The man was a professional escort working for a merchant caravan, and he took the western route. Ye Jia’s mind immediately raced with possibilities.
Just then, the burly man heard the conversation outside and came out to investigate. Seeing the visitor, he offered a casual greeting.
Ye Jia feigned a casual interest, asking which caravan he worked for and what kind of goods he escorted.
Grandma Wang was a relative of the village head. The Wangs were the dominant clan in the village, making up nearly half of its two hundred households. Most were related, sharing a common ancestor five generations back.
Grandma Wang’s son, Wang Kui, was only twenty-five or twenty-six. Despite his rough exterior, he was a man of few words.
“It’s a merchant house in Libei Town,” he said, his voice terse. As he spoke, he glanced at Ye Jia with a strange expression.
What other merchant houses were there in Libei Town? Ye Jia thought.
The only one large enough to employ a full staff of escorts was the Cheng family.
And when it came to the Chengs, Ye Jia probably knew them better than he did.
Ye Jia remained silent.
Seeing his odd expression, she quickly grasped the implication. However, she felt no embarrassment. After all, it was the original owner of this body who had been involved with Second Young Master Cheng.
Ye Jia had only stumbled into this life, occupying the body through a twist of fate, and had only met the legendary Second Master Cheng once.
As for the Cheng family’s business, she only knew they were a prominent local clan whose sons were all capable men, employing a formidable force of guards and escorts.
Ye Jia managed a wry smile, handed the items to Grandma Wang, and turned to leave.
But Grandma Wang caught her hand. “Don’t rush off, Jia-niang. Wait a moment.”
The old woman went inside and returned with a small package, handing it to Ye Jia with a beaming smile. “Take this back for the child. A little treat for her.”
It was a packet of hazelnut candy.
When Ye Jia brought it home, Rui’er was delighted. The little girl circled her, chirping, “Auntie is so good!” Her vocabulary was limited, but her childishly earnest praise kept Ye Jia smiling.
As she sat down, Ye Jia’s mind still racing with the day’s events, she noticed Zhou Jingchen was gone.
“He said he had something to attend to,” Madam Yu explained, having already cleaned the stove. She was heading to the backyard with a knife to harvest chives. “He won’t be back until dark.”
Ye Jia nodded and went to change her clothes before joining her. But as she entered her room, she noticed a thin quilt had been laid out on the bed.
I’ve been hogging the main blanket for the last two nights, Ye Jia thought, a pang of guilt striking her. Zhou Jingchen probably couldn’t even get a corner of it.
Still, she reasoned, it’s April. It’s not that cold. A few extra layers will keep him from freezing.
In the east room, Madam Yu had commissioned a square cabinet for Ye Jia’s clothes. When Ye Jia opened it, she found a folded mattress stuffed inside. It was brand new. She couldn’t recall seeing it yesterday—when had it been brought in?
Ye Jia considered asking Madam Yu when she came back out, but the older woman had already brought a large bundle of chives into the front courtyard and was busy sorting through them.
Never mind, Ye Jia thought. It’s just an extra quilt and mattress. No big deal.
“Mother, use a bigger basin. This one’s too small,” Ye Jia said, rolling up her sleeves to help.
As the two women worked in the courtyard, the sound of voices drifted in from outside. Ye Jia looked up and saw a group of burly men striding past the gate toward the east.
That was the direction of the village chief’s house. The Lizheng also lived in Wangjia Village; he was one of the Wangs themselves. Judging by their urgency, it seemed something important was happening.
Ye Jia’s curiosity got the better of her. “What’s all that about?” she wondered aloud.
Madam Yu wiped the water from her face with her sleeve. “Probably another order from above. There’s always something during the spring plowing—encouraging farming, collecting taxes, conscripting labor for corvée.”
In the old days, the Lizheng was a grassroots official. Four households formed a neighborhood, five neighborhoods formed a bao, and a hundred households made up a li. Each li had one Lizheng responsible for census registration, overseeing agriculture, enforcing laws, and collecting taxes. Every March and April, they were tasked with promoting farming. But Libei Town wasn’t a major agricultural hub. Ever since it had been placed under the jurisdiction of the Garrison Camp, the Lizheng mostly took orders from the Garrison Commandant.
“We don’t have any land, and we’re just a widow and her daughter,” Madam Yu said. “None of this has anything to do with us. Don’t worry.” She finished sorting the chives and placed them in a basin of clear water for a preliminary rinse, saving the final wash for later.
