Xi Ping was a bastard, with a heart as hard as a turtle’s shell, and a lack of sentiment. At any rate, Wang Baochang’s death didn’t move him at all.

As he saw it, given Big Dog Wang’s character, it wouldn’t be a surprise for him to be beaten to death in the street any day. The surprising thing was that someone had used such a bizarre method to kill him, as if deliberately giving Jinping City something to talk about.

As for the warnings of the walker in the mortal world Captain Zhao and Prince Zhuang, they made no more impression on him than the wind blowing past his ear—as a young man of eighteen or nineteen, he was full of vigor, with no reverence in his heart.

He returned to his guest room and slept until the sun was setting. Then this night owl woke up.

He stretched enormously, sat up, and ate three trays of crystal dumplings along with bird’s nest porridge, filling up on liquid—his cousin was young, but he lived like an old man. The food in the prince’s manor was all soup and water, making for an unsatisfying meal—so Xi Ping planned to go elsewhere to hunt for food.

The Viscount plucked a perfectly blooming rose in the garden and clumsily stepped on the tail of Prince Zhuang’s big black cat. The big black cat bristled and retaliated.

The two of them fought a battle. Xi Ping was victorious.

He complacently stuck the flower into his lapel. Letting off a powerful fragrance, he left the prince’s manor and went to play around at the House of Overflowing Splendor once again.

When Prince Zhuang, Zhou Ying, received word of this from a servant, he was playing weiqi with his adviser Wang Jian. Hearing the report, he wasn’t in the least surprised. “He’s run off again?”

He took the outraged black cat and gently tapped it on the head. “How about you? You’re always getting bullied. Why don’t you stay away from him? Are you stupid?”

The cat feared the strong but bullied the weak. It couldn’t defeat Xi Ping, so it vented its anger on its owner. It batted at him with its paw. Fortunately, Prince Zhuang was used to dodging. His hand was uninjured, though a thread of his long sleeve came loose.

The young eunuch was frightened enough to drop to his knees with a thud.

But the black cat had no fear. It flailed its hind leg and kicked its owner, then ran off, hissing.

“It’s no matter. You may leave.” Prince Zhuang waved a hand. It was unclear whether he was cursing the cat or the man when he said, “Can I lower myself to argue with a little beast I myself spoiled?”

Wang Jian said, smiling, “The way Your Highness treats the Viscount is truly… no less than what his own older brother would do.”

“Older brother?” Prince Zhuang picked up a porcelain cup. “I think I’m like his father.”

He suppressed a series of coughs with hot water. The heat brought a faint flush to his fingertips. He was like a weary snowman.

When the young eunuch had closed the door behind him, Prince Zhuang finally put down the porcelain cup and looked at Wang Jian.

Wang Jian understood. He took a piece of paper from his sleeve. He said quietly, “This is a current name list of disciple candidates, thirty people in all. Xuanyin’s immortal envoy hasn’t arrived yet. If the immortal envoy takes a liking to someone at the last moment, perhaps a name or two will be added. Normally there isn’t much change. As I see it, this is more or less the outcome of this year’s Grand Selection.”

Prince Zhuang took it and glanced at it. He picked up a brush and crossed off a few names. “Before the immortal envoy comes to Jinping, these people will either disgrace themselves or suffer ill health.”

His tone was flat, as though his word was final.

“Yes, Your Highness,” said Wang Jian, and waited for Prince Zhuang to tell him whom to recommend—while it was the immortal sect that chose disciples in the Grand Selection, who was in fact selected in the end depended on games played at court.

But Prince Zhuang bring it up. He turned his face away and coughed a few times, then lightly said, “Let the Crown Prince’s in-laws get word of this. I remember that my oldest brother has a brother-in-law of the appropriate age this year.”

Wang Jian paused. He couldn’t resist giving Prince Zhuang a look.

The luminous pearl suspended in the study was as bright the moon. Its light fell on Prince Zhuang like moonlight falling on snow.

Deepening the chill.

