Lady Sima was still fuming as she recounted the matter, brow knit. “That young widow is no fool. I thought slipping someone into the general’s household would be child's play in a place so large. Never expected it to be so difficult.”
Yi Qing waved a hand. “The general’s household only has twenty-one people on the books besides the guards. I know every one of them—where they came from and what sort of people they are. Anyone suspicious or unpleasant was shown the door long ago. Getting someone in now is like climbing to the sky.”
“As for the guards,” she added, “they’re steady. Xiao Tian has them under his eye; I trust them.”
“Then find someone sharper,” Xiao Jinghong said without a second thought, not bothered in the least.
“You think it’s that easy? Like two lips touching and the job’s done?” Lady Sima snapped. “No. We need another angle.”
“Stop beating around the bush. Say it straight.” Jinghong’s thoughts were all money and perks; impatience colored his voice.
Lady Sima sighed. “The widow has a son—he’s practically your nephew. He studies at Yunyang Academy. Usually a guard escorts him, but no attendants are allowed inside the academy…”
Jinghong’s eyes popped. “Mother, you’re not suggesting I, at my age, go study at Yunyang? I won’t! You know I detest studying—always have.”
“You won’t go?” She gave him a look. “Do you think I will? Getting you in won’t be easy. The academy doesn’t admit anyone who pleases. You’re not going for the books, you’re going to get close to Xiao Duo.”
Silver quickly quieted his objections. After a moment’s hesitation, Jinghong agreed.
Within days he was enrolled at Yunyang Academy.
Yi Qing sniffed in disgust. “How did Lu Tianxun become headmaster? He lets anyone and everyone in. That old man shamelessly sits there reading with a bun of a boy—bah.”
Xiao Tian took offense. He was only a few days older than Jinghong—did that make him one of those “old men” Yi Qing mocked? Pride pricked him; after all, the night before they had lain together and she had been tangled beneath him until dawn…
“If I break his leg, he’ll never get in.” Xiao Tian said it without expression.
“No, no, no.” Yi Qing quickly scolded. “Are you softening?”
“Do you think I’m that kind of person?” she retorted with a cold laugh. “Sometimes a mother cat lets a caught mouse go so her kittens can catch it themselves.” The boy needed to learn to fend for himself. Besides, he was Baozi—the prince; he’d face worse later. A stupid pet could be a useful exercise.
Xiao Tian hesitated. “Maybe I should warn the prince a little.”
“No.” Yi Qing refused. “Let him handle it himself.”
Xiao Tian’s look at her was half accusation, half pleading—like a wicked stepfather forced to watch a child’s punishment.
So Jinghong went to the academy and, at first, treated it like a joke: slept in class, lurked around to speak to Baozi after lessons. He assumed a boy his age was easy to charm.
Baozi, however, was icy. He recognized Jinghong’s name and held him at a distance—indeed, ignored him outright.
Ridicule from teachers followed. Jinghong, the eldest student in the hall yet treated like a fool, had never felt so stifled in his life. But he’d already been admitted by his mother’s heavy purse; he wasn’t going back now.
His place at Yunyang came courtesy of Lu Tianxun’s new policy—powerful families could pay a “sponsorship” to have sons enter, funds used for the academy’s upkeep and to reward capable students. A stroke of Yi Qing’s idea, though she could hardly remember suggesting it anymore; every time she thought of Lu Tianxun she muttered a curse.
Being mocked all day, Jinghong chose to skip lessons. The academy grounds were large, the weather gentle; a day could be whiled away easily.
One afternoon he lay by the lake, a blade of grass in his mouth, watching the ripples. A flash of red glided past—the tiniest wisp of a girl, no more than fourteen or fifteen, yet with a figure that hinted at womanhood. She moved with the quick, delicate alertness of a fawn; her brows and eyes were lively, like wind through young pines. Jinghong was stunned into silence. By the time he had blinked back to the present, she had drifted away like a cloud.
He felt as if his soul had been swept with her.
He asked around until he learned who she was: Cao Ranran, helper at the academy. The name lodged in him like a song.
Back home, he tore through trunks and dressers until he found a ruby hair ornament—left behind by some previous wife, he half-remembered—and clasped it to his chest. All night he dreamed of Ranran smiling at him.
Next morning he went to her, clumsy and bold, the headpiece in his hand.
She knew who he was. A pampered, reckless eldest scion was impossible to miss at Yunyang. But Ranran had not forgotten the grievance between Lady Fan and Lady Sima; at the sight of him, her hatred was a thing that showed in her jaw.
She made herself behave as if she had never seen him. Coldness cut her words. “Who are you? Move out of my way.”
Jinghong thrust the ruby at her with a grin that announced his triumph. “For you—take it. Come with me and all of this will be yours.”
Ranran shoved him away. “Are you sick? I don’t even know you.”
“You don’t have to.” He preened. “I’m Xiao Jinghong, the eldest of the Yi’an Bo household. Wealth beyond counting, no wife yet—follow me, and you won’t have that shrew of a woman to put up with. I’ll spoil you.”
“Go home and find your mother.” Ranran’s voice spat the words.
“How rude!” Jinghong flushed and squared his sleeve. “Xiao Jinghong taking a liking to you is your good fortune. Don’t spurn a blessing.”
Ranran snorted. “You? You think I’d be grateful?”
She lashed out suddenly—one clean sweep with her leg. Jinghong, taken completely off guard, went sprawling to the ground with a series of groans.
“Open your filthy eyes and look,” she snapped, hands on her hips. “I am Cao Ranran. Next time you see me, stay out of my way. One sight of you, one beat—understand?”
She snorted again and walked away briskly.
From the grass, Jinghong spat threats through gritted teeth. “You’ll pay for this. Just wait.”