The Commander’s mansion had originally been the residence of the Loyal and Reverent Marquis, imperially bestowed by the founding Emperor of old. It stood adjacent to the Ningyuan Marquis’s mansion, and the street before them was accordingly known as Loyal Ning Street. However, during the reign of Emperor Zongwu, the Loyal and Reverent Marquis’s household was implicated in a treason case; after their defeat and deaths, the title was stripped, the iron writ of honor destroyed, and the clan exterminated. The residence was then bestowed upon the renowned minister of the Wu dynasty, Lord Xiong Linshan, and renamed “Cheng Yuan.” When Lord Xiong retired from office, he submitted a memorial requesting to return the garden to the throne; Emperor Renzong accepted it, and in turn re-bestowed countless estates and fields upon Lord Xiong in his hometown.

Setting aside the woodland to the front and rear, Cheng Yuan occupied approximately ninety acres in total and could be divided into two sections.

The front courtyard, also known as the outer garden, was where men attended to government affairs. At the very front stood a grand vermilion lacquered gate adorned with forty-nine copper studs — seven rows of seven — flanked on either side by east and west corner gates. Within, smooth and orderly giant square flagstones stretched straight ahead, with four symmetrical outer studies lining both sides, while further out were stables, carriage houses, and several rows of narrow servant quarters set end to end. Past the outer ceremonial gate, at the center stood five grand and spacious assembly halls, with heated side rooms, antechambers, and tea rooms arranged on either flank.

Beyond the inner ceremonial gate lay the inner courtyard proper.

Out of propriety, Minglan sat in a palanquin draped with light gauze and sheer curtains, making a swift circuit of the outer courtyard while Gu Tingye pointed out several spots and briefly identified them. The moment they entered the inner courtyard, Gu Tingye immediately demanded that Minglan descend and walk. Minglan expressed, with great delicacy, that she was a person of delicate constitution and could not endure prolonged walking, and so would prefer to remain in the palanquin. The man’s expression turned odd at this; he leaned close to her ear and expressed, with equal delicacy: could it be that she was conserving her strength for…?

Minglan thought it over. “I’ll walk.”

The man’s brows and features were sharply defined, his nose straight, his lips thin, and his gaze deep — it seemed as though he were smiling at her in silence.

At the very center and forefront of the inner courtyard stood five great halls fitted with ridge-cap eaves and flanking antechambers. Above the hall entrance hung a plaque upon which the characters “Zhaohui Hall” were brushed with the sweeping grandeur of a dragon’s flight and a phoenix’s soar. Minglan silently exclaimed in admiration, then turned and said: “Lord Xiong was a venerable minister of two successive dynasties — a man of pure integrity, of longstanding repute, from a family steeped in letters. He chose not to use any characters of celebration or festivity; those two characters, ‘Zhaohui,’ are perfectly sufficient!”

Gu Tingye, gazing at the inscription, nodded in agreement.

To the left of Zhaohui Hall, a small courtyard was enclosed as Gu Tingye’s inner study. To the right was a side chamber and a corridor lush with greenery. Beyond, separated by a white stone path and a flower-draped gate, lay the main compound of seven bays across and seven rafters deep, flanked by doubled wing rooms and doubled antechambers, with verandas projecting fore and aft — the entire sprawling complex comprising more than twenty rooms, magnificent in scale and lavishly appointed. Above the entrance were written the large characters: “Jiaxi Residence.”

Minglan found it oddly familiar and took a second look before recognizing that this was precisely where she had set out from that very morning.

Behind the rear sitting room of Jiaxi Residence, tucked between its projecting verandas, were two corner gates: one led to the rear gallery, where there was also a small assembly hall — presumably for the ladies of the household to manage affairs and receive guests — while the other connected through a corridor to a large flower hall.

Minglan felt rather dizzy and her legs had gone weak as well. Gu Tingye, seeing her swimming with confusion, found it amusing and drew her off to have lunch first. After the noon rest, husband and wife continued their tour.

