A woman’s boudoir was vastly different from a man’s. When Lan Zhou was eight or nine, there were no taboos—he’d wandered in and out as he pleased. Later, as he grew older, he had to follow proper etiquette. To see her, he met in the main hall, basically losing qualification to enter the inner chambers.

Layer upon layer of curtains, lamplight revealing a hazy dream. He walked as if treading on clouds—with each step, his heart leaped violently. That his iron-blooded father could rest in such a world of warm jade and fragrant softness seemed somewhat incredible, and somewhat enviable.

When he married his consort in the future, would it be like this too? Unfortunately, there probably wasn’t another woman in this world who could match Grand Princess’s refinement and elegance. When the Dowager Consort scolded him, she liked to use “just like your father”—these words weren’t without reason. Because he worshipped his father so much, everything about himself aligned with his father. His father’s forbearance and strategy, even his thoughts and preferences—he followed unconsciously. So the woman his father loved must also be the best, most irreproachable. From betrothal until now, he’d always felt regret. There was only one Princess Hede in the world. If he could wait, wait for someone who resembled her, he would marry without hesitation.

But where could such a person be found? The family pressed urgently, giving him no time to wait. None of the people on those betrothal lists interested him, but since she also hoped he would settle down, he couldn’t disobey. Like when they found him chamber maids—though he clearly disliked it, to make her happy, he still complied. He only wanted to be a filial son and worthy grandson before her, forever bringing her comfort and satisfaction.

Father and she were a match made in heaven. Moving in official circles, surrounded by upright men, he’d never paid attention to women. But this legitimate mother had given him entirely new understanding—women weren’t only for continuing family lines; they had thoughts, their own convictions. Several times she’d had her inner officials investigate Nanyuan—he knew this. Previously he’d have disliked someone so “meddlesome,” but this time, far from feeling aversion, he found her admirable. This was how an imperial princess should behave. Though her methods were naive, not sitting passively awaiting fate was also maintaining proud dignity.

His affection for her far exceeded that for his birth mother. But he dared not harbor fantasies, knowing this was treasonous—worthy of the eighteenth level of hell. Yet a youth’s admiration surely wasn’t sinful! He just wanted to see her, exchange a few words with her.

She was in the deepest part of the curtains, each layer lifted like peeling silk from cocoons. He heard his own nervous breathing, his face reddening from cheekbones to ears.

The final layer was silk gauze, gently drooping. Standing close, his breath could lift it high. The world beyond the curtain was hazy—candlelight sprinkling gold dust on every object. He saw someone lying on the canopy bed, back turned outward, thin satin quilt covering her waist, outlining graceful curves usually hidden beneath loose robes.

His mind buzzed, heart panicking greatly. He knew he should immediately retreat, but couldn’t move his feet. Then, losing his head, he inexplicably reached for the silk curtain. Just as his fingertip touched it, he saw a dark shadow move beside him. Stunned, glancing sideways, it was more terrifying than seeing ghosts—his father stood there with a grim face, looking ready to devour him alive.

He was speechless, at a loss. Father said not a word, turning to go outside.

He knew this was bad, following dejectedly with hanging head. Father remained silent, crossing the entire Prince’s mansion, finally exiting the main gate, leading him into the ancestral hall.

Ancestors above, candles on both sides illuminating cold, indifferent faces. Liang Shi said “kneel down,” taking a whip from the wall, each word ice-cold: “Today we enforce family law.”

His face was deathly pale, dejectedly lowering his head: “This son was wrong.”

Father-son dialogue was simple—no need for many words. This matter was unspeakable; no one wanted to expose that wound.

He saw his father’s robes beside him. Suddenly a whip came down. In the hot weather, clothes were already thin, unable to withstand that fury-laden blow. He felt stinging pain across his back—a thin line from shoulder to waist and hips. He bit his teeth, not making a sound.

Liang Shi’s heart bled with hatred. His good son, once his pride—who knew that beneath the surface lurked a demon. While he still lived, the boy harbored such base thoughts. Could he still be called human? Using all his strength, wanting to beat him to death in one go—keeping this unfilial, unbrotherly wretch would ultimately bring disaster.

Countless lashes fell until his skin split and flesh was mangled. Yuwen children were hardened on horseback—even facing death, they wouldn’t beg mercy. The ancestral hall echoed only with whips whistling through air and crisp sounds on his spine. He gradually weakened, collapsing on the prayer cushion, convulsing and contorting, still making no sound.

Meanwhile, Chang Bao’s rescue finally arrived. The two masters had left the mansion silently—if not for Chang Bao’s cleverness in reporting to the Dowager Consort, no one in the mansion would know such chaos had erupted.

The Dowager Consort entered weeping, seeing her eldest grandson nearly beaten to pieces on the ground, trembling like candle flame in wind. Frantically calling for doctors, she stamped her feet interrogating Liang Shi: “Have you lost your mind? A perfectly good child beaten like this!”