All the big families had people at Xuanyin and could “speak to heaven.” Even the emperor couldn’t remove or demote people as he liked. When Emperor Taiming had calmed the disorder caused by his in-laws he had in fact also made use of internal strife in the Xuanyin Mountains. It the wake of those events, the great families at Xuanyin had been reshuffled. The Zhangs, the family of the Crown Prince’s mother, had been one of those shuffled out, and since then they had had no part in the immortal sect—the Zhang family’s younger generations could no longer enter the Grand Selection’s name list.

This Crown Prince, who was both the son of the first wife and the eldest son, was known for his benevolence and filial piety. He had been dragged down for years by his mother’s family and had always acted with utmost caution. Given the chance to plant his wife’s brother in the Xuanyin Mountains, would he be interested?

Would he meddle in Xuanyin’s Grand Selection under the nose of an emperor in the prime of life?

Wang Jian didn’t dare to think any further. He agreed respectfully. Then, a little ingratiatingly, he said, “If the Crown Prince truly can’t resist and steps in, we’ll have control. Perhaps we can get the Viscount in as well.”

Without so much as looking up, Prince Zhuang said, “I asked. He says he doesn’t want to go.”

Wang Jian said, smiling, “Young people don’t know any better. He doesn't understand the gravity of having a future. And perhaps the Viscount is uncomfortable asking it of you…”

Prince Zhuang tossed down a piece with a clatter. He raised his eyelids and glanced at Wang Jian

Wang Jian gave a start and hastily drew his front teeth back into his mouth.

“My hand slipped. No need to be nervous, Ziqian. When has that scoundrel ever shown any shame when he wanted something from me? If he says he doesn’t want to go, he doesn’t want to go. Anyway, a cultivation sect isn’t a clean place. I’m not desperate enough yet to hope he’ll go test the waters in my stead.”

“I wasn’t thinking straight,” Wang Jian quietly said.

“Save it,” Prince Zhuang said. “Don’t put away the board. We’ll continue another day. Go about your business.”

Wang Jian, keeping himself to himself, retreated and left. There was a trace of sweat on his temples. When he reached the courtyard, he looked up and saw the River of Stars occluded. The night was oppressive. In spite of himself, he sighed: there were secret currents surging at court. In heaven and on earth, it never ceased.

Even Xi Ping, when he went out, felt that the atmosphere in Jinping wasn’t right.

The Lingyang River passed through Jinping from north to south, cutting the city in two: on the west bank was Guangyun Palace in the midst of the imperial city with its nine gates, as well as the gathering place of the high officials and noble lords; the east bank, meanwhile, was inhabited by the lower classes. A river separated the rich from the poor. On the river there were dinner parties, music and singing; it was always full of floating pleasure boats.

But this afternoon, the Lingyang River, which in the past had been active until daybreak, was completely still. Even the steamships were quietly moored by the banks.

Without the clouds and mist produced by the pleasure boats, the view over the river was considerably clearer. You could see right to the east bank, where the city guardsmen were obviously more concentrated than usual. The out of town workers spending the night outdoors to save money were scared of getting into trouble; there was no one in sight.

Even the House of Overflowing Splendor had grown still.

The Flower Viewing Festival had been held just last night, but now, when Xi Ping made a circle of the main hall, all he heard anyone discussing was Wang Baochang, as if Big Dog Wang were the new Queen of Flowers.

There was also an individual who claimed to be well-informed, spraying spit as he described Wang Baochang’s appearance in death, all “fangs sprouting from his mouth” and “red fur growing on his face”… just as if he had seen it with his own eyes. When he reached an exciting point, he waved his hands and stamped his feet, accidentally bumping the cup of wine in Young Master Xi’s hand and spilling half of it.

Inadvertently caught in the crossfire, Xi Ping was about to flare up when he heard a bustle from the direction of the stairs.

“It’s the Queen of Flowers!”

“Look, look, look, it’s Jiangli! Jiangli has come out!”

