Chapter 65: The Distance Between Us

That evening, after finishing her nightly wash and stepping out of the bath chamber, Shen Ti noticed the bed curtains hadn’t yet been drawn. Yin Zhi, dressed in her underclothes, was practicing some kind of physical movement.

After watching for a moment, Shen Ti asked, “Indian yoga?”

“Oh? You recognize it?”

“I once saw a booklet about it in the academy. It was entirely dedicated to that. One of the tutors I knew was fond of it and practiced regularly.”

Speaking with someone well-read really did make everything smoother and more natural.

Yin Zhi no longer needed to fabricate an origin for her knowledge and simply replied, “Same here. I learned from a booklet.”

But Shen Ti added, “The one I read was in Sanskrit.”

Yin Zhi: “……”

So many traps!

She quickly responded, “The one I had had annotations in our language, added beside the Sanskrit. I just followed along and learned. Later, Sanlang thought it looked fun and wanted to try too—but he dropped it into the brazier and it burned up.”

That neatly cut off any possibility of Shen Ti asking to see the booklet himself.

And she dumped the blame on Sanlang.

Sanlang, who absolutely hated reading, had always kept his distance from scholarly types like Shen Ti. Even if they were to meet again as brothers-in-law in the future, Sanlang wouldn’t go out of his way to approach him.

Truly, the perfect scapegoat.

Yet again, Sanlang.

Just like last time with that “Treatise on the Joyous Union of Yin and Yang.”

Shen Ti now had a very poor opinion of Sanlang.

(Sanlang: “???”)

Thinking back to his time in Huaixi, it was always the eldest sons of the various branches who kept him company. Eldest sons truly were different from the youngest ones.

Oh, but Sanlang wasn’t technically the youngest. It’s just that Silang was quite a bit younger, so Sanlang had spent many years as the de facto youngest and behaved accordingly.

Shen Ti now had a poor impression of Indian yoga as well.

“In the morning, you could practice the Five Animal Frolics with me,” he suggested. “It’s excellent for health. Yoga is good too, but it's too passive—you need a balance of movement and stillness.”

Then he remembered that the Frolics involved large, ungraceful movements and quickly added, “If you find it unseemly, I can teach you the Ten Pieces of Brocade instead. I practice the Southern style—it’s suitable for women.”

“You really know a lot,” Yin Zhi genuinely praised.

She slowly exhaled as she bent and stretched.

Shen Ti asked, “How much longer? Should I cover the lamp?”

“If you’re going to sleep, go ahead. I don’t need the light anyway.”

“I’m not tired yet.”

So Shen Ti left the lamp uncovered.

He noticed several books had been added to the shelf beside the bed. He casually picked one up and leaned back to read.

After a short while, he frowned. “Your family lets young ladies read this kind of book?”

“Of course not,” Yin Zhi replied. “But once I close the doors to my courtyard, no one interferes.”

“No one’s ever watched over me,” she added.

Shen Ti was taken aback.

As the only son of Master and Madam Shen, he couldn’t imagine what it was like to be “unwatched.”

Even when he later traveled for study, his father corresponded regularly with the academy head, local peers, and old friends, asking them to look after him. No matter where he went, he was under the watchful care of others.

How could there be such a thing as "no one watching"?

He recalled how his third aunt treated concubines and their daughters.

The life of a concubine-born daughter was truly worlds apart from his. Practically another universe.

He remembered too how she had lost three years of her life because of some doddering monk's nonsense about her destiny—three years that impacted her prospects for marriage. If not for the twist of fate that led to his current situation, who knows what kind of impoverished household she might have ended up in.

The more he thought about it, the more uncomfortable he felt—toward the people of Huaixi: the grandfather, the capricious grandmother, the negligent third uncle, the unkind third aunt, the unreliable Sanlang, and that money-obsessed old monk. They had all failed her.

No wonder Yin Zhi had learned to present one face in public and another in private.

The fact that she could grow up in such an environment and still smile at the world with such grace and resilience made Shen Ti’s heart ache.

His voice softened. “These books are no good. They’re a waste of time. I’ll find you something better to read.”

Why did he suddenly start speaking in such a gentle, high-pitched tone?

Yin Zhi turned to look at him, baffled.

“They really aren’t very interesting—mostly poor scholars becoming top scorers and then secretly courting beauties in flower gardens,” she said. “But when I asked Sanlang to buy books, these were all he brought. He said there weren’t any others worth reading.”

Sanlang again!

He was really something, wasn’t he?

This time, though, he truly was at fault.

“I was planning to ask you to help me get some books anyway,” she added with a smile. “Just haven’t had the time. I’ll leave it to you.”

“No need to buy. Our house has more books than anything else. Lots of leisure reading too. I’ll sort some for you.”

Yin Zhi felt that aside from the occasional flare of pride or the moments he was trapped by the norms of his time, Shen Ti was genuinely easy to get along with.

Even as a child, he had given off a warm, comforting vibe.

That had never changed—even now, with adulthood’s aloofness and pride layered on top, the warmth remained.

He had always been a good kid.

She smiled. “Great. I’ll count on you.”

The more openly and calmly she smiled, the more it made Shen Ti’s heart ache.

He gave a quiet “mm” and pretended to focus on his book.

Yin Zhi, unaware, began chatting again. “By the way, that Ping Mo.”

“The one who came for the orchid yesterday—my maid said he’s already twenty-one and still not married. Is that true?”

Shen Ti composed himself and replied, “It’s true.”

Yin Zhi asked, “What’s the story?”

