Father-in-law would rise at dawn and go to his study, leaving the house quiet, with only a few maids and servants doing chores.
I enjoyed the freedom of sleeping in until I naturally awoke. Que’er brought water and opened the bamboo curtains, allowing warm sunlight to flood in. Looking outside, she cheerfully asked, “Madam, would you like porridge or rice for breakfast?”
As I washed up, I waved her off and said, “I’m going to Xuanwu Gate to meet my husband after court.”
Que’er asked excitedly, “Did the Lord stay here last night?”
I nodded. Her expression turned sly. “No wonder the Lord left later than usual today! Madam is impressive—when you make a move, you nearly make him miss morning court.”
I replied modestly, “Just average. I haven’t even tried my best.”
After dressing, Que’er reported on recent painting sales. The “Twilight Double Beauty” painting sold for a hundred taels to the son of the Ministry of Works’ Song, known for his broad tastes. He hosted a wine and painting gathering after purchasing the work, displaying it prominently. The pose and dress of An Jin sparked a wave of imitation.
Especially the ink drop I accidentally placed on his forehead started a trend of forehead moles in Yan Feng City. Young men began adopting this style, with a poem saying: “Verses under moonlight by willows pale, cannot match An Lang’s forehead mole.”
I felt uncomfortable thinking about men fantasizing over the painting and considered instructing Chen, the boss at Shai Yue Studio, to be more selective with commissions.
Que’er also brought a message from Chen about two new orders, requesting I visit soon to discuss details.
As Que’er finished speaking, it was near the end of the chen hour. I instructed her to go to Shai Yue Studio first and then prepared to head to Xuanwu Gate.
This was my first time waiting for An Jin after court since our marriage. Qi Kingdom’s morning court began early, with most officials arriving at the Taihe Hall on an empty stomach. Afterward, some bought snacks at roadside shops, while more refined ones returned home for breakfast before going to their offices.
An Jin never had breakfast at home, usually eating at small roadside shops. In the past year, aside from our wedding night, I hadn’t fulfilled any wife’s duties, which made me feel somewhat guilty. However, I realized An Jin hadn’t been attentive either, so I felt balanced.
Hearing the third beat of the diligence drum, I stepped back to the roadside. Blue-robed officials emerged orderly, discussing official business in various tones and accents.
Qi Kingdom required fourth-rank and higher officials to attend morning court, with robe colors indicating rank. I stood on tiptoe, spotting An Jin among the departing officials.
Wanting to appear composed, I turned to a nearby stall, focusing on the steamer. The stall owner finally asked, “Madam, would you like some fresh meat buns?”
I waved him off. “No, I don’t like buns.”
The owner looked displeased, while his wife accused me of eyeing her husband.
Just then, An Jin called, “A Yao. You never eat buns?”
The stall owners, recognizing An Jin, became terrified. The husband apologized profusely, pulling his wife back, but she remained somewhat defiant, still complaining.
An Jin gave me a vague smile, and I felt helpless. The husband scolded his wife, who began to tear up.
Observing their affection, I felt a strange envy. Looking at An Jin in the morning light, I found him increasingly attractive, feeling a new tenderness I’d never experienced before.
An Jin’s face reddened as he cleared his throat. “Never mind. Boss, give us twenty buns.”
His mood seemed unusually good. He bought twenty large meat buns that neither of us usually liked and then distributed them to the beggars squatting on the street. The beggars, having received the buns, ran joyfully around the street.
I was puzzled by his kindness and tried to probe indirectly if he was about to be promoted, but he just smiled and remained silent. When I pestered him too much, he knocked me on the head and sighed, “Silly A Yao.”
Recently, he liked to call me silly, and every time he did, my heart felt soft and pliable. This wasn’t good, not good at all.
The morning market on East Street, known as the “Dim Sum Market,” offered a variety of foods. After having two spring pancakes and a bowl of soybean milk, I still felt unsatisfied and eyed the locust leaf cold dish nearby. The shop was busy, with a long queue formed. An Jin, in his purple official robe, stood out among the gray clothing as he queued up due to my persistence. The shop owner invited him in, but he declined, saying his wife had instructed him not to abuse his power.
I watched, laughing uncontrollably. Going out with An Jin would surely dispel any rumors about our discord. I plotted how to cut off the various romantic entanglements around him after we made up, feeling confident.
Just then, I spotted a familiar person with a beautiful woman holding a two-year-old girl in a red coat.
The family of three sat by the roadside eating wontons.
I rubbed my eyes, confirming I wasn’t mistaken. This familiar person was Duan Chang, the young master I had a romantic encounter with when I was sixteen. After some reflection, it seemed he had ultimately recognized his true orientation and returned to the ordinary path of marriage and children.
I felt somewhat emotional. If he had recognized this earlier, perhaps the woman sitting beside him holding their child would have been me. Even though I had seriously considered marrying him back then, I now felt this was just a side branch on my tree—unable to bloom or bear fruit.
An Jin was still moving forward in the queue, occasionally looking back to check on me. I felt reassured.
Duan Chang’s family finished their wontons and walked towards me. I wanted to lower my head and pretend not to see, but our eyes met. He looked surprised, said something to his wife, and then walked towards me.
His wife smiled at me, which I returned with a nod. Duan Chang sat beside me and said casually, “Long time no see.”
After some small talk, I learned that he had married soon after our separation, to a well-born official’s daughter. His wife was virtuous, skilled at playing the qin, and they quickly became inseparable, having a beloved daughter.
He knew I had married An Jin and praised his youthful achievements. I modestly said, “He’s just somewhat good-looking.” Duan Chang insisted I was being too modest. “No official in Qi State’s history has been promoted to the second rank within three years of entering the court. An is truly a once-in-a-century talent.” He looked at me with slight sympathy. “Being his wife mustn’t be easy.”
I felt it was quite easy.
After chatting a little while longer, he stood to leave. I glanced at his wife and daughter waiting nearby and advised him, “Now that you have a lovely child and beautiful wife, please don’t go to Linglong House anymore.”
His expression became strange. After hesitating, he revealed the truth. He wasn’t actually a cut-sleeve. That day at Linglong House, he had been dragged in while drunk and only stayed briefly before leaving, coincidentally being seen by me. He wanted to explain but saw that I wasn’t heartbroken and seemed somewhat relieved. He realized I didn’t truly care for him and left disappointedly.
I was very surprised.
After Duan Chang left with his wife and child, I remained in shock. I had thought he betrayed me, but I realized I had dissolved our marriage fate. While I couldn’t say I felt regret, I gained some insight: sometimes men need to feel loved more than women, and if they lose this feeling, they might choose to leave. Would An Jin be the same?
I lowered my head, pondering this question, unaware that An Jin was standing nearby, his brow furrowed.
Chapter Eight: No Way to Take a Concubine