Jiangli, her hair loosely tied back, descended the stairs, drawing attention like the moon surrounded by stars. She glanced idly toward the main hall and knew at once that today was different from yesterday. There were no high ranking people who could push her to start her act. Her expression chilled at once—Jiangli had only ever accepted distinguished guests. She wouldn’t give the undistinguished ones so much as a look.

Of course those who hung up their shingle and did business only ever played with the rich, but no one was like Jiangli, whose face said right out “I’m a snob.”

But then again, human nature was base. Among those to whom the noblest ladies were unattainable, there were quite a few who bought what she was selling.

Xi Ping glimpsed her from afar with interest—ordinarily, Jiangli liked to wear plain-colored clothes. Today, with the camellia crown on her head, she had instead gone out of her way to choose a red dress, and the rouge was thick on her lips. She was bristling with arrogance, like an azalea that had cheated spring. The other fresh flowers, who ordinarily vied with each other, seemed to have reached an agreement; each one was dressed in mourning white, once again setting her off outstandingly.

Only when she saw Xi Ping did a trace of a smile appear on Jiangli’s cold face. “And I said you wouldn’t come today. What’s that splashed on your sleeve?”

She didn’t so much as look at anyone else. She walked up, took Xi Ping, and left. “I washed and perfumed the clothes you changed out of yesterday. They didn’t pass through anyone else’s hands. Come, you can get changed.”

Xi Ping hadn’t planned to take back the clothes he had left behind at Overflowing Splendor, but feeling himself the target of numerous envious gazes fall, he warmed to their attention. He waved the “Peerless Beauty” fan in satisfaction and actually followed the Queen of Flowers to her boudoir.

“You’ve changed now that you have the camellia crown. There’s no comparison between yesterday and today.” As soon as Xi Ping walked into Jiangli’s room, he was nearly blinded by the glare. The hairpins, bracelets, rings, and pendants that generous customers had tipped her with the night before were spread out in a heap on the cabinet. The old screen in the corner had been swapped out for one exquisitely embroidered with a pair of peacocks amid flowers. And on top of the screen was carelessly draped a blue peacock cape hung full of pearls and jade, a private gift from someone with more money than sense.

Jiangli washed cups and brewed tea in the outer room. She rolled her eyes. “Did you come to make fun of me too?”

Xi Ping could tell she was having one of her moods. Curious, he said, “That’s unjust, beauty. Why would you say that?”

Jiangli spoke with a Ning’an accent. Ning’an was only a hundred and fifty li from Jinping, but the accent was very different. There, people dragged out the ends of their words, very softly. Women sounded especially pleasant when they spoke. It was said that Ning’an had three treasures—“the steam cage bent bridge, the delicate iris peddlers, the plump water chestnuts among the lotuses.” Of these, the “delicate iris peddlers” were the flower-peddling girls who hawked their wares in the street. Each one’s voice and looks were touching; this was one of the local attractions.

Jiangli’s speaking voice was extremely pleasant, but she never said anything pleasant. “They’ve all been saying that with ‘Mr. Yu Gan’ personally playing the qin last night, even a donkey could have gone up on stage with him and won the title with two donkey’s brays.”

“Mr. Yu Gan” was the pseudonym under which Xi Ping wrote ditties among the singing-girls and actresses. At first he had paid the beauties to sing his songs. Later, perhaps because these songs were different from the current melodies and sounded fresh, he had instead become sought-after. The beauties had started begging him for songs instead.

This ridiculous boy was heedless of the young lady’s happiness. Thrilled, he responded, “Haha, they flatter me.”

Jiangli dropped the teapot onto the table with a thump, her face turning red with anger. “Xi Shiyong!”

“Hey.” Finished changing, Xi Ping came out from behind the screen, happily adjusting his outer robe, and perfunctorily consoled her. “Don’t be mad. Who’s been talking bad about you? Tell me who they are, and when those chatterboxes ask me for songs again, I won’t let them have any until they’ve learned three donkey’s brays… Oh, what’s this?”

