Inside the bath chamber, steam filled the air.
Zhao Shiyan leaned back against the bath barrel, arms spread wide along its rim, eyes slightly closed.
Nothing else was amiss about him, save for several deep fingernail marks conspicuously embedded in his sturdy right arm.
The nail marks were distinct, each one a small crescent shape—easy to imagine that their owner possessed a pair of elegantly shaped hands.
Zhao Shiyan opened his eyes and gazed at these marks, momentarily lost in thought.
That woman who always lay silently beneath him seemed somewhat different today.
At least different from the previous few times.
The first time, she had appeared to be drugged, completely unconscious throughout.
After that, she had been like a clay statue, utterly unresponsive.
But this time, she had suddenly made struggling movements.
Zhao Shiyan had assumed Granny Wang would have taught her all the proper rules, that she wouldn’t be confused about the situation.
He merely thought she was being restless, and fearing his wife in the adjacent room might hear and grow suspicious, he had grabbed her neck to stop her—which was how his arm had come to bear those scratch marks.
If his wife were to see these, there was no telling what kind of scene she would make.
She could not bear to see him entangled with any woman. Ever since she had married into the household, all the maidservants who had previously attended to him had been sent away.
Had it not been for the fact that their three years of marriage had produced no offspring—and that as the eldest legitimate grandson of the Duke’s household, he had to answer for this, especially given that his younger legitimate brother’s wife had already borne a daughter and was soon to have another child—his wife would never have permitted him to touch that woman in the Paulownia Flower Courtyard.
His wife was a woman of the inner quarters, with limited mobility, so the surrogate mother had been found through a broker on his behalf.
He had not dared to use the familiar brokers who regularly dealt with the household, for fear of leaving traces. Instead, he had gone through circuitous channels to find a small brokerage.
That broker had insisted the woman possessed the physiognomy for bearing sons, that she was good at childbirth, having already delivered three sons, and would surely give him a male heir at first attempt.
Zhao Shiyan’s mind had first conjured the image of a stout, broad-waisted woman. He had felt greatly reluctant, but could only steel himself and go through with it.
To his surprise, it was not as he had imagined.
On their first night together, he could tell that she was clearly inexperienced.
Moreover, her figure was slender and graceful, her body compact and firm, her skin smooth as lard—nothing like a woman who had borne children.
Could there have been some mistake?
But he had not told his wife any of this, fearing it would create complications.
Zhao Shiyan drifted in formless thought.
Somehow, his mind suddenly returned to that dim room.
The soft, supple body, the gentle gasps, and…
Feeling a surge of heat gathering in his lower abdomen, Zhao Shiyan snapped back to attention. He scooped up a handful of water and splashed it harshly across his face, his expression shifting unpredictably.
How could he!
How could he, while bathing, be having wandering thoughts of another woman?
Even savoring the memory of their moments of intimacy…
Then he remembered his promise to his wife, and in an instant, guilt flooded his heart.
However, ever since he had first been with that woman in the Paulownia Flower Courtyard, his wife had been less willing to let him near her.
Whenever she was in a bad mood, she would make him bathe—sometimes washing multiple times before she would allow him to approach. Even when they slept together at night, she would always find some excuse to refuse him. If that failed, she would openly show her displeasure and send him off to the study to sleep.
Zhao Shiyan was in the prime of his vigor. Having been pent up for so long, such a reaction was only natural. It was not because of any particular person.
Besides, he had never even seen what that woman looked like.
The process of their union could hardly be called a harmonious blending. At the very least, he had gone into it each time with a heavy heart, wanting only to finish the task quickly.
He was not truly betraying his wife.
With this thought, Zhao Shiyan felt reassured. He called out for his attendant to come in and scrub his back.
What the husband and wife in the Duke’s household were thinking, Yin Xuesu had no idea at all.
After bathing and changing, Yin Xuesu sat upright before her dressing table, listlessly combing through her wet, long hair.
