Chapter 126 — The Song Family
Purple Streets of Chang'an · Page 1 of 4
The main residence of the Yingzhenguo Mansion stood on the central axis of the estate: a compound of five bays and four courtyards, with the front court, the main hall, and the reception pavilion of the Yingguo Mansion in front of it, and a small garden with a family shrine behind. Coming out from the Yizhi Hall where Song Yan lodged,
he stepped into the courtyard and saw his mother standing on the stone steps—tall and slender, elegant and composed, with a faint, almost imperceptible streak of fortitude and pride between her brows—gazing absently at the camphor tree in the corner of the yard.
The sachet in Song Yan's hand suddenly seemed to him a leaping flame, searing his palm.
That camphor tree had been sent by his eldest uncle from Fujian for his mother's twentieth birthday. Back then it had been no taller than a man; now it reached the eaves.
"You've come!" Lady Jiang greeted her son with a smile and settled onto a stone stool beneath the grape trellis.
The vines had only just put forth buds, and the bright spring sunlight filtered through the sparse branches onto her face. In hair that had once been black and lustrous, a few silver threads now showed.
A pang of sorrow gripped Song Yan. While the maids were busy pouring tea for them, he stepped behind his mother, set his hands on her shoulders with a smile, and said affectionately, "Mother, you have white hairs now—shall I pluck them out for you?"
Lady Jiang smiled with pursed lips. Looking at the long silver strand in her son's fingers, she said, half with feeling and half with contentment, "You're about to take a wife—it's time your mother grew old!"
For all his steadiness and reserve, Song Yan was still only a thirteen-year-old boy. His face flushed at once, and he protested, embarrassed, "Mother!"
Her son's rare discomposure pleased Lady Jiang. Smiling, she asked, "How old was that girl you met in Zhending?"
Anyone who could leave her son at a loss for words must be a bold, careful, clever girl.
"Why do you ask that?" Song Yan's face grew redder still, and he cried in protest, "She's already betrothed!"
The moment the words left his mouth, mother and son both fell still.
The wind passed over the grape trellis, and the tender green buds trembled in the spring breeze.
Song Yan was mortified.
His mother had only asked out of curiosity—how had he come to blurt out such a thing as though possessed?
At the thought, his face burned, and he grew all the more uncomfortable. "Mr. Yan suggested I make the acquaintance of Wei Fan, and I thought it a good idea as well. I was just wondering how to mention it to Zongyao and find a way to get to know the man."
Lady Jiang smiled a knowing smile.
She felt a faint regret, yet knew that to say more would be to sully the girl's good name.
Song Yan, however, could not keep his countenance. He looked this way and that and said, "Where is Father? Why don't I see him?"
"He's gone to the Third Princess's residence." She followed her son in changing the subject. "Your father dares not ask the Crown Prince to intervene, for fear of implicating him, so he means to have the Third Princess sound out the Emperor's mind." Here her spirits sank. "I have already discussed it with Mr. Min. Since the Emperor has sat on the memorials pleading for your eldest uncle and issued no reply, we must ask those who once served under your eldest uncle to submit memorials impeaching him... Only those who have been too close to us of late had best not come forward, lest the Emperor grow suspicious... What I fear is that the Emperor has already made up his mind, and that nothing we do will avail..."
The Third Princess, Enrong, was a daughter of the Empress Shen, the Emperor's eldest daughter by his principal wife,
and her consort, Shi Chonglan, was the younger brother of the Marquis of Changxing, Shi Duanlan. He and the Duke of Yingguo had grown up together and were the closest of friends.
But would such a thing do any good?