Qiao’er had been dressing me for marriage negotiations for nearly half an hour.
I found this excessive.
“I am meeting one woman.”
“Yes.”
“Why does that require three robes?”
“You are only wearing one.”
“Then why did I have to see the others?”
“To choose.”
“You chose.”
“After Young Master rejected all three.”
“They looked identical.”
Qiao’er stopped tying my sash.
I looked down at her.
“That was the wrong answer.”
“Yes.”
She tightened it.
I reconsidered several life choices.
“Too tight.”
“It was loose.”
“I require room to breathe.”
“You require room to eat.”
“Breathing eventually leads to eating.”
She ignored me and stepped back.
The robe was dark blue with a restrained border, expensive enough to make it clear I possessed money and plain enough that Mother apparently considered it respectable.
I preferred my usual clothes.
My usual clothes had never been selected with marriage in mind.
That gave them moral superiority.
Qiao’er adjusted my collar.
I looked toward the door.
“Lady Wei truly remembers me?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
Qiao’er’s hands paused.
I disliked that immediately.
“What?”
“You truly do not remember?”
“Qiao’er.”
She lowered her eyes.
Very proper.
“You asked whether her elder sister was prettier.”
I closed mine.
There were deaths in history less deserved than mine.
“Did she answer?”
“No.”
“Wise woman.”
“You asked again.”
I opened my eyes.
“Why?”
Qiao’er looked at me.
“You seemed to think she had not heard you.”
I stared at her.
She resumed adjusting my sleeve.
I had inherited many things from Original Dong Yu.
A wealthy father.
A beautiful attendant.
Seven horses.
A reputation for uselessness.
I was beginning to suspect the most dangerous inheritance was confidence.
Mother entered before I could decide whether the dead deserved criticism.
Her eyes went over me once.
Then to Qiao’er.
“Acceptable?”
“Yes, Madam.”
“I am present.”
Mother looked at me.
“That is what concerns me.”
Qiao’er lowered her head.
Traitor.
Mother approached and adjusted one part of my collar that Qiao’er had already adjusted.
Women had apparently decided my neck was communal property.
“Today,” Mother said, “you will be courteous.”
“I am frequently courteous.”
Neither woman responded.
I disliked being judged by silence.
“You will not ask about her sister.”
“I know.”
“You will not ask about troops.”
“I know.”
“If you are unsure what to say, say nothing.”
I frowned.
“What if she thinks I’m an idiot?”
Mother adjusted my sleeve.
“Then nothing has been lost.”
I looked at Qiao’er.
She had become extremely interested in the floor.
“This household has grown cruel.”
Mother turned toward the door.
“It has adapted.”
Lady Du’s residence was quieter than Father’s.
This immediately improved it.
No soldiers in the courtyard.
No saddles beneath the galleries.
No one shouting about grain.
The house had the comfortable look of people who had possessed money long enough to stop stacking proof of it in every room.
Lady Du received Mother warmly.
She was around Mother’s age, perhaps a little older, with quick eyes and the relaxed confidence of a woman whose home contained no Dong Zhuo.
Madam Wei was already there.
I recognized her immediately.
Not from memory.
From the way she looked at me.
Ah.
The mother.
The one who had watched me ask her daughter about another daughter.
There were expressions a man did not need memories to understand.
I bowed.
“Madam Wei.”
“Young Master.”
Perfectly polite.
No accusation.
No smile.
Somehow worse.
Then the young woman beside her rose.
Lady Wei.
I looked at her.
And understood why Qiao’er had annoyed me.
“Attractive” was technically correct.
It was also cowardly.
Lady Wei was sixteen and dressed simply for the gathering, in a pale robe edged by a narrow darker border. Her features were fine rather than dramatic, but her eyes were direct, and there was something composed about the way she held herself that made looking away first feel suspiciously like surrender.
She was pretty.
Very pretty.
Qiao’er had reported this as though noting adequate roof tiles.
Lady Wei bowed.
“Young Master.”
I returned it.
“Lady Wei.”
She looked up.
Our eyes met.
Then she said, very calmly:
“Before we begin, my elder sister is still married.”
My soul left through the nearest window.
Lady Du made a sound into her sleeve.
Mother looked down at her tea.
Madam Wei’s expression did not change at all.
Terrifying discipline.
I looked at Lady Wei.
She looked back.
No smile.
Not yet.
“I was hoping we could begin our acquaintance after that incident.”
“So was I.”
“Excellent.”
Lady Wei glanced toward her mother.
“She had other plans.”
Madam Wei lifted her cup.
I had arrived with insufficient support.
“Then I should apologize.”
Lady Wei’s eyebrows rose slightly.
That surprised her.
I continued before courage abandoned me.
“I was drunk.”
Qiao’er shifted behind Mother.
I corrected myself.
“Not an excuse.”
Lady Wei’s mouth moved.
Barely.
“I was told you were sober.”
I turned toward Qiao’er.
“You investigated?”
“I was there.”
Of course she was.
I looked back at Lady Wei.
“Then I have fewer defenses than expected.”
That finally earned the smallest smile.
Progress.
