Chapter 87

"Mom! Mom!" A tall, lithe young woman stormed into the courtyard, her strides light yet commanding, as if the ground itself yielded to her presence. With a single effortless leap, she vaulted over the railing, ignoring the frantic calls of a flustered maid. She charged into the room, her breath quick, eyes alight with unrestrained triumph. "Mom, I won again! Haha!" Her laughter was sharp, victorious, and unapologetic.

Song Dingxiang, poised and composed as ever, placed the account book she had been perusing onto the table with deliberate care. Her gaze, though tinged with exasperation, softened as it met her daughter’s glowing face. “Bao Ya, don’t tell me you were at the martial arts field again? Look at yourself—sweaty and disheveled. Go clean yourself up.”

The girl grinned, mischievous and self-assured, raking her damp hair back with a casual flick of her hand. “What can I say, Mom? I can’t resist the thrill of winning. And just wait—when Dad gets back, I’m challenging him! Think he’ll take me seriously this time? When’s he coming home, anyway?”

Time had been unusually kind to Song Dingxiang. Despite being a mother of four and approaching forty, she carried herself with an ageless elegance, her every movement exuding the confidence and allure of a woman who knew her worth. The subtle lines on her face only enhanced her beauty, a testament to years of wisdom and experience rather than age.

“Your father and your brother went to the Capital for the work review,” Song Dingxiang replied, her tone steady but with an edge of longing. “They’ve been gone for over a month now, but they should be back soon—within a few days, I imagine. And as for that challenge, your father will probably humor you. But let’s be honest, Bao Ya. Have you even finished today’s assignments, or were you too busy showing off your skills?”

Bao Ya’s grin widened as she snatched an apple from the table, her movements swift and unrestrained. She took a bold bite, juice running down her chin. “I finished everything before I went out, Mom. I’m not slacking, I promise! Oh, and do you think Grandfather and Grandmother will be coming back with Dad? Grandfather mentioned something about bringing me two deer. Two! Can you imagine?”

At eighteen, Bao Ya had transformed from a cherubic, mischievous child into a striking young woman—fierce, unapologetic, and brimming with energy that seemed impossible to contain. Over the years, a parade of suitors had come knocking, but Song Dingxiang turned them all away with a polite yet firm excuse: the child was simply too young. Secretly, she didn’t want Bao Ya bound by a marriage that would stifle her wild spirit.

Arranged unions and obedient roles in muted weddings? They were not for her daughter. If Bao Ya chose to remain single forever, so be it.

From an early age, Bao Ya had proven herself a force to be reckoned with. During her childhood rituals, she didn’t daintily pick up a golden hairpin or an embroidery frame like the elders had hoped. No, she seized a whip—clutching it with an iron grip and a defiant gleam in her eye. Even her brother’s protests fell on deaf ears as she made him cry before reluctantly shoving her stolen prizes back into his arms.

When word of her antics reached the Princess of Jingning, she laughed and sent Bao Ya a finely crafted whip adorned with pure gold and rubies, declaring, “It seems I’ve found my successor.”

Song Dingxiang could only sigh in resigned exasperation.

As the children grew, their paths diverged. Yi Cheng, the second son, inherited his father Zhou Yinuo’s calm demeanor, becoming a disciplined and dutiful young man. He had been accompanying his father to the military camps since childhood, training with a quiet determination.

Bao Ya, however, was a whirlwind of chaos—alive with boundless energy, her mind constantly plotting her next act of rebellion. From dawn until dusk, she tested the limits of patience for every maid and servant, leaving a trail of exhausted sighs and resigned smiles in her wake.

This was Bao Ya—untamed, unpredictable, and utterly unforgettable. And Song Dingxiang, for all her protests, wouldn’t have her any other way.

