Chapter 57: The Smile She Needed

That same night, in the East Wing, Feng Luoyi was met with disappointment.
“He’s not coming?” she asked.

Why not? Last night, clearly... she still remembered his gentle words by her ear, how he wiped away her tears and held her close. Again and again, they became one, inseparable.

So why wasn’t he coming tonight?

“I asked,” Zhaoxiang replied, placing a box on the bedside table. “Even Changchuan doesn’t know. But the Hanlin official bought a gift for you. Why don’t you have a look?”

That term—“Concubine”—she’d heard it several times today. And yet, even as night fell, it still felt foreign.
Each time it fell on her ears, it stirred a deep unease.

Had she fallen into another household, become a concubine to some other man, perhaps she could’ve accepted it. But this was the Shen family. He was her once betrothed.

She had to watch everything that should have been hers belong to someone else.

Each time someone called her “Concubine,” it felt like a knife carving into her heart.

Zhaoxiang pushed the box closer. “Please, open it.”

Feng Luoyi did as told, unwrapping the inner silk layers to reveal a white jade bracelet—delicately intertwined with twin strands, elegant and radiant.

It suited her perfectly.

Zhaoxiang admired it aloud, lifting Feng Luoyi’s wrist to help her put it on. Her fair, slender wrist complemented the lustrous white jade under the lamp’s glow—it was a beautiful sight.

Taking the opportunity, Zhaoxiang said gently, “See? Even if he couldn’t come, you’re still in his heart. But he just got married—if he came here every night, the Master and Madam might scold him.”

Enough with the sour face—who wants to see someone sulking every day?

Feng Luoyi stroked the bracelet, thinking back on last night’s tenderness. This morning, didn’t his gaze linger on her? It must have.

But Zhaoxiang’s words made her lose heart. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Madam Shen.”

Madam Shen used to adore her.

She remembered visiting temples with her mother and Madam Shen. Madam Shen had loved her poetry, and the way she looked at her was always warm and affectionate.

Even later, there was pity and reluctance in Madam Shen’s gaze. But then, she stopped appearing altogether. Now, only Granny Qin would pass on her messages.

Now that she was Shen Ti’s concubine, she no longer had the right to see Madam Shen. Though they lived under the same roof, it was likely she wouldn’t see the Madam again for years.

Such was life in a grand estate.

You knew everyone was there—but layers of walls separated you. The higher your status, the fewer the walls. The lower your status, the more.

Zhaoxiang pulled out a handkerchief to dry Feng Luoyi’s tears. “Don’t cry again. Or it’ll ruin your looks.”

Just yesterday, Feng Luoyi had cried all morning. Zhaoxiang had used cold water and boiled eggs to reduce her puffiness—only by nightfall were her eyes back to normal, sparing Shen Ti the sight of swollen lids.

“I’ll say something painful—don’t be mad,” Zhaoxiang continued. “We saw the Young Madam today. Just as you guessed, she’s very beautiful.”

“And always smiling. Think—if you were a man, would you prefer the cheerful one or the one always crying?”

“Once or twice might be fine. But if it becomes frequent, Hanlin might lose patience. Then what?”

Those words cut deep.

Feng Luoyi had long guessed the woman Shen Ti would marry would be beautiful. But actually seeing her still made her heart sink.

Miss Yin was refined and radiant—a true beauty.

More importantly, her features were relaxed, her smile sunny. Clearly someone raised in comfort, naturally lovable.

Who wouldn’t prefer someone whose eyes were always smiling?

Feng Luoyi hadn’t liked looking in the mirror these past two years. The sorrow in her brow, the self-pity in her eyes—even she couldn’t bear it.

Zhaoxiang wasn’t someone Feng Luoyi was fond of, but her words were often sobering. Cold, but truthful.

Feng Luoyi caressed her jade bracelet in silence for a long time.

Suddenly, she looked up and smiled at Zhaoxiang.

Zhaoxiang froze, then clapped her hands joyfully. “Yes! That’s it!”

Feng Luoyi was a beauty. When she smiled, she was no less stunning than anyone.

Zhaoxiang beamed. “Remember? Madam Shen used to tell our Madam how beautiful your smile was. See? That’s better. Wait, I’ll get the mirror.”

She returned with the mirror.

Feng Luoyi looked at her reflection. Though she couldn’t hold the smile long, she had to admit—she was more beautiful when she smiled.

Was she to smile like this, against her will, from now on?

She placed the mirror down and closed her eyes.

Zhaoxiang’s joy faded. She quietly took the mirror away. “Rest early, Concubine. Tomorrow morning, you have to pay respects to the Young Madam.”

As she turned to leave, she caught sight of Feng Luoyi’s fists clenching tightly—and her lips twitched.

Shen Ti had a dream. A vivid one.

He had his reasons for not going to Feng Luoyi’s that night. He had already explained things to Yin Shi.

But none of that could change what Yin Shi said: For a young couple newly joined, how could one not crave more intimacy after the first taste?

His dream was all about the previous night—sensual, passionate, overwhelming. Silk sheets, breathy moans, entwined limbs.

It made his heart race.

And in the dream, the face beneath him was Feng Luoyi’s—soft and pitiful.

