The commotion last night had not gone unnoticed; by dawn, all the concubines were aware of it. Concubine Luo came specifically to visit, yet dared not utter a word—she simply sat to the side, sipping tea in silence. Gu Jinchao remained by her mother’s side, keeping her company.
Over at Tongruo Pavilion, upon hearing the news, Concubine Guo was lost in thought for quite some time. Eventually, she went downstairs to chat idly with Concubine Du, only to find her seated in the main hall chanting scriptures. A statue of Guanyin, the Bodhisattva of Great Compassion and Mercy, was enshrined there. Incense burned throughout the year, the scriptures never ceased.
As the maid brought tea, Concubine Guo held the cup in hand and began speaking to Concubine Du:
“Perhaps we should go and offer some support as well. Over the years, Madam has treated us fairly. As for Concubine Yun’s incident… I truly don’t believe she had a hand in it.”
Concubine Du, murmuring her sutras, had Song Miaohua’s words echoing in her mind. She shook her head and replied,
“Best not to get involved. You’ve always known to stay clear of trouble—don’t let yourself be dragged in now. Whether it’s Madam or Concubine Song… how could we possibly compare to either of them?”
After giving it some thought, Concubine Guo had to agree. If even Concubine Du refused to be entangled, she certainly had no place to speak. Thus, she went to pay her customary respects to Madam Ji, behaving as though nothing had occurred, and quietly returned to Tongruo Pavilion.
Gu Deshao still had not come.
Madam Ji, exhausted from a restless night, lay awake, eyes fixed on the sunlight slanting through the lattice panels. Her body was weary to the bone, yet sleep remained elusive. Seeing Jinchao’s concerned expression, she managed a smile:
“I remember all you said last night. The matter with Yuping isn’t so simple—I’ll speak to your father about it…”
Jinchao noticed how her mother’s hand still clutched tightly at the brocade quilt and understood her heart was far from at ease.
Madam Ji kept her gaze on Gu Jinchao for a long while without shifting. Finally, she released the quilt and reached out to clasp her daughter’s hand tightly, smiling:
“My Chao’er is now even more capable than her mother… You take more after your grandmother… Tell me, did you see your cousin Ji Yao during your last visit to your grandmother’s?”
Her grandmother must have already told her mother of the desire for Ji Yao to marry her.
“I saw him,” Jinchao answered.
Madam Ji nodded with a smile.
“Ji Yao is handsome, mild in temperament, and proper in conduct… You may not have liked him before, but he truly is a good man.”
Jinchao gave a helpless, bitter smile.
“Mother, with how you speak of him, if you like Cousin Ji Yao so much, I’ll ask Grandmother to have him come and keep you company.”
Madam Ji chuckled and tightened her hold on her daughter’s hand:
“There is no one I like more than my Chao’er.”
At that moment, Xu Mama lifted the curtain and entered the west side room, bowing.
“Madam, the Master has arrived.”
Jinchao glanced at the sun slanting through the window—finally, a breath of relief. If her father and mother could speak clearly, perhaps her mother’s heart would find some ease.
She stood just as Gu Deshao entered. One look told her his expression was far from pleasant. She bowed and said:
“Father, greetings. It’s rare to see you visit Mother. Since she’s gravely ill, please talk with her for a while—it will surely bring her comfort.”
He ought to have heard what transpired last night. This was her attempt at persuasion, all the while being mindful of her mother’s health.
Though Gu Deshao clearly wished to scold her, he couldn’t bring himself to show it before her. He gave a slight nod.
“You and Xu Mama step outside. I have something to say to your mother alone.”
The sliding screens of the west side room closed behind them. Jinchao moved to the main hall and had a stool brought over by the maid, sitting quietly.
Inside, Gu Deshao stared at Madam Ji for a long time.
She was no longer young—her face sallow and gaunt, with veiny hands resting atop the brocade quilt. Strands of white now peeked from her once-black hair, hidden among the knot she’d coiled high. He could still recall the first time he laid eyes on her—so radiant and lovely. Where had that young Ji Han gone?
How had the years slipped by like this? While Song Miaohua remained youthful and beautiful, she had aged so much.
