Xue Qingzhi eyed this teacher whom the Emperor had specially summoned for her with disdain and let out a soft scoff. He was just some shabby scholar, come all the way from that backwater Lang Province, reeking of penniless bookworm. Yet her imperial sister was putting on such airs, treating him with all this false courtesy.
Xue Yunyi took her seat, and Yuan Xiubai had his attendant bring over the books for today’s lesson, placing them before the two princesses.
Xue Yunyi glanced at the title on the cover: Admonitions to the Sovereign, penned by a Former Dynasty official named Zhang Qing.
She had a copy of the book in her study as well, but its arguments had never appealed to her, so she’d only skimmed a few pages without reading it closely.
The text of Admonitions to the Sovereign was straightforward, its phrasing concise and its meaning clear. Since the Emperor had repeatedly urged her on and the Second Princess had neglected her studies for so long—making reading a challenge for her—Yuan Xiubai had deliberately chosen this particularly accessible piece. It would help build the Second Princess’s confidence while laying a foundation for future lessons.
He picked up the book and explained it patiently, word by word. Xue Yunyi listened attentively, occasionally jotting notes in the margins.
Yuan Xiubai did indeed have real talent.
He didn’t merely paraphrase the text; he boldly shared his own insights, many of which were quite original. Unbidden admiration flickered in Xue Yunyi’s eyes.
When his throat grew parched from talking, he paused to rest and had them memorize and recite a longer passage.
Just then, a servant announced from outside the door.
“Noble Consort has arrived!”
Yuan Xiubai started slightly, but Xue Qingzhi lit up with joy. She tossed down her brush at once and craned her neck eagerly toward the window.
Consort Jiang must have heard she was studying with her teacher today and come specifically to visit.
Even though they’d parted on bad terms the other day, mother and daughter shared the same heart. Her mother still cared for her, didn’t she? Why else make the effort to come all the way to this out-of-the-way pavilion?
Xue Yunyi set down her book at the announcement and saw Consort Jiang approaching slowly, surrounded by attendants.
“This subject pays respects to Noble Consort.”
Yuan Xiubai moved to kneel, but a well-manicured jade hand gently stopped him midway.
“No need for such formalities.”
The woman’s voice was as warm and gentle as ever.
Yuan Xiubai’s heart trembled, but he composed himself, rising and bowing his head respectfully, careful not to look directly at the Noble Consort’s face.
The Noble Consort spoke to him from the doorway.
“Sir, you come from Lang Province. I wonder how my family fares— is my father still in good health?”
“In reply to Your Ladyship, Lord Jiang is doing well. Please don’t worry.”
The Noble Consort gazed at him and smiled faintly.
“Then This Palace can rest easy.”
“I’ve heard there was a heavy rain in Yun Province the other day.” Her eyes swept over the man; without that rain, he would have arrived yesterday. “You came by the Yun Province waterway, enduring such hardships along the way. Your clothes are stained with mud from the rain—it wouldn’t do to appear like that before His Majesty.”
Caiqiu stepped forward at the perfect moment, presenting a set of clothes that had been prepared earlier that morning.
Yuan Xiubai hastily tried to refuse in panic, but the Noble Consort said, “Qingzhi is This Palace’s daughter. I’ll have to trouble you to look after her from now on. Consider these clothes a token of This Palace’s gratitude.”
Caiqiu was trembling all over. She was certain Her Ladyship had lost her mind. Ever since learning that Young Master Yuan was coming to the capital, she’d picked up her needlework and sewn day and night. It would have been one thing to do it in secret, but now she was actually giving the clothes to him.
The attendants behind the Noble Consort stood with heads bowed in silence. Yet Yuan Xiubai felt as though countless eyes were boring into him.
The Noble Consort extended her hand and personally passed the clothes to him.
He had no choice but to accept them, murmuring, “Yuan is unworthy of such a gift.”
