Ch 93: Reborn to Raise My Husband

Xiao Yuanbao told Qi Beinan about what had happened at the banquet, still feeling stifled and uneasy.

“Only today did I truly understand the value of what you taught me—reading and writing,” he said. “They thought that, since I came from a small county and couldn’t recognize more than a few characters, they could humiliate me through it. If I really had been that ignorant, I’d have fallen right into their trap.”

He spoke with a kind of shaken gratitude.

“I used to think those noble families—those ladies and fulangs—would be the most cultured and well-mannered of all. Who’d have imagined they’d take such cruel delight in mockery?”

Qi Beinan listened, his brows drawn tight. He pressed for every detail—who the hosts were, what was said, how things unfolded. His anger rose and fell with each word, though he forced himself to keep calm until Xiao Yuanbao finished.

“The lady’s surname was Lü,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “Her father is a Vice Minister at the Court of Imperial Banquets, and her husband, surnamed Qiao, is a military officer.”

Qi Beinan understood at once. “The Court of Banquets oversees the palace feasts—it’s a lucrative post. The Lü family’s clearly wealthy. No wonder she holds gatherings; it keeps her in the social current.”

He exhaled slowly. “At least you were quick-witted. Otherwise, that scheming Fulang Jia would have succeeded in making you his pawn.”

He remembered that after one earlier banquet, Xiao Yuanbao had suddenly stopped wanting to go out. He had suspected that something unpleasant had happened, but Xiao Yuanbao had avoided explaining, always brushing it off.

Now that he heard the full story, Qi Beinan realized that must have been the same kind of humiliation.

Though time had passed, the thought made his stomach burn anew.

Seeing the anger in his eyes, Xiao Yuanbao reached out and patted his arm. “Now that I’ve had this experience, I won’t be so trusting again. I won’t attend these half-strange, half-familiar gatherings anymore. Don’t worry about me.”

He knew making connections in the capital was important, but going to such banquets without any grand family name to shield him could only end badly—one careless step and he’d become someone’s entertainment.

“Still,” he added, “there was one good thing that came of it.”

“Oh?” Qi Beinan asked.

“I met Lord Jiang’s younger brother. I’d seen him twice before, but we hadn’t really talked. This time we shared tea and fruit, and it turns out we get along quite well. He’s even invited me to visit the Jiang household.”

“That’s fine,” Qi Beinan said. “The Jiangs are upright people—I’ve met them myself. You can feel at ease dealing with them.”

Xiao Yuanbao had already sensed as much. Jiang Tangyuan was quiet and self-contained, the sort who spoke little but never out of turn. He might seem distant at first, but once familiar, he was genuine and measured.

Jia Fulang, in contrast, had seemed warm and cheerful at the start—but that warmth was shallow. He spoke without restraint, poked at others’ private matters under the guise of blunt honesty.

With Qi Beinan’s assurance, Xiao Yuanbao felt fully at ease. “Then I’ll accept his invitation.”

Qi Beinan smiled and pinched his cheek. “Good.”

After they talked a while longer, Xiao Yuanbao went to the storeroom with Bai Qiaogui to prepare wedding items.

Once he was gone, Qi Beinan’s smile faded, his gaze darkening.

For Jia Fulang to treat someone like a plaything was a direct insult—not just to Xiao Yuanbao, but to him.

It was true Xiao Yuanbao hadn’t been humiliated, but that was thanks to his own ability, not mercy from others.

And Jia Fulang? After the fact, he’d slunk away, offered not a single apology, as though the matter could simply disappear. The world didn’t work like that.

In the past, Qi Beinan hadn’t been able to defend Xiao Yuanbao’s dignity. This time, he would not allow anyone to trample on him again.

He couldn’t publicly quarrel with a mere official’s spouse—but that man’s husband also served in the government. And there were other ways to make a point.

By October, winter had set in.

The court decreed the lifting of curfews, and the capital was the first to test it.

The Ministry of Works grew busy with renovations; the Ministry of Revenue was counting labor levies and taxes; the Ministry of Rites was preparing for year-end ceremonies. Every bureau was running itself ragged.

At the Hanlin Academy, during a brief midday rest, officials returned from lunch with steaming cups of tea to fend off the cold.

Kyoto’s winters chilled to the bone. The side halls were already heated with smokeless charcoal, but even the short walk from the dining hall left one shivering.

Only once inside the hall did warmth return to the body.

Lunch breaks were short, and food made men drowsy, so even in winter, strong tea was essential to stay alert through the afternoon.

One official sighed, cradling his cup. “Since the curfew lifted, the daytime markets close early, and the night markets run until dawn. When the weather’s fair, it’s one thing—but even in freezing rain, they’re still open.”

