Chapter 2: A Mistake in the Melody (Part One)

◎ Imperial Marriage Decree ◎

Zhou Tan, courtesy name Xiaobai.

The history of the Yin Dynasty was compiled by ancient historians who examined various records from that era, labeling Zhou Tan as the foremost sycophant of Northern Yin. However, there are so few surviving documents about him that only one anthology of his poetry remains. As a result, although he ranks first in the "Biography of Sycophants" section of The History of Yin, his entry is the shortest—just a single page.

All Qu You could find was a brief introduction to him:

Zhou Tan was from Lin’an. In his youth, he was a spoiled playboy, but after his family’s downfall, he devoted himself to his studies. In the twelfth year of Yongning, he achieved the highest honors in the imperial examinations, earning the title of Zhuangyuan. He became a disciple of Gu Zhiyan, then-prime minister, and served with distinction in local posts such as the magistrate of Pingjiang and the vice governor of Yangzhou. Upon returning to the capital, he was appointed as the Minister of Punishments.

During Emperor De’s reign, when Zhou Tan had just returned to the capital, Gu Zhiyan was dismissed as prime minister for opposing the construction of the Candle Tower. All officials associated with Gu were imprisoned, but Zhou Tan alone submitted a poem titled “Ode to the Candle Tower” in praise of Emperor De.

Thus, he alone emerged alive from the Ministry of Punishments and was transferred to serve as Vice Minister of Justice.

The construction of the tower was merely a pretense; Emperor De used it as an excuse to purge the court. From that point on, Zhou Tan became one of Emperor De’s trusted confidants, described as someone who “repeatedly flattered his sovereign, indulged in beauty, wealth, and power,” completely abandoning the virtuous ideals of his teacher, Gu Zhiyan.

Although Gu Zhiyan avoided torture in prison and was allowed to return home, he soon drowned himself in despair. Despite his death, his disciples and former associates were spread throughout the empire, and they all despised Zhou Tan’s actions. Overnight, Zhou Tan became a figure of universal scorn.

Later, after Emperor De’s death and the failed coup by Emperor Shang, Zhou Tan presented a dubious imperial edict and installed the seventeen-year-old Ming Emperor on the throne. Amidst widespread condemnation, at the age of twenty-five, Zhou Tan entered the Hall of State Affairs, rising to become the Chief Councillor and eventually the youngest prime minister in the history of the Great Yin Dynasty.

Upon becoming prime minister, Zhou Tan immediately began implementing reforms, during which the Flower-Cutting Decree was issued.

Historical records briefly describe several instances where Zhou Tan used slanderous words to deceive the emperor, acting as a corrupt and immoral official. Because of his notorious reputation, the reforms faced significant resistance. After two attempts and two setbacks, Zhou Tan fell out of favor with Emperor Ming. He was stripped of his position, the reforms were abolished, and he spent three months enduring torture in the Imperial Prison before being sent back to his hometown of Lin’an.

The following year, this infamous sycophant quietly passed away at the young age of thirty-one, leaving behind only one collection of works, Spring Sandalwood Anthology .

Qu You still remembered how she had annotated this passage with a quote from Zhang Dai’s self-written epitaph during the Ming Dynasty:

“As a young man, I was a dissolute wastrel, indulging in tea and oranges, obsessed with books and poetry. Half a lifetime of toil turned into dreams; all that remains are broken beds, shattered tables, cracked tripods, and ruined qin. It truly feels like another world.”

Now, she couldn’t help but echo that sentiment—it truly felt like another world.

After dreaming of Zhou Tan, she violated historical materialism and found herself transported a thousand years into the past to Northern Yin—where she became Zhou Tan’s bride-to-be for a marriage meant to bring him good luck and recovery.

Qu You sighed deeply, carefully removing the simmered goose and bamboo shoots from the stove. She ladled some into a white porcelain bowl and carried it toward Qingxiang Pavilion.

Qu Jiaxi was sitting tearfully by her mother Yin Xiangru’s bedside. Seeing the fragrant dish Qu You brought, she couldn’t resist swallowing a mouthful of saliva and asked eagerly, “Elder Sister, why do we have meat today?”

The person whose body she now inhabited shared her name—Qu You, courtesy name Yilian. She was the eldest daughter of a sixth-rank historian named Qu Cheng, aged seventeen.

This year was the fifteenth year of Yongning. Earlier in the year, the Candle Tower Incident had shaken the court, and Qu Cheng, implicated due to his association with Gu Zhiyan, had been imprisoned for over three months.

