The sky was dim; petals brushed across the courtyard as a soft fragrance drifted through the air. The ancient Zhang estate, veiled in dusk, lay quiet and still.
This house had weathered generations of prosperity and decline. Now, after the passing of the old master, only the second daughter Zhang Wenbi and the youngest of the direct line, Zhang Xingjian, remained.
Since returning home, Zhang Xingjian had been quietly recuperating, handling various pressing affairs with methodical calm.
The candlelight wavered gently. When Changlin left the main hall with the note from Saburo, he bowed to the lady surrounded by several maids.
Her expression was cool—beautiful yet aloof, dignified as a solitary white crane.
This was Zhang Wenbi, the second daughter of the Zhang family.
She was as composed as ever, until her gaze lifted to the latticed window.
In the dim glow, the young lord stood by the window, casually folding clothes. His posture was relaxed, almost languid in its grace. A pigeon fluttered from his pale, slender fingers, even the bird moving with an elegance that echoed his own.
Hearing footsteps, the youth tilted his head slightly.
“Sister.”
His voice was clear, yet lightly hoarse with lazy warmth.
Several of the maids around Zhang Wenbi blushed at the sight of such a beautiful third son.
Zhang Wenbi cast them a cold glance. The maids stiffened, bowing quickly, not daring another look.
Inside the back room, after the door closed, Zhang Xingjian poured tea for his sister. Before he could speak, she reprimanded him in a frosty tone:
“You are the only remaining young master of the direct line. Every word and deed is under scrutiny. Since you are injured, do not open the window—let alone lean against it and seduce my maids.”
“The future mistress of the Zhang family must be chosen carefully. You cannot be perfunctory.”
Zhang Xingjian’s hand paused mid-pour.
He straightened calmly and said softly, “My actions were inappropriate. I thank Sister for her correction.”
Only then did Zhang Wenbi’s expression ease slightly.
She studied him for a long moment. Through this elegant young man, she faintly saw the timid little brother she once led by the hand into this very household—the child who used to tear up over nothing, clumsy and gentle.
Time had shaped him into a youth whose beauty captivated all of Tokyo.
Time had not failed the siblings.
Zhang Wenbi asked about his journey, his injury, and whether he had taken medicine.
Zhang Xingjian replied lightly, “Just trivial matters of government. Sister need not worry; I can handle them.”
But she remembered hearing Changlin mention the name “Kong Xiang.” She suspected Xingjian’s injury was connected to him, and perhaps his recent arrangements as well. Her lips parted, hesitating.
Zhang Xingjian caught the shift in her eyes. “Sister wishes to ask about Kong Xiang?”
Zhang Wenbi replied immediately, “Someone unrelated to the Zhang family… merely your political opponent. What should I ask? I came for your marriage. I’ve already made arrangements with the Shen family—you will visit their young lady in two days to settle the matter, so everyone may be at ease.”
A faint expression flickered across Zhang Xingjian’s eyes, though he said nothing.
Zhang Wenbi softened her tone. “The future of the Zhang family rests on you alone. What happened to our eldest brother… we cannot repeat it. The Shen family rose quickly in Tokyo through military merit—their reputation now rivals the imperial clan. We need their support to return to prominence, and they need an old noble family to anchor them. Such a marriage is a heaven-sent opportunity. Zhang Yuelu, you cannot miss this.”
Yuelu—his courtesy name, drawn from a celestial star symbolizing the moon.
A name filled with blessings.
Zhang Xingjian returned from his thoughts, smiling gently. “I didn’t say the marriage was unsuitable. This is exactly what I expected. I simply wonder why I must personally see her. Didn’t Sister already select the appropriate young lady?”
He was always unhurried. Zhang Wenbi followed his calmness and allowed herself a small smile.
“My judgment is sound, but we must still give the Shen family proper respect.”
“You don’t know—there are two young ladies of age. The second lady, Shen Qingwu, is of the direct line but born of a concubine. The other is Shen Qingye, widow of the hero Shen Jie.”
“The Shen family’s matriarch told me plainly—in both character and appearance, Shen Qingye is superior. Her only flaw is poor health, but that hardly matters. She is the daughter of a hero. A gentle temperament, a respected name—she would be a virtuous helper to you.”
“As for Shen Qingwu—infamous throughout Tokyo. Strong, unruly, constantly causing trouble. I’ve heard of her chaos since childhood. Even without Shen Qingye, I would not choose her. Our family cannot afford such a young mistress.”
Especially Zhang Wenbi.
Zhang Xingjian chuckled softly.
He took the explanation as entertaining gossip.
“So,” Zhang Wenbi concluded, “the meeting is merely a formality. You can only choose Shen Qingye.”
