Unknowingly, two quarters of an hour had passed. On the rainy day, the sky grew darker all the faster. Pei Yue had just finished explaining the arithmetic problem to Shu Yun, carefully and thoroughly, convinced he had made it clear. Tilting his head to glance at the young lady, he saw her resting her chin in her hand, her eyes glistening like clear water—pure, beautiful, yet filled with confusion and bewilderment.
“Still don’t understand?”
Shu Yun had been staring at his handsome face in a daze. “Oh, I understand…” she murmured guiltily, lowering her arm and straightening her posture, sitting properly. The problem with counting rods was too difficult; she had only half-grasped it and was too embarrassed to trouble him to explain again.
“So, it means the three sisters can only meet at their mother’s home once every sixty days, right?” Shu Yun picked up her brush and wrote down the answer. Having long been adept at banter before her father, she was skilled at seizing the key point.
Suddenly, a bolt of lightning split the sky outside, startling Shu Yun into a jump. She instinctively clutched Pei Yue’s arm. The flash illuminated her pale face, drained of blood, the dark shadows beneath her eyes deepening. Her hand still trembled, gripping his elbow tightly. Pei Yue pretended not to notice and looked at her gently.
“The rain is getting heavier. Shall I have someone escort you back? As for the remaining essay question, come to the library at noon tomorrow—I’ll explain it to you then.”
Shu Yun listened to his clear, gentle voice, her gaze slowly shifting to his face. In those calm, steady eyes she found a trace of support, and her fear dissolved. Only then did she realize she was still clutching him—she let go as if burned, nodded vaguely, then suddenly shook her head. “Do I still have to go to the library?” she asked in a small voice.
Thunder rumbled, lightning flashed, and the tips of her ears flushed red, like a dab of cinnabar.
Pei Yue found the girl amusing, a faint smile tugging at his brow. “Otherwise, you’ll be punished with the rod in the afternoon?”
Shu Yun pouted. If she had known it would be such trouble, she might as well have taken the beating. But quitting halfway was something she could not abide. Reluctantly, she nodded. “Then I’ll agree—though only with difficulty.”
Pei Yue nearly lost his breath. Few could ever enjoy such a privilege.
At last he understood the teacher’s suffering, yet kept his temper and did not argue with her. “Tomorrow at noon, when lessons end, I’ll send someone to fetch you.” Remembering her empty stomach, he added, “And you needn’t eat at the academy—I’ll have food prepared for you.”
Shu Yun blinked at him, puzzled. Why was this man so kind?
Pei Yue saw straight through her, his expression unchanged. “A kindness as small as a cake should be repaid with a spring of gratitude.”
He hadn’t expected that his detour to the Xuanwu Gate would end with him dragging back a troublesome entanglement of his own.
Shu Yun had been in the palace for two days without a proper meal. The thought of Pei Yue preparing lunch for her suddenly made the library seem far less dreadful. Her eyes curved with a smile. “Then I’ll gladly accept.”
She grinned, revealing a pair of charming little tiger teeth, with two shallow dimples beside them.
Her smile carried a kind of magic, capable of stealing one’s heart. Pei Yue steadied himself, looked away, and said simply, “Good.”
Liu Kui found a palace maid, who lit a lamp and held an umbrella to escort Shu Yun back to the inner palace.
Near the Yinghua Hall, a palace attendant tiptoed to peek out from a side gate. Seeing Shu Yun supported by the maid, his anxious expression eased, and he hurried forward with complaints: “My dear cousin, where have you been? Her Ladyship was nearly sick with worry.” He took Shu Yun’s school pouch from the maid, giving her a discreet glance. She was unfamiliar, a new maid, so he thought nothing of it.
Shu Yun thanked the maid once more, then followed the attendant back to Xian’an Palace.
