Ch 109: Reborn to Raise My Husband

When Xiao Yuanbao heard what scheme Qi Beinan and Jiang Tangyuan had come up with, he thought to himself that Beinan really never ran short of cunning ideas.

To forbid concubinage wasn’t some impossible or life-threatening demand. Many men in the world lived with only one spouse; it was hardly unheard of.

Back in their home village, aside from the landlords and the wealthier heads of estates who might keep more than one wife, most ordinary folk were simply husband and spouse.

Those who took concubines were usually the well-to-do—merchants with money enough to keep several women, who treated it as a show of wealth.

Among high-born scholar-official families, having a few secondary rooms was ordinary custom; a household without one or two would instead be considered strange.

People outside would talk, of course—saying the family must be poor and unable to support concubines, or that the official’s wife or husband was jealous and domineering.

At best, someone might say something pleasant—that the couple were affectionate and faithful.

In truth, to have no concubines harmed no one; it didn’t cost a piece of flesh. Idle gossip was nothing, and no censor would impeach a man merely for keeping a single spouse.

When traced to its root, talk about lacking “proper dignity” without several wives or about needing many heirs usually came from meddling relatives—or from men lustful at heart who wanted a respectable excuse for it.

Xiao Yuanbao said, “You’d better not let Third Brother Zhao know this was your idea.”

Qi Beinan smiled. “I’m not afraid if he does. The Jiang family’s rank may not be the highest in court, but they’ve held office for generations—a century of standing. Their gate is far above what the Yangs ever had.”

“To speak plainly, if Guangzong marries into the Jiang family, he’s marrying upward. If he isn’t willing to give up a little, it’d be like having a pie drop from the sky into his lap—how could such luck exist?”

“Besides,” he added, “no one is forcing his hand. If he disagrees, he can refuse. The Jiangs are an upright family—they won’t make things hard for him.”

Qi Beinan said, “A man can’t want everything both ways. And since I’ve set the example myself, Guangzong will have nothing to say.”

At that, Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes flickered, and the corners of his mouth curved. “Those are your words.”

Qi Beinan nodded. “They’re mine. I gave my word long ago—I won’t break it.”

As winter came on, Xiao Yuanbao was busy with preparations for the new shop.

Now that all the staff were hired, he had to train the cooks and servers before opening day.

The cooks needed to become familiar with every dish on the menu, preparing each in turn to taste.

Flavor was one matter; more importantly, they had to follow the recipes precisely. A wrong combination of ingredients could turn a medicinal meal harmful—a danger that could never be risked.

The servers, too, had to learn which dishes suited which conditions, so they could introduce the right meals to customers.

Everything had to be categorized and memorized; that took time.

After the first round of practice, Xiao Yuanbao and Bai Qiaogui came to test them.

“If I say I’m weak in qi and need nourishment,” Xiao Yuanbao asked, “what would you recommend?”

The servant answered promptly, “If the gentleman feels weak in qi and blood, he should order a bowl of Dangshen and Longan tonic soup, stewed with an old black hen for replenishing qi and blood.”

Xiao Yuanbao shook his head. “I don’t like black chicken.”

“That’s no matter,” said the servant quickly. “Our shop has many nourishing dishes. Besides the Dangshen Longan soup, there’s pigeon soup, or egg with red dates and brown sugar…”

He trailed off, unable to recall the rest, and quickly handed over the recipe book. “See here, sir—there are many more listed. You can choose whatever suits you.”

Xiao Yuanbao laughed. “Not the best memory, but a quick wit—that’s better.”

“Next,” he said.

After several rounds, he found that all the servers were nimble-minded and could respond well. For such work, quick thinking mattered more than rote memorization, and he was satisfied.

“Gentlemen,” one young man asked hesitantly, “it’s easy enough if customers order their own dishes. Every restaurant works that way. But if they come for the food therapy and don’t know what they need—say they only complain of dizziness or sore back—and ask us to recommend something, what should we do?”

