Chapter 1: Is Home a Place for Reason?

Xijin was awakened by the crackling sound of firecrackers outside.

She pulled the brocade quilt over her head, trying to go back to sleep, but Sun Momo was already waiting outside, calling out in a sing-song voice: “Young Mistress, it’s late. Time to get up.”

She was reluctant to rise, twisting her body slightly, still wanting to linger in bed a little longer. Then she heard movement from the man beside her.

A Chou had gotten up, and the rustling of clothes reached Xijin’s ears.

Pretending not to hear, she turned over, her back facing him.

As she turned, the brocade quilt slipped, and Xijin felt a chill on her shoulders. Just as she was about to pull the quilt back, the man behind her tucked the corners around her, instantly warming her again.

Xijin let out a satisfied hum.

A Chou leaned down, his clean, masculine scent enveloping her. He seemed about to say something, but before he could, Sun Momo abruptly drew aside the bed curtains and handed in a square tray with folded corners.

Sun Momo’s eyes darted around inside the curtains as she said, “Young Mistress, you should eat this quickly.”

Xijin disliked this, a wave of irritation rising within her.

A Chou shielded Xijin with his body, took the tray from Sun Momo, and let the curtains fall back into place.

Xijin then felt the man lean down again, holding something he tried to slip into her mouth.

Xijin resisted, stubbornly keeping her lips sealed, but the man’s long fingers were nimble and practiced. She ended up with a piece of dried lychee in her mouth.

The sudden small bite was soft in texture, very dry and sweet.

She chewed reluctantly.

A Chou leaned down once more, this time holding something else.

Xijin still refused to open her eyes, but her mind was clear enough as she mumbled, “No more, I don’t want tangerines. I won’t eat them.According to Rucheng’s customs, on New Year’s Day, one must eat tangerines and dried lychee before opening their eyes—tangerines sounding like “luck,” and lychee like “profit,” symbolizing good fortune.

But the tangerines were ice-cold. Who could enjoy them in such freezing weather?

A Chou whispered in her ear, “Don’t make a sound.”

His deep, quiet voice made Xijin realize he was on her side this time, so she obediently pressed her lips together and stayed silent.

A Chou took the tangerine and ate two segments himself.

By now, Xijin couldn’t sleep anymore, so she rolled over, clutching the brocade quilt, and blinked her sleepy eyes at him as he ate the tangerine.

Though dawn hadn’t fully broken on New Year’s Day, lanterns hung outside, and incense candles burned inside, casting a faint red glow through the brocade curtains into the canopy bed.

A Chou wore a white silk underrobe, his dark hair cascading over his shoulders, his face—

Xijin couldn’t help but steal several more glances.

Even after three years of marriage, she still found him strikingly handsome.

The poetic phrases she’d read in her childhood—”orchids and jade trees,” “the bright moon entering one’s embrace”—couldn’t compare to him.

Still, she eventually averted her gaze, looking instead at the top of the brocade curtains, embroidered with gold and silver threads in a floral pattern symbolizing prosperity. Her eyes idly traced the stitching.

Xijin’s father was the fifth son in the Ning family and had only her as his sole daughter. Originally, the Nings had planned to adopt a son from another branch, but Xijin’s mother refused adamantly, insisting she wouldn’t raise another woman’s child.

Xijin’s maternal family had some standing, so a divorce would have been inappropriate. In the end, it didn’t happen, leaving them with only Xijin as their sole daughter.

When it came time for Xijin to marry, her parents naturally took great care in selecting a match. The various branches of the Ning family also offered their advice to find her a good husband. Xijin was delicate and beautiful, a renowned young beauty in Rucheng, and with a generous dowry to boot. Matchmakers practically wore out their doorstep.

But Xijin had her own ideas. She had long taken a liking to Huo Erlang, so when the Huo family sent a matchmaker to their door, she urged her parents to agree without hesitation.

She didn’t care how much dowry the Huo family could offer—she was determined to marry Huo Erlang.

Huo Erlang was a scholar, handsome and gentle, someone she had known since childhood. His character and learning were impeccable, so of course she adored him.

Unfortunately, the marriage never came to pass.

Xijin didn’t want to dwell on the reasons. In the end, she somehow ended up in a Male Matrilineal Marriage with A Chou.

When choosing A Chou, Xijin had been somewhat reluctant, but she couldn’t defy her parents, so she went along with it.

A Chou was indeed good-looking, with the striking beauty of a Pan An or Song Yu. Even from the age of twelve or thirteen, he occasionally drew the lingering gazes of flirtatious young men.

Xijin couldn’t help but admire him too—who wouldn’t be drawn to such a stunningly handsome man?

Yet after several years of marriage, life wasn’t entirely satisfying, leaving Xijin often in a sour mood.

At this moment, A Chou had just eaten two segments of tangerine and softly asked Xijin, “Getting up?”

His breath carried the fresh, cool scent of citrus.

Xijin, wrapped in her brocade quilt, lazily replied, “Mmm, fine, let’s get up…”

A Chou knew she wasn’t keen, but it was New Year’s Day—she really ought to rise.

