After all the furore in the capital has settled, Yu Xiulian's brother decides it is time for her to return to the care of their clan in their hometown for good.

Yu Xiulian does not wish to leave. She has made something here, in the midst of the shards of her shattered house, and for all the tragedy it is still and no less her home. This is where her brother and his monastery stand, as do all the friends she has met for herself. But Yu Zhenglin is right that she is now well enough to fare the journey, and he has suffered enough heartbreak without having to contend with an unfilial sister. And so: she agrees to go before he needs to brook a real argument.

If nothing else, she has learned how to better pick her battles. Perhaps, when her mourning is done and her clan finds her another suitable match to wed, he will be amenable to starting their lives together here instead. If he is not— well. He will learn how to better pick his battles, too. She is a good teacher now; as a wife she will only be better.

Sui Zhou impresses his desire to help them however he can with an insistence that neither she nor her brother can rebuke. As if it is simply not enough that he has saved her life and spared her another funeral, he must treat her decently, too, more than his any call or need to. He is a kind man, or at least he tries to be, and that is something that matters more than she thinks he knows, and more still than she believes she will ever find the words to be able to tell him.

Still, Yu Xiulian does find herself more than a little glad that their engagement has been put to bed. If she had to share a house with Tang Fan, she does not think either of them would make it to the week's end. As it stands, the promise of that distance has refined his company from merely politely palatable to something entertainingly enjoyable — after all, she can simply leave him to his devices whenever she wants, and he returns to being someone else's problem.

It is undoubtedly Tang Fan that she can hear despite still being some streets away from the Sui siheyuan. His words may not be carrying over the bustle of the crowd carrying about business at the peak of the day, but his volume is suffering no such setbacks. He does not seem truly hassled, whatever it is that he may actually be shouting, so Yu Xiulian does not quicken her pace. Drawing closer only proves her right in her presumption: Tang Fan's words themselves are certainly some fluster of furious, but the point of them is being swung as if to cut at something — someone — familiar.

Whatever the disagreement might be, it has simmered by the time she can lay eyes on the gate. She sees the red of Tang Fan's cheeks, really, before anything else; the wet glint in his dark eyes. The little ball of his fists in his skirts. The source of his consternation has his back to her, but she does not recognise him even as Tang Fan shoos him, and he starts to turn.

There must be something about the sun, here, and the way it dangles, overhead, in the bright of day: the beam catches on the man as he approaches her, limning his strong jaw, haloing the tousle of his hair, gathered in a loose bun. It had charmed her to Sui Zhou's best features, too, when she had first met him here, in this same spot, almost exact to the step.

"xiao Guniang," the man says as he passes, dipping his chin, and then he is gone.

Yu Xiulian's heart is in such a flutter that she thinks it might break free of the cage of her chest and take flight at any moment. She's all but breathless by the time she reaches the gate, red-faced and lightheaded, as though she's been running her way through the capital instead of touring it at her own leisurely pace.

"You're here," is how Tang Fan greets her, already distracted. "Sui Zhou is not home, you know." He brushes his hands down his own skirts as he speaks, righting some imagined disorder to them that has been wrought by his verbal affray.

"Yes," Yu Xiulian says. She does know; that is why she is here now, to be early. But— "Tang da-ge," she presses, trying to reel him back for a final snatch of constructive conversation before he sets off into the wilderness of his own head again, "who was that handsome gentleman?"

"So familiar." Tang Fan's preening at her address persists as far as them both toeing over the threshold before the smug smile falls flat from his face. Then, "Wait," he starts, craning so far to toss a look over his shoulder that he ends up twisting himself around in a circle. "What— what handsome gentleman?"

"The one you just quarrelled with," she prompts him, only barely managing to compose the necessitated patience. Who else could she possibly mean?

Tang Fan's expression does something truly curious, at that, by proceeding to crumple in on itself as though he has just sucked something especially sour onto his tongue. "What," he splutters, and, "no," and, "he's not a gentleman," which doesn't answer her question, and, "never mind him," which only convinces her to commit to doing quite the opposite.