With Jiaxi Residence as the center, stretching to the north, east, and west were five additional courtyards and row houses — places likely intended for the lord and lady, and for the young masters and ladies of the house. Regrettably, they were all empty at present.

The nearer courtyards were connected to the main compound by covered walkway galleries; the more distant ones were separated by north-south passageways. Beyond those lay a garden and woodland fragrant with blossoms. Minglan went around the full circuit and was most taken with a lotus pond — its surface shimmered with dancing light, the water clear and serene, lotus pods and blossoms perfuming the air, and lotus roots dimly visible jointing beneath the water. The pond connected at one end to the garden of the Lotus Fragrance Pavilion, and at the other end directly to the great flower hall.

Minglan was tired from walking and gladly stepped into the Lotus Fragrance Pavilion to rest.

“Such a grand mansion, just the two of us?” Minglan looked at the eight-paneled latticed windows and doors all around, then sprawled over the jade-green gallery railing overlooking the lotus pond, asking listlessly.

“This isn’t even that big.” Gu Tingye stood beneath the covered gallery, facing the direction of the Ningyuan Marquis’s mansion — now a small wooded hill beyond — and said quietly, “You’ve been to Marquis Xiang’yang’s mansion as well. That one is more than twice the size of this.”

Minglan followed his gaze, then lowered her head and thought privately: this fellow wants to merge the two! She could only hope it wouldn’t count as unauthorized expansion of property.

…

In Yao Yiyi’s era, as each winter or summer holiday drew to a close and school was about to resume, students who had been wild and carefree the whole holiday would settle tamely at home to frantically rush through their assignments. All these years later, Yao Yiyi found herself looking upon that very same scene again, quite miraculously.

That evening, after supper, Gu Tingye moved a great stack of memorials in from the outer study, spreading them across the desk in the west side room that adjoined the master chamber. He set out an inkstone, dipped his brush, and bent his head to read with careful attention, writing annotations as he went.

Minglan stared wide-eyed — the morning court audience to report before the Emperor was tomorrow, and so he was catching up on his work through the night?

Seeing Gu Tingye deep in thought over the memorials, Minglan had been about to say “please take your time, I’ll go to bed first” — when Gu Tingye produced a thick stack of ledgers and servant name registers, set them before Minglan, and expressed his hope that they might “work hard together and make progress side by side.”

Stifling a yawn, Minglan had no choice but to seat herself on the other side at a small raised desk and spread the ledgers and lists before her to examine. The evening lamp glowed soft and steady. Gu Tingye, pleased by the sight of a companion beside him by the light, glanced over at Danju, who stood silently nearby, and said: “Danju, go brew a pot of thick, strong tea.” He vaguely recalled that the names of the maids around Minglan all seemed to be along the lines of fruits.

Not bad — easy to remember.

Danju felt tender concern for Minglan, having already prepared night clothes and hot water in the hope that Minglan might retire early. Seeing the situation, she could only turn and go brew tea and prepare refreshments. Qinsang, who had been minding the brazier in the side veranda, saw her come out with a look of quiet displeasure and asked: “What is it?”

Danju was inwardly displeased but betrayed not a trace of it outwardly. “Take out the fresh grapes that arrived this morning, and slice a few pieces of the white peach.” As she spoke, she went to the cabinet herself to fetch the tea leaves and teapot.

Qinsang rose and went off to do so. Beside her, Luzhi found it rather puzzling. “Didn’t the young lady say she wanted to go to bed early?”

“You’re to call her ‘Madam’!” Danju said with a straight face, taking out a brand-new set of ‘magpie alighting on a branch’ fine-bodied official-kiln porcelain tea ware. “The master and madam still have matters to discuss, and there are still many household affairs yet to settle.”