Qu Cheng was an upright man from a scholarly family, but their relatives were few, and their finances were dire. Yin Xiangru had been tirelessly working to secure Qu Cheng’s release, spending all their savings. The Qu household was left with barely any servants.

Upon arriving in this time, Qu You faced the immediate risk of starvation and had no choice but to take charge of managing the household while her sick mother rested.

The women of ancient scholar-official families were notoriously inept, so it took her half a month to train Concubine Zhao to shop and cook, teach her two delicate younger sisters needlework, and even get her bookish younger brother to fetch water and sweep the floors.

Before she could feel satisfied with these accomplishments, an imperial decree arrived, ordering her to marry Zhou Tan, the current Vice Minister of Justice.

After Yin Xiangru received the decree and expressed gratitude, she fainted without uttering a word.

In Bianjing City, the original owner of this body had been a renowned talented woman, often mentioned alongside the daughter of the ruling Gao family. Together, they composed 108 linked verses at the Flower Planting Banquet, which became a celebrated story.

“Qu Yi should be pitied, embracing clouds and holding the moon.” Coupled with her radiant beauty, she had received numerous marriage proposals.

However, Qu Cheng, knowing his daughter’s fragile nature and pride in her talents, feared she wouldn’t survive the cutthroat politics of a noble household. Thus, he had temporarily declined all offers, intending to carefully select a humble scholar as her husband.

But fate intervened suddenly. With Qu Cheng imprisoned and the Qu household left without support, Yin Xiangru fainted upon receiving the decree. Qu You discreetly slipped a piece of jewelry to the eunuch delivering the decree, who revealed that Emperor De had casually arranged her marriage to Zhou Tan, who had narrowly survived an assassination attempt just days earlier.

Zhou Tan, who had recently betrayed the Gu faction and served as Vice Minister of Justice for less than three months, was at the peak of his infamy. Scholars across the land wished to eat his flesh raw. Any father hearing his daughter was to marry such a man would likely die of rage.

Thinking of this, Qu You sighed again. Truly, the hearts of emperors were inscrutable. Even though Zhou Tan had betrayed his mentor to save himself, Emperor De still arranged this humiliating marriage to test his luck.

If Qu Cheng didn’t leave prison, Zhou Tan would have a convict’s wife, subject to ridicule. If Qu Cheng regained his position, marrying into a virtuous lineage would be a slap in the face.

Naturally, Yin Xiangru was unwilling to accept this marriage, but the imperial decree left no room for negotiation. Qu You herself felt indifferent. After all, she knew this marriage was destined to happen. There was no room for resistance—not only because of the imperial decree but because it was the choice of history itself.

There was little information about Zhou Tan’s personal life. He married only once, and his wife was known only by her surname. At the end of Spring Sandalwood Anthology , there was an ambiguous elegy for the deceased.

But if she wasn’t mistaken, Zhou Tan’s wife was “Lady Qu.”

The Lady Qu who had been granted this marriage by imperial decree.

Having read countless historical texts and watched numerous time-travel dramas, Qu You understood one immutable truth:

History cannot be altered.

The butterfly effect meant that even a small variable could upend everything. Her transmigration had already occurred, and the historical records remained intact. She had no intention of interfering with the choices of the people here. Instead, she wanted to delve deeper into events that had already transpired to uncover more truths.

She was an outsider, a recorder of history, not its author.

All she could do was carve out her own space in the unseen cracks of history.

Though Zhou Tan was emotionally distant and lacked close friends, there were no records of him abusing his wife. Moreover, he was said to “love beauty.” As long as she maintained a pragmatic mindset, she could likely coexist peacefully with him.

Besides, the elegy at the end of Spring Sandalwood Anthology suggested that no matter how ruthless he was, she wouldn’t die anytime soon.

If she wasn’t going to die, then she might as well live on.

She had more important matters to attend to.

——Zhou Tan would later meet the anonymous individual who drafted the Flower-Cutting Decree .

That elusive figure who had tormented her for years, whose traces she couldn’t find despite combing through every inch of the Yin Dynasty’s history!

If she managed to survive long enough, she was certain she’d uncover the identity of this anonymous person.

He was wealthy, powerful, and busy—but his reputation was tarnished. By marrying him, she could not only save the original owner’s father and reunite her family but also, Qu You speculated, enjoy more freedom than she would as a secluded maiden in the Qu household.

