Chapter Fifty-Four: Return to the Manor

A carriage stood by the roadside. Jiang Wen stepped into the compartment, and Diao Chan followed him inside, leaving behind a chorus of silent laments from the young men clustered outside.

Jiang Wen and Diao Chan sat opposite each other. Though she had not yet removed her veiled hat, her fragrance and grace filled the carriage. All mortals are flawed in one way or another, but to say a man’s heart would not stir with such a beauty before him would be a lie. Yet, at this moment, Jiang Wen’s worries far outweighed his desires.

“My lord has yet to allow me into his household,” Diao Chan said with a radiant smile, her phoenix eyes studying the lover she had longed for day and night. “So should I address you as ‘my lord’ or as ‘young master’?”

The prime minister’s match for her was more than satisfactory; beneath the veiled hat, her exquisite face lowered modestly. But Jiang Wen was oblivious to her thoughts.

Her melodious voice prompted Jiang Wen to raise an eyebrow. This woman, indeed, was captivating in every way; her every gesture chipped away at a man’s resolve.

Steadying himself, he considered, then replied, “Miss, you possess beauty that could topple a kingdom, and your virtuous temperament is renowned. Surely, with a willing heart, you could find a far better match. I myself have little to offer beyond some small measure of learning. I wonder, then, why you would choose me.”

“You are too modest, my lord,” Diao Chan replied, gently drawing aside the curtain so Jiang Wen could see the street outside. “Now, Xiangyang is even more prosperous than when Liu Biao ruled. The people live in peace and plenty, and all are grateful to the prime minister. But who was it that advised him to fortify and secure this city and bring about such flourishing times?”

“To hold the emperor in one’s grasp and command the realm—countless renowned scholars and talents have come to the prime minister, drawn by his virtue. Whose influence made this possible?”

"The state treasury is full, the army well supplied, and the people spared from taxes. Who first proposed the system of military farms that made this possible?”

Jiang Wen sighed. “You know of my deeds?”

“When I resided at the guesthouse, I daily heard your praises sung. Once, your friend the Cavalry General and the former General came to visit me, and they too spoke of you.”

“Moreover, since the prime minister has betrothed me to you, it was only natural that I should be told of such things.”

Jiang Wen fell silent in thought. Diao Chan let the curtain drop and continued, “The poem you wrote at the inn earlier seemed tinged with sorrow. Is that sorrow for me, or for the prime minister?”

“My loyalty to the prime minister is unwavering. He has granted me a match with such a fair lady; I have not a trace of resentment toward him.”

“Is that truly what you think?” Diao Chan asked. “You may not say it, but I know. On the chessboard, with its crisscrossing lines and countless pieces, even a sage can make a mistake. The one who moves the pieces is no different.”

“A mere piece on the board—so am I, and so are you. But I am a piece in plain sight, set to watch over you. That, I think, is the root of your sorrow.”

As expected, Jiang Wen thought, frowning slightly as he calculated silently.

He had never believed in love, not in this age. To trust in it was a mark of naivety. For all the famed tales of enduring devotion, the hardships and estrangements were left untold. The romantic verses were composed for future generations, not for those who lived them.

Sun Jian had arranged for Diao Chan to be his concubine—anyone could see she was meant to watch him. Yet there was another truth: Diao Chan was not like the others sent to spy.

Now, with the establishment of the Inspectorate, its officials watched the court from the shadows, but Diao Chan’s surveillance was open. Those in the dark would not scrutinize too closely, but Diao Chan’s presence was a constant reminder: every word and deed would be seen by Sun Jian.

Without doubt, Sun Jian had promised her some benefit, or she would not have come so willingly.

With this in mind, Jiang Wen’s expression changed. “May I ask—is your father, Minister Wang, still well?”

“My father, Minister Wang…?” Diao Chan paused in confusion at the unexpected question, then recalled Wang Yun. When she had been offered to Lü Bu in the beauty scheme, all ties with her nominal father had been severed; had he not been mentioned, she would scarcely have remembered him.

“I did inquire about my father with some of the gentry’s sons. He is now serving as an official in Chang’an and is in good health.”

So, the beauty scheme having failed, Minister Wang had become the target of scorn among the Han officials. No doubt Sun Jian had promised to restore her father’s reputation, and the price was her hand as concubine.

Seeing Jiang Wen’s confident, easy smile, Diao Chan felt her heart flutter. Even with her veil, a blush crept across her face.

Now that he understood her motives, and since she harbored no other designs, Jiang Wen was somewhat content. So long as he treated her with respect and propriety, his feelings for Tao’er would not be affected.

“I have come today to escort you to my household. If ever I fail to treat you as you deserve, I beg your pardon. I hope you will also speak well of me to the prime minister.”

“Since I am now your concubine, it is for me to care for you. How could there be any question of inadequate hospitality?” Diao Chan said, her voice tinged with happiness. “If you wish me to enter your household, let us set out at once. Xiaoshu!”

The carriage halted before the Jiang residence. Jiang Wen stepped down first, gazing at his home with some emotion—it had been more than a year since he last returned.

The gateboy, seeing the carriage, bowed and said, “The mistress has instructed that while the master is away, guests will not be received. If you wish to visit, please come another day.”

“Go and summon Li Er. Have him prepare a room for Miss Diao Chan in the west wing and move her belongings there.”

The gateboys exchanged glances. “And you are…?”

“I am your master!”

Wandering the garden path, Jiang Wen noted how lively the estate had become since he first moved in. Elderly men were pruning trees, chatting and laughing; a short distance away, two strong laborers worked the waterwheel, drawing spring water. In the fields, people bent over, tending vegetables. Some of the newly built pavilions were exquisitely crafted—no doubt Tao’er and his second uncle had arranged for their construction during his year away at war.

As he strolled through the estate, he saw that of the original eighty mu of land, about forty were now covered with new buildings—twenty more than when he’d left.

Inside, Tao’er’s heart was a tumult of joy and worry—happiness at her lord’s return, and anxiety at the arrival of Diao Chan, the woman the prime minister had given him, who had entered the household at Jiang Wen’s side.

She had long heard of Diao Chan’s beauty—after all, even Lü Meng had been utterly bewitched by her.