Chapter 11

On the way back, Wei Qi was clearly drunk; a faint scent of alcohol lingered about him. Perhaps he was feeling unwell, for he sat upright in the carriage, leaning against its side with his eyes closed, resting.

Song Yan sat quietly beside him, not daring to disturb.

It was only when they passed through a bustling street lined with shops that Wei Qi opened his eyes and glanced outside for a while before lowering the carriage curtain.

Song Yan hesitated, wondering if now was the time to speak, but before she could, he picked up the book beside him.

She decided against interrupting him.

Yet, as he opened the book, he turned to her and asked, “Is there something you wish to say?”

Song Yan marveled at his perceptiveness, unsure how he could tell she had something on her mind. She asked, “Has Xi’s marriage been discussed yet?”

“Not yet,” Wei Qi replied.

Song Yan carefully chose her words: “I just met my third aunt in the back courtyard. Uncle and his wife were with her, and she mentioned she has a nephew in the Huang family of Haining, nineteen years old, who passed the imperial examination last year and hasn’t married yet. She hoped to inquire about Xi, to see what the Duke’s household thought, and asked my aunt to relay the question to me.”

“The Huang family of Haining?” Wei Qi mused. “A scholarly family, with excellent traditions.”

“Yes, Aunt said the same.”

Wei Qi asked, “Isn’t Xi a bit young?”

Song Yan quickly replied, “I mentioned it already—even if the match is set, she wouldn’t marry before fifteen. Aunt said she’d mention it to them; surely, they know Xi’s approximate age and are prepared.”

Wei Qi grunted, “You are her mother; do as you see fit.” With that, he opened his book to read.

Song Yan was puzzled. “Do as I see fit?” How could she decide? She was not Xi’s birth mother.

Wei Qi responded, “You can ask Mother if you wish.” He lowered his head once more, clearly more interested in his book than his daughter's marriage.

Song Yan felt helpless. Were all men like this? When the first wife passed, they handed the daughter’s marriage to the stepmother?

But it was clear Wei Qi did not wish to discuss further, so she resolved to ask her mother-in-law later.

She sighed inwardly and kept quiet.

After a while, Wei Qi set down his book and rubbed his temples.

Thinking it over, she felt she should show some concern and said, “You’ve worked hard these days; you should rest more.”

Wei Qi looked at her and nodded. “It was hard to refuse so much hospitality; I drank more than usual.” He added, “It has been busy lately. Later tonight, I’ll come to your chambers.”

Song Yan: …

After a moment, she realized—did he think she was hinting, urging him to spend the night in her room? That was not her intention at all!

But she couldn’t say, “No, you’d better not come.” She knew, regardless of his wishes, she must appear eager, waiting for him every night.

So she lowered her head, feigning shyness—which, truthfully, she did feel—and concealed her annoyance.

He did come that night.

Not too early, not too late—the hour was just right to fulfill marital obligations and then sleep.

At that moment, Song Yan recalled how, as a child, a simpleton lived near her home. People said his father drank too much, perpetually drunk, and so the child was born slow-witted.

So it was unwise to conceive after drinking, wasn’t it?

But she didn’t dare mention it. Judging by his demeanor, he didn’t seem overly intoxicated.

Everything was as usual. The lamp went out, and in darkness, they carried out their union. He remained calm and composed as always, though his breathing grew heavier. She bit her lip, clutched at her pillow or blanket, trying to suppress any sound; only when breathlessness overwhelmed her did her breathing grow chaotic, and toward the end, she could only gasp for air.

They had done this several times already; she was familiar with it all, but tonight was different.

The time dragged on—what should have ended did not. Her legs grew sore, her strength waned, but she dared not ask when it would be over.

She endured and endured, nearly in tears, her head inching forward until it struck the bed’s headboard, causing her to hiss in pain. He pulled her back down, and continued.

She didn’t know how much longer it lasted. Eventually, she lay limp and powerless, like a rag doll, subject to his whims. She felt she had no strength left even to breathe, yet each movement forced her to gasp, robbing her of composure, until a soft sob escaped her lips.

At last, unable to bear it, she asked in a broken voice, “How much longer?”

He paused. “Forgive me, it’s nearly over.”

Then, with a final storm, it ended.

Song Yan’s mind was already blurred; she didn’t want to move a single hair. With the last of her strength, she pulled the blanket over herself and melted into the bed like snow turning to water.

Wei Qi got up, lit a candle, and went to wash. When he returned, he saw, beneath the rosy silk canopy and orange candlelight, a woman lying like a peony after rain. Her dark hair spilled across the pillow, her cheeks flushed, her sleepwear disheveled, her undergarments loose, revealing a patch of pale skin she didn’t notice, the blanket haphazardly covering only a corner, exposing her smooth legs below.

Usually, after he lit the lamp, she was already dressed and sitting obediently at the head of the bed. This time…

Perhaps it had taken too long, and she was truly exhausted.

He stood at the bedside watching for a while before realizing his lapse. He leaned over to tuck the blanket around her properly.

Truth be told, she was beautiful, but not in a dignified way. Her brows curved like distant hills, her eyes round as apricots, her nose delicate and upright, lips full and red with a pearl-like mark. Not seductive, but too enchanting—a face that could tempt.

And being somewhat drunk, his composure was not as steady as usual. No wonder he lost himself.

The next morning, Wei Qi rose early for court. Song Yan remembered she had fallen straight asleep last night, so she bathed, dressed, and styled her hair—her legs still weak as she walked.

She went to Yi’an Courtyard to pay her respects and brought up the Huang family matter with Madam Zhang.

