Hunyuan’s face had gone suddenly serious. Not only Ye Xi, everyone present felt the chill settle in their chests.
“What did you see?” Yi Yuan asked first.
He knew Hunyuan well enough. The man looked perpetually careless and joked his way through most things, but when it came to divination he was unmatched — not only in Dayin but anywhere in the realm. And Hunyuan never treated omens as a game.
Seeing him like this, his expression hardened, and Yi Yuan felt a crack of unease. Yet Hunyuan seemed not to have heard. He set down the copper coins, dug out a cloth pouch, poured a handful of dried yarrow stalks on the roof tiles, slid one across them and began to reckon again.
He worked for the better part of an incense stick. Sweat beaded on his brow; his face went white, then slowly flushed back to color. At last he stopped, breathing a little easier.
“It’s not terrible,” Hunyuan said weakly. “Her fate is… obscured. I can’t tell what comes next.”
No one quite understood what he meant, but they relaxed at his tone. Yi Yuan poured a cup of tea for him; Jiang Ning hurried forward with a silk kerchief to mop his face. Saixing, anxious to the point of hyperventilating, kept firing questions:
“Master, why would her fate be covered? Is there a way to lift it? If you can’t divine her fortunes, does that mean my lady will never know what will happen to her?”
Hunyuan drank a cup of tea in one go, steadied himself, and, with a grin that folded back into his old theatrics, replied, “No good, no good at all. Some old codger has covered her fate. My skills don’t measure up to his.”
That name tugged at something in Ye Xi—expected and yet unexpected. Saixing wanted to press on, but Ye Xi, laying a hand lightly on her arm, shushed her and cut in, “If Master Qingyi covered it, he must have done it for her own sake. Uncovering it might be worse.”
“And besides,” she added, with a small, philosophical shrug that sounded older than her years, “you can’t live by divination alone. Eighty million people in the world can’t all be waiting for omens to tell them when to wake up and when to sleep.”
Hunyuan beamed approval at her. “As sharp as ever—my junior sister. Smart as a needle.”
Liang Liang shot Hunyuan a glance. Yi Yuan didn’t call him out for that shameless praise—after all, Hunyuan had long ago perfected the art of flattering while jabbering. Yi Yuan said instead, “Then we’ll be careful. And you should probably stop moving about in your Slow-Ping guise for a while. Lay low.”
They laughed, watched the moon a bit longer, and then dispersed to their rooms. It was the fifteenth, the night of reunion; Jiang Ning, having come to the capital alone for love, looked lonelier than the moon. Ye Xi noticed the hollow in her eyes and followed her to her chamber to offer a few quiet comforts.
They talked in low voices, unaware of the two silhouettes on the roof across the way, watching them with a kind of fond longing.
“Not going to say anything?” Yi Yuan handed Hunyuan a small wine jug. For once Hunyuan’s face carried a sober cast.
Hunyuan shook his head, twisted off the stopper and took a sip. “She won’t be mine. Being her brother is the best I can do.”
“Brother?” Yi Yuan snorted. “Then what about that coming-of-age present you gave—peach blossom hairpin? And you happened to be there the day Jiang Ning’s embroidery shop was attacked?”
Hunyuan grinned, quoting an old line with mock solemnity: “Peach blossoms in bloom, bright and fair. The one who goes home, rightly fills a house. Ah Yuan, if you want to lie, you must first be able to fool yourself.”
He grinned and left it at that.
“Still,” Yi Yuan said, turning the conversation, “when do you plan to admit the thing you’re hiding from my junior sister?”
Feigning indifference, Yi Yuan started to uncork his own wine. Hunyuan jabbed back, gleefully convinced Yi Yuan wouldn’t be able to keep anything from the girl with her uncanny intuition.
“If one day you slip up, ha—” Hunyuan laughed delightedly at the thought.
Yi Yuan rolled his eyes and changed the subject. “I have my own plans. Soon. But something’s off with the Shen family.”
“The Ministry of Punishments and the Court of Judicature have been in uproar. Anyone connected is being torn apart. Yan Yifan's been running around begging for help, but the Shen family — who should be at the center of it — are strangely quiet.”
Yi Yuan looked at the figure by the window, the moon painting her in pale light. “Xie Huaiyue noticed something, and Tan Zhou sent word to me. We’d barely begun tracing things when your incident happened, Xi.”
“I suspect the Shens are behind the attempt on her. They must have gotten wind of her identity, sent killers to divert my attention.”
“Hunyuan,” Yi Yuan’s voice went soft and the moonlight sharpened his black eyes, “I need you to cast a line for me.”
“For Shen Zhou — where he is tonight.”
Hunyuan flashed a look, took the coins, lifted a loose tile and began to read.
“Hm…” He peered at Yi Yuan with interest, then said, “Near Shengguo Temple… injured — one they love.”
Yi Yuan’s face went dark. He snatched the wine jug from Hunyuan’s hand. Hunyuan cried, “Hey!” and lunged to take it back. For a handful of breaths they bickered, wine-jug between them, then finally let it lie.
They bumped the jar together in a silent truce. “If they’re stopping me from following that lead, it means there’s a big fish on the other end,” Yi Yuan said. “Tomorrow I’ll go to the Court of Judicature. Yan Yifan, Shen Bianhuai — there must be something.”
“Keep an eye on Consort Shen and the Fourth Princess in the palace for me,” he added.
“I will,” Hunyuan said, tossing down a gulp. “Don’t worry about the Fourth Princess.”
The next morning Ye Xi woke with her hand throbbing. The wounds from the previous day were bad; her palm and fingers were wrapped so thickly they looked like little carrots. It was mid-autumn, so infection wasn’t as quick to come as in summer, but sleep had been fitful. She finally drifted off as dawn blurred into morning and didn’t stir when Yi Yuan arrived.
Saixing, reporting every small change in excruciating detail, told him about her night. Yi Yuan tucked the blanket around her with a gentleness that made the room feel warmer, then leaned over and brushed a soft kiss on her forehead.
“Take good care of her,” he murmured. “I’ll be at the Court of Judicature after the morning audience. Don’t wait up for me at lunch.”
“Yes, sir,” Saixing answered with formal respect.
When Ye Xi finally woke it was already noon. Reassured by Saixing’s account, she ate with Yi Yao Feng, and they were about to walk to the rear garden when a servant announced visitors—Qiao Yan had come with little Lianyi.
Yi Yao Feng was delighted, his small legs kicking as he hurried. Qiao Yan took one look at Ye Xi and feigned offense. “Hey! I thought I was the first outsider to know about your Slow-Ping identity. I was feeling quite pleased with myself. But little Lianyi beat me to it by a mile. If she hadn’t pointed out the oddness about me yesterday, I might never have realized she’d already figured it all out.”