Chapter 19
The two sisters spent half an hour confiding in the inner chamber. Huang Yingzhi, mindful of her younger sister’s age, naturally concerned herself with her future, and without beating around the bush, directly asked, “Meiniang, has Father said anything about your marriage?”
This question stirred a twinge of sorrow in Huang Shiyu, but she quickly recalled Jian Xun’s praise that she was a fortunate girl because she had discovered before exchanging the marriage tokens that the intended match was unsuitable. Renewed in spirit, she recounted the farcical beginnings of two botched betrothals.
Huang Yingzhi listened, sometimes sneering, sometimes speechless. Indeed, Lady Huang’s methods were the same old routine. The matches she arranged in the past seemed respectable but were veritable traps, even less desirable than Liu Antong. In desperation, Huang Shiyu had taken the initiative to seek Liu Antong’s hand to escape the wolf’s den.
Flames flickered in Huang Yingzhi’s eyes. “Meiniang, do you believe your sister?”
Without hesitation, Huang Shiyu replied, “I do. I only listen to you.”
“Good.” Huang Yingzhi nodded firmly, speaking each word with weight: “No matter whom Lady Huang or Father appoints for you in the future, remember to tell me at once. If I approve, you marry immediately. If I disapprove, you follow my arrangement and reject them.”
Huang Shiyu swallowed hard and nodded resolutely again; her sister gripped her hand all the more tightly.
Her sister told her, “Remember, you are marrying, not pledging your heart to anyone. Every step you take must be weighed carefully for the three steps ahead. Don’t trust what a man promises; watch what he actually gives you. You must be able to survive on your own no matter whom you leave.”
That summer, both Amber and her sister taught Huang Shiyu to reevaluate the world and confront the complexities of human nature. Some words she absorbed, others puzzled her, yet she came to understand that men were not to be trusted.
Her disappointment in her brother-in-law deepened. Such a sincere and devoted man who knelt before Father for a whole day and night to seek her sister’s hand—yet he had already lain with three maids, all to produce offspring.
Huang Yingzhi laughed at her sister’s innocence. “Remember, the men who keep themselves pure are usually too poor to afford concubines or maids.” She tore through the girl’s romantic notions without mercy. “Even women—like the Grand Princess who wields power and influence—keep male favorites. Men? They are all fickle. If you expect a man to be your entire world, you put yourself in a weak position.”
“If a man can help you rise to greatness, the benefits outweigh the faults. Enjoy the advantages regardless of his dalliances. Otherwise, let him die quickly.”
Huang Shiyu stared at her sister in stunned silence.
Her sister was the most unorthodox woman she had ever known.
For a girl inexperienced in love and with a simple, clear outlook on life, these words were hard to grasp, but Huang Shiyu had come to realize that men were unreliable.
That day, her sister had personally prepared lunch. Only the two of them ate; the rest were at the clinic. Despite the faint handprint still on her face, her sister cooked sweet and sour ribs carefully, even squeezing three copper coins from the leftover money to tuck into her sleeve.
Huang Shiyu ate quietly, silently vowing to earn much silver in the future so they could live without want.
With firm resolve, working at the Sweetwater Shop seemed like a stroke of luck.
She planned to read more, consult the flower shopkeeper about divination, and reward herself with sheets of fine rice paper for painting once she mastered the art.
Her eyes sparkled as she passed the Inkstone Studio, unable to resist buying two sheets of rice paper ahead of time.
Uncle Du, the driver, cast a complicated glance her way. Huang Shiyu looked at him expectantly; he withdrew his gaze and gruffly said, “Finish buying and get in quickly. I didn’t see anything.”
Only then did Huang Shiyu catch her breath and hastily, with Amber’s help, board the carriage.
Days at Zehe passed quietly. Huang Shiyu’s life was busy and full; she forced herself to write twenty characters and read three articles daily before indulging in her favorite pastime—painting.
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Summer in the capital was still bustling, carriages and horses crowding the streets lined with thick green canopies. The market streets were covered with shaded arcades, shielding customers from scorching sun and sudden rain.
At the imperial Yongshou Palace, all the main halls where the nobility resided were perennially refreshed by gentle breezes and fragrant incense.
After an early meal, palace maids helped the Empress Dowager don a cool ramie silk robe, and she strolled through the lush garden, unknowingly arriving at the Xueyang Hall.
Han Yihuai stood leisurely among bamboo groves, deftly working with ink and brush. Flecks of ink stained his pristine white robe, but he paid no mind. His delicate neck was tied with a vermilion cord, sleeves wide, revealing two slender, muscular arms, as white and flawless as jade.
A group of beauties fluttered about him, chasing butterflies and picking flowers, their laughter ringing like silver bells. He relished these moments, for they formed the beautiful scenery in his eyes.
When fully absorbed in painting, he seemed transformed—from a mischievous youth to a solemn scholar—losing himself almost utterly.
The Empress Dowager enjoyed watching the child pursue his passion and waved away her maids’ reminders.
The shrimp, crabs, flowers, and trees under Han Yihuai’s brush seemed alive, vivid with just a few strokes. His reputation was already quite celebrated in the city.
