A Substitute Bride

On the first day of the twelfth lunar month, Bianjing was graced with a rare, heavy snowfall that lasted through the night. Snowflakes fell thick and fast, blanketing the city for six or seven hours without pause, quietly covering the jade tiles and vermillion eaves, pavilions and towers of the Marquis of Eternal Peace’s residence.

At the break of dawn, the world seemed still half asleep, garbed in silver, silent and picturesque, with only a few plum trees blooming serenely in the courtyard.

Inside the Marquis’s inner chambers, in the Soaring Clouds Pavilion, a maid named Su Yue poked her head from the warm quilts, only to be driven back under the covers by the sudden chill. Wide awake, she hesitated a moment before steeling herself, throwing off the bedding and swiftly donning an elegant lotus-colored, narrow-sleeved short coat embroidered with orchids and a floor-length skirt, then slipped out of bed.

A younger maid, Xiang Mo, stirred at the movement, rubbing her sleepy eyes and mumbling, “Sister Su Yue, why are you up so early?”

Su Yue blew into her hands for warmth, her breath misting in the cold. “It’s the first day of the month. The young madam is sure to be up early—I must go keep her company.”

After a quick wash, Su Yue placed a pot of mushroom and chicken broth, which had been simmering by the fire, into a food box. She layered on a deep-purple, silk-cotton vest, lifted the curtain to check the snow, and though it was only a few steps, the snow was so heavy she returned to fetch an umbrella before heading out.

She was the dowry maid of Meng Yunshao, the lawful wife of the Marquis’s heir, and had entered the household with her about three years ago. Meng Yunshao had married above her station, and in the first six months after her arrival, she struggled for footing in the household, facing nothing but cold faces. Though they were mistress and servant, it was not too much to say they relied on each other for survival. Meng Yunshao’s gentle and tolerant nature meant that even in the hardest times, she treated Su Yue sincerely and with care; in return, Su Yue served her with heartfelt loyalty.

On days like this, others would likely still be sleeping, not stirring from their rooms all day would raise no eyebrows. But her young madam oversaw the household’s accounts—surely she was already up, reconciling last month’s ledgers.

Indeed, as she reached Meng Yunshao’s door, she heard the crisp clatter of an abacus from within. The sound, though not loud, was clear in the stillness of the courtyard.

She entered, folding her umbrella, to find the room still shrouded in darkness. Meng Yunshao, by the flicker of candlelight and the faint glow seeping through the window, was immersed in her accounts. Her dark hair fell loose, fastened only with a simple jade hairpin, and she wore a white silk cloak lined with rabbit fur, patterned with green plum blossoms. One hand turned the ledger, the other worked the abacus, its edges polished smooth from years of use.

Hearing Su Yue’s entrance, Meng Yunshao glanced up with a gentle smile that rippled like spring breeze across a lake, murmured, “You’re here,” then bent once more to her task.

A beauty by lamplight seemed to radiate an even deeper allure. Though Su Yue had followed Meng Yunshao for years, she could not help but marvel at her mistress’s loveliness—cherry lips, pearly teeth, jet-black hair against snowy skin, features both fresh and delicate. Yet her beauty was made unique by a subtle, refined grace, a blend of charm and elegance seldom seen together, rendering her ethereal and unsullied. Perhaps affection tinted Su Yue’s perception, but she believed that not a single noblewoman in all of Bianjing could compare.

Their bond was close, so Su Yue spoke without reserve, exclaiming, “Heavens! What a pity the young master isn’t here to see you now, mistress—you’re as beautiful as a painting!”

Meng Yunshao, long accustomed to Su Yue’s exclamations, kept her focus on the accounts. “He cares little for beauty,” she replied softly, “I only hope he stays away a few more months, so I might breathe a little easier. He brings more rules with him. I’m already busy managing the household and tending to him as well—I can hardly keep up.”

Su Yue set down the chicken broth and put on a kettle, preparing a hand warmer for Meng Yunshao. “But yesterday I heard from Changle, the head maid in the Lady Dowager’s quarters, that the Marquis and the Young Master’s inspection of the southern borders for His Majesty is complete. They’ll be returning soon.”

Meng Yunshao paused, her smile fading almost imperceptibly. She sighed, “It’s true. While you were instructing the new maids yesterday, my mother-in-law summoned me. The Young Master wrote to her, saying he’ll be home in four days. Once the accounts are done, I must start preparing the welcome banquet.”

Su Yue remarked offhandedly, “The Young Master is odd—he always writes to the Lady Dowager, but never sends a word to our Soaring Clouds Pavilion.”

Meng Yunshao gave a slight, silent smile.

The Young Master was a cold, diligent man, wholly devoted to the family’s prosperity and his official duties, never indulging in matters of love or affection.

Sensing she had spoken out of turn, Su Yue hastened to comfort her mistress, “Before he left, the Young Master promised to bring you pearls from the southern provinces. I heard those pearls are exquisite—he must have you in his heart.”

Meng Yunshao seemed unconcerned. “If he does or doesn’t, it’s all the same. Besides, it was his attendant Zhu’an who joked about bringing back some pearls for me—he never agreed, just kept silent. His mind is always on business. Three or four months have passed—I doubt he remembers. And even if he does, I doubt I’ll ever see them.”

Su Yue handed her the hand warmer, puzzled. “Why not?”

Meng Yunshao took it, tapped Su Yue’s nose in amusement, her smile returning. “Just idle talk. It’s nothing.”

Su Yue ladled out a bowl of clear mushroom chicken broth. The golden broth, fragrant and steaming, was free of grease, adorned only by a few floating threads of fresh scallion.

