Thinking of this, Sheng Xiangqiao stretched her neck uneasily and saw that her cousin, perhaps tired from practicing, had set down his staff and gone to the stone table nearby, where he began eating the persimmon cakes laid out to dry. Even a youth like an exiled immortal, when eating, his cheeks puffed out!
It was the age of growth; no matter how heavy the worries, they could not dampen a young man’s appetite. Sheng Xiangqiao knew her cousin was troubled by family matters and had lately neglected his studies—she hadn’t seen him reading or writing by the pond these past days. She wondered whether the pregnant Lady Huishu had already made demands of the Cheng household, and how her aunt, who had returned home so joyfully, would cope.
Within two days, Sheng Xiangqiao learned the answer.
The Cheng household sent word: Madam Sheng had fallen ill, and her brother was asked to visit her.
Cheng Tianfu, upon hearing this, wished to return home to see his mother. But the messenger said Second Master Cheng was still angry with his son and forbade the Fourth Young Master from coming. Madam Sheng’s illness was not serious; only Sheng Xuanhe was asked to visit.
Cheng Tianfu did not insist further. He dismissed the messenger but prevented his uncle from going. Sheng Xuanhe thought his nephew was sulking—resentful that his mother had been coaxed back so easily, and still upset from their quarrel with his father.
Unhappy with his nephew, Sheng Xuanhe complained to his mother, saying Cheng Tianfu looked calm but was childish when it came to family matters.
Madam Qin also thought Cheng Tianfu was excessive, so she summoned him to speak. While Cheng Tianfu was being scolded, Sheng Xiangqiao sat nearby, knotting cords. Her grandmother’s sash was plain, so she was making a new design to match her clothes. Her hands were busy, but she occasionally glanced up at her cousin’s face.
By day, Cheng Tianfu showed no trace of the gloom that had driven him to smash chrysanthemums at night. He remained composed, like a serene immortal youth. He waited patiently until his grandmother had spoken enough, then said slowly: “The Cheng household cannot be visited now. If Uncle wishes to go, Grandmother, please restrain him for the time being.”
“What reason is this?” Madam Qin asked, puzzled.
Cheng Tianfu glanced at Sheng Xiangqiao, who was winding thread, and said: “I will have Qing Yan deliver some local goods to my cousin. If she has nothing else, she may return to her courtyard to wait.”
Sheng Xiangqiao understood—her cousin wanted to send her away so he could speak privately with Grandmother. Sensibly, she rose and left, with Ning Yan carrying the basket of threads.
Passing through the garden, she saw gardeners replanting chrysanthemums. She asked a maid to pick a few neat blossoms from the discarded stems and took them back to arrange in a vase.
Seated at her small table, placing flowers in porcelain, Sheng Xiangqiao idly wondered what her cousin was telling Grandmother.
Most likely, he was telling Grandmother that his father had gotten the Tian family’s widow pregnant. If she heard that, she would surely be furious.
As for Aunt Sheng’s supposed illness, it was suspicious. Perhaps the Cheng family was lying, keeping Sheng Guiniang from returning to her natal home, and tricking the Shengs into sending someone to check.
If the Chengs were merely taking a concubine, they would not need the Sheng family’s approval—that was their own household matter. But if they wished to marry another wife of equal rank, they would need the consent of the legitimate wife’s family.
Sheng Xiangqiao suddenly realized why the Chengs insisted on Sheng Xuanhe going over—Tian Peirong’s appetite was large indeed; she would never settle for being a concubine.
That was why Cheng Tianfu told his grandmother not to let his uncle visit. Her “false father” was easily fooled; if he carelessly gave consent, even Cheng Tianfu’s wisdom could not undo the damage.
Madam Qin was sharp-eyed and uncompromising. The Chengs dared not negotiate directly with her, so they tried to use Sheng Xuanhe as a channel.
Without the Sheng family’s approval, the Chengs could not openly marry a second wife. But time was pressing—Lady Huishu’s pregnancy would soon be six months, and her condition would be visible.
Sheng Xiangqiao had to admit, her cousin’s tactic of waiting and delaying was truly ruthless. The Cheng household’s two branches could not afford to offend the Tian family, yet they could not persuade the Shengs either. No wonder they were restless day and night.
Her cousin practiced with his staff at midnight; surely his father also lay awake, sleepless. But this was not a long-term solution. Eventually, the Chengs would find a way to reach Sheng Xuanhe.
She thought for a while, but being young, she could not guess her cousin’s full strategy, so she stopped trying.
Soon after, Qing Yan delivered a basket of sweet persimmons from Jiancheng. Sheng Xiangqiao loved them, so she asked Ning Yan to wash two and sat by the window to eat.
When delivering the persimmons, Qing Yan told Ning Yan that his young master enjoyed dried persimmon cakes, so if she had time, she should prepare more.
Thus, Sheng Xiangqiao ordered the maids to peel firm persimmons, string them up, and hang them on poles in the courtyard to dry.
At once, the yard was filled with golden fruit, cheerful and pleasing. She thought that when her cousin was troubled and sleepless, at least he would have enough to eat. Content, she ate two persimmons in a row, then sat by the window with her book.
Ning Yan sat nearby, continuing to knot cords, occasionally glancing at the false young lady.
