The gatekeepers and guards, who had just been flexing their muscles and trying to intimidate Yu Fanfan into submission, were struck dumb.
Could a woman who drove a pole three inches deep into the ground with her bare hands truly be called frail?
And how on earth could she claim it was an ironclad fact that they had abused a helpless woman? What had they even done? They hadn’t even had the chance to do anything yet! It was an absolute outrage!
Furious, the lackeys tried to argue, but Yu Fanfan—wailing at the top of her lungs in an utterly theatrical display—gave them no opening.
No one would have guessed that the eldest young madam, once deemed too weak and meek to even keep her own husband, could be this difficult to handle.
Yu Fanfan had planned this entirely.
With a gleam in her eyes, she feigned terror before the overbearing servants, subtly pointing at their weapons while shrieking and crying with Oscar-worthy passion.
Instantly, the crowd erupted.
After all, the world never lacked eager busybodies.
A good spectacle was hard to come by, and this beat watching street acrobatics by a mile. Those performers repeated the same tricks day in and day out, but high-society scandals this juicy were rare.
The crowd buzzed with excitement, shoving forward so they wouldn’t miss a thing. Some even looked ready to jump right in and claim a role of their own.
In a capital city where tossing a single brick could hit a dozen officials, the massive mob following Yu Fanfan wasn’t just made up of curious onlookers. High-ranking dignitaries, imperial relatives, and spoiled young nobles were all well represented.
There were commoners, deeply moved by her heartfelt appeals to the neighborhood folks; impoverished scholars and hotheaded intellectuals burning to champion justice; idle aristocrats tagging along for entertainment; and political rivals eager to watch the Cheng Manor crash and burn.
These people were the solid backing Yu Fanfan needed for her grand performance.
Feigning helpless terror like a true Oscar-worthy lead, she didn’t even have to wait for the unfortunate gatekeepers and thugs to make their move. Her impromptu support squad sprang into action, ensuring all her hard acting did not go to waste.
Commoners in the crowd held back, wary of crossing powerful nobles. But the self-styled scholars, arrogant young dandies, and longtime rivals of the Cheng Manor—who had been itching for a spectacle—could no longer contain themselves.
They surged forward in clusters, shoulders squared, accompanied by their retinues of servants. Fueled by righteous indignation, amusement, or sheer eagerness for a brawl, they formed a protective wall in front of Yu Fanfan.
“Do not be afraid, Madam,” the scholars declared resolutely. “With scholars like us here, you have no need to bow to tyranny.”
A foppish young master fluttered his folding fan with smug arrogance. “Exactly, little lady, don’t you worry. We are the Four Young Masters of the Capital, undefeated in every street fight across this city! My father is a Prince, and with a young prince like me standing right here, let’s see who dares touch a hair on your head!”
A rival nobleman laughed gloatingly. “Well said! Don’t be frightened, young madam. However formidable the Cheng Manor may be, this is the capital, the seat of the Son of Heaven himself. Can they really place themselves above the emperor?”
Reassured by this display of support, the ordinary onlookers found their courage. Rolling up their sleeves, they chimed in one after another.
“Right! Don’t be scared, young lady! The Cheng Manor doesn’t rule the capital!”
Wave after wave, word after word, the mounting chorus of voices made Yu Fanfan smile. She had been keeping her head lowered, feigning grievance, but her heart brimmed with a malicious joy.
Just as I thought, she mused. I knew it would turn out exactly like this once I stirred up the pot.
Glancing at the still-sealed gates of the Cheng Manor and the vermilion-lacquered plaque, Yu Fanfan thought to herself, Old hag and her little hens, are you ready? The show’s about to begin!
Following the old madam’s orders, Nanny Zhao led a grand procession of female servants from the back courtyard, through the middle courtyard, and across the front courtyard. By the time they emerged from the side gate of the ceremonial gate, Nanny Zhao was met with a scene that sent a jolt of panic through her.
“Eldest Young Madam! You…”
Nanny Zhao considered herself an esteemed figure within the manor. As the old madam’s confidante and loyal servant, she had handled countless clandestine matters for the matriarch, establishing herself as the true chief steward of the inner courtyard.
In the manor’s rear quarters, even the recently ascended duchess had to show her three parts respect, let alone anyone else. Nanny Zhao knew she was a woman of influence.
Nanny Zhao’s heart skipped a beat when she saw Yu Fanfan outside the main gate, shielded within layers of a protective crowd.
The sight of the large white funeral banners fluttering in the wind made her stomach drop. Her expression twisted, turning as foul as if she had swallowed something rotten.
Still, her masters’ dignity was her own. To preserve it, the proud nanny swallowed her pride and bowed low before Yu Fanfan. Her only thought was to coax this foolish woman inside and disperse the crowd. Once the gates were shut, they could settle scores with the insolent wretch, leaving the old madam and the marchioness to put the abandoned wife properly in her place.
A quick glance across the gathering made Nanny Zhao’s scalp tingle with dread.
