Chapter 119 - The Sound of Oars
The estate that now served as the Su residence had once been the private sanctuary of Wu Bao, a treacherous prime minister who had wielded absolute power during the Zhenzong era. For Wei Qingming to have secured such a property and overseen its complete renovation in so short a time was no small feat. I understood her intent; this grand gesture was her way of showing tenderness, a silent apology for the fact that I had to live under a false identity for the sake of our safety.
Because the winter chill was truly biting, I decided to leave the exploration of the sprawling gardens for a warmer day. Instead, I ensconced myself in the main hall, watching A-Wan and Hong Lu bustle in and out with supplies. I couldn't help but chide Wei Qingming for her extravagance. "There are only four of us in this family," I remarked, looking around the cavernous space. "What do we need a fifty-mu estate for? Are we meant to run laps for exercise?"
Wei Qingming was crouched before me, personally wielding a pair of brass tongs to stoke the charcoal in the brazier. The fuel was no ordinary wood, but tribute-grade Fire Spirit Crystals, each one glowing a deep, vibrant crimson like the morning sun. She looked up, a faint, amused smile playing on her lips. "How could there only be four? When our brothers and sisters from the sect come to the capital, they must have a place to stay."
I realized then that she was paying it forward. Just as Lu Kaifeng had built a private courtyard for her on the mountain—despite knowing she would rarely stay there—she was now ensuring her sect family had a home in Pingjing. It was her way of returning that silent, profound affection.
The snow fell relentlessly throughout the night, only ceasing toward noon the following day. Exhausted from the previous day’s journey and lulled by the freezing weather, I spent the entire morning in a half-slumber. Even when I finally woke, I refused to leave the warmth of the blankets. I simply lay there, lazily watching Wei Qingming as she sat nearby, flipping through ledgers and writing letters to handle the endless stream of official business.
The main suite was a three-room complex, built by the previous owner with a penchant for labyrinthine luxury. Though the total area was vast, it was divided by numerous ornate partitions and winding corridors, decorated with exquisite delicacy. In the past, if a man wished to reach his lady’s inner chamber, he would have had to navigate a winding path for half the day—a design intended for romantic play. For us, however, it served as a perfect screen against prying eyes. The entrance led to a small parlor equipped with various musical instruments; to the left was the study, and to the right, the bedroom. She chose not to work in the study, clearly preferring to stay close to me. The thought made my heart feel soft and warm. In truth, if it were up to me, a tiny cottage would suffice, so long as my beloved was always within sight or a soft call away.
Too lazy even to comb my hair, I let it spill over my shoulders as I crawled out of bed and burrowed into her lap. She didn't miss a beat, wrapping one arm around me to keep me warm while her other hand continued to guide the brush. She managed two more lines before her focus shattered. With a desperate shred of self-control, she managed to set the brush aside before the inkstone could be overturned.
She eventually settled me back onto the bed, but not before a smudge of ink transferred to her sleeve. She raised her arm, inspecting the dark stain with a quiet laugh, before heading off to change her robes.
Perhaps due to the tragedies of her childhood, Wei Qingming possessed a profound lack of trust in others. It was highly likely that the ancient conspiracy against her family had been an inside job, which explained why, for over a decade, she had allowed only Hong Lu—and later A-Wan—to remain by her side. Now that she had a household to maintain, however, things had to change. Eunuch Feng had personally selected a contingent of elite guards from the Yingzhao Temple to remain in the shadows, while on the surface, the manor was staffed by a single gatekeeper and a cook.
A-Wan could not always be present to serve in the inner chambers, so I was delighted when a "distinguished guest" arrived that afternoon. The moment she removed her snow-dusted hood and veil, I recognized her. With a cry of joy, I leaped up and pulled her into a tight embrace.
It had been years, yet Muyu remained as gentle and honest as ever. However, there was a new glint of shrewdness in her eyes, like sunlight dancing on water at high noon. Her bearing was more composed and dignified; she truly looked the part of a head housekeeper now. I learned that during her years at the Wen Manor, she had been promoted to assistant to Madam First, holding a position of prestige among the younger servants. Unfortunately, she had caught the eye of a boorish relative of the family who had tried to force a purchase of her contract. Madam First, who cherished Muyu’s character, had been distressed by the situation until Wei Qingming stepped in to redeem her. To the outside world, her status was now akin to that of a concubine’s maid, but I didn't care for such labels. Wei Qingming, knowing my temperament, offered Muyu a polite nod of greeting before heading out to attend to business, leaving us to catch up.
