Blessed are those born in June; cursed are those who die in June. June was always a month of life and death.
For now, Qian Jiaoniang continued to keep watch over the little courtyard—to prevent the marquis from dying of heat, and also to stop Ah Da and the others from getting beaten to death by him. Every day, she helped Xing Muzheng eat, bathe, and wash. In her spare time, she practiced calligraphy, did embroidery, taught her son, and always stayed prepared for one of the marquis’s sudden violent episodes. When she didn’t think too deeply about it, it wasn’t so bad.
It had been over a month since Li Qingquan had sent someone to find an expert in Western Li sorcery. In that time, he’d brought back an imperial physician who’d returned to his hometown, and a revered monk from a famed temple. Qian Jiaoniang had claimed to be the marquis’s aunt and that the patient was her husband. Both the physician and the monk did their utmost—but in the end, they could only shake their heads and sigh.
“The Western Li tribe originated from the Chishui clan. Their leader, Chilei, unified six tribes and founded the Western Li Kingdom, with Kaka as its capital. The six vassal tribes included the Xie, Qiang, Hachi, Mukong, He, and Dongli…” That day, Qingya was once again reading from the leather-bound booklet to Qian Jiaoniang. The booklet had been hidden inside the mechanism box Xing Pingchun had opened. It contained exhaustive records of the Western Li Kingdom—population, cities, terrain, customs, and habits. Likely, even the Western Li themselves didn’t have such a thorough document. Jiaoniang had already made Qingya read it twice; this was her third time.
After reading for a while, Qingya’s mouth went dry, and she took a sip of water. “Jiaoniang, what exactly are you hoping to find in here?”
Qian Jiaoniang, practicing the character fine, replied, “If I knew, would I make you read it so many times?”
“Then why are you having me read it? Sure, the content is detailed, but there’s nothing about sorcery in here. Those mystical things are usually passed down orally, maybe to just one or two people.”
This document might be useful in warfare, but not for their current dilemma.
“I know,” Qian Jiaoniang said as she dipped her brush into ink.
Ding Zhang came to report last month’s expenses. He had drawn up a separate list—all of it items requested by Miss Feng: blood bird’s nest, ginseng, superior donkey-hide gelatin—nothing was left out, and every day without fail. Qingya was dumbfounded. “Miss Feng didn’t get nosebleeds from all that? Even a Buddha couldn’t handle that much tonic!”
“Miss Feng says her body is weak and deficient. This was prescribed by X Momo.”
Qian Jiaoniang calmly continued her brushwork, not even looking up. “Let her eat what she wants. The marquis can afford it.”
Ding Zhang acknowledged and withdrew. Qingya tossed the list onto the table. “And the sixteen thousand taels of silver? You’re just going to ignore that?”
Qian Jiaoniang and Qingya had the bookkeeper brought over and asked for a detailed account. They rechecked the expenses from the last two months. Though costs had indeed risen due to the marquis’s illness, only four thousand taels were accounted for. The remaining sixteen thousand—Miss Feng had taken. She claimed it was to help her family buy farmland, taking nine thousand in silver notes over two withdrawals. The bookkeeper said she’d signed on the loan slip, but somehow, both the slip and the ledger had gone missing. He swore to the heavens he wasn’t lying.
Only the steward and Feng Yuyan had the key to the storeroom. The bookkeeper only kept records and didn’t seem the type to lie. Qian Jiaoniang thought, if it were Zhou Mu’s doing, he wouldn’t have asked her to save the marquis—he would’ve taken the chance to flee. Later, when she interrogated Zhou Mu again, he confessed everything. He was worried that Feng Yuyan would take the silver and run, which was why he begged for her help.
Feng Yuyan, meanwhile, took the silver notes and didn’t so much as ask about Xing Muzheng. The more Qian Jiaoniang thought about it, the more fearful she became. She’d assumed the woman feared the marquis’s madness—but maybe… maybe it was something else entirely…
“Of course I’ll deal with it—but I need to wait for the right opportunity.” Li Qingquan, deeply concerned about the future of his lord’s bloodline, had already assigned two soldiers to serve as attendants for Chou’er, and even stationed guards at Feng Yuyan’s courtyard gate. Fair enough. Qian Jiaoniang worried that if she went over now to question Feng Yuyan about the missing silver, that frail and delicate young lady might just roll her eyes and faint—and then Lord Li would come storming to her door again.
