Inside the Hall of Easeful Repose, the entire Marquis household had gathered. A table had been laid out in modest celebration.
The table was filled with dishes. Though not as extravagant as a palace banquet, it was still carefully orchestrated by Madam Zhou—braised pork elbow, steamed sea bass, Four-Joy Meatballs, Osmanthus Glutinous Rice Lotus Root... all of Pei Cijing's favorite flavors.
Each dish was neatly arranged, steam still rising from the plates.
The aroma filled the air.
It was enough to whet anyone's appetite.
The whole family sat crowded around the table, the atmosphere even livelier than during the New Year festivities.
"Come now, my good son, have another rib!"
Madam Zhou's chopsticks never stopped moving, constantly piling food into Pei Cijing's bowl until it formed a small mountain. The rice was nearly hidden from sight.
She was quick and precise, as if afraid her son might starve.
The way she acted was as though she wanted to shove the entire table into his bowl.
Pei Cijing quickly shielded his bowl and leaned back, laughing helplessly. "Mother, that's enough! I haven't even finished what's in my bowl yet!"
"You eat yours, I'll keep piling mine on—no conflict," Madam Zhou said matter-of-factly, then added another piece of steamed sea bass to his bowl, even taking care to pick out the bones. "Eat more fish—it'll boost your brain. You've been studying so hard these days; you need to replenish your strength."
Pei Cijing was amused but dared not refuse, so he simply buried his head in eating.
As he ate, he stealthily shot a pleading look at Shen Ninghuan, who merely smiled with her lips pressed together, raised her own bowl of rice to take a bite, and pretended not to see.
Pei Fugui sat off to the side, watching the scene with a beaming smile. He leisurely took a sip of wine from his cup. His round face was flushed with delight, his eyes narrowed to slits.
Today, he was feeling supremely proud.
Zhou Youfu stroked his beard. His round, full face was brightly flushed with happiness, and he couldn't stop grinning. He looked at his grandson, growing more satisfied and joyful the longer he stared.
Unable to help himself, he repeated the praise he had already uttered several times: "Cijing, didn't I tell you back then? You could definitely pass! And now you have! Ranked sixth too! Wonderful! Truly wonderful!"
As he spoke, he set down his wine glass, gesturing with both hands, his tone tinged with both emotion and pride. "I also supported your cousins in their studies, hired that renowned tutor from south of the river, yet after all these years, not many of them even passed the county-level exams. But you? Without a sound, you came in sixth in the imperial examinations!"
Pei Cijing set down his chopsticks and humbly replied, "Grandfather, please don't say that. This grandson was merely a bit fortunate."
"Fortunate?" Zhou Youfu banged his wine glass on the table, the force making the liquor slosh around. "Do you think I'm old and senile? The imperial exam is something you can pass by luck? Why not let someone else have that luck, then?"
The remark left Pei Cijing with no recourse but to chuckle twice, raise his glass in a toast, and down it in one go. Only then did Zhou Youfu nod in satisfaction, empty his own glass in a single gulp—his manner more like a bold, heroic swordsman than a merchant.
The Old Madam sat in the seat of honor, her untouched dishes occasionally disturbed only when she plucked a green vegetable, chewing slowly.
Her gaze settled on Pei Cijing. Watching this second grandson surrounded by his family, praised with "So accomplished!" and "And they call me proud!" from all sides. Flustered though he was, he still managed to maintain a composed demeanor.
There was a look in her eyes—of pride, emotion, and a hint of indescribable complexity.
Now, the Marquis household really did have a worthy successor.
Though this second grandson wouldn't inherit the title, his success in the preliminary examination, and with such a high ranking, meant that the court examination would certainly not go poorly for him.
Once he entered officialdom, with his connection to Shen Ninghuan, the Shen family would not neglect him—Shen Zhongcheng was the Acting Minister of Personnel. It was entirely natural for him to promote his own son-in-law; no one could find a fault in that.
This child's future was promising.
But what truly mattered to the Old Madam was not the heights Pei Cijing might reach in his career. No, she was concerned with another matter altogether.
This grandson had managed to complete the path of the civil exam.
