This day, the sky was clear and bright, and a gentle breeze carried a soothing warmth.
The stone lions before the gates of the Marquis Weiyuan mansion gleamed softly under the sunlight, crouching majestically on either side, as if guarding something of great importance.
Old Zhang, the gatekeeper, was dozing against the doorframe. The spring sun made one feel languid all over; his eyes were half-closed, a faint, absent smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, lost in who knows what sweet dream.
Suddenly—
A clamor of footsteps echoed from the end of the street.
Old Zhang jolted awake, rubbed his eyes, and craned his neck to peer toward the alley entrance. The moment he looked, seven or eight parts of his drowsiness were shaken off.
At the mouth of the alley turned a procession of people. The one at the lead he recognized—he had come before the New Year and after it as well. It was none other than Eunuch Wang from the palace, that pale-faced, beardless, ever-smiling figure.
Old Zhang quickly straightened himself, tugged at his lapels, and ran into the mansion.
"My lord! My lady! Someone from the palace has arrived—"
Before long, the entire household was set astir. The central doors of Yifu Hall were thrown open wide, incense altars were set up, candles were lit, and the chief members of the marquis's household gathered in order of rank.
Marquis Weiyuan Pei Fucheng and Matriarch Liu stood at the very front, followed by Marchioness Li, then Pei Ciling, the Heir of the Main Branch, and after him came Pei Fugui and his wife from the second branch. Pei Cijing and Shen Ninghuan stood together, hands hanging respectfully at their sides.
As Eunuch Wang crossed the threshold, his gaze swept over the faces of those in the hall.
The Matriarch was composed. The Marquis was solemn. Second Master Pei of the second branch wore a face full of smiles. And the Tanhua scholar stood with an air of calm grace, with Lady Shen beside him—dignified and gentle, her bearing so refined that one could not help but steal a second glance.
Eunuch Wang sighed inwardly.
The fortunes of the Marquis Weiyuan mansion were truly unstoppable.
Before the New Year, there had been a grant of honors: the Matriarch had been titled First-Class Lady of Honor, the Marquis had been promoted to Marquis of a Thousand Households, and even Lady Shen, who had married in not long ago, had received the title of Sixth-Class Lady of Honor.
After the New Year, the newly crowned Tanhua had passed the top imperial examinations—another great delight. And now, scarcely any time had passed before yet another great merit was achieved, bringing him here once more with an edict of rewards.
Anyone with discerning eyes could see that this family enjoyed great imperial favor. And in the palace, the most important skill was having shrewd, observant eyes.
One had to know where imperial favor lay and where blessings were being bestowed.
This Marquis Weiyuan mansion.
It would be formidable in the years to come.
Eunuch Wang suppressed his inner astonishment, keeping the same perfectly measured smile on his face—neither servile nor arrogant, neither ingratiating nor haughty. He stepped up to the incense altar, cleared his throat, and announced:
"The imperial edict—"
Everyone in the hall bowed in unison.
Eunuch Wang unrolled the scroll of bright yellow brocade, his eyes sweeping across the assembly.
"By the grace of Heaven, the Emperor decrees:"
"Pei Cijing, Editor of the Hanlin Academy, having presented the secret formula of cement—a boon to the people and the state, making meritorious contributions to the nation—is hereby promoted to the rank of Deputy Director of the Hanlin Academy, Grade Six."
"As for the matter of cement, it concerns the livelihood of the nation and is hereby designated as an imperial enterprise for the benefit of all. Pei Cijing shall receive a ten-percent share of the profits, as a reward for his wisdom and an encouragement for his ambition."
"Pei Fugui, for his merit in raising such a son, sets an example for all under heaven. He is hereby conferred the title of Grand Master of Exemplary Conduct, Grade Five, in recognition of his virtue and in honor of his guidance."
"His mother, Madam Zhou—gentle and virtuous, wise in managing the household, devoted to her husband and children, having borne hardships with patience and care—whose merits of motherhood and support must not go unnoticed—is hereby conferred the title of Lady of Honor, Grade Five, to commend her goodness and glorify her person."
"His wife, Lady Shen—possessing both virtue and grace, kind and accomplished, wise in supporting her husband—is hereby conferred the title of Lady of Honor, Grade Five, to commend her conduct and honor her bearing."
"By imperial decree—"
The edict was read aloud, and for a single moment, the hall fell silent.
That moment was brief—short enough for only half a heartbeat to be missed—followed by a perfectly synchronized chorus of kowtows.
"Your subject receives the decree and gives thanks—"
The voices rang out loud and clear, echoing several times through the Hall of Longevity, shaking dust from the roof beams. Eunuch Wang rolled up the imperial edict, and on his clean-shaven, pallid face, his smile deepened by another measure.
He stepped forward, offering the edict with both hands, his gaze sweeping across the assembled crowd before settling on Pei Cijing. There was sincere admiration in his tone: "Tanhua, I hear His Majesty himself praised you several times in the imperial study. A nineteen-year-old holding the sixth rank—that's a first in the entire Great Qian Dynasty."
