Carried in Madam Sun’s arms to the front hall to accompany the guests, Miss Player found that Lady Huang was already seated.
Sharing the table with her were the Principal Clerk’s wife and the Registrar’s wife. Madam Sun could not hold a proper conversation with either of them and was used to sitting there like a silent ornament.
The moment she sat down, all the highest-ranking officials’ families in Cuixi County were gathered at this table.
What puzzled Madam Sun was that the two women, usually so smooth and socially adept, were today like gourds with their mouths sawn shut. With the County Magistrate’s mother right in front of them, they neither joked nor entertained—only sat stiffly, as if dazed.
What Madam Sun did not know was that Lady Huang, though not particularly eccentric, had little patience in illness for interacting with people she found unpleasant to look at.
Before Madam Sun and Miss Player had arrived—
The Principal Clerk’s wife had said, “The gold hairpin Your Ladyship placed into the basin must be the work of craftsmen from the Capital. It seems to match your forehead band and earrings—a set, perhaps? That large golden peony, lifelike and exquisite—truly masterful…”
Lady Huang had pointed to the ornament and said, “That is a wildflower, not a peony.”
“…”
The Principal Clerk’s wife had fallen silent.
The Registrar’s wife had hurried to pick up the thread. “These past few days, the weather has been perfect for going out. My family has an estate in the hills—trees heavy with fruit, forests full of game, quite a rustic charm. Why don’t I play host and invite Your Ladyship to visit…”
Lady Huang had lifted her eyelids slightly and said flatly, “Invite her. I have no interest.”
The Registrar’s wife had looked at the Principal Clerk’s wife and said awkwardly, “…Then it’s settled?”
“…All right?”
Their eyes met—and both fell silent.
Madam Sun, as the host, could not remain silent. Even if she had known the earlier exchange, she would still have had to speak. But before she could open her mouth, a maid in a peach-colored dress helped her into a seat. Lady Huang revealed her first smile since sitting down, leaning forward to look at the swaddled baby, so charmed by the peaceful sleeping face that she covered her chest.
Seeing this, the Registrar’s wife smiled and said, “I didn’t get a good look at the young lady earlier, and now you’ve brought her out. Old Madam, do satisfy my curiosity—let me hold her for a moment. If I could bear a child as divine as this, I would surely send a golden comb to your household as part of her dowry.”
At the mention of a golden comb, Madam Sun’s heart stirred. But on second thought—what chance was there of giving birth to such a heavenly child? Promises not yet in hand were like carrots hung before a donkey—forever out of reach.
She decided to preserve her own aging arms. She dared not hand the girl over to others lightly. A few more rounds of soothing, and her arms might as well be useless.
“It’s not that I’m unwilling,” Madam Sun said. “But when she was born, I held her just once—and ever since, she’s clung to me. If I don’t feed her, she won’t drink; if I don’t soothe her, she cries. When she’s awake, she must be in my arms. Even asleep, if she doesn’t smell me, she makes a fuss.”
After three days, Madam Sun’s hold on the baby was already practiced and steady.
“If she starts crying now, neither of us will be able to eat.”
The Registrar’s wife could only withdraw her hands, unconvinced. Even if the Jiang household had few servants, Madam Sun still had maids attending her—how could she possibly be doing everything herself?
At that moment, the baby in the swaddling cloth let out a big yawn.
Madam Sun had wanted to say something to Lady Huang, but could not find a topic. Miss Player’s signal came like a reprieve.
Now she had an excuse—one that would neither offend nor require conversation.
She gently rocked the swaddling. “Don’t fall asleep again.”
Since Miss Player appeared, Lady Huang had eyes for no one else. Her gaze was fixed on the baby as she said softly, “She’s sleepy. Let her sleep.”
“That won’t do,” Madam Sun replied. “She hasn’t had her milk yet—her stomach is empty. If she sleeps now, it won’t be restful. And if a baby goes too long hungry, it affects growth.”
The Principal Clerk’s wife covered her mouth and laughed. “Listen to you—she’s not livestock. That choice of words is improper. You should be punished with three cups of tea.”
Before Madam Sun could respond, Lady Huang’s expression darkened, and she spoke first.
“The girl is waiting to be fed. The old madam has no time for your punishments.”
Madam Sun accepted the half-bowl of warm milk. Lady Huang’s face immediately softened into warmth as she looked at Miss Player.
