“A union to last for all time, a bond to grow old together.”
Yu Jinnian only learned of the matter the following day. For some time, he had been staying at Jinyouting, mostly because Ji Hong had suddenly become the center of attention, with countless visitors delivering calling cards every other day. Fed up with the endless social calls, Yu Jinnian had simply decided to seclude himself and see no one.
Su Ting had fallen ill from exhaustion as soon as he returned. The tension that had kept him taut on the battlefield snapped the moment he relaxed, sending him crashing down.
Taking advantage of this idle time, he spent his days and nights copying out several medical texts from memory, striving to record every scrap of knowledge he could recall. If this information could be preserved and shared, it would be more precious than gold.
Now that everything was settled, his mind wandered once again.
For centuries, the official schools had flourished—everyone dreamed of entering government service, and even the poorest youths of the Great Xia dynasty could study and rise to prominence. Why, then, must the art of medicine remain locked in an ivory tower, passed only from father to son, from master to apprentice, while rival traditions slandered one another and kept their texts secret? Female physicians in the Great Xia were as rare as phoenix feathers. Even Xie Mengxian, with her miraculous hands, had ended up maligned as little better than a gossip, shunned and exiled, eventually retiring to a mountain village to marry and bear children. And as for the likes of the famed Dr. Zou of Xin’an County, with meager skill but greedy for flattery and wealth—they were as numerous as cattle.
Not to mention the proliferation of strange and dangerous folk remedies. Even minor illnesses like diarrhea or a cold could be fatal. If plague struck, a single outbreak could wipe out households. If only someone could teach the people the most basic medical truths, the simplest ways to prevent disease—then, at the outset, fewer would have perished in Chunan City. Ji Hong would not have suffered shortages of medicine and grain, forced to seal the city and await death.
…If only there could be a medical school.
Lost in dreams, he wondered how to establish such an institution. He startled awake by kicking the table leg, only then realizing he had fallen asleep at his desk. Turning to glance at his bed, he saw nothing had changed—a neat quilt, not even a crease by the couch; at his feet, in a chest lined with thick blankets, the White Beauty slept soundly. Dawn glimmered at the horizon; Ji Hong had not returned all night.
Yu Jinnian gathered his hair into a makeshift ponytail, clumsily winding a long headband around and between his hands and his mouth; it was still not a skill he had mastered. The little Dingdang leaped down from the wall and rubbed against his leg. Outside, a commotion was rising in the garden—what day was this, he wondered, another triumphant army procession? He strolled to the doorway and saw people coming and going; the doormen and servants crowded together, peering out.
He ambled over, nudged the doorman’s shoulder, and asked, “What’s going on?”
The burly doorman started violently and, with a bang, slammed the door shut, blocking Yu Jinnian’s view with his shoulder. A nearby young servant tried to speak but was slapped to the ground by the doorman, and the two grappled for some time, nearly coming to blows. The servant, though thin, was strong enough; in his agitation, he kicked the doorman in the thigh and cried out, “What are you doing?”
The doorman seized him, covering his mouth.
“If you won’t say it now, when will you?!” the servant burst out, his eyes wide and furious. “Wait until the heir’s been sliced into meat and delivered to the young master before you say it?!”
Yu Jinnian frowned. “What meat? Speak clearly!”
The servant sobbed, catching his breath between gasps, scratching several marks into the doorman’s face in the struggle. “They say—our master defied an imperial edict, angered the Emperor, and today he’s to be dragged to Wude Gate and flayed alive… Young master, if you don’t go now, you might not even get to see him one last time—”
Yu Jinnian froze in place, his hand trembling as the half-tied headband slipped from his fingers.
All over the city, crowds rushed to witness the execution. No one knew exactly which highborn was condemned—there were so many nobles and officials in the capital that to toss a date pit and strike seven or eight would hardly be a feat. Watching executions was a common pastime for the masses. The Great Xia prided itself on benevolent rule; seldom was death by slow slicing imposed, except for the most heinous crimes. They said a skilled executioner could slice a thousand or more cuts, yet keep the victim alive to the end, skinning them until only their bones remained, the heart still drumming within.
A rare spectacle indeed.
