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Yan Yujin sent another mute glance of appeal towards Li Gang. This time, he was favoured with a response — if an awkward shrug could be dignified with that title.
With that sally parried for the third time, his gaze wandered around the familiar surroundings of Su Manor once again. The light filtering through the grids of the windows, the soft brown of the polished floors — every detail that would have been an old friend in any other circumstance asking why did he call for you?
As he had done twice before, Yujin covertly lowered his gaze and pulled a small piece of paper from his sleeve.
Su She invites Yan Yujin to Su Manor, for a discussion having to do with Young Master Yan’s future.
Despite his best efforts, there was no more ominous manner of phrasing an invitation that Young Master Yan could conjure.
The door chose that moment to scrape open, and Yujin’s gaze shot guiltily up to see the master of the house, at ease as ever behind his table and brazier. Mu Nihuang’s presence was more of a surprise, sitting to one side in an embroidered white robe. It suited her — elegant without the heavy ornamentation many at court preferred, and without drawing attention to the freedom of movement it would grant her in combat.
That glance taken in, he stepped smartly forward and bowed politely to the two of them, settled down on the other side of the table at Mei Changsu’s gesture, and took a pastry from the tray to give him something to do with his hands (and because it looked like the housekeeper had made another batch of those wonderful little persimmon concoctions and it’d be a shame not to take advantage).
Thus armed, he had an excuse to wait for Mei Changsu to explain what this was all about.
“Yan Yujin,” the scholar began, “Have you given much thought to marriage?”
Once the coughing fit had subsided, the offending fragment of pastry and persimmon washed down with a cup very graciously handed to him by his assailant, Yujin managed to stammer out, “Marquis Yan has not seen fit to arrange anything since the tournament, and I couldn’t possibly pre-empt my father.”
This, for some reason, drew out smiles from the two of them, with at least a hint of smugness on Mei Changsu’s part; but after a moment he sobered and fixed Yujin with a gaze that was all seriousness.
“We’ll consider your father’s opinion later, but I asked about yours.”
The silence lengthened for a few heartbeats, until Yujin ventured, “I’m not in any more of a rush to take up that duty than any other, if that’s what you mean.”
“Would you be willing to, for a good reason?” asked Mu Nihuang. Yujin shot her a glance under his eyelashes — clearly the two of them were scheming something.
“Of course! I— ah, Princess, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’d not have fought in your tournament if I wasn’t willing. I know I didn’t have a chance, Jingrui and I together don’t measure up to your standard, but that’s hardly the point.”
“What if my standard changed?” the princess asked softly, and Yujin’s heart stopped.
Half a dozen witty comments blocked each other’s route on the way to his mouth, and after a moment of her calm gaze — was that a touch of unaccustomed apprehension in her eyes? — meeting his, he realised that maybe that was the right answer.
“I take it this isn’t a hypothetical question,” he finally said in lieu of a reply, then added, “And if he’s involved I assume this isn’t just for the pleasure of my company.”
(Did ‘just’ make that a witty comment? Not the time to be worrying about that.)
Mei Changsu’s soft voice was saying “There’s no need to go into detail—” when Mu Nihuang cut through: “If we weren’t going to explain we would have just sent my brother to negotiate with his father.”
Trying to banish that mental image, Yujin saw the strategist had met Mu Nihuang’s gaze, and caught the very edges of the conversation the two of them were having— the argument, rather, and he was obscurely pleased to see Mei Changsu finally incline his head in acquiescence.
The princess seemed happy to let him explain. “The Emperor’s mood has changed, and he has grown frustrated with the reasons he had been given to accept Princess Nihuang’s continued independence. He has yet to insist, but after some discussion, Princess Nihuang and I have come to agree,” he said mildly — Yujin winced — “that it is only a matter of time; and that rather than fight this battle, all our purposes will be better served by giving him what he wants in a manner of our choosing. He wants to see the Princess married to a man of good standing and little ambition, whom he thinks he can control.”
“For my part,” Mu Nihuang continued as if they’d planned this, “I want a husband I know and trust, and who I hope will be able to bear the weight of the Emperor’s attention.”
“And so we needed to find a scion of a respected military family with enough vices that the Emperor wouldn’t think he was too good to be true,” Mei Changsu finished with a very faint smile that could not in any literal sense be described as a smirk but that Yujin still found himself itching to talk back to. “There are more than enough of those around the court, but ones either of us would trust are far fewer in number. Both of us,” he added, folding his hands in his lap, “would trust you.”
“Princess,” Yujin began, then paused to find any possible way to continue the sentence, “I think this is the first compliment you’ve paid me that I don’t entirely like.”
Regret touched the cool depths of Nihuang’s gaze, but before she could reply, he added, “Not entirely, I said! I’ll do this for you. I’ll— marry you. If that’s what you want.”
It was the sweetest, saddest smile he’d seen on her.
