Xie Zejin walked out of the Marquis of Kaiping’s residence with an odd and uncertain expression on his face. He couldn’t quite tell whether it was his imagination, but this visit to the Marquis of Kaiping’s residence had felt strangely unwelcoming. The two families had been longtime close associates for generations — yet all of a sudden it seemed as though something had gone wrong somewhere, as if the bond between them was on the verge of breaking.
But the strangest thing of all was still that young woman he had never met before — the only daughter of Second Uncle Lang. The feeling she gave him was one of unease.
“Young Master?” The young manservant had already set the stepping stool in place and, seeing Xie Zejin make no move to board the carriage, could not help but call out.
Xie Zejin shook his head clear of the thought and climbed into the carriage. It had to be his imagination — the two families had been close for over a decade; how could any rift appear without the slightest warning?
Back inside the Marquis of Kaiping’s residence, Lang Jiuchuan discussed with Elder Uncle Lang Zhengping and Lang Caimeng the matter of taking over the memorial arrangements, then walked together with Cui Shi toward the Qichi Pavilion.
From the corner of her eye, Cui Shi caught sight of Lang Jiuchuan walking a step behind her, and asked: “Why have you suddenly decided to take over the Water and Land memorial ceremonies that ought to have been held for your father all these years?”
Lang Jiuchuan’s voice was clear and cool: “Madam said it yourself — he is my father. Is this not something I, as his ‘daughter,’ ought to be doing? In truth, whether it concerns the past or the future, this was always something that I, as his daughter, should have done. It is only that Madam never gave me that opportunity, and preferred instead to hand it over to an outsider.”
Cui Shi felt a sharp pang in her chest: “I —!”
“Let us not speak of the past. It is past now. But as for the future — the Marquis of Zhenbei’s household need not do this any longer.” They were not fit to, either, for she would not permit it.
Cui Shi sensed the cold edge beneath her tone and asked: “Are you saying you are displeased with the Marquis of Zhenbei’s household?”
She was perceptive, but Lang Jiuchuan had no intention of saying more, and simply replied: “It is only when one has no surviving descendants that one’s former comrades and subordinates arrange these memorial rites on their behalf. My father has a daughter, and moreover has a nephew by blood. It is not the Marquis of Zhenbei’s household’s place to do this at all. They have been doing it for over a decade — they have more than had their fill of that reputation for righteousness and loyal remembrance.”
Cui Shi went rigid, and her footsteps halted.
Did she mean that the Marquis of Zhenbei’s household had been using all of this to garner a good name for themselves?
Cui Shi furrowed her brow. She had withdrawn from worldly affairs these past many years, mostly, yet she had been diligent about holding the annual memorial ceremonies and Dharma Assemblies for Lang Zhenghan. From the very first year after his death, Xie Zhenming had taken it upon himself to organize everything in the capacity of a sworn brother. Year after year it had continued thus, and even after Xie Zhenming was granted his marquisate, nothing changed. She had simply grown accustomed to it.
It was true that the Marquis of Zhenbei’s household arranged the ceremonies — but it wasn’t as though only outsiders came to pay their respects. The men of the Marquis of Kaiping’s household had all attended each year, fulfilling the roles in the ceremonial proceedings proper to nephews and younger relatives.
But had the Marquis of Zhenbei’s household not gained a fine reputation from all this?
They had, of course.
Though she lived in reclusion and rarely went out, she was not entirely cut off from the world, and she had naturally heard other ladies speak of the Marquis of Zhenbei’s righteousness and warmth of feeling. She had never thought anything of it before — but now, hearing just one sentence from Lang Jiuchuan, somehow the entire thing had taken on a different flavor.
Cui Shi did not know what to say, and could only manage, somewhat lamely: “The Marquis of Zhenbei never forgot you — every year the seasonal gifts included things befitting a young lady. They have all been stored in the storeroom, to serve as a dowry…”
She stopped herself abruptly, and stared at Lang Jiuchuan with a distant, unfocused look. Frail and slight as she was, Lang Jiuchuan had once said she did not know how long this body of hers could last, and that she did not wish to burden anyone — meaning she gave no thought to marriage.
What use was a dowry to her.
Cui Shi’s face drained of color all at once. She averted her gaze in something close to shame, her body swaying unsteadily.
She was the one who had caused this.
Cui Shi retreated almost at a run, unable to face Lang Jiuchuan’s eyes.
Cheng Nanny had Molan follow after her, then turned and said: “Every year when the memorial season draws near, Madam sleeps fitfully or not at all, and spends far more time in the Buddhist hall. Young Miss, please do not take it to heart — she has no intention of blaming you or finding fault with you.”
