ITIEQ C22

Chapter 22 – Alliance by Marriage

First they arranged his official career, then they sought to bind him to the great clans through marriage. Fame and fortune both delivered—a move all too common among aristocratic lineages. Their methods never changed: either snuff out unstable elements at birth, or gather them close, turn them into tools of their own.

A boundless pie falling from the sky—drowsy, and someone even hands you a pillow. Who, after all, would willingly step aside from such overflowing wealth and splendor?

Yue Ji’s schemes were practiced and mature. Compared with the filthy struggles of the court, this ploy was even clean and straightforward. Anyone else would grin till their mouth split. Only Shen Qinghe, dragged forward like a dog leashed by golden chains, felt the sourness of being given no room to choose. Flattering when used, dazzling to the world—yet should he one day stand in their way, those very chains would tighten into a noose, squeezing the life from him until not even breath remained.

Outside, firecrackers erupted again, as though deliberately flaunting power, loud enough to ring one’s eardrums with a harsh buzz.

Shen Qinghe was not one to let others handle him so easily.

He was but a fifth-rank minor official. To ally in earnest with the colossal Yue clan was no fair bargain—it was dancing with wolves. At best, he would feign compliance for a time. Those truly qualified to work hand-in-hand with the Yue were houses with centuries of legacy, wielding command in a province at minimum.

Certainly not him.

As he pondered this, he poured out plum syrup bestowed by Emperor Zhaohuan. There had been two flasks; he offered one to Lü Song and Nan Hong so they too might taste.

Neither had ever seen such a delicacy imported from the Northwest. Hearing it came from palace stores, they cherished it so much that they could hardly bring themselves to sip. Shen Qinghe laughed to see them quarrel childishly and dismissed them outside to play.

Left alone, he reflected. During disaster relief, his “system” had proven of little use. Revealed in public, it would only mark him as some monstrous oddity. Simply put—he had given it “vacation,” sparing the expense of points.

Once he had thought it an idiot machine. Nowadays, with vexing people and troubles compounding, he found he could appreciate its presence: at least the system required no false courtesies, no hollow words.

The system responded swiftly. “What is it, little Shen?”

“You’ve grown bolder of late,” Shen Qinghe teased. “At least show some respect—I am Fifth Rank now, you ought call me Lord Shen.”

“And how fare the students lately?”

“Huh? Students? I… don’t know anything!” the system stammered.

“You sneak off, thinking me unaware? Your account points have dwindled.”

Dodging the lecture, the system hurried to explain: “They’re fine! Thanks to Gao Rong’s methods, the plague has stabilized. Others’ charts and statistics are widely useful. Those recovering are preparing to hire themselves for work.”

“Good. I’ll summon them back to the academy today. For a while, I will not visit. See that you guard them; house them within the academy walls, let none return home yet.”

As he finished giving orders, Lü Song knocked at the door. “Young Master, the Qi family engaged to Fourth Young Lady has sent a gentleman to deliver betrothal gifts. The main hall summons all young masters to receive him.”

“Who came?”

“They say it is the elder brother of the groom.”

Usually at na cai^1 (the formal gift-exchange before marriage), emissaries were sent, not brothers themselves. To send the elder—truly unusual. Shen Qinghe sensed something amiss. Rarely did the great clans marry outsiders, and to send an elder brother bespoke great importance.

In the main hall the family gathered, save only those from insignificant side branches. Shen Zhao and Lady Qin seated themselves at the head. Prominently beneath them sat a young nobleman, stately, elegant, his robe restrained yet sumptuous—an air of transcendent refinement marking him as highborn.

The Shen family treated him as honored guest, bringing forth the finest porcelain, the best tea. Sons of the household, legitimate or concubine-born, all stood solemnly, eyes lingering on this scion of the Five Great Clans, eager to steal a glimpse of his bearing.

“Are all the Shen brothers gathered?” asked Qi Lianjun, gaze drifting across, but the one he sought was absent.

“Yes, most all are here…” Shen Zhao, scanning his sons, quickly realized the conspicuous youngest had not appeared. His brows twisted. That boy—wild at loose moments, but absent now at such solemn occasion? Would he openly slight guests of their future in-laws? Still, the father forced a smile: “We only have a second son not present. He is retiring, shy of crowds, sometimes too thin-skinned to appear. No need to wait, please—drink your tea!”

“Ah?” Qi Lianjun’s tone carried amusement. “So Second Young Master is such a bashful sort.”

“Yes, yes indeed.”

But the matter had clearly shifted toward Shen Qinghe. Shen Zhao hurried to change subject, drawing forward two sons: “These are Qingfeng, now serving as Registrar in the Secretariat of State, and Qingchun, soon to sit for examinations.”

Such would astonish outsiders—that Shen Zhao, a Third Rank official of the court, would so openly court this visitor on behalf of his sons. Yet to those present, it was natural. A son of the Qi clan of Poyang Commandery needed no office to wield immense power. Marrying into them was more valuable than any fleeting appointment. The Shens, though aligned pro forma with the Chang faction, were but midstream straws. Marriage into Qi was far more secure.

