Chapter 1

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It was nearing midnight, yet the Song household was still bustling with activity. The red silk decorations were not yet fully hung, the wedding pastries had to be set out in advance, jars of wine were being carried into the courtyard, and the maidservants beside Song Yan were busy arranging her dowry and preparing the wedding dress and jewelry for the following day.

Only Song Yan sat at the edge of her bed, gazing blankly at a carved wooden mandarin duck she had just taken out while tidying up.

The duck was exquisitely crafted—charming and vivid, its colors bright and lively. One half was with her, the other in someone else’s hands.

“Madam.” The voice of Qiu Yue came from outside. Knowing her mother had arrived, Song Yan quickly slipped the wooden duck into her sleeve.

Her mother, Lady Luo, soon entered and asked, “You’re to be married tomorrow and must rise early. Why are you still awake?”

Song Yan replied softly, “I can’t seem to fall asleep.”

“It’s just as well you’re not asleep. With all the busyness, I nearly forgot something.” Lady Luo sat beside her and handed her a picture album.

When Song Yan saw what it was, a flush crept up her cheeks. She bit her lip and turned her face away, embarrassed.

Her mother coaxed her gently, “Don’t be shy. These are things you ought to know. Besides… your husband is a man of high rank, always serious and dignified. Once you’re there, you mustn’t be willful or childish. You must be sensible and gentle—even on your wedding night, you must be considerate and attentive.”

Tears welled up in Song Yan’s eyes, and she turned away, silent.

Seeing her daughter so distraught, Lady Luo’s tone became even more earnest. “I know this is hard for you, but tomorrow you’ll leave our family. In front of Lord Wei, you must not weep and make yourself disagreeable. Most importantly, as for Wulang, you two must avoid each other as much as possible. Nothing good can come from suspicion...”

“That’s enough, Mother, please stop. I know all this already.” Song Yan’s words were choked with sobs, and tears fell freely down her cheeks.

Lady Luo sighed deeply, pausing before she spoke again. “Since you understand, then look at this album carefully and let me explain a bit.” She opened the album and handed it to her.

Song Yan glanced at the illustrations—entwined figures of man and woman leapt into view. Her thoughts immediately went to the man more than ten years her senior, a man who should have been her elder brother-in-law. A sense of shame and grievance overwhelmed her, her vision blurred by tears, and her mother’s words became little more than a distant buzzing.

At last, seeing her daughter’s heartbreak, Lady Luo gave only a hurried explanation before falling silent. She sat quietly beside her for a long time before offering comfort: “No matter what, from now on you are the wife of the Grand Councillor. Perhaps in a few years, you’ll become a titled lady. That would be a life of honor and wealth.”

Song Yan gave a bitter smile. Yes, honor and wealth—that was the most enviable aspect of this marriage.

Even if she had first been betrothed to the younger brother, then the elder; even if she was marrying a much older man, even if she was to be a second wife, a stepmother; even if she had to humble herself for a lifetime, treading on eggshells; even if she was to become the sister-in-law of the man she once loved—there remained, at least in the eyes of others, honor and wealth.

Song Yan said nothing more. Lady Luo, at a loss for words and seeing it was late, placed the album on her daughter’s lap. “Look at it yourself when you have time, and rest early. Don’t cry anymore, or your eyes will be swollen tomorrow.”

Song Yan only nodded in silence.

After her mother left, she took out the carved duck from her sleeve. It was a gift from Wulang, and now, beside it, lay an album teaching her how to serve his elder brother.

She felt nothing but humiliation and bitter irony, and tears streamed down her face as she wept silently into her hands.

It was then she realized—how could a pair of mandarin ducks be divided, one with her, one with him? Did that not mean separation?

She had been foolish, and so had Wulang; neither had thought of this.

Perhaps, from the very beginning, fate had decreed that they would each marry another.

She clutched the duck and cried for a long time, until exhaustion overtook her. As the night deepened, the distant crow of the third watch’s rooster signaled the arrival of a new day. Today, she would become another man’s wife, her fate no longer entwined with his.

Taking one last look at the little duck, she reached out and placed it into the secret compartment of her bedside cabinet.

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Having decided to accept her grandfather’s arrangement, she resigned herself to fate. She was no longer the daughter of the Song family, nor a girl with youthful dreams—she was now Wei Qi’s wife.

The next day, drums thundered, guests crowded the halls, and Song Yan married into the Duke of Zheng’s household.

The head of the Song family was a fifth-rank scholar. The old master Song had once enjoyed a modest reputation at court but had long since retired due to illness; his son’s position was owed in part to the family’s lingering influence.

Thus, for Song Yan to marry into the Duke of Zheng’s household was considered a remarkable match—even as a second wife, to wed the future master of the estate was an honor.

Many relatives had come, even those beyond the fifth degree of kinship, all to offer congratulations. The Song house was alive with festivity, and her father, Song Ming, could not suppress his beaming smile.

Yet, at some tables, a few whispered, “Didn’t I hear that the Song girl was originally to marry Wulang from the Western Wing of the Duke’s estate?”

“Yes, I heard that too. Then when I learned it was Lord Wei, I was surprised!”

“Apparently, Wulang is to marry Lady Funing from the Eldest Princess’s household.”

“Lady Funing? I hadn’t heard a word about that before.”

