In the two weeks after the Winter Solstice, Yongzhou engaged in multiple battles with the Northerners, both major and minor, and emerged undefeated. However, on one occasion, Prince Zhao, with only thirteen followers, encountered the legendary “Han General” on a narrow path on the frontier. After a prolonged and intense battle, neither side could gain advantage. In the end, Prince Zhao managed to grab the man’s hand-halberd, but the man struck off Prince Zhao’s helmet in return. Upon his return, he questioned his sub-generals and learned that the man’s surname was Ding, given name Jian, a renowned divine archer from Northen Desert, unmatched in courage, and also skilled in both wisdom and strategy.
Lu Lingcong had no complaints about the helmet being taken. Instead, he pondered over the hand-halberd by himself for half a day and lamented to He Gao:
“If this man could be utilized by me, it would be like giving the Tiger Division a pair of wings.”
Li Qi, who was standing nearby as attendant, felt embarrassed by his own commander’s excessive open-mindedness in talent-spotting and couldn’t help but whisper to Lu Lingcong, “Your Highness really dares to recruit anyone into the Tiger Division.”
Lu Lingcong replied with a look of certainty: “Of course. Otherwise, how else do you think you became Deputy Commander?”
Li Qi secretly rolled his eyes, but a sense of responsibility still forced him to continue:
“You understand what I mean. A tall tree attracts the wind. I fear that in the capital…”
Lu Lingcong dropped his joking demeanor and said softly, “The Tiger Division is fundamentally a sword. The sharpness of the blade is not due to your or my merit, but if it dulls, that is our responsibility. AsAs for who wields the hilt, it can only ever be His Majesty, from beginning to end.”
He emphasized the words “His Majesty”: “Even if His Majesty wishes to break the sword and melt the iron someday, you and I will have absolutely no objections either.”
Li Qi’s expression slightly solidified, and he solemnly replied, “This subordinate will keep that in mind.”
Had it been a few years ago, he would never have believed Lu Lingcong would say such a thing even if beaten to death. Li Qi looked at Prince Zhao, who had been both his commander and a brotherly friend for many years, and suddenly felt a little unfamiliar.
Three years ago, the former emperor died. Lu Lingzhang, as the emperor’s second son born of the Empress, ascended the throne while still young, changing the era name to “Jingyu.” His maternal relatives, the Wang family of Langya, took power and were dominant for a time. Since then, Prince Zhao, the awkward eldest illegitimate son, would seize every opportunity to leave the capital, being the first to volunteer whenever there was any sign of trouble. He left the Heir Apparent, Lu Shuqing, to be raised by the Grand Tutor, Zhang Yan, while he himself led the thirty thousand troops of the Tiger Division to campaign in the North and South—this was a well-known fact.
Although Yongzhou lies on the frontier, it is a place where many different groups live and mix together. The emperor is far away, and any uncertain rumors from the capital can be treated as idle talk among the common people after dinner.
So, when this matter was brought up, a hundred tearooms in Yongzhou City had a hundred different versions. No one dared to talk about it openly, of course, but in private, everyone understood what was going on. In the previous reign, Zhang Yan handled civil matters, and Cui Xian oversaw the military. But each Emperor has his own circle of officials. Those two are now either elderly or already gone, and the one who currently holds the real power in court is the emperor’s own maternal uncle, Prime Minister Wang Chu.
Rumors on the streets had it that Prince Zhao spent so much time away to avoid drawing suspicion; both because he was the emperor’s only grown elder brother, and because of matters involving his former Princess Consort, Xie Jing, whose whole family had been executed and who had been sent into distant exile. People also whispered that he feared his military success might outshine the emperor and endanger his own life, so he left the Heir Apparent in the capital, which in truth served as a hostage—although this statement sounded sinister, it wasn’t entirely without reason either upon closer thought.
There were also those who spoke mysteriously, saying that since the former Emperor had not established a crown prince while alive and only passed the throne to his young legitimate son just before his death, Prince Zhao had long been disgruntled and had been secretly deploying forces outside over the years while harboring treasonous intentions.
Xie Jing always found this statement amusing every time he heard it. What a joke! If His Highness Prince Zhao really had the courage to usurp the throne, he and Lu Shuning wouldn’t have needed to live under false names in Yongzhou all these years.
As the end of the year approached, Yongzhou City seemed a bit livelier than in previous years. This might be related to the addition of over a thousand light cavalry of the Tiger Division. After all, seeing those figures in silver armor and red robes patrolling throughout the city, stern and hard to approach as they were, still gave people a sense of safety.