Lang Jiuchuan gave a soft sound of acknowledgment. She had also noticed that Cui Shi’s color had been poor, and said: “Nanny has been her closest attendant all these years — do offer her more guidance. Deep feeling shortens life; to remain endlessly mired in the past does one’s longevity no good whatsoever.”
Cheng Nanny gave a wry smile. Had she not spent years trying to counsel her? Madam simply would not hear it, and there was nothing she could do.
Lang Jiuchuan thought of something, and passed over a ward-off-miasma talisman: “This talisman repels illness and miasma, and can keep sickly airs from encroaching on the body. Have Madam keep it on her person.”
Cheng Nanny said: “Why not give it to her yourself, Young Miss?”
“Nanny,” Lang Jiuchuan said, “some bonds of kinship are fated to be shallow. There is no point in forcing what cannot be forced.”
With that, she gave a slight nod and took her leave, making her way toward the Shoukang Hall — she needed to pin a talisman for the Old Madam as well.
Cheng Nanny lowered her head and looked at the yellow talisman in her hand, then sighed. “Who could say this is not a mother and daughter? That stubborn, unyielding nature — exactly the same in both of them.”
When Cui Shi received the talisman that Lang Jiuchuan had left with Cheng Nanny, her face burned all the hotter. That talisman felt like a ruler being raised and brought down again and again against her heart, demanding to know where her conscience had gone.
“A mere ‘Madam’ is all I am worthy of being called,” Cui Shi said, pinching the yellow talisman tightly, with a self-mocking laugh.
She was not deserving of any more than that.
When Lang Jiuchuan arrived at the Shoukang Hall, she encountered Pan Shi, who had come to pay her respects. Pan Shi had rounded out considerably — clearly the baby had been well nourished these past weeks — and upon seeing Lang Jiuchuan, she broke into a smile and called out warmly: “Ninth Sister.”
Lang Jiuchuan took the opportunity to feel her pulse, then pressed her hand against the swelling of Pan Shi’s abdomen to sense the life within, and said: “The child is doing well. Try to walk around more in your daily routine — it will make the delivery smoother. Here, wear this talisman; it will keep illness from drawing near.”
She pressed another ward-off-miasma talisman into Pan Shi’s hand, for she had just now felt a faint resonance with the child within.
Pan Shi accepted it with thanks and tucked it into her pouch. But Pan Shi’s maid Yanzhi, standing just behind her, seemed as though she wanted to say something and yet held herself back.
Lang Jiuchuan’s gaze swept toward that maid, and her eyes deepened.
Caught in Lang Jiuchuan’s gaze, Yanzhi’s breath hitched. A look of frightened alarm crossed her face, and she retreated several steps, lowering her head, both hands trembling slightly.
The Ninth Young Lady’s gaze is so terrifying!
Lang Jiuchuan said: “The maids attending the Fourth Young Mistress should all be at the age for marriage arrangements by now, shouldn’t they?”
Pan Shi was taken aback. She could not imagine why Lang Jiuchuan had suddenly brought up such a matter, and her almond-shaped eyes regarded Lang Jiuchuan with uncertainty.
Lang Jiuchuan cast a cool glance at Yanzhi and said: “When the time comes, ask the Elder Madam or the First Young Mistress to look through the register of eligible manservants and make suitable matches. I expect those who serve you will be grateful for it.”
Pan Shi followed Lang Jiuchuan’s gaze and fell into a moment of quiet thought, then smiled and said: “You’ve reminded me — I really should ask the girls around me as well, so I don’t end up letting their best years go to waste.”
Yanzhi’s head snapped up. She stared at Lang Jiuchuan with wide, limpid peach-blossom eyes, her body trembling all the more.
Lang Jiuchuan’s eyes held a clear warning. Yanzhi hastily lowered her head again, fingers clenching into fists.
Once they had left the Shoukang Hall, Yanzhi let drop, in a roundabout way, something about the talisman Lang Jiuchuan had given: “You’re carrying a little master, Madam — best not to keep talismans about. No telling where they come from.”
But Pan Shi stopped walking and looked at her: “This is a kind gesture from Ninth Sister. How could I disregard it? If it weren’t for her, there’s no saying whether this pregnancy could even have been kept.” She rested both hands on the swell of her abdomen and fixed her eyes on Yanzhi. “Yanzhi, you must be twenty this year, yes? Do you have any plans for yourself?”
Yanzhi went pale.