As Sheng Xiangqiao listened to Ning Yan recount the old history, her face carried a faint smile, her eyes blinking with curiosity, clearly absorbed in the tale. When it ended, she looked deeply moved and said: “Cousin, you’ve truly gone to great effort, even giving me such a rare piece. But just as the heir said, practicing with this script is a bit like pulling seedlings to force them to grow. I tried writing a few characters, but they didn’t come out well. Still, I won’t disappoint your expectations—I’ll practice diligently!”
The young man gazed at her for a moment longer, then finally lowered his eyes back to his book, his tone cool: “If you have nothing else, go amuse yourself elsewhere. I need to study.”
Sheng Xiangqiao obediently bowed again in farewell before turning to leave.
Only after the false young lady had walked away did Qing Yan speak: “Fourth Young Master, you went back especially to make a rubbing of that stele. For such a country girl, it really wasn’t necessary.”
Cheng Tianfu said nothing. As a child, he had once met Liu Heshū. Liu Heshu’s beloved wife, Xia Anzhi, was the cousin of Sheng Xiangqiao’s late mother, Madam Qiao.
At the time, people joked that Lord Sheng Xuanhe’s wife, Madam Qiao, and her cousin looked very much alike. Not only the sisters, but even their daughters—born two years apart—resembled each other, said to look strikingly like an elder female relative in the family.
So when, at Qianlong Temple, that little girl paused before Liu Heshū’s stele, Cheng Tianfu was suddenly reminded of those old memories. He made a rubbing to test her. But seeing the girl show no reaction, he realized he had overthought it. The Liu family had been destroyed in a calamity, their entire clan executed, with no survivors left behind.
Thus, Cheng Tianfu dropped the matter.
Meanwhile, after turning the corner, Sheng Xiangqiao quickened her pace so much that Nanny Zhao struggled to keep up. She scolded under her breath: “Are you rushing to be reborn? Why walk so fast? Do you think this official residence garden is a country field?”
Hearing Nanny Zhao’s rebuke, Sheng Xiangqiao slowed down, smiling as she explained she felt an urgent need to relieve herself and wanted to hurry back to her courtyard.
Earlier, when Qing Yan had delivered the silver, Sheng Xiangqiao knew she couldn’t hide it from Nanny Zhao. So she divided the five taels: three went to Nanny Zhao, a few ingots were given to Ning Yan as a reward, and she kept only a small portion for herself.
Nanny Zhao, pleased with the silver, thought the little village girl at least knew the rules. So her discipline became somewhat more lenient—at the very least, her scolding grew shorter.
As she turned into the corridor near the main hall, Sheng Xiangqiao faintly heard someone pounding on the outer gate and shouting: “What kind of reasoning is this, Sheng family? You unjustly detain my wife and child, and won’t even let me in! If you don’t open the gate today, I’ll go to the ancestral hall and let the clan elders judge this matter!”
Startled, Sheng Xiangqiao asked Ning Yan who was shouting outside.
Ning Yan hesitated: “That voice… it sounds like Second Master Cheng.”
Sheng Xiangqiao sighed: “Cousin won’t be able to concentrate on his studies today…”
Second Master Cheng had long endured being shut out, but he remained persistent. That day, he reportedly brought an expensive guqin that his wife loved, hoping to apologize sincerely. Yet the gatekeepers blocked him.
Even a mild man could be pushed to anger. His desperate longing for his wife, Sheng Guiniang, was clear—he would not leave without seeing her.
But Sheng Xiangqiao had no intention of standing by to watch the drama. Her cousin had just shown her kindness by restoring her allowance, so the best thing she could do was act the part of a dutiful cousin, avoiding trouble. She lowered her head and returned quietly to her courtyard, continuing to sketch patterns and practice embroidery.
Besides the sachet of orchid grass she planned for her fiancé, she also prepared to embroider a headband for her grandmother—after all, she had made a vow before the old lady, and keeping her word gave her peace of mind.
Ning Yan, having received silver ingots from her, showed some conscience. She bought malt sugar crisps and chestnut cakes from outside as a gift in return.
As for Nanny Zhao, after the temple incident, the false young lady had no real lessons to attend. Nanny Zhao was glad to enjoy leisure, lying on the kang in the west wing, ordering maids to massage her legs and back, even napping after lunch until just before dinner.
Thus, most of Sheng Xiangqiao’s day could be spent in peace—snacking, embroidering flowers, and resting by the window, watching the garden below. Beneath her embroidery loft lay flowerbeds, where the house cat sometimes brought her three kittens to chase grasshoppers.
The courtyard below was also a gathering place for maids. Though they didn’t know the young lady upstairs was an impostor, seeing Nanny Zhao and Ning Yan so lax, they too began to slack off.
As the maids chattered, Sheng Xiangqiao overheard bits of household gossip.
For example, the aftermath of Second Master Cheng’s visit. It was said that because he made such a scene, the Sheng household eventually opened the gate. Since Lord Sheng Xuanhe was absent, it was Fourth Young Master Cheng who met his father.
Though father and son met behind closed doors, their quarrel was loud enough for servants outside to hear.
The gist was that Second Master claimed his sister-in-law had forced the divorce through misunderstanding. He hadn’t expected her to act so, and now that he had returned, Sheng Guiniang should let go of her resentment. Staying at her natal home and refusing to return was improper and, over time, would invite gossip.
But Fourth Young Master cut straight to the point, asking his father whether he would continue seeing the Tian family widow.
Such a question was like interrogating an affair—how could a father’s dignity endure it?
Cheng Peinian, enraged by his son’s bluntness, ordered him to kneel, demanding, “Why do you seek to sow discord between your parents? What is your intention?”
