To Marry the Elder Brother of One's Late Husband - Chapter 37

Chapter 37: Drugging Lu Changji

As dusk fell, the group arrived at Qingyang Taoist Temple. Exhausted from the journey, no one had the energy for conversation; they retired to their respective quarters to settle in.

Jiang Shu lay on her side in bed, tossing and turning, unable to find sleep. She stared at the packet of aphrodisiac for a long time. She feared someone might discover this filthy thing, yet she feared the uncertainty of delay even more. A long night invites many dreams; she silently resolved to get the deed done the following day.

Taking a deep breath, she tucked the drug into a hidden compartment beneath the bed and slowly closed her eyes.

At the first light of dawn, the clear ring of a bronze bell echoed through the courtyard. The Taoist priests were beginning the rites for the late Marquis. Ordinarily, such rites would last forty-nine days, but because Lu Changji held the reins of the Inner Cabinet and could not be away from court for long, the ceremony had been condensed into seven days. During this week, three services were held daily, requiring the family to sleep late and rise early, devoting themselves to prayer.

Filial piety was an absolute duty. Once the bell rang, even the laziest member of the family, Lu Changying, dressed impeccably and headed to the main hall. The hall was filled with “heavenly lamps,” and twelve priests played gongs and drums while chanting scriptures. The scene was tumultuous and grand.

Jiang Shu knelt behind Madame Zhao, mimicking her bows and kowtows. By the end of a single session, her back ached and her legs trembled so violently she could barely walk. The noble ladies, who had never performed manual labor, were pale with fatigue. After a hasty vegetarian meal, they all hurried back to their rooms for a nap.

Jiang Shu was equally exhausted, but a sense of guilt toward Lu Changyi left her restless. Her heart felt suspended in her chest, floating and unstable.

Walking through the middle courtyard, she spotted two priests sweeping the grounds and stopped them. “Little Daoist, is it possible to light an Everlasting Lamp at the Hall of Pure Yang?”

She had lit such lamps for Lu Changyi at Buddhist temples before. Back then, she hadn’t truly believed in gods or spirits, but now that Lu Changyi’s health was failing and human effort seemed futile, she could only place her hopes in the divine.

Having slept poorly and labored through the morning, Jiang Shu had dark circles under her eyes, and her complexion was haggard. The young priest felt pity for her and offered guidance: “Our Heavenly Lords do not care for incense money; they value sincerity above all. If the Young Mistress has the heart, go to the Temple of the Taoist Ancestor, Lao-jun, and pray. He is merciful; if he hears your intent, perhaps he will show a sign.”

Hearing that the gods did not demand money, Jiang Shu felt a sudden surge of reverence. She thanked the priest and entered the hall of Taishang Lao-jun. She knelt on the prayer mat, offered three sticks of incense, whispered her plea, and kowtowed three times before backing out.

In the middle courtyard, she saw a stooped woman standing beneath a Bodhi tree. Beside her stood a handsome young man holding a red silk ribbon, which he was tying to a branch. The man was Ye Qian. They hadn’t seen each other since their last parting.

“Brother Ye Qian,” Jiang Shu called out. She walked to Ye Qian’s mother and took her arm. “Auntie, is your health any better?”

Ye Qian’s mother was chronically ill, spending nine out of ten days in bed, always smelling faintly of medicine. Back when Jiang Shu was still in her father’s house, her life was difficult, yet out of kindness, she often squeezed out what little money she had to help Ye’s mother. Thus, even after the engagement was broken by the Jiang family, the mother’s love for Jiang Shu had never changed.

People said the Marquis Mansion was a place of glory and that marrying the Heir was a great fortune, yet seeing the dark circles under Jiang Shu’s eyes, Ye’s mother could only sigh. Shu’er’s life is not easy.

Ye’s mother squeezed Jiang Shu’s hand. “Since Qian-ge passed his exams, our life has become more comfortable. I can afford better medicine, and my health has improved significantly. The weather was fine today, so I asked him to accompany me up the mountain to pray for his career—and for your happiness.”

Jiang Shu was genuinely glad. “Brother Ye Qian is capable; things will only get better. Once he marries and you have grandsons to dote on, your life will be even sweeter.”

Ye’s mother let out a soft “ai.” She wanted to ask if Jiang Shu was pregnant, but seeing her slender figure, she remained silent. The Marquis Mansion was a prestigious house that surely valued heirs; she didn’t want to rub salt in Jiang Shu’s wounds.

As they spoke, dark clouds gathered and a steady, lingering rain began to fall. The Ye family had umbrellas, but Jiang Shu was empty-handed. Ye’s mother nudged her son. “Qian-ge, go escort Shu’er. Autumn is coming, and the rain is turning cold. Don’t let her fall ill.”

