Chapter Eighty-Seven: Mid-Autumn

Just as the Ningyuan Marquis’s household debated how to deal with Jiang Yu’e, in the Jiang residence, in the third branch’s courtyard, Yang Shi was likewise quarreling endlessly with Jiang Yuanxing over the matter.

“Yu’e is already involved with Zhou Yanbang; she can only marry into the Ningyuan Marquis’s household!” Yang Shi’s eyes were wide, and perhaps because of what had happened to Jiang Yu’e, she seemed to have lost weight overnight. Her face was sharper and thinner, her cheekbones standing high, making her appear even more shrewish than usual.

“I will never allow my daughter to become a concubine!” Jiang Yuanxing, throwing off his usual timidity, argued with Yang Shi until his face flushed and neck stiffened. He said, “If she becomes a concubine in the Ningyuan Marquis’s household, her children will be like me—forever second-class!”

This left even Yang Shi speechless. She looked at her husband, remembering when she married Jiang Yuanxing, she had not disliked him. Though he was only a second-born son of the third branch, she herself was but the daughter of a mere court official; hoping to marry into a richer family was impossible. Besides, Jiang Yuanxing’s gentle, scholarly appearance was not unpleasant.

But daily life is full of mundane cares, and the heart often compares. The third branch’s poverty, next to the wealth of the first and second, left Yang Shi endlessly frustrated. With discontent and resentment in her heart, she frequently quarreled with Jiang Yuanxing. He never retorted, only meekly endured, and thus Yang Shi realized he was not simply gentle, but innately weak—destined to be nothing more than a lowly scribe.

After many years of marriage, this was the first time Jiang Yuanxing had quarreled with her. And for him to say, “like me, forever a second-born,” it was clear he was beside himself with anger.

Indeed, Jiang Yuanxing was beside himself.

Only he knew how humiliating it was to be a second-born. Though he appeared unconcerned outwardly, before his two elder brothers, he could never lift his head. As a child, he had dreamed that if only his mother had been the matriarch, everything his brothers possessed would have been his, and everywhere he went, he would be respected. But as he grew, he understood that fate was unchangeable: Heaven had made him the son of a concubine, and so he was forever beneath his brothers’ feet.

His own fate could not be changed, but his daughter’s could. Jiang Yu’e need not follow his path; she could choose not to marry Zhou Yanbang, and thus, her children would escape the miserable destiny of being born out of wedlock.

“What do you suggest, then?” Yang Shi suddenly calmed, not pursuing the argument as she usually did, but spoke in despair, “Given Yu’e’s status, she can only be Zhou Yanbang’s concubine. Do you think they would marry her as the main wife? Now everyone in the capital knows Yu’e and Zhou Yanbang are together—no one else would marry her. Do you want her to waste away in the household as an old maid? Or have her cut her hair and go to a temple, living out her days with incense and Buddha?” She murmured, “I failed to teach my daughter well, but if you weren’t a mere scribe, if it had been the first branch’s daughter in trouble, things would never have come to this.”

Jiang Yuanxing reeled as if struck by lightning, staggering back two steps.

At that moment, Jiang Yu’e came running in from outside, immediately falling to her knees and crying to her father, “Father, I don’t want to become a nun, nor do I want to stay in the household forever. Things are already as they are; if I don’t marry Zhou Yanbang, there’s no other path for me. Father, are you trying to force me to my death?”

Seeing his wife and daughter so distraught, and considering his own status, Jiang Yuanxing’s face turned ashen. He had no strength left to resist; his lips moved, and after a long pause, he finally closed his eyes and uttered a single word: “Fine.”

So the matter was settled.

…

Days passed unhurriedly; summer finally faded, and autumn arrived on the breeze, carried by the scent of osmanthus.

This summer had felt especially long, and it seemed the capital had seen many extraordinary events. In truth, unless it involved life and death, most matters were trivial. Yet even trivial matters could be fodder for endless gossip.

Zhou Yanbang’s romantic entanglements were one such tale.

Since the palace banquet, when the Marquis’s heir entangled himself with two ladies before the guests, the men envied Zhou Yanbang’s good fortune, while the women, almost unanimously, pitied his original fiancée, Jiang Youyao.