Yu Jinnian ran all the way to Wude Gate; he hadn’t put on his outer robe, nor washed his face, and careened through the streets in disarray. Wude Gate was far from the inner city, near the southern market, full of common folk—no one of any status wished blood to stain their doorstep, so for centuries, execution grounds had been moved ever further out, but the crowds only grew.
Shixing, hearing the commotion, was nearly driven to fury by the doormen and set off after Yu Jinnian, but lost sight of him in a blink.
Yu Jinnian had no idea what he was thinking. Or rather, he dared not think at all. When he reached Wude Gate, the crowd was packed layers deep, shouting and clamoring in a boiling tumult. He pushed forward, trampling unknown feet and enduring curses, heedless as he pressed to the front, bellowing, “Let me see! Just let me look! He’s my man—please let me see him!”
Only then did someone shuffle aside, casting him a strange look.
Yu Jinnian paid it no mind, fumbling his way to the base of the execution platform, clinging to the rail and peering in. The condemned man was tall and thin, with pale skin and a bruised, swollen face—but his age was all wrong, his hair grayed, his eyes dull and muddy—not Ji Hong!
The executioner waved his slicing knife, giving Yu Jinnian a leering look. “What, kid, this old eunuch’s your lover? Really?” The crowd erupted in mocking laughter.
The breath left Yu Jinnian all at once, and he collapsed on the spot, his legs giving way. Someone came to lift him, half-dragging him upright. He clung to the stranger’s sleeve, muttering incoherently, “It’s not him…”
With a sigh, Shixing hefted him over his shoulder and started pushing through the crowd. “Of course not. The heir is fine—just delayed at court by some matters. This fellow is a criminal eunuch. How did the rumor turn him into the heir? You ran so fast, there wasn’t time to explain.”
Yu Jinnian, dazed, murmured again, “It’s not him.”
“No, it’s not.” Shixing tried to comfort him. “Let’s go home now.”
The Jinyouting carriage soon arrived and stopped at the foot of Wude Gate. Still in shock, Yu Jinnian was bundled into the carriage by Shixing, sitting there dumbly, still trembling. The carriage rolled gently, careful not to jostle him, threading the city streets. In front of a wine shop, Shixing went to buy a jug of plum wine and some rice cakes to revive him.
When he turned back, Yu Jinnian was leaning out, nearly falling as his legs buckled and he tumbled down. Shixing raced over, hauling him up as Yu Jinnian spun in confusion, then set off again on foot.
Shixing pulled him along. “Where are we going?”
“To the palace gate,” Yu Jinnian murmured. “He’s in the palace. I’ll wait for him… wait for him to come home.”
“Let’s at least get back in the carriage—how long will it take to walk there?”
Yu Jinnian had gone a hundred paces or so before it seemed to dawn on him. He abruptly turned and clambered back into the carriage. “Right, that’s right—carriage, carriage. Quick, Shixing, to the palace gate!”
Shixing could only laugh in helpless relief.
Two days before, the heir had made all the necessary arrangements, stressing above all that Divine Physician Yu must be looked after—Shixing remembered every word, not daring to neglect a single instruction. Yet Yu Jinnian would not be dissuaded, and what if he was denied and ended up in an even worse state… though frankly, he already was. They parked the carriage far enough to see the palace gates. Yu Jinnian clung to the window, watching the towering and guarded walls.
Officials entered and exited, but Yu Jinnian made no move to leave. Shixing did not dare step away, watching as the youth stared fixedly at the gate for hours. Duan Ming came by with clean clothes and pastries, but Yu Jinnian only chewed mechanically, silent and motionless.
Shixing sighed—what retribution was this?
As the crowd from court emptied away, Yu Jinnian craned his neck but still did not see Ji Hong emerge. It had not been Ji Hong at Wude Gate, but with all the rumors, it couldn’t be baseless. Several officials recognized the Jinyouting carriage and steered clear, shunning Yu Jinnian as if he carried a plague.
He was not a fool—his heart heavy, he realized Ji Hong might truly have defied the Emperor.
Messengers from home and even Su Ting, weak as he was, came to urge Yu Jinnian to return, but he refused to leave without seeing Ji Hong come out with his own eyes. At least he waited quietly, and Shixing, giving up, simply waited with him. The shadow of the palace wall spread like a yawning beast, devouring the daylight inch by inch, casting layer upon layer of darkness. Yu Jinnian leaned wearily against the carriage wall, eyelids heavy, his silhouette fading into the deepening night.
