In the end, Xing Muzheng stayed in Qian Jiaoniang’s courtyard. The place was guarded by several elite soldiers handpicked by Li Qingquan, with more stationed inside and outside the marquis estate. Without a direct order, no one was allowed to set foot in the Madam’s courtyard.
The Marquis’s recovery was surprisingly swift. Within half a month, most of his external wounds had healed. His once emaciated body was gradually regaining weight thanks to regular meals and late-night snacks. His mind, however, was still muddled. He threw tantrums when hungry, fussed when his scabs itched, and sometimes stirred up trouble for no reason.
The little courtyard was in constant chaos. The chickens Jiaoniang raised had already been bitten to death by the Marquis—two of them! She was heartbroken but could only pluck the feathers and cook them for his meals.
But those chickens did not die in vain. Qian Jiaoniang gradually figured things out. When the Marquis went berserk, force never worked—the more they restrained him, the wilder he got. Now that his strength had returned, even three or four soldiers struggled to hold him down without injury.
Her first line of defense was goat milk. The marquis estate now kept several female goats, just to have a steady supply of milk. Sometimes it worked—when it did, all was well, and everyone could relax. But when it didn’t… everyone had better clear out fast.
Let him smash tables and chairs, toss things around—everything in the room had been replaced with wood to prevent injury. Once he wore himself out, he’d collapse to the floor, swaying and mumbling nonsense, lost in his own little world.
Moreover, Qian Jiaoniang had noticed that the Marquis’s episodes of madness were becoming shorter, and the periods where he sat in a daze were getting longer. Once, he even sat like that for an entire day, only causing a ruckus in the dead of night.
“Mother, I’m back! Was Father okay today?” Xing Pingchun called as he jumped over the threshold after school, flinging his cloth schoolbag aside.
Qian Jiaoniang was concentrating on embroidering a double blossom pattern. When she saw her son return, she stuck the needle into her sleeve and looked up with a smile. “Chou’er is back. Your father was very well-behaved today. Didn’t cause any trouble.”
A grown man, and she calls him “well-behaved”? Xing Muzheng was slightly annoyed, and the ghost immediately let out a roar in response.
“Mother, Father is a dignified man! You can’t compliment him like that. See? You’ve made him mad!” Xing Pingchun said.
Xing Muzheng quickly suppressed his irritation. Though he couldn’t control his body, he had realized that his mood swings would trigger the ghost. If he felt even slightly annoyed, the ghost would start yelling; if he felt truly angry, the ghost would lash out and destroy things. So Xing Muzheng tried to remain calm and emotionless, which helped the ghost stay quiet—but the ghost wasn’t fully under his control and often went into fits of madness without warning, day or night.
“Yes, yes, my mistake. Are you hungry?”
“My stomach’s been growling for ages!” Xing Pingchun patted his belly. “Has Father eaten?”
“He just did. He ate a whole chicken—barely left a bone behind!” Qian Jiaoniang put away her embroidery and walked toward her own room, calling out for Qingya to serve the meal as she went.
Xing Pingchun grinned and gave his father a thumbs-up. “Father, you’re amazing! You finished a whole chicken!”
Xing Muzheng “looked” at his son. Aside from the resemblance in their faces, the boy was entirely like his mother—scatterbrained and foolish. He’d been hit by him multiple times yet still kept coming close.
Qingya soon brought in the dining table to Xing Muzheng’s room. All the dishes and bowls were made of wood, to prevent injury in case the Marquis went mad again—but someone still had to keep an eye on him at all times.
Xing Pingchun rushed to the table and took a deep sniff. “Wow—smells amazing! Stir-fried beef with scallions! Sesame oil chicken! It’s like New Year’s—must be New Year’s Eve today!” He bounced around excitedly.
Qingya poked him on the forehead and laughed, “And you call yourself a young master, always saying such undignified things!”
Xing Pingchun scratched his head and chuckled. His expression looked exactly like his father when he was acting foolish.
As soon as Jiaoniang finished putting her things away and came over, Xing Pingchun excitedly reported, “Mother! Mother! There’s beef and chicken today!”
“What? What? Are there chicken feet? I want chicken feet!” Qian Jiaoniang’s eyes lit up as she strode quickly over.
“Mother, don’t fight with me—I want the chicken feet!”
“Shoo! What does a little kid want with chicken feet? You better watch out or your writing will start looking like chicken scratch!”
Mother and son bickered as they settled at the table. Qian Jiaoniang looked around and noticed only two sets of utensils. She glanced up at Qingya. “You’re not eating?”
There were only three of them in the courtyard, and they usually ate together.
“I already ate in the kitchen while getting the food. You two eat—I’m going to water the plants,” Qingya replied. Truthfully, she didn’t feel safe eating in Xing Muzheng’s room. She was afraid of his face—and afraid of another sudden outburst. She’d been hit by his flailing arm once before, leaving a massive bruise on her back that still ached faintly.
