No amount of pleading from the three of them could shake Shang Luoshu’s resolve or Lu Yinxi’s determination. Their objections scattered like dust in the wind.
“I give you my word,” Shang Luoshu had said, voice steady as a blade, “I will protect her with my life.”
Because his mind had been set the day before, Su Tao only learned that his cousin planned to leave for Yuheng Pass with that gentleman from the residence the following morning. They were due to depart in a quarter of an hour.
“Second cousin?” Lu Yinxi asked as she finished her practice. Even though today was the day they were to leave, she hadn’t neglected training; she ran through the basics once more in the little time they had. She was just coming to a stop when Su Tao strode into the yard.
“What are you doing here so early?” she asked.
Su Tao didn’t answer her question. He closed the distance between them in a few long strides, and the lazy air that usually clung to his face was gone. “I heard you’re going to Yuheng Pass. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“I won’t let you go.”
He couldn’t keep his agitation in check. He reached for her, but Lu Yinxi slipped aside with the lightness of someone who’d practiced footwork since childhood.
She blinked. What was his sudden tantrum about this early in the morning? Patiently, she explained, “Cousin, Uncle and Aunt and my eldest brother have all agreed to this.”
Her tone implied: so what possible right do you have to forbid me?
Su Tao’s face drained of color. He tried to form a reply, but nothing came out. Embarrassed, Lu Yinxi hastened to smooth things over. “I know you worry I’ll suffer, like the others. But going to Yuheng Pass is my decision. I thought it through. I know what I’m doing—”
So no matter what you say, I won’t change my mind.
There was an uncommon gravity in her voice now, a steadiness that brought back a memory to Su Tao: the way she had been the evening before, stripped of all edge and safe against that man’s chest. Two different women stood before him.
Jealousy and an odd, tight pain rose in Su Tao’s throat and he couldn’t hold it. The question he’d been hiding burst out: “Are you going to Yuheng Pass because of him?”
Lu Yinxi froze, then realized who he meant—Shang Luoshu. Her brow knit slightly. There was something off about Su Tao’s tone, she thought, but she kept it casual and took a half step back, watching him. When his gaze met hers, the rest fell into place.
She let the smile at the corner of her mouth vanish and answered with sober honesty. “Yes. Because if I’m not by his side, I’ll worry. I’ll miss him. And mostly… because I like him.”
“We’re already betrothed.”
Her words landed like a direct blow—frank, unmistakable. Su Tao’s lips trembled; it took him a long moment to pull a single sentence together. “I… I see.” Then he fled the courtyard without another word.
When the sound of footsteps faded, Lu Yinxi yawned and stretched without a shred of dignity, then called, “Come out now, Your Highness, Prince Jing.”
She’d trained with Hong Rui for a while; her ears had sharpened. Shang Luoshu’s arrival had been obvious the moment he stepped through the gate. She hadn’t missed the sight of Hong Mei sneaking off to tattle just as Su Tao had come in.
A shadow detached itself from the corner of the yard—Shang Luoshu. “Hong Rui was right,” he said mildly. “Yinxi’s progress has been considerable. That makes me all the more confident to bring you to Yuheng Pass.”
Lu Yinxi scoffed inwardly at his little attempt to change the subject, then walked toward the main room and asked, “Are your things packed?”
“Ready,” he answered. “I’ll say my farewells to my uncle and aunt, then we’ll depart.”
“Good. I’ll fetch the bundles.”
— — —
Back in the capital, Lin Zihan locked himself in his study after leaving the palace. He rifled through file after file—reports, ledgers, letters—until his head swam. The more he read, the colder his heart grew.
He hadn’t handed every scrap of evidence over when he returned. He’d kept back the portions that implicated his teacher—Master Zhang. He wasn’t as selfless as Prince Jing had painted him. He had a private motive: he wanted to save his teacher.
To ensure nothing was intercepted on the road back, Shang Luoshu hadn’t had the opportunity—or chance—to tell the young emperor about the documents they’d collected. That was why Lin Zihan had been brazen enough to abscond with part of the proof. As long as Prince Jing remained out of the capital, no one could tell what evidence had come from Yangxian.
Lin Zihan had never forgotten kindness. No matter how cutting his words could sound in public, when it came to the man who had pulled him out of a blizzard and taken him in, he could not stand by and do nothing. He still remembered that first meeting vividly: winter, a blizzard that could have buried him, and Master Zhang digging him out of the snow, taking him home, calling him student and later offering him a daughter in marriage.
“Lingyue…” The name broke something open inside him, a war between duty and sentiment that made his eyes sting with tears.
A knock at the door yanked him back to the present. He stowed the papers in a hidden compartment and let himself be found.
“Master Zhang’s second miss asks to see you,” came the servant’s voice.
The moment the door opened and Zhang Lingyue stood in the doorway, all restraint collapsed. She let go of every trace of decorum and flung herself into his arms, sobbing with relief until the front of his robe was damp.
“Zihan, you’re back,” she cried. She’d agonized when she heard he and Prince Jing had been trapped in Yangxian; she feared she’d never see him again. She’d fasted and prayed before the household shrine until she felt foolish for how much she’d prayed—yet the gods had answered.
“It’s all right,” she said into his shoulder, clinging to him as if she might never let go again. “As long as you’re safe, nothing else matters.”
Words stuck in his throat. He found himself holding her tighter, as if by pressure he could keep everything from unraveling. They stood like that until Lingyue, the ever-proper young lady, remembered decorum and pushed them apart with a flushed face.
“This—this is not proper,” she murmured, embarrassment coloring her tone. She had always been raised to observe the rules; worry had made her forget them for a moment.
His arms tightened once more, and when he leaned close enough to whisper in her ear, his voice was small and certain.
“Lingyue, will you marry me?”