The air in the chamber was heavy with the scent of medicinal herbs and the unspoken coldness of betrayal. It was painfully clear to all present: the entire family intended to turn a blind eye to the years of sacrifice made by the Second Brother’s wife [Guan-shi] for the sake of the survival of the Third Branch.
For a fleeting moment, Madam Wei felt a chill of revulsion. The people of the Third Branch were not merely desperate; they were truly vicious. To protect a mere servant like Granny Jiao [a naima or wet-nurse, often holding deep emotional sway over a family], they had orchestrated a web of framing and deceit. Yet, when it came to discarding Guan-shi, they were as ruthless as a winter frost.
Gathering her composure, Madam Wei smoothed her silk sleeves and spoke with a gravity that befitted the Mistress of the House. “Whether Third Uncle is guilty or not is no longer a matter for us to decide. Third Aunt, I must ask you not to pressure Lao Ye [Master]. He has only just regained consciousness, and his wounds have yet to knit together.”
“I know, I know! It is all the fault of that vile woman Guan shi!” Third old Madam cried out, her voice cracking with a desperate, practiced grief. She clutched at her handkerchief, her tears flowing as if she might wash herself away if Shang Yukuan did not relent. “But I have no choice. Your Old third Uncle is of advanced age; if he remains in that damp cell any longer, I fear his life will be forfeit. If only Yu Kuan would speak to the investigators… perhaps they would show leniency for the sake of the family name.”
Shang Yukuan was a man whose spirit was like soft clay—yielding to gentle pressure but fearful of a heavy hand. Seeing his usually domineering Third Old Aunt reduced to such a pitiful state, a flicker of misplaced compassion stirred in his chest.
Madam Wei, who had shared his pillow for decades, saw the softening of his expression instantly. Before he could make a ruinous promise, she spoke with tactical grace.
“I understand your heart aches to save him,” Madam Wei said softly, “but Lao Ye is bedridden. How can he possibly plead a case in such a state? If you are truly in haste, why not go to the General’s Mansion and seek out Shang Shaoyu ?”
At the mention of Shang Shaoyu [a powerful military official], Third Old Madam’s face soured instantly. She had not even been permitted past the spirit screen [a spirit screen—yingbi, a wall placed at the gate to block evil spirits and direct views inside] of the General’s gates, let alone granted an audience.
“Now that his branch is powerful, both husband and wife look down on us poor relations,” she spat, her tone curdling. “In the past, his own Great-Uncle was sent to guard the ancestral tombs by him [a form of internal exile and disgrace] just for a few misplaced words. Now that he holds such a ‘handle’ on us, why would he ever let go? Going there would only invite humiliation.”
Shang Yukuan sighed heavily. He knew his son’s iron-cold temperament; the old lady was likely telling the truth.
Seeing his resolve waver, Third Old Madam lunged for the opening. “Yu Kuan, you cannot be so heartless. He is still your elder. He held you in his arms when you were a baby. Do you remember when you lived at the Fifth Uncle’s house? You were starving, and it was your Third Uncle who secretly tucked away his own rations to fill your belly. Can you truly watch him die unjustly in a cage?”
The appeal to filial piety [xiao] hit its mark. Shang Yukuan’s lingering anger dissipated, replaced by a heavy, burdened heart. “Fine, fine… I shall find a way to speak with the investigators. The Year-End is also approaching, and it is ill-omened to have a member of the Shang clan in chains during the New Year. But…”
“But what? Yu Kuan, name it, and I shall do it!”
“But… my words may carry little weight,” he admitted, his voice trailing off. He looked at his bandaged frame. Since his injury, the stream of visitors to his courtyard had dried up. Outside the walls of this Duke’s Mansion, he was a man of little influence, lacking both the strength to protect himself and the silver to persuade others.
Third Old Madam’s dissatisfaction flickered in her eyes. She wanted a guarantee, not a disclaimer. Just as she opened her mouth to press further, Madam Wei cut through the air with a sharp, warning look.
“Third Aunt, you would do well to stop while you are ahead.”
Though the words were quiet, Third Madam recoiled, frightened by the coldness in Madam Wei’s gaze. She remembered the recent tragedies—the East Garden reduced to ash and blackened timber. If a Duke’s garden could burn, so could she.
With trembling hands, Third Madam released her grip on Shang Yukuan’s robe and turned to Madam Wei with a fawning, ingratiating smile. “I know our presence in the Mansion all these years has been a burden. Worry not—once Third Uncle is freed, we shall move out. We will not delay you a moment longer.”
Madam Wei’s expression smoothed like a calm pond hearing this. For the first time, these parasites were offering terms rather than demands.
“Since Third Aunt has spoken so plainly,” Madam Wei said, her voice like velvet over steel, “we shall not insist you stay. However, the streets are rife with gossip. They say Third Uncle caused this disaster because he coveted the Duke’s seat. If you wait until after he is released to move, the public will say he bought his freedom through coercion.”
“Then… what must we do?”
“Move out first,” Madam Wei proposed, her smile never reaching her eyes. “Show the world that the Third Branch is independent and innocent. So when Lao Ye goes to plead, his words will carry the weight of truth if you are already gone.”
The ultimatum was clear: the price of a life was the loss of a home.
Third Old Madam stared at her, seeing for the first time that the “kind” woman she once knew was a master of the board. She was trapped. “If we move… are you certain you can get him out?”