Her words were true, but Ye Jia’s past career had ingrained in her a habit of staying informed. In her old life, information was money—and sometimes, it was a matter of survival. Being kept in the dark could be fatal.
After a moment’s thought, she dried her hands and stood up. “Mother, you stay here and finish up. I’m going to see what’s happening. If it’s nothing major, I’ll be right back.”
Madam Yu looked at her, a bit puzzled. Ye Jia had always been this way—decisive, independent, and rarely one to take advice. But Madam Yu also knew her own limitations. She had been sheltered by the men in her family in her youth, never having suffered much hardship, and her way of thinking was simple. When she didn’t understand something, she deferred to those who did. This time, she didn’t try to stop Ye Jia.
“Go on then,” she said. “I can handle the rest myself.”
Without even changing her clothes, Ye Jia nodded and headed out.
Ye Jia arrived on the east side of the village to find a dense crowd gathered at the village chief’s house. Men from all over the village packed the courtyard and spilled out into the street.
The Lizheng sat with the village chief and a few others in the yard, their faces drawn with a gloom that was visible from a distance.
Ye Jia walked closer, pausing to listen as the Lizheng spoke.
“The garrison is demanding twenty recruits this year,” he was saying. “They need them urgently. The roster has to be finalized by the end of the month.”
The village chief crouched on his threshold, his face a map of deep-set wrinkles.
“Isn’t it supposed to be every three years?” he grumbled. “We already sent forty men away just last year. Now they want another twenty. Do the officials think we’re raising children like pigs for slaughter? Which village has that many young, able-bodied men? Besides, we haven’t even received the ashes of the men who died last year. How many widows and orphans are we left with? We truly have no more men to spare.”
The Lizheng knew this all too well. But a hoe was no match for a sword. Caught between the Garrison Camp and his own villagers, he was powerless. Everyone had to eat; everyone had to survive. When the officials above squeezed him, he had no choice but to squeeze those below.
Deciding that some words were better left off the street, the Lizheng urged the Village Chief to go inside to continue their discussion.
The village chief was practically dragged inside, leaving him no choice but to tell the crowd to head home.
But the men refused to budge. They lingered outside the courtyard, their voices a low, anxious murmur. Conscription was a matter of life and death. Those who had already sent men to war the previous year were loath to do so again. Families with widows and orphans couldn’t bear to send their last remaining man to die.
When survival and livelihoods were at stake, even the most docile of men would fight back. With no other option, the village chief stood with his hands on his hips and told them to return the next day.
Then he was pulled back into the house, and the door slammed shut.
Ye Jia’s brow furrowed. Listening to the villagers’ whispers, she realized she had forgotten about the ancient practice of pressing men into military service. In the past, when the population was sparse and the army was short on soldiers, the Imperial Court would resort to forced conscription to fill its ranks. Libei Town, situated on the western frontier and near a military garrison, was frequently short-staffed during times of war.
But surely every dynasty had a system for conscription? Ye Jia wondered. She knew nothing of the current laws, but she had never heard of any dynasty that demanded new recruits every single year.
Her mind still racing with questions, Ye Jia returned home to find Madam Yu had already washed and chopped the chives. When her mother looked up and saw her grim expression, she frowned in surprise. After Ye Jia explained the whole situation, Madam Yu fell silent.
The two women sat in the room, neither speaking. Rui’er looked from her grandmother to her aunt, the heavy silence frightening her into stillness.
After a long moment, Madam Yu forced a dry smile, unsure if she was trying to comfort herself or Ye Jia. “It shouldn’t fall on our family. Yun’an is an exile with a special status; he’s registered on the official rolls at the western grounds. How could the conscription here possibly reach him…”
But she trailed off, unable to finish the thought. The Emperor was far away in the capital. Who in this remote place would even recognize them? No matter how noble their former status, they were now merely exiles. With the charge of treason hanging over them, they were the lowest of the low.
Zhou Jingchen had nearly died at the western grounds before being carried back. Who could guarantee his safety now?
“Never mind. We’ll see what the Village Chief says tomorrow.” Ye Jia patted her skirt and stood up. “Mother, are the chives all ready? I’ll go knead the dough.”
They didn’t make anything fresh for dinner; there was still plenty of the large pot of mutton pilaf from noon. Reheated, it was still fragrant, but Madam Yu, her mind heavy with worry, barely touched her portion.
