The heavy scent of burning sandalwood and the crackle of a charcoal brazier filled the Xi Tang Courtyard, creating a pocket of stillness against the swirling gale outside. Shang Ji [The General] strode past the front hall, the dampness of the snow clinging to his dark sable cloak. As he bypassed the second gate, the rhythmic sounds of laughter from the inner chambers reached him, softening the hardened lines of his face.
Inside the warm room, Madam Xing [the high-ranking maternal aunt] was in the midst of teasing Du Jingyi [the General’s Wife, currently three months pregnant]. Upon seeing her nephew enter, she beamed with a triumphant air.
“See? My words never miss their mark!” Madam Xing exclaimed, her eyes dancing with mischief. “The heart of our Sixth Brother is tethered fast to this General’s Mansion. He usually remains at his post until the lanterns are lit, yet today, he returns before the midday meal!”
Du Jingyi rose, her curiosity piqued. Today was the auspicious day of their housewarming, a celebration of the sanctuary they had built together. Shang Ji had departed in the middle of the night due to an urgent military summons, and she had resigned herself to a quiet day with the ladies. So his sudden appearance sent a ripple of warmth through her.
“Why is the General back so early?” she asked softly, stepping toward him. “Is the business at hand concluded?”
“It is,” Shang Ji replied, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the small room. He looked at her with an intensity that made the air feel suddenly thick. “Furthermore, a messenger arrived from Xing Zhao. He and the escort will reach Sui’an City in approximately ten days.”
“Truly?” Madam Liu [the Eldest Sister-in-law] broke in, her voice trembling with anticipation. Xing Zhao’s return meant her own son, Ping’er, was finally coming home. It was the first time the child had been away from her side, and the longing of a mother was evident in her shimmering eyes.
“Yes,” Shang Ji continued, nodding toward his sister-in-law. “However, the party is smaller than expected. Only my maternal grandmother, my third aunt, and my fourth aunt are journeying north. The others remain in Jinling City to manage the end-of-year affairs.”
Madam Xing nodded thoughtfully. “The Lunar New Year draws near; the prominent houses of Jinling must maintain their social obligations. It is only right.”
Du Jingyi, always the meticulous manager of the household’s face, immediately added, “Then I shall have the New Year’s gifts dispatched to Jinling ahead of schedule. Though my aunts could not travel, their due respect must not be neglected.”
“You are wise to do so,” Shang Ji said. He reached out, his hand steady and warm, to guide Du Jingyi back to her seat. Without a word of ceremony, he picked up the teacup she had been using and drained it in a single, thirsty gulp.
Because of the pregnancy, the cup held no bitter leaves, but rather a warm infusion of honey and lemon—sweet and tart. To Shang Ji, the flavor was secondary to the intimacy of the act; sharing her cup was a quiet claim of closeness.
Seeing the unspoken, honeyed looks passing between the couple, Madam Liu cleared her throat and gave a knowing glance to Madam Xing. “Aunt, did Xue Niang [the Eighth Sister] not mention an embroidery project for you? Let us go to her courtyard and see if her needle has finished the silk handkerchief.”
Madam Xing blinked, confused for a heartbeat, before catching the glint in Madam Liu’s eye. She smothered a smile behind her hand. “Ah, yes! My memory is failing me. We shall leave these two young lovers to their private discourse.”
“Aunt…” Du Jingyi murmured, her cheeks flushing a delicate rose hue. Since the baby had quickened within her, she found herself far more susceptible to such teasing.
Shang Ji, however, remained a pillar of calm. He stood and offered a formal bow. “Aunt, Sister-in-law, please walk carefully in the snow.”
The door clicked shut, leaving the two of them alone as the wind howled against the paper screens. Shang Ji turned back to his wife. The air in the room seemed to shift, becoming heavy with an unspoken, magnetic pull.
