When Song Xian woke, the space beside her was already empty, and daylight streamed in from outside. Last night, his breathing had lingered by her ear, clear and steady. She could hardly remember how she had finally fallen asleep. Still—it wasn’t bad. At least she hadn’t dreamed nightmares.
Stretching lazily, she sat up and rose from the bed.
Hearing movement, Wan Cui entered to serve her, setting hot water on the stand, wetting a cloth, and handing it over. She volunteered, “Madam, the master left at dawn. He didn’t take breakfast—went straight to the study.”
Song Xian pressed the steaming cloth gently to her face, washed unhurriedly, and only after tidying herself answered languidly, “I know.”
Wan Cui could not hold back, speaking as she arranged her mistress’s hair: “Madam, the kitchen didn’t send the birth‑control soup this morning.”
“There won’t be any.” Song Xian did not hide it and added firmly, “My monthly courses have come. If anyone asks, don’t misspeak.”
Wan Cui quickly understood. “Yes, I know.”
That day, she styled Song Xian’s hair in a *Lotus Returning Cloud Bun*, with simple adornment—only a white jade plum blossom hairpin. Her makeup was plain yet elegant.
Wan Cui praised, “Madam looks beautiful no matter what.”
Song Xian gazed at herself, a smile slowly blooming. Then she said, “After breakfast, fetch my dowry register.”
Once the meal was finished, the register was brought out.
Song Xian had married with the full rites of a marquis’s legitimate daughter, her dowry generous: besides jewelry and silver, six shops and one estate.
She took out the deeds for the six shops and examined them carefully. Their locations were somewhat out of the way, but in the capital Shengjing, where land was precious, they were still acceptable. The businesses, however, were modest: two cloth shops, two firewood stalls, one general store, and one small tavern.
When she first married, Song Xian had never thought she would need them. The shops had simply been entrusted to her stepmother’s people to manage. Each month, the stewards reported the earnings, and that was all. Thus, she remained unfamiliar with both the shops and the estate.
But from now on, all of these would be useful—she needed to put some thought into them.
“Wan Cui, go to each of these six shops, collect the account books, and bring them back for me to review.” Song Xian handed her the deeds, then added, “And while you’re out, send word to Zhi’an. Tell her I’d like to meet.”
“Yes, Madam. Do you have any other instructions?”
“No, that’s all. Go early.” Song Xian lifted her eyes to the maid who had always stayed by her side, and gave her a genuine smile. “Wan Cui, thank you.”
“What is Madam saying?” Wan Cui replied shyly, then hurried off.
That day, Yin’an Hall sent no summons. Song Xian guessed there was nothing required of her. When Wan Cui returned from her errands, they went out together.
Before noon, the two arrived early at Tianming Teahouse, where she had arranged to meet Chen Zhi’an.
Chen Zhi’an was the daughter of the Minister of Judicial Review; like Song Xian, she was a concubine-born daughter. Their acquaintance had begun when Song Xian helped her with a small matter in childhood. Over time, their friendship deepened—close enough to be called bosom friends.
Now Song Xian was married, while Chen Zhi’an’s marriage had been delayed for years. Only recently had it been settled, though Song Xian did not yet know with whom.
After the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, Chen Zhi’an pushed open the door, cheerfully calling, “Xian Xian!”
Song Xian rose to greet her, smiling, “Two months without seeing you, and you look a little rounder.”
“Nonsense.” Chen Zhi’an sat down and poured herself tea. “So—did you call me out today for something?”
“Must there be a reason? Can’t I simply want to see you? But I did hear—your marriage has been arranged?”
Chen Zhi’an’s cheerful expression faded at once, replaced by a trace of melancholy. “Yes.”
Song Xian understood—this was likely not a happy match. She hid her thoughts and teased lightly, “So you! Such a big matter, and you didn’t tell me.”
“With all the troubles in your household, how could I dare burden you with mine?”
Song Xian knew her situation well. At times, she felt Heaven had not treated her too harshly—for the things she could not confide to her husband or her stepmother, she could pour out freely to the woman before her. Even if Chen Zhi’an could not help, having someone to listen was enough to make her grateful.
Chen Zhi’an had helped her so much. How could she stand aside now that Chen Zhi’an herself was in difficulty?
