The autumn rain in September carried a slight chill, its pitter-patter mingling with the murmurs of Buddhist chants in the courtyard, lulling Chu Yu into a drowsy haze.
A cold numbness seeped into her limbs, and her knees ached as if pierced by needles—she must have been kneeling for a long time. Outside, familiar yet distant voices clashed in argument.
“She’s about to be married! What if her legs give out from kneeling like this?!”
“I don’t care about your so-called principles! Has she taken even half a step outside the General’s Manor? If not, why punish her?!”
“She’s already been beaten and scolded—what more do you want?” A woman’s voice trembled with tears. “Must you drive A Yu to her death before you’re satisfied?!”
Who…?
Chu Yu’s thoughts scattered like mist. She lifted her head, her gaze landing on the compassionate face of Guanyin, the Bodhisattva of Mercy. The curling incense smoke blurred the statue’s features slightly.
The jade-carved Guanyin startled her—this very statue had been buried with her grandmother as part of the funeral offerings.
And her grandmother had passed away nearly ten years ago.
If the jade Guanyin was surprising, the voice outside was even more so, as her mind gradually cleared.
That voice… unmistakably belonged to her mother, who had died four years ago.
Where was this?
Shock jolted through her as she recalled the last moments before her consciousness had slipped away.
It must have been winter then. She lay buried under thick quilts, the air thick with the acrid smoke of cheap charcoal burning nearby.
Someone lifted the curtain and entered, leading a child no older than eight. The woman wore a long dress of water-blue Shu brocade, draped with a feather crane cloak. Pearls dangled from her ears, swaying gently with her movements. Though nearly thirty, she still carried the bright, youthful charm of a girl—a stark contrast to the withered figure on the sickbed.
Chu Yu and this woman had been born moments apart, yet while the other retained her youthful beauty, Chu Yu looked aged beyond her years. Her hands were rough and scarred, her face lined with years of sorrow, her eyes hollow and lifeless—nothing remained of the spirited eldest daughter of the General’s Manor.
The woman stepped forward and bowed respectfully, just as she would have in the manor. “Elder Sister.”
Chu Yu had no strength left. Slowly, she turned her gaze to the child beside the woman, watching him silently.
The boy shrank back at the sight of her, fear flickering in his eyes.
Chu Yu’s breath hitched. Sensing her distress, the woman nudged the child and said, “Yan Qing, greet the Madam.”
The child stepped forward and obediently called out, “Madam.”
Chu Yu’s pupils constricted violently.
Madam? What Madam? She was his mother—the one who had carried him for ten months and given birth to him!
“Chu Jin…” Chu Yu’s voice shook. She wanted to scream, to curse—but when she met her sister’s composed expression, she suddenly realized.
Rage was useless.
By now, she had long lost the sword in her hand and the fire in her heart. If she wanted this child to call her “Mother,” she needed her sister’s permission.
She looked at Chu Jin pleadingly. Chu Jin understood but feigned ignorance, smiling as she adjusted the quilts around Chu Yu with gentle hands. “Chu Sheng will be here soon, Elder Sister. No need to worry.”Chu Yu knew Chu Jin would never let her hear Gu Yanqing call her "Mother." She grabbed Chu Jin tightly, staring at her with fierce intensity.
Chu Jin calmly studied her for a long while before slowly smiling. She waved her hand, signaling for someone to take Gu Yanqing away, then lowered her gaze to meet Chu Yu’s eyes.
"Sister, it seems you’re not doing well, are you?"
Chu Yu couldn’t speak—Chu Jin was telling the truth.
She wasn’t doing well. Her body had long been ruined. She had pleaded with Gu Chusheng many times to return to Hua Jing, to see her father—the only man in her life who had ever truly been kind to her.
Yet Gu Chusheng had rejected every one of her requests. Now, as she neared the end of her life, Gu Chusheng had finally returned to Qianyang, promising to take her back to Hua Jing.
But she would never make it. She was destined to die in this foreign land.
Chu Jin watched her, her expression gradually turning cold.
"Do you hate me?"
Her voice was indifferent. Chu Yu answered with her eyes.
How could she not hate?
Once the favored daughter of heaven, she had fallen step by step to this wretched state—how could she not hate?
"But what right do you have to hate?" Chu Jin asked gently. "Have I ever wronged you, Sister?"
The question stunned Chu Yu. Chu Jin reached out, just as she had in their youth, and tenderly placed her hand over Chu Yu’s.
"Every path you took, Sister, was your own choice. A-Jin has always listened to you, hasn’t she?"
"It was you who insisted on eloping with Gu Chusheng—A-Jin helped you."
"It was you who fought on the battlefield to earn military merits for Gu Chusheng, ruining your health—no one else’s fault."
"It was you who stubbornly wanted to marry Gu Chusheng—no one forced you, did they?"
Yes, it was she who had wanted to marry Gu Chusheng.
Back then, Gu Chusheng had been betrothed to Chu Jin as a child. But Chu Yu had fallen in love with him. When the Gu family fell into disgrace and Gu Chusheng was exiled to the borderlands, Chu Jin had tearfully confessed her fear of suffering in the harsh frontier. Seeing that her sister had no affection for Gu Chusheng, Chu Yu had demanded to marry him in her place, while Chu Jin would take her original position—marrying Wei Jun, the heir of the Zhenguo Marquis household.
At the time, everyone thought she had lost her mind, trading a prestigious marriage for a disgraced young man no one dared associate with. Her doting father naturally refused, and Gu Chusheng himself had no feelings for her either, so he also declined.
No one supported her love. It was she who had schemed her way to Qianyang with Gu Chusheng. It was Gu Chusheng, moved by her devotion and gratitude for her loyalty in his darkest hour, who had eventually married her.