“Then expect Mu Qing to visit your father in the next few days,” Mei Changsu’s imperturbable voice continued.
Yujin’s speechless response drew a wicked smile from his tormentor, and a clarification— “We may have broken tradition to speak with you first, but the court must see the forms observed.”
On balance, Yujin was forced to admit that Mei Changsu’s household was a little less intimidating than the Imperial Court.
His scalp itched as he kept his eyes firmly on the floor, desperate to look up and see how the Emperor was taking all of this.
After long enough that he was convinced he’d find his first grey hair this evening, Yujin heard a voice that could and — he couldn’t help but remember — quite possibly would order his execution cut through the quiet susurrus of courtiers pretending they didn’t need to breathe. “Rise. Let me get a proper look at you.”
He unfolded from his bow, casting his gaze to a polite point in the general vicinity of the Emperor’s gold-embroidered black silks. Striking, but that looks uncomfortably stiff around the waist — if that’s about to become the fashion I’d better get my tailor to find a way to add a little more flexibility to the cut.
The Son of Heaven, hands squarely planted on his thighs, squinted— well, imperiously— down from his throne. Apparently he found something to approve of, as he grunted in a vaguely assenting fashion. Gao Zhan piped up from his position to one side, “The Emperor desires to understand the intentions of Yan Yujin following the auspicious day of this wedding.”
Yujin swallowed imperceptibly, summoned up his best smile, and replied in (more or less) the way Mei Changsu had coached him, “This servant is eager for instruction, but in the absence of any specific direction, it is our intention to see what benefits to the nation can be found when General Nihuang’s expertise in field command is put under the direction of the House of Yan.”
For all the blandness of the words, for all Nihuang’s experience in this particular field and her involvement in sharpening this turn of phrase, he still felt the tension in her breath beside him, even as a faint narrowing of the Emperor’s eyes brought a prickling of sweat to Yujin’s own forehead. He kept his breathing steady as that stern voice asked, “Hm. And Nihuang— this one was far from the most impressive man to fight in your tournament. Why him? Why now?”
“I have come to feel the absence of a husband,” Nihuang replied simply, no sign of stress evident when she spoke. “While there may be stronger warriors and more illustrious scions, nowhere else in this court could I find in one person a respected scion of a military family,” (Yujin stiffened suddenly, desperately stifling an absurd laugh,) “a courtier whose household is already so closely tied to the Imperial House, and a promising student of the martial arts. I realised it was—” she paused, and to Yujin it seemed almost unrehearsed— “unreasonable to insist on finding a man who would impress me in the last discipline. I understand I need to be married, and Yan Yujin has earned my respect.”
“Hm.”
The Emperor squinted back in his direction, and after a moment Yujin let the smile drain back into a more neutrally polite expression, minutely shifted his weight from the comfortable way he usually carried himself at court, and awoke a little of the coiled poise Xia Dong had shaped into the undisciplined clay of him. For a moment the court dropped away, just like any number of duelling grounds and jianghu streets had before, as he awaited his next challenge.
“Hah! A little steel behind the silk, is there? Perhaps you’re a better match than I thought. And it’s past time, Nihuang, that you allowed that brother of yours to stand on his own feet.” The man’s mercurial mood melted into an avuncular amusement as he waved a dismissal, and as he bowed and retreated Yujin felt like he’d just remembered how to breathe.
~
“What was so funny in there? I thought you were going to choke.”
Yujin started, and turned round to face his fiancée. ( What a strange thought. ) She’d stopped in the middle of the outer hall, her words to him murmured quietly enough to be no more audible to anyone else than any of the other knots of courtiers and officials having discussing the session they’d just escaped, and was gazing at him with a puzzled intensity that reminded him of his father examining an alchemical concoction that had gone the wrong colour.
It took a moment for Yujin to remember what she could even be referring to, and then he couldn’t help but let his grin shine out. “Well, of course I deserve every praise you heaped on me,” he replied, “but I couldn’t help but notice that in Sir Su’s chambers he didn’t quite call me a respected scion of a military family. ”
For a moment Nihuang only looked more confused, and then understanding dawned as a delighted smile that — just for a moment — lifted the burden of a decade’s cares from her brow.
She said nothing, merely turned and set off back towards the outside world, but at her laughing backward glance it was a moment before Yujin could collect himself enough to follow.
“Drink, drink!” encouraged Prince Ji, pushing Yujin’s refilled cup back into his hand. “I’m not wasting a minute while I still have you.”
Yujin raised the cup in a toast and knocked it back. “It’ll all be paperwork and martial training once I’m married,” he laughed, “so if you want the pleasure of my company you’ll have to put in some hard work.”
The Prince snorted. “I’ve avoided that long enough, Yujin, don’t expect me to start now on your account.”
