Pain! Pain everywhere!
Her old bones felt as if they were falling apart. She lay sprawled on the cold, damp ground, her withered, bark-like hand trembling as she tried to lift it, only for it to fall back down. The door was right before her eyes, yet it remained forever out of reach.
The sound of idle chatter from outside drifted into the dark, dilapidated room.
“How many more days do you think that old thing inside can last?”
“She’s finished. She was coughing up blood yesterday. I reckon it’ll be a matter of a day or two.”
“It’s better if she dies. Once she’s gone, we’ll finally be free.”
“The Eldest Master is cold-hearted, though. His own mother is at death’s door, yet he won’t even spare her a glance.”
“And isn’t it because the old thing was vicious! I heard from the older servants in the manor that the Eldest Master suffered plenty of abuse at her hands when he was little. She broke countless bamboo canes, each as thick as a thumb, beating him. What kind of mother acts like that?”
“She is a pitiful one, though. Her husband loathed her while he was alive, and now her own son ignores her. Her life as the family Matriarch was worse than ours as servants!”
“If she’s pitiful, she deserves it. If she hadn’t been so heartless in everything she did, how could she be despised by both her husband and her son at the same time?”
Someone sighed. “I suppose it’s retribution.”
Inside the room, her five fingers clawed at the cold floor tiles, her joints twisted and gnarled.
Where could she go to vent this heart full of grievances?
Her throat constricted repeatedly. Images of her wedding day flashed through her mind—distant yet etched into her soul. Dressed in a dazzling bridal gown, she had held his hand, her heart brimming with joy.
His every word had been resonant and sincere as he made a lifelong vow to her.
How laughable! She had actually believed such a fickle, cold-blooded man.
Every misfortune in her life had begun with him.
A weak sigh escaped her lips. Having lived to the age of eighty, her life was nothing but regret.
A piercing cold wind lashed against the treetops, sounding like a ghost’s wail in the silent night.
A small lamp burned on the table inside the room. The bronze mirror reflected a woman’s fair, delicate face and thick, raven-black hair.
The eighty-year-old crone had actually returned to the prime of her youth.
It felt like a grand dream, yet it was profoundly real.
Charcoal burned in the brazier, making the room warm. Even though she stood barefoot on the floor, she did not feel the cold.
She was in a bit of a daze.
Her gaze fell upon a small side table. A pair of half-finished children’s “cloud boots” caught her eye, and a sudden, sharp pain pierced her heart.
His roar seemed to echo in her ears.
“I must have committed a great sin in my past life to be born from the womb of someone like you. You aren’t fit to be my mother at all!”
Her eyes remained red for a long time before she suddenly grabbed the boots and tossed them into the charcoal brazier. She stared at the rising smoke, her expression exceptionally cold and somber.
“Unfilial son…”
In her past life, after his bastard father died, he had sent her away to a manor on the outskirts of the capital under the pretext of “recuperating from illness.” From then on, he never looked back or asked about her. Even the servants, seeing which way the wind blew, began to mistreat her.
She had never seen him again, not even until the moment she died.
Now that she had a second chance, she would no longer care for him. Let him be stubborn; let him neglect his studies. A person who could not be warmed even if she burned herself to cinders was better left to his own devices.
Once she regained her composure, she felt an unbearable hunger. It was not yet five in the morning. Zhou Yunruo summoned the night-watch servant and ordered food to be brought.
The maid, Qiudie, brought a bowl of shredded chicken savory congee and a plate of steamed mutton buns. She said softly, “Madam, at this hour, this is all that remains in the kitchen.”
Zhou Yunruo scrutinized her—the long face, the willowy, swaying waist.
This personal maid of hers was no simple character. A wife is not as good as a concubine, and a concubine is not as good as a mistress.
It had been a long time; how did this girl die? Recalling carefully, she, too, had been a pitiful soul.
In the twelfth lunar month of that year, Yan Heng had returned late at night after drinking. He had entered her courtyard, but he hadn’t come for her.
He had entered this maid’s room with practiced ease. No one knew how long the struggle lasted, but the cries and screams had awakened the entire courtyard.
When she had pushed open the door to the adjacent room, the scent of lust mixed with a metallic stench of blood had hit her. Her “good husband” had his robes wide open.
Qiudie was sprawled on the ground, wailing incessantly.
“General… your servant was carrying your child. You were so reckless… you’re going to take my life!”
Yan Heng, humiliated by the public exposure of his scandalous behavior, had flown into a rage. He locked her in the woodshed and denied her medical treatment.
The twelfth month was freezing. The next day, Qiudie’s corpse was wrapped in a straw mat by the servants and tossed into a mass grave.
The matter was settled after tossing a few silver ingots to her parents.
Withdrawing her gaze, Zhou Yunruo focused on eating the food before her. The oily mutton was mixed with the sweetness of carrots; one bite brought immense satisfaction.
Another bowl of warm congee settled her stomach. If only she had a bowl of hot congee like this before she died in her previous life. Dying on an empty stomach was truly miserable.
Qiudie cleared the dishes and approached. “Let me attend to your washing, Madam. It is almost five, time for the Young Master to begin his morning recitations.”
She had almost forgotten. For fifteen years, whether it was the blistering heat of summer or the bitter cold of winter, rain or shine, she would personally supervise that unfilial son’s memorization as soon as it struck five.
At this moment, her eyes turned cold. She said in a heavy voice, “Pass down my orders. From now on, no one is to disturb my rest at five.”
Hearing this, Qiudie looked at her in confusion, only to meet Zhou Yunruo’s cold gaze. After a moment of panic, the maid quickly regained her composure. Bowing her head, she said, “This servant understands.”
As dawn approached, Yan Heng returned from his shift, bringing a chill into the warm room. He untied his cloak and, before even removing his black armor, he slipped behind the bed curtains.
In her sleep, Zhou Yunruo felt a weight so heavy she couldn’t breathe. She felt a pair of large, rough hands wandering over her waist and a warm, damp breath against her neck. This sensation was all too familiar.
Instantly, all sleepiness vanished. She snapped her eyes open, and the words “old scoundrel” almost escaped her lips.
Without hesitation, she swung her hand to strike. In an instant, both of her wrists were captured by his large hands and pinned firmly above her head.
The man was currently in his prime, a far cry from the frail, withered version of his later years.
His eyes were tinged with lust, and his voice was slightly deep. “It’s me. I’ve missed you dearly these past few days. Be good… satisfy me just this once.”
Zhou Yunruo couldn’t help the wave of nausea that rose in her chest. She had married him at seventeen and been with him for sixty years.
She couldn’t even count how many women he had been intimate with if she used all her fingers and toes.
The most recent memory was from when he was seventy, when he had bought a fifteen-year-old girl and kept her in his room for his nightly amusement.
Such a scoundrel, even with his youthful, handsome face restored, filled her with nothing but revulsion.
She struggled, and she clearly saw the subtle shift in his facial muscles. He was displeased.
“You didn’t miss me?”
Zhou Yunruo was currently only twenty-three, at the peak of her beauty. Among the women of her age in the capital, she was one of the finest, if not the very best.
Yan Heng’s complete loss of interest in her was something that wouldn’t happen for a few more years.
With her hands restrained, she was unable to move. After a moment’s thought, she said, “My menses have come. It’s inconvenient.”
Yan Heng’s body lowered, closing the distance between them.
His warm breath was inches away. He looked at her suspiciously, staring intently at her face as if trying to find a flaw.
Suddenly, he smirked. “Let me see if it’s true or false.” Before his voice even faded, his large hand abruptly reached down. In contrast to her panic, his expression was full of playful malice.