Chapter 13: Letters from Qinzhou

                                

Shunyin’s lips parted, almost whispering that her prayers were for the Buddha—but then she caught his eyes. In them, there was no reverence left for gods or Buddhas.

Forget it. He was no longer the young gentleman she once remembered. Turning away, she said lightly, “Anyway, I’m done praying. I’m going back.”

Mu Changzhou watched her retreat, handed his cup to Shengyu, and remained silent.

Outside, attendants had drawn the carriage close, waiting discreetly. Shunyin stepped in, settling herself, when Shengyu’s voice carried through the pane: “The military commander’s horse has been brought back. Please ride with your wife.”

She thought briefly—she hadn’t seen his horse earlier—and sat upright, wordless.

Hu Boer and Zhang Junfeng approached. Mu Changzhou’s voice, calm and measured, exchanged a few words with them before fading into silence. Then the bamboo curtain lifted. Shunyin looked up. He entered, adjusted his robe, and sat beside her as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The carriage rolled forward. They shared the same space, the same silence. Shunyin kept her gaze fixed on the pane, ignoring him. The dim interior flickered with passing lantern light, his tall shadow cast across her figure.

Mu Changzhou did not speak. His earlier words had been deliberate, but he knew pressing further would only chill her more. Better to leave it.

The city outside was still lively, voices echoing even as the carriage moved farther away.

At last, they reached the military mansion. Shengyu called for them to disembark. Shunyin shifted, glancing at Mu Changzhou in the darkness. He turned toward her, face unreadable, and suddenly said, “By the way, I received this today. I almost forgot to give it to Yin Niang.”

From within his robe he drew something, laid it upon her knee, then lifted the curtain and stepped out.

Shunyin blinked, startled. Her hand brushed the object—it was a letter. She clutched it quickly, leaning out of the carriage.

Mu Changzhou had already entered the mansion, handing his blade to Changfeng.

Shunyin slowed her steps deliberately, passing through the corridor. The glow of lanterns lit her way. She glanced down—the envelope bore the seal of Qinzhou. Her heart leapt. She quickened her pace, hurrying straight to her room.

Inside, she lit the lamp, closed the door, and tore open the letter.

It was Feng Wuji’s reply. Her own letter, sent by Mu Changzhou on a fast horse, had reached him swiftly, and his answer had returned just as quickly.

She read carefully. Wuji assured her all was well. He had studied her “family letter” closely, and to ease her worry, he enclosed another—sent overnight by fast horse to Chang’an. Outwardly, it was filial concern for his mother. In truth, Shunyin knew: it was a detailed interpretation of her words, dispatched to the court.

At the end, two simple words: very pleased.

Shunyin’s lips curved into a smile. The saint was pleased. Of course—border defense mattered deeply to him. No wonder Wuji had been granted the use of a thousand‑mile fast horse, no wonder the reply had come so swiftly.

She read on. Routine instructions, tender concern. He missed her, asked after her health, urged her to take care. His words carried such warmth she almost felt him beside her. He even asked about her newlywed husband, curious which Liangzhou official he was. Shunyin realized she had written only of what she observed, forgetting to mention herself.

Clutching the letter, she hurried to the window. Outside, Mu Changzhou crossed the backyard, unfastening his arm guard. He tilted his head, as if sensing her gaze. She quickly shut the window, then turned back, smiling faintly at the letter in her hand. Comfort settled in her chest.

The city’s noise lasted deep into the night, but by dawn it was hushed.

The mansion stirred early. Changfeng entered the east house, finding Shunyin already awake. “Madam,” he announced, “yesterday’s suppression of bandits is complete. This morning, the governor’s office ordered a banquet at noon to celebrate the assistant historian and the soldiers.”

Shunyin nodded calmly. Zhang Junfeng had led the campaign; success was inevitable. A banquet was natural. Mu Changzhou, overseeing military and political affairs, would preside.

She feigned surprise, replying, “This is military business. I won’t participate.” She glanced toward the main house—the door was closed. Mu Changzhou had already gone out.

Changfeng bowed and withdrew.

Alone, Shunyin drew the letter from her sleeve once more, reading it carefully, ensuring no word had been missed. Only then did she tuck it away.

Near noon, Zhang Junfeng returned from the governor’s mansion, dismounted at the gate, and strode inside with attendants. His voice rang out: “Where is the military commander?”

Zhang Junfeng hurried into the hall.