Lu Shuning had always loved this time of year as she could roam the streets freely. Because she was literate and accurately guessing every lantern riddle, she was extremely popular among the neighborhood children. However, she couldn’t rely on her good looks to trick someone next door out of food today—just a few steps out of the Prefect’s Mansion back door, Lu Shuning saw a slightly familiar figure walking ahead of her.
With her small hands behind her back, she tiptoed quietly behind him. Unexpectedly, she lost sight of the person after a few twists and turns. As she stood in the middle of the street, completely baffled, Lu Shuning was suddenly picked up directly from behind. When she came to her senses, she was already sitting in the arms of the person she had followed through two alleys.
“Did you lose the trail?” Lu Lingcong asked with a smile.
Lu Shuning widened her eyes and quietly asked, “Wasn’t Father just ahead of me?”
Lu Lingcong countered with a question, “How did your mother let you out?”
He was willing to let her play in the street but not willing to take her out of the city to live in the camp, to face him day and night.
Lu Shuning stuck out her tongue: “It’s the New Year season. My mother is too busy to look after me.” She leaned closer to Lu Lingcong and asked, “Is Father out playing too?”
Lu Lingcong was speechless. He suddenly understood why Xie Jing wanted him to take Lu Shuning back to the capital for “proper discipline.”
“I’m not playing,” he smiled, “I’m buying some groceries.”
The people of Yongzhou seldom saw Prince Zhao out of his armor, guiding a little girl through the vegetable stalls of the East Market. The natural closeness between them left onlookers quietly astonished at how approachable His Highness truly was. Looking closely, the girl seemed to bear some resemblance to him in her features—but forget it, forget it; no one dared to think too deeply.
Inside the Prefect’s Mansion.
He Gao and several of Prince Zhao’s deputy generals stood before the defense map, planning for half the day. With the holiday drawing near, Yongzhou had worked hard for a full year, and this was the time when everyone’s spirits were most at ease. But while the common people could take a breath, those responsible for defending the city had to be doubly alert to prevent the barbarians from causing trouble at this critical moment; there was no room for laziness.
The charcoal fire blazed fiercely in the council hall, and with Prince Zhao having secretly stashed several thick coats in the backyard over the past half-month, Xie Jing felt stifled. Once most of the business in the hall had been settled, he seized an opportunity, found an excuse to step outside, and sat on the veranda to catch some air.
The prefect and his wife came from humble origins. They loved the people as their children and treated their servants like relatives, never mistreating them. From where Xie Jing leaned, he could see a group of house-born children and maidservants playing together in the front courtyard, but Lu Shuning was nowhere to be found. He figured she had quietly slipped out of the residence again while he wasn’t looking.
This time, with the Yongzhou matters concluded, regardless of his own next steps, Lu Shuning was certainly going to return to Jinling City with Lu Lingcong. When they left the capital that year, the little girl was only four years old and couldn’t bear to be separated from her mother. Despite the uncertain future, he gritted his teeth and took her on the road.
But ultimately, she didn’t belong to Yongzhou, nor to the biting cold and snow of the northern frontier. She was different from her mother. Once deposed, Princess Consort Zhao had no further connection with the Imperial Family. But the Little County Princess, the late Emperor’s beloved granddaughter, who was enfeoffed when she was barely a year old, would forever have royal blood flowing in her veins, even after years of exile.
Xie Jing had never harbored grand ambitions or lofty ideals since childhood. What others spent their lives striving for; he was born with; what others longed for but could not attain. He had no desire to chase.
“Having mastered both literary and martial arts, one can then serve the Imperial Family.” For the first sixteen years of his life, he merely lived according to the wishes of his elders. When his father and elder brother insisted he take the Imperial Exams to earn a title, he did so obediently. When the late emperor decreed, he should marry Prince Zhao. He married quietly, feeling neither resentment nor joy. If one were to truly find one thing in this world that he cared about, it would probably only be “the peace and safety of his whole family.”
Clearly, life had not moved forward. So, looking back at the brink of thirty, Xie Jing still clung firmly to these eight words[mfn]What he meant by the eight characters was “The peace and safety of his whole family” above.[/mfn]. He harbored no lofty ambitions to achieve nor grand schemes to carry out. His only wish was that his two children could grow up to be safe and independent adults and that Lu Lingcong could return alive frm the battlefield every single time.
“Princess Consort.” Xie Jing heard someone call him from behind. He turned around only to see it was Li Qi.
He smiled. “Don’t call me that anymore.”
Li Qi’s expression slightly solidified. He stuck out his tongue: “I can’t change it right away. I don’t dare call you by your name; Lu Taisui[mfn]Tai Sui is a powerful deity in Chinese astrology and Taoism. Usually given as a nickname to describe someone hot-tempered, domineering, a troublemaker you’d rather avoid, or a “walking plague” who’s difficult to handle.[/mfn] would beat me if he heard it.”
