In that instant, Bai Yi saw Wei Ling clench his fists. Though he said nothing, a violent aura radiated from him, chilling to the bone.
Bai Yi tugged the horse back two steps, afraid the innocent might be harmed.
Even now, Bai Yi could not understand—his master’s attitude toward his lady had improved so much compared to before. Why then would the lady, perfectly well, still insist on divorce?
And it wasn’t just him. Surely everyone in the General’s Manor who knew of this would be utterly shocked. The gentle, gracious lady had never spoken harshly to the servants, always treated her husband, the princess, and even the third miss with warmth and kindness. How could she suddenly demand separation from her husband?
This was no trivial matter. Words once spoken, gifts once given, cannot be taken back. Even if the divorce did not go through in the end, such an act already meant the couple’s hearts had parted.
Setting aside everything else, Bai Yi truly admired the lady’s courage.
Wei Ling had already stepped inside, and Bai Yi hurried after him.
Within the Yin’an Hall, Wei Haifeng, Princess Duanrong, and Chen Ruo sat, each with a grave expression.
On the right-hand seat sat a woman, her gaze fixed on the vase opposite, unmoving. When Wei Ling entered, she glanced at him faintly before turning away.
Wei Ling neither greeted anyone nor spoke. He simply stared at Song Xian. He had never imagined she would go this far. That night’s incident—he had thought to let it pass, to pretend he had never heard those wild words. Yet he had been gone for only a single day, and she had already written the divorce papers?
Did she truly wish to leave? Did she understand what divorce meant?
On the tea table between Wei Haifeng and Princess Duanrong lay a sheet of paper. Wei Ling walked over, picked it up, and glanced at it.
“May my lord find a worthy companion.”
A *worthy companion*, indeed!
Wei Ling was so enraged he laughed aloud, the divorce paper crumpling instantly in his palm.
Princess Duanrong cried out in alarm: “Yuchuan, what are you doing!”
Wei Ling turned to her. “Mother, are you satisfied now?”
“You child, what nonsense are you spouting!” Her eyes flickered with panic.
In truth, none of those present knew how to handle the matter. It had come so suddenly, and Song Xian’s resolve was absolute. They had stalled and stalled until Wei Ling finally returned to the manor.
That night, the Princess Royal had summoned Lord Qin and Qin Long to discuss how to proceed. All agreed that forcing Yuchuan and Yixian together was utterly unwise. As for that night’s incident, Yixian’s reputation had not truly suffered. Even if malicious tongues spread the tale, they could still defend their position.
Lord Qin had even scolded them harshly, leaving Princess Duanrong deeply humiliated. She was furious—what wrong had she committed? She had merely let Yixian go out once. Was she the one who pressed their heads together afterward?
Anger aside, she had no solution. Her mother had warned her: if she tried again to meddle with Yixian and Yuchuan, she need not return to the Princess Royal’s residence.
At the time, she had argued that Song Xian could be dismissed under the “seven grounds for divorce.” But the laws of Eastern Xia were strict: to repudiate a wife required a public hearing, a formal declaration. How then would the General’s Manor preserve its dignity? And what of her own reputation as mother-in-law?
She had no recourse. She had planned instead to find Wei Ling a few suitable concubines, and in time, any children could be adopted under the couple’s names.
When Song Xian came to her at dusk, she truly had no wish to see her again—until she produced that divorce paper. In that instant, she felt all her efforts had not been in vain. She dared not show her delight too openly. Only when she saw Wei Ling about to tear the paper apart did she speak up to stop him.
Now Wei Ling’s gaze was terrifying. Even as his own son, she dared not meet his eyes. Princess Duanrong turned away, looking instead at Song Xian. “Ah Xian, have you truly thought this through?”
“I have. Divorce.” Song Xian answered almost without hesitation.
The sound of Wei Haifeng’s teacup striking the table fell in tandem with his words—soft, yet piercingly sharp.
From outside drifted the playful rustle of sleeves and bursts of laughter, echoing through the Yin’an Hall.
Wei Ling still stood at the center, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Song Xian.
“Does the Marquis Suqing have any objections?” No one spoke, so Princess Duanrong asked again.
“The laws of Eastern Xia state: *‘If husband and wife cannot live in harmony and agree to dissolve the marriage, no punishment shall follow.’* It does not require the consent of both families.” Song Xian spoke lightly, her meaning plain—this matter concerned neither Marquis Suqing’s household nor theirs.
