Chapter 18: Where Servants Go, Masters Stay

Shen Ti’s success in the provincial exam and his arrival at his maternal home had filled the Yin household with uncontainable joy.

Clad in his jinshi robes and mounted on a fine steed, festooned with brocade and blossoms as he paraded the streets, he brought great honor to the Yin family.

The old Patriarch’s heart swelled with pride—this grandson by marriage felt closer than any born of his own flesh! The county magistrate stood by his side as the Patriarch straightened his back and boomed, “Is that you, Ti’er?”

Shen Ti vaulted from his horse and stepped forward. “Yes—it is your grandson. How does my grandfather fare? You humble me!” With a flourish, he swept up the hem of his robe and knelt.

That moment became the Patriarch’s lifelong highlight. Yet even recognizing the honor, he could not let his grandson kneel too long. Within a single breath, he reached out: “No, no—rise, quickly!”

But Shen Ti was not fickle. He pressed both hands and forehead to the ground in a full kowtow, honoring his grandfather after nearly ten years apart. Only then did he rise, clasp his hands, and bow to each of his uncles in turn—“Great Uncle, Second Uncle, Third Uncle, Fourth Uncle…”

Unseen, the county magistrate nodded approvingly and cleared his throat.

The Yin family, momentarily dazzled, recovered enough to introduce the officials. The Patriarch gestured grandly: “This is our county magistrate, Lord Qian.”

Shen Ti offered a respectful bow to Lord Qian. “Magistrate.”

Lord Qian, a middle-aged former licentiate of seventh rank, smiled graciously. “Hanlin.”

As a tanhua—third in the highest tier—Shen Ti bypassed the usual probation and entered the prestigious Hanlin Academy directly at seventh rank. Though Lord Qian held the same official grade, he was no match for the seventeen-year-old prodigy. So, despite his seniority, he deferred politely.

They exchanged pleasantries. Lord Qian congratulated Shen Ti; the youth simply replied, “You overpraise me,” his tone neither humble nor arrogant.

In the flush of youthful triumph, a scholar’s pride was natural—and widely accepted.

The Patriarch interjected crisply, “Please, speak inside.”

Lord Qian, attuned to social graces, waved him off with a laugh. “Today is the Yin family’s celebration. Granddaughter and grandson have much to share after so long apart. I shall not intrude further—perhaps another day I will pay my respects.”

Shen Ti inclined his head in thanks.

The Patriarch and his sons respectfully escorted the magistrate away. Then the Patriarch clasped Shen Ti’s arm. “Come, my grandson—let us return home! I have missed you so!”

As Shen Ti guided his grandfather, a woman’s voice rang out: “Father!”

All turned to see Madam Shen stepping down from her carriage, having dismissed Lord Qian.

The Patriarch’s eyes lit up. “Fourth Daughter, you’ve returned!”

It had been almost twenty years since his only daughter’s last visit. At his words, Madam Shen’s tears brimmed. She lifted her skirts and bowed deeply. “Father…”

He offered a trembling hand. “Rise, please—no formality.”

The Yin sons echoed their greetings. “Fourth Sister has returned!” “Please, rise—you mustn’t weep.”

Shen Ti hurried down to lift her. He inwardly sighed—his mother had always been particular in the capital: guests would wait until the carriage reached the doorstep before she deigned to alight. But here in Huaixi, she stepped down at once.

He had seen that his maternal uncles and cousins—and even the aunts—stood outside, a spectacle. Childhood lessons on propriety reminded him that expecting capital standards from a merchant family spouse was unreasonable. He accepted the difference with equanimity.

After the formal greetings, Third Madam and the other sisters-in-law crowded Madam Shen, linking arms as they guided her inside. “Come, let us present you to Mother! She will be overjoyed!”

Third Madam winked conspiratorially.

Madam Shen laughed through her tears: despite years passing, the bond between sisters-in-law and stepmother showed no real thaw.

Yet the thrill of homecoming softened all sadness.

The men led the way into the great hall, while the women followed arm in arm. A household steward remained at the gate, scattering baskets of copper coins among the gathering villagers, beggars, and curious onlookers. Some scrambled on the ground for the coins; the clever ones bowed, offered congratulations, and caught handfuls in their sleeves—a small kindness better than a fight in the mud.

Such were the bustling celebrations of the marketplace.

In a quiet courtyard deep within the Yin estate, sunlight slanted through grey-tiled eaves, dividing light and shade sharply.

In a corner sat two girls—a young lady and a little maid—speaking in clear, bright tones.

“Handle it gently, don’t harm the roots,” Yin Zhi said, propping her chin on her knees as she guided the new maid in transplanting a budding plant into a corner bed.

With Yunjian married and Kui’er now senior maid, two younger girls served as general help. They required instruction from the beginning.

No matter—teaching children was peaceful and healing, and Yin Zhi enjoyed it.

Such a life, she’d once read, was “my dream of restful old age.”

The small maid looked up at the wall. “Miss, this spot won’t get sun long—only briefly in the afternoon.”

“Just enough,” Yin Zhi explained. “This plant loves shade and moisture—too much sun will harm it.” She added, “Water it often; it hates drought.”

“You know so much. I understand now. Go rest—I’ve got it.”

Yin Zhi stood, brushing soil from her skirt. Kui’er rushed up, reproving, “Miss! I told you to change your clothes first!”