Bissi covered her mouth and laughed softly. “You know, the master is really quite funny — yesterday he actually called Qinsang Elder Sister ‘Jujube,’ called Xiaotao ‘Peach,’ and called me ‘Plum.’ Danju Elder Sister, what did the master call you?”

Danju crossed the room to the brazier by the door, lifted the large water kettle, and began brewing the tea. She said in a low, measured voice: “You’ve only been out from under supervision for two days and already your mouth is running wild? Is the master someone you can mock? If the people in this household hear you, they’ll think everyone from the Sheng Family has no manners!”

Qinsang came in carrying a plate of freshly cut fruit. Luzhi produced a six-inch square lotus-shaped crystal bowl, and the two washed their hands and began arranging the fruit. As they arranged it, Luzhi said: “That little hoof has gotten so unruly — just have Nanny Cui give her a good scolding later and be done with it!”

Caihuan watched them work with practiced, familiar ease and truly could not find a way to help, so she smiled and said: “Bissi is young and doesn’t know better; a moment of thoughtlessness is understandable. We’re all like sisters here — don’t go telling Nanny Cui.”

Luzhi fell silent. Danju’s expression turned to one of reluctant hesitation. Only Qinsang lifted her head, smiled, and said: “Bissi, let me give you a reminder. All of us have followed Madam since we were small. Do you still not know her temperament? We’ve only just arrived here; this is precisely the moment to uphold Madam’s dignity. Don’t be foolish.” Her words carried a deeper meaning.

Bissi’s expression sobered at once, and she shut her mouth. Caihuan found this rather puzzling but could not very well press the matter, so she said with feigned casualness: “Back in the Sheng Mansion, everyone said that among all the young ladies, the Sixth Young Lady had the best temperament and treated others with the greatest generosity. Even if we were to make a mistake, surely she wouldn’t punish us harshly?”

Danju felt a deep bond of affection for the other maids who had been with Minglan since her earliest years, and did not like to discipline them too harshly in daily matters. Toward Caihuan she maintained a measure of wariness. Meeting Caihuan’s eyes, she spoke slowly: “Madam has said that no one is a saint free from error — something like a dropped bowl or a shattered cup, those can all be spoken of reasonably. Even if someone bungled a task or two, once the reason is understood and the punishment given, that’s the end of it. But there is one thing — only one — that absolutely cannot be permitted.”

“What thing?” Caihuan pressed anxiously, then quickly shifted to a pleasant smile. “If Elder Sister tells me, I’ll be sure to take it to heart.”

“Moral character.” Danju fixed her eyes on Caihuan’s, speaking each word with deliberate clarity. “No matter what it concerns — if even the slightest crooked thought arises in your heart, one that wrongs others, then no matter how many good qualities you may have, you cannot be kept on.”

Caihuan felt a tremor within, though her face showed nothing but respectful admiration, and she smiled continuously. “Madam is absolutely right! For us maids, the most important thing is loyalty — everything else is secondary!” As she spoke, something occurred to her, and she asked in a low voice: “…By the way, wasn’t there a younger sister called Yancao before? Why didn’t she come along?”

Danju glanced at her and said plainly: “She came of age; her mother begged the old mistress, and she went off to marry.”

Caihuan was about to ask further — “Wasn’t there also a Nanny You?” — when Luzhi called out loudly: “Where on earth are Xiaotao and Cuixiu — those two little hooves? They’re only packing a few trunks, and they still haven’t come back?!”

…

Danju carried the tray to the main room. Before leaving, she thought for a moment and added a large, brilliantly red pomegranate to the tray. Smiling, she arranged the tea, fruit, and refreshments neatly throughout the room. Noticing that Minglan was lightly dressed, she went inside to retrieve a casual moon-white robe embroidered with snow-and-crimson plum blossoms, and draped it gently over Minglan’s shoulders. Finally, she turned up the wicks of all the sheepskin palace lanterns in the room to burn a little brighter, and only then slowly withdrew.

