19
When Chang’an was twelve, the Grand Princess passed away as well.
Before she left this world, she told me that she had been born into the imperial family and raised by the empire. Aside from having a rebellious son, everything else in her life had gone smoothly.
But to be honest, there were only a few things she felt she had done right. She kept the rest to herself, but she could speak of two of them.
First, she had married the Duke, and they had shared a loving marriage all their lives. Second, at the hairpin ceremony that year, she had chosen me as her daughter-in-law. Over the years, she had seen everything I did, from honoring my parents-in-law and managing the household to raising the children and supervising the servants. She had been very reassured.
She took my hand and said, “I’m entrusting the Duke’s household to you now. Take good care of them.”
A few days later, the Grand Princess passed away.
At the hairpin ceremony all those years ago, she had recognized my virtues and chosen me as her daughter-in-law. During all my years in the Duke’s household, she had rarely made things difficult for me. As a mother-in-law, she had been generous and forgiving.
I was sincerely grateful to her and regarded her as my own mother, devoting all my efforts to handling everything after her death. Any of the servants she left behind who wished to stay could remain at the estate and live out their days there.
While sorting through her belongings, I found a jade pendant broken in two. I asked about it and learned that when they were young, the Duke and the Grand Princess had sworn an oath over it: if one of them died, the other would not live alone.
I didn’t know whether the oath had any power. If it did, why hadn’t Huo Yan been punished for swearing undying love to Tần Niệm Niệm? And if it didn’t, how could I explain the Grand Princess following the Duke in death a few years later?
The emperor was deeply grieved and ordered that nothing in the Grand Princess’s residence be disturbed. He had it kept just as it was, so he would still have a place to remember her.
As for the Grand Princess’s descendants, Chang’an and San Hô, the emperor treated them very generously. When the Duke died, he made Chang’an a baron; now he has raised him to viscount. San Hô was previously a commandery princess, and has now been made a county lady.
Though the baron and viscount titles carried no real authority and could not be inherited, and the county lady received only a stipend, these honors were still a great comfort to their descendants and a tremendous act of imperial favor.
Our entire household was deeply grateful and moved.
20
I next saw Huo Yan when Chang’an turned fifteen and formally inherited the title of Duke of Dingguo.
While Huo Yan was here, I had held the rank of a third-rank noblewoman. Now I was the mother of the Duke of Dingguo, elevated to a first-rank noblewoman, with a great reputation throughout the capital.
This time, Huo Yan hurried back to the capital from Jiangnan with Tần Niệm Niệm after hearing that the Grand Princess had died. But perhaps they hadn’t heard only about her death; they had also heard that Chang’an had inherited the title of Duke of Dingguo.
Huo Yan was furious. He came to the Duke’s household not to pay his respects to the Grand Princess, but to demand that I explain why I had stolen his position as Duke.
I gave a cold laugh and ordered someone to bring out the Grand Princess’s handwritten letter.
All those years, he had never returned to visit his mother. Even after learning his father had died, he stayed only briefly before taking Tần Niệm Niệm away to enjoy themselves again.
In recent years, he had often sent letters, but every one asked only about money and never mentioned the Grand Princess’s health.
The Grand Princess was heartbroken over this. Before she died, fearing he would return to fight Chang’an for the title, she wrote a letter in her own hand, speaking on behalf of the late Duke and making it clear that Huo Yan was no longer eligible to inherit.
For the rest of his life, he could only be a disgraced viscount.
His old friends had stopped associating with him ever since he abandoned his wife and son.
Now the people of the capital knew only the new Duke of Dingguo and had forgotten the former heir who had been stripped of his title.
Back then, he had resolutely given everything up for love. Now he had to live with the consequences.
I told a servant to convey to him that, after all, he was still of the Duke’s bloodline. Every year in the second month, he could go to any of the Duke’s household’s shops across the country and use his name and token to collect three hundred taels of silver—enough for him and Tần Niệm Niệm to live on for a year. That was the Grand Princess’s intention; there was nothing more.
I remembered that when they had returned the last time, they had still been full of life, their faces bright and cheerful. This time, both looked considerably more worn. The beautiful, graceful young lady who had once made Huo Yan fall in love at first sight had become a quiet middle-aged woman. Could all those years living out there really have been nothing but poetry and romance?
Huo Yan and Tần Niệm Niệm were temporarily staying in a small courtyard. Back when their love was still passionate, Huo Yan had once declared that he would give the courtyard to Tần Niệm Niệm.
But he had never discussed it with me, transferred the ownership records, or signed any papers, so the courtyard still belonged to the Duke’s household. I let them stay there and sent a few servants to look after them.
