Chapter 17: A Name Written in Gold

Even servants, when they married, held a wedding ceremony and performed formal bows—though not nearly as grand as their mistresses’. The fanfare depended on the family’s wealth and social connections.

Yunjian had no parents and could not marry out from her mistress’s household. Nanny Sun arranged for her to adopt a godmother—Yunjian would live with the godmother for a few days, then leave her mistress’s estate from there. Yin Zhi also presented the godmother’s family with a generous red envelope, and both parties were satisfied.

At parting, Yunjian wept bitterly.

Yin Zhi felt equally emotional. When she had first arrived in this world, she’d had three maidservants: Qingyan, a born household servant who left after only a few days to seek a better position; Qiaoque, whom Yin Zhi had promoted and lived with for three years—but Qiaoque, being older and already fully grown in character, had never truly felt like “one of her own.” After Qiaoque came her age to marry and departed. Only Yunjian had been the one she trusted completely, the one without barriers.

But masters are fixed and servants flow on—eventually, every maid must marry.

Nearly ten years had passed. In Yin Zhi’s eyes, Yunjian was the little girl who had grown up by her side. Now, to see her marry, how could she not feel a pang of sorrow?

Yunjian wiped her tears and spoke from her heart: “My match is settled. You must truly attend to your own future, Miss. You’re older now—you can’t remain as before. Visit the Madam more often. She loves flattery—be sweeter of tongue…”

“I know, I know,” Yin Zhi replied with both wonder and resignation. “Go and live well. If ever you need help, come to me—I’ll do what I can.”

Yunjian was pleased with her own match and grateful to Yin Zhi. After one last tearful farewell, she departed.

Life in this world had been so calm and steady that Yin Zhi often felt time stood still. But watching Yunjian walk away, she felt the unstoppable passage of time for the first time in years.

Now her chief maid was Kui’er, plus two younger maids. The old housekeeper had passed away five years earlier. The staffing arrangement remained as it had been when she first arrived—only the people had all changed.

No matter how tranquil life seemed, time marched ever onward.

Yet there was nothing to fear.

Yin Zhi looked up at the clear blue sky. After nearly ten years as a pampered lady of leisure, she’d lived a life of unmatched comfort. Even if her future held hardships, this second chance at life was already more than worth it.

Of course, she still aimed to make it as good as possible.

As a well-off young lady, she observed that the Yin family provided handsome dowries—and their bridegrooms were never truly poor. So as long as one did not marry a profligate gambler or libertine, life would be secure. At worst, she’d have a comfortable middle-class existence. She had no real worries.

She did not fret over her own marriage either—it was not for unmarried girls to arrange their own matches; that business fell to parents and elders.

Next year her three-year period would end. Since her first betrothal was annulled, Third Madam had continued to seek matches for her. But as soon as suitors learned she would not marry until she was eighteen, none would proceed. Most didn’t even reach the formal assessment stage; matchmakers simply shook their heads.

Well‑matched girls were plentiful—why wait until she was eighteen?

Yunjian fretted on her behalf, fearing that by waiting too long she’d miss a good match.

But Yin Zhi remained untroubled.

In this era, people were accustomed to engagements at fourteen or fifteen and weddings at fifteen or sixteen. It was common for grooms to be three or four years older than their brides, so a sixty‑year‑old woman might wed a fifteen‑year‑old under certain conditions—and even for widowers in their thirties and forties to remarry girls of fifteen or sixteen.

Yet that flexibility toward men contrasted sharply with the harshness toward women’s ages. If a girl grew too “old”—say, eighteen—prospective grooms preferred the fresh fifteen‑ or sixteen‑year‑olds rather than the “elder” brides. Older brides saw their market value plummet, or were paired with much older men or those of lesser social standing.

That explained why her sisters grew anxious as their coming‑of‑age ceremonies approached, scrambling to flatter the matriarch. Yin Zhi, however, cared for neither.

She was a transmigrator, with a mind far older than her youthful appearance. The thought of marrying a boy of only fourteen or fifteen—fresh out of middle school—sickened her psychologically. It felt profoundly wrong.

Even if the groom’s family was humble, the Yin family’s dowry standards never fell. Once she received her dowry, she’d possess private wealth—enough to hold her head high. Marrying into a less prosperous household would be no disgrace.

Wealth or modest means alike had their advantages. Yin Zhi’s broad outlook left her free of the local girls’ anxieties.

She continued her comfortable days of leisure, untroubled and at peace.

To others, however—such as Third Madam—she seemed absurdly foolish. “How does Fourth Miss grow more simpleminded each year? All her sisters are mothers now, but her match remains unsettled. Isn’t she worried?”