She asked, “Did you get the thing I asked you to find?”
“Barely managed to find one.”
“Well then…”
As she spoke, Dingxi Marquis, seated in a rocking chair, let out an “ah” sound. Qian Jiaoniang, who was practicing calligraphy mid-conversation, immediately set down her brush, walked over, and touched his forehead. It was slightly damp with sweat. She pulled out a handkerchief to wipe it dry, then touched his back—no sweat there.
The Marquis gave a goofy grin again. Qian Jiaoniang said, “Just a little sweat and you’re crying out? You’re getting more delicate by the day!”
Xing Muzheng looked at Qian Jiaoniang. This woman—she might grumble, but the moment he felt unwell, she always knew immediately.
Qingya quietly observed them, her beautiful eyes fixed on the pair: the husband smiling gently, the dutiful wife tending to him at his side. If one didn’t look too closely, they really did resemble a loving couple.
Qian Jiaoniang returned to her desk and resumed her calligraphy. Qingya slowly spoke: “You’re really not angry?”
Qian Jiaoniang picked up her brush again. “Angry about what?”
“Feng Yuyan’s pregnancy.”
Qian Jiaoniang’s brush paused mid-stroke. She scraped off some ink and asked, “Why would I be angry? Angry over what?”
Qingya said nothing, simply pointed toward Xing Muzheng.
Qian Jiaoniang glanced in the direction of her finger, then chuckled. “Why are we bringing this up again?”
Qingya replied, “Jiaoniang, don’t try to fool me. Dingxi Marquis never pays you any attention, but you’re still so kind to him. I don’t believe you don’t have feelings for him.”
Qian Jiaoniang spoke slowly, her tone calm. She dipped her wrist gently and added a final dot to her character. “Then you’re quite mistaken. As a husband, the Marquis isn’t someone I’d choose.”
Xing Muzheng thought: Not only do I not like her, she doesn’t even like me either. Perfect—just perfect. He held a high position, had great wealth, and countless noble families fought to send their precious daughters to be his concubines. Why wouldn’t she like him?
“What do you mean by that?”
“I can’t stand men who eat from one bowl while eyeing the pot—can’t keep their stick in just one hole.”
Qingya’s face flushed crimson. “Jiaoniang! You really have a way with words!”
Qian Jiaoniang curled her lip. “It’s the truth. Crude words, maybe, but not a lie. These wealthy men are always so lecherous, with their talk of ‘official wives’, ‘honored concubines’, ‘lowly concubines’—in the end, it’s all just a way to ruin a woman’s life. Pah!”
“So you think it’s not right either?” Qingya murmured.
“Of course not! I really regret it now.” Qian Jiaoniang set her brush down. “Back in the village, Tieniu was so good to me. He’d make me flower crowns from wildflowers he picked, sneak me sweet potatoes from his house. When my parents tried to sell me off, Tieniu was so furious he cried and begged me to elope with him. I was so foolish back then and said no. Looking back now, if I’d run off with Tieniu, who knows how peaceful my life might’ve been.”
She didn’t want to be his wife, but was willing to run off with “Tieniu”? Xing Muzheng didn’t want to admit it, but he was losing out to a peasant. Unless—unless Jiaoniang had long since loved that Tieniu deeply but never realized it herself? And now, even as his wife, she dared to dream about another man. She must be out of her mind. If I don’t kill that Tieniu, how will she ever understand my methods!
A murderous rage suddenly flared up in Xing Muzheng like lightning. This is bad, he thought. The ghost within him had already flown into a frenzy—it kicked over the wooden table with a loud crash. Before Qian Jiaoniang could react, everything went dark. Her body was thrown into the air and slammed hard against the foot of the bed. Her head hit the bedpost with a thud, and she collapsed to the floor. After a low groan, she fell silent.
