Love in Red Dust

Dingyi expressed her thanks, and Sha Tong gestured inside before stepping back and closing the door behind him.

The hall was adorned with a raised dais and throne, flanked by two towering lamps that cast a brilliant glow upon the golden longevity patterns embroidered on the armrest pillows. Yet, the Twelfth Master was nowhere to be seen. After leading her in, Sha Tong had left, his directions vague at best. She took a few hesitant steps forward and called out, "Where is the Prince?" The empty hall echoed her voice like thunder, startling even herself. Suddenly, she remembered—he couldn’t hear. Sha Tong had mentioned he was preparing to retire, so he was likely in his bedchamber.

In his bedchamber? The memory of the last time she had wiped his back for him sent her heart into a sudden flutter. If she were to encounter that again… She covered her face with a stifled laugh. Well, it wasn’t a big deal—she’d seen it before, and familiarity bred ease.

Steeling herself, she approached the carved floral door of the inner chamber. After a brief pause, she pushed it open. Behind layers of drapes, a figure stood with his back to her, dressed in a loose bamboo-patterned robe, his hair tied back with a beaded ribbon. The sight of him, relaxed and elegant, carried an air of serene detachment from worldly affairs.

A sudden awkwardness seized her. A young woman entering a man’s bedchamber couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed. A wave of heat spread across her face, but she steadied herself and stepped forward, giving his shoulder a light tap.

Whenever they were alone, a quiet warmth always seemed to envelop them. It was hard to define—not deliberately created, just a simple kind of happiness. He turned to face her, his eyes holding a faintly amused glint. "Coming here so late—is something the matter?"

Dingyi swallowed. The Twelfth Master was a feast for the eyes, his fair complexion appearing even more translucent under the lamplight. In the circles she had grown up in, the men were rough and weathered, their faces dark and glistening with sweat, their pockmarks scattered like sesame seeds on a baked flatbread. But the Twelfth Master? He was like the first snow of winter settling on glazed tiles—pure and untouched by dust.

She stared, momentarily forgetting to speak. Fortunately, he was patient and didn’t press her. With a light touch on her shoulder, he guided her to a stool before turning to lean against a mother-of-pearl cabinet, watching her with a silent smile. Dingyi suddenly snapped out of her daze—she had been so flustered she hadn’t even greeted him properly! She hurriedly rose to her feet, but he waved her off before she could.

"No need for formalities. We see each other several times a day—no need to stand on ceremony." His lips quirked. "I just asked why you came. Surely it wasn’t just to see me?"

She blinked, her cheeks flushing as she averted her gaze. "No," she murmured, fidgeting with the silver notes in her hand until their edges frayed. Finally, she thrust them forward like a hot potato. "This servant was sent by the Seventh Master to return your money. He said he’s deeply grateful for your generosity in helping him acquire those curios time and again, and he couldn’t rest easy… So he’s converted everything into silver, including the hounds from last time. It totals three thousand taels—please see if it’s enough."

Hongce naturally made no move to take it. Hongtao was a straightforward man—his thoughts were as clear as day. He wanted to settle all his debts, didn’t he? To cut ties cleanly? That was his intention, wasn’t it? If he refused to accept favors, fine, but why drag her into it and put her in an awkward position? That was just like the Seventh Master’s way of thinking.

"So," Hongce said coolly, "does the Seventh Master intend to sever ties with me? Between brothers, shouldn’t there be some give and take? Why make it seem like we’re no better than strangers in the marketplace?"Dingyi couldn't explain the real reason, so she dodged the question, saying, "It's not like that. Seventh Lord just disapproves of me always troubling you. Now that I'm under the Feather Banner, he thinks it's shameful for his servant to come running to you at every difficulty. I came here firstly to deliver the banknote, and secondly to thank you. Don't worry, Seventh Lord didn't scold me this time. He's a reasonable master who knows someone tricked me, so he didn't take it out on me. If you accept this money, it'll settle things between you brothers. To me, you'll always be my benefactor." She pushed the banknote forward again, pleading pitifully, "Please take it, or I won't know how to explain it to my master. He'll say I can't get anything done, that my head's just for show."

She was clearly trying to smooth things over for her master—he could see she was a loyal servant. As for him, he'd never intended to take the money back. Though they didn't share the same mother, they had the same father. If he accepted the money, wouldn't that mean he agreed Hongtao cared nothing for brotherly ties?

She offered the money with both hands, looking uneasy. He glanced at her and said, "I can't accept this, not just for Seventh Lord's sake, but for your dignity too."

