In the thirty-sixth year of the Jianzhang Era of the Great Zhou Dynasty, Song Chuyi died in the midst of a theatrical performance.

It was early spring. After a gentle drizzle had passed, the sky cleared, and Duke Yingguo’s estate was bathed in glorious spring light. Delicate butterfly orchids carpeted the entire back garden. From a distance, one could see an expanse of pale blue, complementing the crabapple blossoms that had just begun to bud. The sight was harmonious and enchanting, as if one had stepped into a fairyland.

It was Duke Yingguo’s birthday, and he had invited the most popular opera troupe in the capital to perform. The celebration was lively and joyous beyond measure.

Song Chuyi lay curled up rigidly on her bed, motionless.

The room’s furnishings were sparse—aside from a carved wooden bed and a few chairs, there was nothing else. It bore no resemblance to her former preferences, nor did it reflect even a trace of the dignity befitting a legitimate daughter of the Song family.

Luyi returned from collecting this month’s allowance to find her mistress listening intently to the commotion outside. Her nose tingled with sorrow as she walked to the bedside and tucked the quilt around Song Chuyi, coaxing gently, “The sky has only cleared for a few days, and there’s still the late spring cold to worry about. Madam, please be careful not to catch a chill. Shall I close the window?”

Outside, voices surged like a tide, and laughter rang out like wind chimes carried on the breeze, making it impossible to find any peace.

The expression on Song Chuyi’s face seemed caught between joy and sorrow. Suddenly, she clenched her hands and erupted into violent coughing.

Luyi hurried to pat her back, but when her hand touched Song Chuyi’s skeletal frame, she couldn’t help but feel her eyes stinging with tears. “Madam, please don’t dwell on it. The Duke, he… he’s just temporarily bewitched…”

How could it be mere bewitchment? He had always been perfectly clearheaded. If anyone had been bewitched, it could only have been Song Chuyi herself, couldn’t it? An expression finally appeared on Song Chuyi’s face. Her lips trembled as if she were about to cry, and just like in her childhood, she extended her hand toward Luyi with an aggrieved air.

She had been coughing up blood for many days now. Over the past six months, her condition had worsened almost daily.

Seeing the bright red pool of blood in her mistress’s palm, Luyi felt dizzy and faint. Her legs gave way and she collapsed to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

As things stood now, in the entire Duke’s estate, aside from Luyi, there was no one left who would shed tears for Song Chuyi. Song Chuyi struggled to lift her other hand and pat Luyi’s head. “Don’t cry.”

Everyone must die eventually. She felt she had lived long enough.

Outside the window, sunlight streamed brilliantly and colorful butterflies flitted about. In a trance, it seemed like her younger years—the scene so familiar that she felt if she just opened her eyes, she would still be in the family school, with the teacher and her sisters inside, and her own family’s garden outside.

And she would still be that vibrant, radiant Sixth Miss of the Song family, rather than this Duke’s wife in name only, no better than a divorced woman.

A gust of wind swept in through the window, carrying with it the unbridled, delighted giggles of the servant girls, quickly pulling Song Chuyi back to reality.

“Second Madam gave everyone an extra month’s allowance.”

“I heard that the opera troupe invited today came all the way from Jiangnan. They’re best at singing Huangmei tunes. The Duke specifically went to engage them for Second Madam.”

They chattered endlessly, like sparrows in the branches, chirping annoyingly.

Luyi’s eyes blazed with fury, her teeth nearly biting through her lip. She wished she could go out and sew their mouths shut one by one. She turned back to look at Song Chuyi, her eyes full of pleading. “Miss, don’t listen, don’t listen to them—they’re all talking nonsense.”

How could it be nonsense? Song Chuyi mustered her strength to pat Luyi’s hand, but her gaze drifted into the distance.

The Second Madam they spoke of was Duke Yingguo Shen Qingrang’s equal wife—who was also Song Chuyi’s own stepsister, the Eighth Miss of the Song family, Song Chuning. She was the cinnabar mole that Shen Qingrang truly treasured in the depths of his heart.

Shen Qingrang loved her to distraction, to the point where he couldn’t even wait for Song Chuyi to die before having everyone in the estate address Song Chuning as Second Madam, simply waiting for Song Chuyi—this usurping First Madam—to die so he could elevate Song Chuning to her rightful position.

Song Chuyi was not heartbroken by all this.

Before her marriage, she had been extremely close with her stepmother and stepsister. Three years ago, when Shen Qingrang rescued Song Chuning from nearly drowning, forcing Song Chuning to marry him as an equal wife, Song Chuyi had never even suspected anything.

What grieved her was that she and Song Chuning were supposed to be sisters, yet in the end, she had been completely betrayed and isolated while Song Chuning basked in triumph, possessing everything.

But why had all this happened?!

She clutched at her collar, nearly unable to breathe, hatred causing her to bite through her lip. If she herself had made mistakes, been foolish and absurd, she would have accepted falling to her current state.

But that wasn’t the case at all.

She still remembered three days ago when Song Chuning had come to see her, smugly triumphant. Her face had worn its usual spring-breeze smile, but every word she spoke pierced Song Chuyi’s heart like daggers.

“Song Chuyi, we’re at least daughters of the same father—how can you be so stupid?”

Her opening line left Song Chuyi stunned and completely unprepared.

“Did you really think the Duke spurned you because you were negligent and let the young heir drown? He never liked you, not ever! From childhood to now, the one he’s always loved is me! I’m his childhood sweetheart! If you hadn’t made such a fuss about insisting on marrying him, how would I have been reduced to being just an equal wife?! No matter how pleasant it sounds, I’m still not the original wife—I still have to perform the concubine’s courtesies before you!” Song Chuning grabbed Song Chuyi’s hair and dragged her from the bed to the floor, her expression vicious and completely unlike her usual gentle demeanor.