Smiling broadly, the two of them settled in to listen as the musicians took up their instruments again. The piece was arresting enough; though it dragged a little in the middle, the energetic ending pushed that from Yujin’s mind, and as the musicians brought the piece to a close he broke into enthusiastic applause, to their obvious gratitude.
A few plates heavier and cups of wine unsteadier, Yujin and Prince Ji were humming a snatch of melody and proceeding along in the direction of an establishment that promised another performance when a warning flash of red and black caught Yujin’s eye.
He ducked into an alley, to Prince Ji’s bafflement. The older man craned round and blinked indulgently. “We’ll be there soon, Yujin, and you didn’t have that much to drink. No need for desperate measures.”
“Shhhh!”
Flapping his hands to keep the Prince quiet could not be said to be an effective strategy, owing to the side effect of drawing exactly the attention Yujin had hoped to avoid.
“Prince Ji.” Xia Dong gave a firm bow. “Yujin. What are you doing in that alley?” she asked accusingly.
“I thought I saw a poster that…” he began; Xia Dong’s eyebrow had him trailing off, as she took one unhurried glance round the conspicuously bare walls.
“Hm.”
He stepped sheepishly back to the road under the weight of his teacher’s attention. “I hear congratulations are in order,” she said menacingly.
“Yes! Yes. Thank you, shifu.”
Yujin endured another few seconds of intense scrutiny, before Xia Dong nodded. “Well. I mustn’t tarry. Good evening.” She bowed perfunctorily to Yujin and precisely to the Prince (who had, Yujin noted, stood around with much less of his characteristic talkativeness than might have been hoped), turned sharply and marched away.
Prince Ji stepped on, then paused when he realised Yujin wasn’t following. “Come, come— the night is young!”
Yujin smiled weakly. “I must apologise, Prince Ji. I’m feeling a little more tired than I realised — I think I should go home and sleep.”
As Yujin made his way home, the Prince shook his head sadly. “Such a shame to see a promising young man grow up and become responsible.”
Then, casting the thought aside, he went in search of company who could still be trusted to keep later hours.
It took Yujin a moment to remember what they were celebrating when Nihuang laid a hand on his sleeve. “It’s getting late, husband— shall we leave the rest of the feast to the guests?”
He fumbled to collect his thoughts past the fog of the last several cups of wine— why, and there was another one in his hand!
Nihuang seemed to be waiting for something.
“We shall.”
Ah yes. That meant he should do something. He looked around for somewhere to put his cup, knocked back its contents to give him another moment to think, and propped it in between a couple of empty plates, before gathering his sleeves and standing. Prince Ji cheered enthusiastically from his seat, and Yujin grinned at him as he politely lowered one hand to help Nihuang — his wife — up, took her arm, and waved a justifiably informal farewell to a few others who happened to catch his eye.
As the two of them progressed towards the bedchamber, Yujin did his best to clear his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her shoot him a look as they navigated a corner into a quiet corridor. “You can lean on me if that wine’s taken your balance.”
“Impertinence! A man of my experience could walk a straight line with twice this much in me,” he blustered, gesticulating to emphasise his point— and swiftly turning the gesture into a block as he felt her stance shift and her other hand swing towards his vulnerable head. It would have worked, too, if she hadn’t done something very unreasonable and slightly too fast for him to follow just as his hand was about to reach her wrist— her hand danced around, miraculously unimpeded, to flick him lightly in the ear.
He dropped her other arm and turned to face her, hands on his hips. “Is this what I should be expecting from married life?” he demanded, struggling to resist a broad grin.
Nihuang gave him the most innocent smile he’d ever seen. “At least I’m doing it in private this time.”
With a cry of (surely unfeigned) outrage, Yujin launched into a valiant attempt at retribution.
By the time they reached the bedchamber, he hadn’t landed a blow, but he had successfully blocked a full three of hers. Never mind the other dozen. And anyway, he’d had more to drink than she had — he could hardly be expected to hold his own under those circumstances.
The scrape of the door as he slid it across to close them into their own private world sobered him more suddenly than a bucket of meltwater.
Nihuang was ahead of him, back turned, and for a moment he watched her hands deftly unpinning the heavy ornaments from her hair. She paused, briefly, placed the gold and jade on a small side table, and turned to face him.
The playful smile she’d worn a few moments ago drained away. She studied his face, frowning faintly.
His mouth was suddenly dry, his feet pinned to the floor. Nihuang’s frown didn’t lift, but her lips curled sympathetically. She sat down on the bed, patting the spot next to her.
Yujin dragged himself over and sat cross-legged facing her. He heard his father snap— Get your slippers down from there!— and shook his head to dispel the vision (what an absurd thought on his wedding night).
Nihuang regarded him for another long, thoughtful moment.
“You’re nervous.”
He glanced up from between his hunched shoulders. “Is it that obvious?”
She smiled a little at that, but said nothing, and after a moment he carried on. “I know this isn’t— I know I’m not what you wanted. If I were, I’d have known after the tournament. This is—” he gagged elegantly— “politics.”