This fame was not won under the banner of Prince Su, but under his pseudonym. From obscurity, he steadily carved out a name for himself.
The Empress Dowager once teased him about the alias, but he guarded it closely.
Children grow up and keep secrets.
She smiled kindly and did not press further to avoid upsetting him.
It was said that a painting by Yihuai hanging in the Qingquan Stone Studio was worth a thousand taels and hard to obtain.
The Qingquan Stone Studio was the most prestigious gallery in the Great Kang.
Its owner was eccentric, strict, and possessed a sharp eye.
Any work favored by the gallery master instantly became a coveted masterpiece.
Since entering Qiyuan, Jian Xun arrived daily before dawn to study with his cousins, preparing for the various tests from the Duke.
He was fair-skinned and tender, yet resolute and profound in character, utterly free of nobleman frivolity. He neither drank nor approached his eager sisters. He remained calm and unhurried in all things.
Even when the Duke deliberately troubled him, he stayed composed, as if harboring an adult’s poise rather than youthful impulsiveness.
Jian Xinlan began frequenting the Duke’s mansion. The Dowager Lady saw through her two taels of scheming clearly.
Taking the fragrant tea from her mother, the Dowager sipped lightly and cast a glare at Jian Xinlan. “You only just dismissed the marriage tokens less than two months ago. Behave yourself; you’re making me embarrassed.”
Jian Xinlan pouted, clutching her arm and swinging it. “Mother, I’m just scared. Brother Xun is so handsome and has passed the small triple exams. He’s very sought after.”
“He’s busy at Qiyuan every day. You know your father’s temper without me saying. Don’t let Sister Yuan get close, for Brother Xun’s future and your own reputation.” The Dowager had to warn her simple but impatient youngest daughter.
Naturally, Jian Xinlan was not foolish enough to push her daughter toward Qiyuan, hence the Dowager’s visit to Guiyuan.
The children visited the Dowager daily—girls in the morning, boys in the evening.
Spitting disapprovingly, the Dowager muttered, “If only you’d acted sensibly from the start. Now you must sneak and deceive.”
Jian Xinlan’s eyes reddened. “Who could have guessed Prince Su didn’t choose anyone? If he had, Sister Yuan would have been sure to win.”
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After the scolding, the Dowager softened. Though her own daughter deserved it for gaining nothing—neither sesame nor watermelon—she still felt pity and reminded her, “Focusing on Brother Xun won’t help. The key is the Cheng family.”
Jian Xinlan’s face paled. Cheng Shi—the beautiful woman whose emotions never showed, whose eyes seemed to see through all—made her feel unaccountably uneasy and fearful.
Cheng Shi was clearly no mother-in-law to be deceived.
That year, due to an unusually hot summer, the academy extended its summer recess by twenty days. Qiyuan was planted with tall, dense shade trees and bamboo, interspersed with jagged rocks, making it quite cool.
During the Duke’s court recess, the youngsters studied diligently or, occasionally restless, went for a walk. But they were disciplined; wandering was rare.
Jian Xun returned from sword practice, accompanied by Wen Liang.
Wen Liang was both his attendant and teacher.
His practice attire was a modified Yan-style casual robe, with a wide satin sash cinching the long gown, shaping a slender, muscular youthful waist. The robe’s hem divided into three panels, allowing for large, sweeping movements. As he walked, his straight, long legs clad in pristine silk trousers showed.
Sweat beads glistened at his temples. One wanted to gently wipe them away but feared the lingering sharpness of his sword aura, so the unfamiliar girl simply stared.
Jian Xun had never seen such a bold girl—standing steady and unflinching in the corridor’s center. Except for Meiniang, no ordinary girl dared to meet his gaze so directly.
He furrowed his brows, stopped, and scanned the girl’s flowing ramie silk dress, his heart skipping a beat.
“What is your name?” the girl asked, smiling.
Wen Liang’s lips moved but fell silent upon catching the young master’s sharp glance.
Jian Xun roughly guessed the girl’s identity and bowed respectfully, “I am but a humble man with an insignificant name. Please, honored lady.”
He stepped aside to let her pass, also urging her to hurry.
Princess Yiyang dismissed the attendant who moved to scold her, pouting, “I insist on knowing. If you don’t tell me, I won’t let you pass.”
Wen Liang’s expression darkened; the young master had just called this girl “honored lady.”
Yiyang had never seen such a boy—like an exiled immortal or a carefree swordsman. He would be even more captivating if not for the faint chill in his eyes.
Her gaze brimmed with curiosity and admiration, struggling to resist the impulse to touch his features and throat.
He was handsome without a trace of makeup, yet so fair and flawless.
“Yiyang, show some respect,” a low, commanding voice startled her into stumbling.
The Duke’s party approached with measured steps. The man in the center wore a jade crown, black boots, and a round-collared robe embroidered with a five-clawed dragon on the chest.
Only princes and above were entitled to the five-clawed dragon.
Yiyang stuck out her tongue, then obediently ran to the man who had reprimanded her, called him “Third Royal Brother,” and hid behind him, making a face at Jian Xun.