“Mistress, have some warm soup and rest a while. You’ve been busy all morning—there’s no rush.”

Meng Yunshao’s hands, pale and stiff with cold, warmed as she held the hand warmer. Gazing at the chicken soup, she remembered that, preoccupied last night with negotiations over profits with the new shopkeepers on Changsheng Street, she had forgotten to eat. Now, hunger stirred, and she sipped the broth spoonful by spoonful.

With the accounts paused and warmth in her belly, Meng Yunshao’s mind wandered to her years in the He family.

Meng Yunshao was not the bride originally intended for He Zhiyu, heir to the Marquis of Anding.

The Meng and He families had been friends since the previous generation, and had hoped to arrange a marriage between their children. But as fate would have it, both families produced only sons that generation, so the engagement was set aside, with vague promises to revisit the idea for the next generation—nothing ever committed to paper.

The Meng family prospered for a time—Elder Meng attained high rank—but the next generation lacked distinction. After the old man’s death, decline set in. Meng Dongqi, Meng Yunshao’s adoptive father, was the most capable of his generation, earning his place in the top ten of the imperial examination. Yet though he wrote beautifully, he lacked shrewdness and vision, and never advanced far in officialdom. In the end, he relied on his father’s connections to secure a modest post upon returning to the capital.

The He family’s fortunes were quite different. The old Marquis, striking in his youth, became an imperial son-in-law after catching the eye of Princess Anping, who noticed him while serving her punishment in the Hanlin Academy for skipping her lessons to pick lotus pods. The princess bore two sons, He Xiao and He Yao. He Xiao, father of He Zhiyu, was the apple of his mother’s eye and, by thirty, had already been ennobled for reclaiming fourteen southwestern prefectures.

He Xiao was the model of aristocratic virtue, and his wife, Lady Yue, was determined that her children uphold the family’s honor. She raised them with stern discipline, permitting only proper pursuits and forbidding all idle amusements. Her efforts produced two exemplary offspring.

Her eldest daughter, He Qingmian, was the perfect noblewoman—learned, gracious, and accomplished in every art. She married the heir of the Duke of Ning’s household. The third son, He Zhiyu, was chosen as a companion for the crown prince due to his intelligence, and by sixteen was following his father on military campaigns. At twenty, besieged for seven days in Moye by the Jin forces with supplies exhausted, he braved a storm of blades and arrows to kill the enemy commander with a single shot, leading his vastly outnumbered troops to victory and stabilizing the troubled northern frontier.

He Zhiyu’s brilliance and fame filled Bianjing. With a cool, refined demeanor and scholarly beauty, he was dubbed “the Jade Gentleman”—cold as mountain snow, yet the stuff of every noblewoman’s dreams.

The He family’s star continued to rise, while the Mengs declined. As the old patriarchs of both families passed away, ties between the houses faded and the marriage arrangement was all but forgotten.

Meng family’s present mistress, Madam Chang, was adept at maneuvering and unwilling to let her daughter miss the chance to marry well. Lacking a written agreement, she feared the Hes would refuse or marry her daughter to a lesser son, thus wasting her prospects. So, at Princess Anping’s sixtieth birthday, she arrived with lavish gifts, had her daughter Meng Yunshu perform on the zither for the assembled gentry, and in front of all the city’s elite, raised the topic of the old engagement and proposed they finalize it then and there.

The princess, proud and noble, would not dismiss her father’s promise. He Yao, quick-witted since childhood, sensed the coercion and left in disdain. He Xiao, as the eldest, bore the responsibility and agreed. Of his three sons, only He Zhiyu remained unmarried and eligible.

Had matters ended there, the match, though forced, would not have been so ill. Meng Yunshu and He Zhiyu had met in their youth at school, and Meng Yunshu was famed as a “musical immortal” in the capital. Though the families were now unequal, the match was still respectable.

Meng Yunshu even sent secret letters to He Zhiyu, confessing her feelings and saying that she only resorted to such measures out of true affection and would never accept another. Though He Zhiyu did not reply, his silence was taken as consent.

But fate intervened. Two or three months before the wedding, He Zhiyu, drunk on his military successes, offended the new emperor at court and was publicly chastised. His discontent grew, and he began spreading seditious rumors, leading to a second imperial reprimand. Three days before the wedding, he quarreled with the emperor before the court and was stripped of his title and imprisoned, judgment delayed until after the wedding out of consideration for his service.

In truth, all was a calculated act—a ruse of imperial displeasure and loyal minister’s downfall. During this period, He Zhiyu used his supposed resentment to befriend General Xiao Mu, secretly gathering evidence of his treason, even feigning agreement to rebel with him on the night of the wedding.

Fearing the marriage might be disrupted, He Zhiyu visited the Mengs, explaining as much as he could—if they could not accept his circumstances, the betrothal could be broken, and he would compensate them fully. If they chose to stand by him, the He family’s foundation would see them through, and he would not fail them in future. The Mengs swore oaths of loyalty, and He Zhiyu departed reassured.

But on the wedding day, as He Zhiyu arrived at the Mengs’ door, he noticed at a glance that the veiled bride was not Meng Yunshu.

Instead, it was Meng Yunshao, the adopted daughter.

He Zhiyu, always cautious, had suspected the Mengs might pull some trick. Now, seeing the truth, he felt only resignation and a deep distaste for their duplicity. Yet, for the sake of his greater plan to capture Xiao Mu at the wedding, he had no choice but to endure.

The Mengs, having pressed their claim at the birthday banquet, then excused themselves on grounds of love, and made solemn vows to stand together—only to break their word in the end and cast the He family aside.

From the very beginning, Meng Yunshao and He Zhiyu’s marriage had been a mistake.