Without offering tea to the primary mistress, the rite of acceptance was incomplete. Without completing the rite, she could not be counted as the Marquis’s concubine.

That might be said of ordinary people. But Yang Shi was different — she came bearing an imperial decree from the Empress Dowager.

Nanny Song recounted the scene in full detail to Shiyiniang, but Shiyiniang found herself only half-attending.

Xu Lingyi was a politician. After a long time in such a role, one inevitably accumulated certain professional habits. He could be calculating and far-sighted; he could endure humiliation and bear heavy burdens. But he would never act on impulse or follow mere feeling.

Whatever he had done, there was bound to be a reason for it.

Yet she truly could not work out what that reason was.

Regardless of the facts, Yang Shi had been bestowed by the Empress Dowager and brought into the Xu household according to proper rites. In the eyes of the world, Yang Shi was already his concubine. Would anyone deny that Yang Shi was Xu Lingyi’s concubine simply because she had not offered Shiyiniang tea? Or could he use this as a pretext to drive Yang Shi out of the household after the Empress Dowager died? By exploiting this loophole in the proprieties, he accomplished nothing except perhaps letting the Yang Family know he had treated Yang Shi slightingly, which would cause them to harbor resentment — and letting everyone know of his dissatisfaction with the arrangement. What else was gained?

Even if he was preparing to break with the Yang Family should the Emperor come to look upon them with disfavor, right now the bestowal had been approved by the Emperor and the woman had been sent by the Empress Dowager. He could perfectly well seize this opportunity to lavish favor upon Yang Shi — he could thereby please the Emperor, appease the Empress Dowager, and even use it at some fitting moment as cause to go before the Emperor and voice his grievances.

Enjoy the benefit while playing the aggrieved party!

That was the face of a true politician.

What had come over Xu Lingyi?

At this thought, Shiyiniang could not help but look across at Nanny Song.

In the lamplight, Nanny Song was speaking, the corners of her eyes and brows brimming with joy.

“Nanny Song,” Shiyiniang could not resist interrupting her, “Yang Yiniang entered the household bearing a decree from the Empress Dowager.”

Nanny Song’s animated voice came to an abrupt halt.

“Once she has come through the gate, she is the Marquis’s concubine,” Shiyiniang said quietly.

“But — but…” Nanny Song felt Shiyiniang had a point, yet when she recalled the scene just now she also felt Shiyiniang was wrong; she could not say exactly where the error lay, and could only follow her instincts. “But the Marquis did not let her offer tea to the Mistress — that is the same as not acknowledging her!”

Yes — that was precisely the baffling part.

If he was truly dissatisfied, he could simply leave the woman alone. What was the point of making an issue of a ceremony like this?

Shiyiniang could not puzzle it out. She dismissed those attending in the room and, with Hupo serving her, retired for the night.

The more she came to know him, the more she felt that she and Xu Lingyi were, in many ways, very similar people.

They both sought greater power in order to secure a better life for themselves; and both were willing to bear the responsibilities and obligations that came with it. Xu Lingyi had become the Marquis of Yongping, and so he bore the charge of keeping the family prosperous, ensuring the continuity of descendants, and caring for every member of the household. She had become the wife of the Marquis of Yongping, and so she bore the duty of managing the household’s inner affairs, showing filial respect to the Dowager Lady, handling relations with her sisters-in-law, managing the concubines, and caring for the children. Yet, in the end, she had received a different upbringing. Once she had secured her footing, she had set about cultivating friendships, opening an embroidery shop, managing her dowry holdings, wanting a circle of life that belonged to herself. As for Xu Lingyi — it seemed she had never seen him plan anything solely for his own sake; or perhaps he had, and she simply had not known it. One moved in the outer world, his brilliances invisible to her; the other in the inner, where every smallest shift was apparent to him…

In the drowsy half-space between waking and sleep, someone was muttering in her ear, calling “Moyan.”

Shiyiniang opened her eyes groggily.

In the half-light of the bed curtains, a pair of bright, gleaming eyes hovered directly before her — like the eyes of a leopard lurking in the forest, watching a human from the shadows.

Shiyiniang was startled. All drowsiness vanished. Her body instinctively drew back. “My Lord — what do you intend to do?”