He shepherds her to the dining hall and seats her at the table, then proceeds to steep her some of the worst tea she's ever tasted. If he hadn't then poured his own cup and shocked himself with a sip of it, Yu Xiulian would have taken it as pointed. She manages to remain polite while drinking little of it, and chatting even less, giving room to Tang Fan to fill the space between them until Sui Zhou returns home.

Sui Zhou needs only to spy the teapot between them before he is taking it by the handle and carrying it out into the courtyard with little more than a hello. He remembers his greetings only after he has poured it out onto the cobblestone and returned to the dining hall to be bickered at by Tang Fan for the waste of it all, his lack of manners.

Yes, Yu Xiulian finds herself more than a little glad that they are no longer to be engaged to wed. But she finds herself gladder still that Sui Zhou has come into a lively house of his own accord, one that clearly suits his comforts.

Tang Fan, for all his nosiness, does not linger long. He follows them to the kitchen only as far as to help Sui Zhou tie his sleeves back, and then he is gone, leaving them both unchaperoned.

"It will not take long," says Sui Zhou as he begins to thinly slice the pared radishes. It is not a real attempt to herd her off after Tang Fan's trail, and so she does not acknowledge it as having any power to move her.

She has always liked to watch people cook. She could not count if she tried the sum of all her days and nights spent pulled up close to a bench like this, chin propped up on the fold of her arms. Most of these memories are with Zhang Degui, and so hurt deeply to press on, but there is good to be found in them yet, and so she will not forsake them now.

But she is not here with him only to reminisce, to mend over old memories with new — she has an investigation to do. Ergo: "Tang da-ge fought with a man today," she says, after a wait of a while. She does have to raise her voice, just slightly, to be heard over the sizzle of oil as it is sloshed into the wok. "I could hear him from the street over."

The corner of Sui Zhou's mouth twitches against a smile. "What was his quarrel?" he asks her, without any hint or inflection of surprise.

"I didn't hear that," Yu Xiulian admits, "and he wouldn't tell me himself."

"Ah." Sui Zhou does not sound terribly surprised about that, either. He dollops some stripped cabbage into the wok, then begins to toss the radish through after it, brow furrowing faintly in concentration. "What did he look like?"

"Oh." Yu Xiulian hopes she smoothes over her startle well with a clearing of her throat, fingernails rapping against the wood underhand. "I did not get a good look at him, either," she answers. It's a poor lie, but, well, the alternative is to be honest that she got a very good look at him indeed — at least as far as his dark eyes and full mouth. "I'm sorry," she amends, "I was unhelpful."

"You narrowed it somewhat," Sui Zhou assures her. "It does not sound like it was one of the stallkeepers, at least."

Yu Xiulian's laugh glisses out of her, its strum unmusical. "He quarrels with the stallkeepers?"

The slow dawn of Sui Zhou's smile, which has so far only been warming his voice, finally breaks open on his lips proper. "There is barely a man or woman in Ming he doesn't quarrel with, given the opportunity of meeting them."

Dinner is a small affair, one that does not feel like farewell. After, when the dishes are being cleared away, she bids off for the night, and Dong'er tells Sui Zhou to walk with her home as if it was not already foregone. Yu Xiulian knows her welcome is not one that can be overstayed, here, not to any of them, not anymore. But she knows just as much, and just as well, that all walls in the capital can be prised for gossip. About this, them— people would talk. People have talked. Sui Zhou may care little for his reputation these days, and Yu Xiulian may have little reputation left to care for, but that is no standing reason to leave mutton out for the wolves to make a meal of.

"Will I have an escort?" she asks at last, when they have strolled deep enough into the night that the moment can be theirs, but they are not so close to the monastery that the conversation may be cut short.

Banditry has been spating the roads of late, she's heard, and though she can fend for herself, a woman travelling alone poses a tempting target even in the peacetime. But she cannot expect Sui Zhou to come with her, nor can she ask him to send any of his men. What remains of her inheritance is little more than some of her mother's jewellery, worth more in sentiment than in taels, but she could pawn some to tender the services of one of the biaoju in the capital.

