It was early March when Achan saw Sun Mama again.
The willows had begun to sprout, apricot blossoms adorned the branches, and even the breeze carried a hint of spring.
But Sun Mama had aged considerably. Her cheeks were sunken, and more than half her hair had turned white.
“It’s been a while, Miss. Are you well?” Sun Mama hadn’t come in the Zhao residence’s carriage today but had walked.
“Everything’s fine. Come in and rest, Sun Mama,” Achan invited.
Sun Mama shook her head, standing outside. “I won’t come in. I came to tell you that Madam’s body has been returned to the residence. Tomorrow, we’ll set up the memorial hall, and the funeral will be the day after.”
Achan understood. It had been over ten days, so the case must have concluded, but she wondered about the final outcome.
“I’ll be there,” Achan promised.
The next day, Achan rose early.
She changed into a plain white robe and skirt, then picked a white velvet flower hairpin from a wooden box. Her slender fingers brushed over the still-glimmering gold ornaments inside, and she let out a soft sigh.
At the end of the chén hour (7 AM to 9 AM), Achan arrived outside the Zhao residence. The lanterns at the gate had been replaced with white ones, each bearing the large character for “memorial.”
A Zhao servant saw Achan, greeted her with a bow, and led her inside.
Upon entering the memorial hall, Achan’s eyes fell on the black coffin at the center, its lid closed. Lady Xiao Lin lay inside.
On the altar in front stood Lady Xiao Lin’s spirit tablet, surrounded by offerings.
Seeing Zhao Wenyue in mourning attire didn’t surprise Achan much. As she had suspected, the Mirror Division likely couldn’t find solid evidence, and Zhao Wenyue had been released.
What truly shocked Achan was the presence of a boy, no more than seven or eight years old, also dressed in mourning clothes.
Not only that, but the boy was kneeling ahead of Zhao Wenyue, as if taking the place of Zhao Wensheng, the eldest son.
Only children wore heavy mourning for their parents. When had Lady Xiao Lin gained another son?
Achan calmly entered the hall, offered three sticks of incense for Lady Xiao Lin, and received the ritual bows from the mourning children.
After accepting their bows, she said to Zhao Wenyue, “My condolences, Cousin.”
Zhao Wenyue lifted her head at the sound of Achan’s voice. Seeing her, hatred flared in her eyes. “You, you wretched woman!”
She had been detained in the Mirror Division’s prison for ten days, a dark, cold, terrifying place where cries and screams filled her ears day and night, keeping her from sleep.
Fortunately, the stall vendor who sold her the hairpin had died unexpectedly, and the Mirror Division couldn’t pin the crime on her. Her father had pulled strings and found help to secure her release.
After returning, she learned from her father that neither Sun Mama nor her mother’s maids had mentioned the hairpin. It was clearly Ji Chan who had informed the Mirror Division.
If not for her, Zhao Wenyue wouldn’t have suffered so much!
As Zhao Wenyue moved to stand, the boy beside her swiftly grabbed her sleeve. He looked up, his clear black-and-white eyes lacking the innocence typical of a child.
“This is Mother’s memorial hall, and Sister is in mourning. It’s best not to cause a scene and disturb Mother,” he said to Zhao Wenyue.
Zhao Wenyue shook off his hand, saying coldly, “What are you? You think just because Father let you take my brother’s place in mourning, you can be adopted under my mother’s name? Keep dreaming!”
The boy’s voice was crisp. “Sister overthinks. Wenqi has no such intentions.”
His words at least restrained Zhao Wenyue, preventing further outbursts.
Seeing Achan remain silent, as if startled, the boy comforted her. “Please forgive Sister, Cousin. She’s just grieving Mother’s loss and didn’t mean to target you.”
Calling her “Cousin” and speaking as if he were a master of the household, Achan thought there must have been significant changes in the Zhao family recently.
“And you are?” Achan asked, feigning confusion.
“I’m Zhao Wenqi, a distant relative of the Zhao family. After losing both parents, I was raised by my grandparents. I came to the capital with them upon hearing of Madam’s untimely death,” Zhao Wenqi explained clearly, laying out his background.
“I see. Greetings, Cousin Wenqi,” Achan said, exchanging courtesies.
Zhao Wenqi, relieved by her response, added, “We have many guests today. If there’s any neglect, please forgive us, Cousin.”
“You’re too polite, Cousin.”
After speaking, Zhao Wenqi summoned a servant waiting outside and instructed them to take Achan to the side hall to rest.
Compared to Zhao Wenyue, he seemed far more sensible.
Achan didn’t linger in the memorial hall and followed the servant out.
Typically, condolence guests weren’t kept long, but as a relative, Achan was invited to stay.
The side hall held only four or five people, who seemed familiar with each other, likely Zhao family relatives. Lady Xiao Lin’s kin, aside from Achan, were all in exile.
