Chapter 41 — The Crown Prince’s Gift

CHAPTER 41

The Crown Prince’s Gift

Sima Yu read the grain report before looking at the returned gifts.

The pearl hairpin lay in its case beside two unopened invitations. Guo Zhen had also brought a letter from the consort's household. The letter received more attention than the pearl.

“Mother wants the next invitation sent through the Ling elders,” Sima Yu said. “Has the Grand Tutor agreed?”

“His secretary has already visited them, Your Highness,” Guo Zhen said. “Two elders favour the match. The northern warehouse permit is still waiting.”

“Then let them discuss it,” Sima Yu said, setting down the letter. “A willing clan will manage its own daughter better than a royal decree.”

There was no wounded sigh, no question about whether Fairy Ling had admired the hairpin. The match would bring a major household closer to the eastern residence. Her beauty made the arrangement pleasant. Neither required him to spend his mornings choosing jewellery.

By the pillars stood Cen Zhenli, waiting to report on the river district. Sima Yu beckoned him forward.

“The floods have taken enough,” Sima Yu said warmly. “Cut this season's tax by half. An empty granary can't feed loyalty.”

Cen Zhenli dropped to his knees, nearly losing his hat. “Your Highness is kind! The district will remember this for ten generations!”

The relief would reach the district. Sima Yu enjoyed gratitude when it was delivered before witnesses. He also knew how much grain remained in the palace stores.

After the magistrate withdrew, Guo Zhen opened the hairpin case.

“The Ling household returned this with thanks, Your Highness,” Guo Zhen said.

“Enter it back in the treasury,” Sima Yu said. “Don't send the same gift twice. It makes us look forgetful.”

An attendant carried it away with both hands. Sima Yu had already returned to the grain report.

“There is another matter,” Guo Zhen said. “Fairy Ling spoke privately with Shi Feng at a tea house.”

Sima Yu needed a moment to place the name. The Shi clan's genius had become a favourite warning in noble dining rooms: even splendid talent could collapse.

“The ruined one?” Sima Yu asked.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Guo Zhen said. “He refused this household once before, at the youth review. Now he has no cultivation and no position at court.”

“Has she asked us for something through him?” Sima Yu asked.

“Not that we know, Your Highness,” Guo Zhen said.

“Then find out what the meeting concerned,” Sima Yu said. “Give the household a useful report before it sends another invitation.”

He turned a page. Guo Zhen understood the dismissal and bowed.

“The screen is thick, honoured steward,” Luo Ping said, rubbing his hands on his apron. “We heard nothing.”

Guo Zhen looked toward the screened table. Marriage negotiations would matter. A casual meeting would merely make his afternoon longer. Guessing the wrong one would make the consort's steward unpleasant.

“Tell me what you saw, then,” Guo Zhen said.

“Fairy Ling paid. Two pots of tea, one dish of seeds,” Luo Ping said. “And he left first. Without finishing his tea!”

“He left first?” Guo Zhen asked.

Luo Ping nodded so hard that his apron string came loose.

Guo Zhen left the tea house without overturning a table or threatening its staff. He ordered inquiries into Shi Feng's lodgings and purchases. A fallen genius who walked out on Fairy Ling had either misunderstood an offer or refused it.

That was worth putting in the report.

Ling Qingzhu sat at her desk, veiled even with her maid present.

“That’s the fourth sheet, Young Mistress!” Hongxiu said, picking a crumpled ball from under the desk. “The whole eastern market says he walked out and left you the bill!”

“Keep the terms short. He’d find holes in long ones,” Ling Qingzhu said, not looking up from her brush.

Hongxiu smoothed the paper and read it, then grinned. “‘Ten thousand spirit stones.’ You wrote it and underlined it. Twice!”

“He likes clear numbers,” Ling Qingzhu said. “I could tell.”

Hongxiu perched on the chest by the window and swung one foot. “Is he really ugly, Young Mistress? He must be, to walk away from you!”

“No. He’s quite pleasant to look at,” Ling Qingzhu said.

Hongxiu’s swinging foot stopped.

“Young Mistress, that isn’t what the rumours say!” Hongxiu said.

“The rumours say he can’t cultivate. What does that have to do with his face?” Ling Qingzhu replied.

Hongxiu grinned. Ling Qingzhu lowered her eyes to the paper.

“He wears plain robes,” Ling Qingzhu added. “My cup was cracked. He swapped it with his. Then he tested the seeds one by one. Very thorough.”

“Was it?” Hongxiu asked.

“…One was hollow,” Ling Qingzhu admitted. “He announced it, too.”

Hongxiu burst out laughing, then clapped a hand over her mouth when the brush stopped. Ling Qingzhu’s eyes narrowed.

“He’s a convenient choice,” Ling Qingzhu said. “No faction, no prospects. That’s all.”

“Young Mistress said that very fast!” Hongxiu said.

“…Grind the ink, Hongxiu,” Ling Qingzhu said. “And stop grinning.”

Hongxiu ground the ink, still smiling. Then her smile faded. “Young Mistress, when the eastern residence hears about this…”

“It will,” Ling Qingzhu said, and kept writing. In her heart she knew the danger. “But a steward can ignore my refusal. A registry seal brings the ancestor’s rule into it.”

Hongxiu lifted two pale bags out of the open chest and set them beside the inkstone. Both had the same fine white stitching at the mouth. Ling Qingzhu moved one onto the folded travel robes and left the other beside her account book. Hongxiu cleared space for a fresh sheet, still watching her mistress with badly hidden curiosity.

“And the stones?” Hongxiu asked, nodding at the chest. “Should I fill a white bag from your savings?”

“No, I’ll do it myself,” Ling Qingzhu said. “If he counts it, I want it all there.”

The next morning, Shi Feng was buying onions.

The seller held up a fat bundle and praised how fresh it was to the whole lane. Shi Feng thought it looked good on the outside. He loosened the string and laid the soft ones in a row on the counter.

“Your onions are sick,” Shi Feng said. “Rotten in the middle.”

“They can still flavour soup!” Pan Liu cried, staring at the evidence like someone had planted it.

“Then keep them for your own soup,” Shi Feng said. “I’ll buy the healthy ones.”

The women behind him leaned in.

“Soft at the heart, every one!”

“He’s been selling those since spring.”

“…”

Pan Liu pulled a second bundle from under the counter, firm bulbs with clean green stalks. Shi Feng paid, took a knob of ginger, and refused to pay extra for the string.

He walked home thinking about the afternoon’s talks. Ten thousand stones from the first fairy of Great Liang, he thought, and he still had to check the onions himself. That, at least, was a problem he could solve.