With a heavy heart, Su Qing’er naturally had a restless night. She tossed and turned in bed, finally drifting into a hazy sleep near the third watch.
In her dream, she saw Jinghan smiling as he ran toward her. She ran to him, calling sweetly, “Jinghan!”
Just as her hand reached out, he disappeared in a wisp of smoke.
“Jinghan! Jinghan! Wait for me!” she cried, chasing after him—but she tripped hard and woke with a start.
It was only a dream. She sat up, moonlight streaming coldly through the window, and shivered, realizing her body was soaked with sweat.
After the dream, she could not fall back asleep. She wrapped herself in a coat and sat by the window, silently gazing at the pale moonlight outside, unmoving.
Finally, morning arrived. Su Qing’er, with dark circles under her eyes, went to greet her parents-in-law.
During breakfast, she could not help but ask about the situation at the front.
General Chen furrowed his brow. “The situation is indeed severe. Two neighboring countries are restless. Should they unite, Chengliu will be attacked from both front and rear—danger is imminent.”
Su Qing’er put down her chopsticks, her appetite gone. “Then Jinghan… what will happen to him?”
Lady Chen’s expression darkened as well, thinking of her son eating poorly and sleeping little, and her heart ached.
Seeing their worry, General Chen tried to reassure them. “Jinghan is experienced in battle. He knows how to handle himself. Do not worry—just eat.”
The family ate in silence, none in the mood for conversation.
After breakfast, Qing’er returned to her mother-in-law’s room, learning the household affairs. Though she was still under Lady Chen’s guidance, she wanted to gradually learn and help shoulder the responsibilities.
Keeping busy with daily tasks helped distract her mind from constantly thinking about the war.
As the days passed, Qing’er’s longing for her husband grew stronger. Cui’er overheard that Erfu used to serve the young general and that, since he was often away, letters were a way for the family to reassure him and for him to know all was well at home.
Qing’er called Erfu and asked him to send a letter. She even gave him some silver as a reward. Grateful, Erfu promised to deliver it faithfully.
Qing’er was delighted, thinking her husband would feel at ease knowing the situation at home and could focus on the battlefield, returning victorious sooner.
Yet the next morning, she was summoned to the ancestral hall.
Lady Chen and Aunt Wang sat there, their faces grim. Qing’er approached, greeting them politely, confused about what had happened.
“Kneel!” Lady Chen barked.
Startled, Qing’er asked, “Mother-in-law, what have I done wrong?”
“You are disrespectful to your elders! That alone is a mistake!” Lady Chen pointed at her, furious that Qing’er neither admitted guilt nor knelt.
“I have never been disrespectful,” Qing’er replied firmly.
“Hmph! Then look at this!” Lady Chen picked up something from the table and angrily threw it to the ground.
Qing’er bent down and picked it up—it was a letter.
“This is your letter to Jinghan. Look at what you’ve written!”
Qing’er assumed it was the letter she had sent, ready to explain that it only contained trivial matters and nothing disrespectful. But when she opened it, she was shocked.
The handwriting was hers, but the content was far from what she had written. It included complaints about her mother-in-law—how could this be?
“I swear, Mother-in-law, I didn’t write this!” Qing’er explained desperately.
“Hmph! Erfu confessed everything!” Lady Chen sneered.
“Mother-in-law, I did entrust Erfu to deliver my letter, but this is not the one. There must be some deception,” Qing’er pleaded.
But Lady Chen refused to listen, convinced Qing’er had complained to her husband. She locked the hall doors, forbade anyone from approaching, and decreed that Qing’er would learn Chen family discipline today—no apology, no release.
Cui’er was sent away to do chores. Qing’er was trapped, knowing she had fallen into a carefully laid trap. The forged letter had mimicked her handwriting meticulously, down to her habitual strokes. Even writing another letter would not reveal the deception.
Night fell, and the ancestral hall was cold and dark. Dressed lightly, hungry and chilled, Qing’er curled up near the candlelight for warmth.
Normally, she could have sought her father-in-law’s help, but he had been sent on official business elsewhere. No one could intervene.
Lady Chen insisted the letter was Qing’er’s, leaving her no defense.
“Father… Mother… I want to go home,” she thought, tears dripping silently.
She longed for Jinghan even more—how she wished he were there.
The cold, hard floor made her knees swell, and she eventually collapsed.
Somehow, she survived the night. When sunlight finally streamed in, it brought a touch of warmth.
Having been pampered all her life, Qing’er was unaccustomed to such suffering. She caught a chill and soon developed a high fever, her body burning like fire.
Lady Chen, busy with other matters, had almost forgotten the ancestral hall incident. Only when Cui’er wept and begged did she finally open the door, only to find Qing’er lying unconscious.
She had not expected Qing’er to be so weak. People hurried to lift her into the house and called a doctor.
The doctor diagnosed her with wind-cold invading the body. Her constitution was weak, the fever relentless, and if the prescribed medicines didn’t work, the outcome could be serious.
Lady Chen panicked. She had only meant to teach her daughter-in-law a lesson, to enforce discipline in the absence of her husband. She never imagined it would become so serious.
Just then, Aunt Wang arrived, instructing the doctor to prepare the medicine. After he left, she told Lady Chen she had an ancestral remedy guaranteed to reduce the fever in two days.
Hearing this, Lady Chen immediately ordered her servants to follow Aunt Wang’s prescription.
In a few days, the master would return. If Qing’er was still ill, it would be difficult to explain.
Although Qing’er had erred in sending a letter, punishing her so harshly and publicly was hardly honorable. Better to heal her, scare her, and cover the incident.
Servants went to buy the medicine, and Cui’er tended to Qing’er with tears in her eyes. She had never seen her young mistress so sick—her body scorching, lips parched, and complexion pale as if dragged from water.
Worried, Cui’er wanted to run to the Su household to report it, but the gatekeeper stopped her, saying Lady Chen had forbidden anyone to enter or leave freely.