The emperor granted a marriage and the ones who reacted the strongest were the thousands of young maidens in Jinling, some were in utter misery and others rushed to spread the news.
Naturally, something as desirable as the “Twin Jades of the Jade Terrace,” adored by both young and old, is only enjoyable when shared evenly.
Those heartbroken young ladies had had everything planned out: half intended to become Prince Zhao’s princess consort, and the other half hoped to become Madam Xie, and either role would have made them the center of attention at future banquets.
The result… the result was that suddenly overnight, Prince Zhao was no longer short of a princess consort, and the top scholar was no longer lacking a wife.
The result was that the top scholar became the princess consort of Prince Zhao.
As for the others who were spreading the news, no one understood what they were thinking either.
Xie Jing was perhaps the only person directly involved in this matter who did not hold an opposing view.
In fact, he hadn’t voiced any opinion at all; while his father and elder brother sat there frowning over this imperial marriage bestowed from above, Xie Jing merely sat quietly to the side, casually flipping through a book as if it had nothing to do with him.
Lu Lingzhang, the Emperor’s legitimate son, born to the Empress, was still just a child, but Prince Zhao was already seventeen, and some in the court had begun making quiet plans, unable to resist picking up a side.
Censor-in-Chief was a man of integrity; neither in his heart nor openly would he ever select a Crown Prince of his liking and then start to win him over. He also often warned his two sons not to get involved in anything related to that position.
His eldest son had already carved out a good future, and his second son also brought honor to the family. Xie Yi originally thought that as long as both of them could act prudently, perform their duties in their respective positions, and live out their lives smoothly, he would have no regrets.
But no one expected that the emperor would “take a fancy” to Xie Jing in such a special way.
Once Xie Jing truly married Lu Lingcong and entered Prince Zhao’s Mansion, no matter how hard they tried to remain uninvolved, the Xie family would be inevitably tied closely to Prince Zhao. If that tense day ever truly came, no one would likely believe in their claims of neutrality.
And in fact, it was impossible for the Xie family to remain neutral either—the winner is king; the loser is a bandit. But more than just a bandit, defeat meant only a dead end.
In Xie Yi’s memory, the little highness had an excellent appearance, loved lively scenes, often went out with friends, dressed finely, rode spirited horses, and was known for being very flamboyant yet warm-hearted and honorable.
But this was merely a compilation of street rumors. Xie Yi did not understand Lu Lingcong’s temperament at all, nor was he sure if he had the intention to seize the succession or the courage to rise to power.
Therefore, it was inevitable that Xie Yi would be apprehensive about handing his second son over to such a person—to be honest, he always felt that Xie Jing was a blank slate, inexperienced and not knowing how to conceal his brilliance. If Lu Lingcong was as rumored in the marketplace, Xie Jing would one day be dragged down by him and be “played to death” by others. If Lu Lingcong harbored rebellious intentions and truly possessed decisive means, he wouldn’t need others; he could “play Xie Jing to death” himself first.
But this matter was decided by the emperor himself. Even if Xie Yi felt deep reluctance in his heart, he could only show abundant gratitude outwardly, kneeling with tears to accept the decree.
The only thing he could do was to use Xie Jing’s young age as an excuse to delay the wedding date as much as possible.
For Xie Jing, he couldn’t make the decision on his own marriage anyway. Marrying Prince Zhao or marrying a high-born lady he had never met before made no difference; it was merely having one extra person sleeping by the bed.
But Xie Jing understands his father’s concerns; to his father, Prince Zhao was different from an ordinary person. So, he simply remained silent and allowed the arrangements to be made.
In Jinling City, the “local faction” and the “outsider faction,” who were originally completely at odds, were simultaneously stunned upon hearing the imperial decree and felt quite absurd.
Originally, Prince Zhao and Top Scholar Xie had no connection, so they could use the two figures as banners to carry out activities like attacking dissidents and satisfying private grudges. But now His Majesty has forced a yoke onto them, binding the two tightly together. Regardless of what happens in private, anyone who tries to stir trouble in public would be defying the emperor’s will and risking their head.
But even if they didn’t speak, four out of their five senses remained, and there were still countless opportunities and subtle ways for them to listen, to watch, to raise an eyebrow, and to sneer.