It was a calamity out of nowhere. The third Miss Jiang had only to wait another year to marry Zhou Yanbang, but who could have anticipated such an incident? She had done nothing, yet her fiancé was stolen away. Some who envied Jiang Youyao clapped their hands in delight, saying it was retribution, since the third Miss’s engagement had originally been snatched from the second Miss. It showed that what is not truly yours cannot be taken.

No matter how people talked, in the end, the matter was resolved with Zhou Yanbang’s marriage.

He would wed Miss Shen Ruyun from the Shen family as his wife, and accept Miss Jiang Yu’e as a concubine.

Shen Ruyun had been compromised by Zhou Yanbang, and as the sister of a prominent official, her reputation was paramount—she had to be married into the household. As for Jiang Yu’e, the rumors in the capital claimed she and her prospective brother-in-law had been secretly involved for some time, and to cover up the scandal, she had to be taken as a concubine. Since the third branch of the Jiang family was of low status, a concubine would suffice, and the Jiang family agreed, which only confirmed the rumors of Jiang Yu’e’s affair.

To outsiders, Zhou Yanbang now had both a lovely wife and a beautiful concubine, and, as the emperor’s new favorite—his brother-in-law was a high official—it seemed a happy outcome for all. But only Zhou Yanbang knew the true taste of it.

In Fragrant Garden, Tong’er sat on a small stool in front of the house, making knots with Bai Xue.

“Now that the third Miss is gone, the weather’s been much nicer,” Tong’er said, taking a deep breath of the strong osmanthus fragrance.

Bai Xue nodded seriously, “Yes.”

“I wonder how long the third Miss will be confined,” Mingyue and Qingfeng, having finished sweeping, laughed, “It’d be best if it’s three or five days more.”

Jiang Li smiled as she watched the maids in the courtyard. They seemed much more relaxed these days, perhaps because Madam Ji and her daughter had no time to meddle in Fragrant Garden.

Jiang Youyao was under confinement.

That night in Feng Hall, Jiang Youyao had fought with Jiang Yu’e. It was said Jiang Youyao had scratched Yu’e’s face; Jiang Li hadn’t witnessed it, but the maids who did claimed Yu’e’s face bled profusely. Given Jiang Yuanxing’s status, he could demand nothing of Jiang Yuanbo, nor could he punish Jiang Youyao. But the matriarch was furious and ordered Jiang Youyao confined.

Jiang Li thought, the matriarch’s order was not merely to punish Youyao for hurting Yu’e, but likely to prevent her from clinging to Zhou Yanbang after learning he would marry Shen Ruyun and take Yu’e as a concubine—so as to cut off any foolish actions.

In this way, the matriarch had saved Jiang Li much trouble. Without Jiang Youyao causing trouble in the household, Madam Ji was likely too occupied to deal with her, and these days, the Jiang residence was remarkably peaceful.

Jiang Yu’e, it was said, was sent to an estate to recuperate, and her betrothal to the Marquis’s heir was settled. Jiang Li admired the Marquis’s decisiveness; Zhou Yanbang’s marriage was settled with surprising ease. He had, after all, been through three engagements. The last of them, she thought, would surely be his least favored.

But while Zhou Yanbang might be unhappy, Shen Ruyun and Jiang Yu’e would surely be satisfied.

Shen Ruyun had achieved her wish, marrying her longtime beloved. Jiang Li believed Shen Ruyun’s future would be difficult, for she was narrow-minded and domineering, yet had to contend with the cunning, sycophantic Jiang Yu’e. Zhou Yanbang himself did not truly love Shen Ruyun, and over time would resent her. With these three together, the Marquis’s household was sure to be in chaos.

Let evil grind evil—putting Shen Ruyun and Jiang Yu’e together was indeed fitting.

Thinking of the future drama in the Marquis’s residence, Jiang Li couldn’t help but smile. Just then, a young man’s voice sounded beside her, “Are you daydreaming, or daydreaming?”

Jiang Li looked up to see Jiang Jingrui grinning mischievously at her, as if he’d caught her secret and wanted more, sidling closer, “Tell me, which young master does our second Miss favor? I can help you find out.”

“What nonsense?” Tong’er jumped up, “My lady is pure and innocent; she’s barely met any men. If you keep talking such nonsense, Second Madam will scold you!”

“You’re threatening to tattle to my mother?” Jiang Jingrui’s mouth dropped open, “Jiang Li, your maid is fierce.”