Since learning to read, the impostor had become fond of books. After finishing the romantic tales of scholars and maidens that the real Miss Sheng had left behind, she often borrowed volumes from Cheng Tianfu’s study.
Fourth Young Master was generous, allowing her to take books freely. Now she held a thick copy of *The Southern History*.
The girl looked serious, cradling the heavy book—but she turned the pages too quickly, clearly pretending. Yet if it was a pretense, she held still for long stretches, not even lifting her head. The act was almost too convincing.
Ning Yan felt she could not see through this posturing girl, so she bent her head and focused on her cord‑knotting.
Today was the fifteenth of the month, so that evening the entire household was to gather in the front hall for dinner.
When Sheng Xiangqiao arrived, she saw Madam Bai seated at a small table near the main one, accompanied by her son, Sheng Shuyun, and her daughter, Sheng Xianglan, drinking tea. Madam Qin and Sheng Xuanhe were absent.
Madam Bai sent her maid to inquire.
The maid returned, saying that Master Sheng had come home from court and intended to visit the Cheng household. But just as he left the palace gates, Madam Qin had summoned him back. Without even changing his official robes, he was called to the eastern courtyard. She told him that the anniversary of Old Master Sheng’s death was near, yet the ancestral tomb had not been repaired for years. Recently she had dreamed of the old master, who complained that rain leaked into his grave in the underworld, begging for repairs. Disturbed, she ordered her son to go immediately.
Thus Sheng Xuanhe had to request leave from court for several days to travel to Yecheng, where the family tombs lay, and re‑mound his father’s grave to fulfill filial duty.
Madam Qin pressed him urgently, not even allowing him to stay for dinner, but sending him off at once. She herself claimed she had slept poorly from nightmares and lacked energy, so she would not attend the meal. The rest of the family could dine.
Sheng Xiangqiao, holding a date, pondered. She understood her father’s wish to visit the Cheng household. Though his nephew forbade it, he was only a child—how could he truly stop his uncle from seeing his sister?
But Madam Qin aiding Cheng Tianfu in sending Sheng Xuanhe away was telling. Clearly, grandmother and grandson had devised a strategy, finding Sheng Xuanhe a hindrance, and dispatched him to repair the ancestral tomb instead.
At that moment, Madam Bai glanced at Sheng Xiangqiao, who sat opposite looking pensive, and smiled faintly. Her daughter had told her that during the Daughters’ Festival boat outing, the heir had abandoned Sheng Xiangqiao to board the barge of the capital’s courtesan.
When the Emperor had decreed the betrothal, Madam Bai had envied her greatly. But now she felt only schadenfreude. She smiled and said: “It’s been a while since I’ve sat with you, eldest girl. You look better than ever these days.”
Sheng Xiangqiao had heard from Ning Yan that the real Miss Sheng Xiangqiao always ignored Madam Bai. So she merely snorted through her nose, treating it as acknowledgment.
Sheng Xianglan glanced at her elder sister, then said to her mother while picking dishes: “Mother, don’t you think cousin is biased? The persimmons from our hometown—aside from giving some to Grandmother, he gave all the rest to elder sister. Does he think only she is a Sheng daughter, and the rest of us are not?”
Sheng Xiangqiao thought it silly to quarrel over a basket of persimmons. But since she had accepted them, she felt obliged to defend her cousin:
“I asked cousin to send them all. Jiancheng persimmons are seedless, perfect for drying into cakes. Once the ones in my courtyard are ready, I’ll have the maids bring some to Father and to you.”
Sheng Xianglan rolled her eyes, finding Sheng Xiangqiao hateful—always sharp‑tongued, already betrothed, yet still competing with her for their cousin’s favor. Though still young, in a few years she too would be of marriageable age. Privately, she had discussed with her mother that the great noble houses of the capital were difficult to attach themselves to. If she married someone like her brother‑in‑law, Heir Jin, her life would be miserable. Yet marrying into a poor but upright family left her unwilling.
The best would be kinship upon kinship, marrying into a household they knew well—such as the Chengs. Her cousin’s mother, Sheng Guiniang, was her own aunt, gentle and easy to get along with, the perfect mother‑in‑law. The Chengs had generations of wealth from trade, her uncle held office at court, and her cousin was handsome and talented. Though mischievous in childhood with a foul temper, he had improved greatly, never carousing with classmates. By all measures, he was worthy of trust.
Having weighed this with her mother, Sheng Xianglan naturally valued her cousin highly. Now, seeing him favor Sheng Xiangqiao by giving her all the persimmons, she felt sour and spoke to her elder sister with sarcasm: “I wouldn’t dare trouble you, sister. They’re not worth much anyway—you should keep them for yourself.”
With no outsiders present, Sheng Xiangqiao didn’t bother to act domineering. She simply pretended to sip tea, ignoring her sister’s rudeness. By now, she understood the little schemes of Madam Bai and her daughter.
But they treated Cousin Cheng Tianfu as if he were a piece of prized meat in their bowl—yet that meat might never be theirs. Given his talent and looks, many girls admired him. For instance, that day at the lakeside pavilion, a young lady had gifted him a handguard. Though Sheng Xiangqiao hadn’t seen her face, her fragrance was distinctive and unforgettable. Later, pondering it, Sheng Xiangqiao recalled that at Qianlong Temple she had smelled a similar scent on the women of the Tian family.