The news of Jiang Lansun’s death was relayed to Dou Zhao by Chen Qushui.

In his letter, Chen expressed regret, stating that the Jiang family would face difficult times ahead.

Dou Zhao understood his meaning.

A family’s legacy continues through the teachings and examples set by elders, passed down from generation to generation.

Jiang Baisun, as the youngest son, had remained in the capital to serve Madam Mei. He had never been to the battlefield, nor had he ever left the capital. While his brothers fought bloody battles in Fujian, he lived a life of luxury in the capital. While his brothers engaged in intellectual and strategic battles with cabinet elders in court, he indulged in pleasure and debauchery, even secretly keeping a mistress.

Now, Jiang Lansun, who had experience, and knowledge, and had persevered through severe injuries to reach Tieling Garrison, had passed away. Meanwhile, Jiang Baisun, who had never seen a battlefield or experienced the cruelty of war, survived. What would become of the Jiang family under his leadership?

With the line of succession broken, could this family rise again?

Dou Zhao didn’t share Chen Qushui’s level of melancholy.

In her previous life, in the face of absolute power, all so-called strategies and deployments had been crushed to dust, serving no purpose. In this life, the Jiang family had managed to preserve some lives, retreating from the killing fields to become ordinary wealthy households. Perhaps this wasn’t such a bad thing.

She only worried about Song Mo.

She wondered what he was thinking, delaying in recalling Lu Ming.

She pretended to be deaf and mute because of Mr. Chen, but what was Song Mo’s reason?

If he was concerned about her, the Jiang family’s affairs had already concluded. What else about her was worth his attention?

Thinking about these things made Dou Zhao feel irritated.

Next year, she would need to focus all her energy on breaking off the engagement with the Wei family. She had neither the energy nor the time to continue this ambiguous relationship with Song Mo.

Dou Zhao put away the letter and instructed Su Xin, “Go tell the coachman we’ll set out for the manor in half an hour.”

This year’s winter wheat crop had failed, but the corn harvest was bountiful. The people at the manor had discussed and sent some elders to consult with Grandmother. They proposed keeping the corn as food instead of paying rent with it, and in return, all of next season’s winter wheat would belong to the Dou family.

No matter how it was prepared, corn was always coarse and difficult to eat, but wheat was different. Ground into flour, it could make delicious steamed buns and noodles.

This was a gesture of goodwill from the tenant farmers at the manor.

Grandmother was deeply moved.

These days marked the winter wheat sowing season, and the old lady decided to visit the manor with Dou Zhao.

Grandmother was in high spirits, wearing a plain, fine cotton jacket in agarwood color and square-toed blue cloth shoes. Her hair, with a few strands of silver at the temples, was neatly coiled into a round bun. She wore no jewelry, appearing clean and neat.

Seeing Dou Zhao, the old lady’s mood lifted even more. She waved her hand, “Let’s go to the manor!” She added, “Being confined to tending flowers and plants in the courtyard every day has been stifling me.”

Dou Zhao smiled apologetically but thought to herself: If it means preserving your life, old lady, I’m willing to bear the label of being unfilial.

As they chatted and laughed on their way to the second gate, they ran into Ji Yong returning from outside.

He had brought back half a cart of books from somewhere and was instructing his attendant to unload them.

“Aunt Cui, Fourth Sister,” he greeted them politely, as was his usual manner – humble, courteous, and amiable, liked by all. “Where are you off to?”

Ever since he had told Grandmother that temple abbots were all greedy and hypocritical, she had avoided him like the plague. But today, in the sunlight, Ji Yong’s smile was handsome, his gaze sincere, making Grandmother wonder inwardly: Could it be that during the summer’s Buddhist lecture, a Bodhisattva had appeared and taken him as a disciple? So instead of turning away immediately as usual, fearing Ji Yong might say something disrespectful about the Bodhisattvas, she greeted him and exchanged a few polite words: “…Where did you get so many books from? You should have the servants at Heshou Hall mark them. That way, you can return them later!”

Books were precious items, and Ji Yong was only borrowing their house to study. Surely he couldn’t keep other people’s books here?

Ji Yong grinned, his snow-white teeth gleaming like shells in the sunlight. Inexplicably, Dou Zhao felt a sense of foreboding, and then heard his clear voice: “These are all Buddhist sutras.”

Dou Zhao felt Grandmother’s body stiffen.

“Last time, when debating with Abbot Tu Yin about the ‘Five Aggregates are all empty’ from the Heart Sutra: ‘Form is emptiness, emptiness is form, and so are feeling, perception, formation, and consciousness,’ I asked him why earth, water, fire, and wind are also considered form, given that the five sense organs – eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and body – and the five objects of sensation – form, sound, smell, taste, and touch – from the Twelve Sense Bases and Eighteen Elements are all form. He couldn’t explain it after talking for a long time. I know he’ll come to consult me in a few days, so I’m preparing to explain to him what the Twelve Sense Bases and Eighteen Elements are…”

“Oh!” Grandmother’s tone became somewhat dry. “Young Master Ji is truly impressive, knowing everything! We’re going to visit the manor, please make yourself at home!” She hurriedly boarded the carriage waiting outside the second gate, accompanied by Hong Gu.

Dou Zhao quietly warned Ji Yong, “Be careful not to pass the imperial examination and become a Jinshi!”

Ji Yong raised an eyebrow and whispered back, “Do you think I’m like your second cousin?”

“Those who boast usually look at others with contempt,” Dou Zhao retorted bluntly. “Wait until you’re announced in the Golden Hall before shouting so loudly.” In recent days, even monks had been visiting the Dou residence to discuss Buddhism with Ji Yong, sometimes talking for days. She didn’t like Ji Yong turning their home into a temple-like atmosphere. “West Dou is a family residence, not your private temple.”

