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No one was foolish enough to stop her when she announced she would be leaving for the annual market fair in Yunping. Immediately.
“When should we be expecting your return?” was all her husband asked, as subdued and resigned as ever.
When you take that stray back to where you found him, she wanted to say but didn’t, because he would say no and she would have to bear with it, and she didn’t want the additional humiliation.
“I will return when I want to,” she snapped instead, motioning to Jinzhu and Yinzhu to join her as she whirled around in a flurry of robes and left Sect Leader’s office.
Yu Ziyuan sought out her children where they were playing together in one of the courtyards and curtly patted Yanli on the head, telling her to keep an eye on her little brother, then threatened Jiang Cheng with breaking his legs if she were to find out he’d been shirking his training upon her arrival. She didn’t spare a single word for Wei Ying, who was watching the scene before him with wide eyes, but did pin him down with an icy glare. And just like that, she was gone.
And now she was in the middle of the bustling Yunping marketplace, strolling from one stall to another idly, Jinzhu and Yinzhu trailing her like silent shadows. The local wares were fairly underwhelming in comparison to what was sold at the dock of Lotus Pier. She did, however, spot a lovely looking hairpin in the shape of a delicate lotus flower, carved from pink jade that would go well with Yanli’s favorite robes, as well as a little porcelain frog statuette that reminded her of Jiang Cheng with how grumpy it looked. She bought both without a second thought and then impulsively paid for a bolt of expensive dark purple silk that Jiang Fengmian favored.
She was standing by a stall selling sweets, eyeing a stick of candied hawthorn contemplatively, when something collided with her legs from behind. It wasn’t enough to make her as much as stumble, but more than enough to make her simmering rage flare up anew.
“You—” She whirled around and nearly choked on her words, seeing a small boy frozen on the ground, eyes wide with terror and one hand clasped around his mouth. She took a deep breath and forced her anger down. “Look where you’re going,” she barked and held out a hand.
The boy uncurled somewhat, shifting his gaze from her face to the offered hand and back, his face full of apprehension. He gingerly raised his own hand and put it in hers, and she yanked the boy upright, earning herself a startled yelp. She felt a tiny prick of guilt at that; the boy looked small and frail, and he was obviously a commoners’ child, not used to being manhandled by a powerful cultivator the way her A-Cheng was. In order to somewhat quench the uncomfortable feeling, she started shaking the dust off of the boy’s bottom, careful not to put too much force into it.
“Don’t just gape around at a marketplace or in the streets,” she grumbled. “You never know what sort of people may be mingling with the crowd. What if someone decided to mug you while you’re up in the clouds? Did your mother teach you anything at all?”
The boy sucked in a breath at her last words but remained silent, head and eyes politely lowered. He had better manners than A-Cheng, then.
“Thank you, madam,” he murmured, dropping into a respectful bow, when Yu Ziyuan finally stepped back, hands on her hips. His bow was surprisingly well executed for someone who was dressed more like a young servant than a child of the gentry.
Then the boy straightened and looked up, and Yu Ziyuan took a shuddering breath because—as strange as it may sound—she was once again reminded of her A-Cheng. It surely wasn’t the boy’s demeanor or manners, but there was something in the curve of his nose, in the slope of his dark eyebrows, in the shape of his mouth that was painfully familiar. Was it her mother’s instinct talking? Was she really missing her children so soon after parting with them? That would be foolish, it had been less than three days since she gruffly kissed Yanli and A-Cheng goodnight.
While she had been deep in thought, the boy started gathering the pile of books he had apparently been carrying in his arms and dropped when he ran into her. Yu Ziyuan took a look at a pamphlet that had landed by her feet, falling open.
“What is it?” she asked, crouching down to better see the picture on the open page, depicting a complex-looking diagram.
“Ah,” the boy ducked his head bashfully and darted forward to pick the pamphlet up, cradling it close to his chest. “This is a cultivation manual.”
Yu Ziyuan felt her eyebrows rise. She had never heard of such a thing as a cultivation manual.
“Let me see,” she said, her curiosity piqued. The boy hesitated but held out the pamphlet obediently.
She leafed through it while he hovered nearby, watching her out of the corner of his eyes anxiously. She let out a chuckle and thrust the pamphlet back into his arms.
“That,” she said, “is garbage. No one learns cultivation from cheap books like this.”
The boy’s arms tightened around the pamphlet as he blinked up at her, something dark passing over his face. Now he truly reminded her of A-Cheng, in a very uncanny way.
“It wasn’t cheap,” he said hotly, defensively. “And it’s a true cultivation manual! My mother bought it from a cultivator!”
Yu Ziyuan huffed.
“From which sect?” she asked.
“I—” the boy’s face fell. He bit his lip as he admitted, in a small voice, “I don’t know.”
