Chapter 14: "The Needle’s Edge"

The young men were growing up, studying, and preparing for the imperial examinations, and time marched on for the young women as well.

The eldest daughter came of age first and was engaged to a fairly decent match—a wealthy local gentry family, well-matched in status.

The second daughter followed the same path: pleasing the legal wife (the matriarch), and when she came of age, she too secured a good marriage. Though her husband’s family wasn’t as wealthy as the eldest’s, they weren’t poor either—and most importantly, her future husband held the rank of xiucai (a licentiate).

At last, it was the third daughter’s turn, and she too followed in her sisters’ footsteps.

However, the third daughter was the same age as Yin Zhi. So when the third daughter’s behavior was deemed perfectly normal, it made Yin Zhi’s differences all the more noticeable.

By now, the eldest had already married, and the second was engaged and waiting for her wedding. Having lived together for so long, some affection naturally developed. The eldest daughter’s concubine mother, the second daughter, and her own concubine mother all privately tried to persuade Yin Zhi:

“Look at how your sisters behave—why don’t you learn from them? Don’t blame us for nagging. Sure, we’ve had our spats with your mother, but we’ve watched you grow up. Now that she’s gone, we worry there’s no one left to guide you—that’s why we meddle.”

Yin Zhi was slightly touched.

Touched—but noncompliant. She agreed with a smile and thanked them politely, yet went on behaving as she always had, quietly existing on the margins of the household, staying in her small courtyard.

The third daughter complained to her concubine mother:

“I’m so mad. I asked Fourth Sister to help me sew something for Mother, but she was lazy and wouldn’t lift a finger. I’m almost done with mine, and she hasn’t even started.”

Her concubine mother replied:

“I know you’re fond of her. Normally you like to pull her into things, and that’s fine. But not now, please.”

The third daughter fell silent.

Hearts are naturally biased. Even among concubine-born daughters, the matriarch would inevitably treat them a little differently. In other matters, sisterly affection might lead to compromises—but marriage was too significant. It was practically a second birth. If two daughters sought marriage at the same time, a biased matriarch could ensure the better match went to her favored child.

Of course, the best scenario would be for both to marry well.

But after that, the third daughter stopped calling Yin Zhi to join her.

Yin Zhi could see right through the small calculations between the third daughter and her concubine mother. Yet she wasn’t disappointed or angry. When people become rivals, they naturally put their own interests first—especially when they don't share the same mother.

Compared to the toxic step-sibling relationships she had read about in novels from another time and place—fighting over suitors, pushing sisters into ponds, drugging one another—this was nothing. No deep affection, true, but still friendly enough.

By then, Qiaoque had already married, and Yunjian had become Yin Zhi’s personal maid. Yunjian was anxious for her:

“Just look at Third Miss!”

Then she looked at her own mistress—a block of wood, so passive it was maddening.

Kui’er walked in with a fruit platter and chuckled:

“Our lady? You should know by now, sister—there’s no rushing her.”

Yin Zhi bit into a piece of fruit:

“Look at you—old enough, but Kui’er understands me better than you.”

Yunjian let out a dramatic sigh.

Even the Third Madam couldn’t help but say to Nanny Sun:

“What’s wrong with Fourth Girl? She doesn’t seem stupid in daily life, yet how can she be so lacking in tact? Can’t she see what her sisters are doing? Doesn’t she know to learn from them?”

Nanny Sun thought for a moment and replied:

“Well… there’s really nothing anyone could fault her for.”

True enough.

Fourth Daughter was kind and gentle, never fought with her sisters, and was especially considerate. Even Fifth Daughter and Young Master Si—children of Concubine Zhou—loved sticking close to her.

She was respectful to her elders, always fulfilling her morning and evening duties.

There was no mistake in how she behaved. She was just dull, and didn’t know how to curry favor with the matriarch.

“Ugh, I’m not complaining too much,” said Third Madam, waving her fan. “I just think she’s a bit foolish.”

Nanny Sun flattered her:

“Maybe she truly trusts Madam. With someone as generous and loving as you, why would she suspect harm? That’s probably why she doesn’t overthink things.”

Because the old matriarch above them was always nitpicking, Third Madam had to tread carefully, never giving her anything to criticize. She prided herself on not mistreating the concubine-born daughters, considering herself a gracious wife and a kind stepmother. The flattery hit the mark.

Indeed, Third Madam was a reasonable wife. Though Fourth Daughter didn’t flatter her like the others, when both the third and fourth daughters came of age, she still arranged proper matches for them.

After coming of age, Yin Zhi was summoned two or three times to meet guests alongside Third Daughter, and even attended a banquet or two. She quickly realized she was being considered as a marriage candidate.

