Chapter 20: The Scholar’s Return

What had become of the little scholar from primary school, now grown up? In this age without spectacles, he would surely need thick lenses—round, heavy frames, perhaps.

Yin Zhi smiled and looked toward the screen at the door.

A lean, graceful silhouette appeared behind the gauze. Though the face was hidden, his shoulders stayed level and his head steady as he walked. Even through the screen, he exuded an air of refined bearing.

After seeing so many handsome “top scholars,” princelings, and youthful dukes on the stage and in dramas, Yin Zhi herself felt little excitement at the arrival of this newly minted tanhua. To her, he was merely “a fine boy I met in childhood.”

Yet—perhaps it was the beauty of spring, or the collective enthusiasm of the household—that silhouette kindled a spark of anticipation in her heart.

He did not disappoint.

The moment he stepped into view, Yin Zhi’s gaze fixed on his eyes: bright, spirited, and proud. The eyes truly are the windows of the soul—this was a boy entitled to his pride.

A teenage tanhua, he had every right to carry himself with dignity.

Yet before the assembled ladies, he still tempered his pride.

His bow was flawless and measured: “Your nephew greets his aunts. I hope you are all well.”

Third Madam interjected with unrestrained warmth, “All quite well! Please rise!”

Madam Shen added, “He now has a courtesy name, conferred by His Majesty—‘Jiyun.’”

The other ladies, heedless of poetic origin or literary allusion, chorused an appreciative “Oh!” and praised, “What a fine name!”

One did not address a young gentleman by his given name once he had a courtesy name. The eldest daughter‑in‑law discreetly shot Third Madam a glance, then addressed Shen Jiyun properly: “Please, take a seat. Everyone here remembers you—allow me to introduce.”

Shen Jiyun bowed as he sat. “Long time without seeing you—my aunts look just as I remember. The younger cousins seem to have changed; I scarcely recognize them.”

The eldest daughter‑in‑law nodded and pointed to Yin Zhi. “This is Fourth Miss of the Third Branch, called Miss Zhi. You and she are born the same year—who is older?”

Shen Jiyun rose and exchanged bows with Yin Zhi, frowning slightly. “Fourth cousin of the Third Branch?”

Scholars prized composure—no trace of emotion—and yet his slight hesitation betrayed youthful curiosity. Yin Zhi smiled: “Indeed. We met once as children, when I was observing mourning and could not greet my aunts. You stood in my place—do you recall?”

Her words stirred a tender remembrance. She had arrived here so uncertain, fearing discovery, yet Madam Shen and Shen Jiyun had both shown her kindness.

Shen Jiyun inclined his head. “I remember. How have you fared all these years?”

His gaze was not mere courtesy; it was genuine: “Have you been well?”

Her heart warmed, Yin Zhi answered cheerfully, without a hint of hesitation: “Of course. Huaixi may not rival the capital, but its harvests are rich, the land fertile, the people simple. All is well at home—and I am well.”

For this distant cousin, her candid reply satisfied his kindness. He nodded. “I’m glad.”

Turning to the next cousin, their exchange ended.

Madam Shen watched thoughtfully.

Yin Zhi’s look had been warm and sincere—like an elder sister to a younger brother. Pure and uncomplicated, she had responded with both grace and composure. She had not monopolized the conversation with herself, but matched each cousin’s turn with polite attentiveness.

Madam Shen nodded again, impressed.

The eldest daughter‑in‑law continued: “These are your cousins Yunniang and Wannian—aged fifteen and fourteen. You may recall them, but perhaps not.”

Those two, already betrothed and awaiting marriage, stiffened noticeably compared to their previous carefree chatter. Shen Jiyun’s decorous greeting seemed to surprise them; they bowed and spoke in uneasy murmurs: “Greetings, Cousin.”

Madam Shen, observing their embarrassment, did not reproach them. They were young, on the cusp of first love—no one faulted them for losing composure before a celebrated scholar.

But the eldest daughter‑in‑law and Fourth Madam were privately chagrined. In contrast, the unsuspecting Fourth Miss had given no such awkwardness, steady in grace.

The younger cousins—three more aged around fourteen—also stiffened under the young scholar’s precise bow. Only Yin Zhi remained serene, a calm oasis amid their jitters.

After the cousins had their turns, Shen Jiyun inquired after his grandmother. The eldest daughter‑in‑law explained: “Your grandmother’s old ailment has flared—she has retired to rest.”

He nodded, unperturbed. Shen Jiyun’s mother had warned him of the step-grandmother’s delicacy; he bowed again and took his leave—his duty to greet and affirm family ties now complete.

At his departure, the women watched with reluctance. The room regained its quiet; the lively giggles of the young girls had vanished. Even the older women found the hush unsettling—no longer buoyed by youthful energy, they remembered decorum.

Silence fell at last, broken only by the eldest daughter‑in‑law praising the visiting nephew: “Our nephew rose in the exams—has he arranged a match yet?”

Every ear perked.

Madam Shen sighed. “He had been betrothed to the Minister of Rites’ daughter…”

At those lofty titles, the sisters‑in‑law felt the match slip beyond reach. The younger girls, startled, showed disappointment.

“But what do you mean, ‘had been’?” the ladies pressed.

Madam Shen’s expression turned rueful. “Her father offended His Majesty and was exiled. The young lady’s family fell from favor…perhaps best not speak further.”

The women exchanged looks. Fourth Madam nudged Third Madam. “So that match is off?”

Madam Shen said gently, “Indeed. We bear no blame—it was the law of the land.”

Yin Zhi’s eyes flicked down. She fully understood the implication: the minister’s daughter was now unworthy by law, barred from marrying a scholar. Even at seventeen, the girl’s prospects were ruined.

Yet the young cousins, too naive to grasp the tragedy, lit up.

Yin Zhi sighed within.

As eldest sister here, she cared for these younger girls. She would not allow them to chase idle fantasies and be led astray.

In this society, although not as constrictive as later eras, a woman’s honor and chastity remained paramount. Above all, a good marriage was a girl’s only path to independence.

Yin Zhi spoke clearly: “Aunt Shen, we need not worry.”

Her unexpected interruption drew every gaze.

Meeting Madam Shen’s eyes, she continued: “Marriage unites two families. The previous match lacked destiny—pity though that is, it was not the fault of the Shen family.”

“The Shen lineage has produced generations of scholars; my cousin is a peerless tanhua.”

“Though no new proposal stands yet, I trust that upon returning to the capital, countless gentlewomen of suitable rank will seek his hand.”

“Their families hold offices; our families are well matched.”

“And I, a lady raised in a literary household, can compose poems they cannot, appreciate music and painting—they will make an ideal couple, living in harmony.”

“In contrast, my sisters and I are but novices learning the rites—our flattery would ring hollow.”

Her voice was soft, measured—but like a cold spring shower, it dispelled the room’s restless, scheming energy.

Yes—what folly to dream of the tanhua! The ladies forced polite smiles; the younger girls bowed their heads in regret.

Madam Shen’s eyes gleamed with approval.

Perhaps—this marriage truly could be made.