Shixing lit a little lamp and hung it outside, casting a vestige of warmth. He chewed a sprig of grass and resolved, if the moon rose past the tree line and the heir still hadn’t emerged, he would knock Yu Jinnian out cold and tie him up to take him home.
“Bah!” Shixing spat out the grass and watched the arc of the moon brightening in the sky. Rolling up his sleeves, he steadied himself, about to act.
Just then, a deep sound echoed—the palace side gate creaked open! Yu Jinnian awakened at once and turned sharply. Across the shadow-black expanse, a glimmer of light emerged—growing brighter as it neared the gate. It became two pageboys bearing palace lanterns, mincing steps as they led the way. Guards checked scepter and token, verified identities, and at last the side gate swung wide.
A figure in crimson official dress stepped from the darkness—tall, poised, pure as dew, upright as a pine.
Lianzhi accompanied him to the gate and saluted Ji Hong. “We can escort Lord Ji only this far. The night is deep; take care on your way.” Receiving a lantern from Fusheng, he offered it to Ji Hong. “It is said the sovereign’s word is never spoken in jest. Once you leave the gate, the decree will be approved tomorrow and sealed—this cannot be undone. Will you not reconsider?”
“What I sought, I have gained.” Ji Hong smiled. “I have no regrets.”
Lianzhi clasped his hands and, turning to glance outside, suddenly froze, then smiled. “It seems your path home is well lit, Lord Ji.”
By the gleam of lantern light, Ji Hong squinted in surprise—a figure in pale white was ambling anxiously toward them, stopping, running, then stopping again, at last halting before him and nervously gazing up and down without a word.
Arms, legs, everything there. Yu Jinnian seized his sleeve, turning it up to inspect for wounds. Surrounded by pageboys and palace guards, he paid no heed. He checked both sleeves thoroughly—finding no injuries, he finally breathed in relief, his eyes blurring with tears. Ji Hong, both amused and aching, wished to touch the boy’s face, but Yu Jinnian, mortified, refused to look up, pretending to study the embroidery on Ji Hong’s official robes.
“What’s this supposed to be, anyway—a chicken…”
Lianzhi laughed aloud and ushered the pageboys away. “It’s a peacock,” Ji Hong told him gently, patiently.
“Oh…” Only when Lianzhi and the others were gone did Yu Jinnian sniff and lift his gaze, clinging to Ji Hong and burying his face in his palm.
The palace guards at the gate flushed bright red, teeth set on edge with envy.
The Jinyouting carriage rattled home; halfway back, Yu Jinnian succumbed to sleep, quietly resting against Ji Hong’s shoulder. Along the way, Shixing recounted the affair at Wude Gate—how Yu Jinnian had run to the execution ground, had stubbornly insisted on waiting outside the palace. At last, Shixing sighed. “He really was frightened.”
Once home at Tingyue Residence, Ji Hong settled him onto the bed. He was about to fetch water when Yu Jinnian, who had seemed sound asleep, lurched up with a cry of “Ah Hong”, grabbed him and looked around in panic, clearly just emerging from a nightmare. Ji Hong quickly returned, sitting at his side and holding him close, gently patting his back. “It’s over, you’re safe… nothing more will ever happen to you.”
Yu Jinnian slowly calmed, recognizing the familiar fragrance and soft curtains of home. There were no flayed corpses, no palace walls spattered with blood. Only after a long while did his limbs relax, and he curled up, clinging to Ji Hong. Eventually, he asked, “What exactly did you do behind my back?”
Ji Hong pressed a kiss to his brow and smiled. “From now on, I take your surname.”
“Huh?” Yu Jinnian blinked in confusion.
…
The imperial edict was approved, the seals affixed, and the six ministries copied and distributed it. With a clamor, twenty-four enormous red chests were carried to crash open the gates of Jinyouting.
Yu Jinnian, still groggy, stumbled to answer the door—and was rudely awakened by an eyeful of red silk trimmings. Lianzhi appeared, all smiles, bearing a roll of soft, golden yellow silk, capped with silver-embroidered dragons surging amid waves. A dozen young eunuchs burst in, beaming as they threw open the doors.
