Destined Hearts of Mu and Yu (GL) - Chapter 10

“Hey, what are you three doing? Hurry up and start cleaning!” Qin Mu’s sharp eyes caught them just as they were about to sneak away. The three exchanged guilty glances, then silently voted to push Qin Lao’er forward to speak.

“B–big boss…”

“We’re in the capital now,” Qin Mu cut him off, wiping the table at a steady pace. “Don’t call me that anymore.”

“Yes, yes—third brother,” Lao’er quickly corrected himself.

“We brought three thousand taels to the capital. Even if we can’t afford a grand residence, we shouldn’t be living in such shabby conditions.” Lao’er’s face was bitter. In the mountains, at least they had cool chambers in summer and warm ones in winter. Here they had tile-roofed shacks that would surely leak in the rain.

“Can we squander those three thousand taels at will? Every coin was earned with bl00d. We must spend each one where it truly counts.” Qin Mu spoke as though she were reasoning with a child.

Lao’er nodded, though inwardly he spat, stingy.

Noting his sulky silence, Qin Mu draped her rag over a stone bench, patted his shoulder, and said in a weighty tone:

“Second brother, I’ve worked it out. The examinations are three months away. In those three months I must study hard—meaning no income. So we must save wherever we can.” She looked at him pitifully.

“But… don’t we have three thousand taels?” Lao’er raised three fingers, sensing a trap.

“What did I just say?” Qin Mu pressed.

“That the money must be spent where it counts,” he muttered. Clever though he was, he was helpless before her logic.

“Exactly. Now, think: four people living idly in the capital, with no work, yet eating their fill—wouldn’t the officials grow suspicious? Where does the money come from? They’d surely investigate.” Qin Mu’s tone had the cadence of a street persuader; with reason and emotion she led Lao’er neatly into her snare.

When she saw him begin to waver, she clapped his shoulder. “Second brother, you’re quick-witted, with a memory like no other. You can manage accounts so clearly that not a single coin goes unrecorded. Such talent is rare indeed.”

Lao’er straightened, pride flickering.

“So tomorrow, you’ll walk through the city. A teahouse, a pawnshop—wherever they need a bookkeeper or steward, that post will suit you best. Easy hours, steady pay.”

Lao’er’s heart sank. Caught again, he thought.

Qin Mu turned to Laosan. “As for you, big brother—the Ning estate is said to be seeking a martial instructor. Go there tomorrow. Train their men as you trained ours. One of yours is worth two of theirs.”

“Yes, boss.” Laosan nodded readily. He had always obeyed without question.

“Now that we’re here, remember three rules,” Qin Mu said, smiling. “First: avoid notice from the authorities. Second: never offend nobles. Third: do not reveal your martial skills or bandit airs. Once I rise in the examinations, we’ll soar together—and no one will ever call us bandits again.”

“But why does Miss Qiu Chan not need to work?” Lao’er grumbled, seeing her lounging nearby.

“I am your late father’s concubine, your stepmother. And you would send your mother out to labor? Heartless sons!” Qiu Chan snapped, eyes flashing, her act seamless.

“Yes, yes, second mother. You rest—leave the dirty work to us,” Lao’er backtracked miserably.

They were all diligent by nature. Once set to it, they cleaned swiftly, and soon the huts had a touch of homeliness. They pasted a couplet at the gate, adding a hint of cheer.

Smoke rose from the kitchen chimney as Qiu Chan prepared a hearty meal. Under the vast moon, they gathered before their humble home.

“Big brother!” Qin Mu raised his cup to Laosan.

“Third brother,” Laosan replied warmly.

“Second mother,” Lao’er said, reluctant but moved by the sight of her cooking. He raised his cup as well.

Qiu Chan smiled faintly and lifted hers. Their cups clinked together.

“From this day on,” Qin Mu declared, “we are a family of four.”

They laughed and drank deeply. Thus passed the first night of mountain bandits in the capital.

That night of laughter was theirs. Yet across the palace, Wei Hanyu lay sleepless. Each time she closed her eyes, the image of Qin Mu riding away—her gaze shadowed with despair—rose to haunt her. Her heart ached. Wrapping her robe around her shoulders, she stood at the window, staring at the cold brilliance of the moon, and sighed.

Footsteps approached from outside. Hanyu frowned. It was late, and she had dismissed her attendants for solitude. Who would come at such an hour?

The door opened, and her expression softened. It was her younger sister, Wei Yue’er.

“Yue’er, why are you not asleep?”

“Elder sister, I cannot sleep.” Yue’er clung to her, her face troubled.

“Why so?” Hanyu stroked her hair tenderly.

“Today I saw the wanted notice from the Court of Justice.”

Hanyu’s lips curved faintly. “Ah yes, that bandit chief—just as I described him: a fat, ugly brute.”

“Really?” Yue’er pouted. “But somehow I cannot believe it.”

“Why waste your thoughts on someone you’ve never even met? It’s late—go back and rest.” Hanyu patted her shoulder. Yue’er left reluctantly.

Alone again, Hanyu sighed. The portrait on the notice had been of her own design—an invention, to shield Qin Mu’s true face from danger.

Her unease deepened when she recalled Zhou Hengkai’s death. Brought into the imperial prison that very day, he had been poisoned before dawn. For such a thing to happen in so guarded a place, the culprit must wield immense power within the court. With Zhou dead, the trail was severed. The mastermind remained hidden, untouchable.

Only the ledgers Qin Mu had left gave her a thread to follow. They recorded every transaction of Zhou Hengkai’s dealings. From there, perhaps, she might unravel the truth.

Three names weighed heavily on her mind: Chancellor Song Liao, inscrutable and powerful; Lu Youwei, father of Lu Xu and a confidant of the emperor; and her own uncle, the Prince of Zhen’nan. Each a mountain, each perilous to confront.

And she thought of the crown prince, Wei Yanhan—her younger brother. His fall into the lake had not been accidental; she was sure of it. She could not allow him to be harmed. Yet his party was weak against such entrenched powers. Her only hope lay in the coming examinations: if she could draw fresh talent to their side, it might tip the scales.

Many times, the emperor had sighed: had Wei Hanyu been born a son, the empire itself would be hers to govern. He entrusted the throne to Yanhan only because he was her full brother. With her devotion, she would shield him all her life. Yet Yanhan was impulsive, easily ensnared. She could not protect him forever. One day, she too would have to marry and leave the palace.

Until he could stand alone, she would not, could not leave him.

She lifted her gaze to the vast night sky. The weight upon her shoulders was heavy indeed—but she bore it alone.