Ch 108: Reborn to Raise My Husband

Two days later, Xiao Yuanbao went with Qi Beinan to attend the Lin family’s wedding banquet.

He had imagined a grand affair—red banners and music filling ten streets—but it was nothing of the sort.

Lin Qingyu had invited few guests, about the same number as at Xiao Yuanbao and Qi Beinan’s own wedding. Most of the celebration took place at the duke’s residence.

Lin Qingyu, dressed in crimson robes, rode at the head of the procession to escort the young lord from the Duke of Jing’s mansion. Handsome as he already was, as a bridegroom he drew every eye.

Crowds lined the streets, nearly as many as had gathered for his triumphant parade as top scholar. Yet compared to that youthful day of pride and brilliance, this occasion, though joyous, seemed dimmer in spirit.

Among the guests, Xiao Yuanbao turned his head slightly to look at the person stepping down from the bridal sedan.

The figure stood tall and elegant, the wedding robes shining richly in the sun. The red veil hid the face, but the graceful posture and swan-like neck spoke of nobility.

They crossed the fire basin, bowed before the ancestral hall, each rite performed precisely as prescribed.

Holding the two ends of a red silk ribbon, the couple appeared the perfect pair. Yet for all that they were joined by the ribbon, there was a strange distance between them, as if something invisible kept them apart.

Xiao Yuanbao couldn’t name what felt wrong. He leaned toward Qi Beinan and whispered, “When we were at the altar, did you sneak a look at me?”

Qi Beinan turned to him, smiling. “Of course I did.”

That day, while kneeling before the hall, he had stolen many glances at Xiao Yuanbao—too happy to resist, yet unable to speak. All he could do was look.

Xiao Yuanbao thought to himself, that was as it should be.

The newlyweds, however, were all formality—bowing and offering tea to the elders with impeccable composure, not exchanging even a single lingering glance.

To others, they were flawless—proper, dignified, harmonious. But anyone who had truly known love could feel it: between the two stood a quiet emptiness.

When the ceremony ended and the pair withdrew to the bridal chamber, no one followed to make mischief. The young lord’s status was too exalted for that. The night was hushed, almost solemn.

After witnessing the rites, Xiao Yuanbao stopped wondering about it. Outside, laughter and conversation filled the courtyard again.

He joined the other guests for tea, traded polite remarks, and soon the feast began.

Whatever else might be said, the meal itself was excellent. The dishes were prepared by chefs from the Four Divisions and Six Bureaus—Xiao Yuanbao couldn’t tell which kitchen exactly, but the braised shrimp in the tripod bowl and the wine-braised fish in the long-leaf dish suited his taste perfectly. He ate several bites before forcing himself to stop out of courtesy.

By the time they left, the moon was already caught in the willow branches.

Late autumn brought a chill to the air. Translated on Hololo novels. The moonlight fell over the persimmon trees, turning their golden fruit silver-white.

Qi Beinan pulled Xiao Yuanbao back inside the carriage when he leaned too far out the window. He lowered the curtain, shutting out the cool night breeze.

“Careful not to catch cold,” he said. “Autumn air turns on you easily.”

Xiao Yuanbao smiled. “I’ve been drinking those seasonal tonics for warmth. I won’t catch a chill.”

Qi Beinan laughed softly. “Was the banquet lively?”

“Oh, lively enough,” Xiao Yuanbao replied. “But it’s the first time I’ve seen a wedding from start to finish like that.”

“When we married, as soon as the veil came down, I was half-dizzy—I couldn’t tell north from south.”

Qi Beinan said, “As long as you can tell north from Beinan, that’s enough.”

Xiao Yuanbao shot him a look. “I’m speaking seriously, and you’re teasing again.”

Qi Beinan only chuckled.

They returned home late. The autumn chill had deepened; after washing up, they slipped beneath the blankets early.

Perhaps it was the warmth of the wedding still lingering, but neither fell asleep quickly.

When it was over, Xiao Yuanbao’s cheeks were flushed, his brow damp with sweat. He rested against Qi Beinan’s chest, dazed for a while before his thoughts cleared.

Qi Beinan brushed the messy hair from his forehead and asked in a low voice, “What are you thinking about? Still not sleepy?”

After a pause, Xiao Yuanbao said, “I was just wondering… today’s bride and groom looked like strangers. Do you think, tonight, they’ll…”

Qi Beinan pinched his cheek. “Still thinking about other people?”

