Blossom

Although Dou Zhao knew Song Mo was just teasing to cheer her up, she couldn’t help but burst into laughter and instructed Su Xin, “Make sure to remember the Young Lord’s words clearly. From now on, count every single word Princess Ningde says to him, so we can see just how many sentences she’s actually spoken to him. That way, the Young Lord won’t be able to sweet-talk his way out of it!” Yet inwardly, she marveled—no wonder her dear friend from her past life, the Madam of Xuannin Marquis, had said there was no secret to being a good daughter-in-law other than reporting dutifully morning and night. She had adopted the demeanor of a daughter-in-law when interacting with Princess Ningde, never expecting to receive such heartfelt words in return. This was truly an unexpected gain!

Since the young lady also knew the Young Lord was just coaxing her, the days of marital harmony couldn’t be far off!

Gan Lu followed her inside to help Dou Zhao prepare the attire and accessories for tomorrow’s palace visit.

Song Mo had originally wanted to ask Dou Zhao about the usurious loans, but seeing the women rummaging through chests and cabinets in the inner chamber, he swallowed his words and retreated alone to the study to practice calligraphy.

By the time he returned to their room, Dou Zhao had already finished her preparations.

A crimson long-sleeved lined gown hung on the clothing rack, while a dazzling set of pearl-studded hair ornaments—each pearl the size of a lotus seed—lay on the dressing table. A brand-new pair of dark green velvet embroidered shoes rested on the embroidered stool, and several undergarments of various colors were draped over the nearby screen. Dou Zhao sat cross-legged on the nanmu bed, wrapping Red Envelopes, leaving the room somewhat cluttered yet exuding a comforting aura—as if they had lived together for many years. No matter how capable and meticulous Dou Zhao appeared, he could still catch glimpses of her rarely seen scatterbrained and lazy side.

This version of Dou Zhao felt real and... intimate to Song Mo.

After a quick wash, he climbed onto the kang with contentment.

Dou Zhao asked him, “Five taels of silver per Red Envelope—is that too little?”

Seeing the pile of envelopes beside her, Song Mo exclaimed in surprise, “How do you have so many small-denomination silver notes?”

Dou Zhao shot him a playful glance and replied, “Can’t I have my own private savings?”

Song Mo chuckled awkwardly. “How much have you spent? I’ll have Chen He reimburse you tomorrow.”

“No need for that,” Dou Zhao said, lowering her head to continue wrapping the silver notes. “If there’s no chance to line one’s pockets, who’d willingly take on the thankless task of managing the household?”

Song Mo couldn’t help but laugh.

He had just entrusted the inner courtyard of the Hall of Cultivating Will to Dou Zhao’s care.

He never expected her to be so amusing.

Leaning on the kang, he teased her, “With just a few thousand taels of annual expenses, how could you possibly line your pockets?”

“You just don’t understand,” Dou Zhao continued their banter, admiring how even his speech was a delight to behold with his exquisitely handsome features. “Silver always accumulates bit by bit. Take hawthorn candies—those from Nanjing taste better than the Capital’s, but cost eight coppers more. Or blessing cakes—the ones from Fujian are merely larger than Shandong’s, yet cost over twenty coppers extra despite tasting similar... Aren’t these all opportunities for silver?”

Song Mo gasped in mock horror. “You wouldn’t even skim a few coppers, would you?”"Am I such a person with no taste?" Dou Zhao shot Song Mo a reproachful glance. "How many people have amassed fortunes by merely saving money? Especially when it means skimping on oneself—isn't that just self-deprivation? When shad fish hit the market in April, they're netted and sold in March at more than double the price. Liaodong rice is soft and glutinous, costing nine hundred wen per dan, while Jiangnan's long-grain rice is firmer at seven hundred wen per dan. For porridge, use two bowls of Liaodong rice with one bowl of long-grain rice. For steamed rice, use two bowls of long-grain rice with one bowl of Liaodong rice—both dishes turn out delicious... Over a year, that adds up to five or six hundred taels of silver. Half of it is deposited in a silver shop, earning six percent interest annually. The other half is lent to cotton and tea merchants at fifteen percent interest. In two years, that's one to two thousand taels... How is that not money?" As she spoke, her expression grew distant, recalling the days when she first married into the Marquis of Jining's Mansion.

Song Mo, however, felt a pang of sorrow.

Dou Zhao, a sheltered young lady from a wealthy family, had to mix two types of rice just to make a meal—what kind of life had forced her to devise such methods...

He decided never to bring up the topic of usurious loans again.

If this could bring Dou Zhao peace and happiness, why not?

Among the noble families of the Capital, who didn’t engage in such practices to supplement their income? His wife was merely lending money at high interest—what was the big deal?

He slipped on his shoes and stepped down from the kang, half-kneeling on the wooden step of the nanmu bed.

"Shou Gu," Song Mo said earnestly, "how about I give you an extra five thousand taels every year? Spend it however you like, alright?"

He tilted his head slightly, gazing up at Dou Zhao. His jet-black eyes, moist and clear like a tranquil lake, reflected her image.

Dou Zhao was taken aback, then understood his intention.

Her eyes grew misty.

She had never feared giving, but sometimes, when her efforts were taken for granted, even her resilience wavered. And she wasn’t always resilient.

She, too, craved praise and admiration—a vanity she couldn’t deny.

Overwhelmed, a long-lost shyness surged within her, coloring her cheeks. Half to mask it and half out of concern, she said, "You’re supporting so many people and are short on funds. Five thousand taels could hire ten skilled guards. Keep it for yourself. If I need money, I’ll ask you."