The customs, landscapes, rivers, and seas of the Great Yin Dynasty, the legendary figures of this era, and the laws she had studied for six years—all of it beckoned her to explore.

At this thought, her academic enthusiasm surged. Though her transmigration defied materialist explanation, she now realized that she was closer than ever to the mysteries she had pursued for years.

How could her heart not race?

Qu Jiaxi, seeing her lost in thought, waved her hand in front of her. Coming back to reality, Qu You gently tapped her sister’s head. “Eat. The braised goose with bamboo shoots is tender and flavorful. You’ve been by Mother’s side all day—you deserve it.”

Qu Jiaxi savored the dish. “Elder Sister, I never knew you were such a good cook…”

She paused mid-sentence. “Wait—goose? Where did we get a goose?”

Qu You replied calmly, “It’s one of the two geese sent as part of the betrothal gifts.”

Zhou Tan’s condition remained uncertain, but his cousin Ren had delivered the gifts on his behalf after receiving the imperial decree. The dowry consisted of two white geese, one hundred strings of coins, a box of assorted fabrics, and some rice, flour, oil, and firewood—a meager and almost insulting offering.

Ren seemed to harbor resentment toward Zhou Tan but dared not defy his authority outright. Now, perhaps believing Zhou Tan was near death, he delivered the gifts with a dismissive and arrogant attitude.

The messenger even remarked dismissively, “Young Miss Qu, don’t be embarrassed. Minister Zhou is gravely injured and unlikely to recover. This ‘auspicious marriage’ is merely a formality. Once you enter the Zhou household and he passes away, all his wealth will belong to you.”

Qu You didn’t bother to feel angry. After all, Zhou Tan wouldn’t die.

“Elder Sister, are you really going to marry… that Minister Zhou?” Qu Jiaxi swallowed a bite of meat and whispered tearfully, “I’ve heard he’s a terrible person—treacherous, unfaithful, betraying his teacher and friends. And the emperor’s decree specifically mentions ‘auspicious marriage,’ so doesn’t that mean he won’t live much longer…?”

Before she could finish, Yin Xiangru, lying weakly on her sickbed, called softly, “Alian…”

“Mother, you’re awake?” Qu Jiaxi turned around hurriedly, asking anxiously.

Yin Xiangru nodded faintly, signaling her to leave. After Qu Jiaxi curtsied and left, Qu You handed her the bowl of goose and bamboo shoots before sitting down beside her mother’s bed.

“Alian, this marriage… must not happen. You’re so young—how can you marry someone for an auspicious marriage?” Yin Xiangru, finally able to speak, grasped her hand and wept. “To become a widow before the age of twenty, through an imperial decree… what will you do afterward? Even if he survives, I’ve heard rumors about him. How can you entrust your life to such a person? You won’t be able to handle it—you’ll suffer endlessly. I still have connections with some noblewomen. Perhaps we can negotiate…”

“Mother,” Qu You interrupted, forcing a bitter smile. “How can we negotiate? Are we to defy the imperial decree?”

Yin Xiangru pressed her forehead, her brow furrowing in anguish. “I’m your mother. How can I watch you walk into a fire pit?”

“I have no objections to this marriage,” Qu You said calmly. “Father is still in prison, and our savings are dwindling. If this continues, we’ll have to sell the house. Mother needs medicine, Xiangwen needs to study, and Jiayu and Jiaxi can’t endure hardship.”

“Of course, I’m not agreeing solely for the sake of my parents and siblings.”

Yin Xiangru’s eyes widened slightly. “Then why…?”

Qu You continued, “Perhaps Mother believes marriage is a lifelong commitment, not to be taken lightly. That after marriage, one must constantly ingratiate oneself, lower oneself, and confine oneself to the confines of the inner quarters, relying on fleeting moments of favor from one’s husband to survive.”

“But I don’t want that. I have vast mountains and rivers to explore, cultural landscapes to admire, and flavors of the world to taste. I want to see everything I’ve never seen and investigate the questions I’ve always pursued… Regardless of who my husband is or whether he lives or dies, what I yearn for is the great wide world.”

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Author’s Note:

“As a young man, I was a dissolute wastrel… indulging in tea and oranges, obsessed with books and poetry. Half a lifetime of toil turned into dreams; all that remains are broken beds, shattered tables, cracked tripods, and ruined qin. It truly feels like another world.” — Zhang Dai, Self-Written Epitaph