Blossom

Song Mo instinctively turned his head to avoid the slap from Song Yichun and couldn't help saying, "Father, how could it be me?"

Whether it was because his son's actions had angered him too much or because his son had dodged the slap, Song Yichun was furious and shouted, "You wretch! How dare you argue back!" Pointing at the ground, he commanded, "Kneel down!"

Song Mo was momentarily stunned but knelt before his father.

"Xingfang personally admitted to seeing you fooling around with Meirui; Chen Tao confirmed that the jade pendant was yours and that it went missing when you went to Liaodong. With both witnesses and evidence present, how can you still deny it?" Song Yichun trembled with rage. "When you were three, I hired a martial arts instructor to teach you martial arts; when you were five, I invited a great scholar from the Imperial Academy to educate you... Even your younger brother didn't receive such effort. Your mother and I poured so much into you, and this is how you repay us! It's fortunate your mother has passed—if she were still alive, she would have died of anger from your actions! You unfilial wretch, you've disgraced the Duke of Yingguo's Mansion..."

Chen Tao...

How could it be?

Impossible!

Song Mo stared at his father in shock.

Xingfang was another senior maid serving his mother. He had little interaction with his mother's maids, so it was plausible they might frame him. But Chen Tao was his milk brother, the second son of his wet nurse. Chen Tao and his elder brother Chen He had entered the mansion to serve him since they were five. During his recent trip to Liaodong, Chen He had been the one attending to him closely. Anyone else might betray him, but how could Chen Tao?

Listening quietly to his father's scolding, his expression gradually grew complicated. Only when his father's anger subsided slightly did he say softly, "Father, this truly has nothing to do with me! Think about it—though that jade pendant may not compare to other items in the mansion, it was still an heirloom from our ancestors. Grandfather gave it to me during my hundred-day celebration in front of all our relatives and friends. No matter how foolish I might be, how could I give it to a maid? Wouldn't that be openly declaring an affair? Besides, I'm never alone—whatever I do, it can be verified by asking around. Even if Chen Tao can't remember clearly, there's still Master Yan and Yu Jian..."

"How dare you bring them up!" Song Yichun sneered, cutting him off. "Do you know what Xingfang said?" His voice suddenly rose sharply. "She said Meirui didn't dare refuse you. Knowing that exposure would mean her doom, and fearing you might deny it afterward, she stole the pendant during your tryst, intending to beg your mother for mercy. But then your mother suddenly passed away. When she found herself four months pregnant and I was about to arrange her marriage, she realized the truth couldn't be hidden. In panic, she chose to dash her head against a pillar and die..." He slammed his palm on the kang table and declared stubbornly, "No matter what you say today, it's useless! I must discipline you properly for your late mother's sake!" He shouted at the old women servants, "Drag the heir out and give him twenty paddle beatings!"

The servants in the main chamber were all Jiang Shi's people, and the old women exchanged hesitant glances at his order.

Song Yichun hurled his teacup at them. "Worthless dogs! So you won't obey me!"Song Mo had no choice but to say to the old women, "Father is disciplining me on Mother's behalf. It's only right." He appeared completely resigned to his fate.

The old women then slowly approached, murmuring, "Young Lord, we beg your pardon," as they lifted Song Mo up.

Song Yichun, furious, shouted, "Beat him right here! Beat him right here!"

The old women hesitated, looking at Song Mo.

Song Mo nodded.

Only then did the old women fetch a spring bench.

Song Mo lay face down on the bench.

One old woman stepped forward and whispered, "Young Lord, please bear with it."

They were merely rough labor women from the inner courtyard, usually only tasked with beating maids under Jiang Shi's orders. Their blows held no real threat to Song Mo, especially since they were deliberately holding back, making the strikes barely noticeable.

Song Yichun, red-faced with rage, shoved the old women aside, snatched the bamboo rod from one of them, and struck Song Mo hard. The first dull thud echoed in the room.

Song Mo couldn't help but gasp sharply.

Still unsatisfied, Song Yichun continued beating him while cursing, "You unfilial wretch! Utterly lawless! If this gets out, what will people say about your deceased mother? Poor woman, she was so strong-willed in life, never once losing to anyone..."

Tears welled in Song Mo's eyes as he listened.

Father had never been adept at handling household affairs. With Mother's passing and now this incident, he must be beside himself with anger. If beating me helps vent his fury, then so be it.

He obediently remained still, enduring the blows.

The random strikes—crack, crack—far exceeded twenty lashes.

Song Mo gritted his teeth and endured.

Blood seeped through his white silk trousers.

The old women were horrified.

One who had once enjoyed Jiang Shi's favor timidly pleaded, "Duke, you must stop! Any more, and the Young Lord won't be able to take it!"

Song Yichun seemed to snap out of it. Staring at the blood on his son's trousers, he froze for a moment before tossing the bamboo rod aside with a clatter.

Both Song Mo and the old women sighed in relief.

But then, to their shock, Song Yichun abruptly lifted the inner chamber's warm curtain and shouted for guards.

Everyone in the room was stunned.

