Chapter 8

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The next morning, Lingyue Shen left the house early. Lan Zhao had prepared several dowry shops for her, and under the pretense of inspecting the shops, she seized the opportunity to meet with Yi Yan.

There was no other way; publicly, they were still portrayed as bitter rivals. If they suddenly became close sisters who frequently visited each other, anyone watching would become suspicious.

Lingyue Shen sat yawning in the carriage, thinking it would be better to marry into the Marquis’s residence sooner, at least then their meetings wouldn’t have to be so secretive.

Upon arriving at the shop, she feigned interest in the business and asked the shopkeeper a few questions, then said she needed to rest and went to the private rooms reserved for the master’s family.

After waiting a while, Yi Yan entered through the back door, and the two reunited smoothly.

Lingyue Shen pushed the account books and “steward’s notes” across to her as if possessed by a strict teacher: “Learn quickly, ask me if you don’t understand.”

Then she went back to ask Lan Zhao—everything was going according to plan!

Yi Yan’s learning attitude was much more serious than hers, plus her childhood aptitude for science made her sensitive to numbers. She quickly grasped the ancient bookkeeping method, reading through pages at a glance with great focus.

Lingyue Shen, bored, began to doze off, resting her chin on her hand.

Suddenly, her hand slipped, and she jolted awake, meeting Yi Yan’s concerned gaze. “Didn’t sleep well last night?”

Lingyue Shen didn’t hide anything and told her about Chunyun Zheng’s situation, sighing sometimes, slamming the table at others, filled with righteous indignation.

Yi Yan listened attentively; although she didn’t know Chunyun Zheng personally, her innate empathy as a woman wouldn’t allow her to stand by helplessly and watch an innocent girl walk toward ruin.

“What can we do to help her?”

“I don’t know either.”

Lingyue Shen slumped on the table, her voice hoarse. “We can’t exactly tell her not to marry into the Marquis’s family.”

It had to be said, the Marquis’s residence was skilled at manipulating public opinion and twisting facts. Although Gu Yuan had shifted his affections elsewhere and didn’t want to bear the stigma of breaking an engagement, the rumors now painted Chunyun Zheng as understanding and virtuous, willing to marry into the Marquis’s family to continue the lineage of the war-deceased heir, Gu Lin.

Yi Yan twirled a fine brush between her fingers.

“That’s right. Miss Zheng has already been framed by public opinion. If the Zheng family breaks the engagement, people will say they don’t want their daughter to marry a dead man—a national hero who died for the country. The public’s scorn alone could flood the Zheng family’s gates.”

Lingyue Shen nodded repeatedly in agreement.

Yi Yan continued, “Moreover, the Zheng family has declined and lacks influence at court. Chunyun Zheng needs this marriage to secure protection for her family.”

In ancient times, the fall of aristocratic families was swift and brutal. Chunyun Zheng, raised under the strict rules of obedience and virtue, had no room for rebellion.

Lingyue Shen curled her lips. “Counting on men to be reliable is like believing pigs can climb trees.”

The Marquis’s residence provided no protection to Chunyun Zheng or her family; instead, it hastened their demise.

Suddenly, Yi Yan had an idea. “What if we write an anonymous letter to warn Chunyun Zheng?”

Without hesitation, she took a blank sheet of paper, pondered for a moment, and quickly composed a heartfelt “warning letter.”

Just as she was about to seal it, Lingyue Shen stopped her.

She frowned slightly, expressing some disapproval: “Isn’t this too risky? Don’t forget, we’re impostors. What if we get discovered…”

She wanted to help Chunyun Zheng, but only if their own safety was assured.

“My handwriting is different from the original’s. No one will recognize it.”

At this point, Yi Yan was even more determined than she was. “Besides, it’s just an anonymous letter. At least it will ease our conscience a little.”

Lingyue Shen slowly let go, unsurprised.

She knew well that once Yi Yan learned about Chunyun Zheng’s plight, she couldn’t remain indifferent.

Having known each other for years, she understood that Yi Yan, though outwardly a well-behaved girl, harbored a rare chivalrous heart deep within.

Otherwise, they wouldn’t have come this far, becoming the most important people in each other’s lives.

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With the letter finished, a new problem arose—how to deliver it to Chunyun Zheng?

Yi Yan had no trustworthy confidants in the Zhou household; Lingyue Shen had Qingchan and Shuangxu, but the fewer who knew about this, the better.

