Transmigrated to the Northern Song Dynasty as a County Magistrate (GL) - Chapter 73

73: Feigning While Scheming

While Tian Qingyi ate and rested, the younger generation of the Jiufang family—already dressed in mourning attire with hemp sashes—had been dispatched by Yun Jingchu to notify relatives and friends of the death overnight. Jiufang Lai and his family, who had accompanied the youngsters, also spent time in the temporary mourning tent. When they emerged, Jiufang Lai’s eyes were suspiciously red.

To Jiufang Lai, Jiufang Qiyu was not just someone he had watched grow up but also deeply cherished. Though not father and son, their bond had been profound. He had long known he’d backed the wrong horse, yet he harbored no regrets—never imagining his beloved nephew would predeceased him. How could he not grieve?

On his way back to his quarters, Jiufang Lai overheard servants whispering in the pavilion—how tragically young Jiufang Qiyu had died, so suddenly that even Daoist priests and Buddhist monks advised his coffin enter through the back gate, as if he had offended some deity.

A young man dying abruptly away from home was indeed inauspicious, but forbidding the coffin from using the main gate seemed excessive. Though dissatisfied, Jiufang Lai bit back his objections for the family’s future—Jiufang Xin’s years of indoctrination about prioritizing the clan had finally borne concrete results.

Otherwise, given his usual temperament, Jiufang Lai would have needed no prompting to pick a fight with Tian Qingyi. This time, despite his wife’s instigations, he uncharacteristically refrained from jumping to conclusions.

Perhaps he understood his greatest ally—his elder brother—was fading fast. The family estate would inevitably pass to Jiufang Xin’s sons. With the eldest gone and the second thriving, even a fool could guess the successor. This grievance, he had no choice but to swallow.

Had Tian Qingyi known about Jiufang Lai’s inner drama, she would have laughed bitterly. What they saw as a coveted inheritance, she viewed as a burdensome liability. Did he truly think she wanted this “honor” either?

Preparing the mourning hall before the deceased’s arrival was taboo. Though Yun Jingchu had gathered all necessary items, she waited to set it up. Since leaving the coffin outdoors was improper, she had a small temporary canopy erected southeast of the main hall—so cramped it barely fit the coffin and two or three attendants. When Jiufang Lai’s family entered, the mourners had to exit first.

Traditionally, vigil-keeping fell to younger generations, but Yun Jingchu had sent them all to deliver death notices. With Tian Qingyi exhausted, servants were assigned to tend the incense and eternal flame on the altar.

Besides the two Daoist priests Tian Qingyi brought from Minquan County, Yun Jingchu had also engaged over a dozen esteemed monks and priests, entrusting Steward Liu and them with arranging the mourning hall and rituals.

Thanks to Yun Jingchu’s thorough preparations and everyone’s cooperation—especially the overeager Steward Liu, who had slept barely two hours—the mourning hall was fully set up by the next morning. Friends and relatives arrived steadily with joss paper, incense, and funeral gifts.

To appear grief-stricken, Tian Qingyi had rubbed garlic near her eyes before facing guests. Her performance satisfied all present—especially since her strained relationship with Jiufang Qiyu was no secret.

To further display fraternal piety, her first act that morning had been drafting a memorial to the emperor, “reluctantly” requesting a year’s mourning leave. The effusive sorrow in the document owed entirely to Yun Jingchu’s embellishments.

Fortunately, her next official assignment hadn’t been finalized, sparing her another petition to resign.

Once key mourners assembled, the eldest relative presided over designating Tian Qingyi as chief mourner and Jiufang Lai as funeral protector. After donning mourning garb—prepared in advance by Yun Jingchu—they proceeded to encoffining.

Funeral rites distinguished minor and major encoffining, but Jiufang Qiyu’s circumstances were exceptional. Beyond his untimely demise, the sweltering weather made reopening the coffin inadvisable. Inquired by elders, Tian Qingyi—voice choked with fabricated grief—recounted her Minquan County findings, confirming the body’s identity and natural cause of death. Consensus favored sealing the coffin directly.

Though crowded and noisy, the mourning hall maintained orderly chaos. The kitchen, however, was overwhelmed. Funerals could last months—far longer than weddings—so Yun Jingchu had hired temporary cooks and servants rather than outsourcing to restaurants as during her marriage to Tian Qingyi, even reassigning idle staff to assist.

At lunch, Tian Qingyi’s appetite vanished upon seeing the vegetarian spread—not a speck of meat in sight. Her expression darkened further, noticing meat dishes at other tables.

Yun Jingchu pretended not to notice, swiftly serving her stir-fried cabbage, scallion tofu, and pan-fried bean curd. “Eat quickly. Once busy, you may not get even this,” she urged quietly, wary of observers.

