedside, his sharp features cast in shadow, looked even more severe and distant. His gaze was deep, fixed on the sleeping girl for a long time.

“Has the physician come? What did he say?”

Chun Dai answered, “The doc—”

“The physician said, my lady’s heart trouble is from poor sleep at night. A few prescriptions for restful sleep and some days of good rest will be enough,” Xia He interrupted, bowing as she spoke.

Pei Huaijin’s eyes dropped carelessly.

At twenty-three, he was no longer a boy. The Vice-Minister of the High Court was now sterner and more meticulous than ever. Years in the bureaucracy had instilled in him a silent gravity and pressure that could nearly be felt, his gaze keen enough to see through anything.

At length he merely replied with a faint “Mm.”

“If that’s so, you two take good care of your mistress.”

He glanced once more at Shen Zhiyi on the bed, then rose to leave.

As the door opened, the steward hurried up with an umbrella.

“Where is my mother?”

“Your Lordship, the lady is still waiting in the front hall—with Miss Qin as well.”

Pei Huaijin’s tone was flat. “Lead the way.”

When he left, Xia He’s legs gave out, and she quickly grabbed the bed frame, patting her heart.

Chun Dai, voice low and dissatisfied, pressed, “My lady is so gravely ill—why didn’t you tell His Lordship? Perhaps he could find a cure!”

Xia He shushed her, glancing at the door. Only after making sure they were alone did she whisper, “When my lady saw His Lordship just now, she didn’t mention her illness. As servants, how can we take such liberties?”

“But…”

Chun Dai wanted to argue, but Xia He continued, “If it’s to be said, it should be when my lady wakes, and from her own lips. Until then, our only duty is to keep silent.”

Chun Dai pouted, eyes reddening as she tucked the blanket around Shen Zhiyi. She knew Xia He was right, but her heart ached for her mistress—this past year had been so hard on her.

---

Outside, the wind howled and snow danced, cloaking the world in frost.

In the main hall, the lantern’s glow seemed dimmed by a veil of chill mist, its golden light unable to warm the room.

When Pei Huaijin entered, Princess Changle was having tea with Qin Yin.

Qin Yin lifted a porcelain cup and offered it with both hands. “Madam, please try it. My tea-making skills are not the best—I hope you won’t mind.”

Princess Changle accepted the tea, tapping Qin Yin’s forehead with a smile. “You’re just like your father—always modest. If you claim to be second-best at tea, I dare say no one would claim first.”

Qin Yin smiled demurely and was about to reply when she noticed the tall figure appear at the door.

“Ah! Brother Huaijin!” she exclaimed, rising to greet him. Surprised at his attire, she quickly took a cloth and brushed the snow from his shoulders.

He wore only a dark blue robe, cinched with a jade belt that emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow waist. The outfit suited him perfectly, but it was far too thin for such weather.

Princess Changle’s gaze flicked to Qin Yin brushing the snow from her son’s coat, and her brow furrowed slightly. “Where’s your crane cloak?”

He’d worn it home earlier, but after a visit to Shen Zhiyi’s Begonia Court, it was gone. The answer was obvious.

At her question, Qin Yin lowered her eyes, hiding a small, satisfied smile as she retreated to the princess’s side.

Pei Huaijin, unexpectedly, answered, “The Begonia Court lacked enough charcoal. I left my cloak there for her warmth. From tomorrow, half the charcoal from the Main Hall is to be sent to Begonia Court.”

He took a handkerchief from his young attendant Su An, carefully wiping his slender fingers, glancing at his noble mother on the main seat.

“These days are cold. If Mother feels weary, my chief maid, Wanyun, can assist you.”

“You…” Princess Changle, caught off guard by his words, clutched the table in anger, nearly unable to breathe.

“Well, well, Lord Pei! Have you come to question me on behalf of your concubine?!” she snapped.

Pei Huaijin tossed the handkerchief back to Su An, not even looking up. “I would not dare.”

“You would not dare? I see you have! When the Shen family was punished, Shen Zhiyi should have been burned with them—how dare you bring her into our house to disgrace our name—”

“Mother!” A bright, childish voice called from the doorway.

At the sound, Princess Changle’s expression shifted instantly, her anger melting into affection. She scooped her three-year-old son into her lap, not caring as he wriggled and wrinkled her gown.

Pei Huaijin’s gaze, having rested on his mother, lowered as he saw her expression change, and a faint smile tugged at his lips.

“Since Third Brother is here, I’ll take my leave.”

Princess Changle, all attention on her youngest, waved him off without a glance. “Go! Qin Yin, you go as well!”

Qin Yin followed Pei Huaijin out. They walked side by side down the shadowed path.

“There’s no mother who doesn’t love her child. Perhaps the princess has her reasons,” Qin Yin offered gently.

Pei Huaijin said nothing.

Qin Yin glanced up at him. In the wind and snow, his figure beneath the lantern’s glow seemed lonelier than ever.

She clenched her fists.

She had liked him since childhood.

But then, Pei Huaijin’s eyes saw only her elder sister, Qin Zhen. Her father had warned her that Second Master Pei would be her brother-in-law, and not to entertain such thoughts.

Later, Shen Zhiyi appeared at his side—the proud, radiant heiress who shone like the sun itself.

He noticed Qin Yin even less.

But in the end, she had fought for her chance.

As she saw Pei Huaijin turning toward Begonia Court, she spoke softly, “Don’t be sad, Brother Huaijin. When my sister was alive, she hoped you could live freely and happily.”

At the mention, he paused, his usually indifferent expression softening.

After a long moment, he answered, “Your leg has not healed. Rest well. Since your sister entrusted you to me before her death, the Duke’s household will keep you safe.”

Tears glistened in Qin Yin’s eyes as she nodded, recalling her sister.

She added gently, “I heard Miss Shen from Begonia Court fainted. You should go and see her.”

She glanced at him. “I brought back many of my sister’s belongings from Pingjiang, including manuscripts she wrote for you. I’ll send them to you once I’ve sorted them.”

Pei Huaijin had already been heading toward Begonia Court, but at her words, he stopped.

“Su An—”

“Yes, sir.”

“Has the charcoal for Begonia Court been delivered?”

Su An held an umbrella, draping a new crane cloak over Pei Huaijin’s shoulders. “All of it, the finest red charcoal as you ordered.”

Pei Huaijin glanced instinctively toward Begonia Court—a faint glow shone through the darkness, barely noticeable, like the person living within.

“Send the hundred-year-old ginseng in the storeroom to Begonia Court.”

He took the umbrella from Su An, tilting it slightly toward Qin Yin. Snow settled softly on the canopy, giving a quiet sound.

After a long while, Pei Huaijin spoke, his cold voice hoarse, “Let me see you back.”