Chapter 7

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Song Yan replied, “I know a little.”
Second Madam asked again, “Can you keep accounts?”
Song Yan answered, “I can manage a bit... but I’ve only ever handled small accounts.”
The Song family, of course, did not conduct business on the grand scale of the Marquis's household; even a casual account book for buying wine and tea snacks here ran to two or three pages.
Second Madam smiled and said, “If you have some free time, perhaps you could help check these? If it’s too tiresome, just pretend I never asked. I’ll finish what I have and check it again myself.”
Song Yan nodded, “I have nothing to do at the moment, so I can take a look first. If there’s anything I’m unsure of, I’ll ask Aunt.”
Hearing this, Madame Feng smiled at Song Yan and quickly handed her the account book.
Song Yan took it, and as their eyes met, a subtle, odd feeling lingered between them.
Once, Song Yan was meant to marry Wei Xiu; now she was his sister-in-law, assisting with the accounts for his wedding banquet...
Setting aside these strange thoughts, Song Yan took up the abacus and began to check the accounts.
Her grandfather was fond of reading, and her father had served as a lecturer; she had grown up surrounded by poetry and books, with a solid foundation in learning. She had studied arithmetic, but never handled complex accounts. She feared she might not manage well, yet found the accounts surprisingly simple—just kitchen purchases, thirty or forty items in all. She only needed to tally them herself and confirm the totals.
She went through the abacus, item by item, finding only one error, which she marked. A few items seemed pricier than expected: for example, plum wine from Huang’s Restaurant was listed at 500 coins per jar. She recalled when the Marquis’s family came to propose, her mother had mentioned plum wine at 450 coins per jar, and mulberry wine from Moonview Pavilion at just 300 coins. Her father had insisted on Huang’s for its reputation, saying one shouldn’t be stingy when entertaining the Marquis’s family; her mother had sighed and reluctantly chosen Huang’s plum wine.
That occasion was just a betrothal feast for the Marquis’s family, with fewer guests and less bargaining power. Yet they managed to pay only 450 coins, while the Marquis’s family paid 500.
Either there was more to it, or someone below was quoting higher prices for kickbacks—but Song Yan said nothing, unwilling to offend. She simply checked the totals and handed the account book to Madame Feng, explaining that she had only verified the sum, not the individual prices.
Madame Feng, not versed in accounts herself, praised, “You handle the abacus as swiftly as any accountant.”
Her heart grew wistful—how wonderful it would be if Yan’er were her daughter-in-law: gentle, clever, unlike her own daughter-in-law, who was so dull. As for the soon-to-be Princess Funing...
Everyone said she was fortunate, to become the Princess’s mother-in-law, but what good could come of a woman who had shared a bed with a man before marriage? She had long seen the ways of the Princess’s household, their lofty airs; when the time came, who knew if she’d be welcoming a daughter-in-law or an ancestor.
But the matter was settled; she could say nothing, only sigh inwardly.
Second Madam glanced at the accounts, looked at Song Yan, and said, “Truly the granddaughter of Old Master Song—remarkable.”
Song Yan blushed and smiled, “Aunt, you flatter me.”
Since coming to the Marquis’s house, her mother-in-law had shown her nothing but a cold face. The concubines and stepdaughters ignored her, and as for her husband... he was a pillar of the court, busy with affairs; she could only serve him cautiously, little more than a maid, really. This was the first time she’d heard praise, or been acknowledged as Old Master Song’s granddaughter.
Whether Second Madam was sincere or not, Song Yan felt warmly toward her.
When the sun dipped westward, she returned to the East Wing.
But today, Wei Qi did not come home early; night had fully fallen before he returned. Song Yan had already bathed. As she helped him with his official robes, she told him, “Xixi seemed ill today, said she had a headache. I went to see her; perhaps it was because of yesterday. She wasn’t in good spirits, so I didn’t stay long, fearing it might disturb her rest. Later, I sent to inquire again—she was alright, had eaten both lunch and dinner.”
Thinking of Wei Xi, Song Yan knew the rift was set; Wei Xi would never like her, and they could never get along. So she reported everything early, lest Wei Qi find fault with her—especially matters of illness.
Wei Qi answered with a simple “Mm,” and said, “Thank you for your trouble.”
Song Yan was surprised, looked up at him, and saw his expression was calm, as if he truly did not mind.

