Shang Qilang [The seventh son of the Duke’s household] offered a small, reassuring smile to his mother. “Mother, do you truly have so little faith in your son? If I possess the merit to pass the imperial examinations, does it truly matter if I miss this one banquet? I shall have a lifetime to navigate the circles of the capital, shall I not?”
His words were sensible and kind, meant to alleviate the heavy guilt weighing on Madam Wei [The Second Wife of the Duke]. Yet, the more reasonable he was, the more her heart ached. To see such a promising child’s path obstructed by a family feud left her filled with a bitter, simmering resentment. She felt trapped, dissatisfied, and utterly lost as to which path would lead them out of the shadows.
“Alas,” she sighed, “it is my own past that drags you down.”
“What are you saying, Mother?” the youth replied softly. “The discord between the Shang and Gu families was not your doing alone. It is a ghost of the past; let us speak of it no more.”
Reluctantly, Madam Wei let the obsession go, at least for the moment. But in the Imperial City, even when one prays for the wind to die down, the storm rarely obliges.
The sky broke over Sui’an City on the nineteenth day of the twelfth lunar month, a pale expanse where clouds and snowflakes performed a slow, elegant dance. Dawn arrived exceptionally early that day.
By the first light, the General’s Mansion was already a hive of activity. Outside the vermilion gates, servants in crisp new jackets—festive, respectable, and glowing with pride—stood ready. At the appointed auspicious hour, Steward He gave the signal.
The air was suddenly filled with the deafening roar of firecrackers, their red paper casings littering the snow like fallen petals. Lucky bags [Small silk pouches containing coins or auspicious charms] were scattered among the gathered crowds, who eagerly shouted blessings toward the mansion.
The commotion reached into every corner of the estate, gently waking the residents. In the Xi Tang Courtyard [The Western Hall, private quarters of the General and his wife], Du Jingyi stretched languidly.
“Winter makes for such easy sleep,” she said with a touch of coquettishness, her voice soft with lingering dreams. “I nearly forgot the taste of breakfast.”
Since Shang Ji’s [The General] return, the couple had often remained in each other’s arms until midday, shielded from the world. But today was different.
“You must eat a hearty breakfast today,” Shang Ji replied, his voice a low rumble. “The banquet will be long, and I will not have you going hungry.”
Du Jingyi was now more than four months into her pregnancy. In her loose ao [A padded robe], her condition was barely visible to others, but as she lay there, she could feel the slight, firm bulge of her belly. As she stretched, she suddenly froze.
Deep within, she felt a flicker—a quick, slippery sensation, like a small fish darting through water.
“General!” she exclaimed, her eyes widening with delight. She snatched his hand and pressed it firmly against her abdomen. “He moved!”
Shang Ji, a man of war who had never known such a delicate miracle, leaned in close, his breath held. They waited in silence, but for a long moment, there was nothing.
“Are you certain?” he asked, his voice tinged with a rare uncertainty. “I feel nothing.”
As first-time parents, they wavered. Du Jingyi recalled Mama Dou [A senior household maid and nanny] mentioning that movements began around the fourth or fifth month, but she hadn’t truly believed it until now. Just as they began to doubt, the child—as if determined to prove its presence on this auspicious day—gave a distinct, firm kick.
Both felt it this time. They were overwhelmed with a sudden, surging joy.
“Does this mean the child is happy?” Shang Ji asked, his protective instincts instantly flaring. “Or is there discomfort? Should I summon Physician Wang [The Imperial Physician] immediately?”
Ever since Empress Guo [The current Empress] had learned of the pregnancy, Physician Wang had been personally overseeing Du Jingyi’s health. If he was unavailable, his son—an esteemed physician of the Imperial Hospital in his own right—would attend. Both were men of impeccable medical ethics and gentle temperament.
Du Jingyi glanced at the morning light filtering through the lattice windows and shook her head. “No need for such trouble so early. The Wang family will be attending the banquet regardless. We can ask them to check my pulse then.”
