Chapter 74: C74. Shifting Perspectives: What Time Unveils.

Chapter 74

Gu Min’s heart ached deeply as her natal family left the capital, but she wouldn’t let that burden her husband’s household. She was too composed, too proud to let her own sorrow spill over and trouble others.

“My grandfather always said, ‘Take a step back, and the world opens up before you.’ What matters most is that my family is healthy and content. They’ve always been pragmatic, unfazed by the glimmer and pull of official power.”

She turned to her mother-in-law and sister-in-law, her voice warm yet resolute. “Mother, Yunzhu, you don’t need to comfort me. I know where I stand, and I understand it all.”

Seated in the Nuan Pavilion, Gu Min’s smile was gentle but firm, like a delicate orchid standing bold and unyielding against the harsh wind. She exuded a soft strength—serene yet sharp, with a grace that dared the world to shake her.

Meng Shi, her mother-in-law, pulled her into an embrace full of care and protection. “My sweet girl, don’t you worry. Even if your father and the rest are far from here, I’m still in this capital with you. Treat me as your other mother. If ever you feel wronged, come to me—I’ll stand behind you no matter what.”

Gu Min’s eyes shimmered, tears breaking through the shield of her composure. She rested her head on Meng Shi’s shoulder, laughter mingling with her tears as she turned to Yunzhu. “See? Mother’s always ready to make me cry again.”

Yunzhu teased in reply, her voice light but sincere. “Not only do they make you cry, but they’ve managed to leave me feeling downright jealous. I don’t get such treatment so easily.”

Meng Shi smiled and drew Yunzhu close, holding the two young women in her embrace. It was a quiet, unwavering display of solidarity—of love wrapped in steel.

When Meng Shi finally left, Gu Min turned her attention to Yunzhu, who looked even more lost and downhearted than she did. Her tone turned soft yet reassuring, brimming with tenderness. “It’s not all gloomy news. The heir will return soon. If he travels quickly, he might even make it back in time for the Lantern Festival. If not, he’ll still be here by early February.”

There it was, the unspoken longing that lingered in the air. Gu Min had allowed herself a moment of vulnerability, her cheeks pink, her gaze falling low as she thought of her husband who was far, far away. Distance sharpened her yearning—it left her restless, aching.

Yunzhu saw right through her. She understood her sister-in-law’s attempt to distract her, to lighten the heaviness in the room. After all, her sister-in-law’s entire family had just left. Who wouldn’t miss their loved ones in such a moment? And how could Gu Min not immediately long for her brother, her husband?

“I miss my brother too,” Yunzhu admitted with a playful smirk, before letting her voice soften with sincerity. “But lucky for him, he has you—a sharp-witted ‘female military strategist’ who’s been pulling all the strings and making life so much easier for him.”

*

Yunzhu had taken her dinner at home before she set out, the quiet meal a fleeting pause before the storm in her mind.

But once she settled into the carriage, her attempts at composure crumbled. A shadow crossed her lovely features as her brow instinctively creased in thought.

She ached for her brother, missed him so much it nearly broke her. Yet she couldn’t shake the gnawing question: Was now really the time for him to return to Beijing?

The young Emperor was a tempest in fine silk—a capricious ruler who’d dismissed his first assistant on a whim, his arrogance rising unchecked. Her brother was brilliant, yes, but his temperament? It was a fragile blade, sharp yet brittle. And though the old Emperor no longer meddled in court, politics had never been a game for weak hands.

Troubled and restless, Yunzhu retreated to the study, where she let her frustrations pour out through the delicate strokes of calligraphy. The brush dipped and danced, her focus razor-sharp, as if taming each brushstroke might subdue the chaos swirling inside her.

“Madam, won’t you rest? You’ll wear yourself out,” Lian Qiao murmured, soft yet insistent, her concern evident in every syllable.

Beside her, Shiliu’s gaze flicked to the pile of rice paper Yunzhu had run through. They couldn’t help but pity the poor sheets—such fine material sacrificed to their mistress’s silent vexation. A silent lament for paper, ink, and perhaps even pride.

“Why not a game of shuttlecock, Madam?” Lian Qiao suggested, her tone gentle but persuasive. “It’ll loosen your limbs and clear your head.”

Yunzhu finally relented, slipping into the courtyard where the winter air kissed her flushed cheeks. She played with measured intensity, the steady rhythm of the shuttlecock striking against her foot—controlled, precise. And yet, when it was all over, her breath came in soft, uneven pants, sweat glistening on her brow, her limbs thrumming with fatigue.

The bath that followed was a balm. Warm water cascaded over her skin, washing away her troubles—if only briefly. Slipping into fresh silks, Yunzhu collapsed onto the couch in the adjoining room, her body languid and sated from exertion.

