The afternoon sun was warm and generous. The whole of the peach garden breathed with fragrance — petals adrift, blossoms rioting in every direction, the kind of beauty that compels a person to simply stop and let it wash over them. Which made the voice that split the air all the more jarring.
“More likely he didn’t dare come.”
The gathering had been organized by Wang Jinlun, second son of the Wang family’s main branch, and the occasion was nominally a welcome banquet for Su Yu. The Su clan had sent several of its promising younger generation alongside Su Yu himself. The Zhao family was represented by Zhao Wenpei of the third generation, and even the Zhao family’s youngest daughter, Zhao Luan’er, had turned up in men’s clothing to join the festivities.
Zhao Wenpei had a considerable literary reputation in Hangzhou, and he and Su Yu had long been close — spoken of together as a pair of equals, each brilliant in his own way. In time, however, they had gone their separate paths: Su Yu took over the family business, while Zhao Wenpei passed the imperial examinations and earned his jinshi degree. He was presently working his connections in hopes of securing a decent substantive post. (G: Jinshi is the highest degree in the imperial examination system, roughly equivalent to a doctoral laureate in government. Kept in Pinyin as a widely recognized term; signals elite scholarly and official standing.)
The Su family had reason to want the relationship mended; Zhao Wenpei was content for it to be. But his younger sister Zhao Luan’er had no such interest in reconciliation. She had always looked down on Su Mu, and her heart, such as it was, had been given to Song Zhijin — young master of the Song family grain merchants. She had quietly invited Song Zhijin and his associates along today, without telling anyone. The voice that had just cut through the gathering belonged to that same Song Zhijin.
Zhao Luan’er was standing half a step behind him now, well within his circle. When her brother’s reproving look found her across the crowd, she met it with a glare of her own, entirely unabashed.
Song Zhijin’s literary reputation did not quite match Su Yu’s, but it surpassed Su Mu’s by a considerable margin. He and Su Mu had clashed more than once over Zhao Luan’er — yet despite everything, Su Mu had retained the backing of both families’ elders, and the engagement had held. Song Zhijin and Zhao Luan’er had refused to accept it. Coming here today was their way of making a declaration: to Su Yu, to Zhao Wenpei, to everyone present.
For the record, it had been Su Mu who put Song Zhijin in bed for a month after striking him on the head. That was the original cause of Su Mu’s being pressured into leaving Hangzhou under the pretext of scholarly travel. With Su Mu gone silent and unaccounted for, both Song Zhijin and Zhao Luan’er had assumed he was simply never coming back. Their feelings had warmed considerably in the interim — whether or not anything more formal had been privately arranged, no one could say.
Having decided to make their position clear, Song Zhijin saw no reason for restraint. When Su Yu offered the mild excuse about his brother’s health, Song Zhijin pounced. The Song family was among Hangzhou’s foremost clans — they owed the Su family nothing, and Song Zhijin knew it. It was precisely this parity of standing that had allowed Su Mu to escape under the thin cover of “scholarly travel” in the first place.
Su Yu’s brow drew together — then smoothed. He had spent enough years in commerce to move through all manner of pressure without losing his footing. His mind and his nerve ran deeper than most. He met Song Zhijin’s taunt with a composed smile and spoke unhurriedly.
“Ah — young Master Song. My apologies for the oversight. My brother is indeed rather cowardly, I’m afraid. A poor showing on our family’s part.”
This apparent capitulation drew more than a few disapproving looks. A man of letters, even one who had gone into trade — surely there was a limit to how much face you could surrender, and surrendering it to a junior was beneath any self-respecting scholar. People who had considered Su Yu admirable moments ago felt something curdling in their estimation.
Zhao Wenpei caught the faintest flicker of something behind his old friend’s eyes, and then it was gone. That was not the Su Yu he knew. Something else was happening.
He thought about it. In this era, girls’ marriages were decided by their parents and arranged by go-betweens — if the Zhao family were truly set on giving Zhao Luan’er to the Su family, they would simply have done so, and Luan’er’s dramatics would have counted for nothing. But the two old patriarchs’ bond of friendship only stretched so far when interests diverged.
And interests had been diverging. Da Yan looked prosperous enough on the surface, but the south was thick with bandits who had claimed their own mountain territories; the northern Liao people pressed and harried the borders without pause; floods ravaged the Jianghuai region and drought choked the northwest with cruel regularity. People lived by grain. The Song family, as head of Hangzhou’s grain merchant guild, had been quietly rising in consequence ever since.
The Zhao family had its long pedigree, and Zhao Wenpei now had his examination degree — but anyone with clear eyes could see that an alliance with the Song family was simply worth more than one with the Su family.
He’s already worked it out. Zhao Wenpei glanced at Su Yu from the corner of his eye. Su Yu was sharp enough to have seen it long before today. What looked like Zhao Luan’er and Song Zhijin making a personal statement was, at bottom, the Zhao and Song families making a joint one.
Song Zhijin was basking in the murmurs of the crowd — right up until Su Yu continued, pleasantly:
“My brother, indisposed as he is and unable to attend in person, did ask me to pass on a word should I encounter young Master Song. He wished to inquire — with particular warmth — after the head wound. You look so hale and spirited today, I can only assume it has healed completely. Cause for celebration, truly.”
The garden went quiet for half a breath, and then broke into delighted noise.
Those who had privately felt Su Yu was folding too easily now felt a deep, clean satisfaction. The riposte was immaculate: concede the ground, then drive the blade home. By the time Song Zhijin parsed what had just happened, his face had gone iron-grey with fury.
Yes, call Su Mu cowardly for not showing up — never mind that Su Mu once cracked him over the head hard enough to keep him bedridden for a full month.