She stared at the deathly pale face in the mirror and recalled that in her previous life, on the day she had met Tong Jinxian, her complexion must have been just like this.
Of course, at the time she had not known Tong Jinxian’s identity, taking her for an ordinary noble lady.
Though she had not understood why a noble lady who wanted a child would go to such convoluted lengths and such great trouble.
Among the poor, when families could no longer sustain themselves, they would pledge their wives to others through contract in exchange for money—for a year or two, or three to five years. Any child born during that period would belong to the employer’s household. This was a practice among small, moderately wealthy families in towns and villages who struggled to produce heirs but were unwilling to take concubines—something that could never grace the halls of proper society.
For a household of the Duke’s rank, it was utterly beneath them.
Even more beneath them was using a method worse than “wife-pledging”—surrogacy for offspring—such a filthy, underhanded way to obtain a child.
Yet that was precisely the bizarre thing that had happened.
She still remembered the lofty noblewoman lowering her gaze, appraising her the way one would inspect a piece of merchandise.
“You only need to bear a fine son for me and my husband. Do not entertain any improper thoughts. Remember this: the husband is not yours, and the child is not yours either.”
—But they had never told her that not only would her child be taken from her, but her very life would be buried at Tong Jinxian’s hands.
And later, even her child had not escaped the poison…
All because of the jealousy and hatred in Tong Jinxian’s heart.
She and Zhao Shiyan had once been a loving couple, but the fact that her own husband had fathered a child with another woman remained an insurmountable hurdle in her heart.
So she hated Yin Xuesu. She hated that Yin Xuesu had defiled her perfect love and marriage.
How ridiculous it was—she was the one who had arranged the surrogacy, and she was also the one consumed by jealousy and rage.
What fault was Yin Xuesu’s?
She hadn’t even been their original choice as surrogate mother; she had simply stumbled onto this ill-fated path by sheer misfortune.
She had thought that once she gave birth to the child, it would all be over.
After ten months of pregnancy and a successful delivery, Tong Jinxian changed her mind and decided to sell her off.
Naturally, such matters required no personal involvement from Tong Jinxian.
Why should someone as noble as her dirty her own hands? It was her attendant, Nanny Li, who handled it.
To vent her mistress’s anger, Nanny Li planned to sell Yin Xuesu to a brothel, where she would suffer endless humiliation.
However, an unexpected turn occurred along the way—Yin Xuesu caught the eye of Tong Jinxian’s younger brother. Threatening her with her family’s lives, he hid her away at a manor on the outskirts of the capital, effectively imprisoning her there.
This imprisonment lasted five years.
In the end, Tong Jinxian discovered her.
She came personally to the manor and had a white silk cord strangle Yin Xuesu to death.
In her final moments, Yin Xuesu was cruelly told that shortly after the child had been brought back to the household, Tong Jinxian had successfully conceived and been blessed with a son.
And that child of hers, no longer of any use, had fallen into a pond on a late autumn night and drowned…
The pain pierced to the marrow, tearing at heart and lungs.
Yin Xuesu spat out a mouthful of blood and lunged at Tong Jinxian like a madwoman.
But all she could do was watch helplessly as Tong Jinxian stood a few steps away, calm and composed, smiling with contempt.
The white silk cord tightened inch by inch, and her hands fell limp in unwilling surrender…
Thankfully, heaven had eyes, and she was granted a second life.
Yin Xuesu met the gaze of her reflection in the mirror, and in the depths of her calm, lake-like eyes, sparks of fire gradually began to kindle.
The flames of vengeance burned fiercely in her chest as well. Unconsciously, she tightened her grip, snapping the wooden comb clean in two.
Tong Jinxian, the child was always mine.
Now, your husband, your position as Matriarch, everything you have—all of it is about to become mine.
Just as she was thinking this, the door creaked open with a “squeak,” and a middle-aged serving woman walked in carrying a tray of food.