Gu Chusheng was no ordinary man. She had stayed by his side in the borderlands, enduring the hardest six years of their lives, bearing his child. And he had risen step by step, returning to Hua Jing, climbing all the way to the position of Chief Grand Secretary.
Had that been all, it might have been a beautiful tale.
But the problem was that Gu Chusheng had never stopped longing for Chu Jin. And the Zhenguo Marquis household, which Chu Jin had married into in her stead, had been wiped out on the battlefield shortly after the wedding, leaving only fourteen-year-old Wei Yun to uphold the family name. At the time, Chu Jin had refused to remain a widow for Wei Yang and obtained a letter of divorce from the Wei family, regaining her freedom.
When Gu Chusheng reunited with Chu Jin, their old feelings reignited, and they reconciled. How could Chu Yu endure that?
After Chu Jin entered the household, Chu Yu had raged and made scenes, her jealousy eroding her judgment until she had worn away the last of Gu Chusheng’s affection. In the end, under the pretext of serving his mother, he had sent her away to Qianyang.
She spent six years there—until her death. All told, she had been with Gu Chusheng for twelve years.
Chu Jin’s question was justified.Why should she hate?
Gu Chusheng had made it clear long ago that he didn’t want her—it was she who had forced the matter.
Gu Chusheng desired Chu Jin, yet she, relying on her past sacrifices, had driven them apart.
Perhaps they were at fault, but above all, the fault lay with her—Chu Yu—for her stubborn delusion, for loving someone who did not love her in return.
The snowstorm grew fiercer, and outside came the hurried yet steady footsteps of a man. He had always been this way, his emotions never showing on his face, leaving others unable to discern his thoughts.
Moments later, the man lifted the curtain and entered.
Clad in a purple official robe embroidered with pythons and crowned with gold, he appeared much thinner than before, his once refined features now carrying a sharp edge.
He paused at the doorway, the wind and snow rushing in, making Chu Yu feel a surge of blood stifling in her chest.
Suddenly, she realized that after twelve years, no matter how deep their affection had once been, it seemed she had already let go.
Looking at this man, she found she no longer loved him. Her love had long been worn away by time; it was only her stubbornness she couldn’t release.
She didn’t love him—she was merely unwilling to accept defeat.
Understanding this, she was suddenly overwhelmed with regret for these twelve years.
Twelve years ago, she should never have taken that step, should never have chased this heartless man to distant lands, should never have believed her fervent heart could warm this cold stone.
She slowly smiled, as if she were still that spirited eldest daughter of the general’s manor from twelve years ago, holding a long spear with proud defiance.
"Gu Chusheng," she gasped softly, "If given another life, may we never be entangled again!"
Gu Chusheng’s pupils constricted violently. As Chu Yu finished speaking, a mouthful of blood sprayed forth. Chu Jin cried out in alarm, and Gu Chusheng rushed forward, pulling her into his arms.
His hands trembled slightly as he rasped, "A Yu…"
If given another life…
Chu Yu’s mind echoed with her final wish before death, and in that instant, she seemed to comprehend something. A surge of wild joy flooded her heart, and she abruptly stood up.
Beside her, Old Madam Chu, who had been chanting scriptures, was startled. Seeing Chu Yu stagger to the door and rush to the main hall, she stared at the quarreling General Chu and his wife.
Lady Xie Yun, supported by Chu Jin, was arguing with Chu Jianchang, who was on the verge of fury, barely restraining himself as he said, "What kind of family is the Marquis of Zhenguo’s household, to allow you to marry whomever you please? How can a frail scholar like Gu Chusheng compare to the Wei heir? Forget the heir—even Seventh Master Wei, who’s only fourteen, is better than Gu Chusheng! Not only would this disgrace the Marquis’s household, but even without that, I would never let my daughter marry him!"
"I don’t care what you plan for A Yu—I only know she’s still kneeling inside after you struck her!"
Xie Yun’s eyes reddened. "This is my daughter. I don’t care about anything else—I just want her safe and sound. If something happens to her from kneeling today, can you give me back my daughter?!"
"She’s trained in martial arts since childhood. You underestimate her." Chu Jianchang frowned. "Her skin is thick enough."
"Chu Jianchang!"
Xie Yun raised her voice. "Have you forgotten she’s just a girl?!"
"That’s why I didn’t use military punishment."
The words slipped out, and Xie Yun, enraged, raised her hand, her face flushed red. Just as she was about to strike, they heard Chu Yu’s urgent yet joyous cry: "Father! Mother!"
Her voice was unlike usual, carrying too much—like a traveler who had journeyed a thousand miles, weathered by the trials of the world.The two men were slightly taken aback. Turning their heads, they saw Chu Yu rushing over and throwing herself into Chu Jianchang's arms.
"Father..."
Warmth came so suddenly that Chu Yu nearly burst into tears.
They were still alive. Everyone was still alive. Nothing had happened yet. Her life could still start anew.
Author's Note: The male lead is: Wei Yun! Wei Yun! Wei Yun! Don't get the pairing wrong, got it?!
Also: This is a story about a reborn ex-husband X reborn woman X younger brother-in-law.
In this story, the younger brother-in-law is the male lead. In "Four Marriages," the ex-husband was the male lead, so choose accordingly...
Now, I know this is a clichéd and melodramatic beginning.
But clichés aren't important—what matters is whether they can be executed well...
This author will have all her miscellaneous affairs sorted out by the end of May, returning to her glorious life as Ink·Groundhog·Tentacle·Shubai!!
Updates will be posted punctually at 8 PM every night (this is the bold declaration of an author with 50k words in reserve).
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