“Then maybe I should ask at court tomorrow?”

Xiao Yuanbao quickly clapped a hand over his mouth. “Don’t you dare! That’d be terribly rude.”

“I just can’t picture it,” he admitted.

If he and Qi Beinan had been bound by arranged marriage—decided by parents and matchmakers, scarcely knowing each other before the wedding—how awkward and restrained that wedding night would have been. Could such a night even turn intimate?

Qi Beinan bit his finger lightly and thought him far too innocent.

“Why not?” he said. “Those men who frequent brothels don’t need love to do what they do.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes flicked up, realizing he was right—and for some reason that annoyed him. He gave Qi Beinan’s chest a sharp pinch and turned away to sleep.

Qi Beinan winced. “What did I do? I wasn’t talking about myself.”

A few days later, the shop’s renovation was halfway done.

Xiao Yuanbao oversaw the progress—hiring a bookkeeper, cooks, and waiters—while Bai Qiaogui visited the apothecaries to negotiate the price of medicinal herbs.

If they had been a household of true wealth, all these matters would have been handled by retainers. The master would simply sit in the main hall, give orders, and make the final decisions.

But for people like them, newly risen and without deep roots, every task still demanded their own hands. Staff was scarce; they were far from the kind of fortune that allowed idleness.

Everything had to be built from the ground up, piece by piece.

Over the years, those who had worked alongside them had proven steady and loyal. With time and trust, some had been taken in as part of their own household.

Looking back now, Xiao Yuanbao realized their small circle of dependable helpers was hard-won—gathered through years of labor and care.

Once the shop opened, he, as an official’s spouse, could not linger there like a common tradeswoman. He would need capable people to manage it day to day. His role would be to oversee the accounts and continue developing new recipes.

Because the medicinal dishes were of their own invention, he was especially cautious in choosing the cooks.

Those hired would have to sign both a long-term contract and a confidential agreement, binding them not to use any of the recipes for profit after leaving the establishment.

Once the terms were settled, they began spreading word to hire workers.

In a city as vast as the capital, there was no shortage of people seeking employment. Within three to five days, a dozen or so applicants had arrived—bookkeepers, cooks, waiters, and kitchen hands.

The bookkeeper and cooks were the most crucial; the rest were easier to find, as their work required less skill.

Qi Beinan prepared two account ledgers for testing the bookkeepers, having them calculate the entries to see how they worked.

For the cooks, Xiao Yuanbao handed out two or three sample recipes from their menu of medicinal dishes, asking each candidate to prepare them. Whoever produced the best flavor would be kept.

Skill, at least, was easy to judge. Character was harder. Such things could not be known in a few words or days—it took time to learn a person’s true nature.

In the end, Xiao Yuanbao chose three cooks: a man, a married husband, and a woman.

For the bookkeeper, he hired an older scholar who had never passed the examinations. His arithmetic was slower than the others’, but his work was steady and meticulous—qualities Xiao Yuanbao valued far more than speed.

As for the waiters, he picked six with quick tongues and lively manners.

Six more helpers were hired for the back kitchen—two to carry dishes, four to tend the fire, chop vegetables, and wash.

Running a large restaurant demanded far more effort than managing a small household shop.

Time slipped by, and nearly two months of preparation had gone.

In the first days of the twelfth lunar month, Qi Beinan left the ministry after a long day.

The sky, gray since morning, had finally given way to sharp cold wind and drifting flakes of snow.

The capital always saw its first snow early.

“It’s bitter out,” someone called. “Come have a bowl of mutton soup at Anhualou.”

Qi Beinan turned and saw Jiang Tangyuan approaching with an umbrella.

Before he could answer, Jiang said with a grin, “My treat.”

Qi Beinan laughed. “When Lord Jiang is this generous, how could I refuse?”

They left the palace gates together and headed to Anhualou.

Qi Beinan sent Qin Jiang ahead with a message home, then joined Jiang Tangyuan upstairs in a private room. The hall below already had braziers burning; the private rooms were warmer still, scented with mild incense. It was far more comfortable than the drafty offices of the yamen.

Pouring tea for both of them, Jiang Tangyuan smiled. It had been some time since they had sat down together like this.

Since his marriage in Jinling, he had barely found a moment to spare. He’d returned to the capital within a month, and though his younger sibling Jiang Tangtuan had stayed in Jinling, his new wife had come with him.

