A procession of maids and elderly servants filed in, dragging “Jiang Xingyan” out of bed and forcing her onto a stool.
Xia Feng and Dong Yang were also yanked up and shoved aside, barred from following.
Huo Ci, still disoriented, opened his mouth to rebuke them—only to be momentarily blinded by a dazzling display of jewels and finery.
Leading the group was Mammy Bao Zhu, trailed by over a dozen maids, each holding a tray.
The first bore a vermilion gold-embroidered camellia silk skirt, followed by a silver-filigreed white tea vine gauze overdress, and a pearlescent sash dusted with gold.
A pair of goose-yellow baoxiang flower-cloud brocade shoes, studded with a circle of luminous crushed pearls, exuded a heady fragrance.
The hollowed lotus-patterned soles were filled with jasmine-scented powder—each step would leave a fragrant floral imprint on the ground, a whimsical touch meant to evoke “lotus blooms with every stride.”
Subsequent trays displayed an overwhelming array of jewelry, each piece more extravagant than the last.
Even the decorative shawl was woven from the finest fuguang brocade.
Huo Ci sat frozen.
Any single item here would cost a fortune—far beyond what any servant could afford.
The flimsy excuse he’d crafted for his mother unraveled before his eyes.
“What are you gaping at? Hurry up and dress our Young Madam!”
“Handle everything gently—if so much as a thread is damaged, you’ll pay for it with your hides!”
Bao Zhu shot a mocking glance at the stunned “Jiang Xingyan,” her smile not reaching her eyes. “Thanks to the Young General’s favor, you’ll get to play the glorious Young Madam again today.”
By now, Huo Ci understood perfectly.
He hadn’t been blind—just too trusting of his mother.
Such an elaborate spectacle couldn’t have been orchestrated without her command.
Memories resurfaced with painful clarity.
Whenever he was home, Jiang Xingyan would invariably arrive late, overdressed to the point of absurdity.
He despised excessive luxury, especially when it delayed her morning greetings to his mother.
Every time, he had scolded her harshly.
The look in Jiang Xingyan’s eyes had shifted—from wounded confusion to hollow indifference.
Yet he’d mistaken her silence for defiance, assuming she ignored his words out of spite.
Eventually, he stopped seeing her altogether, washing his hands of her.
Now, those cutting words burned in his throat like swallowed needles.
He had been his mother’s accomplice, crushing Jiang Xingyan’s spirit between them.
Huo Ci’s breath turned ragged.
Regret—sharp and suffocating—clawed at his chest.
In war, he would send scouts to verify every rumor.
Yet with his own wife, he had blindly accepted his mother’s accusations without question.
By the time the final jade hairpin was secured, it was already choushi (1–3 AM).
Huo Ci instinctively rose to leave—only for Bao Zhu to shove him back onto the square stool.
“What’s the rush? Sit and wait.”
Staring up at Bao Zhu’s smug face, Huo Ci was overwhelmed by a foreign emotion.
He’d been dragged from bed at midnight, only to be forced to wait now.
All to cement the narrative of a disrespectful daughter-in-law who willfully disregarded her duties.
On all those late nights and predawn mornings—when Jiang Xingyan had been pinned to this stool, awaiting reprimand—what had she thought?
Had she resented him? Hated him? Regretted her grandfather saving his life?
And in the end, all those feelings had withered into barren silence.
Because her heart had died long before her body did.
Huo Ci lowered his gaze, finally naming the emotion tightening his throat:
Helplessness.
The kind that came from having no voice, no recourse, no justice.
Jiang Xingyan… I failed you.
…..
Jiang Xingyan hadn’t slept all night.
Though Xiao Ya had taken the medicine, the child’s terror ran too deep—by nightfall, she was burning with fever.
“A-Niang… A-Niang…”
Xiao Ya clung to Jiang Xingyan desperately, refusing to let go.
Qiu Yan and Chun Xue worked like spinning tops—one cooling the child with damp cloths, the other reheating medicinal herbs under Xin Zhui’s instructions to press against Xiao Ya’s forehead.
Jiang Xingyan’s heart ached at the sight of the fever-flushed little face in her arms. Tears fell freely.
It wasn’t until choushi that the fever finally broke.
But Xiao Ya’s grip on her hand remained ironclad—any attempt to loosen it brought fresh sobs.
Then Yin Zhu’s voice, oddly deferential, sounded from the courtyard:
“Young General, the Old Madam has prepared morning tea. She requests your presence.”
Jiang Xingyan had no choice.
Wrapping Xiao Ya securely against her chest with a wide cloth, she concealed the child beneath her armor, leaving only a tiny face visible.
She handed her jade pendant to Qiu Yan, instructing her to care for Xia Feng and Dong Yang in the side courtyard, then stepped out.
Yin Zhu bowed deeply, her usual arrogance nowhere to be seen.
Jiang Xingyan eyed her coldly.
A shiver ran through Yin Zhu, her spine curving further.
Terrified of provoking the Young General—and ending up like her sister.
But Jiang Xingyan had no time to deal with her now. The imperial court awaited.
There would be plenty of time later.
The main courtyard was twice the size of Huo Ci’s residence, with over a dozen servants sweeping and tidying.
Stepping inside, Jiang Xingyan was met with furnishings more lavish than her grandfather’s private chambers.
She nearly scoffed aloud.
Huo Ci had often lectured her: “Extravagance breeds corruption.”
How fitting that his mother embodied the very vice he condemned.
Seated at the rosewood-carved dining table, Old Madam Huo greeted her “son” with saccharine concern:
“Ci’er, come eat properly. The barracks rations must have been dreadful—you’ve grown so thin.”
Jiang Xingyan dug her nails into her palm, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, and took the seat opposite.
Only then did the Old Madam notice Xiao Ya in her arms. Her face stiffened.
“Son… surely you aren’t taking the child to court?”
Her voice dripped with feigned concern. “Leave her here. I’ll care for her myself.”
Yin Zhu, ever the opportunist, chimed in: “Yes, Young General! With so many servants here, we can keep Xiao Ya entertained.”
Jiang Xingyan’s lips curled. “Entertained?”
In one fluid motion, she seized Yin Zhu by the throat and slammed her face-first into the handwashing basin a maid held.
“Like this?”**