These past two days, Xing Pingchun had been listless, but after having a hearty lunch at noon, he was full of energy in the afternoon, riding his little black horse with great spirit.
Qian Jiaoniang stayed in the carriage with Granny Zhou, worried the old woman might feel uneasy and afraid being so far away from home. Granny Zhou was indeed a little hesitant, but what weighed on her mind was something else. Stammering a bit, she told Qian Jiaoniang: her granddaughter, Zhou Cuilian, was married in Jiang County, where they were headed. Ever since her marriage, Granny Zhou had never seen her again, and had no idea how she was faring.
All along the way, Granny Zhou nearly praised this granddaughter into a flower, saying she was quick and capable in her work, skilled at everything, eloquent and lively in speech—anyone who married her would bring blessings to their household. Qian Jiaoniang promised to accompany her to have a look, and Granny Zhou instantly grew as happy as a little child.
Before the night curfew, a party of travelers arrived in Jiang County. As soon as they entered the county, Granny Zhou craned her neck to peer outside, as if she could see her granddaughter right from the road. But the night was already deep, and she knew she’d have to wait until the next day to visit her in-laws’ house.
That night, they stopped at an inn, had dinner, and only then did Qian Jiaoniang have a moment to go visit Zhao Yaoqian. Compared with when they had met Miss Zhao in Yongan, she was much thinner now—likely from having been truly ill not long ago. Yet she had chosen to press on with the journey rather than delay it, clearly a stubborn young woman who disliked troubling others. Qian Jiaoniang said, “I had so many matters to handle earlier that I didn’t even realize Miss Zhao was traveling with us. Otherwise, I would never have let a guest fall ill. The Marquis is good in his way, but he’s ultimately a rough man—if you don’t tell him you’re unwell, he won’t know. If there are things you’d rather not say to him, you can just tell me instead.”
Zhao Yaoqian replied, “If madam doesn’t mind, please just call me Yaoqian. Yaoqian thanks you first, but I am already shameless enough to trouble the Marquis and Madam to rescue me from my predicament. Such a great kindness—how could I ever repay it? How would I dare trouble you further?”
Qian Jiaoniang laughed. “You’re being too polite. Since we’re traveling together, we’re like family—it’s only right to look out for each other. Look how thin you’ve gotten in just these two days; tomorrow, eat more to build yourself up. Are you warm enough at night? Do you need extra bedding? Do you have enough clothes?”
“It’s enough, more than enough. Madam needn’t worry over me,” Zhao Yaoqian said, rising to give a polite bow.
Qian Jiaoniang waved a hand and stood as well. “Why so formal? Well then, if you need anything, just tell me. You’ve met Yanluo before—if you can’t find me, telling her is the same.”
Zhao Yaoqian bowed again in thanks. Qian Jiaoniang smiled and took her leave. Yaoqian hurried to escort her to the door, and only after Qian Jiaoniang left did Yaoqian’s maid whisper, “Miss, when the Marchioness said you were all one family, did she mean… she’s hinting you should marry into the Marquis’s household?”
Zhao Yaoqian shook her head, went back inside, told the maid to snuff the candle, and lay down. She lay there for a while in thought.
Qian Jiaoniang returned to the Tianzi No. 1 room. Hongjuan and Suier were changing out the inn’s bedding, and Xing Muzheng sat at the table reading. Seeing her come in, he set the book down. “Where did you go?”
A question he already knew the answer to. Qian Jiaoniang smiled. “I went to see Miss Zhao.”
Xing Muzheng did indeed know—he just wanted an excuse to talk. “What did you see her for?”
“She’s traveling with us, so naturally she’s a guest. I went to see if she’s recovered from her illness—we can’t neglect an important guest.”
When he heard her say “with us,” the hardness in his expression softened, and his voice gentled. “Mm. You decide.” After a pause, he added, “What she needs most right now is a marriage match. Best if it were Wang Yong’s eldest son.”
Qian Jiaoniang looked at him with a half-smile and said nothing. She took out her embroidery basket, sat down opposite him, and said, “You should sleep first, Marquis. I’ll finish this shoe sole before I sleep.”
“For whom?” he asked.
She looked up at him. “For Chou’er.”
“Oh…” Xing Muzheng nodded slowly, saying nothing more—just watching her.
Qian Jiaoniang’s lips curved faintly, but she didn’t try to guess at the meaning of his “oh.” She lowered her head and stitched at the half-finished shoe sole. She thought she heard him give a faint “hmph.”
Xing Muzheng didn’t go to bed either, picking up his book again. After a while, he said, “Hire a few more embroiderers tomorrow.”
She made a soft sound of agreement without looking up.
Silence fell again. Xing Muzheng found himself missing the days when she would chatter away while stitching, back when he was poisoned. After some time, he forced out a question. “Did you practice your calligraphy today?”
Qian Jiaoniang tightened her thread, glanced at him, and said, “This morning I had Yanluo teach me a few characters, but I haven’t practiced yet. With Qingya not around, I got lazy.”
“Starting tomorrow, I’ll teach you.”
She chuckled lightly. “How would I dare trouble the Marquis? I’ll just have Yanluo watch me write.”
“You and she don’t write the same way. Don’t learn her soft, limp hand. Di Qingya’s calligraphy probably came from Hang Zhi—it still has some backbone. I’ll teach you.”
“We’ll see tomorrow,” she said. “It’s not like I’m aiming to be a top scholar… Oh, right, Chou’er’s writing seems to have improved.”
Xing Muzheng shook his head. “Still far off. Mr. Cao will need to teach him more carefully. We couldn’t get the master mechanic this time—he says he’ll try again after the new year.”
Ah, she’d forgotten about that. “Couldn’t get him? How’s that possible?”
“He’s used to the life of a hermit, unwilling to come down from the mountains. Whether it works out or not will depend on Chou’er’s own fate.”
Qian Jiaoniang nodded thoughtfully, then bent her head over her work again. They sat like that for some time—one reading, one stitching—talking now and then. When she finished half the shoe sole, she yawned, tossed it into the basket, stood, and said, “I’m sleepy. I’m going to bed. Marquis, aren’t you sleeping yet?”
Without looking up, Xing Muzheng said, “Mm. In a bit.”
So she left him to it, undressed, and got into bed. Before long, he blew out the candle, slowly took off his outer robe, and got in beside her. She couldn’t remember how she’d fallen asleep the night before, so she tried to lie straight toward the inside, even her feet pointing in. But as soon as he’d pulled the quilt over them, he wrapped his arms around her, pressed his face to hers, and kissed her—nipping and sucking for quite a while—before, as he had the previous night, holding her and patting her to sleep. Breath quickening, Qian Jiaoniang thought him strange. She dared not say more and closed her eyes to sleep.
Xing Muzheng listened as her breathing slowed into sleep, still quietly wrestling with the restlessness churning in him. Only after a long time did he hold her tightly and drift off himself.
In the middle of the night, he suddenly woke. The cold had woken him—just as it had the night before. At some point, two icy little hands had slipped under the covers to his stomach, pressing against his skin for warmth. Even after all this time asleep, her hands and feet were still freezing; she must have taken his stomach for a brazier. He didn’t mind the cold, but the way she kept groping about… that was another matter. Xing Muzheng silently inhaled, exhaled, then shifted her into a more comfortable position, clasped her hands in his to warm them, and, in the middle of this vexing tenderness, finally fell asleep again.
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