Although they had seen each other often in the council hall these days, Xie Jing hadn’t found an opportunity to speak to Li Qi alone, so he hadn’t yet caught up on old times.
“I heard Lu Zifeng say you’ve become a father. Congratulations.” Xie Jing sighed inwardly. Time has changed things. Even Li Qi, the most mischievous of the young noblemen who frequently visited Prince Zhao’s Mansion in the past, had settled down, started a family, and was quite respectable now.
Li Qi gave a wry smile: “You only know a parent’s love once you raise a child. I used to laugh at His Highness for being trapped at home by his children every day in his early twenties. Now, it’s all coming back to me.”
Xie Jing pondered for a moment and chose an easy topic to start with: “You’ve been away from the capital for four months already, is that right?”
“I remember we departed after the Mid-Autumn Festival.”
“Was it always like this every year?”
“The situation is better this year. The year you just left in the twelve months, His Highness spent five months in Huaibei and another five months in Yinzhou. Huaibei struggled with displaced people causing unrest, while Yinzhou was peaceful and stable, a place so quiet that not even birds would settle there, leaving the guarding officials increasingly frazzled and their hair thinning day by day.”
Xie Jing’s focus was not on this. He frowned: “Then he really doesn’t care about Qing’er?”
Li Qi was speechless, letting out an “uh”: “You can’t say he doesn’t care either. He writes a family letter to His Highness Shizi[mfn]Heir Apparent.[/mfn] every half-month. I’ve read them; they were written with heartfelt sincerely, full of a father’s deep affection.”
Seeing Xie Jing just staring at him with a cold expression, Li Qi had to add, “When His Highness is not in the capital, His Highness Shizi is looked after in the West Palace. Consort Dowager Wu handles everything personally, so nothing can go wrong.”
Xie Jing sneered: “In order to avoid suspicion, he threw that eight- or nine-year-old child, whom even dogs would dislike, to his mother to raise?”
“Ai, Princess Consort, that’s biased.” Li Qi tried to mend things for his brother: “First of all, His Highness Shizi is not disliked by dogs. His Highness Shizi is sensible, precocious, and filial. Though he’s said to be raised in the palace, he is actually serving to respectfully attend to the Consort Dowager in her remaining years for both of you.”
“Secondly,” he glanced furtively at Xie Jing’s slightly upturned eye corners, “I think His Highness is not just doing it to avoid suspicion.”
Xie Jing was surprised: “If not to avoid suspicion, could it even be for me? That’s not what I instructed him to do back then.”
Li Qi chuckled: “That may not be true. You haven’t seen him for three years. His Highness Shizi is now growing into a young man. Sons resemble their mother, and daughters resemble their father after all. He looks seven parts like you when you were in your youth.”
Seeing Xie Jing momentarily stunned, he added a final sentence: “I think he’s afraid of seeing the boy and missing you.”
On New Year’s Eve, although the Prefect’s Mansion was usually not extravagant, it was the end of the year after all, and Prince Zhao was a distinguished guest from afar as well—though it made little sense for a distinguished guest to toil over war matters day and night—in any case, Lord He still instructed the kitchen to prepare a feast and invite the officials from the Tiger Division for a couple of drinks, even if just to reminisce about the time he had been Prince Zhao’s teacher for two years in the capital.
The Prefect’s Mansion was not large, nor was the population numerous. The kitchen was usually more than adequate for daily work, but at times like this, it inevitably became chaotic. The new little maid, San Niang, had been busy running in and out all day. Even in the dead of winter, her cheeks flushed and sweat dampened her clothes from the heat. Yet in her heart, she was willing, her parents had died in the turmoil, and Madam He had kindly taken her in. She didn’t even mind the dirtiest, most exhausting work, let alone the “respectable” task of helping in the kitchen.
However, just as San Niang hurried across the courtyard carrying a basin of freshly leavened dough toward the small kitchen on the west side for pastries and bread, she suddenly heard a whistle from above. San Niang stopped and hesitantly turned her face toward the top of the wall. She saw a shadow flash before her eyes, and by the time she focused, a young man was already standing steadily in front of her.
San Niang let out a startled cry, but everyone was busy with their own tasks, working enthusiastically, and had no time to notice her small disturbance at all.
She didn’t know how this man found his way to this obscure corner of the back kitchen—it was a cold day, yet he was only wearing an ordinary dark-colored military robe. He was very tall, and although he was still several steps away from her, a somewhat intimidating aura was already washing over her. San Niang knew that officials and soldiers of the Tiger Troop frequently moved around the Prefect’s Mansion these days. Although she rarely ventured into the front courtyard, she was certain that the person before her should be one of them.
