Author Archives: Thingyan

It was only a few days later that Xiao Yuanbao received a letter from Bai Qiaogui, sent from Lantian County.

She wrote that she too would be coming to the capital. As for the food therapy business Yuanbao had mentioned, she proposed they discuss it in detail once she arrived in person.

Reading that line, Yuanbao shot up from his stool in surprise. He read the letter again, slowly, carefully, to be sure he hadn’t imagined it.

When he finished, a bright smile spread across his face.

Just then, Wen-ge’er came in carrying tea. Seeing Yuanbao grinning over a letter, he asked, “Is it a letter from the master? You look so happy.”

Yuanbao shook his head. “Not from him—Sister Gui is coming to the capital.”

Wen-ge’er set down the teacup. “Is Madam Bai coming especially to see you?”

“She’s not coming for me,” Yuanbao said, still beaming. “She’s moving here.”

In her letter, Bai Qiaogui explained that after the recent juren selection, His Majesty had expanded the number of appointments available, allowing more scholars to be assigned to posts.

Yet no matter how outstanding these men were, none could immediately serve in the capital; all had to begin their careers in the provinces. To make room, the Ministry of Personnel was recalling competent officials who had previously been sent out to local positions.

Luo Tingfeng, who had done well in the palace examination, had been posted to the provinces for lack of connections in the capital. Now, with new juren needing posts, he was being transferred back.

Bai Qiaogui didn’t specify what department Luo Tingfeng would serve in once they returned—her letter only said they would settle that after arriving.

For now, she asked Yuanbao to help make arrangements in advance; they would depart for the capital within ten days.

Since the juren selection exams were already underway—and these were simpler than the regular imperial exams, with results released quickly—the new appointments would follow soon after. Once the Ministry issued the recall order, the couple had to hand over their county duties and prepare for travel.

Though their time in office hadn’t been long, it was still enough that leaving required proper handover. Everything had just been put in order when the imperial decree arrived, bringing a rush of work.

Even if they hadn’t asked for help, Yuanbao would have stepped in. Upon learning they were coming, he immediately wrote back, assuring them to finish their business in Lantian County without worry—he would handle matters here.

The Luo and Bai families were modest but decent folk, with some means yet far from wealthy. Coming to the capital, the first concern was lodging.

Unlike a county appointment, where the magistrate and his family lived in the yamen’s official residence, capital officers had to rely on government quarters—and without connections, getting a decent one could take ages.

Even then, there was no telling whether one might be assigned a house near the outer wards or some cramped, noisy alley.

After his first appointment, Luo Tingfeng had learned what life in the capital was like. Rather than wait endlessly for a suitable official residence, he decided to rent a private home instead.

But to purchase one, as Qi Beinan and Yuanbao had done, was out of reach for them. They had only limited savings; they could not produce such a large sum at once.

So the most practical choice was to rent. Officials living outside their assigned quarters received a small stipend, but it wasn’t much. Luo therefore asked Bai Qiaogui to have Yuanbao help find a house before they arrived, so that settling in would go smoothly.

Yuanbao was more than happy to help—he only wished they might rent somewhere in the same lane.

Yet the inner city, where he lived, was expensive. Buying property was costly enough; even renting could be daunting.

Still, it wouldn’t do for them to live too far out—traveling to morning court from the outer districts would be tiring.

After thinking it over, Yuanbao suddenly recalled something.

Their previous rental house, before they had bought the new one, was in a good location and reasonably priced. They had lived there for nearly a year, and had it not been for the marriage and new home, they would have kept it longer.

Moreover, Bai Qiaogui had visited that house before and liked it.

Decision made, Yuanbao sent someone to find the property broker.

Fortunately, since they’d given up the lease in May and the big summer exams hadn’t yet begun, there weren’t many tenants searching. The house hadn’t been taken.

Renewing the lease was easy—no haggling over price; everything stayed as before.

Once the new keys were in hand, Yuanbao sent two idle servants to clean the place thoroughly.

Summer dust settled thickly; after a month closed up, the house had grown dull and gray.

By late June, the capital was sweltering. The air felt baked dry, as if scorched by fire.

Luo Tingfeng and Bai Qiaogui arrived with three or four wagonloads of belongings.

Having received their letter in advance, Yuanbao went to the city gate to meet them.

He had been waiting outside for some time, but the sun blazed down mercilessly, drenching him in sweat. He bought a block of ice from a street vendor, intending to cool off in his carriage—when, from afar, he caught sight of their caravan approaching.

“In this heat,” Bai Qiaogui called out as she stepped down, “whatever possessed you to wait at the gate? If you catch heatstroke, what then?”

Bai Qiaogui stepped down from the carriage, her face bright with both joy and mild reproach as she saw Xiao Yuanbao waiting there.

She drew out a handkerchief scented faintly with mint and dabbed the sweat from his forehead. “I still remember the way to that house. You needn’t have come all this way to the city gate.”

“I was waiting in the shade,” Yuanbao said with a laugh. “No matter how hot it gets, it’s not as bad as the heat you’ve suffered on the road. I’ve nothing to do at home anyway—coming out for a walk does me good.”

Then he turned and greeted Luo Tingfeng with a polite bow. “Master Luo, was your journey smooth?”

It had been a full year since they’d last seen each other. Luo Tingfeng was darker now, likely from the sun and wind of provincial service—no longer the pale scholar of old. Yet the tan suited him, lending a steadier, more mature air.

“The road was clear all the way,” Luo said. “Only the weather—sweltering. We kept shut in the carriage, it was stifling. We soaked indigo root in our water to fend off the heat; otherwise we’d surely have fallen ill after so many days on the road.”

He added with a smile, “If a few days’ journey was this trying, then Brother Qi’s examination tour through the provinces must be far worse.”

“He’s learned to ride now,” Yuanbao replied. “He doesn’t have to sit cooped up in a carriage all day—he’ll be fine.”

After a few more words, they climbed into the carriage and went to the house.

Yuanbao had already ordered water to be boiled—after such a journey, they would be soaked in sweat and nothing would feel better than a bath.

By noon he sent a servant to fetch hot dishes from a nearby tavern, and soon they were eating together.

Servants from both households busied themselves with unpacking. Luo and Bai had brought two attendants, but with a whole house to settle into, extra hands were welcome.

Yuanbao, having moved several times himself, knew well how troublesome it could be. Seeing everything clean, orderly, and ready for them to move in at once, the couple were deeply grateful for how thoughtful he’d been.

When the sun tilted westward, Yuanbao finally took his leave.

He had come empty-handed, but he went home carrying a chest.

Opening it, he found it filled with fine medicinal herbs—soft-dried wild goji berries, thumb-thick slices of danggui, crisp white lily bulbs, plump lotus seeds.

All could serve as both medicine and food: lily and lotus seeds made fragrant porridge, danggui enriched stewed chicken or pork, and goji berries had endless uses.

He guessed Sister Gui had gathered them herself back in Lantian.

Besides the herbs, there were local delicacies too: spicy-marinated smoked chicken, wrapped in oil paper that released a numbing aroma the moment he opened it. Steamed, it would surely be delicious.

He selected some lilies and lotus seeds into a round box, added danggui and goji berries, and packed two of the smoked chickens—sending the lot to Jiang Tangtuan’s household.

Just as his servant went off with the bundle, Wen-ge’er came in. “Husband, a letter’s arrived.”

He handed over not just a letter from the porter’s lodge, but also a small parcel.

Yuanbao had been sorting the chest; the strong scent of the smoked chicken had clung to his sleeves. He was rubbing his hands with bath beans when he heard there was a letter, and quickly wiped them dry before taking it.

The envelope opened easily, and on the back of the folded paper he saw a few familiar characters—To my beloved.

Seeing those four words, Yuanbao’s heart lifted. The letter was thick—four or five pages at least.

He didn’t open it right away but turned to Wen-ge’er. “Go tell the kitchen to make me shrimp dumplings for supper.”

“Yes, sir,” Wen-ge’er said, and went.

Then Yuanbao carried the letter into the main room and unfolded the paper.

Xiaobao, if you are reading this, I am well.

The examinations proceed smoothly; all is in order. Food and lodging are sufficient, though the night rains in Jinling come fierce and loud with thunder—I find it hard to sleep. I cannot help but think of those nights of rain when you and I were together…

Qi Beinan’s letter went on with small details of his days overseeing the provincial exams, asking how Yuanbao fared in the capital, whether he had missed him, and so on.

Because correspondence was slow, Qi had written at length. Yuanbao read carefully line by line. In later pages, Qi mentioned the bustling beauty of Jinling, its shops and wonders even grander than the capital’s.

During his free hours, he had bought a few gifts he thought Yuanbao might like and hoped they would please him.

Even before opening the parcel, Yuanbao was already smiling.

He hurried to untie the bundle. Inside was a long wooden box holding a delicately carved hairpin—simple and elegant, with a faint, refined fragrance rising from the wood.

There was also a small square box that fit in his palm. He opened it and found a pink pearl, perfectly round and luminous.

He lifted it between two fingers, marveling.

He had seen white pearls before, but never pink ones; such a gem must be rare and costly.

“Still spending money so freely,” he murmured—but the reproach was soft, full of warmth. He carefully set the pearl back into its box, smiling all the while.

Just when Xiao Yuanbao thought he’d finished unpacking everything, he noticed another folded length of fabric at the bottom of the parcel.

He glanced at it—it didn’t seem remarkable at first glance, just an ordinary piece of leather or cloth easily found in the capital. Why would Qi Beinan have gone to the trouble of sending this all the way back?

Curious, Yuanbao picked it up. It felt as though something was hidden inside.

He unfolded the cloth—and sure enough, a slim fabric-covered box was tucked within.

“What on earth—he even hid something inside…”

Before he could finish muttering, a flash of bright crimson caught his eye.

Inside the box lay a piece of red silk, no wider than a man’s waist, shorter even than a kitchen apron. A thin strap looped for the neck, two ribbons extended from the sides to tie around the waist—and across the middle, finely embroidered mandarin ducks played upon rippling water.

Yuanbao lifted the fabric in one hand; it was so small and soft he could easily crush the whole thing into his palm.

The material was supple beyond belief, cool and smooth to the touch, like dipping one’s fingers into a stream of spring water.

At the bottom of the box was a note. Yuanbao picked it up and read:

“Your skin is fair and your waist slender; this fabric is soft and gentle. You’ll look beautiful in it. When I return, I’ll have a proper look.”

In an instant, Yuanbao’s face turned crimson.

That tiny scrap of cloth—how could it possibly cover anything? It might reach the upper thighs at best, and behind, only two ribbons to tie it by. There was scarcely any difference between wearing it and wearing nothing at all.

Even holding it made his hands feel hot.

Flustered, Yuanbao shoved the silk back into the box and snapped the lid shut, his cheeks burning.

“This man—so shameless,” he muttered under his breath. “Out doing official business, and he still finds time to buy something like this?”

The nerve of him. Yuanbao couldn’t even stand to look at the thing without blushing; he could hardly imagine how Beinan had managed to buy it in broad daylight.

“And to write that he wants me to wear it for him when he comes back—if he dares bring it up, I’ll throw it in his face,” he fumed. “Utterly incorrigible.”

Muttering these fierce words, he dove under the quilt, face still red.

Yet for all his indignation, Qi Beinan’s teasing had stirred something.

Since their marriage, they had spent nearly every night together, intimate and frequent. Now Beinan had been gone almost a month, and Yuanbao had lived alone just as long.

It was like eating rich meat and fish every day—at first one tires of it and craves something plain, but after too many days of thin porridge, one begins to long for a single bite of meat again.

Lately, he’d been dreaming often—vivid dreams that left him flushed and sweating when he woke.

A few days later, Luo Tingfeng began work at his new post, their household finally in order. With things settled, Bai Qiaogui came by to visit Yuanbao.

“Though he’s been transferred to the capital,” she said with a sigh, “the position is a quiet one, with little future. The Ministry has assigned him to the Guozijian as a keeper of the archives. He spends his days tending to books—idleness itself. It’s not even as lively as serving in the provinces, where at least he could make something of himself.”

She gave a helpless smile. “Still, you know how he loves his books. When he studied at the county academy, he was just the same. There’s no real advancement in this post, but at least he’s doing something he enjoys.”

Yuanbao hadn’t known until then where Luo Tingfeng had been placed; he couldn’t help but feel a little sorry. In the capital, connections ruled everything. For those from small counties without roots or backing, progress was difficult.

“Let him work steadily a few years,” Yuanbao said. “With time and seniority, there’ll always be a chance to move up.”

“I know,” Qiaogui replied with a soft laugh. “I just needed to say it to someone. Truly, even if his career never rises high, I won’t complain. Living well together matters more than anything else.”

“You’re right about that.”

Then she smiled again. “In your last letter, you mentioned wanting to start a business. I think that’s wise. Once you have a household, you must find ways to sustain it. You know what officials earn—it’s barely enough to keep a family.”

“He has only the small properties from when he passed the examinations,” she went on. “They’re all rented out, and the rent covers our expenses, but what was comfortable in Lantian feels tight here in the capital.”

After only a few days in the city, Bai Qiaogui had already learned that Yuanbao hadn’t exaggerated in his letters—living in the capital devoured silver.

“This won’t do forever,” she said. “We’ve just been married, no children yet—but once they come, expenses will multiply.”

“I’ve been thinking of opening a medical hall while I have the time,” she added.

But that was no easy venture. She had no standing or connections in the capital, and skill alone seldom brought recognition. It was much like Yuanbao’s own beginnings when he first arrived in a new county.

And besides, opening a clinic would require a heavy investment to start.

Every step seemed difficult.

Yuanbao understood her worries perfectly. Had it not been for Qi Beinan’s foresight in buying those dozen shopfronts in Linzhou early on, their own life would have been no easier than Luo and Bai’s—perhaps even harder.

“Still, the two of you are fortunate to have some help from your families,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “It gives you something to fall back on. But now that you’re married, it’s not proper to keep asking for money from home.”

“No matter what, being willing to stand on your own feet and build a livelihood—that’s a fine thing.”

He paused a moment, then added, “Opening a medical hall in the capital is indeed difficult. Procuring herbs alone is an art in itself, to say nothing of the rest. And you’re an official’s wife—you can’t be sitting in the hall each day seeing patients. You’d have to hire someone trustworthy to do that for you. As for finding a suitable shop, that part is easier, but still not simple.”

Bai Qiaogui sighed. “Those are exactly the troubles I’ve been turning over in my mind.”

After thinking carefully, Yuanbao said, “Then why not join me instead? We could work together on food-therapy recipes—just as we used to. When the time comes, we’ll open a food-therapy shop together.”

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

The next morning, Xiao Yuanbao went to the Jiang household.

Jiang Tangtuan was sitting quietly on a bamboo couch woven with rattan, his posture languid. One hand held a book, the other toyed idly with a jade hairpin, rolling it along his cheek. Beside the couch stood a small red-lacquered flower stand, upon which bloomed a pot of white peonies, their petals full and luminous.

“How elegant,” Yuanbao said lightly. “Whose young master might this be?”

At the sound of his voice, Jiang Tangtuan lifted his head. Seeing Yuanbao, he quickly set aside the book and tried to rise, but a fit of coughing seized him. He pressed a handkerchief to his mouth, the pallor of his face turning unevenly flushed.

“Still coughing?” Yuanbao hurried forward and gently patted his back. “Haven’t you taken medicine or seen a physician?”

Jiang Tangtuan took his hand and drew him to sit. “It’s an old complaint of mine. If I stay clear of wind and chill, I’m fine, but once I catch cold, it never passes easily—half a month at least.”

“How can it be that bad?” Yuanbao said. He himself had been frail as a child, yet never so delicate as this.

Tangtuan smiled faintly. “You’ll laugh at me, but I was a mischievous boy. Once, climbing a tree with my brother to pick fruit, I fell into the lotus pond and nearly drowned. My brother was beaten soundly afterward, and while I lay in bed for days, he knelt in the ancestral hall for as long.”

“Since then, my health has been poor. I no longer dared to make mischief, and my temper grew quiet.”

Yuanbao drew a sharp breath. “That’s terrifying. Looking at you now—so calm and gentle—no one would imagine you ever got into such trouble.”

Tangtuan chuckled. “That was long ago.”

Then he sighed. “And now I’ve gone and burdened my brother again.”

“What burden? It’s that Lü family, petty and spiteful—never have I seen such narrow hearts.”

“They’ve already had their downfall,” Yuanbao said, reassuring him. “Don’t waste another thought on them.”

Tangtuan nodded. “It’s a relief that the matter ended cleanly. Otherwise, I’d still feel ill at ease.”

Yuanbao said, “Only your marriage may be delayed now.”

But Tangtuan seemed unbothered. He had never wanted that match with the Lü family. If not for his uncle and aunt’s insistence, he wouldn’t even have come to the capital.

“I’m in no hurry,” he said. “It was only because my elders praised that family that I agreed to the meeting.”

Yuanbao smiled. “You’re still young; there’s no need to rush. A fine ge’er like you will have no shortage of good matches. Why, I know someone—already older than you—who still hasn’t shown the least impatience.”

He teased Zhao Guangzong by implication, then suddenly remembered. “Ah—come to think of it, you must have met him before. He came to the capital with A’nan for the exams last time, though he didn’t pass.”

“You mean Zhao Langjun?”

Yuanbao nodded. “That’s right—you’ve seen each other then.”

Tangtuan thought for a moment, then smiled. “How could I not? We entered the city together halfway along the road, and we even ran into each other again at the announcement of the results.”

He pursed his lips a little, pretending to sulk. “But you—your mind must have been entirely fixed on Lord Qi’s success that day. You probably forgot it was our first meeting.”

“How could I forget?” Yuanbao laughed. “I remember it clearly—it was indeed our first meeting. When I saw you then, I thought I’d laid eyes on an immortal.”

That drew a genuine laugh from Tangtuan.

After a while, he pressed his lips together and asked, “So Zhao Langjun still isn’t engaged? He seems about Lord Qi’s age.”

Yuanbao nodded and told him briefly about Zhao Guangzong’s failed proposals and his current preparations for the official selection exam.

“I’d thought he was already married,” Tangtuan said in surprise.

Yuanbao replied, “A’nan says he’s like a block of elm wood—no blossom ever opens where marriage is concerned. It worries everyone.”

“With the exam before him, he’ll hardly have time to think of anything else,” Yuanbao added.

Tangtuan smiled faintly. “Zhao Langjun is steady and earnest. I’m sure this time he’ll get what he hopes for.”

As he spoke, another cough seized him.

Yuanbao at once handed him a cup of warm water and touched his forehead—thankfully cool, only the lingering cough remained.

“You can’t go on like this,” Yuanbao said. “Let me make you a lung-soothing broth.”

He meant it too. Leading Tangtuan to the small kitchen, he asked the servants for fritillary bulbs, dendrobium, dried snow pears, and codonopsis. Knowing Tangtuan was weary of bitter medicine, he added two pieces of pork bone for flavor.

He soaked the fritillary and pears, washed them clean with the dendrobium, then stewed them with the bones until the rich fragrance of the herbs melded with the sweetness of the meat.

Tangtuan stood nearby, watching him move deftly about the little kitchen. “You came to visit the sick, yet I make you labor over a stove. I’m really ashamed.”

“You’re always saying you’re sorry for this or that,” Yuanbao said. “It’s because you think too much that you never get better.”

He smiled as he stirred the pot. “This recipe was given to me by an old friend—she’s a woman physician, quite remarkable. Once you’ve tried it, if you find it helps, I’ll tell your attendants to make it often for you. Proper nourishment will do more good than a dozen tonics.”

Jiang Tangtuan looked at him then, deeply moved by such care.

“I’ll be sure to follow the diet recipe you left for me,” Jiang Tangtuan said.

By late morning, the soup had finished simmering. Its surface gleamed with oil, and the scent made his appetite stir. Though it was brewed from herbs, the broth was light, sweet, and smooth on the tongue—far better than any bitter medicine.

He drank a bowlful and even picked out several small pieces of pork rib, eating with real relish. The older maid attending him remarked that his appetite was the best it had been in days.

At noon, Xiao Yuanbao stayed to share lunch at the Jiang residence before returning home.

Jiang Tangtuan personally saw him to the gate and stood watching as Yuanbao’s carriage departed before turning back inside.

The summer heat pressed down. Riding in the swaying carriage, Yuanbao soon grew drowsy.

When he arrived home, he went straight in for a nap, meaning to rest for a short while—yet he slept far longer than he intended.

