Though born and raised in the capital, Hua Zhi possessed the delicate frame of a southern beauty—sloping shoulders, a willow-like waist, a swan’s neck, and a stature that, while not particularly tall, appeared elegantly slender.
When she chose to conceal her presence, others saw her merely as a girl with pleasing looks and refined demeanor. But when she fixed her cold, piercing gaze upon someone with a guilty conscience, that person would not dare meet her eyes.
Now, under her stare, Hua Jing instinctively retreated a step, her legs giving way as she collapsed to the ground. Struggling to rise despite her humiliation, she tried several times but failed to regain her footing.
Everyone watched her.
Members of the Hua family, onlookers—no one stepped forward to help her. Shame and anger overwhelmed her, tears streaming down her face as she presented a pitiable image of one bullied by all.
Yet who could have imagined that this seemingly wretched person had driven her own mother to her death with rage, then attempted to further muddy the waters in her maternal home? She had forgotten the debt of birth, the grace of upbringing, the bond of sisterhood, and that everything she now possessed came from her family.
Hua Zhi looked down at Hua Jing from her height. Just as the crowd expected her to utter even harsher words, she turned and walked away, her cloak billowing in the wind, the hood slipping off.
From the angle of the watching women, only her profile was visible—truly beautiful, with a high nose bridge, fair complexion, and lips that appeared vividly red by contrast.
Su Momo hurriedly replaced the young lady’s hood and supported her up the steps.
Steward Xu, too elderly to have followed earlier, now approached. "Young Miss, the one outside…"
"Pay her no mind. If she dares set foot inside the Hua family gates, have her driven out at once."
"Rest assured, Young Miss, she will not enter!"
The mourning hall was already being dismantled. Hua Zhi stood silently watching for a while before asking, "By custom, will the monks return?"
"They will return to chant scriptures for another half-hour to dispel malign influences and misfortune."
"Prepare vegetarian fruits and dishes to receive them properly."
"Yes."
Returning to her room, Hua Zhi washed briefly, not daring to soak in a bath for fear she might not find the strength to rise afterward.
She did not don the Mourning Clothes again, changing instead into a moon-white gown that differed little in appearance. The descendants of the Hua family were to observe a year of mourning, and she wondered if the others had plain garments to wear.
If the family’s businesses were faring well, they ought to have several sets of plain clothing made for everyone.
"Young Miss, please have some soup." Fu Dong brought over a bowl of soup and held it directly to Hua Zhi’s lips. It smelled fragrant.
Hua Zhi took a few sips. "Is there mushroom oil in this?"
"Yes, I simmered it myself. I inquired—this does not violate the rules." A full year of mourning lay ahead; they could not subsist on plain vegetables every day without harming their health.
"Prepare more and send it to the main kitchen."
"Yes." Fu Dong replied cheerfully, skipping out of the room. Ying Chun, vigorously massaging the stiff areas of her mistress’s shoulders, muttered, "All that running and jumping—what kind of behavior is that? Her training in decorum has been wasted."
"Complain to her, not to me." Hua Zhi closed her eyes, her body swaying with the motion of the massage. It was somewhat painful, but bearable.
Ying Chun fell silent. Were it not that Fu Dong had suffered a fright, she would never indulge her so.
The monks returned just past noon. After another half-hour of rituals, the ceremonies concluded entirely. For this midday meal, the monks ate more heartily than before.
Seeing the monks out the main gate, Hua Zhi bowed sincerely to Master Banruo.Banruo pressed her palms together in return, recited a Buddhist chant, and led the crowd away. In a fleeting moment, Hua Zhi seemed to hear a faint sigh.
After a glance at the makeshift shed, Steward Xu understood her meaning and bowed, saying, "She has left. I will have someone dismantle it immediately."
Hua Zhi nodded. "Close the gates. Everyone is exhausted—arrange shifts for rest. Also, send Xu Jie to see me."
"Yes."
Meanwhile, Hua Jing had returned to Song Jia. The news had not yet spread, and Old Madam Song, seeing her distraught expression, assumed she was still reeling from her mother’s passing. Uncharacteristically, she refrained from provoking her and allowed her to return to her room.
Hua Jing did not ask where her husband or children had gone. Back in her room, she bit her nails, devising a plan. She needed to extricate herself—to convince others she was wronged before rumors spread. Yes, she was innocent.
Steeling herself, Hua Jing rubbed her eyes until they were red-rimmed, summoning tears until they streamed down her face. Only then did she call her personal maid in. To make others believe her, those closest must first be convinced.
The Hua family’s gates remained tightly shut. After days of exhaustion, both masters and servants had reached their limits. Only essential guards were posted; the rest slept deeply, oblivious to day or night. The entire estate fell into silence.
That night, Gu Yanxi slipped soundlessly into Hua Zhi’s bedchamber. The young maid slept soundly, unaware that anyone had approached her mistress.
Hua Zhi slept restlessly, her brows tightly furrowed. Gu Yanxi resisted the urge to smooth them away. No one understood her vigilance better than he did. Despite the vast difference in their martial skills, any unusual movement would startle her awake.
He could only sit at the edge of the bed, his gaze restrained, watching her pale face with a familiar ache in his heart.
It was the same numbness and pain he had felt on the journey to the northern borders, the same when he learned of Old Madam Hua’s passing.
When his grandmother had asked, he said the timing was not right. But in that moment, he had been tempted to say it was Hua Zhi—Hua Zhi of the Hua family. He believed that, given his grandmother’s friendship with Old Madam Hua and her affection for him, she would grant his wish. An imperial decree would force Hua Zhi to marry him after her year of mourning, or even during the mourning period if he insisted.
But the impulse faded quickly. He could not bear to clip her wings, to confine her to the inner quarters. He did not want to see disgust or resentment in her eyes.
He wanted her to willingly don the red Wedding Gown and become his wife.
He also wanted to see where the Hua family would go under her leadership.
He could wait—and he was willing to wait.
Despite the long rest, Hua Zhi awoke with her body aching, limbs heavy as if filled with lead. Every step required immense effort. She quietly moved herself to the front courtyard.
It was no longer convenient to handle affairs in the inner quarters. She had ordered a courtyard previously used for breaks during lessons to be tidied up—this would now serve as her office.
"Miss, are your wounds hurting again?" Ying Chun finally asked after holding back her concern. Yet the scars on Hua Zhi’s legs had already formed scabs."The wound is growing new flesh, it itches." Hua Zhi offered a casual explanation without mentioning pain, then turned her gaze to Nian Qiu. "Report the income during this period."
"Yes." Nian Qiu opened the account book, her voice clear and crisp. "You've been away for thirty-two days. Green Moss Alley has generated a total income of four thousand one hundred sixty-two taels, with costs around six hundred eighty taels. As the weather gradually turns colder, business has slowed somewhat, though more wealthy households have been sending people to purchase. This servant believes that once the weather improves, business will surely double."
PS: The young ladies haven't been enthusiastic these past couple days, does this mean they no love Kongkong anymore...
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