Lian Qiao and Shiliu flanked her, their loyalty as steadfast as the steady press of their hands—one kneading the tension from her shoulders, the other working down her weary legs.

Yunzhu sighed softly, eyes drifting shut, a stolen moment of respite before the world closed in again.

As evening painted the sky a deep, bruised shade, Cao Xun returned. He froze, caught off guard by the scene before him—Yunzhu half-reclined, her maids doting on her with reverent attention.

Lian Qiao offered a quiet explanation, but Cao Xun waved them off, stepping in to take over their duties himself.

Yunzhu stirred awake to his touch, her dark eyes narrowing as they met his. “You and Mr. Gu are like brothers, are you not? And yet you stand by, offering nothing. No counsel, no persuasion. Do you just let him face the Emperor’s wrath alone?”

Cao Xun’s voice was calm, but there was an edge of weariness in his reply. “The Emperor has made himself clear. He has no love for the Gu family. To provoke him now would be… unwise. For Mr. Gu, avoidance is survival.”

Yunzhu’s gaze drifted to the dim window, her expression unreadable, a subtle tension in her jaw. Avoidance, she thought bitterly. Temporary avoidance.

But how long, she wondered, could something “temporary” stretch before it broke into permanence?

Doubt gnawed relentlessly at her thoughts, sharp and unrelenting. She couldn’t shake the memory of Cao Xun’s earlier promise—that he would keep his brother stationed outside the capital for training. And yet, here his brother was, abruptly recalled.

Just how much sway did Cao Xun hold over the young emperor, anyway?

The truth stung like a blade’s edge. Cao Xun clearly had no real control over the emperor’s whims, and Yunzhu knew better than to chase answers he wouldn’t—or couldn’t—provide. His assurances were little more than polished words meant to pacify her, and she had no interest in indulging his false comfort.

“Shall we dine, my lady?” Cao Xun offered smoothly, his hands steady as he helped her sit up, his courtesy deliberate, practiced, almost too gentle.

As he knelt to assist her with her shoes, his voice dropped to that same composed tone, tinged with subtle expectation. “A-Nian’s first year is tomorrow. Zhang’s wife may keep it quiet, but it would be appropriate for you to make an appearance. I’ll find time at noon to pay my respects.”

Yunzhu’s lips curved into a small, soft smile—more reflex than anything else, though the thoughtfulness of his words caught her off guard. “It’s kind of you to remember. I’ve been so preoccupied, I almost let it slip my mind.”

Even with the storm of worries swirling around her family, Cao Xun hadn’t forgotten the first birthday of a dead friend’s child. The weight of it lingered, darkened by the fresh grief of yet another recent loss. It was thoughtful, yes, but it left Yunzhu unsettled.

Her gaze lingered on him, her thoughts sharper, searching deeper. Was this true sentiment, rooted in loyalty and memory? Or just another empty gesture cloaked in noble decency? She wondered—how far did his loyalty stretch, exactly? If Gu Qinghe’s life unraveled and adversity came clawing at him, would Cao Xun stand firm, unshakable, or would he slip away like smoke, too fleeting to grasp?

Later that night, lying on her side with her back turned to him, the silence stretched between them, heavy yet strangely welcome. She was grateful, in a twisted way, that he didn’t intrude on her thoughts with words or touch. Her mind was a labyrinth, dark and restless, but his quiet presence—his refusal to burden her with more—felt like a small mercy she couldn’t ignore. Even through her turmoil, she found herself offering him the slightest, reluctant flicker of appreciation.

*

In the wake of what others might dismiss as a mere trivial incident, Yunzhu found a simmering, sharp-edged resentment toward Cao Xun embedding itself in her heart, stubborn and immovable. She understood—oh, she understood all too well—that he couldn’t possibly challenge the empire’s might. But what she wanted, needed, was something real. Something tangible. Some scrap of proof that her suffering mattered to him beyond the hollow sound of empty words. Yet, instead of substance, she got platitudes, the kind of insincere sweetness that left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth.

His indifference to her pain was no surprise, not really. But what truly clawed at her was the cruel dissonance between his claims of affection and his inaction.

Cao Xun said he cared.

Yet what had he done?

For her family?

For her?

Yunzhu could almost laugh at the absurdity.

How could he drape her in promises while leaving her to fend for herself in the cold? It was infuriating.

She couldn’t silence her complaints, couldn’t shove them down, no matter how prettily he packaged his so-called care. She needed action, not his tepid attempts at warmth.

In the clarity of her bitterness, she made up her mind: better for him to remain distant and honest than to play at affection and leave her heart torn between hope and disappointment.

Even as the carriage rattled toward the Marquis’ Mansion in Huai’an, Yunzhu kept her emotions locked down tight behind a mask of poised indifference. She was here for one reason and one reason only: obligation. To him. Nothing more.

