Since returning from the Xu residence, Lan had truly listened to her elder sister this time, quietly staying in her own courtyard to “recover,” hoping the muscles and bones beneath her bruised flesh might heal properly.
The secret notebooks she had once hidden away were consigned to flames.
She no longer wore bright, ornate clothes; instead, she had her maid fetch plain fabrics and made herself a few simple outfits, outwardly refined and inwardly disciplined.
Although she had committed grave errors, her grandmother’s heart softened upon seeing her transformation. Worried that Lan might act recklessly, she often came to keep her company.
Lan read her grandmother’s thoughts and said, “Grandmother needn’t worry. If I have brought this calamity upon the Count’s Mansion, I should reflect on it properly.”
Only then did the elderly lady feel somewhat reassured.
Soon, news arrived from the Sitú General’s residence: Sitú Wuyi’s concubine had given birth to twin daughters, much to the frustration of the matron Chen, whose schemes had again been disrupted. Now, Chen not only kept a watchful eye on her husband but also targeted Sitú Er, selecting a soft-tempered niece from the Duke’s household, intending for Sitú Er to marry her.
Sitú Er naturally refused, claiming that he had already pledged his affection to Miss Lan at the Chrysanthemum Viewing, and would marry no one else.
The quarrel between mother and son reached a fever pitch. As long as Sitú Er refused, Chen’s schemes were useless.
After a few days, through some method unknown, Sitú Er convinced his father. Sitú Wuyi finally relented, approving a formal proposal to the Count’s Mansion.
The general’s household’s renowned matchmakers arrived to present the proposal, awaiting only the Count’s Mansion’s formal reply.
Though it was a joyous occasion, the Pei family felt heavy-hearted. The grandmother dabbed her tears, saying, “When Lan marries into that household, with such a mother-in-law, who knows how strict her discipline will be.”
The elder Pei responded, “Though Sitú Er is somewhat unruly, he is loyal and honorable. He has preserved Lan’s reputation and that of the Count’s Mansion. At a time like this, there is no reason to refuse.”
“I know well enough; I am not foolish,” the grandmother said, “I only worry that Lan’s future will be difficult.”
Lin also expressed concern: “Who could have expected that little concubine Chen would bear twin daughters? With the General’s wife so decisive, her hands may reach further than ever.”
She thought of how Lan had once loved refined poetry, and now she would marry Sitú Er, who barely recognized a single character. She could only sigh at fate’s ironies.
Lin continued, “Since the marriage must proceed, we should consider how to tell Lan about it.”
At that moment, a calm voice sounded from outside the door: “I will marry.”
It was Lan herself. At some unknown point, she had arrived. “I am willing to marry Sitú Yáng.”
After performing the formalities, Lan said to Pei Bingyuan and Lin, “There is no perfect path in the world; each person has their own fortune. Father and mother need not worry… I only have one request: before the formal betrothal, I wish to see Sitú Yáng once more.”
In the receiving room:
When Lan saw Sitú Yáng enter, she trembled and straightened slightly, hands clenched, unable to look at him directly. Softly, she said, “Sitú Gongzi…”
Sitú Yáng remembered her striking, confident presence at the Six Arts Competition. Now, nervous as a rabbit, he softened his steps, lowered his voice, and said, “No need for ‘Gongzi, Gongzi.’ You may call me Ā Yáng or Erlang.”
He asked, “And how should I call you?”
“You may call me by my childhood name—Yōuyōu.”
“Yōuyōu, Yōuyōu,” Sitú Er laughed, genuinely delighted. “That is a lovely name.”
Lan then became serious: “I invited you here today to clarify a few matters, so that you won’t act rashly in proposing and later regret it.”
“Speak.”
“I am grateful to you for preserving my reputation, and that of the Pei family. But… I have many flaws, and may not be as suitable as you imagine. If you wish to withdraw now, it’s not too late…”
“If I were to withdraw, what would become of Yōuyōu?” Sitú Er interrupted.
Lan replied calmly, “I could enter Jingyue Nunnery.”
“I won’t allow that. If you were to become a nun, I would become a monk and visit you there every day,” Sitú Er said with a hearty laugh. “And what else?”
Lan continued: “You should know that the night you got drunk, I asked a servant to watch over you—not out of kindness, but because of your status. If anything had gone wrong in front of the Pei residence’s theater, it could have implicated my family.”
“That is enough.”
Lan had not expected such a straightforward reply.
She added, “You must know that you and I are strangers; I… cannot say I like you.”
This time, Sitú Er paused, but quickly recovered. “I am just a rustic concubine’s son, coarse and unrefined, notorious in the capital. That others do not despise me is already fortunate; I understand, I understand.”
“Lastly, and most importantly,” Lan said, “though I do not know how you recovered that handkerchief, it was indeed my initiative to give it. I suppose you know.”
In other words: I was deceived, but I did act improperly and without restraint.
And is this not what a man should value most in a wife?
