The next day was the formal occasion. Wanwan rose early to dress herself, wearing an apricot-yellow plain silk embroidered cross-collar jacket and a white jade hairpiece inlaid with red coral beads. Sitting before the mirror, she tilted her head back to look at Liang Shi and said with some regret, “I suppose I can’t wear red anymore, lest I clash with my daughter-in-law’s colors.”

He took the fine-toothed comb to smooth the hair at her temples, laughing as he said, “What sort of nonsense is that? You can wear whatever color you like, and it shall all be as you wish. Only daughters-in-law need defer to you—there’s no reason for you to defer to them. Don’t take this matter too seriously. It’s merely a change in title and form of address. You’re still young, after all, not some decrepit old grandmother of seventy or eighty.”

She smiled upon hearing this. “Once I enter the Yuwen household, how can my generational rank not be elevated? When the young princess consort has a child next year, I’ll become a great-grandmother.”

At such a tender age, she would suddenly experience an entire lifetime in the blink of an eye. Others ascended in rank step by step, but her elevation would occur within these mere three to five years—coming far too quickly, leaving her truly unprepared.

Liang Shi understood her feelings. Among the Qi people, becoming grandparents in one’s twenties or thirties was commonplace, but for her it was indeed rather early. It was unfortunate that she had married someone unsuitable—entering the household with a ready-made son, where his first relationship had not been with her. This remained his lifelong regret.

He adjusted the ornamental hairpin atop her elaborate coiffure, then bent down to press his face against her ear. “No matter how elevated your rank may be in the outside world, our universe exists within this rear courtyard. You may be someone else’s great-grandmother, but you remain the treasure of my heart.”

The bronze mirror reflected her slightly bashful smile as she said softly, “Be careful that others might hear—how embarrassing that would be!”

She was a princess, and aside from that desperate embrace before the Palace of Imperial Supremacy that one time, she had never again displayed such abandon. To love yet revere was a torturous feeling, never allowing true intimacy. Other couples might enliven their bedchamber with ribald humor, but they were different. Their words required careful consideration, needing to match their station… His smile carried a trace of melancholy as he stood behind her, his hands gently caressing her powdered cheeks while worrying whether he might smudge her makeup.

“Have you relented regarding the three secondary consorts?”

She hummed in acknowledgment. “The children are also willing for them to stay. I cannot let my personal preferences make everyone else unhappy.”

His original intention had been to discourage her from this course, but since she had already spoken, he could hardly contradict her now. After some thought, he said, “The house on Black Robe Lane stands empty. Let them move there instead—it’s quite close, so the children can visit easily.”

But Wanwan disagreed. “I haven’t returned to Great Cap Lane for quite some time. According to proper protocol, I should reside in the Grand Princess’s mansion while you request an audience to attend my chambers. Look at us,” she said, glancing at him, “we’ve abandoned all proper procedure to live like an ordinary couple.”

Indeed, they should have been husband and wife in bed, sovereign and subject when they rose. Yet she had fallen from the clouds into Prince Nanyuan’s mansion, becoming an ordinary little wife… This was not how things should be. Now she was mixed up with those concubines, truly staining her noble status.

He nodded in agreement. “Once the wedding feast concludes, we’ll return to the Grand Princess’s mansion. We can leave this place to them. There, no one will call you mother, and next year no one will call you great-grandmother.”

When he said “we,” he was determined to follow wherever his wife led. Wanwan found him somewhat childish, yet her heart filled with joy. She cared nothing for this princely mansion—in the end, she cared only for him.

She turned around—she sitting, he half-kneeling. She reached out to smooth his brow. “I want to take you with me… to carry you with me wherever I go.”

He took her hand and kissed her slender knuckles. “I am your devoted subject. Wherever you go, I shall follow.”

Wanwan was thoroughly satisfied. She leaned forward to kiss his lips, and because her lip rouge was so vivid, his lips were stained red as well. Seeing this made her laugh heartily, so she simply took up her rouge stick to color his lips properly. He offered not the slightest resistance, instead tilting his face upward and allowing her to do as she pleased.

