At this time, Lu Yan’s family had fallen into decline. Thanks to the protection of his grandfather, the Grand Tutor, he managed to secure a minor post in the Imperial Banquet Office as an eighth-rank official. He had begun his studies early—by the age of ten he was already well-versed in the Four Books and Five Classics, hailed by many as a prodigy, a “star of literature descended to earth.”
From childhood, the admiration of the capital gathered upon him; he was regarded as a favored son of heaven. But at fifteen, his grandfather suddenly passed away, and his father fell gravely ill. With no one left to support the household, their fortunes declined. Though he entered court by virtue of his grandfather’s achievements, the bureaucracy was full of sycophants who flattered the powerful and trampled the weak. As a low-ranking official, Lu Yan endured endless cold looks.
Proud by nature, he was determined to rise. He remembered the childhood betrothal arranged by his grandfather and decided to make use of it.
In his first year at the Imperial Banquet Office, he carried the token of that engagement—a Hetian jade pendant carved with dragon and phoenix—and stepped into the gates of the Marquis Zhongyong’s residence.
This marriage arrangement naturally fell upon Shen Qingluo.
Three years earlier, the Marchioness had presided over the exchange of betrothal tokens, sealing the match. Since then, Lu Yan visited the old estate once a year.
The first time he came, Shen Qingluo was shy and bashful, yet warmly welcoming. After that, each of his visits saw him treated almost as one of the Shen family’s own. Now, for the first time, he was met with indifference. Standing awkwardly, he saw Shen Qingluo’s calm expression. Suppressing his displeasure, he coaxed her softly: “Ah Luo, we are already betrothed. This time, I’ve come at the Marchioness’s bidding, to take you back and complete the marriage.”
From his sleeve he drew out the jade dragon-phoenix pendant, the token of their engagement, and his tone lifted: “Ah Luo, the wedding is set for the end of this year.” Then he added, “I know you love snowy days.”
Shen Qingluo’s heart gave a sharp pang. She remembered that snowy day before her death—how she had escaped the kidnappers’ den and stumbled back to the capital, only to find Lu Yan standing in the swirling snow. He wore the purple robes of a Grand Chancellor, his face cold as he flung a divorce letter at her: “You have lost your virtue. You are unworthy to be mistress of the Lu household.”
The stark black characters burned into her eyes. She was clad only in thin garments, her body smeared with blood, yet Lu Yan looked straight through her. Turning away, he left her with a single command: “Close the gates.”
Clutching the letter, she staggered down the street. Passersby pointed and whispered: “Grand Chancellor Lu is a genius of the age—what a pity he married such an ill-starred wife, dragging down his reputation.”
It was she who had been seized by bandits, she who had suffered—but the one who drew sympathy was Lu Yan. In that snow she sank into despair, and how could she ever love snowy days again? The girlish joy and shy delight he expected never appeared. Her eyes were cool and still, sweeping lightly over him, chilling to behold.
“Even with a betrothal, you have not yet married me, nor I you. In the past I was too young to understand, and now my grandmother’s mourning period is not yet over. It would be more proper for Young Master Lu to lodge at an inn.”
Young Master Lu? Lu Yan froze. He was used to hearing her call him “Brother Yan.” He told himself she must be grieving her grandmother, and so treated him with coldness.
“Ah Luo, don’t be sad. Once we return to Shengjing, I’ll accompany you to Baohua Temple to light a perpetual lamp for your grandmother, and we’ll make offerings throughout the seasons.”
His words were gentle, coaxing. Shen Qingluo answered with indifference, and he left the old estate reluctantly.
Back in her room, Nanny Bai said softly: “This Young Master Lu—his looks and bearing are outstanding, and he treats you kindly. Only… one always feels something is missing.” She could not quite put into words what was missing, but deep down Shen Qingluo already knew.
Lu Yan did not love her. Before she was abducted by mountain bandits, she had once stumbled upon Lu Yan and Shen Qingyi in a compromising situation. Lu Yan himself had confessed: “From the very first moment I saw Qingyi, I loved her. She is like the bright moon, forever hanging in my heart.”
Bright moon? A pair of shameless lovers.
Inwardly, Shen Qingluo cursed them both with every foul word she knew, then sat down to devour a large bowl of sweet rice dumplings Nanny Bai had made.
Douzi, watching her, asked: “Did those dumplings offend you somehow?”
Shen Qingluo nodded solemnly. “In my past life, I was just like one of these dumplings—kneaded flat, rolled round, toyed with at will. In this life, I’ll eat them all!”
Douzi: “…” He knew it—Shen Qingluo’s mind was not the sharpest.
She set her return to the capital for five days. From the inn came letter after letter, each one accompanied by a plate of sugar cakes—her favorite treat in the past.
The first time Steward Li brought the offering to Shen Qingluo, she waved it away: “The smell makes me sick. Give it to Da Huang instead.”
