Chapter 7 — Incense Smoke in the Qi Manor

Could it be that now that you have a new little sister to keep you company, my lord, you find the soup I brew with my own hands to be a superfluous burden?

A flicker of two parts satisfaction appeared within the smile of Qi Wenkai.

Nhuoc Nhan, have you truly learned the taste of jealousy?

After focusing my waning patience on pandering to Qi Wenkai, I stepped out of his study. I would have to endure this performative charade for another month, right until the moment his vitality waned and he collapsed into sickness. He was destined to mirror the fate of his father.

Eleven

A month later, Qi Wenkai began to wither. Initially, it was nothing more than a soft cough and a tendency to drift into heavy slumber. Soon after, he began waking in the early hours, soaked in cold sweat. His energy withered by daylight, yet his nights were marred by fitful, shallow rest. When sleep finally claimed him, he would wake again before the dawn. I played the role of the devoted wife to perfection, scouring the city for physicians and searching for rare medicines to heal him. Despite my efforts, his condition never truly improved, but through my constant maneuvering, word of his grave illness spread among our friends and family. Qi Wenkai drained bowl after bowl of bitter decoctions, neither recovering nor succumbing, existing in a permanent state of lethargy. With a heavy heart, I shed tears in public, shouldering the burden of the household. Two years passed in this manner, and his condition grew increasingly dire.

Asking the physician to decoct medicine for the master became a standard daily ritual within the Qi estate.

The entire household had grown accustomed to a master who spent his life confined to a sickbed. Each month, I brought Jing to visit him once; for the remaining days, I used the excuse of preventing the spread of malady to keep the boy away. Naturally, whenever we did visit, Qi Wenkai would coincidentally be lost in a deep, unresponsive stupor. We would sit by his bed for a brief moment, and Jing would kowtow once to his father. Having fulfilled our duty, we would depart—Jing had his studies to attend to, and I had the entire house to manage. With the primary pillar of the family brought low, did those remaining not have an even greater obligation to strive? Sometimes, as I passed the courtyard where Qi Jing resided, I could even spot the servants shirking their duties, idling away the day.

One needs to eat grains to sustain life; the master hasn't even managed a few spoonfuls of broth in days. How much longer can a person like this actually survive?

It is truly pitiful for the mistress, holding the entire family together on her own while daily searching for doctors and medicine for the master. She changes physicians every few months; it is clear she has not given up on him, given how much heart she puts into the search.

The mistress has no other choice. In these past few years, whenever she finds a moment, she runs to the temples to eat vegetarian meals and pray for the master’s longevity.

The master truly lacks good fortune. With such a virtuous legal wife and such a filial mother, not to mention a young master who is intelligent and studious, it is a pity the master has no fate to enjoy such blessings.

I curled my lips into a faint smile but did not punish the lazy servants. As a woman of the house, I must serve my mother-in-law, manage the accounts, educate my son, seek healers for my husband, and practice austerity for his soul. With such a staggering workload, it is only natural that the household chores might suffer a slight lapse, is it not? Jing is indeed a brilliant child; at thirteen, he sat for the entrance examination and qualified as a student. The Qi mansion, once cold and silent, suddenly bristled with activity. While Qi Wenkai hovered between life and death, Jing’s own academic achievements blossomed. After qualifying as a student, the next steps are the licentiate, the provincial graduate, and finally, the imperial scholar. In a few years, the Qi family will once again have someone qualified for the imperial court. By my count, Qi Wenkai has been bedridden and lingering for seven or eight years, has he not? If Jing has qualified as a student, then he may finally be allowed to waste away and die.

Twelve

I stepped into the sickroom. There was no prearrangement today, and he was not under the influence of sedatives. Although his face was sallow and etched with exhaustion, his mind remained sharp. As I entered, a thick, suffocating stench of sweat, excrement, and rotting food rushed to greet me. Except for the monthly visits with Jing, the servants were lazy and rarely cleaned this corner of the estate. A maid rushed to open the windows for air, throwing a handful of incense into the burner to mask the scent, which finally made the room tolerable. Qi Wenkai’s eyes fell upon the dust-covered burner, his expression growing even more distant. I walked to his bedside.

I have good news for you. Jing has qualified as a student. The next step is the provincial examination for the licentiate.

Qi Wenkai’s eyes finally flickered, but there was no joy in them.

You have never been one to speak of uncertain futures just to comfort others.

Are you bringing this up now because you want me to depart this world with peace of mind?

I paused for a moment, then let out a soft, melodic laugh. After lying on this bed for seven or eight years, gradually being hollowed out until you were nothing more than a burden to the household—after such a long time, it is only natural to finally see things clearly.

Once Jing enters the imperial service, when you pass away, he will be required to observe the three-year mourning period.