Chapter 98

Chapter 98

Perhaps it was the constant petting and scrutiny from Ming Tang in Chengyi Hall that wore it out, or perhaps the hall had become a painful reminder during its recovery. The moment it regained full mobility, Little Horse, seizing an opportune moment when no one was looking, snatched its favorite toy and traversed mountains and valleys to reach Pei Ze.

The children, having not seen the little black cat—which used to startlingly leap out from dark corners—in a long time, missed it dearly. They even brought it along to their lessons.

While Mr. Lu lectured eloquently at the front, Little Horse perched on a high table, its tail dangling and occasionally flicking. Mr. Lu was never strict during lessons; during breaks, he would even approach Pei Ze and the others, playfully ruffling their hair.

Cats, ever the opportunists, sensed that this person didn't mind its presence. When the lesson resumed, Little Horse boldly jumped onto Pei Ze’s lap, curling into a ball and occasionally emitting soft purrs from deep in its throat.

With a warm, furry bundle on his lap, Pei Ze sat up straighter, careful not to let the increasingly plump Little Horse slip to the ground if he moved carelessly.

Mr. Lu noticed Pei Ze’s tension and tactfully avoided calling on him. Instead, after class, he remarked nostalgically, “When I was young, my family also had a cat. Every autumn and winter, it loved curling up in my arms—soft and warm. When my hands stiffened from writing, I’d warm them against its belly. It was far more effective than a warming pan. Sadly, as it grew more rotund over time, I could no longer hold it properly and had to let it go.”

Recalling the past, Mr. Lu’s tone softened. He eyed the black furball on Pei Ze’s lap and added thoughtfully, “Your cat is well-cared-for, not as portly as the one from my childhood.”

Pei Ze stroked the cat’s back, his fingers sinking into its soft fur, the warmth against his palm just right. Yet... he couldn’t help but carefully recall and assess the weight on his lap before concluding: Little Horse had truly put on weight.

As for why Mr. Lu hadn’t noticed its weight gain, Pei Ze observed for a moment and figured: It must be because Little Horse was black. His aunt often said wearing black made people look slimmer, and surely the same logic applied to animals. Take Ta Xue (Snow Treader) and Zhao Ye (Night Illuminator), for instance—he always thought Zhao Ye looked sturdier than Ta Xue.

Scratching Little Horse’s fluffy tummy, Pei Ze initially wondered when it had gotten so plump. Then he remembered it had been recuperating in Chengyi Hall for some time and reached a conclusion: It must have been spoiled with treats and no activity, leading to its current roundness. Pei Ze resolved then and there to make sure the cat exercised more from now on, lest it end up too fat to hold, as Mr. Lu had described.

The children’s efforts to outsmart Little Horse and help it shed weight during breaks were another matter. When Ming Tang returned to find the cat’s nest empty, she realized it had sneaked away. Sighing at the loss of her “living foot warmer,” she let it go and turned to catch up on neglected work.

After the Empress’s birthday, events that had been postponed—weddings, banquets, and the like—came flooding in. With the year-end approaching, Ming Tang felt a struggle to readjust after a long break. Though her status as Mrs. Pei meant she didn’t attend every gathering, the shift from leisurely days at home was still noticeable.

More people meant more gossip. At gatherings, conversation naturally drifted toward the latest news:

For instance, rumors that another Prince of Chu’s concubine was pregnant, though the palace showed no reaction. Or that the eldest daughter-in-law of Minister Zhang’s family had given birth to a girl who shared the Empress’s birthday—so blessed that the Empress even bestowed two gowns Princess Pingyang had worn as a child. Then there was the cousin of the Jin Princess Consort, who had married into Minister Qian’s family last month and seemed to have won over her in-laws, always seen accompanying her mother-in-law.

At one such banquet, Ming Tang encountered the once-familiar Second Miss Zhang.

A year later, the young woman was no longer so transparent. She greeted Ming Tang with perfect decorum, standing dutifully beside Mrs. Qian and only adding a polite comment when addressed, performing her filial duties impeccably.

Mrs. Qian, too, acted as though unaware of the Prince of Chu’s growing rapport with Minister Qian since his apprenticeship at the Ministry of Revenue. She heaped compliments on her granddaughter-in-law—linked by marriage to the Jin Princess Consort—until Zhang Rui, blushing crimson, excused herself from the gathering.

Ming Tang remembered their first meeting at the hunting grounds, where Second Miss Zhang had been openly rude and later had to apologize to the Pei family for spreading gossip. Her current demeanor showed she’d received strict instruction afterward.

It seemed that when someone put their mind to it, nothing was impossible.

As for Mrs. Qian... Ming Tang glanced at the woman, chatting cheerfully with others, utterly unconcerned about where Zhang Rui had gone. She could only marvel at their political acumen. Right after the princes’ tutorial posts were announced, the Qian family had arranged this marriage for their grandson. Now they displayed it to mark their position. No matter their private plans, their public alignment was unmistakable.

