The maids, long used to this, withdrew soundlessly with practiced ease.
Hang Zhi kissed her lips tenderly, then squeezed onto the couch to pillow his head beside hers. Di Qingya weakly pushed him, murmuring, “Hot.”
Hang Zhi chuckled and reached back for the fan. “Why aren’t you even wearing stockings?”
“It’s far too hot. And in this room, there are no outsiders anyway.”
Hang Zhi reached to touch her jade-like foot—smooth, soft, and warm, though with a bit of callus on the sole. Once, his beloved wife’s feet had been delicate and tender, but after the hardships she had endured outside, even her soles bore traces of suffering. Hang Zhi’s heart ached.
Di Qingya giggled and drew her foot back, saying it tickled.
Hang Zhi let go, gently fanning her instead. “What did you do today?” he asked softly.
“Not much. Read a little, painted a little, balanced some accounts. Then I grew tired.” Her crystalline eyes half-lidded, her tone still carried the languor of one not fully awake.
“Why didn’t you go to Hang Ling’s? Wasn’t she hosting a pitch-pot banquet today?”
“In this heat? Absolutely not.” Di Qingya wrinkled her nose. “Besides, there’s nothing fun about it.”
She used to love such gatherings. Hang Zhi noticed that since her return, she always seemed listless. A dull ache rose in his chest. “Whatever you enjoy, I’ll arrange it for you. Invite people here to the minister’s residence, make it lively.”
“Forget it, don’t fuss. I’ve no patience for entertaining so many people.” Those noblewomen did nothing but gossip endlessly about petty household matters—listening too long gave her headaches.
“Has someone offended you?” Hang Zhi frowned.
“Other than your mother, who else could possibly treat me badly?” Di Qingya replied. “Oh, that reminds me—what about Nanling? Are they still pressuring you?”
After the New Year, Hang Zhi, under the pretext of recovering from illness, had sent his mother back to the family estate in Nanling. To this day, Madam Hang still refused to admit fault. Furious at being cast out, she swore he must repudiate Di Qingya or else be branded unfilial. The clan elders in Nanling, unaware of the whole truth, had been stirred up by Madam Hang into sending letters to “persuade” him.
Hang Zhi’s hand paused, then he continued fanning slowly and evenly. “Nothing of the sort. Don’t worry. I’m here.”
Qingya said, “If something arises, you should tell me. This is my matter too. We’ll face it together.”
She no longer wanted to be a caged songbird, ignorant and at the mercy of others. But Hang Zhi only felt more stifled. Once, his beloved wife had relied wholly upon him. After this brush with death, did she no longer trust him? If he burdened her with these troubles, would she not trust him even less? He had married her precisely to cherish and protect her. Yet because of his mother’s malice, she had nearly lost her life. Now he still could not even win her justice. Guilt gnawed at him—how could he let her worry further? To him, these matters were his alone to handle; she should simply live carefree under his protection.
“Truly, it’s nothing. I am the Prime Minister of the realm, and head of my clan. How would they dare to defy me?” Hang Zhi said gently.
Di Qingya saw he still refused to speak, and felt a faint disappointment. She knew he loved her, but Madam Hang was his birth mother—if all of Nanling’s kin opposed him, how heavy would that burden be?
“Something new is happening in Yuzhou. I wonder if you’ve heard?”
Qingya realized he was trying to change the subject, but at the mention of Yuzhou, her curiosity stirred. “What is it?”
Hang Zhi smiled faintly. “Word is that the Dingxi Marquis has announced throughout the empire he’ll spend a fortune to select a single bolt of cloth for his wife.”
“Spending a fortune… for cloth?” Di Qingya raised her brows. “What sort of play is this?”
“I don’t know. I thought you might.”
“Jiaoniang’s embroidery is exquisite—wanting fine cloth for her work makes sense. But doesn’t the marquis’s storehouse still have several fine bolts? And if she wanted cloth, she could have asked me…” Besides, doing this in the marquis’s name—had the two of them already reconciled?
Di Qingya frowned in thought, then suddenly sat upright. “What medicine is she selling in her gourd? No, I must send a letter to ask.” Without another word, she slipped off the couch and went to fetch brush and ink.
Hang Zhi watched the slender figure hurrying away, chuckled softly, then sank into thought. Just what sort of show was being staged? He too wanted to know.
