Compared to the hurried journey to Yunyang, the procession back to the capital had a more leisurely air.
On the way there, everyone had been wound tight as a bowstring, not knowing what awaited them ahead—how severe the disaster was, how many lives had been lost, whether the plague had spread.
Was there enough grain?
Enough medicine?
Enough hands?
When would the floods be stopped, when would the people be rescued—these questions pressed down on every heart like mountains, making it hard to breathe.
Now it was all over.
The floodwaters had receded, the breach had been sealed, the victims had been settled, the people had a path to survival, and the court had been given its answer. Those who had ridden out from the capital to help could finally head home with an easy conscience.
The column moved slowly along the main road.
Neither too fast nor too slow.
The three thousand troops of the camp were still split into front and rear sections, guarding the carriage in the middle with tight security, but the killing edge they'd carried on the way out had faded considerably.
A few young soldiers murmured among themselves, occasionally letting out soft laughs. When a superior glared at them, they'd shrink their necks and rein it in, but before long, they'd slip right back into their old ways.
The accompanying officials had loosened up too, riding three or four abreast on horseback, idly chatting about household matters—their longing for wives and children barely concealed. Of the disaster, of the cases, of those heavy memories, there was not a trace.
Pei Cijing rode on horseback, half a horse-length behind the carriage, one hand loosely holding the reins, the other resting on his knee, his posture as languid as if he were out on a pleasure trip.
The sunlight fell warm on his shoulders, and the wind blew across the fields, carrying the scent of soil and fresh grass, mingled with the faint, delicate fragrance of wildflowers by the roadside. It was intoxicating.
He narrowed his eyes, gazing at the skyline growing clearer in the distance, his mind running through how much longer it would take.
At the current pace.
Before dusk today.
He should be able to see the gates of Shengjing.
Two and a half months away from home—not long, not short—but the mere thought of soon seeing his parents, of lying in that familiar bed at Anleju, of sleeping peacefully beside his wife, stirred a nameless warmth in his chest.
A heart racing to return.
Four words he'd once read in books and dismissed as the affectations of literary men. But now, he truly understood that feeling.
He wished he could sprout wings and fly straight back.
But the column couldn't move faster.
No matter how anxious he felt, he could only follow the group's pace, inching forward step by step.
Pei Cijing let out another sigh.
He averted his gaze.
And listlessly surveyed the scenery along the road.
This road—it had felt long going out, and it felt long coming back.
But when they'd set out, his heart had been full of worries—anxiety, uncertainty, dread—so time had passed quickly, and the journey had flown by in the blink of an eye. Now, on the return, his heart was empty, with nothing to fret over, and time seemed to have slowed to a crawl, each minute and second wearing on him.
After unknowable hours, a faint outline finally appeared on the horizon.
A city wall.
The walls of Shengjing.
At first, the outline was just a thin gray line, barely there, as if someone had drawn a light stroke of charcoal across the sky. But as the column drew nearer, the line grew thicker and clearer, gradually revealing its majestic, massive form—standing steadfast after a hundred years of wind and rain.
Someone in the column shouted, "We're here! We're here!"
The voice wasn't loud, but it was like a stone dropped into a still pond, sending ripples spreading outward in ever-widening circles.
The soldiers straightened their backs, and the horses quickened their steps. The officials put away their idle chatter, adjusted their robes, and their faces shifted from relaxed to solemn.
Home.
Finally home.
Pei Cijing, on horseback, looked at the city gate growing closer and closer, and an indescribable feeling surged in his chest.
He was back.
Pei Cijing took a deep breath, pushing that surging emotion back down. He glanced sideways at the carriage. The curtain wasn't lifted, but he could faintly hear soft sounds from within—as if someone were tidying things up.
A slight smile touched the corner of his mouth. He merely gave the horse a gentle squeeze with his legs and urged it forward to catch up with the column.
The sun was setting, its afterglow gilding the entire city of Shengjing in a warm, golden light.
The city gate was in sight!
Home was in sight!
The three thousand troops formed up outside the city walls, and after the commanding officer exchanged the necessary documents with the gatekeeper, the column was allowed to enter. Once inside, apart from the troops, who had to return to their barracks to report, the remaining officials were dismissed on the spot, each to go home, rest for the night, and report to the palace the next day.
Pei Cijing dismounted, cupped his hands in farewell to his acquaintances one by one.