All these years, Minglan had maintained a fine habit: as she paged through ledgers and lists, she made notes of the important passages in her own hand — in a form of shorthand that no one else could decipher — while softly murmuring to herself. Gu Tingye looked up and glanced at Minglan; by the warm glow of candlelight, her jade face flushed rose, her cheeks peachy, her lips like cherries, and her eyes sparkling — she was exceptionally beautiful.

He cleared his throat with a deliberate cough. Minglan looked up at him, and saw that Gu Tingye’s expression was entirely composed. He said with perfect calm: “Tomorrow, help me get the inner study in order first. I’ve already entrusted Counselor Gongsun with the things to be moved in. As for the rest, it doesn’t matter — find me two reliable maids to keep watch on things… preferably ones who can’t read.”

Minglan was about to say no problem, but caught that last half-sentence. She considered it for a moment, then said: “I’m not acquainted with anyone here yet. All my maids are literate. Only Xiaotao is a little slow and reads poorly, but she’s dependable and can absolutely be trusted. Have her keep watch for now, and I’ll slowly look into finding others — trustworthy people aren’t found overnight. These days… if you don’t mind, I’ll get the study in order for you myself.”

In truth, the crux of the matter wasn’t whether they could read or not — it was whether they could be trusted. Because trustworthiness was uncertain, those who couldn’t read were preferred. A literate maid who wanted to steal a look at something needed only to glance at it and memorize a few characters; if she couldn’t read, she could only carry things out as physical contraband, which was far harder to do and far easier to get caught doing.

Gu Tingye gave a satisfied nod, then furrowed his brow lightly. “Why can all of them read? Did you teach them? Was it even necessary?”

Minglan nodded, then said with great solemnity: “Having literate maids shows that I am a woman of refined elegance and cultured grace.” In truth, the original reason had been so they could read the rules and regulations of the Mu Cang study.

Gu Tingye raised an eyebrow. The dark gold thread worked into the subtle pattern of his deep blue silk robe shimmered faintly; the pristine moon-white inner robe beneath it made him look all the more handsome and clear-eyed. He raised a fist to his lips and laughed softly. “Not bad, not bad — great talent of the Sheng Family, come grind the ink for your husband.”

Minglan smiled and went over to grind his ink, deliberately furrowing her brow and shaking her head with a long-suffering sigh. “Using a cleaver for a needle’s work…”

Gu Tingye chuckled at the sight of her. He watched Minglan’s slender wrist, pale as snow, moving in the slow, graceful motion of grinding the ink — and could not help but fall into a slight daze. A long while passed. Not until Minglan had ground a full inkstone’s worth of rich dark ink and was about to return to her seat did he suddenly catch her wrist and ask quietly: “You… don’t you have anything you want to ask?”

Minglan was at a loss. “Ask… what?”

“About the household.” Gu Tingye said. “Isn’t there anything you want to know?” The situation in the Gu Family was peculiar, plain for anyone to see — and yet for the past few days she had not asked a single question about it.

Minglan understood his meaning, and her gaze was clear. “I used to have questions, but the old lady always said: if there’s something you don’t understand, don’t rush to ask — think it through on your own first. That way, it will show that I’m clever.”

The severity in Gu Tingye’s brow eased, and he laughed despite himself. “Very well, very well — you’re sharp as ice and bright as snow. Let’s hear what you’ve thought out.”

Minglan pulled her wrist free from Gu Tingye’s grasp, dragged over a nearby small stool to sit on, and said gently: “…When I first met your family, the very first thing I noticed as strange was the matter of age. First: the late lord, your father, was the eldest. As the Marquis’s heir, he would have married early rather than late. And yet Elder Brother Xuan and Elder Brother Yang are considerably older than Elder Brother Yu. How did that come about?”

