Chapter 126
**Chapter 126: The Beauty in the Snow**
The autumn air was bleak, and the Confucian temple stood in a state of disrepair.
The temple was half-abandoned, the caretaker nowhere to be found. Mr. Yang pushed the door open and was greeted by the rhythmic sound of weaving. The blue stone floor of the temple was spotless, with half-dried vegetables laid out to dry in the sun.
Under the eaves, an elderly woman with graying hair was busy at the loom, the machine creaking with each movement. Mr. Yang felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him, as if he were seeing his long-departed mother.
In his childhood, his mother had woven cloth under the eaves every day to support his studies at the private school.
“Excuse me, sir, are you here to offer incense?” The weaver, Shen Mu, paused her work. “The caretaker is absent; you can offer incense on your own.”
Mr. Yang, a man of simple means, was dressed plainly, looking like an ordinary old man. He did not reveal his identity and nodded calmly, “Yes, I’ve come to pay my respects to Confucius.”
He walked slowly into the main hall. Although the statues of the sages were worn, they had been polished to a shine. After offering his incense, Mr. Yang’s gaze caught sight of a few old books drying on the window sill, along with several sheets of rice paper filled with writing.
The covers were tattered, the pages yellowed, with signs of multiple repairs. Mr. Yang casually opened one and saw annotations in neat handwriting, clear and insightful. He picked up a sheet of rice paper, noticing its poor quality, which made it easy for the ink to smudge while writing. The large sheet in his hand contained a treatise on “The Governance of Emperors.”
It was sharp and to the point, profound yet accessible; though it had its flaws, it was overall quite impressive. At the end of the paper, three characters were inscribed: **Shen Xiuming**.
“Now, that’s someone with insight,” Mr. Yang stroked his beard thoughtfully.
He set down the rice paper and books, wandering around the small temple. Besides the main hall, there were only five small rooms. He approached one of the little rooms, where a young scholar sat at a desk, carefully flipping through a yellowed book.
The book was old and fragile, and he turned the pages gently, as if afraid of tearing them.
Mr. Yang cleared his throat a few times, but the studious Shen Xiuming remained undisturbed. After a while, feeling thirsty, Shen Xiuming’s eyes remained glued to the book as his left hand reached for a nearby teacup.
Mistaking the ink for tea, he took a couple of sips, completely unaware, and continued his intense reading.
Mr. Yang chuckled softly and slowly left the temple.
Back in the carriage outside the temple, he waited for a moment until Qing He, the round-faced servant who had gone to gather information, returned.
“Sir, I found out some news. The mother and son living in the temple are from the south. Oh, the old lady weaving there is quite pitiful. Her eldest son died in battle, her eldest daughter was just sent back after being divorced, her youngest daughter sold herself as a concubine to a wealthy man, and her youngest son is studying hard in the temple. The old lady relies on weaving to make ends meet.”
“She’s very kind-hearted, despite her own hardships. Whenever neighbors are in trouble, she’s always eager to help.”
Mr. Yang stroked his beard, lost in thought.
...
Two days later.
The autumn air was crisp, and the osmanthus flowers in the courtyard bloomed like tiny grains of rice, filling the air with their delicate fragrance. Shen Wei sat in the pavilion of the garden, a thin wool blanket draped over her knees, reviewing the accounts sent by “Qi Xiang Zhai.”
Mama Rong entered the pavilion with a cup of hot tea and said softly, “My lady, news has come from the temple. Mr. Yang has taken Young Master Shen as his student. Young Master Shen was overjoyed and paid his respects in front of the statue of the sage.”
“Mr. Yang’s wife, Madam Luo, went out yesterday to enjoy the osmanthus flowers, and her facial scars were all covered up.”
Shen Wei let out a sigh of relief.
Everything was going according to her plan, which was excellent. Having Mr. Yang as Shen Xiuming’s teacher served two purposes: to guide him for the upcoming imperial examination and to pave the way for Shen Xiuming’s future.
If Shen Xiuming were to enter the officialdom in the future, having Mr. Yang as a supporter would provide him with a solid backing.
Shen Wei calculated that her due date would be in March of the following year, coinciding with the start of the imperial examination. Once the child was a month old, the list of successful candidates for the examination would also be announced.
If Shen Xiuming became a successful candidate, he could be directly appointed to an official position, completely severing ties with his peasant status and crossing class boundaries. Even if he were just a lowly ninth-rank official, Shen Wei would have a connection to the government.
If Shen Xiuming proved capable and was fortunate enough to rank among the top three in the palace examination, he would at least be a seventh-rank official, and Shen Wei would have little to worry about.
Next, Shen Wei needed to focus on the child growing inside her. She had to prepare thoroughly to ensure a smooth delivery.
...
Time flew by, and days passed. Shen Wei’s belly grew larger with each passing day.
As autumn faded, winter arrived. After the first snowfall, the entire city of Yanjing was draped in a silver blanket. Shen Wei, fearing the cold and increasingly reluctant to move with her growing belly, spent most of her time nestled in the warm room, eating and drinking, reviewing accounts, making winter clothes for the Prince of Yan, and experimenting with Li Yao on delicious pastries.
The room was cozy and warm. In the square, intricately carved small copper stove, green “Rui Tan” burned. This “Rui Tan” was exclusively supplied to the royal family; it burned without flames, only emitting a red glow, with a pleasant scent that wasn’t overpowering. The Prince of Yan had specially sent a large box of it to Shen Wei.
Li Yao carefully picked up a baked cake from the stove with chopsticks, her face lighting up. “Auntie, the plum blossom cakes are ready!”
The plum blossom cakes were a new creation by Shen Wei. The method was simple: fresh plum petals were picked, cleaned, mixed with dough, and shaped into cakes. They were then roasted over the coals until both sides were cooked, resulting in a unique flavor that combined the delicate fragrance of plum blossoms with the toasty aroma of the cake.
“Auntie, let’s take some plum blossom cakes to Aunt Zhang; she loves to eat!” Li Yao looked at Shen Wei eagerly.
Shen Wei thought for a moment and nodded with a smile, “That sounds good.”
After lying down for most of the day, it was time to get up and move around to ease her muscles. Pregnancy was a tough job, and with her heavy belly, Shen Wei’s legs had begun to swell. She needed to massage or walk daily to keep the swelling at bay.
Li Yao placed the five baked plum blossom cakes into a food box and walked out of the Liuli Pavilion with Shen Wei.
The snow had just fallen, and the prince’s residence was blanketed in white. Shen Wei had bundled up well, wearing a white fox fur hat, a thick cotton coat made of plain velvet and gold satin, a white satin cloud brocade cloak, holding a warm soup pot in her hands, and wearing woolen boots, making her look like a fluffy ball.
Cai Lian and Cai Ping followed closely behind Shen Wei, ensuring she wouldn’t slip and fall.
Li Yao joyfully ran around in the snow, playing and frolicking. As they passed the garden of the prince’s residence, Li Yao suddenly spotted two figures dressed in white.
It was Liu Ruyan and her maid, Xue Mei.
Liu Ruyan was draped in a white fox fur cloak, standing under a white plum tree. Xue Mei was crouched down, picking up fallen white plum blossoms with a bamboo basket in her hand.
“Greetings, Aunt Liu!” Li Yao called out cheerfully, “Aunt Liu, what are you doing?”
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