From Jinling back to Luoyang, the carriages and horses traveled westward. Along the way the scenery was mostly bleak with late autumn desolation.
Though the floods had ceased, the dikes, houses, fields, and cities destroyed by them could never return to what they were. Not to mention the countless commoners driven from their homes—many perished on the road, never to return to their native soil, never to reunite with their families.
Passing through Bozhou, Shen Yujiao asked Pei Xia to change the route. Following the path in her memory, she found Ma Cuilan’s grave—
A “grave,” though in truth just a bare little mound of earth, with a branch stuck in it, and a strip of cloth tied to the branch.
The cloth had once borne writing, blood-stained, reading: “Grave of Tao Ma’s daughter Cuilan.”
But wind and rain had long since erased the characters, the cloth itself worn and faded.
“I myself was so starved of strength then, I dragged her out of that thatched hut and simply lit the fire to cremate her.”
Standing before that simple little mound, Shen Yujiao recalled that day, her eyes unfocused: “The fire burned a long, long time. Ping’an lay in my arms crying the whole while. He was so hungry, I couldn’t find anything to feed him, so I could only bite my finger and feed him blood.”
Later, she didn’t know whether it was blood loss making her hallucinate, or just hunger driving her mad—but she thought that smell of cremation, normally so foul, suddenly became fragrant.
“In the histories, when I read ‘in great famine, people eat one another’, I thought it an exaggeration.” Shen Yujiao’s lips twisted into a mocking smile. “Turns out it’s true. When starving enough, even human flesh can be eaten.”
She almost rushed into the fire, to tear off a piece of meat to eat.
Luckily Heaven sent down a rain, drenching her awake.
Otherwise, had she truly lost her wits and eaten Cuilan’s flesh, she feared she’d never again be able to face her own conscience.
“Actually, the body wasn’t fully burned, but I had no time to wait. I simply gathered some remains and dug a pit to bury them.”
Shen Yujiao stared at that small, bald mound of earth, and in her mind surfaced Ma Cuilan’s round, gentle face. Just a nineteen-year-old girl, yet now reduced to a small dirt mound, buried in a foreign land.
Suddenly, a warmth settled on her shoulders. Shen Yujiao’s lashes trembled lightly, and she saw Pei Xia draping a moon-white cloak over her, his tone gentle: “If you know her place of origin, we can help her return to her homeland.”
Shen Yujiao thought for a moment, then shook her head: “No need to move her. Just erect a marker here. When Ping’an grows up, let him personally bring his mother home.”
“As you say.”
After speaking, Pei Xia lifted his head, looking toward the gray dusk among the trees. “It grows dark earlier these days. Come, get in the carriage.”
Shen Yujiao gave a faint “mm,” bowed once more to the little mound, then with Pei Xia’s support, slowly boarded the carriage.
On the journey back from Jinling, she and Pei Xia had always slept in separate rooms.
Even though the maid Qiulu, bought along the way, once hinted while serving her: “My lady, this servant thinks the lord actually wishes to remain and share a bed with you. Each night after dining with you, he stays long in your room before leaving. Though you are with child, the beds at the post stations are large enough—you both should still fit.”
This maid had been bought temporarily in Jinling. She was originally an official servant, but when the family she served committed crimes, all their household slaves were sent back to the broker’s hall for resale.
Shen Yujiao had noticed her especially lively round eyes, and couldn’t help recalling her own former personal maid Qiushuang, who had served her since childhood before the Shen household fell.
When the Shen estate was confiscated, all the servants were sold. Her four first-class maids—Chunxi, Xiaying, Qiushuang, and Dongxu—had all been scattered to unknown places.
Perhaps because the sight stirred old memories, upon learning of Qiulu’s origins, Shen Yujiao decided to buy her.
Though this maid wasn’t especially proper in manners and etiquette, she was lively and quick-witted, always finding ways to make her laugh. Shen Yujiao grew rather fond of her.
But at this moment, hearing her bring up sharing a bed with Pei Xia, Shen Yujiao lowered her lashes lightly and said in a faint voice: “My husband and I have our own way of living together. You need not speak further.”
The words were not harsh, but their meaning made Qiulu instantly hold her tongue.
Yet in her heart she couldn’t understand: the lord was so strikingly handsome, so gentle and considerate toward her lady. Any ordinary young woman would already be overflowing with affection and tenderness—why was her own lady so indifferent, neither warm nor cold?
But matters of love, Qiulu was still too young to understand.
Still, their sleeping apart did not last the entire journey.
By late October, when their carriage entered Xuzhou territory, only about ten days remained before reaching Luoyang.
