Volume One, Chapter Five: Returning to Confront

During the night, Ye Jianxun returned home just as he had the night before—late into the night, reeking heavily of alcohol. Mixed within the scent was a faint, almost imperceptible trace of cheap and inferior rouge and powder.

Mei Lingxi merely furrowed her brows slightly, closed her eyes, and continued to sleep.

On the third day, it was time for the formal return visit.

Mei Lingxi’s dowry was substantial, largely thanks to her second sister’s generosity. She had gathered some decent gifts and was about to have a servant carry them out when Ye Jianxun approached, pointing to two red wooden boxes in the outer chamber.

“Take these along as well,” he said.

Mei Lingxi opened the boxes and found a fine ginseng root in one, and a shimmering bird’s nest in the other. She lowered her eyes gratefully. “Thank you, Young Master.”

“You should thank Mother Consort instead; it was her idea,” Ye Jianxun replied indifferently.

“Very well, I will thank Mother Consort later,” she said, already aware there was no such kindness in his gesture.

The two boarded the carriage. Ye Jianxun sat inside, closer to the carriage’s center, while Mei Lingxi sat beside the door. They were quiet, coexisting without interfering in each other’s space.

The snow on the road was thick, reaching above their ankles. The carriage wheels sank deep, making travel difficult. What should have been a short journey took nearly two hours before they slowly arrived at the Dingbei Marquis’s residence.

Entering the main hall, the Dingbei Marquis and his wife, Lady Wang, were already standing to welcome them.

Ye Jianxun and the Marquis exchanged tea and pleasantries, while Mei Lingxi was led by Lady Wang into her own room.

“Have you grown accustomed to life at the Prince of Ning’s mansion?” Lady Wang asked warmly, holding Mei Lingxi’s hand.

Mei Lingxi nodded. Over the past few days, she had grown quite close to two of the younger concubines, though she had seen little of the Princess and the side consort.

After some small talk, Lady Wang lowered her voice. “I heard you have yet to consummate your marriage with the Young Master?”

Mei Lingxi knew the news had come from Chunwu. She bowed her head and replied, “The Young Master and I are not yet familiar enough; we need to cultivate our feelings first.”

Lady Wang urged, “The wedding bed is conducive to deepening marital affection.”

At that moment, a knock sounded at the door, and Mei Lingxi, eager for reprieve, told Bishui to open it.

It was Mei Lingyue, the daughter of Qin and Su.

The Dingbei Marquis had three concubines, with Qin being the youngest and most favored.

“Second Concubine, Lingyue,” Mei Lingxi greeted her.

Qin’s daughter Mei Lingyue bowed slightly. “Young Master’s Consort.”

With their different statuses now, Qin’s family had to show respect. Lingyue forced a bow and scrutinized Mei Lingxi.

Today, Mei Lingxi wore a smoky blue Sichuan brocade gown, the fabric delicate and lustrous, like flowing blue smoke. Her hair was pinned up with a golden butterfly hairpin, and pearl earrings hung from her ears, glowing softly. On her slender wrists, gold and agate bracelets complemented each other, her every movement exuding the unique dignity and elegance befitting the Young Master’s consort.

She was a far cry from the shabby figure of before.

Four years ago, when Mei Lingxi was brought back, it was said that Lady Wang’s baby had been switched at birth, and after a search, her true daughter was found and returned to the residence. Not long after, she was betrothed to the legitimate son of the Great General of Zhenyuan. At that time, she dressed plainly, without even a gold hairpin, secluded in the inner chambers, cold and indifferent, unwilling to mingle with her sisters.

Now, having replaced her second sister, Mei Lingxi had transformed into the noble Young Master’s consort at the Prince of Ning’s mansion. Meanwhile, Lingyue, despite her pure and noble bearing, had never been considered a suitable candidate for marriage due to her status as a concubine’s daughter.

Mei Lingxi caught the envy flickering in Lingyue’s eyes and met her gaze steadily for a moment. Lingyue wore a narrow-sleeved jacket in lotus pink, her head adorned with pearls and jade befitting her age.

