Embers of Chuntai - Chapter 11

Chapter 11

By the third year of the women’s school, a famous joke had begun to circulate through the capital.

It was said that while the noble ladies of the great houses used to compete over pearl hairpins and their husbands’ official ranks, they now competed over whether their daughters knew how to manage a three-column ledger.

I nearly spat out my tea laughing when I heard it.

Time is a fascinating thing.

If you give it a nudge, it plays dead.

But if you push it ten more steps, it suddenly starts to run.

On the day the new building for the Chuntai Bureau was completed, Yin Xianshan sent over a plaque.

Four characters were inscribed upon it: *The Land Has Scales*.

The calligraphy was his own-the strokes were sharp and forceful, yet the final sweep of the brush was finished with a touch of gentleness.

The manager asked me if I wanted to hang it over the main entrance.

After a moment’s thought, I had it hung above the accounting office in the inner courtyard.

“Why not at the front gate?”

“The gate is for the guests to see; the accounting office is for us to see.”

I knew who those four characters were written for.

I also knew that every step he had taken over these past few years was an attempt to drag himself, bit by bit, out of the depths of his “indebtedness.”

But I no longer needed someone else to use their regret to light my way.

That autumn, I went to the Northern Frontier to inspect the salt trade.

The border winds were harsh, making one’s eyes sting.

Standing before a newly built Charity House, I saw rows of wooden tablets arranged neatly, each with a small packet of salt resting beneath it.

The old caretaker said this was a rule established by Prince Ding’an.

“People need salt to live; when they depart, they should take a bit of flavor with them. They shouldn’t go empty-handed.”

I touched one of the salt packets and remained silent for a long time.

Many years ago, I always felt that Yin Xianshan owed me an answer-a reason why he didn’t “choose me.”

Now, I suddenly understood that the true answer wasn’t found in sweet words.

It was found in whether he pointed his blade at the right people, and whether he used his power where it was truly needed.

On the day I returned to the capital from my salt inspection, it happened to be the Lantern Festival.

The streets were packed so tightly that not a drop of water could trickle through, and children ran about wildly with rabbit lanterns.

At the foot of a bridge, the crowd separated me from my guards. As I turned, I nearly collided with a tall palace lantern.

Behind the lantern stood Yin Xianshan.

With one hand, he shielded me from the surging crowd; in the other, he held the lantern. He said softly, “Minister Shen, if I provide an escort through the crowd, will you be paying?”

I arched an eyebrow. “Is the Prince so short on silver these days?”

“I am,” he chuckled. “The Northern Border Charity Estate and the Military Medical Camp both burn through money. I’m nearly a pauper thanks to your philosophy that ‘money must be spent where it counts.'”

I couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

It was a light laugh, but a sincere one.

We walked side by side down the long street.

Neither of us mentioned the past.

There was no need.

By the roadside, a storyteller was narrating “The Regent’s Thirty-Six Stratagems to Win Back His Wife,” to thunderous applause from the audience.

Yin Xianshan heard it and glanced at me.

“Their version sounds better than the truth.”

“Of course. The truth is never that perfect.”

“Do you regret it, then?”

I stopped walking and watched the reflection of the lanterns on the river.

“I’ve regretted loving the wrong person, but I don’t regret having loved. And I certainly don’t regret never looking back.”

He nodded, as if he finally, truly understood.

“I see.”

When we reached the palace gates, he handed the lantern to me.

Painted on the lantern was a branch of Chuntai Plum. The edges of the petals were slightly uneven, as if they had been touched up in a hurry.

I asked, “You painted this?”

The tips of his ears turned slightly red, and he gave a light cough. “This Prince is a man of both letters and arms. I dabble in painting occasionally.”

I took the lantern and tapped the handle with my finger.

“Your Highness, the painting is mediocre. Practice more next time.”

He smiled and replied, “Alright.”

That night, as I carried the lantern back to my manor, the snow began to fall.

The light flickered in the snow, just like that candle nearly extinguished in the Cold Palace so many years ago.

I suddenly remembered that “Don’t be afraid” whispered against my ear; now, it sounded like nothing more than the wind.

The difference was that back then, I was clinging to a life that was about to break, my heart filled with the plea: “Let him live.”

Now, I am guarding a path I carved for myself, and my heart holds only one thought: “I will live better.”

I hung the lantern by the window and picked up my brush to draft a new legal proposal.

The heading consisted of only eight characters:

“Equal Rights in Trade Routes, Equal Examinations for Female Officials.”

Before the ink could dry, the sound of the watchman’s drum drifted in from outside.

I looked at the words on my desk and felt a sudden, profound peace.

Love had come, it had burned, and it had left behind ashes-but it also left behind light.

I do not deny it, but I no longer worship it.

From now on, I will continue to attend court, discuss politics, reform laws, and manage the salt routes.

When the wind and snow come, I will walk through them. When the sky clears, I will continue to settle the accounts.

This life isn’t a legend, nor is it as perfectly composed as a storybook.

But it is a life I earned for myself, and I like it very much.

(The End)