Though Sui Sui felt exhausted in body and mind from dealing with Li Chongjun, he was surprisingly popular. Word of his departure spread, and all the young dandies of the city came to bid him farewell. He was constantly out of the house, which gave Sui Sui the chance to smuggle things away.
While the servants busied themselves packing valuables, she bundled up her trinkets—jade pendants, gold sleeve weights, silver ornaments—and quietly sent them home. By the time she returned, dusk had fallen.
It was the fifteenth day of the tenth month, the Lower Yuan Festival honoring the Three Officials. Yongping Ward was the liveliest, with its Daoist temple hosting a grand fair. Such festivities were rare in Liangzhou, so the whole city flocked to join. Even heaven seemed to oblige: after days of drizzle, the rain ceased, and the moon rose full and bright, shining over lanterns and crowds like a white ribbon strung with jewels.
In Yongping Ward, one theater specialized in southern opera. Refined and elegant, it served southern delicacies—plum blossom cakes, lotus‑root powder pastries—perfect for lantern viewing. Tonight it should have been packed, but the governor’s son had reserved it for a distinguished guest, shutting out all outsiders. All except Sui Sui. She wasn’t there for tea or opera, but to meet an old friend.
The star of Wangchun Garden was her former “little uncle” from the troupe. Though only seven or eight years older, he had sung alongside their master, earning seniority. The troupe master had been harsh, often beating her. But her little uncle never struck the young performers. He hardly seemed a man of the stage—no rough airs, speaking refined Chang’an dialect, soft‑skinned, writing delicate characters like paintings.
More genteel than Li Chongjun—far more.
He had left earlier and eventually joined Wangchun Garden. When Sui Sui escaped with nowhere to go, he sheltered her for a time. Because she had to care for Cui Qiao, she couldn’t rehearse much. He arranged for her to sing at banquets instead.
There, she met Li Chongjun.
Now that Li Chongjun was leaving and she would be free, she felt she should tell her little uncle herself. But when she arrived backstage with a box of golden leaves, chaos reigned. Her little uncle was scolding people. Seeing her, he paused, then smiled, tapping her with his long pipe: “Sui Niang, perfect timing. You’ll go on stage with me tonight in *The Legend of the White Snake*.”
“What?”
He was dressed in pale silk and white fox fur, his slender shoulders visible, hair tied to one side, long neck and sharp chin accentuating his beauty. His eyes shimmered like West Lake waters—so fine one could mistake him for either gender.
Two young actors dragged Sui Sui to the mirror, seating her firmly.
“Little uncle—what are you doing—”
She protested, but he exhaled smoke and sneered: “You don’t know? We’ve had a saboteur.”
He explained: the actress playing Xiao Qing had been drugged, her voice ruined. No culprit could be found. To foil the scheme, they needed Sui Sui to step in.
Embarrassed, she said: “I haven’t practiced in two years—I’ll ruin your stage.”
He set down his ivory pipe, leaned back, and laughed softly: “Others may say that, but if you do, I’ll be hurt. Didn’t I see you teach Rui Niang to tumble—flipping twenty‑eight times in a row? And you claim you can’t handle Xiao Qing?”
His smile was gentle yet pressing, unreadable.
Li Chongjun was unreadable too—but she feared her little uncle more.
Saving a performance was urgent, and he was her benefactor. She couldn’t refuse. She washed her face, rehearsed lines while painting her makeup, forgetting why she had come.
He stayed, mixing her rouge himself. After a pause, he said softly: “Be careful in Chang’an.”
“Chang’an? What Chang’an?” She looked up, puzzled.
He smiled: “Isn’t the Wei Prince heading south? Won’t his hidden beauty follow?”
“I won’t go!” she blurted, then feigned sorrow: “He’s long tired of me. Haven’t you heard his reputation? Chang’an is full of beauties waiting for him. He told me yesterday he’d send me away. I’ve already planned—once he leaves, I’ll open a tavern. I’ve picked the spot—across from the fried cake shop on South Street. You must come support me!”
Her little uncle studied her, then chuckled: “He truly cares for you.”
“What?” She blinked, confused. “Didn’t you hear? He wants to get rid of me!”
“He faces an uncertain future. Not dragging you into it—that’s for your sake.”
“Oh, nonsense! Having a home to return to is good. You’re just defending him. His father is the emperor. Here in the frontier, he’s restrained, but back in the capital, with family to shield him, he’ll be untouchable.”
Her little uncle sighed: “If the capital were paradise, why would the Crown Prince have killed himself?”
“Maybe—” she began, but he leaned closer, hair falling like a curtain, voice hushed: “For eighty years, the throne has been shared with the great clans. Only the late Crown Prince was born of a mere official’s daughter. Now he is dead. And Prince Wei—his mother was a palace maid.”
No one had ever spoken to her of such things—clans, power, empire. She barely understood, only sensing that the emperor had deeper motives in recalling Li Chongjun.
She remembered that night of the imperial decree, Li Chongjun burning letters, his face shadowed and grim.
Her little uncle spoke so cryptically, as if she should understand—but she didn’t. Ashamed, she nodded and changed the subject: “Why tell me this?”
He sighed, then smiled: “I think he treats you well. I speak for him. Otherwise, you might never know his heart.”
The words sounded ominous. She couldn’t argue that their affair was mere playacting, destined to end. She stayed silent.
When he finished her makeup, she asked: “Wait—how do you know all this—ah—”
Before she finished, he brushed rouge across her eyelid, leaving a streak of bright red on her pale face.
She looked ridiculous.
“Uncle!” she cried, but he had already swept away, leaving behind the heavy scent of orchid musk and faint tobacco, lingering on her shoulder.
Suddenly, she thought Li Chongjun had one virtue: he rarely used perfume. His scent was clean, like pine and cypress—better than any fragrance.
After hearing her uncle’s cryptic words and being dazed by his perfume, her head throbbed. But once she stepped on stage, she realized her mind could not only split—it could explode.