Outside the window, autumn colors were at their peak. Inside was a strange tableau of “dotting vermillion lips”—two jade-like beauties together in such harmony, so perfectly matched.

Tonghuan’s face bore an extremely patient smile. “I see you’re quite occupied, so this servant finds it inconvenient to announce visitors. Perhaps the secondary consort should wait a while longer? Or you could go ahead first, and we’ll attend to Her Highness shortly.”

Tala Shi felt extremely awkward, her face flushing as she said, “Oh my, I’ve come at an inopportune moment… Let’s do as the maid suggests. I’ll go ahead first. Please tell Her Highness there’s no rush—it’s still quite early.”

She fled in embarrassment, her heart a tumult of mixed emotions. Since she’d first known the prince, he had always been cold and hard as iron. Even when Lan Zhou was born, she hadn’t seen him crack a smile. She had always assumed he married the Grand Princess merely to solidify his position, and that the Grand Princess’s favor stemmed from her noble birth. Only today did she realize there was no false sentiment in this marriage. She could hardly believe that such a decisive and domineering ruler would tilt his neck back to let someone apply lip rouge. Her heart filled with both shame and anger—she despised his lack of masculine authority, reducing himself to the appearance of a pretty boy, yet she also pitied herself. With others he was like a cat seeking favor, but with them he was a demon ready to shout and kill at the slightest provocation.

Her face turned pale green. The maid beside her noticed something amiss and carefully asked what was wrong. She ground her teeth in a cold smile. “The son is about to marry, yet the father lets someone deck him out like a flower… Such unseemly behavior for an elder!”

The maid was startled. “Mistress must exercise restraint.”

She tucked her sleeves and gazed into the distance, letting out a long sigh. “What restraint or lack thereof? This is how I’ve lived these fourteen years—I’m long accustomed to it.”

She went to the main chamber to see Lan Zhou—only her son could provide her any comfort now.

For a Qi wedding, the ceremonial attire was a stone-blue court robe with a red-tasseled cap topped with silk fringe. Fully dressed, he stood by the carved window, the flying sea-dragon leather collar like soaring eaves, highlighting a youth as radiant as morning clouds. She examined him carefully, feeling a surge of pride, then stepped forward to adjust his collar. “Good son, I used to constantly hope for you to come of age, stretching my neck to watch with all my heart. Now at last—I’ve finally waited for this day. Today you take a wife, and afterward you’ll be a grown man. In your actions and speech you must be steady, earning the respect of those around your father. You know all my hardships—your father has no regard for me. When the Grand Princess entered the household, he immediately banished me so far away I might as well have been exiled to Ningguta… Now I’ve returned, and I cannot let them have their way anymore. I have a fine son and a fine daughter-in-law, and in the future there will be grandsons too. As for her—she cannot bear sons, so she wants to steal others’. She may look like a celestial maiden, but she’s really just a calculating abacus that’s gained sentience. It makes me sick!”

Lan Zhou least enjoyed hearing her say such things. She always had endless bitter complaints and grievances to air. The other two secondary consorts faced the same circumstances as her, yet none were as petty and calculating as she.

He frowned and said in a low voice, “Grandmother, please be mindful—with so many ears about, if someone overhears, it will cause another disturbance. The household is peaceful now, so don’t dwell on such gains and losses. Live well instead. Your son and daughter-in-law are about to cross the threshold—let her see your magnanimity as an example. What is there to compare between you and the Grand Princess? Such comparisons serve no purpose. Better to broaden your heart and cultivate yourself. If you constantly find fault with her, just look at Concubine Zhou instead. She has a son, and you have a son too. She lacks favor, and you lack favor too. She keeps to her small courtyard finding her own pleasures—if you were like her, your state of mind would naturally become more peaceful. All karmic burdens are self-inflicted—never blame others. I must caution you further: under Father’s watchful eye, you must not act rashly. Should anything happen, even your son cannot save you.”

