Love in Red Dust

Within the walls, a swing swayed; beyond the walls, Prince Xian arrived with betrothal gifts. And inside those walls, the fair maiden… was hurling curses!

What kind of woman was this? Though her face remained unseen, her fiery temper, boldness, fierceness, and audacity were already legendary. She had declared, "The imperial decree cannot be defied, but that doesn’t mean I have to think highly of him." Just listen to such words! Seventh Lord was deeply wounded and asked Najin, "Am I really so unlovable? What right does she have to look down on me? I’m neither pockmarked nor blind, strong and healthy, and a direct descendant of the Imperial Clan. What about me isn’t good enough for her? How strange—I, the very picture of elegance, unrivaled on De’nei Avenue—why do I keep running into such blind fools!"

Najin scratched his head and said, "Well… it’s hard to say. It’s not about status—she’s looking for a certain feeling. It’s not that you’re lacking in any way, just that you haven’t met someone who appreciates you. It’s like a tenon—if it doesn’t fit the right mortise, it doesn’t count. Besides, this Princess Consort is Mongolian. Mongolians are like this—you’ll get used to it."

"And when will that be? If she doesn’t fancy me, then I won’t bother with her either!" Seventh Lord brushed the snowflakes off his sleeves, dumped the betrothal gifts, turned on his heel, and stormed off, muttering, "Now the grudge with the Empress is truly set. That sly palace maid—what was she thinking, saddling me with such a sourpuss? She must’ve been plotting to ruin me. Even her habit of ignoring people has been cured—she ought to thank me."

Just like that, he abandoned the betrothal gifts and fled. But how could that be allowed? Was this an official betrothal or not? The Prince of Khorchin chased after him from the mansion gates, shouting, "Seventh Lord… ah, Seventh Lord, please wait!"

Seeing his master show no intention of stopping, Najin whispered, "Don’t be like this. Your father-in-law is chasing after you—this is your wife’s father. You can’t afford to slight him."

Seventh Lord pondered. What could he do? Unless he planned to leave the capital for good, he couldn’t defy the higher powers. Otherwise, the Empress would surely find ways to make his life miserable. He halted, the reins in his hand swaying. The Prince of Khorchin, originally of the Borjigin clan, had adopted the Han surname Bao for convenience, and everyone called him Prince Bao. A burly Mongolian warrior from the mid-dynasty era, Prince Bao’s belt spanned ten hand-widths. If you angered him, one slap could be fatal. Seventh Lord felt a chill in his heart. If the father was like this, the daughter was likely no better—unattractive and domineering. His future life seemed bleak, his days of peace at an end.

Not daring to offend, lest he be struck, Seventh Lord forced a smile. Since the decree had been issued, and they were now family, he had to play along. He hurried forward a few steps, swept his sleeves, and bowed. "Greetings, Uncle Bao."

Prince Bao quickly waved off the formality. Originally, they were both princes of equal rank, but now, suddenly bound by marriage, their relationship had shifted to one of seniority. Not only Seventh Lord, but even Prince Bao found it awkward. Hurriedly helping him up, Prince Bao knew his daughter’s curses had been overheard. The betrothal gifts had been delivered in good faith, and guests deserved courtesy—yet she had deliberately caused offense. The fault lay with him—his lax parenting had spoiled her.

With a beaming smile, Prince Bao warmly took Seventh Lord’s arm and led him back. "We’re family now—why not come inside? Normally, the bride isn’t seen before the wedding night, but we Mongolians don’t stand on such ceremony. Seventh Lord should meet my daughter, have a chat, and build some rapport. After all, you’ll be spending your lives together."Prince Bao chuckled heartily, while Seventh Lord felt as though he'd been doused in cold water. Steeling himself, he thought, Fine, let's meet her—nine times out of ten, she'll have a dark, round face like a pancake. After all, daughters take after their fathers. Prince Bao’s nose and eyes were practically indistinguishable, with high cheekbones and narrow, squinting eyes—how pretty could his daughter possibly be?

Entering the prince’s residence, Seventh Lord found it spacious and grand—a large courtyard with a fish tank and pomegranate trees. Prince Bao was certainly prolific: his eldest princess was of marriageable age, while the youngest, just learning to walk, was being supported by her nursemaid. In between, a half-grown child crouched in a corner, reciting Mencius: King Hui of Liang, Part II with dogged determination—something about "I have a weakness; I love courage." Prince Bao walked over, frowning. "Enough reciting! All day long, buzzing like a fly—go find something else to do!" Turning to Seventh Lord, he gestured, "Come, come, take the seat of honor inside."

