artemis, look at the moon

But he also needs his mama's approval too.

And she get's really angry, when she realizes that he hid his relationship with JinZhao from his own mother (can't blame him).

We actually get a little more insight what he was like as a child, and what relationship to his mother looked like (look at his face 😟)

Unfortunately, she starts to badmouth JinZhao (luckily JinZhao's grandma didn't hear that).

Yanyun eventually explains that he values JinZhao's "status" and her family's political neutrality, because it aligns with his political views.

He then goes on to explain how dangerous it has become at court for everyone.

Mama Chen then concludes that him rejecting a possible marriage with Xue Qinglan was because of political reasons. He agrees but also admits that he doesn't care about Ms. Xue.

He the goes on to explain why JinZhao is the perfect match for him.

But then he says the one reason why he really wants to marry her - he loves her.

His mother realizes that all those many explanations from him served only one purpose - to convince her that JinZhao is the one for him... and look at his face 😂

Mama Chen then wonders how & when Yanyun and JinZhao developed feelings for each other. She then thinks it was at JinZhao's coming of age ceremony - which he denies.

But look at the face he makes after he denied it...

And even Mama Chen doesn't believe him and wants to end the conversation 🤣

And she finally gives her permission that he can marry her.

Yay!

One thing I like about this drama is it's subtext and things left unsaid... Yanyun talking to his mother about JinZhao is the perfect example of that.

When trying to convince Mama Chen to let him marry JinZhao, he goes heavily into the political side of it and how JinZhao's political neutrality is perfect for him, because it doesn't tie him to any faction at court. But in the end, the only reason why he wants to marry JinZhao is because he loves her deeply. He not only loves her, but he absolutely trusts her and feels comforted by her presence - something he struggled with before he met her.

He could have given his mother a whole speech about his love for JinZhao and how he will only marry her, but that would be counterproductive. His mother, despite not being a bad person, is very judgmental and prejudiced towards people with a lower status, and Yanyun knows that. To convince her to let him marry JinZhao, despite her lower status, he knew that he had to come up with something better than a speech about love, so he chose to explain why JinZhao's politician neutrality does him (and his family) a favor.

He tells her that she can use these papers any time she needs too, whatever he faces grave dangerous situation or if he makes her unhappy.

JinZhao, who's quite moved by it, realizes that Yanyun was thinking the whole time about how to write the divorce papers when he was in prison.

Yanyun then explains that the divorce papers is the only way to not only offer a solution to JinZhao's fears about marriage, but also to the fears Yanyun developed.

He then further explains that he has written two copies and one will be shown to JinZhao's grandma, to get her approval of marriage.

She agrees (finally!) with a little peck on his lips.

But he of course goes full in and gives her a proper kiss.

Later, on her way home, JinZhao wonders what Yanyun was thinking when writing the divorce letter.

We then get a flashback of him writing the letter, and get also more insight of what is written on the paper: even if a divorce is happening, Yanyun wishes JinZhao a happy life. It brings her of course to tears, because how could it not? It reveals his selfless for her.

The divorce letter is of course a rather uncomfortable way to agree on a marriage, but it's not like that we don't understand why it's happening.

JinZhao, who's afraid of having a marriage like her mother, needed that paper to not only get the confirmation that Yanyun truly understood her fears, but he's also able to find a resolution for it.

Yanyun on the other side fears that his work as grand secretary will bring harm to JinZhao, and has to find a way to make sure that nothing happens to her. At the end, the divorce papers serve two purposes:

1. Protecting JinZhao from future consequences

2. Convincing her to finally marry him, because he's really that desperate to marry her and have a life as husband and wife.

And there he is.

JinZhao is moved to tears, which worries YY, but she has no idea why she suddenly gets teary (Obviously she was worried as hell for him, when he went to prison)

Letting her tears flow, she immediately hugs him tight (their first hug actually).

Meanwhile YY' family is wondering why he doesn't come home after being released from prison.

His brother (the one who murdered the smaller brother), has a very suspicious look while his family discusses YY's whereabouts.

I honestly think that Yanyun not immediately going home and paying respect to his mother - something he actually never seems to miss, is making his brother suspicious. He knows that Yanyun is a very dutiful person, and that's why he probably knows that there is more going on with YY. He may not know about JinZhao yet, but he definitely knows that his brother has now other "priorities".

Now comes a scene that is very important to understand the ending scene of the drama (something a lot of people seem to have trouble with).

Yanyun is walking with JinZhao at the riverside and discusses his boss (Fu Hulian scheming with her.

He realizes that a morally corrupt man with power can be more dangerous than an incompetent man with power.

And acknowledges that him and his boss + other of his coworkers do not share the same morality nor ideals than he does.

JinZhao warns him that separating himself from the faction his boss belongs to could harm5 him.

He acknowledges this too and tells her that his path going forward will certainly not easy. She misinterprets this as him warning her to stay away from him.

But he assures her that he has no intention of doing so.

he also tells her that is aware that things can get really dangerous for him, and that he already has something prepared that protects her from the consequences...

It's so nice to see Yanyun being that open about his worries and fears regarding his job, his master, and how he himself will move forward.

He also knows that JinZhao's cousin Yao proposed to her, but she wastes no time to make it clear that she rejected.

+ He also bought the cookies for JinZhao that she offered him back when she fought he waited in front of the shop for him.

Yanyun then starts to explain to JinZhao what happened with the grain.

She immediately suspects her father being the culprit (😅), but YY makes it clear it wasn't him.

She understands his situation and how serious it is, but YY makes it clear that he already knows what to do, and what role JinZhao has to play in that.

He knows he is in trouble, and that he will have to go for a short time to prison, but he makes it clear that he trusts JinZhao to help him when the time comes.

Later, when she hears about the news of Yanyun getting imprisoned and how he took the blame on himself, it's easy to see how upset and worried she's about that.

Yanyun hears the drums and immediately knows that JinZhao, who tries everything to help Yanyun, went to the emperor even though YY forbid her that. She knows that this could be the only way to fulfill her part in the plan, and even though YY is against it (because she could get physically punished), she's willing to take this risk.

Having a secret meeting wit his boss outside of the prison, he official confesses to him about his feelings for JinZhao and even asks him to keep an eye on her.

Obviously, it's Yanyun telling indirectly his boss, that he endures being part of theor scheme, but only if his teacher can protect JinZhao.

It's so nice to see the how much YY has changed. From being someone that isolates himself from anyone, to someone who trusts others enough to help him.

Her reaction just shows that she doesn't want him to marry someone else (obviously), but that she wants him to chase her.

Meanhwile, Xue Qinglan challenges YY to compete with her at the contest.

And YY just waited for that opportunity...

Our girl is happy to see him winning.

Ugh, the way he looks at her... oh, he knows she likes him.

And another win.

Our boy was showing his skill, so when he competes with Xue Qinglan and loses - everybody knows it's on purpose.

And our girl is everything but happy for Xue Qinglan, who apparently just won...😅

He already came to the conclusion thar he let Qinglan win on purpose. What bothers her about that is that she believes he did that to win Qinglan's favor -

- only to be told by Yanyun's sister, that she forewarned her brother in advance that Qinglan doesn't like easy wins... what she doesn't understand yet is why he did it.

When Qinglan is quitting the competition with YY (who clearly let her win), JinZhao wants to take her place and enter the contest against YY.

And she obviously does that because she wants to talk to him, given that the opportunities to speak to him in private are limited at a social gathering like this.

Our girl is not happy... and he enjoys it.

When competing against each other, they get a tie.

Obviously this has more symbolic meaning, signaling that they are both equals in their relationship.

Yanyun takes that opportunity and explains himself, about why he let Xue Qinglan win. Turns out, he only did it because she hates when people give her an easy win, and because his teacher wants to match YY with her, YanYun had to find a way for Xue Qinglan to reject this match proposal.

Even though, she is pleased to get an explanation, she's playing cool again.

And then we get this wonderful moment of him, watching her leave... 😍

Having a moment for themselves, JinZhao asks him why his horse was following her.

Turns out, he gave the horse's caretaker her scent, so it could remember her it and approach it when the moment came... hah.

What a interesting way to signal to your beloved that she's the one you want to be with.

Things are getting serious, and Yanyun asks her again about his proposal.

JZ explains that she's still don't see why she should marry, given that she would have no benefits from that.

And explains that becoming his wife has it's consequences, because she would be then a noble lady and would have to follow a certain etiquette.

YY's look, when YZ explained her side, is proof that her words are not just her biased opinion. He knows that the "freedom" she experiences now will become less after she marries him, because certain things are expected from a grand secretary's wife.

Only when she says that this marriage is also of no benefit for him, he can finally disagree with her.

He explains to her how he doesn't want his marriage used for political purposes, and how it actually helps that her family belongs to no political faction. He further clarifies that he trusts her, and how lucky he is that she's also rich. And then tells her that he likes her very much.

And then he tells that he knows she likes him too... leaving her speechless. She leaves, and he is left with a very satisfied look on his face.

the banquet ends with GJZ winning the contest against Yanyun, and Ye Xian storming the event to arrest some random official.

Anyway, back at home, GJZ has unfortunately listen to her family gushing over Xue Qinglan and her possible engagement to Yanyun...

it's again a reality check for JinZhao and the different status in society she has compared to Yanyun.

It's sad to see her like this.

You can see how much this bothers YY, because in some way JZ is totally without power, surrounded by those powerful official, and no matter how much he wants to help her, things would just get worse.

When leaving, GJZ can't help herself and takes a look at YY, who can surprisingly not look at her this time.

He likely feels guilty, even though it wasn't his fault, but he would of course blame himself. It's one of those rare moments, where he's not the most "powerful", but has to sit back and can only watch. For someone, who cares about morality and "standing on the right side", this must feel like a gut punch.

And JinZhao understands - not only the danger of the situation, that's why she took those penalty shots, but also that there's nothing YY can do now.

Yanyun follows JinZhao outside, and immediately clarifies that his coworkers like the company of girls, but he doesn't 😆

Jinzaho, who smiles at his words, pretends to bot care even if he would enjoy the company of girls.

Why do I say "pretend", because she obviously doesn't want to admit that she would be hurt by that. She likes him, and even thinks about marrying him, so of course she would be hurt by that.

He then apologizes for what happened earlier. She clarifies that there's no need for that.

She plays cool and understanding and clarifies that she's not angry at him. She then advices him to return to his group, before leaving herself.

Yanyun, who watches her leave, wonders of she's really not angry ... only for Chenyi to appear and telling him that's she's really not angry 🤣

Why would YY want her to be angry? Because he wants her to like him, and this includes wanting your beloved to help you when needed. He wants her wanting him to stand up for her. When things got awry with his coworker, YY wanted her to to be angry at him for not fulfilling those romantic expectations.

Was she angry and just pretending to be fine? No, she wasn't angry. But not because she doesn't have those romantic expectations on him, but she understood that he couldn't help her, it would only make things worse.

When returning to his coworkers, the annoying one wants to bother him about GJZ.

Having put the annoying one into place, YY's boss pressures him about marriage.

YY agrees, and the lies - claiming he hasn't found a suitable match yet (hahahah).

Strangely, his boss claims to have a suitable match for him - his own niece.

YY, who can't outright refuse him (it's his boss), can only pretend to be grateful for his suggestion.

At home, YY asks his sister about Xue Qinglan (the boss's niece), especially her personality.

With all those new information, you can see him coming up with a scheme to stop this matchmaking nonsense.

And he's making sure that his real beloved will also come to the spring banquet - the event where his boss wants to match him with his niece.

The Spring Banquet - part 1

At the spring banquet, JinZhao meets a horse that is strangely following her (we later get an answer for that).

She meets CXQ again, and doesn't show any sign of heartbreak or regret. And even if she feels a little bit about it, she doesn't show it nor mention it. CXQ is history for her.

Meanwhile, YY meets Xue Qinglan for the first time, and pretends to have some misogynistic views regarding archery and riding (only to make her not like him).

At the same time, GJZ appears, losing control over the horse, but manages to calm it down before it could threw her off... with YY proudly watching.

She turns to see Yanyun watching her, and Yue Qinglan standing beside him...

And it turns out, that the horse that kept following JinZhao is actually Yanyun's.

In the early hours of the morning, in safety of their bedroom, she was different.

Once she woke and went about her day, Chen Yan Yun could see it in real time – how her defenses came up gradually, piece by piece. She wore no armor at all when she leaned down to kiss their children a soft "good morning," but her shields were fully raised and ready to take on the world by the time she went for the formal morning greetings with his mother. He knew her armor was never meant to keep him out, but he also knew those walls had been built through a lifetime of heartbreaks. Every time he watched them slide into place, his soul constricted in a quiet sorrow for every pain his wife had to endure. It was now his absolute privilege and a sacred duty to protect her and their family – a vow he took with a terrifying, unyielding seriousness.

But now, in the soft morning glow, he was free of those heavy concerns. Her features were still unguarded, soft, and entirely peaceful. She slept.

…Until she woke.

"San Ye, I want osmanthus cake. Do we have any around?" Jin Zhao mumbled, her voice thick with sleep, not even bothering to open her eyes.

Yan Yun let out a low chuckle at his wife’s early morning priorities, leaning over to admonish her lovingly, "Shouldn’t you at least sit up before you attempt to eat cakes?"

"I’ll consider this," she retorted instantly, her tone solemn as if he had just given her a profound state policy to ponder.

Jin Zhao raised her arms above her head, stretching languidly against the silk sheets. On their way back down, one of her arms caught naturally on his shoulder. Her fingers tangled into his loose, unpinned hair – a fluid, effortless movement practiced over years of sensual intimacy. As her hand continued to comb through his black tresses, ever so often scratching his scalp with a teasing, familiar pressure, her eyelids finally fluttered open. Her dark eyes immediately found his.

The breath caught sharply in Yan Yun’s throat, and he had to swallow hard just to restart that rather important bodily function. She was radiant.

Almost ten years ago, when he had first met her in the Ji Manor, she had already been beautiful. Yet, back then, her looks hadn't been what caught his eye; her beauty had merely been something he acknowledged while trying to figure out this unusual, sharp-witted person who had suddenly disrupted his life. But sometime later – and ever since – the man in him had become acutely, overwhelmingly aware that Gu Jin Zhao was, in fact, a stunning woman. He still remembered drawing her portrait for the very first time, unconsciously attracted to her natural glow and tender elegance, utterly surprised when his brush revealed an emotion his mind was only beginning to realize.

"You are staring," Jin Zhao murmured. She tried to sound stern but failed completely, her voice still filled with the residual warmth and calm of a peaceful night's rest.

Yan Yun smiled, his eyes filling with a soft adoration that he made no effort to hide. He caught her hand, pressing a soft kiss into her palm before quoting a classic verse in a low, morning-roughened voice:

"The cloud thinks of her clothes, the flower of her face; the spring breeze brushes the balustrade, and the dew is thick."

He let the poetry hang in the quiet air between them before speaking his own heart. "I am staring, and I have no intention of stopping. Looking at you has long been my favorite morning pastime. There is an old piece of wisdom that says looking upon true beauty grants a man beautiful thoughts. And I need beautiful thoughts these days. Thus, I need your beauty."

Jin Zhao’s cheeks tinted pink and she blinked a few times, checking if she was still asleep – such open, unabashed compliments were rarely spoken by her reserved husband out loud, though she always knew his love for her was deep and all-consuming.