At the head of the hall sat an elderly woman with half-white hair. Though dressed richly, her manners were somewhat coarse. This must be Zhao Ming’s mother, Lady Xiao Lin’s mother-in-law.
When Old Lady Zhao saw Achan enter, she stopped talking to the relatives beside her and turned to her. “Whose family are you from? Why haven’t I seen you before?”
Achan bowed slightly. “Greetings, Old Madam. I’m Ji Chan, Aunt’s niece.”
“So it’s you,” Old Lady Zhao said, likely having heard of Ji Chan from someone. Her gaze carried a hint of disdain, but she said nothing more, merely asking once before looking away.
Old Lady Zhao’s preferences were clear. Since she ignored Achan, the other Zhao relatives naturally followed suit.
Achan sat alone in a corner, eating a couple of pastries and listening quietly to the conversations around her, feeling at ease.
About an hour and a half later, the absent host, Zhao Ming, entered with Zhao Wenqi and Zhao Wenyue.
Zhao Ming first paid respects to his mother at the head of the hall, then greeted the other relatives.
Zhao Wenyue, trailing behind, was perfunctory, her expression cold even when bowing to her grandmother. Old Lady Zhao’s face wasn’t much warmer, suggesting she didn’t care much for her granddaughter.
But when she saw Zhao Wenqi, her face lit up with a smile, and she beckoned him eagerly. “Wenqi, come to Grandma.”
Zhao Wenqi approached and called out, “Grandma.”
“Oh, my dear grandson,” she said, fondly rubbing his knees. “You’ve been kneeling so long. Do your legs hurt?”
“I’m fine, Grandma. Don’t worry,” Zhao Wenqi reassured her.
“How could they not hurt? Poor child, so young, kneeling all this time for someone who isn’t even your real mother.”
“It’s what I should do,” Zhao Wenqi replied.
An ordinary seven- or eight-year-old might have followed the old lady’s lead, but Zhao Wenqi’s maturity surprised the Zhao relatives in the hall.
Someone asked curiously, “Aunt, whose child is this?”
Old Lady Zhao pulled Zhao Wenqi forward, introducing him proudly. “This is my grandson, Wenqi. He’s been bright and filial since he was small, always by our side.”
The relatives exchanged glances. They knew Zhao Ming and Lady Xiao Lin had only one son and one daughter, both grown. Where did this young grandson come from?
Unaware of the oddity in her words, Old Lady Zhao was corrected by Zhao Wenqi, who said generously, “Greetings, elders. I was adopted by my grandparents.”
He tugged lightly at Old Lady Zhao’s sleeve.
Realizing her mistake, she quickly added, “Right, this child had bad luck, losing both parents soon after birth. Since he’s of our clan and so pitiful, we took him in.”
“No wonder he’s so clever. He must have inherited your family’s scholarly aura,” a relative chimed in.
Old Lady Zhao laughed heartily. “Exactly! My son’s scholarly talent has all gone to this boy.”
She patted Zhao Wenqi’s head as she spoke.
Zhao Wenqi stood by her side, smiling, unbothered by the relatives’ scrutiny, appearing entirely at ease.
For a child of his age to carry himself so well was astonishing.
Another relative asked, “Now that you’re in the capital, Sister-in-law, you won’t be leaving, will you?”
Old Lady Zhao nodded. “No, we’re staying. Wenqi’s old enough to start school. He’ll stay with his father to learn, and in a few years, with his intelligence, he’s sure to earn a scholarly title.”
“Has Wenqi already been adopted by Nephew?” the relative pressed.
“Exactly. My son’s stubborn, devoted to that wife of his, who couldn’t bear more children. Now with this tragedy, there’s no one to carry on the family line, so we adopted this boy.”
The other relatives nodded in agreement.
They had heard about the Zhao family’s troubles, though not in detail, only catching bits of gossip.
Rumor had it Lady Xiao Lin’s death was tied to her eldest son, who was now imprisoned. He hadn’t even appeared at the funeral, suggesting the rumors were likely true.
Without an eldest son, the family needed an heir, and now they had a ready one.
Of course, some privately wondered why Zhao Ming, still young, didn’t remarry to have another child instead of adopting.
But no one was foolish enough to ask such a question at this moment.
Achan quietly observed Zhao Wenqi beside Old Lady Zhao. The boy appeared calm, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of pride he couldn’t fully conceal.
Why the rush to adopt this child?
Because the eldest son was a failure? Because there was no one to inherit the family legacy?
Achan’s gaze shifted from Zhao Wenqi to Zhao Ming. The pride in his eyes as he looked at the boy was like that of a man admiring his life’s masterpiece.
Perhaps because this Zhao Wenqi, supposedly taken in by Old Master and Old Lady Zhao out of pity, was actually Zhao Ming’s own son.
This kind of drama, Achan was all too familiar with.
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