Volume One: The Carefree Journey of Discerning Truth from Falsehood Chapter Forty-Five: The Marquis of Martial Valor

Still bewildered, Yang Ning saw someone leading another man into the mourning hall. This newcomer appeared to be in his thirties, attired in splendid robes, with a handsome countenance, though his face was pale. As he walked, Yang Ning noticed his steps were unsteady, his gaze absent and lifeless, betraying a profound frailty.

The Marquis of Wuxiang entered the mourning hall, cast a glance at Yang Ning who knelt by the side, removed his cap, and gave a curt salute before turning to the steward, Qiu, to ask, “Is the Dowager able to receive visitors?”

The steward replied respectfully, “My lord, the Dowager has been unwell and unable to see guests. Please, may I invite you to the parlor for tea?” He glanced back at Yang Ning, beckoning him to follow.

The Marquis of Wuxiang, hands clasped behind his back, gave a cough and, under the steward’s guidance, departed the mourning hall.

“Is that the Marquis of Wuxiang?” Yang Ning, regaining his composure, whispered to Duan Canghai behind him, “We have a marriage alliance with him?”

Duan Canghai nodded. “The Marquis of Wuxiang, like our own Marquis of Brocade, is one of the four hereditary marquises of the Great Chu. This engagement was arranged when the elder marquises of both families were still alive.”

“So then, the elder Marquis of Wuxiang has already passed as well?” Yang Ning asked, noting that the current marquis appeared only a little over thirty and must have inherited the title upon his predecessor’s death.

Duan Canghai replied, “Yes, the elder Marquis of Wuxiang passed away many years ago—only two years after our own late marquis. The two were sworn brothers in life and death.”

Yang Ning wished to inquire further, but Duan Canghai urged, “My lord, we mustn’t delay. The Marquis of Wuxiang has gone to the parlor; he must have come to see you. You should hurry—he likely has words for you.”

Feeling annoyed at the sudden appearance of a prospective father-in-law, Yang Ning had no choice but to rise and leave. Seeing the steward leading the marquis not far ahead, glancing back now and then, Yang Ning followed, which seemed to put the steward at ease.

When Yang Ning entered the parlor, the Marquis of Wuxiang was already seated with a commanding presence. The steward had arranged for tea and stood nearby, signaling Yang Ning to approach.

Yang Ning stepped forward. The marquis, leaning back in his chair, didn’t even look at him. Instead, he toyed with a white jade pixiu—an exquisitely carved beast, lustrous and pure, clearly of the finest kind. As he played with it, he asked without raising his head, “How did you get back? I heard you were wandering about and got yourself kidnapped?”

Hearing the weak breath in the man’s speech, Yang Ning became even more convinced of his frail health. Though he knew that such noble houses had many rules, he was unsure which applied now. As he pondered whether to answer, the steward interjected with a sycophantic smile, “Your lordship, the young master has been back a few days already—fortune favors the righteous; though there was a scare, all is well.”

“Fortune favors the righteous?” The marquis lifted his eyelids to glance at Yang Ning, sneering, “I fail to see what’s so righteous about him. Look at that mournful face—if heaven’s favor looked like that, the gods must be quite pathetic.”

The steward faltered, clearly surprised at such blunt words.

Even though Yang Ning was a junior, and a future son-in-law at that, the situation being what it was—Yang Ning poised to inherit the Marquisate of Brocade—it seemed unseemly for the Marquis of Wuxiang to mock him so openly.

“You’re not wrong, my lord,” Yang Ning replied, stifling his irritation, chin raised, not meeting the marquis’s gaze. “My father has just passed—if I wore a face of joy, that would be truly strange. As for fortune or misfortune, sometimes a person’s fate really does show on their face.”

Though he spoke thus, inwardly he thought, “You, sir, are the very picture of misfortune—hardly a sign of the righteous.”

The Marquis of Wuxiang was taken aback, evidently not expecting such a retort. He looked up at Yang Ning, sneered, “So, you do have some spirit.”

At that moment, the tea arrived. The marquis took a sip, then spat it out in disgust. “What is this? Fit for human consumption?” He slammed the cup heavily onto the table, spilling tea everywhere. The steward hurried to have it cleaned up, attempting to placate him, “My lord, this is your favorite Misty Cloud tea. Perhaps today it does not suit your taste?”

“Misty Cloud tea?” the marquis snapped. “Proper Misty Cloud tea must be brewed with rootless rainwater—what water did you use? For a noble house, you know nothing of these small proprieties. I say, Steward Qiu, from top to bottom, your household lacks discipline—it’s no wonder Qi Jing had no discernment, hiring such rustic help. If you can’t even serve tea, I’ll send over some of my own servants to teach you.”

