“Madam…” Li Qingquan tried to speak, but Qingya stopped him. “Lord Li, our Madam has agreed to let Miss Feng deliver the child safely—she will keep her word. Even if she doesn’t let Miss Feng in as a concubine, later the child can still be raised under her name. A child raised in the main wife’s household has far more status than a b*stard. Wouldn’t you say that’s reasonable? If you keep interfering, it’ll be overstepping.”
Ah Da stepped forward and said, “Qingquan, Madam is right. You should focus all your attention on finding a cure for the General. Once he’s well, none of this will be a problem. After all, there’s still half a year until the child is born. Maybe the General will recover long before then.”
Wang Yong also tried to persuade him. Li Qingquan hesitated again, but was eventually pushed out by the others. Feng Yuyan couldn’t stop him and trembled as she cried. Qingya cast her a disdainful glance, clicked her tongue twice, and turned back into the house.
Qian Jiaoniang was making the bed in Xing Muzheng’s room when she saw Qingya come in. She said, “Have the servants take good care of her. If anything happens to the Marquis’s child, they’ll be the ones held responsible.”
Qingya said, “You really are a very aggrieved Marchioness.”
Qian Jiaoniang smiled faintly.
At that moment, Xing Muzheng was being helped inside by Wu Shunzi and happened to hear this line. Qian Jiaoniang’s laughter stabbed straight into his heart.
“Time for the Marquis to rest—help him onto the bed,” Qian Jiaoniang said. “I’m going to check on Chou’er.”
Xing Pingchun’s room was in the east wing, separated from the main hall by Qian Jiaoniang’s room. Normally, he couldn’t hear her calling from the main hall. She quietly approached his door, lifted the curtain, and peeked in. Xing Pingchun was lying on his stomach on the bed, bottom in the air, his face nearly pressed into the mechanism box. His eyes were nearly crossed, and his index fingers were flying back and forth over the box. From time to time, he scratched an itch, then quickly resumed fiddling.
Qian Jiaoniang entered the room, lit an herbal incense, laid out the clothes he’d wear the next day at the foot of the bed, adjusted the beast-head palace lamp’s wick, and when it didn’t light, lit an oil lamp and placed it by his pillow. Only when the bedside finally lit up did Xing Pingchun look up and spot her.
“You don’t have school tomorrow, so you can sleep in a bit,” Qian Jiaoniang said. “But don’t sleep too late.”
Xing Pingchun replied crisply, “Yes, Mama. Are you done with your business? Then I’ll go read to Dad.” He made to get up, but Qian Jiaoniang pressed him down. “It’s late. Your dad is going to sleep. Read to him tomorrow.”
Xing Pingchun answered “oh” and buried himself back into the mechanism box. The boy always forgot everything else once he got hold of something interesting. Qian Jiaoniang was used to it. She reminded him once more to sleep early, rubbed his head, and left the room.
Xing Muzheng had been waiting for Qian Jiaoniang to return, to sit and embroider while scolding him. She’d been so furious earlier—he figured he was in for a night of being stabbed with a thousand needles.
Qian Jiaoniang did come in, holding her needle and thread. Xing Muzheng already felt a phantom prickling over his body.
She sat in her usual spot. Leaning on the bed, he could see most of her side profile. But tonight, she wasn’t embroidering clothes—she was stitching a shoe sole, likely for Chou’er.
Xing Muzheng waited for her to grind her teeth and start scolding him. But the candle burned halfway down, and the room remained silent. Qian Jiaoniang was eerily quiet. She neither jabbed at the shoe while cursing him nor nagged him about anything at all. She simply sat there, quietly stitching the shoe sole. When he—the “ghost thing”—finally fell asleep, she gently helped him to the pillow, packed up her things, and silently left the room.
From beginning to end, Qian Jiaoniang didn’t say a single word.
***
Back in her own courtyard, Feng Yuyan smashed every vase, teapot, and palace lamp she could see. Shi’er quickly called in the maids to clean up the shards. One little maid accidentally brushed against the hem of Feng Yuyan’s skirt while sweeping and got slapped hard to the ground.
“You little wretch! Don’t you have eyes?!”
Shi’er pushed the tearful little maid out, and Wet Nurse Ye entered, supported by two other maids. Seeing the mess all over the floor and Feng Yuyan’s furious expression, she quickly dismissed all the other girls and stepped forward with concern, asking, “Miss, Miss, what’s happened? Did something change?”
Feng Yuyan shot her a glare and said nothing. Instead, she swept all the cosmetics off the dressing table to the ground. Utter humiliation! Truly a disgrace of the highest order!
Wet Nurse Ye had no choice but to wait until Feng Yuyan finished venting. Seeing her so furious, a bad premonition rose in her heart—could it be that Madam Qian and Li Qingquan wouldn’t even allow Miss to enter the house as a concubine, despite lowering her own status?
In truth, Feng Yuyan had known from the beginning that Qian Jiaoniang would never let her enter as the equal wife now. Her plan had always been to first secure a foothold by entering as a concubine and then gradually reclaim everything she’d lost. Her dramatic threats of suicide in Qian Jiaoniang’s room were all an act. In her mind, the more convincingly she acted, the more Qian Jiaoniang would view her being a concubine as a form of humiliation and therefore more easily agree.
Who would’ve thought that peasant-born Qian Jiaoniang wouldn’t even agree to that? Did she know Feng Yuyan wasn’t truly pregnant, or did she simply not care at all?
“That wretched woman!” Feng Yuyan gritted her teeth, glaring into the mirror as if she could see Qian Jiaoniang’s mocking face.
***
Hearing Qian Jiaoniang’s footsteps fading away, Xing Muzheng felt a tightness in his chest, though he couldn’t quite tell why. Perhaps it was due to Feng Yuyan’s shamelessness—or maybe Li Qingquan’s foolish audacity.
He had to get rid of the ghost that had taken over his body as soon as possible.
Right now, Xing Muzheng felt as though he were locked in some unreachable corner, shackled in heavy chains, talismans stuck to him from head to toe, as if someone wanted to keep him buried forever, rotting away inside the shell of a madman.
Xing Muzheng tried to break free from these invisible bindings. If it was sorcery, there had to be a way to undo it. He poured all his focus into moving his eyeballs, but it was as if a copper wall blocked his path. No matter how hard he tried, all his efforts were absorbed by that wall—just like every other attempt he had made before.
But Xing Muzheng wasn’t discouraged. He kept trying again and again. He refused to believe he would be defeated by such despicable forces.
The bloody nightmares came again, scorching his very soul. Xing Muzheng endured the same pain—day after day—like being flayed alive, until the “ghost” inside him couldn’t bear it anymore and rolled off the bed screaming.
Naturally, this led to yet another night of chaos. If not for Xing Muzheng’s presence, that thing might’ve already gone completely mad. But Xing Muzheng feared that if it did go mad, his foolish wife and son would suffer.
One more try. Through the endless darkness, Xing Muzheng kept telling himself that—waging an unceasing battle against unseen demons and monsters.