Jin Zhao moved her palm to touch his cheek in a careful, supportive gesture, asking, "Why? Troubles at court? Is it that General Baian again?"

Yan Yun nuzzled into her warm, comforting touch and then responded, "Should I be alarmed that my wife, with whom I decidedly never share court troubles, still knows entirely too much, enough to operate on a name basis? How do you know, Jin Zhao?"

His wife sat up properly on the bed and made a long pause, readjusting the silk pillows behind her. Once she was comfortably seated, she responded with regal grace, as if such a trivial matter as acquiring state secrets were too mundane to discuss. "Well, you know how it is – people talk. Some officials talk to their wives and share their work burdens, unlike someone I know… And then those wives continue the circle of talking, and talking… in restaurants, at tea parties, at textile shops… until it inevitably reaches my ears. I just have good hearing, I guess."

Jin Zhao shrugged as if to say not really that impressive, but her husband – who operated his own sophisticated shadow network of information circulation – was thoroughly impressed nonetheless.

Instead of complimenting her awareness, which he knew she would dismiss, Yan Yun chose to address her earlier comment. "You know why I don’t want to bother you with this. Between the Chen household, the children, and your businesses, you already have too much to handle. I don’t want to put what is my job on your shoulders." And before Jin Zhao could interject with something along the lines of but I want to help, Yan Yun added his final argument by placing his hand gently on her midriff. "And there’s also this."

Both their gazes fell to her belly, beautifully rounded with their third child in its sixth month of growing safely inside her.

The expecting mother sighed and covered his hand with hers. "You know I’m not trying to meddle just for the sake of it, right? I’m just worried about what that envious man will plan against you. You take on too many responsibilities as Pillar of the State and with the new reforms. And then there’s the Ye Army and General Baian’s opposition, and I just…"

Yan Yun silenced her with a quick, chaste kiss, murmuring right across her lips, "I’m thinking some people in my court need a quick visit from the Ye Shadow Guards to remind them how to keep silent about the inner workings of the palace, lest their talkativeness becomes a fresh batch of tearoom gossip."

Jin Zhao knew what he was doing. And she knew he knew what he was doing. They had been through this twice already; that hot, primitive desire to be with each other, heightened during these months of pregnancy, was all too familiar. And very easily ignited. But two could play this game.

Jin Zhao bit her lower lip a little, immediately drawing her husband’s attention to her mouth. She exhaled slowly, letting her chest rise and fall, and a low hum escaped her bitten lips. Yan Yun’s nostrils flared, and his fingers flexed possessively against her skin. Before he could move any further, Jin Zhao ghosted her words across his lips in the exact same mocking tone: "And I’m thinking someone is trying to change the subject of discussion."

Yan Yun’s breath arrested for a moment and then he laughed, eased and amazed at how well his beloved knew him – and how confident she was to manipulate him even in this. Ah, this woman! Yan Yun surrendered the answer she was seeking. "Yes, there are still troubles regarding the finishing touches on the servitude reforms. And the restructuring of the Ye Army did not sit well with many who were planning to power-grab that force… but I am dealing with it. For now, take your time getting up before you go about conquering your day."

Yan Yun landed a quick peck on Jin Zhao’s lips and made a motion to rise – then froze midway.

There, under the loving touch of their connected hands, came a definitive, well-known, and yet always magical push from inside her belly. Then a little roll across the surface, followed by another push. Yan Yun’s eyes lit up, and he raised them to look at Jin Zhao’s face, finding her equally mesmerized.

Jin Zhao gently rubbed the spot where the movement had come from. "Someone is stretching too. Good morning, little one. I’m about to send your dad to his Pillar-of-the-State things, and then we’ll go find us those osmanthus cakes, shall we?"

Another soft kick confirmed that the plan was very much approved. Yan Yun, giving his own gentle rub against the silk-covered warmth, said his own farewell. "Love you, little one. Be good."

And like this… it was easier to be the Pillar of the State and the man everyone in the government approached with their problems. Because like this… he also got to be his best self, husband and father: Yan Yun.

—— ❖ ——

Ever since they had moved to the new Chen Residence across the street from the Wenyuan Library, it didn’t take long for Chen Yan Yun to get to his duties. Sometimes he truly treasured those few ke of rhythmic jostling in the carriage to gather his thoughts before the court demanded he broadcast them for the benefit of the empire. Today, he had a great many things to weigh, balancing delicate foreign diplomacy with a resolute stand on the domestic reforms his government was enacting.

The dawn of the new imperial era had brought immense prosperity to the capital, marked by milestones that should have anchored the Chen family in long-lasting joy. Soon after the birth of their son, the young Emperor officially came of age and assumed full sovereignty of the Dragon Throne. As his first act of absolute rule, the monarch formally elevated Chen Yan Yun to the revered rank of Pillar of the State – a grand testament to years of wise guidance, but also a promise of one too many headaches. One of those headaches was the legacy of the late Ye family.

Truth be told, Chen Yan Yun had not been particularly thrilled to inherit the leaderless Ye Army. Ye Xian’s bittersweet farewell letter to Jin Zhao didn’t exactly qualify as a legally binding imperial testament, and the Grand Secretary already carried an immense burden of state affairs. Furthermore, imperial armies were not personal property to inherit; having one was precisely what had gotten Marquis Chang Xing destroyed in the first place.

Yet, a heavy sense of responsibility weighed on Yan Yun's conscience. He had been the one to ask Ye Xian to rally the remnants of the Ye troops for that final, desperate stand. Because of that fateful choice, and because he deeply desired that legendary army to continue serving the exact same noble goal the late Marquis had dedicated his life to – the enduring peace of the land – Chen Yan Yun refused to let them dissolve into obscurity.

Using his immense authority as Grand Secretary, he skillfully navigated the rigid bureaucracy to split the Ye legacy into two elite, separate branches. The strong, twenty-thousand-man military force became the Ye Sword Guard, a renowned frontier legion funded directly by the imperial treasury and led by trusted, seasoned officers who had trained under the Ye command. In the capital’s dark underbelly, the sharpest investigative minds of the old Mystic Flame Guards were forged into the Ye Shadow Guard – whispered about in court corridors as the ghostly Night Shadows – a five-hundred-man secret service answering exclusively to the Emperor and Chen Yan Yun to hunt down internal enemies of the state. The Grand Secretary had turned a leaderless regional military into the Emperor's twin blades.

But where there is light, shadows grow.

At the Ministry of War, General Feng Baian fumed in the dark. As the commander of the regional conscript garrisons – a massive, bloated force of poorly trained farmer-soldiers – he held high rank but possessed none of the military weight or political prestige he desperately wanted. It wasn't military glory he aimed for; commanding an army was merely a means to an end. General Baian came from an impoverished noble family that nonetheless carried a strong military legacy. He had moved up over decades of unmemorable promotions, using his position to quietly build a private empire of supply trades and production lines. His true ambition was to steer profitable imperial military supply contracts – for iron armor, grain distribution, and frontier weapons – directly toward his own shadow businesses.

To do so unimpeded, he needed a force that would make the rest of the court too terrified to look closely at his record books. The Ye Army was the force he had his eyes on. General Baian didn't want to just dismantle the late Marquis's legacy; he wanted to steal it. If he could absorb those legendary troops into his own regional garrisons, he would instantly gain formidable military backing and force everyone to look the other way.

Yet, Chen Yan Yun’s quick, transparent military reforms had absolutely derailed his path to ill-gained wealth, trapping Feng Baian's corrupt enterprises behind a wall of strict imperial audits. By the time the Grand Secretary discovered the corrupt practices happening under the General’s command, the man had already managed to unite quite a few disgruntled nobles who had similarly been stripped of their old privileges. In Chen Yan Yun, they did not see a visionary statesman; they saw an obstacle that needed to be bleeding on the floor.

Upon discussing the matter with the young Emperor, they both realized the empire’s new government was still a fragile thing; it could collapse if too many high-ranking tiles were pulled out at once. Thus, they resorted to cutting off the smaller pieces of the growing conspiracy, waiting for a better time to purge them once and for all. But as nefarious factions go, when you cut off one head, two more grow. The progress was slow, and perhaps it should have been handled with more immediate violence. But they had found out about it too late.

—— ❖ ——

Today, Chen Yan Yun was held up at the office again, managing only a few bites of food between meetings. Even the osmanthus cakes he ate all the time these days – a gentle habit born of a husband’s strange, empathetic cravings that mirrored his pregnant wife's own tastes – were left untouched on his desk. Not wishing to waste the aromatic pastry, and anticipating that Jin Zhao might appreciate a resupply, he picked up the delivery box and went home to rejoin his family.

By the time he arrived, the children were already asleep, and the household was preparing for rest. Yan Yun met his wife in her study, where she was busying herself with letters that had arrived from the Ji Manor earlier. When she saw her husband, Jin Zhao excitedly waved a piece of thin parchment.

"If my calculations are correct, Grandmother Ji is arriving tomorrow! She plans to visit a few merchants who work under her, but I’m guessing the real reason for her arrival is to catch Er Gege before he escapes her to his Western maritime expedition yet again!"

Ah, yes, the Ji family drama. While it was Jin Zhao who had originally planned and repeatedly announced her intentions to remain unmarried to dedicate her life to commercial endeavors, it turned out it was her older cousin and the heir to the Ji family name who ended up being stubbornly unattached. Old Madam Ji was miserable about the situation, but Ji Yao himself held no strong emotions regarding marriage; he was simply too busy. The Ji family had recently engaged in extensive commerce with several Western companies, trading lucrative mechanical clockwork and rare optical glass for the Ji family's premium southern silk fleets. It was a massive, high-stakes venture that kept Ji Yao constantly moving between the southern coastal ports and the capital, leaving him with absolutely zero time to entertain his grandmother's frantic matchmaking schemes. First Master Ji remained completely unphased by the family designs for him; he was merely twenty-six years old and still had time.

Chen Yan Yun agreed that finding the right partner – be it in politics, business, or personal life – should take time and not be rushed by societal or familial pressures. He himself had married at thirty. Even if he still occasionally regretted not recognizing his feelings toward Jin Zhao earlier, he had to admit there was no guarantee that his feisty wife would have agreed to an earlier marriage, especially considering her strict mourning period back then. It had all worked out well for them, and he wished similar happiness for Ji Yao, whenever the man decided to seek it.

Yan Yun’s wife, however, was of a completely different mind. She was absolutely certain that a young girl from her social circle, Miss Shen Qiaoxi, would be perfect for her Er Gege. She was already conspiring with her grandmother to bring them together during the upcoming Spring Festival. Chen Yan Yun knew the father and two older brothers of the Shen family well; two worked in the Ministry of Revenues and one at the Maritime Trade Bureau. Yan Yun briefly wondered if there was a calculated connection between the Ji family’s sea trade and Jin Zhao’s sudden interest in building ties with the Maritime Trade Bureau. But every time the girl’s name came up, his wife simply got excited about how perfect Miss Shen and Er Gege would be for each other, citing their shared love of adventure, navigation, and shipbuilding. Apparently, Miss Shen Qiaoxi was famous for quite the unusual set of hobbies and an eclectic knowledge base. Considering she had been introduced to Jin Zhao’s close circle by Xue Qinglan – another notorious troublemaker – Yan Yun did not doubt that First Miss Shen was a spirited lady well-matched to the character of First Master Ji.

All scheming aside, he greeted his excited wife with a tender hug and a deep, thorough kiss that left Jin Zhao weak in the knees, forcing her to grab his sleeve for stability. Yan Yun sat her back down at her table and deposited the delivery box on the side table where the teapot was steaming hot.

"I’m glad you’re enjoying your day and your plans for the festival. What else have you been doing today? How are our children behaving?"

Jin Zhao went on to tell him about the day's affairs in crisp, practical, yet exciting detail, her lighthearted mood evident. They then moved on to Chen Yan Yun. As much as he preferred to keep work talk to a bare minimum at home, he had to admit he had lost the battle of who-was-better-informed regarding the daily workings of the court. He simply let the thoughts swirling and tangling in his mind flow out, finding peace in her understanding and non-judgmental acceptance.

The night was drawing nearer when Qing Pu came in with a quiet knock on the door frame. "Lady Chen, the herbs for your bath are ready in the clean room." She trailed off at the end of the sentence, looking at Jin Zhao’s scrunched-up face.

The lady of the house let out an exasperated sigh and rose obediently, complaining in a dramatic whisper, "Honestly, I smell like a medicine counter with all the herbal infusions I take in and all over my body!"

Yan Yun caught her hand and kissed her knuckles, prompting Qing Pu to quickly look away, and said, "You smell amazing, my dear, but go take your bath. I don’t want you going to bed too late; you must be tired already."

Jin Zhao smiled at that, her mood elevating slightly. She nodded toward the delivery box wafting with the unmistakable soft, sweet smell of a sun-warmed autumn orchard – her favorite osmanthus cakes. Qing Pu took the hint immediately, picked up the box, bowed to San Ye, and walked out behind her mistress to attend her in the adjoining Jing Shi.

Yan Yun smiled, watching his wife wobble slightly on her way out, and then left for his own study to finish a few matters of official correspondence. The Grand Secretary felt inspired after conversation with his wife; he knew exactly how to draft the upcoming imperial responses.

The next sichen passed in a comfortable silence of rustling parchment and ink grinding against stone… until he heard the whistle.

Jin Zhao’s danger whistle.

—— ❖ ——

The sharp, piercing sound came directly from their bedchambers. As he sprinted down the corridor, he saw Qing Pu running frantically from the servant quarters – his wife must have retired to bed and dismissed her maid for the night, leaving her entirely alone. Terrified thoughts flew through his mind – what could possibly have breached the safety of their home?

The sight that met him was a vision of pure horror, one that would return to haunt his dreams for the rest of his life.

Jin Zhao was on the floor, clutching her belly, her face as white as ritual ash. Her white silk bedgown was heavily stained in a deep, expanding crimson red, the pool growing larger with every passing second. She raised pained, tearful eyes to him and croaked, her voice hoarse, "San Ye… the baby –"

Her body went entirely limp before he even hit the floor beside her. He scooped her into his arms, his voice thundering in a raw, unhinged roar. "Imperial physicians! Now! Wake everyone!"

Qing Pu sprinted from the room, screaming commands at the other servants who were rushing toward the commotion. People entered the room, asking questions, offering to help… but Yan Yun could only hold tight to his wife, paralyzed by the terrifying cold taking over her body and the barely perceptible whisper of her breath.

This could not be happening. Not his Jin Zhao. Not the lively, beautiful woman who held life by the leash and brought light wherever she went.

But it was happening...

The frantic ringing of the estate’s alarm bells eventually faded into a suffocating, clinical silence. Inside their bedchambers, the air grew heavy with the sharp, bitter tang of boiled medicinal herbs and the metallic scent of blood.

Only that morning, her beautifully rounded belly had been a source of quiet, celebratory anticipation, the faint, fluttering kicks of their unborn child – a promise of the future. Now, she lay drowning in a sudden, violent fever, her skin translucent and her breathing shallow. Tremors shook her body every now and then, but between them she lay unnaturally still.

Chen Yan Yun felt as though he had stepped into a nightmare designed specifically to strip him of his will to live. The unshakeable Pillar of the Empire was entirely gone, replaced by a man hollowed out by sheer terror. When the chief imperial physicians had arrived in a flurry of silk robes and silver needles, they had offered smooth, practiced words of reassurance, vowing they would do everything within their power to steady her pulse. Blinded by desperation, Chen Yan Yun had simply nodded, pacing the corridor like a caged animal.