Another added, “We’re only serving staff, not physicians. We can’t diagnose or prescribe. If we guessed wrong, it’d be one thing, but if we harmed someone’s health, what then?”

Xiao Yuanbao and Bai Qiaogui exchanged glances—they hadn’t thought of that, and found the point well made.

Xiao Yuanbao rewarded the young man with half a string of coins and told them the matter would be discussed and decided later.

“This is important,” he said. “Most who come for medicinal food will know what ails them, but there will always be some who don’t.”

As they returned home, Bai Qiaogui said, “To diagnose properly, we’ll need a professional.”

Xiao Yuanbao nodded. “Then it must be a physician.”

“Exactly,” she said. “Without a proper doctor, even if the staff know a little medicine, customers won’t trust them.”

Xiao Yuanbao thought for a moment. “We had planned to have a doctor sit in only on the first and fifteenth of each month—but it seems now we’ll need one present at all times.”

“You can go once or twice a month, that’s fine,” Bai Qiaogui said, “but it won’t do for you to be there every day. We’ll have to find someone from outside. Only, most physicians already work in clinics—it won’t be easy to find one willing to sit in a restaurant.”

“I’ll handle that,” she added. “I studied medicine; it’ll be easier for me to find someone.”

Xiao Yuanbao nodded. “All right.”

The matter of the shop wasn’t yet fully settled when news arrived—word of Jiang Tangyuan’s marriage match.

Xiao Yuanbao had been quietly waiting for it, though he hadn’t dared send a letter to ask. Translated on Hololo novels. At last, some reply came—but not from Jiang Tangyuan’s brother, Jiang Tangyuan himself, or even through Qi Beinan. Instead, it arrived as a letter from Zhao Guangzong.

It filled three whole pages, the once-steady handwriting now a little uneven, the tremor of emotion showing plainly between the lines.

“Anan,” it began, “if this letter finds you well, then all is well.

I have joyous news, yet none with whom to share it, so I write this to tell you.”

He wrote of how Elder Jiang, Jiang Tangyuan’s father, wished to bestow his beloved child in marriage—and how he, Zhao Guangzong, could hardly believe such fortune had fallen upon him.

It was the ordinary joy any man might feel at such a match. But more than that, Zhao Guangzong confessed that he had long harbored feelings for Jiang Tangyuan.

Back when he traveled to the capital for the imperial examination, he had first seen Tangyuan along the road.

That spring, the plum blossoms were white as snow. Tangyuan had been standing on a balcony, gazing at the moon, and a handkerchief blown loose by the wind had landed against Zhao Guangzong’s chest—striking not only his body but his heart.

A still pond had rippled; calmness was lost.

He had never known such a feeling before—it came late, but it came beautifully. For the first time, the scholar who had lost sleep only for his studies lay awake thinking of a person.

It was easy enough to give away one’s heart, but to have two hearts meet—that was life’s hardest thing.

When he learned of the Jiang family’s standing, his delight turned to shame. The Jiangs and the Zhaos were worlds apart; he dared not speak of what he felt, fearing only to trouble the other.

After he failed that year’s examination, he believed their fates forever parted.

But later, when he passed the provincial exams and became an appointed official in Jinling, chance brought him once more to a Jiang family banquet—where he saw Tangyuan again, and his joy was beyond measure.

Then came what he had never even dared to dream: Elder Jiang summoned him several times afterward, quietly inquiring after his family background.

Zhao Guangzong had begun to sense the man’s intent, and that night he was so happy he could not sleep at all.

To him, it was a miracle beyond imagining. From that day, he was all courtesy to the Jiangs and diligence in his duties.

Soon, however, he learned that Elder Jiang was considering not one candidate but two—the other, a promising young scholar of good reputation.

Zhao Guangzong feared the precious thread of fate might once again slip from his grasp.

Then, Elder Jiang privately asked him: if Tangyuan were given to him in marriage, could he promise never to take a concubine nor keep a mistress, and would he still agree to such a union?

