“Gege, your sleeve is torn.” Lu Lingzhen was lying on the couch beneath the covered walkway while resting her cheek in her hand and smiling.
“I don’t need you to remind me.” Lu Lingcong said in annoyance.
To decipher the line of characters Xie Jing had written before leaving, he had deliberately cut a section off his inner shirt and was perpetually turning the small piece of cloth over in his hands, unable to grasp its essential meaning.
In truth, after staring at it all day, he had already memorized the few words perfectly. If worst came to worst, he could just transcribe them onto another piece of paper. But recalling Xie Jing’s faint smile as he left, Lu Lingcong felt there was a hidden meaning, suggesting that the location where it was written might be intentional. Gritting his teeth, he was thus reluctantly “forced to tear his sleeve.”
“What profound secret is written there?” Lu Lingzhen leaned diagonally against the armrest, propping up half her body as she bent forward and read aloud with careful attention. “Let me see—‘Meet at the peak of Qunyu Mountain on the ninth day of the ninth month.’ Yo, he’s asking you out for a secret rendezvous!”
Lu Lingcong pushed her aside: “Go, go, stop making trouble.”
Lu Lingzhen ignored him and wondered aloud: “The ninth day of the ninth month is coming soon, but where is this ‘Qunyu Mountain’?”
This was exactly what troubled Lu Lingcong. Qunyu Mountain was the legendary residence of the Queen Mother of the West. Let alone the capital, such a place was unlikely to exist anywhere within the Nine Provinces. If Xie Jing’s line was genuinely an invitation for a “rendezvous,” did he mean they had to “meet between heaven and earth”?
Before he even had a chance to get through his round of worrying, Lu Lingzhen beside him let out another loud, energetic shout: “Aha! I know!”
“You scared me to death,” Lu Lingcong frowned at her, seeing the girl so excited that she began to stammer:
“If not… if not at the peak of Qunyu Mountain!” She cried out loudly.
Lu Lingcong remained unmoved.
“It’s Li Taibai’s poem! It’s inscribed on the screen with the court ladies in Mother’s inner chamber!”
Seeing that Lu Lingcong was still confused, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed in his failure to live up to expectations and said anxiously, “You’re even worse than I am! No wonder Grand Tutor Zhang used to punish you by making you copy books every day!”
Upon hearing this, Lu Lingcong’s expression finally showed a slight change.
“Oh,” he narrowed his eyes, “Oh—”
“If not at the peak of Qunyu Mountain, then we shall meet beneath the moon on Jade Terrace.” There was no Qunyu Mountain in Jinling, but Jinling did have Jade Terrace. Built during the Jianning era, it was a precariously perched pavilion overlooking the river to the west of the city, adorned with carved beams, painted rafters, and soaring eaves, and was often used for banquets, social gatherings, and the enjoyment of distant views.
Lu Lingcong knew that he and Xie Jing shared an awkward combined title: The Twin Jades of the Jade Terrace.
Recalling Xie Jing’s overly clever smile before getting out of the carriage, he now realized the top scholar had intentionally not written “meet beneath the moon on Jade Terrace,” likely to tease him, the illiterate military man.
But then he thought Xie Jing wouldn’t be so trivial. Upon deeper reflection, the latter had most likely made an impromptu decision to arrange a private meeting, and the incentive must be related to what happened in Linhai Hall that night. Going even deeper, it was highly probable that it was related to Lu Lingcong’s proposal on the Star-Plucking Tower night to “establish a connection inside the palace.”
Xie Jing had said, “I don’t trust things written with a brush,” and he probably also remembered Lu Lingcong saying that not everyone in the Prince’s Mansion was trustworthy. That was likely why he made the spur-of-the-moment decision to use this word to riddle instead.
But he genuinely hadn’t considered what would happen if Lu Lingcong couldn’t guess the answer.
Lu Lingcong was slightly depressed. Then he realized, if he couldn’t guess, Xie Jing might simply be happy not to meet him, which immediately made him even more depressed.
Lu Lingzhen was thrilled that she had solved the riddle and asked curiously, “Who is the one arranging such a secret meeting? Let me guess, could it be the beautiful Saosao we met at the Dragon Boat Festival banquet? Am I right?”
“Yes… no.” Lu Lingcong wasn’t listening closely and spouted nonsense, “Yes and no.”
“You’re guilty,” Lu Lingzhen concluded with satisfaction. “I knew it; such elegant handwriting must belong to a beauty.”
The princess’s Interest in “torn sleeve” ended there, and she hummed a tune as she sauntered away.