From a young age, Song Dingxiang had Bao Ya’s life meticulously mapped out. She drilled the girl relentlessly, forcing her to master calligraphy, painting, musical instruments, and even business management. Every ounce of talent Song herself possessed, she demanded Bao Ya replicate. Bao Ya, with her razor-sharp intellect, soaked it all up like a sponge. Yet, the moment she stepped out of that suffocating study, she transformed into a wild force of nature—a soaring bird no one could tether. Outside Song Dingxiang’s watchful gaze, Bao Ya was untamed, unstoppable, and gloriously defiant.

The moment Bao Ya’s fiery gaze landed on Yi Cheng practicing martial arts, she demanded to join. Her tenacity was unyielding; for an entire decade, she swung and fought with reckless abandon, weaponizing every tiny weakness in the courtyard to push herself harder. Each swing of her blade became a declaration of her unruliness, her refusal to be controlled.

Even the Emperor himself bestowed grand names upon Bao Ya and Yi Cheng—Zhou Jingxian and Zhou Xuancong. Yet, those lofty names rarely graced their ears. The old-timers in the courtyard stuck stubbornly to their nicknames, treating the imperial titles as mere formalities for outsiders to fawn over.

One evening, Zhenshu stepped into the room, her arms stacked high with freshly laundered clothes. She greeted Bao Ya with a warm smile, her tone as gentle as her swollen belly. “My lady, the bathwater’s ready. Go wash up before you catch a cold with all that sweat clinging to you.”

Bao Ya snatched the clothes, her eyes darting mischievously to Zhenshu’s rounded stomach. “Zhenshu Aunty,” she teased, “hurry up and give me a little sister. I’ll train her myself.”

Zhenshu let out a hearty laugh. “I wouldn’t dare let you near my daughter. You’d have her tearing through the place, leaving chaos in her wake. Now, off you go—wash up before you catch a chill.”

Grinning, Bao Ya stuck out her tongue and dashed off, leaving the maids trailing helplessly in her dust.

Song Dingxiang, seated nearby, waved Zhenshu to a chair. “Sit down, you shouldn’t be overexerting yourself. You’re not as spry as you used to be, and with a baby on the way, all this running around must be exhausting.”

Zhenshu settled down with a sigh. “If I stay cooped up in the house any longer, I’ll go mad. Besides, my family’s more devoted to serving the young master and miss than bothering with me. Sometimes, I feel like they barely even notice I’m here. I just hope this little one turns out to be a warm-hearted comforter.”

At twenty, Zhenshu had married the kitchen steward, rising to become the steward’s wife—a pillar of the general’s residence. She’d given birth to a son and daughter, but her life had not been without heartbreak. One winter, a slip on an icy road had stolen her unborn child, leaving scars deeper than the physical ones. Though her body eventually healed, it took over a decade before the miracle of this new pregnancy occurred. Song Dingxiang, ever protective, watched over her with hawk-like vigilance.

With a knowing chuckle, Song Dingxiang added, “Even I hardly see those two anymore. They’re so serious, so unlike anyone I know. Whenever I scold them, they fire back with lectures like they’re adults. They’re enough to give anyone a headache!”

After spending some time chatting, Zhenshu eventually had to leave. Song Dingxiang, ever the picture of composure, sent a maid to escort her back, though her focus quickly scattered as she tried to review the account books. Her mind, however, was far from the numbers before her.

The Emperor, increasingly paranoid with age, had begun to scrutinize everyone in his orbit. Whispers and veiled accusations aimed at undermining the Zhou family were spreading like wildfire—some subtle, others brazenly bold.

Rumors hinted that the Weixian County’s affairs were becoming too entangled with the Song family, casting aspersions that they prioritized their power over loyalty to the Emperor. The murmurings sought to tarnish the Song name and entangle them with the Eighth Prince’s ambitions. But Song Dingxiang was no fool; she had seen it coming and laid the groundwork to crush such challenges before they gained traction.

When allies rose to support her, she ensured they understood one unshakable truth: the Song family's wealth and influence existed solely because of the Emperor's benevolence. Without his favor, no one—not even the Songs—would have enough to eat or wear. She had shaped the narrative carefully, ensuring praise for the Emperor as a magnanimous ruler who provided for all his subjects, keeping potential detractors in line.

