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“Your servant is guilty. Please punish me as you see fit, Old Madam. I only beg you to take care of your health and not let anger over me harm your body.”
The old madam looked at Xie Zhi, who was kneeling before her, silent, her hand turning the string of Shoushan-stone prayer beads again and again.
After a long moment, she sighed.
“Enough, enough. It was my muddle-headedness. I misunderstood, and you were wronged. Get up.”
Xie Zhi lifted her skirt and rose to her feet. Her fair, jade-like face was calm as still water, betraying nothing—as though awaiting judgment.
“I thought you would eventually become Sanlang’s woman. I didn’t hide it from the servants in the courtyard, and they all treated you with respect. But now things are as they are—you can’t stay here with me any longer, lest others in the courtyard look down on you.”
Xie Zhi’s heart went cold, but she quickly answered:
“Yes, I thank Old Madam for her grace.”
“Go serve at the Snow-Viewing Pavilion in the front courtyard. It’s quiet there. On ordinary days only clan juniors go to read the classics. No outside disturbances—it will be better for you.”
The Snow-Viewing Pavilion was the Pei family’s library, three stories tall. Because of its height and wide views, it was a favored place to admire winter snows, hence its name. But aside from the winter season, it was usually quiet.
Inside were countless volumes, including many rare works. Clan disciples often went there to read.
Xie Zhi loved books. Learning she would be serving there—and not in Princess Yuyang’s turbulent courtyard—she let out a breath of relief.
“Your servant thanks Old Madam for her great kindness and virtue. I could never repay it, even with my life.”
…
After Xie Zhi left, Nanny Zhou still felt uneasy. She sighed.
“Old Madam, you treat this girl Lichun far too well. In my opinion, since she cannot win the heir’s affection, she’s nothing but a useless piece on the board. Better to dispose of her casually.”
The old madam sipped her tea and smiled.
“You silly old thing, how muddled you are!”
Nanny Zhou was startled. “Old Madam, what do you mean? This old servant doesn’t understand.”
“When Sanlang came just now, he said little. But his eyes kept drifting to Lichun. And they weren’t eyes of disgust.”
“But the heir explained—it was his late mother’s death anniversary. He thought of her kindness and charity, and wanted to do a good deed for her sake. That’s why he rescued the girl from the brothel.”
Nanny Zhou repeated what Pei Du had said earlier.
“You don’t believe me? I have never misjudged people. That Yanshan Terrace is on the only path to the Snow-Viewing Pavilion. Just wait and see.”
Nanny Zhou’s eyes widened in surprise. “Old Madam, you had this planned all along?”
The old madam sighed softly.
“Sanlang lost his mother when he was young. The princess disliked him, and his cold-hearted father sent him to his maternal grandfather’s house. He stayed there for over ten years. If not for the fact that the princess had only one daughter, I fear this child would never have been recalled to inherit the title of heir.”
“He’s had a bitter life. Now that he’s brought back such a girl half a year ago—if Lichun has promise, can accompany him, I will not mistreat her.”
“Old Madam, don’t be sad. Our heir is already doing splendidly. After only two years as Vice Minister of Justice, His Majesty praises him highly. Before long he may surpass even the older lords of our house!”
The nanny quickly flattered her, making the old madam smile again.
…
After Xie Zhi moved to the Snow-Viewing Pavilion, her days passed peacefully. The library was filled with books, and few came, making it wonderfully quiet.
She often read in the study hall, noting down things she did not understand.
Though she could no longer attend the family school, here she found her own pleasures.
That day, as usual, she knelt by a desk on the third floor near the window, leafing through The Commentary on the Water Classic. Sunlight streamed through the half-open lattice window, falling on her profile, soft and radiant.
From the staircase came two sets of footsteps. Xie Zhi quickly set down the scroll and glanced toward the corner—only to meet his gaze.
He stood tall, dignified, his eyes cool and remote. At his side was another young man, also an elegant gentleman.
Xie Zhi hurriedly rose and bowed.
“Greetings, my lord. Greetings, young master.”
The man beside him was Pei Hong, from the third branch of the family, ranking as the ninth young master. Because Pei Hong often visited Old Madam Chunhui Garden, Xie Zhi had seen him from afar before.
“I thought the servants of this library were all old men, but here’s such a pretty little girl?” Before Pei Du could speak, Pei Hong laughed and teased.
Xie Zhi lowered her head even more, hoping to escape his notice.
“Ninth Young Master overpraises.”
This young master was infamous in the capital as a libertine. At only eighteen, he already kept four concubines at home. Because of this, though the Pei family was a prestigious clan, no respectable household was willing to marry their daughters to him—his parents’ great worry.
“Enough nonsense. Fetch the book.”
Pei Du finally spoke.
Pei Hong had come that day to fetch an ancient volume, The Classic of Navigation, for his mother, who was bedridden and fond of books. Hoping to gain her favor for his request to accept a mistress into the household, he had come himself.
While a page boy led Pei Hong away, Pei Du wandered closer—to the very desk where Xie Zhi had just been seated.
His tall figure blocked the light from the window.
Xie Zhi suddenly felt the room darken. Seeing his eyes fixed on her papers, she rushed forward, flustered, and quickly gathered them up.
“This xuan paper was rewarded to me by Old Madam—it’s not stolen. And the ink… the ink I bought with my own coins, sent by an errand boy from outside.”
As though terrified of misunderstanding, she babbled excuses while clutching her papers tighter to her chest.
Hearing her call herself “slave” over and over, Pei Du suddenly recalled how, half a year ago, when she was reduced to slave status and he brought her to the capital, she had resisted being called “Lichun.”
Now… she was used to it?
He sneered inwardly. People always learn to adapt.
At least she was clever.
Remembering the scribbles he had glimpsed among her copies—not just copied characters but odd markings he didn’t understand—Pei Du asked aloud:
“Just now, you were reading…”
Xie Zhi instinctively followed his gaze to the desk. The Commentary on the Water Classic still lay open, its thin pages rustling as the wind turned one over.
“My lord, there’s no rule against servants borrowing books here. I registered this volume properly with the clerk downstairs.”
The Marquis’ household treated servants with both kindness and discipline, and in reading they were lenient—even allowing them to borrow from the library.
Pei Du was momentarily at a loss. He had only asked casually, but realized that since that incident, this maid seemed to harbor hostility toward him.
Could it be that she truly never wanted to cling to him through Old Madam?