Marrying Prince Zhao sounds like the highest honor—after all, no one at the moment dares to vouch that he has absolutely no possibility of ascending the throne—but Xie Jing is not a young maiden waiting to be married.
He is the youngest son of Imperial Censor Xie, the top scorer in the imperial examination of the seventh year of Zhenyou, a brilliant and extraordinary talent who achieved the Triple Crown, possessing both scholarly honor and an official rank.
In other words, marrying Prince Zhao would not be significantly more glorious than marrying Xie Jing himself.
Admittedly, his background could still be considered a suitable match for Prince Zhao, but there were many eligible young ladies in the capital. For instance, the eldest daughter of Grand Commandant Cui had been infatuated with Prince Zhao for years, causing her to miss out on good marriage opportunities several times, a scandal known throughout the city.
Yet His Majesty did not issue a decree to bestow a marriage out of pity for Miss Cui.
Speculation was rampant for a time, and people enjoyed passing the time with these imperial marriages after meals.
And Prince Zhao’s supporters, the so-called “local faction,” also took a sharp, malicious, yet inevitably curious stance toward the future “Princess Consort Zhao.”
But Xie Jing remained calm; he treated the gossip he heard as if it didn’t exist, and he certainly didn’t confine himself to the Xie’s Mansion, avoiding the outside world for fear of suspicion or any other absurd reason either.
At first glance, he appears quite indifferent, acting on whims and impulses, seemingly lacking constancy, and appearing somewhat unenthusiastic about everything he does.
Though people say his talent is compelling, he actually doesn’t compose poetry or essays often; though people say he is skilled in music, he only plays the qin when he remembers it.
However, whenever he takes a sudden interest in doing something, he can effortlessly become an expert, achieving in one night what takes others ten years of effort.
Lacking any challenge, these things consequently became boring to him.
Therefore, when Xie Jing spent an entire day at the same chessboard, on the same table, in the same teahouse, the capital’s prominent figures finally understood the seriousness of the matter—Xie Zhiwu had found his equal.
In the beginning, Xie Jing was just annoyed by the series of tedious matters since the imperial bestowal of marriage, so he took a casual stroll on the street. He was genuinely just passing by, but when he heard that someone inside had set up a challenge stage, seeking a solitary defeat, he casually went in to take a look.
Although called a challenge stage, it was actually just an area sectioned off in the teahouse private room with a bamboo screen. The “Challenger Master” sat behind the screen and did not show his face, only giving commands, and naturally, someone else moved the white pieces on the board for him.
It is said that this person has been hosting the challenge in this teahouse for years but only set it up on the first day of each lunar month and never waits for latecomers. He also has a special habit—he always playing Black, yielding the first move to the opponent.
This act can be called quite arrogant, but over the years, experts from inside and outside the capital have come and gone, yet not a single one has managed to defeat him.
Coupled with the fact that he has never shown his true face to the public, he has become even more mysterious, and there is no shortage of speculation that he might be some kind of reclusive commoner with a long, graying beard.
The waiter soliciting business immediately saw a business opportunity upon spotting Xie Jing—this was the new top scholar and the center of recent gossip. If he could sit in their teahouse for even a little while, who knows how many dignitaries would be drawn to come and watch?
“Our ‘Great Qi’s Top Player’ is holding a challenge. Would the Young Master like to come in and play a few rounds?”
As expected, the seemingly arrogant title “Great Qi’s Top Player” successfully caught Xie Jing’s attention, causing him to glance over: “Who conferred that title?”
The waiter was stunned for a moment, letting out an “er,” hesitated briefly, but still answered truthfully: “Self-proclaimed.”
He himself didn’t expect that this single line would cause the usually indifferent Xie Jing to twitch the corner of his mouth; it was unclear if it was a sneer or if he genuinely found it interesting. In any case, by the time the waiter reacted, Young Master Xie had already walked inside.
“A few rounds” was just something the waiter remarked casually; he had no idea that the top scholar had such good patience, capable of playing for an entire day.
Xie Jing was extraordinarily clever, and as a young man, he was somewhat impatient. In previous matches, he could see dozens of moves ahead with a single glance, calculating the opponent’s moves so thoroughly that they felt exposed, which caused them to lose composure first. Therefore, he always sought a quick victory and would not drag the game out.
But this time, he sat there for a whole day, from the teahouse opening in the morning until closing in the evening, without moving a single step while pondering over the same match.
