"I really did copy it."
"Fine. Don't admit it, then..."
Madame Lu gave a soft little "Hmph~," stroking the elegant handwriting on the xuan paper, and a trace of wistfulness showed on cheeks as lovely as polished jade:
"Before you came to Chang'an, I learned from your mother's letters that you were a dull, dopey little thing who used to drive your father half out of his mind. Then your mother... ah... Prince Su asked me to look after you in her place, and I worried myself sick over it—what if I couldn't keep you in hand? And yet it turns out Buling grew up long ago. Not only good with both pen and blade, but he knows how to care for people... I still haven't seen through you, and here you've already seen through me..."
Xu Buling blinked. This time he didn't argue—he was no boy of seventeen or eighteen, and he'd long since tasted how warm and how cold the world could be.
"The wind has stopped; the dust smells sweet; the flowers are all gone; the day is late, and I am too weary to comb my hair. The scene is the same, the people are gone, and all things are ended; before the words come, the tears do... I hear Twin Creeks still keeps a fine spring; I thought I might go out in a light boat. Only I fear the little grasshopper boats of Twin Creeks could never carry so much sorrow... And really, so long as you're safe and sound, what sorrow or grievance have I got?"
Madame Lu's voice was soft as a hidden orchid; whether it was a sigh or plain emotion, it was hard to tell.
Xu Buling studied her sidelong for a moment, saw her eyes fixed unblinking on the xuan paper, and gave a helpless little laugh:
"As long as Aunt Lu likes it. I won't copy poems anymore, and I won't get into trouble. I'll tuck my tail between my legs and behave."
Madame Lu's lovely brows drew together, and she shot him a reproachful look. "Tuck your tail between your legs—what nonsense. You're the heir of a vassal prince; you ought to swagger a little... Of course, you can't go around doing things that are wicked or unjust. As for exactly where the line falls, you can judge that yourself...
...Ah, but your father, when he was studying in the capital—now that was good-for-nothingness in its purest form. When the late emperor went out for a spring outing, your father slipped off to Qujiang Pool for a picnic, got blind drunk, climbed up into the Golden Hall to sleep it off, and hung himself off the great archway on Kuishou Street..."
Xu Buling broke out in a cold sweat from head to toe, and rubbed his chin:
"Mm... that's trying a bit too hard, isn't it? How about I put on a show of 'stewing myself in an iron pot'?"
Madame Lu considered that for a moment. "Forget it. Too foolish... Just don't go acting up from now on. And if I hear of any more fine reputation attached to your name..."
Xu Buling nodded solemnly. "Don't worry. If so much as a scrap of good reputation ever reaches His Majesty's ears again, I'll stew myself in an iron pot."
Madame Lu, rather nettled, raised a hand to cover Xu Buling's mouth and glanced left and right:
"Keep your voice down. The walls have ears. His Majesty has never once treated you and your father badly—this is only our own guess, after all. Best to keep it to ourselves."
Her cool hand brushed his cheek, and Xu Buling instinctively ducked back, putting on a bit of a smile:
"My ears are sharp. There's no one around."
Madame Lu nodded, drew her hand back as naturally as she had raised it, and stood up. "You didn't sleep last night, did you? Rest early. The poison in you still hasn't been drawn out—you can't afford to catch a chill on top of that. I'll be going." With that she walked slowly out the door.
Xu Buling shook his head helplessly, rolled over, and lay down with his hands behind his head. The bedding still held a trace of warmth, and a faint scent of orchid hung there, now there and now not.
For some reason, the drowsiness that had been washing over him a moment ago was gone now...
Thump, thump—
He had no idea how much time had passed when a knock came at the door of his bedroom.
Xu Buling's eyes drifted open. It took him a moment to adjust before he was fully awake; he turned to look, and beyond the window all was a leaden grey, impossible to tell if it was early morning or dusk.
"Young Prince, there's a girl pacing back and forth outside the front gate. Looks like she's come for you—she's been at it for ages. She's a pretty one, too. Want me to call her in to sit a spell?"
Old Xiao's voice came, three parts teasing.
Xu Buling rolled out of bed, took a swig from his wine gourd, and felt puzzled—could there really be female fans turning up at my door?
