A true master conceals his abilities.

Li Xi had no idea what sort of entanglement existed between Yang Zan and the seventh daughter of the Mu family. When Liu Motong finished listening to Li Xi recount Qishi’s words, he too furrowed his brow. After a moment’s thought, he said to Li Xi, “I need to go out for a while and will be back before dawn. Before I return, you’d best come up with an excuse for my absence, so as not to arouse suspicion.”

With that, Liu Motong hurriedly left the Yang residence.

Li Xi trusted in Liu Motong’s competence and believed he would get to the bottom of things, yet he found himself unable to sleep. He paced restlessly in the study all night long. Only towards the end of the third watch did drowsiness overtake him; he lay down fully clothed, but though his eyes were closed, his mind remained troubled. It had been over two years since he had crossed over into this era, and he’d faced greater dangers than this before. More than once, the blade had pressed to his throat, and he’d thought himself doomed, only to escape by sheer luck. Yet Li Xi understood it was nothing but fortune—he had no special protection from Heaven or the gods, just the favor of chance.

A man cannot be unlucky all his life, but good fortune, too, is soon spent. One who drifts long enough in the rivers and lakes will taste the knife; one who frequents the flower halls will inevitably wet his hands.

“...Alas...” Unable to sleep, he decided not to force it. Rising, Li Xi paced the room belonging to the young master of the Yang family—his own room now. The moonlight was faint, and he dared not light a lamp, but his eyes, long adapted to the dark from his time as a beggar and slave, served him well; the study was cramped and labyrinthine, yet he moved without bumping into anything.

Those “night-seeing eyes” had been honed in desperate days, where life and death hinged on every sense.

On the desk facing the rear garden sat a stack of books, with brushes, ink, and paper set in order. Beneath a jade paperweight lay a yellowish hemp-paper note. Perhaps the old master had left it there, missing his grandson. Yet such mementos only deepen sorrow.

Since it was an “old piece” of his, he decided to take a look. Drawing out the sheet, even his night-trained eyes couldn’t make out the tiny script. He was about to open the window for a bit of moonlight when a cough sounded behind him:

“If you wish to read, light the lamp. It’s already the fourth watch—none will be surprised if the young master of the Yang family rises early to study.”

“You nearly scared me to death! Couldn’t you make a sound when coming and going?” Li Xi patted his pounding heart. “Have you figured it all out? Was it that the young master wore himself out with late-night studies, then heard singing from across the wall, climbed over for a secret tryst, and after a few encounters, left the girl with child—so now she’s come to call him to account?”

A gleam flashed in Liu Motong’s slit-like eyes. “None of your nonsense. Brother Yang Zan is an upright scholar—I’m sure it was the girl from the Mu family who first enticed him. Moonlit meetings, promises of marriage—such games are but childish play. Last night, a certain Li Shisan let slip some hints while drinking in the manor, and the matter came to light. The old lady, not fully understanding, inquired and found the girl was nineteen and unmarried. She concluded the girl was waiting for you, praised her loyalty, and sent to ask her parents if she’d become a concubine. Her parents, already grey with worry over her future, gladly consented—now that you, Yang Zan, have made your name, how could they refuse?”

After speaking, Liu Motong stretched, sat on the bed, and looked utterly exhausted. “It’s late. Let’s try to snatch a bit of sleep.”

He seemed to have finished a grand task, turned his back, and promptly fell asleep. Li Xi wandered outside, gazing at the low earthen wall dividing the pond from the garden. He stood in a daze before his thoughts cleared. A youth locked at home with his books, a maiden confined in her boudoir, separated only by a wall—the days long and the temptation constant. How could nothing happen? Who tempted whom first no longer mattered.

And so, Yang Zan had inexplicably gained a concubine delivered to his door. If she was to come, let her come—if he could not refuse, he might as well accept. He only wondered what the girl looked like, what her character was, whether she had charm, whether she knew how to write, to paint, or play the flute...

In times of peace, prosperity flourishes and withers like a dream, while marauders prowl, coveting our wealth.
We sons of our nation, blood burning hot, will reclaim the land, nor fear death!
Unyielding through a hundred trials, undaunted by a hundred deaths, through hardship we shine!
When the day comes to restore our ancient realm, clad in purple, riding a fine steed to the palace, we will show our pride!

The handwriting was small and delicate—Yang Zan’s old nickname was “Miss Yang,” and it was apt. Yet the tone of the poem was bold and unrestrained. As they say, a man’s writing mirrors his character—here, the heroic spirit of the verse stood in stark contrast to the refined calligraphy. What sort of man was Yang Zan?

Holding the paper, hands behind his back, Li Xi wandered the garden paths, lost in thought, oblivious to the cold eyes watching him from the shadows.

When the eastern sky began to lighten, Li Xi roused Liu Motong with a gentle call. Instantly, Liu Motong was up, every movement crisp and efficient, showing no sign of fatigue.

“So,” he asked, “have you decided how to report to the old lady?”