A wave of complicated feelings surged through Gu Deshao. He had spent much time at Juyliu Pavilion, reminiscing about the past with Madam Ji and with Concubine Yun. Yet each time the image of Yun Xiang’s death rose in his mind—her blood-soaked form, the pallor, the pain—he found himself burning with renewed fury at Madam Ji. No matter how ill she was, some part of him harbored a dark, bitter resentment, believing that perhaps she deserved it.
At last, he spoke.
“You should be well aware of what happened last night. Chao’er stopped Yuping at the covered gate—I’ve heard it all from the guards.”
Madam Ji looked up at his face. Nearing forty, Gu Deshao had only grown more composed and striking in appearance. It was no wonder Concubine Luo was so devoted to him.
She nodded.
“I know. Please, husband, have a seat and speak.”
Gu Deshao responded coldly,
“Sit and talk? No need. I’ll say what I came to say and leave.”
He stared hard at her, still unable to comprehend how she could be so heartless—to harm Yun Xiang, who had always been so loyal and kind to her.
“I’ll ask you directly. Did you swap Yun Xiang’s medicine? Was it you?”
Madam Ji gave a bitter smile.
“So you believed Concubine Song’s words that easily? You truly think I harmed Yun Xiang?” She inhaled deeply. Though Jinchao had already told her of this, facing Gu Deshao’s indifferent face still pierced her like cold thorns.
He could be swayed by Concubine Song so effortlessly, could so readily believe Yuping’s tale. They had been married for twenty years—had those years not been enough for Gu Deshao to understand what kind of woman she truly was?
“Chao’er already questioned her. Yuping wasn’t someone Song Miaohua stumbled upon by chance—she sought her out deliberately to frame me. Otherwise, why sneak her out in the dead of night… Husband, you must see clearly.”
Gu Deshao only scoffed.
“Let’s set aside how Song Miaohua found that maid. What she said rang true. Do you think this is the first time I’ve suspected you? Others may believe you incapable of harming Yun Xiang—but I know you. You never targeted Concubine Song because she never posed a threat to you. But Yun Xiang… was different. I… truly cared for her, and you could see it. That’s why you were jealous!”
Hearing this, Madam Ji drew a deep breath, her voice strained.
“She served me since childhood and was unwaveringly loyal. How could I possibly harm her?”
Indeed, she had once felt uneasy seeing the affection Gu Deshao had for Yun Xiang—but she would never have gone so far.
Gu Deshao’s voice turned colder:
“People change. You were afraid. When Rong-ge’er was born, it was Yun Xiang who cared for him. You saw how close they were and grew resentful. You punished her to the kitchen. Months later, you brought her back—but placed Rong-ge’er under Yuping instead. Do you deny this?”
A heavy fatigue washed over Madam Ji. She closed her eyes briefly, then reopened them to speak, her voice subdued:
“What mother doesn’t feel a sting when her own child prefers another? Yes… I did harbor selfish feelings. Though she was kind to Chao’er and Rong’er, I could not wholly accept it. They are my children. Even if handed to a nursemaid, they should not grow so attached to someone else…”
After all, Gu Deshao’s heart had been wholly set on Yun Xiang back then—how could she not have seen it?
She was human. More than that, she was his wife. How could she not have felt jealousy?
Hearing her admission, Gu Deshao’s voice sank further.
“…Those two maids were your trusted attendants. After Cuiping’s death implicated Concubine Yun, I already suspected you. You wept bitterly, saying you’d be better off dying with Yun Xiang. But you cried for hours without even glancing at her corpse. That alone told me what you truly felt! If you truly cared for her as much as you claimed, why not go with her then?”
His words were vicious—cruel to the bone. Ji Shi pressed her lips tightly together. So he had suspected her from the beginning.
Yes, she had been jealous of Yun Xiang—jealous that in dying so young, Yun Xiang would be remembered by Gu Deshao for the rest of his life. She could admit that she hadn’t wanted to see her in death. She could admit that, once Yun Xiang became pregnant, she no longer felt the same closeness as before. But… never would she have harmed her! There was still the bond of mistress and maid between them—and more importantly, Yun Xiang had been carrying Gu Deshao’s child.
“If you truly believe me capable of such a thing, then there’s nothing more to say,” Ji Shi murmured quietly.
