Song Yu and Xiao Hengyi were still talking when footsteps sounded outside. Both men rose to greet the newcomer.
The man entered wearing a dark court robe. Tall and straight as jade, his lips pressed tight, his gaze so sharp it sent a chill through the room.
Xiao Hengyi felt uneasy after only one glance. This was clearly their first meeting, yet the look directed at him carried a hint of hostility.
“Yuchuan, come,” Song Yu called. “This is Young Master Xiao of Marquis Yongyi’s household—Xiao Hengyi.”
Xiao Hengyi bowed. “Greetings, Master Wei.”
Wei Ling’s eyes swept over him lightly as he returned the courtesy. “So this is Young Master Xiao.”
“So? Yuchuan, you’ve heard of him before?”
Wei Ling sat down, answering casually, “Elder Brother has mentioned him to me several times. How could I not have heard?”
“Hahaha, yes, I was foolish.” Song Yu laughed. “In that case, I won’t waste words. I’ve already explained the matter to Young Master Xiao. But Yuchuan, can you truly discern which sect that spy’s martial arts came from?”
Everyone knew the Wei family’s young master was famed for his brilliance, but none had heard of his martial skill. Even Song Yu had to ask for confirmation.
Wei Ling nodded. “Young Master Xiao, please describe it.”
Xiao Hengyi shared Song Yu’s doubts. He himself, trained in martial arts, had found the spy’s techniques puzzling. How could Wei Ling, a civil official, know better?
“May I ask, Master Wei—under whom did you study?” Xiao Hengyi finally voiced the question.
Wei Ling looked over at him, a trace of puzzlement in his eyes, but answered nonetheless: “Qianxuan.”
Xiao Hengyi froze at once. Qianxuan? That name his own master often spoke of, the name that struck fear throughout the martial world.
He had actually apprenticed under Qianxuan? Xiao Hengyi’s face was full of disbelief.
Song Yu also had heard the name, equally shocked. “This Qianxuan—is it that Qianxuan?”
“Of course.” Wei Ling’s lips curved faintly, showing a trace of a smile as he looked at Xiao Hengyi. “Young Master Xiao?”
Xiao Hengyi snapped back to himself, though curiosity lingered. “I had never heard that Master Qianxuan came to Shengjing. And Master Qianxuan once declared he would never take disciples. How then did Master Wei…”
How did he become Qianxuan’s disciple? It was more than ten years ago. At ten years old, he had slipped away from the marching army. Lost in a desolate wilderness, unfamiliar with the land, he wandered until he nearly fell prey to a tiger—saved only by his master. With a few swift moves, his master killed the beast. The skill was so extraordinary that Wei Ling was entranced. He followed him for ten days straight. Perhaps seeing he could not shake him off, the master finally agreed to teach him a few techniques for self‑defense.
Wei Ling learned quickly, and his master could no longer rid himself of him. In the end, he followed for two whole years—wherever his master went, he went. To the southlands for leisure, to the southwest to explore barbarian territories, drifting across the eastern seas. It was hard at times, but compared to the hardships his father imposed, it was nothing.
Now, recalling those days, Wei Ling felt a pang of regret. If he had never returned, would he still be roaming with his master, free to do as he pleased, unbound by Shengjing’s confines? Regret, yes—but not remorse.
For at that time, Jingxuan had been gravely ill. How could he have turned a blind eye?
It had already been ten years since Jingxuan passed away. If only he had been stronger back then—how could he have failed to protect his dearest friend, forced to watch him die before his eyes?
Wei Ling’s thoughts drifted far, until Song Yu pulled him back. “Yuchuan, I’m truly curious—how did you come to be Qianxuan’s disciple?”
“That isn’t the point right now. If Young Master Xiao truly wishes to know, I’ll tell you in detail another time.”
Xiao Hengyi was still young; Wei Ling’s single remark pierced his curiosity, leaving him a little embarrassed. He dropped the matter and instead slowly recounted the details of his fight with the spy.