Then he climbed into the carriage, and it turned around to head home.
The carriage rumbled through the long streets, past familiar alleys and familiar shopfronts, as dusk cast the whole of Shengjing in a warm, orange glow.
Yuanbao sat at the front of the carriage, whip in hand, back straight as a rod. Staring at the gates of the marquis's residence growing closer, the excitement in his heart simply couldn't be contained.
He, Yuanbao, was finally back!
He wondered if his parents had missed him. He wondered how much of his mother's pickled vegetables was left. He wondered if his father had swept his little room clean.
Yuanbao thought about these things.
And his eyes suddenly stung.
He blinked rapidly, forcing the warmth back. Silently, he scolded himself—no backbone, a grown man, about to cry over coming home? You've gone out and done big things with the young master. You have to keep up appearances. You can't embarrass him.
The carriage came to a stop at the gates of the marquis's residence.
Old Zhang, the gatekeeper, was dozing against the pillar, his head bobbing like a chicken pecking at rice. Startled by the sound of hoofbeats and carriage wheels, he jerked awake, rubbed his eyes, and squinted out at the street.
In the twilight, a carriage had stopped at the bottom of the steps.
A figure sat at the front.
Wearing a slightly worn blue cloth robe, a leather belt at his waist, whip in hand, grinning from ear to ear at him.
Old Zhang was taken aback, thinking his old eyes were playing tricks on him. He rubbed them again and looked harder.
The man was still grinning.
That smile, those features, that smug, swaggering energy—
It was Yuanbao!
It was that rascal Yuanbao!
Old Zhang sprang up from the pillar like a shot, dashed down the steps in two or three strides, and ran to the carriage. He looked Yuanbao up and down, then craned his neck to peer inside.
"Yuanbao! You—you're back?!" His voice trembled with excitement. "The young master? The young madam?"
Yuanbao hopped down from the front, dusted himself off, and said cheerfully, "Uncle Zhang, the young master and the young madam are in the carriage. We're back!"
The moment Old Zhang heard that, his eyes went red.
He turned around and sprinted back into the residence, shouting as he ran, "They're back! They're back! The young master and the young madam are back!"
The voice carried far into the gathering dusk, startling a few sparrows from their perch under the eaves. They fluttered up, scattering into the darkening sky.
Pei Cijing helped Shen Ninghuan down from the carriage, standing at the foot of the steps, gazing up at the vermilion gate of the marquis's residence, at the plaque reading "Marquis Weiyuan's Estate" hanging from the lintel, at the few old locust trees inside the gate that he had watched for eighteen years. The warmth in his chest felt as though someone had lit a fire in it, burning softly and cozily.
They were home.
This time, really home.
News of their return spread through the estate like it had grown wings.
Pei Cijing and Shen Ninghuan had barely reached the second gate when they heard hurried footsteps rushing toward them from within—fast and jumbled, like a whole crowd was charging their way.
Sure enough, as they rounded the corridor, they saw Madam Zhou leading a group of maids and elderly serving women, bustling toward them in a whirlwind.
Madam Zhou was dressed in a lotus-colored jacket, her hair simply pinned up—clearly she'd been resting indoors when she heard the news and had rushed out in a flurry, without even changing her clothes.
She walked extremely fast.
The maids and serving women behind her were nearly jogging to keep up.
Pei Cijing watched his mother approach, warmth swelling in his chest, the corners of his mouth curving upward on their own. He was about to call out "Mother!" when Madam Zhou reached him in a few quick steps—and immediately grabbed hold of his ear.
"You little rascal!" Her voice was thick with a mix of sobbing, irritation, worry, and an indescribable joy. "So you finally decided to come back?! Gone for months, and you sent only one letter? Do you know how worried your father and I have been?!"
Pei Cijing winced, his head tilted to the side as he begged for mercy: "Mother, Mother—easy, easy! It's not like I wasn't busy! You know the situation in the disaster zone—I wanted to write, but there was no way to deliver the letters!"
"Busy, busy, always busy!" Madam Zhou's words were unrelenting, but her grip loosened somewhat, her eyes red as she stared at her son's sun-darkened face.
Her lips moved, as if she wanted to say something more, then she swallowed the words back down.
Pei Fugui caught up from behind, still wearing that ever-smiling expression, but beneath the smile hid a faint, barely noticeable trace of emotion.
