The Night Before the Divorce, She Was Reborn to Before Her Marriage - Chapter 67

Zong Si’s lips curled into a faint, mirthless smirk. “Who could possibly make things difficult for me?” he asked dismissively.

Yet, a man who had been categorized as “not quite up to par” by a woman he had shared a bed with could not help but harbor a grudge. If he were truly incompetent, he might have accepted it; however, he had merely suffered the disadvantage of it being his first time, lacking the necessary experience to master the art.

Zong Duo seemed to agree with his cousin’s assessment. Who indeed could make his third brother suffer the pains of unrequited love?

“Then why do you seem so distracted?” Zong Duo pressed.

Zong Si rubbed his temples. “I am fine. I am merely troubled by the matters regarding the transport of military supplies.”

When Zong Si returned to the manor, Princess Consort Xuan asked him a similar question. Upon hearing that nothing was wrong, she let out a sigh of relief. She felt she had perhaps overthought things; Zong Si had never been one to waste energy on romantic entanglements. If he were a profligate, the manor would have been overflowing with concubines long ago.

“Miss Mu is arriving in the capital mid-month,” the Princess Consort informed him. “I shall invite her to the manor then. You must remain at home that day so the two of you may properly meet.”

While the Princess Consort was satisfied with the girl—knowing her to be well-educated, well-behaved, and a favorite of the Mu family’s matriarch—it was, after all, Zong Si who would be marrying her. He needed to see her for himself.

“Very well,” Zong Si replied.

“You have never shown a shred of enthusiasm for your own marriage. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you preferred the company of men,” his mother teased with a glare. In this family, a son who was too fond of women was a nuisance, but one who was so indifferent was a cause for genuine anxiety.

Zong Si remained lukewarm. However, he couldn’t help but recall Ning Fu’s words: “Even sleeping with a man is no great matter.”

The thought brought a surge of irritation. Perhaps it was a blessing that Ning Fu had rejected him. With a mistress of the house like that, there was no telling if their children would grow up to be of poor character. Then, thinking of the child they might have had in his past life, his eyes darkened like a gathering storm.

Preparations for the Ji Li

While the Prince Xuan Manor was busy arranging Zong Si’s match, the Duke’s Manor was equally frantic, preparing for Ning Fu’s Ji Li (Coming-of-Age ceremony).

Madam Ning, doting on her daughter, took the celebration very seriously. From the delicacies to the entertainment for the guests, she oversaw everything personally. She hired master chefs from the capital’s most prestigious restaurant, Yunhe Pavilion—at a cost of a thousand gold pieces a day—and booked an opera troupe that few manors could afford.

Lady Wei, seeing such extravagance, complained to Old Madam Ning.

“Enough. Stop watching her every move,” the Old Madam said, no longer wishing to waste her energy on such petty squabbles. “When you managed the household accounts, you bought plenty for Ning Yu. Did the second branch ever complain?”

“Matriarch,” Lady Wei argued earnestly, “I was never this wasteful! Besides, Yu-er is the eldest son of the Duke’s Manor. I only fear losing face for the family.”

The Old Madam was tired of Lady Wei’s hypocrisy. “The daughters and sons of this manor are all equal in my eyes. They are all children of the Ning family—even Ning He.”

The mention of Ning He was a sharp warning. Lady Wei was the mistress of the house, and the Matriarch knew she treated the concubine-born daughter poorly. She had only looked the other way to maintain harmony.

“If you have the courage, go tell the second branch yourself,” the Matriarch continued. “Ever since Madam Liu took over the accounts, our finances have flourished. I regret my past favoritism toward the first branch; it hindered the family’s growth.”

Sisters in the Bamboo Grove

Ning Fu overheard the conversation about Ning He as she arrived at the door. “Grandmother,” she said with a bright smile, “let us invite A-He to sit with us.”

“Has your mother finally stopped hounding you?” the Old Madam joked. For the past several days, Madam Ning had been dragging Ning Fu through a mountain of jewelry and hairpieces.

“I cannot choose among such a sea of treasures; I’ve come to Grandmother’s to hide for a while,” Ning Fu laughed.