“Yujin.” Her hand darted out again, and lost in his misery and the tenderness in her voice, he didn’t care to even try to block. Her touch shocked him with its gentleness, fingers lifting his chin as her thumb gently traced his cheekbone.
She held his gaze for a moment, then said — frank and unselfconscious — “The tournament wasn’t meant to find me a husband; it was meant to excuse my not finding one, and it performed admirably, for a while.”
Absently, Yujin realised he’d leant his cheek into her hand.
“And then it stopped working,” she continued, “and so in the absence of my first… of that option, I chose another: a man I respect, whose company I enjoy.”
Yujin allowed his eyes to sink shut, Nihuang’s thumb still firm and gentle against his cheek.
“You make me laugh, Yujin, and there’s few enough people who’ve been able to do that in a long time.”
He let his eyes flutter open to meet hers, still pensively exploring his face, and made a spirited attempt at a smirk. “Then I shall keep doing what I do best,” he said — a sally that graced him with the sight of her eyes crinkling with amusement — “but if I may beg a boon, I’m taking tonight off to feel drunk and sorry for myself.”
Her laugh was a peal of bells.
As his teacher threw a block, Yujin was already abandoning the attack. He frowned with focus, his sword moving to ward off the cut that followed, off-hand lashing out in a jab that gave him a moment to think. Xia Dong‘s swordhilt lashed towards his face, pivoting around his blade, and as he ducked the blow, she was already disengaging and sweeping her sword low to free it from his own.
An opening!
He leapt lightly into the air, both feet lashing forward in a powerful kick he’d felt more times than he’d like. He noted with surprise and pride that she didn’t seem to have expected that — she actually dropped her sword, catching his feet with both hands and staggering back two paces as he sprang back — but as he landed unsteadily she was already dashing towards him, a punch towards his head leaning him precariously back and exposing him to the true threat: her own foot hooked his ankle and sent him crashing down.
He took a moment to catch his breath and enjoy the moment. Sure she’d put him on his back, but that usually happened — but a stumble from Xia Dong was something to remember!
He grasped her proffered hand and, once hauled unceremoniously to his feet, exchanged bows with her. His smile curdled at the ominous clouds of her frown.
“I didn’t teach you that.”
He attempted a disarming smile, which worked about as well as any other attempt to disarm Xia Dong. “Nobody’s been poaching, shifu, I just— picked it up!”
“Hm. Who’s been leaving things around for you to pick up and ruin your foundation, then?”
Yujin fiddled with his hair, ensuring it was still pinned up in something resembling a neat topknot. “Well, married life means we end up testing each other more, and… that kick makes quite an impression.”
“I thought your wife had more sense than to let you muddy your skills with another style. I’ll have to speak with her later.”
As Xia Dong beckoned Yujin to take his stance for another round, he reassured himself that her expression had, at least, seemed to soften a little as she said that.
It didn’t seem to make her lessons any more forgiving.
Mu Qing slid the door open and struck a selfconscious pose. “Don’t you think it’s a bit much?”
“You look perfect,” Nihuang reassured him. “Too much for any other time is just right for court — you’re every inch the Marquis of Mu.”
Glancing up from his book, Yujin saw his brother-in-law’s doubtful grimace above a neatly-turned-out embroidered white overrobe (a good match between the pair of them, very tasteful) and his usual black-edged tunic, and hummed thoughtfully. Mu Qing advanced like he’d seen a weakness in his formation. “What is it, Yan Yujin?”
Placing his book to one side and frowning thoughtfully, Yujin stood and circled contemplatively round. “May I?”
Mu Qing nodded enthusiastic assent, and Yujin reached out, minutely tweaking the collar of his inner robe and smoothing the outer down a fraction of an inch down. He stepped back to examine his handiwork, then nodded firmly. “ Now it’s perfect.”
Dissolving into energetic gratitude, Mu Qing dashed back to the dressing room to examine the polished bronze of the mirror, and after a moment yelled effusive thanks back to Yujin.
Nihuang gave her husband a look. “Truly a master of fashion. I couldn’t see anything wrong with that collar.”
Yujin let her have his very smuggest smirk for a moment. “You were absolutely correct, honoured wife, he looked perfect. But try telling him that.”
She glared at him. “I did.”
“Exactly!” Yujin replied, with a scholarly gesture, and recited: “When the man will not hear of perfection, invent a flaw and pretend improvement.”
Nihuang’s intimidating look was threatening to break into a smile, so Yujin continued. “Such is the wisdom that earned me tenth place on the Langya List of Feckless Layabouts.”
Somehow, she only reinforced her stern expression. “Disappointing that my husband will not work hard enough to rise higher in that illustrious company.”
Mu Qing chose that moment to come back through, and froze in the doorway, looking from one intense frown to the other. That— finally— broke them down into peals of laughter.