Only then did it seem to occur to the Noble Consort that she had another daughter studying here. She raised her beautiful eyes and glanced inside toward the window.
That face, so eerily like the Emperor’s, beamed at her with eager delight.
She withdrew her gaze in disgust.
“Qingzhi can be willful—please bear with her, sir. This Palace will come visit her again tomorrow.”
“Yes. This subject sends Your Ladyship off respectfully.”
Xue Qingzhi was overjoyed. She’d heard her mother mention her name, and her mother had even given this penniless scholar a gift on her account. And her mother said she’d come again tomorrow.
She vowed silently to study diligently, so she wouldn’t disappoint her mother or her father.
Reading was nothing special.
If Eldest Sister could do it, so could she.
Father Emperor often praised her intelligence. If she just put in a little effort, she could surpass her imperial sister a hundredfold.
Brimming with confidence, Xue Qingzhi picked up her brush—only to see Xue Yunyi gazing out the window, lost in thought.
Seizing the moment, she sidled over and peeked at the paper in front of Xue Yunyi. Only two or three words were written there, and they were all wrong.
Xue Qingzhi snickered.
It seemed her imperial sister was all reputation and no substance.
That longer passage Yuan Xiubai had chosen was quite difficult to memorize, though. It took her half an hour to recite it once, and she wasn’t even sure if it was right.
Meanwhile, Xue Yunyi propped her chin on one hand, looking utterly languid. Her gaze lingered on the patch of light at the doorway where Consort Jiang had stood, her thoughts who-knew-where. Sometime during that, her paper had filled up with writing.
Xue Qingzhi blinked in surprise. Unwilling to accept it, she leaned in for a closer look. The handwriting was neat and elegant, but not a single phrase was correct—it didn’t even make grammatical sense.
Her mocking smile deepened, and she drawled, “Did Eldest Sister’s illness burn her brain out or something?”
Xue Yunyi said nothing, merely tapping the desk lightly to summon Yuan Xiubai.
He took Xue Qingzhi’s paper and marked dozens of corrections with red ink, instructing her to rewrite the passage ten times when she got back, to be checked tomorrow. She grumbled her assent, eagerly awaiting her sister’s turn to be scolded. But when Yuan Xiubai examined Xue Yunyi’s work, he offered not a word of criticism. Instead, he asked what books she usually read and how Prime Minister Lin had taught her before.
Xue Yunyi answered each question in turn, and the two fell into an animated discussion. Seizing the opportunity, she smoothly invited Yuan Xiubai to visit her at Azure Cypress Palace sometime, saying she had many questions about the drought in Lang Province that she’d like to discuss with him.
Yuan Xiubai naturally agreed.
This left Xue Qingzhi alone, staring at her paper covered in red circles, burning with shame and anger.
Eldest Sister’s writing hadn’t been right anywhere—why hadn’t Yuan Xiubai scolded her even a little?
Unable to swallow her pride, Xue Qingzhi snatched up Xue Yunyi’s paper and compared it word for word against the open book beside her.
Qingdai yawned repeatedly behind her but didn’t dare say a word to stop her. It took a full half hour, leaving Xue Qingzhi’s eyes blurry, before she finally realized—
Xue Yunyi had written it upside down.
By the time they returned to Azure Cypress Palace, evening had fallen.
Two young eunuchs astutely laid a wooden ramp over the stone steps. Mo Ying pushed the wheelchair forward, but fearing she’d strain herself, Yuan Xiubai lent a hand at the right moment.
Xue Yunyi smiled and said, “Thank you, Mr. Yuan.”
Seeing how she showed no trace of despondency over her disability, Yuan Xiubai couldn’t help but feel even greater respect for this young Eldest Princess.
“Your Highness is too kind,” he replied, bowing his head deferentially.
Once the wheelchair was inside the hall, Xue Yunyi was about to instruct Mo Ying to bring some tea and refreshments when she noticed a vague, huddled shadow by the pearl curtain screen not far away.