Unfortunately, the ninth day of the ninth month brought poor weather. The sun was hidden during the day, a light drizzle fell in the evening, and by night, the moon had vanished entirely.
Lu Lingcong brought two jars of Meishan Snow Liquor. Estimating when the moon would be high in the sky, he sent away all unnecessary attendants, instructed his guards to wait nearby, and climbed alone to the top floor of the pavilion, leaning against a daybed as he waited for someone.
After waiting for half an hour, he felt a bit sleepy. He pulled the chessboard from the small table, set the two jars of black and white pieces beside him, and began playing a game against himself.
After another half hour of play, he dozed off and knocked on the chessboard with his elbows. The pieces clattered across the floor, waking Lu Lingcong.
He gathered the remaining pieces, opened a jar of wine, poured himself a cup, and drank alone. Just as he felt he might accidentally finish the entire jar if he kept drinking, hurried footsteps finally came from the corridor.
Xie Jing arrived late; his whole body tightly wrapped in a bean-green cloak. Yet the hair at his temples was damp, and the beads of water on the tip of his nose glimmered like pearls in the candlelight. Only then did Lu Lingcong realize it had started raining again outside.
He had been waiting impatiently and was tempted to make a couple of sarcastic remarks. But then he saw Xie Jing take off his cloak, stand tall and elegant, tilt his head slightly, and wipe his wet hair with a piece of cloth draped over the chair’s back, not forgetting to lift his eyelids to glance at him.
From this angle, only by opening his eyes very wide and round could he look across and see Lu Lingcong on the other side. Xie Jing smiled apologetically and whispered, “I am late.”
Lu Lingcong’s annoyance immediately vanished.
After drying his long hair, Xie Jing noticed the cloth felt extremely soft. He wiped his hands, glanced down casually, then froze and let out a small “Ya,” before hastily tossing it back onto the back of the chair in an attempt to cover his tracks.
Lu Lingcong found him highly amusing, like a startled bird.
“I thought it was just a thin blanket.” Xie Jing immediately realized his lapse in manners, stepped forward, picked up Lu Lingcong’s outer robe he had used as a towel, folded it neatly, set it properly back on the chair, and even reached out to give it a reassuring pat.
“I thought you were going to stand me up today.” Lu Lingcong said as Xie Jing sat down on the other side of the daybed.
He said very earnestly, “If I were going to break the appointment, I wouldn’t have invited you out that day.”
Lu Lingcong looked at his profile and asked, “Is the rain heavy?”
Feeling slightly awkward, Xie Jing twirled a lock of hair that wasn’t completely dry with his index finger and said, “It’s not heavy; I just left late. I spent the day climbing Qixia Mountain with my father and mother, and it was already evening when we returned to the city. I waited until they rested before sneaking out.”
He added, sounding uncertain, “I suppose there will also be a banquet in the palace today?”
Lu Lingcong didn’t answer directly, only saying, “Rain on the Double Ninth Festival means a warm winter, and next year should bring a good harvest.”
However, late autumn, deep night, and sudden rain still brought intense chills. He poured a cup of wine and handed it to Xie Jing: “Warm yourself up.”
Xie Jing took it and took a shallow sip while wondering, “Given the occasion, I thought it would be chrysanthemum wine.”
Lu Lingcong showed an expression of distaste: “Chrysanthemum wine always has a medicinal smell. Do you want to drink it? Isn’t this fine as it is?”
“Of course it is,” Xie Jing quickly affirmed, sincerely agreeing, “Meishan Snow Liquor is truly excellent wine.”
“The Prince’s Mansion’s Meishan Snow Liquor is truly excellent wine,” Lu Lingcong corrected him precisely, looking quite pleased. “I couldn’t control myself this year, so there aren’t many jars left. If you like it, I can brew a bit more next year.”
When he said this, Xie Jing found himself unsure about how to respond. After all, had the words come from Xiao Yao they would have been teasing, but spoken by the person concerned, they left him feeling faintly embarrassed.
Fortunately, Lu Lingcong quickly got to the main point: “Why go to all this trouble to find me? What’s the important matter?”
Xie Jing immediately said, “It was late that day, and my mind wasn’t very clear. I hadn’t figured out how to say many things, but I felt I still should tell you.”
Lu Lingcong chuckled: “You don’t have to be as apprehensive when talking to me as you are when facing the emperor. You never have to be.”
Xie Jing then said, “First thing, the Empress forbids me from secretly going easy on your younger brother.”
Lu Lingcong was not surprised at all, only saying, “Then you should listen to her.”
