The Marchioness of Cheng'en took the teacup that Wen Qingwan handed over with both hands and a beaming smile, and immediately brought it to her lips for a sip.
“Mm, good tea. Yunqing, bring over my name-change gift.” Lady Xiao’s voice was soft—she used “my” instead of “this madam.”
“Yes, Madam.” The maid Yunqing, standing behind her, took out a small, delicate pouch from her sleeve.
Opening the pouch, inside was a fine-quality jade bracelet. Wang Fang personally picked it up and handed it to Wen Qingwan.
It was clear she held the heir’s wife in high regard. “Qingwan, I don’t have anything better to give you—please don’t dislike it.”
“Mother, you’re too kind. This jade bracelet looks very nice.” Wen Qingwan wore a faint smile, and her eyes held a trace of sincerity.
She took the jade bracelet and placed it into the tray behind her, held by Jinlan. She looked at the haggard-faced Marchioness, and no longer glanced at the Marquis.
He’s got that polished look, sure. But it’s those peach-blossom eyes—so soulful they’d make even a dog feel special—that women can’t resist.
The Marquis of Cheng'en also looked at his daughter-in-law offering tea—delicate features, soft-spoken, and seemingly easy to bully.
The Marquis’s household has five grown sons, yet not one of them is married—because noble ladies all look down on their poverty.
There were women who flirted and dallied with the sons, but not a single one married them—and the lower-status sons refused to marry beneath themselves.
The Marquis of Cheng'en never dreamed that Minister Wen would marry his eldest legitimate daughter into the Marquis’s household—he could laugh just thinking about it.
When the Marquis saw his daughter-in-law, who was stunningly beautiful, he smiled happily. “Qingwan, this is your name-change gift from your father-in-law.”
“Thank you, Father-in-law.” Wen Qingwan smiled as she accepted the twenty taels of silver, then glanced around at everyone in the room.
She thought to herself: that mind-reading talisman only worked on the Grand Madam—what a waste.
If only she could read one more person’s mind—she’d definitely choose the Marchioness.
In an instant, the Marchioness’s thoughts echoed in her mind. Wen Qingwan laughed—what a generous marketplace!
Seeing the little girl smiling happily at his father, Xiao Jin pulled a long face and dragged her off to serve tea to his second uncle and aunt.
Wen Qingwan let Xiao Jin pull her along and gave him a radiant smile. In that instant, it cured his unhappiness, and he smiled too.
Usually afraid of Xiao Jin, his younger siblings felt their spirits lift whenever they saw their eldest brother smile.
A few six- or seven-year-old boys even laughed out loud, thinking their sister-in-law was really impressive.
Wen Qingwan was busy watching the Marchioness’s melon drama. Wang Fang, the second daughter of Qinghe’s richest man, Wang Jinshui, had dreamed since childhood of marrying into a noble house and becoming its mistress.
She was already clever and quick-witted, and with ambition to match, she had devoted herself to mastering the zither, chess, calligraphy, and painting from a young age—determined to become the mistress of a noble household.
At just twelve, Wang Fang was already well-known in Qinghe City. With the Wang family’s wealth, talented young men came in droves to seek her hand—so many they nearly broke down the doorstep.
But she didn’t like any of them. By the time she was fifteen, she still hadn’t settled on a match, and her family was growing anxious.
She accompanied her father to a banquet hosted by the Qinghe prefect, where she happened to meet the Marquis of Cheng'en, who was in town on official business.
He wore white robes, with a black sash tied at his waist. His long hair hung loose in places, drifting with the wind.
His skin was extremely pale, as clear and luminous as snow. His bright peach-blossom eyes lifted slightly at the corners, and a faint trace of proud aloofness lingered between his brows.
In a single glance that felt like eternity, Wang Fang was deeply captivated by him—unaware that the man before her was the Marquis.
But Wang Fang was willing to give up her dream for him. Even if he were a poor scholar, she’d still marry him—after all, the Wang family wasn’t short on money.
The carefree Marquis of Cheng’en had no resistance to women—especially wealthy ones. The two quickly became familiar with each other.
Spring was usually rainy, but the weather was fine when the Marquis of Cheng’en met Wang Fang. They were both interested in each other.
So they arranged to go on a spring outing to Qingming Mountain. The wind carried the scent of blossoms, the rain washed away the dust of spring—it was romantic beyond words.
The Marquis of Cheng’en had no money, so he used the excuse of being unfamiliar with Qinghe City to spend Wang Fang’s silver the entire time.
Wang Fang thought the Marquis of Cheng’en was a poor scholar, and she was happy to spend silver on him. The two of them toured Qinghe City with a tacit understanding.
Their feelings had deepened—it was time to speak of marriage. On another softly drizzling day, the fine rain fell, and layers of rain veiled the space between them.