“Indeed,” another said. “It’s only been a few weeks. At first there were just a few stalls, but now it’s whole streets filled with night vendors.”

“Their trade is booming,” added a third. “There are as many customers at night as in the day. Once merchants smell profit, how could they not flock there?”

Qi Beinan listened, smiling faintly. He and Xiao Yuanbao had gone walking there twice.

When the night markets first opened, they sold only snacks and street food. Gradually, curiosities, trinkets, and crafts appeared—things unseen in daylight bazaars.

The streets glowed like rivers of gold, dazzlingly alive, a beauty the day markets could never match.

“Lively, yes,” said another official, “but noisy. The capital’s magistrate has been flooded with complaints—residents near the markets can’t sleep. The patrols have tripled in number.”

“When new ordinances are issued, they can’t possibly be flawless at the start,” one official said. “Perfection only comes with time and long practice.”

“I heard the Ministry of Works is already drafting plans,” another added. “They’re mapping out official zones for the night markets. Once the capital sets a proper example, the prefectures will follow suit—it’ll save everyone some needless detours.”

As they chatted idly, Scholar Li entered the side hall.

All rose and saluted. “Scholar Li.”

“Did you all eat well at noon?” he asked.

Lord Lu replied quickly, “The kitchens added mutton hotpot for the winter, quite warming—one bowl and the whole body feels comfortable. We might even save on charcoal in the halls now.”

At that, the room fell silent.

Yes, there had been mutton soup—but it was so salty and sparse in meat that most couldn’t finish a single bowl. Everyone grumbled about it privately.

And if, because of that miserable soup, the halls were now to save on heating—well, they might as well freeze to death in the Hanlin this winter.

Lord Ren spoke lazily from across the room. “If Lord Lu feels so warm he doesn’t need his share of charcoal, why not hand it over to me? My bones can’t take the cold.”

No one else dared to mock Lu, but Ren never held back.

Lu’s face stiffened; he shot Ren a sidelong glare, too irritated to stay silent but too cautious to retort.

Scholar Li cut in, “Enough. Winter workdays are never as pleasant as spring or autumn. His Majesty is compassionate—your coal allotments won’t be cut short. Just remember, the Emperor encourages frugality. Use the smokeless charcoal wisely, and that alone is service enough.”

He himself wasn’t fond of Lu either. The man lingered in the hall every evening long after dismissal, idly warming himself by the brazier. If he would just finish his duties on time, they could have saved plenty of charcoal. Yet here he was, shamelessly preaching thrift.

Still, as his superior, Scholar Li couldn’t reprimand him too harshly.

He changed the subject.

“With the Ministries of Revenue, Rites, and Works all buried in year-end affairs, they’ve requested temporary staff from the Ministry of Personnel. The Hanlin Academy may seem idle, but we’ve become a source of assistance.”

Scholar Li believed this was a fine chance for practical learning.

Everyone knew the saying: Without the jinshi, one cannot enter the Hanlin; without the Hanlin, one cannot enter the Inner Cabinet. But being a jinshi didn’t guarantee entry into the Academy—and being here didn’t ensure promotion.

Each year, Hanlin scholars faced examinations; those who failed were reassigned elsewhere.

Yet those written tests, in Li’s view, were limited—they couldn’t reveal a man’s true ability.

Now that the ministries were busy, it was the perfect time to send scholars for temporary assignments—to handle real affairs, to temper themselves. It would only benefit their futures.

But not everyone saw it that way.

It was the dead of winter, the cold biting; each already had enough work at hand. To take on another office’s burdens meant long hours outdoors and the risk of failure—if things went well, credit went to the host ministry; if not, blame fell squarely on the one assisting.

When no one volunteered, Scholar Li sighed inwardly and said, “Those willing may come see me before dismissal. If not, I and the Grand Academician will assign a few ourselves.”

That afternoon, Qi Beinan went to his office.

He had already finished most of his current duties. Idle days in the Hanlin were dull, and he preferred to keep busy.

Scholar Li was pleased to see him.

“You work diligently, and your results are excellent. The Grand Academician praised your recent archival compilations just yesterday. The Hanlin Academy isn’t a place for resting one’s laurels—those willing to endure hardship will go far.”

Scholar Li had once served at the Imperial Academy. The Emperor, impressed by his teaching, had transferred him to the Hanlin to guide new jinshi.

He carried himself as a mentor, wanting the scholars under him to cultivate both skill and integrity—to become useful servants of the court.

Among the recent recruits, he had a particularly good opinion of Qi Beinan—steady, capable, and methodical.