Perhaps the nearer to Luoyang, the more uneasy Shen Yujiao’s heart became. Even knowing Pei Xia was by her side and would protect her with all his strength, just the thought of returning to the Pei estate, of again facing her mother-in-law Madam Wang and all the other members of the Pei family, filled her with apprehension.
Maybe it was from too much brooding by day, or perhaps because she’d eaten little that evening, but that night after falling asleep, her calf suddenly cramped.
It seized again and again, leaving her in such pain she couldn’t sleep at all.
She sat up, kneading and massaging herself until it eased a little. Then, feeling thirsty, she rose to pour water.
But just as she lifted the cup, her leg cramped again. She gasped in pain, and the cup slipped from her hand, clattering onto the table and spilling water everywhere.
Her leg cramping so badly she could hardly stand, Shen Yujiao didn’t bother cleaning up. Both hands pressed against the table, she grit her teeth, trying to endure until it passed.
Knock, knock, knock.
From outside came three clear knocks, followed by a man’s warm voice: “Yuniang, what’s wrong?”
Shen Yujiao froze, then answered: “N-no… nothing.”
“Your voice doesn’t sound quite right.”
After a pause, the man outside said: “I’m coming in.”
Without waiting for her reply, the door was pushed open.
Pei Xia stepped in, and saw Shen Yujiao dressed only in inner garments, biting her lip as she stood by the table, hands braced on it, a cup overturned and water spreading across the surface.
He strode forward at once. “Where are you unwell? I’ll send for a physician.”
“No need.” Shen Yujiao caught his sleeve, shaking her head lightly. “It’s just a calf cramp. It will pass in a moment.”
Pei Xia paused, then remembered reading in a medical text: ‘In the middle and later months of pregnancy, women are prone to cramps, especially on cold nights.’
He hadn’t expected her to show this symptom so soon.
Seeing his brows knit tightly, Shen Yujiao was just about to say, “It’s really nothing,” when suddenly her body grew light, and she was swept into the warmth of sandalwood-scented arms.
He had picked her up!
Instinctively, she clutched his robe, her eyes flickering rapidly. “H-husband, put me down, it’s not that serious.”
Pei Xia said nothing, but carried her steadily back to the bed.
Outside, the maid Qiulu, on night watch, had also heard the commotion. She hurried over, rubbing sleepy eyes and mumbling, “My lady, why are you awake—”
Then, seeing not only her lady but also the lord inside, Qiulu instantly sobered, bowing nervously. “My lord, when did you arrive?”
Pei Xia cast a glance at the careless maid. “Your lady is unwell, yet you sleep so soundly.”
His tone was calm, without rise or fall, but the meaning within made Qiulu shiver. She quickly dropped to her knees, kowtowing in panic: “My lord, forgive me. This servant is foolish—there will not be a next time…”
“Langjun, do not blame her. It was I who did not call her.”
Seeing that Pei Xia’s face showed no anger, Shen Yujiao turned to Qiulu and said, “You may leave.”
Qiulu, as if granted pardon, hastily wiped her tears. “Thank you, my lady. My lord, my lady, this servant takes her leave.”
She tiptoed out, closing the door behind her.
Pei Xia pulled the quilt over Shen Yujiao and, with calm brows, said faintly: “I know you are always gentle to others, but in managing subordinates you must not indulge too much. Tonight, fortunately, it was I who entered your room. Had it been another, and she still failed to notice, would that not have left you in danger, utterly defenseless?”
“It’s not so serious.” Shen Yujiao gave a soft laugh, tugging the brocade quilt at her shoulder. “Leaving aside that this is an official post station with soldiers stationed around, you are in the room right next door. If someone truly came in, I’m not stupid—wouldn’t I cry out?”
Seeing she still had the strength to jest with him, Pei Xia’s furrowed brow slowly eased. His gaze dropped to her leg; his thin lips pressed lightly together before he reached out to take hold of her ankle.
Shen Yujiao startled. “H-husband?”
“Don’t be nervous. I’ll rub it for you.”
As he spoke, he shifted back a little. His long, jade-like fingers pressed through the thin fabric of her underclothes, kneading her calf. “The medical texts say that when cramps occur, rubbing with the fingers relieves the pain. Applying hot water also works.”
Seeing he truly was only rubbing her leg, Shen Yujiao secretly let out a breath. Yet soon a strange feeling rose in her heart—those hands that wrote brilliant essays and devised strategies for the nation were now patiently massaging her leg. Even the aloof Pei scion could serve others, after all.
“Does this feel better?”
The man suddenly lifted his eyes, catching hers before she could look away.
Their gazes met; flustered, she lowered her eyes, lips softly murmuring: “Better.”
When he still continued pressing though the pain had passed, Shen Yujiao quickly said: “Thank you, Langjun. It no longer hurts.”
