Hoofbeats echoed rhythmically, mixed with the creaking and rattling of the wooden carriage as it rolled along.
The noise was so loud that Song Zhiwei had to hold Lancao’s and Zhuxiang’s hands and lean close to hear the full story of how Nanny Zhang, acting on behalf of Eldest Aunt, had slapped and punished them.
Gradually, Song Zhiwei lowered her head. A stinging sensation spread across her face. Then, expressionless, hot tears slid silently down her cheeks, burning and cold at the same time.
“Miss!” Lancao and Zhuxiang instantly panicked.
Song Zhiwei merely held their hands.
The carriage’s shaking made her body tremble slightly. Her palms were ice-cold. Her long fingers clenched so tightly that her knuckles turned white, blue veins showing through her skin and the tendons standing out from the force of her grip.
At that moment, Song Zhiwei’s first emotion was humiliation. If today’s troubles had fallen only on her because she chose to save someone, she could have accepted it. But the disaster had merely brushed past her before striking the two maids closest to her.
The Eldest Aunt’s actions were a blatant slap in Song Zhiwei’s face.
The message could not have been clearer: The Marquis Manor had given her everything she possessed. Therefore, anyone she brought with her could be beaten at will. Those slaps had never truly been meant for the two maids.
By beating them, Eldest Aunt was venting her dissatisfaction with her.
The punishment had been aimed squarely at Song Zhiwei. She was low status; therefore, so were those around her. She was looked down upon; so were those around her.
That was the message. So she was supposed to keep her head down. She was supposed to behave herself, avoid taking risks, avoid standing out, avoid doing anything extra.
She was meant to curry favor with her grandmother and two aunts, then quietly wait for the family’s arrangements and eventually marry wherever she was told to go. But what was she supposed to do with the indignation of being trampled upon? What was she supposed to do with the fury of being humiliated?
Whom could she vent it on? Whom could she demand justice from?
Even when she got out of the carriage, she still had to smile politely at Madam Zhao. She could not let any trace of displeasure show.
Otherwise, she would be accused of disrespect. Of being unfilial.
Turbulent emotions surged and clashed in her mind until they finally settled. Slowly loosening her grip on Lancao’s and Zhuxiang’s sleeves, she reached out with the gentlest touch and carefully examined the injuries on their faces. Because this had been intended as punishment, their injuries were far more severe than her own. Several hours had already passed since the beating, and dark bruises had begun to emerge along their cheeks.
“Do your ears hurt?”
“Are you dizzy?”
Her cool fingertips rested along the swollen area beneath Lancao’s cheek, near her neck.
“This is swollen too.”
“What about your teeth? Do they feel loose or uncomfortable?”
Lancao’s heart trembled.
Looking into Song Zhiwei’s clear, apricot-shaped eyes and seeing nothing but concern, guilt, and heartache, she suddenly felt at a loss. No one had ever cared for her in quite this way before. Faced with such sincere concern, she didn’t know how to respond. “I’m fine, Miss…” she said softly.
Lancao spoke awkwardly, staring at Song Zhiwei with her usual wooden expression.
Zhuxiang was examined next and hissed in pain. “Miss… it’s fine, really. We’re fine. As long as you stop crying.”
Song Zhiwei forced a smile, though it looked worse than weeping. “I know. Once we’re back, I’ll apply medicine for you. For the next few days, if your faces start itching, don’t scratch them.”
The carriage procession crossed much of Shengjing before finally stopping outside the Marquis Manor’s side gate.
The gatekeeper hurriedly opened the doors and stepped forward, stooping respectfully as he waited for the ladies and young misses to disembark.
Gu Ce’an was the first to get off his horse. He helped Madam Zhao down from her carriage. Then he turned his head, as though waiting for something.
A moment later, the curtain of Song Zhiwei’s carriage was lifted. Two maids emerged first, their eyes swollen from crying and their cheeks swollen from the beating they had received. They set out the mounting stool and then respectfully turned back to help the person inside descend.
