Chapter 21: Eyes Like Morning Stars

Madam Shen smiled and inclined her head. “I appreciate your kind words.”

Yin Zhi met her aunt’s eyes and asked gently, “Aunt, you look tired.”

Madam Shen accepted the offered footstool and eased herself downward. “Indeed—after so much conversation, I am weary.”

Third Madam chuckled. “Look at us sisters‑in‑law—we forgot how far you traveled and kept you talking all this time.”

The eldest daughter‑in‑law pretended to bristle. “All your fault, you wouldn’t let my sister go! And you call yourself her own sister!”

Third Madam fell silent.

Yin Zhi turned her face aside—she must not laugh now, when her stepmother was being put in her place!

The younger cousins stepped back, and the two senior sisters‑in‑law escorted Madam Shen toward her pavilion.

By the roadside, Yunniang and the older girls watched them go, sighing, “After we marry, will our family leave us each our own courtyard too?”

Wan’nian shook her head, uncertain.

All the younger cousins turned to their eldest sister —Yin Zhi. She said simply, “Look at your older sisters’ courtyards now and see what they do.”

Their faces fell. Once a sister married, her old courtyard was reassigned: to younger nephews and nieces, or even to a favored concubine. Only in Madam Shen’s case—married so advantageously and still so dear to her natal family—had her pavilion been held for her alone. Such a rare privilege.

“Fourth Aunt is truly blessed,” they sighed.

“Third Aunt must feel so sorry for herself,” someone murmured.

“But what of First Aunt, who died at sixteen in childbirth?” another countered.

“And what of those little aunts who died in infancy—aren’t they the most pitiful of all?” came the chatter.

Their excitement flagged quickly; the topic held no real interest. Without Yin Zhi’s gentle encouragement, their spirits waned.

“Who knows what our futures hold?” one fretted.

Poor girls—they had no control over marriage, let alone their health. Yin Zhi felt more certain than ever that delaying her own marriage and childbirth had been wise.

Her eldest sister had died in childbirth at sixteen.

Seeing the younger girls’ dejection, she softened. She ruffled the hair of the youngest speaker and said with a warm smile, “Don’t speak such foolishness. Each of you will flourish—your husbands will earn great wealth or high office, you will live long lives, and become honored matriarchs in your own right.”

Her reassurance banished their anxieties; eager smiles reappeared.

To Yunniang and Wan’nian she added: “The Cao and Qiao families are both well matched to ours. You’ve met your future husbands—you know their faces. When you marry, you’ll have maids of your own and a generous dowry. If your husband treats you well, run your household wisely. If he does not, rely on your dowry—live comfortably, teach your children well, and enjoy their care. Never let yourself suffer.”

Wan’nian stammered, “But—what if he treats us poorly?”

“Fool,” Yin Zhi laughed, tapping her forehead. “Only if that should happen.”

They all laughed again.

“Sister,” Yunniang tugged her sleeve softly, “you will find happiness too.”

They all knew Yin Zhi’s marriage had been delayed—and at her age, prospects would only grow slimmer. Adults sometimes teased Third Madam about it, drawing eye rolls from her.

Yet among the younger cousins, the bond was strong—they wished their big sister well.

Yin Zhi smiled. “Of course.”

“Marrying different men leads to different lives,” she said.

“How well you live is up to you.”

Meanwhile, the two sisters‑in‑law led Madam Shen into her former bridal chamber. The maids had already brought in her trunks and boxes from the entrance hall.

Madam Shen’s own attendants bustled about, arranging her familiar belongings. She had not returned in nine years.

The courtyard was swept clean, though the potted flowering crabapple she had planted years ago now stood sturdier, its bark marked by time.

She touched its trunk affectionately. “So many years have passed in the blink of an eye.”

Then she noticed a stand of slender bamboo in the corner and laughed. “These look newly planted.”

Nine years ago those same bamboos had been tall and thick; now only a few thin shoots remained.

“Yes,” Third Madam explained. “They flowered unexpectedly last year. We moved them away and replanted fresh ones.”

The eldest daughter‑in‑law slipped between them. “Sister, is there anything else amiss?”

Madam Shen teased, “How could there be? You two have thought of everything—only someone who loves me would go to such trouble.”

Both sisters‑in‑law beamed as they guided her into the inner chamber, now fully appointed with her personal furnishings: her treasured foot warmer, hand basin, and other travel‑sized comforts.

