“Don’t cry, little sister. Elder Sister won’t hit you.”

Through the glimmering veil of Sixth Miss’s tear-streaked face, Li Shu stepped forward, her movements calm and graceful, her voice soft as silk. She reached out her slender jade-like hand to wipe away the tears that clung to the corners of the young girl’s eyes.

But the moment her hand moved closer, Sixth Miss’s tears fell even harder, streaming down her cheeks like broken pearls.

“It’s all right now, little sister, don’t cry. See? Elder Sister has thrown the whip away.” Li Shu spoke in the gentle tone of an older sister soothing a frightened child, and with a flick of her wrist, she let the riding whip fall to the floor with a dull thud.

Seeing this, Sixth Miss finally began to quiet down. Yet the sobs that escaped her lips came in hiccupping waves, her shoulders trembling—she had cried too much to stop all at once.

“There, there, no more tears,” Li Shu murmured as she reached out and drew Sixth Miss into her embrace, her voice as tender as the wind that brushes against early spring petals.

To the onlookers, Li Shu was the very image of a gentle and magnanimous elder sister—soft-hearted, compassionate, willing to forgive the younger girl’s mistake after witnessing her pitiful tears.

The Marchioness of Linhuai, who had been wringing her hands moments earlier, fretting over how to end the scene without offense, finally relaxed. Her worries eased as she watched Li Shu comfort the crying girl. After all, Li Shu’s betrothed, Zhu Ping’an, had just earned the title of zhuangyuan—the top scholar of the imperial examinations. If Li Shu had chosen to make a scene, things could have become politically delicate, and the Marchioness herself would not have been able to openly defend her own daughter, Zhu’er.

Remove AdsFortunately, Li Shu had known when to stop.

In everyone’s eyes, her tenderness continued to shine.

After murmuring a few more soothing words, Li Shu slowly lowered her head, her expression soft and full of warmth as she leaned close to Sixth Miss’s ear. Her red lips curved faintly, brushing against the younger girl’s cheek as she whispered, her voice gentle enough to be mistaken for comfort.

Li Shu’s tone was so tender that no one else could hear what she said—only Sixth Miss could catch those quiet words meant just for her.

“Don’t cry anymore, little sister,” Li Shu cooed, her breath warm against the trembling girl’s ear. “If one cries too much… sometimes, it can lead to death. Tell me, have you ever heard a story from the Three Kingdoms period? There was a warlord named Yuan Shu—does that name sound familiar, little sister? Yuan Shu had a concubine, a young woman surnamed Feng. She was beautiful beyond words—her face round and luminous, her eyes large and bright, fufu fufu—why, she looked almost exactly like you. A true beauty, a fragrance to rival the flowers of the nation. And, what a coincidence… she too was from the North, just like you.”

“The girl surnamed Feng had fled south to Yangzhou, escaping chaos in the North. Yuan Shu’s family hailed from the South—oh, just like Zhu Ping’an’s, you see? A southern man. Feng was so breathtakingly lovely that when Yuan Shu caught sight of her, he spent a thousand gold coins to buy her and brought her into his household as his concubine. She was so radiant, so exquisitely fair, that all the women in Yuan Shu’s rear courtyard paled in comparison. Naturally, Yuan Shu doted on her day and night, unable to tear himself away.”

“Such indulgence, of course, bred jealousy. The other women of the household festered with envy, though they hid it behind smiles. They devised a plan. They smothered their bitterness and began treating Concubine Feng with feigned affection. They laughed with her, shared their food and trinkets, and whenever Yuan Shu bestowed them with some rare treasure, they eagerly handed it over to her without complaint—treating her even better than Yuan Shu himself did. Anyone’s heart would melt under such warmth. And so, Concubine Feng’s guard fell, and she came to see them as her dear sisters. The courtyard appeared harmonious, a tranquil paradise where Yuan Shu enjoyed the blessings of many wives without discord.”

“And as good sisters do, they talked about everything—nothing was too secret to share. The other women constantly praised Concubine Feng’s beauty, but in the same breath, they whispered their worries about the future. They would sigh and say, ‘Beauty fades, dear sister. No woman’s face can stay forever young. Today you hold the master’s heart, tomorrow you may still dazzle him… but what about five years later? Ten years later? Our lord seeks to rule all under heaven. New beauties will come to his side one after another. Can you still be sure that your face will outshine them all then?’”

“Concubine Feng, poor thing, began to worry. Those women—oh, so helpful, so kind—started giving her advice.”

