When Yu Lingxin was displeased, he would make sure others were displeased too. After the banquet, he sent those people back to their respective envoys as “gifts”—their fates and conditions need not be discussed. His greatest mercy toward Chao Ning was leaving those spies with intact corpses.
The noon reception had been for the ministers and foreign envoys; the evening was a family banquet. The Empress Dowager slept early—she kept a child’s schedule. After they paid their respects, she had already gone to bed. If they woke her, she would throw a tantrum, so they let her sleep. Since this family consisted of only Jiang Nong and Yu Lingxin, they didn’t set up an elaborate feast outside, but simply had a small table laid in Xuan Shi Hall—and set aside two extra tables for the attendants outside, so everyone could join in the festivities.
Jiang Nong had many siblings. During the New Year, just exchanging gifts and greetings would keep her busy for a while—it was quite lively. Except for last year, when she had spent the New Year with Yu Lingxin due to unforeseen circumstances—but back then, they had made dumplings together in that small room, steaming and lively as well.
Now that things had grown quiet, she felt a bit unaccustomed. Especially since Yu Lingxin seemed displeased about something again and wasn’t speaking to her.
A steaming hotpot sat between them. Through the mist, they could barely see each other. Both ate in silence, heads down. Outside, fireworks crackled in celebration; inside, only the bubbling of the broth could be heard.
Jiang Nong had arranged the evening meal. Yu Lingxin hadn’t known they’d be having hotpot.
He had mentioned it casually half a month ago—at the time, only he and Jiang Nong were present. She had remembered.
Oh? Suing for peace? Or has she started to care about me against her will? Or is she coaxing me?
That first love from youth really is hard to forget, isn’t it? Or perhaps after seeing Chao Ning again, she realized I’m better than him and changed her mind?
Then what did her words at noon mean?
What did she mean by “take them into the palace”? So she cares about me, but doesn’t mind sharing me with others? Jiang Nong, what exactly do you mean? One moment you care about me, the next you don’t—what’s going on in your heart?
When I get angry, you coax me; when I’m fine, you stop caring and make me angry again. Does playing me for a dog really amuse you so much?
Yu Lingxin stirred his dipping sauce gently with his chopsticks, frowning for a while. He thought: Why does Jiang Nong get to treat me however she wants?
I don’t care anyway. I’ll get my revenge sooner or later.
Oh, the broth is clear water—she must have specially instructed that because of my injury. Still trying to please me. Pity I won’t fall for such a cheap gesture.
Jiang Nong mixed several different dipping sauces and tried each one. So delicious, so delicious, so delicious!
The beef, marbled with fat and lean, was sliced paper-thin—two parts fat to eight parts lean, with golden fat flecks perfectly dotting each slice. The moment it hit the broth, it cooked in an instant, blooming into golden droplets of oil, then wrapped in the rich sesame paste, glistening temptingly in the candlelight. The fish-skin dumplings cooked and floated up from the bottom, their translucent skins showing a faint rosy pink through the crystal-clear wrapper—tender and springy.
Tan Kingdom’s winters were freezing cold—perfect weather for something steaming hot!
She couldn’t see Yu Lingxin’s expression, nor did she know the storm raging in his mind. All she felt was relief that she no longer had to eat mutton hotpot. So happy.
Truth be told, aside from the rather unpleasant fact of marrying Yu Lingxin himself, Jiang Nong found everything else quite agreeable. Tan Kingdom’s food was good—really good.
Every day, the Imperial Kitchen would send up a menu for them to choose from. Jiang Nong could point at items with her eyes closed, because she liked nearly every dish. So even with the call for frugality in the harem, she hadn’t suffered at all—on the contrary, she was eating far better than she ever had in her home country.
Yu Lingxin glanced at her—she was buried in her food. He glanced again—wondering if she had anything to say to him. Still buried in her food, no intention of acknowledging him.
Fine, eat. We can talk after you’re full and have some energy.
