Chapter 1

Chapter One

It was the summer solstice, the day stretched long and the sunlight blazed fiercely. Fu Zijing sat in the shade of the flowering trees, drowsy and languid, lazily waving a light fan, his whole demeanor screaming impatience.

The painter finally spoke up, "Young Master, it's done."

Fu Zijing sprang to his feet and walked over to the table to look at the portrait.

The painter said nervously, "It's just that the Young Master's pose is a bit too slouchy. If you're not satisfied, I can paint another one."

But Fu Zijing snatched up the brush from the table, dipped it in black ink, and dabbed a mark on his own handsome face, saying, "Send it up like this."

The painter stared at the large black mole and said, "That won't fly, Young Master. The Empress personally asked for this portrait."

Fu Zijing had only arrived in the capital a few days earlier, right as Princess Minzhang was picking a consort. Since this princess was the only one in the dynasty, the Emperor and Empress took her marriage very seriously, and every eligible young nobleman in the capital was on the list. Fu Zijing had arrived a bit late and missed the initial palace banquet. Since hauling him into the palace for a formal look-see would've been too much, the Empress ordered the painter to come to the Grand Tutor's residence to paint a portrait.

Fu Zijing flashed a cocky grin. "Is the Princess only into looks? If that's the case, one day the looks'll fade and the love'll go cold. How could Huai Qian trust his whole life to something like that?"

Fu Zijing flat-out refused to sit for a redo, so the painter had no choice but to present the portrait as it was. However, the painter sure as hell wasn't about to repeat Fu Zijing's words to the Empress.

The Empress took one look, snorted coldly, and ordered a palace maid to hand it to Princess Minzhang, Li Xihua, who was seated below.

"Looks like Fu Zijing really doesn't want to be the consort—won't even fake it."

Li Xihua tore the painting in half and said to the Empress, "An imperial order's an imperial order—he doesn't get a say in the matter."

Fu Zijing showing up in the capital to visit family right as the Princess was picking a consort? Yeah, that wasn't a coincidence. This marriage had his name on it from day one. The Emperor was sickly, and his uncle Li Su was itching to rebel. The Fu clan of Zhenzhou, being in-laws, had three hundred thousand heavy troops and would back them to the hilt. The Crown Prince was just a kid, way too young to hold the dynasty together. Down the road, a widow and her little boy would be nothing but meat on the chopping block. Look at the whole court, the whole country—nobody could go toe-to-toe with Zhenzhou.

Fu Zijing was the eldest legitimate son of the Fu clan. If she married him, she couldn't count on Zhenzhou switching sides to the Crown Prince over this marriage, but at least it beat sitting around waiting to die in the palace.

Li Xihua walked out of the Empress's palace, gazing at her shadow stretched long on the ground by the sunlight, her heart heavy with a bottomless sorrow. Across the court and the harem, was she really the only one whose scrawny shoulders could carry any weight?

As a princess, Li Xihua had heard the stories of many princesses before her—most got married off to some foreign land and then vanished off the face of the earth. Though they never returned, because they'd briefly stopped wars and bought more time on tribute payments, they got celebrated in the history books, worshipped by the current dynasty, and hailed as heroes.

This was the fate of a princess, and Li Xihua had figured this out when she was just a kid. In her childhood, the Hu had kept invading, and it was the biggest crisis the dynasty had ever faced. She'd once been terrified that sooner or later she'd be shipped off from the Central Plains to some barbarian land where even taking a bath was a hassle. Then Zhenzhou drove the Hu barbarians out, sending them scurrying deep into the grasslands, and she figured she was safe for life. But wouldn't you know it, Zhenzhou itself became the new crisis.

Well, it could be worse—at least Fu Zijing didn't reek of mutton.

She walked through the deep palace corridors, so quiet they felt completely empty, stepped out through Chonghua Gate, and hopped into Liu Rushu's carriage—Liu Rushu being the Censor-in-Chief's daughter—and rolled into the noisy, jam-packed Zhuque Street.

Li Xihua got out of the palace a lot—which was more than the princesses of earlier dynasties could say. Supposedly they talked without showing their teeth and walked without swishing their skirts, studied the womanly virtues every single day, and they couldn't go anywhere except the palace halls and the imperial garden. The guards could keep assassins out of the council hall, but they could keep princesses out too, because in the halls where politics got discussed, blood could be spilled, but princesses seeing an outside man? Absolutely not.

This dynasty was pretty open, not a ton of rules; men and women sitting together, shoes and slippers all tangled up—that was totally normal. But a princess still didn't get to run as free as a regular girl.