Gao Zhan took the report from Yujin’s outstretched hands, bowed, and trotted over to present it to the Emperor.
Silence, as the Son of Heaven scanned through the neat columns of script. His eyes lingered on the conclusion for six heartbeats; he looked into the middle distance for another four; and finally he handed the paper off into the empty air to his side, where Gao Zhan appeared to take it.
“A persuasive case,” the Emperor pronounced. Yujin’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, just a fraction. “If matters at the Beiyan border are as crucial as you say, this seems justified.”
“Of course, Majesty,” he said blandly. He felt Nihuang straighten a little, and gestured for her to continue.
The Emperor flicked one hand in acknowledgement, and she bowed briefly. “We have reports that a belligerent faction has been rising in their court, and during my last tour of the border garrisons I noted some laxity in discipline. We corrected matters at the time, but if our soldiers have fallen back into old habits, Beiyan may believe we are weak. Those of your forces that Yan Manor commands performing exercises in the region should discourage them from such notions; and the exercises are as necessary now as any time a new commander is appointed.”
“Hm.” The Emperor settled back in his throne, jaw working as if he were trying to get something out from between his teeth. “Mu Manor’s soldiers are also close to the border, are they not.”
Mu Qing acknowledged the Emperor’s words with a salute. At the Emperor’s perfunctory gesture, he explained, “Yes, Majesty, but they still report bandits out in the provinces. Sending them to the Beiyan border might make us weak where we want to look strong.”
“Might it.” The Emperor’s gaze flicked from Mu Qing to his sister, and lingered there for a long moment. The court was silent.
“Yan Yujin has been very quiet,” the Emperor added.
Yujin’s fingers shredded clementine peel as he watched the two of them pore over the map on the scholar’s low table.
“There is a risk, of course,” Mei Changsu said mildly. One knobbled finger was resting a little north of the Beiyan border garrisons, where neat characters read: Mu Manor Forces. “He is unlikely to have forgotten the very… personal loyalties soldiers hold for a good commander.”
“Do you see an alternative?” Nihuang challenged him.
“Of course not.” In obscure half-gestures, they replayed their puppet show above the map — a language Yujin had yet to decipher, so he retreated to firmer ground. Their faces told the story: the Go-board furrows on Mei Changsu’s brow, the smoulder that heralded Nihuang unleashing a well-honed argument. “I hardly have the expertise to argue with you on the military situation,” the scholar continued, and for some reason that brought an impatient frown to Nihuang’s mouth, “and following your plan makes this a question of political strategy.”
Nihuang nodded, the embers of her argument unceremoniously quenched under Mei Changsu’s cool acquiescence. “So what are we going to do about this?”
“The first plan is simply to convince the Emperor of our strategy’s importance,” Mei Changsu replied, one hand elegantly displaying how likely he thought that was to work. “Beyond that — we had best keep him on familiar ground for now, so you should answer for the plan like any other time you have done this. Yujin, delegate to Nihuang and do your best to seem polite and unambitious, and he may simply overlook the possibility of something untoward.”
“Unambitious I can manage,” Yujin replied, and was gratified to see the two of them smile — if briefly.
“Good enough. If he does grow suspicious — ”
Nihuang cut Mei Changsu off. “Then you should say as little as possible and let me manage him.”
Yujin glanced over at Mei Changsu. He was looking intensely at his wife, and she was looking back with equal focus. A hundred expressions fenced between them, a silent conversation in characters Yujin didn’t know — all except the last to sketch itself across Mei Changsu’s face: I yield.
“Something of a risk in itself,” the scholar commented — as allergic as ever to letting someone else have the last word even when speaking without them, apparently — “but perhaps our safest plan. The Princess does of course have more experience than any of us in managing the Emperor’s moods.”
“Majesty,” he replied, bowing politely. “Though I have prepared for the day my father passes his responsibilities to me, dry study cannot hope to match the experience of your acclaimed General Nihuang.”
The Emperor snorted. “Is this what your respect looks like, then, Nihuang? You have him firmly in hand? Or are you hoping I’d see only the man signing the orders, and not the two armies who’ll answer to your command?”
The tension beside him coiled, ready to spring, as Nihuang took a deep breath. Yujin didn’t need to see her eyes flash with pride— and regardless, he was already speaking. “I have of course discussed these matters at length with both my wife and my father, your Majesty, and this strategy has my complete confidence. It would be foolish not to make use of one of Great Liang’s finest field commanders, and since she will be leading the exercise and working from her own inspection of the border garrisons, I felt it was that voice of experience that should speak to the plan’s merits.” He curled his lip with warm arrogance. “Should your Majesty assent to this proposal there will be more than enough time for my own voice to be heard in court.”
Falling silent, Yujin allowed just a touch of self-satisfaction into his expression to sweeten the pot. On a less exalted personage, the expression that darted in response across the Emperor’s face, concealed only by the brevity of its passage, might have been called a crafty smirk. “Of course. Do stay close, Yan Yujin — we will be most interested to hear you speak on this at more length.”