Xie Jing frowned at him: “She knows I was making an exception because of you. Is that fine?”
“Of course you did it for me, and of course she knows,” Lu Lingcong explained to him. “Before I left the palace to establish my own mansion, whenever Lingzhang made a mistake and was punished, he would always come to me to complain. But Empress Mother felt I was a bad influence and that my pleas were only because I couldn’t bear to see her son disciplined into becoming a great man. She didn’t appreciate it and scolded me as well. Over time, Lingzhang stopped seeking me out, and I stopped making myself unwelcome either. So just do your best, and that’s enough. Whatever the outcome, it’s ultimately just the private affairs of Linhai Hall.”
He looked at Xie Jing’s ineffable expression and found it quite amusing: “Perhaps you can’t quite grasp this kind of relationship—few people can, and only those in this kind of precarious position can truly understand. Your elder brother treats you very well, right?”
Xie Jing nodded without hesitation: “An elder brother is like a father; we are eleven years apart.”
Lu Lingcong blinked: “The same as me and Lingzhang. When I was young and foolish, I often wondered why Lingzhang wasn’t born first, why he couldn’t be my elder brother.”
Xie Jing was speechless, only able to say, “If that were the case, many things might be easily solved.”
Lu Lingcong raised an eyebrow, his tone unconsciously tinged with sarcasm: “Is that possible? I tend to think not.”
He stared at Xie Jing’s handsome yet still slightly boyish features under the lamplight, thinking his younger sister’s words were indeed right: this was truly a beauty. The beauty lay most in the clear purity of his eyes and the slight hint of innocence that unintentionally slipped out when he smiled. It was evidence of having been well-protected and treated with great care.
This was actually Lu Lingcong’s biggest hesitation and sincere trepidation regarding this marriage. This was actually Lu Lingcong’s greatest hesitation and trepidation regarding this marriage. He had effortlessly acquired a precious gem that others treasured, but would he be able to return it intact and fair to its rightful owner?
“Suspicion, jealousy, and scheming; inside those four palace walls, they will never change because of the relationship between father and son, husband and wife, or brothers. It has always been this way, since ancient times.”
Lu Lingcong suddenly half-cupped Xie Jing’s wrist, gently moving it aside to prevent the wax from the nearly burnt-out candle from dripping onto his hand. “What difference does it make who’s the elder brother and who’s the younger?”
He tempered the gravity of his tone: “You know this logic, but you don’t necessarily truly understand it.”
Xie Jing, however, shook his head without thinking: “I wish I never understood it my whole life.”
Lu Lingcong was amused by him and responded repeatedly, “Let’s hope so, let’s hope so. Ignorance is bliss. I hope Young Master Xie has endless amounts of this good fortune to enjoy, and it would be best if you could spare some to share with me.”
Xie Jing didn’t reply. He knew Lu Lingcong hadn’t fully understood his meaning, but that was for the best. He could say without hesitation that he would never fall into a situation of brotherly strife or mutual destruction in this life. The only opportunity he would have to witness such things—if they ever happened—would be through Lu Lingcong.
In any case, he didn’t want Lu Lingcong to reach that point.
“There was originally another matter, but now it seems I shouldn’t ask it anymore.”
Lu Lingcong already understood in his heart: “You want to ask if I have any aspirations for that position, don’t you?”
Xie Jing did not answer, only watching him curl the corners of his mouth: “No wonder you were so constrained and walking on thin ice that night. Are you afraid that you and I will also end up living like Emperor Father and Empress Mother?”
Xie Jing still didn’t speak, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Lu Lingcong pressed three fingers together and said solemnly yet humorously, “I swear, I swear to the Princess Consort Zhao, I swear to Xie Zhiwu, that the situation in Linhai Hall will absolutely never be repeated in Prince Zhao’s Mansion in this life.”
“Stop your nonsense.” Xie Jing pressed his fingers down. Lu Lingcong’s frivolous vow distracted him somewhat, but it did not make him overlook that the other party had subtly changed the subject and had not directly answered his question.
After a brief silence, Lu Lingcong rose and went to the window, pushing one side open. Wind laced with fine rain slanted across his cheeks as he leaned over the railing to look down. Below flowed the endlessly surging Yangtze River, silently flowing for millennia, converging into Xuanwu Lake, and weaving around Zijin Mountain. It nourished the heartless willows of Taicheng, the moon east of the Huai River, sustained three hundred years of the dynasty’s lifespan and the four hundred and eighty temples of the Southern Dynasties, and fostered generations of the capital’s populace—fishermen, woodcutters, farmers, and scholars—who lived and multiplied.
