Xing Zhao’s expression darkened with fury. He cast a glance at the distressed civilians outside, his lips parting as if to defend his cousin. Yet before he could utter a word, Madam Xing grasped his sleeve firmly and pulled him back inside.
“Mother, what are you doing? Didn’t you hear what they were saying out there?” he asked indignantly.
“We didn’t come here to argue with them,” Madam Xing said coldly. “Let’s go see for ourselves what is truly happening.”
Without another word, mother and son strode toward the East Garden [the private inner courtyard reserved for direct family members].
Halfway there, they encountered Steward He, who was hurrying in their direction. His usually composed face was now deeply grave.
Catching sight of Madam Xing and Xing Zhao, he paused in surprise before quickly bowing. “Madam, Young Master — why are you here?”
“We heard about the Duke’s attack,” Madam Xing replied curtly, “and came to find out what has happened.”
“Then you should head to Yunjin Courtyard [the main wife’s residence within the Duke’s Mansion]. Everyone has gathered there.”
“Did Sixth Brother’s wife go there too?” Xing Zhao asked sharply.
“She did,” Steward He answered. “Madam Wei [the Second Madam of the Duke’s household] kept calling for her. The Young Master had no choice but to have a sedan chair prepared for her visit.”
Madam Xing’s face turned grim with anger. To outsiders, Du Jingyi was said to be gravely ill — yet Madam Xing knew all too well that her daughter-in-law was less than three months into her pregnancy, a delicate stage when the slightest agitation could endanger both mother and child.
If anything were to happen, she swore she would skin Madam Wei alive.
Her tone chilled as she commanded, “Lead the way. I want to see what tricks that woman is up to.”
“Yes, Madam,” Steward He replied immediately.
The three of them hastened toward Yunjin Courtyard.
At that very moment, Yunjin Courtyard was already a scene of commotion.
Weeping echoed through the air, women dabbing at their tears with silk handkerchiefs as if Duke Shang Yukuan [the current head of the Shang family] had already departed from this world.
Madam Wei, along with the women of the Third House [the previous Duke’s younger brother’s branch of the family], were the most dramatic mourners, while Shang Ji [the Sixth Young Master, Du Jingyi’s husband] and Du Jingyi themselves remained calm and indifferent.
Looking at the display before them, Du Jingyi almost found it amusing — each performer seemed more skilled than the last.
Shang Silang [Fourth Young Master of the Shang family bore by Madam Wei ] stood nearby, eyes rimmed red as he stared resentfully at his younger brother.
“Sixth Brother, you’re too heartless!” he accused. “Father lies there injured, and you and your wife show not a shred of concern!”
Without even lifting his gaze, Shang Ji replied with cool detachment, “Didn’t the physician just examine him? He said it’s only a superficial wound — a few days of rest will suffice. Yet here you are, wailing like a mourning cat. Are you trying to curse Father to death before he even heals?”
Du Jingyi almost laughed aloud at that.
She knew her husband despised most of these relatives, but she hadn’t expected him to wield his words with such cutting precision.
Shang Silang, never known for eloquence, flushed crimson. “You, you, you—!” he stammered, unable to form another word.
At the head of the room, Third Old Master [the previous Duke’s third brother] slammed the table twice in outrage. “How can you speak like that, Liulang [Sixth Son]? He’s your fourth brother, after all. Everyone here is simply worried for your father. Why must you speak so harshly?”
“Harsh?” Shang Ji’s tone was razor-sharp. “Is it harsh because it’s the truth? Or is it that Third Uncle loves Father so deeply he wishes to share his pain — perhaps take two arrows himself to experience Father’s ‘joys and sorrows’ firsthand?”
The Third Old Master’s face stiffened. He had come today hoping to curry favor with Madam Wei and Shang Silang — perhaps even profit if the Yunjin Courtyard gained influence. But Shang Ji’s words left him utterly speechless.
His chest heaved, his expression twisting between fury and humiliation.
In truth, Shang Ji’s biting words were not born of arrogance but of protection — protection for his wife.
He did not want these petty family squabbles to disturb Du Jingyi’s fragile calm. If she hadn’t insisted on accompanying him, he would never have allowed her to set foot in this chaos.
