Chapter 22

Chapter 22

That evening after dinner, Lu Shenru went to his outer study.

Du Lingjing noticed Qiu Lin frowning as she watched the Marquis’s two maids, Ying Bi and Xiang Yi, bustling about, tidying the rooms inside and out. She herself felt at a loss.

Du Lingjing glanced over and saw Qiu Lin approach, whispering, "The Marquis not only prepared a wedding dress for you, but also outfits for all four seasons, all stored in the pearwood cabinet. The Marquis’s seamstresses are truly remarkable—they can make clothes for you without even taking measurements. It makes us seem rather useless..."

Master tailors of long experience indeed possessed this skill, able to estimate measurements by sight alone with near precision.

This was the Marquis of Yongding’s residence, so Du Lingjing wasn’t surprised. Still, she hadn’t expected the household’s seamstresses to work so swiftly. How long had it been since their betrothal? The clothes were already prepared, waiting for her to enter the household as his wife.

It was an imperial decree mandating the marriage. No one could have predicted she would marry the Marquis—even he himself had called it the Emperor’s will, impossible to defy.

Yet Du Lingjing felt an inexplicable unease.

Unable to articulate it at the moment, she didn’t press further with Qiu Lin. She only felt that, from last night until now, her mind had been in a state of chaotic turmoil all day. She disliked this feeling and called for Qiu Lin.

"Fetch me one of the books I hadn’t finished editing before."

Proofreading books calmed her mind.

Qiu Lin perked up at the request. When her mistress worked on books, it was as if she herself were doing so—her heart settled back into familiar territory.

However, when Qiu Lin brought the book, she also fetched the lamp Du Lingjing usually used for editing. She tried lighting it twice, but it wouldn’t ignite. Only then did she suddenly remember—the lamp had mysteriously stopped working a few days prior.

"Still won’t light?"

Du Lingjing took it into her own hands. She tried lighting it once, and as if humoring her, a small flame sputtered to life—only to extinguish abruptly before it could grow steady.

After that, no matter how many times she tried, it refused to light again.

Just then, the Marquis’s two maids withdrew, leaving the room momentarily quiet.

Seeing her mistress’s face fall, Qiu Lin glanced around and picked up one of the lamps prepared by the Marquis’s household.

"Look, my lady! This lamp is the work of that master craftsman from Xi’an!"

It was the very same Xi’an artisan under whom Jiang Zhuxiu had studied for an entire day—a lamp made by his own hands.

But it wasn’t the lamp he had left for her.

Silently, Du Lingjing tried one last time to light the mysteriously dead old lamp. It remained dark.

When a person dies, their light goes out.

And yet, barely three years after his passing, she had already married another.

Du Lingjing’s nose tingled, and she closed her eyes.

The lamplight in the room flickered dimly. Unable to bear seeing her mistress like this, Qiu Lin quickly said,

"My lady, have you forgotten? At home, there are still many lamps that the Third Master made with his own hands—the ones Sixth Uncle had sent earlier. I’ll send Chang Pu right away to fetch them all!"

At these words, Du Lingjing opened her eyes.

But she hesitated.

These lamps weren’t easy to transport. What if they were damaged along the way?

As she pondered silently, someone lifted the curtain and entered.

The faint lamplight cast shadows, emphasizing the man’s already imposing stature.

He looked toward them and spoke.

"I’ve heard this type of lamp is crafted with a special technique. If jostled too much during transport, it loses its ability to produce steady, unwavering light."

He added, "I advise against going to the trouble of fetching them."

Du Lingjing, too, feared the lamps might be damaged in transit and was reluctant to have them brought.

But hearing this from him, Du Lingjing looked up.

Would he deny her even keepsakes from her past?

Du Lingjing lowered her gaze to the lamp that refused to light.

Somehow, just before the wedding, this lamp had suddenly broken and could no longer be lit.

A pang of bitterness spread through her as she cradled it carefully in her palms, speaking half to Qiu Lin, half to herself.

Her voice was soft.

"Fetch just a few. Even if they’re damaged and can no longer hold light, it doesn’t matter. As long as they can be lit, that’s enough."

As soon as she finished, Qiu Lin quickly agreed and turned to arrange for Chang Pu to return to Qingzhou.

Before she could take a step, the Marquis spoke again.

Lu Shenru looked at the woman at the desk, cradling the lamp in her hands, her head bowed over it.

In the vast room, she seemed to see nothing else—her eyes held only that extinguished lamp.