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She guessed Wei Xi was most likely feigning illness, yet Wei Qi seemed unaware—shouldn’t he be concerned, at least ask more?
But oddly enough, he wasn’t anxious.
After updating him about his daughter, she continued with news from the West Wing.
She said, “Second Aunt invited me to the West Wing today; I couldn’t refuse, so I went and helped her for a while.”
Wei Qi replied, “Second Aunt is capable. As a younger relative, you can learn much at her side.”
“Yes, she truly is capable. She knows all the connections among the families in the capital, all the wedding rites, the rituals for ancestral offerings, even the arrangements for the dishes. The third aunt’s household says the entire banquet depends on her.”
“It’s a good opportunity for you to observe. When Second Aunt grows old, perhaps it will fall to you to manage the household in her stead,” Wei Qi said.
He had no objection to her going to the West Wing. Song Yan agreed, “Yes, I’ll learn as much as I can from her.”
Wei Qi changed from his official boots to soft shoes and went to bathe.
Song Yan waited outside for a while, bored, so she took out her embroidery hoop.
After a few stitches, Wei Qi emerged in his nightclothes and asked, “What are you embroidering?”
Song Yan felt a bit awkward—her needlework was not exceptional—but reasoned that a man would hardly notice the quality, so she relaxed and answered, “Peonies for prosperity. I’m making a fan cover for Mother to use when the weather turns hot.”
A mother-in-law was, after all, a mother-in-law; she might not like Song Yan, but Song Yan must still do her part, lest she invite gossip. Besides, such small embroidery was not taxing.
Wei Qi said, “You’re very thoughtful.”
Song Yan replied, “It’s what I ought to do.” Then she asked, “I’d like to make one for Xixi as well. Do you think lotus or orchid would be best?”
The question was casual, just to show concern for her stepdaughter.
Wei Qi glanced at her and said, “I don’t know. Just follow your own wishes. You’re her mother now; whatever you embroider, she should be grateful.”
Song Yan murmured assent, planning to let Chunhong make one for Wei Xi later.
After a pause, Wei Qi asked, “Are you still in pain today?”
After a day of rest, they had an unspoken understanding—tonight was expected. Song Yan was prepared, yet still blushed slightly and answered in a low voice, “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
With that, the matter was settled.
She set aside her embroidery, lowered her head, and waited. Wei Qi extinguished the lamp, and she climbed into bed as he did so.
Much the same as the previous night.
This time, he didn’t need to wait so long for her to adjust, and she didn’t feel as uncomfortable—everything went smoothly, much more efficient.
When it was over, he got up, lit the lamp, called for water, and told her to wash first, then bathed himself and returned to the room.
Finally, he sat by the bed and asked, “Did it hurt this time?”
Song Yan pulled up the quilt, curled her legs beneath her, and shook her head softly, not daring to look at him. “Much... much better.”

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There was a little pain, but nothing like the first time, when it had felt as though she were being split open by a knife—now, it was bearable.
It was clear neither of them was comfortable discussing such things. Wei Qi was silent for a moment, then said, “I have two letters to write. You sleep first; I’ll come later.”
“Alright.” Song Yan obediently lay down to sleep.
A few days later, Wei Xiu’s wedding took place.
As usual, Song Yan went to her mother-in-law’s room to pay her respects, only to find her sister-in-law, Wei Fu, who had already married, was there as well.
She knew Wei Fu had arrived; yesterday, the Princess’s household had sent the dowry to the West Wing—what they called “bed-making”—with much fanfare. Many relatives had been invited, and Wei Fu, as the married daughter, was among them. She had come in the afternoon, but had not seen Song Yan, nor had Song Yan sought her out; so today was their first meeting.
Before her mother-in-law, and with Wei Fu as a guest returning home, Song Yan greeted her, “Sister, you’re here?”
Wei Fu responded indifferently, with a perfunctory smile, “Sister-in-law.”
Daughters were always of one heart with their mothers; since her mother-in-law disliked her, her mother-in-law’s own daughter would naturally not care for her either. Song Yan was already prepared for this.
After paying her respects, Song Yan waited quietly nearby. Madam Zhang looked at her and said, “I hear you’ve been going to the West Wing these past few days. Today, don’t go—it's not proper if others see.”
Song Yan replied, “Third Aunt asked Second Aunt to help with the wedding banquet. Second Aunt was overwhelmed, so she asked me to help.”
“The eldest daughter-in-law of your Second Aunt’s family is older than you, as is Third Aunt and her daughter-in-law. Why should you be the one to help? Aren’t you afraid of gossip?” Madam Zhang said bluntly.
Song Yan paused, then softly argued, “I already promised Second Aunt I’d go today. Besides... everyone will be there; if I’m the only one who doesn’t go, isn’t that more likely to invite gossip?”
Madam Zhang’s expression soured. Wei Fu remarked, “Sister-in-law, I wouldn’t dare contradict my mother-in-law at my own husband’s house; you clearly have more nerve than I do.”
Song Yan knew she had overstepped, but still felt aggrieved.
Finally, she said, “I’ve spoken to Eldest Master about it. He told me to learn proper etiquette from my elders. And... I have a clear conscience.”
Those last four words she spoke slowly, one by one.
Indeed, she’d regarded Wei Xiu as her betrothed since she was fifteen, longing and hoping for more than two years, only to end up marrying Wei Qi. She could not accept it, and had even wept and pleaded with her grandfather, who told her: either she would die, or she would marry.
She did not die—she chose to marry Wei Qi.
From the moment she made that choice, she resolved to be Wei Qi’s wife, never thinking of Wei Xiu again. To this day, she felt she had done nothing truly wrong, so she had a clear conscience.
Her words took some of the wind from Madam Zhang’s sails.
Wei Qi was her son, but he had long since established himself. If he had spoken, she would not contradict him. Song Yan had invoked Wei Qi; Madam Zhang was upset, but could do nothing.
She could only say, “Since you’ve promised Second Aunt, go and help her today, but don’t make decisions on your own again—show some proper conduct.”
Song Yan, with a mix of resentment and grievance, lowered her voice and said, “Yes.”