Ye Jia finished her own bowl as usual. Just as she was about to clear the table, Zhou Jingchen returned from the night, stepping into the house.
He wasn’t alone. Two young men followed him. Ye Jia recognized one—Sun Yushan, Old Sun’s youngest son. The other was a lean, dark-complexioned man with a long face. Though dressed in shabby clothes, his bearing marked him as a scholar.
He bowed politely to Ye Jia, addressing her as “Sister-in-law.” Sun Yushan, looking a bit awkward, scratched the back of his head and followed suit, calling her “Boss Lady.”
Ye Jia blinked, her gaze turning to Zhou Jingchen in confusion.
Zhou Jingchen offered a patient smile. “Jia-niang, we’ve just returned from outside and haven’t eaten yet. Is there any food left?”
Of course there was, but only enough for one person. Ye Jia glanced at Sun Yushan and the long-faced man, then went to the kitchen to cook a large pot of noodle soup. She used the remaining mutton and yam broth, then fried some eggs and chives to serve as a topping.
Madam Yu had been holding her tongue since Ye Jia returned that afternoon. With outsiders present, she couldn’t speak freely, so she followed Ye Jia into the kitchen.
The dough was ready for shaping. Madam Yu helped as they worked, and the two women spent the evening filling and folding chive and egg pancakes. Ye Jia had prepared enough for over three hundred, and by the time they finished, darkness had fully settled. She placed the pancakes in a basket and went to wash her hands.
When they returned to the main room, Sun Yushan and the long-faced man had already departed. Zhou Jingchen sat by the lamp, washing up. He turned his head as he wiped his face.
“What’s wrong? Why the long faces?”
Rui’er had already been lulled to sleep. Madam Yu recounted the news Ye Jia had heard.
The military levy was a done deal, and Zhou Jingchen was a prime candidate—a young, able-bodied man. If the village couldn’t produce enough volunteers, the burden would almost certainly fall on him. Ye Jia sat silently, waiting for his reaction.
To her surprise, Zhou Jingchen merely nodded, his expression as detached as if the matter didn’t concern him. He methodically cleared the bowls and chopsticks from the table, then turned back to them.
“I’ve heard about this already,” he said, seeing their lingering stares. “It’s no big deal.”
“How is it not a big deal?” Madam Yu wanted to say that he was no longer the Heir Apparent of Prince Jing, but mindful of Ye Jia’s presence, she swallowed the words. “This is a grave matter. If the other families are unwilling to provide someone, won’t it fall on your head?”
Wangjia Village had a total of only two hundred and fifty households. Although the village had a large population, it was a Wang clan village.
“Our family only has you, our only scion. If this quota falls on your head, will you go or not? There aren’t many outsiders in the village, and we have been here for the shortest amount of time. We truly have no connections to speak of.” At this point, Madam Yu actually regretted her lack of social skills. If she had been closer to the Village Chief, perhaps she could have pleaded their case. “If you are selected and something happens to you, what would Mother, Jia-niang, and Rui’er do?”
As she spoke, she grew increasingly agitated, her face taut as if the burden had already fallen upon the Zhou family.
“When I was at the western grounds previously, Mother took good care of the house as well.”
“Listen to what you’re saying! That was because there was no other choice. Now, isn’t life finally getting better? Mother found a wife for you, and Jia-niang is so capable; our family is just about to thrive. And now these wretched affairs come along again!”
Madam Yu, her anger boiling over, slapped Zhou Jingchen hard, completely forgetting Ye Jia’s presence.
“It’s all your stubbornness! What’s always going on in that head of yours?” she railed. “Look at you! You’ve been married to Jia-niang for three months, and there’s still no sign of a child! You unfilial son, are you trying to end the Zhou family line?”
She continued her tirade, “You’re nineteen! Other men married earlier and already have several children…”
How did we get to the family line? Zhou Jingchen wondered.
Ye Jia sat stiffly beside them, her face flushing with awkwardness as she listened, unable to say a word.
Zhou Jingchen let his mother strike him a few more times to vent her frustration, but he didn’t engage with her accusations. Glancing at Ye Jia, who seemed to be trying to shrink into the floor, he waited patiently for Madam Yu to stop before speaking.
“I have a plan for this, Mother. You don’t need to worry.”
It took several more minutes of coaxing before Madam Yu finally calmed down.