Ye Qian agreed and held the umbrella over Jiang Shu’s head. “Sister Shu’er, where are you headed?”

Jiang Shu’s quarters were in the front courtyard, a place of constant gossip. Since they had once been engaged, being seen sharing an umbrella would surely spark rumors. To avoid trouble, she pointed to the guest rooms near the Hall of the Four Sovereigns. “The Marquis family is staying in the guest rooms in the middle courtyard for the rites.”

Ye Qian nodded and slowed his pace, walking her to the eaves of the building. Their relationship was no longer what it once was; any conversation felt out of place. They stood in silence under the eaves, watching the rain soak the blue bricks and black tiles.

“Shu’er,” Ye Qian whispered as he prepared to leave. “I am merely a low-ranking scholar of the seventh rank. I know I cannot compare to the Heir. But if you ever face a difficulty, tell me. I cannot guarantee I can solve it, but I will give my absolute all to help you.”

He was a man of his word; Jiang Shu had never doubted his character. She nodded. “I have never treated you as a stranger. If I am in trouble, I will find you.”

Ye Qian acknowledged this and, knowing it wasn’t wise to stay, walked back into the rain. Jiang Shu watched him until he vanished, then turned into the Hall of the Four Sovereigns behind her.

The hall housed the assistant gods of the Jade Emperor. Because they were less famous, few pilgrims entered. Jiang Shu only went inside to escape the rain, but she was stunned to find Lu Changji sitting at a desk, practicing calligraphy.

She and Ye Qian had just been standing at the door; she didn’t know if he had overheard them. Jiang Shu froze at the entrance, feeling lost. Then she realized—why be afraid? She and Brother Ye Qian were innocent; she had nothing to fear from prying eyes. She straightened her back and let out a light cough.

Lu Changji looked up.

“Uncle knows how to find a spot,” she said. “This hall is quiet and perfect for calligraphy.”

Lu Changji hummed in response and pointed to a stool in the corner. “The summer rain is long; it won’t stop soon. Sit and rest.”

Jiang Shu complied. There wasn’t much for a brother-in-law and sister-in-law to discuss, and both were naturally quiet. Soon, the room was silent save for the sound of rain hitting bamboo leaves. Since she harbored “other” intentions, Jiang Shu could no longer face him with a clear conscience. She turned to look out the window, pretending to watch the rain. After a while, when her neck began to ache, she heard Lu Changji instruct Cheng Yong: “Go to the small kitchen and bring a bowl of honey-preserved plum soup.”

Since he was writing, the soup was clearly for her. Jiang Shu tried to refuse, but Cheng Yong ignored her, donned his felt coat, and left.

Now they were truly alone. Jiang Shu couldn’t pretend to watch the rain again, so she sat stiffly like a stone statue, her eyes fixed on the floor. Time crawled as if every minute were a year.

Suddenly, a woman’s low cry drifted from the adjacent room. Jiang Shu assumed she had slipped on the wet floor. Unfortunately, the rhythmic, rising moans that followed proved her wrong. The woman’s voice was incredibly sultry, like a cat’s purr, punctuated by a man’s heavy breathing and the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh.

Jiang Shu stiffened. Heat surged from her neck to her ears, and her toes curled in shame. She stole a glance at Lu Changji. He was still writing, his expression calm and his posture elegant, as if he heard nothing at all. His self-control is truly beyond mine, she thought.

Jiang Shu couldn’t sit still anymore. She stood up and looked toward the door. “I forgot to tell the kitchen to prepare tea snacks. I should go see it.”

“The rain hasn’t stopped,” Lu Changji said, his eyes still on the paper. “Wait until it stops before you leave.”

He didn’t even look at her, yet she felt a massive weight of authority that forced her to stop in her tracks. The woman’s voice next door reached a high-pitched peak and then abruptly cut off. Silence finally returned.

Jiang Shu breathed a sigh of relief. But before she could finish that breath, the couple next door rallied and began again. They were passionate, talking as they moved, their words so filthy she felt overwhelmed by shame. In her panic, she thought the voices sounded strangely familiar. Her mind was a mess, and the situation was too awkward to think clearly.

She felt as if she had fought a battle; she was drenched in sweat.

Cheng Yong returned with the plum soup. It was her favorite, but now it tasted like nothing. She gripped the bowl and stared at the rain until it finally dwindled to a stop. Like a prisoner granted amnesty, she fled the hall without even saying goodbye.