She wasn’t being nosy for no reason. If Ping Mo were just too poor to marry, fine. But as Shen Ti’s milk-brother and most trusted attendant, Ping Mo was the golden bachelor among the household staff—not someone who couldn’t find a wife.

According to custom, someone like him should’ve been married by seventeen or eighteen. Definitely not still single at twenty-one.

And having him come into the inner courtyard just to move a flowerpot? Overkill. Very suspicious.

Yin Zhi had already guessed most of it—she was just confirming.

Shen Ti didn’t answer directly. Instead, he said, “Why don’t you guess?”

That said it all. Yin Zhi said, “He’s waiting for your official wife, isn’t he?”

Shen Ti admitted, “Yes.”

He added, “Ping Mo is reliable. My father thinks highly of him. If nothing changes, he’ll stay by my side for life. When I inherit the household, he’ll become the chief steward. Naturally, he needs to choose a wife carefully.”

Even the household staff knew to choose spouses carefully when they had a future.

Look at him.

Now look at yourself.

Hopeless romantic.

Shen Ti closed his book. “What’s with that look in your eyes, Sister?”

Sensitive, aren’t we?

Yin Zhi feigned innocence. “Just checking which book you picked. Oh, that one? It’s awful. Try another. There’s one where a poor scholar gets raised by a fox spirit and ends up marrying a princess—better.”

They had only been married for seven days, yet somehow Shen Ti could already tell when Yin Zhi was being sincere or putting on an act.

He gave a quiet snort but let it slide.

Yin Zhi asked, “You had Ping Mo come in specifically to meet Kui’er, didn’t you?”

Shen Ti replied, “He had to see for himself. Otherwise, he wouldn’t let it go.”

Yin Zhi immediately understood: Neither Shen Ti nor Ping Mo liked Kui’er.

Kui’er wasn’t as pretty or capable as Lüyan or Hexin. She was younger too—only fifteen—while Ping Mo was six years her senior.

She wasn’t old enough to be married yet. Most maids wed at around seventeen. Keeping them in service a bit longer made more economic sense for the family.

Some households even kept maids from marrying indefinitely—immoral and disgraceful conduct.

Thankfully, Kui’er had no thoughts in that direction. When she saw Ping Mo yesterday, her only concern was doing more chores and not getting outshone by Lüyan and Hexin.

Those two, one or two years older, were already thinking about their future. Both were very nervous about Ping Mo.

Yin Zhi could even tell that they knew full well he had come specifically to check out Kui’er. That’s why the atmosphere had been so tense.

Only Kui’er had remained oblivious.

Ping Mo’s situation was, in fact, completely entangled with Shen Ti and Yin Zhi’s marriage.

Had the Feng family not suffered a downfall, Shen Ti would’ve married Feng Luoyi last spring after the imperial exams. At that time, Ping Mo would have been nineteen or twenty—the perfect age.

The Fengs were about equal in status to the Shens. Among the top-ranking maids in their household, there would definitely have been one who was attractive, competent, and well-matched for Ping Mo. Such pairings were typically arranged without objection.

Unless a maid had a secret lover—but if discovered, her reputation would be ruined and she'd likely be beaten and cast out.

But the Feng family had collapsed, and Shen Ti’s marriage was delayed by a year. He ended up marrying Yin Zhi from the small town of Huaixi. Her maids were not on the same level.

Nor were they the right age.

Had she married a year earlier, Ping Mo could’ve been paired with Yunjue—perfectly timed.

Yunjue had originally been meant to be Yin Zhi’s chief dowry maid. But due to the “three-year fate” imposed on Yin Zhi, Yunjue had already given birth by the time Yin Zhi married.

Everything was out of sync. Nothing aligned anymore.

The unsettling realization dawned on Yin Zhi: she was now thinking about the matches for her maids.

Not “marriages”—but matches.

Because it was no longer about choice—it was about assigning.

In her past, as the daughter of the Yin family, she hadn’t even controlled her own maids’ marriages. Qiaoque’s marriage was arranged by her parents. Yunjue had no parents, so Yin Zhi had had to personally ask Aunt Sun for help.

But now, as the young madam of the Shen family, she had full authority over the marriages of the dozen or so maids in Jingrong Court.

And yet, even with that power, she couldn’t let them go out and meet suitors freely.

The maids couldn’t leave, and the male servants couldn’t come in. That’s why Ping Mo’s rare visit had the two top maids, Lüyan and Hexin, waiting anxiously at the door—desperate for even a brief encounter.

Some maids would have family to help arrange matches. But others would be left unchosen, unrequested—matched solely by the mistress.

Hence, the word “match.”

Yin Zhi said nothing.

Shen Ti thought she was upset about Ping Mo.

He had grown up with Ping Mo, trusted him deeply, and was very close to him. Of course he cared more for Ping Mo than for Kui’er.

But he also understood that, to a woman who had married into the family, her personal maid carried real weight. Just like his mother and her trusted aide Qin Mama.

He reassured her, “Kui’er’s still young. We’ll wait a couple of years. I have other men under me—we’ll find her a good match then.”

Yin Zhi turned to look at him. He had used the word “match” so naturally.

For someone of his status in this era, it was perfectly normal.

They lay on the same bed, but Yin Zhi knew—there were still millennia between them.

“It’s fine. She’s still young. There’s time,” she said.

But then she saw the look on Shen Ti’s face. He seemed to think that Ping Mo rejecting Kui’er had cost her something—and he felt guilty.

And in that moment, the vast chasm between them became real, tangible.