“See how her little mouth keeps moving? She must be hungry. Feed her.”
Then she turned sharply to the woman who had spoken earlier, her gaze cutting like a blade.
“You, as a guest, make things difficult for your host. As a junior, you mock your elder. Without kindness, without respect—no manners at all. I will dismiss you on behalf of Deputy Magistrate Jiang. Leave at once.”
Lady Huang’s presence was overwhelming. The Principal Clerk’s wife was so frightened that it was as if her tongue had been stolen—she could not utter a single word in defense. With the table screened off from the others, no one spoke up for her. She covered her face and fled.
Madam Sun was stunned.
Lady Huang turned back to Miss Player, a smile unconsciously returning to her face. As if afraid of startling a delicate flower bud, she lowered her voice.
“Is half a bowl enough? It seems a bit little.”
“It’s enough—more than enough.”
Madam Sun set the bowl aside, lifted Miss Player, and patted her back. Only after hearing a soft burp did she change from holding her upright to cradling her horizontally. Taking a cotton cloth from Taozi, she wiped the milk from the baby’s lips.
Miss Player’s dark, clear eyes stilled. A faint flush spread across her pale cheeks, like intoxication. Then, suddenly, she closed her eyes.
“What happened?” Lady Huang asked.
“When babies drink milk, it’s like adults drinking wine,” Madam Sun explained. “Adults get drunk on wine—babies get drunk on milk.”
Lady Huang had never found babies so interesting. She chatted with Madam Sun for a while longer.
Then suddenly—
a rumbling sound came from her stomach.
For days, she had not known hunger. Meals had been taken regularly, even during travel. It was all because of her illness—her son and servants, ever attentive, insisted on strict mealtimes.
But she had simply had no appetite.
And now, just one delayed meal—
her appetite surged.
“It’s my fault for talking so much,” Madam Sun said. With one arm holding Miss Player, she gestured toward the dishes on the table and began introducing them.
“My household has only one cook and two helpers—enough for daily meals, but not for elaborate dishes. Today’s banquet was ordered from Huishan Restaurant. Since Your Ladyship and the County Magistrate have only recently arrived, you may not know it. It’s the finest restaurant in the county. A single table costs at least this much.”
She raised one finger.
Lady Huang smiled. “I am hardly worthy of being called ‘Your Ladyship.’ A table for ten taels of silver—that’s fair.”
Madam Sun nearly jumped from her seat.
“Heavens above! For ten taels, they must be serving dragon and phoenix!”
Lady Huang realized her mistake. “Then how much?”
“One tael is enough.”
Madam Sun began listing them. “Cold dishes include red-braised pigeon breast, soy-braised gluten, Xuanwei ham, and pickled crab. Hot dishes include bird’s nest chicken soup, sea cucumber with tendon, steamed lamb, and Bright Shrimp Roast. That last one is especially pretty—like a little lantern, very festive.”
Even such a banquet—Madam Sun had only eaten it a handful of times in her life.
One tael for a table—ordering it at home would make her heart ache.
For noble households accustomed to refinement, Lady Huang had long grown tired of rich delicacies like bird’s nest and sea cucumber. She also disliked large cuts of meat.
The dishes on the table, though seemingly refined, were mostly cold or stewed—clearly prepared to withstand travel without losing flavor.
She felt full just looking at them.
“What is that green dish?”
She pointed to a plate of vivid greens at the far end.
“That’s melon vine,” Madam Sun said. “It grows in my courtyard. Picked fresh this morning and lightly pickled by the cook—quite refreshing.”
Lady Huang’s two maids picked some up and placed it on her plate. Only when they moved did Madam Sun realize they were even there—two living people who somehow drew no attention at all.
That, too, was a kind of skill.
The melon vine was slightly hairy and sour. Only farmers would eat everything—even the vines. Madam Sun did not particularly like it herself, but she grew it to add one more dish to the table and save money.
Melons grew easily. From vine to fruit, everything was edible, lush and green—perfect for a courtyard.
Lady Huang chewed.
The sourness stimulated her appetite. Swallowing, she suddenly felt hunger awaken.
“What is this?” she asked, pointing to a coarse-looking cake.
“That’s bean cake,” Madam Sun said. “I made it myself.”
Steamed beans mixed into flour, kneaded, fermented, then steamed again. Rough in texture, but filling.
