Blossom

The news of Jiang Lansun's death came with a letter expressing regret, stating that the Jiang Family would face great difficulties hereafter.

Dou Zhao understood his implication.

A family's continuity relies on the teachings and examples set by its elders, passed down like a torch through generations.

Jiang Bosun, as the youngest son, had been serving Madam Mei in the Capital. Not only had he never set foot on a battlefield, but he had also never left the Capital. While his brothers fought bloody battles in Fujian, he indulged in a luxurious life in the Capital. While his brothers strategized and contended with the Grand Secretaries in court, he wallowed in debauchery—otherwise, he wouldn’t have secretly kept a mistress outside.

Now, Jiang Lansun—experienced, wise, and enduring severe injuries with unwavering determination until his last breath at Tieling Guard—had passed away. Meanwhile, Jiang Bosun, who had never seen the horrors of war, survived. What would the Jiang Family become under his leadership?

With the lineage broken, could this family ever rise again?

Dou Zhao did not share Chen Qushui’s melancholy.

In her past life, under absolute power, so-called schemes and plans had been crushed to dust, rendered utterly useless. In this life, if the Jiang Family could preserve some lives, withdraw from the killing field, and become ordinary wealthy commoners, it might not be such a bad outcome.

Her only concern was Song Mo.

She couldn’t fathom why he still hadn’t recalled Lu Ming.

She had feigned ignorance due to Mr. Chen’s involvement, but what was his reason?

If it was distrust toward her, the Jiang Family’s affairs had long been settled—what else about her could possibly hold his attention?

These thoughts left her restless.

Next year, she would devote herself entirely to dissolving the engagement with the Wei Family. She had neither the energy nor the time to linger in this stalemate with Song Mo.

Dou Zhao tucked the letter away and instructed Su Xin, "Tell the coachman we’ll depart for the farmstead in half an hour."

This year’s winter wheat had yielded nothing, but the corn harvest was abundant. After discussion, the farmstead sent a few elders to negotiate with Grandmother: they would keep the corn as rations without paying rent, and the next season’s winter wheat would belong entirely to the Dou family.

Corn was coarse and unpalatable no matter how it was prepared, whereas wheat could be ground into flour to make delicious steamed buns or noodles.

This was the tenants’ heartfelt gesture.

Grandmother was deeply moved.

With the winter wheat sowing season underway, she decided to visit the farmstead with Dou Zhao.

Grandmother was in high spirits, dressed in a plain fine cotton jacket in agalloch color and square-toed blue cloth shoes. Her slightly silver-streaked hair was neatly tied into a round bun, and she wore no jewelry, looking exceptionally brisk and tidy.

Seeing Dou Zhao, her enthusiasm soared. She waved her hand, "Let’s go to the farmstead!" and added, "Being cooped up in the courtyard tending flowers has nearly suffocated me."

Dou Zhao smiled apologetically but thought to herself: If it means preserving your life, I’ll willingly bear the charge of unfilial piety.

Amid laughter and chatter, they headed toward the second gate, where they encountered Ji Yong returning from outside.

He had somehow hauled half a cartload of books and was directing his personal attendant to unload them.

"Consort Cui, Fourth Sister," he greeted them with his usual humility, courtesy, and amiability—enough to charm anyone. "Where are you off to?"Ever since he had declared in front of his grandmother that temple abbots were nothing but greedy hypocrites, she had treated him like a demon, avoiding him at all costs. But today, under the sunlight, Ji Yong's smile was bright and his gaze sincere, making her wonder inwardly: Had some Bodhisattva manifested during the summer Buddhist lecture and taken him as a disciple? So instead of fleeing as usual, afraid he might drag her into more blasphemous talk, she greeted him politely: "...Where did you get so many books? You should have the pages from Crane Longevity Hall mark them so they can be returned properly!"

Books were extremely valuable items. Ji Yong was merely borrowing their residence to study—he couldn't possibly leave someone else's books here indefinitely, could he?

Ji Yong grinned, his teeth gleaming like seashells in the sunlight. For some reason, Dou Zhao felt an inexplicable sense of foreboding, just as his clear voice reached her ears: "These are all Buddhist scriptures."

Dou Zhao distinctly felt her grandmother stiffen.

"Last time, during my debate with Abbot Tuyin about the Heart Sutra's teaching that 'the Five Aggregates are empty'—'form is emptiness, emptiness is form; sensation, perception, volition, and consciousness are also like this'—I asked him why earth, water, fire, and wind are also considered form when the Twelve Entrances and Eighteen Realms classify the five sense organs (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body) and their corresponding objects (sights, sounds, smells, tastes, touches) as form. He rambled for ages without making sense. I know he'll come seeking my guidance soon, so I'm preparing to properly explain the Twelve Entrances and Eighteen Realms to him..."

"Oh!" Grandmother's tone turned strained. "Young Master Ji is truly remarkable, understanding everything! We're off to inspect the farmstead—please make yourself at home!" With that, she hurriedly boarded the carriage waiting beyond the Second Gate with Hong Gu.

Dou Zhao warned Ji Yong in a low voice: "Careful you don't end up as just a Presented Scholar!"

Ji Yong raised an eyebrow, whispering back: "You think I'm like your second cousin?"

"People who boast often look at others with contempt," Dou Zhao retorted bluntly. "Save your loud proclamations for when your name is announced at the Golden Palace Proclamation." Recently, monks had been visiting the Dou family to discuss Buddhism with Ji Yong for days on end. She disliked how he was turning their home into a temple. "Western Dou is a residence, not your private monastery."