To sweeten the pot, she had strategically handed over a significant portion of the family’s wealth through the Eighth Prince, directly tying the Emperor to their prosperity. This ensured a degree of tolerance, but Song Dingxiang wasn’t naive. She knew the Emperor’s patience came with strings. As they say, being near a tiger means every growl and purr is a gamble with your life. One flick of his finger could upend everything.

Even Zhou Yinuo, who had spent years keeping his head down and doing his duty, wasn’t immune. What had once been sporadic reports to the capital had turned into a grueling annual summons. Each visit stretched over two months, an exhausting routine that left him more worn than his days in the military camp. This was the cost of survival in the Emperor’s shadow.

“Steward!” Song Dingxiang’s voice rang sharply, slicing through her swirling thoughts.

The former steward Zhou, now elevated to head steward and a close confidant, rushed in without hesitation. “Madam, how may I serve you?”

Her gaze was piercing, her tone measured but firm. “The General will return soon. Have the sheep been prepared as I instructed?”

“Rest assured, Madam,” he replied promptly. “All hundred sheep are ready and well cared for. The moment the General arrives, they can be sent to the military camp without delay.”

She gave a curt nod of approval, though her expression remained tight. “This journey has taken a toll on him. We must ensure his recovery is smooth. And what of the account books from the northern estate? They should have arrived by now.”

“They should be here within days,” the steward assured her. “This is the usual time for their delivery. Perhaps Madam is preoccupied with the General’s return and forgot?”

Song Dingxiang exhaled heavily, her usual sharpness softened by a creeping unease. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s something more. I can’t shake this feeling... as if something is about to go wrong.”

Her voice lingered in the air, heavy with foreboding, as if daring fate to make its move.

The steward leaned in close, his tone low and steady as he attempted to soothe her restless nerves. "Madam, the General travels with an entourage of hundreds, back and forth to the capital. Even the most reckless of bandits wouldn’t dare strike at such a time. Please, calm your worries. The General will return in just a few days."

Song Dingxiang acknowledged him with a curt nod, dismissed him with a casual wave, and sank into the silence of her chamber. She sat there, her thoughts spiraling in endless loops, her eyes distant.

For over two decades, she'd called this place home, yet the labyrinthine complexities of human dealings still left her uneasy. Every choice, every action, seemed to ripple outward, carrying consequences she couldn’t always predict or control.

The once-unified Song family had fractured with time. The elders, the unshakable pillars of tradition, had long passed away, leaving behind a divided legacy. One faction, led by Song Dingxiang herself, had planted roots firmly in Weixian County, crafting a vibrant, thriving life. Their mantra was simple—stay out of trouble, and life would reward you with comfort and ease.

The other branch lingered in the countryside, tethered to the land that sustained them. Even when they dipped their toes into small ventures, they refused to wield Song Dingxiang’s name as a shield. Perhaps it was pride—or fear.

There had been moments of betrayal. Some of the younger Song family members once tried to hawk fur, fraudulently claiming it was from the county princess herself. The scam lined their pockets but tarnished the family’s name. Song Dingxiang had discovered their schemes swiftly, and her retribution was merciless. She sent them to rot in prison herself, stamping out any whisper of leniency.

Some outsiders branded her heartless, a woman of stone. But within the family, the truth was clear. The Song family lived under scrutiny so intense it was suffocating. Any misstep could invite ruin. A rumor of leniency might plant a seed of suspicion in the Emperor’s mind—a seed that could grow into a blade poised to strike.

Years ago, Song Xingyi had left, leaving behind only Li Shi as the last of the family’s elder generation. Death had thinned their ranks. Fifth Grandaunt passed last year, and Sixth Grandaunt had succumbed a few years prior, her husband not long after. Now, only Li Shi remained, a resolute old matriarch who defied the frailty of age. She ate heartily, her appetite undiminished—a large bowl of porridge and half a steamed bun were no challenge. Her senses were sharp, her spirit unyielding. She found joy in watching her great-granddaughter’s martial arts performances, her laughter ringing through the halls.