She knew her son was calculating and deep-thinking. After all, Prince Jing had passed over his eldest son to name the third son as Heir Apparent because of those very qualities. But the third son’s ambitions were vast, his courage was unnatural, and his methods were beyond what ordinary people could endure. She was terrified.
The times had changed. They no longer had a phalanx of guards willing to die to protect them.
Madam Yu beckoned Ye Jia over.
Sensing the tension in the air, Ye Jia rose hesitantly. As she approached, Madam Yu seized her hand.
With one hand still gripping Zhou Jingchen, Madam Yu forced Ye Jia’s hand into his palm. Her gaze fixed on her son in warning.
“If you two had a child, I wouldn’t be so afraid,” she said. “There are so few of us left. Rui’er is still too young to understand anything. I have no power to protect her—I can barely even raise her, let alone ensure her future. It all falls on you two.”
She squeezed Zhou Jingchen’s hand. “Yun’an, if you truly want to put my mind at ease, you and your wife must consummate your marriage tonight.”
Ye Jia’s heart hammered against her ribs. Her hand went rigid in his. She never expected Madam Yu to be so blunt.
“But we have to set up the stall in town tomorrow morning,” Ye Jia stammered, her scalp prickling. “And it’s so late. Dawn will be here in just a few hours. Mother, please don’t worry about this. You should go to bed.”
“The stall can wait,” Madam Yu countered. “If it comes to it, I’ll go and run it myself tomorrow.”
Madam Yu took a rare, firm stand, using her authority as the family elder to press them. “I am the elder of this house, and you will listen to me. Jia-niang, I’ve seen you make those pancakes so many times you must have the hang of it by now. As for you two—married three and a half months and still not consummating? It’s completely improper.”
Ye Jia fell silent.
Zhou Jingchen, however, remained expressionless, his face as impassive as a jade statue.
His stubbornness infuriated Madam Yu. He won’t budge until he’s staring at a coffin! She patted the back of Ye Jia’s hand and let go.
Abandoning her usual reserve, she marched into the east room and retrieved an extra quilt. She hadn’t been fooled when her son had carried a spare bedding set inside that afternoon. She’d turned a blind eye then, not wanting to pressure him too much and wishing to save his face. But since reason had failed, they could either endure the cold or sleep on the floor.
Seeing the new quilt in Madam Yu’s arms, Ye Jia remembered the one she’d spotted in the cupboard earlier. She glanced up at Zhou Jingchen. His eyes flickered, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in a gesture of utter helplessness.
“Mother, to be honest with you,” he said, “I will definitely be going to the military recruitment this time.”
Madam Yu froze, the quilt still clutched in her arms. She turned to him, her expression one of shock. “What did you say?”
“The recruitment this time isn’t because of an urgent military crisis,” Zhou Jingchen explained.
“The Western Defense has been stable for years, and there’s no war. The only thing causing headaches for Libei Town and the garrison is the horse bandits running rampant on the trade routes to the Western Regions. A formidable gang of over a hundred has emerged recently, frequently raiding caravans. They’ve disrupted the financial interests of several garrison officers, which is why this recruitment drive to suppress the bandits was organized.”
He had deliberately kept his explanation vague, unwilling to reveal the full details. But with his mother so deeply involved, he could no longer keep her in the dark. Her ignorance was becoming a major obstacle to his plans.
Zhou Jingchen glanced at Ye Jia. He knew he couldn’t hide the truth from her either. After all, she was his wife.
“Jia-niang,” he said, addressing her directly, “you knew before you married into this family that the Zhou family were descendants of criminals. I cannot speak freely about the exact crime, but I can tell you it was an offense that tainted three generations. Our family cannot live under the stigma of being criminals forever; we must find a way to clear our name. Besides, some things cannot be avoided simply by trying to hide from them.”
As he spoke, his eyes remained fixed on Madam Yu. She knew exactly what he meant.
“The recruitment isn’t a major issue,” Zhou Jingchen said, keeping his explanation brief. “The garrison is just in the neighboring town. It’s only a half-day’s journey by donkey cart. Everything at home will continue as usual. Mother, Jia-niang, please don’t worry too much.”
With the truth finally out, Ye Jia felt a weight lift from her chest.
Honestly, joining the army didn’t guarantee death. In the northwest, many officers had risen through the ranks on military merit. While they might never reach the highest positions, their success often brought prosperity to their entire families.
