Mu Yanming's face was as cold as winter. "Do you know," he said, "if it weren't for the key in your possession, they'd have—"
"They would have killed me outright, is that it?" Mo Qinghuan turned to him. A gust of wind tossed her hair up, giving her a defiant air.
They were soon beyond the city gate.
"Put me down. I want to walk the rest of the way," she said.
Mu Yanming reined in the horse and helped her down. They fell into step shoulder to shoulder. The city guards, recognizing him, made way without being asked. Mu Yanming handed the reins to one of them as he passed.
In the shadowed archway, Ning Yao watched the small tableau with eyes glittering like broken glass. He spat a curse, loud enough for only himself. "You filthy woman," he muttered, teeth bared. "You actually used me. I'll make you pay for this. You think you'll marry the Regent and live happily ever after? Dream on. I'll drag you down myself—make you crawl to me and beg."
He slipped from sight when they drew near, but Mo Qinghuan saw him. At once she pretended not to notice and slowed. Facing Mu Yanming, she turned slightly aside. He blinked, puzzled by the sudden stall.
On tiptoe, she hooked a hand around his neck. "My lord—" Her voice was small.
Before he could respond, soft lips pressed to his. Mu Qinghuan's mouth met his, warm and instantaneous. Mu Yanming went slack at first, utterly unprepared. When he came to his senses, she had already pulled away.
He caught her by the waist and drew her in again—this time with intent. His kiss deepened, claiming and urgent. Mo Qinghuan gasped, breathless, nearly melting into his arms.
From the shadows Ning Yao ground his teeth until they ached. All the posturing and pretense he'd kept for so long—refusing to give her even a farewell kiss, promising to save the "best" for the wedding night—had been for nothing. And now she threw herself at another man, shameless in the open.
By then Lu Zixiu and the others had galloped up the road and stopped a short distance away. They watched from their horses. Bai Ke laughed and covered Shuang'er's eyes. "Kids shouldn't watch—"
Shuang'er shoved his hands aside. "Who says I'm a kid?"
Lu Zixiu said nothing, lips pressed into a line.
When Mu Yanming finally released her, Mo Qinghuan drew in a shaky breath and flushed so hard her ears burned. She glanced toward where Ning Yao had been, then saw Lu Zixiu and the others. Her face went crimson.
"I'll go back to the manor," she said, and gave Mu Yanming a light push before hurrying toward the general's residence.
Mu Yanming watched her go, tasting the ghost of her lips. For a ridiculous second a private image rose in his head—her mouth like a soft, springy little dumpling, yielding and full. He flushed at his own thought, but the memory lingered.
They hadn't reached the general's compound when Lu Zixiu suddenly shouted, "Stop!" and spurred after someone. The fleeing figure darted into a narrow lane. Lu leaped from his horse and ran after him; Bai Ke helped Shuang'er down and followed.
Mo Qinghuan turned back to Mu Yanming. "What's happening?"
Mu Yanming peered down the lane. "It's a dead end. Whoever they're chasing must be trying to slip out that way. Lu's going to block him."
The man who had taken refuge at the far end of the passage turned when he saw Lu cornering him and smirked, triumphant. "Well, well. So it was only a defeated subordinate after all."
Bai Ke caught up and leaned against the wall, scoffing. "Defeated subordinate? You really know how to flatter yourself. If it weren't for your ambush on Lord Lu, not even you alone—let alone three or five more like you—would have been his match."
The man laughed, loud and hollow. "What does it matter how? A trick that kills is a fine trick."
Lu Zixiu unfurled his fan with a lazy flick and regarded him calmly. "Fine. I won't argue with you. We'll settle this. Take three blows from me—if you can stand them, I'll concede you win."
The man's smile faltered. He'd been blustering earlier, but he knew better than to underestimate Lu. The officials had tried everything—open assault, covert attacks, teams of experts—and still could not keep Lu from entering the capital. He was hardly a fool.
Bai Ke rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Are you going to fight or just stand there spouting rhetoric? Make up your mind, big man."
Mu Yanming and Mo Qinghuan remained by the lane's mouth, where they hesitated. Mu leaned forward as if to step in, but then pulled back. "Forget it," he said. "We won't go in. It's only one man—no match for Lu and Bai in a straight fight." He took Mo Qinghuan's hand and led her away.
The lane opened onto the lane-front of Huá Líng Pavilion. "Let's go in," he suggested, drawing her through the doorway.
Inside the shop, the proprietress—who had been lounging on a cushioned bench by the window—straightened at their entrance and hurried over, smoothing her sleeves. "Young master, welcome. Feel free to look around." When she recognized Mo Qinghuan, the smile on her face brightened. "Miss—back again to see some dresses?"
Mo Qinghuan noticed the playful glint in her eyes, as if the woman already understood the relationship between them.
"How's the wedding dress coming along?" Mu Yanming asked casually.
Mo Qinghuan's eyes snapped to him. He had ordered her wedding dress? Heat rushed to her face. Shouldn't the bride handle such things? Even without parents, she knew at least the basics—this was presumptuous, shocking, and oddly... considerate.
The proprietress glided into the workroom and returned bearing a bundle of cloth veiled beneath a red cover. Mo Qinghuan stepped forward and reached for the cloth. The woman paused, looked at Mu Yanming, and then smiled.
"What—can't I see it?" Mo Qinghuan asked, a little affronted.
"It's not that you can't," the proprietress replied, the smile teasing and deliberate, "it's just that—"