Song Xian leaned across the table and clasped her hand. “Zhi’an, why should we hold back from each other? Tell me—what’s really going on?”
Chen Zhi’an set down her teacup. “It’s nothing. Marriage is a matter of parents’ orders and matchmakers’ words. How could I decide? And the match Father chose isn’t bad. I should be content.”
“Which family’s son?”
“The eldest son of the Xiao family. The Marquis Yongyi’s household.”
Marquis Yongyi’s household? Song Xian searched her memory before recalling. Marquis Yongyi had once followed the founding sovereign in opening new lands, honored ever since, and still holds the title today.
But the Yongyi household was always low‑profile, seldom appearing among the noble families of Shengjing. That was why she hadn’t thought of them at once.
So the match was respectable. Why then did Chen Zhi’an look so unhappy? Could it be that the eldest son himself was the problem?
Song Xian asked. Chen Zhi’an’s expression grew hard to read. “The Xiao eldest son is a gentleman. When he came to propose, I glimpsed him from afar—his looks were decent. But…”
“But what?”
“But he had a wife before. She died of illness, leaving a three‑year‑old child. I heard they were deeply devoted. This remarriage was arranged only under pressure from his elders.”
Chen Zhi’an paused, then said calmly, “Xian Xian, I know. I’ll be his principal wife. Once the old matriarch passes, I won’t have to live under anyone’s shadow. But married life isn’t mine alone. How can I compete with a dead woman? And how will my children compete with hers?”
Outside, a sudden bustle rose, the noisy crowd contrasting with the quiet tension inside.
Song Xian had prepared many words of comfort, but now she could not speak them. How could she advise another, when she herself had failed to manage her own life?
Chen Zhi’an gave a small laugh. “But these past two days I’ve thought it through. Isn’t Marquis Yongyi’s household far more respectable than some minor family? The eldest son isn’t old, looks proper enough. Even if he doesn’t care for me, life can still go on. Better that than becoming someone’s concubine, don’t you think, Xian Xian?”
Is that right? It should be right. Yet for Song Xian, it was unbearable.
The Xiao family’s eldest son was not Wei Ling. Chen Zhi’an was not herself. They were different.
Song Xian thought for a moment, then said, “Zhi’an, since you haven’t walked that path yet, none of us can know what’s right or wrong. Be at ease for now. The Xiao eldest son seems a man of deep feeling. Whether he can be relied upon—don’t decide too quickly.”
“Mm.” Chen Zhi’an answered, half‑understanding, then changed the subject. “Enough about me. Tell me about you. Has your little sister‑in‑law been giving you trouble again?”
At that, Song Xian laughed. She would never speak of Wei Ling, but of Wei Yujun and household matters she spoke freely.
“No, not lately.” After the last incident, Wei Yujun had suddenly been confined, which surprised her. But afterward, she had indeed stopped making trouble. Song Xian was glad for the peace.
“But Zhi’an, I did seek you today for two matters.”
“What matters?” Chen Zhi’an asked at once.
“I can’t easily go out from the General’s residence, and I have few people I can rely on. So I’d like to ask you to help me find two trustworthy servants. And also, keep an eye out in Shengjing for any good shops being resold.”
Song Xian felt a little embarrassed saying it. It was her own lack of foresight—now she had to start everything anew. Chen Zhi’an knew more people than she did, so these tasks would not be difficult for her.
“What do you want shops for?”
Song Xian wasn’t ready to tell her everything. She only said, “Before I married, didn’t I ask you to help me sell embroidery? I thought—why sell through other shops, when I could sell through my own? Besides, I have little to occupy me. Making embroidery to pass the time isn’t bad.”
Chen Zhi’an agreed wholeheartedly. “Xian Xian, I’ve told you before—your embroidery skills are unmatched in Shengjing. A single handkerchief of yours could sell for ten taels, yet you insist on selling them for half a tael. That’s sheer waste! Leave it to me—I’ll find you the finest shop in all of Shengjing!”
“Mm. Then let me thank our Lady Zhi’an with tea instead of wine.” Song Xian lifted her teacup, her smile sincere.
“What are you thanking me for?” Chen Zhi’an laughed. “Speaking of which, I haven’t congratulated you yet. Second Master Wei now serves under my father—he was appointed Assistant Minister straightaway. Remarkable!”
Song Xian’s smile froze. This was the first she had heard of it.
