Du Jingyi had initially planned to remain silent, nursing her grievances while playing the role of a pitiful, wronged young wife.
However, Shang Silang’s careless words struck a nerve. The faint sorrow she had worn upon her face quickly vanished, replaced by indignation as she began to defend her husband.
Who did he think he was to point fingers and cast suspicion here and there?
If he truly knew that everything which had happened today stemmed from his own virtuous mother’s doing, he would be too stunned even to breathe a word.
Shang Ji, naturally, was not the kind of man to tolerate provocation either, so a low, disdainful snort escaped him as he looked toward Madam Wei. His voice was now sharp as a blade when he spoke.
“Rules? That word is rather amusing coming from Madam Wei. Are you not the one who has shown the least decorum in this household? Or shall I remind you of certain matters from the past?”
“You—!”
Madam Wei’s fingers tightened around her embroidered handkerchief until it nearly tore apart. Her entire body trembled with fury; she wanted nothing more than to lunge forward and strike the insolent couple.
But though she bore the title of Madam of the Duke’s Mansion [formal title for the main wife of the Duke; highest-ranking woman of the household], she held no true power within the manor.
Before Shang Ji, she could only endure humiliation in silence. Swallowing her rage, she covered her face with the handkerchief and began to weep bitterly.
“Master, please awaken soon! Everyone in this household thinks nothing of trampling me into the dirt. Silang—your mother has been bullied to this point, and you will not even utter a word in my defense?”
Her pitiful wails made Shang Silang flush with shame.
But what could he do? He was no match for Du Jingyi’s sharp tongue, and he certainly could not contend with his own sixth brother’s authority.
In the end, he could only lower his head, clasp his fists respectfully, and murmur,
“Mother is right. Your son is useless. I will return and reflect on my mistakes.”
With those words, he turned and strode away in humiliation.
Watching her son’s retreating back—his profile so eerily similar to her husband’s—Madam Wei felt her spirit crumble.
“What sin have I committed,” she sobbed, “to have given birth to such a useless child? If Qilang were home today, I would never have let you two bully me like this!”
Tears streamed down her face—this time, genuine and despairing rather than feigned.
Shang Ji’s cold gaze fell upon her, filled with mockery. “And so what if Qilang were here?” he asked icily. “Do you think I would be afraid?”
Then, turning away, he gave a curt order. “Enough. I’ve no wish to see more of this. Luo Yuan—take the assassin back to the East Garden [residence of the younger generation or secondary branch within the Duke’s estate]. You may interrogate him yourself.”
“Yes, General.”
Madam Wei opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a word, Shang Ji had already taken Du Jingyi by the hand and led her out. He did not even bother to bid farewell to her .
Luo Yuan followed suit, dragging the crippled assassin behind him and disappearing through the courtyard gate.
Such arrogance made Madam Wei’s fury boil over—she nearly hurled the porcelain teacup before her across the room.
From the side chamber, Mama Jiao—who had been eavesdropping behind the screen—rushed in, shutting the door tightly behind her. Falling to her knees, she began to weep and kowtow until her forehead turned red.
“Madam, please save me! If that assassin’s tongue slips during questioning and the General learns the truth, I fear my entire family will be executed!”
A servant hiring an assassin to murder her own master—such an abominable act was virtually unheard of in the Daxing Dynasty [fictional imperial
dynasty setting, modeled after Ming/Qing court hierarchy].
Even if the investigation proved that she was not the true mastermind, the authorities would still demand a scapegoat. Her death—and her family’s extermination—would be inevitable.
Madam Wei’s long-time attendant, could hardly bear the sight. She hurried forward, helping the trembling woman up.
“If this matter truly drags you down, I won’t escape punishment either,” she whispered urgently. “We must think of a way—a complete, foolproof plan—to erase your involvement.”
Mama Jiao’s tear-streaked face lifted slightly. “What does Madam mean?”
Madam Wei’s eyes flickered with desperation and calculation. “We’ll go all out. Let’s visit the Third Branch. I recall that Mama Qin, who serves beside Erlang’s wife, is in her forties—neither fat nor thin. To be honest, she bears some resemblance to you.”