At that moment came announcement from outside. In strode a boy of striking beauty, eyes bright with perpetual mirth: Shen Qinghe.

“Father, mother.” He gave a casual salute. Turning slightly, he met the gaze of Qi’s elder son.

…Heh.

If he had held any doubt before, now it all crumbled. This man was here solely for him.

“Well met, Young Master Shen,” Qi Lianjun greeted with sly humor.

The hall’s lively chatter fell abruptly mute. Shen Qinghe, utterly unfazed, claimed a vacant seat across, stretching a leg with ease, directly opposite Qi Lianjun.

Shen Qingchun, having just performed his courtesy, found his place snatched before him. Unable to rage before such a gathering, he could only glare. Once his sister was wed into Qi, he reckoned Shen Qinghe would not dare strut so boldly.

Shen Qinghe tilted his chin. “Which keen-eyed gentleman has taken interest in my younger sister?”

Truthfully, he wanted to call his sister doomed to misfortune, marrying into Qi. But for now—merely engaged. If opportunity struck, perhaps he could ruin the marriage still.

Qi Lianjun, smiling as though to a childish tantrum: “My younger brother, Qi Yang, was captivated by the young lady’s refinement. Thus arose his wish to marry her.”

Qi Lianjun was direct son of the Qi situ^2. This Qi Yang, bearing a different generational character in his name, must be of a collateral branch.

Shen Qinghe gave a soft sneer. The Qi clan knew how to calculate: send a minor branch son for the match. Yet Shen Zhao still rejoiced, celebrating as if divine favor. That showed how desperately one clung to a great clan’s marriage.

Qi Lianjun continued: “From today we are in-laws. Call me elder brother. Do I have the right to offer you instruction?”

The jab was clear—it recalled their prior quarrel at the pharmacy. Then, Shen Qinghe had opposed him fearlessly. Now power had flipped. “I, above; you, below.”

“Of course,” Shen Qinghe replied brightly. “How would Elder Brother wish to discipline me?”

Shen Zhao, face taut, hissed, “How dare you show rudeness before an honored guest!”

Qi Lianjun merely chuckled and shook his head, the indulgent patience offered to an incorrigible boy. “But things are changed now,” he said meaningfully. “I should not quarrel with you.”

“My brother’s marriage documents are delivered. Yet I have another notice.” He drew forth an elegant bamboo card with carved patterns. “The recent arrival of Yue’s two young masters to the capital—of whom Lord Yin favors martial skill. To welcome them, we hold a mounted archery gathering. Lord Liu Si, generous patron, noted how warmly you spoke with him at the last literary salon, and requests this invitation be sent specifically to you.”

…Shen Qinghe privately scoffed. So easily deemed a ‘kindred spirit’? Truly an unusual taste. Whether by Liu Si or another’s design was irrelevant; the crucial thing was this bore the Yue family’s weight. The strand of thread weaving all this together.

Shen Qingfeng and Shen Qingchun’s faces darkened instantly.

What was the meaning of this? To invite only Shen Qinghe, not them? Was the Shen clan’s esteem vested in him alone?

“Only a single invitation,” Qi Lianjun said with a helpless shrug. “If you wish to join, I shall seek more from Lord Liu. He is good-natured, he should not refuse.”

Relief flickered in their faces. But Shen Qinghe seized the post and declared firmly: “My elder brother is consumed with state duties, my younger stays up night upon night with books. Let them not attend such a trifle.”

Shen Qingchun nearly exploded. By what right did Shen Qinghe bar him? Yet with all watching, he dared not plead further lest it seem their brotherhood fractured. He choked down his fury.

So it seemed to others as though the Shen brothers were frail, quarreling lines. In truth, Shen Qinghe cared not—what mattered was to walk into the wolves’ den as spy. Already one sister had been “sacrificed” into Qi. He would not have his brothers splashed by the same mire.

—

Within the official clerical office, new assignments quickly replaced those dismissed. Unlike the veteran loafers before, these fresh faces bore caution, treating Shen Qinghe, who had toppled their predecessors, with scrupulous politeness, making his tasks easier.

When his rest days came, Shen Qinghe clothed himself neatly and set off to Mt. Lu beyond the capital, where the mounted archery meet would be.

Though called a hunt, he knew his borrowed skill in archery was poor. Surely few came truly for prey; it was a gathering of scions to bond.

Shen Qinghe treated it as leisure.

The mountain land was private, lush forests, abundant streams, fit for beasts great and small: deer and antelope aplenty, but also tigers, bears, and wolves. Winter fattened them for the hunt.

Unlike the open-invited salon, here seven-tenths of attendees were from the Five Great Clans; the rest were carefully chosen young talents. Each mounted famous steeds, entourages with them. The wintry chill was overcome by fervent spirits, boiling the air itself.

Arriving nearly lost, Shen Qinghe came astride a white steed, dressed in crimson riding garb embroidered with auspicious bats. A flame-red band crowned his hair, his youthful waist drawn slim. Horse and rider both shone, beauty burning.