Since learning to play chess from his grandfather and possessing a photographic memory, he had memorized at least eight hundred, if not a thousand, chess manuals. Yet, Xie Jing told himself this was the first time he had to calculate every move and every variation, taking at least the time it takes for a few sticks of incense to burn before making a move.
And once he settled his temper and focused completely on his fingertips, he traced the person on the other side of the thin bamboo screen inch by inch, without a hint of emotion.
At first glance, the moves seemed reckless and jumpy, with a certain disregard completely uncharacteristic of a chess player, but upon careful consideration, one discovered that hidden beneath the sheer audacity were undercurrents, seeping in everywhere like trickles forming a river—it was a grand strategy dared only after seeing everything clearly, seemingly a risky military maneuver but actually with everything well-calculated.
Whether he had a long, graying beard, Xie Jing did not know; he only knew that a protracted struggle would certainly not end well for him.
“This humble one conceded defeat.”
The match was actually not finished, but Xie Jing already knew in his heart that he could no longer win.
As soon as he spoke, all the onlookers were in an uproar, and many young masters who belonged to the local faction and didn’t really understand chess secretly cheered, thinking they must report to His Highness Prince Zhao later that Xie Zhiwu—the arrogant and unappreciative Xie Zhiwu—had voluntarily conceded defeat.
But Xie Jing did everything according to his nature and was not afraid of losing face either, so he conceded defeat without any mental burden.
He was already physically and mentally exhausted from a whole day of cautious calculation, but just as he raised his foot to leave, the attendant who had been moving the pieces for the anonymous “expert” suddenly spoke from behind him:
“Young Master, please stay. My master requests a word with you behind the screen.”
Xie Jing did not comply with the request and continued walking out on his own: “No need, filling my stomach is more important.”
The attendant closed his mouth, looking somewhat troubled. The next moment, a voice came directly from behind the curtain:
“Luoyang Water Feast, my treat.”
Hearing this, Xie Jing stopped, looked back at the gently swaying bamboo screen, and showed a hint of surprise.
Lu Lingcong never liked to be disturbed when playing chess, so his attendants kept silent and did not mention who was sitting behind the curtain.
He had originally thought the human “abacus” he met today had to be older than him by several cycles at least, so he was stunned when the voice of concession came out. It wasn’t until “filling my stomach is more important” that he realized who this person actually was and immediately felt that things had gone awry. However, having extended the invitation already, he felt too awkward to withdraw it, so he had no choice but to show his resolve to spend money lavishly.
When Xie Jing turned around, the four words “enemies are bound to meet” were on his mind, yet he found it difficult to associate the petty and vindictive Prince Zhao with a man who had a “long, graying beard.” In the end, he was somewhat curious.
He used his folding fan to lift the bamboo screen and looked up, seeing Lu Lingcong leaning casually against the tea table with one hand resting on his bent knee, looking very relaxed.
Seeing Xie Jing enter, he made no effort to sit up straighter. He casually tapped the table and grinned confidently: “Sit.”
However, Xie Jing did not move. He simply said, “The Six Rites[mfn]The Six Rites refers to the traditional set of formal steps in ancient Chinese marriage customs.[/mfn] have only reached the stage of ‘Asking the Name.’ I fear it is improper for you and me to meet privately.”
Lu Lingcong shrugged and gestured towards the outside of the screen: “If you don’t want to meet me, you can leave now.”
Of course, Xie Jing would not leave, and he was too lazy to adhere to formalities anyway. He sat down gracefully, bowed to Lu Lingcong, and countered, “Great Qi’s Top Player.”
Lu Lingcong’s smile froze on his face. He blinked awkwardly and only spoke after a while:
“Oh, come on. That was me bragging foolishly when I was little. Let’s not bring it up.”
However, don’t expect Prince Zhao, whose face was thicker than a city wall, to say anything pleasant. His next sentence was: “You play too cautiously. Calculating and calculating, I even thought there was a grandfather sitting outside the screen.”
Xie Jing was stunned and accurately seized upon the keyword “calculate”:
“Did Your Highness not calculate?”
Lu Lingcong answered without hesitation and with a matter-of-fact tone: “What’s there to calculate? You think everyone’s like you, with a mind full of holes like a sieve. If you don’t mind giving yourself a headache overthinking thing, why should I be afraid I can’t figure it out?”
