Chapter 41
Chapter 41: The Eldest Miss’s Blue Butterfly
Lin Yu Jiao pinched the invitation from the Third Princess’s residence between her fingers and stood at the gate of her eldest sister’s Heroines Courtyard.
Her thumb rubbed the gilt pattern back and forth, pressing hard enough that the thin card nearly wrinkled.
Maid Xiang Yun dipped into a curtsy, respectful but distant. “Second Miss, you came at a bad time. Eldest Miss left early for the military camp to deliver newly made autumn clothes to the master.”
“Military camp.”
Just those words made Lin Yu Jiao press her handkerchief tight over her mouth and nose.
In her mind, the camp rose up at once—rough leather, rusted metal, and men’s sweat mixing into a thick, choking stink.
Too strong.
She could almost see soldiers drilling bare-chested under the harsh sun, heat steaming off their bodies, sweat sliding down skin—memory piercing straight through her like a spear.
When she was twelve, Eldest Sister had dragged her out of the embroidery tower and forced her to deliver mung bean soup to the camp once.
She’d come back with sand caked in the hem of her new skirt and the smell of rust woven into her hair. It had taken three rounds of well water and half a bottle of osmanthus hair oil to bury it.
A nightmare she never wanted to revisit.
“Second Miss?” Xiang Yun prompted, pulling her back. “Would you like to leave a message for Eldest Miss?”
Lin Yu Jiao shook her head irritably and turned to go.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught the heavy weapon rack beneath the corridor. A red-tasseled spear rested there, its tip flashing coldly in the autumn light.
That spear had been forged when Eldest Miss came of age. Their father had hired the best craftsman in the capital and used hundred-fold refined steel.
Along the shaft, he’d personally carved six seal-script characters: Women Do Not Yield to Men.
Even now, the inscription gleamed like polished bronze.
Lin Yu Jiao suddenly remembered last year’s autumn hunt—Eldest Miss calm as still water, one arrow skewering two pheasants in mid-flight.
The Third Princess had been so shocked her gold-and-kingfisher-feather round fan had slipped right out of her hand with a loud pa, dropping to the ground.
That loss of composure was still a joke among the capital’s noble ladies.
“Go,” Lin Yu Jiao said, already walking. “Call Matron Ju.”
“And bring out the kingfisher hair set from the bottom of my trunk—the one I saved months of allowance for.”
Passing through the carved moon gate, she saw her youngest sister, Lin Yu Ning, leading a pack of little maids through the garden as they chased a bright, colorful butterfly.
At fourteen, a young miss could still run like this—skirt flying, laughter spilling, a sparrow freed from its cage.
Lin Yu Jiao instinctively smoothed her hair, neat to the last strand.
Yu Ning could afford to be wild.
But she and Eldest Miss had long since passed the age of being allowed mistakes.
Matron Ju arrived with a gilded, carved makeup case. Lin Yu Jiao stood before her expensive Western mercury mirror, testing a pair of red-gem earrings set in gold.
In the mirror’s edge, she could see the training ground outside.
Eldest Miss’s indigo riding outfit still hung on a wooden rack to dry. The cuffs were frayed, stubbornly curled like a silent protest.
“Second Miss,” Matron Ju said briskly, lifting a delicate ornament, “how about this filigree golden phoenix hairpin? It will match your lotus-root-purple dress beautifully. When you walk, the dangling beads will chime—perfect for the Third Princess’s ‘Jade Pond Spring Warmth.’”
Lin Yu Jiao was about to nod when rapid hoofbeats thundered outside the wall, drawing near.
She went to the window at once and pushed it open.
Eldest Miss had just arrived.
Lin Yu Wan swung down from a tall jujube-red horse with an ease that made the boys in the camp look clumsy. A few dry blades of grass clung to her hem. At her waist hung a lilac embroidered pouch that looked wildly out of place against her martial attire.
No need to ask. Their father must have pressed some odd treasure on her again.
“Eldest Sister!” Lin Yu Jiao called. “The Third Princess’s invitation—are you going or not?”
Lin Yu Wan loosened the saber at her waist and tossed it to the page boy waiting nearby. She lifted her eyes.
“Got it.”
Her voice was a little hoarse from running around.
“Choose the clothing patterns first. I’ll be back at dusk to try them on.”
“Why are you going out again?” Lin Yu Jiao frowned.
“A small errand,” Lin Yu Wan said lightly, wiping sweat from her forehead.
Lin Yu Jiao opened her mouth, then closed it.
She didn’t point out the smear of dust on her sister’s cheek. What would be the point?
She turned back to her reflection with a hard exhale.
“Matron Ju,” she said, voice clipped, “find the pearl comb-pins from last Qixi too. Prepare a few options.”
The weapon rack still sat in the mirror’s corner, the tassels of that red spear swaying in the wind—like the tangled knots in the hearts of sheltered daughters.
Matron Ju rummaged, then gave a small startled sound. “Ah—this old servant remembers. Last month, at Minister Su’s chrysanthemum banquet, Miss Su wore a set very similar to this kingfisher one…”
“Then use the blue-enamel set,” Lin Yu Jiao snapped, cutting her off.
Her fingers twisted her silk handkerchief until it nearly tore.
