Shen Qingluo remembered that not long after this, Consort Shu lost favor, and the Feng family was raided.
Feng Yuan, who had just married into the household of Sun Wenjing, Minister of Rites, narrowly escaped disaster. Though she kept her life, she dragged Sun Wenjing down with her, leaving his career in ruins. From then on, the Sun family steadily declined. And Feng Yuan’s interest in Sun Wenjing—its origin lay in today.
The blazing sun before they set out was now hidden by thick clouds pressing low, the painted pleasure boat swaying in the rising wind.
Tourists, wary of the Feng family’s power, gradually dispersed.
“You’re still not leaving?” Feng Yuan, whip in hand, pointed at Zhong Ling.
Though Zhong Ling’s nature was gentle, her backbone remained. She met Feng Yuan’s gaze and replied, “Guanhe Pavilion is not the Feng family’s private property. Why should we not be here?”
Feng Yuan gave a cold snort. “Because of the guards behind me.” Her voice sharpened: “Go, drive them out!”
Her eight guards, infamous for their brutality, obeyed only Feng Yuan’s word, never caring who stood before them.
Shen Qingyi tugged at Zhong Ling’s sleeve. “Sister Zhong, take a step back and the sea and sky will open wide. Look—it’s about to rain. Let’s go, shall we?”
Shen Chang’an also urged, “The Feng family’s power is overwhelming. If trouble breaks out, we’ll be the ones to suffer.”
Thinking of her father and brother’s future prospects, Zhong Ling reluctantly stepped back.
The group rose and boarded their respective pleasure boats.
Beside the Feng family’s grand vessel, two smaller boats were moored—one that Shen Qingluo and her companions had arrived in, and another belonging to Shen Chang’an.
The wind had grown fierce, rocking the boats violently. Shen Qingluo steadied Zhong Ling, whose foot had slipped. “Careful, Sister Zhong.”
Zhong Ling gave her a smile. “Thank you, Sister Luo.” Her smile was brighter than when she had first arrived. It was because she had seen the one she admired.
Shen Qingluo stood at the railing, casting a glance at Feng Yuan, who glared at them with arrogant disdain.
Feng Yuan bore grudges—and her jealousy of Zhong Ling ran deep.
On the return journey, the lake was crowded with more boats than before. The boatmen, seasoned and wary, knew that heavy wind and rain were imminent, and that capsizing was a real danger. They quickened their pace.
Seeing this, Zhong Ling instructed her maid, “Tell the boatman to go faster. Let’s reach the shore before the downpour begins. Reward him with extra silver.”
The maid obeyed.
No one had the heart to admire the scenery anymore. Shen Qingyi turned her head back, covering her mouth with a laugh. “Sister Zhong, my elder brother is following behind us. He must be worried about us.”
From the moment she boarded, half of Zhong Ling’s thoughts were fixed on Shen Chang’an—how could she not know it herself? Her face was already flushed crimson.
Shen Qingyi’s smile deepened; her mother’s wish was about to be fulfilled.
Just then, a large pleasure boat surged from behind, charging recklessly forward. The other boats scattered in panic.
Shen Qingting’s face went pale. “It’s Feng Yuan—does she mean to ram us?”
The answer was obvious.
“Quick, avoid her!” Zhong Ling cried out.
But with so many boats crowding the lake, it was impossible to dodge at will. In the frantic swerving, their vessel collided with another nearby, sending tables, stools, and benches crashing down. Teacups shattered across the floor.
They were all young ladies—none had ever faced such chaos. Frightened screams rang out.
Feng Yuan, still unsatisfied, stood at the prow with whip in hand and shouted, “Keep ramming them!”
The next collision was even more violent. The boat tilted sharply; Zhong Ling fell, nearly rolling out of the cabin.
Shen Qingluo had braced herself—one arm wrapped tight around a pillar, the other clutching Zhong Ling. “Sister Zhong, don’t let go!”
In that perilous moment, everyone else was too busy saving themselves.
Zhong Ling’s heart was moved; her voice choked, “Sister Luo…”
Shen Qingluo held on with all her strength. In her past life, this very day had brought a sudden gale. No one foresaw it, and many boats overturned upon Baihe Lake.
Feng Yuan rammed their pleasure boat, but she herself was not spared—caught by the gale, she was swept into the lake. It was Sun Wenjing, skilled in swimming, who leaped in after her and pulled her to safety.