Sui Zhou has done more than enough for her family; he should be thinking forward to the family that will be his own. Even if there is to be no wife for him any year soon, Dong'er is of an age, now, where he should be putting away for her eventual dowry, if he hasn't already.

"Your driver," Sui Zhou answers her, with so short a pause that she almost does not hear him over her thoughts. "I trust him," he adds.

"Who is he?"

Sui Zhou takes his moment with this, brow creasing in thought. "A friend," is what he decides on. The sincerity of the admission seems to have unguarded him.

"Then I trust him," Yu Xiulian says, needing no such deliberation to decide it. If her saviour trusts him with her life, then how could she ever doubt her safety?

In the morning, after she has taken breakfast, she stays seated at the table, with her brother's hands between her own, and she waits with him until she is late to go. She knows when the carriage has come, for how the commotion of its arrival ripples through the monastery, but she does not rise until one of the xiao shami comes to find her.

She is not sure what she should have been expecting to be greeted with, even with the due warning of the bicker-edged murmuring carrying through the gate, but she doubts she could have ever imagined it would be the handsome gentleman. He is locked again in some quarrel with Tang Fan, the embers of which are snuffed with a shush as Tang Fan spies her approach.

Sui Zhou, for his part, has wisely taken to the sidelines, arms furled across his chest. He does not break the silence of his bystanding by offering her more than a nod in greeting. This, though, to Yu Xiulian's immediate detriment, draws the eye of the handsome gentleman.

"Yu-guniang, then," he observes, glancing her over. Yu Xiulian is used to being appraised by men on the street, but this instance of it doesn't make her skin creep in irritation.

"The same." She bows to be polite, glad her voice sounds steadier than she feels, at least as far as on her feet. "You are…? We haven't been introduced." She's sure she would remember if they had.

He claps his palm over his closed fist. "Jin San."

Jin San — it suits him, she thinks, pressing her lips together to stifle her smile.

"You should move on," Sui Zhou speaks up, "if you want to make the town before nightfall."

Yu Xiulian shuffles a few steps forward, ushered, and Jin San holds out his hand. She is perfectly capable of climbing into the carriage herself, of course, and perfectly incapable of not reaching out to clasp blindly at his palm. His grip is strong, firm, like he could lift her for himself with very little effort. The thought of that sends her stumbling over her own feet the last few steps up into the carriage, and down into her seat behind the curtain with a heavy gracelessness.

"Jin San," she hears Tang Fan say, "do be careful." It takes from her quite the undue restraint to stop herself from scrambling to the window and cracking the curtain to peek out at them all.

"Tang-daren," says Jin San, a note of amusement lightening his voice, "I always take care of my girls."

Yu Xiulian's cheeks light up, flaring hot. It's so— he sounds just like one of the leading men penned in Hard Illusion, or Red Blossom, or In Her Boudoir, or, or any one of the other spring books she used to leaf through under the covers of darkness and many, many stifling blankets. It's tawdry and bawdy and utterly exhilarating.

"Jin San!" Tang Fan hisses.

"Daren," says Jin San. "It's a safe journey. I'll see you again at month's end."

Yu Xiulian leans back at the sound of boots scuffing the dirt, brushing her hands down her skirts. The wood creaks as Jin San climbs up, the shade of his silhouette drifting past the curtain. She is not expecting him to open it, and so she is afforded little more warning than the curl of his fingers between the fabric and the panneling before it is pulled aside and they are again eye-to-eye.

"Ready?" Jin San asks her.

She tries to say something, but feels her voice crack immediately in her mouth, only barely managing to smooth it over with a reedy hum, nodding quickly.

Jin San cocks his brow, slow. He pauses with it for a heavy, awkward moment before he straightens back up, letting the curtain fall back into place without another word.

Ah, well. They may not be off to the best start, but they have many days on the road ahead to spend together. That's more than enough time for Yu Xiulian to make a far better impression.