“Oh, things have gone this far—I suppose I must swallow my pride. The romantic debt Yang Zan incurred, I will repay in his stead! I intend to petition grandmother to accept her as a formal wife, and treat her as such. If, in the future, I rise high, I’ll secure her status; if not, well, I’ll have done my best. She’s a merchant’s daughter, nineteen years old—I’ve shown her enough honor. Neither breaking old ties nor violating custom. What do you think, big brother?”

“And if her parents produce the old marriage contract and insist you marry her as your principal wife—what will you tell Yingying?”

“If they dare, I’ll have Guo Zhonggong and Mei Rong smash their house!” Li Xi boasted, feigning the airs of a rake, then grinned and asked Liu Motong, “Will that suffice?”

“There’s a touch of the young noble’s swagger in it,” Liu Motong mused. “But it doesn’t quite sound like my brother Yang Zan—it’s a bit too domineering, too brash.”

“Take a look at this.” Li Xi handed over the hemp-paper note.

“Is there something special about it?” Liu Motong’s brow remained furrowed.

“A man’s writing and words reveal his spirit. Outwardly, Yang Zan seems gentle, but inside he’s proud and unyielding. Read this—doesn’t it stir your blood? And look at the script—delicate on the surface, but with a steel-like strength beneath. He’s no simple soul; a true tough character. In the past, with our family in decline, ruled by my grandmother, my ambitions were stifled, like a dragon lurking in the depths. Now, I’ve served two years at the frontier, seen a hundred battles, grown into a man, and become an official—why shouldn’t I show some flair and pride?”

Li Xi finished and asked respectfully, “Does my explanation ring true? All say Yang Zan is meek and obedient, but he joined the army at fourteen—look at his writing, his words—outside soft, inside hard. No one knows a child better than their elders; surely the old lady knows his true strength. If I act weak and indecisive, she’ll think I’ve not matured, and when I leave for Shaozhou, what reason would I have to leave the Mu family girl behind in the capital?”

Liu Motong’s eyes brightened. “You don’t intend to take the Mu girl with you to Shaozhou?”

Li Xi glanced at him, hesitating. “Two tigers cannot share one mountain, and these are both tigresses. Yingying is only twelve—I can’t bear to see her wronged.”

Liu Motong nodded, smiling broadly. Then, “Shaozhou is far from Chang’an, and the road is perilous. Aren’t you afraid for Yingying’s safety?”

“Am I?” Li Xi squinted.

“Shouldn’t you be?” Liu Motong’s eyes narrowed further.

“Oh, seems I’d best invite old Third Brother to travel with us,” Li Xi’s eyes turned to slits.

“Let’s hope he can still walk in two days,” Liu Motong replied, his eyes now mere lines. Li Xi had to concede.

“Quite possible. I heard Third Sister-in-law owns a full suit of armor and two sabres—one long, one short. She’s called ‘Twin Blade Liu Feng.’”

“More than that—she has a great broadsword, forty-eight pounds, five heavier than Third Brother’s.”

At this, they exchanged a look and both burst out laughing.

“Hahaha...” Li Xi laughed heartily. As the saying goes, a man’s writing and words reflect his soul. Yang Zan was tough and conscientious. Like attracts like; his sworn brother Liu Motong was surely the same. To befriend such men was to risk being cut, but the cut would always come from the front, never the back.

Perhaps, he thought, he worried needlessly...

Li Xi gazed at the rising sun in the east, his heart clear as the dawn: how marvelous, a Tang dynasty without schemes and treachery.

After washing up, he found it still early. The servants of the Yang household were up, yawning and shuffling about like sleepwalkers. Life here was slow-paced; Chang’an’s markets wouldn’t open until noon, and even merchants rising now would be considered early—let alone a viscount’s family. However decayed, they were no commoners.

Li Xi wondered how this family made their living. Did the viscount and his wife receive stipends? He had yet to find out. The house was indeed dilapidated—the vermilion paint peeling from the beams, weeds growing on the roof. The ground’s brick path looked recently repaired; otherwise, it would have been impassable.

It was Liu Motong who had paid for the repairs, which comforted Li Xi somewhat. Only yesterday afternoon had he harbored suspicion toward Liu Motong, but now, overnight, he found all such wariness had vanished. Human relations are mysterious and unfathomable.

With a self-mocking smile, Li Xi ducked through a moon gate into the back courtyard. A servant sweeping the ground nodded to him—it was Wangcai. For some reason, Li Xi found himself interested in this young man—perhaps just because of his name?

“Wangcai, has the old lady risen yet?”

“She has. Madam Qi’s been with her for a while now.”

Wangcai’s speech was concise. Good, Li Xi thought, I like that.

“Wangcai, you’re not bad. Want to come with me to Shaozhou for a look around?”

“I’ll do whatever the young master commands.”

Wangcai gripped his broom and bowed his head, speaking softly and succinctly.

“Very good—carry on.” Li Xi smiled, hands behind his back as he strolled toward the west wing. The small building’s windows and doors were all open; he could see Yang Ge, the old lady, seated at her dressing table, with Qi helping her do her hair.

