A dozen men dressed in black brocade robes [uniforms of elite household guards, signifying high internal authority] appeared from the shadows without warning. Their movements were swift and silent as they advanced to seize the culprits.
The members of the Third House [the Former Duke’s younger brother’s branch of the family] stiffened in alarm. For a fleeting moment, they seemed ready to resist — but when memories of Qi Erguan-shi’s [a steward previously punished under military law] miserable fate surfaced, their courage faltered.
Not a single one dared to speak. The arrogance they had worn so proudly only moments ago drained from their faces, replaced by regret and dread. They exchanged uneasy glances with each other , each fearing that Shang Ji truly intended to have them executed.
Once the guards had dragged the Third House’s people away, silence fell abruptly over Yunjin Courtyard [the main wife’s residence within the Duke’s Mansion]. The oppressive tension was broken only by the muffled rustle of skirts and the uneven breathing of those left behind.
Sweat rolled down Shang Silang’s [Fourth Young Master of the Shang family bore by Madam Wei] forehead in fat droplets. Life in the quiet city of Sui’an [the provincial capital under the Duke’s rule] had long softened him; he had forgotten that his sixth brother was no ordinary nobleman, but a general [a military title bestowed by the Emperor himself], accustomed to commanding life and death.
If their father truly passed away, none of them could guess how they would survive under Shang Ji’s iron hand.
So he swallowed his fear and forced out a conciliatory tone. “Sixth Brother, don’t be angry. Third Grandfather is still our elder — using such force against them is… not appropriate.”
Shang Ji’s expression hearing this didn’t change. But his cold voice sliced through the air. “You think the Third House deserves that title now? Then by your logic, the Fifth House is an elder too. Why didn’t you defend them when Madam Wei and Mama Jiao had them bound and driven out of the mansion?”
Shang Silang’s mouth opened, but no sound came. The rebuke struck him dumb.
Seeing her son silenced so completely, Madam Wei [the Second Madam of the Duke’s household] could no longer bear the humiliation. She turned away from Shang Ji and directed her tone toward Du Jingyi [wife of Shang Ji, the Sixth Young Mistress of the household] instead.
“Sixth Son’s wife,” Madam Wei said, trying to soften her expression, “you should understand your husband’s temper. We’re all family here; there’s no need for such unpleasantness.”
Du Jingyi, who had been sitting quietly, suddenly let out a weak cough. Her complexion was pale, her breath faint, her fragile figure trembling as though she might collapse at any moment.
“General… General,” she murmured softly, her voice fluttering like a dying flame, “this humble one… dares not… contradict your words…”
The halting words and fragile demeanor made it seem as if she might faint on the spot.
Madam Xing, watching from the side, raised her silk handkerchief to cover her mouth, concealing the delighted smile that tugged at her lips.
Her impression of this daughter-in-law today rose sharply — Du Jingyi was clever indeed. Perfectly fine yesterday, and now, conveniently on the brink of collapse? That was a skill Madam Xing could only admire.
Xing Zhaoze, standing behind his mother, darted glances between the two women, curiosity flashing in his eyes as if he sensed some unspoken game being played.
Madam Wei, on the other hand, found herself speechless. She could not tell whether Du Jingyi was genuinely ill or simply mocking her.
Before she could recover her poise, Shang Ji spoke again — his voice even, carrying the quiet authority of a man used to command.
“The army has a special salve for wounds from swords and arrows,” he said. “It works quickly. I’ve already applied it to Father’s injury. The physician said he’ll wake after a few hours of rest. There’s no need for panic.”
Then his tone sharpened, the weight of command filling every syllable. “As for the assassin — how dare a criminal raise his hand against an official under Heaven’s Son? He must be tired of living. The Jingji Division [the imperial security bureau responsible for the capital’s order and major crimes] has already apprehended him. I’ll personally conduct the interrogation and see if someone was pulling the strings behind him.”
The moment the words “someone behind this” left his lips, Mama Jiao paled.
Her hands trembled slightly before she hid them in her sleeves, bowing her head quickly to conceal the flicker of panic in her eyes.
Though she had taken care to leave no trace of her involvement, she hadn’t expected the assassin to be captured alive. She had not hired a death squad — that would have been too reckless — but she hadn’t counted on failure, either.
He hadn’t seen her true face, yet who could say what he might reveal under torture?
Madam Wei’s heart stirred with similar thoughts. She forced herself to sound calm as she asked, “Are you certain it was the Jingji Division who caught him?”