Seventh Lord declined humbly, insisting the elder take the seat of honor while he found a lower position for himself.

Now that he was here, he might as well play the part of a suitor—after all, he was already in the pit. Seventh Lord tucked his hands into his sleeves and had the betrothal gifts brought in, presenting the gift list with an apologetic smile. "My mother was overjoyed upon hearing of the imperial betrothal and immediately had this list prepared. Please take a look, Uncle Bao."

Prince Bao accepted it with both hands, unfolding the crimson card to read the flowery phrases—how the match would bring honor to humble homes and joy to grand halls, how the gifts followed the noble tradition of the groom’s precedence, and so on. Skimming the items below, he noted two hundred large silver ingots as the betrothal gold, sixty ingots for the bridal hairpin ceremony, along with hair ornaments, embroidered handkerchiefs, fine fabrics, hats, pastries, and seasonal delicacies—an exhaustive list. But no treasure could compare to the joy of securing a future for his daughter. The Empress had chosen well this time—though Seventh Lord might be a bit unreliable, he wasn’t a bad sort. With some refinement, he’d do just fine. Prince Bao grinned from ear to ear. Their eldest princess had a bit of a temper, true, but her mother had passed early, leaving her to shoulder the household responsibilities at a young age. She was capable, always striving to outdo others, which had earned her quite the reputation. But those who dismissed her were simply blind to her virtues. Prince Bao had never remarried, and his concubines were hardly fit to manage anything, leaving the vast estate entirely in the hands of the eldest princess. She was formidable—distributing the monthly allowance for over a hundred servants without a single discrepancy. That was real skill! Whoever married her would gain the backbone of their household, guaranteed a life of ease.

"Excellent, all excellent. The betrothal gifts are trivial—what matters is your future happiness together. I won’t mince words," he boomed, turning his head, "Bring the eldest princess here! The marriage is settled, after all—we’re practically family now. No need for shyness. Meet each other, speak your hearts, and may your future be harmonious and sweet!"

The steward acknowledged with a "Yes, my lord!" and scurried off. Seventh Lord exchanged a glance with Najin, his palms slick with sweat. This is really happening. What kind of three-headed, six-armed monster is she going to be?

Footsteps approached. He took two deep breaths. A pair of lambskin boots stepped into view—not too large, just right, with upturned toes and a fluffy pom-pom on top, rather charming. Moving upward, he saw a water-green pleated skirt, a three-tiered embroidered jacket with an upturned collar lined with white fox fur that nearly swallowed her chin, revealing only a pair of full, clever red lips, plump as little water chestnuts... Seventh Lord felt as though struck by lightning. This was to be his Princess Consort? She wasn’t unattractive—far better than he’d imagined.

He whipped his head around to look at Najin, who blinked back in approval. Not bad at all. Seventh Lord stood up, shuffled forward a couple of steps, and not knowing what to say, blurted out, "I'm Prince Xian, Hongtao..."

The princess had quite the temper. Turning her face away, she tossed out, "My name is Mantageri."

"Mantageri just means 'little round face'!" Seventh Lord laughed. "That name doesn't suit you—you clearly have an oval face... And four syllables sounds too distant. I'll call you Xiaoman instead. Adding 'little' makes it cute and endearing..."

Before he could finish, he earned a fierce glare. "Is this how His Highness usually behaves? We've just met for the first time—what's with this 'cute and endearing' nonsense? Is this any way to speak?"

Seventh Lord was left with egg on his face, thinking to himself, She's really something—three sentences in and already giving me attitude. If this keeps up, I'll be crushed under her toes! He stammered, "N-not really... I'm not usually like this... It's just that we're getting married now..."

The princess scrutinized him with disdain. Truth be told, Seventh Lord wasn't bad—he had looks and royal favor—but his reputation was poor. Aside from his frivolous pursuits, he had several concubines. When she had been selected to enter the palace, the other chosen girls had whispered among themselves that among the princes of this generation, only Thirteenth Master and Twelfth Master stood out. As for Seventh Lord, he lived too carefree a life—having a princess consort or not made no difference to him. Who would want to be that insignificant person? So when the imperial decree matched her to him, it felt like a bolt from the blue. She had cried all night in anger. Now that she'd met him, he was just as rumored—uncultured, lacking dignity, and shameless. It only deepened her sense of tragic fate. How could such a playboy be a good match?