Dingyi gave an awkward laugh. "What dignity does a servant like me have? If you don't take it, I won't know how to report back to my master. Seventh Lord made it very clear—if I fail at this, he'll punish me harshly later."

Exaggeration aside, it was probably close to the truth. The money in her hands felt like a hot potato. If only Twelfth Master would agree, she could finally relax.

"In that case, keep it for yourself!" He turned away, pretending to stroll off, the finely pleated hem of his robe swaying like a folding fan with each step.

Dingyi felt as if needles were pricking her back and hurriedly said, "I wouldn't dare! Please don't make this difficult for me, Twelfth Master. If you accept it, I can report back properly. Otherwise, what am I supposed to do?"

He smiled. "Since the money never actually went into your pocket, and you're just bearing the blame for nothing, why not make it real? At least then you won't feel wronged. Owing a favor is a debt, and owing money is a debt—what's one more flea on a dog? Unless you'd rather owe Seventh Lord than me?"

Logically, it shouldn't matter who the creditor was—it was just splitting hairs. She'd still owe Twelfth Master a favor, while now she'd owe Seventh Lord three thousand taels. Three thousand taels! The rich tossed money around like it was nothing, but she'd fallen into a well with no way to climb out. The thought alone made her want to cry.

She shook her head. "But I can't just pocket this money—what kind of person would that make me? Please don't tease me, or I'll really kneel before you."

As she spoke, she actually started to bend her knees, but he reached out to stop her. "Even if your knees aren't worth gold, don't treat yourself so lightly. I'm not teasing you—I truly mean for you to keep it. Money gives you security. Don't you still have your master to support? There'll be plenty of expenses ahead."

She said, "It's fine. My master isn't the type to spend extravagantly. If I scrape together a little here and there, the two of us can manage just fine."

He gave a helpless smile. "Scrape together a little? By plastering walls or chasing after weddings and funerals as a horn player?"She grinned and said, "What's the big deal? That's just how common folks live—finding work all year round. When there's no work, we wait for the crops to ripen, during the big and small harvests, picking and... stealing..." She caught herself and chuckled sheepishly. "Someone like me counts as a skilled worker, and the money comes in pretty quick. Don't pity me. Besides, I have a proper job now at Seventh Lord's residence. With the silver and millet combined, I earn more than the tea servers and altar attendants—thirty-seven taels a year."

"Thirty-seven taels a year, with a debt of three thousand taels. Even without eating or drinking, it would take eighty-one years to repay. Have you done the math?" He stared straight into her eyes. "Owing me money, only the principal, no interest—isn't that good enough?"

Dingyi looked utterly despondent. "Eighty-one years... I’d never pay it off in my lifetime."

"Then repay it over your lifetime. The debt ends when you die... Had I known earlier, I should’ve had you come to my residence. Why bother ending up under Seventh Lord’s roof?" He sighed. "If Seventh Lord insists on settling accounts, I can’t refuse. But getting this money back now feels off, so leaving it with you gives me peace of mind."

Dingyi was torn. She waved her hands. "Please don’t say that! You helped me in my time of need, and in the end, I’d still owe you thousands of taels—what kind of person would that make me?" She placed the banknotes on the kang table and stepped back. "I won’t take your money, but I owe you a debt of gratitude. If the chance arises, I’ll repay you. As for Seventh Lord, I’m his servant anyway. He even said my son would still be his hereditary servant. If I can’t repay it in my lifetime, my son will continue. There’ll be a day it’s settled."

She was thick-skinned, tempered by hardship, overturning all his previous notions about women. Since returning from the bird market, that brief interaction had left him utterly stunned. He had speculated about her gender and made countless plans in secret. Now that it was confirmed, his heart settled back into place, yet his thoughts still floated in midair. Was she pitiable? There were plenty of pitiable people in the world, but she was undoubtedly unique. No wonder the guards had teased her last time—she had bristled like a cat with its tail stepped on. Thinking back, it must have been hard for her.

But why would a proper girl disguise herself as a man? What was her purpose? Now, curiosity outweighed that inexplicable sentiment. Even if he liked her, he wanted to like her clearly. With this barrier between them, the feelings weren’t pure and would require constant testing.

He took a step back and nodded. "Fine. Since you insist on refusing, let it be. If you ever fall short, you can come for it anytime." He turned to a curio shelf, opened a small double-door compartment, and handed her something.