Hours bled away, and she only grew worse. Her skin turned a bruising gray, and the tremors stopped – but it wasn't a peaceful development; it was the look of a body that no longer held the energy to fight the agony of pain.

"San Ye."

A low, gravelly voice broke through the buzzing panic in his mind. Old Madam Ji, who had been summoned in the dead of night, stood before him. Her old hands were trembling, but her sharp eyes were bright with a fierce, protective focus.

"Please, demand to know what remedies they are using," Grandma Ji whispered, casting a dark look toward the inner chamber. "I only heard them whispering about Bao Tai… and leaving the rest to Heaven's will. They won’t tell me more. Something is wrong."

Chen Yan Yun raised a tired gaze to Jin Zhao’s grandmother, forcing his mind to focus. Bao Tai – the traditional approach of protecting the fetus. He knew this. Years ago, when he had learned everything there was to know about childbirth to protect her, he had read of this rigid adherence in the medical texts. "Protecting the Mother and Retaining the Child" – was it truly the best they could do for her now?

The fog of panic instantly lifted from Yan Yun’s mind, replaced by a cold, lethal clarity. He strode into the chamber, his presence so imposing that the lower-ranking medical apprentices instantly fell to their knees. He cornered the chief physician by the mixing table.

"What exactly are you giving to my wife?" he demanded, his voice a low, dangerous vibration.

The old doctor swallowed hard, bowing deeply. "My Lord, the poison is highly aggressive. We are currently administering a milder, stabilizing treatment. We are attempting to harmonize her Qi in the hope of saving both the mother and the precious noble seed within her."

"Is it working?" Chen Yan Yun’s eyes narrowed, his hands clenching into fists beneath his wide sleeves. "Look at her. Is your mild remedy stopping the bleeding?"

The physician shifted his weight, his eyes darting away. "The dual pulse of a pregnant woman is incredibly complex, Grand Secretary. We are doing what we can, but ultimately... there is still the power of prayer. We must hope for a miracle from Heaven."

"A miracle?" Chen Yan Yun’s voice cracked, a terrifying flash of fury breaking through. "You possess the most advanced medical knowledge in the empire, and you are relying on hope instead of a direct anti-poison cure while my wife bleeds to death before you?"

The chief physician dropped into a full kowtow, his forehead pressing hard against the floorboards. "Grand Secretary, please understand! A more direct, aggressive antidote exists – but it is a violent purging formula. It will instantly flood her womb with heat. It will surely destroy the child. And looking at the shape of the Madam's pulse... it may very well be a son."

The implication hung heavily, suffocatingly in the air. To the traditional court physicians, a potential male heir – a continuation of the grand Chen lineage – was worth the gamble, even if it meant risking the woman’s life on the fragile whim of a miracle. To them, a wife could be replaced; a great statesman’s son and heir could not. They were too cowardly to sign the death warrant for an unborn male child of a Pillar of the State, so they had chosen to risk his wife’s life instead to protect their own necks.

"We cannot make a decision of such cosmic weight, My Lord," the physician mumbled into the floorboards. "It is up to the Grand Secretary to seek the guidance of the gods and ancestors."

Yan Yun looked from the cowering doctor to the bed where Jin Zhao lay, a fragile, fading silhouette against the heavy silk drapes.

There was no need to seek the guidance of the gods. There was no calculation to be made, no lineage to consider, no political weight to balance. There was nothing to think about at all.

Grandma Ji stepped up beside him, her hand coming to rest firmly on his slumped shoulder. Her voice was solemn, carrying the heavy, practical wisdom of a woman who had survived generations of family tragedies. "One must care for the living first, San Ye," she urged softly, her eyes resting on her granddaughter. "Childbirth is a perilous journey even in the best of times. You already have two beautiful children in the nursery. A-Ying and A-Han need their mother far more than this family needs another heir."

Yan Yun closed his eyes, a profound wave of gratitude washing over him for the old woman’s fierce, steady support. Yet, the truth was, he didn't need arguments to choose Jin Zhao. If the world required him to sacrifice his own soul to keep her breathing, he would do it without a second thought. He had never needed a reason. He needed her.

The agony tearing through him now wasn't born of indecision; it was the suffocating reality that his choice would give her a better chance to wake up – only to be crushed by the unbearable, physical heartbreak of what he had done. They both would have to live with the knowledge that he had ordered the destruction of the child they had both lovingly anticipated, the child whose movements he had felt against his own palm just this morning. To save her life, he had to inflict the deepest wound her mother’s heart would ever experience.

When he opened his eyes, the absolute, chilling authority of the Pillar of the Empire returned to his gaze, cold and unyielding. He looked down at the cowering physicians, his voice dropping to a sharp, frozen command that allowed absolutely no defiance.

"Save my wife."

—— ❖ ——

For Chen Yan Yun, the next two days were a descent into a helpless, waking hell. He stayed by her bed for hours, suspended in pain and terror, until the frantic physicians finally stepped back and the room fell into a heavy silence.

Jin Zhao lay perfectly still upon the mattress, pale and motionless, her fragile hands folded neatly over her stomach – resting over a hollow, bandaged ache where their child should have been. The image struck a devastating chord in Yan Yun’s memory. Years ago, it had been him lying broken on a bed, pale and bandaged, while she watched over him. Now, the roles were cruelly reversed.

Leaning forward with a trembling breath, Yan Yun covered her cold hands with his own. He lowered his face, resting his cheek heavily against their joined fingers. The crushing weight of the past days finally broke through his cold facade. Silent, hot tears rolled down his face, spilling over his eyelashes to fall steadily onto her skin.

The warmth of his tears seemed to reach her across the dark threshold. Slowly, agonizingly, Jin Zhao’s eyelids fluttered open. Her gaze was distant at first, but as it focused on his tear-stained face, a ghost of her familiar, strong spirit returned to her eyes.

"What's with all the crying?" she whispered, her voice barely a scratch against the silence.

Yan Yun lifted his head, his breath catching in his throat as he looked at her. With trembling fingers, he reached out to gently cup her pale cheek. Jin Zhao leaned slightly into the warmth of his palm, her eyes holding his with the absolute, fierce promise that had always held their family together. She was a woman forged in many fires who refused to let tragedy claim her life.

"Don't worry," she breathed, forcing a weak but certain smile to her lips as she looked into his shattered soul. "I won't die."

The exact words pierced through his grief, carrying a sudden, sharp clarity that made his heart arrest. He remembered. After the staged assassination attempt years ago – a dangerous ploy Chen Yan Yun had orchestrated himself, yet it had still nearly cost him his life – he had woken to her tears in this exact manner. Now, as she lay pale and bleeding from a tragedy she had never asked for, her repetition of those exact words was both a tender reassurance and a quiet reprimand. She was reminding the Pillar of the Empire that they had survived the worst of political gambles thrown at them, and she would survive this pain, too.

—— ❖ ——

For her recovery, they moved from their central capital residence back to the old Chen Mansion, as it allowed for more seclusion from prying eyes and more space for Jin Zhao's physical treatments. Jin Zhao pulled through, and her life was again a blessed certainty, but the light had left her eyes, replaced by a hollow, crushing depression.

Seeking peace and a reprieve from the suffocating whispers of the capital, Chen Yan Yun took an extended leave from his high office. The Emperor took the highly unprecedented step of visiting their household in person, arriving entirely unannounced so as not to burden the grieving family with protocol and preparations. Old Madam Chen almost fainted on the spot when the arrival of the imperial retinue at their main gate was announced, but the Grand Secretary merely straightened his simply adorned house robe and went to meet the guest of the highest esteem.

After offering formal greetings and expressing his deep wishes for Jin Zhao to regain her strength and life spark, the Emperor requested a separate, private audience with his Pillar of the State, leaving the residence swiftly thereafter. The news of the Emperor’s personal visit spread fast and wide across the capital, heightening the Chen family's status beyond that of mere statesmen to that of personal friends of the Dragon Throne. No one was surprised when Chen Yan Yun’s peaceful retreat with his family was formally announced. The Pillar of the State taking a glorified medical sabbatical was highly irregular, especially since it was decreed over an illness affecting a family member rather than the lord himself. Yet, a chosen few, including the Emperor himself, knew that Chen Yan Yun was in no state to govern. In the state of mind the Grand Secretary was in, his governance might turn exceptionally dangerous, exceptionally fast.

Chen Yan Yun didn’t actually feel destructive at that point in his life. But that was exactly what the Emperor needed to hear to release him from his duties temporarily, so that was what the Grand Secretary had told him during their private audience.

He moved his family to their secluded estate near the Baoxian Temple, where the air was thick with incense, prayer, and the quiet rustle of ancient pines. There, surrounded by the shining, unbridled love of her children and the quiet devotion of her husband, Jin Zhao began the agonizingly slow process of stitching her soul back together through meditation and spiritual refuge.

There were long walks alongside the riverbanks as the earth woke to the arrival of spring… the xun’s melancholic, deep sound telling their sad story to the wind… Yan Yun holding Jin Zhao through nights of silent weeping, until her tears ran completely dry… careful, gentle touches that carried warmth and acceptance but asked for nothing more. And most importantly – love. A love that connected them across the threshold of death and allowed them to hold each other toward the light.

And Jin Zhao… however impossible it had felt to her months prior… was healing. She began arranging flowers in vases again. Choosing her outfits for the morrow. Giving instructions to Qing Pu to be delivered to her various businesses when situations demanded interaction. Telling bedtime stories to her children. Holding her husband’s hand and enveloping him in tight, soul-deep hugs. Being there, being with them, being herself.

—— ❖ ——

One day, a few weeks into their seclusion at Baoxian Temple, an unassuming figure in black arrived at their doorstep, carrying a single, short message: “It was the osmanthus cakes. We have everything ready. Awaiting your command.”

That night, once the children were safely tucked away and Jin Zhao was reading historical texts – which seemed to calm her mind – Chen Yan Yun entered their room fully dressed for travel, complete with a sword strapped to his hip. Jin Zhao looked up at him questioningly.

He bent a knee before her. In his hands, Yan Yun held a familiar wooden box, offering it to his wife.

"When we wed, I promised you freedom – from me, should you ever want it, and from my deeds, should you ever need it. Now, in return, I am asking you for a freedom of my own. Just this one night, release me from being the man you deserve – an upright, honorable statesman – and let me be the man I need to be tonight." He bowed his head, not daring to look at her.

Jin Zhao could have asked questions. She could have forbidden him from going. He would have answered her questions, and he would have obeyed her command. Instead, she looked at him with absolute trust.

"Go. As long as you promise to come back to us, go."

Yan Yun stood up, nodded, and left the room without looking back. The time for destruction had finally arrived.

—— ❖ ——

Utilizing his vast, shadowy network of the Ye Shadow Guards, Chen Yan Yun unraveled the thread of the conspiracy with terrifying, razor-sharp efficiency. He tracked down every single hand involved in the plot, from the wealthy noblemen who financed it to General Feng Baian himself.

Before the bloodbath began, Yan Yun knelt before his seventeen-year-old sovereign. He placed his official seal of office upon the imperial desk, offering his formal resignation so that the incoming storm would never stain the reputation of the crowned Emperor or the dynasty he ruled. For he could not allow the conspirators the mercy of a public trial. He needed to end them himself.

The young Emperor, who was always wise beyond his years, looked upon his shattered, fiercely loyal mentor. He reviewed the gathered evidence, finding not just a domestic poisoning, but a treasonous coup in the making. The Emperor knew that a public execution would serve as a grand, chilling warning to the rest of the court, but it would never bring closure to the bleeding soul of the man who held up his empire.

Rejecting the resignation, the Emperor slid the jade seal back into Chen Yan Yun’s hands, accompanied by a secret, golden scroll – an Absolution Edict. A mandate of heaven authorizing the Grand Secretary to carry out a secret verdict of execution by any means necessary.

The vengeance that followed was quick, silent, and absolute.

Chen Yan Yun did not use diplomacy; he did not use honest politics. Armed with the supreme authority of the Dragon Throne, he unleashed the Ye Shadow Guard, transforming the elite capital investigators into an unholy instrument of retribution. Moving through the midnight streets like the Night Shadows they were, the black-robed agents systematically sealed the estates of the conspirators, cutting off escape routes and slitting the throats of watchmen before a single alarm could be raised.

Yan Yun himself moved through the night carnage like a shadow reaper, staining his own hands with the blood of the men who had dared to touch his wife. When the last throat was cut and General Feng Baian's entire faction was completely erased from the mortal world, the Grand Secretary reported back to his sovereign. He buried his blood-stained robes, dismissed the shadow guard back into the darkness of the capital, and returned to the temple retreat as if he had never left.

He never spoke a word of the slaughter to Jin Zhao.

Yet, Jin Zhao was no ordinary noblewoman. Months later, as her spirit healed and she began to quietly check the capital’s records of social gossip, she noticed the sudden, simultaneous "accidental deaths" and "sudden fatal illnesses" that had wiped out Feng Baian and his entire circle during her absence. She looked at the timeline, looked at her husband, and understood everything.

She never questioned him.

Instead, she simply watched him in the quiet afternoons at the temple. She saw the heavy, dark violence that now seeped out of his soul, manifesting in the sharp, turbulent brushstrokes of his ink paintings. She knew that this naturally peaceful man would be haunted by the blood he had spilled, but she also knew exactly why he had spilled it.

With patience, love, and a deep, unspoken understanding, Jin Zhao hoped to reach into the dark to pull her husband back, hoping beyond reason that his soul was reaching back to her as well.

—— ❖ ——

The days were getting longer and hotter, yet her husband always came home only when darkness completely shrouded the corridors of the Chen residence, and his side of the bed would be long cold by the time Jin Zhao woke. If it weren’t for Qing Pu's quiet reports, Jin Zhao would have thought her husband had not slept in their bed at all.

But he did. He would come home late, spend time watching their children sleeping peacefully in their chambers under the watchful eyes of their attendants, and then slip into their marital bed to hold his wife’s warm body through the night – only to retreat before Jin Zhao had a conscious chance to return the embrace. It was like years ago when heavy court work kept him away – no, the reason now was far too complicated and difficult to solve by simply buying a neighboring house. No amount of property could lift the mountain of guilt Yan Yun was carrying, and Jin Zhao was getting desperate.

She tried arranging for his favorite foods to be sent to his daily meals, hoping to spark his appetite; the delivery was returned barely touched. Jin Zhao left him short notes detailing their children’s daily antics; he responded with polite, detached words. She tried to meet him at his late-night arrivals and seduce him into her waiting touch; he remained respectful, profoundly loving, but still distant.

Having exhausted all her usual feminine methods and subtle tricks, Jin Zhao resolved to the last remaining option. She knew it would be painful, but a momentary shock was nothing compared to the self-inflicted penance San Ye was forcing upon their family.

The next day, a box arrived at the desk of the Grand Secretary directly from his private residence. His secretary suggested that it must be more sweets from the Linxia Studio, but the Grand Secretary only pressed his lips tight and dismissed his staff with a silent wave of his hand. He knew this box all too well.

