“Uncle Zhao is teasing me again,” Shang Zhiping said, a genuine, relaxed smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Du Jingyi, Sister-in-law Liu, and Xue Niang all froze for a momentary heartbeat. They had spent years viewing Ping’er as a fragile porcelain vase—something to be guarded, corrected, and constantly monitored for cracks. Yet, here he was, leaning into the easy camaraderie of Xing Zhao.
Watching them, a sudden clarity washed over Du Jingyi. Ping’er, raised under the suffocating weight of expectation, didn’t need a stern mentor to lecture him on change; he needed a companion who allowed him to simply be. While the family had offered “help” that felt like shackles, Xing Zhao had offered a mirror that showed the boy he was already enough.
I see now, Jingyi mused. To help Ping’er in the future, I must first let him breathe.
Her gaze toward Xing Zhao grew sweet—so sweet, in fact, that a sudden chill raced down Xing Zhao’s spine. He recognized that look; it was the prelude to one of his cousin-in-law’s clever “traps.”
“Sixth Sister-in-law, stop looking!” Xing Zhao joked, retreating a step. “Cousin Shaoyu is right beside you!” The implication was clear: any more admiring glances and the General might very well erupt in a fit of territorial jealousy.
“What is the harm in looking at you a few times?” Jingyi teased, her eyes dancing with mischief. “It certainly won’t hurt me.”
Xing Zhao looked utterly aggrieved, the picture of a man who knew he was outmatched. He could not fight his cousin, nor could he outwit his cousin’s wife. He was like a performing monkey forced to hand over his own leash. The table erupted in laughter at his expense.
Madam Xing joined the fray, delighted to have found a kindred spirit in Du Jingyi. For years, she had been the only one to torment her son; now, with a “partner in crime,” the sport was far more rewarding. Seeing her son jumping in frustration, she nearly clapped her hands in joy.
Beside her, Du Jingyi grew noticeably more lively, her laughter ringing through the hall. Shang Ji watched her, a soft, doting chuckle escaping him. The affection between them was so palpable that the Third Aunt felt a pang of relief for having left Gu Xiaolang behind at Xu Lai Courtyard; to see such intimacy would have surely shattered the girl’s heart anew.
However, the air of the banquet was not just one of romance, but of reflection. Most women at the table were widows of the Gu clan, yet the arrival in Sui’an seemed to have stirred a dormant spark within them.
The Fourth Aunt, typically the most spirited of the aunts, suddenly raised her wine cup toward Shang Ji. “I recall Shaoyu used to have quite the capacity for spirits. Since we are reunited today, let us not hold back! Let Fourth Aunt see if you have improved over the years!”
She made a bold gesture, challenging him to a drinking contest. Old Madam Gu’s eyes crinkled into crescents of delight. In the past, the Fourth Brother’s wife had been the life of every feast. Even the late Old Master Gu had been unable to outdrink her. But since the tragedy that had claimed her husband, she had not touched a single drop. To see her reach for a bowl now was a sign that the heavy shroud of grief was finally lifting.
“Quickly!” Xing Zhao shouted, egging them on. “Bring Fourth Aunt a new bowl! I heard tales of her legendary capacity when I was but a child. Today, I must witness it!”
The atmosphere became electric, far removed from the tomb-like silence of their days in Jinling. Old Madam Gu chuckled, waving a hand at the servants. “Bring her a bowl. Her capacity is likely greater than everyone else in this room combined.”
Du Jingyi watched with wide-eyed curiosity. Her Fourth Aunt appeared so delicate; could she truly be a titan of the wine jar?
Her doubts vanished within the hour. The wine seemed to turn to water the moment it touched Fourth Aunt’s lips. Bowl after bowl disappeared, yet her eyes remained sharp and her posture regal. Shang Ji, by contrast, began to flush. His skin, naturally bronzed by the sun, turned a deep, bruised crimson, then a startling purplish hue as the alcohol took hold.
Xing Zhao, unable to let his cousin suffer alone, dove into the fray. He lasted even less time than Shang Ji. Soon, the boisterous young man was slumped against the table, his vision swimming in a sea of jade-green wine.
“Trying to show off your ‘skills’ before Guan Yu [the God of War]?” Madam Xing teased her son, shaking her head. “This child truly isn’t the brightest.”
The Fourth Aunt wiped a stray drop of wine from her lip with a silk handkerchief, looking perfectly sober. “It has been so many years,” she murmured with a slight tipsiness, “that even such a small amount makes me feel faint.”
Du Jingyi stared at the mountain of empty bowls on the table. Small amount? She wasn’t sure if her aunt was being modest or simply showing off.
The welcoming banquet had barely reached its midpoint, yet the two primary men of the house were already thoroughly vanquished. In any other setting, such drunkenness would be a grave breach of li [etiquette], but here, sheltered by the walls of home and family, it was a beautiful, chaotic relief.
Old Madam Gu watched the two slumped figures with an amused, helpless sigh. She had laughed more in these few days than in the past five years combined.
“Jingyi,” the Matriarch said softly, “have the kitchens prepare two bowls of xingjiutang [hangover soup] immediately, lest their heads split like melons come morning.”
“Grandmother, rest easy. I shall see to it at once,” Jingyi replied.
Servants quickly brought over reclining chairs, settling the two drunken men near the warmth of the flower hall. Danruo, ever prepared, sent the soup in record time. After being coaxed into drinking the herbal broth, both Shang Ji and Xing Zhao drifted into a deep, heavy slumber.
Old Madam Gu remained unruffled, picking up her chopsticks once more. “It is merely the drunkenness of men,” she told the ladies with a calm smile. “Do not let it distract us. Let us eat and not allow this magnificent food to go to waste.”