Xie Jing silently observed Lu Lingcong, from his posture, clothing and the expression between his brows to his seemingly reckless appearance and confirmed that this person’s demeanor on the chessboard was a true reflection of his real self.
Some people are born this way, fundamentally needing no careful, step-by-step scheming and calculating. Every action and choice arises from an intuition that is terrifyingly accurate.
And such intuition, whether applied to the small space under one’s fingertips or to thousands of miles of battlefield, is a talent that others can only dream of possessing.
Xie Jing swallowed the phrase “Your Highness possesses military talent,” which wasn’t too much against his conscience, and didn’t utter it, only turning his head to cough dryly:
“This humble one is truly hungry.”
Although born into the imperial family, Lu Lingcong was not necessarily much more generous than Xie Jing when paying the bill—he was afraid of causing trouble for the Wu family.
Mentioning Prince Zhao’s name wasn’t about paying; it was about applying pressure.
The owner of Qinhuai Chun was willing to risk having his establishment smashed to order the chef to make the ‘Peony and Swallow Dish’ once more, entirely out of respect for Lu Lingcong.
However, with the owner standing by and glaring, the chef was even more focused and finally managed to deliver this precious dish, completely intact, to Young Master Xie.
They ate this meal hidden behind the screen—if they had brazenly made a show of it; the young nobles of the capital would surely have been astounded.
Throughout the meal, Xie Jing kept the adage “Do not speak while eating, do not speak while sleeping” in mind, burying his head and concentrating on his food.
After all, Lu Lingcong was the one who actively invited him to dine, so even if not out of politeness, he should at least ask, “Is it even to your taste this time?”
Xie Jing sat up straight, one side of his cheek slightly puffed out, chewing slowly and deliberately, which reminded Lu Lingcong of the white cat his mother kept, eating under the veranda.
Seeing him silent for a long time, Lu Lingcong grew a little nervous, wondering secretly if this little ancestor was about to overturn the table again. He immediately and subtly shifted backward a bit to avoid being caught in the crossfire.
After a long pause, Xie Jing calmly swallowed his last mouthful of food, poured a bit of wine, and cleared his throat with a sip. After delicately wiping the corners of his lips with a handkerchief, he finally spoke unhurriedly:
“It’s too bland. Is the price of salt very high in Jinling?”
Lu Lingcong couldn’t quite describe the degree of stiffness he felt upon hearing this sentence.
If one had to describe it, every dish on the Prince’s Mansion’s dining table for the next decade or so ended up like a Tai Chi diagram[mfn]Yin-Yang symbol.[/mfn]—the side near Prince Zhao was light and pale, while the side near the Princess Consort was rich and vibrant.
The servants in the mansion were very understanding, always placing the seasonings only on one side.
Xie Jing said goodbye after eating and did not engage in any more pleasantries.
He felt that Lu Lingcong was probably not hungry at all; he originally did not want to spend silver to treat him to a meal and perhaps did not even want to see him.
Although Xie Jing believed Prince Zhao must be more aware than he was that he could not control his marriage, he should also have a stronger sense of resistance than him.
Lu Lingcong was a smart person. Xie Jing knew from their first meeting that no matter which smart person was suddenly forced to take a husband who was neither gentle nor alluring, whom they didn’t know well, and with whom they didn’t even get along, it would be impossible for them to see him as a good match.
Looking back at their first meeting at Qinhuai Chun, if he truly had recognized Lu Lingcong, he would never have started a conflict with him.
The reason Xie Yi kept him in Chen Commandery to grow up was simple: he didn’t want him to get involved in these matters too early. Even now, upon entering the capital and becoming an official, he wasn’t forced to change his aloof and proud nature either—being a bit eccentric was good. Offending everyone was the same as offending no one. People would simply attribute it to youthful fervor, and no one would look into it deeply. The fear was showing partiality and failing to treat everyone equally; that’s when a person with an agenda would seize a handle.
What was feared was being biased and not holding a balanced view, as that is when an interested party would seize a handle.
But now that a layer of marriage connection had been added, all of that was meaningless.
Even if Xie Jing subjectively had no desire to “show partiality,” he would have no choice but to be tied to the rope of Prince Zhao’s Mansion, becoming a grasshopper singing the same tune as Lu Lingcong.
