Paying respects.

That night, Yingshi did not sleep a wink.

Each time she closed her eyes, memories swept over her in a torrent, the pain and resentment in her chest tormenting her over and over again.

She clenched her teeth in silence, enduring until dawn, and rose with dark shadows beneath her eyes.

"Do my hair for me, simply, and pick out a plain dress. I'm going to pay my respects to the Old Madam," Yingshi instructed Chunlan.

Chunlan tried to dissuade her, "The household physician specially told you yesterday to rest and not to tire yourself. Why don’t I go to the Old Madam and explain for you? You can rest a few more days and go later—"

But Yingshi was already out of bed.

"I've already missed two days; I can't be late again today," she replied.

Seeing her mistress so resolute, Chunlan said no more. She brought in water to wash Yingshi’s face, then picked up a comb to arrange her hair.

Looking at Yingshi’s hair, black and glossy like silk, she couldn’t help but sigh, "You’re a newlywed now, madam—you can no longer wear the styles you once did."

Not only could she not wear her old hairdos, but even the bejeweled pins and ornaments were now forbidden.

Chunlan carefully combed Yingshi’s long dark hair, gathered it into a simple falling-cloud bun, and fastened a single white silk flower above her temple, then added plain silver earrings.

In the bronze mirror, a young face gradually took shape.

Her brows arched like a new moon, cheeks as soft as spring peach petals. Her gentle bearing was like a delicate blossom yet to bloom, her skin was as luminous as fresh-cut jade.

Even without adornment, her small oval face was rare and enchanting.

This year, Yingshi was only sixteen.

She possessed a healthy, youthful body—what a blessing…

Guiniang and Xiangyao brought in clothes for her. Guiniang, who had always indulged Yingshi, did not urge her to rest. "What happened yesterday in the Fragrant Pavilion has already spread, and the Liang family, with their status, are most averse to such things. Today you should go and offer a proper apology to the Old Madam, just admit your mistake from yesterday and leave the rest unsaid. No one can blame you."

After all, yesterday’s incident had caused such a stir that nearly every lady and gentleman who came to the memorial heard of it. Who wouldn’t praise her in their hearts? Their own daughter-in-law was willing to honor her marriage pledge and marry into the Liang family—would she be scolded for such a trivial matter?

If anyone in the Liang household dared reproach her, they would truly be heartless and narrow-minded.

Yingshi nodded in agreement. She had her own reasons for going to pay her respects.

The Old Madam of the Liang family was advanced in years. Ever since receiving the news of her grandson’s death, she had been ill on and off from grief.

In her previous life, when Yingshi married into the family, she was not summoned to meet the Old Madam. As the elder, it would not have been proper for the Old Madam to appear before her grandson’s memorial.

Yingshi had only met the Old Madam half a month after Liang Ji’s funeral.

In her past life, Yingshi and the Old Madam had a distant relationship.

She knew that Lady Wei had never liked the Old Madam, and would often complain to Yingshi about the Old Madam’s strictness and unfairness.

Lady Wei said the Old Madam, deep down, looked down on her as a second wife and was always wary of her, never willing to cede authority. She’d say the Old Madam always elevated the second branch’s wife, making them manage household affairs together, so that outsiders would laugh at her.

Young people have a sense of righteous indignation and are easily swayed.

Because of this, Yingshi always felt more fear than respect toward the Old Madam, speaking as little as possible and avoiding her whenever she could.

But later, when the Old Madam fell gravely ill and was near death, Yingshi tended to her and grew much closer to her.

The Old Madam was strict by nature, but far from as harsh as Lady Wei had claimed.

At the very least, she was far more upright and open-hearted than the scheming and duplicitous Lady Wei.

Now, Yingshi thought, she had no intention of currying favor, but she would not be so foolish as to make enemies needlessly.

Especially not with the Old Madam—

…

Imposing walls towered, grey bricks and black tiles. The flagstone paths were polished smooth as mirrors, their lines tracing the contours of mountains and rivers, exuding an ancient simplicity.

Yingshi, followed by her maid, made her way through winding covered corridors, passing intricate beams carved and painted with lifelike birds, flowers, fish, and insects at every turn.

The Duke Mu’s Manor in the capital was five courtyards deep.

Layer upon layer of tiled roofs seemed to press the very sky down.

She arrived at Rongshou Hall at just the right time.

Before the half-opened lattice windows, a lush garden bloomed with rare and colorful flowers, their fragrance spilling into the air.

The matrons stationed before Rongshou Hall were keen-eyed and quickly stepped forward to greet Yingshi.

"Last night, the Old Madam heard that Third Young Mistress was ill and fretted half the night, instructing us early this morning to send a hundred-year-old ginseng root and two boxes of gold-threaded blood swallow nests to Dayeon Garden for you."

Yingshi replied, "Thank Grandmother for her concern. It was my fault not to have visited her since entering the household. How is Grandmother’s health these days?"

While some maids went inside to announce her arrival, others answered, "The Old Madam has been up for a while. The First Lady and Second Lady are with her, talking inside."

Yingshi hadn’t expected to run into Lady Wei by such coincidence.

But since she was now set on this path, one day she would have to face Lady Wei head-on—she had no reason to fear.

As she waited, Yingshi stood by the flowerbeds beneath the window, quietly admiring the blooms.