That the later generations of the marquis household would pursue this path.
Generations tied only to the military would not be a lasting solution. The Weiyuan Marquis Household had built its fortune on military merit, yet this wealth could not be earned with life as forever the price. Although the household had few people now, it was bound to expand in the future, with more branches formed.
When eventually there were many descendants, each would need a future to plan.
Cheek by jowl into the army—
How would the higher-ups see that?
A single family, generations all holding military power—this would prick at any emperor's heart like a sharp thorn.
Studying was different.
True scholarly ability, passing the exams on one's own merit, drew no suspicion. Civil officials, no matter how powerful, did not grasp a blade. They could never shake the foundation of the state.
This was the true path to longevity.
The Old Madam lifted her teacup, took a delicate sip, then turned her gaze back to Pei Cijing, a barely perceptible satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. She recalled the dark days of the previous year, then looked upon this grandson who now brought her pride. The heavy stone that had pressed on her heart for so long finally settled into its place.
After the meal, the maids cleared the table.
Hot tea was served.
The family continued to sit and chat for a while, the energy gradually shifting from excitement to the ease of domestic talk.
Madam Zhou took Shen Ninghuan's hand, speaking softly. Both women's faces bore happy smiles. Pei Fugui and Zhou Youfu sat close together, talking with energy.
The Old Madam set down her teacup, looked at Pei Cijing, and implored, slowly and sweetly, but with an air that demands one's attention to the smallest grain, "Cijing, the court examination is fast approaching. Prepare well in the coming days—do not slack off. Even though passing the preliminary exam all but guarantees you won't be rejected at the court level, the ranking ahead will affect your official appointment later. You must not take this lightly."
Pei Cijing rose, bowed respectfully, his face earnest: "Grandmother, your grandson remembers your instruction."
The Old Madam nodded, then turned her gaze to Shen Ninghuan, softening her tone even more. "Ninghuan, I'd ask you to do me the trouble of having an eye on him. This child is good in all respects, but there are times when he becomes lazy and needs someone by his side to keep him moving."
Shen Ninghuan smiled softly, dropped a light curtsy, and said in a clear voice, "Rest assured, Grandmother. This granddaughter-in-law will see to it."
The Old Madam finally made a satisfied click of her tongue, then pushed against her walking stick and rose to her feet.
Madam Zhou moved quickly to offer her arm, but the Old Madam waved her off, indicating she was fine. Supporting herself on the fine purple sandalwood staff, she hobbled slowly out the door.
The staff struck the blue stone slabs: Tap, tap. A slight, musing, steady sound.
When she reached the threshold of the Hall of Easeful Repose, the Old Madam paused.
She looked up at the sky.
The orb was riding west, the radiance of spring good. Apricot blossoms in the courtyard were in full bloom, petals in snowy pink trembling gently in the breeze. A few drifted softly, falling on her shoulder.
She did not brush them off. She simply stood there gazing at all that blooming abundance, her expression far off and distant.
The business of moving her late husband's gravesite—
For now, she could put it aside.
Perhaps all the troubles that had befallen them in the previous year were simply fate thrust upon the Marquis family. Unavoidable, no dodging. And now that Cijing had succeeded at the examination, it seemed that fate had turned for the better: the necessary tribulations had come and passed, and the blessing due them was already on its way...
When Pei Ciling came out of Anleju, his steps were much slower than when he arrived.
He walked on the path back to the Heir’s Courtyard, but his mind still echoed with the laughter, praise, anticipation, and approving gazes from the banquet—all of which had been directed at Pei Cijing.
And he had simply sat quietly in the corner, finishing the meal in silence.
Not until the party dispersed did he step forward and softly say the words “Congratulations” to Pei Cijing.
Pei Cijing smiled in return, nodded, and said nothing more.
When those words had left Pei Ciling’s mouth, he himself couldn’t tell exactly what he was feeling.
He could see clearly that his younger brother’s future was, in all likelihood, far beyond what he himself could hope for.
Perhaps upon first entering officialdom, Pei Cijing’s rank might be lower than his own. But civil and military posts followed entirely different systems—the power and status that came with a position could not be measured solely by rank.