They oversaw the final touches by the maids, then prepared to withdraw. But one housekeeper rushed in with news: “Her Highness’s nephew has moved your trunks to the guest rooms in the outer courtyard.”

Both sisters gasped. “Why?”

The mountain pavilion in the back garden was a serene retreat the Patriarch had personally set aside for the tanhua. The housekeeper explained, “His Highness felt that, as an outsider, he should not share the pavilion adjoining the young ladies’ quarters. He feared for their reputations.”

Third Madam scolded in disbelief, “Nonsense—he’s family! To the Patriarch, he’s dearer than any born grandson.”

The eldest daughter‑in‑law’s lips pressed in a thin line; her own son, the family’s born heir, would surely object to that.

“Still,” she admitted, “Jiyun’s thoughtfulness must be respected. He may now be an official of seventh rank—no longer a mere boy.”

Madam Shen nodded. “Indeed—I too thought of him as a child. But look how he’s grown. He cares for his cousins’ reputations… we must honor his wish.”

The eldest daughter‑in‑law asked the housekeeper, “Has the Patriarch been informed?”

“He has not,” came the reply.

“Who else accompanies him?” she pressed.

“He’s with Lord Yin and Second Master Yin, Third Master Yin and Fourth Master Yin—all waiting at the guest pavilion.”

At the mention of both the First and Third Masters guiding their sons to greet Shen Jiyun, the two sisters‑in‑law relaxed.

Madam Shen chided, “Why trouble my brothers when it is my honor alone?”

“Your Highness is our honored guest—that is our joy,” they replied humbly.

With that, they took their leave. Once alone, Madam Shen’s smile faded. She called for her maid: “Bring me my nephew.”

After washing and changing into simple garments, she bade the maid lift the bamboo curtain.

Shen Jiyun entered, bowing slightly. “Mother, after your long journey and this joyful reunion, you should rest. What you wish to discuss may wait until tomorrow.”

He stood composed, as though nothing unusual had occurred.

Madam Shen’s eyes narrowed with concern. She waved the maids away, leaving only herself and her son.

“What nonsense are you up to?” she demanded.

Shen Jiyun bristled at the word “nonsense.” “Since our arrival, I have committed no breach of etiquette. Why call it ‘nonsense’?”

Madam Shen’s voice trembled. “You know why—Green Willows Pavilion is the family’s dearest retreat, reserved for your grandfather’s private use. Only my brothers and I have lived there. Your grandfather gave it to you—how could you ignore his kindness?”

Shen Jiyun’s expression was earnest. “Mother, how could I dishonor my elders? I asked my maternal uncles to explain my wish to Grandfather. The pavilion is lovely—but sharing adjoining quarters with the young ladies would mean constant crossings of paths. I feared it might harm their reputations…”

“Bah!” Madam Shen interrupted. “Stop your lofty excuses. Have I raised a fool? A gentleman keeps his promise—and you, Shen Jiyun, intend to break it!”

Shen Jiyun’s brows lifted. “I never promised—how could I break a promise that was not mine to give?”

“It was your father and I who urged this upon you!” she cried.

“If I had protested more,” he said quietly, “I would have been unfilial. So I endured.”

He spoke as if reminding himself of a solemn truth. Once, as a boy, he had yielded when reasoned with; now, armed with scholarship lauded by the Emperor himself, his convictions were immovable.

Madam Shen covered her face, her breath coming in sobs.

Without hesitation, Shen Jiyun dropped to one knee. The clash of his robes on the tiled floor startled her.

She gasped. “You would drive me to death!”

He bowed his head respectfully. “Mother, I would never dare. If you truly deem me unfilial, punish me as you will.”

It was not fear that stayed his tongue but absolute resolve—a resolve that frightened her.

Madam Shen closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. “Enough—I will not stoop to tears or threats. But Shen Jiyun, you must learn that marriage is parents’ command and matchmakers’ arrangements. Even if you become a great minister, you cannot escape this duty.”

“Feng Luoyi cannot be your principal wife—the law forbids her. And neither your father nor I can permit you to remain unwed.”

“You know this in your heart, do you not? That is why I insisted you come here.”

She let the room fall silent on those final words: a woman’s plea that filial duty and kindness both be honored.