He kissed her, looked again—and suddenly, it wasn’t her face anymore.

Who was it?

In the morning, Shen Ti awoke in a daze. He couldn’t remember the dream clearly—only that it had been intense.

He turned to look at the woman beside him—Yin Shi, sleeping turned inward, the light spring quilt tracing the curve of her waist.

This wasn’t the first time he’d woken before her. But today, they felt far apart.

Last night, they had both slept near the edges—deliberately keeping their distance.

Shen Ti lay staring at the canopy overhead, clearing his mind.

When had he last seen his cousin? A year ago.

Just one year—from seventeen to eighteen—yet now, recalling how they had once pledged to be a fake couple with three slaps of the palm, he found it naive.

He rose and left.

Yin Shi awoke late after a long night of conversation.

After freshening up, she asked the maids, “Where’s the Hanlin?”

Kui’er replied, “He’s practicing martial arts in the courtyard.”

Oh?

Yin Shi opened the window. Sure enough, Shen Ti was out there, shirtless save for his inner robe, throwing punches in the morning light—strong, vibrant, full of youthful energy.

So abs weren’t natural—they were earned.

She leaned on the windowsill, watching for a while.

When Shen Ti finished and wiped his sweat, he walked toward the main room.

She called out through the window, “What are you practicing? The Five Animal Frolics?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so.”

“Everyone at the academy learns it. Even my brother. Has he kept up his morning practice since returning to Huaixi?”

“No,” she laughed. “Mother told us he put on a show until the imperial exams, then stopped after passing.”

“Tsk. My brother lacks perseverance.”

“Watch your words,” she warned. “That’s your cousin-in-law and elder cousin.”

“My fault,” Shen Ti accepted humbly.

Yin Shi laughed again.

He returned the towel and grabbed his outer robe. “How are your flowers doing? I liked that pink camellia in the celadon pot. Can I move it to my study?”

“Take it if you like.”

But remembering his status, she added, “Don’t let Changchuan carry it—it’s heavy. He might drop it.”

“I’ll get someone else,” he agreed.

They had breakfast together. Both young, both with good appetites.

A maid came to announce, “Concubine Feng is here to pay respects to the Young Madam.”

Yin Shi paused. She’d forgotten about that tradition.

She couldn’t be blamed—it had been years since she’d had to greet elders. Only after marriage did she resume paying respect to Madam Shen.

And now, it was her turn to receive bows.

“I see. Have her wait a moment,” she replied.

As the maid left, she turned to Shen Ti. “This whole ritual—I think we can skip it from now on.”

Shen Ti’s chopsticks paused. So did his gaze.

In that moment, he realized—he was no longer the same as a year ago.

A year ago, at Donglin Temple or the Yin household, had Yin Shi proposed canceling Feng Luoyi’s morning bows, he would’ve instantly agreed.

But now, he hesitated.

“You married me for a reason,” Yin Shi said. “Wasn’t this it? If it were someone else, you’d never get away with abolishing tradition. Especially you—so bound by rules.”

“Before you left, you had Changchuan remind me: ‘Never forget your original intention.’ I haven’t.”

“I came here to help you protect her.”

Original intention.

Back then, there was no real “Young Madam.” No real “wife.” She was just a concept. Compared to a concept, the fragile and sorrowful Feng Luoyi was easier to protect.

Shen Ti opened his mouth to speak but was met with Yin Shi’s clear gaze, her cheeks lit by the morning sun, her eyes shining. She was still chewing her food, her cheeks slightly puffed.

She looked at him, utterly calm.

She really hadn’t forgotten his purpose.

“Alright,” Shen Ti said, lowering his gaze. “You tell her.”

Yin Shi rolled her eyes.

“You go,” she said, sipping her congee. “Why should I?”

Shen Ti was surprised. “Wouldn’t it be better coming from you?”

That way, Feng Luoyi would see Yin Shi’s generosity, be reassured by her kindness.

Yin Shi didn’t need to knock on Shen Ti’s head to guess his logic.

“I don’t need her gratitude,” she said. “I already hold the title of main wife. If I grant her mercy, she’ll only feel more humiliated.”

“She doesn’t need me. She needs you.”

“Only what you give her can make her feel safe.”

“You go.”

So Shen Ti did.

He stepped out of the main room and saw Feng Luoyi standing quietly in the courtyard, hands folded at her waist, head slightly bowed.

All the memories from two nights ago came rushing back.

Their closeness, their intimacy.

Yin Shi was right—Feng Luoyi should’ve been the one in the main room, receiving others’ bows. Now, without the mistress’s permission, she could only wait outside for a summons.

Shen Ti’s heart softened.

This marriage with Yin Shi—wasn’t it all for Feng Luoyi’s sake?

Yin Shi had agreed to protect her.

Shen Ti descended the steps. “Luoniang.”

Feng Luoyi, waiting for Yin Shi’s call, heard his instead. She looked up.

And Shen Ti saw it clearly—the joy in her eyes, the smile that bloomed across her face.

“Shen Lang.”

In two and a half years, it was the first time he’d seen such genuine joy on her face.

Yin Shi was right.

She didn’t need anything else—only him.