Feng Xingzhi had barely stepped into Ji Yunxi’s courtyard when he found Li Jiuge bristling with rage and a carpet of servants on their knees.
Li Jiuge was on the verge of exploding when she caught sight of him and froze. “Cousin Xingzhi?”
Those two words sent shivers through the kneeling servants. A commandery princess making a scene was scandalous enough; now the fiancée’s cousin had arrived. Ji Yuyan, who had long suspected that Feng Xingzhi was a stubborn, single-minded sort—probably devoted only to Ji Yunxi—turned pale. She forced a trembling curtsy. “Prince Feng…”
The only person who remained calm was Ji Yunxi. She didn’t rise; she sat quietly on the stone bench, pale and still.
Feng Xingzhi glanced at Ji Yuyan. The cold in his eyes made her straighten slightly as if bracing for a blow—she felt certain, for a second, that she might be sent to face Ji Qilin.
“I came to see Xi Xi,” he said.
Li Jiuge snapped. Xi Xi? He’d actually called her that—so intimate, so tender—from the mouth of her cousin! Under different circumstances Li Jiuge would have teased them both, but this was no time for levity.
Feng Xingzhi ignored the sea of bowed heads. Ji Yuyan half-bowed, which was less taxing than kneeling but still left her shoulders aching. She dared not move. She could affront Ji Yunxi if she chose, perhaps, but neither Feng Xingzhi nor Li Jiuge were people she could afford to offend.
Li Jiuge pretended not to see and sat back down.
Feng Xingzhi opened the little lacquered food box he’d brought. Inside were wontons—small, delicate things, each perfectly made.
“Xi Xi, have a little,” he said.
Ji Yunxi stared at him and shook her head. She had no appetite.
Without a word he picked one up, blew on it, and lifted it to her lips. “For me,” he coaxed. “Do it for me.”
She sighed and ate.
One by one he fed her, patient as if coaxing a child. “Just three,” he said. “Only one more.” “There’s almost none left; eat it, you’ll have more strength.” “Xi Xi…” his voice softened into a steady, constant murmur.
Li Jiuge watched them, stunned. Of course everyone in the capital knew the political stir: the Prime Minister’s daughter betrothed to a frail prince had been the talk of the city. Ji Yunxi had always been exceptional—talented in spirit and cultivation—and sons of nobles had vied for her hand. No one expected her to marry Feng Xingzhi, the sickly prince. Even Li Jiuge, who’d once intended to inquire of Ji Yunxi about her willingness—perhaps to press the emperor on the matter—realized she’d been foolish to worry. The two of them fit together too well. Ji Yunxi was not entirely indifferent, and Feng Xingzhi’s gentleness could win any heart. Li Jiuge found herself approving, while Ji Yuyan boiled with humiliation.
She had come intending to mock Ji Yunxi, make the servants watch, but being here with Li Jiuge present was a slap in the face. She could barely keep herself upright.
A soft sound—her forced little moan—betrayed her, and Li Jiuge whipped around. “What? You think making me bow to you is some great honor?”
Ji Yuyan clenched her teeth. “Your Highness, I—”
“You dare?” Li Jiuge’s voice was like a blade. “Ji Yuyan, do you even know the laws of Nanyan? You’re of concubine birth; your aunt is no longer a concubine—so you have no right to call Yunxi by her given name. Address her as ‘Miss.’ That’s your first offense. Second, during mourning you mustn’t wear flowers or bright trimmings—yet look at the thing on your waist. Ungrateful to your father: that is your second offense.”
Ji Yuyan’s face drained of color. She’d known, of course, that Li Jiuge would use this moment to punish her. Her mother was imprisoned outside the estate; she was no longer the recognized second miss. Every reason to be defiant crumbled under Li Jiuge’s words.
“There’s one more,” Li Jiuge continued. “With the Prince and I present, you have no right to call yourself ‘your servant girl.’ You should humble yourself as a common subject. Kneel—perform the full kowtow.”
Anger and shame warred inside Ji Yuyan. She had bowed as a courtesy, relying on her standing as the Ji household’s second daughter. Now Li Jiuge denied her even that title. Gritting her teeth, Ji Yuyan forced herself down to her knees and knocked her forehead on the floor. “Your Grace… Your Highness, I—your humble servant—pays respects to the Prince and Princess.”
Li Jiuge watched until she was satisfied, then turned away, appeased.
Feng Xingzhi reached out. “Jiuge.”
Li Jiuge read the look in his eyes and let her amusement fade. “Enough. Go.”
The servants bowed and fled; Ji Yuyan hurried away from Ji Yunxi’s courtyard like a wind-driven leaf, not daring to linger an instant.
Ji Yunxi’s voice was small. “Prince… Jiuge, I’m tired. I’ll go rest.”
Li Jiuge had something to say but Feng Xingzhi withheld her with a raised hand. Li Jiuge swallowed it down. “Very well. Rest, Yunxi. I will come again tomorrow.”
Back in her room, Ji Yunxi turned restlessly on her pallet but sleep would not come. Suddenly a dark shape flashed into view and she sat up with a start.
Qingxuan’s small shadow-body scowled. He was miffed at her surprise. “Mistress! Have you forgotten me again? Why are you so startled to see me?”
Ji Yunxi opened her mouth and shut it. “…No.”
Qingxuan’s sharp ears picked up the sadness in her voice. “Lady, what’s wrong?”
She wouldn’t speak of her father. Pretending it away seemed like a balm.
Qingxuan sensed something was amiss, but his mistress refused to talk. He slipped out quietly to look around.
What he found made the little shadow stiffen. Servants everywhere wore mourning black. He hid among the eaves and listened: two attendants passing in the corridor, voices low.
“Hasn’t the second young master eaten?”
“He hasn’t. With the master gone, both the miss and the second young master are heartbroken.”
“He always doted on Miss Yunxi—of course she’s miserable. As for Miss Yuyan, her tears look so staged!”
“If my father had died, I’d be even worse than Miss Yunxi…”
Qingxuan took it in and drifted back to Ji Yunxi’s room. This time he did not make a fuss. He settled quietly by her hand where she could see him.
Feng Xingzhi, having seen Ji Yunxi safely to her chamber, went on to meet Ji Yuchen.
“Big Brother, this is Wei Shaoqin of the Dali Court. His father was once an imperial physician; he owes a debt of gratitude to Prime Minister Ji,” Feng introduced.
Wei bowed. “Lord Ji, my father was aided by the Prime Minister. If there is anything I can do, I will spare no effort.”
But Ji Yunxi’s thoughts were a restless tangle; she could not accept Ji Qilin’s sudden death as a simple, unexpected illness. It felt wrong.
Feng Xingzhi finished seeing the coroner off and returned to sit with her. His knock on her door startled Qingxuan into a tottering squeak.
Ji Yunxi waved him into hiding and turned to face the man who had come to stand guard. He swept his eyes across the room; Qingxuan froze as if the breath itself had been sucked from him.
“Zhi?” she asked—her voice softer than she’d expected.
“…Nothing.” He answered barely above a whisper.