The girl's tantrum left Seventh Lord embarrassed, which wasn't ideal. Prince Bao hurried to smooth things over. "I quite like Seventh Lord's warmth—he doesn't stand on ceremony. We Mongol princesses are open-hearted, not petty. You ought to show some restraint."

Prince Bao intended to admonish the young lady, but she stamped her foot and retorted, "If you like him so much, you marry him!" With a flick of her braid, she turned and left, having made her appearance for less than the time it takes to drink a cup of tea.

Seventh Lord stared blankly at Prince Bao. "Uncle Bao, the princess clearly has no interest in me. You see, you can't force a marriage. Maybe I should go to the palace later and report back, calling off this arrangement."

Prince Bao was horrified. "Don't joke about this! An imperial decree can't just be revoked—that would be the death of me! The princess is just immature, and young girls are thin-skinned. Be patient with her. Once she enters your household, you can discipline her properly. We can't defy the imperial decree."

Seventh Lord had no choice. Thinking there was some sense to it, he figured he could teach her properly after the wedding—maybe there was still hope. As for who would end up disciplining whom later, that was another story.

He'd met her, and though it ended badly, the trip wasn't wasted. Seventh Lord cupped his hands in farewell and left Prince Bao's residence with a dozen porters in tow.

A light snow was falling from the sky. Instead of mounting his horse immediately, he strolled along the street with Najin and asked, "What do you think of that girl?"

"Upright," Najin said, giving a thumbs-up. "This servant thinks she might manage the household well—not like the other masters in your residence, always scrambling for food and drink. She's the eldest princess of Prince Bao's household, after all. Her status alone will keep the servants in line. You won't have to worry about being cornered anymore—with the princess consort backing you, getting scolded by one person is better than being ganged up on by three or four. Don't you think?"Here's how it was—his household rules weren't strict, and his Secondary Wives and Concubines didn’t regard him as the head of the family. If they fancied some jewelry today or needed their brothers to secure some position tomorrow, they’d fawn over him with all their charms. But on days when nothing was amiss, if he sought them out, they’d barely spare him a glance, too busy playing cards with the four of them. "Please wait, my lord," they’d say, "we’ll attend to you once the game is over."

Don’t even mention it—just thinking about it brought bitter tears. After weighing his options, Seventh Lord figured marrying a Mongolian Princess Consort might have its advantages. She could intimidate the others, rolling up her sleeves if words failed, and bring about a major overhaul of the household discipline.

Still, Seventh Lord remained melancholy. "Though the eldest princess is quite fair, she still falls short compared to our Shu'er… Who knows where she is now, whether I’ll ever find her again in this lifetime. Twelfth Master’s feigning illness to deceive everyone—he’s definitely up to something. I know he hasn’t given up. Didn’t the palace arrange a marriage for him? Of course they did! But the clever rascal found a way to refuse, which is why it’s fallen to me now!"

Najin, seeing his master in low spirits, sighed along with him. "My lord, don’t dwell on it too much. Though this new Princess Consort may be a bit fierce, at least she’s decent-looking, and her family isn’t bad either. She’s well-regarded in both the palace and the gardens—your union won’t face any obstacles. Unlike Twelfth Master and Xiaoshu—even if she’s found, being together will be difficult. Just think, forget everything else, would Noble Consort in Langrun Garden ever agree? She’s counting on securing a prestigious match to lift her spirits. If Twelfth Master brings home someone like that, she’ll be the first to oppose it. Mark my words!"

"That’s true. Twelfth Master’s mother is as prickly as a lotus pod. Even though they don’t live together, every meeting is full of cold glares—life isn’t easy for him." Seventh Lord tilted his head back, squinting at the sky. The gray dome hung low, endlessly sifting snow. With a sigh, he ultimately didn’t mount his horse, instead walking back to De’nei Street from Guaibang Alley.

Upon returning home, he suddenly received news that Twelfth Master hadn’t been in Beijing at all—he’d gone away somewhere. Today, he’d returned, bringing back a young woman and was now busy settling her in. "Seventh Lord, hurry and go see the spectacle!"

Seventh Lord slapped his thigh. "So it’s our Shu'er who’s been found!" Without another thought, he mounted his horse and raced straight to Prince Chun's Residence.

Arriving at the residence, he demanded at the gate, "Where’s your master?" The old fox Guan Zhaojing came forward to greet him, smiling. "Seventh Lord, you’ve come? Our master is unwell and isn’t receiving guests. I told you this last time—have you forgotten?"

