22 Peace and Safety

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A young lady from a noble family should never go out alone, yet Ye Lingbo was accustomed to walking the fine line of rules. Her mother died early; Lord Ye and his legitimate wife, Madam Pan, were united in purpose. If she didn’t learn to navigate deftly on her own, filial piety alone would suffocate her. She had long mastered many subtle, ambiguous means, willingly becoming the shadow behind Ye Qinglan’s bright and clear figure. Some played the role of face, naturally some served as the backing. Ye Qinglan had delayed for the sake of their two younger sisters; what harm was there in Lingbo doing some things that danced between light and shadow?

Thus, she possessed a decisiveness uncommon to ordinary noble daughters. On the way here, after the messenger boy had recounted the events, she was neither flustered nor anxious; rather, she found it somewhat amusing.

Liu Ji was a good servant, though a bit too clever for his own good. Having never stumbled, he never learned to feign ignorance like Uncle Yang did. Lingbo had intended to teach him this skill, so he might one day stand on his own, but opportunities had been scarce—until today.

When Madam Ye was alive, she had taught Lingbo a principle: teaching people directly rarely worked; teaching through experience made things clear in an instant.

Sure enough, when Lingbo reached the alley entrance and glimpsed Liu Ji through the glazed window of the carriage, she couldn’t help but smile. Little Liu, seeing her smile, grew more anxious and hurriedly called out, “Miss, look, my brother’s face has turned pale!”

Not just pale—it was gray and withered. Leaning against the stone horse at the alley entrance was Liu Ji’s elder brother, who had clearly caused some trouble. Beside him stood the servant boy who had gotten into trouble, probably Uncle Yang’s nephew. He knew he was at fault and dared not even glance at Liu Ji, clearly feeling guilty.

Lingbo found it amusing, but seeing Little Liu worry for her brother, she understood that youth being too harshly tested was never good. So she smiled and asked calmly from inside the carriage, “Where is the person in question?”

Only then did Liu Ji snap back to attention, respectfully greeting, “At your service, Miss Ye, Liu Ji is here.”

True to form, Liu Ji kept his head bowed as he spoke clearly and orderly, though his face remained pale.

Though amused, Lingbo felt a protective instinct stir. Everyone in the household knew the Second Miss was fiercely protective, but her servants were equally capable, never allowing any fault to be found. Strong generals have no weak soldiers. Over the years, Madam Pan had caused many troubles, yet they had all been resolved.

So Lingbo did not scold Liu Ji. Being clever from childhood, he knew well enough that after making mistakes, no one needed to lecture him; his own pride was punishment enough. She only smiled and asked, “I meant the other person.”

The soldier from the border troops was skilled enough to have tricked Liu Ji, which made Lingbo regard him with a new respect.

Liu Ji, too, viewed him differently now and spoke with less disdain: “General Pei is in that courtyard over there.”

“What kind of general is he?” Lingbo scoffed. “To be skulking in a place like this is not the behavior of a proper gentleman.”

Seeing she misunderstood the neighborhood, Liu Ji leaned closer to the carriage and whispered the situation. Though he had lost his horse, he had managed to gather the necessary information. Calmly and clearly, he explained why Pei Zhao frequented this area. Lingbo listened with some surprise and then understood why Liu Ji called Pei Zhao a general.

“Alright, I understand,” she said, naturally more capable than Liu Ji. “Since that’s the case, go and call him out. I want to hear what he has to say.”

Liu Ji’s face showed hesitation.

“General Pei says the young lady must see him in person.”

This district’s reputation was indeed poor, lying near the city’s western slums—almost a slum itself. The water source revealed its secrets. Chang’an, with its centuries-old history and population nearing a million, had water that had long turned foul; even the city walls exuded saltpeter.

The noble residences in the southern city had their own enclosed gardens and new villas with sweet water wells, washing their silks and fine clothes without relying on outside water.

In wealthy commercial streets, merchants sold sweet water drawn from the western hills, but this western quarter still relied on bitter wells. The water was harsh and alkaline; children who drank it often grew pale, sickly, and stunted, yet learned early to help at home. Boys ran errands and sold hay; girls learned laundry. Today, because Pei Zhao was here, the children did not go out.

While the city’s elites celebrated with flower-themed banquets and poetic wine parties, these children had no such festivities. Pei Zhao’s visits were their holiday; they gathered around him, begging for stories, small bows he promised to craft, and sweets.

