Chapter 2: The Unseen Daughter

According to her sister-in-law Madam Shen's letters over the years, the birth of her nephew in the Shen family had taken place right at dawn. When the servants reported the joyful news to his grandfather, the old master Shen looked up and saw the morning glow turning the paper window red. Taking it as a good omen, he named the grandson Tí (缇).

Shen Tí.

Madam Shen had been married for many years, and this was her only son—Shen Tí.

Before meeting him in person, the Third Madam of the Yin family had imagined what such an only child might be like. Considering that Madam Shen had married into a higher-status family, surely the child would be doted on to the extreme, treated as a jewel—so precious he’d be feared to fall or melt at a touch.

She had seen such cases before: children so spoiled they were simply unbearable.

Before coming, she had specifically instructed her own children to be tolerant and accommodating when interacting with this cousin from the Shen family.

Her husband, the third master Yin, was only a concubine-born son and of average talent. He had gained some favor with their father precisely because of his sister's prestigious marriage. To the Third Madam, both her sister-in-law and nephew were important guests of their branch of the family and deserved deference and care.

But now, seeing the boy for herself, she was struck: young as he was, Shen Tí spoke clearly, behaved with proper decorum, and made not the slightest misstep in etiquette—instantly casting her three sons in the shade, making them look like uncouth country lads.

He was nothing like the lazy, spoiled scion she had imagined.

The Third Madam looked into those clear eyes, noted the refined demeanor, the unhurried, composed way he spoke, and was utterly charmed. She quickly explained, “It’s just unfortunate timing. Your Fourth Cousin’s birth mother passed away a few days ago. She was frightened, came down with a fever and has been unconscious. The servants came to report today that she’s doing much better, but she's still in mourning. It’s rare for your mother to return—best not to risk offending her with inauspicious energy.”

Madam Shen asked, “If I recall, the fourth girl is about the same age as Xīgē'er?”

The Third Madam nodded. “Indeed, she’s a few months older. Not long after she was born, we received the joyful news of your boy’s birth in the capital—how it delighted the Old Master and all of us.”

Xīgē’er (曦哥儿) was Shen Tí’s childhood nickname—he had been born at dawn, so he was called Xī, meaning morning light.

He and Yin Shí were the same age, though he was a few months younger. Depending on perspective, he could be considered either a young boy or a budding youth.

In the Yin family, daughters were not ranked overall, only within their respective branches. Yin Shí was the fourth girl of the third household.

Madam Shen said, “Losing one’s birth mother at such a young age—how pitiful.”

But at that moment, the Third Madam had no mind for Yin Shí. Madam Shen sighed sympathetically, and the Third Madam quickly changed the subject, mentioning the Old Madam: “She’s not feeling well and said you don’t need to pay your respects. I’ll handle everything. I know you’re filial, but you’re our honored guest—it’s rare for you to return. Just enjoy yourself.”

Since the children were present, she couldn’t bluntly say: “The Old Madam doesn’t enjoy seeing how well you’re doing, so don’t go near her. I’ll shield you. You’ve come home—be happy.”

Of course, Madam Shen understood this perfectly and smiled, gratefully accepting her sister-in-law’s goodwill.

The sisters-in-law hadn’t seen each other for years, and there was much to catch up on. Once the conversation began, Madam Shen turned to Shen Tí: “You children go play in the side room.”

Shen Tí answered, “Yes,” gave a formal bow of apology to his aunt, then invited his male cousins: “Let’s talk in my room.”

The main courtyard had once been Madam Shen’s maiden quarters before marriage. Now she stayed in the main house, and a side room had been prepared for Shen Tí.

Though still young, Shen Tí did not use his age as an excuse to ignore etiquette. He formally invited only the male cousins, not the female ones, adhering strictly to propriety.

Madam Shen chided gently: “Your sisters are young too. Let them go with you—it's rare to see each other.”

That was true. Shen Tí considered it and nodded. “Sisters, come too. Tell me more about Mother’s hometown.”

So the group of children, big and small, followed him to the side room.

Once the room quieted, the two women relaxed.

The Third Madam admired, “Just look at that Xīgē’er—so proper in every word and deed.”

“Don’t even bring it up,” Madam Shen replied. “He’s like a little old man at his age.”

“Raised by his grandfather and father since young. Aside from asking about his meals and clothes, I can't keep up with anything else. Though I gave birth to him, he’s nothing like me—he’s completely a Shen through and through.”

It sounded like a complaint, but it was really a boast. Her eyes shone with pride.

The Third Madam chuckled. “I heard your brother say that Father once confided: your husband had always been calm and steady since childhood—the only time he acted like a young man was when he chose you as his bride.”

At this, Madam Shen blushed, though she had been married for years, her brow still held a girl’s softness.

As a concubine’s wife for many years, the Third Madam recognized it instantly—this kind of expression only came from a life of being well-treated by one’s mother-in-law and loved by one’s husband. Any hardship would have long erased such ease and glow.

She sighed, both admiring and envious.

The two women chatted about their respective households, and then moved on to their children.

Not everyone was as fortunate as Madam Shen. The Third Madam had long endured hardship from her mother-in-law and was half-tempted to gossip. But seeing that Madam Shen wasn’t much interested in how the Old Madam mistreated concubines’ wives or lived unhappily, she wisely held her tongue.

She only said, “It’s all thanks to you that your brother is now so favored by Father. Otherwise, my days would be much harder.”

Mutual flattery between families. Madam Shen replied modestly, “Brother worked hard. You’ve had a tough time, Sister-in-law.”

The Third Madam smiled sweetly. “What a pity I never had a daughter. Otherwise, I’d insist on becoming in-laws with you.”

