The rain had fallen cleanly in the days before Qingming. On the day of Qingming itself, the sky unexpectedly cleared.
The heavens were a crystalline blue, the kind that only appeared after half a spring had been washed by rain. Thin clouds gathered at the horizon in a single line, like a faint brushstroke of diluted ink across rice paper. On both sides of the official road outside the city, wild grass had grown past knee height, interspersed with unknown wildflowers swaying in the wind. The air carried a mixed scent unique to the Qingming season—burning paper offerings, the faint sweetness of apricot blossoms, and the earthy smell of soil.
Gu Jinzhao rode on horseback, the mingled scent washing over her face.
Today she wore a lotus-purple high-collared padded jacket, with a plain moon-white outer robe. The edges of the robe were embroidered with an extremely fine silver vine pattern, completed overnight by the maidservants. Around her waist was a pale cyan silk sash, and below she wore an indigo horse-face skirt.
It was neither overly plain nor overly ornate—an outfit approved by Concubine Song, the housekeeper of the Gu family’s main branch, as “proper and appropriate.” It was suitable both for ancestral tomb sweeping and spring outings, neither disrespectful to the ancestors nor lacking in spring charm.
The entire Gu household had set out today to the western outskirts of the city to pay respects at the ancestral graves. The Eldest Master of the Gu family led the elderly matriarch and several brothers at the front. The women’s carriages followed behind, and further back were servants carrying offerings, food boxes, incense, and paper money. Gu Jinzhao should have shared a carriage with her mother, but she disliked the stuffy interior and begged Madam Gu for a long time to ride horseback instead. She was skilled in riding, and her mother only reminded her, “Don’t go too far,” before allowing her.
After leaving the city gates, the sky grew even clearer. Distant mountains layered in green, and nearby fields stretched lush and verdant. Apricot blossoms were in full bloom; small apricot groves appeared intermittently along the roadside. Petals of white tinged with pink fell whenever the wind passed, fluttering down like snow.
Qing Pu sat beside the carriage driver, half a horse-length behind her left side. Today she wore a slightly worn indigo padded jacket, its cuffs faintly frayed.
“Qing Pu,” Gu Jinzhao suddenly called.
“Yes?”
“Do you think, with so many people outside today, we might run into someone?”
Qing Pu paused for a moment. As a maid, she naturally understood which “someone” the young lady meant. But she only answered plainly, “On Qingming, everyone goes out to the countryside. It’s natural to encounter many people.”
Gu Jinzhao tilted her head to look at her and smiled. “You’re becoming quite good at speaking.”
Qing Pu pressed her lips together but said nothing.
Hooves struck the gravel road with crisp sounds. Five li outside the city, the Gu family procession stopped at a fork. To the left was the direction of the Gu ancestral tombs; to the right lay a vast apricot blossom grove, said to be a famous spring outing spot in the capital where families set up tents every Qingming.
This year, only three unmarried young ladies had come from the younger generation: Gu Jinzhao, Gu Lan, and Gu Lian. Gu Jinzhao was the eldest legitimate daughter, one or two years older than the others. Her younger brother from the same mother, Ye Xian, was still studying at the academy and could not return in time for examinations.
Gu Lan leaned out of the carriage after being cooped up all morning and pointed toward the apricot grove, whining, “Mother, look how beautiful the blossoms are over there. After we finish the tomb sweeping, can we go take a look?”
Concubine Song shot her a glare, but before she could speak, the Eldest Master said first, “If there’s still time after the tomb sweeping, we can go sit for a while. It’s rare to get out once a year.”
Gu Lan happily retreated back into the carriage. Gu Jinzhao heard her clap her hands inside.
The ancestral rites were neither overly grand nor overly simple. Offerings were arranged, incense lit, paper burned, and kowtows performed. By the time everything was finished, the sun had already moved toward the south.
Gu Jinzhao knelt beside her mother for the final bow, then stood up, brushing grass clippings and dirt from her knees. She glanced toward the distant apricot grove—when the wind passed through, petals were lifted into the air, swirling briefly before falling again. From afar, it looked like a pale pink mist hovering over the hillside.
For some reason, she felt slightly distracted.
Yesterday, she had asked Qing Pu to inquire about something. When Qing Pu returned, she had said expressionlessly, “Miss, the Crown Prince of the Changxing Marquis Residence will also be leaving the city for Qingming. His mother will go to the Great Ci’en Temple to offer lamps, and he will accompany her.”
