Bai Xianyu dared not rise. When his father had first ordered him to take a slap, he had already instinctively dropped to his knees. Now, after being kicked down again, he could only kneel properly, his face pale and streaked with dirt.
"My son is not one to rely on the Crown Prince," Bai Xianyu earnestly explained, "There have long been memorials at court warning of Your Lordship's advancing years. Even with your grand ambitions, you cannot continue to guard Jiannan Circuit. The Emperor intends for you to retire and return home—if not for His Highness the Crown Prince—"
"If not for him," Bai Fanxi's voice was low but every word struck Bai Xianyu's eardrums like thunder, "Your father would have died an old man in Jiannan Circuit! There would be no need for you to stab me in the back, then come home to wade through this mess!"
"How could this be a mess?" Bai Xianyu asked, bewildered. "As Commander of the Imperial Guards, your duty is to serve the state loyally. You have served in Jiannan for years without complaint, never once murmuring against the Emperor's arrangements."
Bai Fanxi was so enraged he struggled to breathe, as if his throat were being choked. How had he borne such a foolish son? When the Emperor fell gravely ill and appointed the Crown Prince, if his sole intention was to pass on the throne, he would have eliminated all obstacles for the heir—certain influential princes, rebellious ministers, and treacherous relatives. Inevitably, some would be disgraced, executed, or imprisoned. But if the Emperor was merely testing the Crown Prince's mettle and undecided, the court would descend into chaos. Other princes would stir, each resorting to underhanded tactics to seize power. In any case, it was far safer to keep one's head down than to be swept up in the torrent. Yet Bai Xianyu had deliberately sought out the Crown Prince and reaped benefits. Now the capital whispered that Bai Fanxi was a sycophantic opportunist who shifted with the winds. The more Bai Fanxi brooded, the angrier he grew, but knowing ears were nearby, some thoughts could only be kept to himself. No matter how many times he spoke, his son could never grasp it. Or perhaps, the very capacity to understand—the "heart"—was something neither of his children had grown.
Only when Bai Xianyu stumbled would he realize a parent's painstaking intentions.
At that thought, Bai Fanxi suddenly raised his hand. Expecting another blow, Bai Xianyu blinked nervously and instinctively tried to recoil. Instead, Bai Fanxi merely straightened his son's crooked collar to spare him some embarrassment, then spoke gravely: "From this day forth, you shall perform your duties as Commander of Wuhou properly. No more secret meetings with the Crown Prince at the Eastern Palace."
Though Bai Xianyu felt reluctant, he dared only to comply.
"Father," he asked, "Have you eaten yet? The household still observes the old custom of no meals after noon. Shall I summon the cook to prepare some dishes for you?"
"No need." Bai Fanxi waved him off. "You must be tired from the journey. Go boil some water."
That meant he intended to bathe. Bai Xianyu quickly agreed, and as he left the study, he took with him the food box he had brought. Bai Fanxi's gaze flickered briefly over the box's unique engraved patterns on its lid.
Before engraving, a gold plaque had to be struck. Ye Jiao had originally intended to exchange silver notes for several gold ingots, but recalling that the major banks in the capital all had royal backing, she had no choice but to forgo the idea. This matter must remain a secret—anyone who learned of it would face the death penalty.
She opened the makeup box and took out many golden hair ornaments. Removing pearls and gemstones, she gathered the finely crafted gold pins and hairpins into a crucible. She called a servant to bring fire, saying only that she intended to bake her hair.
Her maid Shuiwen guarded the door while Ye Jiao refined the gold inside the room. The ornaments slowly melted into a pool of molten gold. Removing the heat, she carefully fished the glowing golden lumps out of the crucible and plunged them into a basin of water to cool.
After a while, she lifted out the gleaming golden nuggets, gently touching them and sighing: "Such a pity, my gold…"
Gold was valuable, but only when crafted into exquisite hairpieces could it truly captivate the heart.
Next came the hammering—one blow after another—until the lumps became thin gold plaques. The proverbial 'tempering through countless hammer strikes' was precisely this.
"Dong dong dong… bang bang bang… do do do…" The rhythmic pounding could not be concealed.
"What is the Second Miss doing? Need any help?" A housemaid inquired, approaching cautiously.
Shuiwen, standing at the courtyard gate, stuffed a handful of discarded melon seeds into the visitor's hands, signaling her to discard them, and replied: "Nothing much, just striking a wooden fish."