Seventh Lord kicked him in the shin. "To hell with ‘unwell’—who do you think you’re fooling? Speak! Where’s Xiaoshu? Is she in the residence or not? If you don’t tell me, I’ll search the place myself!"

Unable to evade him, Guan Zhaojing hung his head and said, "Don’t shout, my lord. She’s in Wine and Vinegar Bureau Alley. I’ll take you there."

So he followed Guan Zhaojing, finding a courtyard house deep in the alley. From the outside, it was sizable—three sections deep, even equipped with gatekeepers and maids. But Seventh Lord took one look at the setup and stormed inside to confront Twelfth Master. "What’s this? Planning to set up a separate household? What was our agreement back then? Whoever wanted her had to give her the title of Principal Wife! What’s the meaning of this now? Can’t even keep your word before pulling the plug?"Twelfth Master wasn’t surprised by Seventh Lord’s appearance, but he found him annoying. Frowning, he moved aside and said, “Who’s planning to set up an external residence? This is just to avoid gossip when the imperial marriage is arranged later. What would it look like if she moved into Prince Chun’s Residence without any status?”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier? She could’ve stayed at Prince Xian’s Residence too!” As he muttered, he noticed someone approaching the courtyard gate—graceful in every gesture and smile. Who else could it be but his Shu’er! Nearly a year apart, and she had blossomed even more beautifully, with brows naturally dark and lips naturally red, truly a stunning beauty. Alas, the beauty was as distant as a flower beyond the clouds. He sighed endlessly, looking at her and still finding her incomparable—no one in the world could match her.

Dingyi was delighted to see Seventh Lord and greeted him warmly, “Master, how have you been?”

“How could I be well?” Seventh Lord’s nose tingled with emotion. “Shu’er, where have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you.”

He wanted to hug her, but Twelfth Master blocked him. Undeterred, he leaned over Hongce’s arm toward Xiaoshu and said, “No matter what, you’ll always be my Shu’er. I’ve never forgotten you!”

Seeing him wipe away tears, Dingyi felt heartbroken and began crying too. Nodding, she said, “I’ve been well, Master. Don’t worry. You look much healthier than when you were in Ningguta, and your complexion is good. I’m really happy to see you.”

Seventh Lord quickly corrected her, “No, this is just bloating. I can’t sleep well at night, missing you… Why are you staying here instead of coming home? You’re still part of my Feather Banner, still holding a position under me! Don’t stay here in this half-hearted place—come back to Prince Xian’s Residence with me!”

Hongce had had enough of Seventh Master’s self-indulgent display. Turning to Dingyi, he said, “From now on, you don’t need to call Seventh Lord ‘Master.’ Your registration has been canceled. You’re no longer part of the Feather Banner.”

Seventh Lord was stunned. “Canceled? How come I didn’t know about this? What tricks have you been playing? How dare you interfere with my banner?”

Hongce dismissed his outrage. “Go ask your banner’s captain. Last time, half of the Feather Banner’s archives burned down, and the roster hasn’t been fully restored yet.”

Seventh Master took two steps back. His subordinates had messed up but dared not report it, hoping to hush it up—only for Twelfth Master to find out. Or maybe he was the one behind it! To destroy Shu’er’s fingerprints, he’d burned half the banner’s registry. How ruthless!

“Twelfth Master, you’ve got some nerve! Just wait—I’ll take this to the Emperor!” Furious, Seventh Lord stormed off.

Hongce didn’t stop him. “Making baseless accusations? When the Emperor asks for evidence, can you produce any?”

Seventh Lord halted. He was right—without proof, how could he even explain? Now what? He had wanted Shu’er to move in with him, but now he had no grounds. Twelfth Master’s move to cut the ground from under his feet was brilliant! He turned back to look at the figure standing under the eaves. “Shu’er…”

Dingyi smiled. “Seventh Lord, don’t be angry. Twelfth Master wouldn’t do such a thing—you’ve misunderstood him. Calm down and come in for some tea. I heard the palace has arranged a Princess Consort for you—what wonderful news! I haven’t congratulated you yet!”Now Seventh Lord had even less to say. He was already a man with a Princess Consort and no longer had any right to compete with Twelfth Master. Enough of this—after running around for half the day, his mouth felt a bit dry. Might as well go inside and rest for a while. Shaking the hem of his robe, he climbed the steps once more.