Shortly after her death, the courtyard where she had lived was quickly cleared out.

The steward came to report to Chen Xuanqing: “Seventh Master, I’ve had all the former mistress’s daily items taken out and burned. The Mistress asks if the residence, now left unused, could be given to several elderly maids from her family?”

Chen Xuanqing was reading.

Hearing the steward’s words, he raised his head from the book and gazed out the window for a long time.

Outside, heavy snow was falling. The eaves and pathways were blanketed in white. Beyond the courtyard gate, several maids in bulky cotton jackets were sweeping snow. His expression remained perfectly calm.

After a moment, he lowered his head and said indifferently: “If the Mistress wants to use it, then let her.”

The steward acknowledged this, then hesitated before adding: “The former mistress was most fond of that plum tree. In previous years at this time, the plum blossoms would bloom beautifully. This year is strange—as if knowing someone has died, it barely produced any buds, and now they’ve all withered without a single bloom…”

He looked up, his face expressionless, and asked: “What are you trying to say?”

The steward suddenly realized he had misspoken and immediately slapped his mouth: “It was a mistake! This servant spoke in error!”

Everyone knew about the relationship between the Seventh Master and his stepmother—the steward had brought up exactly what he shouldn’t have.

After the steward withdrew, Chen Xuanqing put down his book and called for his servant. While putting on his cloak, he said: “Today I’ll visit the Mistress. Go tell her.”

The servant left immediately, and Chen Xuanqing stepped out of his study.

Chen Yi, who had been waiting nearby, followed silently, raising an umbrella for Chen Xuanqing as they walked into the heavy snow.

Chen Xuanqing noticed that Chen Yi’s temples had more white hair—he too had aged.

Once, Chen Yi had only held umbrellas for his father, but now the Chen household belonged to him. He stood in his father’s position, replacing everything that had been his father’s. And he was no longer the Chen Xuanqing of years past; now he resembled the Third Master Chen.

Chen Xuanqing said softly: “Chen Yi, how many years have you been by my side?”

“Reporting to the Seventh Master, it has been ten years.”

“Ten years…” Chen Xuanqing sighed, looking at the snowy day. “After ten years, you still cannot control your heart?”

Chen Yi’s expression changed suddenly, and he knelt on the ground. “Seventh Master, regardless of what you’ve heard from others, I…”

Chen Xuanqing waved his hand, indicating he didn’t need to say more.

“I haven’t heard anything from others, but Chen Yi, don’t you know that the world has changed.” A cold smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. “In today’s world, people’s hearts are no longer what they once were—did you think I was unaware of what you’ve been doing?”

Chen Yi lowered his head without speaking.

“Don’t follow me anymore. Kneel here. We’ll discuss this when I return.”

Chen Xuanqing said coldly. He walked away with his guards, and someone else came forward to hold the umbrella for him.

Chen Yi knelt in the snow, not daring to move.

Chen Xuanqing arrived at Yu Wanxue’s quarters, where she was talking with Chen Xuanlin’s newly wedded wife.

Chen Xuanlin, sitting beside his wife, quickly stood up when Chen Xuanqing entered: “Seventh Brother, you’ve come.”

Yu Wanxue was delighted; she hadn’t seen Chen Xuanqing for a long time. She had a maid quickly bring over the soup she had stewed that afternoon and personally helped Chen Xuanqing remove his outer cloak.

After dinner, Chen Xuanlin held Chen Xuanqing’s hand: “Seventh Brother, I heard… she died?”

Chen Xuanqing had never allowed Chen Xuanlin to call Gu Jinchao “mother.” As a child, like all children, Chen Xuanlin had cried and clamored for his mother, but Chen Xuanqing could give him everything he wanted except for a mother.

Chen Xuanlin still remembered when he was very young, perhaps only three or four years old when his mother had held him once—the soft embrace, the brilliant golden hairpin that gleamed. When he reached out to grab it, he was immediately taken away by servants.

When Chen Xuanlin was a bit older, he often sneaked to the outside of that courtyard, hoping to see the person who had given birth to him. But whether it was bad luck or not, he never saw her come out, and he only dared peek through the crack of the door.

Once, he did see a back figure, not knowing if it was her, but Chen Xuanlin’s heart pounded, feeling it must be her! But he never saw her again after that.

“Yes, she’s dead,” Chen Xuanqing was drinking tea.

“What about her belongings?” Chen Xuanlin continued to ask. “Are they still there?”

“A dead person’s belongings are unlucky. I’ve had them burned,” Chen Xuanqing’s tone remained indifferent.

Chen Xuanlin was very disappointed. He responded with a dispirited sound, his eyes fixed on the burning candlestick, not knowing where he was looking.