Shang Ji’s eyes gleamed coldly. “Why, Madam Wei? Planning to send a few words to your natal family?”
His tone was a whip — each word striking precisely where it hurt most.
Madam Wei’s expression faltered. Her brother was, after all, the Deputy Commander of the Jingji Division. If the assassin truly fell into his hands, there might still be a way to silence the matter.
But of course, she couldn’t admit that. She steadied her voice, feigning righteousness. “What are you saying, Liu Lang [Shang Ji’s courtesy name]? I don’t understand what you mean. Since the criminal’s been caught, he must be interrogated thoroughly — we must find out if someone is truly behind this!”
She spoke with apparent composure, yet guilt pricked at every word.
Shang Ji’s gaze lingered on her like that of a predator sizing up its prey — cold, intent, and faintly amused. The corner of his mouth curled into a mocking smile.
Madam Wei’s heart thudded uneasily under his gaze.
Before the tension could snap, heavy footsteps echoed from outside. A group of armored soldiers entered swiftly — the insignia of the Jingji Division gleaming on their breastplates. Their sudden arrival startled everyone in the room.
The leading officer immediately spotted Shang Ji. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and bowed deeply. “Greetings, General.”
Shang Ji inclined his head slightly. “Mm.”
His rank among the generals was high — a reputation earned through true merit, not family privilege. No one in the room doubted his authority.
After greeting him, the commander turned to the assembled household members and saluted once more. “Forgive the intrusion, Madam, Young Masters. We are here regarding the Duke’s assassination in the street.”
Madam Wei’s heart pounded, though her face remained composed and anxious. “How is the situation? Did you catch the perpetrator?”
“Yes,” the commander replied briskly. “He was seized on the spot. Considering the gravity of the matter, I personally escorted him here. If the Duke’s Mansion wishes to handle it privately, he will remain here. If not, we will transfer him to the Capital Region Office [the superior bureau overseeing criminal trials in the imperial province] for interrogation.”
“Keep him,” Shang Ji said at once.
“Of course we’ll keep him,” Madam Wei echoed simultaneously.
Their voices overlapped, but their intentions could not have been more different.
Madam Wei wanted the assassin close so she could tamper with the evidence — make certain he never spoke again.
Shang Ji, however, wanted him nearby for the opposite reason: to expose the truth and corner Madam Wei herself. With his interrogation skills, he could have the man confess before nightfall.
The commander exhaled with relief. At least both parties seemed in agreement — he would not have to risk choosing sides. If some hidden secret lay buried in this affair, he was safer not knowing it.
He waved a hand, and his subordinates hauled a man forward, throwing him heavily onto the floor of the hall.
The prisoner’s arms and legs were bound tightly; his mouth was stuffed with a rag, muffling his groans.
Mama Jiao caught sight of him and froze. Her throat tightened; she swallowed hard and turned away at once, unable to meet his eyes for fear of recognition.
From the side, Du Jingyi, who had remained silent all this while, suddenly spoke — her soft voice cutting through the thick air.
“Mama,” she said mildly, eyes glinting with innocent concern, “are you unwell too? Why are you sweating so much?”
The words struck like a needle. Mama Jiao’s face flushed crimson, rage rising inside her.
The more she tried to stay unnoticed, the more Du Jingyi seemed determined to expose her.
Forcing a brittle smile, Mama Jiao lowered her gaze and replied in a strained voice, “Thank you for your concern, Young Madam. I do feel slightly unwell, but it’s nothing serious. Serving you is far more important.”
Du Jingyi smiled faintly, her tone light yet laced with meaning. “Mama Jiao is truly loyal. Even when she’s ill, she still devotes herself wholeheartedly to Madam Wei. How admirable.”
It was a double-edged remark — sweet on the surface, but sharp enough to draw blood for those who understood.
Madam Wei’s eyes narrowed as she studied Du Jingyi carefully, trying to discern how much the young woman truly knew. But Du Jingyi’s face remained calm, her expression unruffled.
Instead, she turned toward the bound assassin lying on the floor, her brows knitting with quiet distress. “So he’s the one who tried to harm Father-in-law? The Duke’s Mansion bears him no grudge — what reason could he have? Could it be… that someone ordered him to do it?”
Her voice was soft, yet the words struck deep. “General, you must investigate thoroughly.”
The hall fell silent once more.
Mama Jiao felt her heart seize with terror, a chill creeping down her spine — as if the silk robes she wore had suddenly turned to ice.