Chapter Eight: The Wedding Postponed

Who on earth was this Prince Xuan, Meng Yuanheng? Shen Qianmo was truly exasperated. Why was it that just as she managed to break off one engagement, another came knocking so quickly? Couldn’t she simply live quietly as a contented spinster?

Green Bamboo and Madam Xu were overjoyed when they first heard of the imperial marriage decree, but the moment they learned the groom was Prince Xuan, their expressions wilted like frostbitten eggplants—faces twisted in misery, as though they had swallowed bitter herbs.

“What’s wrong? Is there something wrong with this Prince Xuan?” Shen Qianmo asked in confusion. She searched the original host’s memories but found no trace of any interaction, nor any information about Prince Xuan himself. It was no wonder; the original host lived a sheltered life, seeking only peace and stability, never paying heed to worldly affairs. It would be unfair to expect her to have any understanding of politics or current events.

“Miss, it’s not just that there’s a problem—there’s a very big problem!” Green Bamboo replied, her face creased with worry. “Prince Xuan is not only crippled in both legs, it’s said that he also… also…” She faltered for a long time, unable to finish.

Madam Xu sighed from the side and continued, “Miss, rumor has it that Prince Xuan is not only lame, but also… incapable as a man.”

Incapable as a man? Shen Qianmo found this phrase hard to digest. After mulling it over, she couldn’t help but find it amusing; even such private matters about a noble prince were common knowledge—truly, the gossip prowess of the capital’s people was extraordinary.

At that, she laughed softly and said, “Isn’t that a good thing?”

A good thing? In what way? If Prince Xuan was incapable, marrying him would be akin to living as a widow in all but name—how could that be good? Green Bamboo and Madam Xu stared wide-eyed at their mistress, thinking: Has the young lady lost her wits from fright? Ever since that fire, she’d been acting strangely; could it be that the blaze not only scarred her face but also damaged her mind?

Observing their dumbfounded expressions, Shen Qianmo was secretly amused. “Don’t worry,” she reassured, “I know what I’m doing. Nothing will happen.”

To know oneself and one’s opponent is the surest path to victory. Since Prince Xuan would be her future husband, Shen Qianmo made a point of investigating him. The more she learned, the more she thought the old emperor’s choice was perfectly suited to her—though it would have been even better if he hadn’t arranged a marriage at all.

The Prince Xuan’s residence was renowned throughout the Dasheng Dynasty; the previous princes had been heroes admired by all, defending the realm against foreign threats and repulsing countless invasions from the northern and western frontiers. Unfortunately, both met early deaths, neither living past forty. When the previous Prince Xuan fell in battle, the current Prince Xuan, Meng Yuanheng, was only sixteen.

The household was thin in numbers; a few years after the former prince’s death, his widow died of grief, leaving Meng Yuanheng, frail and sickly, to bear the family legacy alone for the past seven years.

The battle seven years prior still moved the capital’s people to sigh with regret whenever it was mentioned. At the time, the Northern Barbarians invaded with three hundred thousand troops, capturing three cities in a month and threatening Zhengyang Pass. The entire nation was alarmed. If Zhengyang fell, the enemy could sweep straight to the capital. The previous Prince Xuan was given command in the crisis and, with one hundred thousand soldiers, drove the enemy back thirty miles in ten days, regaining two cities. But in the assault on Jingzhou, he was ambushed and gravely wounded.

Meng Yuanheng rushed alone to the front to save his father, managed to drive the invaders beyond the border, but returned to the capital with only his father’s ashes, his own body battered and both legs crippled. Thereafter, he inherited the title, lived in seclusion, refused visitors, and the Prince Xuan’s household gradually faded from public attention.

Though Shen Qianmo had never met Meng Yuanheng, she could easily picture the youth he must have been—confident, illustrious, the darling of fate. For such a chosen one to suddenly lose the use of his legs and become an invalid—how was he to bear it?

But for her, compared to the hale and hearty princes and noble sons, Prince Xuan was a perfect choice. Disabled, incapable as a man? Then he likely wouldn’t take a harem of concubines to vex her. Orphaned, with few relatives? That meant straightforward family affairs, and no in-laws to please. Cold-hearted, detached? Wouldn’t that mean her future marriage would offer plenty of freedom?

While Shen Qianmo was calculating her advantages in secret, another message arrived: Prince Xuan had petitioned to postpone the wedding for a year, claiming ill health, and asked the emperor’s permission to delay until he was recovered.

Given this, Emperor Mingde could only agree. Everyone knew of Prince Xuan’s frail health; by not refusing outright but simply postponing, he had already shown the emperor enough respect. Mingde understood it was wise to leave well enough alone.

When Shen Qianmo heard the news, she gave Prince Xuan a silent thumbs-up. How tactful his words were—if a year later he still wasn’t well, the wedding could be postponed again. After all, who could say when he might recover, or to what extent?

Since Prince Xuan was so considerate, she was naturally grateful. Others, however, didn’t see it that way—especially Madam Cui and Shen Qianxue. With Shen Qianxue about to marry into the Prince Rong’s household, the mother and daughter had grown more arrogant than ever. Now, seeing Shen Qianmo rejected even by a crippled, fallen prince and having her wedding postponed, they mocked her openly and privately, growing ever more insolent in her presence.

Shen Yian couldn’t care less about the delay; he was never attentive to his eldest daughter’s affairs. With an imperial decree already issued, Prince Xuan’s household would claim her sooner or later—what difference did a year make?

Old Madam Shen had some inkling of Prince Xuan’s intentions but harbored a certain awe for his household, so she chose to bide her time.

As for Shen Qianmo herself, she remained unruffled, as though she were not the protagonist in this drama at all. Only when she saw Shen Yian did she raise the matter: now that her marriage was settled, shouldn’t her late mother’s dowry, as promised, be entrusted to her? She remembered well that Madam Xie’s last wish was for her dowry to be handed over when Qianmo came of age; now that she was eighteen, Madam Cui should have given it to her long ago.

Shen Yian did remember this. He summoned Madam Cui and ordered her to hand over both Madam Xie’s dowry inventory and the actual dowry stored in the warehouse to Shen Qianmo.