Chapter Two: New Year's Eve Dinner

Ten years later, in the Southern Guardian Prince’s Residence, Orchid Courtyard—a secluded corner far from the main quarters. The variety of flowers here was scant; what caught the eye were the countless pear trees within the courtyard. Yet now, in the depths of winter, the pear trees bore no blossoms, leaving the garden bleak and desolate.

Yan Zhan lounged indolently on a soft couch, utterly unbothered by the howling northern wind. She lay there with tranquil ease, eyes closed, her long lashes like twin fans resting upon her cheeks. Her hands lay quietly at her sides, motionless, as if nothing in this world concerned her. This life, she thought, was not so bad—no burdens to shoulder, nothing to mind, only to eat when hungry and to sleep when full.

“Miss, today is New Year’s Eve. The family banquet is mandatory. Don’t let yourself be late,” Qingyun said gently, a hint of urgency in her tone.

“I know,” Yan Zhan replied lazily. The rules of the old days were endless. Though she had been born and raised here, it was still worlds apart from her previous life. Fourteen years here, yet she never quite got used to it, no matter how hard she tried. This wretched ancient world—so many rules, even for a meal. It was enough to drive one mad with annoyance.

Though she appeared listless, nothing could conceal her remarkable beauty. Whenever Yan Zhan gazed into the bronze mirror, she always felt a sense of unreality—her looks were truly enough to bring ruin to a nation.

Once her makeup was done—though she painted her face not to enhance her beauty, but to hide it—it was already dusk. Mistress and maid moved unhurriedly toward the main quarters.

Upon entering, she saw an elder seated at the place of honor, his expression stern and unapproachable. He was the old Prince of the South, Yi Zhan. On his left sat the current Southern Guardian Prince, Tianyi Zhan; on his right, Tianyi’s wife, Xue Ru Wang. Below them sat three young ladies—her second, third, and fourth sisters, Ning Zhan, Qing Zhan, and Lin Zhan, respectively. Behind them stood two strikingly beautiful women—Consort Liu and Consort Ling. On the other side were two boys, Yan Zhan’s younger brothers: Hong Zhan and Wei Zhan. Lin Zhan was Consort Liu’s daughter, and Wei Zhan was Consort Ling’s son. The Southern Guardian Prince’s Residence was, by all accounts, a thriving household.

Looking at them, Yan Zhan felt as though they were a family, but she herself was an outsider. Her mother had died in childbirth, and not long after, her father brought this new woman into their home. With a stepmother came a stepfather’s indifference, and so, for Yan Zhan, her father had long since become little more than a stranger. If it weren’t for the memories of her past life, she likely wouldn’t have survived this long. The woman before her was truly formidable—so much so that even Yan Zhan, the victim, could not help but feel some perverse admiration.

“Greetings to Grandfather.”

“Greetings, Father. Greetings, Mother.” Yan Zhan’s complexion was pale, her slender form as delicate as willow in the wind. She bent her knees in a proper salute, the picture of a refined young lady—so fragile it seemed a breath might blow her away.

“Yan, you’re finally here. We’ve all been waiting, worried you were unwell again. I was just about to send someone to check on you,” Xue Ru Wang said with a gentle smile, playing the part of the loving mother, though a flicker of schadenfreude flashed in her eyes as she regarded the sickly Yan Zhan.

“My apologies for being late, Mother. I grew drowsy due to my weak health and overslept,” Yan Zhan replied, lowering her gaze in deference, though a glint of scorn passed through her eyes. Hmph—she was clearly being chastised for her tardiness, yet this woman made it sound so sweet. Truly venomous.

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” Xue Ru Wang replied, still wearing her mask of affection.

As was custom, the family ate in silence. Afterwards, they gathered together to wait for the New Year. Yan Zhan sat demurely, keeping her head down, treating herself as an outsider. Whatever was said, as long as her name wasn’t called, she maintained a golden silence.

“Yan is nearly fifteen. We should begin arranging a suitable marriage for her,” Xue Ru Wang said, her false smile unwavering.

Yan Zhan’s body trembled. This woman knew perfectly well she’d never live to see fifteen, yet still played her little games.

When Yan Zhan was five, weary of Xue Ru Wang’s hostility, she sought out the renowned Doctor Meng in the capital to help her fabricate an illness, claiming she wouldn’t live past fifteen. Since then, Xue Ru Wang had left her alone, and Yan Zhan had an excuse to fall ill whenever she pleased. Soon, everyone in the Southern Guardian Prince’s Residence knew she was not long for this world, and the news spread further still. Thus, though she was nearly of age, no one came to propose, and Yan Zhan relished the peace. After all, she had no hope for marriage in this world of polygamy.

Feigning frailty, Yan Zhan’s voice quivered with tears. “Thank you for your concern, Mother, but I know my fate is ill-starred. I would not wish to burden another.”

“Poor child, how hard your life has been. If only your mother had lived… I have not cared for you well enough,” Xue Ru Wang said, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

Not “cared for” well enough indeed, Yan Zhan mocked inwardly. Otherwise, who knows where she would have ended up by now? She lowered her head, her face a mask of helplessness.

“That’s enough. There’s no point talking about such things. Her poor health cannot be blamed on you,” Tianyi Zhan interjected, his tone indifferent.

Afterwards, talk turned to the sons’ studies and idle family chat. Yan Zhan, her head bowed, all but closed her eyes from boredom, unable to stomach such meaningless conversation. In this world, kinship meant little to her. She could not recall her so-called father ever holding her since birth. How could she feel any affection for a man who remarried within half a year of his wife’s death? She never bothered to curry favor, and was glad to be forgotten—after all, she had no need of him.

When at last the vigil for the New Year was over, Yan Zhan let out a quiet sigh of relief and slowly made her way back to her courtyard.

She looked up at the sky and sighed, unable to suppress her sorrow. She wondered how her parents in the modern world were faring, whether they could bear the pain of losing her. An ache seized her heart—she missed them terribly. Once, she had been the apple of their eye; in this world, she was no more than a weed, left to be forgotten.