Speaking of Silken Black Hair

Ren Pingsheng’s words were indeed resolute, almost ruthless. From his personal perspective, he sought to ensure his future career would be unimpeded; it was best to sever ties with Lü Qingci early, lest a token favor be used to demand his life in return. People are selfish by nature. Lü Qingci had indeed taken him in, but only because of his talents. In Ren Pingsheng’s eyes, Lü Qingci was the type to use a person to their fullest, exploit every advantage. If he relied on Lü Qingci to enter the academy, Lü would surely make all sorts of demands later, expecting grand displays of gratitude. Thus, unnecessary feelings should be cut away as much as possible. Should Lü Qingci ever truly call upon him in the future, Ren Pingsheng could then respond to each matter with due discernment, weighing their importance appropriately.

Up front, Zhang Ling, who was driving the carriage, did not turn to look at him, but it was as if he could already foresee the crimson marks in the scholar’s manuscript. Still, no matter what, Ren Pingsheng was a rational man. Zhang Ling was certain he would never commit the ungrateful act of repaying kindness with betrayal, staining his brush with the blood of the innocent. Otherwise, even a man as disinclined to meddle as Zhang Ling would have intervened to stop him long ago.

When they arrived at the gates of the Yu residence, they saw an old man practicing with a broadsword in the courtyard. His technique was not particularly refined, yet every move bore the weight of true battlefield experience—the art of killing, plain and honest. Immersed in his practice, perhaps lost in memories of the past, the old man did not notice them until Zhang Ling called out. Only then did he approach, trying to mask his embarrassment with a laugh. “Getting old, my strength is fading—don’t you go mocking me, Zhang Ling!”

At that moment, Ren Pingsheng alighted from the carriage. The old man regarded him and asked, “And who might this be?”

Zhang Ling smiled. “A friend of mine, Ren Pingsheng. He’s taking the imperial exam this year, and he’s come to ask Commander Yu for a recommendation. Elder Hou, would you take Pingsheng to see the Commander? I’ll attend to the horses.”

The old man sheathed his broadsword and, beaming, beckoned Ren Pingsheng to follow. The two entered the residence, and as they turned a corner, muffled voices could be heard in conversation. Zhang Ling unhitched the carriage, led the sturdy horse into a stable where only two others stood, grabbed a handful of grass seed to feed it, then returned to the guest quarters. He’d rushed to Mingyue Pavilion before, and had just broken through a cultivation boundary without time to stabilize his energy. Every advance in cultivation required careful foundation. When Zhang Ling finally emerged from his room, intending to seek out Pingsheng, he spotted two familiar figures.

He watched as a woman in red approached, her steps light. Zhang Ling smiled. “Lady Mingyue, come to collect your debt in person? Say the word and I’ll have Song Linjie bring it to you. If he’s even a copper short, you’re welcome to beat him.”

The woman in red replied with a faint smile, “In this city of Jinyu, I go where I wish. There’s no place I cannot enter.”

Zhang Ling tossed the key to Song Linjie. “Go fetch it yourself.”

The three parted ways: two heading to the storeroom to collect the silver, and one making his way toward Yu Chang’s study.

Aside from a pavilion by the pond, only Yu Chang’s study occupied a sizeable plot within the residence. A leisure pavilion had been built outside. At a finely carved stone table, a young man, a middle-aged man, and an old man sat together. The old man wore a broad smile—not out of simple cheerfulness, but because seeing a promising youth succeed always filled him with genuine joy.

By the time Zhang Ling entered, the discussion had finished. Judging by their relaxed expressions, everything had been arranged. Yu Chang saw himself as a servant of the court, working for the realm, yet as a soldier, he could defend the nation, but true peace required the talents of scholars. He delighted in nurturing the gifted younger generation and in supporting future pillars of the state.

Zhang Ling bowed respectfully to the two elders. Yu Chang invited him to sit and said with heartfelt laughter, “Zhang Ling, you haven’t simply brought me a fine gem—you’ve brought one to the entire court! I’ve tested him just now, and I’ll send him the letter of recommendation myself.”

Both Ren Pingsheng and Zhang Ling offered their thanks. The old man poured tea for Zhang Ling, who sipped and then teased, “Elder, you’re treating me like a money tree. How could you dare to buy a whole twenty taels' worth of the full-moon locust from the Yueji shop for just one coin?”

The old man scoffed, unconcerned. “Why be so stingy? You’re not short of money, are you?”

After their discussion, it was clear the time of parting had come. Both elders were battle-hardened men, long accustomed to farewells. The old man reminisced that, whether someone was returning home or heading into battle the next day, they would steal two bowls of spiced wine behind the sergeant’s back. Sometimes, if they were caught, the worst that could happen was a beating, and if the leader was on good terms with his men, he’d join in and take the punishment together. This inspired Yu Chang to hold a farewell banquet.

Zhang Ling and Ren Pingsheng left Yu Chang’s side. Passing through a corridor, they saw Mingyue taking Yu Wanqing up to the rooftop. Zhang Ling told Ren Pingsheng to go ahead with his own matters, then leapt up to join them. “Lady Mingyue, you have your payment—why are you still here?”

Mingyue replied with disdain, “What’s it to you?”

Yu Wanqing, perched cautiously on the roof's edge, explained, “I happened to see Song Linjie and Lady Mingyue in the storeroom, so I asked her to stay and chat. I never imagined such an extraordinary beauty could also be skilled in martial arts.”

A morning breeze swept by, lifting the women’s dark hair—a scene of peerless elegance. Zhang Ling sat two feet away from them and said to Mingyue, “Qin Yi’s all alone now, probably quite lonely. This is your chance—why not pay him a visit?”

With a flick of her red sleeve, Mingyue sent a ribbon slicing through the air. Zhang Ling dodged with a roll, putting more distance between them. Mingyue laughed lightly. “My affairs are no concern of yours. I’ll leave when I choose, and not before.”

Feeling out of place, Yu Wanqing tugged at Mingyue’s sleeve, asking to be let down.

Watching her departing figure, Mingyue said calmly, “She likes you. What do you think?”

Zhang Ling’s face was expressionless. “There’s no such thing as pure love between men and women. Isn’t it the same with you and Qin Yi? And you know my situation—one wrong move and I could lose my life. Who has time for romance?”

Mingyue studied him for a moment, her lips twitching. “You’re hopeless.”

Zhang Ling protested, “Is that any way to talk to someone?”

The woman in red rose and smiled. “There’s no such thing as being too busy for love. You just haven’t met the right person yet—or perhaps, as you said, it’s all about looks and talent. But what does it matter? When love arises, one forgets the past and ignores the consequences.”

With that, she drifted off the roof, as graceful as a maiden awakening to love.

At the evening banquet, only a few gathered, drinking and talking idly. Yu Chang sent Zhang Ling a subtle message with a bowl of lotus seed soup, but Zhang Ling feigned carelessness, splitting a peanut with his chopsticks.

The meaning was clear—they would go their separate ways, as if this had been nothing more than a chance meeting upon the river of life.

The girl sitting beside her father was silent, her hand letting down a lock of dark hair.