When he finally awoke, Qi Beinan was standing by the side of the room, changing into his court robe.

Yuanbao sat up abruptly on the cool couch. “What time is it—you’re already back from duty?”

Qi Beinan turned, smiling faintly at the bleary figure on the couch. “Nearly the hour of you, I’d say.”

“I slept that long? And you didn’t wake me?”

Yuanbao rubbed his head and started to rise, only to see Qi Beinan remove not just his court robe but the undershirt beneath it as well.

His breath caught. The man’s bare shoulders and solid back were suddenly in view.

“It’s broad daylight—aren’t you the least bit ashamed?”

Qi Beinan paused, a towel in hand. “Ashamed? I can’t change clothes in my own room now?”

“You’re changing clothes—why strip down completely?”

Qi Beinan wiped at the sweat along his neck, looking wronged. “It’s scorching outside. I rode all the way back in that carriage—my clothes are soaked through. Can’t I take off the wet ones?”

Yuanbao faltered, realizing he’d misunderstood. His face flushed deeper. “Then—I’ll fetch you a towel.”

He slipped his feet into his shoes and stepped down from the couch. But before he could go far, Qi Beinan caught him by the arm and drew him in.

Yuanbao stumbled; his palm landed squarely on Qi Beinan’s bare chest.

He could feel the slick warmth of skin damp with sweat, the heat radiating through his fingers. The faint, spicy scent that rose from Qi Beinan now was not the polished fragrance of an official’s perfume, but the vivid, masculine scent of exertion.

Yuanbao’s heart thudded wildly. He tried to pull back, but Qi Beinan only tightened his hold.

Knowing how easily embarrassed he was made the teasing all the more irresistible.

Holding his hand, Qi Beinan asked, “Do I smell bad?”

“No—no.”

Yuanbao’s lips pressed together, his eyes darting helplessly over the other’s exposed skin. He wanted to look away but couldn’t. Though they had been intimate many times before, it had always been in the privacy of the bedchamber. Seeing him like this elsewhere made his face burn.

“Smell carefully,” Qi Beinan said, slipping an arm around Yuanbao’s waist and tapping a finger against the back of his head.

Yuanbao found himself pressed against him.

“Yes,” he muttered faintly, playing along, “you really do smell.”

Qi Beinan paused, releasing him a little. “Then why is it that on the bed, when I’m sweating even more, you never complain?”

Yuanbao’s face went crimson; he had no idea how to answer.

Qi Beinan’s voice grew lower. “Or is it that the sweat smells different there?”

“I—I wouldn’t know.”

“Then we should find out, shouldn’t we?”

With that, Qi Beinan lifted him off the floor and started toward the bed.

After a few steps, he stopped and asked with mock seriousness, “Would you rather the cool couch or the bed?”

Yuanbao was speechless—he hadn’t even agreed, yet Qi Beinan was already assuming his consent.

“I don’t—”

“Good,” Qi Beinan said at once. “Then not the couch. You’re light enough; half an hour in my arms won’t matter.”

At that, Yuanbao’s eyes went wide. It was still broad daylight—just the thought of it made his skin prickle with shame.

“The bed,” he blurted out in a rush.

Qi Beinan’s smile curved, and he carried him there.

Outside, the evening sun spilled through the lattice, filling the room with a haze of gold. Only the bed curtains, clutched tight by a slender white arm, kept the light from falling inside.

By the time dusk deepened, the room had gone quiet again.

Yuanbao couldn’t bear to step outside afterward. He had the evening meal brought to the outer room, hoping for peace—but it proved a mistake.

Qi Beinan, apparently possessed by some lingering mischief, returned twice before he was satisfied, leaving Yuanbao so flustered he couldn’t lift his head.

He had slept for an hour that afternoon, and he thought he wouldn’t sleep again that night. Yet exhaustion won out; before the city had fully settled, he was fast asleep.

Two days later, preparations for the juren official selection were complete.

From the Hanlin Academy, Qi Beinan was appointed to accompany the Ministry of Rites as an examiner and provincial inspector.

The post had originally been assigned to Lin Qingyu, but since his marriage had just been arranged and the Grand Duke had chosen him as a son-in-law, the Hanlin Academy could hardly send him away on field duty at such a time.

When Xiao Yuanbao heard the news, he couldn’t help asking, “How long will you be gone this time?”

“The Ministry has arranged four inspection teams, each responsible for six provinces. Even at the quickest pace, it’ll take two or three months,” Qi Beinan replied. “Each province will need at least ten days’ stay, plus travel time. It adds up.”

Hearing that it would be so long, Yuanbao didn’t protest—it would be unreasonable to—but his heart still sank a little.

He had long known that an official’s life wasn’t one of freedom, that duties and assignments from above would often send one far from home. Yet when it came to his own husband, he still felt reluctant.

Qi Beinan patted the back of his hand. “I’ll leave early and return early.”

Yuanbao smiled faintly. “We’ve been in the capital for a year now. I’ve gotten to know people, and the teacher’s here too. I’ll manage just fine. You needn’t worry.”

In early June, Qi Beinan departed with the Ministry of Rites’ delegation to the provincial administrations.

To avoid any suspicion of favoritism, he was not sent toward Linzhou but instead to the Jinling region.

Yuanbao stood on a high platform, watching from afar as the line of carriages and horses left the city gate, then turned home with a heavy heart.

Two days later, Jiang Tangtuan came to visit.

“So your cough is finally better? About time you stepped outside again,” Yuanbao said, welcoming him in. With Qi Beinan away, the house felt emptier than ever, and company was a joy.

“That food therapy recipe of yours works wonders,” Tangtuan said. “They’ve cooked it several times for me since, and I really stopped coughing. Still, the taste’s not as good as when you made it—I eat less of it now.”

His complexion was brighter, his spirits improved.

“It’s not the soup’s doing,” Yuanbao said, smiling. “You took your medicine properly, that’s why you’re better.”

Tangtuan shook his head. “No false praise—it truly helped. It’s mild, pleasant, and nourishing, far better than bitter herbs.”

“Then I’ll study more recipes like it,” Yuanbao said. “Might be of use one day.”

Tangtuan laughed. Then he added, “With Lord Qi away on official inspection, the house must feel quiet.”

“It does,” Yuanbao admitted. “No family here in the capital—it’s not like home in the county. Time’s harder to fill. But I’m glad you’re here to talk with.”

They chatted for some time. Tangtuan stayed for lunch, rested through the hottest part of the day, and only then went home, promising to send over some ice next time. He’d recently acquired a finely made ice chest and wanted Yuanbao to have one.

After he left, the house fell silent again, even lonelier for the brief liveliness that had just passed.

Toward sunset, Yuanbao went to check on the pickle shop.

“You’ve been coming a lot lately,” Jiang Fulang said with a grin. “Aren’t you tired of this cramped, stuffy place?”

He set down a small round stool and a bowl of shaved ice with red beans and glutinous rice balls. “Here, eat this.”

Yuanbao sat down, leaned forward, and stirred the ice with his spoon. He scooped up a spoonful and let it melt in his mouth—sweet, cool, and refreshing.

On a summer day, there was nothing more delightful than that.

“It’s cooler here than at home,” he said contentedly. “The breeze in the alley blows strong.”

Jiang Fulang, counting beads on his abacus behind the counter, looked at the young man sitting on a low stool eating sweets—soft and bright-eyed like a lamb—and was struck by how much he resembled his younger self.

He knew Qi Beinan was away on duty, and with no one at home to keep him company, the ge’er would drift here day after day. He didn’t tease him, only said gently, “If it’s cooler here, then come as often as you like.”

Yuanbao finished half the bowl of sweet ice, then ate two skewers of grilled lamb and four marinated duck feet, until his stomach rounded full.

He sprawled lazily in his chair. “The food in this city is incredible. Even the street stalls are delicious.”

“Of course,” Jiang Fulang said. “If they weren’t, they couldn’t afford these rents.”

“How’s business for our shop lately?” Yuanbao asked.

“Good,” Jiang Fulang said. “After costs, we’re clearing forty or fifty guan a month. People say our pickles are tasty and keep well—travelers buy them for the road, whole jars at a time. The best customers are merchant caravans; they buy in bulk. Even the peddlers take stock from us to resell in the outer districts.”

Yuanbao smiled, relieved and pleased.

“There’s even something funny,” Jiang Fulang added. “One big restaurant tried to copy our pickles after seeing how well we sold. They thought to undercut our prices—relying on their wealth to drive us out. But they couldn’t even afford the mushroom supply. Tried for less than a month and gave up.”

He chuckled. “Turns out, those cheap mushrooms they thought they’d gotten were grown by the same farmers we buy from in the suburbs of the capital.”

Xiao Yuanbao had deliberately sold the fragrant mushrooms to that rival restaurant, earning a tidy sum and, at the same time, teaching every merchant who had thought to imitate their youjiangcai business a quiet lesson.

By now, the pickle trade was running smoothly. The shops in Linzhou had all been leased out one by one; just recently, Tienan had brought word of eight hundred guan in rent collected. Counting all their properties together, the yearly rent alone would come to more than a thousand guan.

Add to that two or three hundred guan of income from their estate in the countryside, and they were comfortably secure. In the capital, unless there was some large expense, the profits from the Xiangdangdang shop alone could more than cover their daily use.

Through years of careful management—loosening here, tightening there—their accounts had finally balanced cleanly. Life was easy now; no need to pinch every copper.

They were not yet a grand household of wealth, but by any measure, they had risen to the level of a solidly prosperous family.

Still, Yuanbao was not content to idle away his days as a comfortable gentleman.

The household might be relaxed now, but someday he and Qi Beinan would have a child, and children brought expenses. Raising and educating one was manageable; but when it came time for marriage, that was when silver flowed like water. Yuanbao had lived through it once before—he knew well what such costs meant.

After running the household accounts through his mind, he sighed. “I think I ought to find something new to do.”

First, it would bring in more income; second, with Qi Beinan away for three or even five months, the idle days were wearing on him.

Jiang Fulang looked up. “And what are you thinking of doing?”

“I don’t have much skill to boast of,” Yuanbao said. “Apart from the kitchen, I seem to have no other craft at all.”

Fulang hesitated. “I don’t mean to pour cold water on you, but the capital isn’t like our little county. Here, no one pays just because you can cook a good soup. I thought my own offal dishes were fine, but selling them by the street in the night market—business isn’t what it was back home.”

He wasn’t wrong. As Yuanbao himself had said before, even the humblest stalls in this city cooked well. Unless one had money to burn or a sideline that didn’t depend on food sales, a shop with nothing special would close before long.

Many never lasted to the end of their lease.

Jiang Fulang had lived in the capital long enough to see it with his own eyes, and the gossip of the market always turned to such matters.

“If it’s only about good flavor, without something unique to set you apart,” he said, “then starting a business here is hard indeed.”

Their pickle shop succeeded precisely because it was different—humble, inexpensive pickles made with costly mushrooms, rich in taste yet still affordable. That contrast was what sold.

Yuanbao understood the reasoning. Madam Feng had told him the same long ago: business couldn’t be built on impulse. The youjiangcai trade had taken him many trials before he settled on it.

“I think,” he said now, “I may have found an idea.”

Fulang leaned forward. “Let’s hear it.”

“In the county,” Yuanbao began, “when I lived with Sister Gui, Madam Feng—who taught me to cook—was often in poor health. The two of us used to come up with nourishing dishes for her to eat. She’d seen all kinds of food in her life, yet even she said ours were clever and truly effective.”

“I kept those recipes—soups to moisten the lungs and protect the liver, dishes to replenish yin or strengthen yang. Not long ago, when Tangtuan was coughing, I cooked one for him. His cough cleared, and he swore it worked.”

He continued, “Here in the capital, I’ve been watching the famous restaurants. Take the Anhua Pavilion—known for its extravagance. The building overlooks half the city, and they serve their dishes on gold and silver plates. There’s no delicacy under heaven one cannot eat there.”

“Or Chaoqi Pavilion—its hallmark is the twelve beautiful ladies and ge’er who keep patrons company over wine and food.”

One by one, Yuanbao listed the great establishments, all thriving for their distinctive appeal.

“In this city,” he said, “there are countless skilled cooks. But good taste alone isn’t enough. If I were to take wholesome food and give it the name of shiliao—dietary therapy—that would be my distinction. And not an empty one either—it truly has results.”

Jiang Fulang smiled. “That’s not a bad idea at all. The rich here have plenty of silver but poor health. If you opened a shop offering therapeutic meals, I daresay it would do well.”

Yuanbao’s eyes brightened.

“Only, I was never trained in medicine,” he admitted. “I know only a little, enough to put together ten or so recipes—but that’s hardly enough to open a proper shiliao shop.”

If only Sister Gui were in the capital; he could have worked with her to refine the recipes. Letters could still be sent, but correspondence was no match for face-to-face trial and tasting.

Still, a clear direction was far better than the aimless restlessness he’d felt before.

That very evening, back home, he wrote to Sister Gui, telling her of his plan to open a therapeutic food shop.

With this new purpose, his days no longer felt empty. He spent them poring over medical texts, copying notes, buying ingredients, and experimenting in the kitchen—testing how to blend nourishing herbs with meats and vegetables until the dishes were both flavorful and strengthening.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

On the first day of the month, the regular court assembly convened.

Civil and military officials alike gathered at the Taiji Palace for the imperial audience. They stood in ranks according to grade, the line stretching from the great hall all the way out to the open square.

Those standing in the square could not hear the emperor’s words within, so a relay officer was assigned to repeat each command aloud.

For an official of Qi Beinan’s rank, his place should have been among those in the square—yet as a scholar of the Hanlin Academy, he enjoyed certain privileges. The Hanlin was the emperor’s training ground for close advisers, and even during morning audience, its officials were permitted to stand at the threshold of the main hall, far nearer than most.

Qi Beinan held his ivory tablet calmly, listening to the memorials being presented.

The Ministry of Revenue reported that lifting the nightly curfew had increased the treasury’s income. Then the Grand Secretariat spoke of floods rising in Jiangnan; the court proposed offering prayers for relief.

From national matters the discussion shifted to the inner palace—some ministers urged that, with the treasury now full, the emperor should select new concubines to ensure the imperial line’s continuation.

So it went—on the first and fifteenth of every month, the same recurring topics.

After about the length of one stick of incense, the chief eunuch’s shrill voice rang out: “Those with petitions, step forward; those without, you may withdraw!”

No sooner had the words fallen than an official from the Censorate stepped out of line. “Your Majesty, this minister has a memorial to present.”

At once, every official who had been standing silently straightened a little, eyes cast down, following the movement of the man with wary tension.

The Censorate spent its days watching and recording the faults of all officials—no one knew when its venom might suddenly land on one’s own head.

“This minister impeaches Commander Qiao Sheng of the Capital Guard for failure to discipline his household. His son, abusing his family’s power, assaulted a man in the street, leaving multiple rib fractures.”

Qi Beinan, who had half been listening, raised his eyes slightly and glanced toward Jiang Tangyuan standing behind him.

Jiang Tangyuan met his gaze with a brief, knowing look.

“So such a thing has happened,” the emperor remarked mildly.

Compared with matters of state, this was a trifling scandal. Still, the commander of the Capital Guard was a military officer—his son’s thuggery reflected poorly on imperial discipline.

The emperor was already aware of several similar cases: sons and nephews of high officials bullying commoners under their protection. None had been formally reported, and he, as ruler, could hardly investigate every one. But now that the Censorate had chosen to act, taking this opportunity to remind the court of its duty would do no harm.

“Your Majesty,” said the censor, “the Censorate would not accuse any official without solid evidence.”

The emperor replied, “An official must be upright. The Commander of the Capital Guard is charged with protecting the people, not oppressing them. Let the Prefect of the Capital investigate this matter thoroughly and deal with it severely, so that all officials may remember to guide their sons and nephews properly. Even if they cannot serve the court with merit, they should at least know restraint.”

The meaning was plain: the emperor intended this as a warning to the whole court. Ministers bowed their heads and echoed their assent with dutiful gravity.

Commander Qiao Sheng himself was not present that morning. He had no idea that the Censorate had just lodged a memorial against him.

But two others turned ashen—the Lesser Minister of the Court of Imperial Banquets, Lü Xiaojing, and Doctor of the Five Classics Lü Liang of the Hanlin Academy. Qiao Sheng was their kin; the impeachment struck their household squarely in the face.

After the audience dispersed, Lü Xiaojing approached the censor who had spoken. “Lord Li, you are thorough indeed—so trivial a matter, and you bring it before His Majesty himself. Those who know might praise the Censorate’s vigilance; those who don’t might think you filed a baseless charge just to remind the emperor your office still exists.”

The censor gave a cold smile. “There is no matter too small when it concerns the court. Commander Qiao’s son, by sheer arrogance, beat another man until his ribs were broken. If such savagery is a ‘small matter’ in Lord Lü’s eyes, it chills the heart. Should he kill someone next, I wonder what Lord Lü will call that.”

Then, pointedly, he added, “The Commander of the Capital Guard is but a minor military man. For his son to act so brazenly, one wonders whose power he truly relies on.”

His glance flicked toward Lü Xiaojing.

The insult was clear. Lü’s expression stiffened; he cursed the old viper inwardly but said nothing, sweeping his sleeve as he left the hall.

That very day, the son in question—Qiao Jin—was arrested on imperial order by the Prefect of the Capital himself.

When the officials arrived, Qiao Jin was still sprawled in a drunken stupor in a courtesan’s chamber, half-naked and senseless.

Dragged from bed, he kicked and wailed, cursing and sobbing like an animal as he was hauled through the streets to prison.

Madam Lü, witnessing such disgrace for the first time, was aghast. However exalted her household’s guests had been, none had ever dared treat them so roughly.

She was furious and panicked, but before the Prefect’s iron face, even her influence faltered. She dared not speak out.

As her son was led away toward the city jail, she immediately sent servants to summon her husband and rushed by carriage to her parents’ home to plead for help.

She waited there like an ant on a hot pan until her father and brother returned from court. Before she could speak, they scolded her harshly—rebuking her for failing to raise her son properly.

Madam Lü protested tearfully, “He only ever liked his winehouses a little too much! Father, brother, you both knew this. When he’s drunk, he loses his head and gets into scuffles—it’s happened before without trouble. Why has it turned into such a disaster now?”

In the past, her father and brother had always covered things up for her. Why scold her now, and so severely, when this was hardly the worst of his offenses?

Hurt as she was, she could not ignore her son’s plight. She pleaded, “Father, brother—you must save Jin’er! The prison is harsh. He’s been pampered since childhood, dressed in silks and fine food—how can he possibly endure such suffering?”

“How could I not want to intervene?” Lü Xiaojing said grimly. “But this time it was His Majesty himself who spoke in court, ordering a strict investigation. The emperor means to warn the ministers to discipline their sons and nephews—and he’s chosen Jin’er as the example!”

Madam Lü went pale. “Then whom have we offended? Someone must be deliberately trying to ruin us!”

Hearing this, Lü Liang and his father Lü Xiaojing exchanged glances, unease passing silently between them.

When the trial of Qiao Jin began at the Capital Prefecture, neither the Lü family nor the Qiao family sat idle. Both scrambled to pull strings wherever they could.

The Lü family had cultivated wide connections over the years; in past troubles, those ties had always smoothed things over. But this time every road was barred.

Madam Lü went from house to house, finding every door shut. Former noble acquaintances refused even to receive her. Those of lesser rank whispered that the emperor himself had given the order—no one dared meddle under such an iron decree.

While she was still struggling to find a way, the prefect’s investigation deepened. Not only did they confirm that Qiao Jin had assaulted a man in the street, they uncovered an old homicide linked to him as well.

The more they dug, the more they found. How could the son of a mere military commander have committed so many crimes without exposure?

Within days, the inquiry reached straight up to the Lü household.

“A nest of snakes and rats,” the clerks said. “After only a few days of digging, the Capital Prefecture discovered that Lü Xiaojing had embezzled and taken bribes amounting to over a hundred thousand taels during his years in office. Even funds from the state banquets at the Court of Imperial Banquets—he dared to pocket money under the emperor’s very nose.”

“They found he extorted silver from the farmers who regularly supplied vegetables to the palace—every delivery, he demanded ‘gifts.’ If they didn’t pay, he accused them of offering spoiled produce, denied payment, even charged them with deceiving the throne until they were forced to submit.”

“With the silver he bled from them, his family hosted endless banquets, using food and wine to court influence.”

After court that day, Jiang Tangyuan invited Qi Beinan to his home for tea, the two discussing the fall of the Qiao and Lü families.

