Blossom

At this moment, in the Hall of Cultivating Will, Chen Qushui was pacing anxiously in circles, his expression fraught with worry.

Song Luo sat nearby, propping his chin on his hand, feeling dizzy just from watching Mr. Chen pace.

Unable to bear it any longer, he spoke up, "Mr. Chen, why don’t you sit down and have some tea?"

Chen Qushui stopped at the words but answered irrelevantly, "Has Wuyi returned yet? Go and check again!"

The Hall of Cultivating Will had suddenly changed its guards, and they had all been confined there, forbidden from going anywhere. Even their meals were delivered to the door by old women and then brought in by the guards stationed outside. The explanation given was that something valuable had gone missing in the mansion and was being searched for. Yet, barely half an hour after the Young Lord returned, the guards at the door had all vanished, and they were free to come and go again.

But Mr. Chen was frantic. He immediately sent Wuyi to find the Young Lord, insisting that he must inform him of the unusual happenings in the mansion.

Yet Wuyi had been gone for nearly an hour and still hadn’t returned.

At Chen Qushui’s question, Song Luo also grew uneasy.

He hurried to the main gate.

The surroundings were eerily quiet, as if the entire Hall of Cultivating Will was deserted. The intermittent clamor from the mourning hall up ahead only made the courtyard seem even more silent.

Song Luo wanted to go look for Wuyi, but remembering Master Yan’s instructions before he was assigned to serve Mr. Chen, he quickly dismissed the thought.

It seemed Mr. Chen shared his suspicions—that something strange was happening in the mansion and the Young Lord needed to be informed as soon as possible.

"Why hasn’t Wuyi returned yet?" he muttered to himself as he walked back. "When the Young Lord returns, he’ll surely visit the Duke first and then pay his respects at the mourning hall. He shouldn’t be hard to find! Could something have happened to Wuyi?"

Meanwhile, Chen Qushui, whom Song Luo believed shared his concerns, pushed open the study window and gazed at the lush green leaves, freshly washed by the rain, lost in thought.

The Duke of England's Mansion had returned to normal within half an hour—meaning the outcome was already decided.

Had Song Mo won or lost?

Logically, with a deliberate scheme against an unsuspecting target, and given their blood ties, Song Mo should have had no chance. But the man was ruthless—it wasn’t impossible he had managed to escape death.

The priority now was to know the result.

If Song Mo had failed, he would surely be purged. Though Chen Qushui had always been cautious—burning all correspondence with the Fourth Miss after reading it and leaving no traces—the Duke’s household had dismissed him as nothing more than a down-and-out scholar freeloading in their mansion. But given Yan Chaoqing’s nature, he had likely given some instructions to Song Luo and Wuyi. If they revealed anything to the Duke’s people, drawing attention to him, it would spell trouble.

If Song Mo had gained the upper hand, it was best for Chen Qushui to stay put. After all, they had merely stumbled upon his movements by chance, and he had slaughtered over twenty people on the farmstead to silence them. If he learned Chen Qushui had fled during his crisis, he might even take it out on the Fourth Miss. That would be far worse!

Whether to stay or slip away amid the chaos in the Duke’s mansion depended on whether Wuyi could find Song Mo.

Thinking of this, Chen Qushui couldn’t help but regret.

If only he had left when the Jiang Family’s affairs were settled.While lost in thought, he saw Song Luo returning alone.

He couldn't hide his disappointment.

Song Luo quickly comforted Chen Qushui: "Wuyi might have gone to gather some news along the way. He should be back soon."

Chen Qushui nodded.

The two exchanged a few idle words,

when suddenly Chen Qushui's eyes lit up.

Song Luo, however, stood up happily: "Wuyi, did you see the Young Lord?"

"No!" Wuyi's voice was breathless from hurrying. "The Young Lord was summoned by the Duke as soon as he returned and hasn't come out yet. Deputy General Ma Youming of the Divine Pivot Camp came to pay respects to Madam, and the Eldest Young Master went to ask the Young Lord to come out and express gratitude. But Lü Zheng stopped him at the door, saying the Young Lord had traveled day and night for six days to attend Madam's funeral without rest. The Duke feared the Young Lord couldn't endure it, so he kept him in the main chamber to sleep properly, asking the Eldest Young Master to handle things in his stead. He also said if anyone inquired, they should say the Duke and the Young Lord were discussing urgent matters and no one was to disturb them, lest ill-intentioned people spread rumors of the Young Lord's filial impiety."

