The next morning, warm sunlight shone high, the wind gentle and the scene bright.
With no elders to whom she must pay morning greetings, Shen Yujiao slept until she woke naturally. As usual, the long figure was absent from her side.
Upon asking Xiaying, she learned that Pei Xia had risen at dawn, taken his breakfast in the study, and then gone out.
Shen Yujiao knew he had just arrived in Chang’an. Whether visiting kin and friends or paying respects to noble figures like the Second Prince, he was sure to be busy for several days. She asked no further.
But as she sat before the mirror dressing, Qiao Momo could not help but chide her:
“Lady, though you are with child now, and master is most considerate, still you are a married woman. How can you laze about like in your boudoir? In the mornings you ought to attend to master rising, and see him off when he leaves. That is the way of a virtuous wife.”
Qiao Momo had once been a palace maid. Seventeen years ago, during Jing Wang’s rebellion, the palace fell into chaos. When order was restored, the Empress Dowager granted pardon and released a number of palace women. Qiao Momo was among them.
She had returned to her hometown to depend on her nephew, but the man was a degenerate gambler who not only squandered all her savings, but in the end drowned in a river while fleeing his creditors.
Her nephew’s wife ran off with another man, leaving behind two young daughters. Qiao Momo’s heart softened, and she raised the two little grandnieces herself.
When life grew too difficult, she thought to seek out her old palace colleagues for help, but on the way she happened upon Shen Yujiao’s grandmother, Old Madam Shen.
Back when Qiao Momo served in the palace, she had formed a good karmic bond with Old Madam Shen. That bond bore fruit—Old Madam Shen took Qiao Momo’s family into her household, appointing her as governess to her granddaughter Shen Yujiao.
All those boudoir manners, the ways of being wife and woman, Shen Yujiao had learned from her. Qiao Momo had truly poured her heart into raising her into a lady of perfection, a model gentlewoman and virtuous wife.
Hearing her admonition now, Shen Yujiao could not argue. She only said: “Momo, I have always followed your teachings. Only, Langjun is thoughtful of my heavy body and has always told me I needn’t observe so many courtesies. I cannot very well go against his wishes.”
Seeing Qiao Momo’s face show hesitation, Shen Yujiao curved her eyes in a smile, softening her voice: “Don’t worry. Once the child is born and my body lightens again, I will certainly be diligent in serving Langjun. It’s just that with pregnancy, I feel weary every day, as though I can never sleep enough.”
Strict as she was, Qiao Momo also cherished the little mistress she had watched grow up.
Seeing her slight figure bearing a heavy belly, her slender waist seeming as though it might snap, she could not bear to speak harshly anymore. She only sighed: “If Master is so considerate, then let it be. I only worry that in the great Pei clan, where rules must be many, you—being the clan’s principal wife—ought to be all the more careful and steady, to serve as a model for the other womenfolk.”
Through all the years past, Shen Yujiao had grown up under such teachings.
A daughter of the Shen clan, a wife of the Pei family. From the moment she had awareness, she knew she had a betrothed in Hedong.
That fiancé was an outstanding young man. Once she came of age, she was to marry him, become the Pei clan’s principal wife, manage the household, bear sons and daughters, and live out her life.
Though there had been twists and turns along the way, in the end the path circled back to this.
Yet, for some reason, Shen Yujiao suddenly felt a faint confusion in her heart.
Was it truly fated that from birth she had only this single road before her?
If her grandfather had not arranged this marriage with her late father-in-law back then, then for decades past, might she not have had to learn all these rules and rites of a “Pei family wife”?
But no—she still would have. For girls of her station, if they did not learn these things, they would be ridiculed the moment they stepped out the door, and in the future could never find a good husband.
Her thoughts scattered far and wide, until at last she realized: to have married Pei Xia as her husband, compared with other women’s marriages, she was indeed fortunate.
That old saying again—too much thinking is useless. Better to be content.
After breakfast, Shen Yujiao took Xiaying, Dongxu, Bai Ping, and Qiulu—the four maids—with her to walk about the two-courtyard, two-hall residence. After all, as the future mistress of this house, she had to properly familiarize herself with every corner of the estate.