The hall was dimly lit. The youth sat curled up with his knees hugged to his chest, as if he’d been waiting for her a long time and was on the verge of falling asleep.
“Ah Lang?” Xue Yunyi called hesitantly.
These past two days, she’d been preoccupied with the Water Diversion Map and hadn’t paid him much attention. She hadn’t seen him in her bedchamber either. The maids said he only came into the hall when she was away, curling up quietly in the corner by her desk to read a few scrolls.
At the sound of the wheelchair, the boy looked up joyfully and crawled forward on his knees to greet her, like an eager little dog.
“Master, you’re back.”
Before he could get close, he spotted Yuan Xiubai standing behind Xue Yunyi. His movements froze abruptly, and he shrank back anxiously.
It was as if he’d done something wrong.
He hadn’t known the Eldest Princess had a guest today.
If he had known, he certainly would not have emerged so rashly like this.
Such a lowly creature as himself—how could he possibly appear before the Eldest Princess’s guest and bring shame upon her?
Yuan Xiubai was clearly taken aback, a flicker of astonishment passing through his eyes.
A youth this beautiful, kept within the sleeping palace and greeting the Eldest Princess’s return with such humble obedience—
Even someone who spent his days immersed in the classics of sages and worthies should recognize what that meant.
Yet the Eldest Princess did not strike him as the type to indulge in such tastes.
On the other hand, rumor had it that the Second Princess kept quite a few beautiful young slaves in her own palace…
Xue Yunyi jumped in surprise as well. She had not expected Wu Lang to be waiting for her inside the hall. She had left at noon, when the sun was still high, yet he had sat there obediently until dusk fell and he finally heard her voice outside.
For a moment, she did not know what to say. But with Yuan Xiubai still standing beside her—and his expression making it clear he had misunderstood the situation—she knew explanations would fall flat.
No helping it. Xue Yunyi lowered her voice. “You, go out first.”
“Yes.”
The youth bowed his head, not daring to linger another instant. He kowtowed to her and swiftly withdrew.
Xue Yunyi turned awkwardly to Yuan Xiubai. “Sir…”
Yuan Xiubai wore an expression of perfect understanding. “Your Highness need not worry. I, Yuan, am no rigid pedant. I have no intention of lecturing you.”
Xue Yunyi: …
If she tried to explain now, it would only dig the hole deeper.
She drew a deep breath and glanced toward the hall’s entrance. Better to discuss proper business with Yuan Xiubai first, then soothe… her little dog later.
“This is the water diversion map this palace drew up. Pray, sir, examine it and point out any flaws.”
Outside the sleeping palace, Wu Lang knelt beneath the window, facing the stone wall. He kept his head bowed low, quietly reflecting on his transgression.
He should never have appeared before the Eldest Princess’s guest without permission.
The Eldest Princess had told him he could only address her as Mistress in private. He had disobeyed her command.
But he had missed the Eldest Princess so terribly…
When she was present, he dared not enter to read, for fear of disturbing her. Only after she left did he dare curl up beneath her desk, inhaling the fragrance she had left behind and leafing through the books she had touched.
He had wanted to be the first to welcome her home. If she permitted him to leap into her arms and act spoiled for a little while, he thought he might wag his tail and bark with joy. If that was what she liked.
But he had ruined it all.
The Eldest Princess had sent him out.
The harsh lessons of his past made the meaning of those words crystal clear: he had erred, displeased his mistress, and severe punishment was now required.
He ought to slap his own face, but the Eldest Princess seemed to be conferring with her guest.
He could not make a sound.
And so the youth knelt in silence.
Wu Lang lost track of time, aware only of the pale half-moon rising in the sky, the low-hanging clouds, and the utter stillness of the courtyard.
At last, the sound of the wheelchair shifting echoed from within the sleeping palace.
The youth’s head snapped up. A spark of desperate longing kindled in his clear, dark eyes.