The tables had already been set. Mu Changzhou sat at the head, closing a military document with deliberate calm. When he saw Junfeng enter, he raised a hand, motioning for him to sit.

But Zhang Junfeng did not sit. He strode forward quickly, voice low and urgent. “The military division hides it really deeply.”

Mu Changzhou’s gaze flicked up. “What?”

Junfeng leaned closer. “I said why the old monk spoke so strangely. I thought about it all night before I understood.”

Footsteps sounded outside. Hu Boer entered in haste, catching the tail end of Junfeng’s words. “What is it Zuo Shi wants to understand?”

Junfeng ignored him, eyes fixed on Mu Changzhou. “The military division was a jinshi in Chang’an High School. Others may not know, but I do. You lived in Chang’an for years. It’s not entirely wrong for the old monk to recognize you as a Feng family jinshi. I suspect you were in the Feng household then, and were regarded as one of them.”

Mu Changzhou said nothing.

Junfeng read his silence as assent. Shock straightened his spine. “It’s really such a coincidence…” he muttered.

He had wanted to question the old monk after the festival, but the monk had refused, claiming he did not meddle in worldly affairs, and departed swiftly for the Western Regions.

Hu Boer, not slow to catch on, remembered the Buddha Bathing Festival and stared at Mu Changzhou, eyes wide, brows raised, silently begging for details.

Junfeng ignored him, whispering instead, “The chief must not know of this.”

Mu Changzhou only smiled faintly.

Deputy generals arrived, saluting at the door. Maids followed, setting food and wine. Junfeng and Hu Boer exchanged glances, then sat, lips sealed.

By noon, Shunyin had already eaten in her room. She lingered at the door, listening for sounds from the outer courtyard. Silence now—perhaps the banquet was over.

She guessed Mu Changzhou would remain in the front yard with his men, not return to the backyard so soon. She drew the letter from her sleeve. But when she lifted her eyes, she saw him.

He had come back early.

Mu Changzhou spotted her immediately. He turned from the courtyard, walked the corridor, and stopped at the east room door. His glance was sharp. “Yin Niang avoided the banquet today. She is busy reading the letter.”

Shunyin tucked her hand into her sleeve, lips curving faintly. “No. I just thought—with generals there, I’d have nothing to say.”

He studied her smile. Yesterday her face had been cold; today, warmed by a letter, it softened.

She looked at him suddenly. “Sending letters in the future… will it be the same as before?”

“Naturally,” he replied.

“Isn’t that still to be investigated?” Her voice dropped.

Shengyu arrived with two maids. They bowed, waiting.

Mu Changzhou turned. “What is it?”

Shengyu said, “The season is changing. I ask Madam to measure clothes so I may purchase new ones.”

Shunyin had few garments—her bridal dress had been bestowed by the saint, most others arranged after arriving in Liangzhou. Shengyu, knowing more festivals would follow, had wisely prepared.

Mu Changzhou nodded. “Measure it.”

Shunyin thought he would leave. Instead, he entered her room, brushing the door’s bell as he passed.

Shengyu suggested, “Since the military division is here, it is better to measure together.” His eyes flicked to Shunyin—it was her duty to arrange.

Her eyes flashed, but she said, “Then please measure first.”

Mu Changzhou sat on the couch, robe loose, cuffs untied, looking at ease. “No need. Changfeng is familiar. They know.”

Shengyu bowed.

Shunyin opened her arms, letting the maid measure. She turned sideways deliberately, face averted, as the string tightened around her waist.

Mu Changzhou’s gaze lingered, tracing her form.

When the maids withdrew, Shengyu returned with silks. Mu Changzhou suddenly asked, “Why were you and I not mentioned in Yin Niang’s letter?”

Shunyin froze. His tone was cold, direct. She turned, startled. “You have seen it.”

He smiled faintly. “I only said I wouldn’t read the last letter.”

She steadied herself. “It’s fine. Feng Wuji’s reply was vague, ordinary. I didn’t know sending letters was so troublesome. Next time, I’ll write more carefully.”

Mu Changzhou’s eyes narrowed. “And what will you say next time?”

Shengyu approached with silks, breaking the moment. Shunyin turned, selecting a piece of dark brocade. She draped it across Mu Changzhou’s shoulder, then told Shengyu, “This suits the military division. Keep it for him.”

Mu Changzhou glanced at the fabric, its edge brushing his neck, tickling faintly. He looked at her.

Shunyin met his gaze, then turned away, laying down the brocade. The question he had asked dissolved into silence.

Next