The residence was not very large, yet the layout was orderly, with clear distinction between main and secondary quarters. Its location was excellent: on two sides it faced the street, close enough to the bustle of the East Market, yet with its own pocket of quiet amidst the noise. From the ornamental rocks, groves of bamboo, scarlet maples, and drooping willows scattered throughout, one could see the care and refined taste of the former owner. Walking over stone bridges and winding paths, pausing at pavilions and towers, there was a charm all its own.
After strolling slowly for about half an hour, Shen Yujiao had gained a sense of the residence. Returning to the main room, she ate a bowl of bird’s nest with red dates and rested a little. At Qiao Momo’s reminder, she summoned all the servants of the household into the courtyard and, comparing them one by one against the roster, put names to faces.
Counting the servants they had brought with them from Luoyang, the residence housed in total twenty male servants and twenty-three maids.
Once Shen Yujiao had gone through them all, then assumed the posture of mistress of the house and gave them a few words, balancing kindness with sternness, it was already close to midday.
Glancing up at the blazing sun overhead, she guessed Pei Xia would be busy outside for the whole day. She had the kitchen prepare lunch, and took her meal alone.
When she rose from her noon rest, it was already late afternoon. Not idling, she sat cross-legged on the couch and began working through the accounts—
There were the old ledgers of the main branch, and now also the new accounts of this residence. After all, nearly fifty people depended on the household for their livelihood. Whether daily expenses or social exchanges, it was no small sum.
And Pei Xia, not yet holding office, had no salary. All the household’s outlay was supplied from the income of the main branch’s shops, estates, and farms. As mistress of the house, since these accounts had come into her hands, she naturally had to keep them clear and balanced in order to manage the household properly.
In the afternoon, clear sunlight slanted warmly through the carved windows, spilling bright light over the couch by the window.
Leaning against a large saffron-yellow pillow embroidered with green floral sprays, Shen Yujiao sat cross-legged. On the table before her was a stack of account books. One hand propped her cheek, the other flicked the abacus, and from time to time she picked up the brush to add a few strokes to the pages.
Bai Ping and Qiulu attended to ink and paper at her side. Qiao Momo, peeking through the beaded curtain strung with colorful silk threads, took a quiet glance.
Seeing her young lady work through the accounts with such proper composure, the old woman’s face showed a faint smile of satisfaction.
As expected of the girl she had raised—when it came to handling such affairs, she was steady and reliable.
Assured, Qiao Momo let the curtain fall and was stepping softly toward the doorway, when she saw Xiaying approaching from outside the courtyard, holding several invitations in her hands.
“Qiao Momo.”
Xiaying curtsied, then spread the invitations with a note of pride. “It’s not even been a full day, and already several households have sent invitations to our lady.”
At this, Qiao Momo’s brows lifted slightly. She reached out: “Let me see.”
Xiaying respectfully handed them over. Qiao Momo looked through the names—altogether six households. One was Madam Shen’s maternal family, the Li residence. Another was her aunt’s household, the Qi family of Marquis Yongwei. A third was the family of Grand Scribe Wang. The other three were all relatives of the Pei clan, whom Shen Yujiao, by seniority, should call aunt, uncle’s wife, and father’s sister.
Having lived in Chang’an for many years, Qiao Momo was well-acquainted with the inner courts of such households. At a glance, she could gauge the social web her young lady was stepping into.
“I’ll take these in,” she said, pinching the posts between her fingers. She decided to use this chance to sit with her lady and analyze how best to handle future social interactions.
Privately, she thought too: given the reputation of the household’s master, and her young lady’s standing as the foster daughter of Consort Xian, there would surely be many more invitations to come.
—
On their first day settling in Chang’an, both Pei Xia and Shen Yujiao were occupied until deep into the night.
When Pei Xia returned from his engagements outside, he had assumed his wife was already asleep. But when he stepped into the back courtyard, he found the bedchamber still lit.
He lifted a hand to still the maids’ greetings, and his footsteps unconsciously softened.
Parting the embroidered curtain, he saw the stove glowing warm within, two embroidered lamps shining on either side of the couch. Through the hazy glow of gauzy veils was framed a delicate figure in quiet thought, dark hair coiled up simply.
Beauty beneath the lamplight—her gentle brows and eyes, under the warm glow, carried an added touch of charm.
Pei Xia stood silently behind the curtain.
Unwilling to disturb her, yet wishing to be seen by her.
