On Madam Mao’s first day as a new bride, she served tea to her in-laws and paid respects.

By rights, the mother-in-law on that day would more or less establish rules for the new daughter-in-law, but Old Madam didn’t.

Not only didn’t she, Old Madam very enthusiastically led her to meet clan members, with much care shown in words.

“So in the first few years after marrying into the Zhu family, Old Madam was good to you.”

“Yes.”

Whether a person treats you well—you don’t need to see what they say or do; you can tell from their eyes.

In those first few years, Old Madam’s gaze toward her was gentle, carrying some kindness.

Among five daughters-in-law in the residence, only she came from a concubine-born line.

Before leaving to marry, Mother repeatedly instructed her—after marrying in, speak less before the in-laws, don’t stand out, do more work, flatter more, don’t be stingy with money.

Mother said, where you can use money to buy people and win hearts, use money to smash through.

Managing life was about comfort, competing over who lived longest.

She remembered Mother’s words—toward Old Madam, half flattery, half money.

Just as Mother said, at first her days were extremely comfortable. None of the sisters-in-law dared slight her in the least.

Wherever Old Madam went, she thought of her. Whatever other households had, her household never lacked—truly fair treatment.

The mistress’s attitude was the servants’ attitude. Even the residence’s most powerful old steward treated their household courteously.

“When did changes begin?” Yan Sanhe asked.

When?

Madam Mao remembered very clearly.

“It was when my lord, in divination and feng shui matters, received Old Master’s praise increasingly often, gradually surpassing others. Old Madam’s attitude toward me slowly began changing.”

“In other words, when the concubine-born son began threatening the legitimate sons, Old Madam had no choice but to turn her elbow inward and start protecting her own birth sons.”

Compared to Madam Mao’s euphemism, Yan Sanhe’s words were so blunt they made one break out in cold sweat.

Madam Mao ground her back teeth and nodded forcefully.

“Then that means…”

Yan Sanhe’s gaze suddenly sharpened. “Zhu Xuanjiu claiming the Zhu family head position went through considerable turmoil?”

“Miss Yan, five sons with only one able to become family head—naturally there must be considerable turmoil in between.”

Madam Mao didn’t put on a deeply secretive appearance but spoke honestly.

“But exactly what turmoil occurred, if you ask me, I can’t say. My lord never revealed even one word to me, and I didn’t dare ask.”

“Another Zhu family rule?”

“Male is yang, female is yin. The Zhu family’s divination and feng shui work involves yin and private matters. If women interfere, lightly the household becomes unstable, heavily there’s bloodshed.”

Madam Mao: “On my first day entering the door, when serving Old Master tea, he solemnly warned me.”

Even now, Madam Mao clearly remembered every word Old Master said to her back then—

Being a Zhu family daughter-in-law, the greatest taboo is being talkative. Rein in curiosity. Ask what should be asked, manage what should be managed. Those things that shouldn’t be asked, shouldn’t be managed—don’t ask even one word, don’t extend even one finger.

“Old Madam in her later years didn’t much have Old Master’s favor.”

Madam Mao spoke slowly. “After Old Madam fell ill, Old Master never entered her room even to look. Because of this, Old Madam lost all hope and held on just a few months before passing.”

Yan Sanhe frowned. “What was the reason?”

Madam Mao: “For her own sons’ sake, Old Madam wanted to interfere in the Zhu family head matter and was despised by Old Master.”

“Oh?”

Yan Sanhe’s breathing paused lightly. “It seems… Old Madam was unwilling for legitimate sons to be suppressed by a concubine-born son?”

“Put yourself in her shoes—no one would be willing.”

Madam Mao previously didn’t understand, but now having her own sons and daughters, reconsidering Old Madam’s heart, she felt quite touched.

“But natural talent—speaking plainly, it’s heaven granting the ability to eat. Who in this world can fight heaven? Miss Yan, don’t you agree?”

Yan Sanhe looked at her quietly, suddenly changing direction.

“Old Master Zhu’s courtyard maids changed frequently—Madam was also guarding against this, right?”

Caught having her innermost thoughts exposed, Madam Mao admitted straightforwardly.

“Miss is clever. You guessed correctly.”

The benefits of being family head weren’t just inheriting the Zhu family’s ancestral home and fields—more benefits were hidden beneath the surface.

Madam Mao definitely didn’t want to toil for most of her life only to hand everything over to others in the end.

Why did Old Madam end up with that fate? Speaking plainly, she was too soft-hearted.

If initially she hadn’t sympathized with Concubine Fu.

If she hadn’t allowed Concubine Fu to bear my lord.

If my lord hadn’t been naturally brilliant…

The Zhu family would belong to her birth son—no one could snatch it.

When a woman shows mercy to others, she’s being cruel to herself. When it comes to real combat, let alone cousin sisters—even birth sisters can turn against each other.

Yan Sanhe: “What was Old Madam’s relationship with your lord like?”

“How to put it?”

Madam Mao thought for ages before speaking. “Always separated by a layer.”

Both called each other “Mother” and “my son,” but discerning eyes could see it transparently showed some courtesy, falseness.

Especially in later years, Old Madam somehow couldn’t even be bothered with pretense. Sometimes she’d point at the concubine-born son’s nose and curse “ungrateful wretch.”

“My lord had no temper. After being scolded, he’d either lock himself in the study secretly wiping tears, or sigh toward me. I’d pull him into my arms, sit with him a while, listen to him sigh.”

Speaking to this point, Madam Mao suddenly smiled bitterly.

“After he calmed himself, he’d turn to console me instead, telling me not to hold grudges against Old Madam, to yield to her more. He also said Old Madam was old and confused, but previously treated him and Concubine Fu extremely well.”

Yan Sanhe: “What illness did Old Madam die from?”

“First, on the Winter Solstice that year, she caught a bit of cold and suddenly fell ill. After the fever broke, she kept complaining of chest pain. We invited all the famous imperial physicians in the capital. She took countless bitter medicines.”

Madam Mao recalled: “When she passed at fifty-eight, it happened to be my turn attending her. I slept in the outer room. Nothing seemed amiss that night—after taking medicine and sweating, she slept.

The next morning I woke and found no movement in the inner room. Throwing on clothes, I went to look—Old Madam’s body had already stiffened.”

Speaking here, Madam Mao used her handkerchief to wipe away tears.

Old Madam passed at midnight. Not one of her four birth sons saw her off. Within days, gossip spread saying she’d whispered something in Old Madam’s ear at midnight that angered Old Madam to death.

“Miss Yan, judge fairly.”

Madam Mao still felt extremely wronged even now.

“Heaven sees three chi above one’s head. As a mere woman, would I have that courage? Besides, what good would angering her to death do me? Whoever becomes family head wasn’t for Old Madam to decide.”

Yan Sanhe looked at her quietly.

Listen to the words, listen to the meaning.

These few sentences sounded fine on the surface, but implied much between the lines.

Old Madam died suddenly.

Because it was sudden, she left no final words.

Someone had pinned Old Madam’s death on Madam Mao.