He instructed Sun Momo outside to prepare their clothes. Sun Momo hurriedly brought them in. The New Year’s outfits had been prepared well in advance. Though Xijin was no longer a bride, she still wore red for the occasion.

Even the undergarments were newly made, all freshly scented and warmed by the heater beforehand, now handed over first thing in the morning.

Xijin propped herself up on the quilt to sit, but her body felt weak, so she leaned back. “Hurry and help me,” she said.

Just awakened, her voice was thick with sleep, soft and mumbling, almost like a coquettish whine.

A Chou was used to her ways—she was pampered to the core, preferring to lie down rather than sit, and always relying on others rather than lifting a finger herself.

Besides, she really hadn’t slept well last night.

So he bent down to help her dress.

Her shoulders were slightly slender, but her skin was pale as frost, almost translucent against the bright red silk undergarments, making her all the more striking.

As A Chou tied the delicate ribbons, his gaze fell on the snow-white skin where crimson plum blossoms seemed to bloom, scattered with faint marks.

Clearly, he had left those there the night before.

His fingers paused on the thin silk ties, his eyes darkening.

Xijin, raised in the wealthy Ning household, was a spoiled young lady, her skin tender and fair—so delicate that even the slightest touch left a mark.

He had been as careful as possible at night, but sometimes, restraint failed him, leaving traces behind.

Now, seeing her like this—fragile as glass, pure and translucent—yet bearing such marks, he couldn’t help but recall the night before.

She always had this effect on him—stirring pity, guilt, and yet an irresistible pull.

Xijin puffed her cheeks and muttered under her breath, “It’s all your fault. I told you we had to get up early on the first day of the month, but you wouldn’t stop. Of all times, why did it have to be now?”

They had been up until nearly midnight—of course she was exhausted! Who could endure that?

A Chou’s lashes fluttered slightly as he lifted his thin eyelids. “Wasn’t it you who clung to me first?”

During the New Year preparations, they had ended up buying a stack of cheaply made storybooks from the market. She had become engrossed in them and insisted on reading one last night. After finishing, she got all excited and dragged him into all sorts of antics.

Hearing this, Xijin bristled with indignation. How dare he argue with her!

This was home—was home a place for logic and reason?

She immediately retorted, “Fine, yes, I wanted it at first. But what about later? I said no, and you kept going. How long did you drag it out? What kind of man behaves like that?”

A Chou fell silent.

Xijin gave a light humph, tilting her chin up proudly. “You’re just obsessed with my beauty and won’t admit it. Tell me, what part of what I said is wrong?”

A Chou glanced at her. The delicate point of her raised chin, the flush of sleep still lingering on her snow-pure cheeks—despite her fragile, exquisite appearance, her temper was willful and spoiled.

His gaze lingered on her as he replied, “Every word you say is right.”

Xijin was satisfied. After three years of marriage and hundreds of such exchanges, she always won in the end.

—As it should be. A husband ought to yield to his wife, especially when he was just a Male Matrilineal Marriage.

She declared, “That’s more like it. To recognize one’s faults and correct them is a great virtue. Don’t do it again.”

A Chou: “…Understood.”

Just then, the maid Qiuling brought in the washing supplies. After her verbal sparring, drowsiness crept over Xijin again, and she washed up in a daze.

Inside the room, Sun Momo bustled about, directing Qiuling and calling for Suier. She shouted orders to the servants outside the window while muttering her usual litany.

“Those tangerines and lychees—you must eat them yourselves! Never let others eat them for you, or you’ll just be giving away your good fortune!”

“Listen, mistress, when you go to the ancestral hall later, remember—you walk in front, and the master follows behind. The order mustn’t be mixed up, or the ancestors will laugh at us!”

As Xijin rinsed her mouth, Sun Momo’s nagging poured into her ears.

Sun Momo had served in the Ning household for ten years and was considered an elder. Since Xijin’s parents passed away, she had grown somewhat presumptuous, though she was still diligent most of the time and had Xijin’s best interests at heart. So Xijin tolerated her.

But she certainly didn’t listen to her.

Seeing Xijin’s stubborn indifference, Sun Momo shot a glance at A Chou, only to find him with his back turned, calmly drying his hands. All she could see was the thick cascade of his ink-black hair falling over his shoulders.

Sun Momo forced a thin smile. “Master, you ought to advise the mistress when needed. She may be young and reckless, but surely you know better?”

A Chou was a Male Matrilineal Marriage. Though a man, in the fifth branch of the Ning family, he had to remember his place.

Sun Momo felt she had been entrusted by Xijin’s parents on their deathbeds. As an elder, she served Xijin with care, but a mere Male Matrilineal Marriage like A Chou was someone she could chastise.

A Chou didn’t turn around, leisurely wiping his fingers with an air of composure.

Sun Momo’s displeasure grew as she stared at his unresponsive back.

When A Chou threw the handkerchief into the washbasin, he said calmly, “I hear you, Sun Momo.”

Sun Momo pursed her lips, feeling displeased in her heart.

Just a Male Matrilineal Marriage, how dare he put on airs as the master of the house in front of her?