At Lady Huang’s interest, a maid took one and asked how to eat it.
Madam Sun usually ate it plain, but since she was asked, she explained various methods—such as dipping it in sauce. The sauce was melon paste, made from surplus melons in her courtyard, salty rather than sweet.
Sugar was expensive. She would not waste it.
Lady Huang took a bite.
The rough texture scratched her throat slightly. By rights, she should have stopped after one bite—but the savory sauce spread in her mouth, and she found herself taking another… and another.
She finished one.
Then ate a small plate of melon vine.
Then picked up another bean cake.
This time, she dipped it herself, refusing her maids’ help.
Madam Sun, afraid she might choke on the dryness, had soy milk brought over.
Lady Huang drank it.
Her appetite grew even stronger.
She reached for yet another.
Her two maids panicked and gently urged her to stop—she had already eaten too much.
Each bean cake was the size of a grown man’s fist. Madam Sun could eat three in one sitting. Lady Huang had eaten two without touching the meat dishes—Madam Sun thought it was not much.
But she also knew everyone’s body was different. She quickly joined in persuading her to stop, fearing something might happen under her roof.
Reluctantly, Lady Huang set the cake down.
She felt that the Jiang family’s daughter was delightful—and even their food suited her taste.
For a moment, she did not want to leave.
But she knew propriety. A guest could not linger indefinitely.
…
That night, Lady Huang relieved herself three times.
The County Magistrate rushed to her chambers upon hearing the news. The physician had arrived even earlier. Seeing the magistrate’s grim expression, he did not dare claim credit immediately.
“It is not dysentery,” he said first. “Dysentery can be fatal. Nor has she eaten anything spoiled—this is not watery diarrhea.”
The magistrate’s expression eased slightly.
Only then did the physician continue, “The accumulated stagnation has been cleared. Her internal blockage is resolved—her condition has improved.”
The sudden good news stunned him.
“This… this is a good thing? She hasn’t eaten something bad?”
The physician had already investigated her diet.
“The only difference was the coarse bean cakes and pickled melon vine—freshly made, not spoiled. They would not cause illness.”
He said firmly, “She did not eat something bad. On the contrary—she ate exactly what she needed.”
He went on to explain: her illness stemmed from internal blockage, not from environmental incompatibility. The coarse food, taken in just the right amount, had cleared her system.
Rough food had its benefits.
By chance, it had worked.
The physician dared not admit his earlier misdiagnosis.
Instead, he concluded, “As long as she eats what suits her appetite—not as if taking medicine—she will recover.”
The County Magistrate understood one thing:
He had done the right thing today.
This fortunate visit had cured his mother.
When he entered her room, her complexion was rosier, her eyes brighter.
“You are well now, Aunt—”
He slapped his own mouth. “I misspoke.”
“You did not,” Lady Huang said calmly. “I am more accustomed to ‘Aunt’ than ‘Mother.’ Now that we are away from the Capital, you may call me Mother openly—but hearing ‘Aunt’ no longer pains me.”
“I will make up for all the ‘Mother’ I failed to say before.”
He spoke with a rare softness.
She smiled and tapped his forehead.
“You child.”
After some light conversation, she said, “The Jiang family is good. The gift we sent earlier was too light—send another, more substantial one.”
“I have already arranged it,” he replied. “And I will obtain their recipes, so the kitchen can prepare those dishes for your breakfast.”
“What suits me is not the food, but the people,” Lady Huang said, looking at him. “Though far from the Capital, this place has its merits. You will not find a child like that girl anywhere in the Capital. When I see her, my heart feels at ease—my burdens lift. If it does not interfere with your official matters, I would like to visit their home again every few days.”
The County Magistrate thought to himself:
The Jiang family had brought joy to his mother. In that sense, they had done him a favor.
But Jiang Yan’s character was flawed—an unworthy official.
He sighed.
I had no intention of using him. But now… it would not be appropriate to leave him idle.
Fine. I will assign him trivial but busy tasks. Even if he fails, it will not matter.
“Visit as you wish,” he said aloud. “It will not interfere.”
Lady Huang nodded. “I knew it. A child so exceptional must be born into a good family. Deputy Magistrate Jiang must be a fine man.”
The County Magistrate fell silent.
Judging a father’s character by his daughter’s beauty—
Was that really reasonable?