The Eldest Young Master referred to Song Mo's eldest cousin, Song Qin.

"Is that so!" Song Luo's tense expression relaxed, revealing a happy smile.

Chen Qushui decided it was time to flee.

If someone had ridden for six days and nights without sleep, wouldn't they collapse the moment they lay down? Forget the Eldest Young Master of the Song family wanting to take a look—even setting off firecrackers beside him probably wouldn't wake him. Was there any need to block people outside?

He dismissed Song Luo and Wuyi, checked every corner of the room for anything that might leave a trace, and tucked the thousand-tael silver note Dou Zhao had sent via Duan Gongyi into his pocket. Thinking how thorough Fourth Miss was, he also placed a few taels of loose silver in a scented sachet. Waiting until dusk began to fall, he planned to stroll through the garden. By then, the front courtyard would be preparing dinner, and the Song family would host a banquet for those who had come to pay respects—the perfect chaotic moment to slip away. He opened the inner room's partition door and smiled at Wuyi and Song Luo, who were chatting on the veranda: "Since the Young Lord is fine, I'm relieved. The weather after the rain is lovely—perfect for a walk!"

The winter air after the rain was bitingly cold. How was that lovely?

Wuyi and Song Luo exchanged puzzled glances as they watched Chen Qushui head toward the small garden of the Hall of Cultivating Will.

※※※※※

Song Mo could feel himself growing weaker.

Perhaps he wouldn’t even need his father to trouble himself with opening the ancestral hall—he might die on his own.

His vision blurred.

The white hibiscus across from him dissolved into a hazy white shape, reminding him of his mother’s jade-like complexion.

His mother would never have dreamed her son would die in her own room, would she?

The thought stirred something inexplicable in him.

His mother had also died in this very room.

Was this fate?

Or mere coincidence?

He bit down hard on his tongue.

The white hibiscus bloomed serenely in a blue porcelain vase, exuding a tranquil beauty.

Outside, hurried footsteps approached, mingled with his father’s voice tinged with apology: "To trouble you all for the sake of my unworthy son—I am truly ashamed, ashamed..."

They arrived quickly.

No doubt his father had sent carriages to fetch them.

A hint of mockery flickered in Song Mo’s eyes.

The bewildered voice of his uncle, Song Maochun, carried in: "Tianci, what on earth has happened?""A few days ago, wasn't there a maidservant who died by crashing into a pillar?" Father said quietly. "She was Madam's personal maid. I originally thought she was loyally serving her mistress and was going to have Madam adopt her as a foster daughter. Then we could bury her together in the Song family ancestral graves. Who would have known the maid was already four months pregnant..."

"What?" Fourth Uncle Song Tongchun's voice was panicked. "Two lives lost—this is extremely inauspicious. She absolutely cannot be buried in our Song family ancestral graves..."

"Fourth Brother, let Second Brother finish speaking!" Third Uncle, who had spent years intimidating merchants entering the city, carried an undercurrent of official authority in his voice. "Since Second Brother has discovered this, of course he won't allow her to be buried in the ancestral graves anymore. You always interrupt before others finish speaking."

Fourth Uncle muttered something too softly for Song Mo to hear clearly from this distance, but he could imagine his expression—both aggrieved and helpless.

He couldn't help but smile again.

His uncles depended on Father for their livelihood. If Father wanted to open the ancestral hall, would they really dare oppose him?

Song Mo didn't want to listen.

Yet the voices outside insisted on reaching his ears in intermittent bursts.

"She's just a maid! For Tianci to take a fancy to her was her good fortune! Dead is dead—no need to open the ancestral hall over this, right?"

"Didn't the Emperor already pass final judgment on the Jiang Family matter? During the Autumn Hunt, the Emperor even specifically summoned Tianci to reprimand him. You have no idea how envious my colleagues at the Tax Office are of me!"