It took another ke for the Grand Secretary to storm through the gates of his home and directly into his wife’s study. He dismissed the staff as he passed through the inner doors, ordering everyone to not disturb his conversation with his wife for anything short of a foreign invasion or a natural disaster of country-wide proportions. The maids and attendants bowed respectfully and hurried away, fearful of this highly unusual display of anger from their usually collected master.

But Yan Yun was far from collected now. Once he entered his wife’s study and closed the doors tightly shut, he all but slammed the box onto her table, hissing, "A Letter of Harmonious Separation? Again, Jin Zhao?!"

Jin Zhao looked up calmly from her ledgers and shrugged. "Well, it seems to be the only means of communication that secures me an audience with the Grand Secretary, so…"

"You sent me a signed document of separation just to get me to talk?" Yan Yun continued fuming, his breath ragged.

His wife stood up and relocated to the sofa by the windows overlooking the inner garden. She looked outside, collecting her thoughts. She had practiced what she wanted to say, but in this moment, her planned speech abandoned her, leaving only raw hurt and loneliness.

Jin Zhao looked back at her husband. His face was ashen with an exhaustion he forced upon himself, his body noticeably leaner, his robes in slight disarray. She wanted to remain angry with him, but she couldn’t. Not when San Ye was so much more furious with himself than she ever could be.

Jin Zhao’s broken whisper finally brought him back from the brink of despair. "You promised. You asked me to let you go – and I did. You promised to come back to me, to us – and you didn’t. Why, San Ye?"

Why? Why?! Yan Yun approached and stood frozen in front of her sitting figure, his gaze averted to the floorboards as he replied, "Because I do not deserve you. I know it pains you to look at me, for my very presence reminds you of what I did, what I let happen…"

"I couldn’t care less about what happened to those conspirators and what –"

"Not them," Yan Yun interrupted, his voice dropping to a harsh, cracked whisper. "Him. What I did to our son."

The silence that followed was deafening as they both processed what had finally been spoken aloud. After many agonizingly long moments, Jin Zhao stretched out her hand in a firm command, leaving Yan Yun no room to disobey. She dragged him down to sit beside her on the sofa, though he still did not dare to meet her eyes. Her imposing, all-powerful husband looked completely folded in on himself, and it physically hurt her to see him like this – so defeated, so entirely lost.

Jin Zhao held his hand tightly, sensing it was the only anchor connecting them right now. She tried to offer him more. "San Ye, our son… was not your fault. You cannot blame yourself for his loss."

He responded weakly, "It was I who told them to save you… and not him."

Jin Zhao immediately retorted, "And it was I who ate those osmanthus cakes. I did think they tasted slightly different, but I assumed it was because everything smelled of herbal infusions around me and I –"

Her husband finally raised his voice, turning to her. "You didn't know!"

"And did you know?" she parried instantly, her gaze piercing. "Were you certain that their mild Bao Tai concoctions would save both of us? Years ago, when Yun Xiang was poisoned, my father requested the physicians to save his unborn son at all costs – and he lost both the mother and the child in the end. Would you have risked that gamble with my life?"

The blood froze in Yan Yun’s veins, and a tremor passed through him as he encountered the ghost of that specific memory. He remembered that long-ago investigation that had first brought them together – the poisoning of her father’s concubine, a woman who had bled out and died from the exact same calculated cruelty. How was that even a choice?

"No, I would not have allowed it," Yan Yun admitted hoarsely, his jaw tightening. "But you see, Jin Zhao, that is exactly why you must hate me. Every danger that has darkened your life is because of me. Every loss and every pain you have experienced since you agreed to become my wife is because of me. In our early discussions of the pros and cons of our marriage, I failed miserably to let you know how your life would be filled not only with rigid court rules and social limitations, but also with this. My negligence in recognizing Feng Baian's threat for what it was cost us our son. I do not think you should have me as your husband. You were right to sign the separation paper."

Yan Yun turned away to withdraw his hand, but Jin Zhao refused to let him go. She realized his pain and guilt ran far deeper than she had initially estimated; it had seeped downward, tinting every single trouble they had ever faced as a failure entirely on his part.

Ultimately, she shouldn’t have been surprised. Seeing how his parents had placed the crushing burden of the Chen family onto the shoulders of a barely grown boy and let him carry that weight for the rest of his life, San Ye had developed an overly agonizing sense of responsibility, far too quick to claim every fault as his own. That simply would not do.

"San Ye, look at me. Please," Jin Zhao asked softly.

Incapable of denying her almost anything, her husband complied. His dark eyes were pained yet intensely resolute. Yan Yun was fully prepared to cast himself out to spare her further danger – and to punish himself for his failure to keep that danger away.

Jin Zhao stood up and picked up the wooden box he had thrown onto the floor earlier. The corner was cracked and the opening latch was stuck from the impact, so it took her a moment to force it open. Yan Yun’s eyes followed her every movement, carefully assessing.

Finally, having retrieved the piece of crumpled parchment containing the He-Li Shu, Jin Zhao moved toward the bronze copper hand-warmer standing on her desk. She removed the pierced lattice lid, dropped the document of their separation directly onto the glowing fruitwood charcoal, and snapped the lid shut. The parchment vanished into gray ash silently, with zero visible flame escaping the metal box.

Jin Zhao walked back to him in slow, careful steps, as if approaching a wounded animal. And he was one.

"San Ye, I made a conscious choice to marry you. A choice to bear our children. And as many pieces of that damned separation nonsense as you send my way, I will use every single one of them to light the fire and keep us warm. I do not fault you for the perils of your office, for I know the work you do is for the safety and prosperity of our country – but also for our family’s future. I am far too smart to pretend I didn't know what I was marrying into. I saw the scars on your body years ago; I saw you eliminate the enemies of the state – I knew. And I need you to know, and to trust me, that I chose this. I chose you. I chose us."

Yan Yun’s eyes shone with unshed tears, but something else broke through the darkness. Hope.

He made one last, valiant attempt to shoulder the blame. "But… our son…"

Jin Zhao placed her fingers gently over his lips, silencing the self-imposed penance. "Our son was the victim of cruel, terrible people. The gods will take care of his soul. I am at peace with that, and I wish, more than anything, that you can find that peace too. Please, San Ye, come back to us. We need you far more than the darkness you carry with you. Let it go. Come back."

With that, the dam of sorrow finally broke. Yan Yun collapsed against the side of the sofa, burying his face into her welcoming embrace as he wept his pain away. Jin Zhao held him tightly – this brilliant, grieving Pillar of the State and the father of her children – whispering kind words of love and forgiveness into his hair, kissing his forehead, and stroking his back in a soothing, rhythmic motion. She willed her own life force back into him, feeling him respond as his hold around her waist tightened more and more.

By the time the first rays of the morning sun announced the arrival of a new day, her husband had finally found his way back home.

In the days to come, through the quiet, ordinary art of their shared life, the dark spirits slowly faded away. The man who returned to the court was, once more, entirely her loving husband and the father of their children.

—— ❖ ——

Yanyun interpreted it as her criticizing him for coming too late to their meeting, but I'm not sure. I see it more as her truly forgetting their difference in status after spending so much time together.

JinZhao is again taking a closer look at his mood, something she always pays attention to, and notices how he's "different" (I wonder why 😉)

They talk about Ye Xian, and why she was so invested in helping him.

JinZhao clarifies that she's sees YX as a true friend and owned it to him when he was in trouble. I mean, he obviously wants to make sure she that she has no one else in her heart, before making his move.

Wanting to know that if he's a friend too, and she would also risk a lot for him, she nods.

He mentions how big houses come to propose marriage to him with their daughters, and asks her if she would be interested too.

He explains further how they experienced so much together, and officially asks her if she wants to marry him...

Being stunned and shocked at the same time, GJZ thinks he doesn't mean it serious.

She reveals how she never thought of them getting together (different status) and tells him to find a "suitable match" for him, before she leaves.

Even though his proposal got rejected, you can see that he has no intention of giving up (good!)

Why did she reject the proposal? There multiple things going through head, like:

1. Their different status in society. He's a grand secretary and from a grand house, she's from a merchant family and of "ordinary birth".

2. Her mother's awful marriage shaped a lot of what she thinks marriage to be like. She doesn't want that for herself (rightly so), and would rather be alone.

The Wenyuan Library was supposed to be a sanctuary of imperial history – both the past already recorded and the one currently in the making, a place of great endeavors executed in the name of an even greater nation. Alas, tonight the Grand Secretary, Chen Yan Yun, was less concerned with the affairs of said great state and far more preoccupied with using the space to hide from unsolicited interference. Specifically, the urge to commit direct physical violence against any number of his so-called esteemed colleagues.

Chen Yan Yun sat beneath the dimming candlelight of his private study, massaging the bridge of his nose. Spread across his mahogany desk was an official scroll from the Ministry of Rites and Clan Affairs. As Grand Secretary of the Hall of Central Extreme, the entire imperial bureaucracy fell under his duty of care, yet he felt a distinct sense of his shortcoming for having failed to imprint any semblance of professional integrity onto his subordinates. Specifically, those overseeing the seemingly simple, scholastic task of suggesting names for newborns. Specifically, his own newborn son.

When A-Ying was born, the Chen family had followed the standard, time-honored approach: officially informing the Ministry of their joyful news and humbly requesting their guidance to select a name that befit the stature and history of their lineage. Be it by divine intervention or sheer luck, the Ministry had returned with Chen Xinying – a beautiful, hopeful name, perfectly fit for the miracle of her birth following the darkest period of their lives. Chen Yan Yun had accepted the offering with genuine gratitude and happily added his firstborn to the family tree.

But in the months and years that followed, something changed imperceptibly – and most likely, it was entirely Chen Yan Yun’s fault.

For one, he had ascended to Grand Secretary of the Hall of Central Extreme and Grand Preceptor to the Crown Prince. Those who worked alongside him, and even those who worked against him, recognized that these titles were forged from Chen Yan Yun’s relentless hard work and merit. But those looking into the dimly lit world of court politics from the outside saw only the most obvious veneer: that he was the youngest person on record to hold such high office. To them, it was a blatant sign of the Emperor’s supreme favor, marking him as a man destined to rise evermore in power and influence. It was not at all clear to Yan Yun what further power he could possibly hold when the only individual above him was the Emperor himself – and he certainly did not want that job. Still, a palpable cloud of envy and sycophancy followed him wherever he walked, and he simply had to live with it.

The other blameworthy factor was the sheer scale of the reforms his office had launched across the empire, backed by the full support of the Emperor and like-minded ministers. Lessons carved from previous political failures and the meticulous records left by Fu Hai Lian had taught them that certain surgical changes had to be executed all at once, sparing the nation the prolonged, gradual pains of a drawn-out transition. Thus, the master plan of reform unfolded like a wide, colorful fan, sweeping through trade guilds, production lines, land rights, harvest taxes, and even foreign diplomacy.

Naturally, this required an immense mobilization of government manpower. At its peak, officials were reassigned overnight because their specialized skills were desperately needed elsewhere – and no one knew if the next sudden directive would land on their own desk tomorrow. It had been an administrative nightmare for Chen Yan Yun, but after countless sleepless nights spent over personnel records – complemented by insightful advice from Jin Zhao, whose vast experience running skills-based enterprises proved invaluable – he had made those chaotic organizational charts make sense.

The dust had finally settled over the government quarter. The brain drain was still glaringly obvious in certain ministries, but the Grand Secretary hoped those structural gaps were merely temporary, destined to be filled naturally by the fresh crop of young scholars emerging from the next round of imperial examinations.

Apparently, he had been overly optimistic. Either the crop was exceptionally thin, or the Ministry of Rites and Clan Affairs had taken it upon themselves to recruit individuals skilled in one discipline alone: servility.

Either way, as the man who had caused the mass exodus of seasoned officials to more critical posts – and the one who had created that structural need in the first place – Chen Yan Yun knew the blame for this current absurdity would land squarely on his shoulders. His fiercely intelligent wife would undoubtedly connect the exact same dots. Therefore, he needed to neutralize the situation before it ever reached her courtyard. With how fast she’d acquired information, he had precious little time to do so.

The emergency at hand, which kept the Grand Secretary huddled in his private study long past midnight, was his newborn son’s name. This should have been a standard academic exercise for the Ministry: providing an elegant, traditionally compliant name for the male heir of a noble house. The task had gone without a hitch the first time, had it not?

Oh, no. Not this time.

From what he could gather from the scrolls unrolled across his desk, the court scholars – desperate to secure favor with the most powerful man in the dynasty besides the Emperor – had turned a sacred cultural tradition into a circus of shameless flattery.

Chen Yan Yun looked down at the list of proposed names and winced. Chen Tianyou, which translated grandiosely to "God-Given Savior of the Nation," implying the infant was a divine messiah dropped from the heavens to rescue the realm. Rescue it from what? Next was Chen Shengde, or "Paragon of Supreme Virtue and Divinity," a name so aggressively righteous it read like an inscription on a living temple monument. And finally, Chen Guodong – "The Divine Pillar of the Realm's Destiny."

"He is two weeks old," Yan Yun muttered to the shadowed rafters, his voice dripping with dry exasperation. "Currently, his exploits are limited to crying, sleeping, and soiling his swaddling clothes. Then repeating the cycle. He is not a divine monument."

The absolute hypocrisy of these people! Disgruntled scholars who whispered to anyone willing to listen that Chen Yan Yun was 'too young' to carry the weight of the nation – defining 'too young' by the fact that Chen Yan Yun, at thirty-two, was the same age or younger than many of his subordinates – now wished to burden his infinitely younger infant son with the cosmic responsibilities of a 'paragon,' a 'pillar,' and a 'savior.' The irony was staggering.

Refusing to let his son become a political caricature before the boy could even lift his own head, Chen Yan Yun pushed the ridiculous scrolls aside. He called out to his personal manservant, ordering a steaming bowl of bird’s nest soup laced with imperial ginseng, to be followed by a fresh pot of whisked Wuyi rock tea and the jujube and walnut cakes his wife had introduced to him years ago. That particular combination of high-energy sustenance caffeine ought to carry him through the dawn. He had a war to wage. If the bureaucracy refused to provide the diligence and meaning he required, the Grand Secretary would simply outsmart the bureaucracy.

Chen Yan Yun dipped his brush into the fresh ink, pulled a stack of classical poetry texts toward his ledger, and went to work...

This was not the first time the Chen household had been forced to deploy high-level tactical maneuvers for the sake of their nursery. In fact, the precedent had been set two and a half years prior, only a month after the birth of their daughter, A-Ying.

At the time, Chen Yan Yun had been urgently summoned to the northern borders to command a semi-military campaign aimed at eradicating the volatile, lingering remnants of the Chunyuan Sect, which had managed to rally its strength one final time. Normally, such an expedition would not require the personal deployment of a high-ranking civil official – as his wife kept reminding him in a thoroughly disgruntled tone, with heavy emphasis on the word 'civil' – but it was a specially delicate political crisis. Because Chen Yan Yun held the vital intelligence required to safely neutralize the rising threat, he had no choice but to manage the frontier containment personally.