“They told her, ‘To hold a man’s body, you must first hold his heart. To hold his heart, you must understand his mind. Our lord dreams of conquering the world, so naturally he admires women who share his ambitions. We cannot ride into battle like generals, nor devise strategy like advisors—but we can share his worries for the nation and the people.’”

“So, they said, ‘When you are with him, dear sister, you should show concern for the realm. Let your brows crease in worry, let tears fall for the suffering of the people. Our lord will see you as his confidante, his soulmate. Even if new beauties arrive, you will remain the jewel of his heart.’”

“Feng believed them. After all, her sisters had always treated her so well. So each time she was with Yuan Shu, she would sigh, tears glistening in her eyes. ‘Nanyang is in drought—the people have no food… how my heart aches!’ She would weep. When floods struck Shouchun, she cried again—‘Oh, the poor crops, the starving people!’ And when plagues spread in Huainan or bandits rose in Fengqiu… every time she heard such news, she cried and cried, just like you, little sister—sniffling, trembling, your tears like a rain-soaked pear blossom.”

Li Shu’s smile deepened, her voice turning silky and chilling all at once, like a lullaby whispered in the dark. It carried that same eerie cadence Zhu Ping’an once used when telling ghost stories.

“Then, one day, when Yuan Shu was away, the other women took a rope and strangled Concubine Feng to death. They hung her body from the beam of her chamber with a strip of white silk.”

At that, Sixth Miss’s face turned pale as snow. She stiffened in Li Shu’s arms, her body trembling violently. She tried to pull away, but Li Shu’s hold tightened—soft, yet unyielding. Her lips still brushed against the girl’s ear as she continued.

“When Yuan Shu returned and found her hanging there, he was devastated. The women of the rear courtyard told him she had taken her own life—that she had heard of the people’s suffering and could not bear the sorrow, so she hanged herself. Yuan Shu believed it. After all, he had always known her to be a woman of tender heart and constant tears. ‘Feng wept often, her soul weighed by sorrow,’ he said, and so he mourned for several days… and then forgot her.”

Remove AdsLi Shu’s tone softened again, deceptively sweet. “Tell me, little sister… you cry so much. If you cry so hard today, and cry so hard tomorrow… if one day, by some cruel twist of fate, someone jealous of you were to hang you from a beam like Concubine Feng—what would people think then?”

Her words came with a smile, a whisper laced with venom.

“Ah—!”

Sixth Miss could bear it no longer. With a strangled scream, she pushed Li Shu away and stumbled back, her face drained of color as if she had glimpsed a ghost. Then, sobbing and gasping, she turned and fled.

Too terrifying… Elder Sister is too terrifying! I want to go home!

She ran all the way back to her courtyard, wailing like a frightened child, never daring to look behind her—as though some beast were chasing her heels.

The gathered ladies were left stunned, watching the Sixth Miss disappear into the distance.

To them, it looked as though she had simply been overcome with shame, her guilt melting into tears under Li Shu’s gentle persuasion.

“Well, I think we can all see what happened here,” someone murmured. “It was just a misunderstanding. Perhaps Shu’er mistook her sister’s intentions. I’ll visit and apologize to Zhu’er another day. My dear aunt, shall we let the matter rest?”

Li Shu spoke softly to the Marchioness of Linhuai, lowering her gaze in apparent humility.

A family scandal must not be spread. Seeing Li Shu willing to swallow her pride to keep the peace, how could the Marchioness refuse?

And so, under the Marchioness’s resolution, the matter was quietly settled. The supposed poisoned porridge incident was declared a misunderstanding, unrelated to Sixth Miss. No one was to mention it again.

To soothe Li Shu, the Marchioness ordered a small kitchen built beside her courtyard so her own servants could prepare her meals, with the expenses paid from the household accounts. As for the maid who had been tied to a tree earlier, she too was handed over to Li Shu’s service, her contract retrieved from Sixth Miss’s household and delivered to her new mistress.

When all was done, the crowd dispersed, and Li Shu’s courtyard fell silent once more.

Later, within her quiet boudoir, only Li Shu and her little maid Baozi remained. Sitting at her desk, Li Shu took up her brush and wrote a letter, the strokes deliberate and precise, before folding it and handing it to Baozi.

Remove Ads“Deliver this to Wang Xiao’er,” she instructed softly.

The letter read:

Settle her properly in the Lingnan estate. Find her a simple, honest local man to marry. Her dowry shall be that of a first-rank maid. Keep strict watch—she is not to take even one step northward.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep