Shen Zhiluo really didn’t want to deal with her — she wasn’t lacking hands of her own, she could just take it off herself; when would he ever have undone something like this?

But then this person leaned in against him, collapsing into his arms without reservation. If he pulled back, she’d inevitably topple over under the weight of that heavy headdress, blood spilling in the bridal chamber. But if he didn’t pull back— Shen Zhiluo’s eye twitched, and he reached out his hand.

And so Su Miao, head full of pearls and jade and weighed down by her heavy wedding gown, crashed into his arms, heavy enough to draw a muffled grunt from him.

“You really aren’t afraid of dying,” he said through gritted teeth.

Su Miao tilted her head up to look at him, her fox-like eyes curving, smiling without a hint of restraint: “You were bound to catch me — how would I die? I was just being coy with you.”

He’d never seen any young lady stake her life on being coy.

Shen Zhiluo shook his head, meaning to help her sit back up, but saw her lazily half-close her eyes right there in his arms, her fair index finger hooking a flower ornament and pointing up toward her hair: “Take out these six small hairpins first, then the phoenix hairpin with three heads.”

His long brows knitted slightly, and Shen Zhiluo reluctantly reached out.

These hands of his could work a compass and calculate the heavens’ will, but he’d never undone a woman’s hair bun before — his movements were stiff and clumsy, tugging at her hair several times in a row. He glanced down at her, but the person in his arms showed not the slightest sign of anger, only humming a little in contentment: “So you really haven’t had another woman.”

Shen Zhiluo: “…”

A hint of chill in his eyes, he said in a low voice: “There was once a marriage arrangement, though.”

“You?” Su Miao opened her eyes with interest. “Then why didn’t it happen?”

“The former dynasty fell. We ended up worlds apart.”

Su Miao clicked her tongue, eyes going wide: “So does that make me a magpie taking over a sparrow’s nest?”

Truly, there was nothing this woman wouldn’t say out loud — even mocking herself so smoothly. Shen Zhiluo gave a short laugh, declining to comment.

Su Miao seemed genuinely troubled now. With the hairpins and crown removed, she lay in his arms with her long hair loose, wrinkling her nose: “You’ve got feelings for my little sister-in-law tucked away in your heart, and yet you’re nominally married elsewhere — I can’t claim either your heart or your body for myself. Whatever am I to do?”

His body went rigid; Shen Zhiluo nearly dropped her.

How could she just say such things so casually? And on their wedding night, no less, coming from the mouth of a new bride?

He grew somewhat angry, his expression darkening.

“Hey, don’t get mad, I haven’t told anyone else,” Su Miao said, watching his expression without any alarm, still smiling brightly. “Don’t worry, I like little sister-in-law — I won’t cause her any trouble.”

“If Miss Su’s heart is as clear as a mirror about all this, then why marry me at all?” he said, his anger deepening, his pale violet eyes clouding with something dark. “What are you after?”

Su Miao’s eyes shone as she looked at him like this, giggling: “After this face of yours, obviously. Haven’t I said it before — in all of the capital, you’re the only one whose looks move me. Whoever’s in your heart has nothing to do with me. As long as you’re good-looking, that’s enough.”

His anger hadn’t subsided in the least, if anything it had been stoked further by her nonchalance. Shen Zhiluo scooped her up and pushed her aside, giving her a cold look: “Then this lord is grateful for Miss’s favor.”

“Tsk, the dragon-and-phoenix candles are still burning right in front of us, and you’re calling me Miss Su — don’t you feel guilty?” She undid the fastenings of her wedding dress, pouting. “Quick, call me wife.”

“Miss Su, you flatter me,” Shen Zhiluo said, eyelids drooping, his tone listless. “I just wanted to see this face — my wife may look at it, and so may Miss.”

Her gaze shifted, and Su Miao licked the corner of her mouth. Her wedding dress still not fully removed, she draped herself just as she was, half-dressed and half-fallen, and wrapped her arms around his neck, laughing softly: “But there are some things only a wife is entitled to do — a miss is not.”

Shen Zhiluo went cold all over, holding people at arm’s length by nature, but Su Miao didn’t mind at all, and simply pulled him in regardless of propriety.

If someone had told Xing Nu before this that his master, the Grand Astrologer, would one day be pulled into the mortal world and indulge in such intimate affairs, Xing Nu certainly wouldn’t have believed it. The Grand Astrologer’s cold, detached temperament meant that even after marriage, at most there’d be one more person by his side.

But now, standing guard in the main courtyard, listening to the unrestrained sounds coming from within, his jaw practically hit the floor and he could hardly pick it back up.

Was this a wedding or coercion into debauchery? Did the Su family young lady have no fear that the lord would never see her again after this?

Su Miao, naturally, wasn’t afraid at all. Shen Zhiluo might have a hundred ways to avoid her, but she had a thousand ways to track him down. No matter how much he might resent her, gritting his teeth, with this legitimate status as husband and wife, he couldn’t escape her.

“Will you come to like me eventually?” someone asked with a smile amid the bed curtains.

“No.” The answer came decisive and merciless.

“Well, that’s perfect then,” she said happily. “Since you’ll never like me anyway, I can like you without holding anything back.”

“…”

Shen Zhiluo felt he would never understand what went on in Su Miao’s mind.

There had been too many happy occasions lately, and though Zhuang Shi was pleased, she had exhausted herself in the process. After Su Miao’s wedding, she fell ill, lying in bed with intermittent high fevers, drifting in and out of consciousness.

Huayue no longer dared to be lax, staying by her bedside all day, seeking out physicians and medicine, brewing decoctions and feeding her meals.

Zhuang Shi often wept, her eyes entirely unfocused, staring at the bed curtains and calling out: “Your Highness.”

Huayue asked which “Your Highness” she meant, but Zhuang Shi couldn’t hear her, only crying while calling out, tears soaking the pillow, before slipping back into confusion and another high fever.

Huayue grew so anxious that blisters formed on her lips, making it painful even to eat.

Li Jingyun watched, seething: “Can you not worry yourself so much?”

She looked at him, very much wanting to ask whether he could perhaps worry a little more himself, but she swallowed the words back and shook her head silently, continuing to pick up ribs to gnaw on.

The man beside her, his temper flaring, waved a hand and had Badou clear the whole table of dishes away. Huayue’s chopsticks came up empty; not wanting to argue with him, she simply set them down and reached for the account books instead.

“Sit here for this lord.” He held her down, his voice cold. “Not saying anything means everything’s fine? Do you really think this lord is so easygoing he’ll just keep indulging you?”

Huayue looked up, a little wronged.

Something twisted in his chest, and Li Jingyun turned his face away, rather irritated: “Don’t give this lord that look. This lord’s been very busy lately, and finally gets to come home for a meal — can’t you just behave yourself?”

“I haven’t said anything,” she said, feeling even more wronged. “What have I done to displease you?”

Nothing pleased him at the moment. Li Jingyun said darkly: “Sure enough, you can’t spoil a dog too much — keep indulging you and this lord becomes the dog.”

Huayue lowered her eyes, thinking to herself that it had only been a few days and he was already sick of her — a man’s words really couldn’t be trusted.

Badou, who had carried the dishes away, returned shortly with the food again — the same dishes laid back on the table, except the rib bones had been removed, the fish deboned thoroughly, the stir-fried vegetables chopped even finer, and a silver spoon placed at the edge of the plate.

She stared at this blankly, blinking.

Li Jingyun scowled and barked at Badou: “Who told the kitchen to meddle?”

Badou shrank his neck and turned to run.

Having finished his shouting, this lord shoved the chopsticks back into her hand: “Eat.”

Huayue: “?”

Li Jingyun really was busy — after finishing lunch with her, he headed out again, but before leaving he pulled her close and kissed her forehead, saying quietly: “Behave yourself lately, don’t get into trouble.”

Those words seemed to carry some other meaning; she listened thoughtfully, watching him ride off into the distance.

Following the assassination attempt on the chancellor, Zhou Heshuo had investigated the assassins and found that the vast majority were connected to the former dynasty in some way. Enraged, he issued a decree to purge Wei sympathizers throughout the court, and for a time all the officials lived in fear, the atmosphere tense as though facing an approaching storm.

Before Shen Zhiluo’s wedding, Zhou Heshuo had bestowed on him a compound with three courtyards; everyone in that household except Xing Nu belonged to Zhou Heshuo. So regarding Shen Zhiluo, he felt reasonably at ease — as long as Shen Zhiluo maintained his marriage connection to the General’s residence, the two households could keep each other in check.

But what Zhou Heshuo hadn’t anticipated was that his subordinates would suddenly come to report: “Lady Zhuang of the General’s residence has some connection to the former Wei dynasty.”

Zhou Heshuo’s expression turned grim.

In truth, it had only been five years since Great Liang’s conquest of Wei, and people from both dynasties coexisting was common enough. But with two of his men having been killed already, followed by the assassination attempt on the chancellor, Zhou Heshuo remained especially wary of any connection between the families of important officials and Wei sympathizers.