Poor Sun Wenjing—kindhearted and brave—yet his good deed led only to a household in turmoil and a career cut short.
As for Shen Qingluo’s side—she, Shen Qingyi, and Zhong Ling all fell into the water. The lake surged over her nose and mouth. Wide-eyed, she saw her elder brother rescue Zhong Ling, while her second brother and Lu Yan pulled Shen Qingyi to safety. No one turned back for her. The icy water flooded her lungs. She did not know who finally saved her; when she awoke, she was already on the shore. After returning home, she fell gravely ill, plagued by nightmares. The Marchioness showed no concern. Instead, she summoned a Daoist priest to drive out evil spirits.
“Ah Luo, this calamity was brought on by the malevolent aura clinging to you. You will not only harm me and your father, but also your brothers and sisters. You are a curse.”
She could not refute it. Her eyes swelled from crying, and she began to doubt herself—was she truly inauspicious, someone who should never have been born?
As these thoughts weighed on her, she heard the boatman shout: “Miss, the wind is too strong! If this continues, the boat may capsize!”
“Ram them back!” Shen Qingluo commanded.
The others were too stunned to react. The boatman, pushed past his limit, swung the oar with force. Their vessel lurched sideways, striking the prow of the grand pleasure boat.
A fierce gust swept across the lake, waves crashing against the Feng family’s vessel. At the bow, Feng Yuan’s body pitched to one side.
With a loud *splash*, someone fell into the water.
At that very moment, Shen Chang’an’s boat caught up. He saw the collision between the two vessels and heard someone fall. Anxiously scanning the waves, he could not tell who had gone overboard.
The wind carried Shen Qingluo’s desperate cry: “Sister Zhong has fallen in—save her quickly!”
Shen Changting clutched the railing, his eyes gleaming. “Brother, this is the perfect chance!”
A life-saving debt—how could the Zhong family refuse to marry their daughter to us?
But more than one person had fallen. The lake was full of cries—some calling for help, others struggling to rescue.
Without time to think further, Shen Chang’an stripped off his outer robe and leaped into the water, swimming hard toward where “Zhong Ling” was said to have fallen.
The collision had not overturned Shen Qingluo’s boat; it had only thrown people from the cabin.
Zhong Ling clung tightly to the mast and managed to avoid being swept away. She heard Shen Qingluo’s shout. Once the boat steadied, she found her footing and called back, “Sister Luo, I’m here!”
The wind passed, and the rain began to fall.
The splendor of their outing was gone without a trace. Soaked through, the group looked like bedraggled waterfowl, utterly disheveled.
At last, the boats reached the shore safely.
Waiting servants hurried to help their mistresses into carriages. But Zhong Ling refused to leave. She searched everywhere, yet saw no sign of Shen Chang’an or the others.
Shen Qingluo urged her gently: “You’re soaked through—go back quickly, change your clothes, and drink a bowl of ginger soup to warm yourself.” She added, “The waters of Baihe Lake aren’t deep, and my elder brother is a strong swimmer. He’ll be fine.”
Zhong Ling’s expression eased. “I was truly frightened.” She apologized: “It was wrong of me to invite you all to the lake today. Another day, I will surely make amends to the three of you.”
Shen Qingluo replied, “The heavens did not favor us—it isn’t Sister Zhong’s fault.”
After this ordeal, Zhong Ling looked upon Shen Qingluo with the feeling of having met too late, and the two parted with mutual regard.
The Shen family’s carriage waited a full incense-stick’s time before the three brothers finally returned, dripping wet.
Shen Chang’an’s face was absent, his thoughts elsewhere. The driver called to him several times before he came back to himself and ordered them home.
Lowering the carriage curtain, Shen Qingluo’s lips curved in a faint smile.
At Baihua Tower, the Number One Heaven Room commanded the grand view of Baihe Lake. It belonged exclusively to Ye Huaijin.
Fourth Master Ye stood at the window, hands clasped behind his back, long fingers idly rolling a string of prayer beads. The beads were not perfectly smooth, and his motion faltered.
Behind him, Tian Zhi pushed open the door. “Fourth Master, I saw with my own eyes the eldest Miss Shen return home safely. She is unharmed.”
“That is well.” Ye Huaijin lifted his hand. The fragrant beads of Jialan wood gave off a faint scent. “The little girl’s life is resilient. The gift of thanks for these beads can be repaid another day.”