Seeing those two houses brought low, Jiang felt no pity—only grim satisfaction and relief that his own family had never been drawn into kinship with them.

Qi Beinan sipped his tea leisurely. “Families like the Lü clan think themselves secure because of their connections. Yet when disaster strikes, who truly stands by them? Every official in the capital now avoids their name. Many must be regretting ever having eaten at their table.”

“Before, they flaunted their glory, trusting that their allies would cover their tracks whenever they blundered. The more they deceived themselves, the bolder they grew. But corruption leaves a trail—once one thread is pulled, the whole fabric unravels.”

The Capital Prefect submitted his report to the throne. The emperor had meant only to issue a warning—strike the mountain to frighten the tiger—but what began as a street assault had unfolded into homicide and, beyond that, massive corruption.

Faced with such an unexpected “revelation,” the emperor’s anger flared.

Qiao Jin was convicted of murder and sentenced to exile. His father, Qiao Sheng, was demoted and stripped of command.

As for the Lü family: Lü Xiaojing was dismissed from office and imprisoned for embezzlement; Lü Liang, implicated through association, was expelled from the Hanlin Academy and reassigned as a minor county magistrate in the provinces.

The once-proud Madam Lü was left utterly disgraced. Both her husband’s and her own family’s fortunes had collapsed. With no face left to show in public, she shut herself indoors, seldom seen again.

“This time, I owe it to your reminder,” Jiang Tangyuan said, “that I gathered evidence of Qiao Jin’s crimes and handed it to the Censorate. Lord Li of the Censorate has long disliked Lü Xiaojing—once he saw a case linked to the Lü family, he leapt to impeach.”

“I only worried the evidence might not be enough to make them act,” Jiang continued. “But as you foresaw—truly, the enemy of one’s enemy is a friend.”

Qi Beinan smiled. “You also deserve credit. Without your family’s connections, we couldn’t have learned which officials opposed the Lüs. It was your information that made this possible.”

“And fortune was with us,” he added. “Had the emperor not been intent on disciplining his officials this season, the Lüs might have bribed their way free again. But stand too long by the river, and your shoes will get wet. This time, they finally slipped.”

Jiang Tangyuan nodded.

With Lü Liang exiled from the Hanlin, no one remained to obstruct him. His own days grew much easier, and the ordeal drew him even closer to Qi Beinan.

Before, they had been friendly colleagues, respectful but not intimate—mere acquaintances bound by shared rank.

Now, having weathered intrigue together, their understanding deepened. They trusted one another as true confidants.

When Qi Beinan returned from the Jiang household that evening, it was already late.

In the kitchen, Xiao Yuanbao was preparing supper.

Qi Beinan changed out of his court robes and stepped inside, drawn by the scent of stir-fried tender gourd shoots—fresh and faintly sweet.

Beside it, a small pot simmered gently. Inside, he saw pig’s jowl, duck feet, duck wings, and intestines—all steeping in a rich spiced broth.

The aroma of the braised meats filled the air. After a long day of talk and tea, Qi Beinan found himself suddenly hungry.

“Why are you making luwei tonight?” he asked.

“It’s from Teacher,” Yuanbao replied. “Now that the weather’s warm, the night market’s growing livelier. After closing shop, he plans to sell some braised dishes there for extra coin. He bought fresh offal and duck this morning—the feathers came off clean, the meat’s good—so he made plenty and sent us some to try.”

Xiao Yuanbao had already heard that morning that Qi Beinan would be stopping by the Jiang household after work. Since he hadn’t mentioned dining there, Yuanbao guessed that he’d come home hungry.

He ladled out a round porcelain bowl. “Here, fill your stomach first.”

Qi Beinan glanced down—it was a bowl of soft, milky-white pig’s brain. Taking it, he sat at the small kitchen table. “Perfect, just what I need to nourish my mind.”

He scooped a spoonful, mixed it with the rich soy sauce, and found it delicious.

Seeing that, Yuanbao simply laid out the rest of the dishes there in the kitchen, and the two ate together.

Over the meal, Qi Beinan told him about the Lü family’s downfall.

Yuanbao sighed as he listened. Though he wasn’t one to rejoice at others’ misfortune, he couldn’t help feeling a small satisfaction at the thought of the Lüs’ collapse.

It wasn’t just because of that banquet when Madam Lü had nearly made a fool of him; it was the memory of the young fulang they had mocked that day—the embarrassment on the man’s face had lingered in Yuanbao’s mind. Who knew how many others the Lüs had humiliated before? Now they themselves had become the talk of the town, subjects of ridicule over tea and wine. Perhaps that was simply retribution.

“I went to visit Tangtuan at the Jiang house two days ago,” Yuanbao said. “He never cared much for that match with the Qiao family, so when it fell through, he didn’t seem particularly upset.”

Because of the broken engagement, however, Madam Lü’s brother in the Hanlin Academy had begun to make things difficult for Jiang Tangyuan. Though Tangyuan never complained, he was gentle and perceptive—his younger brother noticed the change right away, how busy he had become, how the smile had faded from his face. With a bit of asking, he learned the reason, and guilt weighed heavily on him, believing his own failed marriage had brought Tangyuan trouble.

Troubled and restless, he caught a chill and had been coughing badly for several days.

“A broken engagement is nothing rare,” Qi Beinan said. “It was Madam Lü’s own deceit, hiding her son’s debauchery, that caused it. If anyone is to blame, it’s them. And to hold a grudge afterward, using their influence to make life hard for others—such a family has neither decency nor breadth of heart.”

Yuanbao nodded. “A household like that was never upright to begin with.”

Qi Beinan picked up a piece of stir-fried vegetable with his chopsticks and smiled. “Then we may call it fitting retribution.”

“Did you see Tangtuan today?” Yuanbao asked.

Qi Beinan shook his head. “Not today.”

“Maybe he’s still unwell. I’ll go check on him tomorrow.”

“All right.”

Yuanbao placed a duck foot in Qi Beinan’s bowl. “Try one—smells amazing. Teacher said even at three coppers apiece, people buy them eagerly at the night market.”

Qi Beinan laughed. “Then Jiang Fulang will soon be rich.”

“Teacher said he’s saving up. When Zhao San-ge gets married, he’ll help with the wedding—and when we have children someday, he wants to set something aside for them too.”

Qi Beinan chuckled. “Your teacher does think far ahead.”

At the mention of Zhao Guangzong, Yuanbao suddenly remembered. “A letter came from home today—it’s from Zhao San-ge.”

Qi Beinan’s brows lifted slightly. He had written to that young man some time ago; it was about time for a reply.

After the meal, he went to read it.

“What does he say?” Yuanbao asked. The room was warm and close—the heat of early summer made it stifling, though it wasn’t yet the season to use ice. Using it too early spoiled one’s health, and the expense was no small matter.

He opened the window for air, but the mosquitoes were relentless, buzzing in from the courtyard. Grumbling, he fetched a fan, and by the time he turned back, Qi Beinan had already finished reading.

Fanning gently, Yuanbao leaned closer. “So? What did he write?”

“He says he’s giving up the hui examination,” Qi Beinan replied. “He’s going to sit for the xuan’guan selection instead.”

Yuanbao’s eyes widened. “He’s taking the official appointment exam? Then if he passes, he can become a magistrate?”

Qi Beinan nodded. “Yes. If he passes, he’ll officially enter the bureaucracy. But an appointment through the xuan’guan system—what we call a ‘juren posting’—doesn’t carry the prestige of the jinshi degree. Such officials can’t rise as high.”

He went on, explaining patiently, “For example, jinshi can often stay in the capital after passing, or at worst be assigned as county magistrates or prefectural officers. But juren must start from the lowest ranks—as assistant magistrates, prefectural clerks, and the like. The ceiling is low. A truly talented one might reach the level of prefect, but none have ever risen to the Grand Secretariat. Most, lacking connections or brilliance, spend their lives in provincial posts and retire as county magistrates.”

Yuanbao frowned. “Then the prospects truly aren’t as bright as those who pass the hui exam and earn the jinshi title.”

“Of course not,” Qi Beinan said. “Those who labor through two more rounds of imperial exams deserve their greater honor. If it were otherwise, no scholar would bother striving beyond the xiangshi.”

He folded the letter. “Still, I agree with his choice.”

Zhao Guangzong came from modest roots. As a juren, he lived comfortably enough—no want for food or clothing—and could afford to study for years if he wished. But Qi Beinan knew him well: he was not the kind to idle away life in endless preparation.

“To enter government young,” Qi Beinan said, “to serve early and do some real work—that’s worth more than a lifetime chasing titles. If he succeeds, he’ll bring honor to his whole clan.”

After all, the entire Zhao clan pinned their hopes on him.

Moreover, Qi Beinan, who had already lived through one lifetime, knew well how the imperial examination system would change in the years to come. That knowledge only made him more inclined to support Zhao Guangzong’s decision to pursue an official appointment now.

If Zhao Guangzong were certain to pass the next hui examination, then joining the xuan’guan selection this time might seem a waste. But if he failed, the path would only grow harder with time.

Before long, the bureaucracy would overflow with idle officials; scholars would no longer be rare or precious.

Then it wouldn’t just be juren who struggled for appointments—even jinshi would find it difficult to secure real posts. Most would be assigned to ministries as probationary clerks, serving for years without ever being confirmed.

If Zhao Guangzong could take advantage of the present favorable tide to gain an official post, then after years of steady work he would have a solid footing by the time those lean years came. He would have no reason to worry.

Still, such talk was premature. It all depended on whether Zhao Guangzong could pass the selection in the first place; without that, every plan was empty speculation.

The letter said he was already preparing for the prefectural-level exam, though it was impossible to know how ready he truly was.

Qi Beinan’s feelings toward Zhao Guangzong were mixed. He had watched the young man study and take exams year after year—watched him grow from a timid boy into the warm, confident youth he was now. It had not been an easy journey.

To call them mere friends wasn’t quite right, for there was always a certain distance between them.

Rather, Qi Beinan regarded him as a personal student—someone whose progress he could not help but care about.

He sat down that night and wrote a letter in reply, affirming Zhao Guangzong’s decision and offering words of encouragement and hope for his future.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

In the Hanlin Academy, Qi Beinan was working with the Ministry of Rites to organize the appointment of newly ranked scholars.

For this year’s scholar selection, the exam questions were to be composed jointly by the Grand Academician of the Hanlin, two shidu xueshi, and the Left Assistant Minister of the Ministry of Rites, then distributed to the prefectures and provinces. In due course, both the Ministry and the Hanlin Academy would send officials to oversee the regional evaluations.

Qi Beinan, newly married, had hoped to avoid being assigned out of the capital. He had escaped the earlier round of examination inspections, but this time there was no avoiding it. Still, such postings would not last long, so he was not overly troubled.

After a busy day, he finally finished work and headed home.

The new residence was far closer to the government offices. From the palace gates to his doorstep took less than half an hour by carriage. He no longer had to rise so early in the mornings, and the eight or nine hundred taels spent on the new home had been well worth it.

“You’re leaving so early today?”

As Qi Beinan stepped out from the Hanlin offices, he ran into Jiang Tangyuan, who was also heading home.

In June, the Hanlin Academy would conduct its annual review. Those who failed would be reassigned, often to lower posts. Everyone in the Academy was therefore on their best behavior, especially the shujishi.

Qi Beinan, however, had little to worry about. His written assessments would surely be solid, and since his appointment he had worked diligently—he had nothing to fear.

“There are guests at home today, so I’m heading back a bit earlier,” he replied.

Jiang Tangyuan slowed his pace to walk with him. Since Qi Beinan’s new residence was not far from the Jiang household, the two often left the palace together.

As they made their way toward the palace gate, Jiang Tangyuan said, “My mother came up from the provinces. She wishes to call on the Lü family, who used to visit us often.”

Qi Beinan understood at once.

Xiao Yuanbao had mentioned before that Madam Lü hoped to arrange a marriage with the Jiang family for her eldest son. Even without Yuanbao’s reminder, Qi Beinan had already heard of it.

“Then you’re right to go home early,” he said.

Jiang Tangyuan clasped his hands and smiled faintly, clearly hoping things would proceed smoothly. He had only one younger brother and was protective of him, always wishing to find a trustworthy and well-matched household.

Qi Beinan, knowing his thoughts, said nothing further. They parted ways at the palace gate.

When Qi Beinan reached home, he did not find Xiao Yuanbao there. He changed out of his official robes and ate a small plate of steamed yam cake before Yuanbao finally returned.

“Where have you been? It’s late already.”

Seeing the boy’s flushed cheeks, Qi Beinan took up a fan and gently waved it at him. The May sun blazed fiercely, and the heat was stifling.

Xiao Yuanbao gulped down half a cup of his tea before answering. “I went to finalize the shop.”

Qi Beinan raised a brow. “Already? Why didn’t you let me go with you?”

“I’ve gone with you to look at several houses now, and seen how you negotiate shop rentals. Even if I were duller than I am, I should have learned something by now,” Yuanbao said, smiling. “You’re busy at the office—I can’t let you handle everything.”

Qi Beinan chuckled. “It’s my duty to manage our own household affairs.”

Then he pinched Yuanbao’s cheek lightly. “But with such a capable little Bao, I really have nothing to worry about.”

Yuanbao sat down beside him, pried his hand away, and said with bright eyes, “I chose the shop on the busy street in the outer city. It’s a good spot—Teacher thought so too.”

“The front space isn’t large—just enough for seven or eight customers at a time—but there’s a small courtyard behind it with a kitchen, and a ladder leading to an attic that can house two or three people.”

“It used to belong to a couple who ran the business themselves, but they’re old now and wish to retire to the suburbs. That’s why they’re leasing it out. The rent is five taels a month—quite reasonable for a busy district. The space out front isn’t big enough for food stalls to set out tables, so those wanting to sell meals all turned it down.”

“The notice had been posted for months without anyone taking it.”

“I thought since we’re selling youjiangcai, we don’t need a large display area. Even our old street stall worked fine, so this little shop will do perfectly. It has a kitchen and sleeping quarters—ideal for us.”

Jiang Fulang had taken one look and agreed it was an excellent find. But instead of signing immediately, Yuanbao had first made inquiries—whether trouble often arose there, whether the elderly couple had debts or lawsuits.

After confirming there were no such concerns, he negotiated the price down to four taels and six qian, paid a year’s rent in advance, and with other fees spent fifty-five taels in total.

Qi Beinan couldn’t help but praise him. “Our little one is becoming ever more prudent and shrewd.”

Yuanbao corrected him softly. “Not little one—fulang.”

Qi Beinan laughed. “Quite right. My mistake.”

With the weather warming, Yuanbao had shed his thick winter clothes, wearing instead a white silk inner robe and a spring-green patterned gauze overcoat.

The curve of Xiao Yuanbao’s neck showed pale and slender beneath the collar, carrying a faint scent of green bamboo and jasmine.

Qi Beinan looked at him, brows lifting slightly. “You seem fairer than before.”

Xiao Yuanbao touched his cheek. “It’s this spring-green silk. It makes one look paler. Teacher said the same this morning, so I bought another length of the same fabric for him—to make a robe of his own.”

Qi Beinan barely caught the rest of his words. His eyes had already lost focus, drawn to the whiteness of that throat.

He slipped his arms around Yuanbao’s slim waist and, with one motion, lifted him, setting him atop the flower-carved table.

Yuanbao knew at once what mischief he was planning.

Qi Beinan loved to draw him close, perch him higher, and do entirely indecent things—especially in bed, where he was never content unless Yuanbao sat astride him, coaxed into shameful acts that left him speechless.

Now, as the man leaned in, his warm breath brushed Yuanbao’s neck. Yuanbao flushed scarlet and pressed a hand against him to stop the kiss.

Qi Beinan kissed the center of his palm instead. “What’s the matter?”

“You know perfectly well,” Yuanbao said, turning his head slightly toward the bright daylight spilling through the window. “It isn’t even a day since last night.”

He truly could not understand how Qi Beinan had so much vigor. In the first month after their marriage, they had been together once every few days—but as time passed and Yuanbao had learned a little of the rhythm, Qi Beinan lost all restraint, sometimes every two days, sometimes several nights without pause.

He had once thought Qi Beinan the picture of composure, never showing the least worldly indulgence, yet once married, it was as though another man had taken his place.

Still, in all other things he was the same as ever.

“That was last night,” Qi Beinan said. “We ate dinner yesterday—does that mean we shouldn’t eat today?”

“How could you compare such things?” Yuanbao retorted. The man could twist any logic to his liking. “Doing this in broad daylight—it’s like something out of those indecent storybooks.”

Qi Beinan raised an eyebrow and pinched his chin. “And how is it the same? We’re lawful husbands. Whatever we do together is proper. Those storybooks—aren’t they about aunties and younger uncles? Tell me, is that the same?”

Yuanbao pressed his lips together, speechless.

“And besides,” Qi Beinan added, “you reminded me yourself that you’re not my little brother, but my fulang.”

He smiled faintly. “I took it as a hint from you.”

Yuanbao’s eyes widened. He had spoken plainly, and somehow it had turned into a provocation. How could a man so thoroughly twist another’s words?

His chest rose and fell; he drew a quiet breath. There was no reasoning with an official from the Hanlin Academy.

“Then… then…” He lowered his gaze, his face burning. “At least close the window.”

Qi Beinan’s mouth curved. He kissed the edge of Yuanbao’s ear, then went to shut the window.

Yuanbao stole a quick glance as he turned his back. The moment the shutters drew together, he slid off the table, and by the time Qi Beinan turned around, the table was empty—Yuanbao had already darted out the door.

From the threshold he called, “I still have to get the shop fitted up. No time to waste!”

Qi Beinan frowned. “So that’s how you repay my sincerity?”

Yuanbao wanted to say, Sincerity? You mean your broad-daylight wickedness, but servants were passing outside, so he merely pursed his lips.

Qi Beinan narrowed his eyes. This little one was growing ever more cunning.

Two days later, Yuanbao arranged for craftsmen to repair and fit out the rented shop.

They needed to install a counter for receiving payments, fix several rows of shelves along the walls, and build a flat table in the center for tastings. It wasn’t much work—the carpenters had already measured everything the previous day. Four of them came that morning with ready-made shelving, and by day’s end the shop would be set.

Meanwhile, Jiang Fulang had heated water on the stove and scrubbed the attic until it shone. The elderly couple who’d run the shop before had been fastidious folk; everything was spotless, the air clean and fresh with the window open.

From the attic window one could see the entire small courtyard below—a round-bellied water jar stood in the middle, with three glossy green gourds floating inside, lending the space a cheerful life.

Jiang Fulang thought he might stroll to the pottery workshop later to pick up a few cracked earthen jars. He could fill them with soil and plant scallions, garlic sprouts, and chives, just as Tian Ken did back at the manor.

It wasn’t as spacious as the countryside, but this was the capital—convenient for buying and selling. The night market was close by. Once the shop opened, he planned to make braised delicacies in his spare hours, to sell at the market when they closed each evening.

And when Master Qi and little Bao had children of their own, he would take more leisure and help care for them.

The thought filled him with a quiet, long-forgotten anticipation for the days ahead.

Yesterday he had sent a letter to the Zhao family, reassuring them that all was well in the capital and that he was managing life there in good order.

“Teacher, you should rest,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “I can easily hire someone from the street to help clean. In the capital, it’s not hard to find workers, and they don’t ask for much.”

When he returned to the courtyard, he saw Jiang Fulang bent at the waist, scrubbing the attic floor with great effort. Yuanbao quickly called up to him, “That’s hardly enough work to tire you out—no need to do it yourself!”

“It’s a trifle,” Jiang Fulang replied, not pausing in his work. “If I stay idle any longer, my joints will rust.”

Seeing him so determined, Yuanbao gave up trying to dissuade him and turned back toward the front.

But when he reached the shop, the carpenters who had been working were nowhere in sight. Stepping outside, he found them gathered in the street watching some commotion.

“Brat, open your dog eyes and see who you’re dealing with! You dare steal my woman? Try weighing what your bones are worth first!”

“You’ve gone too far! I paid fair silver—why shouldn’t she accompany me? You think her face belongs to your household now?”

Yuanbao hesitated, then joined the onlookers at the edge of the crowd. Before the doors of Meiyin Tower—a famous pleasure house—two finely dressed young men were arguing fiercely.

Beside them stood a strikingly beautiful courtesan, head bowed, dabbing her tears with a thin silk handkerchief, the very image of fragile sorrow.

It was clear enough what they were quarreling over—a courtesan.