Pei Cijing accepted the edict with both hands, his expression still as composed as ever, his tone humble yet assured: "Eunuch Wang flatters me. All of this is His Majesty's grace."
Eunuch Wang smiled, though inwardly he nodded in approval. To be so young, to receive such favor, and yet remain this steady—no arrogance, no impatience—this lad truly had a bright future ahead of him.
He was still musing over this when someone sidled up behind him.
"Eunuch Wang, you've come all this way—please, have a seat! Tea, quickly!"
It was Pei Fugui.
The Second Master of the Marquis of Weiyuan's household wore a smile like a peony in full bloom—eyes squeezed into slits, the corners of his mouth completely unrestrained, and every step carried an unmistakable bounce. He approached, extending his hand, and clasped Eunuch Wang's.
Eunuch Wang felt a slight weight settle into his palm.
It was a pouch—heavy, pressing against his hand with a weight that made the pulse quicken. His fingers turned subtly, and the pouch slid smoothly into his sleeve, a motion so fluid and practiced it left no trace.
Two visits already. By now, they understood each other well.
What this meant—those in the know, knew.
This Second Master Pei was truly generous!
If the last visit had brought gold, which was already more than gracious, this time the weight was even heavier than before. Eunuch Wang's earlier admiration now grew into genuine delight, and his smile warmed accordingly.
"Second Master Pei, you're far too kind—I hardly feel deserving," he said, cupping his hands in polite refusal, even as his sleeve eased backward to secure the pouch in place.
"Eunuch Wang, what are you saying? This is only right—only proper." Pei Fugui chuckled, patting him on the back of the hand, his manner and expression just like someone entertaining a close relative.
The two exchanged a glance, and everything was understood without a word.
After delivering the pouch, the joy Pei Fugui had been suppressing could no longer be contained. He stepped back, returned to his position, and squared his shoulders.
Fifth rank!
Imperial Physician of Merit!
From this day forward, he, Pei Fugui, was a titled official!
He had always been realistic about his own abilities. In talent, he was no match for his elder brother; in strategy, no match for the Matriarch; in scholarship, he was a half-baked scholar who couldn't even pass the humblest exam.
And so he'd never aspired to walk the path of officialdom.
That wasn't his road.
His entire life, he'd wanted only one thing: to live as a carefree idler. As long as he kept out of trouble, with the Marquis household behind him and his wife to provide, his days would be sweet enough.
But who'd have thought—he, of all people, would one day receive an official rank!
Although the title of Grand Master was merely an honorary distinction, not an actual post—no court attendance required, no roll calls, no official documents to review—in plain terms, it was nothing more than a sinecure that drew a salary from the imperial coffers.
But so what?
From this day forward, Pei Fugui was a man of rank. He could walk tall with his head held high, and everyone who saw him would have to address him as “Grand Master Pei”!
At that thought,
Pei Fugui couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear.
That smile was even brighter than the one he’d worn when handing over the embroidered pouch moments ago.
Standing beside him, Madam Zhou was also overcome with delight. Her fingers were slightly clutching the hem of her garment, the knuckles whitening from the tension, as if she were confirming this wasn’t merely a dream.
A titled lady.
A fifth-rank titled lady.
She was now a titled lady too!
And she’d also noticed a tiny detail—her sister-in-law, Marchioness Li, held a sixth-rank title. She, at fifth rank, was a whole tier above her sister-in-law!
One tier!
Though it was just one tier, that one tier was a threshold.
In the past, when she stood before her sister-in-law, though she never showed it on her face, there was always a subtle lack of confidence in her heart. After all, her sister-in-law was the wife of a marquis—a proper sixth-rank titled lady—while she was merely the second branch’s daughter-in-law, hailing from a merchant family, without so much as a single rank to her name.
But now, she was a titled lady too!
And her rank was one tier higher than her sister-in-law’s!
Heh heh!
Madam Zhou’s spine unconsciously straightened. The movement was slight, yet it carried an air of vindication, a quiet triumph. Shen Ninghuan, standing nearby, took note of it and curved her lips in a faint smile, saying nothing.
Madam Zhou herself didn’t notice. She only felt a surging sense of relief in her chest, like a breath she’d been holding for a long time finally released.
What a pity, though!
Her father and third brother had left a bit too early.
The two of them had stayed in the capital for quite a while—waiting until Pei Cijing had entered the Hanlin Academy, witnessed with their own eyes their grandson in his green official robes and black gauze cap, and only then, fully satisfied, had they departed the capital to return to Jiangnan.
After all, the Zhou family’s business was rooted there.
They had to go back eventually.
If only they’d lingered a few more days and seen their daughter receive her own title—how wonderful that would have been.
A faint pang of regret rippled through Madam Zhou’s heart, like the aftertaste of a fine cup of tea—the liquid swallowed, yet a hint of bitterness lingering at the tip of the tongue.
