Xie Linxu sat opposite her, washing his hands. He said, “You yourself lacked restraint yesterday. This morning you couldn’t get out of bed—how is that my fault?”
Yesterday. Lacked restraint.
The maids stood nearby, listening to the heir and his wife speak, not daring to interrupt. Yet all of them couldn’t help recalling last night.
The previous night, the heir and his wife had shared the bed. The commotion was unusually loud, the lady’s voice far too explicit—so much so that even outside the room it was heard clearly.
Hearing Xie Linxu speak this way, Song Xingyue also remembered last night. Perhaps realizing things had gone too far, she felt rare embarrassment. Her cheeks flushed red, and she said no more. Forget it. There was no point in pressing further. Even if Xie Linxu deliberately meant to shame her, she had nowhere to complain. Even if the Heavenly King himself came, it would still be his word.
Later that night, Song Xingyue cleansed herself and sat before the bronze mirror, rubbing fragrant balm onto her face, her neck, her wrists. She moved absentmindedly, lost in thought, not even noticing that Xie Linxu had already gone to bed.
At last, it was Xie Linxu who pulled her back from her reverie. “Still not sleeping? How long will you sit there?”
Song Xingyue realized he was ready to rest. She blew out the lamp and climbed onto the bed. In the darkness, only the sound of their breathing intertwined.
Unexpectedly, Xie Linxu spoke first. His voice in the dim night was even colder. “What did Mother punish you to copy today?”
“Admonitions for Women*” Song Xingyue gave a small laugh and softly repeated the lines she had copied that afternoon: “‘The husband is Heaven. Heaven cannot be escaped, the husband cannot be left. Quiet and chaste, guarding virtue, orderly in conduct, modest in self, proper in movement—this is called womanly virtue…’ I copied so much, my head aches, my hand aches too…”
The Duchess and her younger sister-in-law had mocked her for not bearing a child. She copied the book as she listened to their words, her head throbbing faintly.
As she spoke, her voice faltered for a moment. She thought of something, turned her head toward Xie Linxu. Tonight there was no moon; in the darkness she could only vaguely make out his silhouette.
“Changzhou, don’t tell me it’s because I cried out too loudly last night that you deliberately had Mother punish me?” Song Xingyue gave a light laugh. “Just tell me. I won’t make a sound next time. I copied books all day—my hand still hurts so much.”
Xie Linxu had deliberately kept the servants from waking her that morning.
She knew well enough that her mother‑in‑law disliked her—Xie Linxu was not unaware of it. He stayed silent for a long time, almost as if agreeing with her suspicion.
Song Xingyue thought he would never speak again, until at last he asked in a cool voice: “Have you never made a sound in bed before?”
When she had first married into the Duke’s household, Song Xingyue had been timid and afraid of him, keeping quiet during intimacy. Later, realizing that aside from his cold demeanor, he would not truly harm her, her courage grew. She no longer avoided such matters, nor did she hide or stifle her voice.
Xie Linxu, though excessively bound by rules and propriety, had never taken offense at this. After all, relations between man and woman were natural. If he grew angry or ashamed over such things, it would be rather pointless. So was it for some other reason?
Song Xingyue could not understand. What else had she done to offend him? Unable to figure it out, she stopped thinking. After a long day of exhaustion, wrapped in the heavy darkness, she drifted into sleep.
That night they rested early. By dawn the next morning, Song Xingyue awoke. The space beside her was empty. She reached out, finding Xie Linxu’s pillow already cold. Alarmed, she feared he had gone ahead to pay respects without her, and hurriedly rose.
Just then, her personal maid entered from outside. Seeing her mistress flustered, she quickly set down what she carried and asked, “Miss, what’s wrong? Why are you in such a rush so early?”
This maid, only sixteen, was named Danping and had come with her as part of her dowry.
Song Xingyue, rising, asked, “Where is the young master? Has he already left?”
Normally, Xie Linxu would attend morning court and wouldn’t need to visit Rongming Hall. But lately, with court suspended, the couple had gone together to pay respects. If today he left her behind as he had yesterday, she feared she would again suffer Jingxi’s scorn.
Danping’s reply steadied her heart: “The heir is still here, reading outside.”
Relieved that he had not yet gone, Song Xingyue wasted no time. After washing and dressing, she stepped out. Just as she emerged from the inner room, she saw Xie Linxu rising to leave. Pretending not to notice, she followed as usual, smiling brightly: “Changzhou, good morning. I’m ready—let’s go together.”
Even when he clearly meant to abandon her, she acted as though she hadn’t seen.
For two years now, Song Xingyue had always been this way. No matter how cold his face, no matter how he treated her, she carried on cheerfully, as if his coldness were meant for the rest of the Xie family, not for her. Her skin was thick—so thick she could endure insult without complaint. So thick that Xie Linxu no longer bothered to argue with her. At first he would still speak sharp, disdainful words. Later, even those he grew too weary to say. Now, as always, he ignored her greeting, walking out alone.
Song Xingyue trailed behind him step by step, following toward Rongming Hall. They arrived at Rongming Hall on time; no one else had come yet.
As usual, Princess Jingxi took advantage of the morning to speak more with Xie Linxu, leaving Song Xingyue standing aside, unable to join in.
After about a quarter of an hour, the Xie family’s second son, Xie Linfu, and his wife, Madam Huang, arrived one after the other.