The capital’s pleasure quarters were crowded with singers and courtesans of rare beauty and talent, and it was common for such disputes to arise among the wealthy patrons who frequented them.

Yuanbao had little taste for such scenes and was about to leave when a dull thud rang out. The two men, who had been trading words, suddenly came to blows.

The women inside Meiyin Tower screamed, and the heavily painted madam rushed out to intervene, only to be kicked aside by one of the fighting men. She cried out and fell heavily to the ground.

The scene turned chaotic. The man wearing a gold coronet stood back, letting his hired guards handle it. They surrounded the other man—who appeared to be alone—and beat him until he could only crawl away on the ground, bleeding.

The guards showed no sign of stopping.

When a few bystanders started murmuring about reporting to the authorities, the gold-crowned man barked, “Who dares meddle and call the constables? I’ll make you regret it!”

At that, the crowd fell silent.

The beaten man’s groans echoed through the street.

Yuanbao quietly slipped away.

“In so grand a capital, under the Son of Heaven’s very eyes,” he said as he returned, “how can such arrogance still exist?”

Jiang Fulang, hearing of the disturbance, came out to take a distant look.

Yuanbao had seen this sort of thing before—even in their county, merchants who thought themselves powerful had bullied others. He remembered the day one tried to seize Zhao Guangzong’s shop, hiding behind borrowed influence. The man he’d just seen, draped in gold, was surely another who relied on his family’s power.

“No doubt he’s from a great household,” Jiang Fulang murmured.

A nearby carpenter, overhearing, joined in the gossip. “You’ve the right of it. That’s the young master from the Qiao family—son of Commander Qiao of the Capital Guard. A real dandy, that one.”

At this, Yuanbao’s brows knit slightly. The name struck a faint chord. “This Master Qiao—his wife’s surname wouldn’t happen to be Lü, would it?”

The carpenter scratched his head. “Can’t say, sir. Don’t know the lady’s family name.”

Yuanbao didn’t press further, but the thought troubled him. How many Commander Qiaos could there be, and how many with a wife named Lü?

He asked again, “You’ve seen him before?”

“Not I,” said the carpenter. “Only heard the talk. That young master not only keeps favorites at Meiyin Tower, he’s got a pretty boy hidden away elsewhere. Lives in my very street, that one.”

“The fellow’s handsome and always dressed in jewels. No proper work to his name, yet he rides in sedan chairs whenever he goes out. Sometimes late at night, men are seen slipping into his house. Happens all the time in the capital—rich men keeping lovers in secret lodgings. Folks here aren’t surprised anymore.”

“But the boy’s tongue is loose, and he likes to show off. Told more than one person which high official keeps him, and so the story’s out.”

Yuanbao paid little heed to the gossip itself, but what he’d seen was enough. The man’s conduct alone marked him as unfit for trust. How could Tangtuan be given to someone like that?

Back home, he told Qi Beinan everything.

“This Qiao young master is utterly without restraint,” Qi Beinan said, his voice cool. “A reckless youth. Even with family rank behind him, such arrogance goes too far.”

“Should we inform the Jiang family?” Yuanbao asked.

“Of course,” Qi Beinan said. “I’ll speak to Master Jiang myself. You needn’t trouble over it.”

Yuanbao nodded. With Qi Beinan handling it, there was no need for him to say more. He would simply visit Jiang Tangtuan when time allowed.

A few days later, Qi Beinan invited Jiang Tangyuan out for tea after court.

Jiang Tangyuan knew Qi Beinan was not a man for idle leisure. Realizing he must have something to say, he urged him to speak plainly. They were of similar age and long acquainted—no need for ceremony.

When Qi Beinan told him what Yuanbao had witnessed, Jiang Tangyuan’s face darkened with anger.

“There may be some misunderstanding,” he said tightly. “But I’ll make inquiries and confirm it.”

Qi Beinan replied, “Marriage arrangements concern not only your brother’s future but your family’s name as well. A man’s conduct speaks for his household—if he’s not upright, trouble will follow sooner or later.”

Jiang Tangyuan said, “Thank you for coming to tell me about this.”

Seeing that Qi Beinan had spoken out of genuine concern for his family, he did not hide the truth. “The Qiao family’s rank is higher than ours. My parents, being stationed away from the capital, never intended to seek a match here for Tangtuan. It was my uncle and aunt who kept pressing for it, saying how fine the Qiao family was. Since our family had been meaning to arrange a marriage for Tangtuan, they persuaded me to come to the capital for this purpose.”

“I’ve been occupied with my own affairs—exams, appointments, new duties. All I heard were my uncle and aunt’s praises, and when I met the Qiao family, they were gracious and courteous. I assumed they were good people and never took the time to look deeper into that Qiao son’s conduct.”

Qi Beinan said reassuringly, “The capital’s circles run deep. The Qiaos have been established here far longer than either of our families. If they wish to maintain appearances, it would indeed be difficult to uncover the truth quickly.”

What Jiang Tangyuan said was true—he had been busy enough with his own progress, newly appointed and constantly preoccupied. It was easy to be deceived by a family that knew how to present a fine face.

Jiang Tangyuan’s tone hardened. “If that man is truly like this, then my uncle and aunt have greatly disappointed us.”

After parting with Qi Beinan, he quietly sent trusted men to investigate behind his relatives’ backs.

And just as Qi Beinan had said, the rumors were no slander—if anything, the truth was worse.

The young master’s scandals were even more numerous than expected.

Jiang Tangyuan was furious, all the more because his mother had come all the way from her post to see the marriage through. Only days before, the two families had shared a cheerful meal and nearly finalized the betrothal.

No doubt, Qiao Lang had grown careless once he thought the marriage secure, letting his true nature slip.

The Jiang family had never sought the Qiaos’ influence—once they learned what kind of man he was, the engagement was off at once.

But Jiang’s uncle and aunt continued to speak in defense of the Qiaos. “Young masters from great houses all have their tempers,” they said. “A little indulgence is no sin. Once he marries, he’ll settle down.”

Tangyuan suspected they had accepted favors from the Qiaos—or perhaps simply coveted their connections. He could not bring himself to argue openly with elders, so he wrote to his father instead.

When Father Jiang received the letter, his rage was so great that he sent back three letters in succession, each more scathing than the last. Were he not bound by duty at his post, he would have come to the capital himself to give that brother and sister-in-law a proper reckoning.

The household had been in turmoil ever since.

Family discord was one thing—it remained private. But the Qiaos, insulted by the broken engagement, put on a show of magnanimity in public while nursing a deep grudge in secret.

Madam Lü’s own brother was a jinshi, serving in the Hanlin Academy as well. Older than Qi Beinan and Jiang Tangyuan, he had risen from shujishi to the rank of Doctor of the Five Classics, an eighth-grade official responsible not only for teaching but also for overseeing the Academy’s evaluations.

Thus, when Jiang Tangyuan entered the Hanlin as a newly appointed shujishi, he fell directly under the man’s authority.

The Lü official began to trip him at every turn—assigning him petty, menial errands one day, berating him in front of others the next.

As the academy’s assessments drew near, the intent was clear: to have him fail the review and be expelled from the Hanlin altogether.

“I understand well enough now what sort of people the Qiaos and Lü family truly are,” Jiang Tangyuan said bitterly. “Even suffering their spite is better than becoming kin to such households.”

He spoke with composure, yet his frustration was plain. For a man only just entering official life, such humiliation was hard to bear.

After work that day, he invited Qi Beinan to a quiet tavern in the inner city. Cup after cup, he drank in silence.

Qi Beinan stopped him. “If you endure their bullying without response, they’ll only grow bolder, thinking you’re weak and easily trampled.”

Jiang Tangyuan frowned. “My father is away on duty—he can’t intervene here. The only relatives we have in the capital are my uncle and aunt, and after our quarrel over the marriage, I can hardly count on them for help. They’re probably waiting to see me humiliated.”

Qi Beinan said calmly, “It doesn’t have to be them. There are always other ways. Remember the old saying—‘the enemy of one’s enemy is a friend.’ Do you know if the Lü family has any rivals at court?”

Jiang Tangyuan was a perceptive man. With that single hint, he already knew what to do.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

Qin Jiang knocked on the door, but no one inside responded for quite some time.

He frowned. It wasn’t that late—surely they hadn’t gone to bed already?

Balancing the tray of food he’d brought from the kitchen, his arm was beginning to ache. He shifted the weight, preparing to knock again.

Just then, the older housemaid, who had been tending the stove to keep hot water ready for the night, saw him standing there motionless before the closed door. She hurried over and pulled him aside.

“Heavens above,” she whispered urgently, “what are you doing loitering here at this hour?”

“The master told me to bring some food for him and the young master,” Qin Jiang said. “But they haven’t answered. Should I knock again or just leave it?”

The maid chuckled, shaking her head. “You foolish boy, do you think anyone’s going to answer you right now? Go on, go rest somewhere. You’re no use standing here.”

Qin Jiang scratched his head, still reluctant to leave. He turned to carry the food back toward the kitchen but kept glancing over his shoulder, half expecting Qi Beinan to call out for him to deliver it inside.

The maid caught him doing it and waved him away with a laugh. “Truly a simple soul—no sense at all.”

It was close to midnight when she, dozing lightly on a stool by the corridor, finally heard someone call for hot water from within the bridal room.

She straightened at once. The master also asked for soup and some food to be sent along.

Grinning to herself, she bustled off toward the kitchen, full of quiet amusement. Their lord was not only handsome and learned, it seemed—he was also quite the vigorous man.

Inside the room, Xiao Yuanbao lay sprawled across the bed, a light quilt draped loosely over him.

His damp hair clung to his temples, and his skin still glowed faintly with warmth. It felt as though every inch of him had been washed in sweat.

He was hungry—but more than that, thirsty.

He hadn’t done much, really, yet his limbs felt weak, too heavy to move, not even a finger willing to lift.

Qi Beinan, on the other hand, seemed unaffected—calm as ever, rising and giving instructions as though nothing at all had happened.

If not for the slight disarray of his dark hair, one might have thought he hadn’t exerted himself in the least.

Before long, the maid brought in hot water, and Wen Ge’er arrived with soup and food.

Yuanbao hid under the covers and kept his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep.

“They’ve gone,” Qi Beinan said with a small smile, lifting the curtain and glancing toward the bed.

Yuanbao opened his eyes. The candlelight spilled in, dazzling him for a moment.

When his eyes adjusted, he noticed that the two red candles on the stand had burned halfway down. Thinking about all that time passing made his face heat again.

He couldn’t quite meet Qi Beinan’s gaze under the bright light, so he lowered his eyes, murmuring softly in reply.

Qi Beinan, seeing his embarrassment, didn’t tease him. He closed the curtain gently and asked in a quiet tone, “Would you rather eat first, or bathe?”

Yuanbao thought about it. His body felt limp; there was no way he could manage a bath. “Eat something,” he said.

The moment he spoke, he realized his voice had gone hoarse, almost rasping. Startled, he quickly pressed his lips shut.

Qi Beinan drew him upright into his arms. “It’s fine,” he said. “You’ll be better by morning. I had them mix some honey water for you.”

Yuanbao sat up, clutching the quilt around him. When Qi Beinan handed him the bowl, he drank quickly, the sweet taste soothing his dry throat.

Then, with a sudden thought, he looked up in alarm. “You asked for honey water—won’t they all know, then?”

Qi Beinan chuckled. “We’re a proper married couple now. We bowed before the guests, shared the wine—it’s nothing shameful. People knowing it’s only natural. If no one heard a thing, they’d think it strange.”

Yuanbao fell quiet, half convinced, though his face still burned. He wasn’t used to anyone knowing such private matters.

“What food is it?” he asked at last.

“Lean meat porridge and a few side dishes. Do you want some?”

Yuanbao nodded.

Qi Beinan brought the bowl to the bedside and fed him by the spoonful.

When he’d eaten, Qi Beinan carried him to wash, then changed the bedding before lying down beside him in clean robes.

Yuanbao nestled in his arms, glancing up at the faint shadow of his collarbone beneath the nightclothes. In a quiet voice, he asked, “Did I do badly?”

Qi Beinan lowered his eyes to meet his. “Why would you think that?”

“When I said it hurt, you stopped. I thought I spoiled your mood.”

Qi Beinan made a thoughtful sound, the tone drawn out. “A little.”

Yuanbao stared up at him in disbelief. “You’re too honest,” he said, pouting slightly, brows furrowed.

“Well,” Qi Beinan said lightly, “you asked, and I answered truthfully.”

Yuanbao huffed. “Then—then I didn’t enjoy it either. It wasn’t pleasant at all.”

Qi Beinan raised a brow. “Nonsense. I know you better than that.”

Yuanbao had no reply for that and only pouted more.

Qi Beinan laughed softly and brushed a kiss across his lips.

“I only meant my own part,” he said. “You didn’t do anything wrong. If I wanted full satisfaction, how could you endure it your first time? I’d rather stop halfway than see you hurt.”

Yuanbao pressed his lips together, saying nothing, then shifted closer, curling against Qi Beinan’s chest, seeking his warmth.

“I’m sleepy. I want to rest.”

Qi Beinan drew him close, his voice warm and indulgent. “All right, sleep.”

The faint scent of bath herbs lingered on Xiao Yuanbao’s skin, soft and clean. Qi Beinan breathed it in, brushing his nose lightly against him.

He hadn’t been the least bit tired, yet before long both their breathing settled into a steady rhythm.

A peaceful night’s dream.

The next morning, Qi Beinan woke to the dull ache in his arm.

Opening his eyes, he saw Yuanbao still asleep in his arms and couldn’t help smiling.

Pulling the curtain aside just a little, he saw that the room outside was already bright with daylight.

He rarely woke this late; normally he rose before dawn. But today was different.

He slipped his arm back around Yuanbao, drawing him in again. Translated on hololo novels. So this, he thought, is what people mean when they say that tenderness makes men lazy.

Still, if life could go on like this, he wouldn’t complain.

There were no in-laws to pay respects to, so Qi Beinan stayed in bed, content to lie beside his sleeping spouse.

When Yuanbao finally woke, the sun was already high.

He washed up, ate breakfast, and then joined the others in the garden—Xiao Hu, Jiang Fulang, Bai Qiaogui—all drinking tea and chatting in the spring sunlight.

The flowers and greenery were in full bloom, the courtyard lively and full of color.

“When I married,” said Bai Qiaogui, teasing, “I only slept half an hour past dawn. Even then I had to rush to pay my respects to my in-laws. You, on the other hand, sleep until the sun’s halfway across the sky.”

She strolled beside Yuanbao through the garden, inspecting the new house.

“And your Lord Qi spoils you too—sleeping just as late! Truly, people like you make the rest of us look bad.”

Yuanbao’s cheeks reddened. “You make it sound as if life with Lord Luo is pure misery. Yet from the look of you—rounder cheeks, brighter complexion—you seem to be doing very well.”

“I didn’t say I was suffering,” Bai Qiaogui laughed. “I’m just saying your days are even better.”

Then, with a playful grin, she pinched Yuanbao’s waist. “You’ve grown sharp-tongued! I remember a little boy who used to hide behind others when strangers came by. Maybe that wasn’t you at all, and I’ve mistaken the child?”

Yuanbao winced. “You’re remembering wrong.”

Bai Qiaogui saw how he flinched from even that gentle pinch, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Looks like your Lord Qi is quite formidable. You’re sore just from a little touch.”

Yuanbao glanced around quickly, making sure no one else was near, then slapped her hand with a red face. “When did your mouth get so wicked?”

She laughed. “If anyone’s wicked, it’s not me. Why don’t you scold him instead of me? Always picking the soft target.”

Knowing he couldn’t win an argument against Qiaogui, married nearly half a year now and far more practiced at teasing, Yuanbao let the matter drop.

“Your wedding was such a fine affair,” Qiaogui said, softening. “A pity Xin Ge’er couldn’t come.”

Yuanbao nodded. “He wrote to me. It’s too far from the capital—one trip would take a month or more. Even if he could come, I’d have told him not to go through the trouble. His heart’s what matters, and business keeps him busy.”

Qiaogui sighed. “He’s quite something, that one. Since he started working, he’s been unstoppable—ran the Mu family clean out of competition.”

The two talked and wandered for a long while, but halfway through the tour, Yuanbao grew tired.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to keep her company; his body still ached from the night before. What had only been fatigue yesterday had become soreness everywhere now. Even lifting his arms felt like effort—especially in the places most tender to touch.

Seeing his discomfort, Qiaogui stopped teasing. She went out and had two herbal prescriptions written for him to keep on hand.

She stayed three more days in the capital before taking her leave.

Yuanbao was reluctant to part, but he couldn’t ask her to stay longer. She had a home and husband now; it wouldn’t be right to linger elsewhere.

After she left, he found himself missing the old days more than ever.

Back then, visiting her had been easy—a short ride from the village, or just a few streets’ distance when they both lived in town.

Now they lived far apart; even writing letters took effort, let alone seeing each other often.

So he packed food and fabric as gifts for Qiaogui to take back to Lantian County, tokens of his affection and gratitude.

Another week passed before Xiao Hu came to tell them he planned to return home as well.

“You’ve barely been here!” Yuanbao protested. “Why are you leaving so soon? Isn’t this your home too?”

“It is,” Xiao Hu said, trying to soothe him. “But the air here is too dry. My lips and nose feel parched every day. And summer’s coming—it’ll be worse then.”

Yuanbao said nothing, his expression sulky.

Xiao Hu looked helplessly at Qi Beinan, hoping for help.

Qi Beinan met Yuanbao’s pursed lips and dared not side with either of them. “Father, stay a little longer. If the dry air bothers you, I’ll have Qin Jiang fetch some tonic herbs from the apothecary.”

Now it was Xiao Hu’s turn to look displeased.

Qi Beinan pressed his fingers to his brow. Truly, he thought, there was no winning between the two of them.

Seeing this, Qi Beinan said, “If Father leaves, Jiang Fulang will surely follow him back. Once they’re both gone, Xiaobao will be left here all alone—it’ll be far too quiet. How about this: if Father insists on going, try to persuade Jiang Fulang to stay.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s brows lifted. “That’s a fine idea. If you’re set on leaving, then convince my teacher to stay. If you can’t, then you’ll both just have to stay in the capital a bit longer.”

Xiao Hu froze. “You want me to persuade Jiang Fulang?”

“Can my mouth persuade anyone?”

“Isn’t that Father’s job?” Yuanbao said, feigning innocence. “One or the other—you choose. Otherwise, I won’t agree to it. I’ll tell Qin Jiang to hide your horse and see how you plan to leave then.”

Xiao Hu felt as though he’d stumbled into a den of schemers—coming in was easy, but getting out was another matter entirely.

Since there was no reasoning with his son, he could only give in.

When he went to see Jiang Fulang, he blurted out awkwardly, “Why don’t you stay?”

Jiang Fulang blinked at him. “You’re the father and you won’t stay yourself. What would I stay for?”

“It’d be good if you did,” Xiao Hu said. “You could manage the business here in the capital.”

“I couldn’t live like that,” Jiang Fulang replied dryly. “I’m not suited for a life of bird cages and teahouses.”

“You don’t know how lucky you are,” Jiang Fulang continued, glancing sideways at him. “Plenty of people would give anything for that kind of peace, but you can’t even enjoy it.”

“I’ll enjoy it when there’s a grandson to spoil,” Xiao Hu said with a grin. “For now, you stay here. It’s not as if there’s much waiting back in the village.”

Jiang Fulang had been in the capital long enough to see clearly what was in Qi Beinan and Xiao Yuanbao’s hearts. How could he not understand?

For them to care about him like this—how could he not be moved?

“I’ll think about it,” he said at last.

Xiao Hu left it at that.

Two days later, Jiang Fulang came to speak with Qi Beinan and Xiao Yuanbao. “I’ll stay,” he said. “I’ll help Bao Ge’er look after the pickled goods business. But I won’t live here.”

Qi Beinan frowned slightly. “Why not? It’s convenient to stay in the residence. Living elsewhere would only make things harder.”

“I’ve lived alone for many years,” Jiang Fulang said. “I’m used to it.”

Qi Beinan looked toward Yuanbao for his opinion.

Yuanbao thought a moment and nodded. “So long as Teacher stays in the capital, it doesn’t matter where you live—we’ll still be close enough to take care of one another. The business shouldn’t always be run from the house anyway. I was thinking of renting a small shop. It could serve both as a workspace for making pickled goods and a storefront for selling them. You could even live there if you liked. Would that suit you?”

Jiang Fulang nodded. “That’ll do.”