Though he had only sipped two cups of Xinfeng wine tonight, and the cold night wind on the way home should have sobered him, the moment he stepped into this warmly lit chamber and saw his serene and tender wife, it was as if the wine surged anew in his chest, setting off restless heat.
The fancies of last night returned to mind.
Truly, wine is a corrupter of men…
“Hm? Langjun?”
A soft voice drifted over. Shen Yujiao lifted her gaze from the couch, her dark eyes shining all the clearer under the lamplight. “When did you come in? Why stand there without a word?”
Had no one outside reported his arrival? Where had Xiaying and Dongxu run off to, shirking their duties?
“Just now.”
Pei Xia cleared his throat softly and stepped inside. “At this hour, I thought you would already be asleep.”
“I saw you hadn’t returned yet, and there were still some accounts left. I wanted to finish them before sleeping.”
“The accounts can wait. Don’t tire yourself too much.” Pei Xia sat at the couch’s edge, his gaze sweeping lightly over the neat, elegant small script she had penned across the ledger.
“It’s fine. I napped at noon, so I’m not too sleepy now.” Shen Yujiao wrinkled her nose slightly, then noticed the faint flush across his face. “Langjun, you drank?”
“Two cups.”
Pei Xia lifted his sleeve and breathed in. “Is the smell heavy?”
“Not heavy—but since I became pregnant, my sense of smell is sharper than before.” Shen Yujiao spoke, then could not help but look at him a little more closely.
He was already born with fine looks, his skin pale and cool as jade. Now, after a little wine, that fair face carried a faint flush, the upward tilt of his eyes tinged with a languid charm. His eyes were dark as ink, lips thin and red as cinnabar—truly refined and handsome, strikingly good to look at.
Shen Yujiao sighed inwardly. After tallying accounts until her head spun, the moment her eyes landed on this face, it felt like a soothing balm…
The world often wrote poems praising a woman’s beauty, but when a man was good-looking, it was just as pleasing to behold.
As she stared in a daze, suddenly a hand covered her eyes.
Her vision went abruptly dark. Shen Yujiao was startled: “Langjun?”
His voice carried a rasp: “Don’t look at me like that.”
Shen Yujiao: “…Why?”
Pei Xia: “It doesn’t look good.”
The way she gazed at him so steadily—it made him… a little unable to control himself.
His palm was burning hot, with a faint cool scent of wine brushing against her nose. Shen Yujiao frowned slightly, puzzled.
He was clearly so handsome—why would he think it didn’t look good?
But since he said so, she could only lower her lashes politely: “Then I won’t look.”
Pei Xia withdrew his hand, turning his face toward the window: “I’ll go wash up. You should rest early.”
Shen Yujiao replied, “Alright.”
When Pei Xia went to the washroom, she finished the last bit of accounts, then blew out the lamp and got into bed.
By the time he returned from bathing, carrying a cool, clean scent back into the chamber, the world outside was silent and the lights dim.
Behind the heavy bedcurtains, a faintly rising and falling figure lay turned inward.
He moved quietly onto the bed, and as on previous nights, gathered that warm, soft body into his arms from behind.
Lowering his head, following the fragrance on her skin, just as his nose was about to brush her ear, a soft, uncertain voice came from within his embrace: “Langjun… you didn’t drink sober-up soup?”
“…”
In the dark, Pei Xia’s lips pressed lightly: “You’re not asleep?”
“I had something to discuss with you, so I thought to wait until you returned.”
Shen Yujiao hadn’t expected that as soon as he lay down, he would embrace her directly—and that the hot breath brushing her ear felt almost like he meant to kiss her.
Was it the wine? But tonight, he didn’t seem drunk at all.
Still holding her, hearing her words, a trace of embarrassment flickered in his eyes. But to pull away now would only make it more conspicuous.
Besides, she was his wife. What could be wrong with being close to one’s own wife?
Thinking thus, he held her as if nothing were amiss: “What is it?”
Shen Yujiao, noticing he didn’t let go, felt it odd, but having no reason to push him away, remained still and said, “I received six calling cards today…”
She told him of the invitations: “Since I’ve returned to Chang’an, it’s proper to visit my grandfather’s household. My aunt has always been kind to me—if her family sent a card, I ought to attend. As for the other households… Langjun, what do you say?”
