Chapter 10 — The Title They Gave Me
After we spoke that night, Teacher Shen“Shen Yanci”moved back into the courtyard.
He didn“t announce it. He didn”t make a speech. He simply began to exist there again, as if he had always belonged beneath the tree and among the bamboo shadows.
He took the east side room.
I stayed in the west.
Between us, the small courtyard held its breath.
It was ridiculous. We had a contract. A name marked beside a name in the yamen ledger. We had already become, by law, what people called husband and wife.
And yet we lived like cautious neighbors.
In the Lin residence, there were rules too—rules about where I could walk, where I could stand, how I could speak. But those rules had always been meant to make me smaller.
Here, Shen Yanci’s rules were meant to keep something from overflowing.
I watched him leave at dawn for the academy, his figure moving through the gate with quiet precision, and felt a strange mix of gratitude and irritation.
Were we husband and wife or not?
If we were, why did he behave as if a single glance might stain me?
If we were not, then why had he chosen my name in the ledger?
I stared at the rabbit lantern hanging by my door, its paper ears catching morning light, and made a decision.
If this rigid teacher would not take a step, then I would.
I washed my hands, kneaded dough, chopped scallions, cracked eggs. The sound of the knife on the board was steady, stubborn.
When the pancakes browned, the scent filled the courtyard like a small rebellion.
I wrapped them and walked to the academy again, no longer hiding beneath lattice windows like a thief.
At midday, the academy gate was busy. Children poured out, laughter spilling behind them. Shen Yanci stood by the doorway, seeing them off with a calm face that didn’t quite hide the softness in his eyes.
When he saw me, his steps paused—only a fraction, but enough.
He cleared his throat lightly. His gaze flicked, unguarded, to my hair.
I had arranged it in the style of a married woman.
Not because I wanted gossip.
Because I wanted clarity.
A few of the smaller boys spotted me immediately.
“Teacher!” one shouted, eyes bright with mischief. “Who is that sister?”
Another boy nudged him with an elbow. “She brings food. She must be shiniang!”
The word rang out like a bell.
Shiniang.
Teacher’s wife.
My cheeks warmed so fast I felt exposed beneath the autumn sun.
The boys crowded closer, grinning like sparrows.
“Teacher, your face is red!” one of them declared, delighted by his own discovery.
A slightly older student, trying to sound serious, nodded wisely. “That must be shiniang.”
More voices joined.
“Shiniang!”
“Shiniang!”
If I didn’t stop it, the whole academy would hear.
I opened my basket and pulled out a small bag of milk candies. I had bought them with the latest bookshop payment—small coins turned into small sweetness.
One by one, I handed them out.
“Eat,” I said, voice firm. “And stop shouting.”
The boys accepted the candies like obedient little demons, grinning as they stuffed them into their mouths.
“Thank you, shiniang!” they chorused, louder than before.
Shen Yanci’s ears reddened.
He looked like he wanted to sink into the ground.
He did not deny the title.
Instead, he raised his book and tapped one boy lightly on the head.
“Impudent,” he said, voice stern enough to carry authority, even as the redness betrayed him. “If you speak again, you will copy the Book of Rites.”
The boy yelped dramatically, then scurried away laughing.
The others scattered too, still whispering and giggling, the word shiniang following them like a trail of crumbs.
My heart beat too quickly. I didn’t know whether to feel triumphant or mortified.
When the courtyard finally cleared, Shen Yanci stepped closer and lowered his voice.
“You shouldn”t come so often, he said, as if the concern was purely practical.
“And you shouldn”t sneak into the courtyard at night, I shot back, before my courage could evaporate.
His gaze flicked to mine. A faint helplessness flashed in his eyes, gone as quickly as it came.
“I” he began.
But before he could finish, chaos arrived.
A boy ran past us too quickly, collided with someone at the academy gate, and stumbled back.
The man he collided with didn’t even sway.
He stood tall in expensive robes, the kind that didn’t crease. His boots were polished, his belt jade heavy.
The autumn sun gleamed on gold thread.
Lin Jingran.
He shouldn’t have been here.
He looked like a blade that had learned to smile.
The boy squeaked an apology and fled.
Lin Jingran’s gaze slid past Shen Yanci as if he were furniture and landed on me.
The color drained from his face, replaced by a tight, furious pallor.
His eyes“always lazy, always amused”now burned.
He stared at my hair first.
The married woman’s style.
Then at my hands, still holding the basket.
Then at Shen Yanci, and the rage in him sharpened into something ugly.
“Teacher Shen,” Lin Jingran said, voice loud enough to draw attention, “you dare marry your student”s fianc“e?”
The word fianc—e struck like a slap.
Shen Yanci’s posture straightened, calm on the surface, but I felt the tension under it.
Lin Jingran stepped closer, pointing an accusing finger as if he were the wronged one.
“Do you even know what propriety is?” he demanded. “Do you know shame? You call yourself a teacher?”
His eyes snapped back to me.
“Nanzhi,” he said, voice dropping, suddenly soft in the way a predator went quiet before pouncing. “Come here.”
The command curled in the air like a leash.
“Come home,” he continued, and the softness cracked, revealing the insult inside. “Don”t disgrace yourself here. Don“t let him make you into a woman with no shame.”
No shame.
As if I was the one who had waited.
As if I was the one who had raised the ding tax.
As if I was the one who had turned “next year” into a knife.
A laugh rose in my chest, sharp and bitter.
I looked at Lin Jingran“s face”handsome, yes, and so familiar it once felt like fate.
Now it looked like a stranger’s arrogance.
“Are you here to attend lessons?” I asked sweetly. “Sorry. You”re overage.
For a heartbeat, he didn’t understand.
Then his expression twisted.
“Watch your mouth,” he hissed.
I tilted my head. “Oh? When I watched my mouth for four years, did you marry me?”
His jaw clenched.
He turned back to Shen Yanci, voice rising again, eager to perform righteousness.
“Teacher Shen,” he said loudly, “how can you take your student”s fianc“e? You”re ruining her!
Then, as if magnanimity could cover cruelty, he stretched a hand toward me again.
“Nanzhi,” he said, eyes flickering with something like desperation, “come back. I”ll settle this. I
I cut him off, voice calm, cold.
“Lin Jingran,” I said, “our engagement stopped counting the day you let the yamen count me instead.”
His eyes widened.
“I don”t recognize that,“ he snapped, and the softness vanished. ”You“re mine.”
Mine.
A possession.
A bruise I had mistaken for a promise.
The academy gate was full of passing students, curious eyes, whispers gathering like wind before rain.
This wasn’t the place for it.
I inhaled, then turned slightly toward Shen Yanci.
“I need to speak with him,” I said quietly.
Shen Yanci’s gaze held mine, steady, warm. He gave a small nod.
“Go,” he said softly. “I”m here.
The simple trust in those words made my throat tighten.
I turned back to Lin Jingran.
“Come,” I said. “Behind the academy.”
And as we walked away from the gate and the murmurs, I felt something inside me settle.
This time, I would not swallow my words.