“Jinyu!”
Zhongli Mingye hauled her into his arms without warning, clutching her as if she were the rarest treasure in the world.
Ningyue parted her lips and tried to push him away, flustered, but she had no strength to throw him off. She simply stood there, awkward and helpless, waiting for him to calm down — furious at herself, tempted to slap him, yet unable to bring herself to strike the Crown Prince.
When he finally let her go, her cheeks flamed like old wine; the faint scent clinging to her made the room feel heady. He studied her with sudden intensity, his eyes striking like flint. For a heartbeat he saw it — the woman he once loved, alive again. He leaned as if about to kiss her.
Ningyue put a hand between them. “Your Highness… please calm down. I — I’m not the Crown Princess.”
Those words steadied him. He released her. Of course — his Song Jinyu never played the zither. A fresh, familiar pain rolled through his chest and his breath came short and jagged. The more he’d loved once, the deeper the ache now. Regret and sorrow flooded him.
Ningyue’s voice softened. “The Crown Princess wouldn’t want to see you drowning yourself in drink every day. The Great Xia is counting on you.” Her tone was warm and sweet, the kind of tenderness Song Jinyu had used to bury her face in his shoulder and tease him.
He kept looking at the woman beside him; she was impossibly like her. Before he could demand answers, Manager Chen’s voice came from the doorway. “Miss… someone’s causing a ruckus outside!”
Ningyue rose at once. “I’ll be right out.” She pressed a fingertip to Zhongli Mingye’s sleeve. “Please rest. I’ve already sent people to fetch Prince Yu’s mansion. They’ll come collect you soon.”
Her posture, the way she took command — it was the same imperious grace that had cowed people on Tianmen Mountain. Zhongli Mingye smiled faintly. Is it really you? he thought. He resolved to find out.
Ningyue descended to meet the troublemakers. The crowd parted for her; at their center was a corpulent young man with the swagger of privilege — Liao Guoyuan, son of the vice minister of rites. He was reaching to lay a greasy finger on the face of Manager Li, who had been forced into the receiving end of his insolence.
“Today I want Xuyun to dance for me,” Liao declared. “No excuses. If she refuses, I’ll take my pick myself.” His hand waggled toward Li as if to punctuate the threat.
It had been announced earlier that Xuyun was unwell and had taken leave. The women of the Mingyue House were different from ordinary courtesans; they had a degree of freedom, and those ransomed by a patron did so by their own choice. Mingyue House treated its women well — too well for most to be bought easily. The house defended its own and kept a blacklist: any man who laid hands on one of its girls would be barred forever, regardless of rank.
Liao, freshly arrived with his father’s post in the capital and unaware of the house’s rules, had presumed he could bully his way in. Manager Li, a wily old hand who preferred to keep peace, felt cornered. In the past Mingyue House had had the Crown Prince’s protection; now, with changing alliances and the new prince’s ties to the court, Li hesitated to enforce the old ways.
Then Ningyue’s cool voice cut through the commotion and everyone fell silent. “Liao Guoyuan,” she said, eyes like autumn water. “Please excuse me if I’m mistaken, but aren’t you the son of the vice minister of rites?”
“Yes—” Liao’s pupils swam unpleasantly. He’d been struck dumb by the sight of Ningyue: her skin like white jade, her features delicate and clear as a painting, a single pearl hairpin and a single emerald bangle glinting at her slender wrist. She seemed a being from the heavens, more dazzling than Xuyun herself. “You’re beautiful— absolutely beautiful— I want—”
“Do you know what the Ministry of Rites stands for?” Ningyue’s voice rose, no longer soft. “If the vice minister’s son makes a public spectacle beneath the emperor’s nose, it will be a stain on his family. Would the minister want such a son under his name?”
The crowd began to murmur. Liao, intoxicated by her beauty, lunged to grab her hand. Ningyue smiled almost gently, sidestepped, and — so quietly none realized what happened — a needle shot from the fold of her sleeve and plunged into his arm.
The toxin took hold fast: numbness and a disorienting fog. Liao staggered, face blanching, hand clawing at the wound.
Zhongli Mingye had meant to step down himself, but seeing that motion jerked something in him. He remembered — Song Jinyu had once used such tricks against her enemies. She had known medicine. Ningyue’s action, her knowledge of such a venom, her gestures… the coincidences piled up until they were no longer coincidences.
Cold fury flashed through his eyes. He signalled to Xingjian with a look. Xingjian moved at once, planting a heavy boot on Liao’s chest. “Miss Ningyue is no one’s plaything,” he barked. “The Crown Prince says: anyone who insults Mingyue House insults the Crown Prince.”
Ningyue’s lips curved into a small, satisfied smile. It would have been enough even without the prince’s backing. But with his voice lending weight, Liao Guoyuan had no choice but to be hauled away, humiliated.
She turned her gaze upward to the second-floor gallery. There, where earlier a face had been shadowed, someone now smiled as if the skies had cleared.