Before his departure, Yan Yun had promised a worried Jin Zhao repeatedly that he would return in one piece, emphasizing that this frontier excursion carried none of the mortal dangers of their past. Eventually, she conducted her own overt intelligence gathering to verify the threat level and the support level – and Qing Pu was immensely pleased to confirm to her mistress that Lord Chen had the full, crushing might of the newly minted Ye Sword Guard at his back. This elite twenty-thousand-man legion was the reformed, fiercely loyal heart of the old Ye Army, meticulously rebuilt by Yan Yun to honor the late Marquis's military merits and ensure his former rival's ultimate battlefield sacrifice was never forgotten by the empire. Reassured by their strength, Jin Zhao finally made peace with the deployment and sent her still-very-civilian husband off to his military campaign. She silently wondered if there would ever come a day when she could stop cataloging new scars on his gorgeous body. Oh, well... at least her San Ye would permanently eliminate the danger, ensuring their daughter would never grow up in a world where her future and freedom were left unpromised.

Poor, naive Jin Zhao.

Little did she know, the true danger was lurking much closer to home. It did not take the shape of a grand political conspiracy (boring), a cut-throat business battle (bring it on!), or even the standard domestic malice of evil-eyed concubines (of which their loving monogamous estate had none). No, this time, the threat emerged from within the inner courts – from her very own mother-in-law.

As San Ye had honestly told her soon after their wedding, his mother was fundamentally not a bad person. Snobbish, yes; prone to excessive gossip to dispel her aristocratic boredom, definitely; but malicious, no. However, he had conveniently forgotten to mention that she was also a shameless cheat at the mahjong table (and a terribly clumsy one at that), an impossibly picky eater, and resolutely not a morning person – why the woman insisted on mandatory morning greeting rituals when they clearly pained her more than anyone else in the family remained entirely beyond Jin Zhao’s comprehension. Above all else, the Dowager Madam Chen was exceptionally fragile in the face of societal expectations, high-society trends, and rigid traditions. Sometimes her obsession manifested as a sudden journey to a fashionable new tea house for ginseng cakes she wouldn't even eat; other times, it involved resurrecting an obscure, long-abandoned ritual simply because Lady Wu, a great friend to the Empress Dowager, was practicing it. And it was always demanded 'just because I said so – and immediately!'

Jin Zhao usually made a conscious effort to indulge the Chen Matriarch, out of profound respect for the woman’s lifelong friendship with her own Grandmother Ji, and out of deep love for San Ye. But this time, Madam Chen had crossed a sacred boundary. She had crossed the nursery line.

Four days after San Ye departed for the north, Jin Zhao woke to a beautiful, crisp morning in an exceptionally bright mood, having managed to sleep for two consecutive shíchén – a rare, absolute luxury for the mother of an infant. A-Ying’s nǎimā was performing her duties flawlessly, keeping the night feedings quiet and efficient, yet Jin Zhao’s maternal instincts always pulled her awake at the softest stirrings of her baby so she could rock her back to sleep whenever possible.

Jin Zhao dressed swiftly with the assistance of her lady's maid, right in time for Qing Pu to arrive with the latest correspondence from the frontier. San Ye’s letter was brief – likely scribbled during a hasty recess to water the cavalry horses – but it was filled with warmth, a deep longing for his favorite ladies, and firm promises to remain safe and return swiftly. Thoroughly satisfied, Jin Zhao kissed her sleeping beauty, gathered a few trade records she intended to review after her formal duties, and walked toward the Matriarch's central reception hall, making sure to arrive well before Madam Chen herself.

To her utter surprise, the Matriarch – the most notoriously not-a-morning-person Jin Zhao knew – was already seated in the main hall. Furthermore, she was joined by an unfamiliar lady seated prominently at the head of the room, directly beside Madam Chen. In the absence of the Chen masters, that specific seat of honor was legally reserved for the next highest-ranking family member: Jin Zhao. The fact that her designated seat had been casually offered to this stranger signified that the guest either possessed an immense imperial rank or shared a long personal history with the Matriarch. Given that Jin Zhao was intimately familiar with every powerful clan in the capital, the second option was far more likely – this was an old friend who had arrived in the ungodly, early hours of the morning.

Madam Chen was chirping away excitedly, entirely missing Jin Zhao’s entrance until the younger woman approached the dais to perform her filial bow and offer the morning tea. The Matriarch inclined her head regally, accepting the teacup only to set it aside without taking a single sip. A pity, Jin Zhao thought, it was an exquisite vintage recently procured for Linxia Studio.

"Gu Jin Zhao, pay your respects to Madam Lin," Madam Chen announced in a tone far too cheerful for the hour. "She is my oldest, most trusted confidante! Madam Lin, this is my daughter-in-law. The Grand Secretary married her nearly a year ago now."

Jin Zhao bowed with flawless etiquette, presenting a fresh cup of tea to the guest. Madam Lin nodded in tepid appreciation, her calculating gaze systematically inspecting Jin Zhao’s appearance.

"Pray tell," Madam Lin inquired, her high-pitched voice grating slightly against the morning quiet, "which of the Gu gentlemen is your father? I do not believe we have met, and I pride myself on knowing every noble lady of standing within the capital walls."

Before Jin Zhao could offer a measured reply, the Matriarch interjected with an almost apologetic wave of her hand. "Gu De Zhao is her father. Her maternal lineage is of the merchant class; she was not residing in the capital when you departed for your temporary seclusion and peaceful study in the mountain temple last year. She is... new."

Madam Lin nodded slowly along with the introduction, letting out a non-committal, throaty hum paired with a distinctly disappointed downward turn of her lips. Jin Zhao was entirely unaccustomed to being inspected like a prize filly at a horse market rather than a peer, but she chose to maintain her composure. She was still recovering from childbirth and recognized that her emotions were high-strung; perhaps she was merely hunting for contempt where none existed.

Taking her seat nearest to Madam Chen, Jin Zhao waited for the daily household instructions. The elderly women, however, paid her no further mind, diving back into a year’s worth of high-society gossip. As their conversation dissolved into useless blabber, Jin Zhao’s mind began to grow numb. She entertained herself by mentally drafting her daily to-do lists, eager to return to the nursery to hold her daughter, who had likely awakened by now.

Just as Jin Zhao prepared to rise gracefully to excuse herself – having remained for a highly respectable duration to satisfy the laws of filial piety – Madam Chen turned to her with renewed excitement.

"Madam Lin encountered many esteemed scholars and holy ascetics during her quiet cultivation," the Matriarch said smoothly. "She has offered to recommend a highly sought-after master to cast a fortune reading for Chen Xinying, so that we may share the auspicious charts with our social circle. Madam Lin stresses that it is absolutely necessary we execute this immediately, so we may ascertain what omens your daughter brings to our lineage, and determine if we must commission protection rituals for the estate. She notes that firstborn daughters frequently carry a highly volatile, difficult destiny for a noble clan – quite unlike the stability ensured had you managed to produce a male heir."

Jin Zhao nearly dropped back into her chair, held upright only by a sudden, seizing bolt of cold fury. This arrogant vixen actually dared to imply to her foolish, impressionable mother-in-law that newborn A-Ying might be a harbinger of doom simply because she was not born a boy? And Madam Chen was actually considering subjecting San Ye’s cherished firstborn to the archaic, predatory practice of birth-chart fortune telling – the very same corrupt custom that had nearly cost Jin Zhao her own future and freedom?

Madam Lin nodded assertively, smoothing the heavy silk of her sleeve. “As you well know, my dear friend, I have been blessed to grant my husband three sons, each of whom has brought honor to our line and carried our ancestral name with absolute dignity. Lest some unseen misfortune befall your own household in these uncertain times, I would be utterly devastated to know it was within my power to steer you right, yet I remained silent. Therefore, I must insist you allow me to introduce certain trusted masters to your courtyard. They will ensure your home is cleansed of stagnant energy, and firmly ward off any ill destiny that may already be lingering upon your threshold.”

She cast a pointed, lingering look at Jin Zhao, making it entirely clear to the room that the 'bad destiny' currently occupying the threshold was none other than the merchant-class daughter-in-law and her female child.

Jin Zhao was seeing absolute red. Behind her chair, Qing Pu let out a low, warning whimper; by all accounts, metaphorical smoke was practically billowing from her mistress's ears. For a brief, glorious moment, Jin Zhao considered throwing decorum to the wind and smacking the smug, patronizing expression right off the old woman's face – and Jin Zhao was historically famous for her remarkably effective slaps. However, the image of her husband’s high office and the profound dignity of the Chen name made her hesitate. She refused to grant this woman the satisfaction of proving her toxic assumptions right regarding Jin Zhao’s upbringing.

She was vastly superior to this woman and her entire mediocre clan. If her memory served her right, all three of the Lin masters, despite their maternal boasting, were utterly stagnant, unremarkable figures within the imperial bureaucracy. And this was the stellar template of 'good fortune' this old woman dared to brandish? The sheer audacity!

Jin Zhao exhaled slowly. Once. Twice. Three times. By the fifth exhale, when the two older women began to glance at her with a flicker of unease, Jin Zhao rose with picture-perfect grace, inclining her head by a fraction of an inch – the precise, calculated angle befitting the true lady of a Grand Secretary's household. She addressed her mother-in-law, ignoring the guest entirely.

"Mother, I must excuse myself to oversee the morning household accounts and return to my daughter. I shall attend to you during afternoon tea, where we may discuss the parameters of the fortune-reading ceremony. I shall require your wise guidance, as this is my firstborn and I admit I am entirely unfamiliar with the nuances of the custom." (Other than being cast out of my ancestral home because of it, Jin Zhao added silently and bitterly.)

Madam Chen blinked, slightly puzzled by her daughter-in-law’s entirely serene, compliant demeanor – she had clearly been bracing for a dramatic opposition, or at least some semblance of it. She inclined her head, dismissing her. Jin Zhao did not grace Madam Lin with a farewell glance, turning smoothly on her heel and exiting the hall.

The moment they reached the privacy of the outer corridor, Jin Zhao fired off a string of rapid, quiet instructions. Qing Pu nodded sharply, sprinting down a side corridor to set the gears of a counter-strategy into motion. Reaching the nursery doors, Jin Zhao paused, practicing a final breathing exercise, letting the sight of the familiar ornate wood calm her racing pulse. Her daughter, whom she had sworn to protect above all earthly things, was the only priority. For A-Ying, Jin Zhao would remain unshakeable, poised, and radiant. Calling up a warm, genuine smile to her lips, she slipped into the room to shower kisses onto the plump, rosy cheeks and tiny fingers of her beautiful child. Within these walls, life was perfect.

Seven days later, deep within the harsh confines of the northern frontier guard station where the imperial detachment was encamped, Chen Yan Yun received a confidential dispatch from his personal advisor. He had tasked the man with monitoring his estate – both through open administration and covert surveillance – to ensure no domestic hardships befell his family during his deployment. Chen Yan Yun knew Jin Zhao was more than capable of commanding an empire on her own, let alone a household, but a primal part of his soul required the tangible reassurance of a written report.

This time, his paranoia proved entirely justified.

According to Jiang Yan’s report, his mother – manipulated by an old friend who had recently emerged from who knows where and for who knows what reason – had proposed an immediate fortune-telling ritual for his daughter to ward off an imaginary threat of family misfortune. Appallingly, his mother had even utilized his current border deployment as leverage, arguing that the ceremony was desperately needed to protect his life from frontier dangers.

Yan Yun shuddered, an icy wave of anger washing over him as he realized the intense psychological pain this scheme must have inflicted on his wife, given her traumatic history with birth-chart manipulation. His brave, brilliant sunshine of a wife did not deserve to be forced into the trenches with the demons of her past entirely alone while simultaneously shielding their newborn – yet again.

He wanted, with a fierce desperation, to materialize beside her, to draw his power against this superstitious idiocy, and to lock his ladies safely within his arms. But geography was a resolute enemy; the courier scroll had taken seven days to reach his tent, and even if he rode his finest chargers to death, skipping sleep entirely, the return journey would require five days minimum. By then, it would be nearly two weeks since his mother had effectively authorized a ceremony to condemn his innocent child to the cruel imaginations of court charlatans. For a rare moment in his life, the Grand Secretary felt entirely useless.

The sole beacon of light in the text arrived in the final, single sentence penned by his advisor: “I believe, My Lord, that Your Lady has a plan.”

Despite the lingering worry, a slow smirk spread across Yan Yun’s face. His lady was on the field. If Jin Zhao could successfully mobilize the Great Dayan Army to aid his past campaigns, she could easily hold the line against his mother and every fraudulent star-reader in the capital. Jin Zhao simply did not know how to lose.

The tactical conversation between Chen ladies regarding the fortune-telling ceremony transpired the following afternoon within Madam Chen’s private quarters – and this time, the Matriarch actually drank her tea.

Jin Zhao entered carrying a stack of wood-bound texts and official registries, laying them out seamlessly before her mother-in-law. Madam Chen cast a curious, slightly weary look at the dense texts and raised a questioning brow, silently demanding her daughter-in-law explain the documents rather than forcing her to squint at the characters. In truth, Jin Zhao’s calligraphy was exceptionally crisp and beautiful, but the Dowager Madam fiercely refused to acknowledge that her eyesight was failing with age, consistently rejecting the use of reading glasses in public.

Maintaining a mask of picture-perfect poise and deferential obedience, Jin Zhao unrolled the first registry. "Mother, I took it upon myself to thoroughly investigate the most recommended fortune-telling practitioners within the capital, compiling their records for your esteemed review. This master," she indicated a character with a delicate finger, "was commissioned by the noble Gao clan to read their grandchild's destiny two weeks ago. And this master was personally selected by your dear friend, Lady Wu, to divine the fates of her three grandchildren..."

Jin Zhao continued to drone on, her tone rhythmic and entirely clinical as she listed names, dates, and familial lineages. As precisely engineered, with every consecutive reference added to the list, Madam Chen grew visibly restless, her fingers anxiously twisting the silk tassels of her robe. Eventually, her rising discomfort caught the attention of her head maid, who quietly stepped forward to offer a fresh cup of tea. Waving the servant away, the Matriarch leaned forward, her voice dropping to an anxious whine.

"Perhaps... could we not simply employ the specific master who cast the birth charts for Madam Lin’s sons? She gave him the highest praise and assured me he would attend our courtyard immediately upon her personal request."

Jin Zhao executed a flawless display of subtle distress, her eyes widening slightly as she leaned in closer, adopting a conspiratorial, hushed tone. "I have personally investigated that individual's history, Mother. With all due respect to Madam Lin’s recommendation... I am deeply concerned that our clan cannot afford to be associated with the types of fortunes he divines." She let out a heavy, theatrical sigh.

Madam Chen swallowed the gossip bait instantly, her eyes lighting up with alarm. "Why? What is wrong with his readings? She boasted that he guaranteed excellent fates for all three of her boys. The eldest is a civil official, is he not?"

Jin Zhao nodded solemnly. "Ah, yes. The First Master Lin is indeed a civil servant of the sixth rank, holding the post of Deputy Director of Bureaucracy within the Ministry of Rites. I am certain his career will stabilize... the moment the current scandal settles." She purposely left the sentence hanging in the air.

The Matriarch gasped. "A scandal? What manner of scandal?"

Jin Zhao pressed her lips together, mimicking profound sympathy for the Lin family's hardship. "Gambling, I’m afraid. He has accumulated a staggering mountain of debt."

Jin Zhao exaggerated the parameters slightly; while the eldest Lin son had indeed lost a substantial sum of silver at the tables, such vices were common among the capital's elite and rarely led to ruin. However, given his official capacity within the strictly moral Ministry of Rites, the unseemly nature of the debt made it a potent weapon.

Madam Chen let out a series of disapproving clicks against her teeth, her expression souring as she pressed further down the lineage. "And what of the other sons? Do they not enjoy the magnificent destinies Madam Lin spoke so mightily about?"

