The Qian family’s full‑month banquet was set for the tenth day of the ninth month, conveniently on the officials’ rest day.
Xie Linxu and Song Xingyue prepared themselves and set out. Huang Xiangtang did not go this time, nor did she allow Xie Linfu to attend.
The reason traced back to an old case. Her father, as Minister of Rites, had once quarreled bitterly with Minister Qian of Justice. The two families had long been enemies. Even a glance at Qian Gaoyu was enough to see the Qian family’s corrupt household style. A true noble family would never allow its sons to behave so scandalously. The Qians’ crooked ways fit the old saying: When the upper beam is not straight, the lower beam will be crooked.
But Minister Huang was intolerant of evil, forever quoting Confucius and ancient teachings, crying, “a disgrace to learning.” He could not abide corruption. Serving alongside Minister Qian, he often impeached him. Qian, petty and vindictive, seized on Huang family faults in return. Their back‑and‑forth impeachments became routine, a matter of little consequence.
In this world, no man is without fault. And with such opposite temperaments, it was inevitable they would clash.
Their feud became entrenched when Huang’s younger brother made a mistake and was seized by the Ministry of Justice. Though he was eventually released, he was left crippled, unable to stand for life. From then on, the Huang and Qian families were mortal enemies.
Huang Xiangtang’s uncle had his life ruined by the Qians. Her father hated them bitterly. How could she attend their banquet? She could not stop the Xie family from going—after all, the Qians were a powerful household, with officials in the Ministry of Justice. One could not befriend them, but one should not make enemies either. But Xie Linfu was her husband. If she despised the Qians, then he must not go.
Xie Linfu said nothing against it. His wife’s family had grievances; if he went, what position would that leave her in?
Jingxi also disliked the Qians’ conduct and was unwilling to stir herself. She sent only Song Xingyue and Xie Linxu. Thus, in the end, only the two of them went.
Because of the old history, Song Xingyue was uneasy all the way. When Ji Jianyun had returned before, she had not panicked—he was hot‑tempered, but not truly dishonorable. But Qian Gaoyu was different. He was filth incarnate—a degenerate, a wastrel. Going now, she could not help but feel troubled. Yet she thought again: with Xie Linxu beside her, what could happen? And besides, today was his own child’s full‑month banquet. Surely he would not dare cause a scene and disgrace himself. He would have to behave.
The carriage had already reached the gates of the Qian residence, leaving Song Xingyue no time for further anxious thoughts.
Seeing her still so absent‑minded, Xie Linxu finally spoke: “What have you been thinking these past days?”
She looked as though her soul had fled—silent, unresponsive, as if something foul clung to her.
Sitting beside him, Song Xingyue twisted her handkerchief. Hearing him speak, she said nothing, only wrung the cloth tighter.
Xie Linxu pressed again: “Why didn’t you wear new clothes today?”
How could she dare dress up for this occasion? She had obediently put on her old, ugly garments, pulling out the worst from the bottom of her chest—anything to look as plain as possible. Unexpectedly, this gave Xie Linxu another opening.
At last, Song Xingyue looked at him directly. She knew at once he was referring to the time she had asked him for new clothes before visiting the Li household.
She cursed him inwardly for his pettiness—remembering such a trivial matter for so long. Outwardly, her face betrayed nothing. She only said: “I heard the Qian family’s second son is a scoundrel. I fear he might cause trouble.”
Xie Linxu asked instinctively: “Cause trouble in what way?”
Song Xingyue gave him a long, quiet look—the meaning obvious without words. Why else would she be afraid?
Qian Gaoyu was notorious for his lust. She was beautiful—wasn’t it natural to fear him? She did not hide her dread of Qian Gaoyu. If anything happened later, she could blame it on his lawless nature, keeping Xie Linxu and others from suspecting anything else.
That old scandal was too foul to mention. Better it remain unknown.
Xie Linxu truly did not think further. Seeing her expression, he found it oddly amusing and even chuckled. “You’re confident, aren’t you? Others are already married with children, yet you think they’d covet you for no reason. Are you really that beautiful?”
It was teasing—rare from his lips.
Hearing his jest, Song Xingyue did not grow angry. She muttered back: “I *am* beautiful.”