Qian Jiaoniang picked up her chopsticks and said, “Your flower doesn’t look great—its leaves are wilting, and it won’t bloom. You need to fertilize it.”
Qingya paused at the door and wrinkled her nose. “Your fertilizer smells so bad—I’m not using that on my flowers.”
Jiaoniang sneered, “Oh please, Missy. The rice you’re eating was grown with that stinky fertilizer. You might as well drink dew water tomorrow.”
Qingya snorted and ignored her, turning on her heel and walking out.
“Mother, is it true that rice is grown with your stinky fertilizer?” Xing Pingchun asked, frowning as he looked at the glossy white rice in his bowl, his brows practically knotted together.
Qian Jiaoniang glared at him. “Of course it’s true. Without the stink, there’s no fragrance. When I was younger than you, I had to carry buckets of manure under the blazing sun to fertilize the fields. That was no fun at all! Now eat properly and don’t waste a single grain. It’s not easy to grow rice.”
“Don’t worry, Mother—I won’t waste a single grain. Otherwise, how would I feed myself?” Xing Pingchun had experienced hunger before and feared nothing more than an empty belly.
Qian Jiaoniang nodded with satisfaction and clasped her hands together, chopsticks between her palms. “Come on, let’s thank Heaven.”
Xing Pingchun copied her gesture and solemnly recited, “Thank you, Heaven, for letting us eat beef and chicken today! It’s such a feast. Thank you for bringing Father back safely and making him a high official. Thank you, thank you!”
This was a ritual the mother and son performed every day before meals, giving thanks to Heaven for everything—including Xing Muzheng’s return from the battlefield, crediting even his military success to divine favor. Xing Muzheng didn’t believe in fate and found this ritual pointless.
When the thanks were done, Xing Pingchun raised his chopsticks and dug in. Qian Jiaoniang didn’t hold back either. The two of them ate ravenously, finishing off the two meat dishes, one vegetable, and one soup in no time. They fought over the chicken feet until finally splitting one apiece. Xing Muzheng was half exasperated, half amused. Is this what mother and son are supposed to be like? The mother doesn’t yield to the son, and the son doesn’t know to be filial.
The ghost giggled foolishly.
Xing Pingchun let out a burp and rubbed his round belly. He turned to look at Xing Muzheng. “Mother, why does Father always smile when he watches us eat?”
“Because you look like a starving ghost reincarnated, of course he’s amused!” Qian Jiaoniang kicked him lightly. “Don’t just sit there. Take the table out.”
“Okay!” Xing Pingchun jumped up, stacked the bowls and chopsticks into the bamboo basket, folded the table from both sides, grabbed the basket with one hand and the table with the other, and ran off.
Qian Jiaoniang walked over to the Marquis and wiped the corners of his mouth. Then she turned to close the lattice window—mid-June had brought out the mosquitoes. If this lord got bitten, he’d probably throw a fit.
“Marquis, let’s make a deal, all right? Please don’t get up and make a fuss in the middle of the night again. I didn’t sleep a wink yesterday. Just give me one peaceful night’s rest today, will you?”
Qian Jiaoniang knew the marquis couldn’t understand her, so she was just talking to herself—but unexpectedly, Xing Muzheng heard every word clearly. He felt a flicker of discomfort but quickly regained his composure.
From outside the room, Xing Pingchun poked his head in. “Mom, the teacher gave us homework. I’m going to do it now.”
Qian Jiaoniang waved him off like swatting a fly. “Mm, go quickly. Study well! Your father looks down on me just because I can’t read a single character. You study hard and make me proud!”
Xing Pingchun blinked. “Huh? Is that true?”
“How could it not be?” Qian Jiaoniang said. “The first thing your dad asked me when we met was whether I could read. I told him I couldn’t, and he looked like he wanted to run out into the street and shout to the world how much he disdained me.”
The moment she brought it up, Qian Jiaoniang’s anger flared. She slammed her fist into the window frame, gritting her teeth. “If he’s so capable, why doesn’t he try being born into a poor farming family with an older sister and two younger brothers? See if, after gathering firewood, cooking, taking care of her siblings, and working in the fields all day, she’d still be able to scrape up a single copper coin from her barely-surviving parents to go to school!”
At her sudden change in tone, Xing Pingchun knew things were going south. He didn’t dare test her temper and quickly said, “I’m going to study now!” and ran off.
Xing Muzheng was a little surprised. The Qian Jiaoniang in his hazy memories was just a silly girl who always grinned foolishly at him and his mother—carefree and thoughtless. He hadn’t expected her to be so perceptive. This woman was different from what he had imagined.
Qian Jiaoniang’s anger hadn’t fully burned out yet, and now that her son had run off, she turned and glared at her son’s father. Taking advantage of his current dull-minded state, she pointed at his nose and cursed, “Xing Muzheng, you b*stard! You look down on me? Well, I look down on you too!”