From an inner pocket of the clothes he had changed into, he took an exquisitely embroidered silk brocade bag and was about to open it.

“Don’t open it now,” Jiangli said, stopping him. “Look at it later.”

“What is it?”

“A gift to thank you.” Looking displeased, Jiangli set a teacup in front of him heavily. “I was worried Mr. Yu Gan would make me learn to bray like a donkey next time too.”

“My pleasure.” Xi Ping put the small bag away, picked up the teacup, and sipped. He frowned and put the cup back down—the tea was too strong, and it had a slightly weird flavor.

“You can be pretty well-mannered around me. If you were a little more careful with people in high positions, you wouldn’t end up with your musician falling through at the last minute without even a word of warning.”

“It’s not worth the effort.” Jiangli lowered her eyelids, looking like an arrogant cat. “The problem is me. I was born ill-fated, and luck is against me. It’s better that I stay away from people so I don’t pass my misfortune onto them.”

“Nonsense.” The Viscount was quite disapproving of this speech and said in rebuttal, “If you were ill-fated, how could you have met me?”

Jiangli: “…”

Because he was excessively sure of himself, this Viscount often gave people the strong impression that his rampant narcissism was entirely justified.

Jiangli had always thought she was contrary. No matter how many people admired her and flattered her, she only found them annoying. It was only this young master, who was even more proud and willful than she was, who had become her “wish”… and this “wish” had no heart; among the rouge and powder crowd, everyone doted on him. He had never taken her seriously.

Jiangli couldn’t answer him. After a long time, she finally sighed. “I’m telling the truth—there was a murder at the pleasure boat ferry crossing last night, and the victim had just left Overflowing Splendor… Didn’t you see that hardly anyone dared to come today? Such an inauspicious thing happens right after I take the camellia crown. Perhaps this is heaven’s displeasure, punishing me for aspiring to something I’m unworthy of.”

Xi Ping casually dropped a line of sweet talk: “You’re joking. What is there in the world that our Queen of Flowers is unworthy of…”

Jiangli’s eyes turned. “You.”

His expression unwavering, Xi Ping finished: “…in fact, there is that.”

Jiangli, her expression blank, watched him closely, suspecting for a moment that she had heard wrong. There couldn’t be such a rotten man in the world.

Xi Ping looked openly back at her, unabashed, exactly what he seemed.

His skin was thin and his bones were fine, his lower jaw sharp, but his features were so strong they were oppressive, so dazzling they looked almost vicious. His was a naturally faithless and fickle face.

For a time Jiangli couldn’t speak. She could only raise her hand and point to the door. Shaking, she indicated that he could get lost.

Xi Ping thought that her time of the month must be coming up. Every other sentence she said was deliberately provocative, and wasn’t in the mood to coax her out of her mood. He stood and tucked his fan into his belt. He said, “You should stop dwelling on everything so much. And throw out your kettle. Even strong tea can’t cover up the flavor of rust. Aren’t you worried it’ll upset your stomach? You should get one made of Moon Plated Gold. I’m going.”

“Viscount.” Just as he was about to leave, he heard Jiangli say quietly behind him, “Aren’t you even willing to play along?”

Xi Ping turned back and looked at her in bewilderment.

Jiangli was half soaked in the shadow of the dim gas lamp. There was an unspeakable gloom in her expression. “Flatter me like other men do, give me an illusion of happiness. I could refuse to see others in the future, dress myself and make myself up for you alone. Wouldn’t that be good?”

“Oh, right!” Xi Ping “saw the light.” “After all that talk, you want me to pay for you to buy back your freedom, right?”

Jiangli: “…”

“Why didn’t you say so? What’s so hard about a little thing like that? Though I’ve been spending ahead of my allowance, I don’t have the funds right now. You know that. How about this, wait a couple months, and I’ll save up.” Saying so, he grumbled, “You’re really something. Why compete for the camellia crown if you want to buy back your freedom? Don’t you know that the price doubles if you win the crown?”

