Sitting upright in the grand armchair, Yan Lian showed no sign of anger at his son's defiance. His gaze remained fixed on Yan Congzheng's face, and a sneer flickered across his round eyes as he chuckled coldly, "By all means, sit and wait for your brother-in-law to fail. And then, our entire Yan family—every last one of us—will be ground to dust beneath the new emperor's heel."
His tone was detached, as if merely stating a fact.
Yan Congzheng's shoulders, which had been held straight, slumped slightly. He pressed his lips together and said nothing.
Yan Lian sighed, rising from his seat. He walked to stand before his son and gently patted his shoulder. His voice softened, the stern patriarch momentarily replaced by a rare flicker of paternal warmth.
"Your brother-in-law has already been granted the title Prince of Wei. The crown prince is in confinement, and the third prince, the Prince of Qi, guards the imperial tombs. By the law of succession—'if there is a legitimate heir, enthrone him; if not, choose the eldest'—your brother-in-law stands a strong chance, so long as the second prince, the Prince of Jin, remains out of the picture."
The Empress had only borne two sons—the second prince, Li Zhang, and the fifth, Li Jing. The latter was childless and widely regarded among officials as utterly incompetent. Yan Congzheng's elder sister, Yan Shuangxu, had married the fourth prince, now the Prince of Wei, as his official consort.
Yan Lian continued, "With your younger brother gone so tragically, and your mother's health failing, you are the Yan family's sole hope in my eyes. Your sister has made the right move. If you make yours as well, then one day, half the imperial bloodline of the Great Tang may very well belong to the Yan clan. You are an ambitious child, and a filial one. You must weigh your choices carefully."
Taking two more steps forward, he seemed to recall something and added, "When you have time, pay a visit to the Princess Royal and offer some comfort to Miss Shu."
The Yan family maintained cordial relations with the Princess Royal's household, and her daughter, Shu Wen, was also well acquainted with Yan Congzheng.
Having said his piece, Yan Lian pushed open the door and stepped out. Yan Congzheng too left the house, skipping dinner entirely.
"I'll dine out," he told the servant.
This house felt like a cage, stifling and suffocating—leaving him with neither appetite nor air.
His first day at the new post had gone well enough. As dusk fell and duty ended, the officers clamored to treat Ye Jiao to a lavish feast in celebration of the new Marshal's appointment.
"I'm not going!" Bai Xianyu pouted and went to fetch his horse.
"Captain Bai," someone tried to persuade him, "aren't you usually the first to suggest visiting the pleasure quarters?"
"What pleasure quarters?" Bai Xianyu gave Ye Jiao a once-over and shook his head repeatedly. "You think Marshal Ye would take us to that kind of place? Too tame for my taste. I'll pass!"
"What kind of place, exactly?" Ye Jiao had already retied her hair and was once again dazzlingly radiant. As for the shawl touched by Zong Quanwu, she had discarded it in disdain.
"Pingkang Ward. Dare you go?" Bai Xianyu challenged.
Pingkang Ward—known throughout the Tang realm as the den of the finest courtesans.
"Why wouldn't I?" Ye Jiao arched a brow and raised a hand. "Let's go. I'm booking the entire Huachao Pavilion."
Among all the pleasure houses in Pingkang Ward, Huachao Pavilion was the most refined. Its courtesans were not mere entertainers—they were artists, well-versed in music, chess, calligraphy, painting, and dance. They claimed to sell only talent, not flesh. Due to their elegance and beauty, the annual courtesan contests often crowned winners from Huachao Pavilion. The only catch? No overnight stays. But Ye Jiao had no reason to stay there, and the officers certainly couldn't afford such extravagance. Just visiting was already a privilege.
Her bold gesture stunned the officers into gleeful excitement.
They crowded around Ye Jiao and headed straight for Huachao Pavilion. Bai Xianyu, not one to miss out on a good thing, joined them as well.
The pavilion had three floors. Ye Jiao insisted on reserving the top floor, but music was already wafting from above.
The proprietor bowed apologetically. "Might the Marshal consider staying on the second floor? The honored guest upstairs arrived early—it would be improper to displace him."
The officers hastily reassured her—the second floor was perfectly fine.
And so, wine was served and the banquet began. Ye Jiao wasn't a strong drinker, but the officers dared not press her.