"Wooden fish? Our lady is not a nun—why beat a wooden fish?" The maid peered toward the inner courtyard.
"Isn't the master home?" Shuiwen mentioned the master and choked back tears. "The Second Miss intends to chant sutras and pray for the master's blessings before paying respects. Finally, there is hope for the An'guo Gong mansion."
The maid, holding the melon seed shells, was about to ask more when Shuiwen handed her a bucket.
"Bring the water over," she said softly. "Each time a sutra is chanted, Miss must cleanse her face. She is truly devout."
Meanwhile, outside Ye Rou's chamber, inquiries were also being made.
"The eldest miss has stayed indoors all day. Isn't she bored? What is she doing in there?"
Before the words fell, a finger jabbed sharply into the maid's forehead, causing her pain.
Ye Rou's new maid Feng'er scolded fiercely: "Stop gossiping about the mistress and get back to work! The lady reviews accounts daily—you think the An'guo Gong mansion's wealth just blows in on the wind? I think your monthly wage should be stopped—let you starve from boredom!"
The maid was silenced, remorseful and retreating. Feng'er pursued her several steps, continuing her tirade: "Our household has joyous events approaching. If you lot don't pull yourselves together and behave properly, you'll only bring shame! You all deserve a good beating!"
The servants were cowed into silence, no longer daring to meddle or inquire.
Truly strange—Second Miss, reckless with alchemy, forging blades and blowing up rooms, yet Madam gave her a meek, tearful personal maid; Eldest Miss, gentle in temperament, returned from her husband's home only to receive a temperamental maid.
Whether the young ladies got along with their attendants was anyone's guess.
Regardless of the servants' thoughts, beneath the half-open windowpane, Ye Rou sat focused on embroidery.
Ye Jiao's design was not difficult to stitch—the challenge lay in embodying the grandeur befitting royal usage, without faltering.
A swift horse ride to the Yellow River ferry, then downriver for a day's journey to the shore and mounting horses. In all, three days would see them reach Jinzhou.
Li Ce brought few with him: a handful of attendants, one censor, and Hu Jia, specially assigned by the Crown Prince. Hu Jia was in his early thirties, short and somewhat compact-featured, lacking striking handsomeness. But he was loquacious and fond of making others laugh; he could chatter endlessly even to an ant.
During the three-day journey, Yan Yun found him so tiresome she preferred squeezing in with the boatmen rather than staying in the cabin.
Yet Hu Jia was indispensable.
Ye Jiao had been appointed Director of the Ministry of War's Armory Division precisely because Hu Jia's transfer had freed the post.
Thus, Hu Jia was well versed in crossbow matters.
The censor's name was Lin Qing.
Lin Qing came to Jinzhou because he had publicly questioned Li Ce's impartiality, suspecting the latter was influenced by Ye Jiao.
As a censor, he had never lost an argument but his luck was equally poor.
Li Zhang sent him here, seemingly unconcerned if Li Ce made things difficult for him.
On the surface, Li Ce spoke politely and executed tasks flawlessly.
But Lin Qing suspected Li Ce might settle personal grudges under official guise.
Once, when a strong wind rocked the boat violently, Lin Qing clung to the mast, nearly falling overboard. He shouted for help, but Li Ce fled faster than him, appearing more fearful of death, almost wishing him gone.
After escaping danger, Lin Qing confronted Li Ce: "Prince of Chu, did you not intend to save this old minister's life?"
Li Ce put down his bowl solemnly: "We journey to Jinzhou to investigate weapons and pacify the people. If one dies, the other can carry on. If both perish, the court must send others, delaying matters and hindering spring planting. I believe the lives of you and I are less important than the spring sowing, less important than Jinzhou's stability."
Listen to that—does that sound like a man's words?
"Moreover," perhaps seeking to irritate Lin Qing further, Li Ce added, "You, Censor Lin, already have a wife and a concubine. I have yet to marry. It would be a pity to die now."
Lin Qing flushed red and gasped for breath.
Li Ce picked up his chopsticks, smiling wistfully with eyes full of hope: "In just twenty-three days, I shall be wed."
So all the more reason not to die.
Li Ce gazed toward the capital, warmth filling his heart.
If he died, what would become of Jiao Jiao?