At the center stood the guests of honor, surrounded. Yue Ji looked up as he arrived, smiling. “Ah, Shen Gongzi has come.”

Liu Si laughed loud: “Look, Ziyuan! One wears red, one wears green, one on black horse, one on white—what complementary colors!”

He referred to Yue Yin, the brother, bow slung heavy upon his back. Yue Yin turned briefly, snorted. “Complementary? My stallion is a priceless war steed—one that has known blood and battle. That white nag of his—soft as its rider. Hardly comparable.”

Liu Si scolded playfully: “You must learn civility like your brother. At our literary salons, I always strain to say a good word for you. Else your reputation suffers!”

Yue Yin snapped his whip against the ground—a sharp crack. “Do I need words? Let them meet my spear next time.”

Their banter continued as Shen Qinghe approached. Yue Ji stepped up with geniality.

“You are here at last. You cannot call this coercion now.”

“Not at all,” Shen Qinghe replied. “I have come of my own accord.”

Liu Si chuckled: “Wine is prepared—see this time you don’t drink yourself senseless.”

Nearby, Yue Jie’s face soured—perhaps recalling Shen Qinghe’s past antics at the salon.

After greetings, drums rang from afar: hunting began.

Mt. Lu belonged to Yue Yin. He prided himself unmatched in horse and bow among his peers. Today he meant to claim first kill.

“I’ve not come for years—by now the beasts must roam in droves. Mind your skill. Lest a predator snatch you off your horse, and we be forced to drag you out, what shame!”

The others laughed: “Who can keep pace with you, Lord Yin? You race far ahead each time!”

Smirking, Yue Yin spurred his steed inward. Even his attendants could not match him, left behind as he vanished into the forest.

One by one others entered different directions. Shen Qinghe was given a bow ribboned red. Its string, taut as iron, near impossible to draw. He strained, arms trembling, until it snapped back numbing his fingers.

Was this made for men, truly?

Around him, noble sons drew smoothly, arrows swift and sleek. He admitted defeat, requesting a replacement.

Led to the rack, he tested each bow, settling at last on one light enough for a child. The servant winced. “My lord, this bow draws but three dou of strength^3—fit for beginners. At most you could catch a rabbit…”

Just as Shen Qinghe answered, agreeing it suited him perfectly, a derisive laugh rang out. Turning, he saw Yue Jie, astride a white steed.

His eyes lit—like meeting an old friend. Shen Qinghe trotted his horse alongside, beaming. “What fortune, Yue brother! Long missed since the salon—why, it feels like three autumns apart!”

Yue Jie visibly cringed, urging his horse forward. Yet Shen Qinghe clung close like paste.

Reluctant to sweat or soil himself, Yue Jie usually hunted at the edges, taking hares at leisure. Yet to escape Shen Qinghe’s pestering, he now rode deeper inward.

To Shen Qinghe, teasing Yue Jie was merrier than any hunt. He followed until Yue Jie vanished, then gave up, wandering instead by a stream, letting his horse drink.

His modern memories stirred: such wild forest rare in his original world, where all was construction and ticket fees. To breathe such open air was a luxury.

Gazing about, he spied a flicker of white in the brush.

A rabbit! So close!

The safest quarry upon these grounds. Shen Qinghe’s fingers itched. Though he wielded a child’s bow, was it not time to prove it had its day?

The creature munched grass, oblivious of danger. Elated, Shen Qinghe set arrow to string, drew—

The bushes burst open. A thin figure lunged, clutching the rabbit to chest.

Startled, Shen Qinghe wrenched his aim aside—the arrow clattered far afield.

Heart pounding, his hand trembled. Nearly killed a man!

The ragged intruder stared, equally startled by a boy astride a grand horse with bow in hand. Clutching the rabbit, he stumbled to flee, only to trip across branches and fall facefirst. The rabbit escaped at once.

Eyes wide with terror, the man dropped to his knees, kowtowing desperately. Muffled pleas spilled forth—nonsense for mercy. Asked who he was, whence he came, he refused, only begging.

Shen Qinghe pinched his nose, waved him off. “Go.”

The man bolted.

Satisfied his horse had drunk, Shen Qinghe patted its neck. The steed turned back down the trail.

“Whiz—thump!”

The hiss of arrow through air.

Shen Qinghe’s pupils shrank. He whipped around.

Another rider approached, dark hair tied high, heavy bow in hand, astride a black warhorse. He spied the fallen gray-clad body, frowning. Surprise first, then disappointment.

The gray man convulsed twice, arm stretched toward the vanished rabbit, then stilled forever.

“…A man?” Yue Yin spat.

“What fool dares trespass in my hunting grounds?”

Footnotes:

1. Na cai (纳采) – First step of traditional Chinese betrothal rituals, where gifts were formally given to the bride’s family. 
2. Situ (司徒) – Title of one of the “Three Dukes,” high-ranking ministerial positions in ancient China, here indicating Qi Lianjun’s father’s exalted status. 
3. Three dou of force (三斗之力) – Ancient unit of measurement for bow draw strength; a weak bow, suited only for youths or novices, incapable of killing large prey.