But then, as the carriage creaked to a stop before the grand gates of the Marquis’ Mansion, Yunzhu’s resolve softened. A single thought pierced through her resentment like a pin through silk—Zhang Xingjian. His untimely death still felt too raw, too cruel. Her heart ached for Liu Jing, a woman left to carry the weight of grief alone, to raise her children without the steady hand of her husband. Whatever her feelings toward Cao Xun, this was different. She wasn’t here for him. She was here for her—for Liu Jing. And that, at least, felt honest.

The Zhang family’s home, shrouded in the silence of mourning, didn’t open its doors lightly these days. But Yunzhu, steeled by quiet determination, stepped toward the closed gate, resolved to offer a flicker of warmth to her grieving friend. Lian Qiao moved ahead of her, graceful as ever, and tapped gently on the door.

It didn’t take long. The concierge appeared, his eyes widening as he took in the Duke’s wife. There was no hesitation—he ushered her inside and sent someone sprinting to notify the master. Moments later, Liu Jing emerged in a rush, her face drawn with worry and concern.

Yunzhu hadn’t seen her in far too long. Liu Jing, in her simple white mourning gown, was the picture of grace—serene, composed, far removed from what one might expect of a woman newly widowed. The strength in her quiet elegance struck Yunzhu, even as her heart pinched in sympathy.

“Sister,” Liu Jing said hurriedly, her voice tinged with guilt, “why didn’t you send word? I would have prepared for you properly. I’ve been discourteous.” But her eyes, soft and perceptive, took in Yunzhu’s pale features, the wear and strain that hardship had etched into her friend’s face.

Yunzhu gave her a small, knowing smile. “There’s no need for formalities between us, sister. I came quietly because I didn’t want to trouble you.”

It was the kind of honest, understated affection that had always existed between them—easy, natural, and devoid of pretense. Liu Jing would always make space for Yunzhu, no matter the weight on her own shoulders.

As the two women exchanged quiet words, Zhang Hu appeared, his presence announced by the firm, deliberate sound of his steps. He stopped short upon seeing Yunzhu and offered her a deep, respectful bow.

How he had changed. The boy she once knew, full of energy and reckless charm, had been replaced by a young man with the steady poise of someone who understood what it meant to carry responsibility. His transformation into the composed heir of the Zhang family was undeniable, and Yunzhu couldn’t help but feel a pang of melancholy at the passage of time.

It was moments like these—soft, unspoken, and tinged with a thousand emotions—that reminded Yunzhu why she had come. Whatever anger she harbored, whatever bitterness simmered beneath the surface, she knew the weight of shared history and the bonds of grief were more powerful. And in this house of mourning, where loss hung in the air like incense, Yunzhu knew her presence mattered in ways words alone could never express.

As Yunzhu glanced over at Zhang Hu, a flicker of memory softened the sharp edge of her gaze. Her lips curled slightly as she murmured, her voice low and thoughtful, “Zhang Hu, you’ve shot up since I last saw you.”

Zhang Hu answered her with nothing but an easy, gentle smile, as if words were unnecessary.

Together, the trio drifted toward the Nuan Pavilion. Inside, the little one—A-Nian—was sprawled across the lush couch, her laughter tumbling through the room as she wriggled and played, watched over carefully by the hovering maid and nurse.

Liu Jing, never one for ceremony when it came to her comfort, waved the attendants away with a clipped instruction. Turning to her son, she spoke softly yet firmly, “Go on, finish your studies in the chamber.”

With her orders issued, she sank into the plush couch alongside Yunzhu, their skirts pooling like silk rivers.

A soft sigh escaped Liu Jing’s lips, her voice laced with regret. “I heard Mr. Gu’s family left Beijing yesterday. I couldn’t even manage to see them off because of this confinement. The timing was cruel.”

Yunzhu tilted her head, her tone as smooth as it was reassuring. “Sister Zhao knows. She even asked me specifically to come and keep you company. You’re hardly forgotten.”

Liu Jing exhaled another breath, sharper this time, her words edged with a trace of helplessness. “It’s our curse, isn’t it? As wives of the inner court, we can only bow before the emperor and his insatiable machinery.”

But Yunzhu wasn’t here for melancholic spirals. Shifting the current of conversation with practiced ease, she beckoned A-Nian forward, pulling the child effortlessly into her embrace. Her voice dropped to a delighted hush. “Look at you—walking now, bold and steady. I can hardly believe it.”

Liu Jing watched quietly, her calm expression betraying no grief, no cracks in her porcelain poise. She had once called her daughter Tuantuan—a sweet, affectionate name brimming with warmth. But after Zhang Xingjian’s death, she’d renamed her “Nian,” a word weighed down with yearning.