Naturally, Dowager Consort Shu was furious. Shu Yun greeted her meekly: “The teacher punished me, and I couldn’t return with the princess. Later, I remembered losing a pair of earrings yesterday when I got lost, so I rushed to the deserted garden to search. But then the rain came, and I had to wait until it eased before returning. Luckily, I met a maid from Cining Palace who was gathering flowers for the Grand Empress Dowager, and I begged her to escort me part of the way…”
Dowager Consort Shu recalled Shu Yun’s encounter with a noble the day before. Looking at her, she finally suppressed her anger. “Did you find the earrings?”
Shu Yun shook her head with a touch of grievance. “Not yet…” If she failed to return on time in the future, this excuse could serve as a cover.
Dowager Consort Shu nearly lost her temper again, but she could not vent it on Shu Yun. Instead, she seized her daughter and scolded her harshly. “Why didn’t you leave someone to wait for her?”
This time Princess Shuyue proved clever, sobbing as she tried to justify herself: “Since Imperial Brother ascended the throne, he has cut back on palace expenses. Xian’an Palace may be large, but it houses five consorts. You, Mother, are the chief among them, responsible for managing all affairs, yet the staff is already too few. I only brought two attendants with me to the academy. It wouldn’t do to keep them all there the entire day, so I simply sent one back to report…”
Dowager Consort Shu understood the rest without it needing to be spelled out. Mentioning the reduced stipends struck a sore spot. Her favor had waned year by year, and life in Xian’an Palace had grown difficult. Many of the favored consorts had moved with the Retired Emperor to Wanshou Palace, leaving the others to endure in the imperial palace. She looked at Shu Yun’s face, radiant as peach blossoms, and thought to herself that such beauty might yet be of use. Her anger ebbed, and she gave only a weary instruction: “From now on, return to the palace on time.”
“Your niece will obey,” Shu Yun replied dutifully.
Because of the incident, Princess Shuyue could not help venting her frustration on Shu Yun that night. Shu Yun, who lodged with her in the side hall, was given a small couch in the antechamber, separated by a screen, much like a curtained alcove.
Exhausted, Shu Yun changed into clean underclothes and fell asleep the moment her head touched the pillow. But in the middle of the night she woke shivering. Princess Shuyue had ordered a quilt for her, but it was only an autumn cover, too thin. Yesterday it had sufficed, but tonight the temperature had dropped sharply, and she could not bear it. She slipped on her shoes, quietly opened her bundle, and layered all her clothes over herself before drifting back into sleep.
At dawn, warm, gentle spring sunlight poured in. Shu Yun sneezed as she followed the princess to the academy. As usual, the two cousins took seats in the last rows. Seeing that it was still early, Princess Shuyue went off to chat, while Shu Yun deliberately avoided the crowd, kneeling beside her desk to set out her books and ink.
From behind the curtain came a hesitant voice: “Cousin Yun, what time did you return last night? Did you get caught in the rain?”
It was Pei Yansheng again, heir of Prince Linchuan.
Shu Yun rubbed her temples, pretending not to hear, refusing to respond.
But Pei Yansheng was not discouraged. He crouched by the curtain, persistent: “Cousin Yun, yesterday I dragged you into trouble. Don’t worry—I’ll give you an explanation.”
Shu Yun listened, utterly bewildered.
A moment later, a teacher in a blue robe stepped quietly into the academy. He was around forty, tall and thin, his wide sleeves lending him a touch of Wei-Jin elegance. His lectures were lively and engaging, and the imperial grandchildren and princesses listened with rapt attention.
When the morning lessons ended, everyone poured into the adjoining dining hall. Meals for the princesses were delivered here as part of their daily allotment, though some disliked the academy fare and returned to their own palaces for private kitchens.
That afternoon’s class was to review the homework assigned the day before. Princess Shuyue had not written hers at all, so she feigned a stomachache and excused herself back to Xian’an Palace, leaving Shu Yun behind. Shu Yun slung her school pouch over her shoulder, ready to leave, when she saw the palace maid who had escorted her yesterday smiling at the doorway and bowing. “My lady, please come with me.”