Of course, Ye Jia knew war was brutal and the casualties were high—the bones of ten thousand soldiers pave the road to a general’s glory. But Zhou Jingchen, as the ultimate villain who survived until the end of the original story, was unlikely to die so easily.
With this thought, she gently retrieved the quilt from Madam Yu’s arms.
“Mother, you should go to bed,” Ye Jia said, clutching the bedding as she turned to head back to her room. “I have to set up my stall early tomorrow, and it’s already late.”
No matter what, she knew her priority was to earn as much money as possible.
Now that they had spoken openly, Ye Jia understood Zhou Jingchen’s motivations. He wanted to clear his family’s name and overturn their wrongful conviction. He refused to let his children be born under the stigma of being descendants of criminals.
This meant he had no intention of having children for at least four or five years. Ye Jia trusted his resolve; if he lacked that kind of self-control, he wouldn’t be Zhou Jingchen. Still, they would need to have a frank discussion about it.
Madam Yu had already gone to bed. The two of them now sat facing each other at the table, the silence around them absolute.
After a long moment, Ye Jia got straight to the point. “In your heart, you don’t accept this marriage, do you?”
Zhou Jingchen’s eyes flickered. He shook his head, his voice calm. “That’s not true. Jia-niang, your mother personally arranged this betrothal. It was a union brokered by parents and matchmakers. There is no question of whether I accept it or not.”
“What do you mean by that?” Ye Jia frowned.
“It depends on you.” Zhou Jingchen kept his gaze fixed on the table, avoiding her face. “We haven’t held our wedding ceremony yet, so there is still a way out. You know the Zhou family’s circumstances all too well. I can’t guarantee that you won’t face many hardships in the future. As long as we haven’t officially married, you still have a way back. If you ever grow to despise the Zhou family and wish to leave, I will ensure you can depart with your reputation intact.”
Ye Jia’s heart stirred. She looked up at him, and his gaze was open, his meaning clear.
Truth be told, a woman’s reputation was paramount, though the strictures of Yanjing’s noble houses were far more severe than in the more open-minded northwestern frontier. Here, it wasn’t uncommon for widows to remarry. A woman as beautiful and young as Ye Jia might well choose not to waste her life with him.
But he was different. If he touched her, she would be his, and she would have no choice but to see this through to the end.
Zhou Jingchen lowered his gaze, hiding the sharp intensity in his eyes. He would never allow his wife to marry another.
Ye Jia, for her part, had no intention of wading into his family’s muddy affairs. She was taking things one step at a time. After a long moment of thought, she finally grasped his meaning. He was giving her an exit. By not touching her, he was leaving her with a choice?
Well, well, Ye Jia thought, clicking her tongue.
“There’s no rush. You can think it over later,” Zhou Jingchen said, his expression softening. He turned to pick up the old mattress she had brought in, preparing to spread it on the floor. “It’s late. Let’s get some rest.”
As he moved, Ye Jia grabbed his sleeve. Zhou Jingchen paused, turning to her with a questioning look.
“I want to sleep on the new one,” Ye Jia declared. She still wasn’t sure if she’d see this through to the end, but she was absolutely certain she wasn’t sleeping on that old mattress tonight.
Ye Jia stood up, pulled the blankets from the bed, and spread them on the floor for him. Then she took the new quilt from his arms, tossed it onto the bed, and went to wash up. Zhou Jingchen watched her every move as she returned, hugged the new quilt, and rolled into bed.
“I’m sleeping on the new one,” she declared.
With that, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.
Zhou Jingchen stared at her. All the thoughts he had prepared were choked out by her actions.
After a long moment, he took the bucket and went to wash up. When he returned, the woman on the bed was fast asleep.
Lying on the hard floor, Zhou Jingchen couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief. Could this Lady Ye’s heart truly be so vast? How could she fall asleep so quickly?
***
The next morning, Ye Jia woke before dawn. As she stepped off the bed, her foot landed squarely on the person lying on the floor.
Zhou Jingchen jolted awake, meeting Ye Jia’s wide, startled eyes.
Their gazes locked. Ye Jia slowly withdrew her foot. “Sorry. I forgot someone was lying here. It’s too dark to see. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Zhou Jingchen replied.
“Oh,” Ye Jia said softly, then quickly got dressed and went to wash up.
As he sat up, clutching his stomach, Zhou Jingchen’s first thought was a strange sense of relief that her foot hadn’t landed any lower. If she had stepped just a palm’s width further down, his mother could have abandoned all hope of him carrying on the family line.