A leisurely conversation beneath the moon.

A gentle breeze and bright moon illuminated the bamboo shadows, casting their reflected silhouettes across the pond near the Yu Residence. The row of resilient bamboo stood tall and straight, their emerald leaves swaying lightly in the wind. Moonlight occasionally slipped through, falling onto the two figures below. Since returning from the Sunset Cave, Zhang Ling had either lingered in the waterside pavilion or seated himself along the bamboo path, choosing two stones to sit upon. With a book in hand, he would chat idly with the old man, Gu Pinghou. The elder often spoke of the great general, and Zhang Ling listened attentively, sometimes conversing about ordinary matters. He would sigh gently about a broken teapot, lamenting the lack of money to buy or repair it. Zhang Ling considered giving him a few taels of silver for repairs, but Gu Pinghou mentioned that the ten thousand taels from the Ye family had arrived and he had helped store them; Zhang Ling could simply fetch what he needed. Yet when Zhang Ling went to check the storeroom, he found seven taels missing. It turned out the old man had secretly taken them for tea. The result left Zhang Ling both amused and exasperated, recalling that he too had done such things as a child.

As he read, Zhang Ling remarked, "Master, the Biluochun from the morning teahouse is only thirty coins per tael, and the Chao Sand shop’s is a bit pricier at thirty-two. Yet my reserves are short by eight taels. Even if you brew five pots a day, you shouldn’t have spent so much in just a few days, should you?"

The old man chuckled sheepishly, "Zhang Ling, you really are a stickler for details. Ah, I live here in the residence, eat for free, and feel too embarrassed to ask Yu Chang for money. I thought you spent your days practicing martial arts and cared little for worldly possessions, but you’re surprisingly adept at managing the household. I am ashamed, truly."

Zhang Ling picked up the teapot beside him, poured a cup, and drained it in a single swallow. Smiling, he said, "The aroma still lingers in this pot. Master, you must have bought Yun Jin Gui from the Fengdan shop. How much do you still hide away? Are you so reluctant to let me taste it?"

The old man laughed heartily, "There’s more, there’s more. Once we finish this pot, I’ll fetch it."

So the old and the young drank and conversed under the moonlight. In the past, aside from the father, son, and daughter of the Yu family, the old man rarely spoke with anyone. The Yu family men were busy, so only the Yu girl chatted with him occasionally. Usually, he spent his days sipping poor tea bought with a handful of scattered coins, passing his remaining years in solitude.

Zhang Ling suddenly said, "Master, you must be lonely, aren’t you?"

The old man grew melancholic—not lamenting his own hardships, but because Zhang Ling’s words reminded him of many comrades who had died on the battlefield. It wasn’t just the great general; many had been forced into the army to earn military merit and protect home and country. Those of common birth could rarely dream of great honors; major achievements were usually seized by scions of noble families. In the end, most were pressed into service or went because they had nowhere else to turn, not out of any grand passion or heroic ambition. It was merely for survival. Even the enemy soldiers were much the same—few wished to slaughter others unless forced by circumstance. He had once seen, as part of a support force, a battle where only a handful remained on each side, and several soldiers donned each other’s bloodied robes, yet still mercilessly killed the remaining foes. Only after retiring did he realize that a heart hardened by war was sharper than any blade.

The old man smiled faintly, "A little, perhaps, but I am long accustomed to it. Now I have you to converse with, and such fine tea to drink. I ought to be content. Alas, soon you’ll leave for the academy, and things will return to how they were."

Zhang Ling pinched a leaf between the pages of his book and stood amidst them, indifferent. "I’ve heard the academy’s selection is even harsher than the imperial exam. With my meager skills, I may not even gain entry. Besides, I still have matters in the capital, so I can often come to visit you for tea."

Gu Pinghou’s old face tightened, "You’ll certainly pass. Even Yu Chang praises your abilities. A young man with talent should aspire high. In fact, I hope you won’t always be here to keep this insignificant old fellow company."