Beauty was plain fact. Lovely was lovely, handsome was handsome. Why deny it? Why feign humility?
She turned her head toward him, tilting her chin slightly, and asked in return: “Don’t you think you yourself are handsome?”
He was always proud of his looks—so how could he possibly admit it?
Outside, the autumn wind lifted the carriage curtain, tossing Song Xingyue’s loose strands of hair. They brushed across Xie Linxu’s cheek, tickling down his neck, itching all the way to his chest. He gave a light cough, turned his head aside, and muttered: “Smooth words, false expressions.”
Seeing the hour grow late, neither of them continued arguing over “handsome or not.” They stepped down from the carriage one after the other, letting the servants usher them inside.
The guests at the Qian household were many, though far fewer than at Grand Tutor Li’s birthday banquet. The Qians’ reputation was not as illustrious as the Lis’, and their circle of friends was modest.
Xie Linxu had brought Song Xingyue today partly because Jingxi had instructed her, but also because he had his own private reasons.
Song Xingyue suddenly recalled his earlier words—that today might not be peaceful. She asked: “You said before that today would be unsettled. What did you mean?”
Xie Linxu did not speak in riddles. “A fifth‑rank official of the Astronomical Bureau died—died in the Ministry of Justice.”
It all came back again to the matter of the Daoist temple.
The temple construction had stalled. The Bureau’s Director had observed the heavens and seen Mars guarding the Heart, a crimson light like blood. Such an omen, he believed, was Heaven’s warning. He submitted a memorial to Emperor Jingning, citing the classics, urging the ruler not to defy Heaven’s order by pursuing immortality.
These words enraged the Emperor, who had been silent for long. His pent‑up anger burst forth, directed at the official who dared admonish him.
Suspicious, the Emperor believed the man had deliberately used the omen to shame him. How could Heaven accuse him of fault, when he revered the Dao and honored the ancestors? Surely the Director was spouting nonsense, slandering him.
He ordered the Eastern Depot to seize the man and throw him into the imperial prison, forcing him to recant—insisting Mars guarding the Heart was a great blessing, not a dire omen.
The prison was a place of cruelty. Yet even under torment, the Director never changed his words. From beginning to end, he declared only: “Your Majesty’s pursuit of immortality is to defy Heaven’s way.”
The Director of the Astronomical Bureau remained in the imperial prison for three full days, then was transferred to the Ministry of Justice. In the prison, the charge laid upon him was “disrespecting the Emperor.” But once at the Ministry, they gave him a new crime—“colluding with factions.” They claimed his sudden memorial impeaching the Emperor was not spontaneous, but part of a long‑planned conspiracy, surely instigated by someone behind the scenes.
Such a wild leap of accusation was beyond a metaphysics scholar’s comprehension. Tortured relentlessly, he could not fathom how to confess to such baseless charges. The interrogators, however, never relented. Patiently and cruelly, they pressed him, forcing him, bit by bit, to admit to those absurd crimes. In the end, the man who had survived the imperial prison died in the Ministry of Justice. His death shook the court and the nation.
The Minister of Justice was Qian Buwei. But who stood behind him? For what reason had he forced the Director to confess? Whom was he truly aiming to strike with this scapegoat?
Emperor Jingning himself had ordered him sent to the Ministry. Or perhaps the Emperor suspected someone else in his heart? And who would be the next to die?
The Director was dead. Everyone was afraid. Everyone was silent.
This was the “unsettled” that Xie Linxu had spoken of.
Song Xingyue did not understand the intricacies of court politics. But hearing that someone had died at Qian Buwei’s hands, and hearing Xie Linxu call it “unsettled,” she guessed it must be serious.
She did not think further. Such court matters were beyond her grasp, and Xie Linxu would not explain further. After hearing his words, she asked no more and lowered her head in silence.
Xie Linxu turned, saw her bowed head, and suddenly said: “In any case, if you’re afraid today, don’t wander off.”
Song Xingyue pursed her lips and muttered: “I know. You don’t need to say it.”
Even without his warning, she would not stray.
She followed at his side, and together they went to see Qian Buwei’s grandson.
The Qian family’s second young madam stood with Qian Gaoyu, holding the child and greeting guests.