While the young couple lingered in the West, the Xu Lai Courtyard was already bustling. Old Madam Gu [The Matriarch] was a light sleeper, her ears tuned to the rhythms of the house. She was already finishing her breakfast, accompanied by Gu Xiaolang [Her granddaughter].
The young girl looked fragile, her face pale despite the light dusting of powder she had applied. The recent emotional turmoil had left her looking as though she were recovering from a long, wasting illness. The ache in her heart remained, but she had cried her fill. The Gu family was not built for perpetual melancholy; they were built to endure.
“Grandmother, try this fish porridge,” Gu Xiaolang urged, ladling a fragrant bowl for the elder. “The scent is truly wonderful.”
“The day ahead is long, and we may not see food again for hours,” the Matriarch noted. “You must eat as well, child.”
“I will, Grandmother.” As the warm porridge hit her stomach, Xiaolang felt a flicker of her old spirit returning.
Old Madam Gu watched her for a moment, then spoke with a gravity that brooked no argument. “Whatever happens today, remember: we represent the Gu family and the General’s Mansion. Do you understand?”
“I understand, Grandmother. I shall not cause any trouble. Do not worry.”
Their quiet meal was soon interrupted by the boisterous arrival of Madam Xing [A noblewoman of the Gu household] and the two aunts. The room was instantly filled with their lively energy. They were dressed with extraordinary formality—rich silks and elaborate headpieces that made them look a decade younger.
Old Madam Gu looked at them, then at her granddaughter, in surprise. It had been years since she had seen the women of her family so exquisitely adorned. Behind them, a line of maids carried lacquer trays draped in red silk.
“Greetings to our Aunt!” they chorused.
“You are here quite early,” Old Madam Gu remarked, setting down her spoon.
“We are rushing to deliver these to you and Lang’er [The diminutive for Gu Xiaolang],” Madam Xing said happily, gesturing for the trays to be brought forward.
The trays were laden with garments of the finest weave and jewelry so intricately crafted they seemed to glow. Even the Matriarch, who had seen the treasures of the Imperial Court, was impressed.
“Where,” Old Madam Gu asked, her voice hushed with wonder, “did these come from?””Naturally, these are for my aunt,” Madam Xing explained with a flourish of her silk sleeves. “Our Gu family has not appeared in the public eye for many years; we cannot afford to look diminished at today’s feast. I feared the attire of my sisters-in-law and Lang’er [Gu Xiaolang] might be a touch too plain for such an occasion, so I took the liberty of preparing these.”
She reached into a tray and lifted a set of royal blue bijia [A long, sleeveless vest-like jacket with a stand-up collar]. “Aunt, look! This shade complements your skin tone perfectly.” The garment was a masterpiece of needlework, embroidered with branches of osmanthus, Buddha’s hand citron, and gourd patterns—each a symbol of longevity and boundless blessing. When paired with the matching gemstone hairpins and earrings, the opulence was undeniable.
On another tray lay a jacket of tourmaline hue, adorned with the delicate butterfly-and-flower patterns favored by young noblewomen. To accompany it was a sky-blue pleated skirt and a necklace of tourmaline and aquamarine beads, looking as fresh as a spring morning.
Old Madam Gu [The Matriarch] cast a long, knowing look at Madam Xing. In that single glance, the truth was laid bare between them. Madam Xing was spirited, yes, but this was not Jinling; she did not have the connections in Sui’an to procure such meticulous, high-quality pieces on such short notice.
This was the work of Du Jingyi [The Mistress of the General’s Mansion].
The Matriarch understood instantly: Du Jingyi had likely used Madam Xing as a shield to prevent Gu Xiaolang from feeling the sting of charity or the bite of resentment. By delivering them through Madam Xing in the early hours of the morning, she had left them no time to deliberate—they were forced by the clock to simply put them on.
“Aunt, please, try it on!” Madam Xing urged, sensing the Matriarch’s hesitation. “Look at my sisters-in-law; do they not look radiant?”
