“Chou’er is still young. You scared him by saying these things suddenly.” After Xing Pingchun left, Qian Jiaoniang returned to the inner room and said to Xing Muzheng with a little dissatisfaction.
Xing Muzheng cast her a sidelong glance. “He’s nearly thirteen already. In two more years he’ll be old enough to take a wife, and you say he’s still a child? It’s only you spoiling him.”
“How have I spoiled him? It’s not as though I stopped you from teaching him,” Qian Jiaoniang said helplessly. “I only asked you to speak a little more gently.”
As a grown man, Xing Muzheng had no such fine sensibilities. He waved his hand impatiently. “Enough, I know, I know. Go and bathe.”
Though his tone wasn’t good, at least he had taken her words in. Qian Jiaoniang said no more and turned to wash up.
Two quarters of an hour later, she returned, her hair still damp. Suier brought ointment, and together with Xique tended her hair. Xique was a newly chosen maid; Shanzha had married Yan Jin and, though she still served at Qian Jiaoniang’s side by day, always returned home at night.
Hongjuan was inside as well, tidying clothes. The maids all stole glances, discreetly, at Xing Muzheng reclining on the couch with a book. None dared harbor improper thoughts about him, but they were curious about what gift he had brought this time. Their little wager still hadn’t been settled.
But when the maids finished tending Qian Jiaoniang’s hair, smoothing scented lotion on her face and hands, Xing Muzheng still sat unmoving as a mountain, showing no sign of producing a gift.
Could it be the Marquis hadn’t brought anything back this time?
The maids withdrew in disappointment. Qian Jiaoniang, seeing their expressions, found it faintly amusing and thought to herself that tomorrow she might take out a hairpin and pretend Xing Muzheng had brought it back. She was still musing when suddenly her back was pulled into a burning-hot embrace, her eyes filled with golden glimmers.
“What’s this?”
“A waist ornament.” Xing Muzheng placed a red-gold tasselled ornament into her palm.
So there was a gift after all. Qian Jiaoniang spread open her hand to see a slender golden belt, hung with tassels of different lengths. When it swayed, it shimmered like golden waves, dazzling to behold.
“Many thanks, my lord Marquis.” Every trip away, every return with a gift—it was as if this man was always thinking of her. Qian Jiaoniang tightened her grip on the ornament and smiled lightly in thanks.
“No need. Put it on tomorrow and let me see.”
Qian Jiaoniang looked a little troubled. “This ornament is fine, but it doesn’t match clothes very well.” Who could wear such a bright gold piece at the waist?
Xing Muzheng chuckled twice low in his throat, leaned to her ear and whispered. At once Qian Jiaoniang’s face turned red.
What he said was: “Best matched with no clothes at all.”
So this ornament was… for pleasure! Qian Jiaoniang turned to glare at him. “Where did the Marquis buy such strange and outlandish things?”
“This is hardly strange,” Xing Muzheng said. “The truly strange ones I haven’t even bought yet!”
So there were even more outrageous things? Qian Jiaoniang flung the precious gold ornament onto her dressing table and rose to leave. Xing Muzheng caught her around the waist and pulled her back. “Try it now?”
“No!”
His grip tightened, his tone dangerous. “Truly won’t try?”
“Not even if I die!”
The room fell into silence. Qian Jiaoniang thought he was angry, but suddenly Xing Muzheng scooped her up in his arms, planted a hard kiss on her cheek, and said, “One day you’ll try!” With that he carried her to the bed.
After days apart, a mere midday tryst had not been enough. That night, under warm lotus-patterned curtains, waves rose and fell red with passion, sleepless until dawn.
Qian Jiaoniang was so exhausted she couldn’t even lift a finger. She lay in Xing Muzheng’s arms, drifting toward sleep. Xing Muzheng, having slept well in the afternoon, showed no fatigue even after repeated assaults and sieges. He licked the sweat from her cheek, his hand resting on her flat belly, murmuring almost to himself: “Why hasn’t our daughter come yet?”
Doctor Bai had treated Qian Jiaoniang for a year and a half, and had said her health was no longer a concern. That very night Xing Muzheng had wished he could thrust a daughter straight into her womb. Yet after so long—even Eldest Sister Qian was pregnant—while in his own house, there was still no news.
Back then, when Xing Muzheng married Qian Jiaoniang and begot a son, it had been entirely to ease his mother’s heart. But now, he wanted her to bear another child—this time he would keep her safe and sound through it, and together they would raise the child. He longed for a gentle daughter, to complete the “good” character as a family of four.
Qian Jiaoniang’s eyelids had been too heavy to lift, but at his words she suddenly opened her eyes, something dark and unreadable glimmering in them.
The day after next was Qian Jiaoniang’s birthday. Since last year, Xing Muzheng had decreed the entire city take holiday in celebration. The people of Yunzhou might not know the lord’s birthday, but they remembered the lady’s birthday well. This year, as before, a grand banquet was held in the Marquis’s mansion to welcome guests from all sides.
Birthday gifts had been flowing in since the day before, more with each passing year. Beyond Yunzhou City and Yongan, even many noble families with whom Xing Muzheng had little prior contact sent presents. Apart from her status as the Marquis’s wife, Qian Jiaoniang’s embroidery was already renowned across the realm. To win her favor and obtain one of her works was a mark of prestige; even to secure a handkerchief embroidered by her was a treasure.
This year, Zhen Hao came with his wife and parents from Minghu to congratulate her. The plain brocade Qian Jiaoniang had used for her cypress-and-mountain embroidery had been from the Zhen family, and their brocade too gained fame from it. Moreover, with the Xie court favoring agriculture and suppressing commerce, the Zhen family suffered heavy taxes in Minghu. They heard that Xing Muzheng was inclined toward commerce, and since he was also their son’s sworn brother, Yunzhou seemed far preferable to Minghu. Thus, a year ago the Zhen family had already begun moving to Yunzhou.
Xing Muzheng went out to greet the Zhen family, while Qian Jiaoniang waited in the inner quarters for their womenfolk to be led in. But before the Zhen ladies arrived, Zhao Yaoqian came first.
If there was anyone who gave Qian Jiaoniang a headache these days, it was Zhao Yaoqian. This young lady was clever, open in temperament, but had one flaw—stubbornness. She had lived in the Marquis’s household for nearly three years now, neither kin nor concubine. At first, everyone assumed Xing Muzheng had brought her back as a concubine, but Qian Jiaoniang could tell he had no such designs. With his domineering nature, if he had truly wanted her, he would not have cared who agreed or not—he would have taken her already.
Why he did not like such a girl, Qian Jiaoniang did not know. For Zhao Yaoqian’s sake, she had once sincerely urged her to consider other young men. But Zhao Yaoqian’s standards were too high—after two years in the household, she recognized only Xing Muzheng. She had told Qian Jiaoniang to her face: if she married, it would be to Xing Muzheng alone; her heart was set. At the same time, she had seriously assured Qian Jiaoniang she knew the couple were deeply devoted, and she asked only for a small place in the Marquis’s affections, without ever contending for favor. She would stay quietly in her own corner—and had even offered a treasure map of gold and silver mountains.
Qian Jiaoniang didn’t keep it from him, but directly passed the words on to Xing Muzheng. Yet upon hearing such deep and affectionate declarations, not only did Xing Muzheng have no wish to marry, he even grew impatient. At the time, Qian Jiaoniang was truly bewildered. Don’t even mention him—even she herself, if a man carrying mountains of gold and silver came asking her to become his second wife, she would be tempted to agree. Such a fine thing delivered straight to their door, and Xing Muzheng was actually unwilling?
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