Xing Muzheng regretted speaking as soon as the words left his mouth, but hearing Qian Jiaoniang say that, he felt overjoyed. Could it be true that the crying child gets the milk? Was he actually going to get a thank-you gift—and a big one at that?
Because of it, Xing Muzheng barely slept that night. At dawn, he drilled Xing Pingchun in martial arts, then conveniently had breakfast with Qian Jiaoniang. Each time she stood up or turned away, he thought she was about to fetch the gift. Based on his deduction, her gift was likely something she had embroidered herself. Since it was a “big gift,” it couldn’t be just a sachet or purse—most likely a cloak, perhaps even a robe she personally stitched. She probably hadn’t finished yet, which was why she’d wait until today to present it.
Xing Muzheng had received countless gifts, but never with such anticipation. Qian Jiaoniang had made Xing Pingchun many garments—inner and outer robes, trousers, shoes, socks. Though he never said it aloud, whenever the boy proudly displayed them before him, saying, “Mother made this, Mother made that,” he couldn’t help feeling a little sour. Now he was finally going to have something of his own—it was some comfort.
But after they finished breakfast and sat for a while, Qian Jiaoniang still showed no sign. Xing Muzheng thought perhaps it wasn’t ready, and he couldn’t very well have her work on it while he was sitting there. Thinking this, he excused himself and left. Back in the main residence, Li Qingquan came to ask whether to ready the horse. But Xing Muzheng said he would rest at home today.
Li Qingquan was taken aback—just yesterday, when he returned, the Commander had clearly said he was going to personally visit Minister Hang today. Why the sudden change of plans? Thinking it over, Li Qingquan figured it could only be because of the Madam in the east wing.
Li Qingquan really couldn’t figure it out—no matter how you looked at her, the Madam wasn’t some peerless beauty, so how had she become a femme fatale? His thoughts were tangled, but Xing Muzheng paid him no mind.
Xing Muzheng went straight back to his room. He sat reading for a while, but after half a day had not turned a single page. Tossing the book aside, he ground ink and began practicing calligraphy. When he finally came back to himself, he saw that the sheet before him was covered with the character “gift” in various sizes and styles. Shaking his head with a wry smile, he crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it into the basket.
Just then, Hongjuan came in, saying she had orders from the Madam to invite him to the east wing. Xing Muzheng’s voice floated out coolly: “I know. Tell the Madam I’ll be there shortly.”
Hongjuan acknowledged softly and left. Inside, Xing Muzheng immediately set down his brush, went to the bronze mirror to straighten his clothes and hat, and turned to leave—but stopped before the screen. Wouldn’t going right away make him look too eager? Better to wait a bit. So he sat back down, wrote two more characters, and only then headed out.
Before he even reached the east wing, the sound of zither music curled through the air. Sharp-eared as he was, Xing Muzheng could tell this wasn’t being played by Yanluo. His heart gave a sudden leap—could it be that Jiaoniang had learned the zither and was going to play for him? Quickening his pace, he didn’t wait for the maid to lift the curtain but pushed it aside himself, striding in. When he reached the warm pavilion, he rounded the screen in long steps, the smile in his dark eyes deepening—only for it to freeze the instant he saw who was seated at the zither.
It was not Qian Jiaoniang, but a delicate, refined young lady. Seeing a man burst in without warning, the young lady stopped playing at once, stood, and raised her fan to cover her face. Her maid stepped protectively in front of her.
Qian Jiaoniang glanced back, quickly soothing her: “Miss Zhao, don’t be afraid, it’s the Marquis.” Then to Xing Muzheng she said, “The Marquis comes over without even letting anyone announce it, and now you’ve frightened my guest.”
Xing Muzheng withdrew his gaze. “…It was presumptuous of me.”
When the young lady heard it was Dingxi Marquis, she told her maid to step aside, came forward, and curtsied. “This humble woman is Zhao Yaoqian, daughter of Zhao Shiceng, Prefect of Tongan Prefecture. Greetings to the Marquis.”
Xing Muzheng hadn’t thought much at first, but when he heard her name, his expression changed. “You’re the prefect’s daughter?”
“I am,” Zhao Yaoqian said, lifting her head to meet his eyes before lowering it again.
Xing Muzheng’s brows softened, and his voice grew gentle. “I have never met your father, but I deeply admire his conduct. He was a truly worthy prefect, a great hero.”