Pei Zhao had a gentle temper, smiling as he sat on the well platform, surrounded by a dozen ragged children. Some mischievous boys clambered on him, trying to extract promised small bows from his person, treating him like a handsome, heroic toy. Pei Zhao did not resist, only chuckled, “Hey, don’t be so brazen about snatching!”

Nearby, a woman in her thirties with a troubled expression was scrubbing a mountain of laundry. Witnessing this scene, she felt guilty and scolded her son, “Huzi, get down at once! You’re climbing all over General Pei’s back—what do you think you’re doing?”

Huzi came down, only for a little blonde girl to take his place, clinging to Pei Zhao’s back, insisting he promise to take her horse riding.

When Lingbo arrived, she saw this scene. Though raised in privilege, thanks to her father and stepmother, she was not surprised by such a courtyard. After Madam Ye’s death, Madam Pan had sought revenge, using banquets as pretexts to dismiss many of Madam Ye’s servants. Once Lingbo and Qinglan had gained strength, they found these servants one by one and reinstated them. When Yanyan’s wet nurse was expelled, the courtyard she lived in resembled this one—dirty and chaotic, with a dozen families living together, ragged children running about.

So Lingbo felt no disdain. Pei Zhao, coming from the army, naturally had sharp instincts. He noticed her upon entry, smiled faintly, his charming almond eyes curving, and continued chatting with the children.

Yet the children, seeing such a richly adorned lady for the first time, swarmed toward her. Even the woman scrubbing laundry widened her eyes.

Lingbo was not naturally beautiful, but draped in silks and satins, a white fox fur cape enveloping her pale, heavily made-up face, her head adorned with jewels and jade, golden hairpins sparkling in the sunlight, and various precious stones framing her temples—nobility bore a unique aura of privilege and ease.

As the saying went, “Clothes make the man, gold adorns the Buddha.” Not only was she a noblewoman, but even her leading maid, Little Liu, was wrapped like a small silk doll.

The children immediately gathered around. A bold little blonde girl, the one who had climbed Pei Zhao’s back before, was daunted by Lingbo’s appearance. She bit her hand nervously and tilted her head, staring blankly.

Lingbo found this amusing, mimicked the head tilt, and smiled at her. The girl’s gaze landed on Lingbo’s white fox fur cape and she reached out to touch it.

“Miss, be careful, there are lice,” Little Liu warned loudly.

As the personal maid of a noble lady, Little Liu carried an air of authority. These children, though unfamiliar with Lingbo’s silks and jewels, recognized this aura well.

In Chang’an, it was common for noble youths to ride horseback recklessly, and poor children who could not dodge well often received lashes from the passing retainers. Even if beaten to death, the family would merely pay a few dozen taels of silver as compensation.

The children immediately retreated like wary animals, but still lingered. The laundry woman hurriedly pulled her son away and hurriedly scolded the others, apologizing profusely to Little Liu, “Miss, these poor children have no manners. Please forgive their rudeness...”

Lingbo said nothing, only smiled kindly. A noble lady must be amiable, and her maid’s authority was enough to keep the frightened woman and children trembling.

Lingbo patiently waited as the woman bowed three times before lifting her eyes to look at Pei Zhao sitting on the well platform, quietly watching her.

The general’s smile now probably lacked its usual leisure.

“This place is not convenient for talking,” Lingbo said with the manners of a noble lady, then whispered to Little Liu, “Go ask the lieutenant general if he wants to change locations.”

Lieutenant General Pei surely heard her, for he stood up immediately.

Lingbo was in no hurry to ask about the horse. Calmly, she took Little Liu’s hand and turned to leave. Outside, Liu Ji waited with hands folded, seemingly hesitant.

“You’re soft-hearted after all. You haven’t even found your horse, yet you’re worrying about rewards?” Lingbo saw through his thoughts at a glance.

Little Liu was young when she entered the household and had been well cared for by Liu Ji. Unlike her brother, who froze upon seeing ragged, hungry children, she was steadier.

“Liu Ji dares not,” Liu Ji bowed his head quickly.

Lingbo helped Little Liu into the carriage, treating the ornate vehicle like a small chamber, sheltering from the wind as it paused in the alley. Little Liu wanted to lower the curtains, but Lingbo said lightly, “No rush.”

In terms of propriety, she must maintain dignity, but in looks, Pei Zhao was almost too handsome for concern. Lingbo had no fear that he harbored ill intentions.

Come to think of it, Pei Zhao’s looks made him an ideal candidate for a prestigious marriage into a noble family.