Ordinary folk sought parental approval only to preserve ties between families, to avoid gossip from outsiders.
She had not asked her father, for he would never agree. In their eyes, she was merely a tool to cling to the General’s household. Even if trouble arose, they would not stand by her side. Her thoughts and feelings held no weight.
For nearly twenty years, she had lived quietly; this was the first time she dared such a “rebellious” act. Though the road ahead was uncertain, her heart felt clear and unburdened.
Thus, Chen Ruo and the others turned their eyes to Wei Ling. Whatever the families thought, it was Wei Ling who must first declare his stance.
Wei Ling’s expression had lost the agitation he showed upon entering. He seemed calmer now, lips pressed tight, still silent.
“Ah Xian, divorce is no trivial matter. Take the letter of separation back—I will pretend this never happened,” Wei Haifeng said.
Chen Ruo added her persuasion: “Yes, whatever the issue, can it not be discussed properly? Must it come to this? Ah Xian, think it over once more.”
The two spoke in turn, but Song Xian remained unmoved. Her hands rested upon her knees, fingers interlaced, pressing so hard that the flesh at her thumb’s base had turned crimson.
Chen Ruo could not hold back. “Yuchuan, at least say something! If Ah Xian is being impulsive, must you be impulsive too?”
Wei Ling stepped forward two paces, stopping before Song Xian. A faint smile touched his lips. “Ah Xian, I told you before—I do not agree. You cannot leave.”
Chen Ruo’s tight heart eased, while Princess Duanrong bit her lip, glaring at Wei Ling with bitter disappointment.
“I have other matters. Do not bring this up again.” With that, Wei Ling turned and strode away, his steps hurried, as though some great affair truly awaited him.
Song Xian watched his retreating back, irritation rising within her.
What did he want, exactly? To keep her by force without love—what meaning was there in that? She had gone this far, and still he did not understand?
The matter of divorce was set aside for now, but the General’s household would know no peace that night.
Only belatedly did Wan Cui realize: the letter Madam had written last night was a divorce petition! Madam truly wished to separate!
Back in their quarters, Wan Cui asked again the question they had repeated countless times—“Have you truly decided?”
She had long decided. Who would joke about such a thing?
Song Xian asked her, “Wan Cui, do you think I am wrong?”
Wan Cui shook her head at once. “Though I was shocked, I know Madam must have thought it through carefully. That makes it right. I will always support you!”
At last, Song Xian smiled. “You are the first to say you support me.”
Even the young maid did not agree.
Song Xian clasped Wan Cui’s hand. “Wan Cui, from now on, our days may not be as easy as they are now. We may not even remain in Shengjing. Will you still be willing to follow me?”
“If I don’t follow Madam, who else would I follow? Wan Cui belongs to Madam in life, and in death—”
“Don’t say such things!” Song Xian quickly cut her off.
Wan Cui giggled, but after her laughter came worry. “But Master seems unwilling. What are we to do?”
What indeed—Song Xian herself was troubled.
As for that night, the Princess Royal’s residence had shown no reaction, and Princess Duanrong did not look pleased. Song Xian thought her plan must have failed. Yet at that thought, she felt an odd relief. At least the Princess’s household kept a clear head. Yixian was a good girl; she should not throw away her life on Wei Ling. She deserved a better fate.
As for herself, with no way forward, she could only turn to Princess Duanrong. At present, only she stood on the same side, their goals aligned.
Song Xian pressed her lips into a faint smile. Who would have thought, in the end, it would be Princess Duanrong who helped her?
But for now, more urgent matters awaited. Song Xian instructed: “Wan Cui, tomorrow, go and summon the managers of the other four shops to the cloth workshop. I have things to arrange.”
Just as Wan Cui was about to leave, Song Xian called her back. “Have the two workers Zhian found already entered the household?”
“They joined the day before yesterday. I spoke with the steward; they are now registered under Madam’s name,” Wan Cui replied.
“Good. Then call them here first.”
She had already met the two outside the estate—one was more honest, the other quick‑witted, both efficient in their work.
Long Bang and Long Tai soon arrived at the rear courtyard. Seeing Song Xian, they looked uneasy, standing stiffly, eyes lowered.
Song Xian distinguished them by build: the tall, thin one was Long Bang; the sturdier one, Long Tai. The brothers had come from the countryside, and now their contracts lay in her hands.