Back in Xi Kingdom, Jiang Nong had eaten like a cat—barely a few bites before putting down her chopsticks. Even when she finished a meal, it was merely a surface affair. After marrying into Tan, she ate heartily at every meal, like a little pig. She’d gained a bit of weight, no longer looking so gaunt. No wonder Chao Ning had said her complexion was better—she looked fairer and cleaner too.
Yu Lingxin couldn’t take care of himself properly—he was injured every few days—but he was taking excellent care of Jiang Nong.
If word of this got out, many mothers would probably come seeking Yu Lingxin’s advice on how to get a picky eater to have such a hearty appetite.
Yu Lingxin would certainly roll his eyes and offer his wisdom: most of the time, if a child doesn’t eat, it’s because the food doesn’t suit their taste. Try giving them something they actually like.
If he couldn’t figure out Jiang Nong’s tastes after two lifetimes, he might as well not be alive—what else could he possibly do right?
Sometimes he wanted to have Lady Song brought here and made to watch. He wondered if she would feel any guilt. In Xi Kingdom, Jiang Nong had always been given whatever the Imperial Kitchen assigned. Lady Li at least knew to bribe the kitchen to prepare dishes Jiang Yuan liked—but Jiang Nong had to endure. Not eating was actually good; it kept her weight down, made her lighter and more graceful for dancing.
The truth was, she didn’t even like dancing. It was just something she was good at—a tool to please her parents.
Yu Lingxin prided himself on being low-character, morally bankrupt, utterly shameless. But he would never stoop to abusing Jiang Nong physically. He only wanted to torment her spirit—to make her suffer, to make her miserable.
Yes, that was it. Exactly.
Jiang Nong was full. She drank a little pomegranate wine, slightly tipsy, her face flushed red. Later, she planned to go hang a blessing ribbon. While waiting for the wine to wear off, she peeled two oranges, ate half of one, and casually handed the other half to Yu Lingxin. She leaned on the small table and said, “So sweet. Try it.”
“So generous? This isn’t just your leftovers, is it? How stingy.”
This was another peace offering. Since she had already given him two ways out, he might as well give her face for the New Year and let bygones be bygones. Yu Lingxin took the orange, slowly fiddling with it in his hands, peeling it segment by segment and eating it half a piece at a time. Jiang Nong had already removed every bit of pith—the flesh visible through the thin skin, bursting with sweet and tangy juice that filled his mouth with each bite.
“Yet you’re still eating it,” Jiang Nong retorted. Watching him eat so slowly, almost carefully savoring it, she suddenly remembered that this body of his hadn’t exactly lived well either. The Imperial Kitchen usually gave them apples, crabapples, apricots—those easy-to-grow fruits. But hadn’t he been emperor for so many years in his previous life? Hadn’t he enjoyed every luxury?
Since it was New Year’s, she decided to give him face. Jiang Nong peeled a peach for him too, cutting it into small pieces.
The peach was crisp and sweet—perhaps the fruit supplied to the emperor and empress was of better quality.
Yu Lingxin looked at her and silently ate it with the silver fork.
Whatever she gave, he ate. It was rather amusing—like feeding a little dog. Jiang Nong also peeled a few grapes and a loquat for him, placing them in his peach bowl and gesturing for him to eat.
No worries—dogs can’t eat grapes, but Yu Lingxin can.
The dinner table had barely been cleared when Yu Lingxin had already eaten half an orange, a peach, and was now faced with grapes and loquats—and Jiang Nong was still fiddling with a pomegranate…
“Jiang Nong, even feeding a pig wouldn’t be this much.”
Jiang Nong had gathered a palmful of pomegranate seeds, her fingertips stained red. She looked up, her rosy face scrunched up—tipsy, her words slower now: “But you never said you wouldn’t eat. If you don’t want it, I won’t prepare it for you. You speak so harshly—I don’t want to talk to you.”
After saying that, she tilted her head back and ate the pomegranate seeds herself.
Talking to me and yet still acting spoiled.