Hopefully, they weren’t grasshoppers after autumn[mfn]Having little time left.[/mfn]. Xie Jing thought, after all, it was only April.
His Highness Prince Zhao and the Young Master Xie, who usually went their separate ways, appeared together in the same frame again at a palace banquet sometime after the start of summer.
Xie Jing could no longer remember if it was the Dragon Boat Festival or some other day; he only vaguely recalled that the attendees were all imperial relatives and noble ranks.
He originally had no business being at such an occasion, but it so happened that his elder brother had left the capital for a reason, so Xie Yi took him along to the banquet.
A colleague stopped Xie Yi to talk in front of the steps. As Xie Jing waited beside them, feeling bored, he glanced back and saw Lu Lingcong coming from a side hall, holding the hand of a little girl with twin buns.
When they got closer, he noticed the two looked alike. Lady Wu had given birth to a pair of children, so this must be the current Emperor’s only princess, Lu Lingzhen.
Xie Jing was about to salute, but Lu Lingcong waved him off. He then curved his lips and smiled at Lu Lingzhen.
Seeing this, Lu Lingcong gently tugged his younger sister’s small hand: “Why don’t you call him?”
The little girl did not know Xie Jing, but it was said that she was raised freely since childhood, having much of her brother’s demeanor, and was not shy, asking in a childish voice: “What should I call him?”
Lu Lingcong said, “You call me Gege, so what should you call him?”
Xie Jing was secretly pondering why she didn’t address him as “Imperial Brother” when he heard Lu Lingzhen open her mouth and utter the shocking, heaven-and-earth-moving sound of “Saosao[mfn]Saosao means sister-in-law.[/mfn]”.
Lu Lingcong choked slightly and lightly flicked her forehead: “Silly girl deserves a spanking. You should call him gege too.”
Fearing that the little girl would utter another shocking remark, Xie Jing quickly turned around after saying, “This humble one is not worthy,” and followed Xie Yi to leave.
The person who had just been conversing with his father was the Right Prime Minister Wang Chu, who now walked into the hall alongside them. He exchanged a few polite words with Xie Jing and asked in a seemingly casual manner:
“Nephew, you seem quite familiar with His Highness Prince Zhao?”
In his words, it was as if he was completely unaware of the awkward matter of the bestowed marriage.
Xie Jing shook his head: “Just a few chance meetings.”
Wang Chu looked back at Lu Lingcong and his sister not far away and said, “I did hear that there seems to be some… friction between Prince Zhao and Nephew?”
Xie Jing frowned and was about to defend himself but was stopped by a look from Xie Yi, who said indifferently, “Since it is ‘heard,’ it must be a mistaken rumor from children playing around. Although my son is unconventional, he still has this much sense. Even with ten thousand times the courage, he would not dare either.”
After speaking, he warned Xie Jing, “Even if there truly was something before, there won’t be again in the future, isn’t that right?”
Upon hearing this, Wang Chu smiled meaningfully, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, and said nothing further before walking into the hall.
The Xie father and son lagged a few steps behind. Xie Yi watched him walk far away before quietly asking, “What did Prince Zhao just say to you?”
Xie Jing could hardly say, “He told his sister to acknowledge me as her sister-in-law,” so he played dumb. Xie Yi’s voice held a hint of sternness: “Didn’t I tell you not to associate with him before the marriage, and to avoid him if possible?”
Xie Jing felt helpless and said with slight impatience, “Father, it was just a few words.”
Xie Yi glared at him: “What do you know?”
With this unpleasant interlude preceding it, Xie Jing barely spoke all evening, coldly observing the people at the banquet while waiting for the third round of drinks to pass.
Both imperial consorts and external officials were present. Below the Emperor and Empress, facing west, was a woman with an elaborate coiffure and solemn makeup, likely Lady Wu. Next to her were the Lu siblings. Facing east were high ranking officials like Zhang Yan, Cui Xian, and Wang Chu. Further down, he didn’t recognize everyone and had no interest in doing so either—
“Zhiwu!”
Xie Jing suddenly snapped to attention when he saw Xie Yi’s solemn face, hearing him call his name in a low voice.
“This minister has heard that the top scholar is skilled in all six arts, and his qin skills are particularly superb.”
The person speaking was Wang Chu.