In the mirror, she caught a glimpse of Yu Ning’s round, smiling face pressed briefly to the windowsill before the girl darted away again. A butterfly silk flower trembled in her hair, so lively it looked ready to fly off.
Outside came the sound of water as Eldest Miss washed up, mixed with Yu Ning’s bell-bright voice.
“Eldest Sister, what did Father give you this time? Let me see!”
“You little greedy cat,” Lin Yu Wan replied, amused. “It’s medicinal herbs. You can’t eat it.”
Something in Lin Yu Jiao tightened.
She set the earrings down with a sharp pa, the sound harsh against the quiet room.
“Enough,” she said, forcing a cold smile at her reflection. “Today I’ll do a simple spirit-snake bun. No jewelry at all.”
Because the truth was simple:
Those noble ladies didn’t come to admire her careful choices.
And their father never noticed them.
He always saw the ragged pouch at Eldest Miss’s waist first, and the cheap silk flower in Yu Ning’s hair.
Lin Yu Jiao’s effort—her careful clothes, her measured words—was only ever background.
Lin Yu Wan wasn’t running a “small errand.”
She was meeting someone.
That someone was Lu Chen, the son of her father’s Deputy General.
At the old shop in the west of the city—the Lai Zi Tofu Pudding Shop—Lu Chen had been waiting for nearly half an hour.
He was tall and solid, with a high nose bridge. Even in ordinary combat clothes, he carried the clean, hard spirit of the army.
His skin was sun-darkened—someone used to living under open skies.
He shifted restlessly, tea already gone cold, eyes fixed on the doorway like a man afraid the world might steal a single second from him.
When Lin Yu Wan’s figure finally appeared at the mouth of the alley, his eyes lit instantly—bright, uncontrollable.
He’d been out training with the unit for half a year.
For half a year, he’d missed two things.
A bowl of sweet tofu pudding—
And the person who ate it with him.
Lin Yu Wan strode into the shop and sat across from him. Seeing his foolish grin, she couldn’t help smiling back.
“Hey!” the shop owner boomed as he approached with a teapot, delighted. “It’s you two! Same as always—one plain with mint leaves, one osmanthus with hot syrup, right? Miss, wait here. I’ll go next door to the Wang Ji Shop and grab you two freshly baked mung bean cakes!”
They exchanged a look and laughed.
“You’re really dark and ugly,” Lin Yu Wan said, lifting her cup and looking him over. “This training run must’ve been brutal. How’s your blade work?”
Lu Chen straightened at once, pride burning through his bashfulness.
“Of course it improved. My Lu family blade technique is already at the eighth level. Even my dad praised me—said I’m progressing faster than he did back then!”
“Then hurry and reach the tenth,” Lin Yu Wan said, her voice cooling into something serious. “Battlefield enemies are a hundred times fiercer than you think. Without a life-saving trump card, you’ll go to war and never come back to drink tofu pudding with me.”
Lai Zi set the bowls down. Without missing a beat, Lu Chen slid the hot osmanthus bowl toward Lin Yu Wan.
He knew she only drank it hot.
Lin Yu Wan opened her palm. “My handkerchief. Give it back. You said you’d return it when you got back.”
Lu Chen’s face went red in a heartbeat. He scratched the back of his head, eyes skittering away.
“Ah… that… I forgot to bring it.”
As he spoke, he patted his chest, where something bulged beneath his clothes.
Lin Yu Wan’s gaze paused there for a flicker.
She knew exactly what he was doing.
She simply withdrew her hand as if she’d noticed nothing, voice mild.
“Then next time. Next time you must remember.”
That handkerchief was old, worn thin by years.
She didn’t truly want it back.
It was only an excuse—one more thread to tug him into her orbit, again and again.
Lu Chen cleared his throat, flustered, and pulled a small brocade box from his sleeve. He pushed it across the table.
“This—this is for you.”
Lin Yu Wan opened it.
Her breath caught.
Inside lay a blue butterfly, preserved so perfectly it looked alive. The wings were sky-clear, edged with a fine line of gold, the patterning delicate as if drawn by a needle.
It was so thin, so fragile, it felt like it might lift into the air at any moment.
“Heavens…” Lin Yu Wan whispered, reaching without thinking.
“Don’t touch!” Lu Chen covered her hand quickly, anxious. “I saw it when I went up the mountain gathering herbs with the army medic. I begged him for ages before he agreed to preserve it with a special solution. He said it’s extremely fragile—hands will ruin it.”
Lin Yu Wan closed the lid at once, careful as prayer, and tucked the box against her chest.
They lowered their heads and tasted the tofu pudding. Osmanthus sweetness hung in the air—soft, clinging, sweeter than honey.
After a moment, Lu Chen spoke, voice low.
“I return to the unit early tomorrow.”
Lin Yu Wan’s fingers tightened on her spoon.
Lu Chen kept going, words rougher now, heavier.
“Father says the barbarians in the north have been restless lately. Training’s tightening. Maybe… it’ll be another half year before I can come back.”
Something sour rose in Lin Yu Wan’s chest.
When she lifted her eyes, her face was still calm.
“Train hard,” she said. “Come back whole.”
Then, in the same tone she used to tease him and tug him close, she added:
“And next time you return, you must give me back my handkerchief.”