Panic had descended upon Baotao Courtyard like a suffocating mist.
“What should we do? What should we do?”
The Third Old Lady—who always carried herself with the confidence of one who could handle anything—was now pale with fright, pacing helplessly. When true disaster struck, her hands trembled like dry leaves.
Shang Erlang, who had never possessed much courage to begin with, was already shaking. To see his grandfather and his own wife dragged away—it was a miracle he hadn’t fainted dead on the spot.
Shang Siniang, his only unmarried sister is , clung tightly to her mother’s sleeve, sobbing as though her heart would break.
Her life had never known peace; it seemed that wherever she went, misfortune would find her.
In one corner, Shang Sanlang and his wife sat comforting their two frightened daughters, all the while filled with deep remorse.
“I told you that day to move out,” Sanlang said bitterly. “Move out while we still could. But you all refused. Look at us now—framed to such a degree. I fear the Third branch is doomed.”
He spoke with the heaviness of a man watching his own family collapse.
The Third Old Lady, as if grasping at a final lifeline, hurried forward and seized his sleeve.
“Sanlang, you must find a way to save your grandfather,” she pleaded. “He’s old—he cannot withstand the suffering of prison. If they torture him into confessing, won’t our entire family be finished?”
Her eyes were wild with fear as she added, “And Erlang’s wife—she bore our grandchildren. If she’s branded a murderer, how will her children ever hold their heads high again?”
This time, the Third Old Lady’s terror was no act; she was truly afraid that their family would be wiped out to the last generation.
Sanlang looked around the courtyard. Each face was ashen, each pair of eyes filled with despair. No one here had power, no one had influence. How was he supposed to save anyone?
A bitter smile curved his lips.
“Grandmother,” he said softly, “you think too highly of me. We may call ourselves people of the Duke’s Mansion, but tell me—who still gives us face?”
The Third Old Lady’s tears fell uncontrollably. “Are you truly going to let your grandfather die?”
Her voice cracked, but her crying solved nothing.
Those in the courtyard could do little but weep with her—or sit numbly in silence, their eyes glazed with hopelessness.
Sanlang finally sighed. “Never mind. I’ll go out and ask around, see if there’s any way left.”
He was not a cold-hearted man. Back then, he had risked everything to rescue his fourth sister from that devil’s den; how could he now abandon his grandfather and second sister-in-law to their fate?
Yet he knew, deep down, that his own ability was pitifully limited. Even if he wished to help, he was powerless before the might of the court.
Still, he straightened his back and left the courtyard.
Behind him, Sanlang’s wife watched anxiously but dared not stop him. She turned instead to her daughters, whose eyes brimmed with tears.
“Don’t be afraid,” she whispered gently. “Mother will take you home first.”
The girls nodded timidly, clutching her sleeves as if they were the only solid thing in a collapsing world.
Once back inside, she coaxed them into bed. It took a long time before their trembling eased and they finally drifted into a troubled sleep.
Only then did Sanlang’s wife have a moment to think clearly.
Something was wrong—terribly wrong.
The accusations made no sense.
The charge of hiring an assassin was ridiculous on its face. She and Erlang’s wife had been sisters-in-law for years; she knew what kind of woman she was. The latter was merely the daughter of the Guan family—without power, without connections. Where could she possibly find professional killers to hire?
And those witchcraft dolls found in Grandfather’s room—they were so crudely made that anyone could tell they were fake.
If one asked who in the Third House was most unwilling to leave the Duke’s Mansion, it would surely be Grandfather himself.
Would he, of all people, leave such damning evidence for others to “find”?
Sanlang’s wife did not believe it. Not for a moment.
Yet the more she analyzed, the less she dared to speak her suspicions aloud.
Their family had no motive to harm the Duke, while those from the East and West Courtyards had even less. The situation was tangled and dangerous—a web of schemes with no clear way out.
She could find no solution.
But just because the Third branch was paralyzed did not mean the other courtyards would sit idly by.
Over in Yunjin Courtyard, Madam Wei’s heart finally eased when she heard that the people of the Third branch had been taken away.
At last—there were scapegoats, and evidence to match.
Even if the details didn’t quite align, her brother Wei Mingxian would handle the rest.
Now, even if Duke Shang Yukuan were to miraculously recover, she already had countermeasures prepared.
Let him wake—she would still have the upper hand.
With that assurance, Madam Wei exhaled a long, steady breath. But as relief settled in, regret followed close behind.
This plan… it had been far too reckless. Not only had it failed to achieve her goal, but it had also robbed her of sleep for nights on end.
A disaster of her own making.
Still, when she considered the current situation, she knew she had to keep her position intact.
As long as the Duke remained bedridden, the people of the East Garden could not threaten to move out. If they did, outsiders would surely accuse them of unfilial conduct—a grave charge in the eyes of society. [In imperial custom, “unfilial behavior” was among the gravest moral crimes, punishable both socially and legally.]
So Madam Wei steeled herself once more.
I endured them for ten years before, she told herself. I can do so again.
She had been planning to gradually erode their influence—to alienate them bit by bit—but she had not expected disaster to erupt under her very nose.
That night, the fire came out of nowhere.
Within moments, flames devoured the East Garden, painting the sky crimson.
The blaze soared upward, fierce and terrible, the smoke rising so high it could be seen from several streets away.
“Fire! Fire! The East Garden is on fire!” servants cried, their voices echoing through the estate.
Dozens of men ran in carrying wooden buckets and basins, yet they dared not go too close. They threw water from afar, trembling at the heat.
It was midwinter—the snow was still thick and damp. How could the fire have spread so wildly?
In Yunjin Courtyard, Madam Wei had just retired for the night when she heard the report.
Her first words were sharp and breathless. “Where are the people? Have they escaped?”
Though she did not yet know how the fire began, her heart leapt in sudden, dark delight.
If they all perished in the flames…
Would that not mean Heaven itself had taken her side—clearing her path of obstacles?
If so, she thought coldly, she would make sure the ailing Duke followed them to the grave.
Then their family would be “reunited” in death—and all would be well.
But Heaven, it seemed, did not favor her wish.
The maid who had brought the news trembled as she spoke. “When the fire started, our men hadn’t arrived yet. By the time they did, everyone from the East Garden had already escaped… but the two young ladies were badly frightened, and their sickness seems to have worsened.”
Madam Wei’s eyes blazed with fury.
Why—why couldn’t they have all burned to death!
As if to worsen her mood, the maid hesitated again, stammering, “The General… the General said…”
“What?” Madam Wei snapped, glaring.
Her usual attendant, Mama Jiao, was still “gravely ill” and could not serve her, leaving only these lowly maids—useless, timid creatures who could barely string a sentence together.
The maid, startled by her glare, quickly blurted out the rest.
“The General said that the East Garden has turned into a sea of fire. Even if the flames are put out, it can’t be lived in anymore. So… they didn’t wait for an auspicious date—they’ve already moved into the General’s Mansion.”
“What?!”
Madam Wei’s carefully laid plans—burned away in an instant.
The fire outside still roared, its heat and smoke seeping even into Yunjin Courtyard.
Even if the Duke were to die this very night, they themselves would have to flee from the inferno.
The thought made Madam Wei so furious that her chest constricted—she nearly spat blood from rage.