Involuntarily, he said, "Your eyes tire easily enough already. If the lamp can’t maintain its light, how is it any different from an ordinary lamp? It will only strain your eyes further."

Du Lingjing stiffened. Lu Shenru simply watched her.

The next moment, she suddenly spoke.

"My late husband’s handcrafted lamps—no matter what—will never harm my eyes."

The words hung heavily, as if threatening to extinguish all light in the room.

Lu Shenru watched as the woman before him stiffened, gripping the lamp tighter in her hands.

"My late husband"... She had clearly already become his wife.

The man stood in silence.

Qiu Lin gasped, secretly balling her fists for her mistress.

Du Lingjing too was shocked.

She didn’t know why she had suddenly said such a thing. It had slipped out.

But once spoken, the words could not be taken back.

The room's lamplight flickered weakly.

Time itself seemed drawn out like long shadows under the lamplight, each moment stretched unbearably long.

Qiu Lin's forehead beaded with fine sweat; her heart pounded at the thought that if the Marquis were to lose his temper, she'd shield her lady no matter what.

Du Lingjing, for her part, couldn’t help remembering the past—she had once spoken similar words in front of him, but they weren’t yet married then. And now, what of him?

She didn’t know.

Yet the man suddenly spoke.

His voice, rough as if from injury, dropped even lower, rougher.

"What I meant was, the lamp made by Jieyuan Jiang is nothing ordinary. It simply won’t light now, but we can find a craftsman from Xi'an to repair it. Does that suit you, my lady?"

Qiu Lin gaped.

Du Lingjing also paused, whirled around, startled, to look at the Marquis.

He let her study him.

Yet when her eyes met his, she dropped her gaze to the black boots at the hem of his brocade robe.

He stepped forward, coming to her side; his fingers brushed her hand that held the lamp, cradling her hand and the lamp.

"I didn’t mean to upset you," he said. "If my earlier words—that you and Jieyuan Jiang were a thing of the past and should be forgotten—left you upset all this time, then I’m at fault. I apologize to you, my lady."

It was Du Lingjing who had spoken "improperly" earlier, yet it was the Marquis who now apologized.

Not only Du Lingjing, but even Qiu Lin was taken aback.

Du Lingjing went still, at a loss for words, until the man called out, "Qiu Lin, you may leave first."

Things were delicate, and Qiu Lin hesitated, looking to her lady for direction.

Seeing that her lady neither spoke nor objected—silently conceding—she glanced back and forth between the Marquis and her mistress several times before finally withdrawing.

Once she left, the lamplight in the room illuminated only the two figures by the desk, light and shadow dancing between them.

The warmth of his palm was nothing like Sanlang’s cold hands.

In the past, Du Lingjing would warm her hands with a heated pouch before holding Sanlang’s, but he would refuse, saying cold hands in winter were normal and insisting she keep herself warm instead.

Now, his fingers burned against hers, chasing the chill from her fingers.

She thought of the words she had spoken earlier—"my husband."

Sanlang was not. He was.

She bit her lip, then spoke again.

"I misspoke."

The firelight cast shadows over her furrowed brows; her eyes fogged with confusion.

But unlike the cold detachment when she had uttered "my husband," her tired eyes held a hint of guilt.

Lu Shenru ran his thumb over her knuckles.

"It’s all right. Just don’t send anyone to fetch more lamps. Let’s just fix this one, alright?"

As he spoke, he studied her expression closely, and this time, after a pause, she nodded slowly.

"Very well."

Lu Shenru called Chong'an to take the lamp away. She tracked its exit but said nothing more.

He drew a deep breath, exhaling slowly, his gaze fixed on her.

So she responded to gentleness, not force. Force would only make her withdraw.

Conversely, if she inadvertently hurt him, she would feel guilty.

That was good.

...

That evening, Du Lingjing borrowed the Marquis’s lamps, spending half an hour repairing an ancient book.

The Marquis stayed. Chong'an brought him a stack of documents, and he sat at another desk, accompanying her for that half-hour.

But the moment her eyes began to tire from the work, he rose and came over, dousing the lamp for her.

It was indeed late. A maid brought water for them to wash.

No maid came to light incense tonight, yet as she sat by the bed, Du Lingjing found herself remembering the previous evening.

Back then, he had said, "Take your time."

How long would this "ready" take?

Lost in her thoughts, she felt him sit beside her, loosened her robe’s sash.

The maids immediately withdrew, and Du Lingjing’s back stiffened slightly.