Ji Yong finally understood why Dou Zhao was annoyed. He widened his eyes in surprise: “Don’t you find it interesting? Bringing those outside the secular world into the mortal realm…”

“They are like clear mirrors, not originally pedestals. How can they gather dust?” Dou Zhao sneered. “What mortal realm are you talking about?”

Ji Yong was visibly shaken and stared at Dou Zhao, speechless for a while.

Dou Zhao still had to accompany Grandmother to the manor. Seeing that Ji Yong had nothing more to say, she turned and boarded the carriage.

At the manor, everyone was busy sowing seeds. They would raise their heads to greet Grandmother before lowering them again to continue their work.

Grandmother, having come from a farming background herself, was not only unbothered but pleased to see everyone so focused on the urgent task of sowing.

An elderly farmer, too old to work in the fields, accompanied them on a tour of the fields before Dou Zhao and Grandmother returned to the house.

After washing their hands, cleaning their faces, and changing clothes, Hong Gu had already prepared hot meals for them.

A young man from the Cui family manor came to pay respects to Grandmother: “…It’s been a while since they’ve seen you, and they’d like to invite you to stay for a couple of days.”

Grandmother was tempted.

Seeing this, Dou Zhao encouraged her with a smile: “We can go back in a few days.”

Grandmother thought about how her maiden home still used one pot for both cooking and boiling water, with tea having an oily film on top. After some consideration, she made an excuse that she was worried about leaving the manor unattended.

Dou Zhao, unaware of these concerns, urged enthusiastically: “Doesn’t the steward usually manage the manor? What is there to worry about? You haven’t been back to your maiden home for seven or eight years, right? This is a rare opportunity to visit. I’ll have some sweets and snacks prepared for you to give to the children there.”

“Then you stay at the manor!” Grandmother seized the opportunity. “The people here have given us all their crops for this season. We should have someone here to look after things, otherwise, everyone will lose their motivation to work!”

“Alright!” As long as Grandmother was happy, Dou Zhao didn’t mind. She had people prepare things for Grandmother’s visit to her maiden home and even cut a few pieces of cloth to give to Aunt Tuo: “For her son and daughter to make clothes.”

Aunt Tuo had given birth to another daughter last year and had specially brought her to show Dou Zhao during the New Year. She had asked Grandmother to name the child “Chang Qing,” meaning long-lasting.

Hong Gu packed the things, and early the next morning, accompanied Grandmother to the Cui family manor, twenty li away.

Dou Zhao took a tour of the manor in the morning. In the afternoon, with nothing to do, she joined her maids and some of the house’s rough-working women in tending to the flowers and plants in the courtyard.

The plum tree she had planted in this life had leaves turning from green to yellow, about to wither.

Dou Zhao smiled, “We should plant some winter-sweet here next time. When the tree leaves fall, the wintersweet will bloom. That way, we’ll have something for all four seasons.”

Su Lan giggled.

Dou Zhao sensed someone watching her.

Following her instinct, she looked over and saw Song Mo on horseback outside the wall.

Dou Zhao’s almond-shaped eyes widened in surprise.

Song Mo, however, smiled at her.

Dou Zhao immediately felt overwhelmed.

Since they had made eye contact, propriety dictated that she should invite him in. But if she did invite him in, how would she explain to those around her how they knew each other? Yet if she didn’t invite him in, given Song Mo’s temperament, he likely wouldn’t tolerate such rudeness, which could lead to more troublesome situations.

She quickly glanced around.

A few of the older women were straightening up and looking in their direction, clearly having noticed Song Mo.

Well, better invite him in first and figure it out later!

As Dou Zhao was considering what to say, Song Mo spoke first: “I was passing by your manor on business and wondered if I could trouble you for a drink of water?”

His voice was low and husky, sounding extremely tired.

Dou Zhao then noticed he was covered in dust, looking as if he had traveled hundreds of li.

Grandmother had gone to the Cui family manor, taking her servants with her. These few older women were from the manor’s farming families, temporarily called to help. With the straightforwardness of country folk, seeing such a picturesque figure, how could they refuse? Before Dou Zhao could speak, they all chimed in: “Of course, of course! We may not have much in a farmer’s house, but tea is always available.” They added, “Where are you from, young man? Where are you headed?”

Dou Zhao could only remain silent.

Su Xin, Duan Gongyi, and the others recognized Song Mo, but considering how they knew him, it was best they didn’t speak up in this situation.

Song Mo thanked them with a smile, his eyes fixed on Dou Zhao: “Thank you very much!” His eyes, slightly upturned at the corners, complemented his shimmering gaze, beautiful enough to make one’s heart skip a beat.

Dou Zhao’s heart indeed skipped a beat at the sight.

Song Mo had already dismounted, leaving only a few unruly vines of Virginia creeper peeking over the wall, swaying gently in the breeze.

Of course, Song Mo hadn’t come alone. He was accompanied by four or five attendants, one of whom was the same person who had delivered gifts to Dou Zhao before. She heard Song Mo call him Chen He, but she didn’t recognize the others.

How many guards did he have?

Dou Zhao grumbled inwardly.

Hearing that there were no elders at home, she thought she saw a brilliant light flash across Song Mo’s eyes, like a meteor streaking across the sky.

“I had hoped to stay here for the night,” he said regretfully. “What should I do now?” His brow furrowed, looking very troubled. This made the older women feel sympathetic: “There’s no one else here, young man. You’re welcome to stay.”

In their eyes, how could such a delicate-featured youth like Song Mo be a bad person?