Jiang Li was too lazy to respond. Jiang Jingrui seemed to have nothing better to do, always wandering in. Madam Lu was strange—she disciplined Jiang Jingyou strictly, but indulged Jiang Jingrui. Was it true that the child who cried got the candy? The more unruly he was, the less anyone dared to discipline him? That couldn’t be—if Xue Zhao behaved so, he’d be punished by Xue Huaiyuan in no time.

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“What do you want, really?” Jiang Li asked.

“In three days, it’s the Mid-Autumn Festival—there’ll be a lantern fair that night. Are you going?”

“No.” Jiang Li said.

“No?” Jiang Jingrui’s eyes widened as if she were a monster. “Why not? The lantern fair on Mid-Autumn night is full of fun and food, and you haven’t been… Well, even if you have, it was years ago. It’s livelier now. Why won’t you go?”

“I just don’t want to.” She rose to go inside. Unexpectedly, Jiang Jingrui acted like a rascal, jumping up to follow her, pestering, “Jiang Li, something’s wrong with you! Every other young lady looks forward to the bustling lantern fair. Why are you different? Everyone in the household will be out that night—what will you do, stay and play leaf cards with the confined Jiang Youyao? Or accompany grandmother in copying sutras?”

Even Jiang Li’s good temper was tested; she said, “No reason. I simply don’t want to.”

Jiang Jingrui stood there, while Tong’er and Bai Xue looked at Jiang Li.

Only then did Jiang Li realize her tone had been a bit harsh. She softened, and said gently to Jiang Jingrui, “I don’t like crowds. Too many people means bumping and jostling—I truly don’t enjoy it. You go, I’ll stay. It’s nothing.” Her tone was gentle, but firm.

Jiang Jingrui lingered a while, then, seeing she wouldn’t change her mind, left dejectedly.

After he left, Jiang Li didn’t stay in the courtyard, but went inside.

When Jiang Li entered, Bai Xue asked Tong’er, “Why is Miss unhappy?”

Tong’er shook her head, “I don’t know—maybe Second Young Master is just too annoying.”

Inside, Jiang Li sat by the window.

In the green leaves of the osmanthus tree, tiny pale yellow blossoms bloomed—unremarkable in appearance, yet more fragrant than any other flower. Beneath the tree, many faded flowers had fallen, turning from pale yellow to gold, finally becoming fragrant earth—dust to dust, earth to earth.

Another Mid-Autumn Festival—Jiang Li mused.

She recalled her first time arriving in the capital with Shen Yuyong, her first Mid-Autumn Festival here. Mid-Autumn was a time for reunion, and she missed her father and Xue Zhao far away, always feeling extra forlorn. Shen Yuyong held her hand and said, “From now on, this is your home. You haven’t seen the lantern festival here—it’s no less than Tongxiang. I’ll take you; every year, I’ll take you. You’ll come to love this place.”

So Shen Yuyong took her to the lantern fair.

Unlike the small town of Tongxiang, which was simple, natural, warm, and endearing, the capital was bustling, splendid, lively, and crowded. She saw so many lanterns for the first time; the riddles written by the vendors were always simple, and she and Shen Yuyong could guess them easily, winning so many lanterns they couldn’t carry them all, and gave them to children they met along the way.

She remembered a riddle, “Searching for him a thousand times,” and guessed the answer was “longing.” Shen Yuyong whispered in her ear, “This word is just like how I feel for you.”

He “longed” for her; at the time, she believed it. Yet she didn’t know that beyond longing, there was also “death.”

He longed for her death, so nothing would stand in his way.

Jiang Li clenched her fists, took a deep breath, and slowly loosened her hand.

She did not wish to dwell in the past, but the more brutal reality became, the clearer those memories grew. Jiang Jingrui had asked her to go out and see the lantern festival, but Jiang Li was afraid—afraid that everywhere she went, every step would be a reminder, a memory.

That would be too cruel. She’d rather not go, and keep the ugliness sealed away, letting the beautiful moments remain untouched, as if they never existed.

She would not invite unnecessary pain.

…

In a certain inn in the capital, one room was particularly brightly lit.

Ye Shijie sat inside, carefully adjusting the wick of the lamp. As he worked, a voice sounded from the direction of the door; someone entered.

Ye Shijie stood and turned, his face lighting up with excitement: “Second Uncle!”