Xu Buling dressed and opened the door. Old Xiao stood outside propped on his cane and chuckled. "Seems to be Grand Libationer Song's daughter. She keeps dithering—wants to come in but doesn't dare. From the look of her, she's taken a fancy to you, Young Prince."
Xu Buling washed up nearby, hung his long sword at his waist, and strode quickly out.
The sky was darkening, and flecks of white snow had begun drifting down between the houses again; lanterns were already lit along the street. Between the two stone lions outside the Prince Su estate, Song Yufu paced back and forth through wind and snow in a red cloak, hands at her waist. One moment she wanted to turn and leave, the next she wanted to go in through the gate; after several rounds of it she rose on tiptoe and let out a faint, mournful sigh.
Only after this morning's recitation class ended did Song Yufu remember the matter of sending the poetry drafts into the palace. When she got back to the study, she found her father standing at the desk painting, and the messy heap of drafts that had covered the table was gone.
She had just breathed a sigh of relief when it struck her that the few poems and lyrics she had secretly copied out were gone as well. When she asked her father, he said the useful ones had gone to the palace and the useless dregs had been taken to light the fire, to save space.
Her heart had dropped at that. She had no idea which heap her particular sheet had been stuffed into, and when she probed him with a roundabout question, her father said he couldn't recall.
This was a heap of trouble. If it had gone for firewood, fine—at worst she'd write it out again. But if it had been sent into the palace, then when His Majesty saw the poem on it he would surely be delighted, and once a few words of praise got out, he'd want to meet the heaven-blessed talent who wrote it...
"If you cause me any more trouble, I'll strip you naked, string you up, and beat you!"
Remembering those words, Song Yufu shrank her neck, then stamped her foot in a fit of anxiety.
The drafts had already gone into the palace; there was no chasing them back, and once Heir Xu knew, he would surely be furious. She had heard that Heir Xu was back, safe and unharmed, and had hurried over to the Prince Su estate—only to find she had no idea how to apologize.
If only the drafts had been burned—then nobody would ever know about this...
Song Yufu gritted her teeth. Born and raised in a family of scholars, she felt she ought not to cling to a lucky hope; she had better give him a heads-up first. But before she had made up her mind, a cool voice sounded from behind her:
"Miss Song. Looking for me?"
Song Yufu flinched and spun around, and there was Xu Buling standing on the steps, watching her with faint puzzlement.
"My lord Heir." Song Yufu dropped a graceful, water-smooth curtsy and came to the foot of the steps, wanting to speak and not speaking.
Xu Buling was baffled. He whistled up a horse, took the reins, and said, "I've got somewhere to be. Just say it."
Song Yufu tucked a strand of hair back from her ear. After a moment of agonizing she still didn't dare come right out with it, and tested the waters instead:
"Heir Xu, do you keep your word?"
Xu Buling's brows knit. He looked her up and down a time or two, took her for someone come to collect the hairpin, and nodded:
"I always mean what I say. I don't lie to people, and I've never had any need to."
"Ah~~"
Song Yufu's face crumpled into misery. She clutched her cloak tighter without meaning to, and a certain fragility came into her eyes.
Xu Buling drew a breath. "None of that. I don't bend to soft soap or hard words. So long as you keep your mouth shut, I'll give the hairpin back to you. But if you cause me more trouble—if I say you'll be stripped naked, strung up, and beaten, then stripped naked, strung up, and beaten it is. I don't care a fig for my reputation."
Song Yufu was struck speechless. She hadn't dared to say it a moment ago; now she dared even less. Hesitating, she said, "No one is a sage—who can be without fault? If I do something wrong, you can scold me. How can you humiliate a girl in such a way..."
Xu Buling had no patience for lofty principles. He swung up into the saddle and glanced back over his shoulder. "Don't count on getting lucky and do anything rash—when the time comes, nothing you say will be any use. I've got business tomorrow, so I won't be at the Imperial College. Let the teacher know for me. See you."
With that he gave the horse's flank a light squeeze and trotted off toward Daye Ward.
Song Yufu took two steps after him. She summoned up every scrap of courage she had, and still didn't dare call Xu Buling back. She turned in place twice, could only cling to a sliver of hope, and left Kuishou Street, glancing back at every third step...