“Good,” Pei Xia replied.
His long fingers released her slender leg, but instead of pulling the quilt over, he brushed the back of his hand against her bare foot.
She had not worn bed socks, and caught off guard by his touch, her five pale toes curled tightly inward.
She looked at him in surprise. “Langjun?”
Pei Xia’s face was calm as he raised his gaze. “Your feet are very cold.”
Shen Yujiao gave a small “ah,” and said awkwardly, “They’ll warm up after I sleep awhile.”
“You’ve always had cold hands and feet…” In the early days of sharing a bed, she always loved to burrow into his arms.
Often when he woke at midnight, he would find his soft, fragrant little wife nestled against his arm, hands and feet clinging tightly to him, like a vine twining about a great tree—so trusting, so dependent…
He knew well he had never rejected her closeness. In fact… he had even craved it.
But those uncontrollable bodily reactions, and that very craving, were not the righteous path—
As the Analects say: A gentleman has three things to guard against. In youth, when the blood is unsteady, guard against lust. In manhood, when the blood is strong, guard against strife. In old age, when the blood is waning, guard against greed.
Now, at his age, between youth and maturity, it was the very time to cultivate restraint. If he indulged lust and desire, how could his heart remain upright?
Thus, after marriage, he had set himself a rule: only on the first and fifteenth of each month could he lie with her, share the joy of husband and wife.
Yet at some point, his wife’s sleeping posture had grown increasingly proper, no longer clinging to his arm and waist as she had in their newlywed days.
He told himself he should be glad of this change—for sleeping separately, each on their own side, meant no more loss of control.
But now—
“The medical texts say that after a woman conceives, her qi and blood weaken, her limbs grow colder. Add to that the chill of recent days—if you sleep alone, it may take long for you to grow warm.”
Pei Xia tucked her small, snowy foot back under the quilt, his ink-dark eyes reflecting the flickering candle flame as he gazed steadily at her. “Yuniang, may I stay tonight, and share the bed with you?”
Shen Yujiao was taken aback, her words stumbling: “This… but… you…”
“Even if you turn in your sleep, it matters not.”
Seated at the bedside, his handsome face was solemn. “You carry our child in your womb. As your husband, how could I enjoy comfort alone, leaving you to suffer?”
Seeing she was about to speak again, his brows drew faintly together. “Or is it that in your heart, you still resent me?”
“No.” Shen Yujiao shook her head, her willow brows lightly furrowed. “I told you, I have never resented you…”
“Then why will you not share a bed with me?”
He paused, his dark eyes narrowing. “Or in your heart—”
Before he could finish, Shen Yujiao hastily denied: “No.”
Pei Xia gazed at her. “I hadn’t even said what I meant.”
“Whatever it is, no.”
When she finished, she felt as though his penetrating gaze might burn straight through her, and her heart grew taut. Why was he tonight so… persistent?
But never mind. Since she had already followed him back, it meant she was willing to continue being his wife.
Not to mention sharing the bed—if he was in the mood and wished to lie with her, she wouldn’t be able to refuse.
But knowing Pei Shouzhen’s temperament, he would never act so wantonly during her pregnancy.
“If Lanjun does not mind me tossing and turning, then…” she bit her lip, lowering her long lashes, “rest here then.”
Pei Xia lowered his gaze, lingering twice over her features that appeared all the more luminous under the candlelight. Pretending not to see that trace of helplessness, he said lightly, “Alright.”
He walked to the door and locked it from within.
Then, as usual, he snuffed out the lamp and loosened his robes.
When he lifted the bed-curtain, faint light filtered in through the window crack, and he saw that small figure had already shifted inward on the bed, lying on her side, facing away.
Though Shen Yujiao’s eyes were shut, her ears pricked up unconsciously.
They had been husband and wife for over half a year already, and tonight they were merely sharing the same bed, not doing that matter—yet for no reason she felt nervous.
She heard the sound of the curtain falling, then the mattress beside her sank slightly—he had lain down.
The heavy canopy enclosed the bed into a tiny world, and in this little world, there was only her and Pei Xia. Even the air seemed tinged with his refined sandalwood fragrance.
He always carried that blended incense on his body, and she had always liked its scent.
She remembered last year at Ba Bridge, when he had lifted her onto a horse, and then the two had shared one mount. She had shrunk back deliberately, and he had sat further behind, intentionally keeping distance. Yet once the horse sped up, jolting, she inevitably bumped into his chest.
That faint fragrance from him had enveloped her tightly then, like a beautiful dream, etched into her heart.
Her heart pounded violently. She knew she ought not to, yet she couldn’t stop thinking—this was the husband she had been betrothed to since childhood.