To marry Jiang Tangyuan—how could he want anyone else?

Zhao Guangzong swore on the spot and signed his name to the pledge, wholly unashamed.

Thus Elder Jiang chose him as his son-in-law. By the time the letter reached them, the engagement had already been formally agreed upon and acknowledged by both families.

Qi Beinan and Xiao Yuanbao were both truly happy for him.

After so many years alone, Zhao Guangzong had found his match—and not only the one he loved, but one who returned his love. What greater joy could there be?

In truth, Qi Beinan had guessed the outcome the moment he saw Zhao Guangzong’s letter, but seeing it confirmed still brought quiet satisfaction.

Xiao Yuanbao set the letter down on the table and leaned back, smiling with delight.

“So now we can visit Tangtuan often. When we’re old and retired, we can all return to Ling County together.”

Qi Beinan laughed. “You’re already talking about retirement? We still have decades ahead of us.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Xiao Yuanbao said cheerfully. “I like thinking about the days to come—it gives me something to look forward to.”

Qi Beinan smiled. “You’re not wrong. The Jiang family’s from Jiangzhou, right next to Linzhou—hardly far from home.”

Xiao Yuanbao swung his legs happily, then paused. “But Zhao Third Brother only said that Elder Jiang chose him. He didn’t mention what became of the other scholar.”

He frowned. “Could it be that the man didn’t even dare give his word—that he refused to live with only one spouse, unwilling to part from the idea of three wives and four concubines?”

Qi Beinan gave a short laugh. “Who knows? Perhaps that scholar had already pledged himself elsewhere, and so couldn’t accept Elder Jiang’s condition.”

Xiao Yuanbao looked puzzled. “If he already had someone, why chase after Tangtuan at all? He could have married the one he loved and everyone would be happy. Elder Jiang wasn’t forcing him to break any bond, only asking a question.”

Qi Beinan tapped his forehead lightly. “Why else, if not to borrow the Jiang family’s name for an easy rise?”

Xiao Yuanbao frowned deeper. “That’s only our guessing. The truth, we can’t yet know.”

Qi Beinan merely smiled, and said nothing more.

Xiao Yuanbao learned the full story not long after—it seemed the Jiang family had written back to young Lord Jiang with the news.

When Qi Beinan took Xiao Yuanbao to dine at the Jiang residence, Jiang Tangyuan told them everything.

Here was how it had gone.

After receiving Qi Beinan’s suggestion, Jiang Tangyuan had immediately written home. Elder Jiang found the idea sound and decided to test both young men separately.

He first questioned the scholar.

Elder Jiang asked how many concubines the man planned to take after marrying Tangyuan.

The scholar replied smoothly that matters of the inner household would be decided by his husband, and that such arrangements—concubines and other affairs—should follow the will of family elders.

There was nothing wrong in what he said, but it left Elder Jiang far from satisfied.

Then Elder Jiang pressed further: if he were to marry Tangyuan, and concubinage were forbidden, how would he feel about that?

The scholar did not answer at once. After a moment, he said that in his heart he was willing—but he must first consult his parents. If they had no objections, he would agree.

He spoke of loyalty and prudence, of being a dutiful son who would not act rashly.

Elder Jiang let him return home to discuss it, and turned to question Zhao Guangzong.

Neither matter was settled immediately.

But at that very juncture, a young woman appeared at the Jiang gates, weeping and crying.

She said she and the scholar had grown up together, childhood playmates who had long pledged their lives to each other.

Now, she sobbed, the wealthy Jiang family sought to steal away her betrothed. Even if they meant to take him, could they not at least leave her a way to live—allow her to become his concubine, if nothing else?

She wept bitterly before the main gate, so pitiful that passersby thought she had suffered some great injustice at the Jiangs’ hands.

The Jiang family was furious. Whatever the truth, with such a scene made in public, how could they still proceed with the match?

A marriage was meant to bring peace and respectability—if trouble erupted before the wedding, what chaos would follow after?