A seventh-rank censor in the Censorate could impeach any official, civil or military, at court. A fifth-rank Hanlin Academy reader could stand by the emperor’s side every day, learning firsthand of every joy and wrath of the Son of Heaven, every shift and tremor in the imperial court.
And what of him?
A military officer in the capital, in times of no war, was like a fine blade stored high on a shelf: still sharp, yet with no use to serve.
As for the title of heir—it seemed noble, perhaps, but it needed real power to back it up.
A titled heir without real authority sounded fine to say, he knew exactly how much weight he truly carried in this marquis's manor, in this capital city.
Would he ever reach the heights his father, Pei Fucheng, had reached?
Pei Ciling didn’t know.
All he knew was that this path was far harder than he had ever imagined.
He withdrew his gaze, turned around, and continued on toward the Heir’s Courtyard.
His silhouette was a little lonely, but his steps remained steady. A gust of wind caught the hem of his robes, making them flutter like a butterfly that had lost its way.
...
When the festivities had faded, Pei Cijing and Shen Ninghuan walked side by side toward their bedchamber.
The afternoon sunlight bathed the corridor in a warm glow, dispelling the lingering chill of spring.
The wind chimes outside the eaves swayed gently in the breeze, sending out a clear, ringing melody—a nameless tune that was crisp and pleasing to the ear.
Pei Cijing did not walk fast, but his steps were lighter than usual, as though he were treading on clouds. He turned his head to look at Shen Ninghuan at his side. Sunlight fell upon her face, softening her delicate features, and the fine down on her earlobes shimmered with a pale golden halo.
Suddenly, he reached out and took her hand.
That hand, slender and soft in his palm, felt like holding a piece of warm jade.
Shen Ninghuan’s fingers stirred faintly but did not pull away; she merely let him hold her. Her palm lay against his, and warmth passed between them, gentle, soothing—not hot, but melting straight into his heart.
She turned slightly to glance at him.
The corners of her lips curled.
And in that sunlight, her smile seemed exceptionally gentle, like a peach blossom blooming in early March—modest, yet utterly captivating.
They walked on like that, hand in hand, slowly, without exchanging a word.
The light under the eaves fell on them strip by strip, alternating between brightness and shadow, as though time itself were flowing unhurriedly. This kind of silence was more reassuring than any words.
Passing through a moon gate and bypassing a trellis of wisteria, they soon reached the bedchamber.
The maids in the courtyard had already withdrawn, leaving only two on duty under the eaves. Seeing the couple return, they slipped away noiselessly and closed the doors behind them with footsteps as soft as a cat’s, their breaths deliberately hushed so as not to disturb their masters.
Pei Cijing pushed open the bedchamber door, stepped aside to let Shen Ninghuan enter first, then followed her across the threshold and gently closed the door behind them.
The door shut with a soft click.
That small sound was not loud, yet it seemed to draw an invisible line—beyond it was all the clamor of the outside world; within it, only the two of them.
Standing at the entrance, Pei Cijing watched Shen Ninghuan walk to the table, pick up the teapot, pour a cup of tea, and hand it to him. There was a natural grace in the way she poured the tea, a gentle flick of her wrist sending the liquid in an unbroken stream into the cup. The movement was as elegant as a painting.
He took the cup, but didn’t drink. He set it down on the table. The celadon porcelain made a tiny, crisp sound as it touched the dark rosewood surface.
And then, without warning, he wrapped his arms around his wife’s waist from behind.
The action was sudden but not rough—a gentle pull, drawing her into his embrace. His arm circled around her midsection with a perfect amount of pressure: not too tight, not too loose. He rested his chin on her shoulder, rubbing against it like a cat seeking comfort, as though finding the most comfortable position.
Shen Ninghuan made no effort to struggle, letting him hold her. She could feel his breath against her nape, warm and steady, keeping a calming rhythm.
“Wife,” Pei Cijing said, his voice muffled with a hint of whininess, mixed with just a touch of alcohol, “I placed sixth.”
Shen Ninghuan gave a soft “Mm,” waiting for him to continue.