“I have seven days of rest before me,” he said, his voice dropping to a more intimate register. “I intend to ride out to the city gates to greet Grandmother myself. You should remain here, nestled by the fire. The roads are slick with ice, and I would not have you risk a fall.”
Du Jingyi reached out, her fingers brushing the cold fabric of his sleeve before finding the warmth of his hand. “I shall be fine, General. We will use your official carriage—it is heavy, stable, and large enough for a charcoal brazier. I cannot stay behind when meeting your grandmother for the first time. My aunt and the others will be there to guard me.”
Shang Ji looked down at her, his thumb tracing the soft skin of her palm. Her stubbornness was born of devotion, a fact that stirred a fierce, protective heat in his chest. “Very well,” he conceded, his voice softening. “We shall go together. I will have Luo Yuan [the Lieutenant] inspect the horses and the wheels twice over.”
He sat beside her, his presence dominating the small space. As he reached for a piece of cake, Du Jingyi realized with a start that he had likely not eaten since his midnight departure.
“General, have you gone without breakfast?” she asked, her eyes filled with concern. “Let me have Danruo [the cook] prepare something. Wontons in hot broth, perhaps? With extra pepper to drive out the chill?”
“Wontons would be a blessing,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving her face.
As the instructions were sent out and the servants scurried away, a profound silence descended. Shang Ji leaned closer, the scent of the cold outdoors mingling with the warm, milky fragrance that always seemed to cling to her skin lately. He reached out, his large hand cupping the slight curve of her jaw. His touch was hesitant at first, then firm, pulling her into the orbit of his warmth.
The intimacy was not merely of the body, but of two souls finally finding harbor. In the dim light of the snow-filtered afternoon, the world outside—the Duke’s Mansion, the scheming of Madam Wei, the politics of the capital—faded into insignificance.
But this quiet was shattered by Li Zhu [the maid], who burst in with the cold clinging to her skirts. Shang Ji moved instinctively, his broad shoulders shielding Du Jingyi from the sudden draft.
“What is the meaning of this haste?” Yingtao [the personal maid] scolded as she followed her in.
Li Zhu was too breathless to care. “It is born! Eldest Miss Du [Du Jingyi’s sister] has safely delivered! A healthy, robust son! The messenger from the Du family is at the gate even now!”
Du Jingyi gasped, her heart leaping with joy. She stood so abruptly that both Shang Ji and Yingtao reached out to steady her, their hands hovering over her with frantic care.
“A nephew!” she cried, her face luminous with a smile that eclipsed the winter gloom.The joy of the General’s Mansion was soon eclipsed by the urgent, fluttering heartbeat of family ties. Upon hearing the news of her sister’s delivery, Du Jingyi [the General’s Wife, currently in her second trimester] felt a surge of maternal protective energy.
“Come, come, take me to see!” she cried, her voice bright with a mix of indignation and delight. “Such grand news, yet Father and Mother only sent word after the baby was born! Do they no longer count me as their daughter?”
Yingtao [ her chief maidservant] offered a soft, knowing smile. “Young Madam, you fret over nothing. You are with child yourself; Master and Madam only wished to spare you the sight of the ‘bloody light’ [xueguang, considered inauspicious for pregnant women]. It was done out of pure love for your well-being.”
“I know, I know,” Du Jingyi muttered, already moving toward the door. But a firm, warm hand caught her arm.
Shang Ji stood before her, his expression a mixture of sternness and adoration. “The heavens are weeping ice, and your silks are far too thin. You shall not move a step until you are properly armored against the frost.”
He personally supervised as Yingtao brought forth a rabbit-fur jacket and replaced Jingyi’s delicate slippers with sturdy suede shoes. Finally, he wrapped her in a heavy, fur-lined cloak until she was almost entirely buried within the plush fabric. Satisfied, he took her hand—his palm a scorching contrast to the winter air—and led her out.
“I shall take you myself,” he declared.
“But General, your breakfast! You have not eaten. I can take the carriage alone; it is no trouble.”