“I asked you before—would you be willing to follow me, even if it meant leaving Shengjing? You agreed then. Now I ask again.” Song Xian looked at them steadily. “If you are unwilling, I will return your contracts, and you may seek another master.”
“Once you agree, I expect no regrets or trouble. Think it through carefully.”
The two brothers exchanged a glance. Long Bang spoke: “Madam, since we have pledged ourselves to you, we are yours. We will never go back on our word.”
“Good.” Song Xian drew a purse from her sleeve. “Long Tai, tomorrow purchase a carriage and a horse at the market. Choose well, but leave them with the seller for now. Keep it discreet—do not let word spread.”
Long Tai accepted the purse and the task.
“Long Bang, you will accompany me tomorrow.”
“Yes!”
Seeing the two standing stiffly, Song Xian could not help but laugh. “Enough. I am not a master who devours her servants. As long as you do your work well, you will not be treated unfairly.”
Her smile drew theirs. Long Bang said, “Yes, to follow Madam is our good fortune.”
“Go now. If you ever have questions, you may ask Wan Cui.”
“Yes.”
The next day, Song Xian went to the cloth workshop. Some matters were best spoken face‑to‑face.
The shopkeepers were stunned to hear she intended to sell the shops, and worry quickly followed. Without the shops, where would they earn their living? In these times, finding a way to survive was no easy task.
But Song Xian continued: “The price can be negotiated. I have only one condition—the shops must be bought together with the people.”
Someone asked, “Madam, what do you mean?”
“You are all veterans of these shops. I have seen your years of hard work. I must leave you a way forward.”
At that, their hearts eased.
Qinzheng Hall.
Chen Xiao and Wei Ling stood outside, awaiting the Emperor’s decree.
Chen Xiao saw the bluish cast beneath Wei Ling’s eyes and assumed he was anxious about the day’s affairs. He offered comfort: “Though the Grand Chancellor presses hard, His Majesty is not one to be unreasonable. You need not worry too much.”
“Zou Zheng hails from Nanyang. Back then he won top honors in all three imperial examinations, which drew the Emperor’s notice. It took him more than ten years to reach his current position. His ties at court run deep and tangled—too complex to explain in full. In short, he is not easily crossed.”
Wei Ling knew what sort of man Zou Zheng was. He had never taken him seriously, yet the man had targeted him again and again. Clearly this was no longer simply about that ‘citizen versus official’ case.
Wei Ling narrowed his eyes, curiosity stirring. What lay hidden behind all this?
“Yuchuan, tomorrow you should rest at home. No need to report to the Court of Judicial Review. You don’t look well today.”
Chen Xiao thought to himself: young men lose their bearings too easily. That morning, upon arriving at the Court, he had found the records room open. Asking around, he learned Wei Ling had already been there, busying himself with one matter after another without pause.
But Wei Ling only smiled. “Lord Chen worries too much. I am fine. The Court has much work—I will not rest.”
“Truly?”
Wei Ling glanced at him. “Truly.”
At that moment, Eunuch Wei emerged from the hall. “Lord Chen, Lord Wei—the Emperor summons you.”
The Emperor had called them merely for form’s sake. Zou Zheng’s relentless pressure was giving him a headache.
In truth, Wei Ling’s work at the Court of Judicial Review was not improper. But once someone fixed their gaze upon you, they could always find trifles to magnify.
This time, Zou Zheng accused Wei Ling of using excessive torture in interrogations, violating the law; of deciding cases arbitrarily, convicting without sufficient evidence; of meddling in the affairs of the Capital Prefecture and the Imperial Guard, overstepping his authority. He further charged that Chen Xiao, as Minister of the Court, knew of his deputy’s misconduct yet failed to stop it, and should therefore share the blame.
“Chen Xiao, what explanation have you?” the Emperor asked.
“Your Majesty, I believe the Deputy Minister’s actions accord with the laws of our dynasty. The Grand Chancellor exaggerates.”
“So you would have me answer Zou Zheng in that way?”
Chen Xiao faltered, then, after a pause, said, “The Court of Judicial Review is the highest judicial authority of Eastern Xia. Its rulings naturally carry more weight than the Grand Chancellor’s words.”
The Emperor waved his hand, unwilling to continue. “Chen Xiao, next time go directly to Zou Zheng. When you two have argued it through, then come back to me.”
