Mei Qingxue cast a cold look at the loud, fussy maid. If that sickly fellow hadn’t left when he did, they might really have been dragged off to the Third Prince’s mansion—once inside that place, there was no coming back out for two women alone.
The Third Prince was notorious for his appetites and his ruthlessness; he was not someone to cross.
“You’re always so talkative,” Mei said. “The prince isn’t sleeping here tonight. Tell the kitchen to prepare some of his favorite dishes and send them over.” She didn’t like him, not in the least. This was as much out of simple propriety as anything else—she couldn’t quite shake the feeling of obligation.
“Yes, Your Highness, but… it’s late. Eating now will give him indigestion.” Yue Ru hurried to remind her.
At this hour, a meal meant the body would be still afterward. And tonight the prince was alone in the study; there’d be no exercise to work it off.
Mei thought a moment. “Prepare some hawthorn and aged tangerine peel infusion—have him drink it after his meal.”
That would help digestion. She knew that much. Why she suddenly found herself worrying about that bastard was beyond her. Ridiculous, she scolded herself, scratching her head.
“All right, that’s settled. You may go.” She dismissed Yue Ru and slipped into the inner room.
A figure, all shadow, sat in a corner of the room. “When did you come?” she asked.
“Since you stopped carrying money,” the shadow answered.
He watched her for a moment, then dropped his gaze. When he’d meant to act tonight, Du Gu Qing had moved first—just a leap through a window—but the shadow had seen the man's skill. That man had clearly been trailing their sect master for some time; the shadow had stayed hidden in the corner instead of revealing himself.
“How about the jade-faced gentleman you were sent to find?”
Mei thought of the painted youth. His portraits were famous—he had to be someone of consequence. But Mei Qingxue was married now. What right did she have to pry into another man’s life? Still, she wanted to know if he was all right.
“We haven’t found any trace of the jade-faced young master,” the shadow reported. “The physician did locate someone, though. I don’t know whether the master wants to meet him in person or have his subordinates simply abduct him.”
“Please…” Mei rolled her eyes. Abduct? That was hardly dignified. They had used those methods in the past; now that the Bihai Pavilion had legitimate money, it was time to leave those old tricks behind.
“I won’t stand for the killing and plundering anymore,” she said with forced patience. “If you can’t be useful to the people, I don’t want you clinging to an assassin’s life. Get out while you can. We can settle the brothers comfortably—there’s money now—and do other things. I want to grow the business, but I don’t want to spill blood for it.”
The shadow had many good qualities; stubbornness was not the least of them. He had insisted the master yield the sect to her; he had insisted she accept the leader’s place. Mei wanted a powerful enterprise, but she didn’t want to return to the assassin’s blade.
“Tell me the physician’s name,” she continued. “I’ll go see him myself. Beggars and supplicants should show their sincerity with their own faces—this is not something for you to handle. And keep a close eye on our holdings; don’t let anyone cut corners.”
“Yes.” He bowed. When he heard she had nothing more to command, he nodded and slipped away.
Mei breathed out slowly. Being a proper wife in the inner chambers was not a role anyone could simply take on—least of all someone who’d lived ten lives like her. This life turned out to be more complicated than she’d expected: assassination attempts, the emperor’s resentments. A moment’s carelessness and her life would end.
She turned in bed, restless without the familiar weight of his arms. How quickly habit rooted itself—she’d only been married a short time and already his embrace felt natural. Even the oddities of him, the way he sometimes behaved, had become part of what she missed. There were aches and aches in her waist and legs; he was weak, ailing, and too beautiful for a man—ridiculously so, and maddening. That thought made her flush. Jealousy at a man’s looks was such a strange indignity.
Outside, Yue Ru smiled to herself. When the prince usually stayed with the princess, the princess acted disdainful. Now that he’d gone to the study and the princess couldn’t sleep, it was a small victory. Maybe next year the old lady would finally hold a grandson.
Du Gu Qing sat alone in his study and felt miserable. Since they had married, he had held the warm softness of snow night after night; now the bed chilled without her. Knowing Mei was seeking medical help for him filled him with an ache. Days passed and he still had no cure; he could only leave her behind.
The thought of her alone and unprotected tore at him like a hundred hands. All he could do was try to keep her carefree and safe. He would shoulder the palace’s pressures and the world’s slights—while he lived, he would shield her. Whatever she wanted, he would provide.
Unable to sleep, he fought the weakness in his body and told Han Chao to keep the lamp burning. He took up a book—not poetry or comfort, but a dossier. Han Chao and his comrades had collected evidence of corrupt officials from across the realm. It might be useful someday. Even if Du Gu Qing was a prince without power, he was still royal blood; someone with ill intent might weaponize his title. He could not let things slip from his control. As long as there was a spark of life left, he would not give up fight—for Mei and for his mother, Concubine Qin. Only by staying alive could he be their anchor.
“Your Highness, you should rest. The lamp is too harsh at this hour,” Han Chao murmured.
Nobody else dared advise him that way except Han Chao. Du Gu Qing smiled wryly. “I’ll only read a little. Han Chao, what happened to that peony piece you showed me last time?”
He was thinking of the peony embroidery he’d once seen when Han Chao had been delivered to the princess—an unfinished, finely worked piece, the stitches precise and neat, the peony dignified. What a waste that it had been torn.
“That piece is… here, Your Highness!” Han Chao flinched at the question, misunderstanding his lord’s intent and nearly breaking into a sweat.
“The princess spared you last time. Don’t make me have you deal with it—it's embarrassing for a grown man,” Han Chao stammered.
Du Gu Qing only laughed softly at the attendant’s nervousness; beads of sweat dotted Han Chao’s nose. “I know she forgave you. I was only curious. Don’t be so jumpy.”
Han Chao let out a long breath of relief. “Very well. I’ll go.”
“There’s nowhere to be frightened in my study,” Du Gu Qing said lightly.
“I’ve grown used to fawning at your side, my lord. I sleep better following you.” For once, Han Chao told a small lie—one Du Gu Qing didn’t call out.
As the night wore on, Du Gu Qing’s face wore a faint irony. His brothers hovered over his life as if it were theirs to protect; he had no fief, no true power. Why did everyone keep prying at his household? Perhaps his residence had better feng shui, he mocked himself. Even now, with the court factions tearing at each other, he was a pawn.
If he acted rashly, he’d bring attention to the people he loved. He’d rather keep his current quiet life—if he could—than sit cold and solitary atop a throne of betrayal. For how long that would last was anyone’s guess.
“Your Highness, it’s the princess’s maid, Yue Ru,” came a voice at the door.
Du Gu Qing inclined his chin. Han Chao opened it and found Yue Ru standing there, cheeks flushed but composed.
“This is the lotus-leaf and aged tangerine peel infusion the princess had prepared for you,” she said, sliding a tray into Han Chao’s hands. “It helps digestion. Please make sure the prince drinks it.”
She turned and left before either of them could answer, closing the small distance between the two households for a single belt of quiet care.