Liu Muli could taste blood filling her mouth. Her face twisted with distaste; unwilling to swallow the metallic fluid, she mumbled that she needed to get down from the bed.
Wei Linye’s brows drew together in a tight, heavy frown. His jaw set hard, though he was forced to release her. He struck a flint, lit the lamp, and glanced down at the back of his hand. A clear, sharp impression of four teeth marked his skin—broken and bleeding, the wound throbbing faintly.
He paid it little heed. Reaching beneath the bed, he pulled out a chamber pot. Liu Muli, who had already slipped to the edge of the mattress, immediately spat the blood from her mouth into it.
Wei Linye’s gaze rested on her face for a moment before he let out a short, dry scoff. “Judging by your teeth, you are no rabbit. You are most certainly a dog.”
Taking it as an insult, Liu Muli glared back at him. “You are the dog!”
“I was born in the Year of the Rat—not the Dog,” Wei Linye replied evenly. He set the chamber pot on the floor, poured a cup of cool water, and held it to her lips.
*No wonder he is so cunning and treacherous,* Liu Muli thought to herself. She held her tongue, took a mouthful of water to rinse her mouth, spat it into the pot, and then drained the rest of the cup. Only then did she feel somewhat better.
Seeing her reaction, Wei Linye’s lips curled faintly. “You have only yourself to blame.”
Liu Muli ignored him. Still, biting him so fiercely had given her a measure of satisfaction.
***
When she awoke the next morning, the space beside her was empty and cold. He had long since risen. Liu Muli yawned, a faint, self-satisfied smile touching her lips. *That wretched man did not dare remain openly in my room after all.*
In truth, this had been Wei Linmu’s chamber. After Liu Muli had been brought home by Old Madam Huang—when she was soon to be wed—she had moved in here. It was meant to become the bridal chamber once they were married. Wei Linmu, in turn, had shared Wei Linye’s quarters; since Wei Linye spent most of his time studying in the prefecture city and was rarely home, it had seemed a simple enough arrangement. On the rare occasions he did return, the two brothers shared the room without complaint.
But then Wei Linmu had died. This room would never be a bridal chamber now. It still held so many of his belongings—things that filled Liu Muli with such sorrow that she had wept herself to sleep many nights. Back then, she had wondered again and again: Why must my happiness end just as it has barely begun?
She grieved deeply for Wei Linmu, yet she also lived in fear that she would no longer be welcome in this household. She loved the Wei family, and she loved Old Madam Huang. Here, she had known the warmth of a home; she had been cherished and protected. She had longed to stay.
Fortunately, Old Madam Huang had never once suggested turning her away. She had treated Liu Muli no differently than before, and had told her gently that should she ever wish to marry elsewhere, she would help find her a worthy match. Liu Muli had declined. She wanted nothing more than to remain here, beside Old Madam Huang, serving her with all her heart as though she were her own mother.
In time, however, she had begun to notice the way Wei Linye looked at her—as a wolf looks upon a rabbit, eager to devour it whole. Fear had taken hold of her once more. She lived in constant dread that Old Madam Huang would discover the truth, denounce her as shameless and unchaste for leading her late fiancé’s brother astray, and cast her out. She had done everything in her power to avoid him, yet the more she fled, the closer he pressed—until she had nowhere left to run. And then… he had taken her. Regardless of honour, regardless of kinship, regardless of everything.
Not long afterward, Wei Linye had spoken to Old Madam Huang. He had told her that seeing Wei Linmu’s things daily caused Liu Muli too much grief, and asked permission to move them all into his own room. To Liu Muli’s surprise, Old Madam Huang had not objected. Though her heart ached to part with them, she had burned what was no longer needed and allowed the rest to be carried to Wei Linye’s chamber.
In her past life, Liu Muli had believed Old Madam Huang had acted solely out of kindness—thinking only to spare her pain. But now, looking back, she wondered if it had not been quite so simple. She recalled Wei Linye’s excessive attentions toward her, how openly he had shown care… and how Old Madam Huang had seemed neither surprised nor displeased. She had appeared, rather, to have grown accustomed to it.
It dawned on Liu Muli: Old Madam Huang must have known. She had known all along. Exactly when she had discovered the truth, she could not say. Even though the marriage had never been fulfilled, Liu Muli had been betrothed to Wei Linmu—regarded already as a daughter-in-law of this house. Only Old Madam Huang’s goodness and boundless mercy had saved her. In any other household, she might have been cast out in disgrace, condemned by all the world… or worse.
In her past life, Old Madam Huang had eventually been brought to the capital to live in comfort and honour. Even when addressed respectfully as the Matriarch Wei, she had never once looked down upon her humble daughter-in-law. Before noble ladies, princesses, and all the rest, she had stood by Liu Muli and shielded her time and again.
Liu Muli’s heart swelled with gratitude. How deeply she cherished this woman. Yet in this life, she knew she could never truly become her daughter-in-law. Once Wei Linye had won the rank of *Zhuangyuan* and secured a position in the capital, she would bid Old Madam Huang a proper farewell. Wei Linye would bring his mother to the capital to enjoy prosperity and ease. He would marry a woman of noble birth—one learned, graceful, and capable of managing a great household’s affairs. Then Old Madam Huang would have a daughter-in-law worthy of her station, and need never toil or worry as she had in the past.
Truth be told, Liu Muli knew in her heart she was not fit to be mistress of a great and noble house. She lacked the skill, the breeding, and the grace. Even so, a sharp, aching bitterness rose in her chest at the thought—so painful it brought tears to her eyes.
She blinked hard, pushing those thoughts aside. She rose, washed, and arranged her hair in the coiffure of a married woman. Dawn was just breaking. The late-July morning air carried a crisp, refreshing chill.
Old Madam Huang was already up and about. She was feeding the chickens, mixing chaff with cooked vegetable stems. Back in the spring, before the heat had set in, she had bought twenty-five chicks at the market—twenty cockerels and five hens. Only fifteen full-grown cockerels remained. Over these past months, they had slaughtered one for meat nearly every month. Two older hens, bought the previous year, still lived—though they had long since ceased laying.
Now, while Wei Linye was still home, Old Madam Huang meant to slaughter them both. Water had already been set to boil upon the stove.
Stepping out into the courtyard, Liu Muli saw the two hens with their legs bound, sitting near the kitchen door. Old Madam Huang emerged just then, and Liu Muli asked, “Mother… do you intend to slaughter both of them at once?”
Old Madam Huang nodded, smiling warmly. “Yes. Both today.”
Liu Muli frowned slightly. “But surely two is too many. We shall never finish them fresh.”
Old Madam Huang replied, “That is why I shall preserve them as cured and dried meat. It will keep well, and Linye may carry it with him upon the road.”
Liu Muli understood then. It was all being prepared for his journey. In her past life, Old Madam Huang had prepared provisions as well—pancakes and baked flatbreads, but never cured meat. She had said then that she would travel with them, that with her watching over him she would not see him eating poorly upon the road. Now that she herself would not be going to the capital, Old Madam Huang was taking extra care and making extra preparations.
“I understand,” Liu Muli said softly. “Let me help you, Mother.”
“Ah—excellent! Come along then,” Old Madam Huang said with a happy smile. Then, as if in passing, she added, “Linye is in his chamber, copying texts and reviewing his lessons.”