Lianzhi bowed respectfully. “Congratulations on your joyful union, Lord Yu! Congratulations, Lord Ji!”
Yu Jinnian: “…”
Ji Hong, as composed and striking as ever, emerged calmly to arrange for the garden servants to reward the eunuchs.
The night the decree was transcribed, the young scribe had labored without sleep; the Bureau of Rites kept vigil, every related office working without pause. No one knew how to handle a marriage between two men—what ceremonies, what customs? Whatever—let it be! Curse that Lord Ji for making trouble! The astrologers grumbled, yet still calculated the auspicious hour for the scribe to record.
The young official, at the end of his wits, ruined seven or eight sheets of imperial silk; Lianzhi, waiting anxiously outside, watched as he labored over his brush for a whole day and night to squeeze out just the opening word: “By command…”
He had studied the classics for twenty years, passed every exam, and risen to serve as an imperial scribe—bringing honor to his ancestors. Yet never in centuries had there been such a marriage contract. Throughout time, marriage had always been between man and woman—Yang and Yin in harmony, the union of two energies giving rise to all things. What Lord Ji had done was contrary to nature and tradition! As he wrote, the conservative scribe wept, and Lianzhi fretted, fearing his tears would stain the sacred document.
In the end, however, tears did not prevent him from exercising his skill.
The dazzling imperial edict, when unfurled, declared: “A union to last for all time, a bond to grow old together.”
A few more eunuchs marched in, one holding a set of brand-new official robes—deep green trimmed and embroidered with the fifth-rank silver pheasant—offering them with formal ceremony. Two more brought in great commemorative plaques, one inscribed, “Skilled Hands and Sincere Heart,” the other, “Nourish with Medicine and Food.” Yu Jinnian, dizzy and overwhelmed, had no idea what he was supposed to do, or was actually doing, hesitating to accept.
Lianzhi stifled a laugh, feigning a sigh. “Looks like our Lord Yu didn’t quite understand the contents of the edict—he’s overjoyed to the point of foolishness.”
The youngest eunuch, bowing and smiling, explained in a gentle voice, “Lord Yu, His Majesty not only bestows marriage, but as recognition for your service in quelling the plague and at the recommendation of the Imperial Medical Office, grants you the title of Supervisor of Medicine! In the future, a Bureau of Public Welfare Medicine will be established outside the palace, teaching and certifying physicians in service to the people—to save lives and benefit all. Your medical expertise cannot be allowed to go to waste!”
“Supervisor Yu—aren’t you going to kneel and thank His Majesty?”
An official state-run medical academy! Yu Jinnian’s eyes widened, and he nearly leapt into the air.
Lianzhi closed the decree and handed it to Yu Jinnian, collecting his smile. “Lord Ji knelt all night at Yingqian Hall for this; you must cherish it well.”
“…”
Nothing delighted the eunuchs more than bearing good news from the palace—especially new appointments, rewards, or marriage grants, which always meant a celebration and generous tips. Lord Yu had pulled off the trifecta, and the chief eunuch personally brought the edict—a true honor.
If the tips weren’t generous this time, the eunuchs wouldn’t stand for it!
Joyfully, everyone was invited to the garden, bustling about as servants laid out cheese, candied fruit, and sweet beans, newly made soft cakes, delight pastries, and beauty crisps—an entire table spread beneath the peony arbor. The drink was chilled cherry liqueur—tart and sweet to whet the appetite. Jinyouting’s pastries were unlike any others, especially fragrant and fine. The eunuchs, all of twelve or thirteen years old, naturally delighted in the rare chance to be away from the palace, and could not stop nibbling once they got started. Lianzhi called for order, but let them play for half an hour in the end.
He had visited Jinyouting many times and was familiar with it, so he sought a quiet corner to watch from afar. By the lotus pond, Ji Hong gently comforted the little divine physician, who hung his head, evidently weeping.
Initially, the Emperor had wanted to bestow Princess Zhaohua in marriage, but Ji Hong had refused—even after kneeling outside Yingqian Hall all night, he would not relent. The Noble Consort finally persuaded the Emperor to compromise, allowing him to take a male spouse. Even so, Lord Ji turned down the traditional procession, rejecting any trace of the old ways. He wanted no concealed, shamefaced ceremonies, but a proud, open union—two men standing as equals, neither yielding, partners in every sense, married as any ordinary couple.