Nanny Sun dared not call the mistress’s daughter foolish; even as a concubine’s child, that was not permitted. So she offered, “Perhaps she’s read too many sutras and become enlightened?”

“Tsk,” Third Madam clicked her tongue. “All I did was follow the Abbot’s ruling. Her father can’t blame me.”

“Of course not. Yesterday I even sent someone to Madam Li the matchmaker, doubled her fee, and told her expressly: if you secure Fourth Miss a good match, I’ll reward you.”

“You’re the best—you know I did my utmost.”

“Our entire household sings your praises.”

“A capable woman bears many tasks. Besides, my nephew by marriage is arriving soon. I can no longer concern myself with Fourth Miss’s affairs. The family elder himself decreed the mountain villa in the back garden be prepared for Shen Xi—quiet and ideal for his studies. Sigh, it’s all my work.”

“Those who can do more, do more. And your nephew is your true blood. Eldest and Second Branch would sell their souls for that duty, but none surpass you.”

Third Madam smiled knowingly.

Year after year, Master Yin’s generous gifts to his sister and nephew in the capital had proven his devotion. Shen Ti’s success as tanhua delighted the Patriarch for three days of celebratory coin. The Yin household basked in the glow of this kinship honor—until word arrived that Madam Shen would be bringing her newly titled tanhua son home to visit.

The sudden news caught everyone unprepared. Normally such visits were arranged months, even a year in advance. This time, the courier on the swift boat beat them by only ten days.

Regardless, a tanhua returning to his maternal home shone prestige upon the Yin estate. Third Madam labored tirelessly to prepare a splendid reception.

From the patriarch down, the household brimmed with excitement, eager for the tanhua’s arrival.

Heaven be kind—smoke even rose from the Yin family tombs in auspicious omen!

Thus, scarcely two days after Yunjian’s wedding, Madam Shen and her tanhua son Shen Ti arrived by boat.

At the pier, Second Master Shen awaited, having dispatched a fast horse with the news: “They’ve arrived!”

The Yin manor threw open its main gate. The Patriarch personally greeted them outside. Male relatives led the way; the womenfolk followed. Only the unmarried daughters remained inside. All peered eagerly toward the water.

A newly minted jinshi—even a provincial graduate—was an extraordinary figure. But a tanhua of the first degree? All the more so. The Yin household spared no expense for three days of celebratory silver. Master Yin himself stood at the pier for many mornings, and the entire region of Huaixi had heard the news.

Who would not wish to witness a star of literary achievement incarnate? As the courier’s tidings spread, the street before the manor swelled with onlookers.

Everyone held their breath as the tanhua’s procession approached, though Shen’s son was technically not a local. The county magistrate even dispatched officers with gongs to clear the way and maintain order.

At the distant clang of the gongs, neighbors stretched necks for a glimpse.

Two strings of firecrackers lit at the street corner, bursting with sharp reports and clouds of white smoke, adding to the festive clamor.

Through the tumult, a groomed lad in a deep-blue robe, led by a footman, emerged from the hazy mist.

His dark-blue silk gown bore a pale-blue border. A flower was pinned to his hat, from which silk ribbons streamed. Draped over one shoulder was a red brocade sash bound at the waist, its gold thread glinting in sunlight.

This was the attire of a newly titled jinshi—ornamental and proud, suited for the homecoming parade.

The people of Huaixi gasped in awe, united in forgetting that this tanhua was but their nephew by marriage.

Never mind—when one’s nephew becomes a tanhua, it is as if the entire region has produced a jinshi!

This was Huaixi’s great celebration!

As the smoke cleared and the tanhua revealed himself, the crowd fell silent, every gaze fixed upon him.

Could one call him a youth? No, he was still a boy.

That year’s zhuangyuan was forty, the bangyan twenty-nine, but Shen Ti the tanhua was only seventeen.

His name was Shen Ti. On the palace stage, the Emperor asked if he had a courtesy name.

Shen Ti replied, “Not yet.”

The Emperor, delighted, said:

“The morning bell drifts through dreams,
As clouds rise to greet the dawn.
I grant you ‘Ji Yun’—Rising Cloud.”

So Shen Ti became Shen Jiyun.

When the white smoke dispersed, Shen Jiyun lifted the sleeve that had covered his face and met the crowd’s eyes—stars shimmering in deep pools.

At seventeen, he was tall and slender, imbued with youthful grace.

Clad in the jinshi habit, his robes fluttered, riding a noble steed, adorned with brocade and blossoms. His name was upon the golden list—truly the pinnacle of success.

Tell me, who would dare defy a brilliant young scholar?