Chapter 9
Chapter 9
Early on the appointed morning, the Si family’s carriage stopped outside a grand residence.
The entrance to the Marquis of Yongning’s residence was even more imposing than that of the minister’s residence.
Brass studs the size of bowl rims adorned the vermilion gates. Two stone lions bared their fangs and claws at the entrance.
Si Yan took Linghe’s hand to step down. Before she had passed the inner gate, she could already hear laughter within.
A maid from the Marquis of Yongning’s residence led her through the covered walkways to the ladies’ seating area.
It was the third month, and the peach blossoms were at their height, a brilliant pink mass crowding the waterside pavilion.
Seven or eight young noblewomen sat around a stone table. As she entered, every pair of eyes turned toward her.
In the seat of honor sat Shen Mingzhu, the eldest daughter of the Marquis of Yongning’s household. She smiled and beckoned.
“Oh, Miss Si is here! Come and sit. We’ve saved you a place.”
She pointed to the empty stone stool opposite her, her warmth perfectly measured.
“What a coincidence. We were just talking about you.”
The place they had saved lay right between the men’s and women’s seating areas, where everyone could see her simply by turning their head.
Si Yan walked over and sat without a change of expression. She lifted a teacup and took a sip, entirely composed.
“What were you saying?”
Shen Mingzhu exchanged a look with Zhao Huaining beside her, the third daughter of the Vice Minister of Works.
Zhao Huaining covered her mouth with her round fan and laughed. Her soft voice drifted out from behind it.
“That you’re so loyal, Sister Si. Still keeping that betrothal after three years. It’s truly moving.”
“Isn’t it just!”
Shen Mingzhu took over, her voice pitched precisely loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Though I wonder whether that man in the palace appreciates it.”
Every conversation in the pavilion stopped. Teacups ceased to rise. Round fans grew still.
Even the breeze by the pond obligingly gentled. Peach petals landed soundlessly on the water.
Shen Mingzhu was very pleased with the effect.
She deliberately waited two seconds before leisurely adding her final words.
“Miss Si, your fiancé has been in the palace for three years. Has he ever sent you so much as a word?”
Si Yan’s hand did not move, but her fingertips tightened slightly against the rim of the cup.
Three years.
Three whole years.
The banknotes she had sent in through her father added up to enough to buy half a residence in the capital.
She had even pawned her filigree gold hairpin.
Yet Jiang Youze had not sent out a single word to her.
Sometimes, unable to sleep at night, she lay staring at the bed canopy and wondered: why did he never send news?
Was it inconvenient? Was he afraid of implicating her? Or did he simply not want her to wait at all?
Perhaps, to him, that kiss really had been a full stop.
“He’s busy.” Si Yan set down the cup and dabbed the corner of her mouth with her handkerchief. Her voice was calm.
“There’s so much work in the palace. How could he find time to write to me every day?”
A few stifled snickers broke the pavilion’s silence.
“Work?” Shen Mingzhu raised her brows as though she had heard the greatest joke in the world.
“What work could he possibly do in the palace? Empty the night soil or scrub the chamber pots?”
The whole gathering erupted in laughter.
Some rocked back and forth. Some pressed handkerchiefs to their stomachs. Others slapped the table as they laughed.
Standing behind her mistress, Linghe clenched her fists, her eyes reddening.
Si Yan neither laughed nor grew angry.
She folded her handkerchief, laid it in her lap, and looked up at Shen Mingzhu to say, quite seriously,
“He placed first in the imperial examinations at sixteen.”
The laughter cut off.
Shen Mingzhu’s smile froze. The corner of her mouth twitched.
She lifted her teacup to cover her embarrassment, only to discover it was empty. Awkwardly, she put it down again.
Who among them did not remember?
The year the palace examination results were announced, Jiang Youze had been sixteen and ranked first.
On the day of the ceremonial procession, he had ridden a snow-white horse out through Zhengyang Gate.
A scarlet robe, a silver belt, a court-bestowed flower tucked into his hat.
Sunlight had fallen across his face, and the whole street had drawn a sharp breath.
They said he was no mere examination champion, but an immortal banished from heaven.
Every restaurant and teahouse along the street had been packed with onlookers.
Upstairs and down, all the windows stood open. Girls and young wives leaned halfway out.
Some threw handkerchiefs at him. Others scattered petals before his horse.
Some had blushed on the spot, then gone home unable to eat or drink properly for days.
The price of scented handkerchiefs in the capital had risen by thirty percent that year, because they had all been thrown at him.
How many of the noble young ladies here had secretly tossed him a handkerchief back then?
Yet he had always been cool and distant with everyone. Only Si Yan had received his special tenderness.
In those days, their envy had set their teeth on edge.
Behind her back, they had said Si Yan must have saved the whole capital in a previous life.
A little auspicious smoke from her ancestors’ graves could never have brought her such a man. Their graves would have had to erupt in flames.
Now the Jiang family had fallen. The household had been executed, its property confiscated.
Jiang Youze had been ruined, registered as a slave, and sent into the inner palace.
That enviable good fortune had become their greatest source of amusement.
The more bitterly they had envied her then, the more eagerly they mocked her now.
As though trampling Si Yan could prove that the man had never ignored them.
It was not that they had been lacking. He had simply been blind.
“So what if he came first?” Zhao Huaining snorted, slapping her fan onto the table and breaking the silence.
She raised her chin high, her voice full of contempt. “He’s still nothing but a…”
“A what?” Si Yan turned to her, almond-shaped eyes curving in a smile lovelier than the peach blossoms.
Every gaze turned to Zhao Huaining, waiting for her to be the one to stick her neck out.
“Go on, Miss Zhao.”
Zhao Huaining opened her mouth. In the end, she did not dare say the word.
Si Yan lifted her cup for another sip and looked around the pavilion.
Some lowered their heads and pretended to drink tea. Others turned aside as though admiring the flowers. Not one dared meet her eyes.
She set down her cup at her leisure, smoothed her skirts, and rose.
“Do enjoy your conversation. I’m going to look at the flowers.”
Taking Linghe’s hand, she walked along the pebble path beside the pavilion, her back perfectly straight.
Once around the corner of the covered walkway, she made sure no one had followed, then dropped onto a Taihu rock and covered her face with her handkerchief.
“I’m so angry. So angry. So angry!”
Linghe quickly crouched and looked up at her, speaking in a rush. “Miss, please don’t cry…”
“Who said I was going to cry?”
Si Yan yanked the handkerchief away, revealing a face flushed scarlet.
Her eyes were red, the corners wet, but she gritted her teeth and refused to let the tears fall.
“I’m furious!” She flung the handkerchief hard against the Taihu rock.
“Scrubbing chamber pots? She said Jiang Youze scrubs chamber pots?”
She stood and turned in two agitated circles, her skirts sending fallen blossoms flying.
“Her brother, Shen Ming’an, has failed the provincial examination four times. How does she have the nerve to talk about Jiang Youze?”
“Please calm down, Miss.” Linghe reached for her sleeve and urged her in a hurried whisper.
“What if someone hears…”
“Then let them!” Despite her words, Si Yan immediately lowered her voice.
“I’ve put up with them for three years…”
“Miss Si, what brings you here too?”
A man’s voice sounded behind her, carrying just the right measure of surprise and courtesy.