This was the main chamber, Jiang Shi's inner quarters. Guards were forbidden from entering past the Hanging Flower Gate—the inner courtyard was patrolled solely by these old women at night.

Yet what astonished them even more was that as soon as Song Yichun's voice fell, several burly guards strode in.

Pointing at Song Mo, Song Yichun ordered, "Drag him into the courtyard and beat him mercilessly!"

Song Mo didn’t recognize any of them.

A thought struck him. He tried to rise but found his body weak and unresponsive.

"Father..." He widened his eyes at his father.

But his father seemed not to see him. The guards swiftly stepped forward, binding him with thumb-thick oxhide cords, their movements practiced and efficient—clearly well-versed in such tasks.

"Father!" Song Mo's face was a mask of disbelief.

He practiced internal martial arts for health, though he was only a novice. While it lacked the outward bravado of external styles, ordinary men couldn’t lay a finger on him. Yet now, not only was his body limp, but his inner energy was also running wild, completely beyond his control.

The old women, sensing something amiss, huddled together in fear.

Song Mo steadied himself, trying to gather his scattered energy.Several guards carried him out. Another spring bench was already prepared outside, and the two guards standing beside it no longer held bamboo rods but the disciplinary staffs used for military floggings.

Song Mo stared at his father.

Song Yichun didn’t even glance at him, simply ordering the guards, "Beat him!"

The staff struck Song Mo’s body, and he felt as though his internal organs had been violently displaced.

Soon, fine beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

"Father!" Amid the relentless crack of the blows, Song Mo strained to lift his head. He looked at his father standing beneath the veranda and asked, "Why?"

Song Yichun’s gaze was as cold as millennia-old ice: "You wretched creature! After the disgrace you’ve brought, you dare ask me why?"

"Why?" Song Mo asked his father.

His gaze drifted to the birdcage hanging under the eaves.

The food and water dish inside was carved from white jade—a gift from his father when he was five years old.

Then to the pomegranate tree in the corner.

Planted together by his father and him when he was eight.

And finally to the swing swaying faintly in the cold wind.

Built by his father and him for his younger brother when the boy was three.

"Why?" Song Mo asked again, tears now falling uncontrollably.

Beside the camphor tree lay the kickball he had once used, now given to his brother. On the grape trellis, the red ropes he had tied to guide the vines still remained...

"Why?" he shouted at his father, voice trembling with emotion.

His father only watched him coldly.

Song Mo kept his eyes on his father, but both his consciousness and vision began to blur. Time stretched unbearably long yet felt agonizingly brief.

Faintly, his father’s stern voice reached his ears: "Drag him to the inner chamber and keep him under close watch."

The beating stopped, but his father’s words struck deeper than any staff: "Lü Zheng, summon the First Elder, Third Elder, and Fourth Elder. Inform them that Song Mo has disgraced himself, and I intend to convene the ancestral hall!"

Convene the ancestral hall!

Song Mo lay limp on the spring bench, his body broken as if every bone had been shattered. The torment threatened to plunge him into unconsciousness.

Convene the ancestral hall?

What would come next?

Petitioning to strip him of his heirship? Or casting him out of the family?

His tears had long dried. Still, Song Mo stubbornly lifted his head and rasped, "Why?"

White light, green shadows. Blinding red, murky brown—all swirled into a disorienting kaleidoscope.

"My body and life were given by my parents. If you want them, take them. But why like this?" He could no longer see the person he sought. "I just want to ask—why?"

No one answered him.

With a thud, he was thrown onto the heated stone floor of the inner chamber.

The sweet scent of benzoin incense hung in the warm air, lulling him toward sleep.

Song Mo bit his tongue, forcing his mind to focus.

He couldn’t sleep. If he did, he might never wake again.

He wasn’t afraid of death.

All men must die.

Some deaths weigh as Mount Tai, others as light as a feather.

Though his death now would be lighter than a feather... he still didn’t want to die!

Since no one would tell him why, he would find the answer himself.

Song Mo struggled to rise.

But the moment he moved, hot, metallic blood surged into his mouth.

Internal injuries.

So his father truly meant to kill him.

Song Mo laughed.

He began inching forward, one painstaking crawl at a time.Ahead was the large heated brick bed by the window.

He would rather die than grovel in submission!

Where Song Mo passed, a deep trail of blood was left behind.

He thought of Yu Jian, thought of Chen Tao.

They had likely all perished.

If he had known this would happen, he should have let Yu Jian return with those guards.

At least then one less life would have been lost needlessly.

Fortunately, Chen He hadn't followed them back.

The wet nurse only had the two brothers. With Chen Tao gone, at least Chen He could help care for her in her old age and handle her funeral.

Yet despite all this commotion in the main chamber, not a single person had come. Clearly, Father had made arrangements beforehand.

He needed to find a way to warn them.

If they could escape, they should escape now!

Gasping for breath, Song Mo leaned against the heated brick bed by the window.

On the opposite tea table, two white hibiscus flowers in a cloisonné vase were blooming vibrantly.

But he knew—flowers kept in a vase, no matter how beautifully they bloomed, would wither in just a few days.