Gu Tingyu was only twenty-eight, and had no elder brothers above him — yet the eldest sons of the fourth and fifth branches, Gu Tingxuan and Gu Tingyang, were both already fourteen. As things stood, the only legitimate grandson of the first branch was Gu Tingwei’s son, little Xian Ge’er — a toddler of two years.

And the fourth and fifth branches? Never mind being old enough to run errands — Gu Tingxuan’s eldest son was already more than capable of minding an entire soy sauce shop, while Gu Tingyang’s eldest daughter was of an age to be the proprietress of one.

Gu Tingye’s eyes gradually brightened, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. Minglan looked at him, and sighed quietly: “I imagine that your father must have been deeply devoted to his first wife — that their affection was profoundly sincere.”

Gu Tingye’s expression slowly sobered. Those words were not spoken lightly: following the reasoning through, if the old Marquis had loved the first Madam Qin deeply, he would not have welcomed the Bai woman who married in right after, while toward the current Madam Qin he would feel warmth by association.

Gu Tingye gently drew Minglan close, settling her against him, and said quietly: “When I was small, I once heard my Fifth Aunt speak of the first wife. She said the first wife and my father had been childhood sweethearts with deep and abiding love between them. Because she was frail and often ill, my father petitioned to take up a border posting himself, just to get away from the meddlesome interference of elders in the capital. The current wife mentions her even more often — saying she was beautiful and nobly born, gentle and refined, soft-hearted and tender, a woman of rare virtue scarcely to be found in this world. And my father… remembered her all his life.”

Minglan pursed her lips. Nestled against the man’s chest, she said mildly: “The second thing I didn’t understand was the Madam’s age.” She felt the man’s muscles tense perceptibly. She continued: “Based on the Madam’s birth year, she is forty-four this year. When you were born, she was already nineteen. She married into the Marquis’s household the following year, at twenty. That means that when the first Madam Qin died, this woman was already around sixteen. How did that come to be?”

If the old Marquis had truly loved the first Madam Qin so deeply, and wished to take a woman from the Qin family to remarry so as to care for Gu Tingyu, he could have married the current Madam Qin at that time. Why was there a Bai woman in between?

Minglan noticed the stiffening of Gu Tingye’s body. She slowly sat up and looked at him directly, her voice firm yet quiet: “At the time… did your father have some reason that compelled him to marry the Madam without fail?” The question was a delicate one, yet it lay at the root of everything that had followed.

Gu Tingye stared at Minglan for a long moment, uncertain what to say. All these years, Gu Tingye had carried a brooding weight in his heart — yet family matters were hard to put into words, and when the moment to speak finally came, he didn’t know where to begin. Minglan had not asked even half a question, and yet she had observed the subtlest signs, and understood quite clearly things that no one had told her.

Minglan had never seen Gu Tingye with this expression before: his sharp brows arched high, his deep-set eyes falling into shadow, his gaze dark and dangerous and yet carrying within it a faint air of weary resignation and helplessness. After a long silence, he finally opened his mouth and spoke slowly: “My mother’s side was from the Bai Family of Haining — have you heard of them?”

Minglan very much wanted to express some admiration, but she truly had not heard of the Bai Family. In Haining, the names one knew were the Chen Family with seven jinshi officials in a single clan, the Zhao Family with a Hanlin Academy member among the fathers, and the Xu Family of a former Grand Secretary, along with several other well-established old families — but not the Bai Family. So Minglan could only honestly shake her head.

Gu Tingye smiled with self-deprecating irony: “Of course you haven’t. The Bai Family are neither an old noble clan nor a family of scholars. They were… salt merchants.”

Minglan was taken aback. Scholars, farmers, artisans, merchants — his mother had come from the lowest social class of merchants, and not just any merchants, but the salt merchants who were regarded with particular disdain among them. Expressing admiration for the Bai Family was going to be rather difficult.

Gu Tingye continued: “Do you know what salt merchant households have the most of?”