Ten days after returning, the couple had hosted a banquet for their friends in the capital—Qi Beinan and Xiao Yuanbao among them.

Now newly married, Jiang Tangyuan’s wife proved a gentle and gracious woman. He spent his evenings at home with her, no longer roaming tea houses as he once had.

Qi Beinan considered that a good sign.

“So,” he asked, “what brings you to me today?”

Jiang Tangyuan laughed. “You make it sound as if I never call you out unless there’s business.”

“These days aren’t what they used to be,” Qi Beinan teased, lifting his cup with a smile.

Jiang Tangyuan only smiled wider.

“Well,” he said after a pause, “I won’t hide it—there is a family matter I wanted to tell you about.”

“A family matter?”

“You’re no outsider,” Jiang said. “I can speak freely.”

Qi Beinan’s eyes softened with amusement.

“My marriage’s settled,” Jiang continued, “so my family’s turned their worries to Tangtuan. The last engagement ended poorly, and a few new troubles arose besides, so my parents have been even more concerned.”

He took another sip of tea. “A few days ago, my father wrote saying he’s found two potential matches and asked for my opinion.”

Qi Beinan listened quietly.

“The first,” Jiang said, “is a young scholar my father favors—born to a farming family, of clean conduct and good reputation. I’ve read some of his essays; they’re quite decent. If fortune favors him, he could have a fine future.”

“Sounds promising,” Qi Beinan said.

Jiang Tangyuan gave a small smile. “And do you know who the other one is?”

Qi Beinan’s brow lifted slightly. “From that tone, I’d say someone I know.”

Jiang laughed but didn’t answer—only lifted his cup again and drank.

A moment later, Jiang Tangyuan said slowly, “The other candidate is Brother Zhao.”

Qi Beinan had already guessed as much from his earlier words, yet hearing it confirmed still made his brows lift. “Guangzong?”

“Who else?” Jiang said with a laugh. “On my wedding day, he came with a gift to offer congratulations. Only then did I learn he’d been appointed to Feng County under Jinling as a county deputy. I should have congratulated him first, but I hadn’t heard the news.”

Qi Beinan pressed his lips together, smiling despite himself. “Tell me then—how did old Lord Jiang come to favor him?”

Jiang Tangyuan replied, “After the matter with the Qiao family, my father decided Tangtuan should marry into a modest household. He thought a quieter match would make for steadier days. As luck had it, that day Brother Zhao came to the feast. My father saw him—young, refined—and made a few inquiries.”

Zhao Guangzong was no dazzling beauty, but he was a man of calm and upright bearing. His speech was measured, his manner gentle, and his learning solid. Now that he held office at such a young age, any family with a son or daughter of marriageable age would surely take note.

When asked, it turned out he was still unmarried—another good sign.

“My father thought well of him,” Jiang continued. “And since I traveled to the capital with you and him before, I could say he’s easygoing, not difficult to get along with.”

He hesitated, then added, “More than that, Tangtuan treats him differently than others.”

At first, Jiang had been wary of that difference—fearful that Zhao, now serving away in Jinling, might harbor improper thoughts and try to charm or entangle his sibling. But after some quiet inquiry, he found no sign of secret correspondence between them and finally set his mind at ease.

“My father was curious,” Jiang went on. “Zhao’s talent and character both seem good. How is it that he’s already twenty-three and still unwed? There must be some reason.”

He looked across the table. “You know him better than anyone. You’re fair-minded—you won’t speak with bias.”

Qi Beinan gave a small, helpless laugh. “You do enjoy putting me in a corner. If I praise Guangzong too highly, neither you nor my husband will believe me; but if I criticize him, I’d hardly be speaking truth. He’s not a man one can fault much.”

He leaned back, considering. “Since I know you both well, I’ll just tell you what’s true. He’s diligent in his studies, single-minded, perhaps to a fault. I think he’s put all his heart into books and never once turned his thoughts to marriage. In all the years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him show the slightest interest in any young lady or gentleman.”

Qi Beinan deliberately added, “And as for any romantic mischief—there’s been none. Nor does he have any childhood sweetheart or secret affair back home.”

“Though,” he went on, “the year he passed the provincial exams, the local education commissioner took a liking to him and wanted to make him a son-in-law. The two families exchanged a few visits, but Zhao didn’t meet the commissioner’s expectations, and the proposal quietly faded. After that, came the capital exams, a failed attempt, then his return to serve as an examiner… and so it went.”

