Chapter 8: Shen Jiao

Leaving Qin Court, Jiang Huashan fell immediately into deep thought. By the time she reached the covered walkway, she didn't even bother with pleasantries — she simply turned and disappeared down the corridor.

The cold detachment was a stark contrast to the warmth she'd shown in the floral hall just moments ago.

Shen Zhi stood silently, watching her go.

This Miss Jiang's behavior today was genuinely unexpected. If she was simply following her own heart, that was one thing. But if someone had been deliberately putting ideas in her head...

Shen Zhi's eyes darkened. Such heavy scheming in one so young was not a good sign.

Just as Shen Zhi was studying Jiang Huashan's retreating back, she suddenly stopped. Before he could react, she hurled herself headfirst at the rosewood pillar at the corner of the corridor!

Shen Zhi's brow jumped. His face went white. Abandoning all thought, he broke into a run.

"Miss Jiang!"

Jiang Huashan wasn't trying to kill herself. She just needed to verify whether all of this was a dream. If it was — she'd already seen Grandfather. She needed to wake up, not lose herself in a hallucination.

But if it wasn't...

"Miss Jiang!" Shen Zhi eased her into a seated position, his eyes equal parts frantic and furious. "What are you doing? This is not something to joke about!"

"Hssss..." The impact hadn't been lethal, but she hadn't held back either.

Jiang Huashan pressed a hand against the massive lump forming on her head, her eyes contracting. She was still here.

After a beat of blank shock, she leapt to her feet, her expression a mix of wonder and wariness. "Steward Shen — you're still here?"

Shen Zhi had no idea what she was playing at. He sighed. "Miss Jiang, pulling a stunt like this now will only break the old master's heart."

Jiang Huashan's gaze darted around. She pushed his hands away and muttered, "I zoned out. Didn't see the pillar."

Shen Zhi: "..."

Zoned out? He'd watched her take a running start.

Jiang Huashan had no intention of explaining further. She turned to leave, then seemed to remember something and came back. She looked Shen Zhi dead in the eye. "Steward Shen. That was an accident." Then she broke into a jog and vanished down the long corridor.

Shen Zhi stood there, stunned. That attitude...

"Uncle Shen."

At that moment, Shen Jiao appeared from the opposite courtyard, crossing the covered bridge into Qin Court.

Shen Zhi snapped back to attention. "Youngest Miss."

The old master of the Shen family had taken three wives in his lifetime. Together they'd given him five sons and two daughters.

His first wife, Xi Qing, was overseas nobility — a quarter Country A heritage. But the marriage was loveless. Xi Qing bore no children in five years, and under pressure, she had no choice but to tacitly permit her husband to take a mistress. That was how the second household came to be.

The second wife bore the old master two sons and a daughter. Just when she thought her children would elevate her above Xi Qing, the first wife finally conceived — and gave birth to a son. The second wife would have to remain a concubine.

Xi Qing's health never recovered from the toll of childbirth, and she passed away not long after. Two years later, the old master married a third wife — also a woman of distinguished lineage. She, too, gave him two sons and a daughter.

Shen Jiao was born to the third wife. As the seventh child, the old servants who'd been in Shen Garden the longest called her the Youngest Miss. And aside from the late legitimate heir Shen Xi, she was the old master's favorite.

"Steward Shen, is Father inside? I'd like a word with him."

Shen Jiao was strikingly beautiful. Though nearing forty, she maintained herself flawlessly — a cascade of golden-brown waves, skin pale and taut, curves in all the right places. By appearance alone, she could pass for a woman in her early twenties. But her styling was pure society matron: every garment, every shoe, custom couture. Even the necklace she'd thrown on casually for the day was an imperial green jade piece worth tens of millions.

Shen Zhi nodded. "The old master just finished seeing Miss Jiang. He's free now."

At those words, Shen Jiao's brow furrowed.

She'd just returned to hear that her precious daughter had been pushed off the second floor by Jiang Huashan. Something this serious — she wasn't about to let it go. But this was the Shen family estate, and she was a married-out daughter. Handling it privately would be out of line. That was why she'd come to the old master for a proper reckoning. She hadn't expected that little Jiang girl to beat her to it!

Given Jiang Huashan's track record, Shen Jiao naturally assumed she'd come to talk her way out of trouble. For three years, every time the girl threw a tantrum or turned on the waterworks, the old master had let her off with a slap on the wrist.

Shen Jiao's temper flared. Before she could stop herself, the words tumbled out. "What is Father thinking? Is he really still going to favor that outsider after all this? Suier is my daughter — whether in the Fu family or the Shen family, I will not tolerate her being bullied. If I don't get a satisfactory resolution today, don't blame me for burning bridges!"

"What burning bridges? Who exactly are you burning bridges with?"

Shen Jiao froze. She turned. Shen Zhuang had emerged from Qin Court at some point, leaning on his dragon-head cane, eyes narrowed in a glare.

"Father." Shen Jiao's gaze shifted, a flicker of guilt crossing her face. She coughed lightly and stepped out of the corridor.

The old man shot her a sidelong look. "Come inside."

The two entered Qin Court but didn't go into the house — they stayed in the courtyard.

Shen Jiao glanced at the Wei Purple peony in the center of the garden and deflected with a laugh. "Father, that one's looking healthy this year."

Six Song-dynasty official folding chairs and one old rattan rose chair were arranged in the courtyard. The old master lowered himself slowly onto the rose chair and tapped his dragon-head cane against the bluestone paving, his expression grave. "Sit."

Shen Jiao's expression shifted. The smile vanished, and she sat down properly.

"Father." Her posture was elegant — legs together, waist angled, one arm resting lightly on the armrest, hands folded on her lap.

The old master's gaze was calm. "Speak. How did things reach this point? Are you really divorcing Fu Jiaming?"

The last trace of a smile disappeared from Shen Jiao's face. After a moment of stillness, her eyes went hard with resolve. "Yes. Father, I've made up my mind. No one can stop me. Not even you."

Summer vacation was almost over. By this time in past years, Shen Jiao would have long since taken Suier back to the Fu family. This year, there'd been no movement.

The old master had sent someone to the Fu household to inquire, and what he'd learned was this: his daughter had been formidable. Backed by her maiden family's power, she'd staged a full-scale rampage at her husband's home — smashed a twenty-million-yuan imperial kiln vase belonging to the old man of the Fu family, cracked Fu Jiaming's head open, and left behind a divorce agreement with a flourish before taking her child and returning to the Shen estate.