Lingbo privately mocked him, but outwardly remained calm and slowly asked, “Lieutenant General Pei, do you like horses?”

“Miss Ye, do you like people?” Pei Zhao came to the carriage leisurely, folding his arms as he answered.

Even quick-witted Lingbo was momentarily stunned, then laughed in irritation.

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She said Pei Zhao liked horses, so he had his men take Liu Ji’s horse to tease him. Pei Zhao immediately retorted that she had someone following him, so both sides were at fault—one stole horses, the other stole people.

Annoyed, Lingbo refused to argue further and ordered Liu Ji, “Go report to the Jingzhao Prefecture: say there’s a horse thief in this alley. Search the place thoroughly and see if your horse can be found.”

Little Liu tried to assert some authority but barely scared the children. With Pei Zhao’s appearance, Lingbo was curious to see how the prefecture’s officers would turn the alley upside down.

Indeed, Pei Zhao was adaptable.

He knew his words were provocative and quickly smiled, apologizing playfully, “My fault, Miss Ye, please retract your magic.”

He was naturally suited to this smile. Though a commoner from the Fire Brigade, he was so handsome it overshadowed even the privileged sons of noble families in the capital. Unlike the typical handsome men like Cui Jingyu and Wei Yushan, he resembled a beautiful fox or a white wolf in the snow, delicate even at the tail’s tip, exuding a lazy charm amidst danger.

Though apologizing, he still joked. If not for his status, Lingbo might have slapped his handsome cheek.

“Are you afraid? Yet you still steal horses?” she asked.

What he said next truly deserved a slap.

“You did not steal people,” he quickly changed the subject before she could react and smiled, “Nor did I steal horses; it was just playful children.”

“You!” Little Liu could not hold back but, bound by rules, could do nothing without Lingbo’s command. She glared at him fiercely.

Liu Ji also whispered "Miss," glaring at this insolent “General Pei,” then looked at Lingbo with a mix of endurance and pleading. Lingbo understood the message: “Miss, forget the horse. Let’s go and save ourselves the trouble of dealing with this border soldier.”

But Lingbo’s visit today was for more than just reclaiming a horse.

Drama scenes were better sung: any entanglement, whether a young lady’s secret engagement or meeting a kindred spirit, needed an occasion to unfold a long story. Lingbo’s gold gift and Liu Ji’s stolen horse were merely such an opening.

This play, Ye Lingbo intended not only to perform but to master with ease and satisfaction.

Thus, she did not lose her temper but said coldly, “Who stole it? Own up now, or I’ll have this whole place searched.”

Her carriage was parked under a big tree. As she spoke, a rustling sound came from somewhere. Pei Zhao smiled and whistled softly. Suddenly, a group of children appeared from hiding—older than before, around eleven or twelve, dressed in patched clothes, looking like they could do hard labor. Eight in total, they still looked ragged but alert.

Pei Zhao saw Lingbo’s gaze and introduced them with pride: “This group is formidable—scouts, lookouts, vanguards, logistics, and archers...”

The boys looked proud but wary of Lingbo.

Lingbo was unsurprised and asked the only girl among them, “What do you do?”

The girl glanced at Liu Ji, a bit embarrassed. “I’m a spy. I told Liu Ji about General Pei’s matters.”

“Then perhaps Liu Ji misunderstood what he heard...” Lingbo said slowly.

“No, I told the truth,” the girl earnestly defended. “General Pei said there’s no need to lie; just tell the truth.”

“Oh…” Lingbo studied them and sneered, “Well, so young and already spies. Seems I must report this to the Jingzhao Prefecture.”

At her words, the squad scattered like mice, darting behind low walls and trees until they vanished.

Pei Zhao laughed helplessly.

“Miss, you know their background, why scare them so?”

“Knowing doesn’t mean anything,” Lingbo’s expression turned ice-cold. “Return the horse. I have a banquet to attend—no time for this nonsense.”

Pei Zhao said no more, whistled again, and soon Liu Ji’s horse galloped out of the alley. Overjoyed, Liu Ji grabbed it, inspecting carefully—it was intact, only the mane braided into many little plaits, probably by a mischievous girl.

Lingbo scowled but said nothing, signaling impatience to leave. Little Liu relaxed and was about to lower the curtain when Lingbo asked, “Are the residents here really orphans of the Northern Garrison?”

“They are mostly orphans and widows, true. But not just from the Northern Garrison; there are also remnants from the Two Wings allied forces and the incorporated North Pacification troops,” Pei Zhao said leisurely from the tree.

