The menu alone listed several varieties of chilled desserts. Tang Mo declared that since it was a rare outing, everyone should choose whatever they liked.
Wang Mian, who usually frequented nothing more than teahouses and taverns, found the novelty delightful and ordered an iced sweet and a serving of chilled spiced fruit.
Xin An selected Rainbow Crisp, said to be made from cow’s milk and to melt the instant it touched one’s tongue—something she had never tried before.
Wang Bao’er ordered the same, clearly fond of her sister-in-law despite their short acquaintance.
As the waiter went off to prepare their choices, the group had exchanged only a few lines of conversation before noise rose from below. Looking down, they saw that the cuju teams were entering the field.
Xin An peered closely. “That team in blue—isn’t that the Huntian Yuan squad we saw last time?”
Tang Mo nodded. Wang Shi added that he knew of them. “They’re said to be formidable—ranked among the top three cuju teams in the capital. Many of their players are retired soldiers.”
Excitement began to stir.
“I’ve heard of them too,” said Wang Mian, noticing a crowd forming at one corner of the field. “What are they doing over there?”
“Placing bets,” came the reply.
Tang Mo raised an eyebrow. “Shall we place a small wager?”
But everyone reacted at once, shaking their heads—clearly not wishing to be associated with gambling. Tang Mo and Xin An exchanged a glance: both wanted to, but under the eyes of their elders, they had to maintain the appearance of propriety.
Before either could speak, Wang Shi asked sharply, “You’ve never gambled here before, have you?”
“No,” Tang Mo said firmly. “Would I be that kind of man? I’m just here to watch, not to wager.”
Wang Shi nodded, satisfied. Tang Mo smiled wryly, thinking to himself that he should come to such places less often with his elders—it was far too easy to reveal his true nature.
The gong sounded, marking the start of the match. All eyes turned to the field. Before long, the young men—including Tang Mo—were cheering with excitement. Even Wang Mian, usually mild, couldn’t help sighing, clapping, and shouting with the crowd.
Xin An wanted to let out her excitement as well, but with her mother-in-law and aunt watching, she forced herself to remain a picture of calm grace—only her bright, sparkling eyes betrayed her delight.
Their chilled desserts arrived soon after. The dish of Rainbow Crisp was beautifully presented; Xin An took a bite of the petal-garnished confection, and her eyes lit up. “Mm, this is delicious! The new shopkeeper has skill—something cool like this in such heat is wonderful.”
Smart and good at business, she thought approvingly. Very clever indeed.
Wang Bao’er tasted hers and gasped in delight, even feeding her mother a spoonful. “It’s so good!”
Madame Wang smiled faintly. “A few bites are fine, but don’t eat too much cold food.”
On the field, the cuju players were soon drenched in sweat, yet moved as if they had endless strength. The competition grew fierce; the stands were a storm of cheers, shouts, and even bursts of jeering—all sounds melding together in a wild symphony that shook every listener’s chest.
Only then did those enjoying cold treats truly understand what Xin An meant when she said, “It feels like the top of my head’s about to fly off!”
The women managed to stay seated, but the men—led by Wang Mian—had long since abandoned composure. They neither drank their chilled drinks nor sat still, but stood and shouted with full lungs, cheering one moment, groaning the next. Even Madame Wang clenched her handkerchief, her face tense with excitement.
Tang Mo sighed quietly—it was a pity they hadn’t placed a bet. It would have made the game even more thrilling.
Wang Shi, however, was all smiles. Being surrounded by her family lightened her heart immeasurably. But while she relaxed, Madame Tao was so troubled she could have crushed a fly between her furrowed brows.
That morning’s humiliation from the Marquis’s household had left her no choice but to pay a personal visit. When she heard Wang Shi had gone to the Countess of Changning’s residence, she understood at once what that meant—and her heart sank. Facing Tao Yiran now, she no longer knew what to say.
Tao Yiran could no longer justify lying abed. Half-reclined on a beauty couch, she stared blankly out the window, the picture of melancholy. At length, Madame Tao spoke:
“Your mother-in-law went to the Countess of Changning to apologize for your reckless behavior. I won’t harp on past matters—but you must think carefully about the road ahead.”
“Those low tricks your grandmother taught you—best not to use them anymore.”
“The family has suffered because of you. Your younger siblings’ marriages will now meet obstacles. Did you ever speak with your uncle about the proposal I mentioned? If it could be arranged, it might stabilize your second uncle’s branch for the time being.”
She rose slowly, continuing, “Your path in the Marquis’s household depends on yourself. No one in the Tao family can help you now.”
She had planned to offer comfort, but after a month of endless lecturing, she was too weary to repeat herself. Seeing Tao Yiran’s lifeless, half-dead demeanor only stoked her anger. “I still need to prepare a fine gift to send to the Countess of Changning’s estate. That woman is difficult to please. If you meet her again, mind your words.”
As she turned to leave, Tao Yiran looked up, eyes rimmed red. A tear slid down her cheek. “Mother… are you abandoning me?”
Madame Tao’s anger flared. “Enough of those worthless tears! If you have time to cry, use it to think!”
“You’ve real talent for causing trouble. How long have you been married? And already you’ve stirred up so much! Addicted to feigning illness, are you? If you must act, act to the end—why show off instead? Do you know what people say about you? Your grandmother—”
She lowered her voice. “Your grandmother’s affairs are well known throughout the capital. People may not say it aloud, but you can be sure they sneer behind your back. Do you mean to drag the entire Tao family down with you?”
Tao Yiran was not her only child. When a daughter could no longer bring honor or benefit to the family, a mother’s duty was to think of her other sons and grandsons. The Tao family did not revolve around Tao Yiran alone.
“I tell you this—paper cannot contain fire, secrets can’t stay hidden forever. The only thing left for you is to hold tightly to Tang Rong. Remember what it means to be the legitimate wife. Your one duty now is to bear the heir as soon as possible.”
With that, she turned and left. She feared what the Countess of Changning might say or do if she revealed the Tao family’s secrets—she had to hurry back to prepare.
Tao Yiran’s tears flowed harder, as though she meant to weep herself to death. Nanny Liu could only sigh helplessly. Tang Rong, who should have been home on his day of rest, had gone out without even taking lunch—his attitude said everything.
As for the new hairpin in her hair, Aunt Yue knew the story, but she kept silent.
At dusk, Tang Gang emerged from his study, feeling that the household was unusually quiet. “Has my wife not returned?”
“Not yet,” replied Steward Zhang, pity flickering briefly in his eyes. “Madame sent word—she’s dining out with Second Young Master and Second Young Madam.”
“The Old Madam has just returned from the opera.”
Tang Gang’s brows drew tight. A sense of being left out crept over him. “Where’s the heir?”
“Gone out as well, not yet back.”
Tang Gang took a few steps, then stopped, standing in the courtyard as a chill seeped through him.
“Shall I have dinner prepared, my lord?” the steward asked carefully.
Tang Gang exhaled a long breath. “No. I’ll go see the Old Madam first.”
Steward Zhang watched him go, thinking to himself with faint amusement, Loneliness makes a man seek out his mother. How very predictable.