As the family dispersed into the snowy afternoon, the heavy silk curtains of the nuange [warm room] in Xu Lai Courtyard swung shut, sealing in a heavy, stifling silence. Only Old Madam Gu, Granny Qin, and Gu Xiaolang remained. To women who had survived the rise and fall of dynasties, the fluttering heart of a young girl was as transparent as glass.
“See for yourself,” the Matriarch began, her voice brittle yet not unkind. “Have you finally surrendered? Do you still believe your Cousin Shaoyu harbors such feelings for you?”
The question was a blade that severed Xiaolang’s composure. Tears flooded her eyes. “Grandmother…”
Xiaolang had been the “Pearl of the Gu Family,” the only daughter born into a line of generals, pampered by every hand. When she was small, Shang Ji was the spirited youth of twelve who teased her. But the tragedy of the Gu family had forged him into a man of iron and silence, a man who carried the weight of a thousand jin [approx. 500kg] upon his shoulders. Through the years of mourning, her sibling affection had twisted into a desperate, romantic pining.
“Grandmother, if only I had married him three years ago,” she sobbed, “everything would be different.”
“Foolish girl,” the Matriarch retorted, exasperated. “Even if you had been willing, did you ever stop to ask if Shaoyu was? I raised that boy; I know his heart. He sees you only as a sister.”
The words shattered the last of Xiaolang’s fantasies. Old Madam Gu felt a pang of grief for her granddaughter, but she was a woman of cold reason. She had initially harbored doubts about Du Jingyi—a bride chosen by the treacherous Madam Wei—but seeing the couple today had changed everything. Shang Ji did not merely respect his wife; he doted on her with a tenderness that bordered on the scandalous.
“Cry it out,” the Matriarch sighed, patting Xiaolang’s back as the girl threw herself into her lap. “But once the tears are dry, you must wake up. You and Shaoyu cannot be husband and wife. He will protect you as a brother, ensuring you marry into a noble house with your head held high. Do not disgrace the Gu name by coveting a place that is not yours.”
While sorrow reigned in the West Wing, a different tension simmered in Xitang Courtyard [the primary residence of the General and his wife]. Inside the warm room, Shang Ji was busily serving Du Jingyi, his movements attentive and calm.
“Today, let Danruo [the head cook] display her mastery,” he murmured, peeling a prawn for her. “I want Grandmother to taste the finest delicacies of the capital.”
Du Jingyi sat perfectly still. The food was ash in her mouth. She was not a woman of petty jealousies, but she was a woman of truth. Finally, she laid down her chopsticks.
“General,” she said, her voice dropping into a serious, formal register. “I have something to say.”
Shang Ji paused, sensing the shift in the air. “What is it? Do you feel unwell?”
“I have only just met Cousin Lang,” Jingyi began, looking him directly in the eye. “But her gaze… her intentions toward you are not those of a mere sibling.”
Shang Ji’s expression flickered with a brief, helpless annoyance. “She is my sister. What other intentions could there be?”
“You once told me,” Jingyi continued, her voice steady but her heart racing, “that our marriage was about the long, mundane years ahead. You said you had no interest in concubines or the complications of the inner court. I remembered those words. If the Gu family intends to force this, I will not stay to witness it. I will leave this mansion and take our children with me back to the Du house. I will not become a bitter woman in a crowded courtyard.”
For the first time, a flash of genuine fury—and fear—crossed Shang Ji’s face. He slammed his hand lightly on the table. “Divorce? You would speak of leaving me over a baseless suspicion? Do you truly believe I am so weak of mind?”
He stared at her, his eyes fierce, yet he found only an unyielding resolve in her gaze. Ultimately, he was the one to yield. He reached out, his voice a mix of indignation and desperate sincerity. “Cousin Lang is my cousin, and she will never be more. Neither you nor this brat in your belly will ever escape my side. Do you hear me?”
Seeing the iron-clad certainty in his eyes, the wall Du Jingyi had built around her heart suddenly collapsed. The hormonal swings of pregnancy, combined with the relief of his words, broke her. She began to cry, the tears hot and heavy.
“Oh, what am I to do with you?” Shang Ji sighed, pulling her into a tight embrace. “If I had any such intention, I would have proposed to Grandmother years ago. Why wait until I had found my heart’s true home in you?”
Jingyi clutched his silk sleeve. “You said it yourself, General. If you go back on your word…”
“If I go back on my word,” Shang Ji interrupted, kissing her damp forehead, “you may twist my head off and kick it like a cuju [football] ball across the courtyard!”
After Jingyi had finally fallen into a peaceful nap, her face flushed and soft, Shang Ji’s doting expression vanished. He slipped out of Xitang Courtyard and moved with purposeful strides toward the West Wing.
He did not go to the Matriarch, but sought out his aunt, Madam Xing, in her private study. The charcoal underfloor heating hummed, but the atmosphere remained chilled.
“She knows, doesn’t she?” Madam Xing asked without looking up, as soon as he entered.
Shang Ji nodded, his jaw tight. “She sensed it instantly. Is it true, Aunt? Does Cousin Lang truly harbor these… intentions? And did Grandmother know?”
Madam Xing sighed, shaking her head in a mix of admiration and pity. “Your wife’s eyes are far too sharp, Shaoyu. Most would have taken months to notice, yet she has unmasked the entire family’s secret in a single morning. Yes, it is true. And yes, Grandmother knows.”