Tea was served.
For several minutes, the conversation remained safely among the older women.
Households.
Mutual acquaintances.
A wedding I had apparently failed to attend, which immediately made it one of my better decisions.
I listened carefully.
Mother had accused me of spending nineteen years looking at women instead of listening to them.
I had taken this criticism personally.
Unfortunately, listening revealed that women knew everything.
Who was ill.
Whose son had failed an examination.
Which household was considering leaving Luoyang.
Who had received visitors from Hedong.
Which marriage negotiations had quietly ended before anyone publicly admitted they had begun.
Men had officials.
Women had tea.
I began to understand which institution was more dangerous.
Lady Du asked Mother about Miss Yue.
I nearly inhaled mine.
Mother answered calmly.
“She left safely.”
Madam Wei looked at me.
Lady Wei also looked at me.
There it was.
I had hoped we might survive ten minutes.
We had achieved perhaps seven.
Madam Wei said, “My daughter heard that Young Master lent Miss Yue his carriage.”
“Temporarily.”
Mother closed her eyes.
I heard it a moment later.
“The carriage was temporary. The lending was intentional.”
Lady Du smiled into her cup.
Madam Wei asked, “You went yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Despite being expected here.”
There was no hostility in the question.
That somehow made lying less appealing.
“Miss Yue was leaving at dawn. Lady Wei was not.”
Lady Wei’s eyes sharpened.
Madam Wei glanced toward her daughter.
Lady Wei said, “I heard the cart she hired was taken.”
“For military use.”
“And the next man wanted three times the usual price.”
I looked at her.
“You heard that too?”
“Women speak.”
“I noticed.”
Her mouth moved.
Lady Du suggested that the younger people might walk through the inner garden before the afternoon became colder.
There it was.
The polite mechanism by which two unmarried people were permitted privacy in the presence of enough witnesses to ensure it was not actually privacy.
Lady Wei rose.
I did the same.
Qiao’er followed several paces behind me.
One of Lady Wei’s attendants followed her.
Mother remained with the others.
I could feel her not watching us.
It was remarkably loud.
The garden was small.
A stone path curved around late flowers and a shallow pond. Nothing grand. Quiet enough that conversation became unavoidable.
Lady Wei walked beside me.
For perhaps ten steps, neither of us spoke.
I decided to begin safely.
“Your mother seems well.”
Lady Wei looked at me.
“Yes.”
Another five steps.
I had exhausted family.
Beautiful.
Lady Wei rescued us.
“You truly don’t remember meeting me.”
Not a question.
I considered lying.
Then remembered Qiao’er was behind me.
“No.”
Lady Wei looked ahead.
I waited for offense.
Instead she said, “That is less insulting than I expected.”
“How?”
“You forgot other people too.”
Ah.
Mother’s network.
“I have had an unfortunate week.”
“So I heard.”
“How much have you heard?”
She considered.
“You forgot Xu An.”
Bad.
“You noticed Qiao’er’s mole.”
Worse.
“You asked to retire.”
Reasonable.
“You requested land west of Luoyang.”
Less reasonable when other people said it.
“You inspected storehouses.”
Slander.
“You helped Miss Yue leave.”
I looked at her.
“That information travels quickly.”
“Women speak.”
“Yes. I am developing concerns.”
Lady Wei glanced back toward Qiao’er.
Qiao’er’s eyes remained properly lowered.
Traitorous eyes.
Lady Wei said, “You also rejected Colonel Cheng’s daughter.”
I stopped walking.
She stopped too.
“How do you know that?”
“My mother knows Lady Cheng.”
The female government had expanded again.
I resumed walking.
“Her father had two thousand men.”
Lady Wei looked at me.
“He would not have brought them to the wedding.”
“That is exactly what Mother said.”
Her mouth twitched.
“Do you always count a woman’s relatives before deciding whether she is pretty?”
“No. Usually I ask Qiao’er.”
Behind us, silence.
I could feel it.
Lady Wei looked back.
Qiao’er remained the picture of obedience.
Lady Wei turned to me again.
“And what did Qiao’er say about me?”
Danger.
I considered diplomacy.
“She said you were attractive.”
Lady Wei waited.
“That was all.”
“Were you disappointed?”
I looked at her.
“I am now.”
That stopped her for half a breath.
Then she smiled.
Behind me, Qiao’er remained silent.
Wise woman.
We reached the pond.
Lady Wei stopped beside it.
For a moment she watched the water.
Then she asked:
“Do you like Miss Yue?”
Direct.
I respected the efficiency.
“Yes.”
She looked at me.
Perhaps she had expected hesitation.
I shrugged.
“She is beautiful. She plays well. She is funny when she forgets to be polite.”
Lady Wei considered that.
“And you still encouraged her to leave.”
“Yes.”
“Most men would have asked a woman they liked to stay.”
“Then most men were asking for themselves.”
Lady Wei went quiet.
“She wanted to leave,” I said. “I had a carriage.”
For several breaths, she said nothing.
Then:
“If she had wanted to remain?”
“Then she would have remained.”
“Even if you believed leaving was safer?”