Song Mo was sharp and observant, his entire focus on Dou Zhao. How could he miss her emotions? He thought of their first meeting, tense and hostile, of her decisive bravery when she saved him, of her calm rationality when she accepted his proposal... Suddenly, he realized: Dou Zhao thrived against adversity. But what if faced with gentleness? His heart pounded like a drum."Now that I'm married and have my own household, it's only natural to separate the affairs of the inner courtyard from the outer," he said with a smile, gazing at Dou Zhao. Though his expression seemed casual, Dou Zhao inexplicably felt as if he were scrutinizing her, with a hint of nervousness. "You're skilled at managing a household, so I'll allocate more funds to you—consider it our private savings," he continued with a laugh. "I've always wanted Master Ou, the renowned iron craftsman from Henan, to forge a lance for me, modeled after those of the famous generals from the Sui and Tang dynasties. Unfortunately, Mother deemed it too dangerous and refused. After that, I never had the chance to pursue it. I'll give you the silver. Keep it for me, and when the time comes, help me commission that lance."

It seemed boys were always fond of such things—fine swords, noble steeds.

Dou Zhao had always thought this a good thing. Compared to squandering fortunes on opera singers or in the pleasure quarters, this hobby was worlds apart—it could even strengthen the body and prolong life.

She agreed without hesitation, but only afterward did it occur to her: since Jiang Shi had objected, forging a lance might not be a straightforward matter. There could be complications.

Dou Zhao couldn't help but ask, "What are the requirements for forging a lance?"

"It's just very time-consuming and expensive," he replied. The moment Dou Zhao agreed, he knew he'd found the right approach. She was generous and indifferent to material wealth; only genuine concern could move her. Suppressing his excitement, Song Mo smiled. "For instance, a lance is three feet long and requires high-quality poplar wood. But this wood grows in the borderlands, slowly—less than two inches a year—and the trunk must be perfectly straight, making it hard to find... And that's just a minor issue. Since childhood, I've loved martial arts, but my uncle worried it would leave calluses on my hands, alerting others to my skills. So he had me practice internal martial arts instead." He spread his palms for Dou Zhao to see—they were indeed translucent, like jade carvings, without a single callus or scar. Dou Zhao thought they were even softer and more delicate than her own. "Mother feared that if I got the lance, I'd abandon my internal training for lance techniques, which is why she refused to let me have one."

Once Dou Zhao had promised Song Mo, she was determined to see it through. Whether his explanation held water, she could easily verify. She had no intention of putting him in danger—not after all the effort she'd spent to protect him.

Noticing his thin clothing, she couldn't help but ask, "Is the bedding on the kang warm enough? Would you like to come sleep on the bed?"

"Gladly!" Song Mo sprang up, unable to hide his delight.

Dou Zhao flushed. She’d only meant to show concern—nothing more. But explaining now would only make it seem like she was overcompensating or being disingenuous.

Her face burning, she was about to make room for him when Su Xin's voice came from outside: "Young Lord, Madam, the Duke has returned and sent someone to summon you both."

Both Song Mo and Dou Zhao were startled. A flicker of displeasure crossed Song Mo's brow as he acknowledged the message and instructed Su Xin to help Dou Zhao dress.

Dou Zhao, meanwhile, secretly sighed in relief.

As she got out of bed to change, she asked Song Mo, "Do you know what this is about?"Song Mo thought for a moment and said, "Perhaps he heard the news that the Emperor has ordered me to bring you into the palace tomorrow—Tao Qizhong won’t be back so soon."

Dou Zhao nodded.

If the Emperor were displeased with Song Mo, he could simply punish him. But since he had instructed Song Mo to bring her into the palace, it was likely to bestow some favor.

Once she gained the approval of the Empress Dowager or the Empress, unless she were caught in some scandalous act, the Duke of Yingguo would never be able to force Song Mo to divorce her. Song Yichun must understand this very well—and be deeply worried about it.

Dou Zhao and Song Mo went to Cassia Fragrance Courtyard.

In the ninth month, though the courtyard no longer carried the pervasive fragrance of cassia blossoms, the osmanthus trees remained lush and green.

Song Yichun had returned from drinking somewhere. Though he had freshened up, the scent of alcohol still clung to him.

After Song Mo and Dou Zhao paid their respects, his eyes flickered with an odd expression as he spoke deliberately, "I’ve decided to marry the eldest daughter of Hua Tang, the Metropolitan Commander of Weizhou Guard, as my second wife. The engagement gifts will be sent in a few days. If you have nothing else to do, stay at home and help with the arrangements." The last sentence was directed at Song Mo.

Both Song Mo and Dou Zhao were shocked, but neither showed any outward reaction. They responded respectfully in unison, asking if Song Yichun had any further instructions. If not, they would take their leave.

Song Yichun felt somewhat disappointed.

His son remained unflappable no matter the situation—what could possibly surprise him?

He felt a twinge of embarrassment.

But his daughter-in-law Dou Shi’s calm demeanor took him by surprise.

She seemed intelligent—could she really not understand the implications of his remarriage to the Hua family?

The thought reignited a flicker of hope in him.

If his daughter-in-law dared interfere in his affairs, he could strip her of her title as Madam on grounds of filial impiety.

A wife of the heir without the status of Madam would lack authority—what could she possibly do?

Song Yichun smiled smugly once more.