Chapter Eleven: Avoiding Exposure—Recognizing People Is the Key

Her show of petulance lasted only a short while. With gentle words and soft coaxing from those around her, Song Ci obediently dressed and was escorted out of the main hall.

A glance revealed that the vast hall was occupied by only a handful of people. Seeing Song Ci’s arrival, they all rose to their feet, bowing and offering their greetings.

“May Mother enjoy peace and prosperity.”

“Grandmother, may you be blessed with health and happiness.”

As Song Ci watched their meticulous, perfectly executed bows, she found herself inwardly impressed. This was truly the conduct of a great household—their etiquette was impeccable. Not a hem stirred, nor did a waist sway out of line; this was genuine classical ceremony, grace and composure woven into their very bones. Every movement was pleasing to the eye, far from the awkward, exaggerated gestures one saw in costume dramas.

Seated at the place of honor, Song Ci silently admired them, not realizing that those kneeling or bending in salute below had yet to be dismissed. She felt a flicker of confusion.

Madam Gong cleared her throat, bent down with a smile, and whispered in Song Ci’s ear, “Madam Dowager, weren’t the ladies of the first and second households invited to take breakfast at the Spring Radiance Pavilion today?”

Song Ci came to herself and hurriedly called out, “Have none of you had breakfast yet? Then let us all eat together.”

The second lady, Lady Jiang, was a cheerful woman. “The breakfast from Mother’s own kitchen is especially fragrant. I’ve been craving it for days. Since I am so fortunate today, I shall gladly accept your kindness.”

Song Ci’s gaze fell on the exquisitely dressed children before her, and, searching her memory, she tried to identify each one. She couldn’t afford to make a mistake; recognizing these faces was crucial.

The dainty girl in a pale yellow spring dress, her hair styled into youthful knots with strands left to fall, must be Miss Song Ruqi, the second young lady of the first household, no more than fourteen or fifteen, with her large, sparkling eyes.

Standing beside Lady Jiang were a pair of beautiful boys, about twelve years old—her twin sons, Song Lingzhao and Song Lingjie.

Apart from them, there were no other children present.

Song Ci glanced past them, puzzled. That couldn’t be right. The Song family was considered prosperous starting from Song Zhiyuan’s generation, with at least four sons. The eldest, second, and third sons were all married and each had male heirs—four in total—and three daughters, all legitimate.

Yet at present, only three juniors stood before her.

“Mother, what are you looking for?” The first lady, seeing Song Ci glance around, asked gently.

Song Ci blurted out, “Why are there so few people?”

The first lady paused, thinking Song Ci lamented being ill and having so few descendants by her side, and began to explain.

“…The youngest uncle and Su have returned to our ancestral home to pay respects at the family tomb. News of your illness was sent to them by fast courier—they should return as soon as they receive the message. Qian, too, wished to come, but she is newly with child and has not yet stabilized her pregnancy. When she heard of your fainting, she was so anxious she began to bleed. Her mother-in-law, the old madam, forbade her from coming. I have already sent word; as soon as her condition is safe, she will visit you. As for the second uncle, his father says his business affairs are pressing, so he will not return. The third uncle’s wife should be on the road with the children—they will be here in a few days. When that time comes, Madam Dowager, you must not mind the commotion.”

With her explanation, Song Ci gradually matched the faces with names. So, they were all away.

Lady Jiang gave her sons a look; the twins grinned and scurried forward, kneeling on either side of Song Ci and gently massaging her legs.

“But Grandmother, we’re right here, and yet you only think of our big brothers. Do you not like us?” they teased.

The first lady signaled her second daughter as well, but Song Ruqi only pouted. She had little fondness for her coarse grandmother and, pretending not to notice her mother’s look, kept her head down, fiddling with her handkerchief, to her mother’s barely contained exasperation.