Lingbo pursed her lips.

“Don’t fallen soldiers receive pensions? How could it come to this?”

“The pensions were never much. After four or five years of war, they’re all gone. Rice in Chang’an is as precious as gold, so it’s common for widows and orphans to fall to this state and cluster together,” Pei Zhao explained, “There are over a hundred households here, and another thirty or so in the next alley, growing by the day.”

“What about Wei Hanhai? Dead?” Lingbo frowned fiercely. “Your Northern Garrison rewarded the troops generously—three marquisates granted. They have money for banquets but none to care for war orphans?”

Pei Zhao just smiled.

“Miss, as a government lady, you understand. Marshal Wei was cautious, and so were others. Everyone could manage this, except the Northern Garrison.”

Lingbo knew well. Beyond Lord Ye’s cunning and her close friend Shen Biwei’s political savvy, the Northern Garrison’s position was awkward—honored for their achievements yet feared for their power. Providing pensions to fallen comrades’ orphans could be construed as buying loyalty and raising private troops—a dangerous path.

Not only Wei Hanhai but also influential figures like Cui Jingyu, Yin Hongxuan, and the newly titled Marquis of the Fire Brigade were forbidden from interfering. Otherwise, accusations from censors would bring their downfall.

Lingbo frowned at Pei Zhao.

“What about you? Aren’t you Northern Garrison?”

“Of course,” Pei Zhao replied leisurely. “But I have no office, no troops, no marquisate, no guards—just the empty rank of a lieutenant general. So naturally, I can manage.”

“Where are your troops?” Lingbo asked.

“They were wiped out,” Pei Zhao said lightly. “All five thousand died at Mingsha River.”

“What about your merits?” Lingbo, unfamiliar with military matters, instinctively felt this was off. Five thousand dead would be a huge achievement. Why no marquisate? She’d heard Mingsha River was where Cui Jingyu won his glory.

“I didn’t win. What merits?” Pei Zhao smiled faintly. “I was lucky not to be punished. Of course, no marquisate.”

Lingbo eyed him suspiciously, sensing many hidden stories behind his indifferent demeanor. From their first meeting, she recognized him as utterly defeated at heart. She, striving upward, could spot such lazy resignation easily.

Perhaps the defeat at Mingsha River shattered his spirit and wiped out his closest aides. While the Northern Garrison’s rewards were celebrated, he saw them as mockery. So he ceased striving, tending only to the orphans as penance.

The more Lingbo thought, the more sense it made. She was familiar with such resignation—after all, Shen Biwei near her was similar, hiding profound despair behind apparent weakness.

Understanding this, she looked on Pei Zhao more kindly. Seeing him lazily leaning against the tree, she frowned slightly, “You do good deeds but are too foolish. Carrying water to fill a dry well—what’s the point? Your military pay is limited; even if you gave it all, it wouldn’t suffice.”

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“Miss’s reprimand is well taken,” Pei Zhao said without protest, smiling obediently.

The more Lingbo observed him, the more he resembled Shen Biwei—born with a handsome face but indifferent, even lazy about grooming.

“Don’t be so lazy. What kind of general is that? Not even thinking of a solution? There’s a saying, ‘Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day; teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.’ Don’t you understand this?”

Pei Zhao remained good-natured, smiling, “Please instruct, Miss.”

“Is instruction really necessary?” Lingbo said. “Giving them money is useless. Your military pay isn’t enough. Though I’m not as wealthy as you, I have several small shops under me. We employ many workers. The Flower Signal Banquet is the season for selling clothes and accessories. I’ll have Liu Ji bring some ribbons, lace, buttons, or scented sachets here for them to make. Winter is harsh; this is better than laundry.”

Pei Zhao said nothing, but Liu Ji’s eyes brightened, and Little Liu exclaimed, “Miss is so clever!”

“Wait,” Lingbo raised a finger. “Let me say this first: I’m hiring for work, not just handing out money. The work must be good, hands clean, nothing lost. If they ever overcharge during rush jobs, I’ll fire everyone. This must be known.”

“I understand,” Little Liu, perceptive and anxious for the Northern Garrison orphans, quickly agreed. “We should send two experienced women here to teach them both skills and discipline. Only when they’re on track can it work. Also, appoint a leader and five deputies—each supervising twenty, roughly enough. The children can be used as runners, delivering things, useful for new tricks. This all helps.”

Listening to her organize, Lingbo nodded approvingly, glancing proudly at Pei Zhao, silently conveying: “You may have your troop, but I command a strong force—my maid is stronger than your entire squad.”