With deep affection, the Marquis of Cheng’en told Wang Fang that he truly liked her—but he already had a wife and concubines.
Though he was flirtatious, he never forced women—so he never hesitated to tell the ones he liked that he already had a wife and concubines.
Wang Fang was dumbfounded!
She really did like him—but she had never mentally prepared herself to become a concubine!
She had already lowered her expectations by giving up on marrying into a noble family—but becoming a concubine? That was something she still needed to think through carefully.
Seeing that Wang Fang was unwilling to become a concubine, the Marquis of Cheng’en did not press her. After finishing his official duties, he left.
The women who liked him and the beauties he liked could line up from the capital all the way to the northern border—he couldn’t possibly have them all.
The Marquis of Cheng’en left with effortless grace, but Wang Fang fell ill—a lovesickness that pierced to the bone, with no cure to be found.
This made Wang Jinshui and his wife terribly anxious. They sent their eldest son to take Wang Fang to the capital in search of that man.
Two years had passed during the delay. Wang Fang was now seventeen, and she thought—being a noble family’s concubine might be acceptable.
Whether it was luck or fate, no one could say—but just as the Wang family was discussing marriage with the Marquis of Cheng’en, his fifth wife passed away.
And so, amid the Marquis’s fresh mourning, Wang Fang married into the household as she had wished—and was granted authority over the household that very day, becoming the matron.
In just three short years, not only had Wang Fang’s dowry been completely spent, but the Wang family’s sisters-in-law were full of complaints.
She married into a noble household, yet her family didn’t benefit even a single coin—instead, they had to subsidize her.
Every New Year and festival, Wang Fang’s parents would give red envelopes to her stepchildren—a considerable sum, with dozens of them in total!
The Marquis’s household had no money, yet refused to lower its standards—wives and concubines filled the residence, and servants were everywhere.
Her mother-in-law spent all day hiding in the Buddha hall, eating vegetarian meals and chanting scriptures. Her husband spent all day indulging in wine and pleasure.
Many of the women in the rear courtyard were also daughters of noble families. They dressed flamboyantly every day, exchanging poetry with the Marquis and enjoying themselves immensely.
The noble concubine was over thirty, but looked barely twenty—her beauty was dazzling.
She used her dowry to support them and their children. When she was angry, she’d serve plain porridge to everyone—but they still had their private kitchens.
Three years into the marriage, she had given birth to a son and a daughter. With all the mental and physical strain, her looks began to fade.
Her husband was still the same man of moonlight and breeze from years past—he ate well, dressed well, and played lavishly.
And what about her?
She spent her days thinking about how to save money, wishing she could split a single coin in two—and at twenty-one, she looked older than her forty-one-year-old husband.
In a few more years, if she doesn’t die, the Wang family will probably be drained dry by the Marquis’s household.
Wang Fang looked at her two-year-old daughter and her ten-month-old son—she couldn’t bear to die.
She was only twenty-one this year, yet her heart felt dead—often torn between living and dying.
Wen Qingwan was enjoying the gossip when she caught another line: [“A commoner’s fate really can’t handle a noble’s life. I’ve regretted it for years.”]
[“Heir's Madam, don’t blame me for being ruthless. If I hand over the household authority to you, I might live a few more years. My children are too pitiful!”]
🐇♡🐇♡🐇♡🐇
Wang Fang (clapping her hands): “Right. Since we’ve collectively eaten through my dowry, today’s tea is plain hot water. Budget-friendly. Spirit-cleansing.”
Concubine #3 (fanning herself): “Hot water? But I just had my silk robes steamed. I need chrysanthemum to balance my qi!”
Wang Fang (deadpan): “Your qi can balance itself. My copper coins are currently in therapy.”
Marquis (stretching luxuriously): “Darling, must we talk numbers? Poetry is so much lighter on the soul.”
Wang Fang (snapping open a ledger): “Poetry doesn’t pay for forty-eight red envelopes, three private kitchens, and your moonlit wine binges.”
Concubine #1 (whispering): “Is she… angry?”
Concubine #2 (whispering back): “No, this is her calm voice. Angry is when she serves porridge with no salt.”
Wang Fang (to the Marquis): “Also, your thirty-something concubine looks twenty. I’m twenty-one and look like your mother. Explain.”
Marquis (blinking): “Moonlight… stress… genetics?”
Wang Fang (sighing): “If I die in the next three years, it’ll be from budgeting your household like a war campaign.”
Servant Boy (timidly): “Madam, should I cancel the order for the peacock feather fans?”
Wang Fang (without looking up): “Cancel the fans. Cancel the peacocks. Cancel the concept of joy.”
Concubine #3 (gasping): “But what will we wave during poetry hour?”
Wang Fang (smiling thinly): “Your regrets.”
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