Prefect Zhao Shiceng of Tongan had resisted the Xili invasion, holding the city gates with the soldiers until not a single man remained. Unable to wait for reinforcements, he had died a heroic death.
Hearing mention of her late father, Zhao Yaoqian’s eyes grew moist. She choked out, “If my father’s spirit in heaven could hear the Marquis’ words, he would surely be comforted. Thank you, Marquis, for fulfilling my father’s last wish—protecting the rivers and mountains of Great Xie—so that I may offer him sacrifices in peace.”
With that, she knelt deeply.
“Miss Zhao, there’s no need for such formality.” Xing Muzheng motioned for those nearby to help the petite young lady up.
Qian Jiaoniang stood to the side, her expression unreadable. She invited Miss Zhao to sit, then gave up her own place for Xing Muzheng. But he did not sit. “Since you’ve invited Miss Zhao as a guest, if I stay here I might make her feel constrained.”
Zhao Yaoqian quickly rose and shook her head in graceful refusal.
Xing Muzheng invited her to sit again, then drew Qian Jiaoniang aside and said in a low voice, “I respect Zhao Shiceng as a true man. Ask Miss Zhao if she has any difficulties. If her livelihood is tight, give her some gold and silver to keep by her.”
Qian Jiaoniang also lowered her voice. “Why should I be the one to give it? Let me add some firewood to your flame instead.” Then she raised her voice and said, “Miss Zhao, I’ve long heard you’re one of the three great talented women. Our Marquis has always admired your talent. Why, just yesterday he was telling me your lyrics are excellent. Would you honor him by playing and singing one?”
Xing Muzheng was caught off guard.
Zhao Yaoqian rose again. “Being called a talented woman is just an empty name. If the Marquis praises my lyrics, that is my honor. I would be glad to play and sing for the Marquis.”
Qian Jiaoniang clapped her hands happily, and while Zhao Yaoqian went to prepare, she beamed at Xing Muzheng and murmured, “Well, Marquis, what do you think of this thank-you gift I’ve given you?”
“Thank-you gift?” Xing Muzheng’s gaze grew deep. He stared straight at her and asked hoarsely, “What thank-you gift?”
Glancing toward Zhao Yaoqian, Qian Jiaoniang pulled Xing Muzheng into the outer room. “Has the Marquis already forgotten? Yesterday I said you were my greatest benefactor, so I prepared a grand gift for you. Miss Zhao here is that gift! She’s talented and beautiful, from a family of loyal martyrs, perfectly matched with the Marquis. It’s simply… that phrase—yes—‘a match made in heaven’!” That’s how the storybooks put it: a gifted scholar and a fair lady, a match made in heaven.
If, before coming, Xing Muzheng’s blood had been running hot, now it turned ice cold.
He had never imagined that the “grand gift” Jiaoniang promised him would be playing matchmaker between him and another woman.
A casual jest once made—he never thought she would take it seriously. Looking into her eyes, full of innocence and good intentions, Xing Muzheng felt as though he had bitten down on a gallbladder—nothing but bitter, bitter, bitter.
Qian Jiaoniang fell silent too, because the moment she met his dark eyes, it was as if all light in them had gone out, as if they were filled with deep disappointment.
“Marquis?” After a moment, she asked cautiously, “You’re… not satisfied with such a grand gift?”
“…What do you think?” Xing Muzheng swallowed the bitterness and asked her.
Qian Jiaoniang scratched her cheek in embarrassment. “I truly thought I was being most sincere. Don’t you like talented women? Miss Zhao is a great talent—and I’ve already inquired for you: she’s unmarried. She came to Yongan this time for the palace selection, but Qingya says if the Marquis goes to the Zhao family with a betrothal before then and marries her into the household, she won’t enter the palace.”
“Marry?” She used the word marry? She was setting up Miss Zhao to be his wife—then what about herself?
“Yes! I find Miss Zhao to be very gentle and virtuous. I was just chatting with her—soft-spoken, proper in her words. Such a fine young lady! The Marquis mustn’t miss such a good match.” Qian Jiaoniang smiled as she urged the match.
Each word was like a blade chopping into Xing Muzheng’s heart. For a wife to urge her husband to marry another virtuous lady—once, he might have thought it proof of her magnanimity. But now Xing Muzheng understood: Jiaoniang had already become utterly indifferent to him.
Is this retribution? That day he had her meet Feng Yuyan, and today she was letting him meet Zhao Yaoqian.