She invited the most melodious singer to perform seductive ballads, the finest musician to pluck the konghou, and the most graceful dancer to sway in rhythm. Several courtesans joined in drinking and idle chatter.
The room brimmed with noise and laughter, until the proprietor entered again and inquired if everything was satisfactory, if they had any further requests.
Ye Jiao noticed the hesitant look in his eyes. "Did we disturb the guest upstairs?"
The proprietor nodded gratefully. "That guest values quiet."
Bai Xianyu was immediately displeased. "If he wants quiet, why not sit in a library? Who does he think he is?"
"Exactly!" the officers chimed in. "Daring to slight our Marshal? He must have a death wish!"
Ye Jiao raised her hand to calm them. "Your voices were a bit loud. I'll go take a look."
"We'll go with you!" The officers all rose, even abandoning the courtesans in their laps.
"Keep drinking," Ye Jiao said. "Don't worry. No one dares cross me."
They believed her. After today's events with Zong Quanwu, word of his fate had spread throughout the capital. From now on, not only would no one dare challenge Ye Jiao, even the two thousand marshals of the city would stand taller with pride.
Ye Jiao lifted her skirts and ascended the stairs. The first thing she saw was this year's crowned courtesan sitting shyly before a screen, gently plucking a pipa.
Beyond her, sprawled languidly behind a short table, was a young man in white.
Though strikingly handsome, he exuded an air of scholarly refinement.
"What a coincidence," Ye Jiao said as she stepped onto the terrace, eyes sparkling with mirth.
The mysterious guest who so cherished silence was none other than Yan Congzheng.
Surprised by her sudden appearance, he tilted his wine cup slightly, a single drop of crimson spilling onto his sleeve, blooming like a peach blossom.
"You... what are you doing here?" he asked, sitting up abruptly. Then, with a soft laugh, added, "Those voices downstairs—they're yours?"
Hands clasped behind her back, Ye Jiao strode forward boldly, the hem of her red dress trailing like splashing waves.
Standing on the rooftop, she admired the nighttime view of Chang'an before turning around. "They're just rough fellows. I've come to apologize on their behalf for interrupting your moonlit serenade with the courtesan."
Yan Congzheng rose and stepped beside her, offering her a cup of wine.
"And if I hadn't been the one on the third floor?"
"Then I'd have picked a fight!" Ye Jiao laughed heartily, then tilted her head to study him. "What's wrong? You don't look happy."
Though the corners of his mouth were lifted in a faint smile, there was a heaviness in his eyes—brooding and stormy.
Ye Jiao always had a gift for sensing others' emotions. It was something innate.
"Nothing," Yan Congzheng replied.
Clad in white, he leaned against the railing and glanced up at the moon. Stars and moon shimmered overhead, the night air tinged with the sweet fragrance of osmanthus. It was a night that loosened one's guard.
He hadn't drunk much, yet he felt oddly intoxicated.
"Do you remember that spring we went to see the peach blossoms outside the city? On the way back, the moon looked just like this."
"I do," Ye Jiao said. "I jumped down from a peach tree, scraped my knee, and couldn't walk fast enough. That's why we got back so late."
"You refused to let anyone carry you, insisted on walking the whole way," Yan Congzheng said, a wistful note in his voice.
Ye Jiao chuckled. "I was such a fool back then. If it were now, I'd have you and Fu Mingzhu take turns carrying me."
Then she fell silent for a moment, eyes fixed on the distant city lights. "It's tomorrow, isn't it?"
Yan Congzheng knew what she meant.
"Yes. The invitation arrived at the estate."
Tomorrow was Fu Mingzhu's wedding.
"I've got a plan," Ye Jiao said, downing her wine. "I'll have the marshals lie in wait along the road. When Fu Mingzhu rides by with the bridal sedan, we'll toss a sack over his head, give him a good thrashing, and steal the bride. Let's see how he finds her then."
She mimed the snatching motion, but lost her balance, nearly toppling over the edge.
Yan Congzheng quickly caught her sleeve and pulled her back. "Be careful!" he said sharply.
Ye Jiao laughed, then frowned playfully. "But even if I take the bride, who do I give her to? You want her?"
Turning to look at him, her cheeks flushed, her expression mischievous.
Yan Congzheng's breath quickened, and he instinctively stepped back, putting space between them.
Some women never realize just how alluring their every smile can be.
"I don't want her," he murmured...