Xu Lingyi looked at the rigid, guarded expression on her small face and suddenly thought of the young commoner women who were accosted by ruffians on the street. He could not keep from laughing — yet he forced it back, keeping his face stern, and said, word by careful word, “What do I intend to do…” His face drew slowly closer to hers.

His face bore the ruddy flush of wine, and his breath was heavy with its scent; though he kept his expression set, there was laughter in his eyes.

Shiyiniang could not help but laugh.

How could she have let herself say such a thing!

And Xu Lingyi, seeing her break into laughter, could hold back no longer — he laughed too. And as he laughed, he pulled at Shiyiniang. “Get up and help me change.”

Only then did Shiyiniang notice he was still wearing that sapphire-blue cloud-and-medallion-patterned Hu-silk straight robe — though by now it had been wrinkled into a mass of creases.

Xu Lingyi, seeing her take stock of him, let out an “Oh,” and laughed and cursed. “That fellow Fan Weigang had two carts of strong spirits sent to me from Xuantong.” He spoke, and his eyes grew brighter still. “Prince Shun wanted to outdrink me, but I drank him flat instead. He is lying in our guest room right now!” There was more than a touch of satisfaction in his manner. He tugged at her again. “Get up and help me change.” His tone carried a note of imperious demand.

Shiyiniang suddenly realized — Xu Lingyi was drunk.

There was no point in reasoning with a drunk man.

Without a word of protest, Shiyiniang obediently rose, called for a small maid to bring water, and followed him toward the washroom.

Seen from behind, Xu Lingyi’s step was steady. But once he was in the washroom, he sat down on the low stool and could not get back up.

When a small maid approached, one look from him sent her trembling in place.

Shiyiniang had no choice but to attend to his washing and grooming herself.

Xu Lingyi stayed very quiet the whole time, his lips pressed shut, and did not say a single word to her.

She had seen men drunk before.

Ordinarily, a man would use the license of drink to say things he dared not say while sober, and do things he dared not do while sober.

A man like Xu Lingyi, she was encountering for the first time.

Drunk, and yet he said not a word, did not a thing.

She understood the feeling.

It was a little like herself — she actually had quite a tolerance for wine. But she never dared drink freely. When occasion demanded, she might take a sip, but always kept it within what she could control. She feared that once she was drunk, she might say things that should not be said, and do things that should not be done.

Thinking of it this way, Shiyiniang felt a sudden heaviness in her chest.

She helped him into his clothes in silence, and supported him to bed.

Hupo came over. “The Marquis went directly back to the main room,” she said quietly. “He did not go to Yang Yiniang’s quarters.”

Shiyiniang looked at Xu Lingyi lying quietly on his side and, after a moment’s hesitation, said, “Let him rest here. Go and let Wen Yiniang know. And send word to Yang Shi’s side as well. Say the Marquis has drunk too much.”

Hupo went to do so.

Shiyiniang tucked the bed covers more snugly around Xu Lingyi, set a cup of cold boiled water on the small table at the bedside, blew out the lamp, and lay down.

In the middle of the night she was woken. “Moyan, Moyan — bring me a cup of cold tea.”

Shiyiniang sat up and passed the cold boiled water to him.

Xu Lingyi drained it in one swallow, turned over, and fell back to sleep.

Shiyiniang, afraid he would want more water later, got up and poured fresh boiled water to set out and cool.

From the other side came a call. “Moyan, Moyan, where have you gone?”

Shiyiniang called back to him and got back into bed.

Xu Lingyi, without opening his eyes, reached out in a half-waking daze and pulled her into his arms, then fell asleep again.

Shiyiniang, half-pinned beneath him, shifted and turned for quite some time before finding a comfortable position and closing her eyes.

She felt she had barely begun to drowse when he roused her again. “Moyan — tea!”

Shiyiniang got up and brought him water.

The night passed in exactly this fashion.

Shiyiniang looked wan and exhausted; Xu Lingyi was not in much better shape. He rubbed his temples and called a young manservant to ask after Prince Shun. “Has that fellow gotten up?”

“Not yet,” the manservant said carefully. “Linbo has gone to fetch an imperial physician.”

Xu Lingyi lay back down. “Have the physician come in and write me a prescription as well.”