Da Huang was the watchdog at the gate.
Originally, Lu Yan had come in person to deliver the treats. But Douzi, ever farsighted, had tethered Da Huang at the entrance like a guardian spirit.
The moment Da Huang saw Lu Yan, he barked furiously, as though sensing something foul clinging to him. The commotion drew a crowd of onlookers.
Lu Yan, his pride wounded, tossed the parcel to Steward Li and left in haste.
Da Huang enjoyed an extra meal, and his zeal at guarding the gate only grew. For five days straight, Lu Yan never once set foot inside the old estate.
Instead, it was Steward Liu who arrived, beaming with joy. Before he could even bow, he exclaimed: “Miss, we’ve won—truly won! The Beirong army has collapsed, retreating a hundred li, abandoning Luoxia Pass!”
One month. It had truly been only one month!
Steward Liu thought to himself: the young lady is nothing short of miraculous.
“Sit, Steward,” Shen Qingluo said calmly. With the foresight of her past life, she was unsurprised. “After this battle, Beirong will keep quiet for at least a few years. Soon His Majesty will order the reopening of border trade.”
It was not only Beirong—beyond the northern frontier lay many small states that traded with Nanchen.
“You are right, Miss. We’ll wait a little longer,” Steward Liu said, no longer doubting her.
“Only…”
“Speak plainly, Steward.”
Suyue brought in the tea and withdrew, leaving Steward Liu to finally speak: “These past two days, Young Master Lu has come to the shop, probing here and there about its business. The accounts of profit and loss are never disclosed—I did not tell him the truth.”
That was his duty as steward. Yet Young Master Lu was the young lady’s betrothed, and Liu worried this might cause discord between them. To his surprise, Shen Qingluo praised him: “You did right, Steward.”
It was not hard to guess on whose behalf Lu Yan was asking. The Marquis’s household wanted to strip her bare—of course they needed to know whether the shops were gold mines or silver ones. Lu Yan himself harbored private motives. He weighed whether marrying a woman reeking of coin and seemingly foolish was worth it.
In her past life, Shen Qingluo had revealed everything without concealment. The properties her grandmother left her were laid bare, and Lu Yan had seized upon that. He married her, used her dowry to grease the wheels of officialdom, and climbed step by step.
“From now on, Steward Liu, anyone who comes to the shops must show the proper token.”
Did this mean even members of the Shen family would not be recognized?
Steward Liu glanced at Shen Qingluo. From her cool expression, he guessed the answer. He nodded firmly: “I understand. Rest assured, Miss.”
The day before her departure, Shen Qingluo summoned Steward Li and handed him the keys to the old estate and the storerooms. “Steward Li, I fear I won’t be able to return here for some time. I leave the estate, its belongings, and the servants in your care.”
The old man’s hands trembled as he received the keys. His weathered face was filled with resolve. “Rest assured, Miss. This estate was left to you by the Old Madam. No matter what, I will guard it.”
He wiped his tears; his voice choked. “Forgive me for speaking boldly; all these years, I have treated you as family. Now that you return to the capital, you must take good care of yourself.”
Shen Qingluo’s eyes grew red.
Like Nanny Bai, Steward Li had watched her grow up. She had been willful, even trampled on them, yet they only thought her too young to understand and never held it against her.
Even Steward Li’s son, simple and honest, always remembered that she feared the cold—whenever he hunted, the first furs went to her.
“Steward Li, I’ve arranged with Doctor Chen to come each month to check your pulse for peace of mind. If anything arises, go to the shop and find Steward Liu—he will send word to me.”
“I’ll remember… I’ll remember,” Steward Li said, both comforted by her newfound sense and saddened by it. The Old Madam was gone—who would protect the young lady now?
He sighed. “Miss, if life in Shengjing proves unhappy, come back to Shanyang. It may be small, but everyone here cares for you sincerely.”
Shen Qingluo sniffled and nodded. Watching his bent back as he left, she could no longer hold back—tears streamed down her face. A square of plain white silk landed on her shoulder. Douzi turned his head aside, as though her crying was too ugly to watch.
Through her tears, Shen Qingluo laughed. She teased him: “Come with me to Shengjing, and I’ll find you a fine marriage there. Haven’t you heard? The girls of Shengjing are said to be even more headstrong than the tofu-sellers.”
“Really?” Douzi turned back, genuinely pondering. Then he shook his head. “Headstrong or not, I don’t mind. If she causes trouble, I’ll protect her.”
Douzi was slow to grow, still half a head shorter than Shen Qingluo. She patted his head with a sigh. “Our Douzi has a sense of responsibility. Whoever marries you will be blessed.”
“Why do you keep calling me Douzi?”
“All right, all right—Song Xu. I’ll call you Ah-Xu from now on.”
“Suit yourself.”