He didn't grab his son's ear like Madam Zhou did. He just reached out, patted the young man on the shoulder, and said simply, with few words: "It's good that you're back!"
Pei Cijing looked at his father's slightly reddened eyes and felt a sudden pang of tightness in his chest.
Shen Ninghuan stepped forward, offering a salute to Madam Zhou and Pei Fugui, and said in a gentle voice: "Father, Mother, we're home. We've kept you worried."
Madam Zhou released Pei Cijing's ear, turned to take Shen Ninghuan's hands, looked her up and down, and her eyes reddened once more. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but simply patted the back of the girl's hand, her voice catching slightly: "Good that you're back, good that you're back."
In Prosperity Court, the meal was already set on the table.
Madam Zhou had directed the kitchen to prepare several extra dishes—braised pork hock, steamed sea bass, sweet and sour ribs, chicken stew with mushrooms—filling the table to the brim.
Pei Cijing sat down without standing on ceremony, picked up his bowl, and dug in, eating with the speed of a whirlwind, chopsticks flying.
Madam Zhou sat beside him, piling food onto his plate while chattering: "Slow down, slow down—don't choke. If there's not enough food, I'll have them cook two more dishes."
Pei Cijing's mouth was stuffed full, and he mumbled a vague acknowledgment without slowing his pace.
Shen Ninghuan sat across from him, eating much more gracefully—taking small sips of soup, occasionally picking up a piece of greens, composed and poised, every bit the picture of gentle propriety.
After the storm of eating, Pei Cijing finally set down his bowl, leaned back in his chair, and let out a long, satisfied breath. He picked up his teacup and drained it in one go, looking thoroughly content.
"Nothing beats home!" he remarked, his tone carrying genuine satisfaction. "I spent two and a half months eating dry rations out there—my mouth nearly went numb from boredom."
Madam Zhou watched him, about to say something tender, but the words died on her lips. She studied her son for a long moment, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly—he didn't seem to have lost any weight, looked well enough in spirits, and that mouth of his was still as cheeky as ever.
Her gaze shifted from tenderness to faint disdain.
Then she turned to Shen Ninghuan, and her tone softened at once: "Ninghuan, eat more now—you look thinner. Did this rascal not take good care of you? Did you suffer out there? Your complexion isn't as good as before."
Shen Ninghuan had already set down her chopsticks. She smiled gently and said in a soft voice: "Mother, I'm already full. Thank you for your concern—my husband has taken very good care of me. I haven't suffered at all."
Madam Zhou wasn't convinced. She picked up another piece of food and placed it in the girl's bowl, muttering: "Eat a bit more, eat a bit more—look at that little face of yours, gone all thin."
Pei Cijing sat off to the side, watching his mother's "sons are adopted, daughters-in-law are the real children" routine, and couldn't help but sigh internally.
Jealous?
Not possible.
He was used to it by now.
Pei Fugui sat at the head of the table, watching the family with a warm smile, taking a sip of tea now and then without saying much.
When the meal was nearly finished, Madam Zhou couldn't help bringing up the flood relief again.
Pei Cijing shared the parts he could—how big the flood was, how many refugees there were, how the embankment got plugged, how the workshops got built—spinning it all vividly like a storyteller.
Madam Zhou listened, her heart jumping, interrupting now and then with "Were you all okay?" and "Did anyone get hurt?"—and only after confirming that her son and daughter-in-law were both safe and sound did she relax.
Pei Fugui didn't ask many questions, just listened quietly, nodding occasionally, still wearing that smiling face—but there was genuine attentiveness in his eyes.
He glanced out the window at the sky. Dusk had fully fallen, and lanterns were being lit in the courtyard, their orange glow swaying gently in the evening breeze.
"That's enough for tonight," he said, setting down his teacup, unhurried in his tone. "The children must be tired from the journey. Go get some rest. A hot bath should already be prepared—wash up and head to your room. We can talk more later."
Pei Cijing acknowledged with a sound, rose to his feet, and bowed to his parents.
Shen Ninghuan rose as well and bowed.
"Father, Mother, we'll head back now," Pei Cijing said.
Madam Zhou nodded, adding a few more reminders—"sleep early," "rest well"—before letting them go.
The two stepped out of Prosperity Court and walked along the corridor back toward Tranquil Abode.
The evening breeze brushed their faces, carrying the faint fragrance of the wisteria trellis in the courtyard. The lantern light cast their shadows on the bluestone path, walking side by side, stretching long and short by turns.