Song Zhijin was a generation younger in the gathering’s social hierarchy. He had already exceeded his standing by moving to embarrass the Su family in the first place. He opened his mouth to respond — but the host, Wang Jinlun, stepped forward with a broad smile and spread his hands.
“We’re all here today to welcome Elder Brother Liangzhi home! How did we wander so far afield? Come, come, everyone take their seats — music! Bring the wine and fruit!”
The host had spoken. Courtesy demanded compliance. The atmosphere loosened with relief.
Song Zhijin let out an audible sound of contempt and raised one hand.
“One moment.”
The seated guests paused.
“Today’s gathering is a mark of everyone’s sincere respect for Brother Su,” he said. “As Su Yu’s own brother, how can Su Mu simply absent himself? I may not have much to offer, but my family does happen to possess an original work by Wu Daozi. I’ll put it forward as a prize today — whoever can persuade Su Mu to come, takes the painting. Consider it my small token of goodwill toward Brother Su Yu.”
The garden erupted again.
A genuine Wu Daozi — even in Da Yan, such things were spoken of more than seen. That Song Zhijin would stake something so extraordinary simply to score a point spoke to either his resources or his rage. Probably both.
Everyone was stirred. And yet no one quite moved. The painting was extraordinary, but actually fetching Su Mu here meant earning the Su family’s enmity — and the only people willing to do that were those already at odds with the Su family, who were hardly in a position to bring Su Mu anywhere. The whole thing was, in practical terms, impossible.
But that was precisely the point.
Song Zhijin had constructed the trap with care. If Su Mu did appear, Song Zhijin looked magnanimous — the bigger man. If Su Mu didn’t, it confirmed what Song Zhijin had already said: that Su Mu was a coward who could not face the public.
Either way, Song Zhijin won.
Su Yu saw it immediately. He had spent years navigating commercial warfare far more complex than this. The only move was to decline the wager outright — let someone accept it and the day was already lost.
“Brother Song’s generosity is overwhelming. I can’t possibly allow such a thing — the prize is far too precious, and I must ask that we put this matter to rest entirely—”
Zhao Luan’er stepped forward from among Song Zhijin’s group, dressed in her borrowed men’s clothes, and cut across him with a bow that was just correct enough to insulate the rudeness within it.
“Elder Brother Su, please don’t refuse. Zhijin-ge is acting out of pure sincerity — he would spare no expense to mend the rift with the Su family. To decline so firmly is to keep him at arm’s length.”
She was a junior member speaking out of turn, and everyone knew it. But the framing was airtight: the Song family was offering reconciliation, with a masterwork as a gesture of good faith, and requesting only that Su Mu attend his own brother’s welcome banquet. Any further refusal by Su Yu would look like the Su family rejecting peace.
Su Yu said nothing for a moment. He hadn’t even registered her breach of etiquette — what he had registered was that this had been planned. The two of them had walked in today already knowing how this would unfold. There was no good countermove available.
Zhao Wenpei read his friend’s face and turned sharply on his sister.
“Your elders are speaking. What business do you have opening your mouth? Have you no manners whatsoever?”
His authority as the Zhao family’s representative gave the reprimand some weight. But a reprimand changes nothing once the move has been made. The most Zhao Wenpei could do now was try to protect Su Yu’s dignity after the fact — and they both knew it.
Zhao Luan’er had gotten what she came for. She lowered her head and stepped back with every appearance of submission.
A new quiet settled over the gathering. Several guests exchanged glances. Minds were visibly turning.
Su Mu’s pride was considerable, but there were limits — if enough people showed up at Su Manor’s door with sufficiently warm expressions of invitation, even the most obstinate young master might eventually be moved. Small clusters were already forming, voices dropping as people compared strategies.
Chen Gongwang, left to one side through all of this, let out a quiet internal sigh. Young people being young people — he had seen this sort of drama many times, had even been a participant once, in his more reckless years. What struck him as faintly absurd was that here they were, at a gathering nominally celebrating Su Yu, with the central debate concerning a young man who hadn’t even deigned to show up. And this same young man had, not two hours ago, fed Chen Gongwang a rather good rolled crepe.
He was beginning to consider whether he ought to step in and lower the temperature a little — when a figure rose from one of the garden seats, and a voice like a nightingale’s drifted across the assembled company.
“Young Master Song’s kindness is truly moving. As it happens, I have some acquaintance with Young Master Su Mu. I would be pleased to call on Su Manor on everyone’s behalf.”
Heads turned. And when the faces that turned found the source of the voice, a good number of them exhaled in quiet, complicated recognition.
The young woman was no more than sixteen. Exquisitely pretty — a beauty of the kind that draws the eye and does not release it — with the practiced ease of manner that marks someone who has learned to inhabit a room rather than merely enter it. It was Li Manmiao, one of the celebrated leading performers of Sifan Tower.
She was not, in other words, an ordinary figure to find at a gathering of this kind. And the sensitivity of her presence here went deeper than that — because it had been over this very woman that Su Mu and Song Zhijin had come to blows in the first place.
After Su Mu’s departure, Li Manmiao had risen sharply in the world, buoyed by Song Zhijin’s patronage and advocacy. She now sat at the top of the rankings among Hangzhou’s celebrated performers. She owed that ascent, in no small part, to Song Zhijin — and her appearance here today required no further explanation.
Song Zhijin affected pleasant surprise.
“How wonderful of you, Manmiao. We’ll be in your debt.”
And so it was settled.
Su Yu’s expression gave nothing away. Zhao Wenpei held his peace. Wang Jinlun and Chen Gongwang did what hosts and honored guests do when the room needs settling — they filled it with warmth and ceremony, and the poetry gathering formally began.
Li Manmiao stepped into a waiting carriage and set off toward Su Manor.