Jin Zhao smoothly supplied the intelligence Qing Pu had unearthed over the course of a single night. "Well, the Second Master Lin has achieved a commendable rank, serving as the fifth-rank Vice Magistrate of the Capital Prefecture. Regrettably, his demanding administrative duties leave him with no time to manage his private quarters. His wife is notoriously bored and has taken to entertaining a rotating court of handsome young gentlemen within her inner courtyard."

Jin Zhao felt a fleeting prickle of distaste for exposing the laundry of the unfortunate Vice Magistrate, but these were dire circumstances. The infidelity within the Lin estate was an open secret among the capital’s high-society inner circles; she was simply stunned her mother-in-law, the self-appointed chief gossiper of the quarter, had failed to connect the dots herself.

At the heavy pause, Madam Chen’s face flushed with sudden realization as she recollected the whispers she had previously dismissed. She swallowed her next question entirely.

Jin Zhao was relieved she didn't have to fabricate any ill reports regarding the final sibling; the Lin family had managed to raise one genuinely decent man despite his mother's disposition. "The Third Master Lin is a vanguard officer within the imperial cavalry. He commands immense respect from his superiors and has fought valiantly on the northern frontiers for years."

The Matriarch nodded slowly. A military career was undoubtedly honorable, but she knew all too well that a vanguard officer’s life expectancy was incredibly brief, hanging by a thread with every nomadic skirmish. It was a perilous, terrifying fate – one she would never wish upon a son of her own bloodline. It hardly qualified as the 'flawless good fortune' Madam Lin had advertised.

Jin Zhao seamlessly steered the conversation back to the ledger spread before them. "Therefore, Mother, which of these alternative masters do you propose we invite into the estate? Perhaps the one recommended by Lady Wu?"

Forced to confront the choices directly, Madam Chen lowered her voice to a shamed, anxious whisper. "I think... I am uncertain. But rumors suggest Lady Wu paid that particular master a massive bribe to manufacture an auspicious reading for her grandchildren. We cannot possibly trust the integrity of his sight."

Jin Zhao feigned a look of comedic, aristocratic horror. "Heavens! That is truly unseemly. Then should we consider this master?" She pointed to the next name. "Is he known for his virtue and clear sight?"

Madam Chen squinted at the ink, her lips quivering with immediate disgust. "Absolutely not. That charlatan presented himself at the Chao Residence and all but demanded a hefty tribute. He openly threatened that if they did not meet his price, he would publish a catastrophic, cursed reading for their newborn son throughout the capital's tea houses! Five hundred silver taels for his silence! Outrageous extortion!"

This time Jin Zhao didn’t have to fake it; she was genuinely surprised by that piece of data. Financial transactions regarding fortune tellers were nothing new to her – she routinely hired them to circulate auspicious rumors regarding feng shui to ensure her new commercial properties attracted wealthy clientele and steered public opinion to her benefit. That was a perfectly legitimate use of the trade, but she had not realized the baseline rate for aristocratic blackmail had risen so sharply. You live, you learn.

The Matriarch chewed her lip, her anxiety mounting as she looked for an escape. "Perhaps... could we not simply incentivize one of these holy masters ourselves? That is to say, with our resources..."

Jin Zhao closed the trap with utmost precision. "Oh, Mother, we cannot possibly entertain such a risk! If a whisper of such bribery ever leaked to the censorate, think of what would become of San Ye’s spotless political reputation. To be caught purchasing a fraudulent birth chart for his own daughter? The Ministry of Justice would have his head. No, it absolutely will not do."

In reality, the court would hardly blink if the wife of a Grand Secretary threw silver around to secure household peace. But the older woman looked thoroughly terrified, which was the exact psychological state Jin Zhao required. She delivered the final blow: "And what would we do if these charlatans returned year after year, demanding endless blackmail to maintain their silence?"

Madam Chen hung her head, completely defeated. "Oh, the unending trouble of it all..." Then, a desperate spark returned to her eyes. "But she is merely a daughter! We can afford to take the risk. How catastrophic can a female reading truly be? We can always commission warding rituals after the fact!"

Jin Zhao’s teeth clicked together, her voice dropping to a low, icy hiss that cut through the room. "In my own youth, when my father’s concubine paid a corrupt practitioner to attach a dark omen to my birth chart, I was banished from my ancestral home and sent to live in isolation with Grandmother Ji. Years later, it had required a grueling investigation to uncover the bribery before I was permitted to return to society."

She intentionally altered the chronological sequence of her past trauma for maximum dramatic effect, driving the emotional dagger home. Yet, instead of the maternal empathy one would expect following such a heavy confession, Madam Chen merely offered a dismissive, calculated response "Yes, but our lineage is vastly more secure than the Gu household. I am certain our family could easily manage Chen Xinying's relocation if the charts demand it."

To a Matriarch operating purely on the cold mathematics of clan survival, an isolated daughter was a minor, entirely acceptable sacrifice to preserve the wider peace. But, as a mother to her son, she should have known better. She should have known that San Ye would sooner tear the imperial capital down stone by stone before allowing his family to be fractured by the figments of a charlatan’s imagination. Jin Zhao realized, not for the first time, how fundamentally different the emotional landscape of the Chen family was compared to the unconditional love she had known under the Ji roof. San Ye had never been truly cherished in his youth, and she was fiercely resolved to provide him with a family that would fight to remain by his side – even if that meant fighting his own mother.

Suppressing her profound disappointment, Jin Zhao pivoted, offering a new, terrifying trajectory to the narrative. "And what if such a precedent is set now, Mother? What happens when I bear our future sons? What then?"

Madam Chen dismissed the notion immediately. "Impossible! No practitioner would ever dare assign a malignant fate to the male heirs of the Grand Secretary!"

Ah, there it is, Jin Zhao thought. The classic, unshakeable Madam Chen snobbery.

Playing along seamlessly, Jin Zhao widened her eyes in deep anxiety. "But Mother, San Ye’s high office is precisely why I am terrified! His political rivals within the court would pay an absolute king's ransom to attach a dark omen to our sons' lineages, or simply spread whispers that our bloodline carries a curse. No matter how deep our vaults are, we cannot outbribe the capital wealth."

Madam Chen chewed her lip raw, her confidence evaporating. "Perhaps... perhaps we shall simply skip the ritual for your future sons entirely..."

Jin Zhao immediately blocked the exit, her voice heavy with manufactured despair. "That would violate all decorum, Mother. If we hold a grand ceremony for A-Ying now, high society will surely anticipate and demand an even grander reading for any sons I bear. The sons of the Grand Secretary – the entire court will be watching with bated breath."

To sell the performance, Jin Zhao allowed her hands to tremble, looking down at her lap with a fragile, broken posture. She bit her lip and sighed heavily, though she failed to summon actual tears. "I must practice my theatrical flair in the mirror later", she noted internally.

While Jin Zhao calculated her future acting endeavors, Madam Chen was locked in a fierce internal conflict. Finally, slamming her hand onto the table, she made her final decision. "I have decided! We shall skip the ritual entirely. No, we shall make it a public point of pride that the Chen clan skips such archaic practices, entrusting our family’s destiny directly to the gods above, rather than earthly star-readers! Yes, that is the path we will take! I have decreed it!"

Jin Zhao expertly masked her victorious smile behind a look of profound, filial awe. "Oh, Mother, what a remarkably elegant, wise resolution. I am incredibly fortunate to have your brilliant mind to steer our household right. With your permission, I shall ensure this directive is appropriately circulated across our elite social circles immediately, squashing any expectations of a ceremony before the gossip can take root."

In truth, high society gave absolutely no thought to whether the Chen family held the ceremony; San Ye was famously a man of modern rationality who despised superstitious clutter. But the narrative felt perfect in this moment, so Jin Zhao ran with it.

"As for Madam Lin’s advice..." Jin Zhao added softly.

The Matriarch cut her off with a dismissive, regal hand gesture. "I shall deal with Old Lady Lin myself; do not trouble your mind, child. Attend to your duties, and ensure someone delivers those delicious date cakes from Linxia Studio to my chambers. I find myself craving their sweetness fiercely this morning."

Jin Zhao withdrew with a deep, respectful bow, immediately instructing the servants to fetch her mother-in-law a spread of refined, naturally honey-sweetened delicacies that would satisfy her cravings without agitating her health – hoping the food would silence her 'brilliant' ideas for at least a week.

Crisis thoroughly averted, Jin Zhao returned to her daily duties, her daughter, and her vast responsibilities as Lady of the Chen estate. Ah, life, she thought, so beautifully unpredictable, yet so remarkably entertaining. She felt an immense urge to write a letter to the northern garrison and recount this entire battle of wits to San Ye, for he was the only man capable of truly appreciating the strategic brilliance of her maneuvers. But she quickly checked the impulse. Her husband’s relationship with his mother was built on a fragile foundation of detached filial piety, and she had no desire to strain it further. Better to let her Grand Secretary focus on his frontier campaign; Jin Zhao would command the home front. She had this completely under control.

Back in the quiet, candle-lit depths of the Wenyuan Library, Yan Yun let out a soft, echoing laugh at the memory of his wife’s historic victory. He finished tracing the final stroke of his chosen characters, blowing gently across the pristine parchment to dry the fresh ink.

He had chosen Chen Yihan. Yi for resolute, unyielding fortitude; Han to contain a quiet, broad-minded ocean of wisdom. It was a name of true, unshakeable substance – a perfect reflection of the unique, natural partnership that governed their household, completely absent of the hollow flattery manufactured by the capital.

At his core, Chen Yan Yun was a peaceful man who preferred to secure his goals through proper diplomacy and quiet politics. He had no intention of storming into the Ministry of Rites to brand them a collection of undignified fools; he was simply going to take a page from his wife's playbook and employ absolute finesse. She would undoubtedly label his planned approach as 'tricks,' but Yan Yun was not hung up on vocabulary. Whatever worked, worked.

The following morning, during a brief intermission between intensive court sessions, the Grand Secretary casually adjusted the heavy silk of his official robes and walked past a cluster of trustworthy, highly strategic officials within the naming ministry. With a practiced, invisible flick of his long sleeve, the small slip of paper containing his researched characters was seamlessly slid into the correct hands.

A day later, the Ministry of Rites officially and "impartially" presented the name Chen Yihan to the throne during a formal assembly with Chen Yan Yun in attendance. The Emperor praised the poetic elegance of the text and the sheer cosmic alignment of the characters. Chen Yan Yun graciously stepped forward, accepting the bestowed name with a perfectly straight and humble face.

When the official imperial decree was brought back to the estate, the easily swayed Madam Chen was utterly charmed by the sublime beauty of the characters. She immediately seized the scroll and carried it directly to her elite tea circles, loudly boasting to the noble ladies of the capital regarding the immense ancestral virtue of the Chen clan – arguing with absolute conviction that their family's cosmic merit was so vast, the Ministry of Rites had been divinely inspired to produce a flawless masterpiece of a name on their very first attempt.

In the peaceful, sunlit courtyard of the Chen estate, little A-Han slept soundly within his cradle. Nearby, two-and-a-half-year-old A-Ying ran joyful circles around the garden pond, chasing spotted butterflies, entirely safe from political sabotage. Jin Zhao stepped out onto the wooden veranda, handing her husband a freshly sliced, crisp pear as he watched their children play.

"San Ye," she murmured, her eyes dancing with mischievous, brilliant amusement. "I dare suggest the Ministry of Rites is exceptionally proud of their independent, unprompted wisdom."

Yan Yun took a small bite of the fruit, a rare, boyish smirk breaking through his usually impenetrable Grand Secretary facade. "The imperial bureaucracy works with absolute perfection, my love. One simply has to provide the proper guidance."

The Wenyuan Library was supposed to be a sanctuary of imperial history – both the past already recorded and the one currently in the making, a place of great endeavors executed in the name of an even greater nation. Alas, tonight the Grand Secretary, Chen Yan Yun, was less concerned with the affairs of said great state and far more preoccupied with using the space to hide from unsolicited interference. Specifically, the urge to commit direct physical violence against any number of his so-called esteemed colleagues.

Chen Yan Yun sat beneath the dimming candlelight of his private study, massaging the bridge of his nose. Spread across his mahogany desk was an official scroll from the Ministry of Rites and Clan Affairs. As Grand Secretary of the Hall of Central Extreme, the entire imperial bureaucracy fell under his duty of care, yet he felt a distinct sense of his shortcoming for having failed to imprint any semblance of professional integrity onto his subordinates. Specifically, those overseeing the seemingly simple, scholastic task of suggesting names for newborns. Specifically, his own newborn son.

When A-Ying was born, the Chen family had followed the standard, time-honored approach: officially informing the Ministry of their joyful news and humbly requesting their guidance to select a name that befit the stature and history of their lineage. Be it by divine intervention or sheer luck, the Ministry had returned with Chen Xinying – a beautiful, hopeful name, perfectly fit for the miracle of her birth following the darkest period of their lives. Chen Yan Yun had accepted the offering with genuine gratitude and happily added his firstborn to the family tree.

But in the months and years that followed, something changed imperceptibly – and most likely, it was entirely Chen Yan Yun’s fault.

For one, he had ascended to Grand Secretary of the Hall of Central Extreme and Grand Preceptor to the Crown Prince. Those who worked alongside him, and even those who worked against him, recognized that these titles were forged from Chen Yan Yun’s relentless hard work and merit. But those looking into the dimly lit world of court politics from the outside saw only the most obvious veneer: that he was the youngest person on record to hold such high office. To them, it was a blatant sign of the Emperor’s supreme favor, marking him as a man destined to rise evermore in power and influence. It was not at all clear to Yan Yun what further power he could possibly hold when the only individual above him was the Emperor himself – and he certainly did not want that job. Still, a palpable cloud of envy and sycophancy followed him wherever he walked, and he simply had to live with it.

The other blameworthy factor was the sheer scale of the reforms his office had launched across the empire, backed by the full support of the Emperor and like-minded ministers. Lessons carved from previous political failures and the meticulous records left by Fu Hai Lian had taught them that certain surgical changes had to be executed all at once, sparing the nation the prolonged, gradual pains of a drawn-out transition. Thus, the master plan of reform unfolded like a wide, colorful fan, sweeping through trade guilds, production lines, land rights, harvest taxes, and even foreign diplomacy.

Naturally, this required an immense mobilization of government manpower. At its peak, officials were reassigned overnight because their specialized skills were desperately needed elsewhere – and no one knew if the next sudden directive would land on their own desk tomorrow. It had been an administrative nightmare for Chen Yan Yun, but after countless sleepless nights spent over personnel records – complemented by insightful advice from Jin Zhao, whose vast experience running skills-based enterprises proved invaluable – he had made those chaotic organizational charts make sense.

The dust had finally settled over the government quarter. The brain drain was still glaringly obvious in certain ministries, but the Grand Secretary hoped those structural gaps were merely temporary, destined to be filled naturally by the fresh crop of young scholars emerging from the next round of imperial examinations.

Apparently, he had been overly optimistic. Either the crop was exceptionally thin, or the Ministry of Rites and Clan Affairs had taken it upon themselves to recruit individuals skilled in one discipline alone: servility.