Jiangli was so angry her lungs nearly burst. Gritting her teeth, she interrupted him: “I can free myself. I have no need to ask you to break the bank, Viscount!”

“Then why are you doing this?” Xi Ping asked curiously.

“Because I want to! I’ve saved up some security over the years…”

“Drop it. You want to call your odds and ends a ‘security’?” Xi Ping waved a hand. Putting himself in her position, he advised her, “If I were you, I would make good money while I was popular, then use it to take care of myself in my old age. Why waste time fixating on dead ends?”

“If you were willing to lie to me properly, I would cut out my own heart and give it to you, never mind my security!”

At this point, Xi Ping finally gave up his act.

He had been around enough. From the opening notes, he knew what the tune was. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand what Jiangli was getting at.

But connections made in pleasure houses were more vaporous than steam. Take money and sell your smiles, pay money to buy a good time, and everyone leaves with the business complete. However liquid the Yongning Marquis Manor’s threshold might be, he still wouldn’t be allowed to marry a prostitute, and his family wasn’t permitted to take concubines. What was he supposed to do with her? Anyway, there were too many beauties around him. He had seen enough of both plump and slender ones. Because she had a good voice, Jiangli had managed to win a few extra songs from him. It would be an exaggeration to say she was a novelty. There was no need to waste her time, so he had been patient and played dumb to try to pass the matter off.

But something had gotten into this girl today. As if she had eaten something funny, she just wouldn’t stop!

“If you get what you want, you’ll only be deceived.” Xi Ping stopped smiling. “What good would it do you?”

“What harm would it do you?” Jiangli asked sadly.

“No harm, but no good either. What would I do with your heart?” Xi Ping spread his hands. “I have my own. It’s injuring you without gaining any advantage myself…”

He thought that he was being kind and advising her from the best intentions, but before he could finish, Jiangli pushed him out.

Xi Ping was momentarily dispirited. Then he simply left Overflowing Splendor.

When he went out, a scrap of song floated down from Jiangli’s room. Xi Ping stopped and listened for a while. He heard her singing a strange southern tune—it sang of the unrequited love of a witch from the Land of Turmoil, and how she sewed the man she loved into a human puppet. As she sewed, she vindicated herself with her thwarted love.

The south was a savage place. Many of the songs originating there were ghastly. Jiangli was playing quietly, augmenting the inherent ghastliness of the song. It made the listener feel unwell.

Xi Ping thought: I wasted my time giving her that advice.

Therefore he raised his head and shouted towards Jiangli’s window: “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

The peculiar music and singing screeched to a halt. After a moment, a flowerpot flew out the window and sent the Viscount scrambling away.

Jiangli hadn’t been the one to throw the flowerpot. It had been a tiny, wizened old man with a back so stooped he was almost a hunchback. He had at some point appeared in the boudoir of the Queen of Flowers, like a goblin grown out of the shadows.

Jiangli put her hand over her instrument strings and carelessly agreed.

“Miss.” The hunchback’s voice was like a stringed instrument damaged by damp. “He isn’t one of us. He’s not worth regretting.”

“I know,” Jiangli said with a bitter laugh. “And I don’t deserve to regret him. You saw. He won’t even take the time to go through the motions with me. There isn’t a trace of affection there. Only…”

“Well?”

Jiangli hesitated a moment. “Only when I think about it, while his temperament is odious, he’s never bullied me. I feel bad about hurting him like this.”

“Gentlemen regret the death of beasts, so they stay away from the kitchens, but they don’t become vegetarians on that account,” the hunchback said coldly. “There are no good people on the west bank of the Lingyang River, miss. Think of your parents, your whole family. Think of all that you have suffered!”

Jiangli pursed her lips and was silent.

The old hunchback lowered his voice: “The conflagration burns on, the cry of the cicada is without end.”

After a long moment, Jiangli said, almost inaudible, “Better to die in frost than forsake one's convictions… Fourth Uncle, I know.”