Lingyue Shen suggested, “Why not find a child by the roadside, give him some coins to deliver it?”

Isn’t that how it’s done in dramas?

Yi Yan shook her head. “Children outside can’t get near the Zheng family, and it would just look like a prank.”

In the end, Lingyue Shen had a sudden inspiration. “The Marquis’s residence will hold a wedding banquet in half a month. My mother will surely take me there. I’ll find a chance to slip into the bridal chamber and tuck the letter under her pillow.”

Most ancient people were superstitious. Receiving such a warning on the wedding day would surely awaken Chunyun Zheng’s guard, even if she were naïve.

Yi Yan approved. “Good, we’ll act according to the situation then.”

Lingyue Shen stretched lazily. “Now I can finally sleep well tonight.”

Yi Yan teased her, “You say I’m reckless, but you’re just as worried about her.”

“That’s different,” Lingyue Shen insisted. “Yi Yi, you’re the most important to me!”

They laughed and joked for a while, then continued studying the confusing parts of the account books. At noon, the shopkeeper sent in a feast; they ate and chatted as if they had endless things to talk about.

After eating, Lingyue Shen pulled Yi Yan into the inner room to rest together.

Lying on the bed, looking up at the exquisitely embroidered canopy above, Lingyue Shen reached out her hand. “It still feels like a dream…”

“Since we’re here, we might as well settle in. Sleep now.”

Yi Yan tucked her hand back under the covers and closed her eyes.

Though back in the Zhou household, her days were far from easy.

But she wouldn’t let Lingyue Shen know that; right now, Lingyue Shen just wanted a peaceful sleep.

Listening to the gradually steady breath beside her, Yi Yan quickly drifted into dreams.

—She had a strange dream.

In it, she seemed to be in a magnificent, delicate garden. Not far away stood a young couple, closely entwined, sweetly admiring the flowers.

The woman’s belly was slightly swollen, obviously pregnant.

Yi Yan hadn’t seen these two before, but she heard a passing maid call them “Second Master” and “Second Young Mistress,” and the man affectionately called the woman “Zheng’er.”

Her thoughts shifted, and she felt her body suddenly lift and soar higher and higher, gradually revealing the entire mansion and the plaque above the gate: “Marquis’s Residence.”

Those two were the young master Gu Yuan and his new beloved Qin Zhengzheng, as Lingyue Shen had mentioned?

Yi Yan didn’t understand why she dreamed of them, but it seemed Gu Yuan and Qin Zhengzheng had been married for over half a year.

What about Chunyun Zheng? Where was she?

This thought flashed through her mind, and her consciousness seemed guided, flying northwest to a remote, quiet courtyard, seldom visited.

Passing through the wall, the room was arranged as a small Buddhist altar.

On the meditation cushion knelt a frail figure in plain clothes, with a bald head and nothing on it.

That figure was so thin, the loose clothing hung empty, as if a gust of wind might break her.

Yi Yan circled to the front and saw a pale, emaciated face.

It was Chunyun Zheng.

Her lonely knuckles wore a string of prayer beads, gently turning as she softly chanted scriptures.

Yi Yan listened for a while and recognized the text as the “Kṣitigarbha Sutra,” a prayer for the souls of the deceased.

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The altar was filled with incense smoke, the light dim, only a few flickering candles casting long, sorrowful, and cold shadows of Chunyun Zheng on the wall.

Yi Yan knew she was unseen, so she stepped forward and unexpectedly noticed a strand of white hair among Chunyun Zheng’s black locks.

She was stunned.

Chunyun Zheng wasn’t even twenty, yet after six months in the Marquis’s residence, she had already developed white hair?

What kind of life was she living here?

Suddenly, a knock at the door, the silhouette of an old maid cast on the paper window.

“Young Mistress, have you finished today’s sutra recitation? It’s time to serve in the Old Madam’s quarters.”

Chunyun Zheng ceased turning her prayer beads and opened her eyes.

Those eyes held only the stillness of an ancient well.

“I've finished. I’ll go now.”

She struggled to rise from the meditation cushion but staggered and fell halfway.

Yi Yan instinctively reached out to help but passed through her body, grasping only empty air.

She could only watch helplessly as Chunyun Zheng fell, her brow furrowed, face pale, as if enduring great pain.

The old maid outside, growing impatient, knocked harder, then barged in. Seeing Chunyun Zheng on the floor, she snorted coldly.

“Young Mistress, weren’t you