“Salt,” Minglan answered without thinking, the word out before she could stop herself — and promptly received a knuckle rapped smartly on her forehead. She immediately covered her forehead with a light cry. “Silver! The most silver!”

Gu Tingye had his long index and middle fingers bent, watching Minglan with an expression somewhere between amusement and exasperation. Could she not be a little more solemn and sorrowful for once.

Minglan eyed those two still-crooked fingers with lingering wariness and ventured timidly: “Don’t tell me… your father married your mother for her silver?” Merchants of low social status — how could they have any leverage over the nobility?

“It was precisely for the silver. Even said aloud, no one would believe it. Later, when I investigated the matter carefully, I came to know the whole story from beginning to end.” Gu Tingye’s face turned grave. He lowered his hands onto his knees, his gaze cold: “That year, when Empress Jing’an passed away, Emperor Wu was overcome with grief and sorrow, and his temperament suddenly turned violent and paranoid. Not only did he beat to death many concubines and serving women in the palace, he also bestowed death upon the Imperial Noble Consort of the time, and intended to exterminate her entire clan. The Consort’s clansman at the time held partial authority over the Ministry of Finance, and when the accounts were examined, a shortfall of several hundred thousand taels was uncovered — the accumulated doing of high-ranking noble and meritorious families over many years. In ordinary times, it would not have been so destabilizing to the realm; one could simply repay the silver gradually and that would have been that. But at that moment, under Emperor Wu’s displaced fury, punishment came down with brutal severity: those who had not repaid in full within half a year would have their noble title stripped!”

Minglan was completely stunned. After a long pause she said: “How much did the Ningyuan Marquis’s household owe?”

“Not much.” Gu Tingye’s lips curved with a sardonic smile. “Exactly eighty-eight thousand taels of silver.”

Minglan nearly choked. Eighty-eight thousand taels of silver?! What a way to squander a fortune — could anyone really spend silver like that?!

Gu Tingye let out a long breath, his gaze drifting upward to the ornately carved and painted ceiling, his expression shadowed and difficult to read: “The Gu Family spent an entire night tallying all the household assets and ancestral property, but no matter how they calculated, it was nowhere near enough. As the deadline drew near, the Rong State Duke’s household had already been raided and their property confiscated — the family members reduced to common citizens, their plight wretched. The entire Gu household was on the verge of panic. It was then that someone — I don’t know who — mentioned the Bai Family.”

Minglan was already shocked into silence. She only listened, wide-eyed, as Gu Tingye went on: “My maternal grandfather was quite a figure in his own right. He started out running ships at sea; after accumulating some capital he came ashore. By some path I do not know, he worked his way into the connections of officialdom, and from there built himself a business as a salt merchant. Twenty years of accumulated wealth made him exceedingly prosperous. He had never been close to his brothers from the family line, and on top of that had only my mother — one daughter.”

Minglan no longer wished to speak. She could only let out a long, quiet sigh — without brothers for support, of humble origins, yet in possession of considerable wealth. This Madam Bai was practically walking around with the word “prey” written on her forehead.

“So your father married the Madam?” Even as Minglan said these words, she did not register the faint note of contempt in her own voice.

Gu Tingye gave a bitter smile, though it did nothing to conceal the cold edge beneath: “There are ten different versions of what happened next; I’ve heard so many that I can’t be sure of any of them myself. But the one told most often is this: at the time, Father proposed to the Bai Family that Mother be taken as a secondary wife. Ha — as if a merchant’s daughter ought to have felt it a heaven-sent blessing just to enter a Marquis’s household as a concubine. Yet the Bai Family refused to accept anything less than the primary wife’s position. And so, under the coercion they applied, the first Madam Qin was forced to her death.”

Minglan drew a sharp breath. She immediately stood up straight, spine rigid, and said with absolute conviction: “Nonsense! Utter fabrication! What madman would turn the truth so completely on its head?!”

