The Heir's Courtyard, the study.
The room was brightly lit by candles.
They illuminated the entire room, yet failed to warm the heavy loneliness settling in the air.
Pei Ciling sat behind a spacious red sandalwood desk. Spread out before him was a family-inherited military manual, The Methods of the Sima from the Seven Military Classics. The edges of the pages had yellowed with age, but the ink remained as vigorous as iron, every stroke exuding the aura of the battlefield.
His gaze fell between the lines.
As if he were studying deeply.
However, if someone were to look closely, they would find that his dark eyes had not moved for a long time; his mind had long been dragged elsewhere.
At the corner of the desk stood a polished bronze mirror. The dim candlelight slanted across it, perfectly reflecting the thinned contours of his profile.
It had been a month.
Grounded, practicing martial arts, kneeling in the ancestral hall, and forbidden from seeing Shen Ningyue.
This past month had been like a repetitive quenching process, slowly forging and stripping away the vanity and decadence that had bred within him from indulging in sensual pleasures.
The contours of his cheeks were once again sharp and clear. The dark circles under his eyes, left by his debauchery, had faded, and his eyelids had regained their former firmness and clarity.
The person in the bronze mirror.
Looked almost like the handsome, spirited heir of the Marquis of Weiyuan from the past, the one who could captivate countless noble ladies in Shengjing.
But.
It was only almost.
Pei Ciling raised his eyes and looked straight into the mirror.
The candlelight danced restlessly on the smooth surface of the bronze mirror, shifting shadows that cast his face in alternating light and dark. Amidst the familiarity, there was a cold strangeness. He reached out, his fingertips gently touching the mirror's surface.
It was cold.
The chill spread up from his fingertips in fine threads, reaching straight to his heart.
His body could be nursed back to health, his neglected martial arts could be regained through ruthless training, and even the discarded classics and political essays could be picked up again relying on his past foundation.
But some things...
Once broken, are simply broken.
Like reputation.
Like trust.
Like... that once clear and smooth path of the heir, now littered with the scrutinizing, suspicious, and even gloating gazes of others.
At today's flower-viewing banquet, it was not hard to see the rejection from others.
Even his formerly close companions were deliberately keeping their distance from him. Not only did they not greet him, but they even tried to sever all past ties with him.
He closed his eyes.
His mind uncontrollably churned up the unbearable scene from a month ago. In the main hall of the Shen residence, under the glaring daylight, he and Shen Ningyue kneeling together with disheveled clothes. His father's face livid with rage, his mother's eyes instantly dimming with disappointment, the complex expressions of anger and sorrow from his second uncle and aunt...
And Pei Cijing.
His second brother, who had sat quietly in the lower seat at the time, his face placid, as if the scene before him was just a play that had nothing to do with him. Yet those eyes just watched silently.
So calm...
It made one's heart panic and chills run down one's spine.
Pei Ciling snapped his eyes open!
That familiar, suffocating frustration in his chest, growing wildly like weeds with nowhere to burn, surged up fiercely once again.
He clenched his fists, his knuckles cracking and turning pale from the force.
Yes.
He and Shen Ningyue truly loved each other.
But this true love, because of his own actions, had become a shameless scandal, a farce that ruined his future.
Even his father... the father who had held high hopes for him since childhood and personally taught him archery, riding, and military strategy, now looked at him with nothing but stern scrutiny and deep disappointment.
Between him and everyone else, there seemed to be an invisible yet incredibly tough barrier.
Heh...
A low chuckle escaped his throat, echoing in the empty, silent study, carrying a heavy sense of self-mockery and an unresolvable bitterness. He had chosen this path himself, so who else could he blame?
The candle wick popped with a spark.
The light and shadows flickered violently.
He raised his hand, rubbing his throbbing and aching temples vigorously, and cast his gaze back onto the open military manual. The words were still the same words, the military wisdom contained within still as deep and calm as the sea.
But tonight, how many sentences had he actually absorbed?
But even if he couldn't take it in.
He had to read!
In three days, he would be taking up his official post. All the events of the past were like a death of yesterday. The only thing he could grasp now was the future.
...
The concubine's small courtyard.
The moonlight was cut by the window lattices into streaks of cold, silvery white, spilling onto the floor like a layer of thin frost.
