“Wah—”

Huaiyou opened her mouth and vomited everything she’d just eaten, clean and thorough.

Seeing his sister vomit, Huaizuo shouted at Zhao shi: “Mother, don’t bully Sister! Sister vomited!”

“Me bully?”

Zhao shi laughed a “ke ke ke” laugh, her whole face contorting.

The laughter stopped abruptly.

Zhao shi stared directly at her son: “Zheng Huaizuo, which eye of yours saw me bullying her?”

Little Huaizuo was startled by the madness on his birth mother’s face and couldn’t help leaning toward Zheng Huantang.

Zheng Huantang, sensing his fear, roared lowly: “Zhao Qingyun, stop acting crazy!”

The man who normally spoke to her in soft, gentle tones was now so angry that veins bulged on his forehead one by one. Zhao Qingyun was instantly stunned.

The late summer wind blew over stuffily. The courtyard was deathly silent.

“Little You, Father will carry you back to your room.”

Huaiyou didn’t move. A pair of eyes watery from vomiting looked at Zhao shi in bewilderment.

“Hurry up!”

She shook her head. “Brother can take me back to my room. Father, you stay with Mother.”

“Get up here!”

Zheng Huantang’s voice turned stern. Huaiyou flinched in fright and could only climb onto his back.

Huaizuo didn’t understand how Mother, after drinking too much wine, suddenly seemed like a different person—like a madwoman, completely unreasonable.

He looked at Mother with a timid expression, then took off running after Father and Sister.

The once-lively square table now had only Zhao shi sitting alone.

Her man, her son—they’d all gone to comfort that girl.

“Why? She’s the one who bullied me. She bullied me for eight whole years!”

Xie Zhifei looked at the forlorn Zhao shi. How he wished he could pull his eight-year-old self back and tell him to pat Mother’s back with his hand, nuzzle her arm with his head—Mother would feel a little better.

He also wanted to tell Zhao shi that the fortune teller was right—Mingyue was the person with the best fate in the entire Zheng family.

He also wanted to tell her that Sister was very pitiful—if you showed her more care, Father would be grateful to you.

But Zhao shi couldn’t hear the words he spoke. Even if she could hear them, she wouldn’t listen.

In eight years’ time, her heart held only resentment and hatred.

…

Zheng Huantang only returned to the front courtyard half an hour later.

Zhao shi was nowhere to be seen, and the food had gone completely cold.

There was still a pot of wine on the ground. Zheng Huantang picked it up, filled a cup and drained it, then filled it again and drained it again, cup after cup.

Xie Zhifei felt he wasn’t drinking wine but the impossible dilemma the world had given him.

As a son, he had achieved both loyalty and filial piety.

As a parent, he had failed his son and daughter.

As a husband, his day-after-day tolerance and attempts to please hadn’t earned his wife’s understanding.

A round moon hung on the treetops, illuminating this cold and quiet courtyard and a silent man whose heart was crawling with difficulties.

Xie Zhifei suddenly felt that compared to Mother, the most pitiful person in this world was actually Father—living in the cracks, turning himself into someone who couldn’t be right no matter what.

After finishing the last mouthful of wine, Zheng Huantang slammed the wine cup heavily on the table, stood up, and walked toward the side room.

Xie Zhifei quickly followed.

The side room was pitch black—no lamps lit.

Zhao shi lay fully clothed on the bed, face turned inward, back turned outward.

Zheng Huantang sat on the bamboo couch by the window, looking at Zhao shi’s back without speaking.

Just silently watching like this.

Zhao shi waited for a while. Not receiving the man’s soft words and placation, she simply spoke first.

“I hate her, Zheng Huantang. I truly hate her. As soon as she arrived, my daughter became a nun. Though born the legitimate young lady of the Zheng family, she must spend her life with Buddhist lamps and sutras, dying without even a name of her own.

For eight years my son couldn’t walk out of this courtyard. Other children could enter school, could have sons of aristocratic families as friends. He’s alone and lonely, able only to play with a few ants.

You had great prospects originally. Of Father-in-law’s five sons, you alone were accomplished in both civil and military arts. The result? These eight years you could only be confined to Begonia Courtyard.”

Zhao shi sat up, patting her own chest, a face full of grievance.

“And me? My parents raised me, yet I can’t even be filial—I can’t see my own birth parents even once.

The children have grown to eight years old, and the two elders haven’t seen them once—they’re their genuine biological grandchildren! How can you all bear it?”

“Is there more?”

Zheng Huantang spoke heavily: “Say it all.”

“Yes!”

Zhao shi looked at him coldly: “Your son’s heart and eyes are full of her. Even I, his birth mother, come second. And you…”

Zheng Huantang: “What about me?”

Zhao shi ground her teeth: “You treat her better than your biological son, with more patience. You teach her this and that.

When our son wakes up a little late for practice, you take a stick to him. Even a vicious tiger doesn’t eat its cubs!”

“Are you finished?”

“Not finished!”

Zhao shi’s eyes were full of thick hatred.

“I said I wanted to have another child. What did you do? After every time we consummated our marriage, you personally boiled a contraceptive soup and coaxed me to drink it. For her sake, you wouldn’t even let me have children. Why?”

“Because I’m surnamed Zheng, Zhao Qingyun!”

Zheng Huantang’s normally gentle gaze turned cold as ice shards, and colder than his gaze was his voice at this moment.

“Eight years ago, I told you—my Zheng family owes someone an enormous debt of gratitude.

My father swore a poisonous oath that one day he would repay that person. Taking Huaiyou into Begonia Courtyard is that repayment. Did I tell you this or not?”

Zhao Qingyun was stunned by the question.

“Not only did I tell you, I nearly knelt down to beg you.”

Zheng Huantang: “Because of this matter, for eight years I’ve humbled myself before you every day.

If you say east, I go east. If you say west, I go west. When you smile, I smile along. When you’re upset, I try every way to coax and humor you.

I know I’ve wronged you, so all these years I’ve tried every method to compensate you, to please you, hoping that for the sake of our marriage, you could see my difficulties and think of me too.

Do I really want that child to face Buddhist lamps and sutras her whole life? Don’t I want Huaizuo to walk into school openly and with dignity? They’re also my children, Zheng Huantang’s children! But what choice do I have?”

Zheng Huantang’s throat rolled, rolling down two lines of hot tears.

“Do you know what kind of days I’ve lived these eight years?

Every sentence I say to you, I must be careful, afraid some word will irritate you and make you sad.

Every day when I walk out of Begonia Courtyard, I take a long breath of relief. And every day when I walk into Begonia Courtyard, I hold my breath tight.

Why?

Because I fear you!”

Zheng Huantang lowered his eyes, his features expressing indescribable weariness.

“Whenever you think of Water Moon Convent, you spend all day wiping tears. The slightest dissatisfaction and your whole face droops down, your expression icy cold, your tone icy cold, as if everyone in this world owes you.

When you’re tired, you lose your temper at me and act petulant, showing cold faces to the two children. And me?”

His gaze looked toward Zhao shi again, his voice choked: “Who can I tell? This belly full of bitter water—who can I pour it out to?

Zhao Qingyun, I’m also human. Every day for eight years I’ve lived like this. Have you felt even a thread of heartache for me?”

“I…”

“You haven’t!”