Chapter 32 - The Prince’s New Concubine
The grand ceremony of ancestral sacrifice spanned three grueling days. On the journey back, the once clear and tranquil weather took a sudden turn; dark clouds coalesced, and a heavy downpour began to lash against the roof of the imperial carriages. Forced inside by the elements, Yin Zhuli, the Great Matriarch of the Yin family, found herself confined within the narrow space of her carriage.
Shen Tingjiao leaned against her, seeking comfort from the rhythmic patter of the rain. However, as he shifted, his gaze caught a glimpse of something dark and mottled on her neck. His expression shifted from relaxation to alarm. "You..." He reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as he brushed aside the high collar of her robe. "What happened here?"
The bruises were unmistakable—the lingering marks of a violent struggle. Yin Zhuli didn’t flinch. Instead, she caught his hand, bringing his knuckles to her lips for a lingering, playful kiss. "You did it the night before last," she lied smoothly, her eyes dancing with a feigned grievance. "You were thrashing about in a dream and nearly throttled me."
Shen Tingjiao’s eyes widened in disbelief. "That’s impossible! I never move an inch when I sleep!"
Yin Zhuli narrowed her eyes, her voice rising in mock indignation. "Are you suggesting I strangled myself for sport?"
The young Prince Fulu hesitated, his suspicion warring with his lack of memory. He held his own hand up to her neck, measuring the span of the bruises against his fingers. His brow furrowed as he huffed. "These marks... the hand that made them is much larger than mine. How could it have been me?"
In response, Yin Zhuli wrapped her own hand around her throat, mimicking the placement. "Does it look the same?"
Shen Tingjiao shook his head slowly. Seizing the momentum, Yin Zhuli snapped, "Then why are you shouting at me? It wasn't me who did it either!"
Silenced by her aggressive logic, the Prince sat back, though a nagging sense of wrongness lingered in his mind. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but the math didn't add up.
The rain proved to be a blessing for others as well. Because the weather forced everyone into carriages, Qu Tianji was spared the necessity of riding a horse, ensuring that no one discovered the fresh, agonizing wound on his shoulder. The events that had transpired before dawn, beneath the shifting shadows of the flowers, remained a secret shared only by two.
The following day, back at the Manor of Prince Fulu, Yin Zhuli prepared to visit the Yin estate. As she was leaving, she spotted Shen Tingjiao heading out as well. "Hong Ye sent word," she called out, stopping him in his tracks. "Yao Qin is putting his first night up for auction this evening. I’m going to show my support. Are you coming?"
Shen Tingjiao, who had been obsessively trying to figure out the identity of the mysterious "rival" he suspected Yin Zhuli was hiding, jumped at the chance. "Of course I'm going."
"I’ve heard that the second young master of the Qu family, Qu Huaishang, is also a connoisseur of such entertainment," Yin Zhuli added casually. "If it’s convenient, why don't you invite him along?"
Shen Tingjiao didn't fully grasp her intentions, but knowing now that she was Qu Tianji’s biological daughter, it seemed only natural for her to want to build a relationship with her brother. He saw no reason to refuse. "Should I invite the eldest brother, Qu Liushang, as well?"
Yin Zhuli turned back, a brilliant, knowing smile gracing her lips. "The Eldest Young Master has no taste for such things. There’s no need."
***
At the Yin estate, Yin Zhuli headed straight for the Dwelling of Return. The lotus flowers in the Waterside Pavilion by the Stream were in full bloom, their delicate, dark fragrance drifting on the breeze and clearing her mind. Tang Yin was in his usual spot beneath the peach tree. The tree was now lush with verdant leaves, and small, fuzzy green fruits were beginning to peek through the branches—a sight that brought a rare sense of peace to her heart.
A low table sat beside him, holding a tea set and several packets of fish bait. Tang Yin was peacefully fishing by the pond. He didn't look up when she approached, his voice calm and steady. "The ancestral rites are solemn and tedious. You must have been bored to death on this trip."