It is often said one should marry before establishing a career. Few were like Xie Linxu, who had already made his mark at such a young age. The second son, Xie Linfu, was only nineteen, still preparing for the imperial examinations, not yet in office. He had married the third young lady of the Minister of Rites’ Huang family the previous year. The couple moved quickly—within less than a year, Madam Huang was already with child.
This young lady of the Huang household was of high birth, a legitimate daughter. By contrast, Song Xingyue’s father was only a sixth‑rank official.
In the capital, where tossing a stone into the air might land on an official’s head, a sixth‑rank post was hardly impressive. In an ordinary family it might be respectable enough, but for such a household to become in‑laws with the Duke’s mansion was something people laughed at.
Since marrying into the Xie family, Madam Huang had always looked down on her sister‑in‑law.
Indeed, upon entering the inner hall, after greeting Xie Linxu and Princess Jingxi, Madam Huang held her head high and ignored Song Xingyue completely.
Xie Linfu, however, had the best temper in the family. After greeting his mother, elder brother, and sister‑in‑law, he noticed his wife’s behavior. Tugging at her sleeve, he signaled for her not to be so rude to her sister‑in‑law.
Madam Huang paid him no mind. Irritated by his pulling, she snapped half‑angrily, half‑teasing: “What are you tugging at me for? If you itch, go wash yourself.”
Unable to persuade her, Xie Linfu gave up, only offering Song Xingyue an apologetic smile.
Song Xingyue, of course, did not take it to heart.
As the group chatted, the conversation drifted—without anyone noticing—toward the subject of children. Song Xingyue quietly sipped her tea, eyes lowered, unable to join in.
Then, someone suddenly spoke in a low voice: “There’s a saying among the people, and it rings true: of the three forms of unfilial conduct, having no heir is the greatest. If after three years there are no children, divorcing the wife seems reasonable enough…”
The words struck like a hammer, leaving Song Xingyue’s ears ringing. She could not even tell whether Princess Jingxi or Madam Huang had spoken.
The words were far too blunt. Song Xingyue suddenly felt a ringing in her ears; for a moment her thoughts grew muddled, and inexplicably she recalled the time two years ago when she had just married into the Xie family.
Her marriage to Xie Linxu had come entirely from an accidental entanglement. It was at a banquet. Wine had spilled on her clothes, and she rose to go to the washroom to change. On the way, she unexpectedly encountered Xie Linxu, his steps slightly unsteady, his expression clearly wrong, and he was alone. She suspected he was suffering from an attack of illness and followed him. He hurried into the quiet chamber, and she went in after him. And then, that happened.
At the time, Song Xingyue knew who Xie Linxu was, but he likely did not know her.
The Xie family had been a noble house for five generations; their ancestors were men who had fought alongside the emperor to win the realm. The dukedom had been inherited ever since, and the current Duke was serving as Minister of Personnel.
Two years ago, Xie Linxu was only twenty, newly come of age. At nineteen, he had placed third in the palace examination. Born to high rank, famed in youth—during those two years he was the most celebrated young man in the capital.
“Bones heavy, spirit cold, Heaven’s vessel, foremost in the realm—Xie Linxu.”
Praise for him spread from the capital to the countryside; even peasants who had never seen his elegant bearing knew his name. And yet, because of that banquet, she and he had consummated their marriage, binding them together. When her father learned of it, he wept, raged, threatened suicide—nearly making a scene at the Xie family’s gates to demand justice. The Duke’s household shut its doors, fearing to step out and encounter such disgrace.
The scandal grew large, even reaching the emperor’s ears.
Xie Linxu had originally been engaged, but that marriage contract was destroyed.
The girl’s family, disgusted by the scandal, demanded an explanation from the Xie household. In the end, the only explanation the Xies could give was to break off the engagement.
That period was torment for Song Xingyue. Each night before sleep, she feared she would not live to see the next day’s sun. With the methods of great households, if they were ruthless, disposing of her—or even her troublesome father—would not have been difficult.
In the end, perhaps her father’s shamelessness was too great, or perhaps the scandal was simply too ugly. Whatever the reason, Song Xingyue never figured it out. But somehow, she ended up becoming the heir’s wife.
Yet Xie Linxu’s pride was too great. After such an incident, being forced to marry her—how could he not harbor resentment?
The Duke’s household was just as proud as he was. They had swallowed this humiliation in silence, but letting her live peacefully in the Xie family was laughable to outsiders. The early days of her marriage were the hardest.
Xie Linxu likely believed she had drugged him. He never showed her a kind face. On their wedding night, he despised her so much he did not even appear, leaving her alone in the bridal chamber. Afterward, no matter how she tried to please him, he only looked at her with cold eyes.
The rest of the Xie family treated her little better—especially Princess Jingxi, who delighted in tormenting her.
At first, Song Xingyue feared Xie Linxu. But later, she grew accustomed. After all, aside from his coldness, he never struck her. What was there to fear? And so she lived on, growing used to such days, used to the humiliations of the Duke’s household. Yet now, hearing the words “Of the three unfilial acts, suddenly, having no heir is the greatest,” her heart tightened.
Though an ice brazier stood in the hall, Song Xingyue felt inexplicably stifled and anxious. Her complexion turned poor. She had been sipping tea lightly, but at the words “divorce the wife,” she choked, coughing several times in succession. She set down her cup, her emotions unsettled, not noticing the force of her movement. The porcelain struck with a sharp, brittle sound—especially loud in the quiet room. It was a grave discourtesy.