It was only light talk, since she had no daughter. Yet even so, Madam Shen didn’t respond, merely smiling politely.

Yes, she was a concubine-born daughter who married well, but that was only because her father had once saved her father-in-law’s life.

Though the Third Master Yin was her real brother, he had done nothing for the Shen family. In fact, he benefited from his sister’s status. Even if his daughter were a legitimate one, not a concubine-born, she could never reach the level of Shen Tí—whose father and grandfather were both jinshi degree-holders.

Seeing that Madam Shen didn’t take the bait, the Third Madam understood at once.

Just a few days ago, her silly husband had even dreamed aloud: “Wouldn’t it be great if we could become even closer to the Shen family?”

He’d urged her to sound out his sister. She’d told him right then it wouldn’t work—but men love their daydreams.

Fine. Let him dream. But she’d better remind him not to say it out loud—being laughed at was the least of their worries; offending her sister and ruining the relationship would be far worse.

After chatting happily for quite a while, the Third Madam stood and called for the children. She brought the Third Master’s children to take their leave.

Madam Shen, feeling a little tired, asked her maid to massage her shoulders.

Shen Tí came over and greeted, “Mother.” She looked up and saw her young son frowning slightly. She asked quickly, “Why do you look upset? Did you quarrel with your cousins?”

It wasn’t baseless. Her husband, Shen Bo, was extremely stubborn—if he believed he was right, he’d never back down, no matter the cost. Shen Tí was just like him—a bullheaded boy since young.

“We’re guests here. I wouldn’t be so rude,” Shen Tí said, a bit displeased.

“Then what’s wrong? Tell Mother,” she teased.

“By rights, I shouldn’t criticize my elders,” Shen Tí said plainly, not hiding his displeasure, “but when I heard Aunt speak of Fourth Sister losing her birth mother, she said it with a smile. A concubine she may have been, but she was still her real mother. For a young girl, this is a proper sorrow. Yet her stepmother could speak of it so casually, even cheerfully…”

Madam Shen immediately understood.

Shen Tí had begun formal studies at age three, personally taught by his grandfather. Concepts like benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trust were etched deep into him. For someone like him, the Third Madam’s smiling indifference about the death of a concubine-born girl’s mother likely earned her a mental label of “unkind.”

She gave a soft cough and tried to cover for her sister-in-law: “She was just too happy to see us…”

The boy shot her a glance—there was reproach in his eyes. Clearly, he didn’t buy the excuse, but out of filial piety, he held his tongue before the maids.

Seeing no other way, Madam Shen sat up, dismissed the servants, and said, “Come here and sit. Let me explain.”

Shen Tí moved to sit opposite his mother.

Though young, he had started studying early and understood things well. If he didn’t find answers from his mother, he’d surely seek them from his father or grandfather later.

So Madam Shen didn’t try to pacify him with half-truths. She spoke frankly:

“I know the principles you’ve learned tell you how people should act—husbands and wives should be harmonious, the main wife magnanimous, stepmothers loving. But those are ideals. In real life, we’re flesh-and-blood people, with our own likes and dislikes.”

“A main wife who doesn’t mistreat concubines or their children is already a virtuous wife and a kind mother. But to expect her to truly like the woman who once competed for her husband’s affection, or the child who might rival her own son for inheritance—that’s just not realistic.”

Shen Tí opened his mouth to argue, but she quickly continued:

“Even you—aren’t you taught to love your kin and cherish your clan? But what about your third uncle’s seventeenth son? He’s your cousin, same surname, same blood. Yet you avoid him, don’t you? Just because he’s lazy and rude, with no ambition—you don’t respect him. Even though he doesn’t compete for favor or inheritance, you still dislike him.”

Shen Tí moved his lips but said nothing—he couldn’t deny the truth.

Madam Shen seized the moment and teased: “So why expect others to sincerely mourn someone they disliked?”

“This is my first visit home since marriage. Your aunt hasn’t seen me in years, and it’s her first time meeting you. She was genuinely happy. Compared to that, the death of someone she didn’t like—how is that a great tragedy? Would you really force her to feign sorrow for a concubine she disliked? Can you say that with conviction?”

Madam Shen spoke plainly, not treating him like a child. Shen Tí accepted the lesson and lowered his head: “I was too harsh on Aunt.”

Then he looked up and said, “But Fourth Sister is truly pitiful. Mother, you’re her aunt—please look after her.”

He wasn’t completely naive. Growing up in the capital, he understood social dynamics. As someone from a much more prestigious household, his mother’s attention could offer real protection to that girl.

A kind word from a powerful aunt could mean less mistreatment from others.

Madam Shen stroked his head gently, her gaze tender: “I know. You don’t need to ask.”

Shen Tí, thinking himself too grown up, tried to avoid her hand—but stopped when she sighed: “I was your age when… my own mother died.”

He froze, letting her stroke his hair.

She knew he disliked it, so she only patted twice before pulling back: “Right now, everyone’s watching me. I’ve barely settled in. If I rush to show concern for her, it might do more harm than good—put her under too much attention. The inner court is full of pettiness. Better not make her a target. Let me settle in first, then once I’ve made my rounds, I’ll go see her.”

Shen Tí thought it over and said, “Then don’t go, Mother. I’m young. I’ll go visit her on your behalf.”

Though like a true Shen in most ways, his eyes—soft and warm—were just like his mother’s.

“She’s lost her mother, and the household is lit up celebrating your return. I don’t know if anyone’s even thinking of her now. It’s really too pitiful.”

“If I go on your behalf, she’ll know—she still has an aunt who cares.”