Pei Cijing did not answer immediately.
He stood in the main hall, the candlelight casting shifting shadows across his face, making those eyes—normally languid and careless—look rather deep and distant.
Li Chengyu's words had been clear enough.
"Father has let the two of us choose our own supporting staff."
It sounded simple on the surface, but Pei Cijing knew exactly what it meant — the old emperor was giving them the authority to mobilize people, not to request them. To mobilize, not to invite.
Even if Li Chengyu hadn't come in person — even if he'd merely sent a servant with a writ to the Marquis's residence, directly ordering Pei Cijing to accompany him on the disaster relief mission — Pei Cijing would have had no room to refuse.
Everyone knew the consequences of defying an imperial order.
But Li Chengyu hadn't done that.
This Sixth Prince, in the dead of night, had come with only a few guards, no imperial retinue, no fanfare — simply arriving at the doorstep, in person, and asking with an equal and sincere posture for the help of a man he deemed worthy.
Whether that posture was genuine.
Or calculated.
In this era, a sovereign was a sovereign, and a subject was a subject.
A prince was sovereign; a compiler was subject. Between them lay not merely a difference in rank, but in identity, in class — a chasm that ordinary people could never cross in a lifetime. For a prince who might very well ascend to the throne one day to lower himself to this degree was already rare and commendable.
Moreover, they were going on a disaster relief mission.
Not some shady business — this was a proper, upright undertaking. It was about saving people from calamity, delivering grain, medicine, and a chance at survival to the refugees whose homes had been washed away by the flood.
Something like this.
There was no reason to refuse.
Pei Cijing settled the calculation in his mind and decided without hesitation.
He looked up at Li Chengyu, clasped his hands, and said, "For Your Highness to come in person is already an act of humility that honors the worthy. The relief mission concerns the lives of countless citizens. Since Your Highness has seen fit to place his trust in me, I naturally must do my part."
He paused, his tone gaining a note of gravity: "I am willing to accompany Your Highness."
The words were crisp and clean — no hemming and hawing, no deflecting, none of those polite platitudes like "I am but a humble and unworthy talent who fears he cannot handle such a task."
Li Chengyu listened, and something rare flickered in his deep, pool-like eyes.
He had not misjudged this man.
Indeed, he had not.
From their first meeting at the Imperial Academy, he'd sensed that this seemingly idle, carefree son of a marquis was no ordinary person. Later — the flower-viewing banquet, the imperial examinations, the Hanlin Academy — one event after another had only confirmed his judgment.
And now, Pei Cijing's forthright acceptance set his mind at ease even further — this man had not only talent, but a sense of responsibility, and something rarely seen in ordinary civil officials.
It was a kind of unhesitating, decisive vigor.
"Excellent!" Li Chengyu clapped his hands with a smile, the joy in it genuine enough to dispel much of the gloom from his brow. "With Compiler Pei's assistance, this relief effort will surely settle the disaster victims properly."
"Your Highness flatters me." Pei Cijing clasped his hands again, maintaining his composed demeanor, though his tone was earnest. "Since I've accepted this task, I will do my utmost and not disappoint Your Highness."
He pivoted the conversation: "If I may ask, when do we depart tomorrow, and where shall we gather? The journey to Yunyang will likely take considerable time. I'll need to settle things at home tonight — I must bid farewell to my parents and my wife."
It was a perfectly reasonable request.
A son going on a long journey should pay respects to his parents — that was filial piety. A husband leaving should bid his wife peace — that was proper duty. Li Chengyu naturally had no cause to object.
"Tomorrow at the hour of Chen, we gather at the eastern city gate," he replied. He paused, and a subtle expression crossed his face.
That expression was hard to describe.
As if he were weighing his words, or bracing himself to say something awkward.
The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, before quickly returning to its usual steady composure.
But Pei Cijing had sharp eyes.
He caught that fleeting moment of embarrassment.
His heart gave a little jolt.
He'd seen that expression far too many times — it was exactly the look people got when they had something uncomfortable to say.
Pei Cijing said nothing, simply watching Li Chengyu, waiting for him to continue.
The candle flame danced softly in its holder, letting out a faint crackle.
The main hall fell silent for a moment — so quiet you could hear the night wind outside, rustling the leaves of the wisteria trellis.
Li Chengyu cleared his throat. When he spoke again, his tone maintained that steady composure, but beneath it lurked a barely perceptible unease: "There's one more thing."
He paused, as if steeling himself, then continued: "The breach at Yunyang's dikes — someone must have been embezzling funds. A hundred thousand taels of river-works money couldn't have simply vanished into thin air. This journey isn't just about disaster relief — that corruption needs to be investigated to the bottom."