Then he seized the feather duster from the table and struck Fourth Young Master with it.
Sheng Guiniang, who had been secretly listening from the next room, rushed over when she saw Cheng Peinian striking his son, and immediately quarreled loudly with him.
The Sheng household had no proper matriarch; Madam Bai was merely a secondary wife and not qualified to intervene.
In the end, it was the Sheng family’s Old Madam who stepped in. She ordered the old servants to summon the three of them into her inner courtyard.
No one knew exactly what the old lady said, but it was generally believed to be words of reconciliation. In the end, both sides were punished equally, each receiving “fifty strokes” in principle, and the matter was settled.
It was said that when Sheng Guiniang left, Second Master Cheng personally supported her, carefully helping her into the carriage.
Sheng Guiniang had once hated her husband bitterly for his heartlessness. But now, seeing him return to the capital and immediately seek her out, insisting it was all a misunderstanding, she softened somewhat. With her mother’s persuasion, and considering her children were already grown, she realized that if she truly divorced, it would harm their future marriages and prospects.
That day, Second Master Cheng wept before the Old Madam, vowing to treat Sheng Guiniang better from then on and never let her suffer again.
Moved by her husband’s gentle words, Sheng Guiniang finally let go of her resentment. She packed her belongings and prepared to return to the Cheng household with her children.
But Cheng Tianfu did not go back with his parents. He said he would stay at his uncle’s house to study for the exams. Sheng Xiangqiao, however, thought her cousin was simply angry with his father and refused to return home. She reflected that her cousin, usually calm and composed, must feel deeply stifled to have such a father. Still, peaceful days spent embroidering and listening to gossip by the walls were not to last.
Soon came the Daughters’ Festival, when custom dictated that young ladies go out of the city to enjoy the autumn scenery, embroider sachets for blessing, and present them to their chosen gentlemen.
Sheng Xiangqiao, having been abducted as a child and trained only in singing and performing, had never properly learned embroidery. Even after days of hard practice, she had only mastered the basics. Yet at least her work now resembled orchids rather than dogtail grass.
Ning Yan placed her embroidery in a brocade box and prepared her mistress to go out for the festival.
As Sheng Xiangqiao sat while attendants applied perfume and powder, Nanny Zhao reminded her of the rules.
This festival was unlike Qixi. It had been established by the Emperor himself over a decade ago, with detailed rituals: gifting sachets, confessing feelings by the autumn pond. It carried the sentiment that “the Son of Heaven too had regrets, and only the lovers of the world could fulfill them.”
Since it was an imperial decree, all young men and women had to participate, fulfilling the Emperor’s old regret. These days, silk threads and embroidery fabrics in the capital had risen in price, and even carriages were booked in advance.
Unmarried sons and daughters without arranged marriages happily joined their elder siblings to go out, hoping to meet suitable partners and perhaps spark a match.
For great households like the Shengs, there was no need to hire carriages. But since relatives borrowed some of their vehicles, on the day of the festival, Sheng Xiangqiao had to share a carriage with Sheng Xianglan.
Sheng Xianglan, though only twelve, was already nearing the age when her marriage would be arranged. With the Sheng family’s eldest daughter engaged to Prince Cining’s household, the family’s prospects looked bright.
Thus, even the concubine-born daughters of the Sheng family became desirable matches. Madam Bai repeatedly petitioned the master to allow her daughter to accompany her elder sister Sheng Xiangqiao on the autumn outing, hoping she could show herself in public and prove that a Sheng concubine’s daughter was no less refined than a legitimate one.
Because Grandmother had recently scolded Sheng Xuanhe, and Sheng Xuanhe in turn had stormed into Madam Bai’s quarters, smashing teapots in anger, Madam Bai had been chastened. She now knew better than to tell her daughter to confront her legitimate sister directly, lest Sheng Xiangqiao catch her out and complain.
So, in the carriage, without Cheng Deqing present to ease the atmosphere, Sheng Xianglan and her elder sister remained silent. Each read a book or nibbled on snacks as they rode toward Que Lake on the outskirts of the capital.
Sheng Xiangqiao was quite content with this arrangement. She was not close to Sheng Xianglan, and in truth, their ages were similar. Pretending to be the elder sister with lofty airs would have been tedious. Instead, she happily immersed herself in a popular storybook. She had learned to read at home, but when she was abducted as a child, the traffickers sought literate, refined girls to sell into brothels, where they would be expected to compose poetry and sing. To avoid being chosen, she feigned stupidity, even eating roadside herbs to induce vomiting, splattering the trafficker’s clothes, and thus escaped selection.
Afterward, she continued to play the fool, surviving several close calls, though beaten when caught, until she eventually ended up in the Xue household.
Now that the Sheng family had dismissed her as a rustic village girl, she accepted the role. Pretending to be eager to learn, she studied basic primers and could finally read the books in Sheng Xiangqiao’s room openly.
But the real Miss Sheng seemed to prefer romantic tales—scholars and maidens exchanging vows beneath walls and bridges, lovers fleeing under the moonlight, retreating to the mountains to farm and raise children.
Sheng Xiangqiao, knowing the hardship of rural life, found no charm in such fantasies. Reading too long made her wrists ache as if she had been wielding a hoe. When she set the book down, she caught her half-sister’s disdainful glance.
Looking at the cover, Sheng Xiangqiao saw that the real Miss Sheng had pasted over it with the title Lives of Virtuous Women, making it appear respectable.
But such a trick could not fool Sheng Xianglan. Though she dared not provoke her sister after her father’s scolding, she could only sneer silently at the false propriety of the cover, her lips curling with contempt.