The people from the third branch of the family [三房, sānfáng – the third household within an extended noble clan] had sent word several times, but she dared not return to her mother’s home. Fear now lingered in her chest — fear that any slight misstep might invite calamity upon herself. Without the protection of the Duke’s Mansion [公府, gōngfǔ – residence of a first-rank noble titled “Duke”], her position in her in law’s house would also crumble like dust.
So, during these past two days, she began to perform again before her husband — weeping, sighing, doing her delicate act flawlessly.
Her embroidered silk handkerchief [绣帕, xiùpà – a lady’s personal kerchief often used to hide tears] was soaked through, and her eyes were swollen like ripe peaches, flushed and pitiful.
“Husband,” she sobbed softly, her voice trembling, “what should I do? My fourth sister from my mother’s side has already tried to take her own life several times. If I continue to force her, I fear she might truly die. But I made a promise to Father-in-law that I would do everything in my power. If this doesn’t work out… what am I going to do?”
Jia Weiyou [贾惟有 – courtesy name of the Marquis’s younger son], her husband, found himself caught between duty and compassion.
If they could not find another suitable candidate, must they truly send his own sister into King Min’s Mansion [敏王府, Mǐn Wángfǔ – residence of a titled imperial prince, usually of royal blood]?
The thought alone made him grimace.
He stayed silent, unable to give her an answer.
Shang Liuniang watched him carefully through her veil of tears. When he didn’t respond, she cried even harder, the tremors in her shoulders delicate yet deliberate.
Jia Weiyou’s heart twisted — pained for his younger sister, but even more distressed by his wife’s fragile tears. He leaned forward, reaching to comfort her.
“This matter was uncertain from the beginning,” he said gently. “Since Fourth Sister is so unwilling, we can’t truly force her. If something were to happen… it would become a lifelong enmity.”
He sighed deeply. “Forget it. I’ll search among my own cousins over the next few days. If I can find a suitable girl to enter King Min’s Mansion, I’ll do whatever it takes to send her . As long as my sister can be spared, any price is worth it.”
Upon hearing this, Shang Liuniang [商六娘 – ‘Sixth Young Lady of the Shang clan’s third branch ,’ indicating her birth order] lowered her head, wiping away tears with feigned modesty. Her voice was soft, almost guilty.
“I’ve made things difficult for my Husband… it’s all my fault.”
She knew she was most alluring when she appeared weak and apologetic, and Jia Weiyou had always been powerless against such a display. His heart softened instantly.
“How could this be your fault?” he murmured. “Don’t torment yourself with such thoughts.”
She leaned closer, her slender frame now nestling into his arms. The faint fragrance of her hair brushed against his chest as she whispered brokenly. Her quiet sobs made her seem even more delicate — so much so that Jia Weiyou felt his heart ache with tenderness.
Outside, the cold wind howled. Snowflakes swirled down like drifting willow catkins.
The courtyard lanes [府中甬道, yǒngdào – narrow paths within the noble residence] were slick with ice, and even the main carriageways were blanketed in snow. If not cleared each day by the servants, the roads would have long disappeared beneath a sea of white.
While the Jia family [贾氏宗族, jiǎ shì zōngzú – a well-established aristocratic clan] scurried to find a substitute bride with in , elsewhere in the capital, two men lay in wait — Luo Yuan [罗远, captain of the Imperial Tiger Guards] and Zheng Deli [郑德礼, one of the twelve deputy generals of the Tiger Guard Army (虎卫军副将之一)].
They had received orders to ambush Duke Shang Yukuan [商玉宽公, a hereditary duke titled for military merit].
The Duke’s route from the Imperial Court to his residence was predictable — he had but one way home.
They dared not act near the Imperial City [皇城, huángchéng – inner walls surrounding the palace complex], nor could they make a move near the heavily guarded Duke’s Mansion itself.
The only viable ground was Pingle Street [平乐街, a prosperous district known for its trade fairs and seasonal markets], a lively thoroughfare that ran through the heart of the capital.
On ordinary days, the market was crowded. But with the New Year’s shopping season [岁市, suìshì – traditional pre-New Year market] approaching, the place was even more packed — a perfect cover for an ambush and an even better place to disappear afterward.
Luo Yuan had been assigned to oversee the area — and in his characteristic fashion, he had managed to “trap” his good brother Zheng Deli into coming along.