Nihuang’s restraint was palpable for the full length of the ride home.
Inside, they both waved off the servants simultaneously. Yujin slid the door of the study shut as Nihuang wheeled, magnificent, in the centre of the room.
“That was your idea of ‘as little as possible’?”
Yujin spread his hands placatingly. “That plan didn’t look to be working out so well, so I improvised.”
“You didn’t give it a chance to work out!”
“I didn’t give him a chance to start an argument,” Yujin parried. “I don’t think he approves of your relationship with your spouse.”
“I married you! What more does he want?” Nihuang’s temper, unleashed, folded in on itself, a bright and blinding fury.
“He wants to see me lead and you follow, like a good husband and wife, and if we give him that he’ll want to see me dead for having too many soldiers, and if you somehow live through that he’ll want to give you a gift as if that’ll make you forgive him,” Yujin cut back. “I can keep going for a while, but not as long as he will.”
“And you’d know all about wanting.” She was glaring down at him, now, cold and imperious, the blaze of her dancing behind a wall of clear ice.
“What— my wine, women and song?” Yujin laughed. “That’s not want, that’s whim. Our radiant Emperor’s brother taught me well! Just grab for whatever’s nearby and if you’re drunk enough you’ll forget anything you couldn’t reach. Prince Ji’s never wanted a thing in his life and I was doing such a good job of following him until you got involved. You and that Mei Changsu.”
“And now you want to play courtier? You attracted his attention, and now he’ll be plotting to keep you hostage — did you think of that?”
“Nihuang,” Yujin gasped. “Did you think I gave him that idea by accident ?”
“What?”
Ice, down to the heart of her.
Yujin’s smile softly settled— a snowdrift, split a second later by his light-footstepped reply. “Clever little Yan Yujin finds himself a chance to pack his famous wife off to the border and take credit for her hard work while she’s gone, not clever enough to see the danger he’s in. The Emperor holds me close to take Yan Manor from you when you raise your banners, and when you come home peaceful as a songbird, he decides there was never any threat, that I’m just another fool trying to dance for His Majesty’s favour. Surely you didn’t fall for it as well?”
Fog rolled over the glacier, its clear angles clouded by the rain-wet air. “There was no need for you to do that.”
Yujin shrugged, eloquently, and said nothing.
Nihuang regarded him for a long, cool, mist-veiled moment.
“We should sleep. I have an army to muster tomorrow.”
A ceasefire, not a treaty.
A firm rap on the doorframe heralded a visitor, and Nihuang almost sighed in relief to see Xia Dong waiting just far enough outside her study to be polite. She waved her assent and the Xuanjing officer stepped smartly in, adding another report to the contained chaos on the table.
“The notes on the disciplinary investigations on the Beiyan border?”
Xia Dong nodded. Nihaung thanked her, and turned back to her work. When Xia Dong made no indications of moving on, Nihuang glanced back— “Was there something else?”
“Do you have time to take tea?”
Nihuang raised her eyebrows and looked eloquently across the papers arrayed before her. Xia Dong didn’t even glance down, gaze fixed firmly on Nihuang.
After a moment, the General relented. “If we make it quick.”
She stood, stretching out cramped limbs, and led Xia Dong out to a small courtyard, flagging down a servant for refreshments on the way. Her guest was quiet as Nihuang busied herself with the pot, but once gently-steaming cups sat in both their hands, the Princess broke the silence. “What brought you over? It clearly isn’t those reports.”
“You needed a break.”
Nihuang bristled. “I’ve done this a hundred times! You think a simple muster would give me trouble?”
Xia Dong snorted humourlessly. “It evidently is. Something has you distracted.”
Nihuang’s lips thinned into a tight line, but after a moment she sighed and nodded. “Politics.”
“I thought the trouble was whether you’d get this expedition. It’s not like you to lose sleep over yesterday’s problem.”
Shaking her head, Nihuang asked, “Did you hear how the Emperor assented?”
Frowning, Xia Dong nodded. “His Majesty is suspicious of your motivations but—” she grimaced— “feels he has leverage if this does turn out to be a plot.”
“Yujin.”
“Yujin,” Xia Dong replied. Nihuang took in the look of her for a moment — stern and focused as ever, but that frown held a hint of concern.
“There was no need for him to do that. No need for him to draw the Emperor’s attention,” she clarified. “I don’t want to leave one of my people behind in danger and—” a clipped gesture in the direction of her office and its paperwork— “I can’t see any way not to.”
“My student really doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut,” Xia Dong commiserated. “Do you need me to set him straight?”
Nihuang gave her an assessing look. “I don’t think that would help. Just keep an eye on him while I’m out of the city.” She took another long sip, then put her cup down and folded her fingers in her lap, resisting the urge to fret. “And don’t tell him I said anything. I fear that would only provoke him.”