Their tablemates—equally reluctant vegetarians—followed suit under social pressure. Nearby, the Yun family, once embroiled in inheritance disputes, sat together in rare silence, their hoped-for drama having fizzled.

Funeral feasts operated on an honor system—mourners, helpers, and workers all ate without hosts needing to toast each table. Tian Qingyi and Yun Jingchu only had to mind themselves.

Yet Tian Qingyi had barely choked down a few tasteless bites when Qingyu arrived with alarming news: Li Yan had fainted. Though Qingyu whispered, Yun Jingchu heard clearly and stopped Tian Qingyi from rising. “I’ll check on Sister-in-Law. You stay and host.”

Without waiting for a response, Yun Jingchu excused herself to the elders and hurried off with Qingyu. The elders sighed—they’d been sighing repeatedly since Tian Qingyi’s return.

At Qinhai Residence, servants knelt guiltily before Yun Jingchu could question them, all swearing they’d revealed nothing.

Their denials mattered little to Yun Jingchu. She and Tian Qingyi had anticipated the truth would surface soon. Moreover, as Li Yan’s personal staff, any betrayals were hers to punish.

Inside the stifling main chamber—windows and doors tightly shut, dim even at noon—Yun Jingchu found Li Yan pale but awake in white undergarments, a thin blanket covering her lower body, a headband across her brow. Her unnamed infant slept soundly beside her.

After formal greetings, Li Yan dismissed the wet nurse and others with a wave. Once alone, Yun Jingchu began apologizing, but Li Yan cut her off. “Don’t console me. I didn’t faint for him—but for my daughter.” She then burst into tears, clutching the baby.

Yun Jingchu sat beside her, offering a handkerchief. “She looks lovely—bound for good fortune. Why distress yourself so much?”

Having learned much from Li Yan during her tutelage, Yun Jingchu shared a rare sisterly bond with her sister-in-law.

“Not baseless fear,” Li Yan wept, dabbing her eyes. “Parents’ decrees are immutable. Just as I had no say in marrying in, remarrying won’t be my choice either.”

Her words doused Yun Jingchu like ice water. Immersed in her relationship with Tian Qingyi, she’d briefly forgotten most women’s lack of autonomy. She too had once dreaded this fate before finding love and security.

“Between us now—do you wish to remarry or not?” Though her influence was limited, Yun Jingchu wanted to help fellow women trapped by circumstance.

“If possible, I wouldn’t,” Li Yan admitted. Once hopeful about marriage, she now saw men as useless hypocrites—whether this view was biased mattered little after Jiufang Qiyu.

“Then I know what to do. Focus on recovering. Leave everything else—even the funeral—to Zimo and me.” After comforting Li Yan and admiring the baby, Yun Jingchu departed.

Left alone, Li Yan gazed at the door, wondering if her gamble was wise. Yet even if wrong, she wouldn’t regret it—for her child and herself, she had to try.

Exhausted after a day of rituals and half a night’s vigil, Tian Qingyi longed only for sleep upon returning to Yuzhu Residence. Yet remembering Yun Jingchu awaited her in the main chamber, she rallied for a stealthy visit.

They’d slept separately the previous night—Yun Jingchu in the main room, Tian Qingyi in the study room—forced by mourning protocols. Yun Jingchu’s summons suggested urgency.

Meeting no one en route—likely cleared by Yun Jingchu—Tian Qingyi’s initial nervous excitement faded to calm.

“What’s with the sneaking?” Yun Jingchu barely suppressed a laugh at her peeking.

“Avoiding witnesses,” Tian Qingyi grinned, shutting the door softly before fanning Yun Jingchu, who was writing at her desk in fresh sleeping robes. “Working so late?”

“Waiting for you—and accounting.” Yun Jingchu’s post-bath glow mesmerized Tian Qingyi, her fanning increasingly distracted until she leaned in for a kiss.

Yun Jingchu blocked her with a hand. “I called you here for Sister-in-Law’s matter—not this.”

Chastened, Tian Qingyi coughed and resumed fanning while studying the ledger. “What about her?”

As Yun Jingchu explained, Tian Qingyi grew furious—this oppressive feudal era, where personal freedoms like marriage and divorce were dictated by parents! Were children not human beings too?

“I’ll handle it. Tomorrow will be busy—let’s rest.” She confiscated Yun Jingchu’s brush. The compliant Yun Jingchu—only casually accounting—let herself be led to bed.

Noting the shadows under Yun Jingchu’s eyes, Tian Qingyi kissed them tenderly before claiming the lips she’d coveted all evening. Content, she embraced her love and slept.