Zhong Ling already knew what she wanted to ask, but Shen Qingluo did not give her the answer she longed for.
“Elder Brother agreed of his own will to marry Feng Yuan. No one forced him.”
Zhong Ling was frail to begin with. Leaning against the pillow, she seemed like drifting willow fluff—ready to scatter at the slightest breeze. Her spirit had been drained away.
“Sister Zhong, though you grew up alongside my brother, you did not see him every moment. People change. The gentle, considerate brother you remember is only the side he chose to show you.”
Shen Qingluo’s words cut cruelly into her heart: “You did not lose to Feng Yuan. My brother chose the Feng family.”
She held Zhong Ling’s gaze. “If not the Fengs, there would be the Zhangs or the Lis. If not today, then tomorrow. Fortunately, your betrothal was never settled—you can see the truth early.”
Without the hindsight of a second life, Zhong Ling could not glimpse the tragedy that awaited her. She thought Shen Qingluo’s words harsh, yet she also felt they came from genuine concern.
She clung to Shen Qingluo and wept bitterly. After the storm of tears, she was calmer, even able to smile again—though her throat was hoarse and speaking was difficult.
Shen Qingluo asked her little maid to take Zhong Ling’s pulse and draft a new prescription.
“Don’t worry. This girl’s medical skill is excellent. Her father is a renowned physician in Shanyang County.”
Zhong Ling, astonished that one so young could practice medicine, said softly, “I see… thank you, little doctor.”
The maid giggled, lifted her chin proudly, and declared: “My surname is Chen.”
Madam Zhong escorted Shen Qingluo to the gate. She gave her a long, searching look and said, “Ah Luo, from now on, visit Ah Ling often.”
Shen Qingluo understood—Madam Zhong had overheard her words of counsel to Zhong Ling.
Zhong Ling, still young and sheltered, might not grasp everything, but Madam Zhong did.
Later, Madam Zhong told her daughter, “Shen family’s A’h Luo is better than Ah Yi. She is perceptive.”
Shen Qingluo never knew of this praise. She simply nodded and promised Madam Zhong she would come often to disturb them.
The wind carried a hint of warmth; street vendors already waved palm fans in their hands.
Shen Qingluo lifted the carriage curtain halfway, watching the scenery with a smile.
If Zhong Ling’s fate could be changed, then surely hers could too. She would no longer die as miserably as in her past life. As for a good husband—she had long abandoned hope. Her grandmother had said: a woman need not marry; living freely alone is happiness enough. Yet in Nanchen, women had no independent household registration. Without the Hou residence, she could not even leave the city gates.
By law, only an unmarried woman of a severed household could establish her own registry. Could it be that the Marquis’s household must all perish? Or perhaps she should assume another identity?
The warm breeze brushed against Shen Qingluo’s face. She noticed a vacant shop with a wooden sign posted outside: *For Rent*.
The shop fronted the main street, bustling with passersby. Nearby stood only one clothing store—perfect for opening another branch of the Li family’s cloth shop.
“With money, one can travel the world without fear.” That was her grandmother’s saying.
But opening a shop in the capital was no easy matter. Behind each storefront lay tangled networks of powerful patrons. Even the paperwork at the yamen to rent a shop was not something a young lady from an official family could handle openly.
Shen Qingluo suddenly recalled Manager Liu, who had managed her business in her previous life. He seemed to live… somewhere—she could not remember the exact street. She told Xiao Ya to inquire: “He used to be a waiter, with a paralyzed mother at home. By now he should be… posing as a fortune-teller, tricking people with tall tales.”
Xiao Ya hesitated: “Can that be reliable?”
Shen Qingluo insisted it was.
That man had a silver tongue and quick wits. With a single glance at someone passing by, he could deduce their family background and social standing. He was a rare and remarkable man. Unfortunately, all her shops had fallen under the Marchioness’s control. The Marchioness had replaced every one of her old retainers, and that man too had been swept out, vanishing without a trace.
Just as Shen Qingluo stepped through the door, Nanny Qian came to summon her to the main hall.