Standing in the crowd was Prince Yu’s fearless young prince. Beside him was the insufferable head steward from the neighboring manor of the Minister of Revenue, along with Censor Ma’s trusted personal attendant, and a gathering of shabbily dressed scholars.
This abandoned wife was truly a lowborn creature raised in the barren northwest—lacking pedigree, manners, and brains. Utterly hopeless, yet somehow she had managed to wreak havoc on the duke’s manor.
The poor old madam had poured her heart and soul into managing this household day after day, only for her reputation to be ruined overnight.
Still, now was not the time to dwell on such grievances. Containing the damage took priority.
Determined to cut through the mess quickly, Nanny Zhao put on a completely different face. She hurried down the steps and approached Yu Fanfan, taking her hands with an air of deep, tender concern.
“Eldest young madam, whatever grievance or complaint you have, let us go home and talk it through. Please don’t throw a childish tantrum out in the open like this, all right? The young master has only just finished his mourning period and left on imperial business. It isn’t that he didn’t want to stay by your side. You might be sensitive, but you really shouldn’t air these things in public and make a scene. Please listen to this old servant and come back inside with me. We can talk about everything slowly. Both the old madam and Madam care for you deeply, so…”
There was truth to the saying that with age came cunning.
As the old hag’s right-hand woman, Nanny Zhao was no novice. Having spent decades navigating the inner courtyards, she lacked neither schemes nor ruthless methods.
Confident in her favored status and vastly greater life experience, she knew precisely how to frame the narrative.
With a few well-chosen words, she skillfully spun Yu Fanfan’s actions into nothing more than a young wife throwing a petty, jealous tantrum over missing her husband. She played the part to perfection, layering her voice with convincing concern until her performance seemed entirely genuine.
People were easily swayed. Seeing her display, several onlookers began to waver, actually buying into Nanny Zhao’s staged performance as they cast doubtful glances toward Yu Fanfan and murmured among themselves.
Yet Yu Fanfan was no ordinary opponent. Beneath her composed exterior lay a veteran of countless debates and public speeches, armed with a silver tongue.
The moment she chose to fight this battle in the court of public opinion, she had anticipated this exact turn of events—just as she knew certain interested parties would gladly back her to smear the Cheng Manor and challenge their authority.
Yu Fanfan had prepared for this exact move from Nanny Zhao.
Instead of defending herself, she let the older woman pull her forward. Raising a sleeve soaked in strong ginger juice to her eyes, she used her superior strength to drag Nanny Zhao down with her. They crashed onto the ground together, and Yu Fanfan burst into loud, theatrical wails.
“My name is Yu Fanfan, a humble woman barely twenty-nine years old, born in the forty-second year of Great Qi. My family hails from the northwest, where my ancestors…”
Though tears streamed down her face, her voice rang out clear and bright. Ignoring the flailing nanny who scrambled to get up beside her, she simply continued her tale—the story belonging to Yu Fanfan. It began with the day her grandfather saved the third Old Duke of Cheng.
Raised on a lifetime of modern novels, TV dramas, films, plays, and comedy sketches, Yu Fanfan knew how to captivate an audience. Her storytelling drew the crowd in so completely that the bustling street fell deathly quiet.
Polished by Yu Fanfan’s flair for drama, the tale became a gripping, heart-wrenching spectacle. Holding nothing back, she laid out every detail: her ties to the Cheng Manor, her life after moving in, and how the old madam and the duchess had recently joined forces to persecute her and drive her out.
Nanny Zhao, having barely regained her footing, felt a chill run down her spine. We’re doomed.
How was this the same helpless orphan who had arrived with nowhere else to turn after losing her family, forced to rely entirely on the manor to survive?
She was throwing all decency and rules out the window, completely unpredictable and hell-bent on bringing the sky crashing down!
Didn’t she know how things worked? No matter how bitter the feuds grew among the women of the inner quarters, they always kept up appearances. At most, they traded veiled barbs and plotted in secret. No one acted like this shrew, airing every scrap of dirty laundry in broad daylight without a shred of shame. Had she lost her mind?
Disaster, absolute disaster! If Yu Fanfan kept this up, she would tear the manor’s reputation to shreds!
Nanny Zhao quickly grabbed the maid beside her, her voice trembling with panic.
“Quick, run back and tell the old madam! Madam Yu has gone mad—she’s completely lost her mind!”
Not daring to delay for a second, the maid hitched up her skirts and sprinted toward the inner residence.
“Old Madam! Old Madam, something terrible has happened! The eldest young madam has gone mad!”
Cursing her small feet for slowing her down, she swayed and stumbled, running faster than she ever had in her life. Before she even stepped into Rongyang Hall, where the old madam resided, her frantic cries echoed through the courtyard.
She was desperate, terrified that any delay would allow the cast-off eldest young madam at the main gate to cause even more chaos.
In her rush to summon the family’s ultimate authority to quell the disturbance, the second-rank maid threw all household propriety to the wind, shouting at the top of her lungs.
Inside, the old madam and Duchess Li Jiayu, who had been anxiously waiting for news, both frowned in immediate displeasure.