#222: Extra #Three - Splendor

On the sixteenth day of the third month in the second year of Rongshun, the Qi family welcomed another young master. He was named Cheng, with the courtesy name Jingsi.

The birth of the Grand Tutor’s child should have been a private matter for the Qi family, not something others ought to inquire about. However, given the Grand Tutor’s position and his delicate relationship with the young emperor, the gender of this child was of particular significance. If it were a girl, all would remain calm, and perhaps she could even marry the young emperor in the future, turning enmity between the Qi and Xiao families into harmony. But if it were a boy…

In the end, it was indeed a son.

At first glance, the court and the realm seemed tranquil, but behind closed doors, whispers abounded. The Grand Tutor now had a son—though he might not wish to seize the throne himself, could he resist doing so for his son? And how would the young emperor react to this new heir of the Qi family?

It was a tangled mess.

Meanwhile, the name of the Grand Tutor’s eldest legitimate son spread among the public.

Qi Cheng, Qi Jingsi.

“Cheng” referred to a library—a repository of books—and “Jingsi” signified a learned scholar.

The name carried an air of reclusion, as though the Grand Tutor did not aspire for his son to usurp power but merely hoped he would diligently study and cultivate virtue. Or perhaps this name was merely a smokescreen, concealing greater ambitions harbored by the Qi family?

No one could decipher the truth.

Yet none of these chaotic speculations from court and society could penetrate the gates of Fenghe Garden. Here, tranquility reigned, and the atmosphere remained harmonious and prosperous.

During his wife’s pregnancy, Grand Tutor Qi had already reduced his direct involvement in state affairs. Now, with the birth of their child, he became even more inseparable from home, skipping court sessions for nearly half a month. This wasn’t due to anything else—it was simply that his wife’s constitution was too frail. This childbirth had brought her to the brink of death, and even days later, she had yet to regain her strength, remaining listless.

Though weak herself, she delighted in doting on the baby. Whenever awake, she insisted the child be brought to her side, gazing at him endlessly.

Lady Yao also came to Fenghe Garden to care for Shen Xiling. Seeing her frail figure, Lady Yao felt immense pity, repeatedly lamenting her hardships. Upon seeing the child, she remarked, “Look at you—so thin yourself, yet this little one is sturdy. You’ve truly suffered.”

Her words rang true. Qi Cheng was born full-term and had been quite heavy at birth. Every day, he brimmed with vitality, his eyes—remarkably similar to Qi Yin’s—always open, rarely crying, just quietly observing people.

He was utterly endearing.

Shen Xiling now cherished this child as the apple of her eye. She could gaze at him all day without tiring, and even at night, she continued to watch him, much to Qi Yin’s exasperation.

He urged her to rest, but she refused, instead intently studying the child’s features and discussing with him whom the baby resembled. With conviction, she declared, “I think he resembles you more. Look at his eyes—the curve at the outer corners is just like yours, and his nose too—look, look…”

Qi Yin found it hard to believe they could discuss the curvature of a newborn’s eyelids, but he refrained from contradicting his wife. Instead, he nodded in agreement, soothing her for a while before finally calling Shuipei to take the child to the wet nurse. Then, he personally began coaxing his wife to sleep.

But his wife was harder to soothe than the child. As soon as Cheng was taken away, she tossed and turned in bed. After a while, she tugged at his hand, her voice tinged with melancholy, and asked, “…Shouldn’t I have given birth to a girl?”

Qi Yin raised an eyebrow at her words, then heard her continue, somewhat self-reproachfully, “If it’s a son, it will surely be a burden—for you and for the child.”

Shen Xiling was no longer the naive maiden of her youth. She understood the political landscape and deeply grasped the extraordinary significance of Cheng’s arrival for the Great Liang dynasty. Everyone would inevitably scrutinize this child closely, and Qi Yin would bear even more invisible burdens because of it.

She was overjoyed at Cheng’s birth, but… unease lingered in her heart, difficult to dispel.