Shang Ji stood in the center of the room, the flickering candlelight casting long, jagged shadows against the wall. His wife was too clever, his cousin too stubborn, and his family too hopeful. He realized then that the peace of his mansion was a fragile thing, held together only by the strength of his own resolve.Seeing the cloud of annoyance darkening Shang Ji’s brow, Madam Xing finally ceased her teasing. She offered a sober nod, her expression shifting from playful to earnest.
“Why do you think I insisted on accompanying the family north to the General’s Mansion?” she asked. “Was it not to see with my own eyes what sort of woman you had taken as a wife?”
“And what is your verdict, Aunt?” Shang Ji asked, his voice tight.
“Have I not made it plain enough? You and this young lady of the Du family should remain together for the rest of your lives,” she teased, feigning a fierce glare, “if only to torment one another!” She broke into a laugh before continuing more gently. “In the beginning, when we learned that Madam Wei [the General’s stepmother] had brokered this marriage, we were deeply unsettled. Consider the wretched matches she attempted before! You had nearly earned the reputation of a keqi [a man fated to bring death to his wives].”
She reached out to adjust the fall of her pifeng [a formal outer cloak]. “I thought that if this bride were another of Wei’s schemes, I would have to play the villain to protect you. But she suits my taste perfectly. Her lineage may be modest, but it is clear her parents raised her with the virtues of a high-born lady.”
Hearing his wife praised so highly, a surge of quiet pride swelled in Shang Ji’s chest.
“She is fair, broad-minded, and understanding,” Madam Xing continued. “Most importantly, she is genuinely good to you. Even if your late mother were alive, she would be satisfied with such a xinfu [daughter-in-law]. As for Lang’er… she is but a young girl swept up in romantic whims. She has grown up surrounded by brothers but has seen few gentlemen of the world. She assumes you are the pinnacle.”
She patted his arm reassuringly. “The upcoming banquet will host the most illustrious families in Sui’an City. Once she sees the true scholars and refined lords of the capital, your status as her ‘hero’ will naturally fade. Do not fret; I shall speak to your Third Aunt about this.”
Shang Ji bowed deeply, the tension leaving his shoulders. “Thank you, Aunt.”
Time flowed like the falling snow, and soon the General’s Mansion was draped in a fresh mantle of white. Inside the main hall, the atmosphere was festive. The scent of fine wine and sandalwood drifted through the air as the family gathered for the welcome banquet.
Old Madam Gu sat in the place of honor, flanked by Madam Xing and Shang Ji. However, the chair to her left—reserved for Gu Xiaolang—remained empty.
Third Aunt Zhang cleared her throat, her smile appearing somewhat forced. “That child complained of malaise on the journey. It seems the fatigue has finally caught up with her now that we have arrived. Please, let us enjoy the feast; do not let her absence cast a shadow.”
Du Jingyi, who had only recently woken from her nap, felt a jolt of surprise. Had her husband acted so swiftly? she wondered, glancing at Shang Ji. He remained stoic, yet she sensed the matter had been “resolved” with surgical precision.
As the mistress of the house, Jingyi remained the picture of grace. “The winds of Sui’an are biting,” she said softly. “It seems Cousin Lang has caught a chill. Has the physician been summoned?”
“Yes, yes,” the Fourth Aunt chimed in. “She is fine. A few days of bitter medicinal tea and she will be restored.”
Jingyi nodded to her maid. “Yingtao, instruct Danruo to prepare a tray of light, digestible dishes for Xu Lai Courtyard. We must not let Cousin Lang go hungry while she recovers.”
Seeing her so composed, Shang Ji recalled the way she had wept into his sleeve at noon. A ghost of a smile touched his lips before he suppressed it, moved by her effortless dignity.
So Shang Ji stood, raising a cup of fine jade-colored wine toward the Matriarch. “Grandmother, you have endured an arduous journey. I drain this cup to the brim, hoping you will grace this mansion with your presence for a long time, that I might finally fulfill the filial duties I have missed.”
Old Madam Gu’s eyes crinkled with warmth. “I am only afraid that if this old woman stays for three or five years, you will begin to complain that I nag too much!”
The hall erupted in laughter. Even young Shang Zhiping, usually as quiet as a shadow, stood up. He held a cup of water, his face flushing with the effort of speaking before the Matriarch.
“Great-grandmother,” the boy stammered, “Ping’er toasts you. I wish you health as vast as the Eastern Sea and a life as long as the Southern Mountain.”
“Great-grandmother will remember your words, Ping’er,” the Old Madam replied, downing her wine in a single, elegant gulp. “I shall stay healthy just to watch you establish your career and take a wife.”
At thirteen, Zhiping was on the cusp of manhood. He laughed awkwardly and sat down, relieved when the conversation moved on to lighter topics. Beside him, his mother, the eldest sister-in-law Liu, looked at her son with watery eyes.
“Thank you, Cousin Zhao,” she whispered to Xing Zhao, “for guiding Ping’er through the hardships of the road.”
Xing Zhao laughed, waving a hand dismissively. “Sister-in-law, with my reckless nature, it was often Ping’er who had to look after me! He has truly grown into a fine young man.”
Outside, the snow continued to fall, but within the hall, the heat of the braziers and the hum of family voices created a sanctuary where the past and future finally sat at the same table.