Chapter 20: The Lin'an Marquis Manor

The Lin'an Marquis manor in the capital was obscenely grand.
The late marquise had been Princess Yuqing, the old emperor's favorite daughter. A princess's husband should have surrendered his troops. Yuqing wheedled and wept until the throne let the blades stay. That was how deep her father's love ran.
Yuqing was beauty itself, gentle to the bone. In the marquis's house she lived on his heart. Still he took one concubine—Fang, who rules the side hall today.
If Yuqing was born to great houses and great dances, Fang was a small-door girl. Her father once saved the marquis's life. When the Fang line fell, the father called the debt and forced Fang into the house as a *proper* concubine—not a toy you could beat or sell.
Fang kept her head down. No jealous scenes. The marquis thought one legal concubine was nothing; men of his rank saw three wives and four beds as normal. He saw no wrong.
Men and women never read the same book on concubines—especially the woman upstairs.
Yuqing had grown up adored. Married, she had known only one wife's seat. Fang arrived while Yuqing was still in her month after bearing Jingxing. The blow landed hard.
Fang came daily to pay respects—dress perfect, manners perfect. Each visit scraped Yuqing raw. A lesser princess might have tripped Fang in private and cleared the yard. Yuqing was too sheltered, too soft for that poison.
Her dowry nanny moved in secret, without telling her mistress, planning to drive Fang out. The plan failed. Worse—the marquis found out.
He was wild in public life but straight in his private code. He hated women's tricks. He scolded Yuqing hard—the first quarrel of their marriage. Proud, she would not expose the nanny. They fought until he stormed out.
She waited for him to return. A month passed. He slept only with Fang.
A woman in her month cannot weep without cost. Yuqing sickened, deep and heavy.
The marquis still loved her and came to see her—then orders arrived overnight. Campaign. He left before he could speak goodbye.
Soon after, Fang knew she was with child.
With her husband gone, Yuqing could not touch the woman—she had to protect the belly in the open. Any mischance and the capital would say the princess murdered a concubine while the marquis was at war.
Month after month her strength bled away. The nanny begged to tell the palace. Yuqing forbade it. She wrote asking him to come home once.
She waited.
He did not come in time.
Yuqing died. Three days after the burial he returned victorious and saw only earth where his wife had been. Grief broke him. The old emperor stripped his rank. The new throne restored him for talent—but the fair tale was dead.
He never took another principal wife. Fang remained, head low decade after decade. He cared a little for her children; every scrap of force went to the legitimate heir, Jingxing.
Jingxing did not thank him. From the age he understood, he kept distance—the love and hate of Princess Yuqing and the marquis was street gossip in the capital if you cared to listen.
The father owed the son and indulged him. The son specialized in twisting the knife until the father's head ached. Still he had Yuqing's face and wit. Wild temper, dazzling boy—the dream of every noble daughter's pillow.
Today was the same.
Jingxing strode into his study.
The courtyard had been Yuqing's sick retreat—far from the main hall, quiet. Xie Ding had tried to move him closer. Jingxing refused. *I don't want to see certain people.*
He had always been cold to the manor.
His boy entered with a white floral bowl. "Lady Fang sent crystal lotus porridge—simmered for hours, master, to warm you."
Jingxing hated *young master* or *heir*. *Master* only—as if that could cut the house away.
He glanced at the bowl—bright, thick, fragrant, hours of work in the shine.
"Cold. Pour it out."
The boy said yes as if hearing weather and left.
The moment the door shut, a shadow stepped from behind it, head bowed. "Master. It's clear. Main line, third daughter of the general's house—Shen Xin's legitimate girl. Shen Miao."
"Shen Xin?" Jingxing's brow knit.
Shen Xin and Xie Ding had fought policy for years. Shen manor and Lin'an manor looked sideways at each other. Troops balanced troops—too much money in the knot.
The Xies were Su friends. A Shen warning to the Su house might be a warning to the Xie house. Why would an enemy reach out? And a girl—what could she know? Perhaps the Shen family put her up to it. Xin was on the northwest border. Second branch? Third? Shen Gui and Shen Wan were hungry men. The court was stirring again—maybe they wanted mud in the water.
"Shen and Xie stand on opposite banks. A Shen girl suddenly plays friendly—bad intent." His voice dropped to iron. "Keep digging."