Chapter 4 — I Will Not Marry the Gu Family in This Life

The Eldest Princess offered a smile that was faint, almost clinical. After all, the Lotus Sutra was a text anyone could copy; it was hardly an act of extraordinary skill. I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice to a tone of humble devotion.

"Your Highness, I heard that mixing one’s own blood into the ink displays a deeper sincerity. I only fear my own calligraphy is too clumsy and unrefined to be worthy of your esteemed eyes."

The Princess’s gaze sharpened, a spark of genuine interest lighting up her eyes. She signaled for her attendants to bring the scroll forward. After a brief inspection, she offered a nod of approval.

"The copying is not bad, though the ink itself is somewhat lacking."

I immediately sank to my knees, bowing my head in a gesture of contrition.

"Initially, I asked my parents to procure the finest ink available. But then I reflected that this scripture was intended as an offering to pray for your well-being, and I could not bear the thought of it being tainted by something so mundane."

I paused, then added softly, "And so, I journeyed to the Protector of the State Temple and begged the Abbot to bestow upon me the remnants of the sacred ink he had been using for his own prayers."

The Eldest Princess surveyed me from head to toe, her expression shifting into one of clear appreciation. "You have a dutiful heart."

Everyone in the hall was aware of the Princess’s devout dedication to Buddhism. Yet, not a single person present had been willing to cause themselves bodily harm, to draw their own blood to mix with ink as I had.

"Summon the imperial physician," she commanded. "See that Miss Shen is prescribed the best tonics for her recovery."

After checking my pulse, the physician reported gravely, "Miss Shen is suffering from severe depletion of vital energy and blood; she requires complete rest and careful recuperation."

The Princess’s gaze softened further, radiating a grandmotherly warmth. She beckoned me closer. "Child, you must never do such things to harm your body again. I cannot choose a daughter-in-law for my son, Yen Chu, who is so frail."

These words hung in the air like a decree; it was her way of confirming that she had chosen me.

"I am deeply honored by your favor, Your Highness."

The Princess clapped her hands. "Yen Chu, why are you still hiding? Come out and meet Miss Shen."

Yen Chu was nothing like the pampered, delicate noblemen of the capital. Having spent many years commanding troops on the front lines, his brow was etched with the rugged intensity of a soldier. When his eyes met mine, he offered a bright, genuine smile.

"Miss Shen, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Once the marriage was settled, the attitude of the young ladies present shifted instantly, their demeanor becoming palpably warmer toward me. Only my younger sister’s voice carried a thin, sharp edge of resentment.

"To think that simply copying a set of sutras is enough to win the favor of the Eldest Princess."

I closed my eyes to rest, offering no response. She spoke as if it were an effortless feat. Yet, the Lotus Sutra contains sixty-eight thousand characters; the act of copying it alone was a taxing endeavor that drained the spirit. That was without even accounting for the blood used as a medium, or the requirement that not a single stroke could be out of place. I had been preparing this version of the Lotus Sutra for a very long time. Originally, I had intended to present it to the Princess after marrying into the Gu family, hoping to leverage her influence to secure a good match for my sister. It was a cruel irony that it had ended up being used for my own sake instead.

After we returned to the manor, my sister arrived at my quarters, clutching her quilt. "Elder sister, you have been cold toward me for so long. Now that you have secured a better marriage, is there truly no room left in your heart for me?"

Her posture, holding the quilt against her chest, was identical to how she had been as a child. Back then, she would call for me just like this, terrified to sleep alone. I had always pulled her into my embrace and comforted her, despite being only a year her senior. It had been the same during our first year in the capital; she refused to leave the house, refused to attend banquets. She feared the unfamiliar faces and the mockery others directed toward our provincial accent from Thanh Chau. I had been her shield, whispering that she should not be afraid.

"No matter what happens, I will always protect you."

Outside my door, she continued to plead to sleep in my room. My heart did not soften. I replied firmly, "We are betrothed now; it is time for you to grow up."

In the days to come, I would no longer be the one shielding her from the world. I heard the muffled sound of her sobbing, but when the door opened again, she was gone. The next morning, my mother summoned me to her chambers.

"I hear you made quite the impression yesterday," she said, her face taut with displeasure. "You and your sister are of one blood. You should not have acted so selfishly to stand out, leaving your sister to lose face."

"As for those scriptures," she continued, "could you not have simply claimed that your sister wrote them? If both of you prosper, then our entire family prospers."

My sister had been coddled far too long, and my mother was no different. Just as I prepared to offer a rebuttal, my sister entered, her eyes red-rimmed.

"Mother, do not blame elder sister for the matter of the scriptures," she sobbed. "But the people outside are still laughing at me, saying I still carry the uncouth habits of Thanh Chau."

It appeared that the events of the banquet had already spread. The gossipers were laughing at the two daughters of the Shen family: the elder was praised as poised and steady, a favorite of the Princess, while the younger was dismissed as naive and provincial, unable to even correct her accent. Thanh Chau was a part of our heritage we could never scrub away, and now that it was being held up for public ridicule, my mother finally felt the sting of shame.

Back when we first arrived in the capital, my father had been mocked by his colleagues for his heavy accent. Upon learning the truth, my mother lashed out at me, demanding to know why I hadn't protected my sister.

"Young Ladies Lin and Xu are your closest companions. You should have taken the initiative to ask them to guide your sister and bring her into their circle."

Closest companions? Our relationships were nothing more than transactional alliances, built entirely on shifting interests.