The others assumed she was a maid from Xian’an Palace and paid no attention. Shu Yun followed her out of Yinghua Hall, through a grove to the rear path of Cining Palace. The library stood at the southeast corner of Cining Palace, on higher ground, encircled by red walls. To guard against fire, no trees had been planted nearby.
The library was a grand seven-story structure with double eaves and a hipped roof, resplendent in gold and jade, imposing in its majesty.
As Shu Yun stepped through the gate, the fragrance of ink greeted her. The maid left her at the entrance, where two men awaited. One wore a purple robe and greeted her with a broad smile—it was Liu Kui. “At last, Miss Su, we’ve been waiting for you. Please, come in.”
Seeing him gave Shu Yun a familiar feeling. She returned his smile with a bow and followed him inside.
The eastern hall on the first floor was spacious and elegant, lined with tier upon tier of bookshelves. By the window stood a long table of rosewood. Liu Kui led her to a small chamber at the far end, furnished with a bed and table, clearly a resting place. At that moment, several food boxes were set upon the table. At Liu Kui’s signal, the attendants opened them, revealing four dishes and two steaming soups.
The aroma assaulted Shu Yun’s senses mercilessly. She was so hungry that she swallowed hard, her mouth watering.
Liu Kui, being older, could not bear to see a child go hungry. He quickly raised his hand and pointed kindly, saying, “Good girl, eat up. Seventh Master has matters to attend to and cannot join you for the meal.”
Shu Yun froze, only then realizing she had yet to ask Pei Yue’s name. “Seventh Master?”
Liu Kui’s smile was unfathomable. “That’s right. Seventh Master’s surname is Huang, and he is seventh in the family. You may call him Seventh Master.”
“Huang Seventh Master?”
At once, Shu Yun recalled that drunken night when she had pestered Pei Yue to become her live-in husband. A faint unease rose to her face. She thanked Liu Kui and sat down to eat.
Shu Yun knew nothing of palace affairs, nor did she realize that dining in the Imperial Library was a privilege of great distinction.
Liu Kui saw it clearly: this young lady was sweet-natured and innocent, with a heart in the right place, though not much worldly cunning.
That meal left Shu Yun feeling utterly content. The platter of crystal-cut meat was sliced fine and tender, yet delightfully chewy. She had never tasted such exquisite fare. The pot of frog meat stir-fried with potato slices, scallions, and garlic was both fragrant and spicy.
When Pei Yue reentered in a plain blue robe, he caught sight of the girl carefully lifting the last potato slice stuck to the bottom of the pot and popping it into her mouth with relish. If only she applied such diligence to her studies—what essay could she not compose? His gaze swept the table: four dishes and two soups, all finished.
Pei Yue was accustomed to palace consorts nibbling delicately, restraining their appetites. This was the first time he had encountered someone who could eat so heartily. Was she perhaps a little glutton?
Pei Yue gave a discreet cough to announce his presence.
Shu Yun turned her drowsy head, meeting his reproachful eyes. She blinked, rubbed her full belly, and rose to salute him. “Seventh Master.”
Couldn’t one just eat their fill and leave? she muttered inwardly.
Pei Yue took one look at her lazy demeanor and could already guess the situation. Catching the lingering aroma of food in the room, he frowned. What impulse had led him yesterday to agree that she could dine in the Imperial Library?
He pointed toward the long rosewood table beneath the hall window.
“Come out.”
Shu Yun hugged her study pouch and followed behind. Watching him seated in the main position, she shifted a brocade stool to his side and handed over yesterday’s assignment slip. Once Pei Yue entered teaching mode, his expression grew intensely focused as he began explaining historical flood-control cases.
Shu Yun, half-drowsy, thought of his painstaking effort and pinched her palm hard, forcing herself to keep pace.
After half an hour, Pei Yue finished his lecture, and Shu Yun began writing her essay. He observed closely. Even just setting pen to paper, she wasted several sheets of fine paper. When she finally managed a paragraph, she circled endlessly without striking the main point.