“Oh, I understand,” Sitú Er said, feigning sudden realization. “Yōuyōu is concerned. That handkerchief? I took it. Today, you shall give me a proper one.” He deliberately avoided her intended meaning.
Then he extended his hand to Lan.
Rough, strong, and clearly jointed.
Lan was taken aback. Such a response was unexpected. She dared only a brief glance at Sitú Er, then lowered her head and produced a plain white silk scarf from her bosom, placing it lightly in his hand.
“The same one as before?”
“It was burned afterward.”
Sitú Yáng left Lan’s courtyard without returning to the General’s residence, instead heading toward Pei Shaohua’s house.
At that moment, Pei Shaohua was studying diligently.
From a distance, he could hear Sitú Yáng calling out excitedly: “Huai-di! Huai-di!”—like a large white goose newly on shore, flapping its wings and calling.
Entering, Sitú Yáng treated the house as if he belonged, taking a sip of tea. “Now that you dare to argue about seniority, you must call me brother-in-law, not nephew. Come, say it once.”
Pei Shaohua continued writing, multitasking effortlessly: “Brother-in-law.”
Sitú Yáng laughed heartily. “Just one title, and it makes you so pleased?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” he said, reclining with his feet raised. “By the way, I must thank you for calling me to the theater that night. As thanks, come with me tonight to Hexiang Tower.”
“To do what?”
“To drink and celebrate, naturally.”
Pei Shaohua rolled his eyes. “I am only eight years old; how can I drink?”
“Eight is not so small,” Sitú Yáng said proudly. “At my age, I could drink several jugs.”
“I won’t go,” Pei Shaohua said firmly, returning to his studies.
Half an hour later, after finishing his work, Pei Shaohua noticed Sitú Yáng was still there. Curious, he asked, “Brother-in-law, how did you convince General Sitú to approve the proposal?”
“That mother hoped I would marry her niece, thinking I wouldn’t see through her schemes—fools,” Sitú Yáng explained. “The next day, I told my father that we would seek the Count’s Mansion’s consent. Once married, I promised to participate in the martial exams.”
Pei Shaohua assessed Sitú Yáng’s strong physique. If he did well in the exams and later inherited his father’s position, it could be a real path forward. It depended on his perseverance.
Pei Shaohua then asked, “But for the martial exams, you must first write your strategies. You lack the scholarship for that.”
“Take it one step at a time; first, I marry my wife,” Sitú Yáng said dismissively. “I promised to attend the exams, not that I’d succeed.”
Sitú Yáng was over twenty. The families quickly arranged the wedding.
On the wedding day, in Lan’s chamber, the grandmother, Lin, and Lian all helped her dress. The grandmother wept openly, holding Lan’s hand until the bridal procession arrived.
Lian, her eyes red, instructed, “Being a woman is never easy. Cherish what you gain, for it is hard to obtain, and lose what is easily lost. Take care of yourself.”
Lan lingered in her room, staring through the window, hesitating to lift her bridal veil. After sixteen years in this house, leaving for marriage made her feel an unexpected attachment.
Pei Shaohua reminded her, “Brother-in-law is sincere; he promised his father to take the exams for your sake.”
Lan steadied herself, recalling Sitú Yáng’s words, finally lifting the veil and extending her hand.
Pei Shaohua guided his second sister out of the courtyard, out of the Count’s Mansion, and into her new life.
After Lan’s marriage, the Count’s Mansion returned to quietude. Life continued in a calm, measured rhythm. Over the year, Pei Shaohua memorized the Four Books and much of the Five Classics. Following Master Duan’s guidance, he laid a solid foundation before advancing further. Ying, dissatisfied with her small courtyard herb garden, studied various medicinal herbs, reading and memorizing their properties, though as a girl, society would not easily allow her to formally study medicine.
Jin, once taciturn, became talkative, following his elder brother, excelling in his studies, though Master Duan often slowed him to let him reflect and explore.
Lin and Aunt Shen divided duties clearly: Lin handled major affairs, Shen smaller ones, leaving nothing unattended in the household.
News came from the General’s residence: Lan was several months pregnant, resting safely, while Sitú Yáng, true to his promise, trained under his father. The grandmother and Lin secretly sent attendants to guard her, wary of the mother-in-law’s schemes.
Pei Shaohua, now nine, while Pei Bingyuan was in the National Academy for three years, entering his final year. Pei Bingyuan had a solid foundation, only needing the last accumulation of experience. He passed all examinations at each stage, moving steadily toward graduation.
On the fifteenth day, he returned home for a short break.
The old master asked, “Your official appointment will arrive soon. Do you feel ready to remain in the capital?”
Though it was a minor eighth-rank post, securing a favorable position required connections.
“I’ve already chosen,” Pei Bingyuan said, cutting off mention of his uncle’s household. The official appointment list had arrived days ago, and he would report after his break.
Hearing this, the grandmother and Lin asked, “Which post?”
“A seventh-rank position.”
Joy initially sparked, but then dimmed. It should have been eighth rank; seventh might suggest a more difficult assignment—but perhaps, if good, it was worth the challenge.