Wei Ling had taken an official post? As Assistant Minister of the Court of Judicial Review?
Chen Zhi’an, unaware of her unease, went on: “Last night at dinner, Father mentioned it. Your husband solved a long‑standing case as soon as he took office. Several minor officials who had opposed him were left speechless. Who would have thought? I daresay before long, Xian Xian, you’ll be ennobled yourself.”
“Nonsense—don’t speak of things without proof.” Song Xian masked her expression, casually asking, “What case was it?”
“That I don’t know clearly. I only heard it was from twenty years ago.” Chen Zhi’an looked at her. “But that’s not the point. Now that Second Master Wei has taken office, he’ll surely settle in Shengjing. No more disappearing for days at a time. Xian Xian, you won’t have to keep an empty bed anymore.”
Her teasing was obvious. Song Xian shot her a reproachful glance. “I think it’s you who doesn’t want an empty bed.”
Both women laughed, the heavy mood lifting.
After sitting a while longer, Chen Zhi’an asked her to stroll the streets together. Song Xian thought—since she had managed to come out, why not? She gladly agreed.
Shengjing, capital of the Eastern Xia Kingdom, was unmatched in its prosperity.
As a child, Song Xian had lived in the Marquis Suqing’s residence on West Gate Street. Just beyond the back gate was a bustling market. Back then, Song Xuan often took her out secretly, so Song Xian had grown familiar with many corners of the city.
After marriage, that freedom had been confined to a narrow world. Not that the General’s residence forbade it—after all, Wei Yujun roamed Shengjing City as she pleased.
But Song Xian had too many concerns: fearing Princess Duanrong’s displeasure, fearing Wei Ling’s disapproval. Even her mother advised her to devote herself to husband and children—once a woman became a wife, she was no longer a maiden, and could not act solely on her own will. Now, gazing at the crowded streets, a faint bitterness welled in her heart.
“Xian Xian, is there anything you’d like to buy?” Chen Zhi’an asked at her side.
Song Xian withdrew her gaze and linked arms with her friend. “Come with me to Yongxing Lane. There are two shops from my dowry there—I’ve never visited them.”
“All right.”
The shops in Yongxing Lane turned out to be two cloth houses, adjoining each other—something Song Xian hadn’t expected. She stood at the doorway, surveying them, then glanced at the somewhat desolate lane, shaking her head inwardly.
The shops themselves were fine, but the location was not as good as West Gate Street. Inside, she found the fabrics were mostly coarse linen, with inferior cotton, colors plain—mostly durable, dirt‑resistant cloth.
The shopkeeper came forward to explain: “Second Lady, it isn’t our fault. In Yongxing Lane, only these sell. Finer fabrics would just gather dust here.”
It made sense. Song Xian said little, glanced at the account books, then left with Chen Zhi’an.
“You’re leaving already?” Chen Zhi’an asked.
“Mm. Leave it for now. I’ll think of a way later.”
As they walked out, before reaching the end of the lane, the sound of fighting broke out ahead—clashing weapons, shouts.
The alley was empty of passersby. Chen Zhi’an grew frightened. “Xian Xian, is this—”
Song Xian hushed her at once, pulling her back.
They returned to the cloth shop. Chen Zhi’an, still shaken, asked, “Was someone making trouble?”
Song Xian herself didn’t know—she had only reacted instinctively. If they had gone forward, they might have stumbled into a brawl.
She gave a brief answer. The shopkeeper, however, was unfazed. “Second Lady, Miss Chen, don’t worry. Such things aren’t rare in Yongxing Lane. Just some hooligans making trouble. They wouldn’t dare touch nobles.”
“There are such things even in Shengjing?” Chen Zhi’an was surprised.
“Ah, you don’t come here often. If no one dies, the authorities don’t bother. They can’t manage it all. Common folk just turn a blind eye if it doesn’t affect them.” The shopkeeper turned to Song Xian. “Second Lady, stay a while. Once they disperse, you can leave safely.”
Song Xian nodded. Still, caution was needed. “Uncle Zhang, send a servant to accompany us later.”
“Yes, of course.”
After waiting a while, Song Xian judged that the matter ahead had ended. They set out again.
But just as they reached the doorway, a dark figure suddenly rushed forward, crashing into Song Xian, knocking her back several steps. The people around cried out in alarm.