She pushed Yin Zhi toward the main house. “Didn’t you hear the firecrackers? Fourth Aunt and her scholar nephew have arrived! Fourth Aunt has gone to see the Matriarch—soon they’ll summon us to pay respects. All the other girls have been made up. Only you!”

Yin Zhi smiled, letting herself be led. “Please don’t fuss.”

Truly, she had no anxiety. Her current calm was the fruit of years of planning.

But Kui’er did not know that.

Anxious enough to blister her lips, Kui’er fretted, “If Sister Yunjian hears of this, she’ll scold me!”

On the eve of her own wedding, Yunjian had pulled Kui’er aside and whispered urgently: “Miss never hurries. We must think for her, do for her—never let her choose. If she delays too long, she’ll grow too old. I worry myself sick!”

The young maid, Fu’er, brought water and sighed: “Miss? You still don’t know her. I’ve urged her many times—she simply doesn’t care.”

Kui’er groaned.

As they washed Yin Zhi’s hands and face, Yin Zhi asked, “What are these?”

Kui’er opened a lacquered makeup box. “Let’s dress up a little—look our best!”

Of course everyone loved a beauty. The girls, already lovely by nature, could shine with a touch of color.

After all, Fourth Aunt was the wife of an official. If she wished to favor her niece…

“Enough,” Yin Zhi snapped. “Stop this at once.”

The maids’ eyes brightened at her rebuke—they knew she could see right through them.

Common folk held tightly to hopes for a benefactor’s help, and servants, subject to their mistress’s will, clung to that hope all the more.

Calmly, Yin Zhi removed the box’s lid, dabbed a fingertip into a fragrant balm, spread it in her palm, and smoothed it over her face. “Just some perfume grease—that’s enough. No extra fuss.”

Kui’er persisted: “No rouge? But all the others will wear powder—only you won’t.”

Yin Zhi peered into the bronze mirror. At seventeen, her skin was flawless, radiant with youth—no makeup needed.

Girls naturally desired to beautify themselves at a certain age; by twelve or thirteen, the household’s allowance included ivory powder and rouge. Starting young ensured skill by marriageable age.

Yet in her mind, she remained fully grown. Seeing her own young face felt like pure perfection—unblemished, unnecessary to alter.

“I’m meeting relatives, not suitors,” she said. “Remember—Fourth Aunt’s nephew is my age. If I appear painted and dazzling, what if she thinks I’m flirting? That nephew is newly minted tanhua, one of everyone’s dream sons-in-law—even princesses would fight over him. If my aunt misreads me, what then?”

Her warning silenced Kui’er.

The maid slumped, put down the rouge, and loosened Yin Zhi’s hair. “We just want Fourth Miss to catch her eye, that’s all. She’ll probably slip away as usual. Fine—no makeup. Let me at least style your hair.”

Suppressing a smile, Yin Zhi agreed. “A simple style will do. Among family, simple is closer; too much ceremony puts distance.”

Such wisdom soothed Kui’er. She deftly arranged a neat, fresh coiffure.

Noticing some soil on Yin Zhi’s hem, she fetched a lightly worn dress to replace it.

Though obedient, when Kui’er stepped back and surveyed the result, she pouted—clearly not pleased.

Yin Zhi pinched her cheek. “Look proper enough.”

Kui’er blushed. “The others will wear brand-new robes. If I’m wrong, I’ll repay a month’s supply of flower fertilizer.”

“No need,” Yin Zhi said firmly.

At that moment, a maid called from outside: “Please, the young ladies are summoned to pay respects.”

Yin Zhi’s face and hands were clean, hair freshly arranged. She smoothed her skirt. “Let’s go.”

The maid darted through several courtyards. Among all the Fourth Branch’s daughters, Yin Zhi alone moved with serene composure. She thought: ‘People say I’m slow—now they see it’s true.’

As Yin Zhi and Kui’er made their way to the Matriarch’s quarters, they passed the other sisters—yes, they were all her younger sisters now. At seventeen, with all her elders already married and mothers themselves, only the children remaining at home were juniors or nieces.

Kui’er cleared her throat and cast a sidelong glance.

Yin Zhi understood: as Kui’er predicted, the younger sisters and nieces stood resplendent in brand-new silks.

Yin Zhi did not mind. She, as the eldest, taller than the rest, would outshine them in new garments. Yet if she hid behind them, it would seem improper—her younger sisters would appear disrespectful.

Pausing at the entrance to the Matriarch’s courtyard, a maid drew back the gauze screen. The younger girls stepped aside as Yin Zhi led the way, lowering her head in respectful greeting.

“Here come the young ladies.”

At the announcement, the elder women in the hall turned toward the screen.

Behind it appeared a tall, graceful figure flanked by several shorter girls.

Madam Shen dabbed her forehead and focused her gaze.

The leading girl, poised and statuesque, stepped around the screen into view—her simple dress modest but impeccably neat, the perfect blend of propriety and maturity.

The younger girls behind her, sparkling in fresh finery, provided a colorful contrast that made her unadorned elegance stand out all the more.

As they filed in and bowed in order before Madam Shen, she smiled and waved them forward. “Please, no more bows. Sit, sit.”

Her eyes swept over nieces and grandnieces, resting last on Yin Zhi. “And who is this?”