The morning mist had yet to disperse when Shen Qingluo stepped onto the carriage bound for the capital. Lifting the curtain, she caught sight of the council hall through the wide‑open gates. Two pear‑wood armchairs sat empty. Her tear‑filled eyes seemed to conjure the image of her grandmother, dressed in her usual brown robe, hands folded neatly, seated with dignified composure. In that stern voice she asked: “To govern others, one must balance leniency with strictness. Just now, when Grandmother spoke with the shopkeeper, did you take note of her words and actions?”
At fifteen, Shen Qingluo had little patience. “Grandmother, I am the legitimate daughter of the Marquis’s household. I should not be tainted by the stench of commerce—it would lower my status.”
Her grandmother gazed at her. The aged face still held sharp eyes; when she did not smile, her brow furrowed deeply, and in those eyes lay a sorrow Shen Qingluo could not then understand. The granddaughter she had raised with care now despised her. A lifetime of devotion had yielded only ungrateful heirs.
Guilt welled up inside Shen Qingluo. She lowered her gaze and waved farewell to Steward Li and the others who had come to see her off. Steward Li’s eyes reddened as he bid her goodbye.
*Grandmother, I am leaving.*
The April wind brushed against Shen Qingluo’s face, tears soaking her cheeks. From that day forward, for many years, she would never shed tears again. The carriage rolled onto the docks. The mist lifted, and sunlight slanted across the river, scattering into a glittering expanse.
A grand river barge lay quietly at the dock, a lantern swaying at the stern as passengers boarded, its glow rocking with their steps.
Though the three‑month mourning period had not yet passed, Shen Qingluo remained in plain attire. Her jet‑black hair was coiled high, pearl drops at her ears setting off skin fairer than snow. Her eyes were dark and luminous, carrying a natural liveliness—so much so that even when gazing upon an enemy, there lingered a trace of tenderness. And now, after a bout of tears, the reddened corners of her eyes lent her a fragile charm.
Lu Yan, who had come to help her down from the carriage, froze for a moment. Another face rose unbidden in his mind. Comparing carefully, he realized Shen Qingluo’s beauty was no less than Shen Qingyi’s. Yet it was not her looks alone that startled him. A wife should be virtuous; in bearing and composure, she rivaled Shen Qingyi—that was what unsettled him most. Fixing his gaze, he extended a hand with gentle concern: “Ah Luo, mind your step.”
But the fragrance brushed past him as her graceful figure alighted on her own. His solicitude fell to nothing, and a mocking laugh reached his ears, flushing his face crimson. He turned his anger on Douzi, the boy blocking the gate of the old estate: “You impudent servant, no manners at all!”
Douzi lifted his chin proudly: “You haven’t married my young lady yet—what makes you think you’re master here?”
Nanny Bai frowned at the words, tapping the boy’s head in warning. She reminded him not to speak recklessly—after all, this was the young lady’s betrothed, and she feared future discord.
Lu Yan, however, only sneered inwardly. These people still had to bow to his will. If he refused to marry Shen Qingluo, then with her current reputation, no man in Shengjing would dare take her as his wife.
Thinking this way, Lu Yan regained his confidence. To marry Shen Qingluo was her fortune—he need not humble himself so much. “Ah Luo, though you grew up in Shanyang, the Marquis’s household is your true home. The Marchioness runs the estate with strict discipline, praised by all. You should learn from her. For servants, obedience and loyalty are what matter most.”
His disdainful gaze swept over Douzi. “A servant who shows no respect for his master should be cast out. Bringing such rabble into the Marquis’s household would stain your name.”
Standing on the pier, strands of hair drifting across her brow, Shen Qingluo smiled without warmth: “All of Shengjing knows I am an ill‑omened woman. If Lord Lu values his life, he had best cancel our betrothal.”
Lu Yan choked, his face flushing red. He had invoked the Marquis’s household to put her in her place, to remind her of her identity. Yet Shen Qingluo had turned his words against him. Without marrying her, his career would be doomed.
