Upon hearing the order, the commander of the Jingji Division (the imperial security bureau responsible for maintaining order in the capital) dared not delay even for a moment.
Even if the Duke were to die, it could never be in the hands of the Jingji Division. Otherwise, not only would he fail to withstand the wrath of General Shang’s lingering influence, but even the Wei clan would not let it go unpunished.
He immediately raised his voice.
“Quickly! Take His Grace back to the Duke’s Mansion—hurry!”
“Yes!”
A man bent down without hesitation, carrying Shang Yukuan—the Duke—on his back, his face pale and strained. More than ten others followed close behind, lending support wherever needed.
“Where’s the assassin?”
“Commander, we’ve captured him! The bow he used is indeed worn, and the arrowhead design matches the one lodged in the Duke’s left arm. It must be his doing.”
The commander’s expression hardened. “Keep him under strict guard! Don’t let him take his own life.”
“Yes!”
He hesitated then—should the man be taken back to the Jingji Division for interrogation, or sent directly to the Duke’s Mansion for their disposal? His eyes flickered indecisively.
Seeing this, Luo Yuan and Zheng Deli exchanged glances. Without a word, Luo Yuan made a subtle hand gesture, and the men they had brought melted soundlessly into the shadows, heading back toward the military camp outside the city walls.
Meanwhile, in the Duke’s Mansion, Madam Wei sat restlessly in the West Garden.
It was not compassion for her husband’s near-fatal fate that unsettled her—but a sense that this matter would not be easy to smooth over.
Sure enough, before the sandalwood incense on the bronze burner (a mark of high-born households) had even burned halfway, the courtyard gates burst open.
“Madam! Madam! Terrible news—the Duke has been assassinated!”
The servant who had accompanied the Duke that morning stumbled in, blood splattered across his robes. His cry shattered the tranquil air of the mansion.
The servants froze in shock.
Madam Wei exchanged a brief glance with Mama Jiao, her trusted confidante seated nearby. Mama Jiao gave a nearly imperceptible nod.
A flicker of relief crossed Madam Wei’s eyes—only to vanish as quickly as it came. She let out a heart-wrenching cry, tears spilling down her cheeks as she rushed out of the hall.
“What happened? Why was he attacked? Where is His Grace? Where is he now?”
For someone who had lived in the harem for decades, Madam Wei’s ability to act was unmatched. Her cries were so desperate and convincing that within moments, the entire West Garden was in chaos.
At that time, Shang Qilang, her seventh son, was not at home. But Shang Silang (the fourth son) and his wife were staying with Shang Zhihe, tending to their recovering child.
The moment they heard the commotion, both their faces turned ashen.
Their son had barely survived a serious injury, and now their father’s life hung in the balance?
Was the Duke’s Mansion truly cursed this year? Misfortune seemed to follow one after another.
Silang’s jaw tightened as he say to his wife. “Stay here and watch over He’er. I’ll go find out what’s going on. We can’t let anything happen to Father.”
His wife nodded quickly. “Yes, go, husband—hurry.”
They both knew exactly what was at stake.
Though seizing the title of Shizi from Shang Ji was a far-fetched dream, survival under his rule was another matter altogether.
If their father truly died, Shang Ji and his wife, would take control of the entire Duke’s Mansion.
And if Madam Du managed the household, the daily allowances for food, clothing, and stipends that the other branches relied on would surely shrink.
The couple understood this all too well. Hence, Shang Silang didn’t dare waste another second and rushed out of the courtyard.
Not long after, he met Madam Wei halfway, who was crying so hard she could barely breathe, with the blood-covered servant following behind.
Silang’s heart sank. Could it really be that bad?
He strode forward and asked urgently, “What happened? Where’s my father?”
The servant, trembling violently, stammered incoherently, his lips pale from shock.
Silang’s patience snapped. He slapped the man sharply across the face.
“Speak properly!” he barked.
The servant blinked, dazed—but the blow seemed to jolt some sense back into him. He swallowed hard and said hoarsely, “The Duke… he’s behind us. The men from the Jingji Division are carrying him back. He’s wounded—an arrow! I ran ahead to report to inform Madam. Please, hurry and fetch a physician!”
Madam Wei swayed unsteadily, almost losing her footing.
To onlookers, she seemed merely stricken with grief—but only Mama Jiao, standing beside her, understood the flicker of panic in her eyes. Had someone acted too rashly?
Mama Jiao caught her arm gently, her voice soothing. “Don’t worry, Madam. We have plenty of fine medicine in the residence. The Duke will surely recover.”
Her words, upon closer thought, carried an odd undertone—almost as if she had been prepared for such an incident.
But neither Shang Silang nor the frightened servant noticed anything strange.
“Why are you still standing there?” Silang roared, his composure finally breaking. “Go call the imperial physician! And every reputable doctor in the city! Move!”
The maids scattered in all directions.
Yet, their inexperience betrayed them. In their panic, they ran through the streets shouting for physicians, and before the Duke’s body had even been carried through the gates, word of his assassination was already spreading like wildfire.
By the time the officials of the Jingji Division arrived at the Duke’s Mansion, carrying the unconscious Shang Yukuan, half of Sui’an City already knew: That the Duke had been ambushed in public.
At the same time, in another residence, Madam Xing sat calmly sipping tea when her son, Xing Zhao, rushed in.
His face was grave, but before he could speak, his mother rose sharply.
“Come, let’s go to the Duke’s Mansion. If we delay, we’ll miss all the excitement.”
Xing Zhao blinked in confusion, then comprehension dawned.
“Mother… you knew beforehand? Don’t tell me—was this my cousin’s doing?”
Madam Xing’s expression turned cold. “Mind your words! Are you accusing your cousin of patricide?”
“Then why does Mother seem so eager to watch the spectacle?”
Madam Xing smirked, setting down her teacup with a clink. “Because Madam Wei has overreached herself—trying to steal the chicken only to lose the rice. Why shouldn’t I go and see her misfortune for myself?”
She pushed her son toward the door, her tone brisk. “Hurry up.”
Her entourage consisted only of trusted retainers, so she had little concern for loose tongues. Together, they made their way swiftly to the Duke’s Mansion.
By the time they arrived, the gates were crowded with onlookers.
Most were curious commoners, drawn by the commotion, while others were clearly planted there to spread whispers.
From amidst the crowd, murmurs began to ripple.
“In my opinion, the Duke’s fate must truly be cursed. Didn’t they say the general had already lost several wives in the past? When he was away, the Duke’s Mansion was peaceful—but ever since he returned, one disaster after another!”
“True enough,” another chimed in. “I heard the people of the East Garden all fell ill. Must be the General’s murderous aura—it unsettles the household.”
And then someone added, lowering their voice.
“They say the Duke was carried home, blood everywhere. Shot by an arrow! I doubt he’ll survive the night.”
At that, the gossip surged louder, filling the autumn air of Sui’an City with a feverish buzz.