"Just rest," he murmured.

She tensed to pull away, but remembering her earlier improper words and how the Marquis had patiently apologized instead, she didn’t resist.

She let her eyes fall shut as he gently removed the layers of her outer garments. When only the thin undergarment remained, he stopped.

The small lamp by the bed cast a soft glow over half of her face.

Her long lashes cast delicate, upturned shadows across the bridge of her nose, a rare quietness in this moment.

Lu Shenru’s fingers grazed the hem of her shift before settling firmly around her waist, shifting her to the bed’s far side and drawing her close.

Her bare back pressed against his scorching chest, and at the contact of their skin, a shiver ran through her.

He, too, stilled for a beat.

He wanted her to grow accustomed to him gradually. Yet he wondered if she would resist such closeness.

But she didn’t.

Instead, it was the man who let out a shaky breath before whispering,

"Rest now. Tomorrow’s the palace visit."

When Du Lingjing woke, the sky was still not fully bright. The sound of splashing water came from the adjacent bathing chamber as someone washed up.

Before long, the man emerged, wearing fresh trousers, with two wet strands of hair dripping onto his forehead. Bare-chested, he walked over.

Seeing her awake, he brought her garments as if to help her dress, but this time Du Lingjing took them in hand and dressed herself.

They couldn't afford to delay. After breakfast, they entered the palace.

The Emperor received them in the imperial study, though when they arrived, he was occupied with other matters, leaving only Lu Huairu present.

She was Lu Shenru’s elder sister by the same mother, five years his senior, now in her thirtieth year. Yet despite her youthful face, Du Lingjing found no incongruity in her seated at the head of the golden nanmu table.

Du Lingjing was not entirely familiar with her temperament or how much she resembled the Marquis.

But she faintly recalled hearing rumors about her back in the capital.

It was said that Lu Huairu, the eldest daughter of the Marquis of Yongding’s household, had received prophecies from more than one monk or priest, declaring her fate extraordinary—destined to be the mother of the realm.

At the time, Du Lingjing had been young, while the Marquis’s eldest daughter was just of marriageable age.

Even her father had once remarked that because of this prophecy, many of the late Emperor’s princes had sought to make Lu Huairu their princess consort.

The late Emperor never arranged a marriage, but the Lu family soon settled on a match for their daughter—not with a prince or heir apparent, but with an obscure young general under their command.

Yet no one could have foreseen that in the 14th year of Hongqi, the year the Lu family suffered devastating losses, Lu Huairu entered the residence of Prince Yin as his secondary consort, despite him already having a primary wife.

Later, Prince Yin rose above his brothers to inherit the throne. Lu Huairu, then merely a prince’s secondary consort, was directly elevated to Imperial Noble Consort after giving birth to Prince Hui.

When the Crown Prince suddenly fell ill and died, and the original Empress Wang became gravely ill, the prophecy of Lu Huairu’s destiny as the mother of the realm resurfaced in discussions. Many commoners who believed in such things were convinced that Imperial Noble Consort Lu’s fate was sealed, and Prince Hui’s eventual succession was inevitable.

Du Lingjing did not know how the Imperial Noble Consort regarded her, but she suspected little about her could escape the woman’s notice.

The Marquis had married late, at twenty-five, and taken a wife like her—it was hard to imagine the Imperial Noble Consort being pleased.

Yet Du Lingjing watched as the Imperial Noble Consort first bestowed a generous array of gifts upon them, then let her eyes rest between the two before softly asking,

"The wedding was rather rushed. Is Jing accustomed to life in the Marquis’s household? If Wei Shi has been remiss in any way, you need only tell me, and I shall reprimand him."

The question was gentle, and Du Lingjing hesitated.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the Marquis sitting with his eyes downcast, composed and still.

She could only shake her head and politely reply, "Thank you for your concern, Your Highness. I am managing adequately."

Imperial Noble Consort Lu seemed unconvinced. "Is that so?"

Her gaze flickered to her brother a few more times. "Let it be so."

Lu Shenru merely sat with lowered eyes, sipping tea.

Before long, a eunuch announced the Emperor’s arrival.

This was Du Lingjing’s first glimpse of the sovereign.

He wore informal robes, two strings of Buddhist prayer beads constantly turning in his hands.

His frame was lean, his cheeks and eye sockets slightly sunken, giving him a tired appearance that set him apart from the typical robust Central Plains physiognomy, and hinting at a slight illness.

