Early spring was still bitterly cold.
Clip-clop, clip-clop. The carriage moved slowly along the wide street, swaying gently with a crisp, rhythmic sound.
“Miss, we’ve arrived in the capital!” Nanxing excitedly lifted the curtain, poking her head out to see how bustling this city—envied by all—really was.
Ye Sangzhi felt the cold wind rushing in through the window. She closed her book slightly, her gaze following Nanxing’s out the window.
Red lanterns still hung here and there along the street, remnants of the Lantern Festival celebrations a few days earlier. Vendors’ cries echoed intermittently.
Though February was near, the air still carried a chill, and gusts of cold wind swept through from time to time. There weren’t many pedestrians today, and those who were out hurried along.
“I want to see too.” Bianliu leaned forward, then quickly sat back upright. Nothing special—after all, she had followed her mistress for years and seen plenty.
“Close the curtain quickly, the wind is strong. Don’t let it blow on Miss.”
Ye Sangzhi curved her lips slightly but said nothing, opening her book again.
Before long, the carriage arrived at the gates of the Ye residence.
Bianliu stepped down first to knock.
*Knock, knock*
A servant soon cracked the door open, peering at Bianliu. “Who are you looking for?”
“The eldest miss has returned. Hurry and open the gate to welcome her,” Bianliu said sternly.
The household should have received word of her return long ago—why were the gates shut tight?
The servant glanced at the carriage, remembered the steward’s instructions, and quickly opened the gate, standing aside with a maid.
The curtain lifted again, and Ye Sangzhi stepped down.
“Greetings, Eldest Miss. Please enter the residence.”
The maid stole a quick look at her, noting her resemblance to the second young master. Certain this was indeed the eldest daughter, she bowed respectfully.
Rumor had it that this young lady had been raised in the countryside since childhood. No one knew what her temperament was like. Yet her attire, though simple, was of fine material—she must not have lived poorly.
“Let’s go,” Ye Sangzhi said calmly, her eyes briefly sweeping over the plaque that read *Earl Huaiyi Residence* before stepping inside.
The furnishings within were quite different from when her mother and grandfather were alive. She remembered a pomegranate tree in the courtyard before the main hall—its blossoms blazing red, its fruit sparkling like jewels. Every winter, her mother would hang handmade lanterns and ribbons on its branches, lighting them up beautifully. She loved to sit beneath that tree. Her mother once told her it had been planted by her grandfather and father when her parents’ betrothal was arranged, because she loved pomegranates. By the time she married into the Ye family, the sapling had grown into a flourishing tree, and she wed beneath its blossoms. But now, there was no trace of the tree. Even a tree couldn’t be tolerated. Clearly, in her absence, some people had lived quite comfortably under her father’s indulgence.
“Is Father at home?” Ye Sangzhi asked.
Before the servant could reply, a middle‑aged man approached unhurriedly. “This must be the Eldest Miss. I am Ye Cheng, the steward of the household. Welcome home.”
Though his words sounded polite, his bow was perfunctory, his attitude lacking true respect.
“The master has gone to the yamen for duty and has not yet returned. The madam has taken the third young master to her family’s home. The other young masters are at the academy studying. Allow me to first take the Eldest Miss to your courtyard. Forgive any neglect—when the master and madam return, they will naturally come to see you.”
He added, “Since the Eldest Miss has long been away from the residence, you may not know—the madam is the master’s second wife, and she bore the third young master.”
“I understand. Lead the way,” Ye Sangzhi replied calmly.
She already knew about her father’s remarriage. Back then, her father favored his concubine and mistreated his wife, causing her mother to die in childbirth with her younger brother. Before her mother’s body was even cold, he was already intent on elevating the concubine. If not for her grandfather’s intervention, the concubine would have entered as the principal wife much earlier.
Before his death, her grandfather often wrote letters and sent money and goods, fearing she might suffer. He kept her informed of every detail in the household.
Steward Ye Cheng thought the Eldest Miss might show displeasure, but seeing her expression calm, he said no more. After all, her birth mother was gone, and the grandfather who cherished her was gone too. She had been sent away for “misbehavior.” Now that she had returned, if she wanted to survive in the household, she would have to be obedient and proper.
After walking for some time, Ye Cheng stopped at a secluded courtyard gate.
“Eldest Miss, this is your courtyard. Later, I will bring maids to serve you. Please rest inside first.”
Ye Sangzhi stepped in and looked around. The courtyard was small, the furnishings plain and worn, some even damaged—clearly cobbled together, perhaps dragged out from some forgotten corner.
“This courtyard—who arranged it for me? Such thoughtfulness,” Ye Sangzhi suddenly smiled at the steward.
“Of course…it was the madam’s decision, specially arranged,” Ye Cheng answered quickly, his eyes flickering with guilt.
Ye Sangzhi’s smile did not fade. “Is that so? Though the Ye family’s rank is not high, my father is only Minister of Personnel; this residence was bestowed by our ancestors’ merit, built on the scale of a prince’s mansion. With so few masters in the household, even two courtyards per person would be more than enough. Yet I am given this broken, small, remote place. Truly, the madam has been most considerate. When she returns, I must thank her properly.”
The Kingdom of An was founded not long ago; to date, it has had only three emperors. Each emperor lived quite long—indeed, the current emperor already has grandchildren over ten years old, and he remains in good health.
The Ye family, however, is a century‑old scholarly clan. Her grandfather had served as Grand Tutor, with countless students, highly respected and honored by the emperor. Their ancestor had even rendered great service in helping the founding emperor ascend the throne, once close enough to call him brother.
When she was young, her grandfather told her stories of that ancestor. At the time of rewards for merit, the founding emperor wished to grant a hereditary dukedom that could never be revoked. But the ancestor, fearing his descendants might not be able to uphold such glory, requested only the title of count.
The founding emperor, unwilling to slight his loyal minister, bestowed vast amounts of gold and silver, and had a residence built to the scale of a prince’s palace—grand yet elegant.
When her grandfather was alive, even unused courtyards were regularly cleaned, lest they fall into disrepair. But the courtyard before her now, inside and out, was shabby and dilapidated, utterly out of place within the Ye residence.