Shen Jinghong lay sprawled on his stomach in bed, grimacing and hissing in pain.
His back was crisscrossed with several welts from a cane the souvenirs Shen Dingjiang had given him at Yicui Pavilion.
Shen Dingjiang had shown restraint. It hurt terribly, but the skin hadn’t split open. Still, bruises and swelling were unavoidable.
Liu Yunshuang sat beside the bed with a jar of medicinal ointment in hand. As she applied it, she scolded him in a measured tone not too loud, not too soft; not too fast, not too slow:
“Drinking with courtesans? Hm? Your father spent twenty years fighting on the frontier, and the Shen family never lost an ounce of its reputation. Yet you once a month, twice a month, making a spectacle of yourself. Are you afraid the people of the capital might forget who Shen Jinghong is?”
“Mother, that hurts! It hurts!”
Shen Jinghong buried his face in the pillow, his voice muffled.
“Please be gentler… gentler…”
“You know pain, do you?”
Liu Yunshuang deliberately pressed a little harder.
Shen Jinghong yelped.
“You knew enough to feel pain, but when your father swung that cane, why didn’t you dodge? Aren’t you supposed to be highly skilled in martial arts? Aren’t you planning to ride horses, draw bows, and wield sabers in the future? You can’t even avoid a strike from an old man. What exactly have you been training for? To become useless?”
“I was drunk!”
His voice emerged from the pillow, muffled and indignant.
“And who would dare dodge one of Father’s strikes? If I dodged, he’d hit even harder…”
Liu Yunshuang let out a cold laugh.
She screwed the lid back onto the ointment and smacked the one uninjured patch of his shoulder.
“Aaaah!”
Shen Jinghong cried out again.
“Serves you right.”
Liu Yunshuang stood up, wiped her hands clean, and looked down at her son writhing on the bed.
“Your father said that this time you’re forbidden from leaving the house for three months. If you dare sneak out again, he’ll break your legs.”
Shen Jinghong shot upright.
His eyes widened in disbelief.
“Three months?! Has Father lost his mind? If I can’t leave the house for three months, I’d rather die!”
“Then go die.”
Liu Yunshuang’s expression didn’t change.
Shen Jinghong: “…”
He flopped back down and buried his face in the pillow once more, releasing a long, suffering groan.
Looking at her son’s pitiful state, Liu Yunshuang sighed.
She sat back down by the bed, her tone softening.
“Jinghong, tell me the truth.”
“Hm?”
His reply was still muffled.
“You went to Yicui Pavilion.”
Her voice dropped lower, quiet enough that only the two of them could hear.
“What was the real reason?”
Shen Jinghong’s back stiffened slightly.
Liu Yunshuang noticed it immediately.
A faint frown appeared between her brows, but she didn’t press him. She simply waited.
Silence stretched between them.
After a long while
“…Nothing.”
His voice came from the pillow, vague and evasive.
“I just went drinking with Zhao Zheng and the others. Fang Ziheng said some new girls had arrived there who were good at playing music, so we went to take a look.”
“Just to take a look?”
Liu Yunshuang’s tone was skeptical.
“And somehow that led to you saying things like, ‘I’d rather marry a courtesan than a sickly woman’?”
Shen Jinghong’s back stiffened again.
“Mother ”
He finally lifted his face from the pillow and turned toward her.
Guilt was written all over his face, and his eyes kept darting away.
“I was drunk and talking nonsense. You know what I’m like I can’t control my mouth when I’ve had too much to drink…”
Liu Yunshuang looked directly into his eyes.
For a long time.
“Jinghong,” she said quietly, “ever since you were little, every time you lie, you can’t look me in the eye.”
His gaze immediately jerked away from the bed curtains and met hers for a brief second before fleeing again.
“…I’m not lying.”
Liu Yunshuang did not expose him.
She simply remained silent.