The servants later reported that Huo Yan and Tần Niệm Niệm had quarreled many times. Huo Yan blamed Tần Niệm Niệm for persuading him to leave the capital, while Tần Niệm Niệm said Huo Yan was useless, letting a woman and a child steal his family estate.
I pretended not to know. That was their business.
They caused a few scenes in the capital, but I never saw him. I simply made it widely known among the capital’s noble households that Huo Yan was an unfilial son.
I had to honor the last wishes of Grand Princess Vinh Duong and the old Duke, so I had no choice. I also warned the noble households not to help him.
Everyone in the capital had witnessed the funerals of the Grand Princess and the old Duke, and knew how hard I had worked to keep the Duke’s household afloat. They also knew Chang’an had not been raised by his father and had inherited the title while still young, enduring many hardships and much suffering.
Even the emperor did not want to see Huo Yan.
Perhaps they were no longer accustomed to life in the capital. Huo Yan and Tần Niệm Niệm quietly left the city, carrying their failure and humiliation with them.
21
A few more years passed, and Chang’an got married. The woman he chose was Lâm Trì Doanh, the granddaughter of Lâm Bác Khanh, a learned scholar who had taught him and the emperor’s grandsons.
I had heard of this young woman from the Lâm family and knew that Lâm Bác Khanh cherished her most of all his grandchildren, having taught her himself from a young age. I had met her, too—a graceful, refined, intelligent, and skillful young woman, courteous and composed.
The two had fallen for each other, so I went to ask for her hand on Chang’an’s behalf.
Lâm Bác Khanh already thought highly of Chang’an, admiring his mature nature and his command of both the literary and martial arts. When he learned that his granddaughter also had deep feelings for Chang’an, he discussed it with his family and agreed to the marriage.
San Hô was also betrothed. She was beautiful and talented, born into the Duke’s household and holding the title of county lady. I had raised her from childhood, and she was skilled at managing a household, outstanding in every way—a true “daughter of ours, sought after by a hundred families.”
I told Chang’an to ask Li Quynh Hoa and San Hô what they wanted. In the end, San Hô was betrothed to Trình Gia Hựu, the heir to the Marquis of Văn Uyên and Chang’an’s close friend.
Only then did I learn that when Trình Gia Hựu had come to visit Chang’an all those years ago, he had picked up San Hô’s fallen kite, and the two had met. From then on, Chang’an had kept a little secret, helping his younger sister and his friend exchange letters.
I was both annoyed and amused. I gave Chang’an a light swat, and he just laughed and dodged away from me.
After Trì Doanh entered the household, I entrusted her with half the household affairs. Seeing how carefully she handled them, I left most of the household’s business to her.
Chang’an had started a family and established himself. The Duke’s household no longer needed to keep a low profile, and he could do as he pleased and become a young general.
San Hô was married off as well. Trì Doanh and I arranged her wedding together, and Chang’an escorted his younger sister to her new home. I believed she would have a happy life.
When all my children were doing well, I felt at peace.
Every morning, when I looked in the mirror, I could see that my youth was gone and wrinkles had appeared at the corners of my eyes.
Li Quynh Hoa had shared half my life with me. At first, I paid her little mind, but later, if I went a day without hearing her soft, coquettish voice, I found it strange.
Lăng Nương died young, while Thanh Chi was no longer a concubine so much as a senior steward in the household, helping me manage everything. The Duke’s household provided for the other bedchamber maids through their old age.
In the latter half of my life, I said goodbye to Thanh Chi, and when I was fifty, Li Quynh Hoa left me too.
Though I could not help feeling grief, I had protected them all their lives.
Huo Yan and Tần Niệm Niệm eventually returned, old now and perhaps no longer strong enough to travel.
Huo Yan wept and begged to see me, saying he had come to regret what he had done.
Trì Doanh asked whether I wanted to see him. I said there was no need. After all these years, his character still had not matured. He thought that simply realizing his mistake and repenting would earn him forgiveness.
Someone else was living in the house where they had once stayed, so Trì Doanh had someone find them a small house in the suburbs and sent two people to care for them. But neither Chang’an nor I went to see them.
The servants said Huo Yan refused to live with Tần Niệm Niệm anymore. Tần Niệm Niệm even sent word to me, hoping I would find her another house. I agreed and had someone find her a place nearby. After all, she had once been a concubine in the Duke’s household.
And so they lived that way, growing sick of the sight of each other, until they both died.
I lived to old age, and by then my children had children of their own. The whole house was full of descendants, all dutiful and devoted to me.
When I think about this life of mine, I believe it was a very good one.
[THE END]