At this moment, Qi Yin’s arm around her shoulders tightened slightly. She leaned into his embrace, enveloped once more by the familiar scent of sweet pine, listening to his steady heartbeat. His voice was calm as he said, “There is no ‘should have been.’ Whether boy or girl, it makes no difference.”

“Nothing will happen.”

This man never spoke sweet words. Even now, comforting her, he merely said, “Nothing will happen,” rather than, “I will protect you and the child.” Yet it was precisely this understated reassurance that made Shen Xiling feel secure. Perhaps it was because she had always deeply trusted him.

They fell silent for a moment. Shen Xiling nestled closer, then murmured glumly, “…But I still want a daughter.”

Qi Yin: “Hmm?”

“A daughter would be wonderful. I could dress her in pretty clothes, style her hair…” She looked up at him, cheerful. “And everyone says it’s best to have both sons and daughters. More children mean more joy, right? Besides, what if Cheng takes after you and doesn’t like talking? Then we’d have no one to play with!”

The latter part of her statement sounded off. Qi Yin frowned slightly, expressing mild confusion: “…Isn’t your nature also quiet?”

Not only quiet—when she was young, she was practically a mute, enduring discomfort without complaint, often giving him headaches.

Suddenly called out on this, Shen Xiling faltered for a moment, then mumbled defensively, “T-that was when I was little! Actually, I’m very lively—it’s just that you were too stern back then, so I didn’t dare speak…”

…Baseless accusations, utter nonsense.

But what could Qi Yin do? Arguing with a young woman was unbecoming. So he simply agreed, lowering his head to soothe her into resting.

Sigh. In truth, Shen Xiling was already a mother and could no longer be considered a young woman. But in his eyes… perhaps she would forever remain a girl in need of care and indulgence.

Time flew swiftly, and in the blink of an eye, Qi Cheng was four years old, reaching the age for formal education.

In fact, he had begun Early education at three, but formal schooling awaited his fourth year. His mother, who doted on him, didn’t want him confined to a study at such a tender age. She often told him, “Cheng is still young. There’s no rush to study or write. Even when he grows up, he shouldn’t push himself too hard. Natural disposition is the best.”

He vaguely sensed that his mother’s philosophy differed from that of his uncles and aunts. He had heard that his cousin Qi Tai had been forced to study at three—if he failed to recite the Analects , he would be punished with a ruler.

He found this perplexing, attributing it to his mother’s excessive kindness. Yet, as the saying goes, a kind mother often raises a spoiled child. Determined not to let himself slack off, he secretly studied when his mother wasn’t looking, occasionally bringing books to seek guidance from his father.

His father didn’t discourage his studies but also didn’t push him. If Cheng asked, he answered; if not, he acted as if nothing was amiss. Unfortunately, even this was eventually discovered by his mother, who grew upset, blaming his father for being too strict. Qi Yin, ever compliant with his wife, agreed to everything she said and thereafter refrained from personally tutoring Cheng.

Given these circumstances, Cheng’s education became a tricky matter. Alas, despite his father being the Jiangzuo Bangyan and the Grand Tutor of Great Liang, he couldn’t personally teach his own son. Thus, at four, Cheng had to formally apprentice under another teacher.

The teacher was someone familiar to his parents—Han Feichi, the Zhuangyuan of the Jiahe era and Cheng’s uncle.

Uncle Han differed from his parents. Though usually warm and gentle, he became stern when it came to studies, issuing repeated admonishments and instructions, fearing Cheng might fail to meet expectations.

Uncle Han was excellent in every way, except for one thing that puzzled Cheng—he forbade him from reading leisurely books.

This warranted further explanation.

Qi Cheng was naturally intelligent and studious. Even with the heavy workload assigned by Han Feichi, he always finished ahead of schedule, using the remaining time to sneak into his father’s study to read.

He deeply admired his father and naturally wanted to read the books his father loved. Later, his mother told him that his father cherished Baopuzi’s collected works most, and once Cheng could read more characters, he could delve into them too.