“Ah Luo, I never meant to despise you,” he lowered his stance. “Your servants are yours to command, as they should be.”
The pier grew crowded with people. Shen Qingluo, unwilling to linger, led Nanny Bai and the others aboard the ship.
Lu Yan clenched his teeth and followed after.
The boat had two levels, with private cabins. Shen Qingluo shared one with Xiao Ya, while Lu Yan stayed next door. As she closed her door, he reminded her gently: “The wind has picked up; the boat may rock. If you feel seasick, Ah Luo, go down to the lower deck and breathe the river air.”
Shen Qingluo nodded.
Traveling upstream along the river would take half a month to reach Wang County, and then another day’s carriage ride before arriving in the capital.
The first three days passed smoothly, but on the fourth, a fine rain began to fall. The deck was deserted, and Shen Qingluo lay curled in her cabin, retching until the world spun. When the boat docked at Jiangling City for half an hour, she stepped ashore, and only then did she feel some relief on solid ground.
Xiao Ya, who had never slept in a proper bed before, was instead full of energy. Gazing at the bustling Jiangling wharf—several times livelier than Shanyang—she said, “My father told me there’s a very skilled doctor in this city.”
Shen Qingluo promised that if the chance arose, she would let Xiao Ya seek him out. The girl was easily content; even a simple promise eased her homesickness.
Back on the boat, Shen Qingluo noticed that the cabin beside hers was now occupied. Glancing sideways, she caught sight of a tall figure. The cramped room seemed barely able to contain him. One hand was clasped behind his back, a string of rosewood prayer beads wound around his wrist. Small-leaf rosewood—among the finest of its kind.
Shen Qingluo guessed this man’s identity was not ordinary. Just as he was about to turn, she quickly pushed open her own cabin door.
By midnight, the wind and rain had grown fierce, the boat pitching violently. Shen Qingluo’s head throbbed unbearably. Not wanting to wake the sleeping Xiao Ya, she slipped out quietly and stood on the pitch-dark deck, letting the river wind cool her for a while. The ache eased somewhat, but her steps were unsteady as she returned. Perhaps the wind had blown too hard—the candles in the corridor had all gone out.
Feeling her way through the dark, Shen Qingluo pushed open a door. A faint fragrance of sandalwood lingered at her nose. That scent… why did it feel so familiar?
The night was moonless, everything cloaked in darkness. Only the faint rustle of clothing could be heard, as though someone had risen and put on a robe. Shen Qingluo thought she had disturbed Xiao Ya, and whispered softly: “My head was aching, so I went out for some air. I feel better now. Go back to sleep.”
Ye Huaijin, startled by the gentle voice—misty and delicate like Jiangnan rain—loosened his grip on the sword in his hand. He remained seated, unmoving. Had she entered the wrong room?
No reply came for a long while. Shen Qingluo, groping her way past the screen, knocked over a stool and stumbled forward. Suddenly, a pair of strong hands caught her arm, stopping her from falling.
The room lit up abruptly.
Not with candlelight, but with the cool glow of a luminous pearl, shining like moonlight.
At last, Shen Qingluo saw the man before her clearly. Her heart surged like storm-tossed waves—words failed her. Her apricot eyes widened, and the word “Uncle” nearly slipped from her lips. She had not often used that form of address. After marrying Lu Yan, she had visited the Ye household, where Ye Huaijin was an old friend of Lu Yan’s father. Following her husband’s lead, she had called him Uncle.
The Ye family was a venerable clan, its ancestors having fought alongside the First Emperor. By Ye Huaijin’s generation, the family was flourishing, brimming with talent. Yet before him, even the most accomplished bowed with respect.
Lu Yan himself was cautious in Ye Huaijin’s presence, and Shen Qingluo no less so. On the rare occasions she had met him, she was just another junior among many, unnoticed.
Now, as the wind whipped the sails outside, Shen Qingluo’s panic mirrored their frantic flapping. Her unusual fear did not escape Ye Huaijin’s notice.