At the end, Xiao Hengyi suddenly remembered something and added: “That spy seemed to favor his left hand. I tried several times to strike his right arm, but he countered each time. Fortunately, I noticed it later.”
Wei Ling frowned in thought. “Strange techniques and left‑handed.”
After a long pause, Wei Ling lifted his head and said to Song Yu: “Brother, investigate whether any members of the Mimo tribe have appeared in Shengjing recently.”
“The Mimo tribe?”
“Yes. Based on Young Master Xiao’s account, the only possibility I can think of is the Mimo. When I traveled with my master to the southwest, I encountered them—their techniques were nearly identical.”
There was another point Wei Ling did not voice: before returning to the capital to take office, his final mission had been to intercept and kill a great general of the southwestern tribes.
The tribes had been stirring frequently of late—perhaps plotting something.
Song Yu, now with a clear direction, hurried to leave. “Then Yuchuan, Young Master Xiao, I won’t keep you. I’ll invite you another day.”
“Of course—investigation comes first,” Xiao Hengyi replied. “Brother Song, safe travels.”
Once Song Yu left, only the two of them remained in the side chamber. Wei Ling regarded him with a meaningful gaze that made Xiao Hengyi’s heart tighten uneasily.
“Young Master Xiao, how old are you?”
“I have not yet undergone the capping ceremony.”
Wei Ling gave a soft laugh. “You don’t look like someone who hasn’t yet come of age.”
It was true—Xiao Hengyi’s features were youthful and refined, but his bearing was steady, seasoned. From his account of fighting the spy, it was clear his martial skill was solid; otherwise, he could never have bested an enemy hand‑picked by a foreign state.
Xiao Hengyi, not understanding the intent, explained: “My family has been strict since childhood. My father and elder brother both hope I can shoulder family responsibilities early.”
Wei Ling nodded, then asked, “Has your marriage been arranged?”
“No.”
Wei Ling frowned, saying nothing more.
Xiao Hengyi was at a loss as to what he meant. Looking over, he saw Wei Ling casually lift a teacup, sniff the aroma, then set it down again. Xiao Hengyi couldn’t help but smile—so particular.
But today he had seen for himself: the rumors were true. In just a few exchanges, Wei Ling exuded a heavy pressure. Even the commander of the Imperial Guard never questioned his words—whatever he said was taken as fact. Clearly, this was the norm. Yet what did that have to do with his age or marriage?
Just as Xiao Hengyi was about to speak, Wei Ling asked again: “Young Master Xiao, do you currently hold any office?”
“No.”
“Then perfect. I happen to be short of a clerk. If you don’t mind, you may come to the Court of Judicial Review to find me.” Wei Ling’s smile was sharp. “You are young and spirited—surely destined for great things.”
Xiao Hengyi: ???
Bai Ze was utterly baffled. In all these years, his lord had never extended an olive branch to anyone, nor employed men of unknown background. Xiao Hengyi was merely a young noble of the capital—even if he had some skill, it should not have been enough for Wei Ling to invite him into his service.
After Xiao Hengyi left, Bai Ze asked, “My lord, shall we have someone investigate Young Master Xiao?”
Wei Ling gazed at the door Xiao Hengyi had failed to close tightly, his eyes deep. “No need.”
Better to keep him under watch right before his eyes—then nothing unexpected could arise.
The Princess Royal’s residence lay in the southwest corner of Shengjing, vast in scale and lavish in every detail.
Princess Royal Huihua was sixty this year, older than the Emperor by many years. It was said that the Emperor’s mother had died young, and the Princess had raised him herself. To him, she was both elder sister and mother.
After the Emperor ascended the throne, the Princess Royal enjoyed the highest honors. The Qin family, into which her consort was born, likewise rose to nobility in Shengjing, and for decades their favor had never waned.