Jiang Tangyuan listened carefully. Qi Beinan’s account matched what little the estate had heard—and even included details no one else knew, such as the matter with the commissioner.

Qi Beinan concluded, “You and I are friends, and Guangzong and I share a long acquaintance. I’ll not speak for either side. In fairness, his character is steady, his nature kind. Life with him would be peaceful and well-ordered. But his path as an examination official is uncertain. It won’t be as smooth as a jinshi’s career.”

“I know,” Jiang said. “If my father cared only for prospects, he’d have looked the other way and gone through with the Qiao match. He wouldn’t be considering anyone of lesser rank.”

“What matters most,” he added, “is that the man treats Tangtuan well. Good character makes for lasting days.”

“True enough,” Qi Beinan said.

Still, Jiang looked troubled. Both candidates were decent men. The scholar had passed the provincial exam and was now preparing for the capital one. He was obedient to the Jiang family and diligent in study—hard to fault as well.

Qi Beinan read the worry in his face. “If the choice were easy, you wouldn’t have found that last one either,” he said mildly.

“It seems,” he went on, “that in virtue and learning, the two are evenly matched. That only makes it harder—which one to choose?”

Jiang Tangyuan smiled ruefully. “Nothing escapes you.”

Qi Beinan asked, “Forgive my bluntness—have you tried to learn what the two young men themselves think?”

“Of course,” said Jiang. “Marriage can’t be forced. Both must be willing.”

“And Tangtuan?”

“I wrote to ask,” Jiang said. “As I said before, Tangtuan seems to hold Zhao in slightly higher regard. But claimed it wasn’t proper to test a man’s heart and would trust our judgment instead.”

Qi Beinan smiled faintly. “Always so obedient.”

Then, after a pause, he said, “To help Tangtuan find a worthy husband, I’ve a rather wicked idea.”

Jiang raised a brow and leaned closer to hear.

When Qi Beinan finished, he couldn’t help laughing. “A bit unorthodox, but not a bad idea. I’ll write home and see what truth it brings to light.”

Cheered, he waved for the waiter. “I knew calling you out today wouldn’t be in vain. Order what you like—my treat.”

By the time Qi Beinan returned home, the snow had thickened, blanketing the road in white.

He stepped down from the carriage carrying a large food box filled with dishes from Anhualou.

Xiao Yuanbao, seeing him bring in glossy braised goose, tender bamboo shoots stewed with quail, and slices of roasted lamb still clinging to the bone, teased, “So generous of Lord Jiang—has he been promoted already?”

These fine dishes were far from cheap in an ordinary restaurant, and at Anhualou they would cost even more.

Qi Beinan rubbed his chilled hands together and told the servants to warm the food. Then he took Xiao Yuanbao by the hand and led him inside.

Outside, snow was falling thickly. Xiao Yuanbao had stayed in all day keeping accounts; his hands were warm, and the feel of them in Qi Beinan’s grasp was pleasant.

Once they were settled indoors, Qi Beinan told him the reason Jiang Tangyuan had invited him out for food and wine.

Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes went round. “Those two?”

He rubbed his face in disbelief. “I never would have thought Third Brother Zhao, that piece of wood, would catch Tangtuan’s eye.”

Then he clicked his tongue, half laughing, half astonished. He recalled the time he had spoken of Zhao Guangzong with Tangtuan—he had indeed praised him at length.

At the time, he hadn’t thought much of it, only considered it polite conversation between old acquaintances. Who knew there had been something more behind it?

He shook his head. He really hadn’t been observant enough.

Then, suddenly remembering, he asked, “So what did you tell him—what kind of test?”

Though Xiao Yuanbao secretly hoped Tangtuan and Third Brother Zhao might truly become a pair, he also knew such things couldn’t be pushed by anyone’s will; they had to follow fate.

Qi Beinan said slowly, “Both young men present themselves well—everything seems proper and pleasing on the surface. But such outward polish means little. True sincerity shows only when a person is asked to give something up.”

“So,” he continued, “I told young Lord Jiang to set them both the same condition: once married, they may never take a concubine. And words alone don’t count. They must write and sign a formal pledge—if either should break it, the marriage is to be annulled through the official matchmaker, and the man himself will bear the blame.”

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