When Mrs. Pei heard Ming Tang’s musings, she waved it off unconcernedly: “Even so, they could’ve picked someone better.” Given past events, Mrs. Pei clearly still held some reservations about Zhang Rui.

But she also disapproved of the Qian family’s approach. Shifting the topic, she remarked, “Today they show her off as proof of alliance; tomorrow, if winds change, will they shun her to signal displeasure? This isn’t about fostering a happy marriage—it’s making a political statement at home. What’s the point?”

When the Pei family had arranged Pei Yue’s marriage to Ming Tang, part of it was to avoid entanglement with the princes. But many families in the capital remained unaligned—why did it have to be the Mings? Mrs. Pei had initially assumed Pei Yue and Ming Tang had prior ties, that he was set on her, which cemented her approval.

Of course, after over a year of marriage—especially their recent closeness—Mrs. Pei was no fool. She’d long realized it was likely a misunderstanding and that their affection had blossomed after the wedding. But by now, she’d developed real affection for Ming Tang and saw no need to dwell on the past.

Sometimes, she even mused that this marriage, forged from fortunate misunderstanding, had turned out so well. Could it be fate, proof they were meant for each other?

Otherwise, such luck would be rare indeed.

With more social obligations, there were days when Pei Ze had no classes. The first time, he insisted on accompanying the adults, refusing to stay home alone. But after being constantly doted upon by matrons and ladies at the banquet, when asked again if he wanted to join, he decisively chose to devote himself to his lessons over socializing.

Exchanging a glance with Mrs. Pei, Ming Tang understood his plight. She simply reminded Nanny Zhou, “If A Ze sweats, change his clothes promptly to avoid catching a chill.”

Nanny Zhou smiled knowingly, aware the young mistress had already guessed the little heir would head to the drilling grounds. She nodded in acknowledgment. As winter approached and the children often practiced horsemanship and martial arts, sweating was inevitable. To prevent chills, two rooms near the grounds had been repurposed as changing areas—something Nanny Zhou oversaw daily.

Mentioning this, Ming Tang recalled the same time last year and murmured, “Winter seems to have arrived earlier this year.” The temperature had dropped faster.

Mrs. Pei’s expression shifted. A few days later, she consulted the gardener, most attuned to seasonal changes, and grew somber after hearing his observations. When she saw Pei Yue, she couldn’t help but ask, “Any news from the west?”

The Pei family had long-standing military connections. Over the decades, the late Duke had cultivated these ties, followed by Pei Jun’s stationing in Shaanxi. Though the current Duke of Dingguo was based in the capital and less involved, the network remained intact. After Pei Jun’s death, the Heir Apparent to the Duke of Rong took over Shaanxi’s forces, but Pei Yue maintained old contacts. During festivals, envoys still delivered greetings, and with the family’s own informants, they stayed better informed than most, despite being in the capital.

Pei Yue had been pondering the same. At his mother’s question, he shared openly: “Someone from the Ministry of Revenue visited me yesterday. There’s no unusual movement yet, but I’m concerned. Two consecutive years of abnormal weather—while peace is ideal, it’s also unnatural.”

Given the Xiongnu’s nature, Pei Yue had suspected border conflicts when unseasonal snow struck last spring. When calm prevailed, he assumed the emperor’s strong defenses had deterred them.

But with winter arriving early again, two harsh years in a row, he doubted they’d be as lucky as last year. Not in a position to act, he could only urge the family’s old allies to stay vigilant, though the current garrison commanders had no ties to the Peis, making direct warnings impossible.

Back in Chengyi Hall, alone with his wife, Ming Tang ventured, “If war does come... would you want to fight?”

Though phrased as a question, Pei Yue’s childhood books—filled with annotations on border fortifications—his unwavering morning drills, and his stories of campaigning with Pei Jun had already given her an inkling of his answer.

After a brief silence, Pei Yue nodded. “I’m a Pei. If war calls, I’ll answer.”

Seeing her quiet, he added, “But this is just worrying needlessly. The garrison commanders are battle-hardened commanders—even the Heir Apparent to the Duke of Rong, the least experienced, won a victory last year. With the Duke of Jingguo and others like him, even if I offered my services, I might not get the chance.”

Ming Tang knew this, but worry lingered. Just as Mrs. Pei surely foresaw the possibility of Pei Yue going to war, yet couldn’t bear to hear it confirmed.

The lingering worry didn’t disrupt daily life at the Duke of Dingguo’s residence.

As the year’s busiest season approached, Ming Tang, now well-practiced from the previous year, handled household affairs and social obligations alongside Mrs. Pei with greater ease.