Her usually tender and graceful stepsister—the one Song Chuyi had regarded as her own sister—advanced step by step, her few words shattering Song Chuyi’s spirit.

“I… I didn’t know…” she stammered, collapsing to the floor, looking at Song Chuning through tear-filled eyes, her mind unable to process what she was hearing.

Song Chuning extended her hand—maintained as delicate as a spring onion—to grasp Song Chuyi’s throat. With an expression mixing resentment and mockery, she curled her lip. “What didn’t you know?”

That her own sister had also been deeply infatuated with Shen Qingrang, just as she herself had been. If only she had known… if only she had known… Song Chuyi’s heart ached bitterly, her face turning pale.

She stuttered and stumbled as she clutched at Song Chuning’s elaborate dress hem, speaking in an almost pleading tone. “If I had known, I certainly… certainly wouldn’t have competed with you…”

Back then, to marry Shen Qingrang at all costs, she had used every means possible. In the end, even her grandmother and father, who had always doted on her, grew disgusted with her and stopped speaking to her altogether. Over these years, counting carefully, the only person from her natal family she remained close to was Song Chuning. She was terrified—terrified that in the end she would be left utterly alone, with no one in the world who cared whether she lived or died.

But at this moment, Song Chuning burst into loud laughter, laughing so hard she bent over, laughing until tears streamed down her face.

“Song Chuyi, how can there really be someone as foolish as you in this world?! Did you even hear clearly what I just said?! I’m not here to tell you how much I’ve suffered—I’m here to tell you just how incredibly stupid you’ve been!” She flung Song Chuyi aside with ease, as if tossing away a dead dog.

“Do you even know why your son died?!”

Song Chuyi clenched her fists, her face deathly pale, her pupils dilating suddenly.

“Because Shen Qingrang didn’t want to continue playing the devoted husband with you anymore! Because you’d already annoyed Grandmother and Father so much they didn’t even want to see you! So as long as your son died, he could justifiably detest you over the matter, kick you far away, and make room for me—do you understand or not?!”

She truly wished she had gone deaf in that moment.

But she hadn’t.

So many things she had never carefully considered before suddenly had reasonable explanations.

Why her son’s wet nurse, who had never had any problems before, had so conveniently disappeared on that particular day. Why the physician they summoned had been so slow—so slow that the child’s breathing had stopped before he finally arrived late…

Song Chuyi’s hands gripped her collar tightly, veins bulging on her forehead, yet all she received in return was Song Chuning’s increasingly cold laughter.

“Song Chuyi, you’re hopelessly stupid! That day you threatened death, even went so far as to use suicide to force Grandmother and Father to arrange this marriage for you—but look at the result?!”

“The result? Instead of creating an alliance, you created enmity! Where is there even a trace of love from Shen Qingrang toward you? Even toward a son bearing his own bloodline, he could bring himself to be so ruthless—you can see just how deep his loathing for you runs!”

“Your mother was stupid, but I never imagined you’d be even stupider! If I hadn’t been holding in a bellyful of rage, unwilling to let you die so blissfully, you would have died a confused ghost!”

Recalling all this made Song Chuyi’s head feel as if it would split apart, the pain so intense she wanted to writhe on the ground.

Seeing her gasping desperately for breath, on the verge of suffocating, Luyi panicked as well. Snot and tears streamed down her face as she frantically tried to help Song Chuyi catch her breath while wailing and calling for help.

But where would anyone come from?

She was no longer that Sixth Miss Song of the Earl’s estate who was dearly loved by Old Madam. She was now a useless wretch who could expire at any moment—someone Shen Qingrang despised and didn’t even want to look at.

Song Chuyi’s eyes were bloodshot, her face flushed crimson as she struggled to draw ragged breaths.

She had been confused her entire life, yet in the moment of death, she was cruelly clearheaded. In this marriage, she herself bore responsibility. She had threatened death and insisted on marrying Shen Qingrang at all costs—that was her mistake.

But from beginning to end, Shen Qingrang had never shown the slightest dissatisfaction with this marriage.

On the contrary, back then he had sent kites to express his feelings, given her a bracelet as a token of their commitment, and been most attentive.

Once her usefulness expired, she became in his words a shameless fool who threw herself at him uninvited. She was cast aside, and even their own son had not been spared.

She had truly been blind—blind to have fallen for that wolf-hearted, dog-lunged creature Shen Qingrang!

Intense pain assaulted her, and her consciousness was already growing unclear. Heavy drowsiness made it difficult for her to keep her eyes open.

Yet still she used every ounce of her remaining strength to force her eyes wide open.

She was filled with hatred! So much hatred that she could not rest in peace even in death. She hated her own pig-like stupidity for listening to and obeying her stepmother and stepsister. She hated even more that for the sake of an ungrateful wretch, she had alienated herself from her grandmother and father, ultimately meeting such a wretched end with her body dead and her name ruined.

Her consciousness gradually scattered, and the scene before her eyes finally blurred. Only the hatred in her heart seemed ready to burst from her body. Song Chuyi’s eyes bled from the strain as she finally, unwillingly, drew her last breath.

Outside the window, a gentle breeze blew. The music of strings and bamboo filled the air pleasantly. On the stage, the performer sang mournfully:

“I thought wealth and honor were cast in iron for life,

Yet who could know that human fate is determined in an instant.

I remember when I too was coy and willful,

But now,

I cannot help but believe in karmic destiny.”