“What an odd thing to say, Third Old Aunt. I am no magistrate,” Madam Wei replied, smoothing her skirts. “However, as you know, the Deputy Commander of the Capital Garrison is my biological brother. If I return to my maternal home to whisper in the right ears, there may be room for negotiation. The choice, of course, is entirely yours.”
Madam Wei had laid the path so perfectly that Third Old Madam could do nothing but walk it. Even Shang Yukuan looked on, convinced his wife was acting out of pure benevolence.
Left with no moves, Third Old Madam could only grit her teeth, the bitterness of the tea in her throat matching the bile in her heart. “I agree.The power struggle within the Duke’s Mansion reached its bitter conclusion as the veneer of familial piety was finally stripped away, revealing the cold calculations of survival and inheritance.
“Fine, we’ll move!” Third Old Madam [San Laotaitai] snapped, her voice trembling with a volatile mix of fury and desperation. “But you know we have no livelihood outside these walls. If we cannot survive after moving, we will only end up returning to trouble you anyway. You must provide us with ‘moving expenses’ [panchan], otherwise…”
“Otherwise what?” Madam Wei asked, her voice dangerously calm.
“Otherwise, I shall remain here in the Duke’s Mansion until the day I die! Not a single soul from the Third Branch will set foot outside!”
Hearing this blatant extortion, Madam Wei did not erupt in anger; instead, she let out a cold, melodic laugh that chilled the air. Shang Yukuan [Lao Ye], who moments ago had felt a pang of pity for his uncle, now found his Third Aunt’s face utterly repulsive. Disgusted by her greed, he closed his eyes and remained silent, signaling to his wife that she had his full blessing to handle the matter as she saw fit.
Madam Wei reached up, her fingers grazing the intricate diancui [kingfisher feather] hairpin at her temple, before she spoke with icy precision.
“Over the years, the Third Branch has siphoned at least tens of thousands of taels of silver from the Mansion’s finances. If I hadn’t kept a death grip on the purse strings, you would have found even more creative ways to embezzle. I overlooked it only because we shared the same surname.” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “But if you wish to settle scores, let us be thorough. My records of every grain of rice and every inch of silk your branch has consumed since the family was first divided are immaculate.”
She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper that felt like a blade. “If you refuse to leave peacefully, stay. But when Third Uncle’s crimes drag the rest of you into the abyss, what future will your son, your grandson, or your great-grandson have? Do you wish for them to be struck out from the Clan Registry [chu-ji]?”
The Third Old Madam gasped, looking like a duck caught by the throat. The threat of losing their noble status was the ultimate blow for her . Like a defeated hen, she slunk away without another word. Her daughter-in-law, Madam Fan, and the young Shang Si Niang [the Fourth Miss] followed in her wake, not daring to utter a single syllable before disappearing.
Once the room was quiet, Shang Yukuan heaved a long, weary sigh. “On his deathbed, Father instructed me to care for my two uncles. Now, one is banished to the rural estates and the other languishes in a cell. If they perish, how can I face the ancestors in the Nine Springs [the underworld]?”
Madam Wei felt a surge of annoyance. Her husband loved to play the “Benevolent Superior,” leaving the blood and ink of household management to the women. First, it had been Madam Gu, then Madam Liu, and now the burden sat squarely on her.
Yet, she maintained her mask of the devoted wife. “Master, please. Your only duty now is to heal. There is but one month until the New Year. You cannot be bedridden then; it would scatter the household’s luck for the coming year.”
Relieved to be absolved of the conflict, Shang Yukuan nodded. “I shall listen to you, Madam. I will focus on my recovery.”
When Third Old Madam returned to Baotao Courtyard with the news, the air was filled with sighs of defeat. Her eldest son Shang Erlang, who knew only how to spend silver on wine and song, could offer no help. However, Shang Sanlang—who had spent the last few days being spat upon by former “friends” now that the Third Old Branch was in disgrace—had seen the world’s cold face. He knew those who once flattered him were only bowing to the prestige of the Duke’s Mansion.
“Enough!” Sanlang roared at his brother. “If you love this mansion more than Grandfather’s life, then stay! Starve here for all I care! Grandmother, we are moving!”
With Sanlang taking the reins, the resistance crumbled. They moved like locusts, scraping the courtyard clean. They hauled away heavy furniture and everyday utensils, desperate to salvage any scrap of wealth. When Granny Jiao [Jiao Momo] reported this “shameful” behavior, she and Madam Wei watched the carts from a distance with deep disdain.
“Our late Duke was a lion among men,” Granny Jiao hissed. “How could he have relatives so… indescribable? Even as a servant, I find their greed beneath me.”
“Let them take it,” Madam Wei sighed. “It saves us the trouble of cleaning.”
With the “eyesores” gone, Madam Wei turned her gaze toward the scorched earth of the Mansion. “The East Garden is a ruin, and the North Garden is decaying,” she mused. “It will take three to five hundred thousand taels to restore them. We cannot all remain cramped in the West Garden indefinitely.”
Granny Jiao frowned. While they had successfully siphoned hundreds of thousands of taels into their private accounts over the years, spending it now felt like losing their lifeblood. “Madam, you must keep capital in reserve. If you pour your gold into the Mansion’s foundations, you are merely paving the way for others.”
Madam Wei shook her head, thinking of her son, Shang Zhihe. “I cannot wait. He’er’s leg may never fully mend, and his path to glory is now obstructed. The Prince of Fu’s mansion owes us a debt; I will use that leverage to get real money back and secure He’er’s succession as the Shizi of the Duke. No one will dare object if the path is paved in gold.”