Tang Gang’s face was dark, a mix of sleep-deprivation and inexplicable anger. Tang Mo, however, behaved as though he didn’t notice a thing—his attitude respectful and faultless.

“Father, did you summon me for something important?”

Tang Gang had plenty of frustration but nowhere to direct it. Was he supposed to be angry that his son prioritized treating his wife’s injury over coming immediately to see his father? Or was it that he’d helped Tang Yaoming secure an official post without asking permission?

Seeing his father like this only made Tang Mo feel more satisfied. He smiled helpfully and offered, “Actually, Father, there’s something I wished to speak with you about.”

“Go on.”

Tang Mo remained pleasant. “A few days ago, I heard Second Uncle was fretting over Cousin Yaoming’s future. But you, Father, were already preoccupied with Eldest Brother’s matters, so I took it upon myself to ask for help from Shi Mao of the Marquis of Qing’s household. It was a long shot, so I didn’t say anything in advance. You know I don’t have much ability—but who would’ve thought it would actually work out? I must admit, I was surprised.”

“Second Uncle was thrilled. He even invited me for drinks today.”

He’d said it all—leaving Tang Gang even more irritated. What could he say? Had Tang Mo slaved over this task, it would’ve been one thing. But no—he simply mentioned it, and the post was handed out. Who could he complain to?

“Well… since it’s done, it’s a good outcome,” Tang Gang said flatly.

At this point, Tang Gang wanted nothing more than for Tang Mo to vanish from his sight. He had planned to reprimand him, but now couldn’t muster the will.

“It’s getting late. Go rest.”

Tang Mo bowed. “If Father has no further instructions, then I’ll take my leave.”

He turned and left with practiced efficiency. Tang Gang shut the door—only to find Wang Shi standing nearby. He jumped. “Why are you just standing there in the middle of the night?”

“Just watching how the Marquis plays favorites,” Wang Shi said coldly. There was no longer any need to hide her contempt.

“If the heir had secured such a post,” she sneered, “wouldn’t the Marquis have hosted a full banquet?”

Tang Gang opened his mouth but said nothing. He went straight to bed.

Wang Shi, too, remained silent, mentally sorting through what valuable items in the household could be gifted to her son and daughter-in-law.

No sooner had he lain down than Tang Gang spoke again. “Don’t always favor the second daughter-in-law. Keep an eye on the eldest as well.”

As if he hadn’t noticed that Wang Shi had been partial ever since both sons married.

Wang Shi replied, “Don’t blame me for preferring the second daughter-in-law. Look how much she’s had to endure in this marriage—yet she still came to greet us daily from the second day after her wedding. She’s respectful and dutiful. And what about the eldest’s wife? Even if I wanted to favor her, has she ever given me the chance?”

“She’s only come to greet me twice. One day she’s ‘unwell,’ the next she has a headache. And now she’s using your son’s injury as an excuse not to come at all. When I’m away, she strolls the household calling on friends. When I return, she shuts herself away. I’ve never scolded her or treated her harshly, but she puts on a show like she’s been wronged. Who is she performing for?”

Tang Gang regretted opening his mouth. Wang Shi was like a lit firecracker lately—touch her, and she exploded. He dared not argue.

He couldn’t help but feel disappointed in Tang Rong, too—he clearly couldn’t control his wife.

But of course, the one most to blame was Tang Mo. A perfectly good night’s sleep had been ruined by him!

Tang Mo, on the other hand, returned to Qiu’shi Courtyard in excellent spirits and slept soundly. He didn’t wake until the sun was already high in the sky. Once dressed, he went to find Xin An, who had also just gotten up—after all, with a “sprained ankle,” she needed rest. Wang Shi had even sent word early that morning saying she was excused from paying respects.

“Our breakfast is not good.” Tang Mo said, glancing at the sparse dishes. He missed the time when the Old Madam was around and breakfast covered the entire table.

Xin An agreed. “Once you’ve tasted luxury, there’s no going back. Starting tomorrow, let’s spend a little more. Or we can just have someone go buy what we want.”

Tang Mo nodded. “Money is meant to improve life, not gather dust.”

And truly, neither of them had ever been known for thrift.

After breakfast, Tang Mo tucked some silver into his robe and headed out. That evening he was treating Liu Mingyuan to dinner. At noon, he’d meet with Shi Mao and his brothers.

“Can you have some hangover soup ready for me tonight? I have to report to the Northern Garrison in the morning, and I might not be able to get up.”

“No problem,” Xin An said.

Tang Mo grinned and turned to go, but Xin An called after him.

“Aren’t you heading to the Northern Garrison? You’ll need proper clothes. Something presentable. Stand still—Chunlü, measure him.”

Tang Mo was taken aback. In both lives combined, only his mother had ever remembered to make clothes for him. He said, without thinking, “All the uniforms are the same. I won’t get to wear it much.”

“Then I won’t bother,” Xin An replied, lifting an eyebrow.

“Wait, wait—of course I want it!” Tang Mo grinned sheepishly. “Make something nice. I already have a seven out of ten in the looks department—pair that with good clothes, and I’ll be dashing beyond compare.”

His shameless tone made Chunyang and Chunlü duck their heads to hide their laughter. Xin An smiled in agreement. “If you look good, I gain face. Don’t worry—it’ll be handsome.”

Tang Mo spread his arms with satisfaction. Having his wife prepare clothes for him—this was something he could get used to. Tao Yiran had certainly never done that. No wonder Tang Rong had lived such a good life before.

Well, now it was his turn to live such a life. And as for Xin An—sharp-tongued and fierce as she might be—he couldn’t deny she was oddly endearing.

After taking a few steps outside, he doubled back to Spring Blossom Court, claiming he wanted to check on his brother’s injury—but really, he just wanted to see Tang Rong looking pathetic.

“Looks like you’re healing nicely, Brother,” he said. “Just a few more days and you’ll be good as new.”

Tang Rong’s swelling had gone down, the bruises mostly faded—a speedy recovery. Still, he was impatient to be fully healed. “Thank you, Second Brother.”

“I heard you helped Cousin Yaoming get that position in the Censorate?”

Tang Mo waved a hand. “Just a bit of luck. I never imagined it would work so easily. Tonight I’m heading out to thank a few scoundrels—I mean, friends.”

His father and brother often referred to his companions as “riffraff” or “scoundrels”, never missing a chance to look down on those who didn’t fit their mold of proper company.

Tang Rong was momentarily speechless. Tang Mo, utterly unfazed, said, “Rest up, Brother. I’ll be off.”

Watching his gleeful departure, Tang Rong clenched his jaw. He was certain Tang Mo had come just to gloat.

Tao Yiran emerged from the room just in time to see Tang Mo’s confident stride and radiant expression. Her mother’s words echoed in her mind, leaving her unsettled. He wasn’t the heir, true—but he gave Xin An every courtesy, and had now succeeded where Tang Rong had failed. It was hard not to see him as capable.

“I thought you were feeling faint. Why are you out of bed?”

Tang Rong turned to support her. “Let’s have the physician come take a look.”

But Tao Yiran was remembering the qi onics and beauty pills Tang Mo had prepared for Xin An—real, practical care. Her heart, already troubled, grew heavier with resentment toward Tang Rong.