Chen Xiao hesitated. “This…”
At that moment, the one who had remained silent finally spoke. “What is it the Grand Chancellor seeks?”
“Why, to have you dismissed—what else?” The Emperor blew at his beard. “If I were not shielding you, would you still be standing here?”
“What else did he say?”
Wei Ling’s tone was calm, his face unchanged. To an outsider, he might have seemed the one who belonged upon the throne.
The Emperor laughed. “Do you not know what you yourself have done?”
Chen Xiao was unsettled. That single question from Wei Ling had startled him—such boldness, to speak so to the Emperor. Yet more astonishing was that His Majesty did not take offense.
Everyone knew Wei Ling had been placed in the Court of Judicial Review by the Emperor himself. Outsiders also knew he was the Princess’s grandson, so a measure of favor was understandable. But now, looking at the Emperor’s demeanor, it seemed he treated Wei Ling with more warmth than even the Crown Prince.
Whatever the case, Chen Xiao felt reassured. With the Emperor’s protection, Wei Ling would not come to harm.
After offering a few words, Chen Xiao was dismissed to wait in the outer hall, while the Emperor summoned Wei Ling alone.
“Yuchuan, what is the matter with you today?”
Wei Ling was silent for a moment before replying, “I did not sleep well last night. It is nothing.”
“So long as it is nothing.” The Emperor nodded. “Zou Zheng comes on fiercely this time, with several ministers echoing him. I do not know how long I can shield you.”
“How are Zou Zheng’s relations with the Crown Prince of late?”
The Emperor was caught off guard, startled by the question.
“Your Majesty placed me in the Court of Judicial Review to restrain the Crown Prince. Yet scarcely a month has passed, and already I am so relentlessly targeted. It may be that there is more behind this.” Wei Ling spoke steadily. “Zou Zheng prides himself on integrity, with the bearing of a scholar. Your Majesty once valued him highly. But now, with so many talented men at your side, he is no longer indispensable.”
“Zou Zheng comes from Nanyang. He cannot compare with the noble families long rooted in Shengjing. If someone wished to pull him down, it would be easily done.”
The Emperor nodded repeatedly, pondering. “I did not expect you to think so deeply.”
“Your Majesty, there are two courses: wait and watch, or draw the snake from its hole.”
“And which do you prefer?”
“I leave it to Your Majesty’s command.”
The Emperor pointed at him with a half‑smile. “You, you—always giving me hard choices.”
“Your servant would not dare.”
“Dare? Is there anything you do not dare?”
When Wei Ling left the hall, Chen Xiao was still waiting. The two returned together to the Court of Judicial Review.
The Court was full of petty affairs, and today Wei Ling, unlike his usual self, handled everything personally.
Near the end of the day, Vice Minister Wang Wei saw him still at work and asked, “Deputy Minister, are you staying on duty tonight?”
“Yes.”
Wang Wei, three or four years his senior, was not much intimidated by him. He teased, “On a freezing night like this, isn’t it better to go home and hold your wife under the quilt than sit here in the cold wind?”
Wei Ling’s hand froze on the case file for an instant, then resumed as if nothing had happened.
Wang Wei did not notice. “Deputy Minister, if you don’t wish to return home, why not join us for a drink? I’ve arranged to meet Ding Dazhuang from the Ministry of Works.”
He had asked casually—after all, what sort of man was Wei Ling? How could he possibly drink with them? So when he heard that single word, “All right,” he was stunned.
The tavern was tucked away, inconspicuous from the outside, but inside it opened into a hidden world. Wang Wei boasted, “I found this place myself. My wife will never discover it.”
Wei Ling nudged aside the stool before him, brows faintly furrowed.
“Dazhuang, this way!” Wang Wei waved, and sure enough, a plump fellow hurried over—true to his name, “Dazhuang.”
After introductions, they got straight to business. The innkeeper brought several large bottles of wine, tossed three bowls onto the table, and left.
Wei Ling’s frown deepened.
Wang Wei filled the bowls to the brim, raised his own. “Come, drink this bowl, and we’ll be brothers.” Seeing Wei Ling unmoving, he pressed the bowl into his hand and urged again, “Come.”
Wei Ling looked at the cloudy liquor, then at the two already tilting back their heads to drain theirs. He said nothing more, and downed it in one gulp.