They would not ask who sat on the Dragon Throne, nor would they care about the surname of the ruling dynasty. These were not the Lu family subjects; they were the citizens of Jinling.
Lu Lingcong suddenly turned around and asked, “Do you like Jinling?”
Xie Jing was lost in thought. Hearing this, he looked at Lu Lingcong, fully displaying that clear and pure gaze. He smiled: “Whether I like it or not, although I was born here, I returned to Chenliu with my grandfather when he retired at the age of three. Since then, I’ve only visited once or twice occasionally. Jinling must be considered a foreign land to me.”
Lu Lingcong shrugged: “Alright. If you’re willing, when I get some free time next spring, I’ll take you around the city.”
Upon hearing this, Xie Jing remembered the main purpose of his visit, stood up, and walked a short distance behind Lu Lingcong.
“Your Highness,” his use of this title clearly carried a specific meaning. “Before the seventh day of the first month next year, this should be the last time you and I meet privately.”
Xie Jing used the specific date to replace “the wedding day”; ultimately, he was still a bit thin-skinned.
This was his stance—that night on the Star-Plucking Tower, Lu Lingcong asked if he would be willing to be his connection inside Linhai Hall. Xie Jing had already stated that he didn’t trust the reliability of paper and written correspondence. Now, explicitly stating that this was the last “private” meeting before the wedding was his answer—he was unwilling.
Lu Lingcong, however, seemed to have anticipated this. He nodded, looking as though he was relieved, and said casually, “Very well.”
Immediately, he stepped forward two paces, and something slid out from his sleeve: “I have something to give you.”
Xie Jing looked closely. It was a dagger with a cold, harsh feeling. The design was familiar; it was likely the very object Lu Lingcong held at Xie Jing’s throat that time in the forest when he had murderous intent.
“You really don’t know any martial arts at all, do you?” Lu Lingcong confirmed.
Xie Jing answered without hesitation: “Yes. I can’t learn it.”
Lu Lingcong: “……”
“If you truly wanted to learn, is there anything in this world you couldn’t master?”
Xie Jing met his gaze with calm composure, plainly declaring, “I won’t, but I simply refuse to learn,” his defiance unmistakable.
Lu Lingcong helplessly said, “This dagger is named ‘Flying Light’. It belonged to the previous leader of the Xuanshi, was passed to Xiao Yao, and Xiao Yao then gave it to me as a token and collateral for our mutual agreement and alliance.”
Xie Jing thought to himself that it was as he had guessed: Lu Lingcong and the Xuanshi must have reached some kind of agreement. But he didn’t ask further, only softly recited thoughtfully: “Flying light, flying light, I urge you to take a cup of wine. It’s from Li Changgu’s [The Grief of Short Daylight.]”
“Isn’t this name perfectly suited to your style?” Lu Lingcong didn’t forget to sarcastically remark on his frustrating riddle.
“Do you know The Six Forms of Flying Light?” Xie Jing suddenly asked.
Lu Lingcong was slightly surprised: “You know about that?”
Xie Jing nodded and then shook his head: “I saw it in a folk tale but only heard the name, not the details.”
Lu Lingcong was silent for a moment. The dagger suddenly slid out of its sheath. Xie Jing’s eyes were only quick enough to catch a flash of cold light, like a shooting star, instantly vanishing into the darkness. The person before him had vanished, moving with ghostlike speed, and in the blink of an eye was standing motionless behind him.
In that instant, a chilling, emotionless aura swept around Xie Jing. Lu Lingcong was pressed close against his back, leaving almost no space between them. One long arm bent slightly as it circled around Xie Jing’s front. Holding the Flying Light dagger in a reverse grip, he used the pommel to brush lightly over several vital points, including the crown of the head, throat, wrist pulse, and lower abdomen; in a swift circuit, so light it was like the transparent flutter of a cicada’s wing, before finally coming to rest over his heart.
Xie Jing’s breath was instantly caught. Lu Lingcong paused for a moment, sheathed the blade, and the icy chill around him immediately receded like a tide, leaving no trace. He placed the dagger into Xie Jing’s hand; his palm, however, was warm.
He took half a step back, picked up the bean-green cloak draped over the chair, spread it out, shook it, and covered Xie Jing’s shoulders.
Xie Jing instinctively clasped the front of the cloak with both hands but opened his lips to ask, “You only touched five spots. What is the last form?”
“I won’t tell you,” Lu Lingcong circled back around to face him, lowered his head, and raised his hands to tie the cloak sash. “You’ll never need it in this lifetime.”