Zhang Ling’s ears suddenly caught something; he turned a page, and glanced to the other side. "No one is ever superfluous. Miss Yu, wouldn’t you agree?"

A graceful silhouette stepped quietly from the moon’s shadow, her gait measured and refined, each step evenly paced. Yu Wanqing stopped before them and bowed, "Grandpa Gu, Master Zhang."

Zhang Ling smiled at Gu Pinghou, "People always carry someone in their thoughts, or are remembered by others. Master, please don’t say such things again."

Gu Pinghou glanced at Yu Wanqing, then looked at Zhang Ling with a hint of meaning, "Then, Zhang Ling, who do you keep in your thoughts?"

Zhang Ling merely smiled at the elder’s teasing, then shot him a knowing look, his eyes drifting downward. Only then did the two realize how odd it was for an old man and a youth to be sitting on stones by the path speaking with a young lady. Gu Pinghou gathered up the tea utensils and the three entered the waterside pavilion.

Gu Pinghou rose to brew tea, borrowing a lantern along the way. Zhang Ling asked, "Miss Yu, did you come to speak with Master Gu?"

Yu Wanqing handed Zhang Ling a key, laughing softly, "This is the key to the chest from the Ye family containing the ten thousand taels. I had it moved to the storeroom, but when I checked, it was short by seven taels. I wonder if there was a mistake? If so, the Yu family will make up the difference."

Before the Ye family sent the silver, Zhang Ling had entrusted the Yu family to receive it. Because the Yu men were busy, Yu Wanqing handled it. Zhang Ling assumed Gu Pinghou had received it, but the old man had taken the silver without informing the Yu staff—a testament to his skill at opening locks. Zhang Ling cast a sidelong glance at Gu Pinghou, who merely sipped his tea, not forgetting to pour cups for the two young people.

Zhang Ling accepted the key, looking at Yu Wanqing with a calm smile. "It’s nothing. Perhaps a greedy mouse took it. Just be more diligent with cleaning in the future."

The old man lowered his cup, hastily replying, "Even mice choose their ground; they won’t go where there’s no grain. Back then, my old comrades and I would have welcomed a mouse as a guest. So, a mouse is a good omen—don’t clean too thoroughly."

Yu Wanqing’s delicate brows furrowed, puzzled, "Can mice open locks?"

Zhang Ling sipped his tea, laughing softly, "Indeed. Otherwise, I should open the lock myself and save him the trouble."

The old man, unable to endure their veiled remarks, confessed, "Ah, you two really don’t know how to respect your elders. Yes, I took it. Enough. Today is rare with two for tea, so let’s stop talking about mice—this old fellow feels rather awkward."

Yu Wanqing finally realized, covering her face with a laugh, then turned to Zhang Ling, "There’s a lantern festival tomorrow. If you have time, Master Zhang, would you care to join me?"

Zhang Ling looked at Gu Pinghou. "Will you come, Master?"

The old man chuckled, "I’ll leave you young folks to your own affairs."

Zhang Ling then turned to Yu Wanqing, "If I’m free, I will certainly go."

Their reflections shimmered in the pond, the dim lantern and moonlight combining perfectly. The three conversed, though only about trivial matters. That was not surprising; people without close ties spoke only of such things. Without interests at stake, there was no need to know each other deeply. Yu Wanqing began by asking Zhang Ling about his household registration and family, then about his likes; Zhang Ling answered truthfully that his family traded, and there were only three—uncle and nephews. Passing through Liufeng City, he had traveled with Song Linjie. Even so, Zhang Ling considered if there might be a flaw in his answers, but he found none. He remembered former advice to act cautiously in the capital. Whether when Yu Chang had asked before, or now, Zhang Ling never mentioned Zhang Jingqian or Zhong Chentian, only asking Gu Pinghou about Zhong Chentian’s name during their chats. It turned out he was the Morning King, personally titled by the late emperor of Chen, which Zhang Ling found astonishing—he never expected that the grave-faced man at home was actually a member of the imperial clan.