The faint jasmine scent of her hair and skin unsettled him.
Before, he had only ever held her when she was asleep. Now she was awake, quietly letting him hold her, speaking to him.
“Whenever you want to visit your grandfather’s, I’ll go with you,” Pei Xia said softly, lowering his head bit by bit.
“The sooner the better. I’m free anytime—it just depends when you are.”
As she answered, suddenly she felt a warm touch at the nape of her neck. Her body stiffened, her mind went blank.
He… what was he—?
Just as she thought it might be accidental, those warm lips pressed down again. His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her closer, as if to merge her into his chest.
“Langjun?” Shen Yujiao distinctly felt the undeniable heat against her back. Her long lashes trembled rapidly, heart racing.
“Tomorrow I already have an engagement—the day after, then.”
His lips trailed against her neck, voice low and hoarse: “Tomorrow I can also prepare proper gifts.”
Her mind was tangled into chaos by those scattered kisses, and she answered vaguely with a faint “mm,” her body strangely weak.
They rarely shared such tender intimacy.
Her impression was mostly that afterward, he would pat her back, wipe the sweat from her brow, or lower his head to touch her forehead lightly.
Kisses were few and far between.
When those long fingers slipped beneath her underclothes, Shen Yujiao’s mind jolted clear, and she instinctively pressed down: “Langjun, you—”
“I feel uncomfortable.”
His low, husky voice sounded at her back: “I won’t overstep. Let me hold you—it’ll ease it.”
Her face burned. Biting her lip, she thought: if it’s only holding, why did his hand wander?
He must be drunk.
But while she hesitated, that hand was already inside, and his lips pressed against her earlobe.
In the pitch-dark quiet, their breathing grew unsteady.
Shen Yujiao shut her eyes tight. Perhaps because it had been so long since such intimacy, she was terribly tense.
Yet Pei Xia truly kept his word—he didn’t go too far.
Even though she could feel his strain, he restrained himself, only caressing her, his lips trailing lightly along her neck and cheek.
The sweet scent of jasmine and the dignified sandalwood on his body mingled, filling the space between their breaths.
After a long while, the man’s face pressed deeply into the crook of her neck.
Shen Yujiao’s eyelids fluttered. After a moment’s hesitation, she whispered, “Still feeling very uncomfortable?”
“No matter.”
The man behind her spoke low: “In a bit it will pass. Sleep.”
Shen Yujiao kept silent for two breaths. With him leaning against her like this, how could she possibly sleep?
Perhaps the cover of night gave courage.
She bit her lip, gathered her nerve, and said softly: “Langjun, otherwise… shall I help you?”
The man behind her seemed to pause, then asked, “Help how?”
Her cheeks burned hotter, but since the words were already out, and with nearly half a year yet before childbirth and confinement, she couldn’t let him keep enduring endlessly.
She said nothing more, only closed her eyes and quietly reached a hand back.
The instant she grasped him, her breath caught. At her ear came a low, muffled groan.
“Yuniang…”
“…” Shen Yujiao bit her lip, saying nothing, as if her soul had flown away and her five fingers acted on their own.
It was her first time doing such a thing—she had no idea what she was doing.
But since he didn’t stop her, she forced herself to continue.
Until her hand grew sore. Finally, she couldn’t hold back from asking: “Is… is it done?”
“…”
Silence for a moment. Then a helpless, husky laugh: “What do you think?”
Shen Yujiao: “…”
So it still wasn’t enough.
The next instant, her shoulder was suddenly drawn back, turning her from back-to-back to face-to-face. Her heart skipped a beat.
Fortunately the curtains shrouded them in pitch dark. Even face-to-face, they couldn’t see clearly.
Within the warm quilt, his long fingers closed around hers, his breath brushing her brow as he murmured: “Like this.”
Shen Yujiao’s mind went utterly blank.
Her hand no longer felt like her own.
For a long while, within the mingled jasmine and sandalwood fragrance, another faint scent—like chestnut blossoms—spread beneath the canopy.
—
The next morning.
“Madam, before leaving, Master specially instructed that he will see to the gifts for tomorrow’s visit to the Li household, so you needn’t trouble yourself.” Bai Ping helped Shen Yujiao rise, and noticing her staring at her hand in a daze, asked curiously: “Madam, is something wrong with your hand?”