“So early and not afraid of the chill,” Li Xi muttered, moving to shut the window but changing his mind.

“Perhaps a bit of morning air does some good,” he thought. He coughed twice, then entered. The old lady looked well-rested, her cheeks flushed like a peach blossom.

After bowing to pay his respects, Li Xi asked, “Did grandmother sleep well?”

“Well enough—don’t vex me, and I’ll sleep well,” she replied, feigning sternness. Madam Qi smiled at Li Xi, her eyes sparkling. The night before, in the dark, he hadn’t noticed, but though Qi was nearly forty, she was well-preserved, looking no more than twenty-seven or eight, with a graceful figure more like a young wife than the mother of four.

Li Xi considered that someday, Yingying should befriend Madam Qi—but she was still young. Perhaps in a few years.

“Grandmother, I’ve come this morning to confess my fault,” Li Xi stammered, like a schoolboy caught in mischief.

“What fault could you have? You’re a hero of the state, the emperor grants you marriage, the imperial concubine rewards you—what fault indeed?”

“Well, that matter with the Mu girl...” Li Xi recited his carefully prepared explanation, sincere and emotional, skipping quickly over any details of the tryst or reflections on the fleeting romance, knowing these were not the old lady’s concerns.

What mattered was how to resolve the situation. This was what Li Xi had pondered, ensuring he presented himself as a brash, inexperienced youth who nonetheless took responsibility. Representing Yang Zan, he declared:

“A man must bear the consequences of his actions. The mess I made, I shall clean up. I’ll go to the Mu family today and accept whatever the young lady wishes—be it a beating or worse, I’ll endure it, so long as it puts her heart at ease.”

“How grand! A titled lord going to apologize to a merchant’s daughter—aren’t you afraid people will laugh themselves sick?” the old lady scoffed. “Let me ask—will you honor the marriage pact you made with her? If her parents produce your handwritten contract and demand you marry her as your wife, what will you say?”

He had rehearsed this with Liu Motong; repeating it now felt almost like cheating on a test, but it was a pleasant feeling.

“I wrote that contract before I turned fifteen. If they press it, I’ll say it was a childish game, not to be taken seriously. But that might make us seem untrustworthy. If I don’t say that, I’ll invoke the imperial marriage decree—how could a subject refuse the emperor’s command? It’s not that I’m heartless. I’ll promise to treat her as a formal wife. If I am ennobled in future, I’ll make it official. Now that I’m an official, commoners can’t oppose me. Her parents won’t dare press further. Grandmother, do you think this solution proper? Haven’t I matured these past two years?”

A laugh escaped Madam Qi as she was doing the old lady’s hair. Her fingers trembled, and a lock of Yang Ge’s hair fell to the comb.

“Ouch! You wretch!” the old lady cried theatrically, clutching her head and pinching Madam Qi, who only rolled her eyes and smiled.

Li Xi recalled that Madam Qi had served the old lady for thirty years, sharing life and death—nominally master and servant, but closer than mother and child. They often quarreled for amusement. Liu Motong had told him not to be shocked or to rebuke Madam Qi in such moments—just let things be.

Li Xi wondered, why was Madam Qi so restrained today? Had she sensed something?

“There’s an imperial officer here,” Madam Qi reminded.

“Even if he’s a marquis or prime minister, he’s still my grandson,” the old lady retorted. “Go have a look—is that really my taciturn grandson kneeling there? His voice sounds off, and his words tumble out in a flood—nothing like my careful, soft-spoken boy.”

She seemed quite serious. Madam Qi circled Li Xi, then returned. “Not only the voice, but the looks are wrong. This isn’t a sixteen-year-old—it’s clearly a man in his twenties. Oh, old lady, it’s your stinginess—we only burned one candle last night, not two, so the light was dim. We’ve been duped! Our eldest has been switched for an impostor!”

She called to Li Xi, “You big oaf, where did you come from, eating us out of house and home? You’d best leave before you starve—our family can barely manage two meals a day.”

Li Xi played dumb, grinning foolishly. His performance was effective; the old lady herself broke first, laughing uproariously, and Madam Qi soon joined her, clutching her belly as she laughed.

Li Xi kept up his silly act, secretly pleased—if they couldn’t see through his disguise, then this switch was a true success.

Having resolved his doubts about Liu Motong, now another knot was untied.

“The twenty-first day of the tenth month, the eleventh year of Yuanhe—what an extraordinary day,” Li Xi thought, breathing in the crisp, faintly sweet air from the window—fragrant with chrysanthemums.

“To arrange a secret meeting wasn’t enough—you had to write a formal betrothal, too. Thirty-seven characters, and you got six wrong—truly a worthy descendant of the Yang family, all those years of study wasted on a dog!”

Li Xi kept up his foolish act.

“You swore such grand oaths, yet after only two years you cast the girl aside. Wasn’t it you who performed the ‘Yang Clan’s Sky-killer’ move? And the one who stuck out his tongue before the emperor, chasing after dancers—that was you, wasn’t it? You are quite something, aren’t you?”

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