The manservant assented and went off.

Shiyiniang had gruel set to cook. “My Lord, have a little.”

Xu Lingyi managed to drink half a small bowl.

The yiniangscame to pay their morning respects.

Shiyiniang saw that Xu Lingyi had no intention of rising, and helped prop a back cushion behind him, then rose and went to the main hall.

Among the gathered figures, her eye was caught at once by Yang Shi.

She could not have been more than fifteen or sixteen years of age. Of medium build, her figure was gracefully proportioned. She wore a plain pale-pink Hu-silk jacket, her dark hair neatly coiled in a bun, with a silver hairpin topped by a jade magnolia flower. Her skin was fair, her face shaped like a goose egg; long brows arched into her hairline, and her large almond eyes tilted slightly upward at the corners — when their light moved, there was a charm that washed over one like a wave, yet she held herself with composed dignity and refined bearing, entirely the manner of a daughter from a proper household. One could not help but look and look again, wanting to determine whether this woman was alluring or demure.

Enchanting yet without vulgarity — Shiyiniang was struck.

Now she understood the momentary silence that had fallen over the main hall the night before.

From the side, someone suddenly came forward.

She curtseyed to Shiyiniang, then stepped up with a smile and lightly supported her arm. “Madam! Please sit this way!” She gestured toward the grand chair in the main hall.

It was Qiao Lianfang.

Shiyiniang smiled and gave her a slight nod, while taking her measure without appearing to.

Crimson plain Hang-silk short jacket, dark hair combed into a drooping-horse-tail coif, with a bowl-sized white peony set at the brow, and lush green jade drop earrings at her ears — a look of luxuriant, brilliant beauty.

Shiyiniang could not suppress a quiet sigh.

Both were concubines who shared the inner chamber, yet Yang Shi was composed and bright in her charm, while Qiao Lianfang, who had once distinguished herself with her tender fragility, was now arrayed in a display of dazzling, flamboyant allure that seemed to cry out for notice…

She sat down. Qiao Lianfang took a place standing at her side. Wen Yiniang, Qin Yiniang, and Yang Shi came forward and greeted Shiyiniang, then Wen Yiniang gestured toward Yang Shi. “Madam, this is Yang Yiniang.”

Yang Shi knelt before Shiyiniang. “Madam, I am Yang Shi, your concubine. I offer you my respectful obeisance.” Then she kowtowed three times with the utmost deference, performing the full formal rite. She then turned and called out, “Nanny Yang,” whereupon a woman of some thirty years entered, dressed in a bright-blue sleeveless over-garment, carrying a red lacquered gold-painted tray holding two pairs of red embroidered shoes.

“Madam,” she said, presenting the shoes, “these were made by your concubine for you. I do not know whether they will fit — please try them on.”

Hupo took them and passed them to Shiyiniang.

One pair was embroidered with a parrot holding a peach; the other with winter plum blossoms in full bloom. The stitches were fine and meticulous, the choice of colors exquisite. If Yang Shi had indeed made them herself, her needlework was quite exceptional.

“You have gone to trouble, Yang Yiniang.” She had Hupo set the embroidered shoes away. “The needlework is excellent.” Then she indicated Wen Yiniang. “You have already met Wen Yiniang, I imagine — I will say no more on that account.” She then gestured toward Qin Yiniang. “This is Qin Yiniang, the birth mother of our Second Young Master in this household.”

Since Xu Siyu’s departure, Qin Yiniang had taken to her sickbed; Shiyiniang had excused her from morning and evening attendance, but she still came each day at the appointed time to pay her respects. Shiyiniang had let it be. Her cheeks were flushed with a hectic color, and she appeared listless and unwell. Seeing Shiyiniang introduce her to Yang Shi, she quickly bobbed a curtsy toward Yang Shi — which surprised Yang Shi, who hastened to return the gesture.

Last, Shiyiniang gestured toward Qiao Lianfang. “And this is Qiao Yiniang.”

With this, the order of precedence among the yiniangs was established.

Qiao Lianfang gave Yang Shi a slight tilt of her head in acknowledgment, her manner carrying a shade of haughtiness.

Yang Shi took it in stride, smiled warmly, and went forward one by one to exchange greetings.