“Ah.” Shen Yujiao startled, coughed in embarrassment: “N-no, nothing. What you said—I understand. If he arranges it, then I’ll be spared the trouble.”
“Indeed.” Bai Ping smiled. “Madam is the most precious now—Master would never let you tire yourself.”
Not let her tire herself?
Shen Yujiao quietly rubbed her still-aching wrist and said nothing.
But afterward, whether using tooth powder, holding chopsticks, or lifting a brush, she dared not look at that hand.
Whenever she did, her mind couldn’t help but return to last night.
Even now, it felt unbelievable—that she had actually reached out on her own.
Even more unbelievable—that Pei Xia hadn’t refused her.
At the end, when she was too exhausted, half-dreaming, he had fetched water and cloth to wipe her hand, then changed into clean robes.
She didn’t know when he had finally slept, nor when he had left that morning. Perhaps, by daylight, he too felt last night was somewhat absurd?
Ai. Shen Yujiao sighed softly. When he returned tonight, how should she face him?
It felt awkward beyond words.
But what was bound to come would come. At dusk, when the lamps were lit, Pei Xia arrived at her courtyard.
He wore a robe of raven-blue, hair bound with jade pin, silk sash at his waist, jade pendant hanging—his whole bearing elegant, noble, untouchable, like an immortal above the clouds—
Yet last night, she had defiled him.
Shen Yujiao was so ashamed she couldn’t lift her head, feeling as though she had done something terribly wrong.
Pei Xia noticed her constant sidelong glances, the tips of her small ears flushed crimson beneath her hair.
Remembering last night, his gaze darkened slightly, his long fingers behind his back unconsciously curling.
He walked to the side of her couch. “This afternoon I sent word to the Li household, and gifts for Grandfather, Grandmother, Uncle and Aunt are all prepared. After breakfast tomorrow, we can depart.”
“Y-yes.” The moment he came near, Shen Yujiao instinctively stood, stepping aside: “As long as you’ve arranged it.”
Pei Xia looked at her. “Yuniang?”
“I suddenly remembered—I forgot to instruct Qiao Momo about something.” She kept her head down. “Langjun, you wash up first, I’ll step out for a moment.”
Not waiting for his reply, she hurried out.
Pei Xia stood there, watching her retreating figure that looked like fleeing, and couldn’t help but smile.
Last night she had been so bold…
But for a sheltered maiden like her, that she was willing to do that for him already showed her heart.
That night, once again, when the lamps were out and the curtains drawn, Pei Xia pulled Shen Yujiao into his arms.
She had already been uneasy. Feeling him press close again, her heart gave a fierce jolt—could it be… he still wanted more?
This was far too unlike him! Could he be possessed by some evil spirit? How else explain this sudden change in nature?
Nervous and flustered, her slender wrist was once more caught, her body turned. Shen Yujiao’s brows knit in distress, her heart crying bitterly.
Facing him directly, her hand did not move downward, but instead lightly rested by the man’s thin lips.
Like a dragonfly skimming water, a soft kiss fell upon the back of her hand.
Shen Yujiao froze, blurting out in surprise: “Langjun?”
The bed curtains had been deliberately left with a narrow gap, letting in a faint blur of light. It did not reveal his expression, only the hazy outline of his face.
In the darkness, he gazed intently at the gentle lines of the small face in his arms. “Yuniang, you and I are husband and wife. To do such intimacies is only natural. You need not be shy.”
Shen Yujiao had not expected him to say this—so serious, no less—and instantly felt even more ashamed.
“I know.” She lowered her eyes, speaking stiffly: “I’m not.”
“So long as you’re not.”
Pei Xia said, then after a brief silence, asked: “Does your hand still ache?”
Shen Yujiao was about to answer “It doesn’t anymore,” but just as the words reached her lips, she recalled half a year ago, in the bedchamber, he had asked “Is your waist still sore?” and she had honestly replied “not sore”—only for him to press down on her again.
“A little sore still,” she whispered.
The man before her fell silent for two breaths, then said: “I was too rash.”
He began to rub her wrist.
Shen Yujiao’s lips parted twice, the words “It’s actually fine” just about to leave her mouth, when the man before her added: “Next time, I’ll try to be faster.”