When Ning He entered, she looked much the same as she had nine months ago, though a bit taller. Upon seeing Ning Fu, her eyes didn’t fill with the awe others showed; instead, she looked relieved. “Fourth Sister,” she whispered, then turned to Lady Wei. “Mother.”

“Your Fourth Sister has been asking after you,” the Matriarch said.

Ning He’s eyes welled with tears. Ning Fu beckoned her over, and the younger girl hurried to her side, clutching Ning Fu’s hand and refusing to let go for the rest of the visit.

Once they left the courtyard, Ning Fu asked, “Why were you under house arrest again?”

“It was my concubine-mother (Aunt Zhang),” Ning He whispered. “She lost her baby recently and has been in a terrible state. She says my zodiac sign clashed with the child’s—that I cursed my brother to death. She said I ruined her future.”

Ning Fu gently wiped away the girl’s tears. “Grandmother didn’t speak up for you?”

“My concubine-mother fell gravely ill over it, so Grandmother found it difficult to interfere,” Ning He sobbed.

Ning Fu cursed Aunt Zhang’s stupidity inwardly. To mistreat her only living child over a tragedy was foolish. “Come stay in my Bamboo Villa tonight,” Ning Fu coaxed. “You must have been frightened, being alone for so long.”

That night, Ning Fu discovered bruises on Ning He’s body. She didn’t ask questions, simply helping her sister clean the wounds with saltwater.

A Crossing of Paths

The next day, Ning Fu took Ning He to buy new clothes, intending for her sister to shine at the upcoming Ji Li so she might find a good match. At the Celestial Pavilion, they crossed paths with Princess Consort Xuan and a gentle, dignified young lady—Miss Mu.

“Greetings, Princess Consort,” Ning Fu said, maintaining perfect etiquette.

The Princess Consort gave a curt nod and coldly turned back to Miss Mu. Miss Mu, however, stole a glance at Ning Fu. She had heard the fourth daughter of the Duke’s Manor was the most beautiful woman in the capital; she wondered if this was her.

Later, the sisters went to a tea house. Through a sheer curtain in a private booth, Ning Fu saw Zong Si. He was seated with Miss Mu.

“Heir Apparent, what is the name of this tea?” Miss Mu’s voice drifted over. “It starts bitter, turns sweet, and leaves a lingering fragrance. The layers are quite rare.”

Zong Si’s gaze flickered toward Ning Fu for a brief, icy moment before he looked away. “If Miss Mu likes it, you may take some leaves back with you,” he said blandly.

Ning Fu sat in a corner with Ning He, ignoring them. However, her beauty drew the attention of a dandy downstairs. “Shopkeeper! I shall pay for the tea of those two beauties upstairs!” he shouted.

Zong Si’s hand paused on his cup. He glanced down.

“We thank the gentleman for his kindness, but it is unnecessary,” Ning Fu said with a charming smile that echoed through the room. “Today, I shall pay for every guest in the tea house.”

By subtly revealing her wealth and background, she silenced any further advances.

Miss Mu looked at her—a beauty sitting in quiet grace—then looked at Zong Si. He hadn’t spared Ning Fu a single glance. “Is that the girl from the Duke’s Manor?” she asked. Zong Si didn’t answer.

The Return of Lu Xingzhi

Zong Si left the tea house shortly after to discuss Lu Xingzhi’s return with the Emperor. Lu had risked his life for the peace of Liangzhou, and Zong Si insisted that his reward must be significant to set an example for others.

The Emperor agreed, appointing Lu Xingzhi as a fourth-rank Commander.

On the day of his return, Lu Xingzhi went straight to the palace. “Xingzhi, you have worked hard this past year,” the Emperor said warmly. Then, he teased, “But your clothes today look a bit… modest.”

The fabric was fine, but the stitching was somewhat amateurish. It was Ning Fu’s handiwork—far from perfect by imperial standards.

Lu Xingzhi stole a glance at Zong Si, then smiled broadly. “The person who made this garment for me has never done such work before and isn’t very skilled,” he said. “But… this subject likes it.”