"Wait—Tianci has people left behind by Duke Ding? That's excellent! We can take advantage of this opportunity! The Duke of Dingguo's Mansion is gone anyway—better we benefit than outsiders. Tianci is Duke Ding's own nephew after all."

"Can the imperial censors just impeach people without evidence? If that maid died by crashing into a pillar, then have that other maid—what's her name, Xing something—crash into a pillar too! Perfect—have Second Sister-in-law adopt her posthumously so she can continue serving her in the afterlife!"

...

Three men, yet it sounded like seven or eight mouths. The noise buzzed in Song Mo's ears until his head throbbed with pain.

He smiled faintly.

The scene before him grew increasingly blurred as his eyelids drooped uncontrollably.

No!

He couldn't die yet!

Song Mo bit his tongue hard.

His vision cleared slightly.

But the clarity was fleeting. The blurriness returned.

Six days and five nights of urgent riding, a round of disciplinary rods... his body had reached its limit.

But so what?

Song Mo snorted coldly and forced his eyes open again.

White hibiscus flowers bloomed directly in his line of sight.

He noticed their pistils were pale yellow, though at first glance they appeared completely white.

Why arrange white hibiscus?

This was also the season for camellias.

Scarlet camellias, as gorgeous as flames yet elegantly transcendent.

Suddenly, a face surfaced in his mind.

A jade-white complexion, long brows sweeping toward temples, bright almond-shaped eyes, and lips curved in a faint smile—wise and spirited.

Like camellias.

So elegant, yet undeniably striking.

Where one might expect pride, there was instead straightforward sincerity.

I wonder if the flowers she planted have bloomed yet?

Song Mo softly murmured "Dou Zhao," adding silently in his heart: I even know your childhood name was Shou Gu...

He smiled.

His exquisite features glowed like the rising sun—warm and radiant.

Yet before his eyes, there was only darkness.

※※※※※Song Yichun's face was ashen as he stared at his three cousins, not uttering a word.

Song Maochun quickly tugged at Song Fengchun, who was seated below him.

Song Fengchun fell silent.

Song Tongchun also quieted down.

All three fixed their gazes on Song Yichun, their expressions filled with deference.

Only then did Song Yichun's expression soften slightly.

He cleared his throat and said solemnly, "I intend to open the ancestral hall to expel Song Mo from the Song family. What do you say?"

"Second Brother, as the clan head, the decision is naturally yours," Song Maochun hurriedly replied.

Song Fengchun also chimed in eagerly, "Tianci has indeed been too disappointing!"

"Whatever decision Second Brother makes, I agree!" Song Tongchun added.

A rare smile flickered across Song Yichun's face. "In that case, we'll open the ancestral hall at 8 a.m. tomorrow. Eldest Brother, Third Brother, and Fourth Brother, don't be late."

"We'll definitely be on time, no delays."

The three quickly assured him.

Song Yichun stood up. "Then we'll meet again tomorrow."

"Good, good, good!"

The three filed out of the hall, then simultaneously paused under the veranda.

The glow of white lanterns illuminated their faces. They instinctively glanced at each other before averting their eyes. One said he had some matters to attend to and urged the others to go ahead first, another mentioned he needed to return with his son, and they all dispersed separately from The Duke of England's Mansion.

Song Yichun entered the inner chamber with a dark expression.

The light from the white lanterns under the eaves filtered through the glass windows, casting a dark brown shadow on the floor—but Song Mo was nowhere to be seen.

Song Yichun's eyes widened.

White hibiscus flowers on the tea table bloomed silently, blue curtains hung still, and the benzoin incense in the room was sweet and lingering.

The room was utterly quiet.

Song Mo was gone.

"Guards!" Song Yichun stumbled out of the inner chamber, roaring at the guards outside. "Someone, come quickly!"

In the neighboring Second Lane beside The Duke of England's Mansion, two burly men carried a blue-canopied official sedan chair adorned with gold and silver embroidered dragon patterns reserved for second-rank officials, heading toward Andingmen Avenue.