Liang Shi threw down his whip, panting heavily: “Mother, don’t interfere. He did wrong—I’m teaching him a lesson to remember, so he won’t dare repeat it.”

The Dowager Consort shouted angrily: “Nonsense! When you were small, your father disciplined you too—did he ever beat you like this? He’s about to marry—using such vicious methods, you’re unworthy as a father!”

Crouching to help the child, Lan Zhou gasped in pain. The Dowager Consort grew even more heartbroken, crying and wailing: “Heaven! My child, my heart and liver, what can be done, what can be done…”

Liang Shi ignored her, only saying: “Tonight he kneels here. Without my word, no one may let him rise. With the wedding approaching, he may temporarily remain in the mansion. After the wedding, he goes immediately to the army. Only when he resembles a proper person may he return.”

The Dowager Consort didn’t know what madness had seized him, looking at him with full resentment: “What exactly did he do wrong? You must give me an explanation. I raised him from small—I know his character. What great crime did he commit for you to be unable to tolerate him?”

Without clear explanation, the Dowager Consort wouldn’t yield, but how could he speak such secrets?

He turned away, saying hatefully: “Let him tell you himself—shame should kill him.”

Lan Zhou gasped, grasping the Dowager Consort’s hand, trembling: “Great-grandmother, don’t ask. Grandson did wrong—Father’s discipline is correct. Grandson… only regrets having no hole to crawl into… Great-grandmother, please don’t ask.”

His father’s command he dared not disobey, enduring pain to kneel again. Back wounds mixed with cold sweat, piercing with pain, but he dared not cry out. When the Dowager Consort told him to rise, he remained motionless. This beating had awakened him—how absurd his earlier behavior was. Death wouldn’t be excessive.

Liang Shi strode away. Lan Zhou knelt rigidly—father and son equally stubborn. The Dowager Consort had no choice but to have his clothes removed. When the doctor came to kneel behind him applying medicine, she wiped his sweat with her handkerchief while questioning: “What exactly happened to anger your father so? Tell Great-grandmother so I can be at ease.”

He shook his head, still those same words: “Great-grandmother, don’t ask. Grandson was confused.” Further probing, he pressed his lips together, refusing to speak unto death.

Wanwan only learned of this the next day, sending people to inquire. They said the child was still kneeling in the ancestral hall. Having been beaten last night and kneeling all night, she worried, pursuing Liang Shi: “What great matter warranted this? He’s still small—if he did wrong, scolding him would suffice. Why beat him? Send someone to let him rise. Tormenting him like this—doesn’t your heart ache?”

Hearing her plead for him made him even more aggrieved, but unable to say much, he only evaded.

Seeing him inflexible, Wanwan angrily wanted to go see for herself, but he stopped her. Having no choice, he sent Rong Bao to relay permission for the young master to return and recover. Holding her back, he said seriously: “You’re kind-hearted, truly treating him as your own, but you can’t forget—he’s ultimately born of Lady Tala. However much you favor him, you must maintain proper boundaries. You all say he’s small—he’s about to marry, still small? Don’t manage his affairs anymore. Once his wife enters, just leave him to his consort’s care. You can enjoy leisure.”

Wanwan fell silent. Thinking carefully, he probably disliked her managing too much, fearing gossip. Indeed, when she entered the mansion, Lan Zhou was only eight—a charming little boy. Now grown and able to establish his own household, her continued protection naturally displeased him.

She hummed agreement: “I understand your meaning—I’ll act as you say henceforth. But you can’t beat him. Since you say he’s grown, you must preserve his dignity.”

Liang Shi looked at her helplessly, pinching her cheek: “Rest assured, I’ll listen to you—won’t beat him again.”

She smiled, picking a cherry to feed him: “You really are frightening when playing the stern father. The eldest young master is such a good child—he can surpass his teacher in future. Just watch.”

He shifted his gaze to the vast sky, somewhat absent-mindedly responding: “Everything about him suits me, except insufficient self-respect and self-discipline. Living without framework isn’t good. Capability provides confidence, but unrestrained capability becomes a blade that harms oneself.”

Looking deeply aggrieved, she didn’t know the inside story, frowning and sighing: “You’re too impatient. At thirteen, how many in the world can match him? When he’s twenty, worry then—not too late. Now you must allow him mistakes. Over-managing children isn’t good.”

But after this incident, Wanwan also withdrew. Except for visiting once that day, she never went to his courtyard again.

Regarding the hidden circumstances, Xiao You actually knew some vaguely—after all, the young master had barely entered before being caught by His Lordship. When she checked the bedroom, Grand Princess was sleeping. Later hearing the young master received family punishment, probably His Lordship resented his lack of propriety.

Xiao You was a big mouth, often unable to control herself. She’d planned to tell Wanwan, but unexpectedly His Lordship summoned her first, instructing her to keep that night’s events buried. This confirmed that the young master’s beating related to Grand Princess, but having received warning, she dared not presume, swallowing this enormous secret.