The Great Ci’en Temple was not far from the apricot grove—only a stream separated the two places.
Qing Pu had said nothing more after that. Neither had Gu Jinzhao. But this morning, while choosing her clothes, she had hesitated between the moon-white robe and a darker stone-blue cloak. In the end, she chose the lighter one. The darker color would be too inconspicuous in the apricot grove.
She did not want to be inconspicuous there.
After finishing the tomb sweeping, the Gu family women indeed headed toward the apricot grove. The Eldest Master and Second Master left first with several servants to attend to matters in the city, leaving the women to rest in the grove.
Many families had already set up tents under the apricot trees. Colorful canopies dotted the white-pink blossoms—crimson, cyan, lotus-colored—like flowers blooming beneath the trees. A candy seller walked along the edge calling out, molten sugar sizzling on iron plates, filling the air with a sweet caramel aroma.
Farther away, someone played a pipa. The plucking and strumming of strings mixed with children’s laughter, carried intermittently by the wind.
In the northeast corner of the grove, the terrain rose slightly. Two old apricot trees stood there with interlaced branches, forming a natural canopy—the best spot in the entire grove.
Gu Lan immediately pointed there upon dismounting, insisting on setting their tent there. The servants went to arrange it, but within half a cup of tea, a steward’s wife returned awkwardly and whispered to Concubine Song, “Madam, that place is already occupied. It is said to be the Changxing Marquis Residence. Their attendants are guarding the perimeter and not allowing anyone near.”
Gu Jinzhao was washing her hands by a stream. The spring water flowed down from the mountains, cool and clear, slipping through her fingers and making her shiver slightly.
She heard the four words “Changxing Marquis Residence” and paused briefly. Water dripped from her fingers onto the stones with soft ticking sounds. Then she continued washing, unhurried, cleaning each finger carefully.
“That would be the Changxing Marquis Residence,” Concubine Song frowned. “Then forget it. We’ll change places. That Crown Prince is not easy to deal with.”
Gu Lan sighed in disappointment but did not press further. She had also heard of the Crown Prince’s reputation. Their fathers occasionally mentioned him at banquets, always frowning.
They said the young heir had been a notorious wastrel since childhood, indulging in cockfighting and hunting dogs, causing endless trouble. The old marquis had been so angered he had broken several whips. Who would have thought that after the old marquis passed away, the young heir would become an entirely different person—no longer reckless or playful, but even more intimidating in his cold indifference.
The Gu family’s tent was eventually set up in the southern part of the grove, far from the northeast corner.
Gu Jinzhao rested for a while inside, drank tea, ate a few pastries, and finally stood up.
“Mother, I’ll walk around the grove.”
“Don’t go too far,” Madam Gu reminded her, adding, “And don’t go near the northeast corner. That’s where the Ye family is.”
“Understood,” Gu Jinzhao replied obediently.
But once she left the tent with Qing Pu, her steps unconsciously drifted toward the northeast corner. Not intentionally—at least, that was what she told herself.
She only wanted to see those two ancient apricot trees. They were said to be over a hundred years old, their branches interwoven like a massive canopy. This year, their blossoms were exceptionally abundant. It would be a pity not to see them.
After about half a cup of tea’s time, she arrived.
The trees were indeed enormous. The trunks were so thick that two people could barely encircle them. Layer upon layer of branches stretched outward, blossoms forming a dense canopy. White petals edged with faint pink looked like rouge brushed onto a young girl’s cheeks.
Under the trees lay a dark indigo carpet with white floral patterns. Nearby were low tables and cushions, along with a set of celadon tea ware and small plates of snacks. Several guards in black stood at a distance, motionless and alert.
Ye Xian reclined on a bamboo chaise lounge. It was custom-made, shorter than usual but with a higher backrest, covered in a thick stone-blue velvet cushion. Beside him was a matching small table.
He lay half-leaning as usual, one hand supporting his chin, the other resting on his knee. Today he wore a deep purple patterned robe. In the dappled light, the fabric shimmered faintly with a grayish-violet sheen. A black jade belt was fastened at his waist, along with a purple sandalwood forehead band. A pale jade ornament sat at the center of his brow, matching the twin fish pendant at his waist. Behind him hung two silver-blue tassels, each ending in a pearl.
He seemed to be looking at something.
Not the blossoms—but a book in his hand. His gaze was fixed on the page, yet his eyes had not moved for a long time.