He asked: “Isn’t the General’s residence’s Lady Zhuang known for being close to the central palace’s faction?”

“Yes, Lady Zhuang has some friendship with the Princess Imperial, and it was partly for this reason that they earlier hoped to arrange a marriage between the third young master and the Han family’s daughter, though it fell through in the end due to unforeseen circumstances,” the subordinate reported in detail. “But this humble one learned that she also appears to be of Wei origin — she once received great kindness from the Empress of Great Wei, and even used to make offerings to her memorial tablet, only later, fearing it might invite trouble, hastily removed the tablet and sent it to Yongqing Temple.”

Zhou Heshuo narrowed his eyes.

The main hall of the Kang residence.

Li Jingyun was drinking tea when he suddenly felt a chill run down his spine. He frowned, set down his teacup, and glanced toward the door.

“Kept you waiting, didn’t I?” Kang Zhenzhong strode in carrying something, meeting his gaze with a smile. “All old items — took some effort to dig them up.”

An old, long red-lacquered wooden box was placed on the table, and when the lid was flipped open, a yellowed scroll came into view. Li Jingyun came back to himself and cupped his hands: “Much appreciated for the trouble.”

“Not at all, not at all. It’s rare that you’d want to see this,” Kang Zhenzhong said, laughing, his puffy eyelids softening with something almost gentle. “It’s been over a decade in a blink. We’ve all grown old — only the people in this painting are still young, still just as they were back then.”

The scroll unrolled to reveal three figures — two men standing or leaning nearby, and off to one side by a pond, a dignified young lady seated, her brows like willow leaves, her eyes like stars.

Li Jingyun recognized her — this was Li Shoutian’s first wife, the former mistress of the General’s residence, Lady You.

While Lady You was alive, she had doted on him greatly too, often holding him on her lap, listening to him recite the Three Character Classic. If he recited well, she’d give him sweets; if he forgot a line or two, she wouldn’t scold him, only teach him again gently.

Back then he rarely saw Zhuang Shi — she was never in the residence much, either out shopping or accompanying his father on outings. When she returned, her attention mostly went to his eldest sister and second brother, with only a passing glance spared for him.

Li Jingyun had once suspected he might have been switched at birth, that he wasn’t actually Zhuang Shi’s son but Lady You’s.

But — looking at this painting now, he and Lady You didn’t resemble each other at all. His features were entirely those of Li Shoutian and Zhuang Shi.

Kang Zhenzhong watched him, his thoughts drifting somewhere distant, but after a moment he smiled again: “This old thing is useless to me now — it just upsets me to look at it. Why don’t I give it to you instead.”

Li Jingyun thanked him, then smiled: “You still haven’t let it go, sir.”

Resuming contact with Li Shoutian was, after all, driven purely by mutual benefit — as for this old grudge, it wasn’t so much let go as simply given up on; too many people had died too many years ago, and no amount of stubbornness would change anything.

Kang Zhenzhong looked at him in surprise, then suddenly gave a short laugh: “You’re a clever child. It’s almost a waste, you being merely a top military scholar.”

Li Jingyun nodded to him, knowing he was deflecting with words and not wanting to press further. He rolled up the scroll and rose to take his leave.

Wen Guzhi was waiting outside; seeing him come out, he climbed into the carriage with him.

“Little sister-in-law is quite the go-getter too — with the household this busy, she still hasn’t forgotten to cause trouble for Lord Kang,” he said as soon as he sat down. “If the people below hadn’t caught on quickly, Lord Kang might not have escaped this one.”

Li Jingyun clicked his tongue: “Told her already not to act rashly.”

“Kang Zhenzhong’s political stance is extreme — he advocated wiping out all the Wei people to bring peace to the realm, so plenty of people from the former dynasty died in his prisons. Asking little sister-in-law to let go of that grudge seems rather difficult,” Wen Guzhi shook his head. “Little sister-in-law does have a knack for handling things, though — instead of making a big scene like others might, she simply dug up an old case Lord Kang mishandled years ago, hoping to ride the momentum of the Princess Imperial’s desire for revenge against the crown prince and take him down along with it.”

He couldn’t help but feel worried: “Who would have thought little sister-in-law would turn out to be this formidable — looks so soft and gentle, but there are deep layers underneath.”

Li Jingyun gave a light snort: “She’s hardly that formidable. If this lord hadn’t stopped her, she’d have gotten herself thrown in prison long ago.”

