Madam Lin was calm, borrowing words Chu Linlang had once said: that men’s quarrels in officialdom had nothing to do with the women of the household. Let the men fight; as sisters-in-law of different families, they should get along well.
This remark immediately won praise from the other ladies, who said Madam Lin was broad-minded and that women ought to treat one another in such a way.
But those who knew Madam Lin’s nature understood—she, like her husband, repaid every slight and held grudges deeply. No one knew what trick Chu Linlang had used to coax her into reconciliation.
Hearing that Chu Linlang had opened a tavern, Madam Lin grew curious and asked about its daily business. Chu Linlang, in turn, took the chance to inquire about Zhang Xian’s situation in the capital.
After some polite chatter, someone suggested reviving the poetry club. Several literate ladies drew lots to compose verses for the others to judge.
Chu Linlang, fond of drinking but not of poetry, avoided the contest to keep from exposing her weakness. Madam He, the Prefect’s wife, also disliked such literary games and pulled Chu Linlang aside for private talk.
“I heard,” she said, “that Madam Zhao bypassed you and arranged a concubine for your husband…” She spoke only to open the subject, waiting for Chu Linlang to pour out her grievances.
But Chu Linlang only smiled: “Bypass or not, Mother mentioned it to me. I wouldn’t choose myself, so I let her decide. You know my Sui’an is getting older—he must have heirs, that’s proper.”
Madam He was disappointed, feeling Chu Linlang evasive and unwilling to confide. She had always treated her as an insider, offering advice.
Before Madam He could grow stern, Chu Linlang leaned closer and whispered: “Besides, I’ve no mind for those petty matters. Have you heard? After the Sixth Prince returned to the capital, His Majesty scolded him harshly in court!”
Madam He nodded, giving Chu Linlang a meaningful look: “You heard that from Madam Lin, didn’t you? Since when are you so close with her? That Zhang fellow in the capital only saw a little, yet Madam Lin treats his letters like secret codes, refusing even to tell me.”
That was typical of the Zhang family—Zhang Xian, sent from the capital, considered himself superior and looked down on local colleagues.
Without waiting for Chu Linlang’s reply, Madam He sneered: “It’s no secret. My husband already heard. That Sixth Prince is not favored. He is young, rash, and has killed too many. His Majesty must answer to the ministers. A boy wielding the imperial sword is no joke. Now he has been demoted to Jizhou to repair river works. At last, Lianzhou can breathe easy. Amitabha! Another day, you must accompany me to the temple to give thanks.”
Since the prince was punished, the winds from the capital had shifted. No more fear of scrutiny from above—no wonder Madam He was relieved.
Chu Linlang seized the chance to ask: “And… did the Sixth Prince’s tutor also suffer punishment?”
Madam He replied: “Master Situ? He is no longer tutor. He was sent to the Ministry of Personnel, to a minor post. Hard to say if it was a promotion or a demotion. Why do you suddenly ask about him?”
Chu Linlang smiled: “Just curious. He looks quite fine—why has he never married?”
At the mention of marriage gossip, Madam He’s eyes lit up, and she began speculating whether Master Situ preferred men.
When Chu Linlang returned home, she found Zhou Sui’an already back from the yamen. He had not gone to the new concubine’s quarters, but lay on Chu Linlang’s bed.
Chu Linlang had never imagined a day when seeing her husband there would feel awkward.
At this point, acting the jealous wife seemed childish even to herself. So she took a deep breath and asked casually: “Why are you back so early? Did you go to pay respects to Mother?”
Zhou Sui’an had braced himself for a quarrel.
But Chu Linlang acted as if nothing had happened, as though in their seven years of marriage she had never wept or sulked. He felt she had changed overnight—whether for better or worse, he could not tell.
He wanted to stay in her room, but Chu Linlang claimed she felt dizzy and coughed, fearing she would pass on the illness, and urged him to spend the night in the concubine’s quarters.
It was an old habit from his student days—whenever she was ill, they slept apart, lest she disturb his studies. Then he had slept in the study; now he had a more comfortable place.
Seeing her flushed cheeks, he worried and insisted on staying. But just then, a servant came, saying Madam Zhao was speaking with the new concubine and wanted him there.
Helpless, Zhou Sui’an left and did not return to Chu Linlang’s chamber.
Dongxue, seeing her mistress feverish, grew angry and wanted to scold the concubine. But Chu Linlang stopped her: “Let me sleep alone. Don’t stir up trouble.”
Not everyone in the Zhou household welcomed the newcomer. Younger sister Zhou Xiuling thought her mother had treated her sister-in-law shamefully.
The next morning, upon hearing that Chu Linlang was ill, she had her maid prepare the medicine she had used and brought it to her sister-in-law personally.
