Shang Ji stood frozen where he was, utterly stunned by what he had just heard.
Though he had long known that one day he would become a father — had even imagined how he would make arrangements when that time came — when the moment truly arrived, all his carefully planned thoughts scattered like snow in the wind. He could not think, could not even breathe.
Seeing him like this, Du Jingyi couldn’t help but laugh softly, hiding the sound behind her sleeve.
She had imagined this scene countless times — how the stern and composed General Shang would react when told the news. Yet she had never expected that the man who commanded thousands with a single order would be struck dumb like a wooden statue.
Only when she reached out and poked his arm gently with one slender finger did Shang Ji seem to awaken. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself before his face broke into an expression of unrestrained joy.
“I’m… going to be a father!”
His voice trembled slightly, carrying the raw disbelief of a man who had faced the battlefield but was unprepared for this kind of happiness.
For the first time, Du Jingyi saw pure joy and tenderness mingled in his eyes — emotions so warm they seemed to melt the winter chill.
He must already love this unborn child deeply.
She smiled and teased lightly, “Yes. Even Her Majesty the Empress mentioned this to me some time ago. Now, it seems I’ve lived up to her expectations.”
Shang Ji frowned slightly, then realization dawned. “So, the last time I saw your expression—it was because of what Her Majesty said?”
Du Jingyi nodded with a quiet laugh.
Shang Ji hesitated, then reached out as if afraid his touch might startle her. “May I… touch it?”
“Of course,” she replied, amusement twinkling in her eyes. “But it’s still early. Mama Dou said it’ll take four or five months before we can feel the baby’s movement.”
He placed his hand gently on her abdomen. It was warm to the touch, no different from usual, yet his expression softened instantly — eyes rippling with tenderness like calm water under the moon.
“Just rest well and nurture the child,” he said solemnly. “I’ll protect you both — with my life if I must.”
His words carried the firm tone of a general, but to Du Jingyi, it was also the gentlest promise in the world.
She smiled softly. With his current rank and prestige, there were few who dared oppose him — but she knew well that their household was not without hidden thorns.
Shang Ji seemed to sense her thoughts and continued, “Don’t worry about Madam Wei or the Third Branch. I’ll deal with them swiftly. Since you’re with child, you should focus on your health.”
Du Jingyi shook her head lightly, her tone calm yet resolute. “No, General. The net has already been cast — I’m simply waiting for the fish to take the bait. I’m only using my wits, not straining myself.”
Seeing that he still looked unconvinced, she blinked at him, voice soft and coaxing, “General…”
Her tone carried a rare hint of coquetry. Shang Ji’s resolve melted in an instant. He sighed in surrender but still added sternly, “Very well. But tomorrow, I’ll assign another team of Anwei [hidden guards personally trained by the general, responsible for secret protection] to watch over you. That way, I’ll feel more at ease when I’m away.”
Du Jingyi nodded obediently. “Alright. I’ll follow your arrangements, General.”
Ever since learning she was pregnant, Shang Ji had been subconsciously on edge. It wasn’t that he doubted her safety — but rather that he had never before witnessed the process of childbirth, from conception to birth, and it filled him with a vague, protective anxiety.
Originally, he had only intended to return home for a single day.
But when he found everyone in the East Courtyard “ill,” he decided to stay and take care of matters himself.
Fortunately, all his men were battle-hardened elites, and there were no ongoing wars. His absence from the frontlines caused no great harm.
He submitted a memorial to the palace requesting temporary leave, and the news spread swiftly throughout the capital.
A few days prior, during the Duke’s birthday banquet, the Prince of Fu had humiliated the Duke’s grandson — a scandal that already set tongues wagging. Now, with the entire East Courtyard suddenly “falling ill,” rumors spread like wildfire.
Some whispered that the Duke’s Mansion was plagued by misfortune this year.
Others said that General Shang Ji had slain too many on the battlefield, and their restless souls now haunted his household.
Everyone had their own version of the story.
But Shang Ji, resting at home, ignored them all. He spent his days tending to his wife — a general’s battlefield now reduced to the small domestic world of the Xitang Courtyard.
If she craved something sour, the table that night would be filled with vinegar-soaked dishes.
If she wanted something sweet, even her water would be laced with honey.
In short, whatever Du Jingyi desired, she had — and her days passed in comfort and gentle peace.
One afternoon, she stood before the tall bronze mirror in her chamber. The mirror, polished bright enough to reflect a candle’s flame, revealed her changing figure.
She traced her cheek with a faintly dissatisfied sigh. “I thought I’d remain a graceful, slender beauty forever. But now, after only a few months, I’ve grown rounder already. At this rate, our daughter will surely be twice as plump as I am.”
From behind her came Shang Ji’s quiet laugh. He studied her reflection seriously before replying with soldierly conviction, “Don’t worry, Madam. I’ve inspected thoroughly — you’re not fat.”
Du Jingyi shot him a look of disbelief.
Turning to her maid, she gestured toward her waist. “Yingtao, I remember when I wore this skirt last year, there were still two fingers’ width to spare — now it fits perfectly snug.”
Her tone was half exasperated, half self-conscious — the mild fretfulness unique to expectant mothers.
Yingtao covered her mouth and giggled. “Please don’t worry, Madam. Even if you gain some weight, it can be lost after childbirth. Look at your own mother — she bore two children and still kept her slender figure.”
That made Du Jingyi’s mood brighten at once. Her mother’s example reassured her more than any coaxing words from her husband ever could.
Watching her laugh, Shang Ji arched a brow. Clearly, he still had much to learn about soothing his wife.
As the couple exchanged smiles, a voice came from outside the curtain.
“General, Madam — Madam Xing has arrived.”
Shang Ji exchanged a glance with Du Jingyi and nodded. “My Aunt? Let her in.”
“Yes.”
Moments later, Madam Xing entered briskly, the hem of her cloak still dusted with snow. Her expression was filled with concern.
“I heard you were ill,” she said as soon as she stepped inside. “Why are you standing up? I’ve been in the palace these past few days speaking with Her Majesty the Empress, and only today did I learn that everyone in the East Courtyard is sick! I hurried straight here. How are you feeling? Are you truly alright?”
Her words tumbled out like beads rolling from a broken string, leaving both Shang Ji and Du Jingyi momentarily speechless.
Yingtao, ever tactful, stepped forward with a smile and presented a cup of steaming tea. “Madam Xing, please have some hot tea first. It will warm your hands.”
Madam Xing accepted the cup and moved closer to the brazier by the Yinsi stove [a portable copper heater used indoors during winter]. Though she herself wasn’t cold, she worried the chill might affect Du Jingyi, who was in delicate condition.
Seeing her aunt’s concern, Du Jingyi smiled gently. “I’ve troubled you, Aunt. I’m perfectly fine. The rumors outside have simply gotten out of hand.”
“Rumors or not,” Madam Xing replied, narrowing her eyes, “what is truly going on?”
Her gaze swept over Du Jingyi’s face. The young woman’s complexion was fair and glowing, her posture relaxed. If this was what ‘illness’ looked like, then eight or nine out of ten women in the capital could be called ill as well.
At such a crucial time, why pretend to be sick unless there was a deeper reason?
Before she could ask further, Shang Ji gently drew Du Jingyi to sit beside him at the Eight Immortals table [a square table used in noble households, often symbolizing harmony and longevity], his protective arm encircling her shoulders like she were a precious treasure.
Madam Xing blinked — then realization struck her like lightning.
Her eyes widened. “Are you… pregnant?”