Transmigrated to the Northern Song Dynasty as a County Magistrate (GL) - Chapter 68

68: Eldest Sister-in-Law Li Yan Gives Birth to a Daughter

Meanwhile, a blushing Yuanqi finished assisting Yun Jingchu with her bath and swiftly changed the bedsheets. Unlike the sweltering Jiangnan region, Kaifeng’s noble households used ice at night for cooling—some opting for layered bedding, others sleeping on bamboo mats.

As Yuanqi gathered the soiled linens, Yun Jingchu, fearing they might be handed to others for washing, instructed firmly: “This time, wash them yourself.”

“Aye.” Had Yun Jingchu not specified, Yuanqi would have delegated the task—after all, the estate had dedicated laundresses. Now saddled with the chore, she took her time, first tidying the room with other maids and arranging breakfast before tackling the sheets.

When Tian Qingyi returned to the main hall freshly bathed in Daoist robes, she found Yun Jingchu equally refreshed in a ruqun jacket and beizi overdress, adorned with the gold hairpin Tian Qingyi had gifted her—paired with floral ornaments, she looked radiant. Clearly, like Tian Qingyi, she’d only bathed, not washed her hair.

Hair washing in this era lacked modern convenience. Even in heat, they didn’t wash daily—but at least every other day. Bathing, however, was non-negotiable: the humidity and their fastidiousness made pre-sleep cleansing essential. Come winter, Tian Qingyi would bathe less frequently—with charcoal heating required, hair and body washing merged into one session, occurring every two to five days depending on laziness.

“My lady today—her charming smile, her sparkling eyes—leaves me haunted when absent, frenzied with longing when gone,” Tian Qingyi proclaimed, fanning herself beside Yun Jingchu, lavish with praise as if wanting the world to know her wife’s beauty.

Already shy, Yun Jingchu hid behind her teacup. Tian Qingyi, equally parched, gulped hers down inelegantly—like Zhu Bajie devouring ginseng fruit—tasting nothing but the lingering fragrance.

“Such words stay within these walls,” Yun Jingchu preempted, wary of bold declarations.

Before meeting Tian Qingyi, she’d felt like the Song dynasty’s sole isolated island—outwardly normal but inwardly alien. Tian Qingyi became her kindred spirit, another island in this vast ocean. Thoughts she’d never dared voice now flowed freely between them, often converging miraculously. Even when they diverged, Tian Qingyi never condemned her—a marital dynamic she’d never dreamed possible.

As servants brought breakfast, Tian Qingyi set aside her fan and wiped her hands solemnly. “Rest assured, I know what to say where. I won’t—speak recklessly.”

Recklessness wasn’t an option, she mused. In this rule-bound feudal society, a misspoken word could trigger imperial literary inquisition—demotion at best, imprisonment at worst. Demotion she’d welcome; imprisonment would expose her female identity.

Hungry since her bath, Tian Qingyi reached for chopsticks—only to set them down upon noticing Yun Jingchu still preparing. She waited until Yun Jingchi began eating before following suit.

Unaware of this, Yun Jingchu remained focused, while observing maids marveled—the once-aloof Second Young Master now doting, inspiring envy for the Second Madam.

Knowing Tian Qingyi loved fish and spice, Yun Jingchu served her portions. Tian Qingyi reciprocated with vegetables, ensuring Yun Jingchu didn’t overindulge in mutton.

Their intimate breakfast contrasted with Shangfu Courtyard, where Jiufang Xin, hearing his second son and daughter-in-law had slept till midday amid morning “activity,” grinned until his wrinkles multiplied.

Post-meal, a servant announced Shangfu Courtyard’s messenger. Tian Qingyi’s joy vanished—had Jiufang Xin more schemes? Yun Jingchu intercepted, summoning the envoy: Steward Liu’s son, who swaggered in but turned obsequious upon seeing them.

“Second Young Master, Second Madam! The Master excuses you from daily greetings due to his poor health,” he announced.

Jiufang Xin, eager to foster intimacy between the couple, had waived formalities and instructed Fan Zhuzhu not to disturb them. Though aware his efforts were misdirected, Fan Zhuzhu held her tongue—privately anxious.

Given prior physicians’ predictions, Jiufang Xin should’ve been near death. Yet he persisted, showing no imminent decline.

“Since Father insists, we shouldn’t disturb him. Tend to him well—dismissed,” Yun Jingchu replied diplomatically, masking suspicion with courtesy.

Bowing out, Steward Liu’s son hid his contempt—these two owe their comfort to lucky births. Were I nobly born, I’d surpass the Second Young Master, at least placing in the top imperial exam tier.

Tian Qingyi, noting his insolence, seethed—how dare a steward’s son disrespect his masters?

“Judge the monk by his temple,” Yun Jingchu murmured. “Steward Liu has served the Jiufang family for decades. So long as his son avoids grave misconduct, humoring him buys goodwill.”

Tian Qingyi caught her meaning—before witnesses, Yun Jingchu couldn’t elaborate. “True. One idler matters little for Steward Liu’s sake.”

Likely, under his father’s wing, the young Liu avoided menial tasks, cherry-picking visible assignments like this messenger duty.

Thanks to Jiufang Xin’s machinations, the following days in Yuzhu Residence became blissfully indulgent—days filled with conversation, reading, duets, and garden strolls; nights with intimate “tie-tie.” Tian Qingyi abandoned martial practice and postponed sketchbook organizing, wishing time would freeze.

Similarly besotted, Yun Jingchu neglected business plans—her original itinerary (a month here before Hangzhou and Guangzhou) forgotten.

Their idyll paused mid-autumn festival eve when Li Yan went into labor at noon. By nightfall, the baby hadn’t arrived.

In Qinhai Residence’s main hall, Jiufang Xin sat stoically, thoughts inscrutable. Fan Zhuzhu paced the corridor, chanting Buddhist prayers—one might mistake her for the mother-in-law.

Despite thorough preparations—three seasoned midwives, two renowned gynecologists, a wet nurse on standby—childbirth remained a brush with death.

Tian Qingyi and Yun Jingchu lingered anxiously outside. Tian Qingyi’s mind raced—even modern medicine fails sometimes; how much riskier here? She prayed for Li Yan’s safety. The kind sister-in-law who’d treated her, Yun Jingchu, and Fan Zhuzhu well deserved to survive.

The thought of Yun Jingchu enduring this ordeal someday horrified her—thank heavens we can’t conceive.

Another half-hour passed under lantern light until, amid Li Yan’s screams, an infant’s cry erupted. An elderly midwife rushed to Jiufang Xin: “Congratulations, Master! A daughter, mother and child safe!”

Expecting rewards, the midwife received only a muttered “ill omen” before the family stalked off—a first in her decades of deliveries across social strata. Even male-preferring nobles usually offered customary tips.

Fan Zhuzhu’s decades of restraint nearly snapped—may that bastard rot in hell!

Exchanging glances with Tian Qingyi, Yun Jingchu nodded subtly. Beaming, Tian Qingyi declared: “Eldest Sister-in-Law’s daughter is joyous! All shall be rewarded.”

“Gratitude, Second Young Master!” The midwife and staff, initially crestfallen, brightened instantly—their loud thanks carrying Jiufang Xin’s retreating back, darkening his scowl further.