Steward Qiu continued to smile obsequiously, “Forgive my poor management. I will attend to it more carefully in the future.”

Yang Ning was tempted to retort, but thought better of arguing over a cup of tea and restrained himself.

The marquis continued to fiddle with the jade beast. “What exactly is wrong with the Dowager? Is it serious? I came today hoping to see her.”

“My lord is kind, but the Dowager has said she will not receive visitors at present, no matter who they are,” the steward replied. “If you wish to see her, it will have to wait a few days.”

“Then who manages affairs here now?” the marquis demanded. “Don’t tell me it’s still your Third Lady? A marquisate run by a woman—if word got out, wouldn’t it be a laughingstock?” He shifted to sit more comfortably, fixing the steward with a look. “Is there not a single capable man in the Qi family?”

By now, Yang Ning’s patience was wearing thin.

He had met all the men of the Qi family, and truth be told, there was no one fit to take charge.

Had the marquis only scorned the Qi men, Yang Ning might have agreed, but hearing his contempt for Gu Qinghan roused his ire.

He knew the difficulties Gu Qinghan now faced—alone, shouldering the burdens of the household. The marquis, pontificating so glibly, was deeply offensive. Though Yang Ning dared not openly contradict him, he let out a cold laugh.

He made sure the marquis heard it. The marquis was not deaf; he shot Yang Ning a look and sneered, “What are you laughing at, boy? Do you think I’m wrong?”

Yang Ning ignored him, not even looking his way.

“Just as I thought,” the marquis said with growing irritation. “They say the Qi family raised a fool, and it seems he hasn’t improved a bit.” He snorted, then asked the steward, “By the way, has the palace sent anyone? With the Marquis of Brocade gone, surely His Majesty would have issued some decree.”

The steward answered awkwardly, “My lord, as of now... as of now, no one from the palace has arrived.”

“The funeral is in just a few days and still no word?” The marquis’s eyes narrowed. “Have the Marquis of Loyalty or the Golden Blade Marquis come by?”

“The Golden Blade Marquis was here the day the mourning hall was set up,” the steward replied. “The Marquis of Loyalty... his household sent someone.”

“Sent someone?” The marquis stroked his beard. “So the marquis himself hasn’t come?”

“No, he hasn’t,” the steward confirmed. “Perhaps...perhaps he’s been delayed.”

“Delayed?” The marquis gave a thin smile. “The mourning hall has been here for over ten days, and the Marquis of Loyalty doesn’t live a world away. What could possibly delay him?” He sat up, put away the jade beast, coughed twice, and said, “Steward Qiu, since the Dowager isn’t here and I can’t keep running back and forth, relay a message to her for me.”

“Of course, my lord—what would you have me say?”

“It concerns the marriage alliance between our two families,” said the marquis.

“Oh?” The steward hastened to reply. “Forgive my bluntness, my lord, but with the general not yet buried, perhaps it’s not the time to discuss such matters...”

“I know it’s not appropriate,” the marquis replied, “but some things are better dealt with sooner rather than later. If we let it drag, it will only get worse.”

The steward nodded slightly. “The young master is indeed of age to marry. I’m sure the Dowager is already making preparations.”

“You misunderstand.” The marquis raised his hand. “Your marquis has only just died—what talk of marriage? Who marries off their son so soon after the father’s passing?”

“Of course, my lord. Then may I ask your intention?”

The marquis coughed, hesitated, visibly uncomfortable, but finally said, “I think the engagement previously arranged should be reconsidered.”

“Reconsidered?” The steward was taken aback, not quite understanding. “Do you mean, my lord, that because of the general’s passing, the wedding should be postponed?”

“Steward Qiu, you’re an old hand—surely you know that after a parent’s death, mourning lasts three years. From now on, your young master cannot marry within that period. Do you still not understand?”

“My lord wishes to dissolve the engagement?” Suddenly, a voice sounded from the doorway; Gu Qinghan had entered with quiet steps.

The marquis turned to look at her but said nothing.

“Third Lady...” The steward moved to speak, but Gu Qinghan raised her hand to silence him. She approached with a graceful step and a smile. “I heard the marquis had arrived and that the tea did not suit your taste, so I’ve come to ask—what kind of tea would be worthy of your palate?”

The marquis coughed. “I won’t quibble over tea. I didn’t come here to drink your tea.”

“Though you may not mind, we must be careful,” Gu Qinghan replied with a gentle smile. “Whenever you visited before, we always served Misty Cloud tea. Few in our household drink it, but we kept it for esteemed guests like you. If your tastes have changed, we must find out—for otherwise, how shall we know how to serve you in the future?”