Zhou Du looked at him, utterly unimpressed. “And what have I done now?”
Gu Yanshan levelled his accusation. “You ask me? Since the day we wed what have you ever given me, your own husband? You heap gifts and care upon Father, you advance your brother‑in‑Law’s future, you dote upon your little sister‑in‑Law and what of me? On our wedding night you struck me senseless! And now you seize the greater part of my monthly allowance and my stipend!”
“Even your servants receive rewards and largesse! When I ask you for a modest sum you thrust a note of debt before me and make me sign it! What wife treats her own husband with such stinginess?”
Zhou Du laughed outright. “He accuses others of the very crimes he commits. I shall not argue with you. Say simply will you sign or not?”
Silver she had in plenty. She would bestow it upon whom she pleased. By what right did he reproach her? To argue further would only feed his delusion that she denied him out of wounded love.
“I shall sign!” Gu Yanshan gritted out.
That is all I asked, she thought. She gave him the silver without interest, without complaint. Where in all the world could one find such a generous creditor?
Gu Yanshan saw that Zhou Du would not even grant him a frown and it rankled deep. Suddenly a reckless impulse seized him.
“Very well then help me choose. I wish to present Qingqing with a set of jewelry. I know nothing of such things. Come with me and select it.”
I am her husband, he reasoned. Can any woman truly watch her husband lavish gifts upon another and remain unmoved?
Zhou Du considered. The year was drawing to a close and the capital’s finest jewelers were displaying their latest designs. It would be an excellent opportunity to select stately, modest pieces for the elder ladies and fresh, elegant gifts for her own dearest friends.
“Very well,” Zhou Du agreed. “Upon your next day of rest.”
“Bring Madam Song with us,” she added. “Lest she pout and cause a scene. I shall not intervene.”
Gu Yanshan refused. “Absolutely not. I intend it as a surprise! If she comes along, she shall know everything beforehand!”
“Rest assured Qingqing is not given to petty jealousy or tantrums as you suppose. You judge her by your own narrow standards,” Gu Yanshan declared, swelling with self‑satisfaction.
Zhou Du regarded him with the look one reserves for a fool. She marveled at his boundless conceit. Jealousy is a terrible force in a woman, she thought. I wish him luck calming Qingqing when the storm breaks.
Back at the Courtyard of Tender Affection, Gu Yanshan had barely stepped through the door before Song Qingqing clung to his arm. “Husband where have you gone? One moment you were here, and the next you had vanished.”
“I spoke with Madam Heir upon a matter,” Gu Yanshan said carelessly.
Song Qingqing’s heart sank. “Upon what matter?”
“Nothing of consequence,” he lied. “Merely my stipend. With year‑end expenses mounting, I asked her to leave me a larger portion.”
Song Qingqing had noticed the change in him of late he had grown inexplicably… frugal. He denied himself every comfort, and when he saw her spending freely, he bade her be thrifty as though it were his silver she spent.
When pressed, Gu Yanshan had sighed and said, “Qingqing all this is for your sake.”
“Zhou Du is my Principal Wife. Yet my heart belongs to you alone and I shall never truly be her husband. So what can I do? I give her the greater part of my allowance and stipend as a form of compensation. Perhaps it will soften her heart and cause her to treat you more gently.”
Song Qingqing listened, touched yet perplexed. Zhou Du did not look like a woman in want of silver. She held the household purse, and possessed a dowry beyond reckoning. Gu Yanshan’s “compensation” was but a drop in the ocean.
When she voiced her doubt, Gu Yanshan explained: “She wishes to reduce me to poverty so that I must come crawling to her. How could a woman in the prime of youth resign herself to being nothing but a decoration?”
Song Qingqing flushed with indignation. “She is so cunning and deceitful! Does she imagine she can drive a wedge between us? Husband I have silver! Spend mine!”
Gu Yanshan, before the woman he loved, could never suffer such a blow to his pride. He refused firmly. “A man spending his wife’s dowry? What would people say? Qingqing keep your dowry. Keep it for yourself. Keep it for the children we shall one day have.”
At the mention of children, Song Qingqing blushed bright red. “Children… that is far in the future.”
The day of Gu Yanshan’s rest arrived.
“Husband where are you going?” Song Qingqing watched him rise at dawn and don a magnificent new winter robe.
Gu Yanshan seldom wore new clothes. He preferred old, familiar garments that fit loosely and comfortably. He paid little attention to appearance unless duty demanded it. Yet he was tall, broad‑shouldered, and strikingly handsome so that whatever he wore carried an air of noble grace.
Gu Yanshan straightened the collar of his deep indigo silk robe woven with golden blossoms stately, refined, and scholarly. He bound his hair with a jade circlet, his features sharp and noble, his bearing dashing and princely.
Song Qingqing’s heart turned cold. He never dressed thus. Where was he going?
Gu Yanshan swept her into his arms and kissed her cheek. “The year draws to a close. Madam Heir means to inspect our shops and estates. She bade me accompany her today.”
Song Qingqing’s heart turned bitter. “Sister manages the household perfectly well. Since when does she need you to inspect accounts?”
Gu Yanshan had scarce time to rest and Zhou Du summoned him away from her side of all days. What kind of generous, virtuous Mistress of the House was this?
“These are our estates,” Gu Yanshan said. “I ought to see them for myself.”
“I go now.”
Song Qingqing could not hold him back. Yet her heart churned with jealousy. On former days of rest, they had lain locked in each other’s arms until this very hour. Today he rose at dawn, arrayed in his finest robes. For whom? The shops? Or for Zhou Du?
Did the stewards care how their master dressed? He had adorned himself for her.
I too love to see my husband handsome, she thought, stung. Why does he never dress thus for me? Why does he save his finest face for her?
And why did she rise each dawn, paint her face, bind her hair, starve herself to remain slender all so he might look upon her with delight? A woman adorns herself for the man who loves her, the old saying went. Did not men do the same? Did Gu Yanshan truly feel nothing for Zhou Du? Could he truly ignore a woman so beautiful and noble in his own home?
The more she thought, the more she burned. Until at last, Song Qingqing bowed her head upon the table and wept.