With the New Year just around the corner, a message arrived from the county town: the old madam was gravely ill and wished to see her second son. If Jicheng still cared for his mother, he should return to see her before she passed away. As a son, Jicheng wouldn’t regret it, but as a mother, she couldn’t rest in peace otherwise.
Chunfu saw it clearly—the path laid before Jicheng was an inescapable trap. Going back would be easy, but returning wouldn’t be so simple. Yet she couldn’t voice this to Jicheng. After all, that woman was still his mother, and harsh words would only bring discomfort. She refused to do anything that might harm their marital bond. She would stand behind Jicheng all her life, watching him move forward, enduring hardships alongside him. No amount of wealth could compare to the warmth of a beloved man’s care. From the moment her heart belonged to him alone, she had made him her sky, revolving around him through all weathers and moods.
Some might say staking a lifetime on one man was reckless, but Chunfu’s approach with Jicheng was never forceful demands—only tender whispers and foresight, subtly guiding him without his notice. Jicheng was not an ambitious man; to her, even his breath seemed gentle. He was content with their life, and what pleased Chunfu most was that he was no longer so thin—she could finally feel flesh around his waist.
Jicheng turned to Chunfu, who sat on the kang holding Niannian, and sighed. “I need to see her to put my mind at ease. This New Year might be ruined, but we’ll make up for it when we return. Pack up, and let’s leave early while the day is young.”
Chunfu looked at him in surprise for a moment, then smiled and nodded. “The spare clothes are on top—just bundle them up. I’ll pack the baby’s things.” She had made a thick quilt for the child, perfect for wrapping Niannian snugly against the cold. The Mu family’s carriage waited outside. Chunfu had glimpsed it before—plain on the outside but luxuriously furnished inside, complete with a warming stove.
Jicheng hastily packed their belongings and rushed to Liansheng’s house to ask the couple to look after their home. Then the family of three boarded the carriage and departed.
Chunfu had never seen the world beyond Changfeng County. The carriage, tiny as an ant, traversed vast, desolate winter landscapes. With a burly escort skilled in martial arts, she felt no fear. To keep her entertained, Jicheng shared jokes he’d heard from others, laughing when she did. He had never considered leaving her alone in Dongpo Village. Before he could cherish her properly, she had suffered through childbirth and now faced his estranged mother. Chunfu should have remained lively and carefree—he hated seeing her mature too soon. But he lacked the power to prevent it, and it weighed on him. Through thick and thin, he only wanted to walk hand in hand with her for the rest of his life.
“Tired? We’ll reach the capital in three days. Let me hold the baby—rest your head on my lap and sleep.”
Chunfu, unused to such prolonged travel, looked pale, with dark circles under her eyes. Exhausted yet unable to sleep, she shook her head. “I’ll rest properly in the capital. The journey has numbed me—just the sound of wind and hooves, echoing in my heart. Little Niannian, the sly one, sleeps and eats without a care. She’s grown chubbier, I think.”
Jicheng chuckled at their daughter’s peaceful face. “Chubby is good—who wouldn’t see it as a blessing? We suffered as children, never full or warm. Niannian won’t endure a speck of hardship.” In the end, being able to eat and drink freely was fortune enough. Life’s struggles all boiled down to filling one’s stomach. The carriage passed towns Chunfu had never heard of, some blanketed in snow—vast silver fields stretching endlessly, awe-inspiring in their purity.
By the time they reached the Mu residence, night had fallen. Madam Mu hadn’t expected Jicheng to bring Chunfu and the child, and her delight dimmed slightly. Wrapped in a sable coat, she went out to greet them. Sympathizing with her son’s fatigue, she merely ordered servants to send hot food to his courtyard. Chunfu shielded Niannian from the cold, unfazed by Madam Mu’s indifference.
Jicheng noticed but only asked hurriedly, “I heard you were seriously ill. Are you better now?”
Madam Mu hadn’t lied—she had indeed fallen ill, catching a chill while out on business. Winter slowed her recovery, and she’d exaggerated her condition to ensure her son’s return for the New Year. Feeling no guilt, she smiled weakly. “It’s nothing serious—I just missed you terribly. It’s late now. We’ll talk properly tomorrow. I didn’t expect them to come along. I’ll send for a wet nurse to help with the child.”