Pei Zhao laughed; his eyes crinkled like spring water in Jiangnan.

“By the way, call your squad here; no more eavesdropping,” Lingbo said.

Pei Zhao whistled, and the children gathered again, this time their eyes full of respect and gratitude, yet cautious. They looked up brightly, like a pack of obedient puppies.

“What’s your name?” Lingbo asked the spy girl again.

“I’m Erya,” she replied quickly. “Miss, my mother can weave ribbons beautifully. She made my braids. But the shopkeeper says silk thread costs over a tael of silver per bundle, and beads cost extra—we can’t afford it.”

“If you snag the thread or make defective products, you have to pay for the materials, right?” Lingbo asked kindly, with a sharp glance at Pei Zhao.

“Yes, yes,” Erya looked at Lingbo with admiration. “Miss, you know everything. Are you a fairy?”

Lingbo laughed, touched the girl’s braids, “Follow me and you’ll learn too.”

She was never a pampered lady. Since her mother’s death at twelve, Qinglan managed external affairs while she oversaw the family’s shops, gradually growing the business. She had suffered many losses and learned countless lessons.

Though the Northern Garrison fought battles in the frontier, women managing households in the capital had no easy path either.

Thinking this, Lingbo felt even more justified. She glanced at Pei Zhao, “Your squad is not bad...”

Pei Zhao smiled knowingly, “Belongs to Miss Ye.”

In truth, Lingbo’s true desire was not a troop; she was no soldier. For intelligence, she had her own servants, like Liu Ji. What she wanted was just one person.

“Then I want to ask the general for a man,” she narrowed her eyes at Pei Zhao.

Young ladies in the capital often painted their eyebrows like green feathers, long and curved. Lingbo was no exception—fair-skinned, made up, not exactly beautiful but looking more like a fox eyeing prey than a delicate blossom.

Pei Zhao understood immediately.

He stood, smiling, and made a formal bow toward her, “At your command, Miss.”

His natural charm was undeniable—even the way he looked over his crossed arms was captivating. Lingbo discreetly avoided his gaze, feigning haughtiness: “Hmph, I doubt General Pei is sincere...”

“Miss Ye holds a hundred and fifty hostages. Are you afraid I’m not sincere?” His eyes twinkled with amusement.

Lingbo couldn’t help but laugh, both at her triumph and his ridiculousness.

“Hmph, I don’t have time to waste with you. I have to return to attend the Princess’s banquet,” she said proudly.

“Miss Ye is formidable,” Pei Zhao teased. His flattering words made one want to strike him.

Lingbo glared.

“Don’t be so sarcastic,” she immediately assigned tasks to her new “subordinate,” “Stop idling around. The Princess manages the Flower Signal Banquet, and Northern Garrison generals must attend. Get yourself ready and come with me to the banquet. I want you to keep an eye on someone. Understand?”

“Who?”

“Cui Jingyu.”

“Oh, it’s him...” Pei Zhao feigned surprise but showed no real shock. He smiled meaningfully as if to say, “I knew it.”

Among the three newly titled marquises of the Northern Garrison, the Marquis of the Fire Brigade was old with grandchildren; Wei Yushan was a minor marquis. Only Cui Jingyu, at twenty-four, was young, brilliant, and noble-born—the prime target of all noble ladies at the Flower Signal Banquet, destined to be the undisputed leader.

Lingbo’s cheeks flushed, thick makeup hiding the blush.

“Don’t jump to conclusions. It’s not what you think...” Realizing she was explaining herself to Pei Zhao, she narrowed her eyes, frowning, “Why you care is none of your business. Do your job well and report everything to me.”

“At your command,” Pei Zhao resumed his playful servant act. “Not sure how to report to you, Miss?”

“I’ll bring Erya back to the mansion to be raised. She’ll deliver messages to you. I heard Madam Wei will hold a marquisate banquet the day after tomorrow to celebrate Marshal Wei’s ennoblement. I’ll attend too. If you learn anything, tell me then.”

The curtains lowered. Lingbo pressed her lips, her expression cold.

Madam Wei was even more foolish than she remembered. Whether from illness or ignorance of court etiquette, she couldn’t organize a proper banquet. Now she was burdened with hosting the Flower Signal Banquet. Qinglan would no longer assist them. Let’s see if the newly allied “Lady Chen,” Lu Wenyin, could break this bad habit of hers and truly help with the banquet.

Lingbo was eager to watch this drama unfold.