Either way, as the man who had caused the mass exodus of seasoned officials to more critical posts – and the one who had created that structural need in the first place – Chen Yan Yun knew the blame for this current absurdity would land squarely on his shoulders. His fiercely intelligent wife would undoubtedly connect the exact same dots. Therefore, he needed to neutralize the situation before it ever reached her courtyard. With how fast she’d acquired information, he had precious little time to do so.

The emergency at hand, which kept the Grand Secretary huddled in his private study long past midnight, was his newborn son’s name. This should have been a standard academic exercise for the Ministry: providing an elegant, traditionally compliant name for the male heir of a noble house. The task had gone without a hitch the first time, had it not?

Oh, no. Not this time.

From what he could gather from the scrolls unrolled across his desk, the court scholars – desperate to secure favor with the most powerful man in the dynasty besides the Emperor – had turned a sacred cultural tradition into a circus of shameless flattery.

Chen Yan Yun looked down at the list of proposed names and winced. Chen Tianyou, which translated grandiosely to "God-Given Savior of the Nation," implying the infant was a divine messiah dropped from the heavens to rescue the realm. Rescue it from what? Next was Chen Shengde, or "Paragon of Supreme Virtue and Divinity," a name so aggressively righteous it read like an inscription on a living temple monument. And finally, Chen Guodong – "The Divine Pillar of the Realm's Destiny."

"He is two weeks old," Yan Yun muttered to the shadowed rafters, his voice dripping with dry exasperation. "Currently, his exploits are limited to crying, sleeping, and soiling his swaddling clothes. Then repeating the cycle. He is not a divine monument."

The absolute hypocrisy of these people! Disgruntled scholars who whispered to anyone willing to listen that Chen Yan Yun was 'too young' to carry the weight of the nation – defining 'too young' by the fact that Chen Yan Yun, at thirty-two, was the same age or younger than many of his subordinates – now wished to burden his infinitely younger infant son with the cosmic responsibilities of a 'paragon,' a 'pillar,' and a 'savior.' The irony was staggering.

Refusing to let his son become a political caricature before the boy could even lift his own head, Chen Yan Yun pushed the ridiculous scrolls aside. He called out to his personal manservant, ordering a steaming bowl of bird’s nest soup laced with imperial ginseng, to be followed by a fresh pot of whisked Wuyi rock tea and the jujube and walnut cakes his wife had introduced to him years ago. That particular combination of high-energy sustenance caffeine ought to carry him through the dawn. He had a war to wage. If the bureaucracy refused to provide the diligence and meaning he required, the Grand Secretary would simply outsmart the bureaucracy.

Chen Yan Yun dipped his brush into the fresh ink, pulled a stack of classical poetry texts toward his ledger, and went to work...

This was not the first time the Chen household had been forced to deploy high-level tactical maneuvers for the sake of their nursery. In fact, the precedent had been set two and a half years prior, only a month after the birth of their daughter, A-Ying.

At the time, Chen Yan Yun had been urgently summoned to the northern borders to command a semi-military campaign aimed at eradicating the volatile, lingering remnants of the Chunyuan Sect, which had managed to rally its strength one final time. Normally, such an expedition would not require the personal deployment of a high-ranking civil official – as his wife kept reminding him in a thoroughly disgruntled tone, with heavy emphasis on the word 'civil' – but it was a specially delicate political crisis. Because Chen Yan Yun held the vital intelligence required to safely neutralize the rising threat, he had no choice but to manage the frontier containment personally.

Before his departure, Yan Yun had promised a worried Jin Zhao repeatedly that he would return in one piece, emphasizing that this frontier excursion carried none of the mortal dangers of their past. Eventually, she conducted her own overt intelligence gathering to verify the threat level and the support level – and Qing Pu was immensely pleased to confirm to her mistress that Lord Chen had the full, crushing might of the newly minted Ye Sword Guard at his back. This elite twenty-thousand-man legion was the reformed, fiercely loyal heart of the old Ye Army, meticulously rebuilt by Yan Yun to honor the late Marquis's military merits and ensure his former rival's ultimate battlefield sacrifice was never forgotten by the empire. Reassured by their strength, Jin Zhao finally made peace with the deployment and sent her still-very-civilian husband off to his military campaign. She silently wondered if there would ever come a day when she could stop cataloging new scars on his gorgeous body. Oh, well... at least her San Ye would permanently eliminate the danger, ensuring their daughter would never grow up in a world where her future and freedom were left unpromised.

Poor, naive Jin Zhao.

Little did she know, the true danger was lurking much closer to home. It did not take the shape of a grand political conspiracy (boring), a cut-throat business battle (bring it on!), or even the standard domestic malice of evil-eyed concubines (of which their loving monogamous estate had none). No, this time, the threat emerged from within the inner courts – from her very own mother-in-law.

As San Ye had honestly told her soon after their wedding, his mother was fundamentally not a bad person. Snobbish, yes; prone to excessive gossip to dispel her aristocratic boredom, definitely; but malicious, no. However, he had conveniently forgotten to mention that she was also a shameless cheat at the mahjong table (and a terribly clumsy one at that), an impossibly picky eater, and resolutely not a morning person – why the woman insisted on mandatory morning greeting rituals when they clearly pained her more than anyone else in the family remained entirely beyond Jin Zhao’s comprehension. Above all else, the Dowager Madam Chen was exceptionally fragile in the face of societal expectations, high-society trends, and rigid traditions. Sometimes her obsession manifested as a sudden journey to a fashionable new tea house for ginseng cakes she wouldn't even eat; other times, it involved resurrecting an obscure, long-abandoned ritual simply because Lady Wu, a great friend to the Empress Dowager, was practicing it. And it was always demanded 'just because I said so – and immediately!'

Jin Zhao usually made a conscious effort to indulge the Chen Matriarch, out of profound respect for the woman’s lifelong friendship with her own Grandmother Ji, and out of deep love for San Ye. But this time, Madam Chen had crossed a sacred boundary. She had crossed the nursery line.

Four days after San Ye departed for the north, Jin Zhao woke to a beautiful, crisp morning in an exceptionally bright mood, having managed to sleep for two consecutive shíchén – a rare, absolute luxury for the mother of an infant. A-Ying’s nǎimā was performing her duties flawlessly, keeping the night feedings quiet and efficient, yet Jin Zhao’s maternal instincts always pulled her awake at the softest stirrings of her baby so she could rock her back to sleep whenever possible.

Jin Zhao dressed swiftly with the assistance of her lady's maid, right in time for Qing Pu to arrive with the latest correspondence from the frontier. San Ye’s letter was brief – likely scribbled during a hasty recess to water the cavalry horses – but it was filled with warmth, a deep longing for his favorite ladies, and firm promises to remain safe and return swiftly. Thoroughly satisfied, Jin Zhao kissed her sleeping beauty, gathered a few trade records she intended to review after her formal duties, and walked toward the Matriarch's central reception hall, making sure to arrive well before Madam Chen herself.

To her utter surprise, the Matriarch – the most notoriously not-a-morning-person Jin Zhao knew – was already seated in the main hall. Furthermore, she was joined by an unfamiliar lady seated prominently at the head of the room, directly beside Madam Chen. In the absence of the Chen masters, that specific seat of honor was legally reserved for the next highest-ranking family member: Jin Zhao. The fact that her designated seat had been casually offered to this stranger signified that the guest either possessed an immense imperial rank or shared a long personal history with the Matriarch. Given that Jin Zhao was intimately familiar with every powerful clan in the capital, the second option was far more likely – this was an old friend who had arrived in the ungodly, early hours of the morning.

Madam Chen was chirping away excitedly, entirely missing Jin Zhao’s entrance until the younger woman approached the dais to perform her filial bow and offer the morning tea. The Matriarch inclined her head regally, accepting the teacup only to set it aside without taking a single sip. A pity, Jin Zhao thought, it was an exquisite vintage recently procured for Linxia Studio.

"Gu Jin Zhao, pay your respects to Madam Lin," Madam Chen announced in a tone far too cheerful for the hour. "She is my oldest, most trusted confidante! Madam Lin, this is my daughter-in-law. The Grand Secretary married her nearly a year ago now."

Jin Zhao bowed with flawless etiquette, presenting a fresh cup of tea to the guest. Madam Lin nodded in tepid appreciation, her calculating gaze systematically inspecting Jin Zhao’s appearance.

"Pray tell," Madam Lin inquired, her high-pitched voice grating slightly against the morning quiet, "which of the Gu gentlemen is your father? I do not believe we have met, and I pride myself on knowing every noble lady of standing within the capital walls."

Before Jin Zhao could offer a measured reply, the Matriarch interjected with an almost apologetic wave of her hand. "Gu De Zhao is her father. Her maternal lineage is of the merchant class; she was not residing in the capital when you departed for your temporary seclusion and peaceful study in the mountain temple last year. She is... new."

Madam Lin nodded slowly along with the introduction, letting out a non-committal, throaty hum paired with a distinctly disappointed downward turn of her lips. Jin Zhao was entirely unaccustomed to being inspected like a prize filly at a horse market rather than a peer, but she chose to maintain her composure. She was still recovering from childbirth and recognized that her emotions were high-strung; perhaps she was merely hunting for contempt where none existed.

Taking her seat nearest to Madam Chen, Jin Zhao waited for the daily household instructions. The elderly women, however, paid her no further mind, diving back into a year’s worth of high-society gossip. As their conversation dissolved into useless blabber, Jin Zhao’s mind began to grow numb. She entertained herself by mentally drafting her daily to-do lists, eager to return to the nursery to hold her daughter, who had likely awakened by now.

Just as Jin Zhao prepared to rise gracefully to excuse herself – having remained for a highly respectable duration to satisfy the laws of filial piety – Madam Chen turned to her with renewed excitement.

"Madam Lin encountered many esteemed scholars and holy ascetics during her quiet cultivation," the Matriarch said smoothly. "She has offered to recommend a highly sought-after master to cast a fortune reading for Chen Xinying, so that we may share the auspicious charts with our social circle. Madam Lin stresses that it is absolutely necessary we execute this immediately, so we may ascertain what omens your daughter brings to our lineage, and determine if we must commission protection rituals for the estate. She notes that firstborn daughters frequently carry a highly volatile, difficult destiny for a noble clan – quite unlike the stability ensured had you managed to produce a male heir."

Jin Zhao nearly dropped back into her chair, held upright only by a sudden, seizing bolt of cold fury. This arrogant vixen actually dared to imply to her foolish, impressionable mother-in-law that newborn A-Ying might be a harbinger of doom simply because she was not born a boy? And Madam Chen was actually considering subjecting San Ye’s cherished firstborn to the archaic, predatory practice of birth-chart fortune telling – the very same corrupt custom that had nearly cost Jin Zhao her own future and freedom?

Madam Lin nodded assertively, smoothing the heavy silk of her sleeve. “As you well know, my dear friend, I have been blessed to grant my husband three sons, each of whom has brought honor to our line and carried our ancestral name with absolute dignity. Lest some unseen misfortune befall your own household in these uncertain times, I would be utterly devastated to know it was within my power to steer you right, yet I remained silent. Therefore, I must insist you allow me to introduce certain trusted masters to your courtyard. They will ensure your home is cleansed of stagnant energy, and firmly ward off any ill destiny that may already be lingering upon your threshold.”

She cast a pointed, lingering look at Jin Zhao, making it entirely clear to the room that the 'bad destiny' currently occupying the threshold was none other than the merchant-class daughter-in-law and her female child.

Jin Zhao was seeing absolute red. Behind her chair, Qing Pu let out a low, warning whimper; by all accounts, metaphorical smoke was practically billowing from her mistress's ears. For a brief, glorious moment, Jin Zhao considered throwing decorum to the wind and smacking the smug, patronizing expression right off the old woman's face – and Jin Zhao was historically famous for her remarkably effective slaps. However, the image of her husband’s high office and the profound dignity of the Chen name made her hesitate. She refused to grant this woman the satisfaction of proving her toxic assumptions right regarding Jin Zhao’s upbringing.

She was vastly superior to this woman and her entire mediocre clan. If her memory served her right, all three of the Lin masters, despite their maternal boasting, were utterly stagnant, unremarkable figures within the imperial bureaucracy. And this was the stellar template of 'good fortune' this old woman dared to brandish? The sheer audacity!

Jin Zhao exhaled slowly. Once. Twice. Three times. By the fifth exhale, when the two older women began to glance at her with a flicker of unease, Jin Zhao rose with picture-perfect grace, inclining her head by a fraction of an inch – the precise, calculated angle befitting the true lady of a Grand Secretary's household. She addressed her mother-in-law, ignoring the guest entirely.

"Mother, I must excuse myself to oversee the morning household accounts and return to my daughter. I shall attend to you during afternoon tea, where we may discuss the parameters of the fortune-reading ceremony. I shall require your wise guidance, as this is my firstborn and I admit I am entirely unfamiliar with the nuances of the custom." (Other than being cast out of my ancestral home because of it, Jin Zhao added silently and bitterly.)

Madam Chen blinked, slightly puzzled by her daughter-in-law’s entirely serene, compliant demeanor – she had clearly been bracing for a dramatic opposition, or at least some semblance of it. She inclined her head, dismissing her. Jin Zhao did not grace Madam Lin with a farewell glance, turning smoothly on her heel and exiting the hall.

The moment they reached the privacy of the outer corridor, Jin Zhao fired off a string of rapid, quiet instructions. Qing Pu nodded sharply, sprinting down a side corridor to set the gears of a counter-strategy into motion. Reaching the nursery doors, Jin Zhao paused, practicing a final breathing exercise, letting the sight of the familiar ornate wood calm her racing pulse. Her daughter, whom she had sworn to protect above all earthly things, was the only priority. For A-Ying, Jin Zhao would remain unshakeable, poised, and radiant. Calling up a warm, genuine smile to her lips, she slipped into the room to shower kisses onto the plump, rosy cheeks and tiny fingers of her beautiful child. Within these walls, life was perfect.

Seven days later, deep within the harsh confines of the northern frontier guard station where the imperial detachment was encamped, Chen Yan Yun received a confidential dispatch from his personal advisor. He had tasked the man with monitoring his estate – both through open administration and covert surveillance – to ensure no domestic hardships befell his family during his deployment. Chen Yan Yun knew Jin Zhao was more than capable of commanding an empire on her own, let alone a household, but a primal part of his soul required the tangible reassurance of a written report.

This time, his paranoia proved entirely justified.

According to Jiang Yan’s report, his mother – manipulated by an old friend who had recently emerged from who knows where and for who knows what reason – had proposed an immediate fortune-telling ritual for his daughter to ward off an imaginary threat of family misfortune. Appallingly, his mother had even utilized his current border deployment as leverage, arguing that the ceremony was desperately needed to protect his life from frontier dangers.

Yan Yun shuddered, an icy wave of anger washing over him as he realized the intense psychological pain this scheme must have inflicted on his wife, given her traumatic history with birth-chart manipulation. His brave, brilliant sunshine of a wife did not deserve to be forced into the trenches with the demons of her past entirely alone while simultaneously shielding their newborn – yet again.

He wanted, with a fierce desperation, to materialize beside her, to draw his power against this superstitious idiocy, and to lock his ladies safely within his arms. But geography was a resolute enemy; the courier scroll had taken seven days to reach his tent, and even if he rode his finest chargers to death, skipping sleep entirely, the return journey would require five days minimum. By then, it would be nearly two weeks since his mother had effectively authorized a ceremony to condemn his innocent child to the cruel imaginations of court charlatans. For a rare moment in his life, the Grand Secretary felt entirely useless.