The underfloor heating was warmer than usual today. Yu Lingxin turned his head away, took a few deep breaths, and said: “Fine—if the pig won’t eat, the dog will.”
He was a dog. He’d eat.
According to old Great Qi legends, immortals would descend to the mortal world during the New Year to enjoy the fireworks. And the best place to watch fireworks was by the water. So at the midnight hour, when the old year gave way to the new, people would hang blessing ribbons on the tallest tree by the water, writing their wishes on them. The higher the ribbon hung, the more likely the immortals would see it—and the more likely the wish would come true.
After the five kingdoms split, subtle variations of this tradition had emerged.
The attendants had prepared five ribbons for each of them.
For the New Year, one must write only good wishes—no curses. In years past, when she hung ribbons with her sisters, they all wrote wishes for their mothers’ health and happiness, for themselves to grow more beautiful, for success in their studies, or for a good marriage. Ten or eight ribbons per person were never enough.
Yu Lingxin firmly believed that asking others was never as good as asking oneself. He also had no desire to expose his wishes to mockery. He gave all five of his ribbons to Jiang Nong.
This year, Jiang Nong wasn’t sure what to write either. She at least set one aside for Yu Lingxin, telling him to scribble something for the occasion.
Fireworks bloomed in clusters by the water, casting a colorful reflection on the surface. Even the bitter cold wind carried a hint of festive sweetness.
Jiang Nong rubbed her frozen-stiff hands and thought for a long time before picking up her brush.
Yu Lingxin turned away from her, using gold ink to draw two lines of different lengths on the red ribbon—the left one slightly higher, the right one slightly lower—then covered both with a thick stroke of ink, as if he’d made a mistake and casually scratched it out.
After Jiang Nong finished writing hers, she wanted to see his—to check if he’d written any curses about her—but all she could see was a neatly blocked-out square, ambiguous yet clearly deliberate.
Yu Lingxin wanted to see hers. She hid it. He grew impatient and grabbed for it: “You already saw mine.”
Fair enough—Jiang Nong reluctantly showed him.
Three ribbons total. The first was for Empress Dowager Fu, her sisters, and Chao Ning—praying for their safety.
The second read: “Xiaoman—full, full, full.”
The third—just as ambiguous as Yu Lingxin’s square—was a drawing of a small bird.
Yu Lingxin ignored the bird, whose meaning he instantly understood, and instead added three characters beneath the second ribbon’s “Xiaoman—full, full, full”: Yu Ling Yin.
“Write the full name for blessings.”
Jiang Nong had no time to be surprised that Yu Lingxin understood her meaning. She simply held the ribbon, staring at the two lines of words intertwined, tasting “Yu Ling Yin” over and over.
That was Xiaoman’s name. Typically, children weren’t given formal names and entered into the family records until they reached three years old. Before then, they only had childhood nicknames. Unfortunately, Jiang Nong had never lived to see Xiaoman turn three.
“Where did you come up with that name? So awkward—the Imperial Household really didn’t put any thought into it.” Jiang Nong lamented, muttering in complaint.
Yu Lingxin shot her a cold glance: “I came up with it. What’s wrong with it?”
Jiang Nong truly hadn’t expected Yu Lingxin to have named the child himself—which only proved his naming sense was indeed mediocre. She nodded perfunctorily: “Fine, fine—’Purple seal and gold ribbon,’ ‘seal of office and golden tassel,’ ‘one seal after another,’ ‘hearts interlocked like seals’—all good words…”
Boom—
A cluster of fireworks suddenly burst across the dark blue night sky with a deafening explosion.
Jiang Nong’s expression froze. Long-buried vows suddenly surged back to her mind. After so many years, every word became startlingly clear.
“Jiang Nong swears to you—she will always love you. She wishes to be your wife for all eternity. For life after life, she will love you, protect you, and care for you. She will stand by you through every hardship. Heart to heart, sealed like a promise—until old age and death! Truly, truly—I mean every word!”
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