Gu Tingye looked up at Minglan, his gaze cool and clear, a mocking smile at the corner of his mouth: “How would you know? Perhaps it’s true.”

Minglan drew in a deep breath and said clearly: “Yes, there were wealthy merchant families who gave daughters to noble households as concubines. But what was that for? Nothing more than exchanging a daughter for connections between wealth and power — the merchant family gained convenience and ease in their business dealings, the noble household got silver and a share of profits; both sides benefited. But the Bai Family was not like that. The old grandfather had only one daughter — who was to carry on the salt trade after him? He had no need to borrow the influence of the nobility. And precisely because he had no brothers to rely upon, what he truly needed was a trustworthy son-in-law! How could he have ‘coerced’ the Gu Family into taking his daughter? And ‘forced to her death’ the lawful wife? That would be making enemies. That’s pure foolishness — even delirious rambling would be more believable than this!”

Still feeling indignant, Minglan thought privately: with that great a dowry, whom couldn’t Madam Bai have married? Were all the men in the world dead? Was there no one but Gu Tingye’s father? In truth, it was not the Bai Family that was clinging to the Gu Family — it was the Gu Family, cornered and desperate, that was the one going to the Bai Family.

They came bringing silver to save a life, and you expected them to come as concubines?! Laughable! Even a fairy tale would be more grounded in reality.

Gu Tingye leaned against the back of his chair, letting out a short cold laugh, and quietly watched Minglan, his expression gradually brightening: “Because of that rumor, my elder brother despised me from the time I was small. I don’t blame him — I was always causing trouble and making a mess of things, the most disappointing member of the family. It wasn’t until many years later, when my mother’s childhood wet nurse, Nanny Chang, came to the capital to see me and told me the full truth of the matter from beginning to end, that I understood. As it turned out, that Madam Qin had always been frail to begin with. With the household rumors circulating that bringing in the Bai girl would resolve the crisis, she fell into grief and worry — and it was in that state that she died in difficult childbirth. The Bai Family had known nothing of any of this when my grandfather gave my mother in marriage. From that point on, I began to openly defy my father, and my temper grew worse and worse…”

Minglan stared at Gu Tingye, and for the first time in her life felt a pang of sorrow for him. Taking a merchant’s daughter as a Marquis’s wife was, in the household’s eyes, a profound disgrace; the very existence of Madam Bai was a mark that the Gu Family had once been driven to utter desperation. Because of this, the old Marquis had allowed the slanders against Madam Bai to circulate without ever speaking a word in her defense; he had watched Gu Tingye sink deeper into resentment and recklessness without ever once explaining the truth.

Of course, the first Madam Qin was also pitiable — but she had at least known prosperity and enjoyed good days in her time. When a great calamity strikes, a Marquis’s wife is expected to bear it alongside the household; and by stoking the old Marquis’s subsequent misplaced anger toward Madam Bai and Gu Tingye, she had more than had her dues.

“…Father had always been lost in longing for the first wife. And Mother had a quick temper, and found nothing to her satisfaction in the household. The two grew more and more at odds. When Mother was carrying her second child, she quarreled with Father, went into early labor, and died of hemorrhage.” Gu Tingye recounted this with perfect calm, as though it were the story of a stranger; his expression was unusually blank. “Looking back now, Father was not unkind to me — it was truly I myself who was worthless. And now that I treat his wife and children and brothers with this kind of cold disregard… he is probably unsettled even in his grave.” As he said this, he gave several hollow, cold laughs, and his eyes were filled with an icy contempt.

“Well?” Gu Tingye looked at the dazed Minglan, and curved his lips. “Have I been much in the wrong?”

“Wrong how?” Minglan had only just managed to come back to herself. The history of the Gu Family was the stuff of a story — betrayal, deception, schemes, slander, and a revenge like something out of The Count of Monte Cristo. It was a great deal to take in at once.