“Sixth in the metropolitan examination (Huishi),” Pei Cijing repeated, his tone now carrying a note of pride—and a plea for a reward. He purposely stressed the word “sixth.”
As if to remind her:
This ranking was impressive. It deserved a proper celebration.
Seeing that Shen Ninghuan didn’t seem to react, Pei Cijing paused, nuzzled closer into her shoulder, and softened his voice even more: “Wife, do you... have any kind of reward ready for me?”
Shen Ninghuan couldn’t help but laugh at his demeanor. She tilted her head to look at his face, so close to hers. That face wore an expression part-apologetic, part-eager, and part-defiant, as if to say: I don’t care, you must reward me anyway. He looked like an oversized dog waiting to be fed.
She couldn’t resist reaching out to pinch his cheek. It felt nice—smooth, soft, like a freshly steamed glutinous rice cake.
“What reward would you like, husband?”
Pei Cijing chuckled slyly and buried his face in her neck again, rubbing it. His voice was muffled, tinged with innuendo. The tip of his nose touched her skin, catching her faint fragrance—like gardenia blossoms and morning dew, light and clean, yet intoxicating.
“You know, wife.”
Shen Ninghuan cast him a glare—one laced with both mock reproach and helpless fondness.
There was no need for her to read his mind to get that little scheme of his. That fox’s tail was dangling too obviously; anyone could figure out what he was hinting at.
“It’s still daytime,” she said softly, more as a suggestion than a protest, without much force behind it, almost like unspoken consent.
Pei Cijing lifted his head and looked at the window.
Sunlight streamed through the lattice, casting dappled shadows on the floor, slowly migrating with the day, bringing with it a lazy, reassuring air.
A few rays fell on his face, lighting up his brows and eyes.
Then, turning back to look at Shen Ninghuan with a dead-serious expression, he grinned slyly.
“Wife,” he began, his words measured, “no problem. Even though it’s daytime—I am fully battle-ready!”
Shen Ninghuan: “...”
Before she could say anything, Pei Cijing had already swooped her up in his arms, striding toward the bed with crisp, decisive movements. There was no hesitation, no dragging of feet, as though he had rehearsed this moment countless times in his mind or had been waiting for it far too long.
Shen Ninghuan let out a startled gasp and instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck to steady herself.
Her fingers clutched at his collar, knuckles turning faintly white. She looked down at his face, which wore a hint of a triumphant smile, and couldn’t help shooting him another glare.
"Husband!"
She opened her mouth to say something, but he bowed his head and caught her lips in a kiss.
All the words on the tip of her tongue dissolved into a helpless sigh, fading between their teeth. That kiss was very light, like the brush of a feather, yet it carried a warmth that made one’s heart tremble.
Pei Cijing laid her down on the bed and joined her, casually pulling the blanket over them both. The quilt had been freshly aired, fluffy and soft, carrying the scent of sunlight. Mixed with the fragrance of their bodies, it wove a tender web that wrapped them tightly inside.
Shen Ninghuan found herself locked in his embrace. Unable to move.
She let out a resigned sigh.
She hadn’t actually said she would refuse him, but every time, he cut off her words, making it seem as though she were the reluctant one.
She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth radiating from him, listening to the steady, powerful rhythm of his heartbeat—thump, thump, thump—each beat firm and unhurried, like an ancient lullaby.
Without realizing it, the corners of her lips curved into a gentle arc.
Oh, forget it.
Let him have his way.
Outside the window, the sunlight was perfect. On the wisteria trellis, buds were already plump and full, waiting only for a breath of spring wind to burst into a sea of green.
A few bees buzzed among the flowers.
Busy and content.
As if they, too, knew that spring had arrived.
Some sparrows chirped and chattered on the branches, their crisp calls drifting into the room, adding a touch of liveliness to the quiet afternoon. They sang without a care, their notes celebrating the beauty of spring and the long stretch of time.
Inside, a hand emerged from under the blanket and gently pulled the bed curtains closed.
Those curtains were of a soft lotus-root pink, embroidered with scattered orchids, glowing with a gentle luster in the sunlight. As they fell, they shut out the spring scene within the room.
All that remained was the wisteria trellis, quietly waiting for the spring wind…