“I would have told her so.”
“And if she ignored you?”
“I would have been irritated.”
Lady Wei’s mouth moved.
“And then?”
“Then she would still have remained.”
Simple.
Her life.
Her decision.
Why was this becoming complicated?
Lady Wei looked toward the pond.
When she spoke again, her voice was quieter.
“My mother said Lady Song promised there would be no formal proposal today.”
“She did.”
“That nothing would be decided without our agreement.”
“Yes.”
She turned toward me.
“If I said no, what would happen?”
Everything stopped being funny.
There it was.
The real question.
Not whether I liked her face.
Not whether she remembered being insulted.
Not Miss Yue.
Not two thousand soldiers.
A sixteen-year-old daughter of a magistrate looking at Dong Zhuo’s son and asking what the word no actually meant.
“You would go home.”
She watched me.
“And afterward?”
“Nothing.”
“Can you promise your father would not take offense?”
I thought about it.
“No.”
That answer mattered.
I could tell.
“Then how can you promise me anything?”
“Because I asked Mother for a wife.”
I looked at her.
“Not a hostage.”
Lady Wei did not move.
“If you refuse me, you go home. I survive the embarrassment.”
“You sound certain.”
I glanced back toward the house.
“If embarrassment were fatal, your mother would have buried me last spring.”
For a moment she simply stared.
Then the seriousness cracked.
A laugh escaped her.
Small.
Real.
I felt something in my chest loosen.
Lady Wei looked down.
“I haven’t said no.”
I relaxed before remembering my face belonged to me and could betray things.
She noticed.
“You look relieved.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
I looked at her.
There were many possible answers.
Her family was politically modest.
Her father had no private army.
Her brother studied the Classics and had not yet become dangerous.
Mother approved.
She was intelligent.
She was pleasant to speak with.
And Qiao’er had committed fraud with the word attractive.
“You’re beautiful, intelligent, pleasant to speak with, and your father has no army.”
Lady Wei stared at me.
I reconsidered the order.
“The beauty was first.”
“That did not help.”
Fair.
We began walking again.
The conversation became easier after that.
Lady Wei asked about the western estate.
I explained that it did not exist.
She had heard otherwise.
I explained that Father had cleverly transformed my request for retirement into unpaid inspection work.
She laughed.
This woman was becoming dangerous.
She told me about her brother.
Quiet.
Serious.
Studied the Classics.
Wanted office eventually.
I listened.
Mostly.
Then we talked about Luoyang.
Not politics exactly.
Which households were leaving.
Which families were sending women and children away while the men remained.
She knew more than I expected.
Of course she did.
Women had tea.
By the time Lady Du’s attendant came to tell us the older women were ready to depart, I had almost forgotten this was an arranged social inspection.
Almost.
Lady Wei turned back toward the house.
I looked at her once more.
Qiao’er caught me.
Of course she did.
I ignored her.
Madam Wei asked her daughter, “Was the garden pleasant?”
“Very.”
Lady Wei took her tea.
Then she added:
“Young Master did not ask about my sister.”
Madam Wei looked at me.
“Not even once?”
“Mother.”
Lady Wei sounded mortified.
I stared at both of them.
“I asked twice one time.”
Silence.
I heard the sentence after I had already released it.
Lady Du covered her mouth.
Mother looked down.
Madam Wei’s composure finally broke.
Lady Wei shut her eyes.
I looked toward Qiao’er.
She offered nothing.
There were moments when servants should protect their masters.
This was apparently not one of them.
I drank tea.
It was the only dignified option remaining.
On the ride home, Mother said nothing for an impressive amount of time.
I waited.
Qiao’er sat opposite me.
She looked outside.
Coward.
Eventually Mother asked:
“Well?”
One word.
Dangerous.
I considered.
“She is beautiful.”
Mother nodded.
“Intelligent.”
Another nod.
“Pleasant.”
Mother waited.
“Her father has no army.”
She closed her eyes.
Qiao’er looked out the window harder.
“What?”
Mother said, “Nothing.”
I distrusted that word.
“She asked good questions.”
Mother opened her eyes again.
“And?”
I thought about the garden.
About the way Lady Wei had asked what refusing me actually meant.
About the fact that she had not refused.
“I would see her again.”
Mother’s expression softened.
Only slightly.
“Good.”
She nodded.
“Then I’ll tell your father.”
“No.”
Mother paused.
Qiao’er finally looked away from the window.
“Why?”
“Because he’ll help.”
“Your father loves you.”
“I know.”
I looked at her.
“That is how I ended up on a twelve-year-old’s horse.”
Mother was silent.
Then she nodded.
“I’ll wait.”
I settled back against the carriage.
Finally.
A member of my family capable of learning from history.
Qiao’er said nothing.
Which meant she was thinking something.
I pointed at her.
“No.”
“I said nothing.”
“I know.”
She looked innocent.
I had known her long enough now to understand that innocence was generally a threat.
Still.
Lady Wei had not said no.
Mother was not telling Father.
Nobody had assigned me work.
For perhaps one afternoon, my life had improved.
I knew better than to trust it.