The next morning, the clouds cleared, and the autumn sky was bright.
When Wan Cui entered with a bowl of medicine, Song Xian was already up, sitting before her dressing table, lost in thought.
“Madam, did you sleep well last night?” Wan Cui lowered her voice. “I’ve already spoken with the front courtyard. Madam need not go to Yin’an Hall for greetings these next few days.”
In the past, she would never have dared say such a thing. Her mistress had kept to the rule for three years, never missing a single day of greetings. But Wan Cui’s heart ached for her, so she took the liberty this morning, though she was far from confident.
Yet Song Xian did not react as expected. She answered lazily, without reproach: “Mm, I know.”
Wan Cui grew more certain—since yesterday, her mistress was different.
That winter robe had been carefully chosen, patterned, and stitched halfway through, yet Madam had cut it apart without hesitation. And when she heard the Master had returned, she showed no reaction at all. It was shocking.
“Bring the medicine here,” Song Xian interrupted her thoughts. Wan Cui quickly handed it over.
Song Xian drank the entire bowl in one gulp, without even a frown, then dabbed her lips with a handkerchief. “Has Mother said anything?”
“No. The Princess asked Madam to rest well.”
The “Princess” in Wan Cui’s mouth was the emperor’s elder sister, Princess Huihua, whose legitimate daughter was Qin Jiacheng, styled Princess Duanrong—Wei Ling’s mother, mistress of the General’s household.
Princess Duanrong was born noble. When she married, Wei Hai was not yet Grand General. It was said she was spoiled then, and the entire household served her with utmost care. Later, age tempered her temper somewhat, but she remained accustomed to privilege, never tolerating anything beneath her.
Song Xian, a mere concubine’s daughter married in her sister’s stead, was beneath her notice. Thus, Princess Duanrong disliked having her nearby, and Song Xian’s daily greetings were only a formality.
Wei Ling was the second son. Above him was an elder brother who had earned military merit. His wife, Madam Chen, daughter of the Minister of Rites, was a proper high‑born lady. Household management naturally fell to her, leaving Song Xian only minor tasks.
Song Xian nodded. Her presence or absence mattered little. The General’s household did not lack her.
Glancing at the clear blue sky outside, she said lightly to Wan Cui, “Come, let’s go. Many flowers in the courtyard have withered—it’s time to replace them.”
Before noon, Nanny Qi from Yin’an Hall came personally, finding Song Xian in the rear courtyard of Liuying Pavilion, trimming the flowerbeds.
The rear courtyard was small, with no rare flowers, but under Song Xian’s daily care, it was neat. A corner of soil had even been freshly turned.
“Second Madam truly has skillful hands,” Nanny Qi remarked after a glance. Then she turned to look at Song Xian—and immediately froze.
Song Xian was a beauty. When she first served tea as a new bride, she had already stunned everyone. Yet Nanny Qi had always thought that though Song Xian was beautiful, beneath the surface she had nothing—only a pretty face.
But today felt different. Song Xian wore a light‑blue brocade skirt of lotus silk, sleeves rolled up, her black hair loosely gathered at the back with a few strands falling free. Her bright face was smudged with yellow soil, and her gaze, clear and calm, was striking.
It was the simplest attire, yet to Nanny Qi, everything else seemed to fade into dullness. Her beauty seemed to reach the bone.
Seeing Nanny Qi dazed, Song Xian called softly.
Nanny Qi started as if waking from a dream, and almost against her will asked: “Second Madam, what are you doing?”
“This morning I had nothing to do, so I thought to stretch my limbs. Seeing the autumn decay, I felt like tidying it up a bit.”
Nanny Qi looked again at the woman who spoke with a gentle smile. She could see the difference—Song Xian’s spirit was entirely unlike the past few times she had come to Yin’an Hall for greetings. Now, radiant and serene, she was unexpectedly pleasing.
Nanny Qi found herself glancing twice more. In this state, Song Xian did seem a match for Second Young Master.
After a moment, Nanny Qi drew back her gaze, remembering the Princess’s instructions. She said solemnly: “Second Madam, the Princess has summoned you.”
Nanny Qi was one of Princess Duanrong’s trusted attendants. Her visit must have been at the Princess’s order. And though Wan Cui had already excused her mistress earlier that morning, Song Xian had to tread carefully. “Nanny Qi, has something happened?”
Nanny Qi lowered her eyes respectfully: “This old servant does not know. Second Madam should simply prepare and come with me.”
Of course, she knew—she simply did not wish to say.
Song Xian handed her tools to a servant, glanced at the mud‑stained hem of her skirt, and answered gently: “Yes. Please wait a moment, Madam.”
Yin’an Hall.
Even before reaching the hall, Song Xian could hear laughter inside, Wei Yujun’s voice especially loud.