“Bah! You’re a shameless scoundrel!” Zheng Deli cursed, voice echoing through the snow-laden street. “The General clearly appointed you, yet you drag me into this! Wading through knee-deep snow just to follow your nonsense — it’s infuriating!”
Zheng Deli’s temper was as infamous as his skill with a blade. His words, like his broadsword, cut clean and deep.
Anyone else would have wilted under such a tongue-lashing.
But Luo Yuan merely grinned, unbothered.
“You’re the only one complaining,” he retorted. “The General gave me the order, true — but he said I could assemble my own men. What’s the problem? Dissatisfied? You can challenge the General yourself afterward.”
“Challenge him?” Zheng Deli barked, his unshaven jaw tightening. “Who’s afraid of who? If it weren’t for your tricks, I wouldn’t have lost that spar! You became the General’s personal guard by pure luck — now you drag me into this pit just for fun!”
Luo Yuan chuckled, brushing snow from his fur-lined sleeve. “Ah, you’ve misunderstood me. I even asked the General why he picked me. Guess what he said?”
Zheng Deli, fuming but curious despite himself, growled, “Well, spit it out. Don’t babble like an old woman.”
“The General said—” Luo Yuan drawled, barely suppressing a grin, “—that I don’t look intimidating. So he keeps me close, to put others at ease.”
“What the hell?!”
Zheng Deli’s face flushed crimson beneath his frost-stiffened beard. Was it his fault he looked fierce?
He was a legend on the battlefield — enemies called him the ‘Big Knife Yama [大刀阎王, Dàdāo Yánwáng – “King of Hell with the Broadsword,” a title given to fearsome generals]’, for his blade could cleave men as easily as slicing melons. His ferocity alone could rout weaker foes.
Seeing the man’s fury rising like a storm, Luo Yuan quickly backed away, laughing.
“Deputy General Zheng, calm down, calm down! Let’s focus on the mission!”
Zheng Deli glared at him, snorting coldly. “If not for the General, I’d skin you alive! Now, men—” he barked to the soldiers waiting in formation, “—set the ambush as planned! Anyone who dares attack, capture them alive!”
“Yes, Deputy General!”
“Remember to leave them alive!” Luo Yuan added lazily, though what he really meant was merely alive — losing a limb or two didn’t matter.
The two officers stood on a rooftop, overlooking the festive market below. Lanterns hung from eaves, merchants called out their wares, and the scent of roasted chestnuts drifted through the air.
Tomorrow, all this warmth and cheer would be shattered by an “assassination.”
Night deepened, and the stars wheeled slowly westward.
The next day, Du Jingyi awoke earlier than usual.
Perhaps worry had kept her from resting — she had hardly slept at all.
Noticing her stir, Shang Ji rose as well. His movements were unhurried and gentle; he poured a cup of warm water and handed it to her.
“Would you like to get up?” he asked softly.
“Yes,” Du Jingyi murmured. “My body’s stiff from lying too long. It would be good to move a little.”
He supported her waist carefully, helping her sit up.
She had said many times that she felt fine, but he simply refused to believe her.
Once, Du Jingyi had thought her brother-in-law He Shilin [何士霖, her older sister’s husband ] was overly cautious — yet now it seemed her own husband was just the same.
After repeating herself to no effect, she gave up arguing.
After all, he was rarely home; she might as well cherish these small, quiet moments when they could share both food and sleep under the same roof.
Outside the bedchamber curtain [帐幔, zhàngmàn – silk canopy surrounding the bed for warmth and privacy], there was a faint rustle. Yīngtáo, who had been keeping the night watch, heard the movement and hurried in.
“Good morning, General. Good morning, Madam,” she said respectfully, bowing low.
It was not a polite exaggeration — it was truly early.
“What time is it now?” Du Jingyi asked.
“Madam, it’s exactly the hour of the Rat [子时, zǐ shí – around 11 p.m. to 1 a.m.].”
Du Jingyi smiled faintly, glancing at Shang Ji. “This must be the earliest I’ve risen in days.”
Shang Ji said nothing, though he knew well why she couldn’t sleep. But seeing that her spirits were steady, he didn’t probe further.
“Have some warm water brought in,” he instructed Yingtao . “And tell the kitchen to prepare breakfast for Madam.”
“Yes, General.”