Du Jingyi nodded gratefully, as if Shang Ji were a plague god whom she wished would leave her chamber at once.
Shang Ji caught the meaning in her eyes. With a low chuckle, he reached out, brushed his hand lightly across her hair, and then turned to leave.
As he stepped out, he noticed the maid Yingtao (whose name means “Cherry”) standing there, head bowed so low her gaze was fixed on the tips of her embroidered shoes. She did not dare raise her eyes.
Shang Ji was inwardly satisfied. This girl has learned the rules of the inner courtyard well [in noble households, maidservants were trained to never meet their master’s eyes directly unless permitted].
Only after he left did both mistress and maid finally exhale in relief.
Yingtao quickly approached and whispered, still flustered:
“Madam, you nearly frightened me to death. I thought… I thought…”
Though she dared not finish the sentence, Du Jingyi knew what she meant.
— She thought the General intended to bathe with his lady.
To be honest, Du Jingyi herself had half-feared the same at the beginning. But now, she had to supply an explanation.
“My leg cramped. The General carried me here because he was afraid I would be in pain. Don’t imagine nonsense.”
“Oh… so that’s it. The General is truly considerate toward Madam.”
Yingtao’s simple mind was quickly soothed by Du Jingyi’s words.
It was only many years later, after Yingtao herself was married, that she understood—there existed between husband and wife a certain shameless intimacy, a little secret joy.
For now, she carefully assisted her mistress with bathing.
Meanwhile, in the adjacent side chamber, Shang Ji poured several buckets of steaming water over himself from head to toe, washing swiftly and without fuss [bathing in hot water was a winter luxury in noble households, usually requiring many buckets carried from the kitchens].
When dressed, he summoned Luo Yuan (his trusted personal guard).
“Go call Butler He and Mama Dou.” [Butler He is the chief steward of Shang Ji’s East Courtyard; Mama Dou is the senior female housekeeper, supervising the maids.]
“Yes, General.”
Luo Yuan, assuming it was urgent military business, hurried off. Soon, footsteps were heard outside.
“This old servant greets the General.” Butler He bowed deeply. Mama Dou likewise offered her respects.
“Hmm,” Shang Ji acknowledged curtly.
“May we know why the General has summoned us?”
They knew his straightforward temper and asked without delay.
Shang Ji did not waste words:
“If one needed hot water for bathing in the side room of the General’s main quarters, without repeatedly fetching buckets, could it be arranged?”
The two stewards blinked in surprise before quickly grasping his intent.
“It should be possible,” Butler He replied. “We have heard that the Imperial temporary palace has such chambers built with channels for water.” [“Temporary palace” refers to a traveling or seasonal residence of the Emperor, equipped with innovations such as heated floors or piped water for the court’s comfort.]
“Good. Arrange it. That way, if I return late, I won’t trouble the entire courtyard to be roused for fetching water.”
The two exchanged a look, admiration plain on their faces. The General truly is considerate to his servants.
In truth, Shang Ji’s motive was far from selfless — he was thinking of his own future comfort with his wife. The faint smile curving his lips betrayed it. Had they noticed, they would have been baffled.
Wasn’t the General always so reserved? What was he plotting now?
Outside, the north wind howled across the city. Inside the East Courtyard, warmth lingered.
After the stewards withdrew, Du Jingyi emerged from the side chamber, composed once more, and returned to the main hall.
She took a steadying breath. As long as I am not embarrassed, it is others who will be embarrassed. With this thought, she pushed the door open — only to find the room empty.
“Where is the General?”
She turned to Li Zhu (her second maid), who had just entered from the outer chamber. The girl had seen him leave.
Sure enough, Li Zhu answered respectfully:
“The General has gone to the study. He asked this servant to inform Madam that she should dine first. He has pressing military matters and will not join Madam for lunch.”
At that, Du Jingyi let out a sigh of relief. The tension in her chest also loosened.
Once the body relaxes, hunger naturally follows.
She had not eaten breakfast, and now it was already midday.
Li Zhu, perceptive as ever, immediately ordered food to be brought in.
When the small table was set, Du Jingyi glanced at the modest spread and thought of her absent husband.
Li Zhu quickly added:
“Madam, rest assured. The General has already taken his meal. These are his favorite dishes as well.”
“That is good.”
Du Jingyi sat upon the stool before the low table [in women’s quarters, meals were often taken at smaller, lower tables than in the men’s outer halls] and began to eat slowly, savoring each bite.
Whether from true hunger or the improved skill of her Cook Danruo, she ate more than usual.
Her two maids beamed at this sight.
Especially Yingtao, who remembered the admonition of Mama Cai (the senior midwife of the household):
“Madam is too frail. She must eat more and sleep well, in preparation for bearing children.”
So, seeing her mistress eat heartily, Yingtao’s smile never faltered.
When Du Jingyi finally laid down her chopsticks with a sigh — “I cannot eat another bite” — the maids cleared the table.
Though comfortably full and a little drowsy, she had risen late and was still in good spirits. With nothing urgent to do, Du Jingyi decided to read.
She also intended to pick out a few storybooks for her young sister-in-law, confined within the courtyard, so that the girl would not languish in boredom.
In her room against the wall stood a bookshelf filled with volumes of books she had brought from her natal home. Some contained strange tales, others recorded past events and legends.
She drew out several shenmo xiaoshuo [“gods-and-demons stories,” popular Ming–Qing era novels of the supernatural] and began to flip through them.
Though she had read them years ago, upon revisiting them now, the tales still felt fresh and amusing for her .
Before she had read even a few pages — no more than the time to drink a cup of tea — familiar footsteps sounded outside.
Then came Yingtao and Li Zhu’s voices in unison:
“Your servants greet the General.”
Hearing that her husband had returned, Du Jingyi felt her mood brighten.
She rose and settled herself upon the kang [a raised, heated brick platform bed common in northern households], just as Shang Ji entered, followed by Butler He.
Shang Ji’s expression was calm as ever, but Butler He’s face fairly shone with excitement.
Puzzled, Du Jingyi offered a respectful salute and asked:
“General, has some good news arrived?”
Shang Ji’s reply was flat, but the words carried weight:
“Just now, a messenger came from the palace. Tomorrow, the Empress will summon you for audience.”
“Tomorrow?”
At this, not only Du Jingyi, but even her two maids, were struck dumb. The summons was far too sudden.
“Why so abrupt?” she asked.
“Not abrupt,” Shang Ji corrected. “At the last palace banquet, you were absent. Her Majesty has been concerned. It has now been a month or two. Naturally, she wishes to see you.”
He cast his gaze over her and continued:
“You are not yet a titled consort of the Imperial Court, so you do not have the official chaofu [formal court attire required of noble ladies when attending imperial ceremonies]. Tomorrow, simply dress according to your station — dignified and elegant. Do not be overly ornate. What you wear today would suffice.”
His words fell like stones into the hearts of mistress and maids alike, each stirring their own thoughts.