His mother always thought he knew too few characters, but in truth, he could already comprehend texts like literary gatherings. One day, he secretly took one of his father’s books, planning to study it carefully after school.

Unfortunately, Uncle Han discovered it.

Uncle Han was furious, his emotions complex. Cheng couldn’t fully understand them at the time, but he heard Uncle Han sternly forbid him from reading such books again.

Confused, Cheng asked why. After all, even his father enjoyed these books.

Uncle Han sighed, remaining silent for a long while before replying, “These books are indeed good, but they may dull the sharp edges of youth… If you like, you can read them when you’re older.”

Cheng didn’t fully grasp this. Later, he asked his father for clarification. At the time, his father’s expression was slightly opaque, but eventually, he simply smiled and told Cheng, “Listen to your teacher for now. Matters of the future must wait until the future to be decided.”

Cheng understood only partially.

Aside from these minor disputes over reading, Cheng’s childhood passed smoothly.

Given his lineage, it would have been difficult for him not to lead a smooth life. His father was a powerful minister who held sway over life and death—even the emperor respectfully addressed him as “Teacher.” His mother controlled the financial lifelines of Jiangzuo and had deep ties with Jiangbei, ensuring convenience wherever she went. Most officials in the court were his father’s students, and during festivals, they often visited Fenghe Garden, bringing Cheng novel trinkets. Truly, he lacked nothing.

The only thing missing was siblings.

He had cousins aplenty, but no blood siblings, which left him feeling slightly lonely. Living primarily in Fenghe Garden with his parents, he rarely returned to the main estate, leaving him with few peers his age to play with—a regrettable absence.

He longed for a younger brother or sister, and his mother shared the same desire. Logically, in their household, anything his mother approved was as good as settled—after all, his father adored her and would agree to anything she said.

Yet, inexplicably, his father adamantly refused to budge on the matter of having another child, causing his mother to grow frustrated from time to time.

This couldn’t be blamed on Qi Yin. Shen Xiling’s constitution was too frail. Giving birth to Cheng had drained her vitality, and years later, she still hadn’t fully recovered. If she were to bear another child, what if something went wrong?

They already had Cheng—why risk it? Qi Yin saw this clearly and wasn’t swayed by notions of needing multiple blessings. He only wished for Shen Xiling’s safety, free from any danger.

Yet his painstaking concern wasn’t fully appreciated by Shen Xiling. She was determined to have a beautiful, adorable little girl, sparing no effort to achieve this.

First, she reasoned gently with Qi Yin. When that failed, she resorted to feigned tears and tantrums. To her dismay, even these tactics proved ineffective, leaving her thoroughly disheartened. But merchants were known for their cunning resilience, and she refused to give up. While diligently nurturing her health, she persistently pressured him year after year. Eventually, she even began employing subtle tactics in bed, though none succeeded.

He was serious about this matter and wouldn’t yield an inch.

Shen Xiling was livid. Over the years, he had indulged her every whim, fostering a somewhat petulant streak in her. Now, she couldn’t tolerate being denied. One night, after another unsuccessful attempt, she became inconsolable, wrapping herself in the blanket and retreating to the corner of the bed, demanding Qi Yin sleep in the study.

Grand Tutor Qi’s renowned wisdom wasn’t just for show—it proved equally effective in soothing his wife. Through the embroidered quilt, he pulled her close, speaking gently before earnestly asking, “Do you truly not understand my feelings?”

He sighed, his tone tinged with sorrow.

Just as he adored her, she deeply cared for him and couldn’t bear to hear him sigh. Hearing his melancholy, her anger dissipated, leaving only a faint residue. Still, she refused to respond.

He didn’t mind, merely embracing her from behind and tenderly kissing her loose strands of hair scattered on the pillow. His voice was low and filled with affection as he murmured, “Wenwen, I cannot live without you.”

Her heartstrings trembled.

“I can lose many things…” He paused here, the brief silence carrying a subtle weight, as if hinting at the magnitude of those “many things.” Then, slowly, he continued, “…but you are not among them.”

I cannot lose you.