But the regret quickly dispersed.
Nothing ever goes exactly as one wishes.
She was already more than content.
Her son had placed as Tanhua in the imperial examinations, entered the Hanlin Academy, and now been promoted to the post of sixth-rank Compiler. She herself had been granted a fifth-rank title, one tier above her sister-in-law. Her husband had received the honorary title of Grand Master—not an actual post, to be sure, but still a position among the ranks of officials.
Life was complete!
The only thing still missing was…
Madam Zhou’s gaze drifted to the side.
Shen Ninghuan stood there quietly—graceful, gentle, beautiful as if she’d stepped out of a painting. And beside her stood that young man of hers, grinning like a fool, his eyes bright, occasionally sneaking a peek at his own wife.
That look.
That expression.
That clinginess he couldn’t hide even if he tried.
Madam Zhou watched, her heart filled with both joy and impatience.
Joy, because the young couple was deeply in love and their relationship harmonious. Impatience, because—would this brat just put in some effort already? When was she going to get to hold a grandchild? How long had they been married now, and still no news? Could it be that all that studying had worn him out?
She recalled the intimate words she had shared with Shen Ninghuan last time, and her heart began to stir again. She would have to go back and see Imperial Physician Hua, to ask him for a fertility recipe.
That foolish son of hers needed a proper "tonic" whether he liked it or not.
Pei Cijing, of course, didn't hear the thoughts running through his mother's head.
Even if he had heard them.
He would most likely have pretended not to.
They hadn't even reached their first wedding anniversary yet. He wasn't in any hurry to bring a "little beast" into the picture—he hadn't had enough of their time as a couple, so why rush? That said, the "efforts" leading up to it were certainly worth making.
His gaze drifted unconsciously toward Shen Ninghuan.
The corner of his mouth curled up again.
Pei Cijing quickly pulled his thoughts away from that little distraction and settled them back on the lively award ceremony before him. He watched his father's face blooming like a peony in full smile, watched his mother's spine standing ramrod straight, watched the room awash with joy and celebration.
On the surface, he remained as composed as ever, a faint smile playing at his lips, looking to be in excellent spirits.
And indeed, his spirits were excellent.
But tucked away in a corner of that good mood was a small, unspoken frustration—he had been promoted to the sixth rank, a Compiler in the Hanlin Academy.
Promoted!
He really had been promoted!
Though he had anticipated that he wouldn't rise too quickly—after all, a nineteen-year-old Tanhua, having served in office for barely a month, would only invite envy if he climbed too fast.
He knew this well, so he had no complaints about the outcome.
But now the problem presented itself.
He was of the sixth rank, while his wife held a fifth-rank title of honor. He was still a step below her.
This was hard to make sense of.
Pei Cijing silently grumbled to himself—even after the promotion, he still had to address his wife as "superior officer" in terms of rank. It made him seriously wonder whether the old emperor had been indulging in some mischievous amusement when drafting the awards.
He suddenly felt the urge to draw his sword, hold it to the old emperor's throat, and ask:
Your Majesty, was that deliberate, accidental, or deliberately accidental? Could the rank of that honor title have been any more precisely calibrated?
The thought flickered through his mind, and he couldn't help but curve his lips again.
Ah, well. Being a step below his wife was fine. She already ran the household anyway. Higher or lower rank—it merely mirrored the domestic arrangement onto the official stage. Nothing much to make a fuss about.
Just then.
A warm, soft hand quietly slipped into his. The fingers were slender, the touch silky, gliding across his palm before interlacing with his own—neither too tight nor too loose, just right.
Pei Cijing was momentarily startled.
He turned his head.
Shen Ninghuan was looking at him, her clear eyes holding warmth, holding understanding, and carrying a hint of well-measured amusement.
She had heard it all.
She had heard the little complaints rattling around her husband's head, heard that line about "drawing a sword and holding it to the old emperor's neck," heard that bit about "still being a step below his wife"—from "deliberately accidental" to "moving the household dynamic to the officialdom," catching every word without missing a single one.
Though they had been together for quite some time, this husband of hers and his leaping, restless thoughts still managed to catch her off guard. When he was serious, he was dependable enough to put one at ease; when he wasn't, the chatter in his head was livelier than anyone's—like a rabbit frolicking through the grass, hopping this way and that, impossible to pin down.
She reached out, took his hand, and interlaced their fingers.
What did rank matter, high or low?
When it came to the two of them, as husband and wife.
How could she deliberately seek those out.
Pei Cijing felt the warmth passing through his palm, felt the tacit understanding of their fingers interlaced, and suddenly felt that the low-ranked sixth-grade office, being beneath Lady Shen in status—none of it mattered. With her by his side, that was the most steadfast thing in the world.
The two exchanged a smile.
That smile, carrying a feeling only the two of them understood, quietly and warmly spread through the joyful bustle of the hall, like a spring breeze brushing past the heart, so soft that words failed them…