Jiang Tangyuan said, “My father later sent men to investigate. It turned out the tale of childhood affection was not empty talk. The scholar’s family once lived in a distant village under Jinling. After he passed the local exams and was rewarded, they moved into the city.”

“The girl was a distant cousin. They played together as children, and affection grew between them. He had promised that once he made his name, he would marry her.”

When the scholar came to the capital for the examinations and met Elder Jiang, the elder was impressed by his essays and diligence, and took him under his wing.

The scholar never thought such fortune would come his way. Though he already owed the Jiangs much, their favor was not yet secure. If he became their son-in-law, everything would change.

So, though he had pledged himself to his cousin long ago, he could not bear to give up the chance for wealth and advancement.

Somehow the cousin learned what he was scheming. Seeing that the Jiangs forbade concubinage, she must have realized all hope was lost—and so she came to the Jiang gates to make a scene.

That was all the Jiang family knew.

What they did not know was that after the scholar heard Elder Jiang’s condition, he and his parents discussed it and decided his future came first. A family like the Jiangs’ was too rare a chance to waste, and he meant to cut ties with his cousin entirely.

But the cousin was not one to suffer in silence. Furious at his ingratitude, she resolved to ruin him too. If he meant to discard her for high status, she would drag everything down with her—so she went to the Jiangs’ house, and in doing so destroyed his prospects altogether.

Even without knowing all these details, just understanding the man’s intentions left Xiao Yuanbao sighing deeply.

Since coming to the capital, he had learned how hard life could be for those without connections—but it was the first time he had seen someone go so far for ambition.

Qi Beinan had been right all along: that scholar truly had already pledged himself elsewhere.

Jiang Tangyuan sighed. “If not for that suggestion, we might never have seen his true character. On the surface, both men looked decent enough—but only when tested does one see who is genuine and who is false.”

Had Zhao Guangzong not come along, his father might easily have chosen the scholar instead.

And with his temperament, once the marriage was settled, he would surely have brought that cousin into the house as a concubine.

Taking a concubine was no great crime—but it revealed what kind of man he was: calculating, untrustworthy. And with ten years of old affection behind them, Tangyuan could never have managed such a person.

Thinking of it, Jiang Tangyuan said he had lost sleep for nights.

That was why he was all the more grateful to Qi Beinan.

“Don’t speak of gratitude,” Qi Beinan said, raising his cup to clink against Jiang Tangyuan’s. “We’re friends. When friends are in trouble, how could I stand by and watch?”

He smiled. “When Tangyuan and Guangzong are wed, if Guangzong ever dares treat him poorly, I’ll be the first to set him straight.”

Jiang Tangyuan laughed. “With those words, I can rest easy.”

When they left the Jiang residence, Xiao Yuanbao’s heart was full of feeling.

The winter wind was sharp and bitter, stinging his cheeks. He reached out and clasped Qi Beinan’s hand.

Qi Beinan felt the warmth of Xiao Yuanbao’s hand in his palm and, raising his brows slightly, glanced at him. “What’s got into you today to be so good?”

Then he turned his hand and held Yuanbao’s more tightly.

Xiao Yuanbao let out a slow breath. “I just suddenly feel very fortunate.”

Qi Beinan asked, “Why do you say that?”

“The world’s affections are tangled and complicated,” Xiao Yuanbao said softly. “People go round and round, facing all manner of hardship—and even after all that, not everyone ends with happiness.”

He looked at Qi Beinan. “Compared to that, I think my own path has been too smooth.”

At those words, Qi Beinan looked at the bright eyes before him—eyes that had deepened with age and thought, yet still held that same clear light.

Without thinking, he drew Yuanbao into his arms and said gently, “Xiaobao, it’s right that your life should be smooth.”

The last life had been too bitter; every misfortune had been tasted already.

Now, it was only just that all should be calm and well, days lived in peace and ease.

Xiao Yuanbao rubbed his face lightly against Qi Beinan’s broad cloak. “You’re far too partial toward me.”

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