Ji Hong cared for nothing in the world except this. Only Yu Jinnian, who was now sobbing as if grievously wronged, seemed overcome with tears.
Such is the pride of the favored.
Lianzhi watched, a smile spreading on his face, but in his heart, he could not help but feel a flicker of wistful envy.
A beautiful snow-white cat licked its paws in consolation. Lianzhi glanced down, picked it up, and found it was heavy with kittens.
“Envious?”
A deep voice sounded at his back. Lianzhi started; the cat leapt away, and before he could turn to see who it was, strong hands seized his waist, pressing him to a broad, solid chest. The man held him boldly, leaning against a pillar, its sandalwood scent filling every breath. Lianzhi tried to push him away, glancing in alarm toward the flower hall. Min Ji caught on and drew him back. “What are you afraid of?”
Lianzhi slipped aside and whispered, “Why are you here? If anyone saw us, it wouldn’t be good for you…”
Min Xuefei tangled close. “If I don’t care about that, why should you?”
Their game of push and pull escalated, catching the attention of a few in the flower hall. Lianzhi’s heart raced with panic, terrified someone would see him with Min Ji. He was not like Yu Jinnian, who was an upright gentleman, honored by the state—he was only a scheming eunuch. Anyone seeing Min Xuefei mixing with him would say he was throwing his life away.
Min Xuefei refused to let go, full of life. “Did you see the steps outside Yingqian Hall, where Lord Ji once knelt? If he could kneel, so could I, I—”
“Min Ji!” Lianzhi hissed through his teeth, glaring at him furiously, angry at such recklessness, angry that he treated his own prospects so lightly. “You are not like Lord Ji! He gave up everything for Divine Physician Yu, pleaded at court, was demoted three ranks, and swore never to take a child or inherit a title just to win this! Could you? Could your family?”
Min Xuefei’s eyes dimmed.
“To have your love is already more than I dared hope. I am content.” Lianzhi lowered his gaze, not daring to look lest his resolve waver. He wanted more than anything for Min Ji to remain a bright, radiant star, never to cut off his own future like Ji Hong had. He wanted Min Ji’s life to be full of light, boundless.
He tried to pull away. “If you live a long, happy life, I’ll be happy anywhere, always proud of you. If you are safe and well, I will die content. If… if you really cannot let me go, treat me as you wish—as a slave, a puppet, whatever you like. I will give you all, but if you ever kneel at Yingqian Hall, I’ll kill myself!”
He turned to leave in haste, but Min Ji yanked him back, trapping him against the pillar and sealing his lips in a fierce kiss. Lianzhi was stunned, his mouth and tongue lost in the chaos. People passed nearby; he didn’t dare make a scene, his eyes red with fear as he glared.
Min Xuefei, after finally letting up, grabbed his collar, unable to restrain himself. “What do you mean by that? You think I would give up? Listen to me, Lian Yunsheng—years ago, I promised to take you from the palace, but I failed. I promise you once more, no matter the difficulty, I will make it happen. I don’t need to forsake my position or my family—it will be done!”
His voice carried the raw, fearsome certainty of the battlefield, making Lianzhi shiver to his core. “If you prefer to be a prince, then I’ll command enough power to match you—inside or outside the court, we are tied for life. Let them call me a eunuch’s lackey—it makes no difference to me.”
“Lianzhi, never forget—you were the one who came after me first! That day in the carriage, if you’d not stolen a kiss, I wouldn’t be so obsessed now. And now you want to walk away?—Dream on!”
Lianzhi, shocked into silence, stared, his heart pounding as if to burst.
“You’re mad! That’s treasonous!” he hissed, glancing around, “For a eunuch—why would you…”
Min Xuefei clasped his hand stealthily to his chest, his tone thick with feeling. “Not a eunuch. My beloved.”
…
Lianzhi fled in the end, hiding behind a group of still-playful eunuchs, almost running from Jinyouting. Min Xuefei stood at the gate, watching his panic, his unsteady steps, and found it all amusing.