By late April, the weather was mild and clear—neither hot nor cold, perfect for travel.

Qi Beinan and Yuanbao saw Xiao Hu off at the city gate.

When he had first arrived, there had been laughter and joy; now, as he departed, the air was tinged with quiet reluctance.

The lively noise of parting, like all bright moments, faded quickly—peace and stillness made up most of life.

Leaning lightly against Qi Beinan, Yuanbao watched the carriage disappear down the road. His heart felt much the same as it had long ago when he’d watched Qi Beinan leave—but this time, there was a different kind of calm beneath the ache.

On their way back, he looked up at the eaves where swallows darted and remembered a blessing once spoken at a spring banquet: “May we meet again, year after year.”

He and Qi Beinan now lived like those swallows—together every morning and evening—yet even so, he still wished his family could be near as well.

But he knew everyone had their own path, their own desires. Such things couldn’t be forced; they had to follow the heart.

Qi Beinan tightened his hold on Yuanbao’s hand. “Life is long,” he said softly. “Let’s take our time and live it well. One day, there’ll be another reunion, even better than this.”

Yuanbao smiled and nodded. He thought the same.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

Though the wedding ceremony would not begin until dusk, preparations started before dawn.

Even without being called, Xiao Yuanbao woke early on his own.

The night before, he had gone to bed as soon as it grew dark, reminding himself that the next day was important and that he must rise early.

But though he went to bed early, he tossed and turned, unable to sleep.

When sleep would not come, his thoughts wandered—first wondering what kind of day it would be tomorrow. Would it rain or shine?

After today, all his bright and pretty clothes would be tucked away in chests. From now on, he would no longer be a “little young master” but a married man—he would have to dress with calm dignity.

It felt like such a pity. Those clothes were made of fine material, and he regretted not wearing them more often when he could. Now, he thought, they would likely never see the light again.

Then, inevitably, his thoughts turned to Qi Beinan. He wondered if, in the new house, Beinan was spending the night before the wedding reading as usual—or if he was already asleep.

He hoped he was sleeping well and resting enough to greet the guests tomorrow.

As for himself, all he had to do was sit in the sedan chair, wear the red veil, and complete the ceremony. Beinan would be the one to host and drink with guests.

Time drifted slowly. He began to think about the future—how many children would they have?

He didn’t know if Beinan liked children, but he himself did. Babies, soft and plump, were so adorable, and when they grew a little older, toddling around and calling him “Little Father,” the thought filled him with quiet happiness.

He smiled at the idea, rolling over contentedly—only to realize the moon outside had already sunk behind the hills.

Startled, he squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to sleep.

He didn’t know when he finally drifted off, but he slept lightly. At the first crow of the rooster, he was awake, alert, and out of bed without hesitation.

The first thing he did was bathe, sinking into the warm tub until all drowsiness vanished.

Fortunately, spring had already warmed the air; otherwise, he would have frozen.

Jiang Fulang helped him change into his wedding robes. Standing close, he caught a faint orchid fragrance from Yuanbao’s skin and chuckled.

“That scented soap is truly worth the price. It leaves such a clean, soft scent. No wonder it costs more—it’s far better than soap pods.”

Xiao Yuanbao sniffed his own sleeve. “I don’t smell anything.”

“How could you? You’ve been soaking in it for so long,” Jiang Fulang said, tying the belt around his waist.

That slender waist needed no extra cinching to show its shape—just a light pull of the sash, and his bearing was already elegant.

The older man smiled with quiet pride. His apprentice truly was well raised—fair, clear-skinned, with bright, lively eyes, just as charming as when he was a boy.

No wonder, he thought, even someone like Qi Beinan had fallen for him.

Lowering his voice, he teased, “Tonight, let Lord Qi smell for himself. See if he can tell.”

Xiao Yuanbao blushed crimson. “Teacher, even you’re teasing me now.”

“How is it teasing? You’re marrying today—if you still blush this easily, how will you manage?”

Before Yuanbao could respond, the door opened.

“Yuanbao! Guess who’s here!”

He turned his head—and froze. Standing at the doorway was Bai Qiaogui.

He blinked in surprise, at first speechless. “You—why are you here!?”

“What, do you sound unhappy to see me?” Bai Qiaogui said with a grin, stepping inside. “I only came from nearby—just a few days’ journey. Much faster than coming from Linzhou. How could I not drop by?”

Yuanbao’s face lit with delight. “Of course I wanted you to come! I just thought, since you only recently followed Lord Luo to his new post, you wouldn’t be able to leave yet.”

“It’s been long enough to settle in,” she said, taking his hand. “I actually meant to arrive yesterday, but the carriage broke down on the road. Still, I made it before you left for the ceremony.”

Yuanbao’s heart softened at her words, deeply moved.

“Enough chatting,” Jiang Fulang said. “Qiaogui, come help tidy him up—if the auspicious hour comes and we’re still not ready, we’ll be the laughingstock.”

Bai Qiaogui rolled up her sleeves playfully. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he’s perfect. I’ve got experience now.”

Yuanbao sat before the dressing table, smiling. “All right!”

As they worked on his hair and accessories, he asked her about life in the new post, while Jiang Fulang adjusted his robes with steady hands.

Meanwhile, at the new residence, Qi Beinan was already prepared.

He wore his red wedding robes—simple, refined, and perfectly fitted. Translated on hololo novels. Without any extra ornament, he looked every bit the graceful scholar from a painted scroll.

Still, he walked to the bronze mirror and glanced at his reflection.

A handsome face looked back at him, calm eyes softened by a faint smile.

He had always known he wasn’t plain, but he was not one to care about appearances.

Yet ever since learning how much Xiao Yuanbao liked well-kept, good-looking men, he had found himself taking more care with his appearance—if only a little.

Today was a day of great joy, and Qi Beinan hoped to leave the best impression in Xiao Yuanbao’s heart.

With the anticipation and happiness filling him, even the endless formalities of the wedding day became things he handled with patient ease.

By the time he mounted his horse, it was already late afternoon. The procession set off down the main street, drums beating and gongs ringing. Normally lively crowds paused to watch as the man in crimson robes rode by, the festive noise and color dimmed beside the sight of the groom.

When the wedding sedan arrived at the Xiao residence, Qi Beinan entered first to perform the formal bows and farewells with Yuanbao.

What should have been a moment of tears and reluctance turned light-hearted. Their situation differed from most families—before long, even Yuanbao’s father joined the guests headed to the new home for the banquet.

All the rituals were more ceremony than sentiment.

Xiao Yuanbao sat beneath the long red veil, able to see only his own feet; everything else was a blur of red silk.

He heard the noisy shouts outside—“The groom has arrived!”—and soon the supporting hand of Bai Qiaogui slipped away. Just as a trace of unease rose at not knowing which way to walk, a familiar warm hand caught his.

That hand he knew at once, and his heart settled.

Through the narrow opening beneath his veil, he glimpsed the red of Qi Beinan’s robe beside him, and a quiet thrill rippled through his chest.

Half-dazed, he was guided outside, then lifted into the bridal sedan.

At the call of “The auspicious hour is here! Lift the sedan!”, the bearers hoisted it up, and it swayed into motion.

Inside, Yuanbao was tempted to lift his veil for a breath of air. But Jiang Fulang had warned him earlier—if he lifted it now and a gust blew open the curtains, people outside might see the new groom’s face.

It wasn’t considered unlucky, but it would spoil the tradition that only the groom should see his spouse’s face first.

So he held back, contenting himself with listening.

Outside, laughter and chatter abounded; some praised how handsome the groom looked. Yuanbao couldn’t help a quiet smile of pride.

When they reached the new house, Qi Beinan helped him down from the sedan. At the step with the brazier, he lifted Yuanbao into his arms and carried him over, earning a cheer from the crowd.

“Who would’ve thought? That serious, steady Lord Qi from the ministry turns out to be quite the affectionate man.”

Ren Heng, standing nearby with Lin Qingyu, clicked his tongue twice. “Lord Lin, you’ve yet to marry—coming today wasn’t in vain. You can learn a thing or two about winning a spouse.”

Lin Qingyu gave him a sidelong look. “And you, Lord Ren, are hardly married yourself.”

Ren Heng laughed, tapping his folding fan against Lin’s chest. “Then I’ll be sure to remember what I’ve seen today.”

Lin Qingyu only smiled faintly.

The ceremony went on—bows, offerings, the final rites—and at last the couple was sent into the bridal chamber.

With the formalities done, the house filled again with cheerful chaos, firecrackers snapping in bursts.

Inside the chamber, all was quiet. Yuanbao lifted a corner of his veil and peeked around. Seeing no one else present, he finally took it off completely.

The room was just as he’d seen before, only now decked out in red paper cuttings, red candles, red lanterns—every corner alive with festive color.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, he couldn’t help swinging his feet slightly, his heart full of warmth and ease.

He remembered how, back in the village, brides and husbands who had married far away always grew homesick around the holidays. They would sigh, saying life had been simpler before marriage.

He had once thought the same—that leaving one’s family, entering a strange household, and spending a lifetime with someone not yet deeply known must be unsettling.

But now, looking back on everything that had led to this day, he felt none of those fears.

His thoughts drifted idly as he peeled and ate a few longans from a dish on the table.

He’d gone to bed late last night and risen early; after a full day of rituals, fatigue crept over him.

The light filtering through the window was still bright, so he pulled the veil back over himself and leaned against the bed, planning only to rest his eyes for a moment.

Before he knew it, he had drifted off to sleep.

By the time the sky dimmed and the banquet had run its rounds, Qi Beinan finally excused himself from the guests.

He hurried toward the bridal room but paused before the door, his heart unexpectedly quickened.

Turning to Qin Jiang, he asked, “Are my robes all right?”

Qin Jiang glanced him over. “They’re fine.”

Qi Beinan still fussed with his sleeves and collar, then lifted one arm to check his scent. “Do I smell of anything?”

Qin Jiang sniffed and answered, “Wine—and food.”

Qi Beinan chuckled. “At least you’re honest.” Then he added, “The little one probably hasn’t eaten much today. Go to the kitchen and bring something for him.”

After Qin Jiang left, Qi Beinan drew a slow breath and stepped inside.

He hadn’t seen Yuanbao in several days—it was against custom before the wedding—and he felt an odd twinge of nervousness.

When he entered the room and looked toward the bed, he stopped short for a moment, then smiled.

There, fast asleep on his side, one leg dangling off the edge of the bed, was Xiao Yuanbao.

The sight made Qi Beinan quietly laugh.

Qi Beinan sat quietly on the edge of the bed and, with careful fingers, lifted the red veil just a little.

Xiao Yuanbao’s chin was pale and smooth, his face untouched by any powder. Only his lips seemed tinted with a faint red paper stain, deeper in color than usual, perfectly matching the red of his wedding robe.

Qi Beinan’s smile deepened. He didn’t lift the veil all the way, afraid the light might fall across Yuanbao’s eyes and wake him.

He guessed that Yuanbao must have tossed and turned the night before, unable to sleep, and was now worn out.

Watching him sleep so soundly, Qi Beinan felt a quiet happiness rise in his chest.

When they had married years ago, things had been different. They had not yet known each other well then. Qi Beinan had entered the bridal room with a restless heart, finding Yuanbao sitting stiffly on the edge of the bed, his back straight and hands folded, nervous and cautious.

When Qi Beinan lifted the veil and offered him the ceremonial wine, Yuanbao’s hands had trembled so much that he almost spilled it.

He had sat rigidly in the same posture the entire time, not daring to move an inch.

Qi Beinan had found it both funny and tender—Yuanbao, so cautious and afraid of displeasing him.

Now, stepping once more into a bridal chamber, facing the same person, everything felt utterly different.

How many people, he thought, could fall asleep so peacefully before the groom even arrived?

He found it endearing—proof of complete trust.

All the patience, all the gentle guidance of these years, had not been wasted.

Qi Beinan leaned closer, intending to quietly remove Yuanbao’s shoes. But just as he touched his foot, Yuanbao suddenly jerked awake.

Startled, the veil slipped from his head and fell to the bed.

Their eyes met—and for a moment, the air seemed to still.

Realizing what had happened, Yuanbao hurriedly reached for the veil, but Qi Beinan caught his hand first.

Yuanbao looked at him apologetically. “I thought it was still early, so I closed my eyes for a bit. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. You must have waited—”

“You’re beautiful.”

“…What?”

“I said,” Qi Beinan repeated softly, “you’re beautiful.”

He reached up to smooth the strands of hair that had come loose from the long hours under the veil.

“I’m very happy,” he said, “that I get to marry you.”

Yuanbao’s breath caught. He pressed his lips together and lowered his gaze, a little shy. “It was my teacher and Qiaogui who helped me dress.”

Then he looked up again. “Did you see Qiaogui? She came all this way just to be here.”

“I did,” said Qi Beinan. “We met during the banquet. She asked after Lord Luo as well.”

Yuanbao smiled faintly and nodded. He brushed his fingers against Qi Beinan’s hand and murmured, “You look handsome today too—just like when you rode through the streets as the top scholar.”

Qi Beinan’s smile curved higher. He simply looked at Yuanbao, quiet and intent.

Yuanbao shifted nervously under his gaze. “Why—why are you staring at me like that? Is there something on my face?”

He started to raise a hand to wipe it, but Qi Beinan caught it. “Nothing. I just want to look at you properly.”

He drew Yuanbao gently into his arms. “I once dreamed a very long dream,” he said. “In that dream, we were married too.”

Yuanbao rested his chin on Qi Beinan’s shoulder, catching the faint scent of wine on him. “And what was I like in that dream?”

“You were fine,” Qi Beinan said. “But it felt as though you didn’t like me very much.”

Yuanbao blinked, then sat back, indignant. “Truly? Who in their right mind wouldn’t like you?”

“Don’t say that,” Qi Beinan replied with a hint of wounded humor. “That was simply how I felt.”

“Then I’m sure the person in your dream liked you very much,” Yuanbao said, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to his lips. “He just didn’t say it aloud. So let me tell you instead—I like you, A’nan.”

Qi Beinan looked at him, warmth spreading through his chest like a soft breeze.

“Will you like me for the rest of your life?” he asked.

“I will,” Yuanbao answered without hesitation, his tone gentle but steady. “Even if there are hardships or disappointments, even if one day I see your flaws, I’ll still like you. I’ll like you all my life.”

Qi Beinan couldn’t help but laugh quietly. How easily he was moved by such simple words.

“I won’t make you swear, then,” he said.

“I can swear if you want,” Yuanbao replied earnestly.

Qi Beinan shook his head. “Oaths are easy to say and hard to keep. I don’t put much faith in them. What I want to see is sincerity.”

Yuanbao’s eyes flickered. “And how do I show you my sincerity? We’ve got a whole lifetime for that—”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Qi Beinan had already pressed him down onto the bed.

Yuanbao’s breath caught. Those familiar eyes, usually calm and warm, now glimmered with a heated light. Every breath between them carried a pulse of warmth.

His mind jumped back to that night when Qi Beinan had spoken of teaching him “in person.”

The thought made his face burn.

“W-we haven’t drunk the wedding wine yet,” he stammered.

Qi Beinan nuzzled the curve of his neck, his voice low. “I can’t wait even a moment longer.”

He had waited for this day far too long.

In this moment, Qi Beinan had no desire to pretend at restraint or the airs of a virtuous gentleman.

He had never been one to feign that kind of righteousness anyway. He liked Xiao Yuanbao—and he wanted to be with him, completely and without pretense.

Even if he could maintain an appearance of composure for a day, marriage meant sharing the same bed and rising together each morning. Such feelings could not be hidden forever.

Xiao Yuanbao bit his lip. “I never knew you were… this impatient.”

Qi Beinan chuckled softly. “Didn’t you just say that even if you discovered my flaws one day, you’d still like me?”

“I said I’d like you,” Yuanbao protested quickly, “but I didn’t say I wouldn’t mind your flaws.”

“Mind all you want—it changes nothing,” Qi Beinan said, his voice low and amused. “Because this is who I am.”

He leaned closer, his breath brushing Yuanbao’s ear. “You can’t hide from me.”

Yuanbao’s face flushed a deep shade of red, like peach blossoms in spring. Of course he knew there was no hiding from him.

Further words were useless. So instead, he pleaded for two things: that the red candles be put out, and that the bed curtains be drawn.

Qi Beinan refused one of them.

He whispered close to Yuanbao’s ear, coaxing softly that his figure was worth seeing, not hiding.

After a quiet exchange, they compromised. The candles must remain burning until dawn—it was tradition, and extinguishing them was inauspicious. So only the bed curtains were drawn.

The red silk canopy softened the light but did not shut it out entirely. The chamber glowed like the faint shimmer of moonlight through mist.

Bare-chested, Qi Beinan brought the wedding wine inside and, to honor Yuanbao’s wish, they shared the ceremonial cup within the curtain’s shadow.

The faint scent of wine mingled with the heat between them.

In the dim light, Yuanbao caught a glimpse of Qi Beinan’s uncovered form. His face flamed, and he quickly turned his eyes away.

Yet even then, he saw the silhouettes moving against the curtain—two figures intertwined, their shadows rising and falling—and that was no better.

At last, he raised his hand and covered his eyes.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

A chill lingered in the spring night, the wind carrying traces of winter’s sharp cold.

Xiao Yuanbao soaked his feet in hot water, doors and windows tightly shut, listening to the wind’s muffled roar outside. Inside, it was comfortably warm.

He glanced toward the study—the lamp there was still lit. He didn’t know whether Qi Beinan was occupied with official duties or something else, but after supper, he had gone straight to his desk. Knowing how busy things were at the office these days, Xiao Yuanbao hadn’t gone to disturb him.

Bored, his gaze drifted to the two storybooks lying beside the couch. He picked them up.

“What kind of story is said to be so enthralling? Let this old master have a look,” he muttered to himself.

When he was twelve or thirteen, after learning to read well enough, he had once spent a few coins in the county to buy a cheap storybook—about ghosts, spirits, rich girls, and poor scholars.

But after reading those ghost tales, he had nightmares, waking in terror and hiding under his quilt, trembling so hard he couldn’t sleep.

In midsummer, stifled under the heavy bedding, he had sweated through the night and gotten no rest, rising the next morning with dark circles and heat sickness.

When Qi Beinan found out, he was both angry and amused, and forbade him to read such books again.

He had told him: children of good families—especially the young ladies and masters—must never read those small storybooks.

It was one thing if they spoke of ghosts and spirits, but those tales of forbidden romance—rich young ladies and poor scholars defying family and honor to elope—were corrupting.

They never wrote about the consequences of such elopements, only painting vows and passion as noble and touching.

In truth, most of those stories were written by impoverished scholars who had failed their examinations, venting their fantasies on paper.

And yet, such vulgar stories sold well, so more of them were written.

Those with clear minds could read them for amusement, but the simple and naïve might be led astray, imitating what they read—that was dangerous.

Through those warnings, Xiao Yuanbao had been firmly taught that eloping was a serious and shameful act.

Lost in thought, he realized he’d already turned several pages.

After reading a bit, his cheeks flushed. The writer was hardly proper—so many words were indecent, overly explicit.

Legs, hips—described as smooth and rounded, not as beauty but as lewdness.

His brows drew tight. This wasn’t a tale of pure love at all—it was about a man’s illicit affair with his sister-in-law.

Feeling deceived, Xiao Yuanbao was about to throw the filthy thing away when an illustration caught his eye.

He was surprised. Such a cheap booklet even had drawings? That was unusual.

He leaned closer, trying to make out the lines, and once he understood what the image depicted, his face turned scarlet. It felt as if filth had been thrown into his eyes.

He had never seen such a picture. Translated on hololo novels. Disgust and embarrassment tangled in his chest, and his anger turned toward that street bookseller—peddling indecent filth and claiming it was written by some “Master Liu Xin.” He had clearly been duped.

Still barefoot, feet soaking in the basin, Xiao Yuanbao snatched the booklet and hurled it across the room as if striking the deceitful seller himself.

Before his temper cooled, the door opened. Qi Beinan stepped in, holding a letter.

He saw the younger man sulking on the chair, lips pursed, brows furrowed.

“What’s this?” Qi Beinan asked mildly. “Who’s upset you?”

Then he spotted the book lying on the floor and bent to pick it up.

Xiao Yuanbao froze, his mind blank. He jumped up, water sloshing from the basin, and ran barefoot across the floor to grab it back.

Qi Beinan raised an eyebrow and got to it first.

“What kind of story could make you so eager you’d run on wet feet to snatch it?”

