Chapter 6 — Incense Smoke in the Qi Manor

By the time our son reached the age of seven, Qi Wen-Kai could no longer be bothered to feign the role of a devoted husband. He began to take concubines with overt enthusiasm. I remained indifferent, calmly arranging the living quarters and stipends for his new companions. Expecting me to be consumed by jealousy and protest, he spoke to me with a smug air of condescension:

"Jing-Er is seven years old now, and only now have I begun to take concubines. Among the women of the capital, you have enjoyed a life of rare comfort. Do not be ungrateful!"

I glanced at him, the corner of my mouth curling into the faintest of smiles. "Understood. The quarters for the two housemaids have been properly prepared. If you wish, Husband, you may inspect the ledgers to ensure there are no oversights."

Qi Wen-Kai let out a cold, sharp huff. He took the ledgers and flipped through them dismissively, unable to find a single flaw, before tossing them back onto the table. In truth, I cared little for his dalliances. A man of his character was, in my eyes, utterly repulsive; the further he remained from my chambers, the better. But he was like the man who pretends to drink for the sake of the atmosphere; his true intent lay elsewhere. A maid reported to me that Qi Wen-Kai had personally commissioned a famous physician to nurture the health of his new concubines. He had even promised them that whichever woman bore him a son first would be elevated to the rank of a secondary wife, while the other, regardless of the child’s gender, would be promoted to a mistress status upon delivery.

The maid looked at me, her face full of bewilderment. "Our young master is so bright and filial, and the mistress mother-in-law dotes on him endlessly. Why is the master so dissatisfied that he would urge his concubines to bear him other heirs so urgently?"

I offered a bitter smile. I understood all too well why Qi Wen-Kai felt no warmth toward Jing-Er. Since the day I gave birth, our marital life had been tepid and distant. Qi Wen-Kai felt this chill, and he projected it onto his son. In my previous life, desperate to win my husband’s favor, I had forced Jing-Er to be close to his father. Qi Wen-Kai had invested little effort in the boy, yet he greedily drank the rewards of filial piety. But in this life, having seen the true, ugly face of Qi Wen-Kai, I stopped trying to please him. Consequently, my son did not cling to his father as he once had. In this household, the boy gravitated toward his grandmother and me; even his aunt, Shen-Rou, was closer to him than his own father. Qi Wen-Kai could not stand this perceived distance. Thus, he was desperate for a second son—a child he could mold. He hoped to provoke a rivalry between me and the other women, and between my son and their offspring. He knew that if I were forced into competition, I would be compelled to court his favor, granting him the leverage he craved. He had played this game perfectly in my past life, reaping a harvest of influence and control while I destroyed myself fighting Shen-Rou, who eventually lost her life to our rivalry. My hands were stained with blood, and though I appeared to have won, we were merely two foolish gamblers manipulated by the house, and Qi Wen-Kai, the house itself, would never suffer a loss. But I was exhausted. I no longer wished to play by his rules.

I took my son and, carrying a silk headband I had embroidered for my mother-in-law, made my way to her residence. Since the incident of Shen-Rou’s marriage, a silent understanding had bloomed between us. I had the maid lead my son into the courtyard to play and then recounted to the older woman how Qi Wen-Kai was coddling his concubines, hoping for a swift pregnancy. She remained silent for a long time, her expression clouded by a flicker of distress.

"The men of the Qi family," she murmured. "Years ago, Wen-Kai’s father did the exact same thing. He took concubines, not because he loved them, but because he believed a wife of noble birth needed to be kept in check by trivial domestic squabbles so that she would not grow too arrogant or attempt to stand above her master."

"Wen-Kai’s mother was the first concubine he took. I once thought he cared for her, but when she died, he didn’t bat an eye. Later, I adopted Wen-Kai and paved his path, hoping he would be different from his father. Who would have thought their methods would be identical? It is laughable. His father fell ill when Wen-Kai was seven, and despite never teaching him, the boy mastered his father’s schemes by instinct. This thing we call blood... it truly is a marvelous horror."

I listened in silence. She sighed deeply. "After I decided to raise him, I began to see to it that his father fell ill, but his mother’s death was no doing of mine. I raised him for years, hired the finest masters for him, and secured a noble wife for him; I have fulfilled my duty as a mother. I owe him nothing. And you, since entering this house, have managed it well and provided an heir; you have never wronged him. Since he has begun to plot against you, whatever you choose to do now is not excessive."

I took the prescription she handed me. Like the last one, I committed the contents to memory and burned it instantly. As I reached the door, I heard her emit a long, weary sigh behind me: "His father fell ill when he was seven; in the blink of an eye, Jing-Er is seven now."

After leaving, I went to the kitchen myself and prepared a bowl of pork rib and lotus root soup. I carried it to his study personally. He seemed genuinely surprised. "Why have you taken the initiative to come to my study today?"

I offered a smile of humble grace: "When we were first married, did I not often bring soup to my husband?"