Chapter 451: When Li Shu Meets Second Miss Yan
Torrential rain drenches Youyan;
white waves surge to the heavens.
Beyond Qinhuangdao, fishing boats vanish—
a boundless ocean swallows all in sight.
To whose shore can one steer?
A thousand years of the past roll by.
Wei Wu cracked his whip;
facing Jieshi to the east, he left immortal lines behind.
The bleak autumn wind returns today—
yet the world has been remade.
Only by standing before the vast, heaving sea—watching sky-high waves slam against the reefs, listening to the thunder of the surf like the bellowing of a colossal beast—can one truly grasp the heroic passion coursing through the Founding Emperor’s “Langtaosha · Beidaihe.” The ocean is truly a tonic for the spirit: stand at its edge and gaze upon the endless blue, and an unbidden grandeur rises in the chest, a boldness that seems to embrace the whole world.
As Zhu Ping’an stared out at the sea, his thoughts drifting with the tides, Li Shu and the little maid Baozi had also wandered over to the shoreline, peering at the ocean with bright curiosity.
“Miss,” Baozi asked, “didn’t you say last night that the sea is boundless? Then why are we standing right at its edge now?”
Standing by the water, Baozi did not look toward the far, limitless horizon. Instead, she frowned down at the shoreline beneath her feet, where the waves retreated and surged again and again. Her round, bun-like face twisted with confusion as she voiced the question.
Hearing this, Li Shu withdrew her gaze from the faraway sea and shot Baozi a look, half exasperated, as if regarding a piece of rotten wood. “Silly girl. ‘Boundless’ means you can’t see the end at a glance—not that the sea has no edge at all.”
“But ‘boundless’ means no edge,” Baozi muttered under her breath, stubbornly.
Li Shu turned her head and glanced at Baozi and the little maid instantly shrank her neck and fell silent, like a tiny mouse spotted by a cat. The picture of cowardly surrender was so exaggerated it was almost adorable.
Today was the day of departure for the long voyage. Yet the people of antiquity were deeply superstitious: they insisted on setting sail at noon, claiming that at midday the yang energy was strongest, all six evils were dispelled, and only by launching then could one ensure smooth sailing and fair winds on the open sea.
As early as yesterday, Zhu Ping’an had traveled with Li Shu and the others by pleasure boat from the capital, following the Grand Canal all the way to Tianjin. Marquis Linhuai, Li Tingzhu, had sent men to receive them at the Tianjin harbor. After resting there overnight, Zhu Ping’an and his party took carriages to the seashore at dawn.
At this moment, Marquis Linhuai Li Tingzhu was at the dock with several local officials, conducting rites to appease the sea—another set of feudal superstitions, though at heart it was probably more about soothing their own nerves. A ceremonial altar had been erected with organized manpower. Daoist priests were invited from mountain temples nearby. Several slaughtered pigs—white, plump, and enormous—had been bound with bright red silk flowers. Chickens, ducks, cattle, and sheep received the same treatment, all placed along the harbor, waiting to be offered to the sea once the Daoist rites were complete.
Since the Ming dynasty’s sea ban, it had been a very, very long time since such a pre-voyage sea-sacrificing ceremony had been held. The rarity drew crowds of onlookers, most treating it as a form of entertainment. Not only common folk came to watch; quite a few high officials and nobles were present as well.
The ritual itself, however, was tedious and dull. Li Shu had no fondness for such occasions, so she followed Zhu Ping’an away from the ceremony to look at the sea instead.
Aside from the sense of boundless expanse, the shoreline itself was not particularly beautiful—nothing like the modern seaside resorts meant for leisure. The stretch of coast beneath Zhu Ping’an’s feet was muddy and soggy, messy and unclean, lacking the elegance of fine sandy beaches.
There was a hint of disappointment, though it was easy to understand. Many of the fine beaches of later ages were artificially created; naturally occurring ones were mostly found in the south. Around the Bohai Sea, mudflats were far more common than sand.
Seeing that the sacrificial rites at the dock seemed to be drawing to a close, Zhu Ping’an led Li Shu and Baozi back toward the pier together.
“Is that… you?”
The dock was bustling with noise and people. Zhu Ping’an, Li Shu, and Baozi wove through the crowd, heading toward the pier to await boarding. Halfway there, a young woman’s voice rang out nearby—seven parts astonishment, three parts anger.
At the sound, Li Shu raised her head warily. Ahead, not far away, stood a gorgeously dressed young lady, surrounded by maids and elderly servants—and beside her, a beautiful married woman. All their gazes were fixed squarely on Zhu Ping’an.
Oh? They knew each other.
Seeing this, Li Shu’s cherry lips curved faintly upward. Her jet-black eyes glimmered as she stared straight at the newcomers.
Zhu Ping’an’s head began to ache the moment he saw who it was. Why was Second Miss Yan here in Tianjin Guard? After the incidents involving accidentally glimpsing her while she bathed—and that disastrous restroom episode—Zhu Ping’an had developed a genuine fear of running into her again. Last time on the Imperial Street she had hurled a shoe at him, and thinking back on the restroom affair made his scalp prickle. Weren’t her maids armed with clubs and blades at the time…? This really was a dangerous girl.
At this moment, Second Miss Yan’s cheeks were flushed red. She clenched her teeth and glared at Zhu Ping’an, her eyes filled with a mix of bashfulness, anger, and a threefold dose of hostility. Meanwhile, the married woman beside her looked Zhu Ping’an up and down with open interest.
“Oh? So this is the new top scholar my little sister keeps talking about—Zhu Ping’an, Lord Zhu?” The young, beautiful married woman covered her mouth and laughed softly. “Hehe… truly, appearances can be deceiving.”
Her words were sweet, but the meaning was sharp: dignified, handsome, jade-like elegance—none of that had anything to do with Zhu Ping’an.
She talks about me often? Zhu Ping’an thought wryly. More likely she’s been cursing me out and calling for my head.
This elegant married woman beside Second Miss Yan was most likely one of Yan Shifan’s wives or concubines. Yan Song had only one son—Yan Shifan—and one daughter, Second Miss Yan. Anyone who could call her “little sister” was far more likely to be Yan Shifan’s woman.
“And who might this lovely little sister be?” the young married woman asked, as if only now noticing Li Shu after finishing with Zhu Ping’an.
She smiled at Li Shu, a delicate smile that showed no teeth, lifting a slender jade-like hand to partly cover her lips with a handkerchief. Her bearing was refined and fluid, every inch the lady of a powerful noble household.
“And who are you, Madam?” Li Shu asked lightly.
Li Shu gave the woman a slow once-over, the corners of her mouth lifting as she posed the question in an airy tone.
That single word—Madam—instantly shattered half of the noblewoman’s carefully maintained aristocratic poise. Her lightly powdered, pretty face froze in awkward surprise, and her earlier show of dominance crumbled into nothing.
“Cough—cough,” the woman said quickly. “Little sister, don’t call me ‘Madam.’ Call me ‘Elder Sister,’ all right? Otherwise, if people hear it, they’ll think I’m terribly old.”
“Call you Elder Sister?” Li Shu blinked, looking perfectly innocent. “Wouldn’t that make me seem terribly old instead?”
Call you Elder Sister—wouldn’t that make me seem terribly old instead?
That line landed with devastating force. It was a clean, merciless KO. The forced smile on the married woman’s face could no longer hold; it stiffened and cracked on the surface, while the blow she took inside was likely even greater.