“Yes, Grandmother,” the women replied in unison, their hearts lighter than they had been in a decade.As the meal wound to its conclusion, the experienced Old Madam Gu remained remarkably unruffled by the sight of the two men slumped nearby. Du Jingyi watched her, wondering privately if the Gu family table of old had frequently been a place where warriors found their limit in a wine jar.
Mama Dou signaled the servants to clear the porcelain and replace the heavy meal with a delicate, fragrant tea. Shang Ji and Xing Zhao were, mercifully, quiet in their stupor, their steady breathing the only sound from the reclining chairs. This domestic peace, however, drew a heavy sigh from Third Aunt.
“So many years have passed,” she murmured, her eyes misting. “I can hardly recall the last time Father-in-law and Third Brother were so spiritedly drunk.”
The mention of the fallen men brought an immediate chill to the room, the vibrant joy of a moment ago replaced by the heavy shroud of Jinling’s grief. Sensing the shift, Du Jingyi moved to steer the conversation away from the abyss of memory.
“The snow has been generous to Sui’an these past days,” Jingyi said, her voice gentle yet clear. “The mountain behind our estate is buried in white. To prepare for the housewarming, I have commissioned beifang jiangren [craftsmen from the north] who specialize in snow-sculpting to create a winter wonderland. If Grandmother and Aunts find it pleasing, you must visit the gardens tomorrow.”
The novelty of “snow craftsmen” sparked immediate curiosity, effectively mending the broken atmosphere. Xue Niang, her youthful spirit returning, clapped her hands. “Sixth Sister-in-law always has the most wondrous ideas! Aunties, Sister-in-law Liu, we must go together!”
Old Madam Gu watched Jingyi navigate the emotional currents of the room, a flicker of genuine satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. The girl was not merely a merchant’s daughter; she was a tactician of the heart.
Once Shang Ji and Xing Zhao were escorted to their respective chambers by Steward He’s men, the other ladies excused themselves. However, the Matriarch remained seated, her gaze fixed on Jingyi.
Jingyi understood. This was the moment she had sensed since the gate. “Yingtao,” she commanded, “stand watch outside the flower hall. Permit no one to enter.”
Mama Qin took her cue as well. “Old Madam, this servant shall wait without intruption.”
Silence descended upon the flower hall. Du Jingyi felt the weight of the Old Madam’s presence—a pressure different from the cold authority of Empress Guo, but no less formidable.
“The General’s Mansion is impeccably managed,” Old Madam Gu began, her voice soft but resonant. “It is clear you possess a rare talent for governance.”
“Grandmother is too kind,” Jingyi replied, maintaining a composure that hid her racing heart.
“I asked to speak with you alone,” the Matriarch continued, her eyes searching Jingyi’s face like a scholar reading an ancient scroll. “Do you know the reason?”
“This sun-xi [granddaughter-in-law] is slow-witted; I beg Grandmother for enlightenment.”
Jingyi’s mask of innocence was perfect, forged through years of high-stakes commerce. The Old Madam stared at her for a long beat, searching for a crack of guilt or fear. Finding none, the elder woman sighed, a sound of weary surrender. “It seems this old woman is being petty.”
“My life was once a tapestry of gold,” the Matriarch reminisced, her eyes clouding with the past. “I had noble blood, a husband of glory, and a house filled with children. I was content beyond the reach of most. My only wish for Shaoyu was that he find a partner to grow old with in peace.”
She paused, her expression hardening. “But the heavens were not merciful. The Gu family collapsed. At that moment, I—and his aunts—had no desire to survive the shame and the grief. We intended to follow our men to the yellow springs. It was Shaoyu who saved us. He was not yet twenty, yet he pulled us from the brink, bearing a mountain of pressure on his young shoulders.”
Du Jingyi felt a sharp pang of heartache for the husband she had only known in his prime, imagining the broken youth he must have been.
“Those who have looked into the eyes of death fear nothing,” the Matriarch said. “The only reason I still draw breath is for the sake of Lang’er and Shaoyu. I wish to see them both live well. Do you understand my meaning?”
The blow was direct. Jingyi’s heart sank. The Matriarch was framing Gu Xiaolang’s entrance into the mansion as a final wish—a debt of blood and survival. How can I fight a ghost? Jingyi wondered.
Watching the Young Madam’s face darken, the Matriarch pressed her advantage, her aura becoming cold and authoritative. But Jingyi remembered Shang Ji’s vow from that afternoon—his promise that no one, not even the Matriarch, would drive her away.
“I understand Grandmother’s meaning,” Jingyi said, her voice ringing with a newfound steel as she looked the Matriarch in the eye. “But I am unwilling. I will not permit Cousin Lang to enter this mansion as anything other than a guest.”
The Old Madam’s brow furrowed, a look of genuine displeasure crossing her face. “I have explained the history of our house with great patience, and you still resist? Do you believe you have the power to stop me? If I command it, Shaoyu has no choice but to obey. Do you truly believe your importance outweighs the immense kindness the Gu family has bestowed upon him?”
The words were like boulders falling from a height. Any other daughter-in-law would have been crushed into submission. But Du Jingyi stood her ground.
“The General will forever honor and repay the Gu family’s kindness,” Jingyi replied with a seriousness that matched the Matriarch’s own. “But the General’s gratitude is not a currency to be traded for his wife’s dignity. Even if he were to lose interest in me tomorrow, I am not a woman who will compromise the sanctity of my hearth. If the General truly had no heart for Cousin Lang, forcing her upon him would not be kindness—it would be a life sentence for all involved.”