“It’s only a bit of motion sickness; why let it weigh so heavily on your heart, Sister-in-law?” Xie Yuechan’s tone was light and breezy, as if the messy ordeal from moments ago hadn’t bothered her in the slightest.
“You see me looking perfectly fine now, but when I was a child, forget these bumpy trails—I couldn’t even handle a carriage ride on a smooth stone road.”
Princess Duanmin looked at her with a flicker of disbelief, truly observing her for the first time. “I find that hard to believe,” she admitted. Xie Yuechan had been chirping away like a bird all morning; she hadn’t seen a single sign of discomfort.
“I knew today would be a rough ride, so I went light on breakfast and avoided anything soupy. When the nausea hits, I find it helps to have a bit of something refreshing to wake up the senses. Would you like to try one?”
With the flourish of a street performer showing off a treasure, Xie Yuechan pulled a tightly wrapped piece of oilcloth from her sleeve. The Princess instinctively covered her nose and mouth, terrified that the scent of grease or heavy food would trigger another bout of vomiting.
But the expected nausea never came. Inside the cloth were small, crystalline squares that looked like rock candy, tinted a pale, translucent green and no larger than a thumbnail.
“What is this?”
“Peppermint candies,” Xie Yuechan explained. “I boiled them down using mint and brown sugar. They’re cooling and refreshing. They’re perfect for clearing the palate after a heavy meal, or for a quick pick-me-up when you’re feeling sluggish.”
She leaned a little closer. Driven by curiosity and unable to refuse such a genuine offer, the Princess took a piece and popped it into her mouth.
A wave of icy, herbal freshness instantly swept through her mouth. The sharp, clean sting of the mint stimulated her senses, and as she swallowed, the cooling sensation traveled down her throat, clearing her head as if a heavy fog had suddenly lifted.
The Princess had never imagined a tiny sweet could be so potent. Her eyes widened with surprise and delight. “Third Sister-in-law, where can one buy these?”
“If you like them, I’ll whip up a fresh batch and send them over to your courtyard once we’re back home.”
“Such a clever idea… did you truly make these yourself?” The Princess was genuinely shocked. The rumors she’d heard about Xie Yuechan had been far from flattering, painting her as a useless socialite.
However, after this brief time alone, she realized the girl was nothing like the arrogant, boorish creature the gossips described. As a former general, Duanmin’s mind was straightforward; she had little patience for the complex schemes of high-society ladies, and her opinion of Xie Yuechan shifted instantly.
Xie Yuechan popped a candy into her own mouth and laughed.
“Your sister-in-law lacks any real talent,” she said modestly. “I can’t compete with our Eldest Sister-in-law’s literary brilliance or her skill in managing the household. And I certainly lack your courage—you who can slay enemies on the field and support Second Brother at home. The only thing I’m passably good at is cooking, and that’s only because I happen to love eating.”
“People used to say the daughter of the Marquis of Heyang was a total fool,” the Princess said, her expression turning uncharacteristically solemn. “I didn’t entirely believe them, but I’d never met you myself. It seems today has proven the old saying right: a rumor repeated often enough becomes a false truth.”
Xie Yuechan gave a small, cryptic shake of her head.
The absurdities of the past… well, while the rumors were certainly exaggerated, the things the “original” Xie Yuechan had done weren’t exactly fiction. It was a bit difficult to explain her sudden transformation, so she simply laughed it off and changed the subject.
With the peppermint candies to keep the nausea at bay, the rest of the journey passed smoothly. At long last, they arrived at the bustling banks of Jinming Lake.
It was nearly nine in the morning, and the dragon boat races were about to begin. Today, the spectator stands were largely reserved for invited noble families to ensure the safety of the imperial party, while the common folk were relegated to the outer perimeter, straining for a distant glimpse of the water.
Below the stands, several massive cowhide drums had been set up. Soldiers from the Western Camp, stripped to the waist to reveal lean, powerful chests, struck the drums in a synchronized, thunderous rhythm to stir the morale of the arriving teams.