Shang Ji paused, his gaze dropping to her lips before meeting her eyes with a smoldering intensity. “A missed meal is a small price for my peace of mind. Had you gone alone, I would have spent the morning pacing the halls in a fever of worry.”
The ride to the Du family mansion was a battle of wills. Inside the carriage, Du Jingyi was a restless bird, constantly lifting the heavy curtains to peer at the snow-clogged streets. “Faster!” she urged the driver.
Outside, riding alongside on his obsidian charger, Shang Ji countered with a voice like shifting gravel: “Slowly, Old Yao. The roads are treacherous.”
The coachman, caught between the General’s icy command and the Mistress’s frantic heart, nearly considered abandoning his post then and there. Nevertheless, through a harrowing rhythm of stops and starts, they arrived safely at the Du family gates.
As the carriage halted, Shang Ji did not wait for the mounting block. He strode forward, opened the door, and reached for his wife. Before Du Jingyi could protest, he tucked his arms beneath her knees and waist, hoisting her against his chest.
“General!” she gasped, her face flushing a deep crimson as she felt the hard planes of his armor-clad chest through her cloak. “I am carrying a child, not nursing a broken leg! Put me down; the servants are watching!”
“The ground is a mirror of ice,” Shang Ji murmured, his breath ghosting over her ear, sending a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold. “I will put you down when we reach the threshold of Quxi Courtyard.”
He walked with the predatory grace of a mountain cat, his hold on her possessive and unyielding. The Du family servants stood aside in stunned silence, bowing low as the formidable General carried their Second Miss through the ancestral halls as if she were a precious tribute.
Upon reaching the dry stone of the veranda, Shang Ji reluctantly set her on her feet. Yingtao quickly stepped forward to smooth the ruffled fur of her cloak. As they pushed through the doors, the thin, wailing cry of a newborn pierced the air.
Tears sprang to Du Jingyi’s eyes instantly. Shang Ji frowned slightly, his thumb twitching as if he wished to brush the moisture from her lashes, but she waved him off with a watery laugh. “I am merely happy, General. So very happy.”
Shang Ji felt a strange, soft tug at his own heart—the cry of the baby reminded him of his own duty to the life growing within Jingyi. He took her hand one last time, squeezing it to ground her. “I shall wait in the corridor,” he said, mindful of the etiquette that forbade men from entering a birthing chamber. “Go and see your sister.”
Du Jingyi entered the room, the air inside thick with the scent of medicinal herbs and the warmth of a roaring brazier. There, she found Madam Du [her mother] cradling a bundle of brocade, standing alongside Aunt He [He Lin-shi, the elder sister’s mother-in-law].
“Why are you here?” Madam Du chided, though her eyes were bright with joy. “In this weather? Have you no regard for your own condition?”
“Mother, the General escorted me,” Jingyi replied, leaning in to see the baby. The child was wrapped in the very quilt she had sent—expertly embroidered by Lu Ju [her skilled maid].
The infant was small and flushed a healthy red, blowing tiny bubbles. He had been wailing moments before, but as Du Jingyi leaned over him, his cries subsided into a curious silence.
“Oh? Have you stopped because you know your Aunt is here?” she teased, her voice a gentle coo.
“He surely likes you!” Aunt He chuckled, her plump face creased with smiles. But as if to prove his independence, the “rascal” immediately resumed his lusty crying, louder than before.
Madam Du laughed and summoned the Wet Nurse [a gentle woman in her late twenties]. “Take him to see if he is parched or soiled.”
As the nurse took the child, Du Jingyi caught the look of genuine care in the woman’s eyes and felt a wave of relief. “And my sister? May I see Du Jingxiang?”
“She sleeps,” Madam Du whispered, guiding her toward the door. “The labor was long and she is spent. Come, let us go to Mingse Courtyard [the mother’s primary residence]. We shall speak there so your sister may find her rest.”