Could this be considered romantic? Perhaps yes, perhaps no—his expressions always seemed restrained, avoiding overt sentimentality. Yet, precisely because of this restraint, his deep affection unmistakably permeated Shen Xiling’s heart.

It made her realize how much he loved her.

It also made her realize how unreasonable it was to throw tantrums at him.

Shen Xiling softened again. After a while, she hugged the blanket and turned toward him, nestling warmly into his embrace. Holding him, she said, “…Alright, I won’t mention having another child anymore.”

Her small compromise seemed to please him greatly. She could sense his earlier heaviness lifting, his voice now tinged with faint amusement as he praised her, “Good girl.”

Being praised always brought Shen Xiling a small measure of joy. She silently celebrated for a moment before sighing again, snuggling into his arms and grumbling, “Such a pity. A girl would have been so adorable—smart and gentle, easier to raise than a boy.”

Her words hung in the air for a long while without response. Shen Xiling looked up to find Qi Yin gazing at her with a faint, enigmatic smile.

“Smart and gentle, true enough. But whether they’re easy to raise is another matter. When they grow up, they’ll throw tantrums from time to time—not easy to handle.”

His words…

Shen Xiling immediately knew he was indirectly criticizing her. Her nose wrinkled in irritation, and she playfully hit and teased him in his arms. They laughed and frolicked for a while before becoming entangled in intimate tenderness.

Passion overflowed.

Given Qi Yin’s unwavering stance on having another child, Shen Xiling had no choice but to seek alternatives. To fulfill her dream of having a daughter and to provide Cheng with a playmate, she devised a compromise. She frequently invited her sister-in-law, Lady Ning, and her daughter, Qi Nian, to visit Fenghe Garden.

Qi Yin approved of this arrangement.

During the chaos of Xiaoshan, his fourth brother, Qi Le, had tragically died, leaving behind only his wife and daughter. Lady Ning, deeply devoted, refused to remarry despite the Qi family’s encouragement to move on from her grief. She chose instead to raise her child alone, cherishing the memory of her late husband.

Given her determination, the Qi family refrained from further persuasion. Qi Yin, unable to intervene, did his best to care for his sister-in-law and niece. It was beneficial for Nian to visit Fenghe Garden often—it signaled to the world that she and her mother were under his protection, assured of his support for life.

These considerations of the adults were unknown to the children, who were too young to think beyond their joy.

Little Nian was a year older than Cheng, cheerful and talkative. Every visit, she was a whirlwind of energy, dragging Cheng everywhere. Though young, Cheng was far steadier than his sister. Under his mother’s guidance, he showed great deference to this elder sister, always looking out for her, making Nian increasingly fond of visiting Fenghe Garden. The little girl refused to leave every time she came.

However, their carefree childhood together didn’t last long. By the time Cheng turned five, he suddenly began emphasizing propriety, declaring that boys and girls should maintain boundaries. From then on, he refused to be as close to Sister Nian as he had been in his younger years. Nian was deeply unhappy, wailing and crying several times. Cheng would squat beside her, explaining solemnly with furrowed brows, looking so much like his father that even Lady Yao remarked they were cast from the same mold—not just in appearance but in temperament and speech.

This left Shen Xiling both amused and exasperated.

That Cheng resembled Qi Yin filled her with boundless pride. Yet, she knew that beneath Qi Yin’s admirable qualities lay burdens—his life had never been easy. Every step he took was fraught with difficulty.

As a mother, her hope was not for her child to achieve greatness but simply for him to live a peaceful, happy life under her and his father’s protection, free from the perilous machinations of the world, spared from constant choices and sacrifices. All the “yearnings of the heart” that Qi Yin could never attain in his lifetime, she hoped Cheng could possess.

This beautiful aspiration remained peacefully nestled in Shen Xiling’s heart, and their family indeed enjoyed a period of tranquil happiness.

However, the sudden event that occurred in the seventh year of Rongshun ultimately made Shen Xiling realize… that conflict and slaughter had always lain dormant by their side.