Xiao Yuanbao reached up, but Qi Beinan easily held it out of reach.

“It’s just some random book from the market,” Xiao Yuanbao stammered. “Brother, please give it back.”

Qi Beinan, seeing his fluster, grew even more curious.

He didn’t relent. Instead, he guided Xiao Yuanbao back to his seat by the basin.

“Good things ought to be shared,” he said. “Why hide it so carefully?”

He sat down and began to flip through the pages.

Xiao Yuanbao felt his face burn—each turn of the page was like being stripped bare.

He wanted to sink straight through the floor.

Qi Beinan’s eyes paused on the page with the entangled figures. His gaze flickered faintly, though his face stayed calm.

He turned to look at the mortified Xiao Yuanbao—saying nothing, but the look said everything.

Catching sight of the corner of the picture, Xiao Yuanbao’s face went crimson. He hurried to explain, voice tripping over itself:

“It—it was that street seller who shoved it at me. I didn’t know what it was! I only read a couple of pages before realizing it wasn’t proper, so I threw it away!”

Qi Beinan said slowly, “How proper could a storybook ever be? The question is whether the one reading it is proper.”

Hearing his character questioned, Xiao Yuanbao panicked. “I truly only glanced at it once—one look already dirtied my eyes.”

He quickly promised, “I’ll never buy random storybooks again.”

Qi Beinan couldn’t help but laugh, afraid that teasing him further might actually make him cry.

He closed the booklet and set it on the table. “Look at you, frightened over nothing. It’s just that sort of thing. Even if you read it, it’s no big deal—you’re not a child anymore.”

At that, Xiao Yuanbao breathed out in relief, though his face still glowed red.

Qi Beinan pulled him close, tightening an arm around his waist and seating him on his lap. “Still, you won’t learn anything useful from these books. I might as well teach you myself.”

“T-teach me what?” Xiao Yuanbao stammered, meeting Qi Beinan’s deep gaze.

“What do you think?”

Xiao Yuanbao’s blush deepened, and he quickly turned his head away. “You’re being improper again!”

But as his mind cleared, he suddenly sensed something off. How could Qi Beinan see such explicit drawings without even flinching? He seemed too calm—like a man long accustomed to such things.

In a small voice, he asked, “How would you teach me?”

Qi Beinan looked at him in mild surprise—bashful as he was, he could still ask something so bold.

“You really want me to explain?”

Xiao Yuanbao caught the double meaning and hurried to clarify, “I meant—how would you even know? Don’t tell me you’ve read those indecent books before!”

The more he thought about it, the more sense it seemed to make. No wonder Qi Beinan could stay in the study for hours. He had assumed it was for work—but perhaps the man had other ways of “passing the time.”

Qi Beinan realized his own reputation was now under suspicion. He shook his head solemnly. “I don’t read such vulgar things. You could search the entire study and bedroom—you’d never find one.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes widened. He half believed, half doubted. Then another thought struck him, and he asked hesitantly, “Then how would you even know how to… to teach anyone? Don’t tell me you’ve already been with someone…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but just imagining it made his chest tighten unpleasantly.

Qi Beinan’s lips curved slightly. “Would you like to know?”

Seeing the mischief in his eyes, Xiao Yuanbao realized nothing good could come of the answer. “I don’t want to know.”

He tried to get up, but Qi Beinan didn’t let go.

“Why not? Once we’re married, we’ll have to do such things. Don’t you want to be closer to me?”

The words made Xiao Yuanbao’s ears burn. He fidgeted, voice barely audible. “I’ve never thought about that.”

He had only thought about marrying Qi Beinan—he’d long decided that. But what came after, how it differed from their life now, he hadn’t considered.

Until now, their closeness had gone no further than holding hands, brushing noses and ears, and once—on his birthday in February—a kiss.

Qi Beinan’s lips had been warm and damp; just remembering it made Xiao Yuanbao’s whole body tremble.

Beyond that, there had been nothing.

For years, he had never really understood what married couples did beyond sharing a life.

He’d only vaguely learned later—from the matchmaker Aunt Qiao’s teasing words—that husbands and wives did other things together.

It wasn’t simply that sleeping in the same bed made a child—there was a process between.

Even knowing that, he had never seen it nor read of it clearly; it all remained hazy to him.

So even when he secretly longed for Qi Beinan, it was only to imagine being kissed and falling asleep in each other’s arms.

Qi Beinan sighed softly. “Still too innocent.”

He explained gently, “Don’t overthink. I’ve never been with anyone else. As for how I know—men are born knowing.”

That was the only answer he could give.

Had he said that he had once shared a bed with someone long ago, or that after losing him he had spent years alone finding no peace, Xiao Yuanbao would never believe it anyway.

The truth was, he was out of practice—after so many years, desire came and went, and all he could do was endure it alone. One man alone could never be the same as two together.

Xiao Yuanbao whispered, “Really?”

“When have I ever lied to you? I’m yours. How could I let anyone else touch me?”

Qi Beinan added, “Besides, you watch me so closely—when would I ever have the chance?”

Hearing that, Xiao Yuanbao pressed his lips together and felt his heart settle.

He leaned against Qi Beinan’s chest, listening to the steady, strong heartbeat. In a quiet voice, he said, “Then… then teach me now.”

“Now?” Qi Beinan asked.

Xiao Yuanbao nodded.

Qi Beinan was silent for a moment, then stood and lifted him into his arms—carrying him to the bed.

By late March, Xiao Hu arrived in the capital.

He was dusty from the road but finally there, bringing more than ten chests with him—his own things, and gifts sent by old friends back home.

Rather than leaving them behind to gather dust, he had decided to bring everything along in one trip, no matter the trouble.

“Father, was your journey smooth?”

It had been a long time since father and son last saw each other, and their reunion was filled with joy.

Fortunately, neither of them had changed much.

“Smooth enough,” Xiao Hu replied. “I only brought too many things along, so the travel went a bit slower.”

With that, his arrival in the capital was settled properly.

In early April, the staff from the Four Offices and Six Bureaus came to the new residence to hang red silk ribbons and paste paper flowers, decorating the house into a joyful wedding home.

Qi Beinan moved there first, while Xiao Yuanbao would ride in the bridal sedan chair from the rented residence on the wedding day.

The two would be apart for just a few days.

On the ninth day of the fourth month—the wedding day—everything would finally come together.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

On the fifth day of the first month, Qi Beinan finally had no official banquets to attend. The new house was nearly ready, so he and Xiao Yuanbao brought Master Jiang along to have a look.

They had already hired workers earlier to repair the roof, garden, and damaged corners, and to clean the entire property.

Once cleaned, the place looked spacious—too spacious, in fact. Without furniture, it had seemed hollow and empty. But now, with all the household furnishings moved in, it finally felt like a true home.

The largest courtyard in the compound had been set aside for their marital residence.

Before the New Year, Qi Beinan had commissioned a craftsman to carve a plaque for it, which had just been delivered and hung. He had also bought a flowering tree from the market and planted it in the courtyard.

Xiao Yuanbao hadn’t visited for several days. Seeing the new house so transformed, he couldn’t help his surprise.

“‘Xinyi Pavilion’?” he read aloud, standing before the main courtyard and looking at the newly hung plaque.

In the middle of the courtyard stood a young tree, about the thickness of an arm. It was winter; all its leaves and blossoms had fallen, leaving only the dark, bare branches.

Even so, he recognized it at a glance.

Qi Beinan turned his head toward him. “Do you like it?”

Seeing the faint smile tugging at his lips, Xiao Yuanbao immediately understood. He pressed his lips together, holding back his own smile.

The meaning was one only the two of them shared.

He nodded. “The name suits it—and the tree fits the season.”

Master Jiang, who couldn’t read many characters, didn’t understand the reference. But catching the quiet look between them, he chuckled and shook his head slightly. “Young people.”

Inside the courtyard, the main reception hall was furnished with a long altar table and a square central table. Four grand armchairs faced each other on either side, with a smaller side table between them.

To the left was a smaller parlor, less formal in arrangement. Along the wall sat a luohan couch, with a flower stand to the left and a folding screen to the right, shielding the view into the bedchamber.

In the bedroom stood a canopy bed, wardrobe, dressing table, flower stand, and stools.

To the right was a spacious study, furnished with a bookcase that covered half the wall and a scholar’s desk beneath it.

The Ming family’s furniture was of fine quality. The main courtyard’s rooms were fitted with huanghuali, chicken-wing wood, rosewood, and ironwood—luxurious materials. The craftsmanship was meticulous, the carvings delicate enough to draw the eye.

Just the furnishings in this courtyard alone must have cost several hundred strings of cash.

There were other full sets in the surrounding courtyards as well.

Even though the guest quarters and minor rooms didn’t need showy displays and were furnished with beech, pine, or apricot wood instead, the sheer quantity added up.

They had originally agreed on a budget of four hundred strings with the Ming family, yet what had been delivered far exceeded that value.

The Ming family’s steward had said that the set of rosewood furniture for the main hall was a wedding gift, and that the elegant five-panel floral screen came as a present from Ming Guanxin himself. But even so, the rest was worth far more than the agreed price.

Qi Beinan silently took note of this kindness.

“Your courtyard’s so large, I nearly went soft in the legs walking it,” Master Jiang said with a laugh as they strolled through. “Feels even bigger than the one in your county.”

He followed Xiao Yuanbao from one courtyard to the next, admiring the elegance of the capital’s residences—every corner refined, every view different.

If not for his student, he would never have had the chance to visit the capital, much less tour such a fine house.

“I thought it looked bigger too,” Xiao Yuanbao said, “but it only feels that way because there are more walls dividing the courtyards. In truth, it’s not as wide as the one back home.”

Still holding Master Jiang’s arm, he said with a grin, “Even if this house isn’t as big as the county one, with just me, my brother, and a handful of attendants, it’ll feel empty. You should stay with us in the capital—it’d be lovely to have you in the new house.”

“Nonsense,” Master Jiang said with a chuckle. “You two are newlyweds. My being here would only be awkward.”

“What awkwardness? Even under one roof, the courtyards are separate—we don’t even enter through the same door.”

Master Jiang only smiled, and Xiao Yuanbao let the matter drop.

The house was nearly complete now, and all the wedding furnishings could soon be delivered and arranged.

With Master Jiang’s arrival, he helped Xiao Yuanbao manage daily errands and even lent a hand making pickles. Xiao Yuanbao could finally relax a little.

After the first month, Qi Beinan returned to official duty.

The night market supervision had been successfully completed, and the imperial household had expressed satisfaction with the Ministry of Works’ results. Qi Beinan, in turn, received commendation.

He resumed his position at the Hanlin Academy.

At the beginning of the second month, a letter arrived from Tienan.

“Has the house sold?” Xiao Yuanbao asked quickly when he saw the Linzhou seal.

Spring was nearly upon them, and everything seemed to require money at once. If that property still didn’t sell, their funds would soon run dry.

Qi Beinan read the letter, his brow faintly lifting.

Tienan wrote that a merchant had come to view their house. The man hadn’t seemed particularly enthusiastic, but he hadn’t tried to bargain either.

They had listed the property at five hundred strings—a deliberately inflated price. As long as a buyer offered no less than four hundred and twenty, they would sell.

Yet this merchant, curiously enough, agreed to the full five hundred without a word of negotiation.

Tienan met him in person and realized soon after that the man wasn’t some fool with too much money—he clearly had his own reasons.

No one knew quite how the merchant had found out that Tienan held property in Yunping Ward.

That autumn, when the imperial decree lifted the nationwide curfew, another order followed in the twelfth month requiring all prefectures to establish and regulate their night markets, ensuring they wouldn’t disturb local residents’ rest.

The Linzhou prefecture chose Yunping Ward for the new night market.

Yunping Ward sat along the river, with a fine view and a good distance from the crowded downtown streets—a perfect location for a bustling night bazaar.

As soon as word spread, merchants rushed to buy the once-neglected shops there. Within two months, every stall had been snatched up.

By year’s end, the night market was in full swing. With official support, merchants in Yunping Ward enjoyed reduced taxes, and during the Lantern Festival, the grand celebration was held right there. The public flocked to it, and the area thrived with noise and color.

Now, even more shops had opened, and the streets were lively day and night.

Rent prices for small storefronts had soared—from the original three strings of cash per month to five. Shops along the riverside, in especially desirable locations, went for six to eight strings, sometimes even higher.

And that was just for rent. Buying one outright was nearly impossible.

The merchant had set his eyes on a three-story building overlooking the river and was willing to pay a high price for it.

After asking around about the property’s ownership, he finally traced it to Tienan.

When he learned that the owner was unlikely to sell, he sent word through intermediaries but was firmly refused.

Unwilling to give up, he used a clever excuse—pretending to inquire about a house for sale—to get a meeting with Tienan.

Tienan, not yet having received Qi Beinan’s instruction on selling the property, didn’t dare decide on his own. He wrote to Qi Beinan for guidance.

“The merchant is offering eight hundred strings for the building,” Qi Beinan read aloud to Xiao Yuanbao, “and another five hundred for our residence, if we’ll sell both together.”

“So—should we sell or not?” Xiao Yuanbao asked.

He knew that Yunping Ward’s property prices had gone up but wasn’t sure by how much.

“At that price, we wouldn’t be losing money,” Qi Beinan said.

They had bought all fifteen shop units there for only a thousand strings total. Even though the three-story building alone was worth several smaller shops, this sale would still bring a considerable profit.

Still, the building’s location was excellent and bound to appreciate further.

But Qi Beinan’s funds were tight, and selling the house and shop together would be convenient—it would free up a large sum quickly and keep their finances flowing.

Since there was an offer on the table, he began to lean toward selling—but not at that price.

He took up his brush and dictated a reply to Tienan:

“For both the house and the building, one thousand five hundred strings. If the buyer won’t agree, we can instead lease him two riverside shops at the current rate—eight strings per month each, fifteen for both, guaranteed stable for this year. If he still refuses, our lowest price for sale is one thousand four hundred.”

He sealed the letter, enclosed a small payment for postage, and sent it by express courier.

Xiao Yuanbao waited anxiously, hoping the deal would go through.

If it did, everything—wedding, expenses, and investments—would finally fall into place.

He didn’t have to wait long. By late February, as the capital began to thaw, news came.

That day, Xiao Yuanbao was making pickles with Master Jiang. Qin Jiang had just dropped Qi Beinan off at the palace gates and was on his way back after grabbing a bowl of noodles from a street stall.

At the mouth of the lane, he spotted a figure looking around uncertainly. The man seemed familiar—and as he came closer, Qin Jiang realized it was Tienan.

It was his first time in the capital. Though he had the address, navigating the city’s maze of streets had left him wandering for quite a while before he finally found the house.

“You must be exhausted after such a long journey from Linzhou,” Xiao Yuanbao said warmly, having him shown in. He called for Wenge’er to serve tea and for Hongtang to bring out some pastries.

“The weather along the road was good, and the trip smooth,” Tienan said with a smile. “I’m not tired at all.”

He was now a tall, broad-shouldered young man, steady in manner after managing affairs in Linzhou.

“It’s just that I kept worrying about you and Lord Qi—couldn’t stand how slow the carriage seemed to go.”

Xiao Yuanbao laughed. “Your tongue’s gotten honeyed.”

Tienan knew that in this household, the young master managed affairs as ably as the lord, so he produced his travel bundle and handed over the documents.

The moment Xiao Yuanbao saw that Tienan had come in person, he knew the deal must have gone through.

The boy had surely brought the money himself—such a sum couldn’t be trusted to couriers alone.

Of course, they could have transferred it through a money house, but that would have been troublesome and cost a hefty fee.

“The merchant accepted the second offer,” Tienan reported. “He’ll pay fifteen hundred strings for both the house and the building. In addition, he’ll lease two riverside shops at full price. He didn’t haggle—agreed right away. Altogether, we’ve gained an extra hundred strings from it. The leases on the two shops are for one full year.”

Xiao Yuanbao opened the parcel to find one thousand six hundred and eighty strings’ worth of payment, along with two rental contracts.

He examined the banknotes—three worth five hundred each, three worth fifty each—and a pouch of loose silver totaling thirty taels. Satisfaction warmed his chest.

“Do you know what kind of business this merchant runs, to have such wealth?” he asked.

“I heard he deals in antiques,” Tienan replied. “He needed a large, elegant storefront in a prime spot. The small shops felt too cramped for his taste, but he took a liking to our riverside building.”

“As for the two leased shops, they were taken by his relatives in trade—one for selling food, the other for jewelry.”

Xiao Yuanbao said, “So it really is a family of merchants.”

Tienan nodded. “Indeed. Without a solid fortune, no ordinary trader could afford property in Yunping Ward now.”

He had personally helped Qi Beinan handle the Linzhou property purchases back then, worrying at the time that they might not even rent the shops out and end up losing money. Seeing how much everything had changed, he felt nothing but admiration for Qi Beinan’s foresight.

That afternoon, after resting for a while, Tienan met with Qi Beinan when he returned from his post.

Qi Beinan looked him over. “You’ve grown taller and sturdier—truly looking like someone in charge.”

Tienan scratched his head, embarrassed. “My lord is teasing me. If not for your detailed instructions in your letters, how could I have managed anything properly?”

Qi Beinan smiled faintly. “I know exactly what you’re capable of.”

Hearing that, Tienan felt a swell of pride and gratitude.

He reported on the recent affairs in Linzhou, then added, “Speaking of your foresight, that broker who helped us find the shops back then—he’s still endlessly grateful to you. He followed your advice, bought two shops of his own afterward, sold one for a profit of several dozen strings, and rents the other now. Says life’s been quite comfortable since. I ran into him recently—he kept insisting I join him for a drink.”

Qi Beinan chuckled. “Well, it’s his good fortune that he listened. If he hadn’t, he’d be regretting it now, just watching the prices soar. Still, he did help us negotiate those good deals back then, so it’s only right he gained something in return.”

Tienan nodded. “That’s true.”

Qi Beinan said, “There are still twelve shops left under our name. With the residence sold, you’ll need a place to live. Take one of the shops, renovate it for yourself. As for the others, rent them out slowly, at fair market prices, whenever you meet a good offer.”

Tienan agreed.

Qi Beinan continued, “Stay steady in your work there. Once things settle in the capital, I’ll speak with Yuanbao and have them look for a proper match for you back home—someone your parents will like. Then, when you return to Linzhou, you can start a good life together.”

He added, “Your parents have served diligently at the estate; the master is pleased. The household will not treat such loyal people poorly.”

Tienan, hearing the kindness and thought behind this plan, was deeply moved. He immediately knelt and said, “If not for you, my lord, rescuing me and my parents from hardship, how could we ever have the lives we do now? You’ve already done so much for us—how could I not be grateful? I’ll serve this household faithfully for as long as I live.”

Qi Beinan gave a quiet nod.

Tienan stayed two days in the capital before returning to Linzhou.

When he left, Xiao Yuanbao gave him travel money, an additional ten strings of cash, two bolts of silk, and a fine tea set as a gift.

With the proceeds from selling the house and the riverside building, their finances suddenly loosened.

They immediately paid back the four hundred strings owed to the Ming family for the furniture.

Next, they spent another three hundred strings purchasing farmland on the outskirts of the capital.

Spring was approaching; if the land wasn’t tilled soon, the season would be lost.

In just those two expenses, seven hundred strings were gone—half of the fifteen hundred Tienan had brought.

Eight hundred and eighty strings remained, plus about a hundred more they already had on hand—enough to round up roughly a thousand in total.

Qi Beinan reviewed the accounts and, satisfied, consulted the almanac. He chose April ninth, an auspicious day for marriage.

He sent word home and filed for official leave with the Ministry of Personnel. Weddings required advance notice—only then would a three-day leave be approved. Once entered in the records, the date became fixed; canceling it without cause could bring punishment.

With the date set, they began drafting invitations.

Qi Beinan hadn’t been long in the capital and knew only a few colleagues; most of his relatives were back home, so there wouldn’t be many guests.

After tallying everything, they decided eight banquet tables would suffice, though they prepared for ten to be safe.

“If this were held in the county,” Qi Beinan said, watching Xiao Yuanbao brush the ink across the red paper, “it would be lively—we could have forty or fifty tables easily.”

“How would we ever fit that many in the capital?” Xiao Yuanbao smiled, glancing up. “We’d have to rent another house just for the banquet. Too much trouble. Ten tables here in our own home will do nicely.”

From where he was packing chests, Master Jiang chimed in, “Exactly. Fewer guests mean less fuss. The important thing isn’t the crowd—it’s your union. A few close tables of family and friends make for the best kind of celebration.”