Shen Zheng was examining the lessons of his thirteen‑year‑old son, Shen Changyu. Shen Qingluo overheard him instructing the boy: “At the Ye family academy, you must always look to the young masters of the Ye household as examples. Restrain your temper—never offend them.”
“Yes, Father, I understand.” Shen Changyu was closer to his father than his elder brothers. He began recounting amusing stories from the academy.
“Yesterday, Fourth Uncle Ye came to the school. He even praised me, saying I could recite at a glance.”
Shen Qingluo caught that last sentence and immediately thought of Ye Huaijin’s stern, unyielding face. She imagined that once he entered the academy, the entire place must have fallen silent.
Lord Ye, the Fourth Master, had once been a general. Yet when it came to learning, he had also sat for the imperial examinations and won first place as *zhuangyuan*. But the court was crowded with civil officials, while the frontier lacked capable commanders. In his youth, full of vigor, Fourth Master Ye abandoned the pen for the sword. Even now in Shengjing, people still remembered the grand spectacle of his triumphant parade on horseback after winning the top scholar’s title.
To receive a word of praise from the Ye family’s ruling figure was no small matter. Shen Zheng laughed heartily and clapped his son on the shoulder. He even praised his gentle wife, who sat nearby smiling at father and son: “It is your teaching that has been good.”
The Marchioness replied, “I only understand the affairs within the inner quarters. The credit belongs to the Marquis.”
Shen Zheng stroked his mustache with satisfaction. Lifting his eyes, he saw his eldest daughter standing at the doorway and beckoned her in: “Ah Luo has come.”
Shen Changyu rose and called out, “Elder Sister.”
When they left the capital, Shen Changyu had been only a child. Now he was much changed, his features growing more and more like Shen Changan’s.
Shen Qingluo inclined her head slightly: “Little Brother.”
“Father, Mother, I will return to my rooms to review my lessons,” Shen Changyu said. He was neither close to nor familiar with his elder sister.
Shen Zheng waved his hand: “Go on.”
Nanny Qian brought in a bowl of sweet milk custard. The Marchioness said warmly, “Ah Luo, I remember you love this. I prepared it especially for you.”
The snow‑white milk was served in a porcelain bowl, garnished with hawthorn—pleasing to the eye and fragrant to the nose.
Shen Qingluo never denied herself such pleasures. She ate calmly.
The Marchioness pretended not to notice the calculation in her own eyes. Only after Shen Qingluo had finished did she speak: “Ah Luo, your elder brother’s wedding—the Feng family wishes it to be held in September. It is now only June, so less than three months remain.”
There was deeper meaning behind those words.
Shen Qingluo feigned ignorance: “Then I must congratulate Elder Brother.”
She did not take the bait. The Marchioness glanced at Shen Zheng, who cleared his throat and said, “Ah Luo, the Feng family is no ordinary household. Your mother and I have discussed it—the betrothal gifts we first arranged will surely not suffice.”
What had been set for the Zhong family was certainly not enough.
“You are right, Father.” Shen Qingluo neither argued nor questioned, only agreed smoothly.
It was like striking cotton with a fist—soft, yielding, impossible to grasp. The Marchioness finally could not hold back her true intent: “Though the Marquis estate is grand, it must feed a large family. We are stretched thin.” She added, “Your father and I are not scheming after your money. Your grandmother left you many shops. We only wish to borrow some funds to tide things over.”
Borrowing—yet whether it would ever be repaid, all present knew the truth.
Shen Qingluo spread her hands and sighed: “Father, Mother, you may not know. The northern frontier has been at war for two years. Silks cannot be transported out. In the warehouses, bolts have rotted, colors have spoiled. A great sum has already been lost.”
Her gaze was clear: “When I returned, the shopkeepers even said they might have to close the shops entirely, cutting off the tail to save the body.”
Facing her parents’ doubtful eyes, Shen Qingluo said calmly: “If you do not believe me, you may send someone to Shanyang County to check the accounts yourselves.”