Fortunately, these injuries healed before the wedding, not delaying the wedding night. Wanwan sent people to Songjiang Prefecture to bring back the three secondary consorts, so on the wedding day the new daughter-in-law could pay respects to Lan Zhou’s birth mother—otherwise she wouldn’t even know who bore her husband.

Lan Ting and his mother had truly good feelings. Seeing his mother step from the carriage, he ran over calling “Mother,” knees hitting the ground, sliding far on the stone slabs. Wanwan watching felt pain, suspecting his pants were torn.

Lan Ting cried and shouted: “You won’t leave this time, will you? You must stay—next year I’ll also marry. Running back and forth is troublesome.” Then teary-eyed, he looked back at Wanwan: “Adoptive Mother, don’t let my mother leave!”

Such a big person, already tall as his mother, yet with his older brother about to marry, he still clung to his mother. Seeing him like this, Wanwan couldn’t bear to separate mother and son. Besides, his words made sense—since so, let her stay.

She nodded. Lan Ting cheered joyously. The three secondary consorts curtsied to her in thanks. She gently waved, turning toward the garden.

“Sometimes I feel they’re the real family, while I’ve always been an outsider.” She looked at Tonghuan sadly: “Being back at Nanyuan so long now, still no movement at all. I feel I may never conceive again in this lifetime.”

Tonghuan naturally consoled her fully: “Miscarriage is originally traumatic, especially at five months—as the saying goes, ‘ripe melons fall naturally.’ The damage to your body from forced removal—we needn’t speak of it; His Lordship understands. You’re still young—with proper rest, who knows when you’ll conceive? No matter how late our heir comes, he’s legitimate—His Lordship loves him most. What do you worry about?”

Though saying this, she felt inadequate: “A woman’s best years I wasted entirely in Beijing. Sometimes thinking about it, I truly hate it. If that pregnancy had gone smoothly, the child would be walking now, calling ‘Mother,’ wouldn’t he? Such pity—shallow mother-child fate, I couldn’t keep him…”

Tonghuan patted her back: “Broaden your heart. Now the mansion is lively again—you should be cheerful, don’t let people see jokes.”

Among the three secondary consorts, Lady Tala was most capable of managing relationships. After returning, she sought out Longen Tower to kowtow to her, forehead striking the ground resoundingly.

“Thank you, Your Highness. This servant will never forget your kindness unto death.”

Wanwan couldn’t bear such treatment, having maids help her up. Lady Tala kept chattering: “During the Songjiang period, they all missed Nanjing, but this servant felt secure, knowing Your Highness cherished the eldest young master and would care for him greatly. Later hearing Your Highness accepted the boy, this servant truly… not hiding from you, my birth was lowly—I feared dragging the child down, making him unable to hold his head high. Now with Your Highness’s great grace, the child can finally straighten his spine. Because of this, he could find a good marriage—otherwise, seeing his illegitimate birth, people might not have agreed. Your Highness, you’re this servant’s benefactor. Henceforth this servant will repay you with utmost gratitude…”

About to kneel again, Wanwan quickly stopped her: “I kept him because the child is good—we’re all family. Don’t speak so formally.”

But Lady Tala shed tears, curtsying: “From today, this servant is your serving maid. As long as you don’t despise me, I’ll serve alongside the other girls. I can pour tea, pass water, do anything. Whatever you need, just command me—I await your orders.”

Hearing this, Tonghuan laughed: “Lady Ta’s sentiment is good, but if you do all the work, what do we do? Besides, you’re the young master’s birth mother. Though serving our Princess might be reasonable in principle, it’s improper in sentiment.” Regardless of whether she used calculation, before Grand Princess wasn’t the same principle as before His Lordship? Probably her thoughts weren’t on serving but on showing herself. This wouldn’t do—if she found an opening someday, who could reason with her!

Understanding in her heart, though Wanwan treated people sincerely, she kept three parts wariness, vaguely deflecting: “Tonghuan speaks correctly—don’t be so meticulous. Since we’re under the same roof, if we get along, just interact as sisters. Don’t speak of serving maids—it sounds so distant if others hear.”

Lady Tala immediately showed alarmed expression: “You saying this wastes this servant’s fodder. You’re being polite; if this servant takes it seriously, that’s pushing beyond bounds.” Seeing her looking tired, she immediately withdrew tactfully: “Having disturbed Your Highness half the day, I should take leave. Tomorrow is the eldest young master’s joyous day—this servant will come early to serve Your Highness attending the front.”

Saying this, she curtsied and withdrew.

Tonghuan watched her go, seeing her steps still carrying humility even from afar, couldn’t help clicking her tongue: “This secondary consort has good sense—no wonder she was most favored before the Dowager Consort, first to share His Lordship’s bed, first to bear a son.”

Wanwan leaned against her cushion smiling: “Must have exceptional qualities, otherwise couldn’t have raised a son like Lan Zhou.”