Qi Beinan nodded and said no more.

Looking over the preparations, he saw that Master Jiang and Xiao Yuanbao had already packed twenty chests’ worth of goods.

Two were filled with grooming items—wooden combs, bamboo combs, makeup boxes, wash basins, toothbrushes, tooth powder, hair oil, and such.

Six more contained bedding—embroidered mandarin-duck quilts for spring and summer, matching pillows, bed curtains and gauze canopies, thick cotton quilts for autumn and winter, rabbit-fur mats—eight full sets in all.

There were also seasonal garments, fabrics, medicinal herbs, and fragrant sachets—too many small things to list, costing modestly but requiring great care and patience.

By tradition, it should have been the Xiao family who prepared Xiao Yuanbao’s dowry, but given the circumstances back home, there was no way they could have arranged such things in advance.

Now that they were putting everything together, it was partly for appearance’s sake, but mostly because the items would truly be needed after the wedding.

“Have you not prepared any jewelry?” Qi Beinan asked, noticing that everything was daily necessities and not a single major ornament among them.

Xiao Yuanbao replied, “I didn’t think it was necessary. There’s already plenty here.”

He felt a little embarrassed that even his dowry had to be purchased under Qi Beinan’s supervision. With so many goods already, he found it more than enough.

Gold and silver jewelry could easily cost over a hundred strings of cash, and besides, he wasn’t much fond of wearing such things.

“For a young man, it’s not like with a maiden,” he added. “I already have a few jade hairpins and pendants from before—they’re quite enough.”

Qi Beinan understood his hesitation and said, “Even if a young man doesn’t wear as many adornments, he should still have some. We’re preparing both the betrothal and the dowry—it shouldn’t seem lacking.

“The other day, I saw a noble’s son wearing a filigree pendant collar—it was exquisite. You don’t have to like it, but buy a few to keep. It’s better to have them when you want them than to have none at all.”

Then he turned to Master Jiang. “You go with him to help choose. If I buy them myself, I doubt they’d suit his taste.”

Master Jiang smiled. “The lord is right. Jewelry doesn’t spoil—later, the children can even wear them.”

Persuaded by the two, Xiao Yuanbao reluctantly agreed.

They went out and bought a gold filigree necklace in the shape of a ruyi gourd, a silver one with auspicious cloud motifs, and pairs of jade and pearl sash ornaments—green jade, white jade, and pearl, two of each.

Altogether, eight jewelry boxes—three hundred strings of cash gone.

With that, nearly everything was ready. The only matter left was the banquet.

In the capital, arranging a banquet was easy enough. They simply went to one of the Four Divisions and Six Bureaus, entrusted the details, and everything would be handled perfectly.

There were endless options.

For tables and chairs: rosewood and huanghuali for grandeur, elm or walnut for simplicity.

For dishes and serving ware: official kilns, private kilns, even gold or silver sets if one desired.

For food and drink: countless choices of dishes, fruits, pastries, and wines.

The variety dazzled Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes. Even Master Jiang, who had spent half a lifetime catering banquets, had never seen such meticulous organization.

He couldn’t help but click his tongue—truly, the capital was no ordinary place.

After a long time of browsing, the two of them were still overwhelmed by the options. Fortunately, the officials at the bureau were experienced.

They asked what kind of banquet it would be—official, common, or merchant household.

Xiao Yuanbao explained everything clearly, and they quickly understood the tone.

Then they asked what rank the host held, and whether he wanted something grand or modest.

Xiao Yuanbao said only that the host was a newly appointed official—not seeking ostentation, but not wanting to seem too humble either. Something refined and respectable in between.

The staff recommended walnut tables and benches for a modest but decent appearance, and blue-and-white porcelain for the tableware—elegant, restrained, and befitting of an official household.

As for the dishes, with only ten tables, they proposed a refined and tasteful menu: five strings of cash per table, with lamb wine and cherry fruit wine as the drinks.

Fresh fruit would include pears and grapes, while pastries would feature seasonal flower cakes and wedding cakes.

Xiao Yuanbao saw that it was a mid-range selection—neither extravagant nor cheap. He and Master Jiang agreed it was fair and confirmed the order.

Back home, he told Qi Beinan everything. Hearing no objection, Qi Beinan sent word to finalize the deposit and fix the date.

Once the day arrived, the bureau would send their people to manage the event—veterans who had served both noble officials and wealthy commoners alike.

The total came to about eighty strings of cash—sixty for the ten banquet tables and another twenty for the hired staff.

It was a steep sum; ordinary families could hardly afford to have the Four Divisions and Six Bureaus run a banquet for them.

Master Jiang sighed in wonder at how convenient the capital was. “They even have people who handle the entire banquet for you. If you don’t want to cook, you can just sit at home and order whatever you like—they’ll deliver it right to your door. Amazing.”

“And ever since the night markets began,” he added, “the city never sleeps. It’s lively everywhere, with people coming and going. Folks here live freely, finding fun instead of gossip. Not like back in the countryside, where everyone’s eyes are always on someone else’s private matters.”

In early March, a letter arrived from their home county—Xiao Hu would be setting out for the capital this month.

Xiao Yuanbao was overjoyed.

He hadn’t seen Xiao Hu in quite some time and missed him dearly. Knowing he was already preparing to come, the days suddenly felt full of anticipation.

In his cheerful mood, he picked up a basket and decided to go to the market to buy a cut of lamb—to roast it for Master Jiang and Qi Beinan.

By March, the afternoons were warm, the market stalls lively, vendors’ cries rising and falling through the air.

The city was awakening, green spreading across the earth beyond the walls.

When joy fills the heart, everything seems beautiful—and to Xiao Yuanbao, that day, everything did.

“What’s that young fellow selling?”

Xiao Yuanbao hadn’t taken the carriage that day. He always found it strange to ride just to buy groceries, so he preferred walking.

As he strolled down the busy market street, he noticed a man ahead cloaked in black, standing with his arms drawn in like a giant bat folding its wings.

The man darted left and right, stopping to whisper to passersby—each waved him off impatiently.

Before Wen Ge’er beside him could speak, the young man spotted Xiao Yuanbao watching him and swooped over like a hawk that had locked onto a chick.

“Brother, care to read a new storybook? I’ve got every new title from Master Liu Xin of the Spring Sun Pavilion! His latest one’s a marvel—the noble lady and the poor scholar eloping in secret!”

Xiao Yuanbao blinked, realizing the man was selling popular storybooks.

Seeing that he didn’t immediately refuse, the bookseller threw open his cloak—inside were over a dozen sewn pockets, each stuffed with booklets.

Xiao Yuanbao had been in the capital nearly half a year, yet this was his first time seeing anyone sell books this way.

“Selling storybooks is an honest trade,” he said. “Why dress it up like this?”

The young man paused, then quickly answered, “Well, shouting in the street brings better business! Leave them in a bookstore, and who’ll bother to go inside? Out here, more eyes, more buyers!”

“Brother, take a few home. A way to pass the time—and you’d be helping me out, too. My poor father’s sick in bed, waiting for me to earn enough to buy him medicine.”

Xiao Yuanbao doubted the tale, likely a performance to draw pity. But buying a couple of stories cost next to nothing, so he picked two from the cloak.

The man beamed, thanking him profusely. “You’ll see, brother—once you read these, you’ll come find me again. I’m always under the Yang Bridge, same place every day!”

With that, he vanished into the crowd.

Wen Ge’er said, “That Liu Xin’s quite famous. I’ve heard his stories are touching and tangled—people can’t stop reading. I can’t read much myself, but I’ve heard the storytellers tell his tales twice now—captivating, truly.”

Xiao Yuanbao didn’t open the book right away, just tossed it into his basket. “So it’s that good? I’ll have a look at home when there’s time.”

That evening, Qi Beinan returned later than usual from the Hanlin Academy.

The court had begun assigning duties for the new year. Across the provinces, spring examinations were approaching, and the Hanlin scholars were to be sent out with the Ministry of Rites as regional examiners.

There were also many vacant official posts in the provinces, so the Ministry of Personnel wanted to hold a special examination to select capable scholars for appointments—another task requiring coordination between the Rites Ministry and the Hanlin.

Because of these discussions, everyone left late that day.

Qi Beinan didn’t mind; the position of provincial examiner was a lucrative one. The travel stipends from the Ministry of Revenue were generous—more than enough to cover expenses, with plenty left over. Such assignments were highly coveted.

But with his wedding scheduled for April, even though Senior Scholar Li had wanted to recommend him, Qi Beinan could only decline.

Since he couldn’t be sent out to the provinces, he’d instead help organize the selection exams in the capital.

The mention of examiners reminded him of Zhao Guangzong back in the county.

After supper, Qi Beinan went to his study and wrote him a letter.

He knew Zhao Guangzong had spoken of taking the metropolitan examination again, but now that examiner positions were opening, he wanted to inform him of the opportunity.

The metropolitan exam came only once every three years. Failing once or twice was normal—but each “normal” failure cost six years of life. How many sets of six years could a man afford to lose?

Qi Beinan didn’t urge him to quit, nor did he push him to persist blindly. He simply laid out both paths—the pros and cons clearly—and left the choice to him.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

A few days later, the twelfth month arrived.

The capital was already steeped in the festive air of the New Year. On the very first day of the month, shops lining both sides of the streets began hanging red lanterns.

The designs were varied—no longer just the traditional round red lanterns. The restaurant on one corner hung two square silk ones; next door, the silk shop had a pair of eight-sided palace-style lamps. The shop after that, not wanting to be outdone, displayed elegant fan-shaped lanterns.

Every household tried to outshine the next. Even before the festival arrived, the streets dazzled with color and light.

Xiao Yuanbao sat in the carriage returning home, never once lowering the curtain. Lanterns of every kind lined the streets; some he had never seen even at the county’s Lantern Festival. Truly, the capital was in a league of its own.

He had been run off his feet lately, working day and night to make pickles.

Business was booming—by morning, they would send out several dozen jars, and by noon, they’d all be gone. On any given day, they sold no fewer than eighty jars, and on better days, more than a hundred.

He was astonished. It was the sheer size of the capital’s population that made such steady sales possible. In a county town, no matter how good business was, there would never be so many buyers.

Of course, selling more meant consuming more ingredients. Every couple of days, they were buying over ten catties of snow cabbage and dried bamboo shoots.

He began calculating and sent word to negotiate with the two shops that supplied him. From now on, he would buy exclusively from them, in bulk, and see if that could earn him a discount.

It wasn’t hard to bargain. Each shop cut two copper coins off the original price. Buying in volume meant he could save even more over time.

Next, he went to the pottery shop. Until now, the jars had cost two coins each.

He had been buying by the hundreds—each trip meant over two hundred coins for the shopkeeper. These were simple jars, not fine porcelain that sold for strings of cash per set, but such large orders were steady and reliable. A stable trade could be as profitable as luxury goods.

After some back-and-forth, the potter offered three jars for five copper coins and even agreed to inscribe the name “Xiangdangdang” on each.

Still not satisfied, Xiao Yuanbao had Qin Jiang negotiate again—three coins for two jars, with the same inscription. In return, they would tell customers that the jars came from that pottery shop and praise their quality.

Seeing mutual benefit, the potter agreed.

Xiao Yuanbao leaned back in the carriage, feeling pleased.

This trip had cut costs significantly. Their pickles, which used to earn twelve to fifteen coins per jar, would now bring in an extra one or two.

One or two coins didn’t sound like much, but across a hundred jars, that meant a hundred or two hundred coins more.

Small ventures had to be tight-fisted to turn a profit.

Back home, he went into the storeroom and began clicking his abacus.

After twenty-some days of business, even after expenses, they had earned thirty strings of cash.

Looking at the tidy profit, he felt certain—business was the true way to make money.

But joy quickly turned to worry. He hadn’t expected the pickles to sell so well, and their stock of mushrooms was running low.

He wrote a letter home, asking them to send more.

That, however, would take time—and cost a fair bit in transport.

Qin Jiang, who had worked with an escort company, explained: to send a full cart of goods from their county to the capital, even with connections, would cost ten strings at least.

If it was only a few crates, not a full cart, the company wouldn’t take it unless the route matched another job. In that case, it could be cheaper, just a few strings—but that kind of luck was rare.

Hearing this, Xiao Yuanbao felt uneasy.

Even though transporting mushrooms from home would still be cheaper than buying them in the capital, it would certainly raise costs.

That day, he had bought fermented beans to make a new flavor of oil pickle—partly to expand their offerings, partly to stretch out their remaining mushroom supply until more arrived.

Leaning back in his chair, he tilted his head and sighed. This was his first time running a business—full of pleasant surprises, but one problem after another, too.

Some of these issues, he realized, could have been foreseen. With foresight, he could have prepared solutions earlier.

Take the mushrooms, for example—the most important ingredient. He had a good stock at first but never thought about what to do when it ran out.

He hadn’t planned to turn this into a long-term trade anyway. It had started as something to pass the time in winter and earn a bit of spare money for the household.

He figured once he used up his stock of mushrooms, the business would naturally end.

But now, with profits this good, how could he possibly stop?

And since he’d already secured favorable prices for his ingredients and jars, there was no reason to give it up halfway.

Sitting in the storeroom, he scratched his cheek, deep in thought about how to strengthen the business.

Later that evening, Qi Beinan returned home and happened to meet the post courier on the way. There was a letter for them, which he carried inside.

Qi Beinan saw Xiao Yuanbao still scratching his cheek in the storeroom.

“Boss Xiao, what has you so troubled?”

Xiao Yuanbao didn’t tell him right away that their mushroom stock was running low. The man had just returned from a long day’s work, hadn’t even had a sip of hot tea yet—how could he pile on more worries about household matters?

“I’m doing the accounts,” he said instead. “Now that business has grown, the bookkeeping isn’t as easy as before. I regret not studying arithmetic properly.”

Qi Beinan tapped him lightly on the forehead. “You only realize the worth of learning when you actually need it.”

“Enough of that. Come look—I’ve finished your new boots.”

Xiao Yuanbao put his things down and led Qi Beinan into the room. From the couch, he took out a pair of tall deerskin boots.

Qi Beinan ran a hand over them. “Let’s see how they fit.”

Xiao Yuanbao had him sit, then knelt to help him try them on.

He pulled aside the old shoes, and a pair of large feet appeared—Qi Beinan was tall and lean, and his feet were correspondingly long. Xiao Yuanbao held one up and realized it was nearly the length of both his hands together.

“As the saying goes, big feet travel far. Your father named you ‘Beinan’—north and south. Seems that saying suits you perfectly.”

Qi Beinan looked down at him. “Now that you’ve made me shoes, you’ve trapped me. I won’t be walking north or south anymore.”

Xiao Yuanbao gave the boot a playful pat. “So now it’s my fault, is it? Go on, walk a few steps—see if they pinch.”

The leather was supple, reaching mid-calf, snugly tucking in his trousers. No matter how he moved, they wouldn’t slip off.

The soles were thick to resist water and mud, and the inside lined with soft short fur—barefoot, they were both warm and plush.

Qi Beinan turned this way and that, clearly pleased.

“They’ll do well enough with both court robes and casual wear.”

Xiao Yuanbao looked satisfied too. Qi Beinan was already handsome, and the new boots made him even more striking.

After pacing a few circles, Qi Beinan asked what the leather had cost.

“Less than five strings of cash,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “I found some cheaper scraps—not whole hides, so the price wasn’t high.”

Even so, five strings for a pair of boots was hardly cheap.

“I figured since the pickles brought in some silver, I’d spend a little of it to buy the leather for you,” he added.

Qi Beinan teased, “So now I’m eating soft rice, am I?”

They both laughed over it before remembering the letter.

Opening it, they saw it was from home. They read it together.

When Xiao Yuanbao finished, his expression changed at once. “Shameless! The teacher’s the one who suffered, and the villagers, instead of defending him, dare spread such vile gossip!”

It turned out that earlier that autumn, with more banquets being held in the countryside, Master Jiang had gone out to cater an event. There, a man from another village had taken a liking to him.

After hearing that Jiang had been widowed for years and lived alone, the man decided he wanted to marry him.

When winter came, he even sent a matchmaker—but Jiang refused.

Ordinary people would have let it go. But this man, seeing that Jiang looked young for his age, skilled in his craft, and capable of earning silver, grew spiteful when rejected.

He snuck into Jiang’s house and hid, then suddenly jumped out half-dressed while visitors were present, hoping to ruin Jiang’s reputation so that he’d be forced to marry him.

The village gossips seized on it, tongues wagging until Jiang’s name was blackened.

Village head Zhao was furious and went to demand justice, but the shameless man claimed it was Jiang who had invited him in.

When Xiao Hu heard of it, he sent two strong men to lie in wait. They caught the scoundrel outside and gave him a beating he wouldn’t forget.

A rogue like that couldn’t be reasoned with—but a few bruises taught him better manners.

Though the man later came forward to admit the truth and apologize, the matter didn’t quiet down. The gossip still lingered behind closed doors.

Whenever there was a gathering, people whispered.

Master Jiang, being quiet and sensitive, grew disheartened under their stares. He stopped attending banquets and had stayed home for many days.

Village head Zhao, worried, wrote to Xiao Hu—asking Xiao Yuanbao to send a letter in turn, fearing Jiang might fall into despair.

The more Xiao Yuanbao read, the angrier he became.

“I could tear that man to pieces! How could anyone be so shameless? The teacher’s been alone for years. Even when I was little, plenty tried to arrange matches for him—good, decent families too—and he refused every one. And now this worthless old bachelor dares set his sights on him, stooping to such vile tricks?”

“He soils a good man’s name and still dreams he’ll marry him—ridiculous!”

Qi Beinan’s brow tightened. “Trouble always comes to a widower’s door. Even with Village Head Zhao watching out for him, there are still snakes with filthy thoughts—thinking that winning Jiang means gaining the Zhao family’s favor as well.”

He fell silent a moment, then said, “It’s hard to comfort someone face-to-face, harder still by letter. When Ming Guanxin’s household sends the dowry items to the capital, why not write to Master Jiang and ask him to come along with the merchant convoy? Let him attend our wedding banquet. It might lift his spirits. After being shut up in that tiny village for so long, even the most cheerful soul would fall ill from the strain.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s brow lifted slightly. “Then why don’t we just have him stay in the capital for good? It’ll spare him from the gossip back in the village. He could help manage the pickle business too—I’m sure he’d settle in fine.”

Qi Beinan thought it over. It wasn’t a bad idea. In the capital, they had no relatives or elders around; having Master Jiang there would mean one more person to rely on.

Whether he’d agree or not was another matter, but it was worth bringing him first. He could help them with the wedding preparations, and if he stayed long enough, perhaps they could persuade him to remain.

Xiao Yuanbao then told him about the mushroom shortage and the need to arrange more shipments. The two discussed it well into the night.

Once they had decided everything, they wrote a reply and sealed it with some silver, sending it home by fast courier.

By the last day of the twelfth month—New Year’s Day—the Ming family’s caravan arrived in the capital.

Outside, snow was falling thickly, and everyone was bundled up tight against the cold. Faces were wrapped in scarves and hoods so that only eyes could be seen.

“Teacher!”

When Xiao Yuanbao saw Master Jiang stepping down from the carriage, wrapped thickly in furs, he ran forward like a sparrow taking flight and threw his arms around him.

“You’re not a child anymore—still acting like this!”

Though he scolded him, Master Jiang couldn’t hide his own joy. He unwound the cloth from his mouth, and his breath came out in a puff of white mist.

“I missed you so much,” Xiao Yuanbao said brightly. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come to the capital.”

“How could I not?” Master Jiang said warmly. “You’re my only disciple. You’re marrying Lord Qi—I wouldn’t miss it, no matter how far the road.”

He glanced at Xiao Yuanbao, then at Qi Beinan. “It’s colder up north, but the journey went smoothly.”

Qi Beinan said, “That’s what matters most. Xiaobao’s been worrying for days—seeing you arrive safely is better than anything.”

“Teacher, come inside quickly,” Xiao Yuanbao urged. “It’s freezing out here. I bought plenty of food—we’ll have a proper New Year’s Eve feast together, not spend the holiday on the road.”

Qi Beinan stayed behind to handle the caravan and the goods. He had the merchants brought inside for hot tea and a warm meal before sending them on to the new house. The workers still needed to unload and arrange the furniture.

Along with household furnishings came the mushrooms, New Year supplies, and two mushroom cultivators that Tian Kun had trained.