Yin Zhuli sat beside him, watching the still water. After a long silence with not even a ripple on the surface, she grew restless. "Master... I really can't blame your fishing skills for this. It must be that Hao Jian is too stingy. In such a massive pond, he probably couldn't bear to buy more than a handful of fish. And even then, he probably feeds them so much every day that they're too stuffed to bite! That’s why you can’t catch a single one."
Tang Yin’s lips curled into a faint, amused smile. "Such a sharp tongue. In truth, fishing isn't about the catch. The joy lies in the anticipation. As long as you expect a fish to bite in the next moment, the hours do not feel long or arduous." He looked at her, his gaze warm and gentle. "But you are still young, in the prime of your life, full of spirit and vigor. You don't need to understand these quiet truths yet."
Yin Zhuli leaned closer, resting her shoulder against his back. She disliked it when he spoke this way—as if he were ancient and she were a mere child. "I can listen now and save the wisdom for later. When I’m old, I’ll spend my time just like this."
Tang Yin reached out and patted her head. His palm was slightly calloused, and as his hand brushed past her ear, it left a faint, prickling sensation. "You and I are different. When you are old, you will have children and grandchildren surrounding you, and a husband by your side. You won't have the leisure to sit by a pond and fish."
Yin Zhuli let out a soft laugh but said nothing more.
She couldn't stay long. The ledger room was overflowing with accounts, and samples of new embroidery thread, fabrics, and medicinal herbs required her personal inspection. However, before she could finish her work, a servant from the Prince’s manor arrived, looking flustered.
"Princess Consort... just now, the Prince sent someone back. He said..." The servant stammered, unable to find the words. "He said it’s the Ninth Lord’s new concubine."
Yin Zhuli raised an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued. "Well, that’s excellent. It seems the Ninth Lord has finally come to his senses."
The servant’s face fell into a look of pure misery. "Princess, you... you should really come back and see for yourself."
When Yin Zhuli arrived back at the Manor of Prince Fulu, she found He Jian in a state of absolute fury. He was pointing a finger at Xiao He, shouting, "What kind of nonsense is this? Even if the Ninth Lord wanted a concubine, he couldn't possibly take... this!"
"Take what?" Yin Zhuli’s voice was light, her face full of mock cheer. "As long as it’s a living person, anything is fine. Advisor, don't be so hard on Xiao He."
"Princess Consort." He Jian bowed, though his hair practically stood on end from agitation. "But that woman... that woman, she, she, she..."
Yin Zhuli looked around. "She’s a woman, isn't she? That proves our Ninth Lord is perfectly normal. Why is the Advisor so—" Her words cut off abruptly as a figure stepped into view.
It was indeed a woman. She had all her limbs, and her facial features were functional.
Yin Zhuli stared in silence for a long moment before turning back to He Jian. "This... this is the woman the Ninth Lord wants as a concubine?"
Xiao He looked like he wanted to cry; He Jian looked like he wanted to die. Both nodded solemnly. Yin Zhuli turned back to the woman, forcing a polite smile onto her face. "May I ask... how old are you, exactly?"
The woman lowered her eyes, appearing to be from a humble background. "To answer the Princess Consort, I am forty-six this year."
Yin Zhuli scanned her from head to toe. If this woman had any secrets for preserving her youth, she certainly wasn't using them. Her skin was sagging, her face was dotted with age spots, and her hair was a tangled mess of grey. If she had said she was sixty-four, Yin Zhuli would have believed her without hesitation.
*Does our Ninth Lord... really like this?* she wondered, bewildered. *His tastes are... unique, to say the least.*
Finally, she turned to Xiao He. "Explain. Now."
Xiao He wiped the cold sweat from his brow. "Princess, today the Ninth Lord invited the Second Young Master Qu to the Thousand-Acre Fortune Den to race crickets. At the entrance, this woman was clinging to her son, weeping and wailing. The Ninth Lord paid thirty-two taels to buy her, claiming he was taking her as a concubine."