He nodded.
Zhang Wenbi said no more. She understood him well—no matter how capable he appeared, he was intrinsically a person who rarely found anything worth caring about. If marriage meant little to him, he would simply go along with what she arranged.
At the mention of the Shen family, something stirred in Zhang Xingjian’s memory.
“When I had not yet entered the capital, I was rescued by a young person surnamed Shen. They left me a handkerchief. I wonder if Sister knows whether this is related to the Shen family?”
Zhang Wenbi frowned thoughtfully. “I’ve never heard of the Shen family traveling outside the capital recently. After the negotiations, they were either at the border or returned earlier than you. How would you have met? Both young ladies returned with you.”
Zhang Xingjian said, “Then I will send someone to inquire.”
Zhang Wenbi clapped lightly. “If the Shen family truly saved you… then this marriage is destined by heaven. Zhang Yuelu, do you understand?”
A subtle smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I understand.”
—Whether true or not, the savior must be the Shen family.
If destiny is absent, they will manufacture it.
This marriage was theirs to win.
—
The golden breeze arrived; osmanthus fragrance filled the city. The Shen family was making full preparations for the upcoming blind-date banquet disguised as a flower-viewing gathering.
Yet among the people involved, only two young women of age—and neither knew her role.
Shen Qingwu received new clothes and a freshly tailored embroidery pouch. She found it amusing and pleasant.
Shen Qingye, having just woken, wished to see her cousin, only to learn that Shen Qingwu had already gone.
In the quiet boudoir, soft coughs sounded behind the curtains. The wet nurse entered to find Shen Qingwu seated on the carpet, playing with a nine-linked puzzle. The coughing behind her seemed to hold no place in her ears.
The wet nurse asked drily, “Didn’t the second young lady go to boil medicine?”
Shen Qingwu lifted her head and gave the older woman a calm, unbothered look.
No one had asked her to boil anything.
The wet nurse felt provoked. But before she could scold, Shen Qingye’s weak voice drifted from behind the curtain:
“Grandmother, I asked my cousin to stay with me. A maid is already boiling the medicine.”
Shen Qingye lifted the curtain with delicate fingers, revealing a gentle, pale face and a smile soft as moonlight. “Grandmother, did you need something?”
Her health was frail, yet her kindness unwavering. The household’s hostility toward her cousin confused her deeply—so she protected Shen Qingwu however she could.
The wet nurse’s tone softened. “I came to show both young ladies the portrait of Zhang Jiasaburo, so you will recognize him.”
She unfurled the scroll and smiled when Shen Qingye blushed instantly.
“But even if you don’t recognize him, little lady, he will surely recognize you.”
Shen Qingye’s heart thumped wildly. She tugged at Shen Qingwu. “Cousin, come look at the portrait…”
But her voice faltered.
Shen Qingwu understood why the moment her gaze fell on the painting.
Even she felt momentarily dazed—the third young master was breathtaking.
A real person would surely be more dazzling than ink and silk.
“Qingwu! Qingwu!” A lively voice called. An arm draped over her shoulder. “I barely turned around and you vanished. Why so fast?”
It was her eldest brother, Shen Zhuo, recently returned from the border.
Before the cousin arrived, only Shen Zhuo had ever chased after her this way.
He grinned. “I heard you and Qingye looked at the portrait. Then you turned and left. What do you mean? Mother will scold you for being rude. What’s going on?”
Shen Qingwu stayed silent.
Shen Zhuo leaned close. “What’s wrong? Tell your brother.”
After a long moment, Shen Qingwu said, “I know him.”
Shen Zhuo laughed. “Of course you do. Who in Tokyo doesn’t know the moon of the Zhang family?”
Shen Qingwu shook her head. “No. I saved him.”
Shen Zhuo froze.
She briefly recounted the dangerous rescue. His worry flared, but excitement soon followed. “Then he must know you too?”
Shen Qingwu recalled the youth beneath the faint light—his long lashes trembling, breath weak.
Her heart hollowed slightly.
“I don’t know.”
Shen Zhuo beamed. “Regardless, fate is already on your side. Since you gave him the handkerchief, he will eventually know it is yours. Qingwu, this marriage will reunite the two of you.”
Shen Qingwu whispered, “Impossible.”
Shen Zhuo frowned slightly, but she added calmly:
“No one will choose me.”
He looked at her for a long time and said slowly,
“Qingwu, you must believe this—somewhere in this world, there is someone who will rise above prejudice and misunderstanding and choose only you.”
“That person might be Zhang Xingjian.”
Shen Qingwu lifted her eyes. Sunlight fell upon them, stirring bright golden ripples in her gaze.
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