Shang Ji was no fool; how could he not understand Madam Wei’s schemes?
“Madam Wei has long coveted the position of Duchess. This time, it seems she intends to use more ruthless means to secure the succession for Shang Silang. If Silang becomes the future Duke, then Shang Zhihe will naturally inherit the title of Shizi of the duke house. Otherwise, the lineage of the Fourth House in the Western Garden will be ruined.”
“The General truly has keen insight,” Du Jingyi responded softly.
But in her heart, she thought — how could everything in this world be decided by Madam Wei alone? She might dream of raising her son to the Duke’s seat, but the Duke’s Mansion was something Du Jingyi and her husband were determined to claim, and in the future, it would belong to their Ping’er (Shang Zhiping, the young heir of the East Courtyard). How could Madam Wei succeed so easily?
Looking down at the chessboard, Shang Ji asked flatly, as though unsurprised:
“Is she planning to use poison?”
“These past two days have been quiet. I asked Physician Liu to carefully examine Father-in-law’s meals and tea, but nothing suspicious was found.”
Du Jingyi shook her head, dismissing that possibility.
“So then, you’re preparing for emergencies. Winter is approaching. If something happens to Father-in-law, we’ll have to move. That would, on the surface, appear as an act of filial piety.”
“Yes. That was my thought exactly.”
Shang Ji placed his chess piece and continued:
“I will arrange for several men to secretly protect Father. You don’t have to worry about the inner residence. As for the auspicious day, if it can be moved forward, then so be it. I do not wish to set foot in the Duke’s Mansion courtyard any longer.”
Hearing this, Du Jingyi smiled faintly.
“General, do not worry. Did we not agree to clean the path for Ping’er to inherit in the future? One troublesome wife is already gone; there are still three left.”
“You intend to deal with them?” Shang Ji asked calmly, without lifting his eyes.
Du Jingyi shook her head.
“Since Father-in-law is about to meet with an ‘accident,’ then naturally our East Courtyard (the household branch where Shang Ji and Du Jingyi reside) must also suffer misfortune. Otherwise, would Madam Wei’s efforts in her next move not go to waste?”
“So you mean to take advantage of the tide, harming Madam Wei while also using this opportunity to push away the people of the Third House?”
Du Jingyi did not answer directly.
Before his chess piece landed, Shang Ji glanced at her and immediately understood.
“I will make arrangements with Father. I will not kill him — but minor injuries are acceptable.”
This was precisely what Du Jingyi wished. Without drawing blood, how else could she properly handle the matter? But since it involved his father, if she spoke openly, it might appear unfilial. She did not want conflict between husband and wife over this.
“Do not worry, General. Once all is settled, Father-in-law will be able to enjoy some peace of mind.”
“Yes,” Shang Ji agreed flatly.
Though he was not heartless, Shang Ji harbored resentment toward his father. He blamed the old man’s softness and sentimentality, which had caused his mother’s lifelong hardships in the rear courtyard (the women’s quarters of a noble household, where concubines and wives often lived under strict hierarchy). Yet this did not mean he would stand by and watch Madam Wei murder his father.
The couple played chess late into the night. At last, sleep overcame them, and they retired.
That night, a cold wind swept across Sui’an City (a fictional garrison city, modeled after late Tang/early Song frontier towns), dragging the earth into the depths of winter.
Sure enough, early the next morning, snow began to fall.
It was light, but still visible as it drifted down. The snow came early this year; in past years, it would not arrive until the twelfth lunar month. This time, it was only late October. Farmers had been caught off guard, forced to rush their harvest into the cellars [cellars were used for storing grain, tubers, and preserved foods against freezing] before frost ruined it, lest they struggle through the harsh winter.
Outside the city, peasants busied themselves, while within the city the streets were emptier than usual. Many stayed home to avoid the cold. The Duke’s Mansion was no exception.
In the main chamber of Xitang Courtyard (Du Jingyi’s residence in the East Garden, named after her maiden clan name “Xi”), Shang Ji and Du Jingyi lay together beneath thick brocade quilts (luxury winter bedding, often woven with silk threads).
The quilt was warm, perfectly suitable for Du Jingyi, but with Shang Ji at her side, the heat grew almost stifling. She had dreamt restlessly all night, sleeping poorly, and only near dawn did she finally drift into slumber. Thus, she could not be disturbed.
Shang Ji, a man disciplined by years in the barracks, always woke at dawn regardless of when he had gone to bed. Opening his eyes, he gazed at his wife. Seeing her still deeply asleep, he closed his eyes once more and rested.
It was not until nearly noon, when Du Jingyi stirred, that Shang Ji “awoke” as well.
Turning his head, he caught sight of her sleepy smile. She shifted, intending to nestle into his arms — but her hand brushed against a place it should not have.
Startled, she turned her back to him at once, flustered and speechless.
Shang Ji, the culprit of her embarrassment, chuckled lowly and whispered at her ear:
“Madam, do not feel shy. We will have many more opportunities to grow accustomed to each other.”
His bluntness only deepened her mortification.
She had never noticed such matters before.
Firstly, because Shang Ji often left early and returned late. Most mornings, she awoke to find him already gone, leaving behind only faint traces of tenderness.
Secondly, each time she did wake beside him, she had been too shy, quickly calling for her maidservants to wash and dress her in ruqun (a two-piece Hanfu dress consisting of a blouse and long skirt) or aoqun (lined jacket with skirt for winter).
Thus, she had remained oblivious — until today.
Now, with her face burning, she thought the great general intended to repeat last night’s vigor and could not help but blush.
Suddenly, Shang Ji scooped her up, quilt and all.
Startled, Du Jingyi exclaimed anxiously:
“General! What are you doing?”
“Of course — I am helping my wife to bathe and freshen herself.”
“You… don’t make trouble! If word of this spreads, how could I show my face again?”
Shang Ji’s sternness gave way to mischief, his voice calm and teasing, as though they were no more than an ordinary husband and wife sharing playful intimacy.
“What are you afraid of? This courtyard is under our control. If word were to leak, I would have the entire place searched again.”
Saying so, he carried her directly into the ear room (a small side chamber adjoining the main bedchamber, used for dressing and bathing).
Their maid, Yingtao, having heard the noise, had been preparing to assist the madam as usual. But before she could enter, the general himself carried her mistress in.
Yingtao froze in place, face flushed, unsure whether to retreat or bow.
Finally, with a laugh, Shang Ji set his wife down upon the chaise longue (reclining couch often used by noblewomen in private quarters) in the side room and murmured gently:
“Your husband’s hands are clumsy. I fear I would hurt you. Let your maid attend you. I shall wash in the next room.”