Jicheng knew Chunfu wouldn’t entrust Niannian to another. “Let Chunfu keep her. She knows the baby’s habits best. Handing her off would only make her cry. Niannian’s temper is fussy—she needs familiarity.”
Madam Mu hesitated, then nodded. “Very well. Chunfu isn’t familiar with the capital—having the child will keep her from boredom. Go rest now.”
Exhaustion claimed the night. After settling Niannian, Chunfu exchanged a few words with Jicheng before falling into deep sleep. He had meant to comfort her but softened at her weary state. Frail as she was, she had followed him to this strange, stifling place, standing steadfast behind him through storms. It pained him to see it. From now on, if his mother slighted Chunfu even once, he wouldn’t tolerate it. Yet he hadn’t anticipated that some things happened beyond his sight—no matter how he guarded her, he couldn’t always be by her side.
The next morning, Madam Mu sent Yuxia to attend to them. Jicheng gave the maid a cool glance and reminded Chunfu, “If anything troubles you, don’t endure it silently. Tell me when I return—don’t suffer needlessly.” Normally, the couple would pay respects to Madam Mu, and as the Mu family’s daughter-in-law, Chunfu should acknowledge the ancestors. But Madam Mu excused her, citing the baby’s care and pressing business at the shops, sparing her the daily rituals. Jicheng, thinking it might ease Chunfu’s discomfort, said nothing.
Chunfu nodded, though inwardly she scoffed. She wouldn’t let anyone bully her—if they threw stones, she’d hurl bricks back. The principle of reciprocity was universal. No one would ever take advantage of her.
Those accustomed to serving in noble households often mimicked their masters’ arrogance, forgetting they were merely servants. They unanimously scorned Chunfu, the “lucky village woman.” Though she rarely asked for their help, she endured petty slights like delayed deliveries. Yet she never lost her temper or complained to Jicheng, greeting them with smiles instead.
She noticed one maid, Tuhuan, who always distanced herself when others slighted Chunfu, avoiding even a glance. Intrigued, Chunfu approached her while Niannian slept and asked bluntly, “Why don’t you join their games?”
Tuhuan, then brewing tea, kept her head low. “They’ve forgotten their place. I haven’t. I seek nothing but to serve in the Mu household without fault. You are the second master’s wife—my mistress. It’s my duty to serve you.”
Chunfu laughed softly. She was likely the first in this house to treat Chunfu as a true mistress. She said no more and returned to her child. Dressed in fine silks and jewels, she appeared every inch a wealthy lady, but her village origins drew mockery. She now understood the plight of rural children facing disdain. Birthplace wasn’t a choice—some born to privilege amounted to nothing, while others rose from poverty to greatness. She cared little for their words. But she took a liking to Tuhuan, occasionally rewarding her with silver.
The Mu family’s wealth wasn’t hers to fight over. She had her own dignity—unknown to others, but known to herself. Life was lived for oneself; others’ opinions meant nothing.
Jicheng returned later each evening, exhaustion etched deeper on his face. Though outwardly aloof, he poured his all into every task entrusted to him. He had told her not to suffer in silence, yet now he was the one enduring hardship. Unable to bear it, she murmured, “If it’s too much, rest. You can’t absorb everything at once.”
He hugged her, shaking his head with a smile. “Nonsense. What kind of man would I be if I couldn’t learn this much?” Only by diving in had he realized the complexities—some situations left him utterly lost. For a man accustomed to manual labor, navigating schemes was a struggle. But the thought of clever Chunfu someday bearing this burden for him gnawed at him, driving him to learn harder.
Madam Mu delighted in his diligence and even brought Tang Xiaoxiao to assist him. To the uninitiated, it seemed benign, but the shrewd understood: Madam Mu was signaling that the Tang family’s daughter was her chosen daughter-in-law, allowing an outsider into family affairs.
Too preoccupied to notice, Jicheng mentioned casually to Chunfu, “Mother had Miss Tang assist me. It feels improper—might harm her reputation. But Mother insists it’s just business, and being too rigid would seem petty.”
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