Shen Ningyue sat alone on an embroidered stool by the window, holding an unfinished baby garment. The material was a fine water-red soft satin, warm to the touch, and the stitches were fine and even. She was using gold thread to embroider a pair of charmingly naive carp, symbolizing fertility and good fortune.
Yet on her face.
There was not a trace of the tender joy of an expectant mother. There was only anxiety and hollowness firmly suppressed beneath a calm facade. The soft fabric beneath her fingertips felt as scorching as a branding iron.
Because she was not pregnant at all.
It had been a month.
She had been locked in this tiny space. Aside from two reticent rough-work servant women, she had no one to share a private word with. The heir had been strictly forbidden from seeing her.
She couldn't even catch a glimpse of the corner of the heir's clothes.
How could she possibly be pregnant?
Her dowry was already pitifully meager.
The Marchioness had even found excuses to deduct her monthly allowance until there was almost nothing left. The few broken pieces of silver she had in her hands now were barely enough to bribe the servants for some conveniences, and she was repeatedly met with eye-rolls.
She subconsciously stroked her still-flat lower abdomen.
This was her only hope right now, the precarious final gamble hanging over her head. If only... if only she could get pregnant and give birth to a son...
Her nails silently dug into her palms, bringing a sharp sting of pain that barely suppressed her panic.
Calculating the days.
In three more days, the ban would be lifted, and Pei Ciling would be leaving to take up his official post.
By then, the Marquis's strict orders would naturally loosen, and she would be able to see him. Everything... still had room to turn around. There was still hope.
Mistress.
A servant woman's hoarse voice came from outside the door. It is time for dinner.
Shen Ningyue suddenly snapped back to reality.
She quickly tucked the glaring red baby garment into a basket nearby, covering it with other fabrics. Her face had already returned to its usual meek and placid expression: Come in.
The servant woman pushed the door open and entered, carrying an ebony tray. A bowl of thin white porridge, two small plates of pickled vegetables without a drop of oil, and two cold, hard steamed buns were all that was there.
She forcefully suppressed the sudden surge of humiliation and anger, not even sparing the woman a glance. She simply waved her hand, her voice devoid of emotion: Set it down.
The servant woman placed the tray on the table.
And turned to leave.
Wait. Shen Ningyue called out to stop her, softening her tone with a hint of probing. The Heir... is everything well with him in the front courtyard today?
The servant woman paused her steps and turned half-sideways, her face still wearing that wooden expression: To answer you, Mistress, this old servant does not know. Matters of the front courtyard are not for us lowly servants to inquire about.
As soon as the words fell, the woman backed out, gently closing the door and isolating the inside from the outside.
Shen Ningyue stared at the tightly shut door. The look in her eyes grew colder bit by bit, as if icy flames were dancing in their dark depths. Her nails dug deeper into her palms, almost drawing blood.
One day.
One day, she would make these snobbish, indifferent servants realize exactly who their true master in this marquis mansion was meant to be.
She picked up the bowl of plain rice porridge and took small, slow sips.
The porridge was lukewarm.
Her heart, however, was ice-cold.
Outside the window, the chilly moonlight filtered through the paper panes, casting a pale, ghostly glow across the floor.
It was exactly like a certain night from her past life. Back then, she had also been all alone like this, sitting in a freezing room, waiting for a man who would never return.
No.
In this life, things would be different.
Shen Ningyue set the bowl down, her gaze gradually hardening with resolve.
She possessed the memories of her previous life. She knew what the future held. She knew that the heir apparent would achieve great military merits, become a duke, and rise to be one of the most powerful men in the Great Qian Dynasty.
And she...
She would be the only woman by his side.
As long as she could endure this. As long as she could hold out until her child was born, until the heir elevated her to the position of his official wife, until...
Taking a deep breath, she forced down the turbulent emotions surging within her and picked up the tiny infant garment once more.
The needle and thread wove through her fingertips.
Stitch by stitch.
It was as if she were mending her shattered hopes.
The night deepened.
The lights throughout the marquis mansion extinguished one by one, leaving only the lanterns held by the night-watch women. They drifted along the corridors, dragging out long, swaying shadows.
Secrets settled in the darkness.
Fractures spread in the silence.
And when the sun rose tomorrow, everything would carry on exactly as usual...
