After three sleepless nights, He Xianjin was already dizzy. The coffin striking her back was no small blow. She squinted—stars of various colors danced before her eyes.

“Quick, help Miss He!” The commanding female voice now carried a note of exasperation. Her cane thudded against the ground with a sharp zzzz-la-la, enough to drive any sensitive ear mad.

“Someone tie up Third Master! Call Third Madam to the Ramie Hall! Continue with Heniang’s funeral rites—Fifth Uncle, please lead the mourning procession and ensure the Buddhist rituals are properly conducted.” Her tone shifted.

“My third son is unruly, wild in temperament, and difficult to teach. Today he disrupted my eldest son Chen Heng’s vigil—I will discipline him with family law, no leniency.”

Every family has its own tangled mess. The Chen family relied on the eldest son to uphold its reputation. From merchant roots, they had produced a scholar-official—a jinshi who now served as Assistant Prefect in Chengdu, Sichuan. Though only a sixth-rank official, he had led the Chen family’s leap from commerce to officialdom.

In Xuanzhou, who didn’t show the Chen family respect? But now, mid-flight, their wings were clipped. The eldest son’s child, who had passed the county exam at a young age and become a juren, had to suspend his studies and return home to mourn. His future was uncertain.

Madam Qu’s words rang out like a gavel. The mourners in the hall responded with sighs, sympathy, or hidden schadenfreude.

He Xianjin was supported on both sides, her mourning cap pulled low over her forehead, obscuring most of her face. She forced her eyes open through the pain—and saw, standing behind Madam Qu, a tall, cold, and elegant young man.

So this was the Chen family’s “hopeful star”? He did look young. Eighteen or nineteen, perhaps.

And unlucky.

He had passed the county exam last year with decent results. If he could ride that momentum and pass the metropolitan exam the following year, becoming a jinshi would be a major step for both him and the Chen family. But now, with his father’s death, he would have to observe mourning for three years. And after three years, who knew how many ambitious, well-prepared scholars would flood the exam halls? Would the examiners favor a teenage jinshi or one in his twenties?

Of course, youth was more prized. The younger, the brighter the future. Age discrimination—no workplace escapes it.

The “hopeful star” kept his head down the entire time. Whether it was Chen Fu being gagged with a rag and dragged away while cursing the heavens, or He Ai’s coffin being deftly rerouted by the man called Fifth Uncle to avoid clashing with another funeral, none of it stirred his interest.

Until Madam Qu made her final decision about He Xianjin’s fate. “Send Miss He back to Yi Courtyard. Call a physician to examine her. Let her rest quietly there for the next few days.”

Just like that, He Xianjin was completely isolated. Her destination, perhaps, had been sealed.

Realizing this, He Xianjin lifted her head—and met the gaze of the family’s “hopeful star.”

Curiosity and depth shimmered in his dark brown eyes. Like a Chihuahua, always looking at things with a hint of wonder, except his eyes weren’t bulging. In fact, they were rather handsome.

He Xianjin’s gaze was steady. The young man frowned and looked away first. Well, fair enough. If she were him, she’d probably dislike a clingy, statusless girl, too.

By afternoon, the Ramie Hall was filled with stacks of paper—rough bamboo fiber, bitter lime dust, and the faint fragrance of mulberry bark. A hundred scents mingled between the sheets, with a thin wisp of smoke curling through them.

Madam Qu held a cup of tea, but hadn’t yet drunk it. Her mouth was already bitter. She sighed deeply and looked toward her anxious daughter-in-law.

“Qiuniang, Third Son is a disgrace. When the eldest and second sons were born, the Chen family was still struggling in Jing County. We only had our own workshop and twenty hired hands. When the third son was born posthumously, and with his father gone, I’ve indulged him, spoiled him, and failed to discipline him. That’s my fault.”

Her cousin and longtime housemate, Madam Qu Erniang, presented a tray of four-color pastries to Third Madam Sun.

Madam Qu gestured kindly. “I called you here at noon—you haven’t eaten, have you? Have a few bites to settle your stomach.”

Madam Sun kept her head down, silent.

Second Madam Qu frowned. The matrich had just admitted fault—shouldn’t a daughter-in-law at least offer a few words of comfort?

Bang—Second Madam Qu set down the pastry tray a bit too forcefully.

Madam Sun lifted her head slightly, lips pressed tight, about to speak—when she saw Madam Qu raise a weary hand to her temple and wave her off.

“Erniang, don’t scowl at Qiuniang. Third Son’s behavior has been disgraceful. It’s the Chen family that wronged her. Her sorrow is understandable. He’s tied up in the stables now—before he returns, let’s speak plainly, woman to woman. What should we do going forward?”

“If you truly don’t want to live with him anymore,” Madam Qu said firmly, “I’ll arrange a formal divorce letter. You’ll get the mulberry paper workshop in the east of the city and the small courtyard beside it. The three sons and one daughter you had with Third Son will all remain in the Chen family. What do you think—will you accept?”

Madam Sun felt as if she’d been struck in the chest. She’d endured nearly ten years!

Now that Madam He was finally dead—now that the clouds had parted and the moon was visible—why should she agree to a divorce now?

“I’ve been married to Third Master for over twenty years. Our eldest son is already in his twenties. If I divorce now, what will people say?” Madam Sun’s eyes turned red. “What man doesn’t have a few favored maids or concubines? I’ve tolerated it all these years…”

Madam Qu nodded, then her tone sharpened. “If you don’t hate him to the bone, why did you push him to carry Madam He’s coffin and cause a scene at the eldest son’s vigil?”

Madam Sun froze. “Mother—”

Madam Qu waved her hand, cutting her off. “Wasn’t the man who led Madam He’s funeral procession your wet nurse’s godson?”

Madam Sun’s rebuttal caught in her throat.

“Third Son is foolish and immature. That dog-brained fool—could he have pulled this off on his own? Why was the funeral timed to clash with the busiest hour of the front hall’s mourning? How did he get the coffin past the second gate and into the front courtyard so smoothly? You think he planned all that himself?”

Madam Qu was nearly breathless. “He was first manipulated by Madam He, who only ever wanted gold and jewels—cheap desires. But you pushed him into disgrace. You embarrassed him, the eldest son, and the entire Chen family…”

Madam Sun blinked, and tears fell in twin streams. Her knees hit the stone floor with a thud. “Mother! I just couldn’t swallow it! Do you know what he wrote on He-shi’s memorial tablet? ‘My wife.’ He wrote ‘my wife’!”

She burst into sobs. “Madam He isn’t hateful. It’s the Third Master who broke the rules! I just wanted to humiliate him—to let everyone in Xuanzhou see how bitter my life has been!”

These two really were a pair of misfits. One foolish, the other spiteful. Everyone knows family shame shouldn’t be aired in public—but this woman seemed desperate to let the whole city know every petty grievance. Better to separate them for now.

Madam Qu pinched the bridge of her nose. “I plan to send Third Son back to Jing County to manage affairs. After the disgrace he caused in Xuanzhou, he needs to lie low.”

Madam Sun opened her mouth, then slumped her shoulders and quietly wiped her eyes.

“And Madam He’s daughter?” Madam Qu asked gravely. “What do you plan to do with her?”