She was usually a very stable person; Cheng Yong had never seen her so discomposed. As he wondered why, his eyes fell on the paper under Lu Changji’s elbow. The page was covered, top to bottom, with the same repeated word: Shu (her name).

Cheng Yong’s breath hitched. He silently retreated to the entrance and stood guard.

…

Jiang Shu walked briskly, but as she passed the adjacent guest room, the door suddenly opened. Lu Lin stepped out into the hallway, straightening his robes.

Jiang Shu froze and gave a stiff, awkward bow. Lu Lin, however, was perfectly composed. He waved her off and walked toward the front courtyard as if nothing had happened.

Madame Zhao was prim and proper; she would never engage in such acts in a guest room. The concubine, Madame Hu, was flirtatious, but she didn’t have the status to attend the rites and had stayed back at the mansion. Jiang Shu glanced at the closed door. She didn’t know who the woman inside was, but she was certainly bold to try with Lu Lin in a temple.

Jiang Shu had heard the elders speak of Lu Lin’s youthful dalliances, but she had naively assumed he had mellowed with age. How could a man’s nature change with his years?

Returning to her room, Zhu’er informed her that Nanny Zhou had visited, asking her to go to Madame Zhao’s room.

Madame Zhao actually gave her a rare smile. “I thought a girl from a minor house couldn’t handle such responsibility, but you have some talent. Everything—food, lodging, travel—has been handled perfectly. Even I cannot find a single fault.”

Jiang Shu didn’t let the praise get to her head. She smiled gracefully. “Mother flattery is too much. It is because you taught me well that I have learned to manage these affairs.”

Looking at her refined daughter-in-law, Madame Zhao felt a pang of pity. Lu Changyi’s health was failing; it was uncertain if he would survive the year. If he died… would she really have to force Jiang Shu to be buried with him? Perhaps she is already pregnant?

Madame Zhao looked at her. “Have you had your monthly cycle this month?”

Because her life and future depended on the answer, Jiang Shu didn’t flinch as she once would have. “The date has not yet arrived.”

Since pregnancy couldn’t be confirmed, Madame Zhao dismissed her. Jiang Shu’s expression remained unchanged, but her palms were slick with sweat.

Today, she had to do it. She could not be cast out by the Lu family as a disgraced woman.

…

Jiang Shu returned to her room, tucked the aphrodisiac into her sleeve, and went to the kitchen. Space was limited at the temple, so there was no dining hall for the whole family. Jiang Shu had the cooks plate the meals to be sent to individual rooms.

When she entered, the cook was stir-frying, and the soups were already simmering in their tureen. Each room received a different soup. Lu Changying liked sweets, so hers was white fungus and red dates. Lu Lin, despite his age, lacked restraint and needed tonics; she had the cook make him okra and turtle soup. As for Lu Changji, he worked hard and preferred light flavors; for him, she had prepared a bowl of “Lotus Seed Seven Stars Soup” to clear the mind and sharpen the vision.

She walked to the stove where the soups were kept. The cook, a recent hire eager to keep her job, wiped her hands and followed her. “Second Young Mistress, if my cooking is not to your liking, please point it out and I will change it.”

Jiang Shu tried to sound casual. “Go busy yourself in the outer room, don’t mind me.”

But the cook persisted, desperate to please. Jiang Shu, her nerves fried, snapped with uncharacteristic sharpness: “I told you to go out! Why so much nonsense?”

When a person with a bad temper rages, people get used to it. But when a gentle person like Jiang Shu—who never even raised her voice—suddenly snaps, it’s terrifying. The cook’s legs went weak. She scurried to the outer room, so rattled that she added several extra spoons of salt to the shrimp dish.

Now alone, Jiang Shu peered out the window. Seeing no one, she pulled the packet of powder from her sleeve. The soup was a small portion, so she couldn’t add too much. She rolled the parchment into a funnel and poured the medicine in.

Her hands shook so much that half the white powder spilled onto the stove. She wiped it away frantically, then rinsed the rag in the sink a dozen times. Still paranoid, she leaned against the wall to catch her breath. She took a tiny sip of the soup; it tasted fresh and normal.

She replaced the lid, washed the spoon, and walked to the outer room. “The soups are well-made. Have them sent to the masters’ rooms immediately.”

With a heart full of dread, she returned to her quarters and slammed the door. She collapsed onto the bed, her legs so weak she could no longer stand. Her heart raced, her blood pounded, and she felt hot from head to toe.

Time passed. A candle burned down. Half an hour had gone by. According to the brothel keeper, that was when the drug would take hold.

Jiang Shu pinched her palm hard and, under the cover of night, began to walk toward Lu Changji’s room.