Pei Cijing nodded.
This came as no surprise — there was a difference between a dike breaking and a dike collapsing.
A dike breaking — that was natural disaster.
A dike collapsing...
Now that was a construction problem.
The embankment had failed, the silver had disappeared, and the court was bound to investigate. It suddenly struck him — when he and his wife had visited her family after their wedding, his brother-in-law had been looking into the case of the Yunyang prefect's suicide. Could that be connected to this?
But what did Li Chengyu's expression have to do with it?
Would he be expected to help with the investigation as well?
Yet what Li Chengyu said next made it clear why he'd worn that awkward look.
"Mother has recommended Miss Shen for the task," Li Chengyu said, his tone carrying a frankness he himself found a little uncomfortable. "At the last palace banquet, Miss Shen exposed a traitor's informant just by observing expressions — that kind of sharp perception is beyond ordinary capability. Mother says that if Miss Shen could accompany us and lend her aid, it would greatly benefit our task of untangling the truth."
He paused, the awkwardness on his face deepening by another degree, but he pressed on: "So — Chengyu would like to ask whether Miss Shen might also be willing to assist."
The main hall fell silent again.
Pei Cijing's mouth twitched.
Good news: his wife could come with him on the relief mission — perhaps they wouldn't have to be separated after all.
Bad news: this Sixth Prince was a true schemer — not content with just roping him in, he wanted to pack up the whole married couple and take them along.
What was this?
Buy one, get one free?
A family combo meal?
His inner monologue gushed like water through an unstopped sluice, but on the surface, he remained perfectly composed.
Whether his wife would go — that wasn't his decision alone.
And besides — what was a disaster zone? After a flood, there was mud everywhere, plagues running rampant, refugees scattered across the land. True, there would be soldiers guarding them, but that kind of place was hardly safe.
"Your Highness." Pei Cijing clasped his hands, his tone more cautious than before. "This matter I cannot decide on my wife's behalf — I must discuss it with her first."
Li Chengyu nodded, the awkwardness on his face receding, replaced by an understanding, sincere expression. "Naturally. If Miss Shen is willing to come, Mother will allocate ten elite female guards, dedicated solely to Miss Shen's protection."
"That is Mother's personal promise — not empty words."
Ten elite female guards?
At least he was thoughtful.
Pei Cijing noted this silently, cupped his hands, and said, "Please wait a moment, Your Highness," before turning toward the inner courtyard. His steps were neither hurried nor slow, but his mind was churning fiercely.
Recommended personally by the Empress?
His wife was truly exceptional!
And to have even arranged for guards—this show of respect could hardly be any more generous.
But what concerned him more was how his wife felt about it.
Would she want to go? If she did, should he try to stop her? If she didn't, how should he decline Li Chengyu without seeming rude?
These thoughts spinning through his head, Pei Cijing unconsciously quickened his pace. He passed through the corridor, brushed past the wisteria swaying gently in the night breeze, and stepped over the threshold of the bedchamber.
Inside, the candlelight was still burning.
Shen Ninghuan had not yet retired. She sat at the edge of the bed, still dressed in her plain white nightgown, with a light blue garment over her shoulders. Her long hair lay loose across her back, and in her hands she held a cup of tea that no longer steamed. She waited quietly.
Hearing his footsteps, she looked up and gave him a gentle smile.
That smile was soft.
Very faint.
Yet it was like the warmest lamp in the deepest part of the night.
Seeing his wife waiting for him so peacefully, Pei Cijing felt the turbulent emotions in his chest settle somewhat.
He sat down beside her and took her hand. Her fingers were slightly cool, delicate to the touch, and as he held them, she gently squeezed back.
"My dear, there is something I need to tell you," Pei Cijing began, and he recounted his entire conversation with Li Chengyu, from beginning to end, just as it had happened.
The collapse of the Yunyang dike, the Sixth Prince's personal invitation, departure tomorrow, the corruption investigation.
Point by point, he explained it all clearly, not even leaving out the "awkward yet polite smile" on Li Chengyu's face.
Shen Ninghuan listened without much change in her expression. She simply listened quietly, occasionally nodding slightly, as if digesting something, or as if pondering something.
It was only after Pei Cijing had finished his last sentence that she lifted her eyes and met his gaze. In those clear eyes, there was no surprise, no hesitation—only a faint, resolute light.
Pei Cijing tightened his grip on her hand, his tone turning serious: "My dear, the disaster zone will be chaotic, and anything could happen. If you don't want to go, there is absolutely no need to force yourself. I can go and decline on your behalf—I won't let it put you in an awkward position."
