Chapter 15: Su Mingfeng

The east wing could plot all it liked. Shen Miao kept her distance from second and third branch alike and stopped trailing Shen Yue and Shen Qing. At first the house called it a child's sulk after the pond. Once she began deciding for herself, people felt the floor shift.
Nanny Gui still cooed about making peace with the east wing and slipped in praise of Prince Ding—Ming Qi's finest man, she said. Shen Miao shut her down every time, hard enough to give Gui headaches. The west wing crawled with servants the other branches had planted. Guyu expected a purge now that the miss had backbone. Shen Miao left every one of them in place. She had other work.
She threw herself into Guangwen Hall. They still ranked her last; she did not argue. Day after day she did her lessons, open and unashamed, until the mockery tired itself out and a few rare quiet days passed.
One bright morning, after rhapsody class, her chest felt tight. She walked the academy gardens without aim.
The school sprawled. First-, second-, and third-year courts each had their own ground. She belonged to the second year—yet her feet carried her to the first-year steps.
A boy sat there crying.
Seven or eight, dough-pale and round as a rice ball. Indigo jacket laced with silver thread, little cloth boots, a fat collar at his throat. He looked like a New Year print that had climbed down off the wall.
Shen Miao stopped, then went over. "What's wrong?"
He had not heard her coming. He pitched off the step with a thump, sat up, and stared.
Bright eyes, a topknot, tear tracks on a face too soft to be real. She laughed before she could stop herself.
"Sister," he said, voice milky.
Something in her chest loosened. She had borne Wanyu and Fu Ming, but before five she was already in Qin. When she came home they called her Mother by rule, never by memory. She never knew her own children small. This one still had the world on his face, and he pulled her back to them.
She crouched and ruffled his hair. "Tell me."
"The master asked a question. I couldn't answer. He hit my palms." He held them out—striped red—and whimpered, "It hurts."
"What did he want?"
"Write four words from memory: *when the rabbit dies, the fox grieves.* I couldn't."
For his year, that was shameful. Fu Ming at this age had already played at court papers. Noble children here were not supposed to start so late.
The boy was not finished. "If Father hears, he'll scold me till I die. I might as well knock my head on the wall. Life is no use."
The drama almost made her laugh again. Whose spoiled cub was this? She asked, "What house are you?"
He studied her—fourteen, still round in the face, not much older than he was—and something in her calmed him. He answered carefully, word by word.
"Su Minglang. Second young master of the Pingnan Marquis house. Father is Marquis Su Yu. Elder brother is heir Su Mingfeng."
He recited his whole pedigree without prompting.
Shen Miao went still.
The Su house.
The Sus and Shens barely touched—opposite sides at court. The Sus ran with the Xies: Su Yu and Lin'an Marquis Xie Ding were sworn brothers; Su Mingfeng and Xie Jingxing had grown up together. When Mingfeng died, only Jingxing dared claim the body.
He would die. The whole clan would.
Two months from now the late emperor would find ledgers on embezzlement and secret horse sales. Touch remounts and arms, and mercy vanished. No trial—troops would seal the house and kill in the street. Su blood would run east to west in broad daylight.
Jingxing would hear too late. Friends would vanish. He would bury them himself; Xie Ding would beg the throne for graves because the Sus had once served the realm. Shen Xin would come home at New Year, hear the news, and sigh until his voice broke.
And this boy—this round, silly boy—would die with the rest under the same cold paper.
Her face iced over. Something sharp moved behind her eyes.
He flinched. She softened on purpose. "Your brother—Su Mingfeng? The one Father praises for the remount office?"
"Yes!" He perked up. "Father says His Majesty will reward him this time for sure."
She smiled and leaned close. "You said Father will punish you for failing the lesson. I know a trick. He won't."
"What trick?"
"Promise you won't tell him it was me."
He thought, then nodded.