Because of the delay on the road, Xie Yuechan and the Princess arrived to find the stands mostly filled. Luckily, the Emperor’s party had not yet taken their seats. Xie Yuechan ducked her head and hunched her shoulders, weaving through the crowd to avoid the gaze of any acquaintances. She finally slipped into her seat with a long sigh of relief.
Princess Duanmin sat beside her, while on her other side sat the eldest sister-in-law, Madam Zhu, and the Gu sisters. Old Madam Gu was seated just above them, sipping tea and chatting with several other high-ranking matrons. Naturally, the conversation eventually drifted toward her newest daughter-in-law.
Xie Yuechan’s suspicious, hunched-over entrance had been caught by every one of those sharp-eyed matriarchs.
Old Madam Gu let out a cold snort and looked away.
The Duchess of Heng looked on with a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Your third daughter-in-law is certainly as… spirited and natural as the rumors suggest. You are truly blessed, Yan-niang; all three of your sons’ wives are quite unique.”
Yan-niang was Old Madam Gu’s childhood name. Having been friends for decades, she could hear the sarcasm dripping from every word. Ever since the engagement between the Gu and Xie families was announced, the Duchess of Heng had clearly been waiting for this very moment to gloat.
“A-Chan is simply pure-hearted. She lacks the steady temperament of Qiu-shan, of course,” Old Madam Gu countered smoothly, before delivering a sharp jab of her own. “But then again, you’re lucky—you don’t have to worry about such things at all, do you?”
The Duchess, whose own family troubles were well-known, fell silent, her smile curdling.
“Now, now,” interjected the diplomatic Madam Kong, stepping in to play peacemaker. One was her cousin and the other a lifelong friend; both were as proud as peacocks, and if she didn’t stop them, they’d bicker until sunset. “We’re all old crones now. Why are we squabbling like young girls?”
She quickly pivoted to a safer—if more scandalous—topic to distract the Old Madam while satisfying their collective curiosity. “Speaking of which, the Princess seems much more mellow these last few years. I remember how she used to be… I heard your second son took in another newcomer recently? Did it go smoothly this time?”
The question was loaded. Years ago, Gu Zheng’s romantic escapades had been the talk of Bianjing.
The first time, a madam from the Moon Pavilion had shown up at their door, claiming a dancer refused to see clients because she was waiting for the day Gu Zheng promised to “come for her.” At the time, Princess Duanmin had been married to Gu Zheng for only a year and a half. Upon hearing the news, she had drawn her sword, marched straight to his government office, and dragged him home for a confrontation. It was a massive scene, settled only when Old Madam Gu stepped in, ransomed the girl, and kept her as a second-class maid.
The second time involved a famous courtesan named Shuang’er. She was a clever woman who had saved her own ransom money and knelt before the Gu manor for three days without food or water.
The Princess had refused to yield, leading to another public, ugly row with Gu Zheng. Eventually, unable to bear the pointing fingers of passersby and Gu Zheng’s own pleas of “true love,” the Old Madam gave in. Shuang’er was brought in as a secondary wife; she eventually gave birth to the eldest son of the second branch, securing her position.
After that, a steady stream of “flowers” from the city’s gardens came seeking “responsibility” from Gu Zheng. Even Old Madam Gu grew tired of her son’s philandering and gave him a harsh dressing down, leading to a few years of peace. But recently, a musician named A-Xia had appeared.
A-Xia was pregnant, claiming the child was Gu Zheng’s and tearfully begging for shelter.
The Old Madam had expected the Princess to reach for her sword again. To everyone’s shock, Duanmin had been the one to suggest bringing the woman in as a concubine. She had even taken the initiative to promote all the concubines who had borne children to the status of “Noble Concubine.”
This sudden shift left the Old Madam—who had spent years worrying about her daughter-in-law’s fiery temper—deeply unsettled. She rarely pried into the private affairs of her children’s bedrooms, so she had no way of knowing that the Princess hadn’t grown “mellow.”
Her heart had simply gone cold.