Yunyi’s choice of wine proved potent. After just one sip, Ming Tan felt tipsy. As the fireworks faded, her head spun, and the words she’d meant to share with Jiang Xu slipped away.
Cupping her face, she gazed at the starry sky and clear lake. Occasional breezes rippled the water, scattering the reflected stars. As dizziness overtook her, the scene swirled into a mesmerizing dream.
In this vision, an endless starscape stretched above a mirror-like lake dotted with celestial lights. Trees stood silent as she nestled against her husband’s broad shoulders, each step carrying them forward.
The dream felt so real, that Ming Tan couldn’t distinguish it from reality. She hiccupped, then murmured a poem: “Drunk, I can’t tell sky from water; our boat, full of clear dreams, presses down the Milky Way. Mmm… but I’m not… not drunk!”
Jiang Xu glanced back, gently adjusting her position.
This tranquil moment shattered when Yunyi, witnessing the scene, rushed forward to offer her assistance. After all, she reasoned, it wasn’t proper for the master to carry someone himself.
“…”
“Not necessary. Mind yourself,” Jiang Xu replied curtly.
—
After a brief stay in Li County, Jiang Xu and Ming Tan parted ways with Shu Jingran the next day, heading for Tonggang in Quan Prefecture. The accompanying guards also split up, with most assigned to protect Shu Jingran. Even Yunyi was taken along at Shu Jingran’s request.
Initially reluctant, Jiang Xu eventually agreed to this arrangement. Confused, Ming Tan asked once they were on the road, “Why did you let Yunyi go with Young Master Shu?”
“What do you think?” Jiang Xu countered.
Ming Tan pondered, then ventured, “Could it be that Young Master Shu has taken a liking to Yunyi, and you wish to bring them together?”
When Jiang Xu didn’t respond, she continued, “But the Minister of the Right’s wife is known for her strict adherence to propriety. How could she possibly allow Young Master Shu to be with Yunyi? Are you sure this won’t cause problems?”
Throughout their journey, Ming Tan noticed Shu Jingran’s special attention towards Yunyi. While Yunyi had been indifferent at first, she’d warmed up to him since leaving Quancheng. Ming Tan had observed this but feigned ignorance, never attempting to matchmake. In her view, their union was impossible.
The gap between the Minister’s son and a secret guard seemed insurmountable, greater than that between a marquis’s heir and a lowly constable. If even a common marriage was out of the question, how could Yunyi hope to wed him? Surely the Minister’s wife wouldn’t allow her to become a concubine. Moreover, why would a free spirit like Yunyi want to enter such a restrictive household? Better to avoid complications from the start.
“Shu Jingran can handle his affairs,” Jiang Xu explained. “He’s a decisive man. Don’t worry.” In truth, he merely found Yunyi bothersome and had no intention of playing matchmaker.
Ming Tan nodded, though her heart felt heavy. She realized that despite her concerns, she could influence little beyond herself. A month away from the capital, she wondered about Bai Minmin and Jingwan’s marriage prospects.
—
Three days later, they entered Quan Prefecture. The road to Tonggang proved challenging, with the first half narrow and potholed, seemingly neglected for years. The latter half was even worse. Despite the comfortable carriage, Ming Tan felt dizzy and nauseous from the constant jostling. Worse still, upon reaching a town near Tonggang, Jiang Xu announced they could no longer use the carriage.
“Why not?” Ming Tan couldn’t help but ask.
“The path ahead is too narrow for carriages. Besides, we shouldn’t draw attention in such a remote area,” he explained.
Accepting his reasoning, Ming Tan surveyed her attire, which, despite attempts at modesty, still stood out. “Should I change clothes as well?”
“It would be best. Something simpler.”
Ming Tan nodded obediently, retrieving a small bronze mirror from her jewel case to examine herself.
After a moment, she fretted, “But my looks are hard to conceal, even with a veil. Must I wear a full hood the entire way?”
Jiang Xu remained silent.
—
Though Jiang Xu had repeatedly described Tonggang as poor and remote, Ming Tan struggled to imagine the extent of its destitution. By her standards, even Pangshan in Wangxian, where Ming Heng resided, seemed far from the capital.
Finding no inns along the way, they encountered only a dilapidated roadside shop at the foot of a mountain. Its roof looked ready to collapse, deterring Ming Tan from even stopping for tea.
She changed into a simple cotton dress and joined Jiang Xu on horseback, abandoning the carriage.
Mindful of her comfort, Jiang Xu slowed their pace, dismounting to lead the horse on difficult terrain.
As dusk fell and the surroundings grew desolate, Ming Tan asked, “Where will we rest tonight?” She feared they might have to sleep in the open.