Now, seeing his eagerness, he was all the more satisfied.

“You’re good with numbers,” he said. “Careful and precise. Go to the Ministry of Revenue and help verify tax accounts.” He pulled out a transfer document as he spoke.

The Ministry of Revenue, second only to Personnel, managed the empire’s finances—a fine posting indeed.

But Qi Beinan did not immediately accept. “If it pleases you, Teacher, I would rather serve at the Ministry of Works.”

Scholar Li looked up, surprised. “The Works? You realize they’re overwhelmed just now—repairing streets, surveying night-market sites, handling construction orders. You’ll be working outdoors in bitter cold. Others say it’s thankless toil. Are you certain?”

Qi Beinan bowed. “Every task must be done by someone. If the Ministry of Works weren’t desperate, they wouldn’t be asking for help. I imagine many of my colleagues will prefer the easier offices; since I came early, it wouldn’t be right to claim the most comfortable post for myself.”

Scholar Li was silent for a moment, then nodded. “If you’re willing to endure hardship, I have no reason to stop you. The Left Vice Minister there is a friend of mine—he’ll see you treated fairly.”

Qi Beinan clasped his hands in gratitude. “Thank you for your consideration, Scholar.”

Within two days, the appointment was finalized.

Qi Beinan was transferred to the Ministry of Works.

It was the first time the Ministry of Works had ever received a first-rank jinshi to assist with administrative matters, so everyone treated Qi Beinan with extra courtesy. Even the Ministry of Personnel, when issuing his transfer, felt it a waste of talent and granted him supervisory authority over the department’s work.

Thus, at the Ministry, Qi Beinan was paired with Director Bao, who oversaw the city’s curfew, market zoning, and renovation projects.

They made rounds together across the capital’s wards and marketplaces. Qi Beinan rarely interfered but kept a watchful eye on every detail—and on Director Bao himself.

Although Director Bao held a formal post of sixth rank, technically higher in grade, Qi Beinan’s jinshi background and his granted authority to inspect placed him on stronger footing. The Left Vice Minister had even instructed him to work harmoniously with colleagues.

In other words, both in status and influence, Qi Beinan now stood above him.

Under such scrutiny, even an innocent official would feel constrained in his work.

And Director Bao was not entirely blameless. He had quietly taken small advantages here and there—nothing serious, the sort of thing everyone did and the higher-ups usually ignored. But with an “outsider” now watching his every move, he could no longer take even the smallest liberty.

These things could never be brought to light. Everyone did them, yet everyone knew they violated regulation.

He tried to curry favor with Qi Beinan, but Qi remained polite and unmoved.

The discomfort was unbearable. Director Bao eventually went to the Vice Minister to suggest, ever so tactfully, that perhaps Qi Beinan could be reassigned elsewhere.

Instead, he was sternly scolded.

The Vice Minister rebuked him for failing to appreciate good help. “The Ministry of Personnel sent an able man—faultless, efficient—and you have the nerve to complain? Shameful.”

Now despised both above and below, Director Bao dared not anger his superior further. He could only think of appeasing Qi Beinan himself.

He quietly asked around and learned that the man was said to be steady and reasonable by nature.

That only made things worse. If such a calm, fair-minded person was keeping him under watch, then he must have truly offended someone without realizing it.

One evening after work, he deliberately waited for Qi Beinan outside. They lived in the same ward—an easy excuse for casual conversation.

He spoke at length, trying to sound friendly, but Qi only smiled politely without offering more than a few words.

Finally, Director Bao asked bluntly, “Have I done something to offend you, Lord Qi? I can’t think what I might’ve done wrong, yet there seems to be some misunderstanding between us.”

Qi Beinan smiled lightly. “How could there be, my lord? We even live on the same street—fate, wouldn’t you say? Besides, your Fulang and one of my household are already on good terms.”

With that, he took his leave.

Director Bao stood there, turning the words over in his mind.

When realization struck, his face changed. He hurried home, going straight to Jia Fulang’s quarters.

“I thought you said you never wanted to see me again for two months. What brings you back now?” Jia Fulang said, surprised and pitifully pleased. He’d been confined at home for weeks, bored to despair, and thought perhaps his husband’s anger had cooled.

He started to complain playfully, but Director Bao seized him by the arm and yanked him up from the couch. “Tell me—have you been keeping company with the family from the Qi residence down the lane?”

“What are you doing? You’re hurting me!”

Hearing the name, Jia Fulang froze. He tried to play dumb. “I don’t know any Qi family.”

“The household of the new tanhua! Don’t feign ignorance. Speak plainly, and tell me everything!”