Yu Ziyuan tapped her foot against the ground slowly, thinking. Whoever had sold this poor boy’s mother this mockery of a book likely didn’t stay in the city—even though Yunping wasn’t the official residence of the Jiang sect, their cultivators still came there quite often. Still, the Jiang sect ought to do something about those false ‘cultivators’ scamming commoners, if only to preserve their own reputation.
She snapped her fingers resolutely.
“You,” she pointed at the boy who seemed to be shuffling backwards awkwardly, eager to wiggle out of this conversation. “Where is your mother? I want to talk to her.”
The boy opened his mouth to reply but was suddenly cut out by a gentle voice calling, “A-Yao? A-Yao, where are you?” His head snapped around.
“Mother, I’m here,” he called.
Yu Ziyuan followed his gaze and gaped despite herself; a woman was walking hurriedly towards them, her brow slightly furrowed. Her face lit up with a gentle smile when she spotted her son, still cradling his books to his chest, and then she looked at Yu Ziyuan, her eyes opening wide with surprise.
The woman stopped a few steps away from her and bowed. The boy—A-Yao—looked from one woman to the other, weary and confused, before covering his mouth to muffle a startled cry. Well, at least now Yu Ziyuan knew why he’d reminded her of Jiang Cheng so much. After all, the boy had taken after her rather than his father—and so, apparently, had A-Yao, whose mother’s face was a gentler, meeker reflection of her own.
If this stranger were to bear herself with a bit more dignity and change out of her pale pinks into rich purples of the Jiang, the two of them would probably be indistinguishable. Yu Ziyuan sucked in a breath.
“I was only going to give you a warning about those ‘cultivation manuals’ you ignorantly bought for your son,” she said, “but it seems we may have other matters to discuss.”
“Furen,” Jiang Fengmian said, forcing himself to sound even and calm, “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what’s going on.”
Yu Ziyuan held out her hand for the boy to lean on as he climbed out of the wobbly boat onto the docks and then patted his head curtly before he rushed to stand by his mother—a meek-looking woman who at the same time bore uncanny resemblance to his own wife—peering up at Sect Leader Jiang with wide open eyes.
The sound of Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian play fighting behind him died away, both children too busy gawking at the newcomers. Yu Ziyuan huffed and put her hands on her hips.
“What is so difficult to understand?” she said, irritated. “If you are allowed to take in strays to raise alongside your own children, then surely I can bring my own sister and nephew into my house as well.”
Jiang Fengmian cast a glance at the woman and the boy—and yes, it was fairly obvious they were related to his wife. There was only one problem…
“Furen,” he kept a small placating smile on his lips, not wanting to enrage his already irritable wife, “you have never mentioned having a sister, much less a nephew.”
Yu Ziyuan shrugged.
“It is a long story, and I’m tired enough as it is. We’ll discuss it some other time.” She turned to address the woman, an uncharacteristically warm smile gracing her face. “A-Shi, I’ll show you to the guest rooms. You and A-Yao can stay there until we have accommodations prepared in the main family wing. A-Yao,” she looked at the boy, “go meet your cousins.”
Jiang Fengmian stole a glance at his children. Jiang Cheng was eyeing the newcomer warily, one of his hands fisted into the fabric of Wei Ying’s robe. Jiang Yanli was wearing her usual gentle smile, even though there was still a glint of confusion in her eyes. Wei Ying was practically vibrating out of his skin with excitement.
“Hi!” he exclaimed enthusiastically the moment A-Yao approached them, timid and uncertain. “I’m Wei Ying! I also came here recently!”
Jiang Fengmian chuckled softly and left the children to do their own introductions. With Wei Ying around, he was sure that the new boy’s timidness would soon dissipate completely.
He turned around to look at his wife and found that Yu Ziyuan was looking at Wei Ying with a scowl on her face and her lips pursed. However, she said nothing and set off in the direction of the sect houses, tugging his—apparently, sister-in-law—along.
“Oh, and one more thing,” she said as they came up to him. “You will need to send a sum of money to a pleasure-house in Yunping.”
He could probably do without any more surprises for the day.
“Furen, I have never taken you for someone interested in that kind of entertainment,” he said carefully, earning himself a disdainful huff.
“I am not,” she said, “but they—” she pointed at A-Shi and A-Yao, “—are technically stolen property right now. What?” she asked at his inquiring look. “I was in a hurry and I didn’t have enough money on me to buy out her contract.”
Jiang Fengmian closed his eyes for a moment, unable to help himself. When he opened it, he was first greeted with the sight of A-Shi’s beautiful—and still terrifyingly similar to Yu Ziyuan’s—face, contorted with worry and fear. He looked over at where the children sat on the docks just in time to see A-Yao let out a small, almost startled laugh at something Wei Ying had said. He sighed.
“I defer to your judgement in this matter, furen,” Jiang Fengmian said, and Yu Ziyuan smiled triumphantly.