At first, however, things were still somewhat cautious. Mother Qian had never liked daughters—daughters were always money-losers, married off to become others’ people, unable to support their own parents in old age. But she never could have imagined that one daughter from a farming household could become the wife of a great lord, and even spend huge sums to cure her illness. She had once thought Second Niang’s marriage was already quite good, but compared to Third Niang’s, it was like heaven and earth, utterly incomparable. Thus Mother Qian carried a sense of awe, treating Qian Jiaoniang less harshly than before, even speaking to her with the same gentle tones she used for Baogui.
For Qian Jiaoniang, it had been too long since she last heard her mother and elder sister talk—she felt estranged, thinking her mother had always spoken this way. Qian Meiniang, however, knew well how much her mother’s manner had changed, and she was glad for it. They avoided speaking of the past ten years, instead chattering about harmless trifles. Though Qian Jiaoniang had left home young, she still remembered the dried radish and pickled gourds at home. Mother Qian said once she recovered, she would make them for her. Qian Meiniang went further, having her husband buy jars the very next day to begin pickling vegetables.
But the weather did not cooperate—a string of heavy rains prevented the pickles from drying. Even so, Mother Qian grew steadily better. In her whole life, she had never lived such a life of clothes laid out and meals prepared, like a person in paradise. Several times upon waking she thought she must be dreaming. People are greedy—who wouldn’t want such good days to last forever? Even if she herself could not, her son must.
So Mother Qian seized an opportunity, and with a pretense of casualness brought up Qian Baogui before Qian Jiaoniang: “Third Niang, since you and Second Niang are both in Yuzhou, your father and I were thinking to bring Baogui here too, so the family can look after one another. But once Baogui comes to the city, he’ll have no work. Couldn’t you, the wife of the lord here, arrange some position for your only younger brother?” Ideally, she thought, they could even gift Baogui a house, so that the couple and Baogui’s family could all live together.
“Mother, Third Sister is the lady of the inner residence—how could she handle such matters?” Before Qian Jiaoniang could even open her mouth, Qian Meiniang spoke up first. She already felt embarrassed—after all, they were already eating and drinking well under the marquis’s roof, and now her mother was still not satisfied, so bluntly asking Jiaoniang to arrange a post for Baogui.
Mother Qian shot her eldest daughter a glare, annoyed at her meddling. “Why couldn’t she? I heard this lord marquis is like the local emperor of Yuzhou—everything here must heed his word. If Third Niang, the marquis’s wife, just says one word, won’t Baogui be set up with whatever position?”
Qian Jiaoniang, stitching an emerald-green brocade in her hands, replied: “I don’t manage such things.” She paused, then added, “Baogui is still young—let him make his own way.”
At this Mother Qian grew anxious. “Of course he can make his own way—but the world outside is dangerous. You only have this one younger brother. If something were to happen to him, what then? All it takes is for you to move your lips, just first ask the Marquis’s opinion, hm?”
As for the Marquis not coming to see her, Mother Qian felt no resentment—in fact, she was relieved. Though they had come shamelessly to stay, everyone knew Jiaoniang had not been married in as a proper wife. The Dingxi Marquis, allowing Jiaoniang to even house her family, was already an immense mercy. That he did not visit them was only natural—the Qian family were ordinary commoners, truly unworthy.
But for the sake of her precious son, Mother Qian could only steel her old face and press the matter.
Qian Jiaoniang threaded her needle, the corners of her lips lifting in a smile. “Baogui isn’t a porcelain doll—how could he shatter with a touch? A man should set his sights on the wide world. If he wants to be an official, let him sit the examinations for office; if he wants to farm, let him take up the hoe.”
Displeasure spread across Mother Qian’s face. Baogui was the only son of the Qian family—how could he be made to toil in the fields? And she, as his elder sister, why could she not spare a thought for him? Could it be, as Second Niang said, that now she had become the wife of a great official, her eyes had grown to the top of her head and she no longer cared about her natal family?
“What kind of words are those…” Mother Qian was about to continue when Shanzha came in from outside.
“Madam, His Lordship has returned. He asks that you come to Honghu Courtyard at once.”
Honghu Courtyard was the name Qian Jiaoniang had given to the main residence of the inner compound, drawn from the story Qingya once told her about ‘Are kings and marquises born so by nature?’ Xing Muzheng had laughed at her for giving such a proper name, even asking what lofty ambitions she had. Jiaoniang had replied that her only ambition was to eat her fill and sleep well.
Qian Jiaoniang glanced at the sky. Though it was still raining outside and the day was dim, it was indeed only shortly past noon. For Xing Muzheng to return this early and summon her back at once, it must be for something important. She carefully set aside her embroidery, let Hongjuan put things away, said a word to Mother Qian and Meiniang, then took up an umbrella and went out.