The visitor was a slim, middle-aged man, scholarly in appearance, with a feathered cap, white robes, and two silver ribbons hanging down, resembling a learned man, with a sly intelligence in his eyes. He closed the door, quickly approached, and called out, “Shijie, you’ve done well!”

He strode up to Ye Shijie, clapping him on the shoulder, “I’ve heard all about your achievements; people have been praising you along the way. You’ve brought honor to our Ye family!”

This man was Ye Shijie’s second uncle, Ye Mingxuan, the second master of the Ye family from Xiangyang.

Ye Shijie looked behind Ye Mingxuan, not seeing anyone else, and asked, “Second Uncle, why are you alone? Where’s my father?”

At this, Ye Mingxuan frowned slightly, the earlier joy fading a bit. “Your grandmother’s health is poor—she fainted a while ago, and now needs someone with her at all times. There’s also trouble in Xiangyang’s business. Not only your father, even your third uncle has returned.”

“What happened?” Ye Shijie was stunned, “Is it serious?”

“Not particularly.” Ye Mingxuan recovered, patting Ye Shijie’s head, “I came to bring you some banknotes and tidy up the capital’s business. Now that you’re an official, you’ll need money to smooth things over. Though we shouldn’t flaunt wealth, we use it where necessary—the Ye family isn’t lacking.”

Ye Shijie was still uneasy, “Second Uncle, are you sure it’s nothing? I’d like to go back and see Grandmother.”

“You’ve only just started your post—not enough time to return to Xiangyang. Don’t worry, your grandmother’s illness isn’t serious; stay in the capital and focus. Once you establish yourself here, moving the family to the capital won’t be difficult. I estimate that’ll be when you’re promoted to third rank—three to five years, perhaps.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully.

Ye Shijie was silent for a moment, then said, “Second Uncle, do you remember Aunt?”

Ye Mingxuan was taken aback, looking at Ye Shijie.

The Ye family had three sons and one daughter—the only daughter was Ye Zhenzhen, his sister. She had died young, a tragic memory.

Ye Shijie watched his uncle’s face, cautiously saying, “Recently, I met Aunt’s daughter… our cousin.”

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“Jiang Li?” Ye Mingxuan responded instantly, naming her.

Ye Shijie was relieved; thankfully, Ye Mingxuan had not forgotten Jiang Li. Since he remembered, the rest was easier. Ye Shijie told him everything—his encounters with Jiang Li, her words, and the capital’s rumors about her, sparing no detail. He was puzzled by many things about Jiang Li, and finally had someone to discuss them with.

When he finished, Ye Shijie was parched, gulping tea. “Second Uncle, what do you think Jiang Li means? Is she trying to mend ties with the Ye family? But she once said she despised merchants—I can’t make sense of it anymore.”

Ye Mingxuan, older and wiser, pondered before responding, “I’ve heard you, but one side’s story is never sufficient. It’s not that I don’t trust Jiang Li, but I distrust the Jiang family. Though they are officials, sometimes officials are less straightforward than merchants. I worry this isn’t Jiang Li’s own will, but the Jiang family’s manipulation. Even if the Ye family has nothing they could covet, caution is never amiss.” He tapped the table. “Let’s do this—find a chance for me to meet Jiang Li. Sincerity or falsehood, I’ll know at once.”

“Second Uncle,” Ye Shijie asked hesitantly, “Jiang Li said the words insulting merchants weren’t hers. Do you think that’s true?”

Ye Mingxuan smiled. With that smile, much of the merchant’s shrewdness faded, and he seemed a scholar. “It’s possible. Even if she was prompted to say those words, if she’d trusted us and spoken honestly, we could have taken her away—but she didn’t trust the Ye family.”

“Perhaps she was too young then—children are easily frightened,” Ye Shijie said.

Ye Mingxuan didn’t reply, just smiled at him, making Ye Shijie uneasy. “Wh-what is it?”

“Nothing,” Ye Mingxuan said. “It’s true, children are easily misled, so if that’s the case, we wouldn’t blame her—rather, we’d blame ourselves for not noticing. But now she’s grown, and from your words, she’s resourceful and bold. This time, she can speak her true mind, and choose whether to trust us.”

“We’ll know when we meet,” he said.

…

The Duke of Su’s Mansion.

In the brisk autumn, the garden was still full of blooms.