Qin first praised Mei Lingxi, then flattered the Prince of Ning’s mansion before finally speaking. “Young Master’s Consort, Lingyue is already fifteen. The two betrothals we arranged before both failed—one fiancé died in battle, the other from illness. I was wondering if you might find an opportunity to ask the Young Master to help arrange a reliable marriage for Lingyue?”

After speaking, Qin pinched Lingyue’s waist hard. Lingyue winced, feigning tears, and pleaded, “Third Sister—no, Young Master’s Consort, please, for the sake of sisterly bonds, help me.”

Mei Lingxi’s brows furrowed lightly. In a cool voice, she replied, “I’ve just entered the mansion and am not yet close to the Young Master. To ask him now would appear opportunistic.”

Lady Wang’s displeasure grew inwardly. She thought, “That wretched woman has the nerve to come begging Lingxi—truly, the Marquis dotes on her excessively!”

Qin gritted her teeth and forced a smile. “The Young Master’s Consort is right.”

Lingyue lowered her head, a ruthless gleam flashing in her eyes.

In the main hall, after several cups of hot tea, Ye Jianxun cut straight to the point.

“Father-in-law, your scheme of switching at birth was quite clever.”

The Dingbei Marquis paused, holding his teacup, puzzled. “Jianxun, I don’t quite understand what you mean.”

“At first, the betrothal was set for the legitimate second miss of the household, yet on the wedding day, the third miss was brought instead.”

The Marquis sipped his tea leisurely and smiled. “Lingxi is indeed the second miss of the household. If you don’t believe me, I can show you the genealogy.”

He handed Ye Jianxun the family record as if prepared in advance.

Ye Jianxun flipped through it and, upon seeing that Lady Wang officially had only two daughters, was slightly shocked.

The cunning old fox had even erased Mei Lingyi from the genealogy. Such a ruthless act for power and reputation.

He sneered coldly inside but kept his expression calm. “Father-in-law, I apologize. It seems the information I received was mistaken.”

The Marquis set down his cup and respectfully cupped his hands. “Regardless, my youngest daughter is now married into the Wang household. The Dingbei Marquis and the Prince of Ning’s mansion are now bound together like grasshoppers on a single rope. I hope Your Highness understands; I am willing to swear my loyalty to you unto death.”

Ye Jianxun nodded expressionlessly. “I will relay your words to my father.”

They no longer discussed politics. The Marquis took on the demeanor of a father-in-law and said, “Lingxi lives in the Xiaoxiang Garden. Jianxun, you may go see her.”

Guided by a servant, Ye Jianxun arrived at Xiaoxiang Garden. The place had quieted down. Mei Lingxi, having dealt with Su and the other two concubines, was somewhat weary.

She lazily leaned against the couch, eyes half-closed in a light nap.

Bishui, seeing Ye Jianxun’s arrival, intended to speak, but he motioned her to keep silent and leave.

Ye Jianxun scanned the room. The boudoir was small and simply furnished, almost devoid of color.

Against the wall stood a wooden, makeshift bookshelf holding a stack of books.

A brief glance revealed the shelves contained not serious texts like the female handbook or inner teachings, but mostly popular legends and storybooks. A faint smile tugged at his lips.

The window was half-open, and a breeze stirred the top layer of papers on the shelf.

These papers had been weighed down by an inkstone, which was now missing. Several sheets fluttered like snowflakes to the floor.

He bent down to pick them up. The first was a story manuscript, seemingly authored by Mei Lingxi herself. The neat and delicate regular script was not exquisite but orderly.

It told a tale of reunion. His dark eyes paused, then he read on, increasingly intrigued.

Turning to the second page, the smile he had just raised faded suddenly. Memories of a torrential rainstorm flooded back, soaking his heart thoroughly.

The pages were filled with the repeated line:

“You should have words to say—amidst endless layers of clouds, snow falls on a thousand mountains at dusk; who does this lone shadow follow?”

Turning another page revealed the same refrain.

Two or three dozen sheets repeated this sentence, as if whispering a quiet confession, or angrily demanding an answer.

Who does this lone shadow follow?