Returning to the palace, Lianzhi found himself swamped by paperwork. Every palace was making staff changes; there was no pause in the work. Fusheng clutched a stack of rosters, fresh names of recruits selected from outside the palace, each with family background, talents, all carefully recorded. He had picked out several promising lads for Lianzhi to review and choose from as close attendants.
Once, Fusheng had served Lianzhi personally, but now, as one who had risen with him, he was well established, unlikely to remain at his side every moment. He only hoped to find a few loyal servants to carry on.
Lianzhi toyed with his brush, lost in thought as the lamp burned low. Fusheng changed the candle and was fixing the lamp shade when Lianzhi suddenly spoke: “From now on, go to Zhaoyang Palace and serve the Noble Consort and the Fifth Prince.”
Fusheng straightened, startled. “Grand Steward?”
“From now on, serve the Fifth Prince. Cut ties with me, heed the Noble Consort above all, and when the prince is grown, heed him. Bear him no ill will, and serve him honestly—he will have a great future, and those who serve him now will be cherished in turn. You could rise, even run the Sigong Terrace yourself one day. Better than following my path—if the Emperor distrusts you, you’ll face obstacles everywhere.”
He paused, then dug out a secret box from his chest. “I don’t know how much longer I can protect you. If I am gone, your association with me will only bring you hardship. Here is what little I’ve saved—keep it close.”
But the Fifth Prince was still only an infant!
Fusheng dropped to his knees. “Grand Steward, where are you going?”
Lianzhi watched the candle flame, lost. He didn’t know where. But that man had said he would take him from the palace, and no matter how many thousands of times he promised, Lianzhi always believed him.
“My beloved…”
Min Xuefei’s voice echoed in his mind, impossible to shake. Fear of longing had already become longing. If I trade my heart for yours… Lianzhi bowed his head, whispering, “Xuefei…”
…
The sixth day of the sixth month, an auspicious day chosen by the astrologers: suitable for marriage.
Yu Jinnian was yanked from bed barely awake, beset by a chattering flock of matrons who wiped his face, pinned his hair, and finally, exasperated, cried, “Little master! If you don’t get up, you’ll miss the lucky hour!”
Once his face had been thoroughly massaged, Yu Jinnian suddenly woke in a jolt—today was the wedding!
The matrons, seeing his earlier gloom, thought he must be reluctant—after all, what man would wish to marry another man? Surely he was being coerced. They took pity on him, only to be startled when he suddenly burst out into helpless laughter, as if it was an illness.
Everything was prepared in advance. Jinyouting had never looked so festive, with red silk draped everywhere. Even the White Beauty cat was festooned with a blazing red bow, parading through the garden. Ji Hong, demoted three ranks, was nonetheless able to host such a momentous wedding. Even if marrying a man, the other families still flocked to curry favor; by mid-morning, the gate was already crowded with carriages, and Su Ting, recovered from illness, manned the gift registry at the door.
Usually, it was the servants handling the registration, and Su Ting was so busy he did not even look up, asking just, “Which family?”
A scented air, and a woman replied, “The Qi family of Baihe.”
Su Ting was sure he had never sent an invitation to Baihe’s Qi family, nor knew any such household. He looked up in confusion, then shot to his feet in alarm. “You—you’re—”
A pretty young madam followed, clutching her dress, slipping her arm through the lady’s. She smiled teasingly at Su Ting. “Will you let us in, Young Master Su?” A family retainer carried a crying child, whom Madam Qi quickly gathered up, soothing him to sleep on her shoulder. The younger Madam Qi tickled the baby’s cheek.
Su Ting, overwhelmed, stammered, “This is…”
“His name is Qi Han,” Madam Qi said. “We were in Baihe on business, but heard of the little divine doctor’s wedding on arrival, so we couldn’t prepare a grand gift. You mustn’t mind, Young Master Su. We haven’t seen each other in so long that it seemed right to come in person to thank him for what he did for us.”
The younger Madam Qi added, “Young Master Su looks distinguished these days! When you marry, send for us in Baihe—for rouge and powder, ours are better than the capital’s. Too bad the divine doctor won’t need any now.”
Qing Huan came out to investigate, seeing the crowd at the door and a long line forming, and hurried to ask Su Ting what had happened. On seeing the two ladies of the Qi family, her own face registered the same astonishment Su Ting had shown. When she heard them mention Fangfei Pavilion, she clapped in delight. “I heard there’s a new Fangfei Pavilion in Baihe—Miss Qi has a fine hand with rouge, all the ladies in the capital are wild for it, but she remains a mystery; no one has seen her face. So, it’s the two of you?”