The man did not approach further; he simply bowed to her where he stood and smiled: “Pardon the intrusion. This humble one would like to ask for your help, Miss.”
San Niang hurriedly said, “If you need anything, please just ask Lord He. This servant cannot make decisions.”
“It’s a small favor.” The man lifted his chin toward the basin of dough in her arms. “I just need a few dumpling wrappers from you, Miss.”
Not long after, San Niang stood by the cutting board in the kitchen, hugging her sleeves while watching in awe as the uninvited “cook” skillfully used a cleaver to pick the bones from the shad fish in his hands, piece by piece. He then trimmed off the head and tail, unsparingly picking out only the most tender meat, cutting it into small pieces, and neatly arranging it.
The man looked no older than thirty. His features were overly refined. Nothing about him matched the identity of a “cook,” yet his technique was incredibly practiced and in no way inferior to the chef in the Prefect’s Mansion.
“Why are you staring? Won’t you be able to finish your work and report back?” The man casually glanced at the dumbfounded San Niang and asked with a smile.
He was indeed very fond of smiling, and his words were also kind, yet for some reason, she still secretly felt he was unapproachable, keeping people a thousand li away.
San Niang snapped back to attention, replying with two “oh, oh.” While quickly getting back to her own work, she secretly glanced to see the man chopping the washed vegetables and mushrooms into small dice before mixing them with the fish meat to form a fine filling. She saw him adding ordinary seasonings, yet it smelled even much more fragrant than the filling mixed by the head chef.
The man seemed to know she was peeking and teased, “Just look and forget it, alright? This method was something I figured out myself. If outsiders learned it, the one at home would scold me.”
San Niang blushed upon hearing this. But just as she forced herself to shift her attention, she was amazed to find that the dumpling wrappers and filling, under the man’s hands, were being magically folded into the shape of a five-petaled plum blossom. The “petals” were dipped in water to increase adhesion, and a single wolfberry was placed in the center to serve as the stamen.
Having grown up on the frontier, San Niang had never seen such an exquisite and unique pastry before, let alone eaten.
“I’ll have to trouble you, Miss, to put a small steamer basket over the dumplings while cooking and let these steam for a while.” Although the man was quick, the process was complicated, and he only made five in total. He looked at her and asked seriously, “You know how to steam them, right?”
San Niang quickly nodded. She then saw him smile broadly again: “Later at the feast, you won’t need to serve the dumplings to your ‘Master Wu’. Just help me take these to him.”
How did Master Wu get involved again? She was a little confused. Master Wu was learned and polite and also beautiful—San Niang didn’t know how to describe it, but she had never seen anyone so beautiful, be it men, women, and even the man in front of her were not as beautiful as Master Wu. Master Wu’s little daughter was also clever and adorable, often running over to help them when she was free.
San Niang suddenly recalled that she had never seen Master Wu’s wife. Could this man be interested in Master Wu?
But the man’s next gentle yet determined confirmation made it impossible for her to say “no.” She could only stare blankly as he seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, thanked her again, and strode away. It took the “gurgling” sound of boiling water for a long time to snap her back into reality.
When it came time for dumplings at the evening banquet, after three rounds of wine, San Niang quietly switched places with the serving maid to make sure she could serve Master Wu and the guests seated beside him. This was the first time she had ever done something surreptitious like this, and she felt uncertain, making her movements cautious and meticulous. It wasn’t until she walked into the main hall and stopped not far from Master Wu’s table that she dared to cautiously raise her eyes for a glance.
Immediately, San Niang was stunned to see that the young “cook” from earlier was seated in the main seat. As he chatted and laughed with Lord He, he casually glanced at her, as if to say, “Proceed as planned.”
Xie Jing was naturally frail and had a weak stomach. Even after three years in Yongzhou, he still couldn’t quite tolerate the strong, muttony flavor of lamb. Given a choice—like today, he would usually choose to keep his distance from it.
So, when the seemingly awkward and nervous young maid walked up beside him, he originally intended to quietly refuse her.
Then he noticed her timidly and tremblingly present a plate of five steamed plum blossom dumplings. They were small and exquisite, with the stamen being a single red wolfberry. They were identical to the ones Lu Lingcong would personally cook for him every New Year in the past.
Xie Jing froze, suddenly recalling that at this time of year in Jinling, the pure white three-tiered plum blossoms in Prince Zhao’s courtyard would already be in full bloom.
He looked up in a daze and noticed that Lu Lingcong had stopped talking with Lord He. Resting his cheek on one hand, he seemed slightly tipsy as he gazed at him through the layers of lamplight.