Now, the Princess Royal’s mansion was thronged like a marketplace. Carriages from noble households lined the street all the way to the eastern market, come to offer congratulations.
The General’s household had arrived early. Wei Haifeng and the Qin men received male guests in the front hall, while the Princess Royal and Princess Duanrong entertained the women in the flower hall. Song Xian stood at the gate with her Qin aunt and cousin‑in‑law, welcoming guests. Only Wei Ling was nowhere to be seen.
The stream of visitors was endless, leaving them scarcely a moment’s rest. Wave after wave came and went, but fortunately, the Princess Royal’s stewards and servants managed everything in order—handling horses, registering names, guiding guests—without a single mistake.
At last, there was a brief lull. Madam Cao said to Song Xian, “Ah Xian, you must be tired. It will ease once this rush is over.”
The weather was gloomy and chill, yet Song Xian’s forehead was damp with fine sweat. She smiled sweetly. “Not tired. Today is Grandmother’s birthday. To be able to do something for her makes me happy.”
Madam Cao was about her age, much like Chen Ruo, both skilled in household management. Hearing Song Xian’s words, she covered her mouth with a laugh. “How could you not be tired? That girl Yixian once hid away at Aunt’s residence, just to avoid Mother burdening her with these chores.”
At that moment, a bright yellow carriage appeared at the far end of the street, grand in its procession, with several fine horses clearing the way in front.
Madam Yan grew flustered at once. “Didn’t Mother say His Majesty would not come? How is it that he suddenly arrives? Ah Yun, quickly—go tell your grandmother and your father.”
Madam Cao could not spare another word with Song Xian and immediately ran back inside.
“Steward, go to the front and clear away the carriages and servants blocking the road. Make sure nothing collides with the honored guests,” Madam Yan ordered hastily.
The entrance of the Princess Royal’s mansion became a flurry of activity. Before long, the imperial carriage was already in sight.
Grandfather and the uncles hurried forward, a group of them waiting reverently at the gate.
Song Xian stood behind the crowd, catching a glimpse of the guards before the dragon carriage—and among them was her husband, whom she had not seen for two days. Dressed in dark court robes, tall and upright, he looked stern and commanding.
Grandfather’s voice rang out: “We respectfully welcome His Majesty.”
All those behind bowed low in greeting.
Emperor Xuan descended from the carriage, laughing heartily. “Lord Qin, no need for such ceremony. Rise, all of you.”
Only then did Song Xian lift her head with the others—her first time seeing the Emperor. He appeared to be around fifty, yet full of vigor.
But the more she looked, the more puzzled she became. Why did the Emperor’s brows and eyes resemble Wei Ling’s? Especially when he smiled—the curve of his lips was nearly identical.
Soon she reasoned it out. Wei Ling resembled neither his father nor mother, but bore some likeness to the Princess Royal. If so, it was not strange that he shared a few features with the Emperor as well.
Behind the Emperor stood another man in splendid robes, slightly plump. Grandfather and the uncles bowed again. “We greet the Crown Prince.”
The Crown Prince raised his hand in a modest gesture. “Uncle, you honor me too much.”
“Enough, don’t all stand at the gate. Today is the Princess Royal’s birthday—I’ve come to join the celebration.” Emperor Xuan spoke as he walked inside, and the others quickly followed.
Though the Princess Royal’s household did not fall into disorder at the Emperor’s sudden arrival, everyone grew more cautious. Madam Yan was especially meticulous, checking everything that would be presented before the Emperor to ensure nothing went wrong.
Song Xian too busied herself for quite some time, only resting once all was settled.
There were still hours before the evening banquet, so she and Madam Cao returned to the flower hall to accompany the ladies.
In the flower hall, most of those present were the ladies of various noble households. Though Song Xian could recognize their names, she was not well acquainted with them.
She had intended to remain quietly seated at the back, but unexpectedly, Princess Royal caught sight of her and beckoned, “Yuchuan’s wife, come here.”