The wine was cold, yet as it poured into his warm throat, it brought an odd, soothing comfort.
This tavern’s brew was no match for the fine vintages stored at the estate, but Wei Ling could no longer taste distinctions. The strong liquor struck him hard, sweeping away countless thoughts in an instant.
At a man’s drinking table, talk rarely strays beyond familiar themes. After grumbling about their official duties, Wang Wei and Ding Dazhuang turned to gossip from the court. Wei Ling sat quietly, answering only when addressed.
Soon, the two were half‑drunk. Wang Wei began to complain: “My wife at home—she’s fiercer than a tigress. If she hadn’t gone back to her parents’ tonight, would I have been able to come out drinking?”
Ding Dazhuang said, “My wife doesn’t mind if I drink, so long as I don’t touch other women. If she ever found out, I’d be kneeling in the courtyard all night.”
“Coward,” Wang Wei chuckled, his cheeks flushed. “Deputy Minister, what about you? Does your lady keep you in line?”
Wei Ling gave a bitter smile.
She wanted to divorce him—how could she still care? She had never tried to control him before, and she never would now. Suddenly, his heart felt hollow. Perhaps it was the drink, but a sharp ache pulsed through him again and again.
“I heard your wife is a beauty, Deputy Minister. Surely you two are devoted, not like us.” Wang Wei spoke as he poured more wine for him. “Come, drink!”
This time Wei Ling did not hesitate. He drained the bowl of strong, burning liquor.
The two ignored him after that, returning to chatter about household matters. Petty domestic squabbles—yet to him, listening now, they carried a strange note of envy. He did not join in, nor could he. The more he drank, the less taste the wine had, until it was like plain water.
He had always despised this stuff that robbed men of reason, rarely touching it. Yet tonight, he found himself relying on it to endure the hours.
Most of the General’s household had already gone to rest. The cold wind along the way had blown away much of Wei Ling’s drunken haze. Bai Ze was waiting at the gate.
He asked, “Is everything settled?”
Bai Ze replied, “It’s done. Lady He has been buried without trouble. But nothing was found in her rooms.”
“I see.” Wei Ling pressed his fingers to his brow.
The lanterns beneath the study swayed in the wind, and a shrill gust howled past his ears, chilling and bleak.
Wei Ling walked slowly forward until he stood before Song Xian’s chamber door.
Bai Ze followed, watching him linger there for a full quarter hour. Just as he was about to speak, Wei Ling knocked softly, pushed the door open, then closed it behind him.
Song Xian was already awake, sitting upright on the bed. When she caught the scent clinging to him, her brows knit sharply. She tightened the sash of her inner robe, but before she could rise, he had already come to stand before her bed.
“Wei Ling, what are you doing?”
Wei Ling, Wei Ling—she no longer even bothered to pretend.
Her hair was loose, her face bare of powder, and those clear eyes looked straight at him—looked into the depths of his heart.
They said he kept a beauty hidden at home. Who could deny it? In all the world, who was fairer than she? Yet her gaze was as resolute as it had been that morning—cold, detached, without him in it, intent only on leaving.
For the first time in his life, he did not know how to face what stood before him. The only thought he could grasp was to keep her here. He had believed she was just a woman—what did it matter if he bound her to his side? How far could she resist?
But all through this day, moments he had never noticed before rose up, reminding him she was no longer the Song Xian of three years past.
Her indifferent eyes seemed carved into his very bones. He thought of them in idleness, in busyness—even when answering in the Hall of Diligence, she was in his mind.
In twenty‑three years, never had there been a day like this. It was all too improper. He could not allow anything to disturb him—not even Song Xian. If she wished to leave, then let her go. Let it be the return for three years of obediently staying by his side. One after another had left him; she would be no different.
Wei Ling drew from his sleeve the crumpled letter of divorce, smoothed it in his palm, and asked her, “Is this all you want?”
Song Xian glanced at the paper, then met his eyes. Her voice was firm. “Yes.”
Wei Ling laughed, walked to the dressing table, rifled through several boxes without finding what he sought, then turned to the wardrobe. At last, on the couch, he found a brush. With half‑dried ink, he wrote his name.
Song Xian had not expected it. Only last night he had spoken with such certainty of refusal, and now he yielded. Yet the smell of wine on him made her doubt. “Wei Ling, are you sober? Do you know what you are doing?”
“You want to leave, don’t you? Then I’ll let you.”