Chapter 5: Jiang Chuyue’s Marriage

Old Madam Xiao paused mid-sip, intrigued: “A marriage? Which family’s young master?”

Madam Wang produced a prepared portrait and handed it to Old Madam Xiao for closer inspection.

Madam Wang introduced: “Liu Chunshan, the only son of the Vice Minister of Revenue, just come of age. Handsome, talented, and unmarried. He and Jiang Chuyue are a perfect match—talented man, beautiful woman.”

In the portrait, the young gentleman looked dignified and exceptionally handsome.

Old Madam Xiao was not easily swayed. After studying the portrait for a while, she remarked: “His looks are fine, but I don’t know his character. I will send someone to investigate thoroughly. Only when we know his background can I rest assured in marrying Chuyue to him.”

Madam Wang’s eyes chilled.

That Jiang Chuyue—an orphaned girl with no family name to rely on—drifted like duckweed, yet had won Old Madam Xiao’s favor, living in luxury at the General’s Mansion, mastering the arts of qin, chess, calligraphy, and painting, and earning a fine reputation.

While Madam Wang’s own daughter could only marry into a modest official family.

The disparity was enough to breed resentment.

But Madam Wang did not dare voice it aloud. She smiled and agreed: “Old Madam is right—one must know the background before finalizing the marriage.”

After a round of polite words, Madam Wang respectfully took her leave.

Once she stepped out of the General’s Mansion gates, her smile vanished. Liu Chunshan, the Vice Minister’s only son, was rotten beneath his polished exterior—lustful, greedy, and a true wastrel.

If Jiang Chuyue married him, it would be like a lamb thrown to the wolves, her married life sure to be full of torment.

But Old Madam Xiao was cautious and would insist on an investigation first.

If they investigated thoroughly, the marriage would fall through.

Madam Wang bit her lip and instructed her maid: “Go tell the Liu boy to act first.”

If Jiang Chuyue and Liu Chunshan became intimate before marriage, then even if Old Madam Xiao disapproved, she would be forced to marry Chuyue off.

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Jiang Chuyue was unaware of Madam Wang’s scheme. She was making her way to the ancestral hall under the moonlight.

The spring night was chilly.

Inside, the flickering candlelight swayed. Xiao Ji knelt upright before the altar, his back straight as a pine.

Before him stood rows of memorial tablets—not only for the Xiao ancestors, but also for Jiang Chuyue’s parents and many generals who had fallen in battle.

Jiang Chuyue held a thick cloak, ready to step inside. But a figure in emerald-green moved faster, darting in ahead.

It was Ninth Concubine.

She too carried a thick cloak, which she draped over Xiao Ji’s shoulders, saying with sorrow: “General, it was my fault. I should not have clung to you last night, causing Second Miss to fall ill for no reason.”

Jiang Chuyue froze.

Xiao Ji’s voice was gentle as he reassured her: “It’s not your fault. It’s Chuyue who is too stubborn.”

Ninth Concubine wiped away tears and knelt beside him, keeping close. In the dim candlelight, their silhouettes leaned together.

The night wind chilled Jiang Chuyue to the bone.

For a moment, she felt like a ridiculous character in a painted romance. Xiao Ji was the pillar of the General’s Mansion, surrounded by those who loved him.

He lacked for nothing—least of all affection.

Jiang Chuyue lowered her gaze and rasped: “Baozhu, let’s go back.”

Baozhu, innocent to her mistress’s feelings, supported her arm while muttering: “The ancestral hall is no place for a concubine, yet the General lets her in.”

Pulling her collar tighter, Jiang Chuyue walked back through the cold wind.

Inside, Xiao Ji remained kneeling, rigid and unyielding. The weathered tablets seemed like countless eyes watching him, ensuring he never crossed the chasm in his heart.

Ninth Concubine’s knees soon ached, but she endured. She murmured: “My skirt is getting wrinkled.”

Xiao Ji glanced sideways at her.

She smiled sweetly: “General, does this green dress look nice on me?”

Over time, she had learned that Xiao Ji seemed to prefer understated colors—pale green, pure white, silver-gray. She catered to this, giving up her bright gowns for muted elegance.

Xiao Ji nodded, gaze deep: “Very beautiful.”

She smiled with charm: “Shall I play the pipa for you tonight?”

After a pause, Xiao Ji replied: “No need.”

The candlelight flickered; a crescent moon hung high, casting its cold glow.

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Ninth Concubine’s favor lasted only ten days before it faded—like a flower blooming for a night.

No matter how sweet the pipa, or how elegant the attire, she could not make Xiao Ji stay.

Jiang Chuyue, still recovering from illness, had not gone out in days. Reclining on a chaise, she read a newly published storybook from Fanlou.

Outside the screen, Baozhu announced: “Miss, Ninth Concubine is here.”

Jiang Chuyue put down her book: “Let her in.”

After only a few days, Ninth Concubine looked haggard, like a peony that had lost its only admirer.

She knelt the moment she entered. Jiang Chuyue hurried to help her: “Don’t kneel! Baozhu, bring tea.”

Tears welled up as Ninth Concubine pleaded: “Second Miss, please advise me. I don’t know how I’ve offended the General—he hasn’t come to me for five days.”

Jiang Chuyue felt a pang of pity.

In truth, Ninth Concubine’s fate had been sealed from the moment she entered the mansion.

Over the years, many concubines had been brought in—each enjoying a brief moment of glory before fading into the background.

Even Jiang Chuyue could not fathom Xiao Ji’s preferences.

He seemed to enjoy beauty, yet he rejected all the women gifted to him by other officials. His concubines were only those he personally chose.

Jiang Chuyue said softly: “I don’t know how to help you. Have some tea first.”

Ninth Concubine’s tears spilled: “I thought I was the only one. The General once held me, played pipa with me… How could he suddenly change?”

Every concubine in the mansion thought she was unique—at first.

But reality proved otherwise.

Jiang Chuyue could not help her. She herself was like a crumbling ruin.

She remembered the last time a neglected concubine came to her for help, asking her to persuade Xiao Ji.

When she had tried, Xiao Ji replied evenly: “Chuyue, this is my private matter.”

After that, he left the mansion for three months, returning with a new concubine skilled in chess.

From then on, she never interfered again. She understood she was not a Xiao by blood—an outsider, after all.

After much weeping, Ninth Concubine realized Jiang Chuyue truly would not intervene. She left, wiping her eyes.

Jiang Chuyue sighed faintly and lost all interest in reading.

As the spring weather warmed, she decided to go to Fanlou for some pastries.

Fanlou was the largest restaurant in the capital, owned by Lady Zhao, wife of the Marquis of Zhen’nan. Lady Zhao had a keen business mind, and Fanlou’s pastries were renowned year-round for their variety and flavor.

Wearing a white veiled hat, Jiang Chuyue arrived at an upstairs private room.

The windows opened toward the parade ground of the Xuanwu Army under the Ministry of War. She often came here to watch them train.

If she was lucky, she might glimpse Xiao Ji in armor, riding with his sword. Even a moment’s sight after waiting all afternoon was enough to satisfy her.

A waiter entered with a bow: “Miss, this is our new peach blossom wine. As an old customer, we’re offering you a bottle to try.”

Baozhu brought it in.

Jiang Chuyue sniffed the faint floral scent, sipped twice, and set down her cup, returning her gaze to the training ground.

Footsteps sounded outside the screen. A teasing voice spoke: “Miss Jiang, I have long admired you. Might I have the honor of seeing your face today?”