On New Year’s Eve, the four gathered as usual to keep vigil. Outside, snow fell heavily; inside, warmth reigned. Pei Ze, no longer the child who’d chased cats indoors until sweaty, now sat composedly beside Ming Tang, the increasingly round Little Horse in his lap, listening to the adults.

Celebrating her second New Year with the Peis, Ming Tang felt a mix of emotions. Noticing Pei Yue’s distant gaze, she shot him an inquiring look. He paused, then shook his head slightly, handing her a cup of warm wine. When she took it, he poured himself one, touched their cups, and drank.

Pei Ze, still too young for wine, watched enviously before sighing and raising his white porcelain of scarlet fruit nectar. “Grandmother, let’s toast too.”

If Li Bai could drink with his shadow, surely he could toast with syrup.

Mrs. Pei, enjoying her solo drink, laughed at the little one’s request. Seeing the couple’s glasses still in hand, she cheerfully agreed, filling her cup to the brim and clinking it against Pei Ze’s before drinking.

Compared to last year, the older Pei Ze lasted until midnight, though drowsy, still awake. At the firecrackers’ roar, he perked up, eager to see the fireworks.

Snow still fell, but the estate blazed with light, turning the white-blanketed roofs and paths bright as day. Standing under the eaves, the family watched fireworks bloom brilliantly against the snowy night.

Pei Ze, who’d stayed up just for this, waited until the last firework faded before stepping forward. With a deep bow, he unleashed a torrent of well-wishes, then straightened, beaming.

The adults, surprised by his prepared performance, laughed delightedly. Mrs. Pei handed him a red envelope. “How long did you practice that?”

Pei Ze accepted it with both hands. “These are A Ze’s heartfelt wishes for Grandmother, Uncle, and Mother. They flowed naturally—no practice needed.”

Ming Tang, also presenting an envelope, marveled at how quickly children grew. The toddler who’d once struggled to speak now charmed with eloquence.

As the elders marveled at his growth, the parrot in the greenhouse—awakened by the noise—had no such sentimental thoughts. Mimicking Pei Ze’s well-wishes at full volume, its piercing cries shattered the post-firework silence, leaving Pei Yue speechless.

Little Horse, oblivious to the mood, perked up at the familiar voice. Paws leaving tiny prints in the snow, it meowed excitedly, tail swishing against Ming Tang’s skirts.

Between the parrot’s squawks and the cat’s yowls, Pei Yue abandoned any profound reflections. Patting Pei Ze’s shoulder, he said simply, “It’s late. Time for bed.”

Pei Ze obediently bid the adults goodnight, soothing Little Horse as he retreated—for once—to his old quarters in Jing Hua Hall.

The snow continued to fall in flurries, blanketing the freshly cleared paths with a thick layer once more, leaving crisp footprints in their wake.

Ming Tang suddenly felt playful and purposefully fell a step behind, carefully stepping into each footprint Pei Yue had left. At first, she found it a bit awkward, but soon noticed the spaces between the footprints shrinking—clearly, Pei Yue had intentionally shortened his stride. Ming Tang couldn't suppress a smile, handing her hand warmer to Wen He and skipping forward with light steps.

Hearing the hastened footsteps, Pei Yue was prepared. When he sensed the breeze from Ming Tang’s approach, he obligingly bent his knees.

Experiencing this perspective for the first time, Ming Tang found it novel. She looped her arms over Pei Yue's shoulders from behind, letting her hands rest in front of him as she peeked past his shoulder at the path stretching endlessly ahead.

Once Ming Tang was settled, Pei Yue resumed his usual pace, taking the lantern from Zhe Liu with one hand. In moments, they had outdistanced the others. The deep night was silent, broken only by occasional distant noises, making it seem as though only the two of them existed in the world. Snowflakes settled on Pei Yue’s hair, and Ming Tang occasionally blew softly, sending up a wisp of mist in the lantern’s glow before it dissipated.

Neither spoke. Ming Tang pressed against the back of Pei Yue’s neck, feeling a strange peace in her heart.

Even the longest path has an end. Spotting the corner of Chengyi Hall jutting over the wall in the distance, Ming Tang suddenly spoke: “If you ever have to leave, don’t fret over the household. Take care of yourself. With Mother and me here, everything will be fine.”

Pei Yue paused briefly, feeling the slightly heavier weight against his neck, and replied solemnly, “I will.”

No more was said that night. After a brief rest, the family dressed and set out for the palace's New Year audience.

The roads in the imperial city had long been swept clean, and the carriage wheels clattered over the stone pavement. The air was knife-edged with cold after the snow, each breath searing the lungs with cold.

Upon entering the banquet hall, the chill instantly dissipated, replaced by the honeyed scent of winter plum.

For this yearly ceremonial occasion, unless there were major changes or shifts in official positions altering seating arrangements, everything remained the same as the year before.