For instance, she couldn't be like Liu Rushu, rolling around in that oiled carriage with sachets and pearl tassels on all four corners, going wherever she dang well pleased. The palace only had those yellow-curtained palanquins, and if she rode in one, everybody on Zhuque Street had to drop to their knees.

"Your Highness, look, that rogue..."

Liu Rushu pulled back the carriage curtain and pointed at some young guy in black, a whole crew around him.

Li Xihua followed Liu Rushu's pale, delicate finger and saw the young man—flowers tucked in his hair, a wine flask at his hip, cap tilted just so, and a look in his eyes that screamed young and full of himself.

Liu Rushu whispered in her ear, "He's the one I told you about the other day, the one I met at Xiangguo Temple. He claimed to be a young master from the Grand Tutor's place and said he'd been crushing on me for ages and wanted to be friends. Then I asked around and found out the Grand Tutor's young master is only eight years old. So if he wasn't lying about where he was from, he's gotta be Fu Zijing from Zhenzhou. It's maddening—how dare some cocky, good-for-nothing come to the capital and pull this crap."

Though Liu Rushu spoke with indignation, she couldn't quite hide the pride in her voice.

After all, Fu Zijing, without that black mole, was actually rather handsome.

Li Xihua withdrew her gaze and sat back down.

Fu Zijing was drunkenly proclaiming, "Marrying a princess is worse than marrying a peasant woman. A true man of valor would never live under someone else's thumb."

The carriage brushed past him, nearly knocking him over. He turned to rebuke the driver when the carriage curtain was blown up by the wind, and he caught sight of a beauty in a pink dress with a spiral bun, her curved brows furrowed, staring at him with icy, furious eyes.

Fu Zijing froze, swallowing back the curses that had been on the tip of his tongue.

The clamor around him faded into silence.

By the time the carriage had disappeared into the distance, he snapped back to his senses. He tried to chase after it, but it was already gone.

Because that angry, beautiful face kept floating in his mind, he found himself listless for the rest of the day.

Fu Zijing was the sort of person who loved all beautiful things—even an inkstone had to be the most perfectly shaped one. His interest in women wasn't mere lust; for instance, his earlier offense toward Liu Rushu was simply because she was a celebrated beauty praised by everyone in the capital.

Whatever he loved, it was always just a passing whim.

But that fleeting glimpse just now—why did it stir his heart so?

He could only blame it on that extra bowl of rice wine he'd drunk.

He finally managed to shake off his companions and arrived at Ruan Tower, only to see that very carriage parked at the entrance.

Fu Zijing grabbed his companion and asked, "Do you know whose carriage that is?"

"Isn't it Miss Liu's, the daughter of the Censor-in-Chief?"

Right—Fu Zijing then vaguely recalled that the beauty had indeed been sitting beside another woman, one he actually knew, yet he hadn't noticed her at all.

Fu Zijing strode quickly into Ruan Tower, with his companions chasing behind him, shouting, "Still drinking?"

Inside Ruan Tower, lanterns and candles flickered, guests crowded the space—it was the busiest and most bustling time of the day. Even as Fu Zijing and his ornately dressed companions entered, no one came to greet them. The waiters, white towels draped over their shoulders and tea trays and dishes in hand, all hurried past without a word.

Fu Zijing squeezed his way to the counter. The manager's fingers flew over the abacus without lifting his head, asking, "Will the guest be dining or staying? If dining, you'll have to share a table. If staying, you'll have to wait until after the hour of wei tomorrow when guests check out."

"I'm neither staying nor dining. I only want to ask the manager one question: where is Miss Liu sitting?" As he spoke, Fu Zijing slid a silver ingot in front of the manager.

The manager raised his head and said, "This humble establishment receives guests every day; I don't know everyone. Which Miss Liu might the young gentleman be asking about?"

"Naturally, the most famous Miss Liu in this capital city."

The manager pushed the silver back and said with a smile, "As it happens, a Miss Liu is indeed a regular patron of this establishment. If that's who the young gentleman is asking about, I'm afraid I can't say. Otherwise, if Miss Liu were to be accosted, she might never come again."

"Truly a citizen of the capital—not swayed by gold and silver, which already puts you above most officials."

Fu Zijing didn't press the matter. He added another silver ingot and pushed both forward again, smiling. "Then prepare us a feast. That should be acceptable."

"The young gentleman is generous." Though Ruan Tower's main hall and upper rooms were all full at this hour, with enough money, there was always a way.