The door to Tranquil Abode was ajar, with lamps already lit inside.
Pei Cijing pushed the door open, stepped inside, and stood in the main hall, looking around.
Everything was exactly as they had left it.
The furniture hadn't moved. The pot of orchids still sat on the windowsill. The same scrolls of calligraphy and painting hung on the walls. Even the tea set on the table was in its original spot.
Clean, spotless, without a speck of dust.
Clearly, in the two and a half months they'd been away, someone had come to tidy up every single day.
Pei Cijing looked at this familiar room, and that warmth welled up in his chest again. He turned around and looked at Shen Ninghuan, who was also looking at him. Their eyes met, and they both smiled at the same time.
The hot water was already prepared, sitting in the wooden tub in the washroom. Steam rose in gentle wisps, carrying a faint fragrance of medicinal herbs.
Pei Cijing let Shen Ninghuan bathe first, while he waited in the main hall.
He sat in a chair, holding a cup of tea, quietly sipping it as he listened to the sound of water coming from the washroom. A inexplicable sense of peace settled over his heart.
Before long, Shen Ninghuan emerged from the washroom, wearing a clean set of nightclothes. Her long hair cascaded loose over her shoulders, still slightly damp. She walked up to Pei Cijing and curved her lips into a faint smile. "Husband, your turn."
Pei Cijing set down his teacup and rose to his feet. As he passed by her, he reached out and gently squeezed her fingertips.
They were cool to the touch, carrying the fresh scent of a recent bath.
"Wait for me," he said in a low voice, then quickly stepped into the washroom.
After washing up, the two lay down on the bed.
The candles had already been extinguished, leaving only a small oil lamp by the headboard. Its warm orange glow bathed the entire bedchamber in a cozy, tranquil ambiance.
Pei Cijing turned onto his side and reached out his arm, pulling Shen Ninghuan into his embrace.
She rested her head in the crook of his arm, her dark hair spread across the pillow, her breaths even and shallow. She stirred slightly, nestling into a more comfortable position against him, then lay still.
They did nothing.
They simply held each other, quietly.
Pei Cijing lowered his head, his nose brushing against the crown of her hair. He breathed in that faint scent of orchid, and in that moment, all the exhaustion, all the anxiety, all those indescribable emotions—they all melted away.
He closed his eyes.
Soon, he sank into a deep sleep.
Shen Ninghuan lay in his arms, listening to his long, even breaths. A slight smile curved at the corner of her lips, and she closed her eyes too.
Tonight, there was no need for words.
No need for explanations.
No need for accounts.
All they needed was to be together in silence, in this familiar, warm little room of theirs, and have a good night's sleep.
The moonlight was like water, spilling across the bluestone steps, bathing the entire marquis's estate in a gentle silver glow.
...
Meanwhile, at the imperial palace.
The Imperial Study.
Candles burned bright.
The old emperor sat upright behind the imperial desk, several memorials spread before him. He held a vermilion brush in his hand, but his hand had not yet moved.
Li Chengyu and Li Chengyan sat on either side, each with a cup of tea before them. The tea had long stopped steaming—clearly it had been sitting there for quite a while.
The two had just finished reporting on their respective disaster-relief efforts.
From the allocation of supplies to the resettlement of refugees, from the repair of river embankments to the construction of workshops, from the management of funds and grain to the deployment of personnel—item by item, they laid it all out clearly and thoroughly.
The old emperor listened without giving any commentary. He neither nodded nor shook his head. He simply listened quietly, occasionally flipping through the memorials before him.
Li Chengyu finished his report and sat upright in his chair, gaze fixed straight ahead, his expression composed, revealing nothing of his thoughts.
Li Chengyan finished his report with the corners of his mouth slightly upturned, a hint of barely concealed smugness in his brow. From time to time, he cast a glance at his sixth brother, the meaning in his eyes unmistakable.
The Imperial Study fell silent for a moment.
The candle flame flickered gently in its holder, emitting a faint crackling sound.
The old emperor set down his vermilion brush and leaned back against the chair. His gaze shifted away from Li Chengyu and settled on Li Chengyan's face.
"Eighth son," he spoke, his voice neither high nor low, his tone flat and plain, as if asking about something ordinary. "Is there anything else you wish to say?"
Li Chengyan was briefly taken aback.
He lifted his head and saw his father's eyes—so deep, so unfathomable...