Minglan found it baffling and pressed further, citing her reasons: “In this whole affair, everyone came away well — only you two, mother and son, came away with nothing. The Gu Family preserved its reputation and came out whole; the Qin family connection held as before. But what did the Bai Family get? The mother had a basin of filth poured over her head for no reason at all, and died without ever being vindicated. The son was forced out of his own home and left to make his way alone in the world. Have you ever considered — what if the Fourth Prince had not committed treason? What if he had accepted peacefully being named crown prince as a king?”

Gu Tingye’s eyes flared like fire in an instant, burning away every last trace of self-mockery and disdain. He fixed his gaze on Minglan and spoke with cold laughter from deep in his chest: “If the Fourth Prince had not committed treason, he would have taken the throne in due course, and the Eighth Prince would have had no part to play. Then the Ningyuan Marquis’s household would have carried on as before — those who feasted on the Bai Family’s flesh and blood would have continued to live in splendor, and those who stood upon our mother and son would have gone on enjoying their honored position. Father passed away, and I was not present — it wouldn’t have been long before even my mother’s ancestral tablet was quietly removed from the clan shrine. As for me, I would have gone on drifting through the lowest ranks of the underworld.”

Minglan nodded vigorously and met his gaze head-on: “So if you harbor resentment — you are absolutely right to.” Her tone carried more earnest conviction than even the day she had once petitioned to join the student committee.

Gu Tingye gave an inexplicable short laugh. Nanny Chang had also always spoken with indignant fury, cursing the Ningyuan Marquis’s household — yet he had never felt any resonance with her in it; if anything, he found it somewhat tiresome. In his view, the Bai Family bore some fault of their own: knowing perfectly well it was a match far above their station, they had still, driven by greed, grasped at that connection and hoped for a miracle. And Madam Bai, knowing full well the hardship ahead, had made no plans or preparations — only died young.

Every time he thought of these things, what he felt most was cold detachment and indifference.

The fury and humiliation of his youth had, by now, lost much of its heat. After years of hardship in the world — having seen enough of glory and ruin, of life and death — he was no longer easily moved. It was as though even the most blazing fire, once it had burned itself out, left only a little ash. What he felt now, above all else, was an unwillingness to accept it: had he come into this world for no other reason than the matter of a sum of silver?

And yet, hearing Minglan’s words just now, the memories that had grown so cold in Gu Tingye for so long flared to life again: yes, he had always carried that secret hatred — but having no outlet for it, no way to speak it aloud, he had settled for cold contempt and left it at that.

Gu Tingye let out a slow breath. So it turned out that admitting one hated one’s own relatives was not, after all, so difficult. All these years, what he had never been able to confide to another person had come out tonight, all at once — and there was a clarity and relief in his chest, a kind of lightness.

It seemed that having a wife who could help you find justifications to hate your relatives was, truly, not a bad thing.

“By the way.” Minglan fidgeted with her fingers and asked with some hesitance, “That… the Madam — how large a dowry did she actually bring?”

“About ten thousand taels of silver, plus some farmland and shops.” Gu Tingye said, offhand.

Minglan went still. She nearly wanted to beat her chest and cry to the heavens — ten thousand taels of silver! If she had that kind of money, and a father who doted on her, what could she not do? She could hire a retinue of guards, find a loyal and capable escort, travel the seas, seek the wonders of the western territories — what a glorious world it would be! She would not, if you paid her, have married into a household like that — a widower who still deeply loved his first wife and came complete with an inherited burden!

Oh, Madam Bai. Oh, Old Master Bai. What is there to say?

In the end —

“Truly, it is not the jade’s fault for being coveted, but its own misfortune to shine.” Minglan said softly, her expression sorrowful, as she stood gently by his side, hands at her sides.

Gu Tingye quietly drew Minglan into his arms, his heart moved. He held her and offered comfort for a long while before saying: “Don’t grieve — it was all a very long time ago.”

…