Yunzhu understood. Perhaps Liu Jing had carried that name in her heart long before A-Nian’s birth, hiding it like a secret prayer she dared not utter aloud, lest she invite misfortune.

Cao Xun’s observation returned to Yunzhu then, unbidden but sharp. Liu Jing’s serenity, the unwavering grace with which she carried her widowhood, made it plain: she was wholly devoted to the memory of her late husband. There was no bitterness, no fissures in her composure. Only quiet, unyielding dedication—to her children, to his legacy.

Liu Jing had been loved well, Yunzhu thought. Truly loved, in a way that made the boundaries of life and death irrelevant. The kind of love that could turn loss into something enduring, something holy.

And as for Yunzhu herself?

Her smile wavered, a fleeting crack in her otherwise flawless mask. She thought of her own history, one stripped of romance and soft edges. First came the sting of a broken betrothal, then the slow suffocation of a loveless marriage.

Love? She almost laughed at the word. It had no place in her world, and she’d long since stopped wishing for it. She was too clever, too clear-eyed to ache for something so elusive, so fickle.

And if she did ache for it? Well, she’d learned long ago how to quiet her heart.

*

With the imperial palace draped in the quiet shadow of mourning for the late emperor, this year’s grand New Year’s Eve celebrations had been struck from the agenda. Yet, there was no escaping politics, even in grief. After careful consultation with Emperor Qianxing, Empress Dowager Cao decided to host a smaller, private banquet — one expressly tailored for Duke Dingguo's family.

Yunzhu, of course, had no appetite for this display of forced decorum. Yet she wasn’t naive. Skipping the affair would undoubtedly give Pan shi an opening to twist things in her favor, subtly undermining the Li family’s standing with the young emperor. Optics were everything, and even inaction carried consequences. Yunzhu would not give her that satisfaction.

So she played the game — complying not only by attending the banquet but ensuring she was dressed to perfection. She knew what was required of her: she needed to be the paragon of poise, a calm, unwavering aunt who could not — and would not — be diminished by whispers, politics, or familial spite. Her brother’s recent triumph over the bandits had sealed their family’s relevance, and with his return to Beijing imminent, she had every reason to flaunt the pride and strength befitting her bloodline.

Cao Xun awaited her arrival in the main room, posture casual but gaze sharp. When Yunzhu entered, his attention snapped to her — no, devoured her.

For all the fuss about dressing in her “finest,” Yunzhu had kept it simple yet deliberate. Official court attire for a first-class princess fit the occasion perfectly, but her execution of it made the halls themselves blush with envy. Layers of silk wrapped her in a harmony of scarlet and pale gold, every fold meticulously arranged. The jade pendant dangling from her belt caught the light like a beckoning promise, while the emerald-studded Zhai crown atop her sleek, dark hair whispered a tale of subtle power and unshakable elegance.

But what truly set the room ablaze were her eyes — sharp, sparkling, as if secrets and flames both smoldered within. Her porcelain skin, soft as a sigh, made every intricate stitch of her clothing look like a mere afterthought.

Cao Xun didn’t even try to hide the hunger in his gaze. Yunzhu noticed, of course — how could she not? A scoff curled her lips, a sound full of knowing mischief. “A year and a half,” she drawled, her voice low and silky, “and still you stare at me like some love-starved boy.”

Cao Xun’s mouth curved into a smirk. His voice slid across the space between them, teasing but edged with something darker. “If I stopped looking, you'd be the one throwing a fit.”

Her eyes narrowed just slightly, a flicker of amusement tugging at her mouth before she suppressed it. Touché.

The pair moved toward the main hall, their steps unhurried, as though every second of this evening belonged to them alone.

When Cao Shao entered with Pan shi, the energy shifted. Pan shi, always striking even in her forties, strode in dressed head-to-toe in red that was far too bold for mourning. She was a vision, true, but beside Yunzhu, she was only almost.

Cao Xun’s gaze flitted her way before darting back, uninterested. But Cao Shao — oh, he was far less subtle. The moment his eyes fell on Yunzhu, they widened, darkened, his breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a groan. For all his sixth-grade official airs, he might as well have been a boy seeing temptation for the first time.

So wrapped up was he in his thoughts — all the unspoken desires roiling beneath his stiff exterior — that he tripped at the threshold like a fool.

Yunzhu, ever graceful, lowered her gaze just enough to hide the glimmer of secret laughter in her eyes. Men like Cao Shao were predictable. Delightfully so. Whatever he imagined in that brief, clumsy moment didn’t matter. She would walk her own path, just as she always had, untouched by his faltering steps or muddled desires.

Let them look. Let them stumble. She remained untouchable.