***
That same day when Qingya wrote her letter, Qian Jiaoniang was in Yuzhou, visiting the Ruan family’s weaving house. In her hands she held two silkworm cocoons, listening as Madam Ruan explained how their silkworms were raised with great care. The Ruans owned the largest weaving house in Yuzhou, and Jiaoniang had come precisely to see how brocade was made. Madam Ruan presented their latest silk brocade—its sheen was good, its weaving fine. But compared to the few bolts of exceptional brocade already in the marquis’s storerooms, Jiaoniang could tell at a touch that Ruan’s cloth was still a little lacking.
Qian Jiaoniang was a little disappointed, but still followed Madam Ruan’s lead to take a round of the place. There was nothing here that struck her as new, so she told Hongjuan to prepare to return to the residence. Madam Ruan and the people at her side could not help showing displeasure. They had placed immense weight on the Marchioness’s visit today. Madam Ruan’s elder cousin on her husband’s side was the deputy prefect of Yuzhou, in charge of the commerce bureau. Madam Ruan had caught some hints when she heard her cousin say that if she could win the Marchioness’s favor and have her select Ruan silk, then her family would rise straight up to the clouds, no different from imperial merchants. So Madam Ruan had leveraged the connections she had accumulated with the prefect’s wife to ask her to present Ruan silk. She hadn’t expected the prefect’s wife to tell her that the Marchioness intended to come in person to the weaving house. What was more, the prefect’s wife had quietly said that the Marchioness wanted to make her choice of cloth publicly in Yuzhou City. Madam Ruan had been both startled and delighted, as though preparing for battle, and made every preparation to await the Marchioness’s arrival.
For the wife of the regional lord to visit a weaving house—what an honor! Madam Ruan had been so confident that the Marchioness must have taken a liking to her family’s silk.
Yet today the Marchioness’s expression had remained faint throughout, leaving Madam Ruan unable to grasp her thoughts. In the end she offered a large brocade box to Qian Jiaoniang. But Qian Jiaoniang did not open it, instead smiling as she said, “Madam Ruan, what is this? Today I intruded upon your workshop, disturbing your business. It should be I who gives you a gift.”
When she had finished speaking, Shanzha brought forward a small box to present to Madam Ruan. Madam Ruan quickly knelt down, “Thank you, Marchioness, for your reward.”
Good or bad was not made clear, yet a gift was bestowed—what was the Marchioness thinking? Madam Ruan bit her lip, unable to guess the mind of a highborn lady.
Qian Jiaoniang boarded the carriage for the return. Yanluo and Chunwu sat with her inside. She still held the sample of Ruan’s finest silk in her hand. She asked Yanluo: “What do you think of Ruan’s silk?”
Yanluo knew her mistress disliked empty flattery, so she said directly, “Not worthy to match my lady’s embroidery.”
Qian Jiaoniang laughed. “Today I’ve come to understand why everyone likes to hear pretty words.” See, that kind of talk made her comfortable.
Yanluo also smiled. “This slave speaks the truth.”
Qian Jiaoniang set aside the Ruan silk and lifted the curtain to glance outside. “By now, Cuilian should be at the shop. Let’s take a detour to fetch her, and also see how the shop is coming along.”
When Xing Muzheng told her to push someone forward, Qian Jiaoniang had thought of Zhou Cuilian. She was quick-handed, thorough in her work, and had even helped once in a bun shop—an excellent candidate. With someone else sent by Xing Muzheng to assist her, Qian Jiaoniang felt all the more at ease. As expected, within a few days Cuilian had reported she’d chosen a location and was now decorating the shop.
Chunwu gave a whistle to the driver, but Yanluo seemed uneasy, watching Qian Jiaoniang with words at her lips but not yet spoken. After a while, she finally said, “Madam—”
“Hush—!”
Before Yanluo could explain, outside came the shrill cry of a horse. The carriage stopped abruptly, the three women inside tumbling together. Chunwu was first to regain balance, shielding Qian Jiaoniang and kicking open the carriage door.
“What is it?” Qian Jiaoniang asked.
The driver hurried to say, “My lady, a young woman suddenly rushed out to block the horse, and it was startled.”
The so-called young woman was already pinned by a guard with a sword at her throat. Yet the woman seemed unafraid of death; she heavily kowtowed toward the carriage. “This humble girl greets the Marchioness—please, my lady, look at the cloth of my family!”
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