Pei Yue felt weary. In reviewing memorials, he most disliked officials who dodged the issue. Yet with Shu Yun, he was patient—she was not his minister, and he could not demand the same strict standards.
Truth be told, the girl’s literary talent was nothing remarkable. But she did have one gift: her handwriting was beautiful.
Another half hour passed before Shu Yun handed over her finished essay. Pei Yue glanced at it, his temple twitching. “It’s the ‘method of restraining water to flush sand,’ not the ‘method of restraining sand to flush water.’”
“Oh…” Shu Yun pursed her lips, her dark eyes fixed stubbornly on him, clearly unconvinced.
Pei Yue chuckled. “Why so defiant?”
She pouted. “You spoke so fast—how could I remember it exactly? Writing this much was already hard enough. When my father taught me, I never managed three hundred words. Today I wrote seven hundred…”
Pei Yue stared at her for a long while, grinding his back teeth. “So it turns out you truly did it to give me face.”
Pei Yue lifted the cooled tea at his side, pressing down the irritation in his chest.
Shu Yun’s words were playful, yet she was grateful to him. She grinned, snatched the essay back from his hand, and swiftly packed away the books and lesson slips into her pouch. “Many thanks for your patient guidance, Seventh Master. It’s getting late—I must return and report back.”
No sooner had she spoken than she sneezed.
Pei Yue frowned and set down the teacup. “Did you catch a chill from yesterday’s rain?”
Shu Yun dabbed her nose with a silk handkerchief. “No, it’s that my bedding is too thin. I froze.”
Remembering her circumstances, Pei Yue’s brows drew together, his voice deepening. “Wait here.”
He summoned Liu Kui and gave a few instructions. Moments later, Liu Kui came trotting back, bearing a folded cloak.
Pei Yue took it and pressed it into Shu Yun’s arms. “When I followed His Majesty on campaign, there were times we slept in the open. Wrap yourself in this, and it will keep out the cold.”
The dense brown sable fur shimmered with a luxurious sheen. Shu Yun could not resist brushing her hand over it—the pelt was fine, light, thick, and soft. Though she had never worn such quality, she could tell at once this was no ordinary garment.
She admired it for a moment, then drew back her hand and shook her head. “Seventh Master, I cannot accept a reward without merit. Such fine fur should not be wasted on me.”
Pei Yue saw her hesitation and reassured her gently. “Use it for now. Return it to me later; that will suffice.”
Shu Yun lowered her gaze, her eyes shifting restlessly.
Pei Yue could not possibly be so kind without reason. Yesterday he had patiently counseled her; today he had prepared such a lavish meal. And the two of them already had the “precedent” of that forbidden closeness in Zhaixing Pavilion. Surely, he must harbor some intention.
Shu Yun was not entirely naïve. Pei Yue was steady in temperament, neither rash nor frivolous, and a favored figure at the Emperor’s side—truly an excellent match. Yet she had already resolved to take a husband into her own household. Whether he would agree to such a role… judging from his bearing, it seemed unlikely. Her thoughts tangled; she did not answer at once.
Pei Yue’s fingers tapped idly on the table, his gaze lingering inch by inch over her delicate features. He was willing to give her time, and he relished these stolen moments of leisure with her. As the Son of Heaven, no one had ever dared to show their true nature before him—Shu Yun was the first. He was like a skilled hunter, spreading his hand wide, letting her run free within its bounds.
Seeing her still unmoved, Pei Yue’s tone shifted at the end: “If you refuse, there will be no more good food.”
Shu Yun: “……”
Did she look like someone being threatened?
“Fine. Once I leave the palace, I’ll return it to you.” She puffed her cheeks in indignation, snatched the cloak, stuffed it into her pouch, and darted out of the library.
Pei Yue watched her cheerful figure retreating, the corners of his lips curving.