As soon as she entered the room, Chu Linlang saw someone already attending at her bedside. The new concubine, Madam Hu, after sending Zhou Sui’an off to his official duties, had come early and personally cooked shrimp porridge to present to the mistress.
Zhou Xiuling thought this concubine at least had some sense, knowing to show respect to the principal wife.
With Madam Hu present, Zhou Xiuling could say little else, only complaining that her brother was not considerate—his wife was burning with fever, her cheeks flushed red, yet he had not taken leave to stay by her side.
Chu Linlang reassured them: it was only a minor illness, two doses of medicine would suffice, and her sister-in-law need not worry.
After finishing the medicine, Chu Linlang felt much better. She sent both Zhou Xiuling and Madam Hu away, changed her clothes, and went out again with her maid.
Even with a touch of illness, life had to go on, and money had to be earned.
She had purchased a tavern and had it repaired; it was to reopen the next day. She needed to oversee everything herself to feel secure. Hearing that several newly lacquered tables had not yet been delivered, she decided to visit the carpentry shop outside the city, and at the same time buy herself a wooden chest for storing money.
Not long after leaving the city gate and passing a crossroads, Chu Linlang felt an urgent need. She asked the driver to stop the carriage by the roadside. With Xia He’s help, she entered the woods to relieve herself, washed her hands with her copper kettle, and returned to the carriage.
Xia He and the driver also went off briefly, each to a different side of the road.
Alone, Chu Linlang lifted the carriage curtain—and immediately sensed something wrong. The blanket she had laid earlier was bulging high.
Before she could react, the blanket suddenly lifted, and a large hand clamped tightly over her mouth, stifling her cry.
Chu Linlang knew she had met a villain. Though she could not speak, she stretched her leg to kick the carriage wall, hoping to alert the driver and maid outside.
At that moment, a low, familiar voice whispered at her ear: “Madam Chu, do not fear—it is I…”
She turned her head slightly and saw a handsome profile close beside her.
Situ Sheng? Wasn’t he supposed to have returned to the capital with the Sixth Prince? How had he suddenly appeared in her carriage?
Before she could think further, she noticed something wrong—the heavy stench of blood on him.
Situ Sheng spoke softly: “I was traveling incognito on official duty and was attacked. Seeing the Zhou carriage, I hid inside. They are searching everywhere—please, Madam, do not make a sound, lest they find me.”
Though he said this, his grip on her mouth did not loosen. Chu Linlang quickly blinked to signal she understood. Only then did he release her, letting her escape his iron hold.
She now saw clearly—his right arm was streaming blood, a gaping wound pouring out. Too much blood; he could die. Without regard for propriety, she tore his belt and bound his arm to slow the bleeding.
She whispered: “I’ll call the driver to return to the city. Can you endure?”
Situ Sheng was not surprised by her composure. She had always been bold—such a scene could not frighten her.
But returning to the city was dangerous. While she tied the wound, he asked: “Where were you headed?”
“Just to the carpentry shop in the village ahead,” she replied softly.
Her hair, scented with osmanthus oil, brushed close to his face, the fragrance surrounding him.
Situ Sheng stared straight ahead, silent for a moment, then said: “Go to the carpentry shop first. I cannot return to the city yet.”
Chu Linlang looked at him, weighing the risks. She feared only one thing—that he might die in her carriage. Then she, a married woman, would be found alone with a handsome corpse, unable to explain herself.
As if reading her thoughts, Situ Sheng smiled faintly: “Quickly, Madam. I can still endure. If we delay, it may harm your reputation.”
This man was truly shameless! A true gentleman would bleed out before climbing into a married woman’s carriage.
Chu Linlang forced a polite smile, murmured empty words of comfort, then followed his instructions. She stepped down, wiped away the blood around the carriage, and even smeared some bloody cloth along the road toward the city, to mislead pursuers into thinking the wounded man had gone that way.
When the driver and Xia He returned, Chu Linlang kept them outside the carriage.
The journey was torment. Never before, except with her husband, had she been so close to another man. The jolting carriage nearly threw her into Situ Sheng’s arms several times.
This was the second time he had leapt into her carriage. The first had nearly cost her life; this time seemed just as perilous. Who dared attempt to assassinate a court official?
She shrank back, avoiding contact, and pulled out her tortoise-shell divination tool, shaking it. But the shell was old and useless, offering no comfort.
Three times she shook, and each time the omen was ill. Still unwilling, she shook again, hoping for a sign of fortune.
Situ Sheng watched her wrist flicking like a gambler with dice, and could not help but chuckle faintly, before closing his eyes, pale-faced, half-dead in appearance.