The Spring Festival of the second year of the Chongde reign was the quietest New Year Minglan had spent since she arrived in this ancient era — no elaborate banquets, barely any firecrackers set off, and hardly any new clothes made. But the quietness could not conceal Sheng Hong’s wildly warm feelings inwardly. On New Year’s Eve, the Sheng household gathered together, ate their New Year’s dinner, and then sat up to welcome the new year until deep into the night.
Sheng Hong prided himself on transmitting culture through poetry and books, and naturally would not permit frivolous pastimes such as riddle-guessing or card games anywhere near the table. As per tradition, eldest brother Changbai rose to lead — he stood up from his seat with an expressionless face and recited aloud with a clear voice: “If the new year comes, it shall not bring the year again; life’s affairs I fear may slip away — let us strive with all we have this night, for youth is still a thing worth praising!”
Su Shi’s Welcoming the New Year — earnest, positive, and full of motivational meaning.
When the recitation ended, the table was utterly silent. Only little round-faced and gummy-smiled little Quan, who gave his own father face by gurgling with delight and waving his arms and legs. Sheng Hong’s facial muscles twitched. Minglan twisted her mouth. Rulan was lost in her own thoughts. Changfeng bowed his head over his wine cup. Wang Shi continued laying dishes for Sheng Lao with her eyes rolled upward, very nearly throwing her head back and howling — this was a poem she herself had memorized entirely long ago!
Elder Brother Changbai was a singular specimen: every New Year’s Eve, rain or shine, he recited this exact poem. Same content, same intonation, same cadence, even the same expression — which is to say, no expression at all.
In the first year, Hai Shi, newly married, had still gazed at her husband with tender eyes and a bride’s blush, listening to his recitation with a demure, tender air. Now, two years on, Hai Shi looked out the window with complete composure. The New Year’s moon was so white and so large.
Next, Changfeng recited Meng Jiao’s After Passing the Imperial Examination with considerable passion, ending with a flourish of dramatic cadence: “With spring wind behind me my horse’s hooves are light — in one day I have seen all the flowers of Chang’an!” Sheng Hong stroked his beard and listened with a mild smile — and when it was over, immediately straightened his face and delivered a reprimand: “Guard against pride and impatience. Wild hopes are not permitted. Arrogance and self-satisfaction are the greatest enemies of a scholar!”
Elder Brother Changfeng bowed his head with a melancholy face. He had always been a dashing figure sought after in every social gathering, and since passing the imperial examinations, had been dreaming day and night of going out to enjoy himself thoroughly. But instead, Sheng Hong had him locked firmly inside the household to keep reading — and now that the new year had come, he had hoped to let himself breathe a little. But Sheng Hong required the entire household to maintain a policy of strict modesty — absolutely no one was permitted to go out and show off.
Minglan understood Sheng Hong’s intent perfectly. It was like the family that had won a hundred million in the lottery and then packed up and moved house overnight — the more prominent one’s fortunes, the more one must tuck one’s tail in and behave humbly. At this moment the Emperor’s thorough investigation of the treason case had not yet concluded, and many noble and powerful families throughout the capital were carrying anxiety in their hearts and walking on eggshells. If any household were to look conspicuously gleeful at such a time, there was no telling if someone might not drop a proverbial gas canister on them overnight.
And so even though Sheng Hong was secretly bursting with joy, he had to put on a face of mild worry, sighing now and then to indicate that his own family’s small happiness was not worth mentioning, and that only the well-being of all people under Heaven truly mattered.
Minglan felt an inward ripple of amusement and immediately looked down, composing her face into an expression of suitable solemnity.
On the gleaming rosewood good-luck round dining table sat dozens of steaming New Year dishes kept warm in trays of hot water below — Five Blessings Arriving Together, the Three Yang Bringing Prosperity, the Reunion of All Years… and several more soups and dishes of chicken, duck, fish, and meat. Most of them were ornamental in meaning rather than eaten in earnest, and hardly a single chopstick had disturbed them. Minglan reached out toward a basin of fresh and vivid green, chose two of the hollowed vegetable hearts stuffed with minced fish and lamb, and placed them in her mouth, chewing slowly — fresh and tender, full of living flavor.
After Sheng Hong had finished scolding Changfeng, Sheng Lao said she was tired and went to rest. Minglan watched her go with longing eyes, but could not very well follow — this was her last New Year’s Eve in her own family home, and Sheng Lao had instructed her to remain and keep Sheng Hong and Wang Shi company, to do her filial duty.
The moment her mother-in-law left, Wang Shi brightened up and set down her chopsticks, her face carrying a pleased smile as she turned toward Hai Shi — now at last it was her turn to receive some comfort from her daughter-in-law! But before she could open her mouth, Hai Shi was hit by another wave of pregnancy nausea. She clapped a hand to her mouth and rushed outside. When she was helped back in, her face was the color of bean-curd, lips white.
Sheng Hong waved his hand and sent his daughter-in-law off to rest. Changbai also waved his hand, sending his wife to take the child with her. Father and son having each waved in turn, Wang Shi had not yet managed to get a single word in, and now found herself sitting on both sides of an empty air, staring dumbfounded, with no choice but to glare helplessly at the two young ladies Lan.
Outside, snow was drifting down in great feathery flakes. Even with the underfloor heating and fire braziers going, the cold air was relentless. Of everyone in the room, Wang Shi alone radiated a bright rosy glow, nearly luminescent. Minglan glanced at her a few times and privately sighed — if only she had a couple of those calming medicinal herbal drinks to offer.