Only then did Ji Yong understand her irritation. He stared at Dou Zhao wide-eyed: "Don't you find it fascinating? Drawing those ascetics into worldly affairs..."

"'The bright mirror is not a stand—where could dust alight?'" Dou Zhao quoted coldly. "What worldly affairs are you talking about?"

Ji Yong looked thunderstruck, gazing at her speechlessly.

As Dou Zhao needed to accompany her grandmother to the farmstead, she turned and boarded the carriage when Ji Yong remained silent.

At the farmstead, everyone was busy with urgent sowing—workers would briefly look up to greet grandmother before returning to their labor.

Having peasant origins herself, grandmother wasn't offended but pleased to see everyone focused on the planting.

An elderly farmer, exempt from fieldwork due to his age, accompanied them on a field inspection before Dou Zhao and grandmother returned home.

After washing up and changing clothes, Hong Gu served a steaming meal.

A young man arrived from Cui Family Village to pay respects to grandmother: "...They said it's been too long since they last saw you and hope you'll visit for a couple days."

Grandmother was visibly tempted.Dou Zhao smiled and encouraged her grandmother, "We can just stay a few more days before heading back."

Her grandmother thought of her own family home where the same pot was used for both cooking and boiling water, leaving a layer of oil floating in the tea. After some consideration, she made an excuse that she was uneasy about leaving the farmstead unattended.

Dou Zhao couldn't fathom such concerns and eagerly persuaded, "Isn't the farmstead usually managed by the stewards anyway? What's there to worry about? It's been seven or eight years since you last visited your family, hasn't it? Since we have this rare opportunity, I'll have some sweets and snacks prepared so you can reward the children when you get there."

"Then you stay at the farmstead!" her grandmother seized the chance to say. "The people here have given us this season's harvest. Someone should stay to oversee things, or else everyone might slack off."

"Fine by me!" Dou Zhao didn't mind as long as her grandmother was happy. Not only did she arrange for her grandmother's trip back home, but she also picked out a few bolts of cloth for Tuo Niang. "For her son and daughter to make clothes," she said.

Tuo Niang had given birth to another daughter last year and had specially brought the baby to show Dou Zhao during the New Year, asking her grandmother to name the child "Changqing," symbolizing everlasting prosperity.

Hong Gu packed the items and accompanied the grandmother early the next morning to Cui Family Village, over twenty miles away.

In the morning, Dou Zhao took a stroll around the farmstead. With nothing to do in the afternoon, she tidied up the garden flowers and plants with her personal maids and a few Old Women from the household.

The leaves of the plum tree she had planted in this lifetime had turned from green to yellow, on the verge of withering.

Dou Zhao chuckled. "Tomorrow, I'll plant a camellia here. When the tree sheds its leaves, the camellia will bloom. That way, the garden will never be without life."

Su Lan giggled.

Dou Zhao suddenly felt someone watching her.

Following her instincts, she glanced up and spotted Song Mo on horseback outside the wall.

Dou Zhao's almond-shaped eyes widened in surprise.

Song Mo, however, simply smiled at her.

Dou Zhao immediately felt her head throb.

Since they had already seen each other, etiquette dictated that she should invite him in. But if she did, how would she explain their acquaintance to those around her? Yet, if she didn't, given Song Mo's temperament, he would likely take offense at such neglect, potentially causing even greater trouble.

She quickly scanned her surroundings.

A few Old Women had already straightened up and were looking in their direction, clearly having noticed Song Mo.

Fine. She might as well invite him in first and figure out the rest later.

Just as Dou Zhao was about to speak, Song Mo beat her to it. "I happened to pass by your farmstead on business. Might I trouble you for a drink of water?"

His voice was low and hoarse, as if he were utterly exhausted.

Only then did Dou Zhao notice he was covered in dust, looking as though he had traveled hundreds of miles.

Her grandmother had taken her attendants to Cui Family Village, leaving only a few Old Women from the farmstead's tenant families to help out temporarily. With their straightforward rural manners and seeing such a striking figure, they saw no reason to refuse. Before Dou Zhao could respond, they chimed in, "Of course, of course! We may be simple folks, but we've got plenty of tea to spare." They added, "Where are you from, young man? And where are you headed?"

Dou Zhao had no choice but to remain silent.

Su Xin and Duan Gongyi recognized Song Mo, of course, but the circumstances of their acquaintance were too grim to recall. Under such circumstances, how could they possibly speak up?Song Mo smiled in thanks, his eyes lingering on Dou Zhao: "Many thanks then!" The slight upward tilt of his eyes accentuated his shimmering gaze, breathtakingly beautiful enough to make one's heart skip a beat.

Dou Zhao felt her pulse quicken.

By then, Song Mo had already dismounted, leaving only a few unruly ivy vines peeking over the wall, swaying gently in the breeze.

※※※※※

Of course, Song Mo hadn’t come alone. He was accompanied by four or five attendants, one of whom was the same man who had delivered gifts to Dou Zhao before. She heard Song Mo call him Chen He, while the others were unfamiliar.

Just how many guards did he have?

Dou Zhao grumbled inwardly.

Hearing that there were no elders in the household, she thought she saw a fleeting brilliance in Song Mo’s gaze, like a meteor streaking across the sky.

"I had hoped to stay here for the night," he said regretfully. "What should we do now?" His brows furrowed slightly, looking genuinely troubled—enough to stir the compassion of the old women nearby. "There’s no one else here, young master. You’re welcome to stay," they insisted.

To them, how could such a finely featured young man like Song Mo possibly be a troublemaker?