Shi Buyu entered the study carrying a bowl of peeled lotus seeds. She walked past each sheet of xuan paper before finally sitting behind the desk.

She poured some water into the inkstone and slowly began grinding the ink stick.

She liked grinding ink. In the process of slowly drawing out the ink in circles, her thoughts gradually sorted themselves out. By the time she picked up the brush, there was no need to think about what to write—everything was already clear.

“Agu, take this letter to Seventh Brother and ask him to pass it on to Fifth Brother.”

Wanxia took the letter and gently blew on the fresh ink. “Aren’t you going to tell the Eldest Young Master about this?”

“There are too many eyes watching him. Unless it’s absolutely necessary, I don’t want to drag him into this too soon.” Shi Buyu popped a lotus seed into her mouth and said coldly, “How can you casually reveal your trump card? You wait until the moment it flips over and scares them all to death.”

Wanxia smiled indulgently and, after glancing at the time, figured she had just enough to cook the soup before heading out.

In the blink of an eye, July was already halfway through. The Ghost Festival had arrived.

At the start of the mao hour (5:00–7:00 AM), Yan Shian, dressed in black, took a spirit tablet from a hidden compartment and placed it on the household shrine. He lit incense and candles, bowed three times, and then knelt silently before it—just as he did every year.

Yan Ze quietly placed a basin of clean water nearby and knelt a short distance behind his young master.

Since the age of five, the Madam had required the young master to kneel before his father’s memorial tablet for half an hour every Ghost Festival. Each year, she added another half hour, until the day he achieved great success. This year, he had to kneel for eight full hours, and during that time, he was only allowed to drink water.

Looking at the quietly kneeling young master, Yan Ze felt a deep ache in his heart. The Madam truly had a ruthless heart.

“Uncle Ze, your knees can’t take it anymore. Go outside.”

Yan Ze’s nose stung. “How many more years can I still keep you company?”

“There are things outside that can’t do without you. I won’t be handling any business today—send everything to Miss Shi.” After a pause, Yan Shian added, “If she asks, just say I have other matters to attend to.”

Yan Ze had no choice but to get up and leave. As he turned to close the door, he glanced at the young master’s silhouette, nearly blending into the dim light. The image brought to mind the version of his master when he was with Miss Shi—radiant, energetic, smiling freely, full of the vitality a young man should have. Not like now, all silent and desolate.

The Madam was truly the strictest mother he had ever known.

With his heart leaning toward Miss Shi, Yan Ze grew daring.

Around the time of chen hour (7:00–9:00 AM), Yan Ze took the morning’s messages and went to Hongmei Residence—the name Miss Shi gave the place after the bougainvillea bloomed. Her handwriting, like her, was graceful and unrestrained.

“Steward Yan,” Wanxia called out as she came out of the kitchen with a bucket and greeted him with a smile.

Yan Ze quickly stepped forward to take the bucket from her. “Where are Qingshan and Zhaizhi? Why are you doing this yourself?”

Qingshan and Zhaizhi rushed out from inside but didn’t dare speak—Steward Yan was directly in charge of them.

“It’s not their fault.” Wanxia waved them back to their chores. “I was going to get some water to wipe down the bedding. I’ve always handled these things in the young lady’s room. She’s in the study—this way, Steward Yan.”

Inside, Shi Buyu heard the movement and came out. When she saw the wooden box in Yan Ze’s hands, she smiled. “What’s your young master up to now? Is he trying to slack off again? Lately he’s always dumping work on me.”

Yan Ze handed her the box, guilt flashing across his face for betraying the Madam. Gritting his teeth, he said, “Today is the Ghost Festival. The young master has to kneel in worship of his father until the hai hour (9:00–11:00 PM).”

Ancestral worship on the Ghost Festival was normal, as was kneeling. But kneeling until hai hour?

Shi Buyu counted on her fingers, then looked stunned. “Seven hours more?”

“Yes, he’s already been kneeling for one hour. So I must trouble you with this task today.” Yan Ze bowed and turned to leave.

“Wait.” Shi Buyu, annoyed by the feel of the box in her hand, placed it on the threshold, crossed her arms, and asked, “Who set this rule? Do they have a grudge against him?”

“It was… the Madam.”

Shi Buyu’s eyes widened slightly. It was a matter between a mother and her son—she, an outsider, couldn’t really say much. But: “Doesn’t he resist? No one’s forcing him to kneel the entire time, right? He really just kneels there obediently?”

“Yes. Until he completes the required time.”

Shi Buyu’s eyes were round with disbelief. That obedient? A thousand times more than her!

When Whitebeard hit her palms, she’d run away after just one smack!

“He once defied the Madam in another matter. A lot of people died. Ever since then, he hasn’t dared disobey her—he’s afraid of dragging others down with him.”

Yan Ze’s voice was hoarse. He too had been punished back then—flogged with fifty strokes right in front of the young master. He couldn’t get out of bed for half a month.

Shi Buyu had a certain respect for Yan Shian’s mother. Given their circumstances, every decision she made had been the best possible one. One wrong step, and Yan Shian might not have survived. Later, she raised him into someone capable of competing with the finest scholars in the empire. It was clear how much effort she had invested.

Just from Yan Shian’s few words, she already knew he hadn’t had it easy. And now, hearing a few more details from Yan Ze, she could finally picture how hard his life had been.

Yan Ze was asking her for help.

Shi Buyu waved him off, then climbed down the stone steps, picked up a handful of pebbles, and sat on a small carved bridge, tossing the stones into the water one by one.

She had always been a free spirit. At the Marquis of Loyal Valor’s household, she had done countless things that drove people mad. The nickname “Disaster Star” hadn’t come from nowhere. Later, when she left, she slowly grew up and learned sense—but her nature hadn’t changed. Whitebeard had never tried to change her either. A slap on the palm was the harshest punishment he gave—and often he didn’t even manage that.

She and Yan Shian had lived two completely different lives.

She imagined a young Yan Shian sitting at his desk, forced to learn one thing after another, getting his palms whipped if he didn’t do well… it made her heart ache.

She touched her backside. The bridge was getting hot. She quickly jumped down and called out loudly, “Agu!”

Wanxia propped open a window from inside the room. “Agu is here.”

Shi Buyu ran over and spoke to her through the window frame. “I totally forgot today was the Ghost Festival! No wonder you made me that porridge this morning.”

“You may not have anyone to offer sacrifices to, but you must still carry reverence for your ancestors in your heart,” Wanxia said as she wiped the window frame. “You bear the surname Shi. The blood of the Shi family runs through your veins. You come from somewhere—and that origin deserves your respect.”

“I’ll remember it next year.”

Wanxia smiled. “You remember everything you read after just one glance at a book. How could something this simple possibly trip you up?”

Leaning against the wall, Shi Buyu looked up at the sky. “If it’s about reverence, then any sincere thought is already a form of worship. Why torment him like this?”

“That Madam might not have meant to torment him,” Wanxia said with a faint smile. “She might just want to etch this hatred for his father’s death deeper into his heart. But yes… she is certainly ruthless.”

Shi Buyu nodded firmly. “Ruthless!”