For the first time, Gu Ce’an truly looked at this cousin of his. She was slender. Her lovely face was completely free of powder and cosmetics. Because she hadn’t had time to smooth the oil through her hair, the breeze had loosened a few strands, making her seem even more vivid and real. She stepped down on her natural feet, not taking the tiny, bound-footed steps many southern women favored. Her elaborate skirts swayed open around her firm strides. For some reason, it was difficult to look away.
Her posture was composed. Although the corners of her eyes were faintly red, her expression remained calm and peaceful. When she noticed his gaze, she merely inclined her head politely. Neither servile nor arrogant. Just properly courteous.
Gu Ce’an wanted to say something. Yet he didn’t know how to start a conversation with this cousin. A rare hesitation crossed his usually stern face as he searched for words.
Song Zhiwei bowed to her aunt. After they entered the manor together and had walked only a short distance, she apologized softly, saying that she was tired. Then, with her two maids in tow, she quietly took her leave.
Madam Zhao frowned slightly and sighed. Forget it. She was only a young girl after all. Having lost face, she was naturally upset. By tomorrow she would probably be over it. It was nothing more than youthful temper. Madam Zhao considered herself magnanimous enough to overlook that much. Then she turned toward her son, intending to say a few words of concern. To her surprise, Gu Ce’an was watching Song Zhiwei’s retreating figure.
“Mother, what exactly was discussed at the Princess Royal’s place?” Gu Ce’an suddenly asked.
As Commander of the Jinyi Guard, he was generally aware of what had happened during the banquet.
From Song Zhiwei rescuing the drowning girl to her administering rescue breaths on the shore, to the disturbance caused by Li Rongpei, and even Madam Wang taking Song Zhiwei to meet Duke Cheng’s eldest daughter-in-law, he knew it all.
One could say that both the Jinyi Guard and the Eastern Depot had thoroughly infiltrated the Princess Royal’s residence.
However, when the discussion was held in the flower hall, the Princess Royal had kept only her two personal attendants beside her. The others present were noblewomen of rank, making direct inquiries inappropriate.
As a result, Gu Ce’an knew nothing about what had actually been said inside. Knowing the truth and understanding its seriousness, he had intended to plead with his mother on Song Zhiwei’s behalf. Yet he feared that speaking openly might cause his cousin, who had once harbored feelings for him, to misunderstand his intentions. That was why he had hesitated earlier.
He hadn’t expected Madam Zhao to have no intention of punishing Song Zhiwei.
Seeing the two maids’ swollen faces and the lingering redness on one side of Song Zhiwei’s face, he assumed another confrontation would follow once everyone returned home. Instead, the matter seemed to have settled quietly. He couldn’t help finding that strange.
Madam Zhao, however, misunderstood the reason for his question. Since Gu Ce’an was five, Madam Xu had raised him. Around that time, Madam Zhao gave birth to two more children and had too much on her hands to devote much attention to him. Over time, for reasons she could not quite explain, he grew into a man who seemed indifferent to everyone and everything. And now that his character was fully formed, there was no changing it. He had never shown interest in any young woman before. Not a single maid by his side had ever been taken into his chambers. But this one simply would not do.
It wasn’t that Madam Zhao didn’t want her son to be happy. The problem was that Song Zhiwei’s background made her impossible to place appropriately. Had her status been even lower, it would have been manageable. Once her son married a proper wife in the future, Song Zhiwei could have been brought into the household as a favored concubine. But her mother was Madam Xu’s own daughter. Such a lineage made it impossible for her to be a concubine. Yet as a legal wife, she was nowhere near qualified.
The girl Madam Zhao truly favored was Meng Qiyue. These thoughts passed through her mind in only a short moment. Soon enough, she acted as though she had noticed nothing unusual about her son and recounted what had happened in the flower hall. What she failed to notice, however, was the faint trace of disgust that flickered across Gu Ce’an’s face when she mentioned “that girl Yue.”