Muyu knelt to offer a formal bow of gratitude for our rescue, but I laughed and pulled her up, telling her that such rigid etiquette was forbidden in this house. I peppered her with questions about Zhaoyun, Qingchen, and the other maids from the Wen household. Hearing that they were all well brought her much happiness. When she spotted the small mirror Wei had given me years ago—now worn smooth and lustrous from daily use—she was moved to tears. It took her a moment to process the true nature of our identities, but she accepted it with the grace of an old friend.
The next day, after A-Wan had finished showing the three of us around the gardens, Hong Lu arrived with a message. Eunuch Feng had requested our presence at his private residence that afternoon. I was struck with a sudden, intense nervousness. As I frantically pulled A-Wan and Muyu into a whirlwind of wardrobe choices, Wei Qingming returned. She caught me by the shoulders, her smile steady and reassuring. She told me there was no need for anxiety; "Master Feng" was a man of refined benevolence, and I should simply meet him as my true self.
Despite her comfort, my hands shook so much I couldn't even hook my earrings. Wei Qingming chuckled softly, taking the jade magnolia earrings from my trembling fingers and expertly, gently fastening them for me. Her tenderness steadied my heart. Only then did I find the spirit to tease her. "They say the people in the capital call you 'Feng Tian.' Is that true?"
"The people of Pingjing are sharp-tongued," she replied with a light shrug. "They wish to mock me as a sycophantic, mediocre creature—a 'son' who dares not possess what his 'father' lacks." She gave a small, knowing smile. "However, if we speak of true filial bond, he and I are indeed as close as father and daughter."
The allusion was so perfect that I nearly doubled over with laughter, almost wrinkling the expensive silk of my carefully chosen outfit. It was a reference to a famous eunuch of the Song Dynasty whose "godson" refused to grow a beard, claiming he wouldn't dare have what his "father" lacked. Given that my "husband" was actually a woman, the irony was delicious. But in the world of cultivation, where masters often appeared as beautiful youths, the capital's obsession with the melancholy, beardless beauty of young men like Xu Xingze remained a dominant trend. Besides, what did the rugged, bearded commoners know of true power? None of them could withstand a single strike from the "Great Chancellor."
Seeing that her humor had worked, Wei Qingming checked my makeup one last time, praised my appearance, and led me to the carriage. For this meeting, I had dispelled my illusions, traveling in my true form.
Eunuch Feng’s private residence lay in the northwest of the capital, within the imperial garden district. It was a tradition for the Emperor to bestow estates upon elderly, highly-regarded eunuchs from the royal holdings. This was his only legally recognized private home. As for how many secret hideouts the head of the Yingzhao Temple actually possessed, no one knew. In the palace, it was custom to address high-ranking eunuchs as "Master," and Wei Qingming followed this tradition.
The estate was originally named Yu Zhai, but when the Emperor bestowed it upon Feng Zhen, he personally inscribed a new plaque: *Bei Zhai*—the Prepared Studio. Was it a tribute to Feng Zhen’s meticulous nature (*zhenmi*), a compliment to the garden’s completeness, or a subtle reminder that he must always be ready (*bei*) to serve the sovereign?
As we entered, we were led by young eunuchs who moved with silent, fluid grace. I kept my head down, not daring to stare, yet I could feel the elegance of the place. Every tree, every stone, and every flower seemed to have been curated by a master’s hand. It was clear that Feng Zhen cherished the Emperor’s gift and treated it as a true home.
Though it was technically against etiquette, Wei Qingming never let go of my hand. I tried to slip away like a fish several times, but her grip remained firm. By the time we reached the inner hall, my face was flushed red at the thought of an elder seeing such blatant affection.