Inside the main hall, guests exchanged polite greetings. The moment Xie Linxu appeared, whispers began.
“The heir himself has come today?”
Given the Qian family’s reputation, Xie Linxu should have disdained them. Yet here he was, bringing his wife.
They murmured: “Isn’t the Xie family close to the Crown Prince? The Qians clearly mean to splash Sun Ping’s filth onto the Prince—yet he still comes?”
“And haven’t we come too? The Qians are petty. If you don’t show up, and later you end up in the Ministry of Justice, you might not come out alive.”
“What have the Duke’s household to fear from them?”
“Who knows? Better more friends than more enemies.”
“Nonsense. A man who prides himself on aloof elegance—what friends could he possibly have?”
As Xie Linxu passed, the two fell silent.
Qian Gaoyu was standing with his wife, entertaining guests, when he saw the pair enter. His gaze instantly fixed on Song Xingyue. Since her marriage to Xie Linxu, he had had no chance to approach her. Now, seeing her again, he was stunned—she was still as enchanting as ever. Lips red without rouge, brows green without paint, her beauty stirred his heart and quickened his breath. He had thought that after marrying into the Xie family, her days would be hard, that she would have withered into a dull matron. Yet she was even more alluring than two years before—how could one forget her?
If not for the Duke’s household securing her marriage, if her husband had not been Xie Linxu, he would have seized her by force. But there was no way—Xie Linxu was of the capital’s nobility. To offend the Xie family was unthinkable.
Song Xingyue subtly noticed Qian Gaoyu’s gaze. His face was the very image of a wastrel—tall and thin, with sharp eyes set in mocking slants, a narrow face, all sharpness and malice. Without a word, she edged behind Xie Linxu.
Xie Linxu caught her movement, lifted his eyes, and indeed saw Qian Gaoyu staring with ill intent. His gaze was far too blatant, his scheming all too clear.
Was it merely lust? Xie Linxu thought not. It seemed there was something deeper, some hidden matter he did not yet know. There was no time to dwell on it. His expression grew colder, and he shifted slightly to shield her, grasping her wrist and drawing her behind him.
Qian Gaoyu, of course, noticed the gesture. At once, he masked it, plastering on a genial smile. He stepped forward, extending his hand: “Brother Xie, you honor us by coming.”
Xie Linxu’s expression remained cool and distant, with no trace of warmth. Though he was a guest, his pride was unhidden. He didn’t even raise his hand to meet Qian Gaoyu’s or nod his head. He said only: “Today is a rest day from court.”
Qian Gaoyu’s hand hung awkwardly in the air. Inwardly, he cursed Xie Linxu hundreds of times, grinding his teeth in hatred. Outwardly, he forced a smile: “Since you’ve come, please take the upper seat. The banquet will begin shortly—come inside.”
He then signaled to his wife: “Take the heir’s lady to the women’s hall. They are waiting for her there.”
At his words, the second young madam stepped forward and warmly took Song Xingyue’s arm. “Let us go to the western hall. Madam, please come with me.”
In the Qian household, the only person Song Xingyue could rely on was Xie Linxu. She dared not leave him. Leaning close to his ear, she whispered: “Can’t we just deliver the gift, greet them, and leave? Must we stay…?”
She had come already feeling stifled. But when she saw Qian Gaoyu’s eyes, nausea and fear rose in her chest. The gift was given, the courtesy paid. Why not leave now?
Xie Linxu reassured her: “It’s fine. Go first. I’ll come find you once I’m finished.”
She had never wanted to come here at all. The Qian residence felt eerie, full of traps—one misstep and she would fall into hell. She dreaded leaving Xie Linxu’s side. Yet hearing his words, her lips pressed shut, and she followed the woman away.
Xie Linxu saw all her unease. She had seemed troubled for days, but today her anxiety was sharper than ever. She had been cold toward him of late. Yet today, rare as it was, she showed a flicker of dependence. In her eyes was a hidden helplessness—subtle, but he saw it. She truly disliked this place. More than dislike—it was fear. He wanted to simply take her hand and leave. But he still had matters to attend to. Whether to comfort her or himself, he thought: Just wait a little longer…
Just a little while, and then I’ll take her home.
Just for a while—nothing will happen.