The soft light of dawn filtered through gauze curtains, casting golden shadows across the carved beams of the Xu residence. Birds sang among the peach trees just beginning to blossom, but within the main hall, the air carried a quieter kind of anticipation.
Xu Qingyan sat before her dressing mirror, hair still loose, the delicate pins untouched on the table beside her.
The banquet had ended hours ago, but the scene still replayed in her mind: Jin Zhenyu’s silence, Jin Yuanzhao’s sharp words, the echo of her own voice in the vast, watching hall.
She had spoken without hesitation. But now, in the privacy of her home, a single thought crept in:
What if she had overstepped?
Before she could dwell too deeply, a gentle knock interrupted her thoughts.
“Qingyan?” came a familiar voice. Minister Xu, her father.
She quickly stood. “Father.”
He entered with a faint smile, hands tucked into his sleeves, his hair already neatly combed for court. The years had left silver at his temples, but not in his gaze. That remained warm—deeply intelligent, deeply kind.
“I hope I’m not disturbing your morning.”
“Never,” she said, gesturing for him to sit.
He took a seat across from her and studied her quietly for a moment.
“I’ve heard,” he said at last, “that the Spring Rite Gathering was… more eventful than usual.”
Qingyan lowered her gaze, heart tightening slightly. “I spoke out of turn.”
Minister Xu raised a brow. “Did you?”
She hesitated. “Many would say so.”
He chuckled gently. “Many are fools.”
She looked up, startled.
He leaned forward slightly. “You were right to speak. And you spoke with dignity, clarity, and courage. That’s far more than I can say for half the men at court.”
Qingyan’s throat tightened, surprised by the swell of relief rising in her chest.
“You’re not angry?” she asked quietly.
“I would be,” he said, “if you had stood for something foolish. Or for someone unworthy.” He tilted his head. “But you saw injustice, and you acted. That is the mark of good character.”
“But the man I defended…” She paused. “He’s not… well regarded.”
Minister Xu’s smile faded slightly, becoming thoughtful.
“Jin Zhenyu,” he said softly. “The general’s blood, born of a concubine. Cast into battlefields before most boys are taught to read. And now returned to a court that neither accepts nor understands him.”
“You know of him?”
“I know of everyone,” he said with a faint smile. “But I pay attention to those who don’t speak often. They usually see more.”
Qingyan was silent for a moment. “He doesn’t act like he wants to belong.”
“No. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve to.”
Her father’s words sat with her like the warmth of early spring.
Minister Xu rose, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“I won’t tell you what to think of him, Qingyan. But I will tell you this—if your heart stirs in his presence, be honest with yourself. You are not a child, and your judgment is one I trust.”
She looked up at him, emotion brimming just beneath the surface.
“Thank you, Father.”
He gave her shoulder a soft squeeze. “Don’t thank me yet. If your name ends up on the lips of the court, I may have to challenge three ministers and two dowager aunts to a war of words.”
She laughed softly.
He stepped back toward the doorway. “One last thing, daughter.”
“Yes?”
“If you plan to meet him again…” He paused, eyes twinkling. “Avoid the gardens at dusk. Too many watching eyes. Try the East Library. The guards there are half asleep.”
With that, he disappeared down the corridor, robes whispering against polished floors.
Xu Qingyan stood alone for a moment, heart strangely light.
She wasn’t sure where the path with Jin Zhenyu would lead.
But for the first time, she knew one thing with absolute certainty:
She would not walk it with shame—or alone.
---
End of Chapter Five
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