Feng Zhen was wrapped in warm furs, sitting regally on a daybed. One hand cradled a miniature hand-warmer, while the other stroked a cat resting on his lap. It wasn't a rare breed, just a common calico—the kind seen in every village, yet a rare sight in the noble manors of the capital. He showed no surprise at our hand-in-hand entrance. Instead, he watched us with a beaming smile as we performed our formal salutations, then gestured for us to sit.
He was exactly as Wei Qingming had described: warm, approachable, and kind. He urged me not to be constrained by formality, giving me the courage to look at him closely. Six years had passed, yet he hadn't aged much. He still looked like a refined, wealthy old gentleman in his sixties or seventies. However, the layers of quilts over his legs suggested his health was failing in the winter cold.
He scratched the cat’s chin, listening to its contented purr as he nodded in approval. "I have long known that my Qing-er had a beloved. When she wrote to me a few days ago saying she had wed, I wondered what sort of person in this world could possibly be a match for her. Seeing you today..." He raised his soft, pale hand and pointed a finger toward Wei Qingming, his eyes twinkling. "I see now that it is her great fortune."
The old gentleman spoke slowly, his words carrying the warmth of a family chat. I felt a sudden, profound sense of kinship. He asked about my family and my sect, and I answered each question with respectful honesty. Wei Qingming added details here and there, and when he heard I had reached the top thirty-two of the Tianshan Meeting, he offered sincere encouragement.
Away from the Emperor’s side, Feng Zhen was soft and unassuming. I had never seen Wei Qingming look at anyone with such genuine, filial devotion. As the conversation flowed, my nerves vanished. I even grew bold enough to test the waters, mentioning the scandalous rumors of "Feng Tian" being a princess's male favorite. Wei Qingming’s expression didn't change, but Master Feng stroked his sparse white beard thoughtfully. "There was indeed an Imperial Princess who inquired about her. At the time, I didn't know Qing-er preferred women. Otherwise, ah... I might have played matchmaker. What a pity."
I instinctively stomped my foot in mock protest, and the word "Grandfather" slipped out before I could catch it. The unexpected address delighted Feng Zhen. He laughed so hard he broke into a fit of coughing, even as he insisted I call him that from now on.
Wei Qingming moved with practiced ease, opening a medicine bottle from the table and offering him a pill with a cup of water. The man who held the power of the empire in his hands was now as docile as an old cat, allowing her to serve him. The coughing fit was violent, sounding as though he might cough up his very lungs. My heart ached for him, and I stood up instinctively to help. The cat, startled, leaped down and paced the room before jumping back onto his lap to lick his palm.
As I stepped forward to pat his back, Feng Zhen smiled and gestured for me to sit, while simultaneously soothing the cat. He returned to the previous topic. "It was merely a rumor. I have watched this child’s character for many years. Daughter-in-law, you can rest easy." He gave me a playful wink. "If she ever treats you poorly, you come to me. I’ll settle the score for you."
I was overjoyed, calling him "Grandfather" with even more affection. Wei Qingming didn't seem to mind our rapid bonding; she simply sipped her tea with a faint, peaceful smile.
After a few more jests, the old master sighed. "This marriage happened so suddenly that I haven't even had time to prepare a proper wedding gift. Since you’ve missed out on that, I shall play a few pieces for you instead. Consider it my blessing."
I was ecstatic. A performance from Master Feng was worth more than any physical treasure. It was said that while he was the most powerful official in the court, his skill with the guqin and flute was peerless. He was a master of poetry, painting, and composition. His most famous feat was a duel ten years ago with the Zither Queen, Xue Yishan. The two had ended in mutual admiration, performing *Ai Nai*, *Jiu Kuang*, and *Eighteen Songs of a Nomad Flute* together. The audience had been so enthralled they refused to let them leave.
His skill was recognized by the world, though some purists mocked him for using his talents to entertain the late Emperor, claiming he had led the sovereign into a life of debauchery. But looking at him now, I didn't believe a word of it.
He patted the cat, letting it go off to play. Servants brought in a zither stand and placed a legendary guqin named *Xianxie* upon it. After washing his hands and lighting incense, Master Feng rubbed his palms together. He extended a finger—smooth and unwrinkled—and let it fall upon the strings. He tilted his head slightly, and the music began to flow.
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