His birth mother had died.

He should wear mourning clothes, but he didn’t dare. Because the servants all said that his mother had been personally sent to a side courtyard by the former mistress—she wasn’t his mother and had no right to be his mother.

Chen Xuanqing said nothing more. After eating, he didn’t stay, saying he needed to return to Ninghui Hall to handle matters.

The wind and snow were too heavy on the way back; even with lanterns, it was difficult to see clearly. Chen Xuanqing saw someone kneeling in the corridor. His guards immediately stepped in front of him, drawing their swords and asking coldly: “Who’s there? Raise your head!”

The person had a thin build, clearly a woman.

She raised her head, and seeing the man protected among the guards, she quickly knelt forward a few steps: “Seventh Master, this servant is Shiye who served the Mistress… no, the former Mistress. This servant begs you, please return the Mistress’s body to me!”

She saw Chen Xuanqing standing at a distance, protected by guards, looking down at her from his height. That cold face showed not the slightest expression.

“The body has already been buried.”

“No… this servant went to look, the grave is empty.” Shiye’s face was covered in tears. “This servant knows you hate the Mistress, but the Mistress is already dead. No matter how much you hate her, please leave her body intact! This servant begs you!”

She began to kowtow repeatedly.

Chen Xuanqing calmly said: “…Pull her away.”

Shiye, a weak woman, naturally couldn’t match the strength of the guards. She was quickly pulled aside. Chen Xuanqing walked away without mercy. Shiye could only shout at his back: “Chen Seventh, do you know how much the Mistress hated you? Even if you didn’t like her, you shouldn’t have degraded her so! You’re a cold-hearted, merciless beast! Not even giving the Mistress an intact body! The Mistress won’t let you go even as a ghost; in the next life, you’ll surely suffer retribution…”

Her mouth was gagged, and she cried mournfully.

Chen Xuanqing seemed completely unaffected by Shiye. He led his entourage into Ninghui Hall.

“Seventh Master, Chen Yi has gone to receive his punishment,” a guard came to report. “Do you wish to go see?”

“No need,” Chen Xuanqing said. “You may all withdraw.”

The people in the room quickly left. Chen Xuanqing sat in the armchair without speaking.

After a long while, he moved some books from the curio cabinet and took out a small blue porcelain jar.

He smiled at the jar: “You hate me?”

“I rather think you don’t hate me. You don’t even like me anymore. You died just like that, how easy. No need to think about anything, no need to endure anything. Why should I let you go? Let you rest in peace underground?” His voice suddenly sharpened. “Don’t even think about it!”

He hugged the small jar, saying slowly: “You tormented me for a lifetime—I haven’t repaid you yet.” His fingers caressed the jar’s lid. Leaning against the small jar, he closed his eyes and said softly, “Don’t even think about it.”

When he learned of Gu Jinchao’s death, he couldn’t believe it. How could this person die so easily? He had thought Gu Jinchao would live on, and he would let her see that all these good things were his. Gu Jinchao had nothing because she wasn’t worthy. He wanted to torment her continuously, make her watch helplessly as her brother died, as her son disowned her.

Why such hatred? Even he had forgotten.

Perhaps what he hated wasn’t Gu Jinchao, but himself. The more he liked her, the more he hated himself—hated himself for being unable to bear hardening his heart against such a person, for moving her out of the side courtyard to be properly cared for.

Chen Xuanqing placed the small jar squarely on the table. Slowly, the candlelight dimmed. He seemed to see himself as a youth—pure, righteous, proper, and peaceful.

He saw Gu Jinchao talking with an old servant woman. Gu Jinchao asked: “The entire garden is full of red plum blossoms; why is there a winter plum planted here? Red is so lively and festive. Why not cut it down and replace it with a red plum?”

The old woman smiled and said: “Mistress, you don’t know, this winter plum was planted by the young master himself years ago. The Third Master cherished it greatly and never moved it.”

“Oh…” Her expression suddenly became unnatural, her face slightly flushed as she mumbled, “So it was planted by him. Then let it stay!”

He watched from the side without speaking, then turned and left.

Later, she indeed showed great care for that winter plum tree, often adding soil and watering it.

And later still, when he moved her out of the side courtyard, he had her live in this room. She often gazed at the winter plum tree lost in thought, but never again looked at him with that expression.

Chen Xuanqing lay in the armchair, eyes closed and silent. The study was too quiet, making him feel lonely.

Fortunately, he still had her ashes. She couldn’t be buried in the earth and would never be reincarnated. This was good. When he died too, he would grab her soul and take it to the cycle of rebirth.

Thinking this way, he gradually fell into an exhausted sleep.