The next morning, Shen Qingyi came to invite Shen Qingluo to go boating on the lake. “Elder Sister Zhong Ling will be there too,” she said.
Shen Qingluo agreed.
Joining them was their cousin Shen Qingting, who told Shen Qingluo, “Mother said that since Eldest Sister has only just returned, she isn’t yet familiar with Shengjing. I should accompany her more often.”
Shen Qingluo replied warmly, “Thank you, Third Sister.”
This was Madam Chen’s gesture of goodwill—proof that the box of Eastern pearls had not been wasted.
Within the Marquis’s household, the three branches appeared harmonious on the surface, yet beneath lay constant rivalry.
The First Branch, with its hereditary title, was unshakable in status.
The Second Branch’s Shen Tai had a mother who was once a maid by Grandfather’s side. When she became pregnant, she was elevated to concubine, but she died soon after giving birth. From then on, Shen Tai was raised by Madam Wei. Later, Madam Wei bore her own son, Shen Yi.
While Grandfather lived, Madam Wei was careful and impartial. After his death, however, she secretly favored her own child. Shen Tai failed to notice, but Madam Chen saw clearly and kept it in mind.
Such great houses often collapse swiftly—not from outside blows, but from rot within.
Madam Chen could well become an ally.
Before they left, Nanny Bai gave endless instructions to Shancha and Shaoyao: “You must take good care of the young lady.” Her voice was heavy with worry: “The young lady fears water.”
The two maids nodded earnestly.
Shen Qingluo did not bring along Xiao Ya or Douzi. One was buried in the little pharmacy, the other shut away with his books.
Douzi had been stirred after seeing her three younger brothers studying. The eldest two, Shen Chang’an and Shen Changlin, had little talent for learning.
Shen Zheng now pinned his hopes on the youngest son.
Shen Changyu, about the same age as Douzi, had already mastered the Four Books. Douzi, with no teacher, lagged far behind.
These past days, Shen Qingluo had been pondering how to send Douzi to the Ye family academy as well. Should she have him recognize Ye Huaijin as his foster father?
Shen Qingluo shook her head, startled by her own thought.
The carriage halted at Baihe Lake. Rippling green waves shimmered under the willows, where clusters of white cranes perched gracefully upon the water.
Zhong Ling had already arrived. A maid shaded her with a parasol, and when she saw the Shen sisters, she greeted them with a gentle smile.
“Has Sister Zhong been waiting long?” Shen Qingyi stepped forward, lightly clasping Zhong Ling’s hand.
“I just arrived,” Zhong Ling replied, nodding to Shen Qingting before letting her gaze linger briefly on Shen Qingluo. “Ah Luo, you look lovely today.”
Shen Qingluo had not dressed with any special care, and she knew Zhong Ling’s words were meant as deliberate friendliness. It seemed clear now—the Zhong family had agreed to let Zhong Ling marry Shen Chang’an.
Shen Qingluo returned a polite remark.
At the lakeside, a painted barge awaited. Zhong Ling, acting as hostess, led the way. She lifted the Xiangfei bamboo curtain, revealing inside a low couch, embroidered stools, and a small table set with tea service and a chessboard.
At the stern, a shaded alcove offered rest for the maids and attendants.
Shancha and Shaoyao, following Shen Qingluo’s instructions, were busy striking up conversation with Zhong Ling’s maids.
“There’s a pavilion ahead called Guanhe Pavilion,” Zhong Ling said with a smile. “If you’re lucky, the white cranes will alight upon the railings.”
“In springtime, when the fine rain drifts down, it looks most enchanting,” Shen Qingyi added.
“And when the skies clear, you can hear the strains of silk and bamboo drifting from Baihua Tower,” Zhong Ling’s laughter curved her brows and eyes.
Shen Qingluo watched her. So radiant now—yet after marrying Shen Chang’an, she would wither little by little.
When they reached Guanhe Pavilion, several brightly dressed young gentlemen leaned against the railing, calling out in greeting.
At the front stood Shen family’s two elder brothers, with Lu Yan just behind them.
“Sister Ling,” Shen Chang’an bowed with elegant courtesy.
Zhong Ling, not expecting Shen Chang’an to be there, was momentarily startled. Then shyness overtook her; she lowered her head, cheeks flushed, and murmured softly, “Brother Shen.”
“Sister Ling, when I passed Daoxiang Studio, I had them prepare your favorite crab-roe pastries,” Shen Chang’an said, turning slightly aside.