Xiao Yuanbao and Qi Beinan had discussed transport costs earlier and finally decided to bring the two growers from home. They had already found ten mu of land in the capital’s outskirts to start mushroom and vegetable cultivation. That way, they’d never have to worry about supply again and could live much as they had back in the county.

The land, however, hadn’t yet been purchased. Farmland near the capital was costly—ten mu would run at least three hundred strings of cash.

After buying their house, they didn’t have spare funds. The property in Linzhou hadn’t sold yet.

Recently, Tienan had written that Yunping Ward had been designated by the prefecture as a night market area. Shops there had sold out in just over a month, with prices doubling.

Merchants were still lining up to lease space, and even their old broker had inquired if they were willing to rent out their property.

Following Qi Beinan’s instructions, Tienan held off. He wanted to wait until the night market was fully thriving—then they could rent the place at a higher price. There were already plenty of eager tenants, but no need to rush when rent could rise further.

As for the furniture ordered from the Ming family, the total came to four hundred strings. They’d already explained that payment would come later, once their funds loosened up. With their longstanding relationship, it wasn’t an issue.

Though everything was a bit tangled for now, they managed to juggle funds and push each matter along step by step. Once things settled into rhythm, they’d no longer feel so strained.

That night, the capital was alive with fireworks and firecrackers bursting endlessly in every direction.

The night sky bloomed with color—fireworks flaring over the dark rooftops, brilliant and breathtaking.

Inside their warm house, Master Jiang, Xiao Yuanbao, and Qi Beinan shared a bubbling hotpot for their reunion meal.

It had been a long time since Xiao Yuanbao had last seen his teacher, and he couldn’t stop talking, asking after everyone at home.

“Your father wanted to come too,” Master Jiang said, “but he couldn’t leave the estate. He’s healthy, though he still feels pain in the bone that bear injured years ago whenever it snows. My cousin’s been telling him not to be stingy with charcoal—keep the brazier lit through winter and take care of himself, so you two can rest easy here in the capital.”

“He doesn’t listen to much,” Master Jiang added with a smile, “but when I mention the two of you, he does.”

Qi Beinan then asked about Zhao Guangzong. “How is he doing?”

“Well,” said Master Jiang. “Since returning from the capital, he’s grown steadier. When a cousin in the clan caused trouble in the autumn, he handled it neatly. He’s managing the family’s fields and trade on his own now.”

Hearing that everyone back home was doing well filled both Xiao Yuanbao and Qi Beinan with quiet warmth.

In the first month of the new year, Qi Beinan had several social obligations. His colleagues at the Hanlin Academy invited him to banquets, and it wouldn’t do to decline. The Ministry of Works also sent invitations—he was stationed there now, and since his work was solid and his relations good, he was well-liked.

Meanwhile, Xiao Yuanbao stayed home, organizing gifts to send in return.

Minister Zhang loved his wine, so they prepared a gift that was neither too cheap nor too costly; Minister Wang’s household was modest, so sending something extravagant would only burden him and make the return gift awkward; Minister Wu’s family, on the other hand, was wealthy, so the present had to be distinctive—something thoughtful enough to catch his attention.

Master Jiang stood beside him in the storeroom, watching Xiao Yuanbao skillfully sort through the gifts and their recipients, speaking with precision and tact. He truly had grown up.

Xiao Yuanbao sighed. “If only that were all I had to manage. But I’ve still got the business to look after too—and not just checking accounts. I have to do the work myself.”

“What business still needs you to work with your own hands?” Master Jiang asked.

Xiao Yuanbao explained the pickle trade. “We’ve spent so much preparing for the wedding and buying the house that money’s tight. I thought I’d start a small business to earn some grocery money, but it ended up doing well—too well to step away from.”

“If I had someone reliable to help me watch over things, I wouldn’t have to run in so many directions. But in the capital, with no family or friends, there’s really no choice.”

He didn’t ask Master Jiang outright to stay and help manage the business—just spoke lightly, letting the idea settle in his mind.

If he pushed too soon, the man might resist, feeling cornered. Then, even if they mentioned it later, it would only make things awkward.

Besides, how presumptuous would it sound—claiming it was “for Master Jiang’s good” just to keep him there?

So he let the matter rest and instead invited Master Jiang to come see the wedding garments he had finished.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

The ingredients needed for oil-pickled vegetables were quite ordinary: scallions, ginger, garlic, star anise, cassia leaves, and peppercorns.

The main ingredients, however, were homegrown mushrooms, fresh bamboo shoots, and minced pork with snow cabbage.

He still had several boxes of dried mushrooms at home, and snow cabbage was abundant in the markets. Even if it wasn’t, it could easily be pickled from fresh greens.

What proved troublesome this season were the fresh bamboo shoots.

Xiao Yuanbao made a round through the city market. There were indeed plump, golden winter shoots for sale—dug up by sharp-eyed farmers with hoes, coaxed from the earth where they hid stubbornly beneath the soil.

He pinched a piece between his fingers: crisp and tender, with the clean, springlike fragrance that only appeared after the thaw.

These winter shoots would die after the frost; they could not sprout into tall bamboo, but their taste was sweet and delicate, as if nature had meant them to be eaten as a rare treat.

When he asked the price, it was astonishing—one shoot cost more than a hundred coins, pricier than meat. Clearly, they were unsuitable for pickling.

Besides, back in the village, his father had dug winter shoots before—delicious when stewed with pig’s trotters, but not as flavorful in pickles as the young spring shoots gathered in April or May.

Then Xiao Yuanbao slapped his forehead and went to a shop that sold dried goods.

Inside were racks of dried vegetables, meats, and seafood from river and sea alike.

When he asked for bamboo shoots, the clerk led him to the shelves and gestured for him to choose among many varieties: large, small, and medium—麻笋 (ma shoots), 鞭笋 (whip shoots), 苦笋 (bitter shoots), 红壳笋 (red-shell shoots), 白哺鸡笋 (white-feather shoots)…

The man recited the names as if telling a story.

When Xiao Yuanbao asked which kind suited pickled vegetables, the clerk produced a large hemp sack.

“These were harvested in spring and sun-dried to a crisp. Even through the damp winter, they haven’t molded or spoiled. Cheaper than fresh ones, too.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s face lit up as he took the bag of dried shoots.

That afternoon, Qi Beinan came home from work, the snow outside thicker than before.

He’d spent the day inspecting progress on the city’s night market construction. His feet were buried in snow for so long they’d gone numb.

Once he’d changed out of his official robes, he called for Qin Jiang to bring in a bucket of hot water.

“How are the insoles soaked through already?” Xiao Yuanbao exclaimed. He’d been in the kitchen, simmering pig’s trotter soup with the fresh winter shoots he’d bought that morning. Hearing Qin Jiang fetch hot water, he guessed Qi Beinan wanted to soak his feet, so he sliced ginger into the bucket and followed him in.

When he picked up the shoes Qi had taken off, he felt the damp fabric and frowned. He pressed his hand inside; the lining was soaked as well.

“When did you get these wet?” he scolded. “If it happened while you were out, you could’ve just sent word—I would’ve asked Qin Jiang to bring you dry ones.”

Qi Beinan dared not say they’d been wet for hours; it hadn’t been sudden, but rather that the snow had slowly seeped in.

Even changing into cloth boots at home didn’t help much—they soaked easily too.

He smiled, coaxing, “Maybe it happened when I was clearing snow from the roof this afternoon. It was almost time to finish work, so I didn’t want to trouble anyone.”

“Trouble?” Xiao Yuanbao huffed. “The capital’s winter is far colder than the county’s. If you don’t keep warm, your body won’t withstand it.”

“When you’re young, you think strength means you’ll never fall ill,” he added. “It’s only later, when your bones ache, that you learn otherwise.”

Qi Beinan laughed. “Yes, Teacher Xiao speaks true. Tomorrow, if my shoes get wet again, I’ll have someone fetch dry ones—agreed?”

Xiao Yuanbao hesitated. “It’s not your fault. Tomorrow, I’ll go to the leather shop and get two pieces of hide. I’ll cut and sew you a pair of boots, lined thick and soft inside. They’ll be warmer for your official duties.”

“Leather boots are expensive,” Qi Beinan said. “Wouldn’t that be too extravagant?”

“Hmph. And if you fall ill, won’t medicine cost even more?” Xiao Yuanbao retorted.

Then his eyes brightened. He set aside what he was doing, sat beside him, and said, “Actually, I’ve thought of a way to earn money. If it works, buying one hide—or ten—won’t matter.”

Qi Beinan raised a brow. “And what sort of business is this?”

“My oil-pickled vegetables,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “Everyone says they taste good. I used to think they were just ordinary side dishes, nothing special. But in a city like this, where people can eat all kinds of delicacies—even street food is decent—yet Tangtuan still said mine were delicious… perhaps they really are.”

Qi Beinan understood immediately that this was what the younger man had in mind.

He nodded. “You’re not wrong. At the Hanlin Academy, Lord Ren asked me for a jar not long ago—offered to trade his best lamb wine for it, too. I refused, but it shows something. His palate is as sharp as any courtier’s, and even he wanted more. That speaks for the flavor.”

Hearing that, Xiao Yuanbao’s heart filled with delight.

He told Qi Beinan about his plan to gather ingredients.

“What do you think?” he asked eagerly. “It may not be a grand enterprise like your past ventures, but even a few small coins coming in are better than none at all.”

Qi Beinan thought for a moment, then said, “Pickled vegetables are a common food—every household can make and afford them—but no two recipes taste the same. And when it comes to taste, yours leaves little to be improved.”

“Next comes the matter of price,” Qi Beinan said. “As I’ve said before, pickled vegetables are common fare, not a rarity. If you’re going to sell them, the price can’t be too high. What makes ours different from others’ is the use of those fine mushrooms—but since they’re grown at home and cost us nothing, our expenses stay low, which gives us an edge.”

He looked at Xiao Yuanbao. “With both taste and price in our favor, as long as you don’t mind running a humble business, it’s a sound one.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s heart leapt at his agreement—he was already full of plans.

The very next day, he took Wen Ge’er and Hongtang out to buy enough ingredients to fill half an iron cauldron.

They boiled water to soak the dried bamboo shoots and smoked mushrooms.

He minced pork, ground ginger and garlic to paste, and crushed star anise and peppercorns into powder.

Preparing all that took the whole day.

This time, besides minced pork, he bought a free-range chicken, intending to make another version—shredded chicken with oil and pickled sauce.

By the next morning, all the ingredients were ready.

Wearing his apron, Xiao Yuanbao followed the proportions he had worked out in his head: snow cabbage as the base, equal parts bamboo shoots and mushrooms, and a smaller share of minced meat to stir-fry.

He heated a wok with clear oil, frying scallions and coriander until golden, then scooped them out.

The minced pork went in next, sizzling as its aroma filled the room.

After a quick stir-fry, he added the mushrooms, bamboo shoots, and snow cabbage in order, seasoning and tasting as he went.

In the past, his batches were small—he knew by instinct how much seasoning to add—but this time, with a full pot, he made sure the flavor stayed balanced by tasting constantly.

Everyone helping in the kitchen was dazed by the smell.

It was rich and homey, yet mouthwatering. Just a small dish of it, they thought, could make one eat three bowls of rice.

By the time Qi Beinan came home, the big pot had cooled, and Xiao Yuanbao was spooning the pickles into round-bellied clay jars.

Five neat rows lined the wooden shelf against the wall.

Qi Beinan lifted a lid; even cold, the glossy pickles still gave off their fragrance.

The jars were small enough for one hand to hold most of the way around.

“The scent seems a little different from before?” he asked.

“You’ve got quite a nose,” Xiao Yuanbao said, smiling. “This time I used chicken for a new flavor.”

“Wen Ge’er and Hongtang both said it was good. You try and tell me which you like better.”

He placed two small dishes in front of Qi Beinan, one of each kind.

“Because these are made with dried bamboo shoots and mushrooms, the taste has a subtle difference.”

Qi Beinan had eaten already and wasn’t hungry, but once he tried them, he couldn’t stop. The minced pork version was hearty, the bamboo crisp; the shredded chicken one was lighter and more fragrant.

Both were excellent—if food could taste good even when one wasn’t hungry, it meant it was truly well made.

“It’s hard to say which is better,” he said. “Each has its own charm—it just depends on what one prefers. But having multiple flavors is always better than just one.”

“That’s what I thought too,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “If these sell well, I’ll make another with cured pork and fermented beans.”

Still, he didn’t rush to make too many varieties—if they didn’t sell, it would be a waste. They could eat them at home, of course, but there was no need to hoard jars upon jars.

That night, they discussed the business plan. The pickles didn’t need a proper shop—just a stall in the marketplace.

Pickled vegetables weren’t like tea leaves, silk, or ginseng—they didn’t need fancy storefronts to attract customers. A simple stand was enough.

And since the price was modest, too elegant a stall might actually drive common buyers away. Only the wealthy paid high prices for everyday foods.

In the capital’s bustling market, stalls were far from shabby—some sold exotic creatures and rare goods. Sometimes, the quality at a street stall even surpassed that of an established shop.

Many well-off people enjoyed shopping the markets themselves.

So they decided: rent a stall in the main outer-city market by day, and if sales went well, take one in the night market too.

After asking around, they learned a stall cost 180 copper coins per month.

The market was lively, but the price was steep—nearly what it cost to rent a small back-alley shop in the county.

After some haggling, they secured one for 150 coins a month.

Now that Xiao Yuanbao was an official’s spouse, it wouldn’t do for him to appear publicly shouting to sell pickles—if the wrong eyes saw, gossip would follow.

So he had Qin Jiang find a talkative helper to mind the stall.

Qi Beinan tested applicants carefully. He gave each a sample jar to taste and asked them to come back the next day with a sales pitch. The one who could describe the flavor best would get the job.

By early morning, the main market street outside the city was coming alive.

After breakfast, Xiao Yuanbao and Qi Beinan lingered at home for a while, then around mid-morning—when the market was at its busiest—they went out to see how the pickles were selling.

The two rode out by carriage. Though the winter roads were slick with ice, it did little to dampen people’s enthusiasm for shopping and strolling.

In a city as vast as the capital, there was never a quiet day.

The carriage moved in fits and starts through the crowded streets until they finally reached the outer market.

Getting down, they slipped into a nearby teahouse, climbed to the second floor, and leaned over the balcony. From there, they could see their pickle stall across the street, clearly visible in the flow of people.

It was a modest stand covered with an oilcloth canopy, a signboard hanging in front with the bold words: “Xiangdangdang Pickled Delicacies.”

Rows of jars were stacked on tiered wooden racks—nothing especially striking among the long stretch of market stalls.

But the man minding the stall was quick-tongued and lively.

With a bamboo clapper in one hand, he chanted a catchy rhyme:

“Pickles so fine, pickles so strong,
Want the best pickles? Xiangdangdang!”

“There’s meat, there’s veg, there’s broth so nice,
Fragrant and rich, worth every price!”

All the while, his free hand beckoned passersby closer.

“What’s so special about your pickles?” one onlooker called out.

“Wouldn’t dare boast,” the man said, grinning. “But my pickles taste so good, you’ll think you’ve eaten the food of immortals!”

As he spoke, he opened a jar for them to see.

“Smell that—doesn’t it make your mouth water?”

“Smells wonderful,” the customer admitted, eyes lighting up. “Can I try a bite?”

“How could I not let you?” the seller replied. “We sell food here—it’d be a shame if fine folks like you didn’t taste for yourselves.”

He tore a bit of thin flatbread, dabbed it in the pickles, and handed it over. “Just try it—you’ll be hooked where you stand.”

The man took the bite, and everyone watching leaned in.

After chewing, the customer slapped his thigh. “You weren’t lying—this is good stuff. Worthy of your signboard! How much for a jar?”

“Thirty copper coins a jar,” the seller said smoothly. “Two jars for fifty-five. You just tried the minced pork flavor—take another with shredded chicken, they pair well.”

The man paid on the spot and left with two jars in hand.

At once, a bystander muttered, “Thirty coins for a jar of pickles? That’s outrageous! The Seven Flavors shop sells bigger jars for twenty-five—and yours are smaller! That man was probably your shill!”

“By heaven and earth, madam, you wrong me!” the seller protested loudly. “I swear before the magistrate, I don’t know that gentleman at all!”

He tore another piece of flatbread, scooped up some pickles, and held it out for her to see. “Look here, madam—this isn’t just any pickle. See what’s in it—mushrooms, dried bamboo shoots, snow cabbage, real meat! That’s mushroom you’re smelling—go find me another stall in this market that dares use such fine ingredients!”

The woman frowned skeptically but took the offered bite.

Her eyes lit up after chewing. “There really are mushrooms in this!”

“Would I lie to you, madam?” the man said with mock dignity. “Still think that other customer was my accomplice?”

The woman chuckled, embarrassed. “Good lad, my old eyes just didn’t know quality when I saw it. Be kind now—give me a better price, eh? I’ll take a jar home for the New Year and tell everyone how good your pickles are.”

“It’s not that I won’t give you a deal, madam,” the man said, smiling. “But you’ve got a keen eye—you know this price is already low. If I cut any more, I’d be selling at a loss.”

The woman huffed, clearly reluctant but tempted all the same. The aroma was too much to resist.

Finally, grumbling, she took out a handkerchief, untied a string of coins, and handed them over. “You’re a stingy one, boy—but fine, you win.”

“Come again if you liked it,” he said cheerfully, pretending not to hear her muttering. He passed her the jar tied neatly with straw twine.

From their seat above, Xiao Yuanbao and Qi Beinan watched with fascination. Their tea had long gone cold, untouched.

Xiao Yuanbao couldn’t hide his grin. “The people in this capital really are clever. Look at that clerk—rhymes, clappers, and all. He’s got a full act going.”

Qi Beinan smiled. “The city’s prosperous. Folks here have to be sharp to make a living.”

He added, “And don’t forget—we’re paying him over a whole string of cash. If he didn’t have the skill, we’d be the ones losing money.”

Xiao Yuanbao nodded, still amused.

The business seemed to be off to a good start. He barely needed to lift a finger—he just had to make the pickles, and everything else, from buying ingredients to selling, was handled for him.

It all seemed easy enough, though he knew costs were adding up, and real profit might not be much.

Before he could dwell on that, a messenger came by noon from the stall: the pickles were nearly sold out. If they couldn’t restock soon, they’d have to close early for the day.

When Xiao Yuanbao heard the message, he felt both delighted and anxious.

That morning, they had sent forty jars to the stall—yet in just a few hours, nearly all were gone. At this rate, by day’s end they might sell a hundred jars of pickles.

But he had only made a little over a hundred jars in total. If they sent everything at once, there’d be nothing left to sell tomorrow.

So he decided to send just twenty more jars for now and told the clerk to close up once those were gone.

Meanwhile, he called the servants to hurry out and buy more spices, dried bamboo shoots, snow cabbage, and jars. The dried shoots and mushrooms had to be soaked tonight so they could start a new batch of pickles in the morning.

Qi Beinan watched as Xiao Yuanbao gave his orders efficiently, busying himself around the house. He looked no less occupied than Qi Beinan himself was at work.

When everything was arranged, Xiao Yuanbao turned and caught sight of Qi Beinan leaning against the study doorframe, half-hidden and silent.

He frowned. “Why are you spying on me?”

“Boss Xiao, prosperous across the four seas, wealth pouring in from every direction—this humble man can only stand in awe,” Qi Beinan said solemnly.

Xiao Yuanbao pursed his lips, immediately realizing he was being teased.

With his hands on his hips and chin raised, he replied proudly, “In honor of your admiration, when Boss Xiao becomes rich, he’ll build you a golden house.”

Qi Beinan chuckled, reached out, and pulled him close, closing the study door behind them.

“A golden house, hmm? To hide your beloved in?”

Xiao Yuanbao pressed his lips together, thinking bitterly that he could never earn enough to build such a house—and besides, his brother wasn’t exactly a fragile beauty to be hidden away.

Qi Beinan saw his silence and lightly pinched his cold, reddened ear.

Xiao Yuanbao, fearing he’d go further and kiss his ear again, quickly covered both ears with his hands.

“What’s this?” Qi Beinan asked, laughing at the sight.

“Cold,” Xiao Yuanbao muttered.

Qi Beinan looked down at those round eyes gazing up at him—like a startled little rabbit.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, then bent down to kiss the tip of the little rabbit’s nose.

It was cool and soft, like a grape freshly dipped in well water.

“Still cold?” Qi Beinan asked gently, watching his blushing face.

Xiao Yuanbao thought to himself, this man really is terrible.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