Looking at him with a complicated expression, Wen Guzhi said: “We can say whatever we want, but could you drop that proud look on your face? Little sister-in-law is your person now — if she does something that could cost her her head, one slip and you’ll go down with her.”

“Won’t happen.” Li Jingyun leaned back comfortably against the armrest. “This lord knows where to draw the line.”

Yin Huayue did harbor resentment in her heart, so she was determined to seize any chance for revenge — but there was something that interested her even more than killing Kang Zhenzhong.

He returned to the residence and, without a word, hung several paintings up in the room.

Huayue came back from the main courtyard and, upon entering, saw that the spot where the torn painting of eight horses used to hang had been replaced with a painting of romantic affection between a young couple.

A petite young lady was being pulled to half-recline on a soft couch, shy and dazed, while the figure seated on the couch bent down to place a gentle kiss on her cheek.

—Why did this thing look so familiar? Huayue narrowed her eyes and studied it for a while, then suddenly remembered the sketch Li Jingyun had once thrown out the window.

So he hadn’t thrown it away at all — clearly he’d retrieved it, painstakingly finished the painting, and even had it mounted.

Her face flushed, she stepped forward to take it down.

“Hey.” Li Jingyun emerged from the side, stretching out a long arm to pull her back. “This lord went to so much trouble redecorating this room — don’t mess it up.”

Redecorating? Huayue turned her head in confusion and saw that not only this one painting but several others had been newly hung around the bed and outer chamber — the one in the outer chamber was a new painting of the eight horses, and the one by the bed—

She leaned in closer to examine it, her expression puzzled: “Why does this person look so much like the General?”

“That’s the painting Lord Kang gave me today — it really is a painting of my father and him, along with the former Lady You,” Li Jingyun explained, his expression natural. “It’s an old painting, the brushwork isn’t bad, might as well hang it here as an antique to dress up the place.”

Huayue paused, a shadow of something flickering across her eyes.

Li Jingyun pretended not to notice, leaning in to press her down onto the soft couch, licking the corner of his mouth with a low laugh: “Now that we’ve got that painting of romantic affection up, shouldn’t we follow its example a little?”

The person in his arms grew a bit annoyed, baring sharp teeth again, but he was unfazed, offering his wrist for her to bite; once she’d bitten her fill and released it with a small huff, he lowered his head to close the distance.

When it came to managing Steward Yin, Third Young Master Li had by now become quite the expert.

Afterward, having thoroughly teased her, he said: “Mother’s old nanny from before seems to have fallen ill recently too — she’s staying in the back of the west courtyard. If you have time, go check on her. She used to take this lord out to play in the streets often when I was little.”

“All right,” Huayue agreed.

She’d always wanted to know what had happened in this household in the past, but could never find a way to learn. What Li Jingyun had just said pointed her in a clear direction — so there was an old nanny in the west courtyard who knew things.

Having attended to Zhuang Shi’s medicine, Huayue immediately took Shuangjiang to the west courtyard.

The old nanny was elderly, suffering with her illness, and once Huayue fed her medicine, changed her clothes and bedding, she was so delighted she practically treated her like family: “There are still good people in this household — good people indeed.”

Shuangjiang found this strange: “If she served by madam’s side before, how did she end up in a state like this?”

By the rules of the General’s residence, servants past the age of fifty could take their pay and retire home. This nanny was at least sixty, and instead of being cared for by children in filial retirement, she was still living in this small room.

Huayue was curious too, and looked up to see the old nanny’s eyes moist with tears, murmuring: “I did something wrong, it was my fault, I deserve to be punished.”

The two of them were startled; Shuangjiang immediately went to shut the door, and Huayue held her hand, saying gently: “The third young master still thinks of you — he specifically asked me to come check on you. If you’ve suffered any injustice, please, tell us.”

Hearing the words “third young master,” the old nanny’s tears fell even harder: “He’s a good child, it’s my fault, I didn’t watch over him properly, I let him witness something he shouldn’t have seen — I’ve had no one to tell for ten years, no one to tell.”

She began sobbing. Huayue hurried to fetch a handkerchief and waited patiently for her to finish crying before hearing her tell the story slowly.

Zhuang Shi hadn’t been the principal wife when she married in — she’d been an orphan girl the General had rescued from outside, and she’d won his favor greatly.

The original wife had been Lady You, who was generous and magnanimous, treating Zhuang Shi like her own younger sister and never contesting her for favor. But who could have expected that once Zhuang Shi won the General’s affection, she grew arrogant and never showed Lady You any courtesy at all. Even Li Jingyun had been raised by the old nanny and Lady You.