Mama Jiao’s eyes lit with hope. As long as she could survive, what did it matter whom she framed? She would even send the assassin to his death if it meant saving her own life.
Suddenly, she recalled Du Jingyi’s earlier remark—about something dirty entering the Duke’s Mansion—and an insidious idea took form in her mind.
She leaned closer and began whispering into Madam Wei’s ear.
“I fear it may not suffice to frame Mama Qin alone. She has no enmity toward the Master; why would she pay for an assassination? It wouldn’t make sense.”
“Then what do you suggest?” Madam Wei asked, brows furrowed.
“Why not direct suspicion toward the Third Master himself?” Madam Jiao’s voice dropped to a low, venomous murmur. “You have long wished to drive away those parasites from the Duke’s Mansion. Now is the perfect opportunity.”
Madam Wei’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”
“The Third Branch has coveted the Duke’s authority for years. Ever since the Fifth Branch moved out, they’ve been uneasy, fearing they’ll be next. Naturally, they would act preemptively—cause a commotion—to secure their footing here.”
“If the Duke were gravely injured or bedridden, it would seem only natural for them—as close relatives—to remain and ‘help manage affairs,’ would it not?”
Madam Wei hesitated. The reasoning was thin, yet the temptation was great.
Mama Jiao pressed on, voice growing more urgent.
“Besides, everyone in the East Courtyard has been mysteriously ill in the past few days , and the Master nearly lost his life. The household is suddenly short of capable managers. Don’t you think the Third Branch might be behind it, creating chaos just to justify taking control?”
Her plan was hasty and flawed, born of desperation. But with no better options, Madam Wei’s heart began to waver.
She, too, suspected that the strange illness spreading through the East Courtyard had some hidden cause—but this was no time to dwell on that.
They needed a scapegoat before Shang Ji unearthed the truth. And the Third Branch, with its long history of scheming, was perfect.
At last, Madam Wei exhaled softly. “Very well. But this matter must be handled with utmost care. We cannot let anyone from the East Courtyard catch wind of it.”
Madam Jiao nodded fervently. “Rest assured, Madam. This time, I’ll keep my distance. I won’t dirty my own hands again.”
Thus, the mistress and her servant began plotting quietly—how best to weave a net around the Third Branch and pin the blame upon them.
Yet everything was unfolding exactly as Du Jingyi had anticipated.
The captured assassin was merely a distraction.
After escorting him away, Luo Yuan did not actually return him to the East Garden. Instead, he locked the man up in the woodshed nearby—an isolated corner beside the garden path.
Before leaving, Luo Yuan deliberately raised his voice so that even distant servants could hear.
“Keep your eyes on him! This man is the assassin who attempted to murder the Duke. If anything happens to him, we’ll all be held accountable!”
The household guards—personally trained by Steward He [chief household manager of the Duke’s Mansion]—nodded solemnly and sealed the woodshed tight, posting sentries at either side.
From a distance, one of Madam Wei’s spies watched every move, thinking he had uncovered an important secret. He hurried back to report, never noticing the faint, mocking smile curling on Luo Yuan’s lips.
Meanwhile, Shang Ji carried Du Jingyi all the way back to Xitang Courtyard [main residence of the heir and his wife within the Duke’s estate].
Inside, Madam Xing and her son Xing Zhao were already waiting anxiously. As soon as the pair entered, Madam Xing stepped forward.
“Well? What did you learn? How will you deal with the assassin?”
Shang Ji’s tone remained calm. “The man confessed that he was hired to kill and is now imprisoned in the woodshed next door, awaiting judgment.”
“Is it truly that simple?”
Madam Xing frowned, unconvinced. She had long known that the one who commissioned the assassination was none other than Madam Wei—but she was dissatisfied that the woman had escaped punishment once again.
However, when she caught the faint, knowing smile that played upon Du Jingyi’s lips, her doubts faded. She understood at once—this matter was far from over.