For years, her life had been quiet and peaceful, but she’d never forgotten the inevitability of marriage in this world.

She had considered other options—remaining single, becoming a businesswoman—but observation and probing revealed such paths were either unfeasible or too risky. Legally, in this world, unmarried women had no right to private property. Before marriage, a woman belonged to her parents and brothers.

Marriage—and her dowry—was the only way a woman gained private ownership of anything.

She even looked into becoming a female head of household, like in those other-world novels where heroines would just declare independence. But after some inquiry, she learned that such a status was a government accommodation for very specific cases—widows without in-laws or natal families, or completely isolated women with no kin. You had to live virtuously, keep chaste, and prove you had no one before the government would allow it.

If she ever became a widow or got divorced, she could explore that path. But for now, with both parents alive, three older brothers, one younger brother, uncles, cousins, and a huge undivided family, it was impossible.

A closed loop: to live freely, one had to leave the natal family. But to leave, one had to marry. And once married, one came under the husband's control.

The worst part? Someone had taken an interest in her—even ahead of the third daughter.

She was summoned to meet a lady she had already met before. Third Madam smiled proudly and said:

“Not to boast, but our Fourth Daughter is the gentlest of all the children. Don’t be fooled by her rank—her older sisters often say she’s the one who truly feels like the eldest. She’s so caring.”

The lady listened with a gentle smile and nods, and then solemnly took out a pearl-inlaid hairpin and pinned it into Yin Zhi’s hair. The pearl was the size of a lotus seed. Clearly, this was another wealthy, well-matched family.

Very ceremonious.

But Yin Zhi had been preparing for this since the day she transmigrated.

That evening, Third Madam reported to Master Yin the success of her matchmaking efforts:

“The Liu family’s legitimate second son—not a bad match at all. I really worked hard to find good ones for both Third and Fourth.”

Yin Sanye asked:

“Why did they choose Fourth Daughter over Third?”

Third Madam replied:

“Just a matter of feeling. They're close in age, so the one that feels right wins.”

But she understood perfectly.

Lady Liu had three sons. The eldest was the heir—his wife needed to be capable. The youngest was doted on—the future wife would be pampered too. But the second daughter-in-law? She needed to be quiet, noncompetitive, someone who wouldn’t vie with the eldest for power or the youngest for affection.

The third daughter, eager to show off and always pushing ahead, had tipped her hand. The fourth daughter, always yielding and understated, fit the role perfectly.

Yin Sanye had planned to visit Concubine Zhou, but Third Madam roped him into a proper discussion about the formal betrothal rituals, so he stayed with her.

She brought up another topic:

“Our eldest son... I know our child’s limits. He’s not like his cousin in the Shen family, who became a xiucai at eleven and is clearly headed for greater heights. So, maybe…”

Yin Sanye knew what she was getting at. His brother-in-law had predicted it: “Your eldest son—xiucai material at best.”

And so it was. He passed the xiucai exam but failed the next level (xiangshi). Even the boy himself admitted: “I’m not cut out for this.”

Still, their father had high hopes for producing a juren (provincial graduate). He wasn’t aiming for the top, just hoping for at least one juren in the third generation. Realistic, not dreaming of jinshi (metropolitan graduates), but even the leap from xiucai to juren was enormous for those lacking talent.

Third Madam only managed her own branch and didn’t care about reshaping the family’s destiny. That was for her father-in-law and husband to worry about. She just wanted her share of stability.

Her son had passed xiucai, and that was enough for her. Since he admitted he lacked talent, she wanted him to enter the family business early—stake his claim before others did.

But Yin Sanye immediately shut her down:

“Don’t be ridiculous. Father just gave me two mulberry-covered hills to manage. You want to disappoint him now? Second Brother didn’t get those lands. Mother already dislikes me—don’t give her more ammunition.”

She backed off right away:

“Alright. I’ll listen to you.”

The next morning, just as she was doing her hair, a maid reported:

“Miss Yunjian from Fourth Girl’s courtyard has been waiting outside.”

Third Madam was surprised and summoned her in:

“Why are you here so early? Did Fourth Girl need something?”

Yunjian looked anxious:

“Miss developed a fever last night. She’s been delirious ever since.”

“She was fine yesterday—how did she fall ill?” Third Madam thought it was just a cold and handled it as usual: “Tell the steward to summon Doctor Yang.”

But Yunjian hesitated:

“Madam… I don’t think it’s just a cold. I think—I think…”

Third Madam frowned: “Hmm?”

Yunjian, trembling, said:

“I think she’s… been haunted by something.”