Seeing his husband’s fury, Jia Fulang swallowed hard. “I—I’ve met him, yes, but we hardly know each other.”

He began with vague half-truths, but Director Bao’s roar cut him off. Terrified, he confessed the whole story—the banquet, the humiliation, everything.

A loud crack rang through the room as Bao slapped him across the face.

“Useless wretch! You’ve brought disaster on me again! First the Lü family snubbed us because of you—and now I learn you angered Lady Lü herself? And to think you stooped so low, scheming to embarrass some poor outsider just for sport! Now it’s our name dragged through the mud!”

He paced, voice rising. “That Qi Beinan—the tanhua himself—has been sent by the Ministry of Personnel to supervise our work! He watches me like a hawk! I couldn’t figure out why—now I do!”

The more he looked at Jia Fulang, the more his fury boiled. How had he ever been foolish enough to remarry such a useless ornament?

“I should kill you! You can’t manage a household, can’t keep out of trouble, and all you do is bring shame to this family! The Bao line will be ruined because of you!”

Jia Fulang wept, clutching his stinging cheek.

“He’s just some provincial jinshi,” he sobbed. “How can he wield so much power?”

“He’s a first-rank jinshi! And you—illiterate and brainless—dare compare yourself to him? Know your own worth before you try to imitate the Lü family’s cruel games!”

Jia Fulang kept crying, dazed and frightened. He’d never imagined his petty malice would cause so much trouble. Why was it that they’d both come from small places, yet Xiao Yuanbao could read, write, and now even outrank her husband?

“What do we do now?” he asked through tears.

“What do you think?” Bao snapped. “We bring gifts and beg forgiveness! Idiot!”

At that very hour, Xiao Yuanbao was at home, sewing by the brazier.

Winter had set in, and there was nothing cozier than working by the warmth of the charcoal fire.

He was halfway through finishing the wedding robes, the bright fabric now taking shape beneath his fingers. Each neat stitch filled him with quiet happiness.

He had just taken out his sewing basket when Wen Ge’er came in to announce that Jia Xinyi had arrived.

Xiao Yuanbao glanced toward Qi Beinan, who was writing at the desk, and said angrily, “He still has the face to come here!”

Qi Beinan thought Director Bao moved rather quickly. Setting down his brush, he looked at Xiao Yuanbao. “Shall we go see him?”

Xiao Yuanbao pouted. “After what he did, who knows what he’s plotting this time? I’m already being polite by not driving him out with a stick. I don’t want to see him at all.”

Qi Beinan smiled and rose. “Don’t be angry. I’ll go with you.”

Seeing this, Xiao Yuanbao had no choice but to put down his basket and follow him to the front hall.

To his surprise, Jia Xinyi had come to apologize—together with Director Bao.

Jia’s eyes were red and swollen from crying, and not even a layer of powder could hide it.

“I must’ve been possessed by a ghost,” Jia began tearfully. “That Lady Lü—her family’s so highborn—she always looks down on us lesser households. She forced me to bring someone to her banquet, and I didn’t dare refuse.

“But no matter what, I never should have dragged such a kind and decent person like Brother Bao into it. I’ve regretted it every day since, blaming myself at home, too ashamed to face him. Today, with my husband accompanying me, I finally had the courage to come and beg forgiveness.”

Listening to him heap all the blame onto Lady Lü, Xiao Yuanbao thought it made Jia sound like a helpless victim himself.

Though Lady Lü’s conduct had been cruel, Jia’s way of shirking responsibility was nothing but one dog biting another.

Seeing that Xiao Yuanbao remained silent, Jia panicked and poured out more of his ugliness, nearly kneeling before him in remorse.

Xiao Yuanbao quickly stopped him. “Your apology is given, and I’ve heard it. From now on, it’s best we go our separate ways and stay clear of each other.”

Director Bao felt deeply humiliated, but he said nonetheless, “It is my failing as a husband that my household has behaved without propriety. I will see that proper discipline is maintained from now on.”

Then he offered his own apology as well.

Whether for the sake of his official career or other motives, the couple at least showed sincerity in making amends.

Qi Beinan therefore chose not to press the matter further. He stated plainly that from now on, work between them would be handled strictly by the book, nothing more.

Only then did Director Bao finally relax.

But Qi Beinan quietly took advantage of the occasion to let certain words spread through the circles of official households: that a man from a lower household had once tried to take liberties with Xiao Yuanbao, only to be taught a hard lesson for his scheming.

It served as a warning—if anyone else dared harbor such thoughts toward Xiao Yuanbao, they had better consider carefully whether his family would truly sit by and let him be bullied.

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