Shen Ninghuan shook her head.
"There is no need to decline," she said, her voice as gentle as ever, yet carrying an unshakeable determination. "Even Grandmother could go to the battlefield in her day. Can a disaster zone be worse than a battlefield?"
Pei Cijing opened his mouth, wanting to say something.
Swords and arrows were merciless on a battlefield, true, but a disaster zone had its own dangers—plague, refugees, chaos, shortages of supplies. A battlefield was open warfare, while a disaster zone was full of hidden threats. Neither was easy to handle.
"But..." Before he could finish, Shen Ninghuan raised a finger and gently pressed it to his lips.
The fingertip was cool.
The touch was feather-light.
It silenced every word he had been about to say.
"I know your concerns, husband," Shen Ninghuan said, looking at him with growing resolve in her eyes. "But Her Majesty the Empress has arranged for female guards to escort us, which shows she takes this seriously—it is not a spur-of-the-moment decision."
She withdrew her finger and lowered her eyes, her tone still mild and even, yet beneath that mildness lay a hint of something indefinable.
Like a sigh of feeling, or a lament, or perhaps the voicing of something long held in her heart, never spoken aloud to anyone.
"They say women are no less capable than men," she murmured. "But in this world, the opportunities left for women to display their talents are truly few..."
The candle flame flickered gently in its holder.
Pei Cijing fell silent.
He sat at the edge of the bed, holding his wife's hand, and for a long moment, said nothing.
The candlelight cast deep and shallow shadows across his face, making his usually idle, languid eyes seem deeper, and softer.
They had been together for so long now.
His wife's talents.
He knew them better than anyone.
When they had returned to the Shen residence, her eldest brother had sought her advice on official documents, which alone showed her aptitude in such matters. At home, she kept the books of the second branch immaculately, managed estate affairs with complete clarity, and even tasks as complicated as the trial production of cement, she arranged with perfect order and precision.
He knew full well that in governing ability, in judging people, in remaining composed under pressure—his wife was equal to any of those high-ranking officials in their crimson robes on the court.
Had she lived in his previous life, in a world where men and women were equal and women were not confined to the inner quarters, how much could she have accomplished with her talents and her character?
How high could she have risen?
He could not imagine.
But he knew—she would have shone even more brightly than she did now.
But this era was what it was.
No matter how talented a woman was, no matter how sharp her insight, she could only be confined to the narrow world of the inner courtyard, managing daily necessities and sorting through family squabbles. Someone as extraordinary as his wife could only spend her days facing ledgers and needlework. It would be untrue to say there was no grievance, but what could grievance change?
Such was the way of the world. There was no help for it.
And now, here was an opportunity—a chance for her to step beyond the inner quarters and put her abilities to use, a legitimate opportunity to serve the country and its people. How could she bear to let it slip away?
Pei Cijing looked at her.
Shen Ninghuan remained just as tranquil as ever. There was no fervor in her expression, no impatience—only a light in those clear eyes that he rarely saw.
That light was not glaring, but it burned bright, as if something had ignited it, warming steadily.
He suddenly smiled.
That smile carried no resignation, no reluctance—only a proud, heartfelt understanding. This was his wife, not someone willing to be confined to the inner quarters.
If there was something she wanted to do, why should he stand in her way?
He took her hand and enclosed it between both of his own, his palm pressed against the back of her hand, warm and firm.
"My dear," he said, his voice low but each word distinct, "Just as you supported me before, I support you now."
He looked into her eyes. The candle burned quietly between them, reflecting in her clear pupils until they sparkled, as if filled with starlight.
"If you wish to go, then go. I will protect you!"
Hearing these words, seeing the earnest look on her husband's face, the corners of Shen Ninghuan's lips curved upward. The curve was slight, but it carried a warmth that came from deep within, like a flower blooming suddenly in the dead of night—silent, yet so beautiful it made one's heart tremble.
She said no words of effusive gratitude. Instead, she placed her other hand on top of his, their two hands stacked together, fingers interlaced.
"Very well," she said, her voice soft yet carrying an unfaltering certainty. "Then we shall go together."
Outside the window, the wisteria swayed gently in the night breeze. A few pale purple petals were blown loose by the wind, drifting down to land on the blue stone steps—rising again, falling again, like the softest whispers of the deepest night.
In the bedroom, candlelight burned softly, stretching the shadows of two figures long and long across the wall.
Those two shadows leaned close together, as if sharing a whispered secret, or perhaps simply keeping each other company in quiet stillness.