The younger Madam Qi smiled happily, producing a little porcelain bottle. “My sister was always good at mixing cosmetics; her friends all said so. Since you like it, Qing Huan, here’s a new color for you—it’s not even for sale in the shop yet!”
When women discussed cosmetics, they could chat for hours. While Su Ting stood aside, the ladies were ushered in for tea and wine. The girls at the table, learning this was the famous Miss Qi, gazed in admiration and vied to keep her by their side. Miss Qi, once a noble lady herself, now fallen, windowed, and self-reliant despite all talk, was someone Qing Huan deeply respected.
While Miss Qi was detained by the eager young ladies, another old acquaintance arrived at the gate.
The Jiang family’s carriage was as garish as ever, decked in gold and silver. Master Jiang was as rakish as always, all swagger and flair. He didn’t waste words—just slapped down a pair of jade ruyi for Su Ting. “Old friends, no need for ceremony!” Before Su Ting could protest, Jiang caught sight of someone inside and flew off like a chick toward them.
Scholar Yan Rong arrived, hand in hand with his wife, bearing ornate mandarin duck figurines.
The Crown Prince Yan Sining came later, accompanied by Lianzhi to deliver the Noble Consort’s gift—royal favor, the highlight of the banquet.
The Min family’s two young masters had come even earlier; they never stood on ceremony with Jinyouting.
By late morning, the crowd at the gate thinned; most guests had arrived. Su Ting, clearing ledgers, dismissed the helpers and carried his little table inside, when an old man, dressed in patched hemp and carrying a bamboo basket, trudged up, staring at the inn’s sign before climbing the steps.
Most wealthy hosts, seeking to spread the joy, would spare some alms for any beggar who wandered in unless the man was truly incorrigible. Su Ting put down his table and fished out some coins. “Old sir, this is a wedding today—join the celebration.”
The old man shook his head anxiously, thrusting the basket at Su Ting. “I heard it’s the little divine doctor’s wedding, so I came to see. There was a plague in my home, and it was only through him that we survived—he took nothing in return. My family just has some chickens and ducks now; these eggs are freshly laid! Please accept them—you’ll like them!”
Su Ting hesitated.
Then more people came, each proclaiming the grace of the divine doctor—relatives of soldiers saved on the battlefield, grateful for little Yu’s care, or even families of crippled soldiers, brought back from the field and nursed to life. Those holding little but trivial offerings came with chickens, ducks, fish, onions and garlic, fresh from the earth. Some, lacking anything to give at all, simply knelt at the gate and bowed their gratitude from afar.
Su Ting was wordless. He set his table upright, fetched brush and ink, and began recording these humble “gifts” in a special ledger.
Yu Jinnian, inside, knew nothing of it. Surrounded by maidservants, he was ushered out dressed in gilt robe, white jade crown, and red gauze—handsome as could be.
The June breeze was gentle, and the grass was deep green. Swallows beat their wings in the high branches, plucking shoots of green to offer to the clear sky and drifting clouds.
Yu Jinnian, who had never feared anything, felt a rare twinge of anxiety as he stepped out of Tingyue Residence. Walking toward the main hall, he was suddenly reminded of that time, long ago, in the back alley of Xin’an County, when, beneath the osmanthus tree, he had first met Ji Hong—aloof, proud, untouched by dust, a man with whom he had seemingly nothing in common.
How had they come, step by step, to this day?
Yu Jinnian could scarcely remember. It felt as if years had passed, the seasons stretching slowly, everything changing little by little, without him realizing it. It seemed as though nothing had changed, and yet everything had changed. Looking back, there was now a little home beneath the eaves, lights warm, smoke curling in peace, waiting for a new day to begin.
Beneath the eaves, the shadows of flowers swayed. Yu Jinnian lowered his gaze and saw, at the end of the corridor, a figure in crimson—striking and unparalleled.
A voice called out—
From this day forth, your vows are joined, your lives forever entwined.
Ji Hong, gentle and radiant, called softly: “Jinnian.”
Best ending