Dingyi didn’t know what it was. Hesitantly, she took it and saw it was a rhinoceros horn comb and a fine white porcelain bottle. Shaking it, the contents seemed to be hair oil. Her heart pounded as she looked up at him in shock, but his expression remained indifferent, unchanged.

Had he noticed something? She stammered, "Twelfth Master... wh-why are you giving me this?"

Hongce clasped his hands behind his back. "When traveling, it’s inconvenient. Those guards don’t comb their hair, and the wind leaves their heads a mess. Don’t be like them."

Dingyi stood frozen, clutching the items awkwardly. One hand instinctively smoothed her hair as she said sheepishly, "I understand. I’ve been too sloppy, and it’s bothered you."He turned his head away nonchalantly and said, "There are so many guards, yet you don’t see me giving combs to any of them. I’ve heard before that when a woman fancies a man, she might give him a comb as a token of affection. But between men, there shouldn’t be such implications, right?"

What on earth was he talking about? She wasn’t familiar with those romantic gestures—giving combs as love tokens and the like—she’d never even heard of such things. Now that the Twelfth Master was steering the conversation in that direction, she had no idea how to respond.

She stood there dumbfounded, silent. The Twelfth Master tilted his head to study her, his eyes twinkling like stars under the lamplight. He said, "What? Never used hair oil before? Dip the comb in it and slowly work it through, gathering all the stray hairs… If you really can’t manage, I could help you?"

"N-no…" she stammered, hastily declining. "Thank you for your generosity, Twelfth Master. I’ll figure it out myself later—I wouldn’t dare trouble you." A girl’s love for beauty was innate. She lowered her head, caressing the delicate, slender bottle, utterly enchanted by it, and smiled. "To be honest, I’ve never used hair oil before. Someone like me, doing menial work, doesn’t have time for such refinements. In the morning, I just run my fingers through my hair and that’s it. Using a comb? Who has the leisure for that? I once heard a neighbor talk about the Dongyue Temple—there’s a legend about the Nine Hells and Eighteen Prisons inside. They say if you use too much hair oil, after death, the little demons will hang you upside down and pull your hair to drain the oil. The bowl beneath has no bottom, so it’ll never fill, and you’ll be left hanging there for eternity."

He laughed. "That’s just to scare people into buying less hair oil and being thriftier."

"I know." She pursed her lips, her dimples brimming with delight. "Ah, I’ve never used anything like this in my life…"

Hongce studied her expression and let out a slow, deep sigh. Just a bottle of hair oil, and it could make her happy for half the day—so easily satisfied. He couldn’t find anyone like her in his circles. The hardships she’d endured couldn’t be captured in mere words. While others admired flowers or played chess, she was sweeping up bloodstains at the execution grounds. Yet even in the dust and grime, she could lift her head and smile as brightly as the morning sun. No self-pity, just tenacious survival. The noble ladies of princely households would faint at the sight of a bug—if they were sent to the execution grounds, they’d probably drop dead from fright one after another.

Outside, the night watchman’s clapper sounded, and Dingyi suddenly realized how late it was. She hurriedly bowed. "I’ve delayed your rest—I should go now. Thank you for today. I’ve said it so many times, it’s practically worn out…" She raised the horn comb and porcelain bottle again. "And thank you for these. I’ll put them to good use soon."

"The hair oil is secondary—keep the comb safe." He walked her to the door. "It’s not far from here to your quarters. Can you manage on your own, or should I escort you?"

She smiled. "You flatter me too much. What kind of joke would it be if a Prince escorted a Guard? Please, stay here. I’ll be on my way."

As she stepped over the threshold, he suddenly grabbed her arm, his fingers curling around the delicate outline beneath her lined robe. Just for a fleeting moment, then he released her and said quietly, "We’ll be on the road again tomorrow. Are you feeling better? Does your stomach still hurt?"Dingyi hesitated for a moment. Women's ailments weren't something she could explain clearly to him, so she vaguely replied, "Thank you for your concern, Twelfth Master. I'm all better now, as you can see—back to my lively self. Please go inside; the night is deep and damp, you might catch a chill." She turned her wrist slightly and gave his arm a gentle push. "Go back now. The path is lit, so you won't stumble."

He remained outside the threshold, watching her until her graceful figure disappeared through the moon gate before turning back into the hall. Recalling his earlier mood, it had felt like seeing someone off on a long journey. He touched the spot where her hand had brushed against him, a wave of melancholy washing over his heart.

Author's note: "Baitang a" refers to the attendants—those without official rank who serve as stewards.