More handsome, taller, upright, courteous than any image she had once imagined in the boudoir… even the fragrance on his body was one she liked so much. Did this not mean they truly were a match made in heaven?
Now recalling that girlish fancy, Shen Yujiao couldn’t help pressing her lips together, thinking: so foolish.
Pei Shouzhen must have thought her foolish back then too.
After all, she had so loved to sneak looks at him, and had been caught by him more than once…
“Yuniang, still not sleepy?”
A low, steady voice sounded behind her. Shen Yujiao came back to herself, closed her eyes, and mumbled, “Sleepy, going to sleep now.”
After a moment’s silence, the voice behind her asked: “Why are you turning your back to me?”
Her lashes trembled slightly. “My belly feels heavy. Lying on my side is more comfortable. Lying flat makes my waist ache.”
It sounded like an answer, but in truth it was not an answer at all to the question “why back-facing.”
Fortunately, Pei Xia did not press further, only said softly, “You’ve worked hard.”
Shen Yujiao closed her eyes. “It’s nothing.”
After all, the child in her belly was hers too.
Though at first she had been startled by its existence, after nearly six months of day-and-night companionship, flesh and blood connected, a sense of anticipation had grown—
Whether the child looked like her or like Pei Xia, surely it would not be ugly.
After that “It’s nothing,” the bedchamber fell into silence.
Shen Yujiao held her breath for a while. Hearing that he lay flat and no longer moved, the little tension in her heart melted away with the returning tide of drowsiness and the warmth of the bed.
Her eyelids grew heavy… heavier…
In a haze, it felt like a warm stove pressed against her back.
Warm, with that reassuring fragrance. First covering her back and waist, then, like branches spreading, slowly enfolding her into his arms.
So warm—she instinctively leaned closer.
In the blur of half-dream, she thought she heard a faint, faint sigh at her ear.
Like a wisp of breeze slipping into her dream, soon lost.
The next morning.
When Qiulu woke Shen Yujiao, she was still a little drowsy.
Qiulu, remembering last night’s mistake, was both cautious and eager to be close: “My lady, how did you sleep last night?”
Judging from her mistress’s rosy complexion, clearly she had slept soundly. Only, seeing how expressionless the lord had been when he left earlier, Qiulu couldn’t tell how the couple had fared, sharing the same bed.
“Not bad,” Shen Yujiao replied.
“Then I’m relieved.” Qiulu let out a long breath. Being young, she quickly brightened and happily began combing her mistress’s hair.
Shen Yujiao sat before the mirror, letting Qiulu dress her hair.
Her mind strayed to the warm stove of last night—was it her illusion, or had the bed truly been warmer because there was a man inside?
So last night, had she leaned toward him, or… had he drawn her close?
Shen Yujiao almost immediately denied the latter.
Pei Xia was the sort least fond of physical closeness—how could he have embraced her on his own?
She gave a small laugh at herself. Truly dreaming.
But that night, after supper, Pei Xia calmly remained in her chamber, showing not the slightest intention of leaving.
Shen Yujiao hesitated, then asked: “Langjun, are you also lodging in my room tonight?”
Seated under the lamplight, Pei Xia lifted his gaze slowly from his book, his brows and eyes cool and composed: “May I not?”
Shen Yujiao: “…”
What could she say?
So she curved her lips lightly: “Langjun jests, how could it not be allowed?”
Thus that night again, the two slept in the same bed, and Shen Yujiao once more rested an entire night in that warm furnace.
Then the third night, the fourth, the fifth…
Every night on the road, Pei Xia shared her bed.
Perhaps because the bedding was warmer, she slept more soundly than when alone. Sometimes when her leg cramped in the night, she would only frown and murmur a soft “mm”—and his hand would reach over, pressing the knotted place, massaging it slowly, unhurriedly.
Gradually, Shen Yujiao grew used to sharing a bed with him, even found certain benefits in it—
No matter how cold a man might seem, his body was still warm.
And since he bore the responsibility of husband and father, sharing with her some of the discomforts of pregnancy, she did not feel unworthy of such care.
Only, every morning when she awoke, the space beside her was already empty, the man’s figure nowhere to be seen. When she asked Qiulu, Qiulu said: “My lord rises half an hour earlier than my lady every day. To avoid disturbing your rest, he goes next door to wash.”
Drowsy-eyed, Shen Yujiao thought—truly strict with himself.
Luckily he was lenient toward her, not demanding she rise early as well.
Unwittingly, the party drew ever closer to Luoyang.
At the same time, in late October, the story that had spread through Chang’an and become a favorite topic—“Her Highness Consort Xian recognizing the Pei family’s principal wife as her goddaughter”—also rode the bleak autumn winds into every household of Luoyang.