The Thousand-Acre Fortune Den was a gambling house under the Yin family's "Fugui" brand. Because of its name, gamblers often called it the "Thousand-Acre Fortune Workshop" for good luck. As fate would have it, when Shen Tingjiao and Qu Huaishang arrived, they saw an elderly woman desperately pulling at a young man. A crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle. The man, annoyed beyond reason, kicked her away with a vicious strike and headed straight for the den.
The woman’s wails filled the street. Her son had once been a hardworking butcher, and after his father passed away, the family had lived comfortably on his earnings. But since he had fallen into the trap of gambling, he had frequented the Fortune Den daily. He had already lost his wife and sold his own son. His mother had been reduced to begging. Today, he had sold their last remaining asset—their house—and had come to the den with the proceeds, desperate to win it all back.
When Shen Tingjiao heard the story, he was consumed by a righteous fury. He stepped forward and helped the sobbing woman up. "To think such a thing could happen under the sun! Men, go in there and drag that scoundrel out!"
Xiao He, being a personal attendant with some martial skill, and with the help of the den’s manager, Gou Qian, quickly dragged the man out. Though the butcher was terrified, he tried to act tough. "My Lord, I have broken no law! This money is my own property. On what grounds do you seize me?"
The woman’s crying intensified at the sight of him. Shen Tingjiao glared at the man. "How much did you get for your house?"
The man knelt, trembling. "Thirty-two taels, my Lord. I have the deed right here."
Shen Tingjiao, dressed in his regal crimson robes, looked down at him with cold disdain. "A mere thirty-two taels? How do you expect to win back your fortune with that pittance?"
The man blinked, stunned by the question. Shen Tingjiao leaned in, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. "How about this? I’ll marry your mother as a concubine and give you another thirty-two taels. What do you say?"
The crowd gasped. The woman froze in shock. The butcher hesitated. "This... my Lord, since ancient times, who has ever heard of a son marrying off his mother?"
Shen Tingjiao didn't miss a beat. "You sold your wife and your son; why can't you sell your mother? Besides, who else is going to pay thirty-two taels for an old woman like her? It even relieves you of the burden of caring for her in her old age."
The man thought for a moment, the lure of the silver winning out over any shred of filial piety. "Fine!"
Ignoring the woman’s cries and the mockery of the onlookers, Shen Tingjiao tossed thirty-two taels at the man’s feet. Then, his expression turned deadly serious. "Since I have married your mother, I am technically your father now, am I not?"
The man, busy scooping up the silver, froze. Shen Tingjiao stepped closer, a predatory grin on his face. "And since I am your father, it is only right that I discipline you, isn't it?"
Before the man could respond, Shen Tingjiao pinned him to the ground. Gou Qian and Xiao He, fearing the Prince might get hurt, held the man’s limbs down, allowing Shen Tingjiao to deliver a thorough and satisfying thrashing.
Between punches, he shouted to his guards, "Take my new concubine back to the manor and hand her over to the Princess Consort! Oh, and bring this 'son' of mine along too. I intend to educate him properly..."
***
Back in the present, Yin Zhuli pressed a hand to her forehead, unable to listen to any more. She looked at the man standing before her. "And who are you?"
The man flinched, his face a map of bruises and swelling from the Prince’s "education." He was built like a tank, with dark skin and the thick muscles of a butcher. "To answer the Princess Consort... I am Zhang Qi's son, Zhang Qing."
Yin Zhuli waved a hand dismissively. "Take the woman to the Water-Serenity Courtyard to rest."
Later that night, at Guangling Pavilion, Yin Zhuli saw Zhang Qing again. He looked even more pathetic under the bright lights of the entertainment house. When he saw Yin Zhuli approaching, he had clearly learned his lesson. He dropped to his knees and performed three deep kowtows.
"Mother Consort!" he bellowed.
Yin Zhuli, who considered herself a woman who had weathered many storms, felt a violent shudder run through her entire body at the sound of that title.
