This was the first time Chu Congning had ever heard someone call him “brother,” and his eyes turned somewhat dazed.
He was the youngest brother in the family. Eldest Brother was steady and dignified, coolly aloof and handsome beyond compare—a pillar of talent praised by everyone in the capital.
Second Brother was gentle as jade, brilliant in strategy and peerless in grace, likewise a dragon and phoenix among men, one in ten thousand.
Third Brother excelled in martial arts, proud and soaring, famous since his youth.
Only he was slow at everything he learned, living from childhood beneath the towering glory of his three older brothers.
In the mansion, he was practically invisible; no one cared about him.
Father King didn’t care. Mother Consort didn’t care. His brothers didn’t include him in their games.
He was heartbroken. Later, he secretly overheard people saying he brought misfortune to his kin, because in the year he was born, his grandfather died in battle and Father King’s legs were crippled.
He was the one who had harmed his grandfather and Father King.
He was the sinner of the Prince’s Mansion.
He didn’t dare cry in front of others, only daring to hide away and weep in secret.
Chu Congning lowered his head and sniffled, speaking in a small voice that still carried a trace of sobbing.
“This place is out of the way, hardly anyone comes here. Walk forward, turn left first, then right, then left again, and you’ll see the mansion’s servants.”
Chu Mo didn’t move. Instead, she leaned in close, tilting her head to look at him. “Fourth Brother, are you crying?”
A magnified face suddenly appeared before him, and Chu Congning jumped in fright, backing away in terror.
“You… what are you doing? I… I wasn’t crying.”
“Hee hee.” Chu Mo’s face broke into a smile. “I saw you crying.”
Chu Congning’s eyes were downcast, his long lashes trembling slightly, his voice low, carrying a careful, timid embarrassment and humility.
“You… you mustn’t tell anyone.”
Chu Mo scratched her head, not quite understanding why Fourth Brother had run off to cry in secret.
He wasn’t a concubine-born son of some secondary consort—he was the legitimate son born of the Princess Consort. Who would dare mistreat him?
“Fourth Brother, did someone bully you? Let’s go tell Father and Mother!”
“No!” Chu Congning said loudly. “Absolutely not.”
If Father King and Mother Consort found out he had hidden away to cry, they would despise him even more, look down on him even more.
“Only useless people cry. I can’t let Father King and Mother Consort find out I was crying. Little sister, please don’t tell anyone, okay?” Chu Congning said, almost pleading.
Chu Mo listened, stunned, her brows knitting slightly. Then, step by step, she slowly walked around behind him, reached out, and gently tugged at the corner of his sleeve.
“That’s not true at all.”
“If you’re sad, you can cry. You can let it out. There’s nothing wrong with crying. Keeping it bottled up inside will only hurt you.”
Chu Congning’s body trembled violently, and he froze in place, unmoving for a long while.
He slowly lifted his head, his dark eyes wet, still glistening with unshed tears, looking at Chu Mo wretchedly and bewildered.
There was no contempt on Chu Mo’s face, no indifference—only a pair of clear, pure eyes reflecting his image earnestly.
Chu Mo looked at him earnestly and coaxed softly, “Fourth Brother, if you want to cry, then cry. I won’t laugh at you, and I won’t tell Father King and Mother Consort.”
Chu Congning’s nose stung, and the tears he had been holding back could no longer be contained, falling silently.
Chu Mo’s lips pursed. For some reason, watching Chu Congning cry made her want to cry too—perhaps because it reminded her of her own past life, when she had also hidden away to weep in secret.
“Fourth Brother, if I cried, would you laugh at me?”
Chu Congning: “…Why would you be crying too?”
Chu Mo: “I don’t know. I just feel like crying.”
Chu Congning: “Then go ahead and cry. I won’t laugh at you—we can cry together.”
“Okay.”
And so, the siblings Chu Mo and Chu Congning threw their arms around each other and wept.
Chu Xingyu was told by a servant that Chu Mo had left Clear Breeze Court and no one knew where she’d gone. His brow furrowed slightly, and he hurriedly sent people to search for her.
By the time he learned her whereabouts and made his way over, he was greeted by this bizarre scene.
For once, the smile had slipped from Chu Xingyu’s face, and a flash of surprise crossed his eyes.
When had Fourth Brother gotten to know Chu Mo? And why on earth were they hugging each other and sobbing?
Chu Xingyu rubbed his brow and walked over. “What are you two crying about?”
Hearing his voice, Chu Congning looked up and saw his Second Brother staring at him. His heart lurched in fright, he hiccupped, then hastily wiped his tears and turned away, not daring to look at Chu Xingyu.
Chu Mo casually wiped her tears with her sleeve, tilted her head up to look at Chu Xingyu, and said, looking utterly aggrieved:
“Second Brother, I got lost.”
Chu Xingyu: “…You cry when you get lost?”
“No, I cried because I saw Fourth Brother crying.” Chu Mo shook her head, selling out Chu Congning without a moment’s hesitation.
Chu Congning: “!!”
Chu Congning whirled around in shock, jumping up and pointing at Chu Mo as he shrieked, “Chu Mo, you just promised me you wouldn’t tell! You liar! You awful person!”
Chu Mo looked the picture of innocence. “I only promised not to tell Father and Mother. But Second Brother isn’t Father and Mother.”
At those words, Chu Congning choked, stumped. Thinking it over, what Chu Mo had just said did seem technically true.
Mortified and embarrassed, and with a vague, hard-to-name sense of grievance, he cried out loudly, “You tricked me! You deceived me! I don’t want a sister like you anymore. I hate you!”
With that, he turned and ran.
Chu Mo stretched out her hand after him—”Fourth Brother—”
“Fourth Brother my foot! I’m not your Fourth Brother anymore!” Chu Congning ran off at top speed, his clear voice drifting back, thick with sulkiness and shame.
Chu Mo sniffled and turned to Chu Xingyu. “Second Brother, I think I made Fourth Brother angry.”
Chu Xingyu’s gaze was gentle as he said slowly, “No matter. Fourth Brother doesn’t hold grudges. Come along—and next time, bring a maid when you go out, so you don’t get lost again.”
“Okay.” Chu Mo agreed.
Back at Clear Breeze Court, Chu Xingyu assigned a young maid to attend to Chu Mo personally.
Chu Mo didn’t refuse—she didn’t know her way around the Prince’s Mansion, and she really did need a maid.
Early the next morning, Chu Mo got up and had the maid, Juhua, take her to Cedar Courtyard.
Didn’t daughters of great families always rise early to pay their respects to the lady of the house?
That was how it was at Marquis Jian’an’s Manor. The young ladies there strictly observed propriety—before dawn had fully broken each day, they would wash, dress, and present themselves before the Marchioness for her morning and evening greetings, never daring to slack.
Liu Zhurong found it strange that Chu Mo had come so early, and assumed something must be wrong. She never expected the girl had come to pay her respects.
Liu Zhurong was stunned for a good while before it dawned on her that, yes, this was indeed the custom in old noble families.
Watching Chu Mo’s small, thin frame solemnly call her “Mother” and kowtow in greeting, even Liu Zhurong’s hardest heart softened a little.
She had borne four sons, and now a daughter had suddenly appeared out of nowhere—truly a novelty.
“Get up. There’s no need to come pay your respects every day. We don’t keep so many rules here in the Prince’s Mansion.”
Liu Zhurong considered her words quite considerate.
But to Chu Mo’s ears, these words took on a different meaning. She thought she meant that the Prince’s Mansion had not yet formally acknowledged her as a daughter, so there was no need to come pay her respects.