Gu Deshao gave a cold laugh.
“You’ve always had a disagreeable temperament. Don’t put on this pitiful act as though you’ve been wronged. And not just Yun Xiang—what about your own illness? How many times has it flared up? Who else but you caused all that? You wanted to compete with Concubine Song for my favor, even went so far as to add rhubarb to your own medicine. You even tried to provoke Chao’er into making trouble for her. Concubine Song manages the household affairs on your behalf, which isn’t easy. Why must you always make things difficult for her?”
“You’re always so proud, saying you were the one who elevated these concubines. And yet you still come to me, crying grievance. I ask you—was it truly your decision to elevate them? Including Yun Xiang? Were any of them raised without my word? You claim the virtue of generosity, and still get to play the victim. How convenient—to have it both ways.”
Ji Shi looked up at him, eyes brimming with tears so thick she could no longer see clearly.
She couldn’t even see the man before her anymore.
She had been married to Gu Deshao for twenty years. In the early years, when she couldn’t conceive, she had sought doctors everywhere. Just as she finally became pregnant with Jinchao, he had taken a liking to Song Miaohua. Could she refuse to help him bring her in? He had attended a banquet at the Song residence, and was seen strolling under the corridor with their third young lady—without even a maid present. If that wasn’t an affair, what was it?
He didn’t fear sullying Song Miaohua’s name. Yet she—she feared the implications on his reputation and career more than her own.
Even while bearing Jinchao, she had arranged everything for his new concubine and set up Song Miaohua’s residence. Seeing how his two personal maids struggled under his favor, she had even elevated the Du girl to concubine status, sparing her the shame should she bear a child.
She had done so much for him… and he thought it was all just for the sake of appearing virtuous?
Ji Shi felt she should be heartbroken, but in truth, she felt nothing at all. Only her trembling hands could no longer hold onto the quilt. Her chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. She shut her eyes, and cold tears slipped from the corners, soaking into her temples.
It seemed… there was nothing left to say. No affection, no loyalty. After twenty years of marriage, Gu Deshao could still twist everything she was.
“I no longer trusted Yun Xiang, that much is true,” she whispered. “But I never harmed her… That rhubarb—it wasn’t me who added it. It was Concubine Song… I simply didn’t think it was worth telling you. But why is it that you never believe me?”
Gu Deshao let out a long sigh.
“You think you’re still believable? All these years, I’ve distanced myself from you—not only because of Yun Xiang’s death, but because of you. Your own temperament. If you were truly sick, you’d have died many times over. But you know full well there’s something odd about your illness. Stop using it to fight for favor—it only makes me despise you more.”
Ji Shi sat for a long time in silence before she finally stirred. Upon hearing those last words, she let out a laugh.
Using her illness to vie for favor?
The gall of him to say such a thing.
She had poured the best years of her life into this man—and yet he had one concubine after another.
Ji Shi turned her head slightly, gazing at the cluster of blooming poppies outside the half-opened lattice.
Year after year, the flowers remain the same… but the people change.
At last, Gu Deshao said coldly,
“Concubine Yun is dead. If you still have a shred of conscience, you should be tormented by guilt every night!”
Hands folded behind his back, he looked down at her.
“Whatever feelings we once shared as husband and wife—they’re gone now. Ji Han, focus on recovering. Do not stir up more trouble. Truth is, I’ve drafted several divorce letters in the study. In the end, I burned them all. Not for your sake—but for Chao’er’s. She will have to marry one day…”
With that, Gu Deshao turned and left Xiexiao Courtyard.
Ji Shi sat in stunned silence, eyes fixed on the flowers outside. Sunlight slanted through the windowpane, golden and warm—yet she felt not a trace of warmth within her.
Juju’s ramblings:
Honestly, Gu Deshao was insufferable in this chapter. He’s sharp enough when it comes to politics and court matters, but completely clueless—or maybe just deliberately blind—when it comes to what’s happening in his own household. He believes rumors without question, dismisses twenty years of loyalty, and blames a sick, isolated wife for everything while shielding a manipulative concubine. Maybe he feels guilty for not protecting Yun Xiang and he’d rather point fingers than admit it…