Wang Shi’s heart was tangled in knots. She was pouring herself small cup after small cup of wine, and every now and then glancing over at Minglan. She considered herself not a malicious stepmother, and claimed to have always thought carefully about her concubine-born daughters’ welfare. From before Minglan was even born, she had been making plans.
At that time she had thought: if Wei Yiniang delivered a boy, she would have to be sidelined; if it was a girl, she could continue being indulged. As Heaven and human wishes aligned, a beautiful little baby girl came into the world with a lusty cry, and the rivalry between Lin and Wei continued. Wang Shi’s stronghold remained impenetrable.
Then the baby girl gradually grew into features that could clearly be called rare beauty by any measure — and so Wang Shi had thought: in time, she could be used to forge a beneficial alliance for the Sheng Family through marriage, or at the very least, attract a substantial betrothal payment.
Then later, Wei Yiniang died. Minglan spent only a brief time in Wang Shi’s care before being settled with Sheng Lao in the Shouan Hall. The days passed, and Minglan bloomed into a young woman of clear and brilliant beauty, as elegant as orchid and jade, her manner also charming and endearing. On the one hand, this had successfully diverted some of Sheng Hong’s favoritism away from Molan — but on the other hand, her own Rulan was increasingly thrown into shadow by comparison.
Wine entering a sorrowful belly, Wang Shi grew more and more melancholy.
If only Minglan had taken entirely after Wei Yiniang, that would have been fine — beautiful as she was, she would have carried a kind of cramped, petty air about her; she could have been brought out in company without causing trouble. But Minglan bore not one trace of her birth mother’s manner. Her eyes were open and bright, her bearing easy and natural; her conduct was careful yet as free-flowing and effortless as cloud and stream. Standing beside Rulan, people would surely assume it was Minglan who was the legitimate daughter.
Fate turned a thousand ways — and in the end, among all the young ladies, it was Minglan who had made the highest match of all. Wang Shi, slightly lightheaded from the wine, found her mind drifting to the sight of herself, so many years ago, leading Wei Yiniang through the gates for the first time. Could it be — that this life’s effects truly all spring from the causes of lives past?
Sitting nearby, Minglan felt Wang Shi’s expression bode ill, knowing that these days of arranging the dowry had been putting her through misery. She quietly turned her head away — and found herself looking at Rulan. There she sat with her head lowered, face turned slightly to one side, a flush on her cheek, eyes half-joyful half-not, gazing off in the direction of the window. Minglan gave a private dry laugh — anyone could guess, without even thinking about it, that she was daydreaming about her beloved young Master Yan Jing again!
After the incident, Sheng Hong and Wang Shi had initially been cold toward this convenient son-in-law. But the young man had shown determined self-improvement — once he had recovered from the injuries Changbai’s fists had given him, he came personally to the Sheng Household to kowtow and apologize. At first Wang Shi made a show of her anger and left him kneeling on the floor without acknowledging him; Sheng Hong also kept things cool and said a few surface-level words before retreating into the inner room to read.
Then Rulan, having got wind of the news, stormed through all obstacles to reach him. The moment she saw her intended, her tears poured down; the two bitter young lovebirds knelt facing each other in grief, as though weeping blood — just short of wailing aloud. Wang Shi saw this scene and could hold herself together no longer. She had no choice but to drag Sheng Hong back out.
The specific details of what followed were unclear to Minglan, but from what she could gather, the young man had declared before his future parents-in-law, in the most solemn possible terms, that his devotion to Rulan was worth more than gold and his love deeper than the sea — he would not turn back even if offered ten imperial princesses! Reportedly this had moved Wang Shi to tears on the spot. The mother-in-law had quickly found common ground with Sheng Lao’s longstanding views: it is easy to find a priceless treasure, but hard to find a devoted heart. Even the political veteran Sheng Hong’s eyes had grown moist; he had clasped his future son-in-law firmly by both hands and offered warm words of encouragement on career, official conduct, and marital happiness.
(The above scene was sealed on-site by Nanny Liu, and the exclusive intelligence delivered to Minglan at Xiao Xijue’s risk to life and limb.)
Minglan had heard this with her eyes wide open in disbelief. By her understanding: Wang Shi had probably been genuinely moved — women are by nature more romantic than men, and even the most no-nonsense of women is still a woman. As for Sheng Hong… well, the son-in-law could not be sent back at this point. The anger had been vented already. Why make relations unnecessarily difficult? Better to offer everyone a dignified way down and be done with it.
After that, Rulan made a complete transformation from her previous gloom and dejection, and was bright-eyed and smiling from morning to evening, threading her needle with careful attention as she embroidered the lines of poetry her Yan Jing had sent her onto a handkerchief — “The moon hangs reflected through the willow tips above the lotus pond; wild geese in the clouds and fish in the waters — this longing finds no way to be delivered.” Sappy enough to bring out Minglan’s goosebumps — yet Rulan received it as a great treasure, and embroidered it with devoted shyness.
Looking at this scene, Minglan felt a wave of quiet contemplation.
What is love? Anna Karenina abandoned her husband and child to live illicitly with another man and then threw herself under a train. Wang Baochuan gave up her life as a young lady and crouched in a cold cave for eighteen years. A random thought struck Minglan without warning: should she perhaps go and ask Second Uncle-by-marriage Gu — if she jumped, would he jump?
Oh, please. Minglan felt deep contempt for her own wandering imagination.