One day, Zhuang Shi came out from the palace and suddenly went to see Lady You. At the time, the servants had all been sent away, and the courtyard was empty. The old nanny, bringing the third young master back from outside, happened to hear some commotion in the main room.

They went to look, and saw Zhuang Shi handing Lady You a vial of medicine. Lady You opened the stopper and asked with a smile: “Doing this — won’t you be afraid, in the end?”

“No,” Zhuang Shi answered, cold and resolute.

Lady You looked at her deeply, then tilted her head back and poured the medicine into her mouth. Li Jingyun, pressed against the crack in the door, watched with his own eyes as blood spilled from Lady You’s mouth, and she collapsed like a withered flower from the bed into Zhuang Shi’s arms.

At only ten years old, the child made no sound at all — he simply pulled the old nanny away and said to her quietly: “Nanny, you’re getting on in years too, always following me around, it must be tiring for you. Why don’t you go live in the west courtyard instead — I’ll have a few maids attend to you.”

Recalling how the third young master had looked then, the old nanny’s hands trembled: “You weren’t there to see it — such a small child, and yet he carried the whole bearing of the General about him. This servant, so many years his senior, was actually afraid of him — afraid.”

Huayue’s face had gone pale as she listened.

She had imagined many possible reasons for the rift between Li Jingyun and Zhuang Shi, but never once had she imagined that Li Jingyun had witnessed Zhuang Shi committing murder.

His own birth mother had killed the household’s principal mistress, and at that young age, his first instinct had been to settle and protect the other witness. All these years, it seemed he’d never once given this old nanny the chance to leave the General’s residence.

But Zhuang Shi — Zhuang Shi was such a gentle person. Why would she kill someone? Could it really just be for the position of principal wife of the General’s residence?

Huayue’s brow furrowed tightly, and she asked hesitantly: “Lady You died — did the General never investigate?”

“No,” the old nanny shook her head. “The General only gave Lady You a grand burial. He probably had his suspicions, because after that, he never favored Zhuang Shi again. But he never asked where the poison came from, nor did he drive Zhuang Shi out of the household.”

What could be the reason for that?

An image surfaced in her mind of the figure in the painting hanging in Li Jingyun’s study. Huayue rose to take her leave, and once outside, she said quietly to Shuangjiang: “Have them hold off for now. As for Kang Zhenzhong — let’s leave him be for the moment.”

Shuangjiang was puzzled: “Does this have something to do with Kang Zhenzhong?”

“I don’t know, but for now, keeping him alive is definitely the right call,” Huayue said, striding toward the main courtyard, her expression still complicated. “There are things we might still need to draw out of his mouth.”

“What else is there to draw out? Isn’t it already clear enough?” Shuangjiang said. “Madam, out of jealousy, killed the previous mistress, and because of that the General grew cold toward madam, and the third young master doesn’t want to get close to her either.”

Huayue shook her head: “No, that’s not right. The most important point is — Zhuang Shi is gentle by nature, she isn’t capable of something so ruthless. There must be some hidden circumstance behind this. Besides, the old nanny said the General used to favor madam a great deal — why would madam be jealous of Lady You? To the point of sacrificing her own status and favor just to kill her?”

Shuangjiang fell silent for a while, glancing at her furtively, then said quietly: “People are woven through with both good and evil — someone being good to you doesn’t mean they’re good to others. This servant wanted to say it before — madam treats you well because she owes a debt to the late Empress. In your eyes she’s a kind, good person, but as you just heard, who can really say what lies in a person’s heart?”

Huayue’s steps faltered, and she turned to look at her: “A debt to the late Empress?”

Realizing she’d let something slip, Shuangjiang’s body stiffened for a moment, but only a moment — she went ahead and spoke plainly: “Our madam was originally from Wei. She served in the palace, and once, when she got into trouble, she nearly lost her life — it was the late Empress who saved her. That’s also why, so many years later, madam disregarded the danger to the General’s residence and rescued you from the palace, bringing you back to be cared for.”

Her pupils contracted; Huayue clenched her sleeve tight.

“I didn’t mention it before because you were so grateful to madam, and madam doted on you enough — this servant didn’t think there was any need to bring it up, just let you think madam was an old friend from the former dynasty, offering timely help in your hour of need. But having just heard what that old nanny said, this servant thinks — you don’t necessarily have to assume madam is innocent.”

Someone capable of feeding another person poison — how innocent could they really be? Zhuang Shi’s current fate could well be considered her just deserts.