Tala Shi was dumbfounded by these words. “This is what you say to your mother on your wedding day? Sometimes when I look at you, you’re truly not worth half of Lan Ting. Though Lan Ting may be dissolute, at least he knows to stand by his mother. And you? You’ve never once said you’d miss me, let alone offered to support me.”

He turned his face away. “Your son cannot speak pleasant words. These are all sincere sentiments from my heart—please listen if you’re willing.”

Originally, having been separated from her son all those years, she had expected their reunion to bring maternal kindness and filial piety. Who knew that as the boy grew older, his temper grew fouler, unable to even soften his words—truly disappointing.

“The household is peaceful?” She laughed coldly. “Peaceful, yet your father beat you until your skin split and flesh tore? I see you’re one who forgets the pain once the wound heals. What great transgression warranted such a vicious beating? Wasn’t it all at the instigation of that person in Longon Tower!”

Lan Zhou was most unwilling to revisit this topic. Her mention of it was like striking his vital point. He whirled around and called out loudly, “Mother! When a son errs, what’s wrong with his father’s discipline? That incident had absolutely nothing to do with the Grand Princess—why must you insist on dragging her into it!”

Tala Shi blinked, her heart tightening at her son’s sudden fury. She took a long while to calm herself before saying, “Enough—today is your joyous day, so let’s not speak of unhappy matters. Go be a proper bridegroom. I merely wanted to share some heartfelt words with you, never expecting you to respond with a cartload of bricks and stones. What’s the point?”

She stared at him with knitted brows for a long while. Sons, once grown, were beyond their mothers’ control. She didn’t want to think of him as an ungrateful wretch who sought high branches while forgetting his birth mother, but the evidence suggested that sons could sometimes prove unreliable too. Was this Grand Princess Hede simply too skilled at winning hearts, making both men and sons side with her?

Leaving his courtyard, her heart felt desolate. Passing through the connecting courtyard, she saw two figures approaching gracefully in the distance, which pained her eyes even more. Though the prince had never given her his heart, they at least had a son together. Only someone as heartless as Zhou could remain so detached.

The sun climbed higher, and guests began arriving at the front gates. Liang Shi busied himself with reception while Wanwan entered Silver Peace Hall to offer congratulations to the dowager consort.

Today the dowager consort wore a golden-brown robe with clustered floral patterns, and had—miraculously—applied rouge to her face. Seeing Wanwan’s courtesy, she stood and returned the gesture. “Mutual congratulations, mutual congratulations. I remember when the late prince was alive, he loved to let Lan Zhou ride on his shoulders. That little boy couldn’t control his bladder and would often wet his grandfather’s neck. The late prince doted on him so—even when urine soaked through his robes, he’d still be delighted, saying it looked like a map of Daye, that the child would surely become a great general someday…”

No matter how advanced in years, recalling the most precious person in one’s life still brought irrepressible sadness. But remembering this was a joyous day and not wanting to dampen everyone’s spirits, she immediately resumed her cheerful expression. Clapping her hands, she continued, “In the blink of an eye, the boy has grown up and reached the age for marriage. If the late prince knew from beyond the grave, he’d surely rejoice as well.”

All the women chimed in with the conversation, heaping mountains of auspicious words that grew tiresome to hear. Yet Wanwan glimpsed the dowager consort’s heartache beneath the brocade pleasantries. How difficult it was for a woman—first raising her son, then raising her grandson. By the time the grandson established his own family, her own beauty had long faded. Her beloved might have already been reincarnated while she remained, supporting herself alone until her hair turned white as crane feathers and her skin like chicken hide—truly desolate.

Witnessing another’s loneliness made her reflect on her own situation, feeling grateful that Liang Shi was by her side and that she lived without solitude.

Southern customs differed somewhat from northern ones. In the north, brides generally entered the household after dark, performing the ceremony of bowing to heaven and earth and meeting the in-laws before retiring to the bridal chamber. In the south, they matched the bride and groom’s birth charts, and if necessary, could perform an early wedding. An early wedding meant the bridal sedan arrived in the morning, and after completing the ceremonial procedures, the bride sat in the bridal chamber—called “sitting the tent”—remaining there until the groom returned to the room at night. The tent-sitting customs differed between the Xianbei and Qi peoples. Xianbei people could move about freely the next day, but the Qi were much stricter—the bride must sit for a full three days without leaving the room. This was called “breaking the spirit,” like training a falcon, aimed at achieving submission.

