“You’re right,” Xue Miaoyin mused. “Su Hui is quite sophisticated. I’ve witnessed her skills several times.” She looked at me sympathetically. “With such a husband, you must have a hard time?”
I smiled and tossed a fennel seed into my mouth. “Competing with others is endlessly entertaining.”
Miaoyin’s intention was to temporarily conceal her female identity from my elder brother, allowing them to interact before revealing the truth when the time was right.
I had no objections, though I feared it would be difficult for my brother. With his slow nature, he truly needed someone to enlighten him.
On my way home, I stopped by my father-in-law’s study. The cold weather had slowed business, and several of his old friends were gathered around a charcoal brazier, brewing plum blossom wine. As I entered, several scholars in padded jackets were deep in conversation. I greeted them, got a cup of wine, and placed a plate of fennel seeds and salted peanuts for them to enjoy. The elderly gentlemen were discussing the recent marriage alliance between the Seventh Princess and Xiliang.
I perked up my ears to listen carefully. Among these uncles were retired court officials and scholarly intellectuals whose careers had stalled, each with unique perspectives on the situation. Da Qi, Xiliang, and Nanrui had historically maintained a balanced relationship, keeping peace for hundreds of years. In recent decades, tensions between Da Qi and Xiliang escalated, leading to war, with Da Qi losing several cities and sending the Third Prince, Xia Zhichun, as a hostage.
In the conflict between Da Qi and Xiliang, Nanrui maintained neutrality, but both Da Qi and Xiliang sought to draw Nanrui to their side. An alliance between either of these countries would place the third at a significant disadvantage. In recent years, Da Qi has worked to improve communication with Nanrui, with Minister of Rites Su Quan representing the Qi Emperor in requesting a marriage alliance.
However, Nanrui values equal status for men and women, allowing women to serve as officials and generals, and has had several female emperors. This cultural backdrop resulted in few Nanrui princesses willing to marry into Da Qi, and the Nanrui Emperor had no eligible sons, delaying the alliance.
A year ago, Nanrui agreed to marry the Fifth Princess to the Eastern Palace of Da Qi as the main wife. The Qi Emperor was overjoyed, promising that she would become empress upon the Eastern Palace’s ascension, indicating strong cooperation between Qi and Nanrui. However, the princess escaped the imperial palace on her wedding night, disappearing without a trace.
Her escape led to the collapse of the fragile alliance between the two countries. Though she fled on her own, it occurred within Qi’s borders, leaving Qi unable to explain her whereabouts to Nanrui.
On the other hand, the princess’s escape brought shame to the Qi royal family, and the Qi Emperor, concerned with saving face, could not apologize to Nanrui. This deadlocked the relationship between the two countries.
Xiliang emerged as the greatest beneficiary. Previously in difficulty, it now became the object of courtship from both Nanrui and Qi. When the new Xiliang Emperor proposed a marriage alliance with Qi, the Qi Emperor eagerly agreed to marry off all his daughters.
“My father-in-law sighed, ‘So the Seventh Princess’s marriage to Xiliang today is entirely due to the Nanrui princess’s escape a year ago. A single move can affect the entire situation.'”
I was stunned to learn that my impulsive act of releasing the Nanrui princess had such a severe impact on Qi, ultimately resulting in the Seventh Princess’s marriage to Xiliang. Although I didn’t have good feelings toward the Seventh Princess, I couldn’t help but feel guilty for inadvertently causing national damage.
The lack of severe punishment for my mistake was surely because An Jin had shouldered all the blame for me, yet he never detailed the implications nor reproached me. I was overcome with shame, my face turning pale.
Among my father-in-law’s friends was a doctor, Liu, over sixty years old and extremely skilled. He glanced at me, noticing my poor complexion, and asked, “Arao, are you feeling unwell?”
I quickly shook my head. Father-in-law laughed, saying, “Ah Yao probably doesn’t like hearing these things.”
Doctor Liu stroked his beard, commenting, “That makes sense. Speaking of which, Ah Yao and his wife have been married for over two years. Why haven’t they had any good news? Ah Yao, why don’t I take your pulse?”
My heart stirred. Since reconciling with An Jin, we’ve been intimate almost every night, and it’s been over half a year with no sign of pregnancy.
After feeling my pulse, Doctor Liu said, “Ah Yao’s health is very good.”
Father-in-law immediately asked, “Does that mean the problem is with Jin’er?”
Several old masters laughed, and father-in-law’s face turned red. “You guys, instead of helping, you’re making fun of us?”
I lowered my head, suppressing my laughter, thinking about how An Jin would react if he knew his father doubted his ability to continue the family line.
Doctor Liu wrote some dietary recipes to nourish qi and essence and quietly handed them to me. “Give these to An Jin daily; it will definitely help.”
I accepted them, blushing. “Thank you, Uncle Liu.”
Chapter Twenty-One: Powerless
An Jin was reviewing documents in the study while I crouched in the kitchen watching the dragon-horse young chicken stew. I compared the medicinal diet recipe to ensure no ingredients were missed before putting it away and adding two pieces of firewood.
Dragon-horse, or seahorse, nourishes the kidneys and strengthens yang, and combined with young chicken, replenishes qi and essence. Although An Jin’s performance in bed was commendable, he worked hard during the day and needed nourishment. I lifted the lid, smelling the chicken soup’s fragrance and justifying my actions.
I was secretly stewing the soup to be a good wife, absolutely not to have a child!
“Ah Yao?” Someone pushed open the kitchen door. “Just as I thought.”
I was startled, almost dropping the clay pot lid. “Father-in-law?”
He entered, looked at the stew, and understood immediately: “Ah Yao has worked hard.”
I felt embarrassed and asked why he was here. He simply said that mother-in-law didn’t sleep well, and he came to brew some calming soup for her feet.
Father-in-law’s face looked slightly dark, likely due to exhaustion. I rushed to help, but he insisted on doing it himself, only letting me organize the medicinal herbs.
“Not admitting one’s age won’t do,” he laughed while packing the herbs into the jar. “These days, my eyes aren’t seeing clearly.”
Father-in-law is the most filial husband. Mother-in-law loved vegetarian dishes from the Gusu Temple, so he would wake up early on the first and fifteenth of each month to wait for the meal, buy it, and have someone deliver it quickly so she could eat it while still hot. She also loved reading, so he collected hand-copied and rare printed books, always showing her new ones first.
If I hadn’t been in the kitchen, I wouldn’t have known that father-in-law came every night to brew herbal foot baths for mother-in-law, handling every step from buying to brewing and pouring.
Father-in-law and mother-in-law are about the same age, with her maintaining her beauty while he has gone gray. His devotion reflects his love for her.
To outsiders, my mother-in-law was seen as beautiful and fortunate, given her family’s business, which made my father-in-law’s role as a live-in son-in-law appear like a lucky blessing. However, I believed that my mother-in-law was truly fortunate to have married my father-in-law, despite her cold demeanor and rare displays of warmth.
