Shen Qingluo sat upright, stiff and cautious, keeping a wide distance from Ye Huaijin. “Why are you waiting here?” he asked.
“I’m waiting for Madam Zhong’s carriage to pass by,” Shen Qingluo answered truthfully.
Ye Huaijin’s gaze fell on her. Dressed in thin clothing, she trembled like a stray kitten or puppy abandoned in the cold, even her head drooping low. He did not realize it was fear of him. Slowly, he said, “I just passed by and saw the Zhong family’s carriage stuck in the mud. It may take some time.”
So that was the reason. After the rain, the mountain roads were muddy—easy for a carriage to get trapped.
Shen Qingluo thanked him for telling her. A long, slender hand pushed a blue‑and‑white porcelain teacup toward her. Steam curled from the hot tea. She hesitated, then accepted it with both hands. Warmth spread through her chest, driving away the chill.
The two remained silent for the rest of the journey.
Ye Huaijin was her elder, a high minister of the court. For him to bother with giving her a ride was already an extraordinary kindness.
Shen Qingluo did not expect someone of his stature to have words for a mere young girl. She kept quiet, careful not to be a nuisance.
By the time the sun had completely vanished, the carriage entered the city.
At the gate, guards stood respectfully to the side.
The carriage halted before the gates of Marquis Zhongyong’s residence. Ye Huaijin, who had kept his eyes closed in repose, suddenly spoke, his voice slightly raised: “Tian Zhi, escort her back.”
Tian Zhi answered at once.
Afraid of bringing Ye Huaijin unnecessary trouble, Shen Qingluo instinctively refused: “Don’t trouble yourself, my lord. I can go in on my own.” She stole a glance at him—only to meet those heavy, unreadable eyes. He said nothing, nor did he retract his order.
Shen Qingluo dared not protest further. She obediently stepped down from the carriage.
Inside the main hall, the Shen family was gathered for supper. Shen Zheng sat at the head, glanced around, and asked, “Where is Qingluo?”
Madam Wei gave a cold snort but said nothing.
The Marchioness replied, “Qingluo has a wild temper. When we returned to the residence, she was nowhere to be found.”
She added, “Mother’s health is poor, and the weather is chilly today. We came back first. I’ve already sent someone to fetch her.”
It was not a lie—only that the person she claimed to have sent had not yet left. She had deliberately delayed, intending to teach Shen Qingluo a lesson.
Hearing this, Shen Zheng sided with the Marchioness. He asked a few questions about the situation at Baique Temple, and when he learned that Shen Qingluo had recklessly tried to cling to the Ye family, his dark face turned pale with shock. He slammed the table: “That unfilial girl!”
Madam Wei’s expression hardened. “You must discipline her properly. You serve under Fourth Master Ye—her lack of propriety will ruin your prospects.”
Shen Zheng nodded grimly. “Mother is right. When that unfilial girl returns, I will certainly…”
The words had barely left his mouth when the steward hurried in to report: “Marquis, the young lady has returned!”
Still fuming, Shen Zheng glared at him. “She’s back, so she’s back. Why the panic—do you expect me to go greet her myself?”
“Marquis, the young lady did not return alone.” The steward, flustered, stumbled over his words: “She was…”
Madam Wei frowned. “What could possibly be worth such a fuss?”
Catching his breath, the steward finally said, “She was escorted home by the personal attendant of Lord Ye of the Western Office!”
“What did you say?” Shen Zheng shot to his feet.
“I saw it myself. There’s a pitch‑black carriage stopped at the gate!”
No one knew better than Shen Zheng whose carriage that was. His face hardened instantly, and he strode out at once. He did not forget to order: “Open the central gate at once!”
Madam Wei rose with the Marchioness’s support. The two women exchanged a glance, each seeing the same astonishment in the other’s eyes.
Shen Zheng’s eldest and second sons followed close behind.
Just as the group stepped out of the main hall, they saw Shen Qingluo entering the courtyard—behind her, unmistakably, was Ye Huaijin’s trusted attendant.