When Ming Tang was led to her seat, she realized it was the same one she had occupied the previous year, even the angle from which she discreetly observed the princess consorts felt familiar.

Yet, a year had passed, and their expressions and attitudes had changed. The Jin Princess Consort had lost her unshakable poise of the previous year, and the Princess Consort of Chu had lost the bloom she'd had during her pregnancy under the Empress’s special attention. For now, they appeared equally matched, neither gaining the upper hand. The Princess Consort of Yan, however, seemed in brighter spirits, likely because she had brought the Little Princess along, drawing extra attention from the Empress.

Once the formalities were over and she no longer had to decipher circuitous pleasantries, Ming Tang left the palace gates with Mrs. Pei, only to find the Duke of Dingguo waiting alone. Mrs. Pei’s heart skipped a beat, her habitual distaste briefly set aside: “Where is Yue?”

The Duke of Dingguo was clearly suppressing anger. He glanced at Mrs. Pei and snapped, “Your fine son has grown quite capable—detained by His Majesty for counsel.” With that, he turned and strode away.

He couldn’t forget how, after the banquet, Wang Shen had led Pei Yue away from his side, summoning him along with several other high-ranking ministers to an audience with the Emperor, while the surrounding officials shot him veiled looks.

What stung most was that fellow dukes—the Duke of Jingguo, the Duke of Yu, even the Duke of Rong—were all included in the summons, yet when it came to him, the Emperor showed no intention of bringing him along, instead calling for Pei Yue.

Wasn’t this a deliberate slight?

Even if he had long known he wasn’t as favored by the Emperor as Pei Jun and Pei Yue, the sons of Lin Shi, the Duke of Dingguo had never imagined being made a public spectacle of on the first day of the new year before the entire court.

Furious and already distant from his family, the Duke of Dingguo had no interest in reassuring Mrs. Pei and Ming Tang further. Coldly, he thought: *And they expect me to tell them not to worry? As a mother and a wife, isn’t fretting over their son and husband natural? Let them chew on their worries.*

Mrs. Pei’s face indeed showed concern. Exchanging a glance with Ming Tang and seeing her troubled expression, she said nothing more until they were in the carriage and outside the palace gates before asking, “Do you have any idea what this is about?”

Ming Tang nodded. “I fear it’s as you and Yue suspected—there may be war. Earlier, I noticed the Duchesses of Jingguo and Yu speaking with others before boarding their carriages. Likely, their husbands were also detained.”

Mrs. Pei had privately feared the same but hadn’t expected Ming Tang to confirm it. Impressed, she remarked, “I didn’t think you’d notice such details. You truly are observant.”

With the likelihood of war now high, Mrs. Pei set aside further speculation. Ultimately, the decision lay with the Emperor and Pei Yue. If he were to leave the capital, she trusted his training would see him through any challenge—otherwise, what had all his years of dedication been for?

Lost in thought, her hands clenched unconsciously, her knuckles whitening.

Finally home, Ming Tang bid Mrs. Pei farewell and returned to Chengyi Hall. Changing into casual clothes, she reclined against a pillow, her mind swirling with guesses about the situation at the palace.

Her thoughts were chaotic, and exhaustion from the palace visit soon weighed on her. Her eyelids grew heavy, her mind sluggish, drifting between sleep and wakefulness.

Some time later, the soft sound of the door curtain falling startled her awake. Recognizing Pei Yue’s familiar footsteps, she sat up at once, only for him to gently press her back down.

Having shed his outer layers—likely lingering in the main hall before entering—he carried no trace of the outside cold. Pulling Ming Tang into his arms, he leaned back against the pillow, idly twirling a loose strand of her hair.

After waiting a moment without him speaking, Ming Tang straightened and fixed him with a searching gaze. “Does this have to do with what took you to the front courtyard yesterday?”

Pei Yue nodded. “Didn’t You Niang guess as much last night?”

He had been momentarily stunned by her sharp intuition—how swiftly she had connected his urgency to news from the west. Knowing her stance had steadied him, turning guilt into resolve.

Thanks to the advance warning and Ming Tang’s reaction, he had faced the Emperor’s summons with composure, free from hesitation over his family’s response.

Ming Tang’s eyes flickered as Pei Yue began explaining in detail: “The northern grasslands suffered heavy snowstorms, and the Tatar Third Prince led troops to raid the border, plundering seven or eight villages before attacking Ganning City. At the time, the Heir Apparent to the Duke of Rong was in Ganning but, fearing the Tatars’ numbers, fled with his personal guards through another gate during their assault—even taking an arrow in the process. He’s now recuperating in Chang’an.”

His tone grew disdainful. “Likely ashamed, he tried to suppress the news until after the New Year. But his incompetence extended even to that—just enough delay for the Emperor to learn of it on the first day of the year.”

Ming Tang fell silent. *Incompetent*—never had a term rung so true—and so damning.