The sole beacon of light in the text arrived in the final, single sentence penned by his advisor: “I believe, My Lord, that Your Lady has a plan.”

Despite the lingering worry, a slow smirk spread across Yan Yun’s face. His lady was on the field. If Jin Zhao could successfully mobilize the Great Dayan Army to aid his past campaigns, she could easily hold the line against his mother and every fraudulent star-reader in the capital. Jin Zhao simply did not know how to lose.

The tactical conversation between Chen ladies regarding the fortune-telling ceremony transpired the following afternoon within Madam Chen’s private quarters – and this time, the Matriarch actually drank her tea.

Jin Zhao entered carrying a stack of wood-bound texts and official registries, laying them out seamlessly before her mother-in-law. Madam Chen cast a curious, slightly weary look at the dense texts and raised a questioning brow, silently demanding her daughter-in-law explain the documents rather than forcing her to squint at the characters. In truth, Jin Zhao’s calligraphy was exceptionally crisp and beautiful, but the Dowager Madam fiercely refused to acknowledge that her eyesight was failing with age, consistently rejecting the use of reading glasses in public.

Maintaining a mask of picture-perfect poise and deferential obedience, Jin Zhao unrolled the first registry. "Mother, I took it upon myself to thoroughly investigate the most recommended fortune-telling practitioners within the capital, compiling their records for your esteemed review. This master," she indicated a character with a delicate finger, "was commissioned by the noble Gao clan to read their grandchild's destiny two weeks ago. And this master was personally selected by your dear friend, Lady Wu, to divine the fates of her three grandchildren..."

Jin Zhao continued to drone on, her tone rhythmic and entirely clinical as she listed names, dates, and familial lineages. As precisely engineered, with every consecutive reference added to the list, Madam Chen grew visibly restless, her fingers anxiously twisting the silk tassels of her robe. Eventually, her rising discomfort caught the attention of her head maid, who quietly stepped forward to offer a fresh cup of tea. Waving the servant away, the Matriarch leaned forward, her voice dropping to an anxious whine.

"Perhaps... could we not simply employ the specific master who cast the birth charts for Madam Lin’s sons? She gave him the highest praise and assured me he would attend our courtyard immediately upon her personal request."

Jin Zhao executed a flawless display of subtle distress, her eyes widening slightly as she leaned in closer, adopting a conspiratorial, hushed tone. "I have personally investigated that individual's history, Mother. With all due respect to Madam Lin’s recommendation... I am deeply concerned that our clan cannot afford to be associated with the types of fortunes he divines." She let out a heavy, theatrical sigh.

Madam Chen swallowed the gossip bait instantly, her eyes lighting up with alarm. "Why? What is wrong with his readings? She boasted that he guaranteed excellent fates for all three of her boys. The eldest is a civil official, is he not?"

Jin Zhao nodded solemnly. "Ah, yes. The First Master Lin is indeed a civil servant of the sixth rank, holding the post of Deputy Director of Bureaucracy within the Ministry of Rites. I am certain his career will stabilize... the moment the current scandal settles." She purposely left the sentence hanging in the air.

The Matriarch gasped. "A scandal? What manner of scandal?"

Jin Zhao pressed her lips together, mimicking profound sympathy for the Lin family's hardship. "Gambling, I’m afraid. He has accumulated a staggering mountain of debt."

Jin Zhao exaggerated the parameters slightly; while the eldest Lin son had indeed lost a substantial sum of silver at the tables, such vices were common among the capital's elite and rarely led to ruin. However, given his official capacity within the strictly moral Ministry of Rites, the unseemly nature of the debt made it a potent weapon.

Madam Chen let out a series of disapproving clicks against her teeth, her expression souring as she pressed further down the lineage. "And what of the other sons? Do they not enjoy the magnificent destinies Madam Lin spoke so mightily about?"

Jin Zhao smoothly supplied the intelligence Qing Pu had unearthed over the course of a single night. "Well, the Second Master Lin has achieved a commendable rank, serving as the fifth-rank Vice Magistrate of the Capital Prefecture. Regrettably, his demanding administrative duties leave him with no time to manage his private quarters. His wife is notoriously bored and has taken to entertaining a rotating court of handsome young gentlemen within her inner courtyard."

Jin Zhao felt a fleeting prickle of distaste for exposing the laundry of the unfortunate Vice Magistrate, but these were dire circumstances. The infidelity within the Lin estate was an open secret among the capital’s high-society inner circles; she was simply stunned her mother-in-law, the self-appointed chief gossiper of the quarter, had failed to connect the dots herself.

At the heavy pause, Madam Chen’s face flushed with sudden realization as she recollected the whispers she had previously dismissed. She swallowed her next question entirely.

Jin Zhao was relieved she didn't have to fabricate any ill reports regarding the final sibling; the Lin family had managed to raise one genuinely decent man despite his mother's disposition. "The Third Master Lin is a vanguard officer within the imperial cavalry. He commands immense respect from his superiors and has fought valiantly on the northern frontiers for years."

The Matriarch nodded slowly. A military career was undoubtedly honorable, but she knew all too well that a vanguard officer’s life expectancy was incredibly brief, hanging by a thread with every nomadic skirmish. It was a perilous, terrifying fate – one she would never wish upon a son of her own bloodline. It hardly qualified as the 'flawless good fortune' Madam Lin had advertised.

Jin Zhao seamlessly steered the conversation back to the ledger spread before them. "Therefore, Mother, which of these alternative masters do you propose we invite into the estate? Perhaps the one recommended by Lady Wu?"

Forced to confront the choices directly, Madam Chen lowered her voice to a shamed, anxious whisper. "I think... I am uncertain. But rumors suggest Lady Wu paid that particular master a massive bribe to manufacture an auspicious reading for her grandchildren. We cannot possibly trust the integrity of his sight."

Jin Zhao feigned a look of comedic, aristocratic horror. "Heavens! That is truly unseemly. Then should we consider this master?" She pointed to the next name. "Is he known for his virtue and clear sight?"

Madam Chen squinted at the ink, her lips quivering with immediate disgust. "Absolutely not. That charlatan presented himself at the Chao Residence and all but demanded a hefty tribute. He openly threatened that if they did not meet his price, he would publish a catastrophic, cursed reading for their newborn son throughout the capital's tea houses! Five hundred silver taels for his silence! Outrageous extortion!"

This time Jin Zhao didn’t have to fake it; she was genuinely surprised by that piece of data. Financial transactions regarding fortune tellers were nothing new to her – she routinely hired them to circulate auspicious rumors regarding feng shui to ensure her new commercial properties attracted wealthy clientele and steered public opinion to her benefit. That was a perfectly legitimate use of the trade, but she had not realized the baseline rate for aristocratic blackmail had risen so sharply. You live, you learn.

The Matriarch chewed her lip, her anxiety mounting as she looked for an escape. "Perhaps... could we not simply incentivize one of these holy masters ourselves? That is to say, with our resources..."

Jin Zhao closed the trap with utmost precision. "Oh, Mother, we cannot possibly entertain such a risk! If a whisper of such bribery ever leaked to the censorate, think of what would become of San Ye’s spotless political reputation. To be caught purchasing a fraudulent birth chart for his own daughter? The Ministry of Justice would have his head. No, it absolutely will not do."

In reality, the court would hardly blink if the wife of a Grand Secretary threw silver around to secure household peace. But the older woman looked thoroughly terrified, which was the exact psychological state Jin Zhao required. She delivered the final blow: "And what would we do if these charlatans returned year after year, demanding endless blackmail to maintain their silence?"

Madam Chen hung her head, completely defeated. "Oh, the unending trouble of it all..." Then, a desperate spark returned to her eyes. "But she is merely a daughter! We can afford to take the risk. How catastrophic can a female reading truly be? We can always commission warding rituals after the fact!"

Jin Zhao’s teeth clicked together, her voice dropping to a low, icy hiss that cut through the room. "In my own youth, when my father’s concubine paid a corrupt practitioner to attach a dark omen to my birth chart, I was banished from my ancestral home and sent to live in isolation with Grandmother Ji. Years later, it had required a grueling investigation to uncover the bribery before I was permitted to return to society."

She intentionally altered the chronological sequence of her past trauma for maximum dramatic effect, driving the emotional dagger home. Yet, instead of the maternal empathy one would expect following such a heavy confession, Madam Chen merely offered a dismissive, calculated response "Yes, but our lineage is vastly more secure than the Gu household. I am certain our family could easily manage Chen Xinying's relocation if the charts demand it."

To a Matriarch operating purely on the cold mathematics of clan survival, an isolated daughter was a minor, entirely acceptable sacrifice to preserve the wider peace. But, as a mother to her son, she should have known better. She should have known that San Ye would sooner tear the imperial capital down stone by stone before allowing his family to be fractured by the figments of a charlatan’s imagination. Jin Zhao realized, not for the first time, how fundamentally different the emotional landscape of the Chen family was compared to the unconditional love she had known under the Ji roof. San Ye had never been truly cherished in his youth, and she was fiercely resolved to provide him with a family that would fight to remain by his side – even if that meant fighting his own mother.

Suppressing her profound disappointment, Jin Zhao pivoted, offering a new, terrifying trajectory to the narrative. "And what if such a precedent is set now, Mother? What happens when I bear our future sons? What then?"

Madam Chen dismissed the notion immediately. "Impossible! No practitioner would ever dare assign a malignant fate to the male heirs of the Grand Secretary!"

Ah, there it is, Jin Zhao thought. The classic, unshakeable Madam Chen snobbery.

Playing along seamlessly, Jin Zhao widened her eyes in deep anxiety. "But Mother, San Ye’s high office is precisely why I am terrified! His political rivals within the court would pay an absolute king's ransom to attach a dark omen to our sons' lineages, or simply spread whispers that our bloodline carries a curse. No matter how deep our vaults are, we cannot outbribe the capital wealth."

Madam Chen chewed her lip raw, her confidence evaporating. "Perhaps... perhaps we shall simply skip the ritual for your future sons entirely..."

Jin Zhao immediately blocked the exit, her voice heavy with manufactured despair. "That would violate all decorum, Mother. If we hold a grand ceremony for A-Ying now, high society will surely anticipate and demand an even grander reading for any sons I bear. The sons of the Grand Secretary – the entire court will be watching with bated breath."

To sell the performance, Jin Zhao allowed her hands to tremble, looking down at her lap with a fragile, broken posture. She bit her lip and sighed heavily, though she failed to summon actual tears. "I must practice my theatrical flair in the mirror later", she noted internally.

While Jin Zhao calculated her future acting endeavors, Madam Chen was locked in a fierce internal conflict. Finally, slamming her hand onto the table, she made her final decision. "I have decided! We shall skip the ritual entirely. No, we shall make it a public point of pride that the Chen clan skips such archaic practices, entrusting our family’s destiny directly to the gods above, rather than earthly star-readers! Yes, that is the path we will take! I have decreed it!"

Jin Zhao expertly masked her victorious smile behind a look of profound, filial awe. "Oh, Mother, what a remarkably elegant, wise resolution. I am incredibly fortunate to have your brilliant mind to steer our household right. With your permission, I shall ensure this directive is appropriately circulated across our elite social circles immediately, squashing any expectations of a ceremony before the gossip can take root."

In truth, high society gave absolutely no thought to whether the Chen family held the ceremony; San Ye was famously a man of modern rationality who despised superstitious clutter. But the narrative felt perfect in this moment, so Jin Zhao ran with it.

"As for Madam Lin’s advice..." Jin Zhao added softly.

The Matriarch cut her off with a dismissive, regal hand gesture. "I shall deal with Old Lady Lin myself; do not trouble your mind, child. Attend to your duties, and ensure someone delivers those delicious date cakes from Linxia Studio to my chambers. I find myself craving their sweetness fiercely this morning."

Jin Zhao withdrew with a deep, respectful bow, immediately instructing the servants to fetch her mother-in-law a spread of refined, naturally honey-sweetened delicacies that would satisfy her cravings without agitating her health – hoping the food would silence her 'brilliant' ideas for at least a week.

Crisis thoroughly averted, Jin Zhao returned to her daily duties, her daughter, and her vast responsibilities as Lady of the Chen estate. Ah, life, she thought, so beautifully unpredictable, yet so remarkably entertaining. She felt an immense urge to write a letter to the northern garrison and recount this entire battle of wits to San Ye, for he was the only man capable of truly appreciating the strategic brilliance of her maneuvers. But she quickly checked the impulse. Her husband’s relationship with his mother was built on a fragile foundation of detached filial piety, and she had no desire to strain it further. Better to let her Grand Secretary focus on his frontier campaign; Jin Zhao would command the home front. She had this completely under control.

Back in the quiet, candle-lit depths of the Wenyuan Library, Yan Yun let out a soft, echoing laugh at the memory of his wife’s historic victory. He finished tracing the final stroke of his chosen characters, blowing gently across the pristine parchment to dry the fresh ink.

He had chosen Chen Yihan. Yi for resolute, unyielding fortitude; Han to contain a quiet, broad-minded ocean of wisdom. It was a name of true, unshakeable substance – a perfect reflection of the unique, natural partnership that governed their household, completely absent of the hollow flattery manufactured by the capital.

At his core, Chen Yan Yun was a peaceful man who preferred to secure his goals through proper diplomacy and quiet politics. He had no intention of storming into the Ministry of Rites to brand them a collection of undignified fools; he was simply going to take a page from his wife's playbook and employ absolute finesse. She would undoubtedly label his planned approach as 'tricks,' but Yan Yun was not hung up on vocabulary. Whatever worked, worked.

The following morning, during a brief intermission between intensive court sessions, the Grand Secretary casually adjusted the heavy silk of his official robes and walked past a cluster of trustworthy, highly strategic officials within the naming ministry. With a practiced, invisible flick of his long sleeve, the small slip of paper containing his researched characters was seamlessly slid into the correct hands.

A day later, the Ministry of Rites officially and "impartially" presented the name Chen Yihan to the throne during a formal assembly with Chen Yan Yun in attendance. The Emperor praised the poetic elegance of the text and the sheer cosmic alignment of the characters. Chen Yan Yun graciously stepped forward, accepting the bestowed name with a perfectly straight and humble face.

When the official imperial decree was brought back to the estate, the easily swayed Madam Chen was utterly charmed by the sublime beauty of the characters. She immediately seized the scroll and carried it directly to her elite tea circles, loudly boasting to the noble ladies of the capital regarding the immense ancestral virtue of the Chen clan – arguing with absolute conviction that their family's cosmic merit was so vast, the Ministry of Rites had been divinely inspired to produce a flawless masterpiece of a name on their very first attempt.

In the peaceful, sunlit courtyard of the Chen estate, little A-Han slept soundly within his cradle. Nearby, two-and-a-half-year-old A-Ying ran joyful circles around the garden pond, chasing spotted butterflies, entirely safe from political sabotage. Jin Zhao stepped out onto the wooden veranda, handing her husband a freshly sliced, crisp pear as he watched their children play.

"San Ye," she murmured, her eyes dancing with mischievous, brilliant amusement. "I dare suggest the Ministry of Rites is exceptionally proud of their independent, unprompted wisdom."

Yan Yun took a small bite of the fruit, a rare, boyish smirk breaking through his usually impenetrable Grand Secretary facade. "The imperial bureaucracy works with absolute perfection, my love. One simply has to provide the proper guidance."