Standing beneath the veranda, she drew a deep breath, steeling herself. She had not expected to see Wei Ling here. He sat just below Princess Duanrong. Hearing the sound at the door, he turned his face—and their eyes met.
Song Xian faltered. Seeing him again felt strangely unfamiliar.
Wei Ling’s looks were unlike the rugged General, nor did he inherit Princess Duanrong’s stately grace. Instead, he was refined as mist, his sharply defined features cold and detached, as though nothing in the world mattered to him. In that, he resembled his mother.
Her elder sister had often spoken of Young Master Wei—how handsome, how brilliant. At first, Song Xian had doubted, but when she saw him by chance, she realized her sister had not exaggerated. From then on, she believed that this dragon among men and her gentle, elegant sister were destined for each other. Even when fate forced her to marry in her sister’s stead, she still thought her sister was his true match. And indeed, three years had proven it: she and Wei Ling were not suited. Not in any way.
Everyone in the room turned to look at her. Song Xian walked to the center and bowed to Princess Duanrong. “Mother.”
The Princess acknowledged her coolly. Song Xian turned to Wei Ling, then sat in the empty seat beside him, back straight, motionless.
They were husband and wife. To outsiders, they should have been inseparable, the closest of companions. As his wife, she ought to be dignified, learned, and proper. Her face remained calm, ignoring the unreadable look Wei Ling gave her. Only when she saw him turn away did she feel relief.
She had already decided: whatever he or Princess Duanrong did was no longer her concern. She only needed to avoid mistakes, wait for the right moment, and leave.
The hall fell quiet after her entrance. Chen Ruo broke the silence first: “Sister‑in‑law, is your health better?”
Her fainting for a day was neither trivial nor grave. When she awoke, Wan Cui had told her that Madam Chen had sent someone to inquire, nothing more, and had wisely asked no further questions.
She and Madam Chen were familiar enough through household duties. Madam Chen treated her fairly, without harshness, patiently teaching her what she did not know—a dutiful daughter‑in‑law managing the household.
“Thank you, Sister‑in‑law, for your concern. I’m already fine,” Song Xian replied with a faint smile.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Wei Ling turn his head again, silently watching her.
Song Xian felt a little uneasy and turned her face away. Since she entered, he had looked at her twice—strange. She had deliberately changed into clean clothes before coming, had Wan Cui comb her hair, and made sure everything was proper. What was wrong?
When she first married, she had been scolded for wearing bright colors, criticized for speaking too freely, even mocked for the way she walked—as if everything she did was wrong. Later, she learned. Now she was a proper second wife of the General’s household, leaving no fault for outsiders to find. But his probing gaze clung to her. Unable to bear it, she looked back. She had done nothing wrong—why should she fear him?
Their eyes met. In his cold, dark gaze, she saw nothing, as always.
Wei Ling remained calm, then lifted his gaze.
Following it, Song Xian touched the thin bandage at her temple. She realized then why he stared—was this injury an embarrassment to him?
Indeed, who would believe a healthy woman simply fell? If word spread, she might be branded as frail and sickly, a shame to the General’s household. How proud Second Master Wei was. Having such a wife must trouble him.
Song Xian’s lips curved almost imperceptibly. She turned back, obediently listening to the others.
The matter of her fall was lightly passed over. Princess Duanrong asked Wei Ling: “In a few days, it will be your grandmother’s birthday. Has Yuchuan prepared the gift?”
Wei Ling replied: “It is prepared.”
“And Yujun?”
Wei Yujun pouted: “Grandmother’s tastes are too picky. Last year, she didn’t like the *Longevity of Pines and Cranes* painting I gave. This year, I really don’t know what to send.”
“As long as you put thought into it, Grandmother will be pleased,” Chen Ruo said kindly.
“That’s true.”
“Mm, I understand,” Wei Yujun answered perfunctorily, then turned to Wei Ling: “Second Brother, where did you go this time? Why were you gone a whole month?”
Wei Ling held no official post, yet was often busy and absent. In a month, Song Xian might see him only two or three times. She had once been curious, asked a question or two, but he had only told her coldly not to pry. Eventually, she learned not to ask—there was no point.
Now, he clearly had no intention of answering his younger sister either. His gaze slid from Song Xian, and he asked instead: “Have you finished your lessons?”
Because of Princess Huihua, Wei Yujun had studied with the princes and princesses in the Jingshu Hall since childhood, with daily assignments to complete. Caught off guard, she faltered, unable to answer.
“It seems the lessons at Jingshu Hall are too easy, if Yujun has time to idle about outside all day,” Wei Ling said bluntly, giving no face.
Wei Yujun’s cheeks flushed red. She knew he was hinting at something. Just as she was about to ask how he knew, she glanced at Song Xian with her head lowered, and suddenly accused angrily: “It was Second Sister‑in‑law who tattled on me, wasn’t it! I knew it—hmph!”