When Lan Zhou and Miss Jin’s birth charts were matched, an early wedding proved most auspicious. So Lan Zhou dressed early, preparing to fetch his bride from his father-in-law’s home.

With red silk flowers draped diagonally across his chest, he knelt before the dowager consort and kowtowed. “Your grandson goes to fetch a granddaughter-in-law for great-grandmother.” He then turned to Liang Shi and Wanwan, kowtowing again. “Your son goes to fetch a daughter-in-law for Father and Mother.” When he reached Tala Shi, since her status was no longer recognized, she received only the same perfunctory bow as the other two secondary consorts, without even a word, before he turned and departed.

The Jin family lived not far from the princely mansion, within the same city, so he would arrive shortly. When the groom arrived at the bride’s home, there were certain rituals to observe, though they wouldn’t take too long. Everyone eagerly anticipated his return with his new bride.

Adding members to the household was a joyous occasion, and Wanwan shared in everyone’s happiness. But some family relative quietly pulled her aside and whispered, “Too many happy events can be conflicting. You have no news yet, and if the eldest son’s marriage clashes with your pregnancy, it could be unfavorable to you.”

This was the first time Wanwan had heard such a theory, which had a specific name: “borrow misfortune, not joy.” Since the Grand Princess’s mansion and the princely mansion counted as separate households, if the other family held a funeral, it could help dissolve her ill fortune. But if they held a celebration, they would claim the joy destined for her life first, making her future difficult.

Wanwan was left quite alarmed by these words, fearing the new daughter-in-law might encounter joy the very next day, which strengthened her resolve to return to Great Cap Lane. Previously she hadn’t believed in such things, but hoping for a child had driven her to near-obsession—she’d rather believe than doubt.

Royal relatives conducting wedding celebrations avoided gongs and drums, with doormen waiting outside. Seeing the winding procession appear at the lane’s entrance, they ran beneath the covered walkway and loudly announced, “They’re coming! The young master brings the young mistress home!”

The guards lit firecrackers against the wall opposite the main gate. With a bang, they shot skyward and exploded, shaking half of Nanjing city.

Wanwan and Liang Shi sat separately on the throne-like seats at the head of Silver Peace Hall. Lan Zhou led the new bride inside, his eyes flicking briefly toward her before lowering again. The shaman priestess began chanting wedding songs—incomprehensible mumbling. The master of ceremonies was Cui Guixiang from the dowager consort’s retinue. His voice rang out in a grand proclamation: “The auspicious hour arrives…” From a plane tree in the southeast corner, a flock of unknown birds suddenly took flight southward in a great commotion. The leader bore colorful plumage with an extremely long tail. Everyone looked up, including Wanwan. Some claimed it was a phoenix, others a peacock—who could say?

Prince Nanyuan’s mansion had produced an auspicious omen, and word spread like wildfire afterward. A peacock would be acceptable, but if it were a phoenix, it might arouse suspicion. Wanwan hastily wrote a letter to send to the capital, burying this incident within a heap of trivial daily matters, explaining that she had lost a South Sea parrot and found it in the plane tree on her eldest son’s wedding day… Her personal explanation was far better than others’ retellings.

Maintaining peace was not easy—she had truly exhausted her efforts. After the new bride’s third-day return visit to her natal family, Wanwan waited until after the Mid-Autumn Festival on the fifteenth of August before leading everyone back to the Grand Princess’s mansion.

After four years’ separation, these carved beams and painted pillars seemed somewhat strange. Fortunately, upon entering she saw familiar faces—Jin Shi and his Embroidered Uniform Guards were all there. They had been assigned to this place and would not leave easily. While she was away, they maintained the gate and courtyard, so regardless of how long the separation, this place always retained human presence.