Fu Zijing and his group entered a small room at the end of the second floor corridor. The window faced an alley, with not a glimpse of the river scenery—only the humble homes of the narrow lane, a lonely lamp casting faint shadows, a rather desolate sight.

Young men naturally loved lively scenes and were greatly displeased, complaining to Fu Zijing: "The painted boats on the river, with soft warmth and fragrant company—wouldn't that be more enjoyable? Huai Qian goes off to seek beauty for himself but leaves us here to suffer."

Even so, not one of them left; each found a place to sit. Fu Zijing's family was in Zhenzhou, and though he was already seventeen, he had visited the capital fewer times than he could count on one hand. Yet he had many friends and knew every corner of the capital better than those who lived there year-round. His wide circle of acquaintances was one of his greatest strengths, though his uncle believed the friends he made were all frivolous, shallow young men useless for official careers or scholarship. His uncle would come looking for him, finding him wandering the streets all day, drinking and carousing, endlessly exasperating.

The Grand Tutor once complained to outsiders that his nephew was a hopeless case, and soon enough, gossiping tongues embellished the story and spread it far and wide. Thus, in just three days of Fu Zijing's stay in the capital, his reputation as a dissolute playboy was firmly cemented in everyone's minds.

Fu Zijing poured himself a cup of the house specialty, iced bayberry wine, and downed it in one go. The glass reflected his dashing, flirtatious features as he smiled, "Shangjing's flowers may be splendid, but none can catch my eye. Hold on, everyone—I'm off to find that hibiscus that shot me a dirty look."

He staggered out, and everyone could tell he was dead drunk. They laughed at him, but no one tried to stop him.

The Ruan Tower had five sections, each three stories tall, named after the five notes of the pentatonic scale, linked by winding balustrades and soaring walkways. Fu Zijing searched room by room, building by building, through corridors and across painted bridges, until dusk settled and lanterns began to twinkle—yet still he could not find the beauty.

He reached the last section, the Yu Tower. Standing on a bridge, he looked down into the courtyard below, where a dozen-plus Confucian scholars in pale blue and white robes with black headdresses stood, likely from two different academies, hotly debating whether to recall troops to Zhenzhou, stockpile grain, and buy horses. A few in red official robes stood in back, silent but occasionally clapping in approval.

The court kept its doors open to free speech—even commoners could beat a drum and have their grievances heard by the emperor himself. You'd see this kind of public talk about state affairs every day in the city's teahouses and taverns.

The Ruan Tower, as the foremost establishment in Shangjing, almost brought back the glory days of the pre-Qin Hundred Schools of Thought. Scholars swarmed here, since countless bigwigs and officials came and went—some even whispered that the emperor himself had once visited in disguise at night. If your words landed on the right ears, you could shoot straight up the ladder. It was a backdoor into officialdom, aside from the imperial exams.

"Ever since the big battle at Xumiguan, the Hu haven't dared set foot in the Central Plains for five years—probably starved to death out in the grasslands by now. You really think the Fu clan is buying horses to fend off the Hu?"

"Last year at the emperor's birthday bash, Prince Qi'an skipped it, and Marquis Fu made up excuses not to show either. Those two are in cahoots—their treason is written all over their faces."

"The emperor's in his prime but sickly, and they're banking on the young heir being too green."

"If you ask me, that Fu girl never should've married Prince Qi'an. Rumor has it she was supposed to go into the emperor's harem instead."

"My friend, you speak wrongly—can the fate of a nation truly hinge on a woman's skirts?"

The words grew fierce, all condemning, and those who defended the Fu clan were nearly silenced by the end.

Fu Zijing leaned against the vermilion railing, listening with great interest.

At the top floor of the Yu Tower, a window was pushed open—the beauty he had sought in vain was leaning out. She held a bowl of cherries, picking at them leisurely, also listening to the debate below.

Perhaps fate worked in mysterious ways, for amid all that clamor, he somehow heard the sound of the window opening.

He looked up, and her face shone brilliantly.

Like a pearl, like moonlight.

His heart raced.

Li Xihua caught sight of him too. Their eyes met—the young man's gaze like autumn waters.

She smiled, then closed the window.

Fu Zijing hurried after her, but the room was empty, only a toppled cup with spilled wine, and that bowl of cherries, half-eaten.

He picked one up and put it in his mouth.

He knew summer had truly arrived.

The moon was bright, the breeze clear, cicadas droning and insects buzzing—the imperial city was at its finest.