For now, he could only shield her the way he knew best — with words sharper than steel.
Du Jingyi, sitting quietly beside him, found herself secretly pleased to see the women of the Third House and Madam Wei lose face. She didn’t need to lift a finger; her husband’s tongue alone was enough to silence them.
When all her supporters had been stripped of their pride, Madam Wei finally stepped forward, wiping away her tears with affected grace.
“Sixth Son, don’t be angry,” she said plaintively. “They spoke without thinking, that’s all. What matters now is that the Duke wakes soon… otherwise, our family will truly fall apart.”
Her voice quivered, and soon after, she began weeping in earnest.
The other women from the Third House followed her lead, sobbing in turn, each trying to outdo the last in sorrow.
Just as their theatrics reached a fever pitch, a sharp voice cut through the clamor.
“Oh my, such a spectacle! The Duke was injured, not buried — yet you all cry as if his coffin’s been sealed. What’s the meaning of this noise?”
It was Madam Xing, sweeping into the courtyard with commanding poise, flanked by her son Xing Zhao and Steward He.
Her tone was severe, her presence dignified — the kind of authority that made even seasoned noblewomen falter.
Madam Wei paled slightly upon seeing her. Memories of her younger years flickered — how she had once been humiliated by Madam Xing’s sharp tongue and iron will. She knew well she had been lucky to marry into this family instead of under Madam Xing’s direct rule. Had fate turned otherwise, she doubted she’d have survived long enough to stand here today.
So, though she was displeased, she dared not argue.
Unfortunately, the Third Old Madam [wife of the Third Old Master], a woman lacking both sense and tact, puffed up and barked, “Who are you to shout inside the Duke’s Mansion?”
Xing Zhao’s expression turned instantly cold.
He was a spirited young man, known more for his boldness than his restraint. How could he endure anyone insulting his mother before his eyes?
With a sneer, he replied, “She is Madam Xing of the Gu family — the matron of our Xing household, confidante of Empress Guo [the reigning empress, formerly of the Gu clan], and my birth mother. Even if she were to tear down the roof of this Yunjin Courtyard, what of it?”
“You—! You insolent brat!” the Third Old Madam shrieked.
“Bah!” Xing Zhao spat mockingly. “And who are you, that I should show you respect? A parasite feeding on the Duke’s Mansion’s wealth? If I were you, I’d hide behind closed doors rather than parade my shamelessness in public.”
“You, you, you—heavens above!” the old woman gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “Are you trying to drive me to my grave? Niece-in-law, will you just stand there and do nothing?”
She turned imploringly to Madam Wei, but Madam Wei hesitated. She knew well that the Xing family — through their connection with the Gu clan and the Empress herself — held immense power in Jinling City [the imperial capital].
Still, this was Sui’an City [the Duke’s jurisdiction], not Jinling. This was the Duke’s Mansion — surely the Xing family couldn’t run rampant here!
Before she could muster a response, however, Shang Ji’s icy voice cut in.
“If Third grandmother finds life here unbearable, she needn’t endure it. The family’s ancestral shrine awaits — she can go there and demonstrate her filial devotion to our elders. But the Duke’s Mansion cannot afford two funerals at once.”
“You—!”
The Third Old Madam trembled violently, gasping for air as her knees nearly buckled.
The Third Old Master and his family hurried forward in panic, their cries mingling with the chaos that once again filled Yunjin Courtyard.
Tempers flared, voices rose — long-suppressed resentment bursting forth like wildfire.
But this time, Shang Ji gave them no chance to recover.
“Drag them out!” he barked to the guards outside. “Anyone who dares utter another word will be punished under military law [a rare but legal authority granted to noble sons serving in the Imperial Guard]. If they die from the beating, send their bodies to Yingtian Prefecture [the central administrative office of the capital region], and report that they obstructed the Duke’s rescue, causing his grave injuries and uncertain fate!”
“Yes, Young Master!” came the guards’ immediate reply.
And with that, the storm within Yunjin Courtyard erupted — not from grief this time, but from the thunderous might of those who still commanded true power in the Duke’s Mansion.