Sunlight filtered through the apricot blossoms, casting shifting patterns onto the page. The light flickered, but he remained still, as if unaware.
Beside the bamboo chaise sat a middle-aged woman—Lady Gao. She was around forty, dignified and graceful, wearing a dark blue high-collared jacket with a stone-blue patterned outer robe. Her hair was neatly arranged, pinned with a white jade hairpin.
She was speaking softly with Ye Xian, though her voice was obscured by distance and blossoms. Ye Xian tilted his head slightly in response, moved his lips once, then leaned back lazily again.
“That is the Crown Prince’s mother, Lady Gao,” Qing Pu whispered beside Gu Jinzhao.
Gu Jinzhao nodded.
She remembered—this was the only surviving relative of Ye Xian.
She hesitated briefly behind the tree. She had only come to see the apricot blossoms and had not intended to intrude. But now that she had seen them, it would be awkward to leave immediately. If she were discovered hiding behind the tree, it would be even harder to explain.
Better to walk over openly and greet them politely, as if it were a chance encounter.
Just as she made up her mind and was about to step out—
A voice suddenly rang out from behind her.
“Oh, isn’t this Miss Gu?”
It was not loud, but loud enough for everyone to hear.
Gu Jinzhao turned around.
Zhou Yun.
The Northern Pacifying Marquis Residence’s young lady stood there today in a peach-pink brocade robe with gold thread and a green horse-face skirt, looking like a parrot that had flown into the wrong grove.
Behind her stood two unfamiliar young ladies and a boy held by a maid. The boy, about six or seven years old, wore a pale apricot jacket and looked freshly awakened, rubbing his eyes and pouting as if dragged out of a nap.
Gu Jinzhao silently thought, troublesome.
The apricot grove was a popular Qingming outing place, and it was not strange for Zhou Yun to appear. But calling out so loudly at this moment was clearly intentional.
Her earlier position had been blocked by trees. If Zhou Yun had arrived even a step later, she would already have been at the old apricot trees. That was no coincidence.
“Miss Zhou,” Gu Jinzhao turned and greeted her calmly. “What a coincidence.”
“What coincidence?” Zhou Yun laughed as she approached, her voice sharp like a bell. “I recognized your silhouette from afar. Miss Gu, your outfit today is quite plain—I almost didn’t recognize you.”
Her gaze swept over Gu Jinzhao’s moon-white robe with obvious scrutiny, smile confined only to her lips.
“Last time at the Jin Garden, Miss Gu was wearing such a striking red dress. I remember it vividly. Why so plain today? Was it your concubine’s instruction? You should have done so earlier.”
The words carried barbs.
One implied that Concubine Song controlled her dress, suggesting a concubine overstepping authority. The other implied she had been improper before and only corrected now.
But Gu Jinzhao only smiled.
How foolish.
She did not respond to Zhou Yun. Instead, she looked at the boy.
The child was still rubbing his eyes, a petal stuck to his finger.
She crouched down, took out a clean handkerchief, and gently wiped his fingers, removing the petal. Her movements were soft, as if tending to her own younger brother.
“Just woke up?” she asked gently. “Is the apricot grove pretty?”
The boy stared at her blankly, then nodded after a moment.
Gu Jinzhao smiled, stood up, and calmly looked at Zhou Yun.
“I don’t quite understand what Miss Zhou means,” she said lightly. “Since it is an ancestral outing, it is proper to dress modestly. Aren’t you also wearing plain earrings today? They suit your complexion very well—you look quite cultured from afar.”
Zhou Yun’s smile stiffened.
Her earrings had indeed been changed to something plain—not by choice, but by her aunt, who had forced her to remove her ruby gold pair before leaving the house.
Before she could recover, Gu Jinzhao had already turned the topic elsewhere, lightly brushing grass off the boy’s shoulder.
“Whose child is this? I didn’t recognize him earlier.”
Zhou Yun frowned slightly. “My cousin’s son. My cousin is unwell today, so my aunt asked me to bring him out. Why? Are you interested in children now?”
“I simply think he is adorable,” Gu Jinzhao replied calmly. “He looks like the Zhou family’s blood. His features resemble his mother, don’t they?”
Zhou Yun’s expression changed slightly.
Those words seemed harmless—but in reality, they struck a nerve within the Zhou household.
Before Zhou Yun could respond further, the wind suddenly swept through the grove. Apricot petals fell like snow. The boy laughed, reaching up to catch them, and the tension in the air loosened slightly.