Indeed, the two aunts, who rarely indulged in such finery, seemed transformed, their faces glowing with a new energy. Gu Xiaolang, who had remained silent, finally moved to change her attire with her maid, Shuzhen.
When they emerged, the transformation was complete. Old Madam Gu looked every bit the formidable matriarch of a Great Clan, while Gu Xiaolang appeared like a delicate flower in full bloom, her youth and beauty finally allowed to shine.
“Beautiful! Truly beautiful!” Madam Xing praised, her voice sweet with genuine pride. “Our Lang’er is a true daughter of the Jinling Gu. I dare say even the ladies of the Imperial Palace cannot compare.”
Gu Xiaolang felt a flush of shyness. She was, after all, a young woman, and such high praise was a balm to her wounded spirit. Yet her feelings toward Du Jingyi grew even more tangled. She envied the way Shao Yu [Shang Ji’s childhood name] doted on his wife, but she could no longer deny Du Jingyi’s profound grace and thoughtfulness. She wanted to cling to her resentment, but Du Jingyi had left her no ground to stand on.
“Today, the halls will be filled with the most prominent families of Sui’an,” Madam Xing remarked, her eyes twinkling. “I have been thinking it is time to find a good wife for my son, and the Third Aunt [Gu Xiaolang’s mother] mentioned finding a match for Xue Niang [A younger female relative]. We should all keep a keen eye out today.”
She did not mention Gu Xiaolang’s marriage prospects directly, but the implication was clear: it was time for the girl to look forward. At nearly seventeen, she was in her prime. The Matriarch nodded in agreement. “Very well, let us help the children choose their futures today.”
In the Xitang Courtyard, the air was quiet but for the rustle of fine silk. Shang Ji [The General] and Du Jingyi stood before a tall bronze mirror, dressed as the dual pillars of the mansion.
Shang Ji was a vision of martial elegance in a crimson robe embroidered with gold thread, a pure white fox-fur cloak draped over his broad shoulders. Beside him, Du Jingyi wore a jacket of pale lilac silk over a moon-white skirt. A matching fox-fur shawl accentuated her gentle, alluring grace, and the pearls in her hair shimmered like morning dew.
“My Lady,” Shang Ji murmured, his gaze fixed on her reflection, “you are breathtaking today.”
Du Jingyi turned to him with a playful smile. “General, you are quite handsome yourself. Had you stayed in the capital all these years, I fear you would have broken the hearts of half the women in Sui’an.”
Shang Ji took her hand, his expression suddenly grave and tender. “Even if a celestial being descended from the heavens, she could not compare to my Lady.”
Du Jingyi’s heart skipped a beat. She remembered her father saying those very words to her mother; she used to find it cloying, but coming from Shang Ji, it was the sweetest music.
When the Gu family party arrived, they happened upon this moment of intimate affection. The elders laughed softly, but Gu Xiaolang’s eyes flickered with a brief, familiar darkness. She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and helped the Matriarch across the threshold.
The couple immediately bowed in greeting. “Grandmother, Aunt, Ladies.”
Gu Xiaolang stepped forward, curtsying with impeccable poise. “Greetings, Cousin. Greetings, Cousin-in-law.”
Du Jingyi noted the girl’s newfound composure with a sense of relief. “Cousin Lang, you look more radiant than I have ever seen you.”
Gu Xiaolang looked her straight in the eye. After a pause, she spoke softly. “Thank you, Cousin-in-law, for preparing all of this. Grandmother loves her gift, as do my mother and aunts.”
Madam Xing raised an eyebrow. As expected, there are no fools in the Gu family, she thought. Gu Xiaolang had seen through the ruse immediately.
Du Jingyi was not surprised. She simply smiled, her voice warm and inclusive. “I am only glad that everyone is pleased. Since it is mid-winter, the selection of fabrics was somewhat limited. When spring arrives, I shall have the master weaver, Lu Ju, come to the manor so we can all select new silks together. Bright colors always look best when the flowers are in bloom.”