Xie Jing looked up once more and realized that all the officials and nobles present were watching him.
Wang Chu was standing in front of the seats, holding a cup and looking in his direction from afar.
He composed himself, vaguely recalling hearing the emperor say earlier that it was a fine time with both young and old gathered and that His Highness Prince Zhao should… perform a sword dance for entertainment?
Wang Chu saw Xie Jing looking over, smiled appropriately, and turned towards the main seat: “After all, it’s a banquet. Swords and blades can feel harsh. Why not invite Young Master Xie to play the qin alongside him? It would be a feast for the eyes as well.”
Someone, he didn’t know who, added in agreement: “I heard my daughter say that His Highness Prince Zhao and Young Master Xie are both talented youths, and the common folk call them the ‘Twin Jades of the Jade Terrace’.”
The emperor’s banquet certainly wouldn’t be short of musicians and singers, so why must he, Xie Zhiwu, play the entertaining clown, the foil for this display of imperial grandeur and father-son affection?
Xie Jing subconsciously lifted his eyes and spotted Lu Lingcong, also at the center of attention, across half the main hall, and their eyes met.
The sound of the emperor asking him, “What do you think?” came from the throne. Xie Jing only saw Lu Lingcong, who had already risen, staring intently at his eyes and subtly shaking his head.
The meaning of the headshake at this moment was actually a bit ambiguous; it could be interpreted as “do not agree” or “do not refuse.” But Xie Jing’s intuition—he used his intuition at this moment—almost immediately told him that Lu Lingcong meant the latter.
Xie Yi frowned tightly and turned back to look at him.
Xie Jing nodded to his father in reassurance, took a deep breath, rose from his seat, walked to the center of the hall, and lowered his head:
“Pardon the clumsiness.”
One cannot carry weapons when meeting the emperor. A palace attendant brought a long sword and handed it to Lu Lingcong.
Xie Jing knelt by a small table to tune the strings and test the sound. Although the qin’s tone wasn’t as fine as his own Luqi zither, it was a palace instrument and more than adequate for the occasion.
Lu Lingcong ascended the platform, standing tall and straight, his eyes shining. He spoke clearly, “Please enlighten me, Your Lordships.” However, with the long sword in hand, he immediately exuded a spirit of integrity and dashing energy, truly embodying the strength of pine and bamboo.
He signaled Xie Jing. Xie Jing gave a slight nod, relaxed his shoulders and wrists, and played the first note.
At first, the music was slow, and the sword’s presence flowed like gentle water carrying a boat, showing no sharpness.
Lu Lingcong kept his left hand behind his back, holding the sword with his right. Driven almost entirely by his forearm and wrist, the sword tip seemed to carve a long wind through the hall, ruffling the wisps of hair at Xie Jing’s neck.
Lu Lingcong had no great attainment in music, yet his movements and transitions seemed as if they had been rehearsed and adjusted beforehand, perfectly matching the sound of the qin.
As he turned and executed a sword flourish, he looked back and met Xie Jing’s gaze, raising his chin with a smile. Xie Jing instantly understood. His fingertips rapidly changed to the Zhi note, connecting instantly to a quick tempo. Lu Lingcong’s sword moves suddenly became fierce; the sharpness of the sword energy was no less intense than the youthful spirit of the scorching sun, forcing all secret schemes, plottings, and surging undercurrents into the open—
Amid blooming flowers, three thousand guests revel in drunken splendor; with a single frost-bright sword, he casts a chill over the lands of fourteen states[mfn]This is a famous couplet.[/mfn]!
The long sword had not yet been sheathed, yet the clouds had parted, and the moon shone bright and white.
As Xie Jing waved his hand to press down the lingering sound on the strings amid a chorus of applause, he heard Lu Lingzhen’s tender, clear cheer, which was particularly loud and distinct.
Lu Lingcong tossed the sword back to the palace attendant. As he bowed and returned to his seat, he glanced at Xie Jing with a corner of his lips lifted slightly. He was so dazzling that Xie Jing had to lower his eyes and offer a faint smile.
However, immediately after smiling, Xie Jing regretted it.
Because of this, on the way out of the palace and back to the mansion, Xie Yi squinted at him and scrutinized him for a long time, asking with an unkind and suspicious tone:
“Was it truly just a few chance meetings?”