Madam Zhang glanced up, her voice cool: “Haining? The Huang family?”

“Yes,” Song Yan replied.

Madam Zhang mused for a moment, murmuring, “Their lineage is a bit lacking, isn’t it?”

Song Yan knew that, to the Duke’s household, the Huang family was not particularly distinguished. Moreover, the Duke’s daughter could marry higher, but the Huang family’s traditions were good, and their eighth son, blessed with wealth and the title of scholar, would offer a wife a comfortable life. As a woman, Song Yan felt a husband’s character outweighed family status, but clearly her mother-in-law thought otherwise.

Being a stepmother, she could only reply quietly, “It’s certainly not equal to the Duke’s house, but the boy is only nineteen, he was last year’s…”

At that moment, Madam Zhang sipped her tea, but it was too hot and she was scalded. The maid hurried forward to apologize and replace the tea, interrupting Song Yan’s words. Madam Zhang did not ask further, and Song Yan didn’t bring it up again.

She understood then—Madam Zhang looked down on the Huang family and cared little for the matter.

Perhaps it wasn’t just about the Huang family. Because Song Yan had raised it—through her mother’s sister’s connection—it was beneath Madam Zhang’s notice. The Duke’s household, so prominent, already had to marry below their station; why would they accept a match introduced by the daughter-in-law’s family?

Realizing this, Song Yan said no more.

She wavered, unsure if she should decline her aunt’s request.

She could see her aunt was eager for the match, for the Huang family wished to marry into the Duke’s house. If her aunt could make it happen, it would benefit her uncle greatly. Song Yan herself thought the Huang family suitable and wished to help her aunt, but this was not hers to decide.

She resolved, if her mother-in-law never brought up the matter again, to let it go and explain to her aunt in time.

That night, Wei Qi did not come; instead, she heard Second Madam had caught a cold and was feeling unwell. Early the next morning, Song Yan went to visit.

One mustn’t visit the sick empty-handed, so she spent some time in her room, instructing Chunhong to fetch a sealed packet of donkey-hide gelatin from a clay jar.

Qiuyue saw it and lamented, “Even Madam herself is reluctant to use this, saving it for the old lady’s health. Are you just going to give it away?”

Song Yan replied, “Last time I visited the west wing, Second Madam spoke about which bird’s nest brands were genuine, which ones were adulterated—it’s clear she eats them often. Since she has bird’s nest regularly, I can’t gift her silver ear fungus and goji berries; only this gelatin seems presentable. Besides, this is for supplementing the weak; I am not in need.”

“Nanny’s health may not be weak, but isn’t Madam hoping you’ll strengthen yourself and bear a child soon?” Qiuyue muttered.

Song Yan pursed her lips; truth be told, she wasn’t eager to have a child so soon.

She said nothing, but her mind was made up. Qiuyue had no choice but to wrap the gift in rough paper and accompany her to Second Madam’s room.

The second household was adjacent to the main one, with its own courtyard called Embroidered Spring Hall. Song Yan carried the gelatin over; Second Madam was resting in bed, with Hua Mama beside her.

Upon seeing Song Yan, Hua Mama hurried to offer a seat and tea. Second Madam noticed the gift and said, “Child, I’ll recover in two days, you didn’t need to go to such trouble.”

Song Yan replied, “I haven’t used these myself; it’s better to give them to Aunt. Besides, I came to chat.”

She then asked, “Is Aunt’s cold serious? Any fever?”

Second Madam paused, looking slightly uncomfortable before smiling, “It’s not serious, just some headache. I’ve been tired lately.”

“Aunt manages the whole Duke’s household, and helps in the west wing as well—how could you not be tired?” Song Yan said.

Second Madam watched her, hesitated, and asked, “Speaking of which, according to the Duke’s wishes, the title will likely go to your husband in the future. This household will be yours—have you considered managing the domestic accounts?”

Song Yan was startled and quickly replied, “Uncle is the elder; my husband is of the grandson’s generation. Grandfather may not decide that way. Besides, regardless of the title, I’m still young and a junior—how could I have the ability? The household will naturally depend on you, Aunt.”

Second Madam shook her head. “I’m getting old and my health is failing—see, I’m bedridden now? These affairs must be managed by younger people.”

Song Yan demurred again, so Second Madam said, “At least start learning. Would you be willing? You’re quite good at accounting—perhaps you could handle the household’s social accounts and the servants’ monthly wages?”

“That…” Song Yan hesitated, “I just entered the household; I’m not familiar with these matters.”

Second Madam said, “Consider it; no need to answer now. You can ask your mother if you wish. I truly can’t manage everything anymore; reply to me later.”

After chatting a while longer, Song Yan left Embroidered Spring Hall and told Qiuyue about the matter. Qiuyue was surprised, “Isn’t the accounting the most important? There must be considerable income. Why would Second Madam suddenly offer it to you?”

“I’m puzzled as well, so I didn’t dare accept,” Song Yan said.

She knew Second Madam was outwardly straightforward but inwardly shrewd. She managed the back courtyard smoothly—why suddenly relinquish power?

Could it be those accounts hid deficits or bad debts…?

As she pondered this, she reached her own courtyard. Before entering, she heard arguing inside.

Chunhong exclaimed, “I was only picking a few flowers in my own courtyard!”

Then came Xi’s voice: “What do you mean your courtyard? This is my mother’s courtyard; she planted that peach tree herself. You dare break her flowers? How dare you!”

Song Yan entered and saw Xi pointing at Chunhong in fury, declaring, “You broke my mother’s flowers and talked back to me—I’ll have you slapped!”