Song Mo instinctively turned his head to avoid the slap from Song Yichun. He couldn’t help but exclaim, “Father, how could it possibly be me?”

Whether it was the anger over his son’s actions or the fact that Song Mo had dodged the slap, Song Yichun was furious. He shouted, “Wretched child, do you dare to argue?” Pointing to the ground beneath him, he commanded, “Kneel!”

Song Mo hesitated for a moment before kneeling before his father.

“Xingfang has personally admitted to seeing you with Mei Rui; Chen Tao confirmed that the jade pendant belongs to you and that it went missing when you went to Liaodong. With both witnesses and evidence against you, how can you still deny it?” Song Yichun trembled with rage. “When you were three, I hired a master to teach you martial arts; when you were five, I invited a scholar from the Hanlin Academy to enlighten you… I never put this much effort into your brother. Your mother and I invested so much in you, and this is how you repay us! Thankfully, your mother has passed; if she were still alive, you would have driven her to her grave! You unfilial wretch, you’ve brought shame to Duke Ying’s household…”

Chen Tao…

How could this be?

Impossible!

Song Mo stared in shock at his father.

Xingfang was another maidservant close to his mother, and while he had little interaction with her, she could easily slander him. But Chen Tao was his milk brother, the second son of his wet nurse. Chen Tao and his elder brother, Chen He, had served him since they were five. This time in Liaodong, it was Chen He who attended to him. Anyone could betray him, but how could Chen Tao?

As he quietly listened to his father’s tirade, his expression grew increasingly complex. Once his father’s anger subsided, he spoke softly, “Father, this matter truly has nothing to do with me! Think about it: that jade pendant, while not as valuable as other items in the estate, is an heirloom from our ancestors. It was given to me by my grandfather in front of many relatives and friends when I was a hundred days old. Even if I were foolish, I would never give it to a maidservant! Wouldn’t that openly suggest I had an affair with her? Besides, I have never lacked company. Whatever I do, it can be easily verified. Even if Chen Tao forgets, there’s Mr. Yan and Yu Jian…”

“How dare you bring that up!” Song Yichun interrupted with a cold laugh. “Do you know what Xingfang said?” He raised his voice, declaring, “She said Mei Rui was afraid to disobey you. Knowing that if the truth came out, she would have nowhere to hide, she took the jade pendant while pretending to be close to you, intending to plead with your mother. But when your mother suddenly passed away, and she was four months pregnant, I was about to arrange her marriage. Realizing that the truth would come to light, she panicked and ended her life by crashing into a pillar…” He slammed his palm on the table, asserting, “No matter what you say today, it’s useless. I must teach you a lesson in place of your deceased mother!” He shouted to the rough servant women, “Drag the young master out and give him twenty lashes!”

The women working in the upper house were all from the Jiang family, and they exchanged glances at each other.

Song Yichun threw his cup at them in frustration. “You useless lot, I can’t even command you!”

Song Mo resignedly said to the servant women, “It is only right for my father to discipline me in place of my mother.” He appeared to surrender completely.

The servant women slowly approached him, murmuring, “Young master, we’re sorry,” as they began to lift him.

Song Yichun, still furious, ordered, “Do it here, right here!”

The servant women looked at Song Mo.

He nodded.

They brought over a spring stool.

Song Mo lay across the stool.

One of the women leaned in and whispered, “Young master, bear with it,” before picking up a long bamboo stick to begin the punishment.

These were rough servant women from the inner courtyard, and their strikes were not particularly painful for Song Mo, especially since they were intentionally holding back. The blows felt more like a gentle tap than a punishment.

Seeing his son’s face turn red with anger, Song Yichun pushed the servant women aside, snatched the bamboo stick from one of them, and struck Song Mo hard. The first loud thud echoed in the room.

Song Mo gasped in shock.

Song Yichun, still not satisfied, continued to hit and scold, “You wretched child! You’ve gone too far! If this gets out, how will others talk about your deceased mother? She was strong all her life and never lost to anyone…”

As he listened, tears welled up in Song Mo’s eyes.

His father had never been good at handling family matters, and with his mother’s death, this incident had pushed him over the edge. If his father needed to vent his anger on him, so be it.

He obediently lay there, allowing his father to strike him.

The sound of the bamboo stick cracking continued, far exceeding twenty lashes.

Song Mo gritted his teeth and endured.

Blood soaked through his white silk trousers.

The servant women were horrified.

One of the women, who had once enjoyed the favor of the Jiang family, quietly advised, “Duke, you must stop! If you continue, the young master won’t survive!”

It seemed that Song Yichun finally came to his senses. He looked at the blood on his son’s trousers, stunned for a moment, and then dropped the bamboo stick with a loud “thud.”

Song Mo and the servant women all sighed in relief.

But unexpectedly, Song Yichun pulled aside the warm curtain of the inner room and shouted, “Guards!”