Xia Dong smiled wry agreement. “I can do that.” She drained her cup, with a glance down at Nihuang’s hands, and rose. “I should go— we’re both busy. Thank you for the tea.”
The two of them rose, and with polite bows and warm glances, Xia Dong took her leave as Nihuang returned to a desk that seemed less overwhelmed with paper than she’d left it.
As her horse lengthened its stride, Nihuang found the tension draining from her shoulders, until almost none remained. A swift glance around to check on the column also showed her the city gates opening to receive her husband and the other assorted dignitaries who had seen them off.
Looking back to the road ahead, she took it all in. The horizon was broad and clear, her armour clean and firmly laced, her troops drilled and the day young. She smiled and flicked the reins, and her horse settled into its pace as the General left the capital and all its intrigues and distractions in her dust.
Yujin sighed, put the report down, and rubbed at his eyes. Leaning over, he plucked a letter from the side of the desk and skimmed through the invitation for the third time. Music and dancing still didn’t sound all that appealing.
“Maybe I should call a physician,” he commented to the empty air. Something seemed to be wrong, and an illness was as good an explanation as any.
A servant stepped swiftly over. Yujin was about to wave him off when the youth informed him Xia Dong had arrived to pay a visit. “Should I show her in?”
No! “Yes, of course,” Yujin replied, rapidly pasting a smile onto his face.
A minute or so later, Yujin gave his most respectful bow. “Shifu! An unexpected honour to see you today. I wasn’t expecting a lesson until next week.” Was that too resentful?
“Are you busy?”
Yujin looked a little plaintively at the refuge of the paperwork, then turned away. “Nothing that won’t keep, shifu.”
Xia Dong nodded firmly. “Good. My student should always be ready to fight. Let’s train.”
She gestured politely in the direction of the courtyard, and — suppressing a groan — Yujin led the way.
The next few minutes passed in a blur of stance and form, Xia Dong’s face fossilizing into an even stonier version of her habitual frown. Then— much sooner than he expected— she announced, “Let’s spar.”
Yujin bowed politely and arranged himself into his stance, meeting Xia Dong’s eyes to see she had neatly arranged herself in readiness. Well aware that he couldn’t match her patience, Yujin stepped forward and sent a punch probing towards her head to get things started— and yelped in shock as she grabbed his wrist and threw him contemptuously towards the wall.
Catching himself, he repaired his stance and whipped around to see his teacher had abandoned her calmly martial posture for a far more threatening attitude of crossed arms and open disappointment.
“Lazy. Have you been practicing?”
“Of course! Every morning.” Yujin saw his teacher’s eyes narrow minutely. “Most mornings,” he corrected.
“Hm.”
Staggering under the weight of her attention, he volunteered, “With Nihuang away— most mornings we test each other— it’s hard to get back into the habit.”
Something changed in her expression that he couldn’t quite read — certainly not the usual response to his excuses for not practicing, anyway. Although— was he out of practice with those?
“Hm. And the Court? Have you been showing them the same neglect?”
“I— no! No, I have a regular appointment, that’s all in hand.” Yujin swallowed. “Should I be calling you shifu or officer , shifu?”
She gave him one of her looks : slightly more than usually annoyed, a little confused, actually a touch of respect. “No need for any unusual formalities.”
Yujin bowed, to play safe, and Xia Dong acknowledged it with a perfunctory salute. “This is enough for today’s visit. I shall see you again at the usual time.”
They exchanged polite bows and Xia Dong turned to leave, only to pause at the threshold. “Yujin, be careful at court. You’re in a precarious position, with the Emperor’s eye on you.”
Before he had time to work out how to respond to that, she had swept away. Yujin took a moment to gather himself and returned to sit down behind his paperwork.
He got up to fetch a cup of tea. Drank it. Stood up for a turn around the room, sat down again, stared at the pile of papers.
Gave up.
He’d been so proud of actually picking up this work — Jingrui would have been impressed with this new diligence, if he’d been around to see it, and there was no way he’d believe it if all the evidence he had was a boasting letter. But whatever it was that had let him work this transformation had clearly stopped working, and wishing for it to come back wasn’t helping.
Well. Only one thing for it, really: if Yujin was going to be too distracted to do anything useful, he may as well make things neater by going to bother his father and ask his advice. That way neither of them would get anything done.
“Enter.”
The tent flap opened, and the subcommander of the third garrison stepped in, stopped smartly, and saluted. Nihuang returned the gesture and showed him to the table.
Meeting him here was something of a power play, of course — she was well within her rights to have him come to her as a senior officer with command authority, but pulling him out of his own little world might give him a little perspective.
“Subcommander. Your report?”
He saluted again for good measure, and ran through the usual details of the fort’s operation — all well enough in hand, despite the disruption from his abrupt promotion to the role his predecessor had apparently been enjoying a little too much.