Xing Muzheng had nothing to say. She had every reason to be angry. In fact, he’d assumed that when he brought her to the marquis household and told her he would be taking Feng Yuyan as his equal-wife, she would explode. Peasant women didn’t understand hierarchy—if a husband took another woman, they always made a fuss. That was what one of his subordinates had drunkenly warned him about.
But Qian Jiaoniang hadn’t made a scene. That day, she even smiled at him and offered him congratulations. He never stepped into her courtyard again and let Feng Yuyan manage the household. He’d thought she’d raise h*ll eventually. But half a year passed, and she quietly lived in this remote corner of the estate, so silent it was as if she didn’t exist.
Xing Muzheng did indeed look down on Qian Jiaoniang. To be exact—he looked down on her as his wife.
A woman might be insignificant, but the inner residence still needed a mistress. A well-educated, refined, beautiful young lady was surely better than an illiterate village girl. Xing Muzheng had never imagined that his own handpicked “intelligent” wife would nearly cost him his life.
“Forget it,” Qian Jiaoniang sighed, letting her hand drop as her anger faded. “What’s the point of getting mad at you? You’re just a fool. When you get better, I won’t dare scold you anyway… You’ll recover soon. Don’t worry.”
You’ll recover soon.
She said that to him every day, as if he were only suffering from a mild cold that would pass in a few days.
After speaking, Qian Jiaoniang left. Baldy Ah Da stood guard outside the door, not stepping inside.
Xing Muzheng knew what she was off to do. She was watering the vegetables in her garden, rebuilding the trellis for her grapevines. The chickens in her backyard had already been eaten by him, so there were none left to feed. Then she would go wash up, change her clothes, and return.
Sure enough, half an hour later, Qian Jiaoniang came back carrying a half-finished embroidery piece. She had changed into a crab-shell green cotton blouse and skirt—no different from any peasant woman Xing Muzheng had seen before.
She sent Baldy Ah Da to go rest, saying she would stay and watch over Xing Muzheng until he fell asleep.
Qian Jiaoniang lit a candle and, by its light, threaded her needle swiftly. Her embroidery was quite good—Xing Muzheng could tell she had inherited real skill from his mother, who had once been a well-known embroideress. But he didn’t understand why, as the lady of the house with a monthly allowance of twenty taels, she still spent all day sewing, morning and night, as if she depended on it to support the household.
“Jiaoniang, it’s late. Embroidery is bad for your eyes at night. Finish it tomorrow,” Qingya said as she came in carrying a bowl of goat’s milk. Seeing Qian Jiaoniang still hard at work, she couldn’t help but chide her.
“This one was a customer order. I have to finish it within three days,” Jiaoniang scratched her head with the needle before setting the embroidery down and taking the milk. “You go sleep. Once the marquis is asleep, I will too.”
Customer? Xing Muzheng suddenly realized he knew nothing about his wife.
“You don’t need me to keep you company?”
“No need, I’m fine. The marquis is much better now.”
Qingya was used to sleeping early. Since Jiaoniang said she was fine, she went off to bed. Jiaoniang tasted the goat’s milk—it was just the right temperature. She handed it to the marquis, who had already started grinning stupidly. He took it with both hands and began lapping at it with his tongue. Jiaoniang was used to his dog-like behavior by now. She shook her head with a smile and sat down to continue embroidering as she chatted.
“Marquis, I heard the court has appointed a new prime minister. He’s supposed to be pretty young—about your age, maybe a few years older… but I heard his hair is completely white. Folks back home say that young men who turn gray early are especially formidable.”
Formidable?
Hang Zhi wasn’t formidable—he was ruthless.
Xing Muzheng, annoyed by the way the “beast” was eating, still found himself distracted listening to Qian Jiaoniang’s nightly ramblings. He didn’t know where she got her gossip, but she always had something to share. He’d heard that Hang Zhi was eyeing the prime minister post for a while now. Though he didn’t like the man, he had no interest in court politics and chose to observe from the sidelines. He hadn’t expected Hang Zhi would actually bring down the old prime minister.
The beast licked the bowl clean and still clutched it, making incoherent sounds.
Qian Jiaoniang didn’t even look up. “That’s all you get today.”
The beast slumped into his rocking chair, kicking his legs and glaring at her—but he didn’t throw a tantrum.
Qian Jiaoniang had washed her hair and now wrapped it up in a clean cloth, revealing her long, slender neck. Xing Muzheng had once seen swans on a lake during a military campaign—her neck now reminded him of them, with its elegant, soft curve in the candlelight. Her profile looked softer, too.
Dingxi Marquis sat there, swaying slightly, eyes locked on her. Who knew how long he had been staring?
Jiaoniang didn’t notice at all. She focused on her embroidery, murmuring as she worked. The candlelight flickered, and shadows stretched quietly across the window.
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