Everyone in the room looked shocked.

This was the upper house, the inner chamber of the Jiang family, and guards were not allowed to enter through the flower-laden door; the inner courtyard had its servant women for night patrol.

What surprised them even more was that as soon as Song Yichun’s voice fell, several burly guards entered.

Song Yichun pointed at Song Mo and ordered, “Drag him to the courtyard and beat him severely!”

Song Mo did not recognize any of them.

His heart raced, and he tried to get up, but his body felt weak and unresponsive.

“Father…” he looked at his father with wide eyes.

But his father seemed not to see him. The guards swiftly approached, expertly binding him with thick leather straps, their movements indicating they were accustomed to this.

“Father!” Song Mo’s face was filled with disbelief.

He practiced internal martial arts, only slightly skilled, and while it may not appear as powerful as external martial arts, ordinary people could not easily overpower him. Yet now, he felt completely limp, his internal energy in disarray, clearly beyond his control.

The servant women sensed something was wrong and huddled together in fear.

Song Mo calmed himself, trying to gather his internal energy.

The guards carried him outside, where another spring stool awaited him. The guards standing beside it no longer held bamboo sticks but rather heavy punishment rods used for severe beatings.

Song Mo glared at his father.

But Song Yichun didn’t even glance at him, instructing the guards, “Beat him!”

The rod struck Song Mo, and he felt as if his internal organs had been displaced.

Soon, beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

“Father!” Amid the rhythmic cracking sounds, Song Mo struggled to lift his head and asked his father, who stood under the eaves, “Why?”

Song Yichun’s gaze was as cold as ancient ice. “Wretched child! You dare to ask why for your misdeeds!”

“Why?” Song Mo pressed.

His gaze drifted to the birdcage under the eaves.

The small water jar was carved from white jade, a gift from his father when he was five.

He looked at the pomegranate tree in the corner.

He and his father had planted it together when he was eight.

He gazed at the swing swaying gently in the cold wind.

He and his father had made it for his brother when he was three.

“Why?” Song Mo asked again, tears streaming down his face uncontrollably.

Beside the camphor tree lay the ball he had once used, now given to his brother; on the grape trellis hung the red string he had tied to guide the vines…

“Why?” he shouted at his father, his voice filled with emotion.

His father merely stared coldly at him.

As Song Mo looked at his father, his consciousness and vision began to blur. Time felt unbearably long yet fleeting as if only a moment had passed.

He faintly heard his father’s stern voice: “Take him to the inner room and keep a close watch on him.”

The blows ceased, but his father’s words struck deeper than any rod: “Lu Zheng, go summon the eldest master, the third master, and the fourth master. Tell them that Song Mo has lost his virtue; I want to open the ancestral hall!”

Open the ancestral hall!

Song Mo lay limply on the spring stool, feeling as if all his bones had been broken, the pain overwhelming him to the point of confusion.

Open the ancestral hall?

What would come next?

Would they first seek to strip him of his title as heir? Or would they expel him from the family?

His tears had long since dried, yet he stubbornly lifted his head, asking, “Why?”

White light, green shadows, glaring red, and dark brown intertwined into a bizarre tapestry of colors.

“The body and skin are gifts from my parents. If you want them, take them. But why must it be like this?” He could not find the person he sought. “I just want to ask one thing: why?”

No one answered him.

With a loud “thud,” he was thrown onto the stone bricks of the inner room, where the heated kang was.

The sweet scent of incense wafted through the warm air, lulling him into drowsiness.

Song Mo bit his tongue, struggling to focus his thoughts.

He could not sleep! If he did, he might never wake up again.

He was not afraid of death.

Everyone would die eventually.

Some lives weigh heavier than mountains, while others are lighter than feathers.

Though his current life felt lighter than a feather… he still did not want to die!

Since no one would tell him why, he would have to find the answer himself.

Song Mo struggled to rise.

But as he moved, warm blood surged from his mouth.

He had sustained internal injuries!

So, his father truly wanted him dead!

Song Mo laughed.

He crawled forward inch by inch.

Before him lay the kang by the window.

Even if he died, he would not die on his knees!

As he passed, he left a deep trail of blood.

He thought of Yu Jian and Chen Tao.

They must have encountered misfortune as well.

Had he known this would happen, he should have sent Yu Jian and the guards back with him.

It would have spared another life.

Fortunately, Chen He had not returned with him.

His wet nurse had only these two brothers; with Chen Tao gone, Chen He could still help care for her.

However, the commotion in the upper house had drawn no one’s attention, indicating that his father had planned this all along.

He needed to find a way to notify them.

If he could escape, he would!

Breathing heavily, Song Mo leaned against the kang by the window.

On the tea table across from him, two white hibiscus flowers bloomed vibrantly in a cloisonné vase.

But he knew that flowers kept in vases, no matter how beautiful, would wither in a few days.