On the stone table within the pavilion lay several boxes of cakes. One glance told Shen Qingluo they were all the treats Zhong Ling loved best.
Only in the corner lay a single plate of crisp sugar candies—the one thing Shen Qingluo herself liked. She glanced at Lu Yan and found him looking back at her, his eyes glimmering with spring warmth. What an act.
They all took their seats.
Of them, Shen Qingluo alone remained silent. Shen Changting, recalling his grieving mother, deliberately raised his voice: “To see your elder brother and not even greet him—such poor manners!”
The pavilion was not occupied by the Shen and Zhong families alone; other young men and women out for leisure had gathered there as well. At once, all eyes turned toward Shen Qingluo, whispering and pointing.
In noble households, rules outweighed all else. To be accused of lacking manners was enough to ensure a girl could never hold her head high in her husband’s home.
“Ah Luo has only just returned, and this is outside the household. It’s natural she might be caught off guard,” Zhong Ling interjected.
Earlier, Shen Qingluo had stood quietly in the corner, with no one speaking to her. Zhong Ling had noticed, and assumed she was being neglected, sulking like a child. But her attempt to smooth things over was ignored. Shen Chang’an said, “Sister Ling, she grew up in the countryside. Manners must be taught—and that is a brother’s duty.”
Zhong Ling furrowed her brows but said no more—it was, after all, the Shen family’s domestic affair.
“Ah Luo, Second Brother has already taught you. You should know what to do,” Shen Chang’an spoke with the authority of an elder brother.
In her past life, Shen Qingluo had exhausted herself trying to please her two elder brothers—providing betrothal gifts, plotting their prospects.
Second Brother was forever entertaining friends at fine restaurants, the expenses all drawn from Shen Qingluo’s private treasury. Even after she married, though her own household was strapped for money, she continued to cover Shen Changting’s indulgences for Lu Yan’s sake.
None of it earned her the slightest affection. In their hearts, only Shen Qingyi counted as a sister.
“Eldest Brother is right—it was my mistake,” Shen Qingluo said.
Shen Chang’an nodded, satisfied. “You know your fault…”
“But truly, it was only that my eyesight failed me. Just now I didn’t recognize Eldest and Second Brother—I thought you were strangers.”
Interrupted mid-sentence, Shen Chang’an’s face darkened. “What do you mean? You can’t even recognize your own brothers? Sounds like you’re just making excuses!”
Shen Qingluo replied evenly, “Ah Luo has been away from home for eight years. When I left, I was still a child. I only remember that Eldest and Second Brother were out socializing and did not come to see me off.”
She added, “In Shanyang County, I often thought of my elder brothers. Yet since I returned to the manor more than two months ago, you have been busy and never once remembered that you had a younger sister—not once did you come to visit me.”
Looking directly at her brothers, whose faces had turned iron blue, she said, “I do not blame you. But after so long, appearances and voices change. Truly, I did not recognize you.”
The onlookers suddenly understood. So it was the brothers who had been cold and neglectful—then the sister could hardly be faulted for seeming ill-mannered.
Shen Changting glared at Shen Qingluo, ready to argue further, but Shen Chang’an stopped him. He valued his reputation, and with Zhong Ling present, he could not afford to lose face.
“Enough, enough. A trifling matter—let it rest,” Shen Chang’an said.
When the crowd dispersed, he turned to scold Shen Qingluo again: “So young, yet already sharp-tongued. You’re nothing like Ah Yi, who is obedient and well-behaved.”
Shen Qingluo remained unmoved. “I’ll take that as Eldest Brother praising me.”
“You…” His words were cut short.
“Look—up ahead!” Shen Qingting suddenly exclaimed, pointing forward.
In the distance, another painted barge—larger than theirs—was heading toward the same destination. It docked at Guanhe Pavilion.
Shen Qingluo caught sight of the passengers disembarking, and her gaze flickered.
It was Feng Yuan. The Feng family had once flourished, their power secured because the eldest daughter was the emperor’s most favored Consort Shu. And none was more ostentatious than Miss Feng herself. She was even granted the title of County Princess Heyi by imperial decree.
When Feng Yuan saw Shen Qingyi and Zhong Ling, she gave a subtle signal. At once, her maid declared, “Today, no idle folk are permitted near Guanhe Pavilion.”
The pavilion was not private property, and many had come from afar to admire it. With one airy command, she had wasted their efforts.
Such arrogance.