At once, countless eyes turned toward Song Xian, their gazes pressing upon her. Her heart gave a tremor as she stepped forward.
Princess Royal, ever familiar and gracious, took Song Xian’s hand. “Good child, you’ve worked hard today.”
“Grandmother overpraises me. It was no hardship,” Song Xian replied obediently.
“Has Yuchuan come? Where has that fellow gone off to, not coming to see me all morning?”
“He has, Your Highness. At present, he is in the front hall attending His Majesty.”
At this, Princess Royal blinked in brief surprise, then smiled. “That child.”
Song Xian had seen the Princess Royal twice before, but always from afar. This was the first time she had been treated with such closeness.
Unlike Princess Duanrong, Princess Royal was gentle in manner and bore no prejudice against her.
“Does Yuchuan treat you well?”
Song Xian faltered, unsure how to answer, and after a long pause managed only a single word: “Well.”
“That will do. I only worried that Yuchuan, being such a taciturn gourd, might not know how to keep his wife happy. Since you get along well, I am at ease.” Princess Royal spoke with seeming relief.
She had spent the whole day in the flower hall and now looked somewhat weary, stifling several yawns. Princess Duanrong, concerned, asked, “Mother, would you like to return and rest?”
“Look at these old bones—age has caught up with me,” Princess Royal said with self-deprecation. “You all sit a while longer. I’ll go back to rest. Duanrong, keep an eye on things.”
“Your Highness should rest well, please don’t worry about us,” one lady said, and the others quickly echoed her.
Song Xian’s hand was still clasped in the Princess Royal’s. As she helped her rise, the Princess Royal did not let go, but instead said, “Ah Xian, come back with me.”
“Yes.”
The two departed together, and the flower hall grew lively again. Someone offered praise: “Princess Duanrong is truly blessed—your daughter-in-law is as lovely as a celestial maiden, and the Princess Royal clearly holds her in great affection.”
“So it is—as I nearly failed to recognize her when she entered. Who would have thought this young lady was the daughter-in-law of the General’s household?”
The others did not notice the impatience flickering in Princess Duanrong’s eyes, and instead joined in with praise.
As the saying goes, family shame should not be aired in public. Even if Princess Duanrong disliked Song Xian, she would never show it before others. At this moment, her mind was occupied with other matters, and she had little patience for the crowd.
After a few perfunctory replies, she moved toward the small side chamber behind the flower hall and asked one of the Princess Royal’s maids, “Where is your young mistress?”
There was only one young lady in the household now—Qin Yixian. The maid answered, “Many ladies from other households have come today, so Madam sent the young mistress to the garden to receive them.”
“Tell her I have something to discuss. Have her come at once.”
“Yes, Your Ladyship.”
The maid hurried off. Nanny Qi, uneasy, whispered, “Your Highness, this may not be proper.”
A flicker of hesitation crossed Princess Duanrong’s face, but she quickly suppressed it. “Proper or not, I cannot concern myself with that now.”
“If the Princess Royal learns of this, she may take offense.”
“Offense at what? Yuchuan is her most beloved grandson—she wishes for his well-being even more than I do.” Princess Duanrong clenched the handkerchief in her grasp. “Do you think I desire this? It is all for the Wei family, for Yuchuan.”
“But—”
“Enough. Say no more. My mind is set.”
Yesterday, Song Xian’s words to Chen Ruo had reached her ears without a single omission. She had once thought that waiting another two years would matter little, but now she feared that waiting further would lead to nothing at all. And Wei Ling was stubborn, refusing her counsel time and again. Since she could find no way through him, she could hardly be blamed for taking matters into her own hands.
After all, what was one barren concubine-born daughter of a marquis’s house? If she could not bear children, then she was dispensable.
The maid soon returned. “Your Highness, the young mistress asks you to wait a while—she cannot leave at present.”
Princess Duanrong flared with anger. “That foolish girl! How can she not see what is at stake!”