Song Zhiyuan and Fang Shi had retreated to a villa on the city's outskirts with their eldest brother and sister-in-law. Age had softened their appetite for urban life, leading them to a simpler existence in the countryside. Chickens clucked pigs grunted in their care, and with loyal servants by their side, they wanted for nothing.

The family courtyard, once acquired by Song Dingxiang herself, had been turned over entirely to her eldest brother, Song Junshan. Meanwhile, she found her place in the General’s mansion, where the walls whispered stories of power and strategy.

But even here, in her fortress of strength, doubts gnawed at her edges. And so, when her heart grew heavy with questions, she sought out the one person who could truly calm her.

“Grandma.” Song Dingxiang’s voice carried a weight she didn’t often show. Li Shi, her wise eyes gleaming, always knew how to weave peace from chaos. In this world, only the sharp yet comforting wisdom of this old matriarch—and the word of Zhou Yinuo—could ease the storm within her.

Li Shi was savoring the vibrant energy of the opera performance. The Song family, ever the patrons of art and culture, hosted these events monthly, inviting skilled performers to grace their estate for days on end. It was her cherished routine to gather a few elderly neighbors and the household maidservants, soaking in the lively, dramatic atmosphere together.

Amid the melodious strains of the opera, an unexpected presence caught her attention.

“Dingxiang?” Li Shi’s voice was warm yet sharp, her gaze falling on her granddaughter. The old lady, her silvery-white hair elegantly styled beneath a wig, adorned with a gleaming hairpin, smiled with the confidence of someone who had weathered many storms. Her face, lined with years of wisdom, softened as she addressed the younger woman. “What’s the matter? What brings you here now, child?”

Song Dingxiang, her features delicate but clouded with worry, lowered herself gracefully beside Li Shi. Clasping her grandmother’s hand, she leaned in close, her voice a whisper tinged with urgency. “Grandma, I can’t shake this awful feeling. It’s like something is wrong. My chest feels tight; my heart keeps racing.”

Li Shi’s hand reached out, her touch firm yet comforting as she patted Dingxiang’s lustrous black hair. Her tone was steady, almost scolding yet undeniably reassuring. “What nonsense are you worrying about now? The sky won’t fall, and even if it does, there’s always someone taller to hold it up. Life and death, joy and sorrow—all these things are written by fate. As long as we walk the honest path, what’s there to fear?”

“I don’t know, Grandma…” Dingxiang sighed, her brow furrowed, a flicker of doubt shadowing her usually bright eyes. “Maybe I’m overthinking it. But this sense of unease won’t let me rest.”

Li Shi’s expression hardened with the resolute wisdom of her years. “Listen to me, girl. If you’ve done no wrong, you have nothing to fear. Even if the world falsely accuses you, the King of Hell himself would see justice done. You’re a good woman; Heaven won’t turn its back on you. Besides…” Her lips curled into a knowing smile. “I think you’re just restless because you miss your husband. Mark my words—he’ll be back soon enough. And when he’s here, you’ll feel at peace again.”

True to her grandmother’s words, a few days later, Zhou Yinuo returned—but with news that shattered the calm.

“What did you just say?” Dingxiang’s voice was sharp, almost cracking under the weight of her disbelief. Her usually composed demeanor was in tatters, her wide eyes fixed on her husband.

Zhou Yinuo stood before her, the tension in his posture betraying the gravity of his announcement. “A prince. From a foreign tribe. He’s petitioning for marriage,” he said carefully, watching her reaction. “And he wants to marry our daughter—our precious, treasured girl!”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words suffocating. Song Dingxiang’s world tilted her mind racing, caught between shock and fury, as her grandmother’s earlier reassurances echoed faintly in the background.