Still, he lingered a moment after the report was delivered, and for a moment Nihuang was reminded absurdly of some of her earlier suitors trying to find an excuse to extend the acquaintance.
Fortunately, military rank allowed her to be rather blunter with a subordinate than a suitor. “Speak,” she ordered, not unkindly.
“I’m still concerned about the patrol rota, General. If an enemy gets to know the pattern they may be able to evade notice and get far too close for us to allow.”
“Show me the plans.”
Nihuang looked over the annotated map — familiar, she’d helped to draft it, but she did her best to look at it with the fresh eyes of an attacker. Still, no significant weaknesses were apparent; there wasn’t anything to lose sleep over here. Although—
“The long sweep—” Nihuang’s finger indicated one set of characters on the diagram— “the exact timing won’t matter for hunting down the smuggling caches they’re looking for. Draw lots at the start of the month to vary up that duty’s timing and the enemy won’t be able to plan around them.”
“Yes, General!” the boy beamed, with a firm salute.
“It’s more work for you, subcommander,” Nihuang admonished, “and you’ll need to fit the rest of the duty rota around it.”
“Of course. That won’t be too much trouble, I can—”
Nihuang raised a hand. “The details are your business, subcommander.”
The youth saluted again, and Nihuang nodded in acknowledgement before sending him on his way. A few moments later, alone in the tent, she laughed quietly over a cup of water. The subcommander was enthusiastic, she had to give him that, but if his career was going to flourish he’d need to learn how to set a worry aside.
For want of anyone to make a wry observation to, she pulled another report out of the stack and settled in to review the next day’s work.
Yujin was gratified to hear a few discontented groans behind him as he bowed smartly and announced with an excess of enthusiasm, “Yan Manor’s latest report, with compliments to the Emperor!”
If the courtiers were that unconcerned with hiding it, he was coming across just the way he wanted.
The Emperor barely glanced at the report, this time. One might almost think he had another motive for having Yujin summoned so often.
“We understand that the Yan Manor forces are returning to their barracks,” he commented.
“Yes, Majesty,” Yujin replied. “We shall prepare a full report on the exercise once its commanding officer has returned.”
“Quite. We look forward to Princess Nihuang’s presence at court — we are eager to hear of this exercise from the one truly responsible for its success.”
As the courtiers behind him muffled titters behind sleeves and fans, Yujin bowed low at that rebuke. The posture conveniently hid the smirk that threatened to break free and dance across his face.
The clouds slipped away from the sun, making Yujin squint for a moment. It was high enough— assuming the riders had set off this morning, they’d be here before long.
Only a few of the household were with him in the cluster of buildings outside the city — hardly a lavish welcome home. He’d heard a comment or two about that on the way to the gates, pitched just loud enough that he couldn’t claim he’d been meant to hear.
The memory, and the thought that it might have bothered him, made him laugh— then a cloud of dust on the horizon caught his eye.
As the minutes passed, an anxious buzz grew at the back of his skull in tandem with the dustcloud on the plains. It was a trail along the road, now, below which he could make out a party of riders moving at a steady canter. Light glinted across the distance, resolving into armour, weapons, helms.
One of the soldiers was a little ahead of the rest, the hooves of a column two abreast casting up a veil of dust in a train fit for an Empress.
As the column approached, the lead rider scanned anxiously across the road; saw the small party to its side.
Their eyes met.
Nihuang’s grin broke through the clouds. Her horse broke into a gallop, her riders following, and a few seconds later she reined in before the party and leapt out of the saddle.
She landed deftly, the momentum carrying her a neat two steps forward to stand in front of Yujin. Their eyes danced with amusement as they bowed to one another, just as if they’d planned it, and he took her in— tunic shining white (a miracle of military discipline after so long on the road) underneath the blue cords and bright steel of her armour. The wind played with the ends of her hair, flying loose behind her topknot with just as much animation as the echoes of hoofbeats gave to her smile.
It suited her like nothing else could.
“A successful exercise, I hear, General?” he asked with perfect formality.
“As you say, Master Yan. And all is well at court?”
Her voice was pitched to carry, but the fondness — and the frank apology — in her eyes was for him alone.
“I fear the Emperor has grown bored of my company,” he said remorsefully. “Not the news of our rising status that I hoped to greet you with.”
Yujin was struggling not to grin, now, and Nihuang’s smile grew fractionally fiercer, quietly prouder. “You shall have to tell me how you let that happen, husband.”
“Don’t ask me these questions in public,” Yujin pleaded, eyes sparkling. “It’s embarrassing — so many people are watching!”
“Fine,” she replied, but raised a finger for emphasis as she added firmly— “Explain it to me in private.”
Offering her his elbow, he turned towards the gates; and arm demurely clasped in arm, they strode on into the city, a dozen of Yan Manor’s finest horse shining as an honour guard behind.