The Duke’s residence seemed immune to autumn or winter’s bleakness; the Duke cultivated flowers year-round. Peach blossoms wouldn’t bloom in autumn, but there were chrysanthemums; lotuses wouldn’t last into winter, but there were red plums.

Of course, ordinary peach, plum, chrysanthemum, or plum blossoms were beneath the Duke’s taste. His flowers were more delicate than those in most households—too cold, and they’d die; too hot, the same. Too much water, not enough soil, or vice versa, all were harmful. Branches needed regular trimming, pests must be removed, and the flowers placed just right—not too cramped, not too open. They couldn’t be scratched by cats or pecked by birds.

Everyone in the mansion, from the steward and guards to the night-soil collectors, was a horticultural expert. If someone couldn’t cultivate a flower, they could wait outside the Duke’s gate in the morning, ask a servant, and get a thorough answer.

So, when people asked where the capital’s most beautiful scenery was, it wasn’t Baiyun Mountain, Qingdao Temple, the palace, or painted boats, but the Duke’s mansion—a gathering of all earthly colors, dazzlingly out of place. Some said, if not for the Duke’s unpredictable temper, the crowds sneaking peeks at the garden would topple the mansion’s walls.

It was truly stunning.

And, perhaps because beautiful places breed beautiful people, all the servants, stewards, guards, and laborers in the mansion were strikingly attractive. Though none matched the Duke himself—a beauty beyond compare—even outside, they could charm a crowd.

It was a mystery.

At this moment, in the Duke’s study, conversation was underway.

Kong Liu slammed his fist on the table, his voice gruff, “Are you going to the lantern festival tomorrow or not?”

“No,” Ji Heng replied crisply.

“Why not?” Kong Liu pressed, “Don’t you want to see what the Crown Prince is up to?”

“It’s not his time yet; there’s no point. Every year’s the same—boring,” Ji Heng said languidly.

“This year there’s Jin Mantang,” Lu Ji, seated nearby and stroking his pointed goatee, spoke gently. “Doesn’t the master love opera?”

“Right, right,” Kong Liu chimed in, “Jin Mantang—said to be much better than that formerly famous Xiangsi troupe.”

Ji Heng glanced at him. The Xiangsi troupe had once been famous in the capital, thanks to a young actor, Liu Sheng, who always played female roles. Unfortunately, Liu Sheng developed inappropriate ambitions, attempting to climb into Ji Heng’s bed during the old general’s birthday celebration. Ji Heng found it revolting—he broke Liu Sheng’s leg and threw him out, prompting the whole Xiangsi troupe to flee the capital overnight.

To offend the Duke of Su was to court death.

Xiangsi troupe vanished, and no other troupes rose. Recently, Jin Mantang had come, and seemed promising.

Seeing Ji Heng unmoved, Kong Liu shouted, “If you don’t go out, Lu and I will have to spend the night dealing with paperwork in the mansion. Tomorrow is Mid-Autumn—the festival! Ji Heng, Duke, master! Can’t you be humane? Even beggars celebrate!”

Lu Ji said nothing, smiling, but clearly agreed.

Ji Heng looked at them both, then, after a moment, said, “No.”

Kong Liu deflated, about to retort, when the door opened and Ji Heng’s grandfather, the old general, strode in.

Though it was late September, the old general was bare-chested—fresh from sword practice in the courtyard, with beads of sweat on his brow. His swordplay likely had damaged many of Ji Heng’s precious flowers. Seeing the petals still on his head, Lu Ji’s eyelid twitched—those petals belonged to “Fragrant Snow Sea,” which Ji Heng had paid a thousand taels to import. Just a few petals were worth a hundred taels.

No wonder the staff said the most extravagant was not Ji Heng, but the old general. With such a ruthless grandfather, how could Ji Heng coexist with him?

“Are you going to the lantern festival tomorrow?” the old general asked, voice booming, looking at Ji Heng with regret. “I wanted you to stay in and practice sword with me, but I just overheard you discussing the lantern fair—what a pity.”

Kong Liu was about to say “not a pity, Ji Heng isn’t going,” when Ji Heng’s regretful voice sounded, “It is a pity.”

Kong Liu stared in surprise at Ji Heng, who smiled calmly and said, “Grandfather can practice alone, preferably in the open yard. We’ll be out late tomorrow night.”