With a smile plastered on his face, Shen Zheng bent his back slightly: “How could we trouble Lord Ye’s man to escort my daughter home?”
He glanced toward the main gate, probing: “It happens to be the supper hour—might the lord perhaps…”
Tian Zhi bowed, cutting him off: “My master has pressing duties and cannot enter the residence.”
Shen Zheng’s disappointment showed. But he understood well: Ye Huaijin was a man who neither socialized nor formed factions—no one could truly draw close to him.
Those who tried to cling to the Ye family, Tianzhi had seen too many. His tone remained steady, neither humble nor arrogant: “For my master, giving Miss Shen a ride was nothing more than a small courtesy.” His eyes were keen. He noticed the banquet laid out in the main hall, then looked at the eldest young lady—she seemed utterly out of place amid the lively household.
Already sympathetic toward Shen Qingluo, Tian Zhi spoke as he took his leave: “Miss Shen, if your family ever forgets you again at Baique Temple, you may seek out the abbot. He knows my master and will arrange a carriage for you.”
His words carried a hidden meaning—he was offering her a lifeline. Surprised, Shen Qingluo quickly composed herself, accepted graciously, and politely saw him off.
Shen Zheng’s eager hospitality had found no purchase.
The great gate closed.
At the dining table, silence fell.
The single word “forgotten” left Madam Wei and the Marchioness uneasy. Only moments ago they had conspired to claim Shen Qingluo had offended Madam Lu; now she had returned escorted by the trusted man of Ye Huaijin, the most powerful master of the Ye household. Even a mere ride home was something others would never dare to dream of.
Shen Zheng pointed at Shen Qingluo. “Speak.”
The aroma of food filled the hall; her stomach growled with hunger, but Shen Qingluo held back and carefully recounted everything that had happened at Gongde Hall.
“Father, I did this for the Marquisate and for you. Last year, during the great snow, the court ordered disaster relief. Each noble household set up porridge stalls and donated grain. Our Marquisate followed Duke An’s example and gave porridge for two days—neither meritorious nor blameworthy.”
She glanced at Shen Zheng, then continued: “Now His Majesty is tightening the army; the palace itself practices austerity to save for military rations. If, at this moment, Father and the Marquisate were to donate a large sum at Baique Temple, what would His Majesty think?”
Shen Zheng slowly straightened his posture. What would His Majesty think? Relief for the snow disaster had been a court order—he had done little. But donating heavily at Baique Temple, under Madam Lu’s lead, would look like he ignored the court yet sought favor with the Lu family.
One public, one private—His Majesty would surely see it as defiance of the throne, a bid to cling to another power.
Shen Qingluo went on, naming the households who had donated generously: “With the Lu family at the head, these households gave vast sums during the snow disaster. Now, donating incense money at Baique Temple is neither conspicuous nor suspect, and will even earn His Majesty’s praise.”
Seeing her father listening, she pressed further: “I donated in Grandmother’s name. First, she was a merchant by birth, never short of silver. Second, she has passed away—I was praying for her soul. Outsiders will not twist this into scandal.”
Finally, she said: “Since the founding of Nanchen, the realm has been governed by filial piety. My filial devotion is also Father’s filial devotion.”
Her words were logical and measured, coming from the daughter they had always looked down upon. Everyone present was astonished.
Shen Zheng was a soldier, blunt and rash, always in need of guidance. In the past, it was the Marchioness and Madam Wei who advised him. But this time, Shen Qingluo’s reasoning struck home—he found it sound. His tone softened, even his address changed: “Ah Luo speaks well.”
“Father, I am your own daughter. Of course I will always think for your sake.” Shen Qingluo appeared obedient and sensible.
The wind had shifted. Madam Wei and the Marchioness had not foreseen it.
The Marquisate’s eldest daughter, raised in distant Shanyang, not only understood the court’s balance of power but spoke with calm wisdom—digging a pit they themselves had stumbled into.