“Exactly. The arrangements were rushed—the betrothal was fixed in February, and now in March, the wedding will be held by month’s end.”

“So the Duke’s household is hosting two weddings in quick succession…”

“Whatever the case, the Song family’s eldest daughter is certainly fortunate…”

…

According to custom, on the wedding day, the groom might fetch the bride in person, or send family representatives. Wei Qi did not come himself; the bridal party consisted only of attendants and other members of the Duke’s household, but the procession was lively, with music and sweets scattered along the way.

Song Yan, clad in her crimson wedding gown, was carried in a bridal sedan to the Duke of Zheng’s residence. She had visited before, but only to the Western Wing; this time, she was taken to the Eastern Wing.

That morning, the bridal attendant, noticing her swollen eyes, had sent for ice from outside to reduce the puffiness. Now, though she had barely slept, she felt no tiredness. She let herself be guided—carried in the sedan, disembarking, stepping over the saddle—following every instruction, feeling almost like a spirit moving mechanically through the rituals.

Under the bridal veil, she could see only the red wool carpet with its square fortune pattern beneath her feet—a luxury she knew of only by reputation. Even this small detail displayed the wealth of the Eastern Wing.

She took a deep breath and clenched her hands.

The guests still filled the front courtyard, so Wei Qi had not yet come. Song Yan sat upright at the edge of the bed, veil in place, waiting in silence, her heart heavy and numb.

She had no sense of how much time passed. Dusk crept in, the windows grew dim, and dragon-phoenix candles were lit in the bridal chamber. The attendants had prepared nuptial wine, lotus seed soup, and scissors for the ceremonial hair-cutting. At that moment, footsteps sounded outside—light and hurried.

She straightened even more, and then heard, “Madam—”

It was an older woman’s voice, calling to her.

“I am Madam Zhao from Lady Wei’s quarters. A messenger just arrived from the palace—something important has happened. The young master changed out of his wedding robes and hurried to the palace. We don’t know when he’ll return. Lady Wei asked me to inform you.”

Song Yan understood at once—by “young master,” she meant Wei Qi, the eldest grandson and head of the main branch, rarely called by his formal title in the household.

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She answered, “Understood. Thank you for informing me.” Then she called for Qiu Yue.

Qiu Yue, well-trained, quickly brought out the prepared wedding coins and rewarded Madam Zhao with a string. Madam Zhao smiled, “Thank you, Madam. Please rest. I’ll take my leave.”

After Madam Zhao departed, time seemed to stretch endlessly. Night deepened, and outside the guests’ voices faded—the festivities had ended and everyone departed.

The bridal attendant yawned repeatedly but, accustomed to such scenes and aware of the household’s standing, endured without complaint.

Song Yan, too, made no complaint, feeling even a trace of relief, though she knew it was only a temporary reprieve.

At last, when all was silent, Song Yan spoke: “You may go sit and rest for a while. We’ll wait for the young master’s return.”

The bridal attendant, a woman in her forties, had stood all day and could barely endure it any longer. Hearing this, she gratefully excused herself, then asked, “Would you like to lift your veil and eat something first, Madam?”

Song Yan shook her head. It was not proper, and besides, she had no appetite.

After the attendant left, Song Yan sent her maids to rest as well.

Qiu Yue, Chun Hong, and the others went off to the side rooms or the warming pavilion below and soon dozed off, exhausted.

Song Yan sat alone, veil still in place, listening to the faint crackle of the red candles.

She had imagined this night countless times, feared it countless times, but never expected it would turn out like this.

Later, as the third watch drum sounded, she grew weary and leaned lightly against the bedpost, hoping for a little sleep. But her mind remained clear—she could not rest.

She listened to the chirping of insects, the rustling of leaves in the wind, the sound of her own breathing, until the faintest light crept through the window. The courtyard stirred with activity—the Duke’s residence was waking to a new day.

Yet Wei Qi had not appeared.

At this hour she ought to have been preparing to serve tea to the elders, but in the end she dispensed with the formalities, lifted her own veil, and asked that the nuptial wine and lotus seed soup be taken away. From Lady Wei came instructions to send the attendants away as well.

Qiu Yue helped Song Yan remove the bridal makeup and gown, dressing her in the new wife’s attire before she went to the front hall to pay respects.

The Duke’s estate was divided into Eastern and Western Wings—the main branch with title in the East, the second son’s family in the West. Song Yan was now the daughter-in-law of the Eastern Wing, but on such a day, both sides were present. Upon entering, she saw seated near the center Lady Feng—Wulang’s mother.

Song Yan quickly lowered her gaze, not daring to look more than a moment.

Lady Feng, too, did not look at her, though at such a time it would have been perfectly normal to do so.

Then someone spoke: “The eldest son has not yet returned, so go and pay your respects to your grandfather first.”

Though she’d never met her mother-in-law, Song Yan knew at once from the voice who had spoken, and hurried forward. “Yes, Mother.”

The woman before her was not adorned in extravagant finery but dressed neatly and simply, her figure slender and her features composed, with a look of cool detachment—the manner of a mistress observing a servant’s work.

Song Yan knew this impression was not mistaken; it was the truth—her mother-in-law did not like her.

Who could welcome a daughter-in-law so mismatched to her son’s status? Who could accept a woman who had once been meant for the Western Wing?