Gu Jinzhao did not engage further. She picked up a petal from the boy’s shoulder and stood.
“If there is nothing else, I will take my leave.”
She turned.
“Wait—why so hasty?” Zhou Yun called after her.
She stopped.
Zhou Yun pulled the boy in front of her and smiled gently again.
“This child recently learned a little archery trick. He insists on bringing his bow everywhere. Since we rarely meet anyone here, Miss Gu—could you help play with him for a while?”
The boy held up a small bamboo bow.
“姐姐，玩！” (“Sister, play!”)
The bow looked harmless at first glance, but the string was overly taut. This was not a child’s toy.
Before Gu Jinzhao could respond—
A voice came lazily from behind.
“So noisy.”
Everyone turned.
Ye Xian had stood up.
He looked faintly annoyed, as if merely inconvenienced by the noise. He glanced at the bow, then the child, then Zhou Yun, and finally landed his gaze on Gu Jinzhao.
He did not look at anyone else after that.
“This bow,” he said casually, “the string is reversed. When released, it will strike the holder’s hand.”
A pause.
“Can’t even find someone who knows how to string a bow properly for a child?”
Zhou Yun’s face turned pale.
It was not anger, nor scolding—but pure disdain. And that was precisely what made it humiliating.
She forced a smile, took the bow away, and left with her group, the atmosphere broken like a scattered procession.
Silence fell over the grove.
Then Lady Gao slowly stood, walked to her son, and lightly tapped his hand.
“A-Xian,” she said calmly, “come sit with me. Don’t talk too much. The physician said you must avoid mental strain.”
Ye Xian shifted slightly, expression unchanged.
“I didn’t say much,” he replied.
“You standing there is already enough for others to write a whole story about you,” she said mildly.
He fell silent.
After a pause, Lady Gao turned to Gu Jinzhao.
“So you are Miss Gu,” she said warmly.
Gu Jinzhao quickly returned the courtesy.
Lady Gao continued, “Last time at the Jin Garden, A-Xian mentioned you. He said you were sharp-tongued and spoke on his behalf.”
She smiled faintly. “My son rarely praises anyone. His exact words were: ‘quicker-tongued than the Xu family boy.’ I remembered you.”
Gu Jinzhao lowered her head. “Madam, you flatter me. I merely—”
“No need to explain for him,” Lady Gao said gently. “I gave birth to him. I know him well.”
Ye Xian stood nearby, silent. His ears reddened faintly under the shade of the blossoms.
Lady Gao invited her to sit for tea, but Gu Jinzhao politely declined, saying her mother was waiting.
Lady Gao did not insist and instead arranged for a guard to escort her back.
Before leaving, Gu Jinzhao took out a small talisman from her sleeve.
“Madam,” she said, offering it with both hands, “I once prayed for the Crown Prince at Fuguang Temple. I hope it is of some use.”
Lady Gao accepted it, studying it carefully. Her gaze shifted, becoming more thoughtful.
“Miss Gu is thoughtful,” she said, placing it into her sleeve. “If you have time in the future, do come to the Marquis Residence.”
This invitation carried genuine intent.
Gu Jinzhao left.
She walked out of the apricot shade into warm sunlight. The light fell on her shoulders, carrying the faint scent of blossoms. Her steps were light.
Behind her, Qing Pu whispered, “Miss, the timing of the Crown Prince’s stand… was too coincidental.”
“Qing Pu,” she said evenly.
“Yes, Miss.”
“Too talkative.”
But her ears were faintly red.
Back under the apricot trees, Lady Gao placed the talisman on the table.
A-Xian sat down again, reopened his book.
“Where did you get this?” he asked flatly.
“From the girl who came to see you,” Lady Gao replied.
“Returned from Fuguang Temple,” he said. “She probably bought it casually. She treats everyone the same.”
Lady Gao looked at him for a long while.
“A-Xian,” she asked gently, “what were you thinking just now when you stood up?”
He paused.
“Noise.”
“That’s all?” she asked with a faint smile.
He said nothing.
After a moment, he took the talisman and slipped it under the cushion behind him.
He did not remove it afterward.
As the wind rose again, apricot blossoms fell across the grove—onto the carpet, onto the cushions, and onto his shoulders and knees.
And the talisman remained quietly pressed beneath the cushion, slightly touching his shoulder through the velvet.