As for Xing Muzheng calling Qian Jiaoniang back, Mother Qian naturally dared not complain, though she did grumble that the timing was inconvenient. Only after Jiaoniang’s maids had gone did Qian Meiniang whisper to her mother: “Mother, it isn’t easy for Jiaoniang either. She’s spent so much silver on your treatment. Look at the tonic she gives you—there’s ginseng in it, and I’ve heard it’s century-old root. Do you know how much that costs?”
Mother Qian’s eyes flickered, but she stiffened her mouth: “I’m her mother—showing me filial respect is her duty. Besides, she’s now the Marchioness of the household; even the Prefect must bow to her. For her, spending a little silver is like plucking a hair. And Baogui is her own younger brother—it’s only right she help him!”
Qian Meiniang sighed. Any matter involving Baogui was bound to give their family a headache. “Mother, don’t forget how Jiaoniang came to be in the Xing household. All these years, you never once sought her out. If Second Sister hadn’t written, you would probably still think she was dead. By rights, she need not have taken us in at all—but she not only kept us, she has given us food and drink beyond what we could dream of. The silver she’s spent these past days is more than we could repay in a lifetime. How can we still trouble her with Baogui’s affairs? If Lord Xing comes to think we are greedy without measure, and grows to resent Jiaoniang because of it, what will we do? Our natal family may not be able to help Jiaoniang, but at the very least we must not drag her down!”
Mother Qian pursed her lips. She could find no words to refute her eldest daughter, yet inwardly she remained dissatisfied. At last she muttered: “I can’t argue with you, but she still must help Baogui. He’s her only brother.”
No one knew better than Qian Meiniang how partial their parents were to their little brother. She could only sigh helplessly and say no more, carrying her empty bowl away.
—
When Qian Jiaoniang returned to Honghu Courtyard, Xing Muzheng was in the outer hall, eating a simple meal of three dishes and one soup. He ate quickly, and when he saw her return he said: “Help me pack a few changes of clothes. I need to go to Zhiye County.”
“How long will you be gone? How many sets should I pack?”
“Hard to say for now. Pack five or six.”
Hearing this, Jiaoniang asked no more. She took two maids into the side room where clothes were stored and quickly bundled together a large pack of garments and shoes. Xing Muzheng had not yet finished eating. He glanced at it and said: “Wrap it in oiled paper. I’m going by horse.”
Suier hurried off to fetch oil paper, and with Jiaoniang helped wrap and tie the bundle tight. By then, Xing Muzheng had finished his meal and was drinking tea poured by Shanzha. Jiaoniang asked him: “What has happened, that you must leave in such haste—and in this rain, with the roads so slippery?”
Xing Muzheng replied: “Precisely because of the rain I must go. Zhiye has been struck by floods again. I need to see for myself.”
“Isn’t there a county magistrate there?”
Xing Muzheng let out a cold laugh. “Of course there is a magistrate. But the letter he sent today, asking me for disaster relief funds—the amount of silver he wants would frighten you to hear! I must see with my own eyes whether the floods in Zhiye are truly that severe, or whether someone is trying to deceive me.” He set down his cup, washed his hands, and stood. “Enough, I must be off.”
Jiaoniang was used to his decisiveness. She took down the straw rain-cloak hanging by the door, still dripping, and helped drape it over him. But her brows knit—this rain came in bursts, now heavy, now light. Traveling so far in such weather with only a rain-cloak, riding on horseback, he could easily fall ill.
But Xing Muzheng, who had marched through every kind of harsh climate in war, paid no heed to such rain. He let her fasten the ties, gazing at her as he instructed: “While it rains these days, go out less. Whatever needs doing in the household, you may decide. Ah Da and Wang Yong will stay here at your disposal.”
“I understand. There shouldn’t be anything major—and if there is, we’ll wait for you to return.”
“Mm.”
Jiaoniang took the bamboo hat from Hongjuan’s hands and set it on his head. Such things he could do for himself, but in the past, whenever Xing Muzheng wished to draw close to her, he would always call her to do it. Now it had become habit.
Once all was ready, Xing Muzheng took up the bundle. “I’m going.” With that, he stepped over the threshold.
Qian Jiaoniang stood at the doorway watching him cross the courtyard. But midway, he stopped. He paused, then turned back.
“Has Lord Marquis forgotten something?” Qian Jiaoniang asked as his tall figure halted before her.
“…Mm. All of you, withdraw.” Xing Muzheng looked straight at Qian Jiaoniang, dismissing the servants from the hall. Only then did he lean close and say in a low voice: “There is one thing I forgot.”
Qian Jiaoniang blinked, lips parting—when suddenly a shadow fell over her. Xing Muzheng bent down, his hand pressing the back of her head, and kissed her.
Her eyes widened slightly. After a long moment, he released her, stroking her cheek, his dark eyes husky with warmth. “Wait for me to come back.”
With that, he turned and strode away, this time not stopping until he vanished beyond the gate.
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