This, too, was the benefit of growing up together. Though she had lived away from the capital for several years, as a girl she had been familiar with the ladies of the Liang family, and still retained some childhood bonds with the two young, unmarried daughters.

Looking back, she realized her tragic fate in her previous life was partly her own fault.

Who could she blame for her own foolishness and lack of social tact?

Lost in thought, she was summoned inside by a smiling maid in a green jacket.

Yingshi collected herself, lifted her skirt, and followed.

Inside, the room was pristine and bright, with a bronze incense burner and a folding screen enclosing the couch.

The Old Madam, her hair completely white, sat upright on the couch, dressed in a gray-green jacket with black coral hairpin at her temple.

On either side sat Lady Wei and Lady Xiao. Lady Wei looked surprised to see her enter.

Yingshi glanced once, then lowered her eyes and sleeves, stepping forward to pay her respects to the Old Madam and the two ladies.

The Old Madam’s face showed much weariness, her hair ashen, lips pressed tight, eyelids heavy—her silence made her appear all the sterner.

The Liang family were a grand clan, their ancestors holding sway in Hedong for generations, with countless sons entering government service.

Yet this main branch of the Duke Mu’s line was thin in descendants.

As the highest-ranking matron in the household, the Old Madam had only one son and one daughter.

Her eldest son was the late General Liang Zheng, posthumously honored as Duke Wuxuan.

The late Duke’s first wife was a lady from the Li family of Zhaojun, his peer in age and a loving spouse. But their fate was ill-starred—they had their son, Liang Yun, only after seven or eight years of marriage.

Sadly, Lady Li was frail; after giving birth to her son, she died of childbed fever that very day.

In households like theirs, there was no custom of a husband mourning a wife. With a newborn son and a house full of affairs, a woman’s management was essential.

Pressed by his parents, Liang Zheng did as duty required and married Lady Li’s cousin, Lady Wei, as his second wife.

Four years later, they had their son, the Third Master Liang Ji. But not long after his birth, Duke Zheng was posted out of the capital and later died, leaving no further children in the main house.

The Old Madam’s only daughter had married early, becoming consort to Prince Langya of the imperial clan, and after their marriage accompanied him to his fief, returning to the Liang family only at New Year or other festivals.

In her youth, the Old Madam had been weakened by childbirth, so for the sake of the family’s line, she took the initiative to raise a concubine to the status of a secondary wife, who bore the Second Master, Liang Ting.

Though not her own by birth, the Old Madam raised the Second Master as her own; he was devoted to her, no different from a true son, and now served at court as a high-ranking official.

When the Second Master was young, the Old Madam arranged his marriage to Lady Xiao. Together they had one daughter and two sons. The elder son was the Second Young Master, Liang Zhi.

There was also a Fourth Young Master, sickly since birth, sent to the old family home in Hedong to recuperate and study, returning only for festivals and family gatherings.

The second branch’s eldest daughter was already married, living in the south. This year, due to illness, she was unable to return for her younger brother’s memorial.

After so many years, Yingshi could no longer remember what this eldest sister looked like.

She only recalled from Lady Xiao’s stories that her husband’s family treated her very well, her spouse respectful, her mother-in-law fond of her.

Now, Yingshi could only smile at that.

With the Liang family as her support, whichever great man she married would have no choice but to respect her.

Such was the way of the world: women relied on men, men relied on their clans, and commoners relied on the heavens and the court’s favor to survive.

There were also two young ladies not born of Lady Xiao—Second Miss and Third Miss.

One was nicknamed Wan, the other Yuan; both were of the same age, not yet come of age this year.

Compared to other grand households with five generations under one roof and dozens of sons and daughters, the Duke Mu’s younger generation was pitifully few.

It was said that in the neighboring Marquis Yongding’s household, which often sent help for funerals, there were over ten daughters-in-law and more than twenty young ladies of Yingshi’s age—one would get a headache just remembering their names.

All told, among Yingshi’s peers in the Duke’s family, there was only one other young mistress, the Second Young Mistress, Lady Xiao’s daughter-in-law.

As for why the eldest son had delayed marriage for so long, while the second son married first?

From what Yingshi had heard from Lady Wei in the past, the eldest son, like Liang Ji, had been betrothed young, to his maternal cousin.

Some years ago, both families were preparing for a grand wedding, but then war broke out and the old Duke died.

Liang Yun, according to custom, had to observe three years of mourning, which delayed the marriage.

He could wait, but the bride could not. She was his cousin and a year his senior—if she waited another three years, she would have become an old maid.

So the engagement was called off.

That, of course, was the official reason.

Privately… it was said that the Princess of Langya had taken a fancy to someone else and begged her father to break the engagement.

It was a scandal—the only blemish on Liang Yun’s otherwise spotless record—and was never mentioned in the household.

Yingshi had only learned of it by accident from Lady Wei’s loose tongue in her previous life.

Now, having lived again, Yingshi realized it was no accident.

Lady Wei had only been boasting about her own son.

Both were sons of Liang Zheng, both legitimate in the main branch. One had been rejected by a girl, the other, even in death, had a girl willing to marry into the family for his sake.

Wasn’t that so? In that light, Liang Yun seemed less accomplished than his younger brother.

And there was Yingshi—the foolish girl who chased after a dead man for marriage—