Her fears seemed confirmed when Jiang Xu replied, “When I lead military campaigns, I often sleep in the wilderness.”
He walked ahead, one hand on the horse’s reins, not glancing back at Ming Tan.
Just as she resigned herself to a night under the stars, he added, “However, there should be houses ahead. We’ll seek lodging with a family for the night.”
Ming Tan sighed with relief. Though sleeping in a stranger’s home without her bedding would be challenging, it far surpassed camping in the forest. At least she wouldn’t risk being drenched by rain.
However, upon reaching their lodgings, she realized this concern wasn’t entirely unfounded.
They stayed with a hunter’s family at the foot of the mountain, one of five or six households in the area. Theirs was the largest and most well-maintained, with dried corn husks and game hanging outside, indicating relative prosperity. Yet the interior remained rudimentary, with finger-width gaps in the roof that offered little protection from rain.
“My husband’s been hunting in the mountains, so we haven’t had a chance to patch the roof,” the hostess explained while cradling a baby. “It might rain tonight. Use this to catch the water,” she added, handing them a small wooden basin. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”
“Thank you, Sister Liu,” Ming Tan smiled.
“We don’t stand on ceremony here,” the woman, addressed as Sister Liu, waved off the formality. “Make yourselves at home for the night. We don’t have much to offer – just steamed buns and pickles. I’ll prepare some meat porridge for you in the morning.”
“That’s not necessary, Sister Liu,” Ming Tan quickly refused, assuming meat was a luxury in such a humble setting.
“Nonsense, we may not be rich, but we can afford meat,” Sister Liu proudly declared, giving a thumbs up. “My husband’s the best hunter for miles around. He always brings back a couple of jin of meat when he goes to town to sell his catch. Even if you don’t eat it, my little one will.”
As if on cue, the baby in her arms began to wail. She skillfully soothed the child, adding, “You two rest now. I need to feed the baby.”
Ming Tan nodded, watching Sister Liu leave before turning her attention to the wooden basin. She’d seen servants use such basins to collect rainwater at home, but those were lined up under the eaves outside. She’d never imagined needing one indoors.
Of course, she’d also never imagined living quarters could be so basic, especially for what was considered a well-off family in the area.
According to Sister Liu, this room had belonged to their eldest daughter before her marriage. A wooden bed stood against the wall and a rickety table that barely qualified as a dressing table was cluttered with odds and ends. A worn small round table held a set of chipped clay teacups. There was nothing else.
When Ming Tan first entered, she felt there was hardly room to stand, let alone sit. She couldn’t fathom how a young woman had lived here for over a decade.
Yet Sister Liu’s tone suggested she and her husband greatly valued their daughter. Most families in the area couldn’t afford to give a girl her room. Moreover, they had waited until their daughter married before having a son – an uncommon level of consideration in these parts.
Unsure how to respond, Ming Tan quietly shared her thoughts with Jiang Xu. He replied, “Actually, over seventy percent of the people in Da Xian live worse than this. Having a roof over one’s head and food to eat is a lifelong dream for many.”
Ming Tan fell silent, struggling to comprehend the scale of poverty he described.
The weather had looked ominous all day, and true to expectations, rain began to fall. It started as a light pattern but quickly intensified. Large droplets forced their way through the roof’s gaps, splashing noisily as they hit the floor.
With multiple leaks and only one basin, Jiang Xu placed it on the bed to protect the most crucial area. He then moved Ming Tan to the corner of the bed, saying, “Sleep here. You won’t get wet.”
“What about you?” she asked, noting the dry space was too small for both of them.
“I’ll… I’ll sit,” he replied, catching himself.
As he spoke, a gust of wind extinguished the dim oil lamp.
Ming Tan huddled in the corner as rain drummed steadily into the basin. Soon, water splashed onto her sleeve, leaving a cold, damp patch.
Outside, the storm intensified. Lightning flashed, and a particularly strong gust blew open the poorly secured window, allowing wind and rain to invade the room.
Jiang Xu rose to secure the window, then returned to the bedside. “Can’t sleep?” he asked.
…Who could sleep in such conditions?
Ming Tan had resolved not to complain or cause trouble on this journey to Tonggang, determined to endure any hardship. But she’d never faced such dire circumstances before. Huddled in the corner, barely daring to move, her sleeve damp from splashing rainwater, she flinched with each thunderclap.
After a long internal struggle, she edged to the side of the bed and wrapped her arms around Jiang Xu’s waist. In a small, pitiful voice, she pleaded, “Please hold me, husband. I’m scared.”
Jiang Xu paused, then embraced her, gently rubbing her thin shoulders. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.”