Du Lingjing faintly understood why the court officials were so eager to establish an heir.

An Emperor in frail health with an empty Eastern Palace was a precarious situation.

Yet the Emperor’s speech was slow and gentle.

He asked them a few simple questions, sighing deeply at the mention of Du Lingjing’s father, Du Zhili. "Floods and fires show no mercy."

He spoke no further, and Du Lingjing dared not press.

Her father’s reforms, once unstoppable under the late Emperor, had lost their momentum in the current reign.

Perhaps there was another reason this Emperor did not favor them.

The late Emperor had initially intended to name a different prince as heir, while Du Zhili had been appointed as a designated guardian-minister for the new ruler.

When the new ruler became the current Emperor, how could such a designated guardian-minister avoid awkwardness?

Yet the Emperor seemed pleased with the marriage. "We take pleasure in your union."

Joy—in the eyes of an emperor, a marriage was a tool to balance the court. That was the joy. All else was trivial.

Du Lingjing kept her head bowed, measured in word and deed.

Only the siblings, Lu Huairu and Lu Shenru, engaged in casual conversation with him.

Upon leaving the palace, the Emperor bestowed many gifts upon them.

The palace gates opened one after another, just as they had upon entry, massive gates swinging open.

Inside lay the high halls of the imperial family and their consorts; outside, the vermilion-walled mansions of nobility and power.

At this moment, Du Lingjing, who had been in the capital for over a month, truly realized that no matter how much she wished to avoid this vortex, she had already stepped into it with both feet, unable to leave for now.

She gazed at the imposing walls, drew in a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.

But she had been absent from the capital for too long, too long removed from its affairs.

Whether it was Mianlou that had confined her or she who had willingly confined herself there, much of the outside world had become unknown to her.

As Imperial Dowager Consort Jiang had said, the world was not just about filial piety and childhood sweethearts, nor merely books and ancient writings. She ought to have a more expansive life, lest she waste her time in this world.

Or perhaps, as Brother Cang had put it, beyond Mianlou lay boundless horizons.

She did not know what kind of vastness they spoke of, but if she still sought some degree of freedom, some control over her own fate, she could no longer remain willfully blind.

Perhaps moving forward, looking ahead, she would find the vastness they described.

Amid the teeming crowds of the city, the turmoil of the past two days gradually settled as the scenery outside the window flashed by.

That afternoon, upon returning to the residence, Du Lingjing instructed Qiu Lin to organize the belongings they had brought. She also ordered Ruan Gong to send someone back to Qingzhou to fetch her books, ink and brushes, and personal belongings, and to summon the manager of the Du Publishing House to the capital.

She could not return for now, but Mianlou must not be neglected.

Du Lingjing reflected on her journey north—originally just to acquire two rare Song-era manuscripts, only to find more ancient books appearing along her route, drawing her further until she stood before the capital’s gates.

If the past month had been strange—from collecting books to becoming Shao Boju’s successor wife, to suddenly marrying into the Marquis of Yongding's household—then the beginning of all these oddities lay in the eight ancient volumes she had gathered on her way north.

She called for Ruan Gong, "I remember when my father was in the capital, he had a close acquaintance, a scholar named Mr. Zhang who was a good friend of his."

This man owned a small bookstore in the outer city, a beloved gathering spot for struggling scholars.

Later, after she returned to Qingzhou and her father passed away, she'd largely lost contact with this gentleman. Only when she sent someone to the capital on errands would she remember to have gifts delivered to his home.

Remembering this now, Du Lingjing summoned Ruan Gong again.

"Go to the outer city and check on Mr. Zhang. Also, ask him if he knows of anyone in the capital region or even Beizhili who has been acquiring or selling significant numbers of Song dynasty books."

The origins of those eight Song dynasty books were all rather coincidental.

If it were just one coincidence, it might be dismissed, but all being coincidental suggests it may not be mere chance.

Could it be that someone had been drawing her to the capital from the very beginning?

She instructed Ruan Gong, "Have Mr. Zhang make careful inquiries for me."

She'd barely finished speaking when the marquis walked in.

Lu Shenru had heard out in the courtyard that she was having things unpacked. Seeing her standing by the desk giving instructions to Ruan Gong, his eyes brightened.

"What are you having Steward Ruan do? Isn't he busy enough? Would you like me to assign you some additional help?"

Du Lingjing looked over and blinked.

"Thank you, my lord, but that won’t be necessary. I'm just sending him to visit an old friend of my father’s."